Personal Narrative-Learning To Reread The Uglies Class

When I was 9 years old, I found a paperback copy of Scott Westerfield's Uglies on my brother’s desk. This forever changed me.
Before that, I had been only known my reality. I had not understood the limitless possibilities of the mind at this age. I had watched television shows sure, droopy-eyed in the evenings, consuming the static with youthful satisfaction, but this experience was nowhere near the immersion of literature. I had trouble learning to read, initially. I often found myself struggling to manage simple concepts while the rest of my class moved forward without me. I remember crying one summer night, angry with sticky tears staining my rose tinted cheeks. “Why can’t I read like Zach?” I had cried to my mother, regarding my brother, four years my senior, who I greatly admired. She had called me in for a hug and regarded me with sympathy, promising that if I worked hard enough, I would learn how.
When I did learn how to read, I read with a sort of obligation rather than enjoyment. I no longer struggled to read,
I hadn’t read it since I was 12, and I decided it would be great to relive the nostalgia of the time. I bought a nice boxed set and a sat down one evening, sitting in my reading chair, a large beige chair next to a lamp and a bookshelf in my sitting room, and opened up Uglies to reread the first line I knew so well. Rereading the story, I discovered a few things. One, I loved it just as much the second time around. Two, I realized that in reality, the story has a lot of problems. Making this connection was so interesting to me, as I had always thought of the story as this perfect piece of literature that trumped all others. I realized that I hated the characters in the story, none of them were likable, and the action scenes were very hard to follow. This criticism that I built for the story only strengthened my attachment for it, however. I could appreciate it while acknowledging its