I recently read a novel that I loved.
It was one of those anomalous experiences where I was hooked from page one. I laughed. I cried. I grew irritated when other obligations meant I’d have to step away from reading. It was so enjoyable that I didn’t even feel envious that someone else had written it (which is often how I know I adore something).
As soon as I finished, I texted a friend to tell her that she, too, must read it immediately. “It was so good,” I gushed, scrolling to procure a link.
And that’s when it happened.
Four stars? I blinked, furrowing my brow at the book’s average across multiple sites. Never mind that four stars is a very respectable, even excellent, rating in this critical world of ours. Four stars is not five stars, and this read was flawless. What fault could anyone possibly find with this book?
Down the rabbit hole I went.
I admit that whenever I’m struggling with the familiar creep of insecurity, there’s a game I like to play to make myself feel better. I’ll l…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Between a Rock and a Card Place to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.