FYI: you can be a teenager, read YA and formulate your own opinions

Regardless of whether you watch or even like Zoella, or if you’ve even taken part in her book club with WHSmith’s, you should have a huge problem with the latest headline going around about her. I most certainly do.

It’s not exactly new that the media absolutely thrives off of criticising everything Zoe Sugg does. She’s accumulated over 10 million subscribers by putting herself out there on the internet. On top of that, she’s made a real name for herself in the publishing industry and the celebrity world as a whole. She’s huge, so naturally the media like to tear her down.

Recently Zoe announced that she would be collaborating with WHSmith’s and putting together a book club with eight YA titles. I couldn’t be more over the moon that Zoe is pushing her audience to read more and, simultaneously, celebrating some amazing books in a genre I absolutely love.

But, surprise, surprise, turns out the media has a problem with it and Zoe was quick to share her thoughts.
The basic jist of the article was that the books chosen over romanticise the losing of one’s virginity and create it into a far bigger thing than it actually is. The article also picks out some choice quotes from a couple of the works, depicting them completely out of context so it all sounds pretty bad — on the book’s part, of course. They also drill home the completely ludicrous suggestion that the YA titles perpetuate the idea that to have sex makes you a slut and, if you don’t, you’re a prude. Not sure what books the journalist was reading, but I definitely haven’t found that since reading the chosen titles.

Continue reading “FYI: you can be a teenager, read YA and formulate your own opinions”

How long should I grieve a book for?

(Source: Henn Kim)
 
I’ve always been pretty fortunate with the books I’ve picked up and chosen to read. In less you want to count ‘Starter For Ten’ — which I definitely hung onto for far too long before finally relenting and tossing it to the DNF pile — I’ve enjoyed and even loved most of the stories I’ve decidedly delved into. That shouldn’t be altogether surprising, really. We, for the most part, like to think we’ve got a pretty solid judgement on the things we’ll like and dislike, and even if we’re being a bit reckless, pushing ourselves to the very edges of our comfort zone, there’s still a huge element of hope that it’s going to be good. But sometimes — most of the time actually, for me anyway — the satisfaction we get out of a book is almost too much to handle and every painstaking page turn is another sharp shooting pain beneath our ribs that this story, we’re quite literally hanging on to every word of, is going to inevitably end. And when it does, no matter how showstoppingly good the ending might be, no matter how well wrapped-up, how inspiring or brilliant, we’re going to feel sad and subsequently enter into a post-finished-book funk. At least, that always happens to me, anyway.