when thinking of books that have resonated with me – really, truly resonated with me – this book often heads the top of the list. this story by stephen chbosky has been in my life in many different forms, each one hitting me in a different way than the last.
the first experience i ever had with this story was in seventh grade, around the time its film adaptation came out. from the get-go, knowing nothing more about it than what i saw from trailers on tv, i despised it. absolutely wholeheartedly detested it, based solely on the idea that it was just some boring tumblr-cliche, hipster-y, coming-of-age junk. this was a time in my life where i very aggressively prided myself on the notion that i was “not like other girls” and utterly loathed anything that would categorize me as either a “basic white girl” or a pretentious hipster.
come eighth grade, however, things became a little different. i Totally Legally watched the film on my phone one night in bed and proceeded to cry my eyes out. truth be told, i think it’s the first film that’s ever drawn out completely gut-wrenching sobs from my body. this was a time in my life were i was – to put it lightly – having a really horrible time. it had become so easy for me to isolate myself and convince myself that things would never get any better. then i got curious, and i watched that film i had claimed to hate just a few months prior, and everything was new.
finally getting around to reading the book hit me even harder, although in a different way. it was interesting to see all of the details that felt so big and important while reading the book that didn’t make their way into the film, as well as to see little things that came up in their own subtle ways.
really, i was more enamored with how the book was able to capture something the film couldn’t quite get. i saw so much of myself in the main character, charlie – not in his experiences, but how he experiences. as i get older and find myself going back to this book, i find newer parts of myself that i didn’t have the last time i read the book. as i keep my own journal, just as charlie does, i begin to notice new parallels, and even lines that run together as one.
i feel that seldom do readers ever find a book that they can truly and wholeheartedly find themselves within. it’s not really a matter of connecting with the characters, but more so an act of seeing so much of oneself reflected through paper and ink. chbosky’s book is able to capture mature themes such as adolescence, mental illness, and sexual abuse in an innocent candor that i’ve yet to find match for. there’s something incredibly endearing about the sheer vulnerability of the story being told, as well as the fact that such mature themes never once take away from the innocence of how the story is being told. it’s something that has stuck with me not only as a reader, but as a writer who wants – more than anything – to share vulnerability with my own readers. the influence of this book’s storytelling on my own is unmatched by any book i’ve ever read, and i’m sure any book i ever will.
