Dear Famous Person,

You are so cool. My name is Laurel and I go to High School but I am still going to talk to you in the passive, immature voice of a 10 year old and then occasionally break out into beautiful metaphors about the sparkles in Sky's eyes and how just one glance from him makes fireflies dance in my stomach (or something equally nauseating beautiful).

"There is something fragile like moths inside of him, something fluttering. Something trying desperately to crowd toward a light. May was a real moon who everyone flocked to. But even if I am only Sky’s street lamp, I don’t mind."

That's right. Sky is great! And Sky is awesome! And fuck everything else because, looky there, it's Sky!

Yours,
Laurel

p.s. This book is actually all about the deep grief I feel after my sister's death. I know that may be surprising when all I actually do is pull the petals off flowers and wonder if Sky loves me.
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You know, this book is actually almost exactly like the diaries I wrote when I was about 10/11 years old. I didn't write to famous people, I wrote the entries to a made up name so it was like I was talking to someone who was there just for me. Because, well, Anne Frank did it and I thought it was totally cool! Honestly, it's a mystery why I wasn't one of the popular kids in school.

I would write in fragmented sentences that walked the unfortunate reader through my day, until I would suddenly get a burst of inspiration and philosophize about life in that all-knowing way which only young teens who know absolutely nothing about life can manage.

Here's the thing, though. There's a real good reason why most people don't publish their diaries: because who wants to hear about your boring-ass high school day or how freaking hot that dude called Sky is? If this book was attempting to be a realistic portrait of an annoying teen without a personality - mission accomplished.

Frankly - here comes the controversial statement - this has to be the most emotionally manipulative book since The Fault in Our Stars. Laurel's sister has died so she deals with all her thoughts and feelings by writing letters to different dead people - inc. Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison and Judy Garland. Guess who the last dead person letter is to? Go on, guess.

And Laurel's personality is nowhere to be seen. Her letters are written in short, disjointed sentences with no sense of emotion coming through at any point. No sadness for her sister. No actual chemistry between her and Sky. It's just words, and not great words at that. She, like me, pauses in the middle of the childish narrative to wax poetic about something (probably to do with Sky). She is constantly defined by other people - what she thinks of Sky, her friends and the famous people. Who is this girl that everyone seems to fall in love with? Not a clue.
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Dear wasted time,

I apologise for not reading something less trite, immature and manipulative.

Yours,
Emily

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