We Were Liars
Young adult fiction
Spending the summers on her family's private island off the coast of Massachusetts with her cousins and a special boy named Gat, teenaged Cadence struggles to remember what happened during her fifteenth summer.
A beautiful and distinguished family. A private island. A brilliant, damaged girl; a passionate, political boy. A group of four friends--the Liars--whose friendship turns destructive. A revolution. An accident. A secret. Lies upon lies. True love. The truth.
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Orange_Elephant_51 thinks this title is suitable for 11 years and over
Anna WMC-STAFF Kim thinks this title is suitable for 15 years and over
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THERE ARE SPOILERS! Cadence (Cady) is the heir to the very rich Sinclair family fortune. Her grandfather has a island where they spend every single summer at. When Cady is eight years old her anut Carrie meets a new guy (whom she is in love with) and he brings his nephew Gat to the island as company for Carrie's son Johnny. Johnny, Cady, Gat, and Mirren (whom is another cousin) create this group called The Liars (that only ever gets together at the island). When Cady is 15 something happens to the liars that causes her to almost kill herself. She then spends the next 2 years in Vermont or in Europe. When Cady is 17 years old she finally convinces her Mother to let her go back to the island so she can discover what happened 2 years ago. Also during those 2 years the other liars NEVER ONCE contacted her while she tried to contact them. So when Cady returns they are there acting like its normal and they haven't been seperated for 2 years without any contact what so ever. Basically after a lot of talking and some love. Cady discovers that Johnny, Gat, and Mirren died in a house fire.
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" We are Sinclairs. Beautiful. Privileged. Damaged. LIARS. "
".... And if anyone asks.... just. LIE.
Then he pulled out a handgun and shot me in the chest. I was standing on the lawn and I fell. The bullet hole opened wide and my heart rolled out of my rib cage and down into a flower bed. Blood gushed rhythmically from my open wound,
then from my eyes,
It tasted like salt and failure. The bright red shame of being unloved soaked the grass in front of our house, the bricks of the path, the steps of the porch. My heart spasmed among the peonies like a trout.
Here is something I love about Gat: he is so enthusiastic, so relentlessly interested in the world, that he has trouble imagining the possibility that other people will be bored by what he’s saying. Even when they tell him outright. But also, he doesn’t like to let us off easy. He wants to make us think—even when we don’t feel like thinking.
She confused being spartan with being charitable, and gave away her possessions without truly doing good with them.
She confused being sick with being brave, and suffered agonies while imagining she merited praise for it.
She confused wit with intelligence, and made people laugh rather than lightening their hearts or making them think.
We are liars. We are beautiful and privileged. We are cracked and broken.
Better than chocolate, being with you last night. Silly me, I thought that nothing was better than chocolate.
He was contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. I could have looked at him forever.
Do not accept an evil you can change.
Mirren pauses. Then she says: "Be a little kinder than you have to."