The Upside of Unrequited: A Personal Reflection and Review
When I first set out to read The Upside of Unrequited by Becky Albertalli, I was fueled by both excitement and a hint of skepticism. With a 4.1 average rating and heaps of praise from fellow readers, I found myself wondering what everyone saw that I might miss. Would I fall in love with the swoony romance and relatable characters? Could this book spark my own nostalgic teen heart? Unfortunately, my experience felt like I wandered into an entirely different narrative than what had been lauded elsewhere.
The book centers around Molly, a girl brimming with crushes—crushes that never seem to lead to anything tangible. She’s a relatable figure for many, but for me, she became a symbol of relentless whining and self-absorption. Through 300-plus pages, Molly’s fixation on her “Boy Quest” overshadowed more vibrant themes that deserved attention—like her unique family dynamics or the thrill of her moms getting engaged on the historic day of gay marriage legalization in the U.S. I wanted to cheer for her, but I found myself rolling my eyes at every self-focused lamentation.
Molly’s twin sister, Cassie, is another frustrating character. While we’re led to believe they’re different in appearance, their emotional landscapes are disturbingly similar: Cassie treats Molly poorly, using her as a pawn in her relationship. Their bond feels more draining than endearing, painted with a brush of sibling rivalry that never quite resolves. Not to mention, Molly’s awkward interactions with characters like Will and Mina felt flat—none of them sparked any kind of depth beyond cliché archetypes.
Albertalli’s writing style is approachable, with light humor and pop culture references, yet it often veers into repetitiveness that slows down the pacing. I found myself craving something—anything—to happen beyond Molly’s unrelenting thoughts about boys. The narrative became a maze of crush analyses that drained my energy rather than igniting it.
I did appreciate the representation in the book, particularly the diverse LGBTQ+ characters and the acknowledgment of body image issues through Molly, who is a fat girl navigating her insecurities. This diversity is commendable, especially for mainstream YA literature, but I felt a disconnection between Molly’s journey to self-acceptance and the empowerment associated with it. Finding self-worth isn’t solely about romantic validation; it should be explored in a multifaceted way.
In retrospect, The Upside of Unrequited, while rich in representation, left me feeling hollow. It was a slog through a prolonged internal monologue that didn’t resonate. If you’re someone who enjoys a whimsical take on teenage love and can overlook a lack of substantial plot (or emotional depth), you may find joy in Molly’s trials. But if you, like me, seek characters who embody growth and complexity, you might find this book lacking.
Ultimately, my reading experience of this book served to remind me of what I crave in literature—characters who inspire and narratives that drive forward. If nothing else, this journey taught me to question the hype and trust my instincts as a reader.
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