From the #1 New York Times bestselling author of I’m Glad My Mom Died comes a sad, funny, thrilling novel about sex, consumerism, class, desire, loneliness, the internet, rage, intimacy, power, and the (oftentimes misguided) lengths we’ll go to in order to get what we want.

Waldo is ravenous. Horny. Blunt. Naive. Wise. Impulsive. Lonely. Angry. Forceful. Hurting. Perceptive. Endlessly wanting. And the thing she wants most of all: Mr. Korgy, her creative writing teacher with the wife and the kid and the mortgage and the bills, with the dead dreams and the atrophied looks and the growing paunch. She doesn’t know why she wants him. Is it his passion? His life experience? The fact that he knows books and films and things that she doesn’t? Or is it purer than that, rooted in their unlikely connection, their kindred spirits, the similar filter with which they each take in the world around them? Or, perhaps, it’s just enough that he sees her when no one else does.

Startlingly perceptive, mordantly funny, and keenly poignant, Half His Age is a rich character study of a yearning seventeen-year-old who disregards all obstacles—or attempts to overcome them—in her effort to be seen, to be desired, to be loved.

This was a book I went into with high expectations after loving I’m Glad My Mom Died, and I’m happy to say it didn’t disappoint. That said, I want to be upfront. This book will not be for everyone. I can already see why Waldo, the main character, is rubbing some readers the wrong way. Personally, I adored her. Mostly because I understood her. At one point in my life, I was very much like her.

Waldo is seventeen and aching with want. She is impulsive, sharp, lonely, horny, perceptive, and deeply unmoored. She’s trying to fill a void that she doesn’t yet have the language to describe. Her mother is emotionally absent. Her father is a ghost. And Waldo spends most of her energy searching for something, anything, that might make her feel seen and whole.

For Waldo, that search takes a few forms. One is compulsive online shopping. She fills her cart with cheap clothing and trinkets, mostly from fast fashion sites, and hits purchase when she feels overwhelmed or out of control. It’s not about the stuff. It’s about the momentary relief. The illusion of comfort. The promise that the next delivery might finally fix something inside her.

The other fixation is far more complicated. Waldo becomes obsessed with her creative writing teacher, Mr. Korgy. She wants him. Then she gets him. And then she wants more. Their relationship is deeply inappropriate, and the book never pretends otherwise, but it’s also written with an unflinching honesty that refuses easy moral packaging. Waldo isn’t naïve about what she’s doing. She’s selfish and she’s desperate. And desperation can be incredibly clarifying.

What I appreciated most is that this book doesn’t flatten Waldo into a cautionary tale. She’s not written to be likable. She’s written to be real. Her impulses are messy. Her choices are often bad. But they make emotional sense. She’s trying to fill a hole left by neglect, absence, and unmet emotional needs, and she reaches for whatever feels shiny, affirming, and immediate.

I think this is where some readers may struggle. Waldo can be frustrating. She makes the same mistakes repeatedly. She doesn’t learn neat lessons on a tidy timeline. But that’s also why the book rang so true for me. I recognized that hunger. I recognized the way wanting something can intensify the harder it is to obtain. I recognized the way empty spaces can drive us toward people and habits that can’t possibly give us what we’re looking for.

The writing is sharp, blunt, and often very funny in a dark, uncomfortable way. McCurdy has a talent for nailing the internal monologue of someone who is both painfully self-aware and completely out of control. There’s a rawness here that feels intentional. The book doesn’t offer clean resolutions or redemption arcs. It offers problems, consequences and lots of lingering discomfort.

And I loved that.

This is not a story about growth in the traditional sense. It’s about being in the middle of the mess. About wanting to be seen and loved so badly that you’re willing to ignore every red flag waving in your face. Waldo’s relationship with Mr. Korgy is not romanticized, but it is rendered with complexity, which I appreciated. The power imbalance is present. The damage is real. But the emotional truth of Waldo’s experience is never dismissed.

This is a bold, uncomfortable, and deeply empathetic character study. It won’t hold your hand or tell you how to feel. It simply presents a girl who is yearning, spiraling, and trying to survive her own neediness. For readers willing to sit with that discomfort, this book has a lot to offer. I finished it feeling unsettled, seen, and grateful that it didn’t try to clean itself up for me.

Reading Challenge(s):