Little storytime many years ago my abusive father bought me the copy of City of Glass that I have. He didn’t pay for it as an act of love or care for my interests but as a way to give the appearance of a good father. He signed the first page of the book as he would do with every book, as a way to enhance the performance and to establish control over my belongings. When I got home that day I tore that page off and flushed it down the toilet.
City of Glass was the first book I read where the abusive father wasn’t redeemed or forgiven, but is instead killed by an angel shooting a fucking laser at his chest. Jace Herondale was the first character I read that was going through the feelings that I was going through, and the first character that I saw healing and growing in the way that I couldn’t imagine for myself at the time.
A few days ago I got the chance to meet Cassandra Clare. She signed my copy of City of Glass, on the second page.