How Many Pages Does 'I Wish You All The Best' Have?

The brilliant mind behind 'I Wish You All the Best' is Mason Deaver, a nonbinary writer who brings incredible authenticity to their work. Their debut novel hit shelves in 2019 and quickly became a beacon for queer representation in YA literature. What I love about Deaver's writing is how they weave raw emotion into every page, making Ben's journey feel so personal and real. They've created a story that resonates deeply with anyone who's ever felt out of place or struggled with self-acceptance.

I grabbed my copy of 'I Wish You All the Best' from a local indie bookstore last month—supporting small businesses feels great, and they often have signed editions or exclusive covers. If you're not near one, major retailers like Barnes & Noble usually stock it, or you can order online through their website. For digital readers, Kindle and Apple Books have it, but I'd recommend the paperback; the cover art is stunning. Some libraries also carry it if you want to preview before buying. Pro tip: Check the author’s social media for occasional merch bundles with independent shops.

Absolutely, 'I Wish You All the Best' is a standout in LGBTQ+ representation. The novel follows non-binary protagonist Ben as they navigate coming out to unsupportive parents and rebuilding their life with their estranged sister. What makes this book special is its raw authenticity—Ben's struggles with anxiety and identity aren't sugarcoated, yet the story balances this with warm moments of found family and first love. The relationship between Ben and Nathan feels refreshingly real, avoiding stereotypes while showing the messy, beautiful process of two people figuring each other out. It's rare to find a YA book that handles non-binary identity with such care, making it a must-read for anyone seeking diverse queer narratives.

As someone who devours YA novels regularly, 'I Wish You All the Best' hits that sweet spot for readers aged 14-25. The protagonist's journey of self-discovery after coming out as nonbinary resonates deeply with teens navigating identity. The emotional depth isn’t overly complex, but it’s raw enough to captivate older readers too. The writing style is accessible—short chapters, relatable internal monologues—perfect for high schoolers or college kids juggling busy schedules. It handles heavy themes like rejection and anxiety with care, making it ideal for young adults who need stories about surviving tough phases. Bonus: the romantic subplot adds warmth without overshadowing the main narrative, appealing to romance lovers without alienating others.

I recently finished 'I Wish You All the Best' and can confidently say it ends on a hopeful note. The protagonist Ben’s journey is rocky—they face rejection, anxiety, and self-doubt after coming out as nonbinary. But the ending isn’t just happy; it’s earned. Ben finds acceptance in unexpected places, like their supportive therapist and their sister’s eventual understanding. Their relationship with Nathan evolves naturally, full of quiet moments that feel real rather than idealized. The book doesn’t pretend life becomes perfect, but it shows Ben building a foundation for happiness. If you need a story where queer joy triumphs despite the messiness, this delivers.

The twist in 'Wish You Were Here' is a gut punch disguised as a quiet revelation. The protagonist, seemingly vacationing in a tropical paradise, gradually realizes she’s not on an island at all—she’s trapped in a coma-induced hallucination, stitching together fragments of her past and a travel brochure she glimpsed before her accident. The lush landscapes are her mind’s desperate escape from a hospital bed. The real heartbreak? Her ‘romantic’ interactions with a fellow traveler are echoes of her estranged husband’s visits, his voice bleeding into the fantasy. The twist isn’t just about setting; it reframes every prior moment as a subconscious plea for connection. The final pages reveal her awakening, but the lingering question is whether she’ll choose to forgive or let go—a duality mirrored in the dream’s sun-drenched illusions and cold reality.

The ending of 'Wish You Were Here' is one of those bittersweet moments that lingers in your mind long after you finish reading. The story wraps up with the protagonist, a young woman who has spent the entire novel navigating grief and self-discovery, finally coming to terms with the loss of her sister. The emotional climax happens during a trip to the coastal town they used to visit as kids. She scatters her sister’s ashes into the ocean, a scene that’s both heartbreaking and cathartic. What makes it so powerful is the way the author mirrors her internal journey with the physical act—letting go of the ashes feels like she’s finally releasing the guilt and anger she’s carried for years. The prose here is achingly beautiful, with descriptions of the waves and the wind that make you feel like you’re standing right beside her. The last chapters subtly weave in themes of renewal. She reconnects with an old friend from the town, someone who knew her sister well, and their conversations help her see her sister’s life—and death—in a new light. There’s no grand romantic subplot or dramatic twist; instead, the focus stays on her quiet, hard-won peace. The final pages show her returning home, not 'fixed' but changed, carrying memories of her sister without the weight of them crushing her. It’s an ending that feels true to life—messy, unresolved in some ways, but full of hope. The book doesn’t tie everything up neatly, and that’s what makes it so memorable. It’s a story about learning to live with loss, not move past it, and the ending honors that perfectly.

I've been itching to talk about 'Wish You Were Here'—it’s one of those stories that defies easy categorization, and that’s what makes it so delicious. At its core, it’s a romance, but not the fluffy, predictable kind. It’s got this gritty realism that makes you feel like you’re eavesdropping on someone’s actual life. The love story is messy, raw, and achingly human, with characters who screw up and hurt each other but keep trying anyway. That emotional honesty is what hooked me. But calling it just a romance feels reductive. There’s a heavy dose of contemporary fiction in there too, especially with how it tackles grief and mental health. The protagonist’s journey through loss isn’t glossed over; it’s ugly and nonlinear, which makes the moments of healing hit harder. And let’s not forget the travelogue elements—the way the author describes places makes you feel the humidity of tropical beaches or the bite of city winters. It’s like the setting becomes a character itself. Here’s where it gets twisty: some readers argue it leans into magical realism, especially with the dream sequences and those eerie moments where time seems to bend. I’d say it’s more like psychological realism, where the lines between memory and present blur. The genre mashup works because the writing never loses its groundedness, even when things get surreal. It’s a book that makes you ache and think in equal measure—and isn’t that the best kind of story?