Pretty Amy is gritty. It’s raw. It’s in your face. It’s real.
I’ve seen a handful of complaints about this book since its release, most of which refer to the drug use or language. If you ask me, though, this is what the young adult genre needs more of. There need to be more books, and more authors, that are willing to go there . The place that targets real teenagers, their thought processes, their surroundings.
Amy is confused. She doesn’t really know who she is; she finds her identity through two friends that are essentially her crutches. Her inner monologue is hard to read, because it is very self-deprecating, but it’s so true to life for so many people Amy’s age. I wish I’d had a book like this when I was seventeen.
Find your own identity. Don’t transform yourself into another person’s image just to fit in. It’s okay to not fit the mold. It took Amy a long time, and a crap-ton of consequences, to figure this out, but I’m happy she did before it was too late. I saw a lot of myself in Amy, which is probably why I was rooting for her so strongly.