I have, on several occasions, recommended a book to a friend or family member with the highest praise imaginable, only to have said friend or family member read--and positively hate--the book I loved. I invariably become hurt and defensive when I hear their reactions, because, to me, the book is like a child who can do no wrong. If I loved it, why on earth didn't you?
Well. Because we're different people. Because reading is subjective. And because "no two persons ever read the same book."
That's just two paragraphs. The whole thing is gold and I want to tattoo it on my forehead.
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