The Edge of Falling by Rebecca SerleMy rating: 4 of 5 stars
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This is the first book that I have ever purchased from Walmart! It was $10.38, as you can see in the picture down below.
We were in Walmart and we were passing by the book section and I always float to the book section in stores and this book cover caught my eye because of the city skyline. Then I read the summary and I just had to buy it. I don’t have any physical books with me right now, so I needed one.
I also wanted to say that I love that the main character’s last name is Caulfield and The Catcher in the Rye is mentioned towards the end of the book. It reminds me of Holden. Mon Dieu! I love that book!
I love this book cover.
I also wanted to add that I imagined the world of Donnie Darko (2001) for this book because it is kind of similar. The kind of school they’re going to and the two main characters are similar.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzLn8sYeM9o
It is also kind of weird to know that the next movie that Jake Gyllenhal did also mentioned The Catcher in the Rye.
“Anyway, the game goes like this: Every time I get to an intersection, I cross whatever street has a walk sign. I only generally play when I have a few free hours, because there are times I end up very far from where I started. I’ve lived here my whole life, but even I am surprised by where the game sometimes takes me. That’s the thing about New York: You can own it, it can belong to you, and you’ll still never completely know it” (14).
This sounds like a fun way to explore the city!
“I love the anonymity of the park, the fact that, even after spending my entire life on this block of Manhattan, I can still get lost in there. Maybe it’s why I play this walking game in the first place: to keep some of that spontaneity new New Yorkers are always going on about. People who come to New York from somewhere else love to say things like ‘in the time it takes you to cross the street, anything could happen.’ The thing people forget, though, is that that’s true about every town. Not just New York” (15).
“‘Hey, Abbey.’ She hates when anyone calls her Abbery, so naturally that’s what I do” (43).
Omg lol so funny
“I leave them and head into the kitchen. I’m struck by how much I miss Peter, just knowing he’s not here. It’s weird: He was gone all summer, but having him back yesterday made me get used to his being around. It’s amazing how easy it is to fall back into old habits, how just a few
hours is enough to catapult you backward, at least emotionally. But emotions don’t matter. They aren’t fact. Peter is at school, where he lives now. Things aren’t the same” (68).
“I love the drive from Manhattan to Brooklyn, when the city is behind you, and you can appreciate it as this singular thing, this unit: Manhattan. It’s pretty astounding. Even for someone
like me, who’s lived here her whole life. I know people joke that New York is the center of the world, but sometimes, on the bridge, it feels true. Like everything and anything of significance takes place right here in my hometown” (72).
“‘No way,’ he says. ‘You’re not a vodka girl.’ He motions for the bartender. ‘Two whisky sours,’ he says. To me: ‘You’ll like it. I promise.’
‘What do you promise?’ I ask. I’m feeling just a little bit flirtatious. Maybe it’s all the vitamin C. More likely the fact that I can practically feel Claire’s eyes boring into me and her voice: Can’t you ever just pretend to have fun?” (79).
Lol funny
“For just a moment, my confusion eclipses my anxiety” (86).
“We walk in silence. Sometimes this happens without warning. Like the magnitude of the past—of all that has happened—creeps into the space and inflates. One minute it’s this little thing—contained, pocket-size—the next minute it’s a creature. With legs and arms and scales. That’s how grief works. It’s there even when you forget about it. It doesn’t disappear, but just morphs, changes form” (97).
“Time passes differently when really terrible things happen. It glides out, stops short, hurtles itself backward. It’s hard to mark the moments. They don’t follow any kind of linear trajectory” (117).
“We head into the elevator, then up the steps to the roof. There’s a great view up here, one that makes you feel like you’re a part of the Manhattan skyline. Like you’re floating up in it, right along with the Chrysler Building. It’s one of those views that makes me remember I live in New York. Trevor and I used to go for drinks at the Mandarin at Columbus Circle sometimes. There is
a spectacular view of the park at the bar on the thirty-fifth floor. We’d put the ridiculously expensive drinks on my dad’s tab and hole up in one of the couches by the windows. I liked looking at the city that way, from a distance. Like it was a painting, or a statue. Something composed, steadfast, fixed. Something eternal. Sometimes it’s hard to tell what I miss more: what New York used to mean to me, or what Trevor did. They were so tied together. Trevor was my New York” (152-153).
“‘She didn’t end up in a mental hospital this summer, if that’s what you’re driving at.’ My words sound like they’re laced with venom. I can taste it as they come out. Tangy and acidic” (155).
“Peter pretends to be shocked by this. ‘Can’t a brother just do something nice for his sis?’
‘Buy me a present,’ I deadpan” (167).
Lol
“I don’t say what I want to: I wish I could” (169).
“So we’d go to Oscar Blandi, this incredibly ritzy salon on Madison Avenue, and talk in fake British accents all the way there. ‘Darling, do you think they’ll have the proper champagne today? I simply cannot get my hair cut without a good bottle’” (203).
Lol that’s funny
“Something is starting to form, bloom in my stomach and climb up to my heart. Astor hasn’t asked me to talk about Hayley, he hasn’t wanted to know how I’m doing with her death, with what happened in May, but what he’s required has been worse. He’s offered his loss up like a diamond. He’s given it to me, the way Peter gave me his watchful eye, the way Claire gave me her concern. But simply understanding doesn’t make it better. Sometimes darkness stacked on darkness just makes it that much harder to find the light.
...
Suddenly the images of last May are too much to bear, so vivid that if I close my eyes I’m afraid they’ll capture me. That I’ll never escape the memory. But I need to tell someone. Someone needs to know. I’ve stayed silent, but look where silence has gotten me. Pushing everything away, running, is what has brought us here. I’m ready to stop. Even if we don’t come back, at least the truth will” (255-256).
“But Astor doesn’t move. He’s frozen. And the look in his eyes is one I recognize immediately. It’s the same one that stared back at me in the mirror for almost a year. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to move. He hasn’t figured out how to save himself” (263).
“But I’m not afraid anymore. And I know, looking at Astor, that he is. Death might have drawn us together, but it’s also what has broken us apart” (264).
“‘Out,’ I say.
He doesn’t move. He just shakes his head.
‘Astor, out!’ I’m not sure if I’m talking. My voice is hoarse. Barren. Used up. But how many things could I be saying right now? He knows. He’s just not doing it.
And then I realize it. As certain as I saw it behind that fire curtain. As certain as I was when I called Claire and told her the truth: He doesn’t want to be saved.
He’s happy here, in this fire.
But I won’t let someone else die on my watch. I can’t. Because for the first time since last January, I want to save myself. I need to. And that means saving him, too” (266).
“You can’t share grief. In the end, when the building burns, you’re still left with your own pieces. Your own shattered picture frames. You have to pick up what is yours—choose to carry it, bury it, or say good-bye” (274).
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