As a middle-aged man, I'm a little reluctant to pass judgment on a book that is clearly written for a teen audience. But no matter my generational bias and taste, I have to conclude that E. Lockhart's We Were Liars is a crummy book. I was already hating it pretty strongly by the time the big twist was revealed, and that made me like it even less.
A group of similar-aged cousins spend summers together on their extended family's island compound. The patriarch, his divorced daughters, and their children constitute the family now, the remnant who tries to hold together this New England old money dynasty. I have a hard time feeling sorry much for these privileged kids who begin to rebel against what they perceive as their stifling family traditions. Any sympathy I might have felt for them goes completely out the window when they decide that the best way to express their displeasure with their families' lifestyle choices is to burn down the main house on the island.
Lockhart checks off the boxes for a contemporary YA novel. Moody teens. Emerging social consciences. Rebellion. Avoidable tragedy. Mental illness. It all adds up to a book that angst-ridden teen girls will probably love, but that a normal human being will feel is a waste of time. I know I did.
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