↑ Informality aside... this GIF is about as close as it gets to a visual representation of me at the end of this book.
Andrew and Thomas's story left me utterly speechless. These boys may as well have torn out my heart and buried it in the woods, too, because fuck. I have genuinely never had a book play with both my head and my heart the way that this one did. While I was reading, I would be so certain I understood what was happening (namely what was real), and without fail, I'd find my brain taking a spin in the C.G. Drews blender all over again within a chapter or two. There were a number of moments where I had to set the book down and reconsider everything I had read so far for a long fucking minute, and I absolutely loved it. I like to think of myself as someone who's decently good at picking up on subtleties and foreshadowing in literature, but this one very effectively pulled the wool over my eyes for around three-quarters of the story. And the conclusion! The sheer terror and confusion you feel throughout does a phenomenal job of dropping you directly into Andrew's shoes, of jerking you around and making you question reality, and Gods - that leads me directly to my next point.
As someone who's been formally diagnosed with BPD, OCD and a panic disorder (among other things), I saw so much of myself in Andrew all throughout this story. I don't think I've ever read a piece of literature that so accurately represented my exact experience as a queer teenager exploring their identity, right down to the idealization of a single person to the degree that it becomes downright toxic. In addition to his mental health conditions, he comes from a neglectful family; not only is his father almost entirely absent, the faculty at Wickwood are downright abusive to both Andrew and Thomas. His father happily sends him away to the boarding school where his twin sister died not even a full year before, and then brushes off/forgets about his kid's genuine attempt to reach out for help. Every teacher or staff member he interacts with either ignores his strife (specifically regarding Bryce fucking Kane) or downright humiliates him in front of his peers for kicks, and it breaks my fucking heart.
I've seen this kid catch so much flack for "not standing up for himself" from other readers, but like... Yeah. I think I'd probably have given up asking for help under those circumstances, too, especially as a kid with little to no agency.
And Thomas... let me fucking tell you, there is nothing I wouldn't do for Thomas Rye. This kid tries so fucking hard to keep Andrew safe and to keep his world from falling apart, but he's just a kid, too. There's only so much he can do, and at the end, the best he can do is stay with Andrew. My spouse also pointed out that if he had gone back, he'd have had nothing real to go back to without Andrew, and fuck.
I also find that I prefer to view this story (as well as the author's other works) the way that Drews themself intends.They've spoken at length about how their narrators aren't often meant to be reliable, or even likable, and I adore that. Their take on horror is taking something unimaginable and forcing us as readers to look it in the eye (their words, via an instagram story), and Don't Let the Forest In does a breathtaking job of taking the results of the neglect Andrew suffers and bringing them front and center. He doesn't get better. He doesn't heal. He asks for help and gets disregarded by each and every adult who could have helped him, and that's the point. I also deeply enjoy that while the ending isn't a good one, it is open to interpretation. It softens the blow without taking away its impact, and all I can say is this:
I have definitely, definitely let the forest in. 🌲
SeafarerSunnie commented...
I actively engage with and enjoy both sides, given the discussion doesn't turn hostile. What I'm interested in is not the "you didn't like my favorite book and I demand to know why" brand of discussion, it's the discussion that leads with: "Wow, I couldn't have imagined someone having this opinion while I read this book... I wonder what contributed to that". I tend to tread carefully at the best of times, and when I ask questions of folks who don't like a book that I love, I make absolutely certain that I do so respectfully.
I personally believe there is value in discussing one's personal opinions about a piece of literature, so long as it doesn't devolve to argument.