Most of the reviews I've skimmed settle on the same two points: the raw, undeniable power of the story, and the frustration with its perceived heavy-handedness. The praise focuses almost entirely on its urgency. Readers who connect with Starr's voice talk about how it made them see the world differently, or gave voice to experiences they'd only understood abstractly. They highlight the family dynamics as a particular strength—Starr's parents feel real, their love and fear are palpable. The critique, though, usually centers on the prose and characterization. Some find the dialogue, especially from Starr's white friends at school, to be a bit on the nose, serving more as a vehicle for illustrating microaggressions than sounding like actual teen banter. Others wish the novel had explored Khalil's life more deeply before the shooting, feeling his character exists primarily as a catalyst. I think a lot of that criticism misses the point that Starr's limited perspective is the whole engine of the story; we only know what she knows and sees, which includes the flattening of Khalil's life by the media narrative. It's a book that demands an emotional reaction, and the negative reviews often seem to come from a place of resisting that demand, calling it 'preachy' when others call it 'necessary.'
Frankly, I found the classroom scenes with Ms. Rosalie and the discussions about code-switching to be the most nuanced parts, a quiet brilliance that gets overshadowed by the louder, more dramatic moments.