Where totters can utter whatever the fuck they want to
I'm sure this is a very fantastic book. It's pretty lyrical, I can give you that but the constant inner monologue and all this teen angst is getting to me. I mean, this book is a lot better than the crap I've managed to finish and it's beautifully crafted but I don't seem to have any more patience for it especially counting the fact that it's raining outside and when it rains, I need some good old action. I'll probably pick it up in spring once again but for the time being: