I love the YA community on the interwebs. Truly, I do. Twitter, Goodreads, and the blogosphere are great places to read the thoughts and opinions of many smart, fascinating, righteous folks (writers, librarians, book bloggers, teachers, etc.) who deserve your attention. They are diligently trying to make the world better which is, really, what we all should be doing.
Because I have an infant and rarely see movies in the theater anymore, I didn’t see Nightcrawler until a few months after it was released on Netflix. In case you haven’t seen it, the film follows the highly-motivated, thirty-something Louis Bloom as he tries to make a career for himself as a videographer who sells gritty footage to news stations. It’s beautifully shot, well-acted, and gripping as hell. Seriously, I really enjoyed it. I swear. But something about it bothered me and continued to nag at my arguably overly-sensitive sensibilities for days.