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My goal this year, in absolute honesty, is to try and step out of my comfort zone. I'm a predictable reader. I like YA, I like Sci-Fi/Fantasy, Classics, and I like nonfiction. I tend to not stray out of what I like, and I think overall that hurts me as being a comprehensive reader.

So I decided I was going to give this book a try. Written in prose that resembles poetry more than any kind of traditional narrative structure, I thought hey, if I like it, I like it. And if I don't, it's okay.

I didn't like it.

It's not even that I didn't like it. It's just that I felt the great premise was absolutely wasted on the prose. I'm all for flowery language, interesting and artistic types of narrative, and books that distinguish themselves uniquely. But why even bother to construct a narrative in a book that never develops characters, doesn't really distinguish the plot itself, and is just kind of a muddled mess of poetry that isn't even comprehensible at times. I get the feeling that even if I did enjoy poetry, I wouldn't enjoy the disjointed, staccato kind found in this book.

And more than anything else, I'm sad for all of this, because I wanted to read this story. I was interested in these characters, and the plot, and I felt like this book could have been something special added to the ranks of LGBTQ YA. And we can never have enough of that.

But in the end, this was just a waste of time and money.

I mean truly, I wasn't even sure which character we were following at times, or what was going on, or how it all related to the book's supposed plot.

Still, hey, on a positive note, I rather like the book cover ...