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I can't say I loved this book. That would be a hollow claim. His living in the passive voice drove me absolutely insane; it distracted me continually. His obvious anger at Peter Buck for some damn thing really gnawed at me, too. Finally, once he became a music critic in the book, he did so without drawing any suggestion for why he could call some of the group's songs "shit," he just did it. Lazy af, imo.

I want to say I loved this book, but I didn't. There's something to the author's style that I liked in small doses that as the end arrived, amped up. Also, I heard him discuss the book in a podcast. How he described the book didn't really match up with what I read. It's a fun story about a group of guys who went from college kids monkeying around to becoming my favorite musicians of ever and always, but the author left me feeling... like I learned very little? I'm not sure. In the end, disappointing.

They're only my favorite band of all time, so of course I want to read this book.

Loved it. I miss Zafon already. But, maybe he'll never really be gone.

Zafón puts a beautiful ribbon on a gloomy, mysterious, and riveting gift of a series.

A slog. The idea I get, but ugh. I hated the writing style, the way it progressed. I just did not like much of this book at all. Which is probably why I recall nothing about it from high school when I first read it 3x years ago.