If you read a lot, you can get jaded. You can forget how a reader has to be generous to a book as much as a book has to be generous to its reader. You feel like maybe everything worth doing has been done, and nothing will ever blow you away ever again.
And then you read a book like Eleanor and Park, and you are shocked out of your complacency and grateful to be alive. As you can tell from my review in the New York Times Book Review, I really love this book. Months later, I’m still thinking about it.
“She stepped closer to him. 'I look like a hobo?'
'Worse,' he said. 'Like a sad hobo clown.'
'And you like it?'
'I love it.'
As soon as he said it, she broke into a smile. And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him
Something always did.”