This book is pretentious AF and I spent most of the book entirely annoyed.

There is no right or wrong way to love books. Whether you: • Read to escape • Read to learn • Enjoy critical analysis • Prefer head-empty vibes • Like being scared • Read to find comfort and hope • Remember in detail every book you read • Immediately forget the main characters name • Only read critically acclaimed books • Only read comics, manga, and graphic novels • Reread frequently • Never reread • Own a large collection you've only read a fraction of • Keep rare and precious books in a safe place • Precariously stack your collection in window sills • Read physical books • Read digital books • Read audio books at x3 speed • Read 25 books a month • Read 1 book a year • Read books just so you know what the hell your coworker is talking about • Read books literally no one else has ever heard of • Read because you can't go there yourself • Read because you have been already • Read because you want to do • Read because you never could • Write in the margins, highlight, tab, or otherwise annotate • Do everything in your power to preserve the spine • Intentionally break the spine • Use your book as a wallet • WHATEVER ELSE, you are a valid reader and it's entirely unreasonable for anyone to suggest you love books more or less than anyone else.

A lot of the arguments made in this book are sooooo surface level they become infuriating. Books mean something different to every person, and that's why they're so great. To assign this grandiose larger meaning, within a prescriptive framing, is such BS. You do you, boo. Read however and whatever you like.

Also everyone in this novel is just mean. For why??