I finished reading The Lies We Tell last night. I woke up this morning, still disturbed. For a moment, I just had a vague sense of unease that I could not place, but a few seconds later, I knew I was still in another place, in another character. I was still Irfan Ahmed.
I read Talking of Muskaan two years ago, and it made such a powerful impression on me that I knew I had to read The Lies We Tell. Yet, halfway through the latter, I was frowning. I did not feel that the promise of the title was kept. Sure, all the tumultuous adolescent emotions felt authentic, but I did not want the book to be just another Young Adult novel that floats by, barely impacting me.
I was disenchanted enough to look for reviews of the book, something I rarely do. Goodreads had one review; Amazon had one review, perhaps by the same person. Four stars.
At that stage, two things kept me reading.
One, I loved the fact that the protagonist was a boy. I hate that so many people call YA ‘chick-lit’. I don’t like the phrase; I don’t like the word ‘chick’. But I cannot remember the last YA book I read with a male protagonist.
Secondly, I loved the style. It was easy to read and pacy, so I really had nothing to lose by reading on.
And two pages later, I was swept away.
When books make my hair stand on end, when they make me close my eyes and shake my head, when they make my heart rise to my throat … They’re perfect. I dislike spoilers in reviews, so I’m not going to say any more, but I’ll leave it at this: The Lies We Tell is a powerful novel that left me overwhelmed.
|Title||The Lies We Tell|
|Rating (out of 5)||4|