☕The Book Was Better—and It Always Will Be

 

No, seriously. Stop trying to fight me on this.

Let me get this out of the way early:
I’m not here to be diplomatic.
I’m not here to offer “balanced” perspectives about how the film industry does its best and how adaptations can be “just as powerful in a different medium.”
Nope.

I’m here to say what every emotionally devastated, paperback-clutching reader has whispered into their pillow after watching a beloved novel butchered on screen:

The book was better.
It’s always better.
It will always be better.
And deep down, you know I’m right.

📖 Reading Is a Full-Body, Full-Soul Experience

When I read a book—especially a good one—I’m not just watching events unfold.

I’m inside them.
I’m crawling through the mud of someone’s memories.
I’m holding their secrets, their guilt, their heartbreak, their wonder.

Reading invites me to feel everything.

Movies?
Movies invite me to watch.

Sure, I can get goosebumps at a killer score or cry during a powerful scene, but it’s never the same.

Movies filter emotions through actors, scripts, and visual limitations.

A book? A book plugs directly into your bloodstream and makes itself a part of your identity.

That’s not romanticism. That’s the difference between tasting chocolate… and eating a full, five-course meal made entirely out of it. 🍫🍽️

🎥 Hollywood, Meet My Rage

You know what movies love?

  • A formula.

  • A pretty face.

  • An ending that “tests well with audiences.”

You know what books love?

  • Chaos.

  • Depth.

  • Complexity.

  • A devastating final line that makes you stare at a wall for forty-five minutes and then question your purpose on this earth.

Movies are made for mass appeal.
Books are written to devastate the people who needed them.

And if you’ve ever seen a screenwriter slap a happy ending on a story that was never supposed to have one, then you know exactly what I’m talking about.

🧠 Internal Monologue Will Always Beat Exposition

Let me paint a picture.

In the book, our protagonist is spiraling.
She’s reflecting on childhood trauma, the way her mother’s voice always had a sharpness to it that felt like a punishment for being alive.
She’s unraveling on the page, thought by thought.

The movie version?

A thirty-second silent stare while sad piano music plays in the background.

I’m sorry—no.

You don’t get to reduce a full mental breakdown to a slow zoom and a minor chord.

Internal monologue isn’t just “extra fluff.” It’s the point.

And don’t even get me started on voiceovers.
If I wanted someone to awkwardly summarize the plot while staring into the void, I’d read my own diary aloud in the dark.

✂️ What You Love Will Get Cut. Always.

That quiet chapter in the book where the protagonist takes a detour into a ruined building and finds a childhood relic that completely recontextualizes their grief?

Gone.
Not “adaptable.”
Didn’t “move the plot forward.”

The side character with the devastating backstory and perfectly flawed arc?

Reduced to comic relief.
Or worse—merged into someone else “for time.”

I’m convinced entire adaptation teams are given a checklist that says:

  • Remove all nuance

  • Keep the brand name

  • Cast someone who doesn’t remotely match the character description

  • Throw in a meaningless romantic subplot just to spice things up

  • Add action sequence

  • Replace emotional weight with slow motion

It’s maddening.
Predictable.
And it happens every single time.

🎭 Casting Is the Ultimate Betrayal

Here’s a personal one:

I once read a book where the lead character was described as short, stocky, covered in scars, with a lopsided smile and a bad habit of lying through her teeth.

The movie cast her as a tall, runway-ready heartthrob with flawless skin and the emotional range of a spoon.

Was I furious?
Yes.
Was I surprised?
No.

Because movies don’t cast characters.
They cast aesthetics.
They cast Instagrammable moments.
They cast mood boards.

And if your favorite character doesn’t fit that mold, well—good luck.

🪞 The Book Is Your Vision. The Movie Is Someone Else’s

Here’s the most powerful argument I can make, and it’s deeply personal:

When you read a book, you build it yourself.

The voices.
The shadows.
The colors.
The pauses between thoughts.

It’s your private universe.
You co-create it with the author.
The intimacy of reading is unmatched.

A movie, no matter how well-intentioned, will always be someone else’s interpretation of a thing that lived entirely in your head.

And that’s the most brutal kind of loss—
Watching something that once felt infinite become fixed, small, defined.

I don’t care how “visually stunning” it is.

It’s still someone else’s version of my memory.

And I don’t want that.

🕳️ But Wait—What About the “Good” Adaptations?

Sure, there are watchable adaptations. Some even do justice to the idea of the book.

  • The Hunger Games? Good effort.

  • The Lord of the Rings? Beautiful, even if Tom Bombadil was erased from existence.

  • The Book Thief? It tried.

  • Coraline? Maybe. Maybe.

  • Annihilation? Actually kind of haunting in its own right.

But even the “best” adaptations—still not better.

Not deeper.
Not more memorable.
Not more transformative.

The books still hold the crown. Every time.

💬 So Why Do People Keep Saying the Movie Was Better?

Because they didn’t read the book.

Or they read it five years ago, barely remember it, and just saw the movie yesterday while eating takeout.

Or—and this is the one that really kills me—
They didn’t get the book.

They needed it to be more literal.
More exciting.
Less sad.
More… digestible.

The movie simplified the pain.
Glossed over the trauma.
Sped up the redemption.
Tied everything in a neat little bow.

And that’s the version they liked more?

Of course it is.
It’s easier.
It asks less of you.

Books ask more.
Books demand your presence.
Books hurt you on purpose.

And that’s exactly why they’re better.

🔥 Let Me Be Clear

This isn’t just about preference.

This is about the fact that books allow for emotional complexity that movies can’t replicate.

It’s about the fact that the written word—when wielded with intention—becomes your memory.

And that can’t be adapted.

No actor can deliver a line the way it echoed in your head when you first read it.

No soundtrack can replace the silence between two sentences that changed you.

🎤 Final Thought (And Yes, It’s a Challenge)

Go ahead. Watch the movie first.
Tell me it was “good.”
Tell me you cried.

Then read the book.
Really read it.
Let it sit with you.
Let it bruise you.

Then come back and try to tell me the movie was better.

I’ll wait.

☕ Let’s Argue

Agree? Disagree?
What book-to-movie adaptation made you want to throw your popcorn at the screen?
What scenes should never have been cut?

Drop your hot takes in the comments. Let’s talk.

#Mindsindesign #Makitiathompson #Themiduniverse

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