Yesterday, I finished David Levithan’s Every Day, a shiver running through me when I realized I’d finished reading the last sentence. Wow. This is the exactly kind of book that reaffirms to me the power and importance of literature, raising questions like, “What is a person?” and “What constitutes someone’s identity?”
As the narrator (don’t worry, you find this out in the first chapter or two) inhabits the life of different person each day (as if through some kind of mind/psyche transference), we get to know this main character as she/he/it gets to know the people whose circumstances she/he/it is suddenly very deeply in, along with one particular, special person. The descriptions and plot are engrossing, feeling remarkably real and relatable, if you can suspend disbelief and the book’s basic premise which I readily could—the writing was that good.
If you’re looking for a new work of fiction, give this a shot. At least read a few pages if you see it in a library of bookstore. You might become just as quickly caught up in it as I was.
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