I am sorely disappointed. I picked up this book because of the premise. Keek is a writer who is cut off from her friends because she has no Internet access and her cell is broken. That to me was a promise that Keek would be an introspective character with witty or poignant observations to share. No, instead she is completely self-absorbed, whining mostly about her boyfriend and virginity, and her parents who are divorcing. The diary format does excuse the self-absorption to some degree but if that’s the case, I need a good reason to want to care about her. I did not find that reason. The style of writing didn’t elevate Keek in any way either because it was rather dry. In the end, I skipped ahead every now and then because I was so bored out of my mind. The only redeeming factor was the poems interspersed throughout the book but they did not particularly add to the plot itself.
Keek’s life was totally perfect….
Keek and her boyfriend just had their Worst Fight Ever; her best friend heinously betrayed her; her parents are divorcing; and her mom’s across the country caring for her newborn cousin, who may or may not make it home from the hospital. To top it all off, Keek’s got the plague. (Well, the chicken pox.) Now she’s holed up at her grandmother’s technologically barren house until further notice. Not quite the summer vacation Keek had in mind.
With only an old typewriter and Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar for solace and guidance, Keek’s alone with her swirling thoughts. But one thing’s clear through her feverish haze—she’s got to figure out why things went wrong so she can make them right.
The title couldn’t be any more apt than this though. This book indeed did fall apart for me.