{"product_id":"turtles-all-the-way-down-isbn-9780525555360","title":"Turtles All the Way Down","description":"\u003cb\u003eFEATURED ON 60 MINUTES and FRESH AIR\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“So surprising and moving and true that I became completely unstrung.” – \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003eNamed a best book of the year by: \u003ci\u003eThe\u003c\/i\u003e \u003ci\u003eNew York Times, \u003c\/i\u003eNPR, \u003ci\u003eTIME\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eBoston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e Entertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eSouthern Living\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e BookPage\u003c\/i\u003e,\u003ci\u003e \u003c\/i\u003eA.V. Club, Bustle, BuzzFeed, Vulture, and many more!\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eJOHN GREEN\u003c\/b\u003e, the acclaimed author of \u003ci\u003eLooking for Alaska\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eThe Fault in Our Stars\u003c\/i\u003e, returns with a story of shattering, unflinching clarity in this brilliant novel of love, resilience, and the power of lifelong friendship.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAza Holmes never intended to pursue\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003ethe disappearance of fugitive billionaire Russell Pickett, but there’s a hundred-thousand-dollar reward at stake and her Best and Most Fearless Friend, Daisy, is eager to investigate. So together, they navigate the short distance and broad divides that separate them from Pickett’s son Davis. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAza is trying. She is trying to be a good daughter, a good friend, a good student, and maybe even a good detective, while also living within the ever-tightening spiral of her own thoughts.\u003cb\u003e\u003cb\u003e“A sometimes heartbreaking, always illuminating, glimpse into how it feels to live with mental illness.” – NPR\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003eNotable Book • A \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003eCritics’ Top Book of the Year\u003ci\u003e • \u003c\/i\u003eAn NPR Best Book of the Year \u003ci\u003e• \u003c\/i\u003eA \u003ci\u003eTIME \u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of the Year • A \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal \u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of the Year • A \u003ci\u003eBoston Globe\u003c\/i\u003e Best Book of the Year • An \u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e Best Book of the Year • A \u003ci\u003eSeventeen \u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of the Year • A \u003ci\u003eSouthern Living\u003c\/i\u003e Best Book of the Year • A \u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly \u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of the Year • A \u003ci\u003eBooklist \u003c\/i\u003eEditors' Choice Selection • A \u003ci\u003eBookPage \u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of the Year • An \u003ci\u003eSLJ \u003c\/i\u003eBest Book of the Year • An A.V. Club Best Book of the Year • A Bustle Best Book of the Year • A BuzzFeed Best Book of the Year • A Pop Sugar Best Book of the Year • A Vulture Best Book of the Year \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003eBestseller • #1 \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal \u003c\/i\u003eBestseller • #1 International Bestseller\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eFeatured on 60 Minutes, Fresh Air, Studio 360, Good Morning America, The TODAY Show\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A \u003cb\u003etender story about learning to cope when the world feels out of control\u003c\/b\u003e.” \u003ci\u003e—People\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eGreen finds the language to describe the indescribable\u003c\/b\u003e. . . .\u003cb\u003e A must-read\u003c\/b\u003e for those struggling with mental illness, or for their friends and family.” —\u003ci\u003eSan Francisco Chronicle\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eA powerful tale for teens (and adults) about anxiety, love and friendship\u003c\/b\u003e.”\u003ci\u003e —The Los Angeles Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eWrenching and Revelatory.\u003c\/b\u003e”\u003cb\u003e \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eTender, wise, and hopeful\u003c\/b\u003e.” \u003ci\u003e—The Wall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eA new modern classic.\u003c\/b\u003e”\u003cb\u003e \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Guardian\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eA thoughtful look at mental illness and a debilitating obsessive-compulsive disorder that doesn’t ask but makes you feel the constant struggles of its main character\u003c\/b\u003e.’” \u003ci\u003e—USA Today\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eTurtles\u003c\/i\u003e delivers a lesson that we so desperately need right now: Yes, it is okay not to be okay…. \u003c\/b\u003eJohn Green has crafted a dynamic novel that is \u003cb\u003edeeply honest, sometimes painful, and always thoughtful\u003c\/b\u003e.” \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eMashable\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eGreen does more than write \u003ci\u003eabout\u003c\/i\u003e; he endeavours to write \u003ci\u003einside\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e…. No matter where you are on the spiral—and we’re all somewhere—Green’s novel makes the trip, either up or down, a less solitary experience.” \u003ci\u003e—The Globe and Mail\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“This novel is by far [Green’s] most difficult to read. It’s also\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003ehis most\u003cb\u003e astonishing\u003c\/b\u003e. . . . \u003cb\u003eSo surprising and moving and true that I became completely unstrung\u003c\/b\u003e. . . . One needn’t be suffering like Aza to identify with it. One need only be human.” \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eJennifer Senior, \u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eGreen’s most authentic and most ambitious work to date.\u003c\/b\u003e” \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eBustle\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eAn existential teenage scream.\u003c\/b\u003e” \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eVox\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eFunny, clever\u003c\/b\u003e, and populated with endearing characters.” \u003ci\u003e—Entertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An \u003cb\u003eincredibly powerful \u003c\/b\u003etale of the pain of mental illness, the pressures of youth, and coming of age when you feel like you’re coming undone.” \u003ci\u003e—\u003c\/i\u003eShelf Awareness\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “\u003cb\u003eA richly rewarding read\u003c\/b\u003e…the most mature of Green’s work to date and deserving of all the accolades that are sure to come its way.” \u003ci\u003e—Booklist\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “In an age where troubling events happen almost weekly, this deeply empathetic novel about learning to live with demons and love one’s imperfect self is \u003cb\u003etimely and important\u003c\/b\u003e.” \u003ci\u003e—Publishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ “A \u003cb\u003edeeply resonant and powerful \u003c\/b\u003enovel that will inform and enlighten readers even as it breaks their hearts. A must-buy.” \u003ci\u003e—School Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003ePraise for John Green\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e- 50 million books in print worldwide -\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e#1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e Bestseller\u003cbr\u003e#1 \u003ci\u003eWall Street Journal\u003c\/i\u003e Bestseller\u003cbr\u003e#1 \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e Bestseller\u003cbr\u003e#1 International Bestseller\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e★ Michael L. Printz Award Winner\u003cbr\u003e★ Michael L. Printz Honor Winner\u003cbr\u003e★ \u003ci\u003eLos Angeles Times \u003c\/i\u003eBook Prize Finalist\u003cbr\u003e★ \u003ci\u003eTIME \u003c\/i\u003e100 Most Influential People\u003cbr\u003e★ Forbes Celebrity 100\u003cbr\u003e★ NPR's 100 Best-Ever Teen Novels\u003cbr\u003e★ \u003ci\u003eTIME Magazine\u003c\/i\u003e's 100 Best Young Adult Books of All Time\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eCritical acclaim for \u003ci\u003eThe Fault in Our Stars\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Damn near genius . . . \u003ci\u003eThe Fault in Our Stars \u003c\/i\u003eis a love story, one of the most genuine and moving ones in recent American fiction, but it’s also an existential tragedy of tremendous intelligence and courage and sadness.” —\u003cb\u003eLev Grossman, \u003ci\u003eTIME\u003c\/i\u003e Magazine\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“This is a book that breaks your heart—not by wearing it down, but by making it bigger until it bursts.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eThe Atlantic\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“Remarkable . . . A pitch-perfect, elegiac comedy.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—USA Today\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“[Green’s] voice is so compulsively readable that it defies categorization. You will be thankful for the little infinity you spend inside this book.” \u003cb\u003e—NPR.org\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“John Green deftly mixes the profound and the quotidian in this tough, touching valentine to the human spirit.” \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—The Washington Post \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003e“[Green] shows us true love—two teenagers helping and accepting each other through the most humiliating physical and emotional ordeals—and it is far more romantic than any sunset on the beach.” —\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNew York Times Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eJohn Green\u003c\/b\u003e is the award-winning, #1 bestselling author of books including \u003ci\u003eLooking for Alaska\u003c\/i\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Fault in Our Stars\u003c\/i\u003e, and \u003ci\u003eTurtles All the Way Down\u003c\/i\u003e. His books have received many accolades, including a Printz Medal, a Printz Honor, and an Edgar Award. John has twice been a finalist for the LA Times Book Prize and was selected by \u003ci\u003eTIME\u003c\/i\u003e magazine as one of the 100 Most Influential People in the World. He is also the writer and host of the critically acclaimed podcast \u003ci\u003eThe Anthropocene Reviewed. \u003c\/i\u003eWith his brother, Hank, John has co-created many online video projects, including Vlogbrothers and the educational channel Crash Course. He lives with his family in Indianapolis, Indiana. You can visit John online at johngreenbooks.com.\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eONE\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt the time I first realized I might be fictional, my weekdays were spent at a publicly funded institution on the north side of Indianapolis called White River High School, where I was required to eat lunch at a particular time—between 12:37 p.m. and 1:14 p.m.—by forces so much larger than myself that I couldn’t even begin to identify them. If those forces had given me a different lunch period, or if the tablemates who helped author my fate had chosen a different topic of conversation that September day, I would’ve met a different end—or at least a different middle. But I was -beginning to learn that your life is a story told about you, not one that you tell.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOf course, you pretend to be the author. You have to. You think, \u003ci\u003eI now choose to go to lunch\u003c\/i\u003e, when that monotone beep rings from on high at 12:37. But really, the bell decides. You think you’re the painter, but you’re the canvas.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHundreds of voices were shouting over one another in the cafeteria, so that the conversation became mere sound, the rushing of a river over rocks. And as I sat beneath fluorescent cylinders spewing aggressively artificial light, I thought about how we all believed ourselves to be the hero of some personal epic, when in fact we were basically identical organisms colonizing a vast and windowless room that smelled of Lysol and lard.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was eating a peanut butter and honey sandwich and drinking a Dr Pepper. To be honest, I find the whole process of masticating plants and animals and then shoving them down my esophagus kind of disgusting, so I was trying not to think about the fact that I was eating, which is a form of thinking about it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAcross the table from me, Mychal Turner was scribbling in a yellow-paper notebook. Our lunch table was like a long-running play on Broadway: The cast changed over the years, but the roles never did. Mychal was The Artsy One. He was talking with Daisy Ramirez, who’d played the role of my Best and Most Fearless Friend since elementary school, but I couldn’t follow their conversation over the noise of all the others.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhat was my part in this play? The Sidekick. I was Daisy’s Friend, or Ms. Holmes’s Daughter. I was somebody’s something.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI felt my stomach begin to work on the sandwich, and even over everybody’s talking, I could \u003ci\u003ehear \u003c\/i\u003eit digesting, all the bacteria chewing the slime of peanut butter—the students inside of me eating at my internal cafeteria. A shiver convulsed through me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Didn’t you go to camp with him?” Daisy asked me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“With who?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Davis Pickett,” she said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Yeah,” I said. “Why?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Aren’t you listening?” Daisy asked. \u003ci\u003eI am listening\u003c\/i\u003e, I thought, \u003ci\u003eto the cacophony of my digestive tract\u003c\/i\u003e. Of course I’d long known that I was playing host to a massive collection of parasitic organisms, but I didn’t much like being reminded of it. By cell count, humans are approximately 50 percent microbial, meaning that about half of the cells that make you up are not yours at all. There are something like a thousand times more microbes living in my particular biome than there are human beings on earth, and it often seems like I can \u003ci\u003efeel \u003c\/i\u003ethem living and breeding and dying in and on me. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and tried to control my breathing. Admittedly, I have some anxiety problems, but I would argue it isn’t irrational to be concerned about the fact that you are a skin-encased bacterial colony.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMychal said, “His dad was about to be arrested for bribery or something, but the night before the raid he disappeared. There’s a hundred-thousand-dollar reward out for him.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And you know his kid,” Daisy said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“\u003ci\u003eKnew\u003c\/i\u003e him,” I answered.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI watched Daisy attack her school-provided rectangular pizza and green beans with a fork. She kept glancing up at me, her eyes widening as if to say, \u003ci\u003eWell\u003c\/i\u003e ? I could tell she wanted me to ask her about something, but I couldn’t tell what, because my stomach wouldn’t shut up, which was forcing me deep inside a worry that I’d somehow contracted a parasitic infection.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI could half hear Mychal telling Daisy about his new art project, in which he was using Photoshop to average the faces of a hundred people named Mychal, and the average of their faces would be this new, one-hundred-and-first Mychal, which was an interesting idea, and I wanted to listen, but the cafeteria was so loud, and I couldn’t stop wondering whether there was something wrong with the microbial balance of power inside me.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eExcessive abdominal noise is an uncommon, but not unprecedented, presenting symptom of infection with the bacteria \u003ci\u003eClostridium difficile\u003c\/i\u003e, which can be fatal. I pulled out my phone and searched “human microbiome” to reread Wikipedia’s introduction to the trillions of microorganisms currently inside me. I clicked over to the article about \u003ci\u003eC. diff\u003c\/i\u003e, scrolling to the part about how most \u003ci\u003eC. diff \u003c\/i\u003einfections occur in hospitals. I scrolled down farther to a list of symptoms, none of which I had, except for the excessive abdominal noises, although I knew from previous searches that the Cleveland Clinic had reported the case of one person who’d died of \u003ci\u003eC. diff \u003c\/i\u003eafter presenting at the hospital with only abdominal pain and fever. I reminded myself that I didn’t have a fever, and my self replied: \u003ci\u003eYou don’t have a fever YET\u003c\/i\u003e.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAt the cafeteria, where a shrinking slice of my consciousness still resided, Daisy was telling Mychal that his averaging project shouldn’t be about people named Mychal but about imprisoned men who’d later been exonerated. “It’ll be easier, anyway,” she said, “because they all have mug shots taken from the same angle, and then it’s not just about names but about race and class and mass incarceration,” and Mychal was like, “You’re a genius, Daisy,” and she said, “You sound surprised,” and meanwhile I was thinking that if half the cells inside of you are not you, doesn’t that challenge the whole notion of \u003ci\u003eme\u003c\/i\u003e as a singular pronoun, let alone as the author of my fate? And I fell pretty far down that recursive wormhole until it transported me completely out of the White River High School cafeteria into some non-sensorial place only properly crazy people get to visit.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEver since I was little, I’ve pressed my right thumbnail into the finger pad of my middle finger, and so now there’s this weird callus over my fingerprint. After so many years of doing this, I can open up a crack in the skin really easily, so I cover it up with a Band-Aid to try to prevent infection. But sometimes I get worried that there already is an infection, and so I need to drain it, and the only way to do that is to reopen the wound and press out any blood that will come. Once I start thinking about splitting the skin apart, I literally cannot not do it. I apologize for the double negative, but it’s a real double negative of a situation, a bind from which negating the negation is truly the only escape. So anyway, I started to want to feel my thumbnail biting into the skin of my finger pad, and I knew that resistance was more or less futile, so beneath the cafeteria table, I slipped the Band-Aid off my finger and dug my thumbnail into the callused skin until I felt the crack open.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Holmesy,” Daisy said. I looked up at her. “We’re almost through lunch and you haven’t even mentioned my hair.” She shook out her hair, with so-red-they-were-pink highlights. Right. She’d dyed her hair.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI swum up out of the depths and said, “It’s bold.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I know, right? It says, ‘Ladies and gentlemen and also people who do not identify as ladies or gentlemen, Daisy Ramirez won’t break her promises, but she will break your heart.” Daisy’s self-proclaimed life motto was “Break Hearts, Not Promises.” She kept threatening to get it tattooed on her ankle when she turned eighteen. Daisy turned back to Mychal, and I to my thoughts. The stomach grumbling had grown, if anything, louder. I felt like I might vomit. For someone who actively dislikes bodily fluids, I throw up quite a lot.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Holmesy, you okay?” Daisy asked. I nodded. Sometimes I wondered why she liked me, or at least tolerated me. Why any of them did. Even I found myself annoying.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI could feel sweat sprouting from my forehead, and once I begin to sweat, it’s impossible to stop. I’ll keep sweating for hours, and not just my face or my armpits. My neck sweats. My boobs sweat. My calves sweat. Maybe I did have a fever.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBeneath the table, I slid the old Band-Aid into my pocket and, without looking, pulled out a new one, unwrapped it, and then glanced down to apply it to my finger. All the while, I was breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, in the manner advised by Dr. Karen Singh, exhaling at a pace “that would make a candle flicker but not go out. Imagine that candle, Aza, flickering from your breath but still there, always there.” So I tried that, but the thought spiral kept tightening anyway. I could hear Dr. Singh saying I shouldn’t get out my phone, that I mustn’t look up the same questions over and over, but I got it out anyway, and reread the “Human Microbiota” Wikipedia article.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe thing about a spiral is, if you follow it inward, it never actually ends. It just keeps tightening, infinitely.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI sealed the Ziploc bag around the last quarter of my sandwich, got up, and tossed it into an overfilled trash can. I heard a voice from behind me. “How concerned should I be that you haven’t said more than two words in a row all day?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Thought spiral,” I mumbled in reply. Daisy had known me since we were six, long enough to get it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I figured. Sorry, man. Let’s hang out today.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis girl Molly walked up to us, smiling, and said, “Uh, Daisy, just FYI, your Kool-Aid dye job is staining your shirt.” \u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDaisy looked down at her shoulders, and indeed, her striped top had turned pink in spots. She flinched for a second, then straightened her spine. “Yeah, it’s part of the look, Molly. Stained shirts are huge in Paris right now.” She turned away from Molly and said, “Right, so we’ll go to your house and watch \u003ci\u003eStar Wars: Rebels\u003c\/i\u003e.” Daisy was really into Star Wars—and not just the movies, but also the books and the animated shows and the kids’ show where they’re all made out of Lego. Like, she wrote fan fiction about Chewbacca’s love life. “And we will improve your mood until you are able to say three or even four words in a row; sound good?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Sounds good.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And then you can take me to work. Sorry, but I need a ride.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Okay.” I wanted to say more, but the thoughts kept coming, unbidden and unwanted. If I’d been the author, I would’ve stopped thinking about my microbiome. I would’ve told Daisy how much I liked her idea for Mychal’s art project, and I would’ve told her that I did remember Davis Pickett, that I remembered being eleven and carrying a vague but constant fear. I would’ve told her that I remembered once at camp lying next to Davis on the edge of a dock, our legs dangling over, our backs against the rough-hewn planks of wood, staring together up at a cloudless summer sky. I would’ve told her that Davis and I never talked much, or even looked at each other, but it didn’t matter, because we were looking at the same sky together, which is maybe more intimate than eye contact anyway. Anybody can look at you. It’s quite rare to find someone who sees the same world you see.\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"Dutton Books for Young Readers","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46301885989093,"sku":"NP9780525555360","price":20.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780525555360.jpg?v=1767743049","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/turtles-all-the-way-down-isbn-9780525555360","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}