So, what did you think?

Dear Friend,

The Perks of Being a Wallflower has been my favorite book since I saw an MTV commercial for it in early 1999 and begged my mother for a ride to the book store. Not to invoke a joke about pizza, but I loved it before it was cool. I loved it before the many ONTD readers, some half my age, trashed and decried it as trite or oversaturated. I loved it because in the early years of the book's release, before widespread internet access connected people to like-minded friends they otherwise wouldn't have met, this tiny yellow novel gave me comfort. It gave me hope that somewhere in the world, outside my tiny southern California hometown, there were people just like me. All I had to do was find them and everything would be fine. In the meantime I had its increasingly tattered pages to keep me company. Here's a photo of me reading it at CSSSA in July 2000.

I loaned the book to everyone I met, acting as a literary evangelist bringing disciples to my tiny flock. I left a trail of fans in my wake, and used the book as a beacon to draw good people closer to me. Only two who received it from me ever hated it, and I rightly washed my hands of them. I don't need anyone who can't understand this book. When my original copy became so worn that the cover threatened to fall off, I bought a second one for lending. The first edition stays with me at all times, holding too many memories to risk losing.

Moving into my NYU dorm room in the summer of 2003, I discovered my dear roommate Weatherly and I shared this book as a common favorite. That's the magic of it - this novel brings people together. As you can tell, I was very excited for the movie I never thought would happen. People don't make movies based on books like this, and when they do, it's always a disappointment. With some trepidation, I bought a ticket to the earliest possible screening I could get to on opening day.

I had Bobby and Holly on either side of me, ready to provide support if I hated the film or, worse, if I loved it into an emotional fit. From the moment the credits started, though, I was a lost cause. I don't often cry in movies; I didn't inherit my mother's gene. It's a rare film that elicits such a reaction, particularly in a public theater. I can think of only two previous examples, in fact. One, Toy Story 3, I watched in the privacy of my own home, where nobody could see me. This scene just destroyed me. Devote a plot point to the importance of friendship and I am a serious goner.

The other, Requiem for a Dream, upset me so viscerally that I couldn't drive myself home afterwards. Neither compares to the film adaptation of my favorite book. I sat, wide-eyed and blubbering, wanting to live inside the movie forever. After one viewing it has ended Ghost World's 11-year run as my favorite movie of all time. That is saying something. So, dear blog readers, I implore you to see this film. It's a brilliant adaptation and my nitpicks were minimal. If one fan's opinion isn't enough to sway you, ask New York Magazine and the Portland Mercury. They loved it too. As for this perpetual teenager, I'll probably see it several more times before it even hits the beer theaters.