Last week I set out on an expedition to find and read a Colleen Hoover book.
I’m an English major and, more relevantly, a lifelong literary elitist. Pretentious books have been the pillars of my superiority complex since grade school, as I peered disdainfully at my classmates’ beyblade battles over my copy of “Beowulf” and once told my seventh-grade teacher that I found “Great Expectations” just so much more rewarding when reading it for the third time.