Mortified: Love Is a Battlefield
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- £9.49
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- £9.49
Publisher Description
Relive the angst.
From starter girlfriends to escapist fantasies to delusional attempts to stand out amongst their peers, Mortified: Love Is a Battlefield revisits the boundlessly embarrassing topic of childhood love, uncovering priceless artifacts of authentic teen angst that tell of unrequited crushes, awkward hookups, odd celebrity infatuations, and all manner of romantic catastrophes. The now older (and allegedly wiser) authors of these letters, lyrics, and journals bravely share their shame in stories that range from sweetly hopeful to borderline psychotic.
Everyone who ever obsessed over whether that guy or girl in algebra class liked them, or, y'know, liked them liked them, will relish this funny and touching valentine to our collective past
PUBLISHERS WEEKLY
If the only way to heal painful high school memories is to laugh at someone else's painful high school memories, this book can accurately be labeled the antidote. Based on Nadelberg's stage show of the same name, this is a raw, hilarious compendium of real childhood and high school journals, essays and letters, with rueful commentary from their now-adult writers-each of whom deserve applause for their bravery and generosity. Entries enumerate the dumb-founding horror of sexual awakening ("I like him. But I don't know if I like him. But I don't hate him. I don't wanna like him!"), the frustration of feeling different ("I hate Black History Month. It's the one month out of the year when white people feel comfortable to ask me all sorts of strange, inappropriate questions") and the bizarre dreams of adolescence (such as one contributor's Duran Duran fan fiction, which must be read to be believed). Unafraid to delve into sex and drugs, Nadelberg even includes some charming amateur erotica written by a clueless twelve-year-old. Illustrated with great awkward-phase photos, this treasure-chest of confusion and angst will make readers squirm and smile with the realization that, as Nadelberg puts it, "we were all that same strange kid."
