Books like What My Mother Doesn't Know

*another rewrite*I found Sonya Sones in our library on one bored snowy day and I won't lie.. the titles of the books caught my eye. And now I'm lost. I love her writing and her style and her voice and at the same time envy all of that too. I just re-read this book because the sequel came out and I wasn't surprised that I loved it even more the second time around. It's a quick read, no longer than an hour if you're not interrupted. The main character, Sophie is a 14 year old, high school freshman whose intelligence and insightfulness isn‘t tragic or leaves you thinking ‘yeah, this character is formulaic or too good to be true thus IS fictional. Sones method of chronicling ’love’ from a 14 yr old girl’s perspective isn’t trite or precocious. She doesn’t talk down to the reader, she gives them some credit, no matter what their age. She communicates to us the typical teenage infatuation : ’I wake up thinking about him. All day long I’m dreaming about him. I fall asleep thinking about him.’ and ‘I wish I could drink a magic potion and shrink way down until I was small enough to fit into his shirt pocket and live there tucked near to his heart listening to it beating in rhythm with mine every minute of every day.' Reeks of Stalker? Hell yeah, but who HASN’T felt that? Don’t lie. Wait, it’s not just me, is it? Oy.Some other reasons that I love this book:* It’s a novel in verse. I’m always searching for fiction that pushes the formula boundaries. That doesn’t play up the ’It was a dark and stormy night’ or ’And they lived happily ever after’ angle. By writing this in poems, it brings this colors the story with this sweet sentimentality.* It’s set in Boston. And since this is ’all about me’ each scene brings its own poignancy. From the Ritz Carlton to Filene’s Basement to the Museum of Fine Arts…. Been there, done that… wish I’d written this book (read: story of my life.)*MFA (Museum of Fine Arts)--When I was in college we were able to get into the MFA for free and since the very mention of ’college’ indicates just how broke I was… I spent a great deal of time here. I used to roam the rooms pretending that I was talking to my imaginary boyfriend who happened to love John Singer Sargent and was an expert in all things impressionistic. I used to get these endorphin highs of inspiration that had me scribbling madly on napkins/notebooks/receipts/anything in my jean pockets. I went back there this summer for the first time in oh… at least 15 years and the feeling was still there. Oh, and there's one of those flipbooks of Renoir's Dance at Bougival... which is ultra cool (in my world)Wow.