As a writer, there was a lot about this book that was relatable. The struggles of a budding author, the intricacies of ghostwriting. A few pages in and I was honestly completely involved in this world because it felt somewhat like my own.
And I was so involved that I didn’t bother about the book’s great question. It wasn’t until after I’d read and posted that I finished the book, that I started getting THE QUESTION from others; “which do you believe? The manuscript or the letter?”
My answer, if I had to choose, is the letter. Because it’s the least complicated path, and that’s usually the truth. Also because I’m a writer, I know that writing is therapy.
But really? I don’t care. It probably sounds like I wasn’t vested in this book, but it’s not that. It’s just, the book felt complete to me. I don’t know how to describe it. Like Lowen, the truth or, verity, of this situation didn’t matter to me. Not really.
This is the first book that’s not by a Nigerian that I’m reading this year, and also the first Colleen Hoover book I’m reading. On both accounts, it was an enjoyable experience.
8/10.