You know when you read a book and it starts off kind of slow, kind of dull, and then suddenly that’s it: you’re hooked, and there’s nothing you can do but think about it, wonder when you will be able to read it again, stay up all night practically inhaling the story because your precious sleep has suddenly become a thing worthy of sacrifice and there’s nothing you want more in the world than to be with these characters in that moment, and when you finish it’s like some kind of huge release, and you’re tired but happy because you know your life is altered in some small way now from reading the words you’ve read.

Well, guess what?

We Were Liars is a book I had heard whispers of for a while, and seeing as I’m an adult, and young, I thought I’d continue my romantic affair with the YA genre and give it a go. I loved it. I loved everything about it, from the dreamy fragmented-like writing style, to the vagueness and increasingly confusing parts of Cady’s narrative. I loved the unlikeable but likeable characters, I loved the rollercoaster it took me on, and I loved the Wuthering Heights-esque love story, with Gat as the outcast and us, the reader, never quite sure who he is or whether or not to trust him.

When it comes down to it, mistrust is the real theme of the book, and what with the title, the liars and the shadiness of their family, and even Cady herself, with her fuzzy and abstract descriptions, I felt as if I were somewhere in between fog and a knife-edge throughout. That’s quite a place to be, and honestly it doesn’t get much more thrilling for a reader. We Were Liars is a family drama at heart, a teen one too, but it also reaches far beyond its means and my expectations, and transforms into something entirely different and far more exciting.

I won’t talk about the twist, I promise. (Although I did talk about it for days after, recommending it to anyone and everyone, sorry friends and family.) I’ll just let this review sit here and suffice as recommendation enough. As for me, I think I’m going to go back and read it again, noticing all the little details I didn’t see the first time, and feeling all the feels.

I can’t remember the last time I read a book twice. I can’t wait.