I was predisposed to like this book...cute cover, cute idea, etc. I expected it to be a glimpse inside the pell-mell schedules of a modern American teen and her mom and the way seemingly innuocous words can tell volumes. Imagine my surprise to find myself reading the chronicles of a woman dealing with cancer entirely via notes with her daughter--who is quite possibly the most self-involved character in modern literary history! Though to be fair, the mother is no prize either...an ob-gyn(an attempt at irony perhaps?) who has little to no physical contact with her daughter.
The writing is shallow and immature and the characters are painfully one dimensional. The book, in fact, reads like a high school literary magazine submission gone horribly public.
Is this really what we're inflicting on YA readers(and their parents?!).
Bad writing aside, the book does leave us with this question: Are our children really raising themselves? Because, if families are operating like the one in this book, our future is bleak indeed.
I definitely do not recommend this one--in fact I'd rather see kids reading "Gossip Girl". At least those parents are involved!!