
I currently hate romance books, but when I read this book, I was 14 and a hopeless romantic. There wasn't a cliché romance book that escaped my attention, and Kiera Cass's selection was no exception. Five years later, a friend decided to read it again—although rereading teenage books isn't recommended—and I thought it was the biggest atrocity of the century. Why do I hate romance? Maybe this book was the beginning