I just finished blogging The Great Gatsby, and oh boy. What a time. We had some chuckles along the way. Some tears. Some existential dread about the vitality of our illusions. Remember Nick Carraway’s inexplicable car fetish? I do. I will never forget it. I’m actually slightly afraid that I’ll remember this on my deathbed, and it’ll be the last thought I ever have.
Anyway, I’m going to keep blogging your required reading because that’s all I’m good for—and I need your help. I need you to tell me which book should be the new victim of my hilarious quips and excessive nitpicking. There are many books out there, at least upwards of ten, and I’m bad at making decisions. I told you, I’m not good for much.
Let’s make with the book-learnin’, folks. Pick your poison. I’m bound by the will of the people, and my fate is in your hands. But if anyone goes off-script and suggests Wuthering Heights, I will burn this website to the ground.