Critique My Best Friend’s Book?

Question by Julia Thorn: Critique my best friend’s book?
My best friend’s writing a novel and I think it’s pretty good. But for some reason she doesn’t think it’s that good. it’s like she doesn’t think her style is good enough. I read the first chapter. It’s about this girl called Andrea who finds out that her best friend Ana died.
I asked her if she minded about posting some of her work on here and she says it’s fine. As long as I don’t give it all.
Here’s an excerpt of it. What do you think of her style?

I sat up straight; the damp washcloth fell on my lap. I picked it up and bit my lower lip. “Chris, you don’t have to do all this. I’m fine.”

He leaned forward to take the cloth from my hand, and then placed it on the coffee table. “You sure? You know you really scared me back there.” He broke off a little too late to hide his worried tone. But I sensed it in him anyway. It wasn’t hard to tell. I wondered if I looked as bad as I felt.

“Listen, I – I got a call from Eric,” he went on. “About…Ana.”

That made something click in my head. It was a small crack in the ice, something that allowed me to feel a little. Hearing her name from someone else just made the pain harder to bear. Trying to keep my face expressionless, I reached for the mug and cupped it in both my hands. It was warm, soothing. Still, nothing against the cold that coursed through my veins.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“Chris?” Again, I felt like I was being driven by some inner force. The words were not mine.

I placed the mug back down. He looked up at me and waited as I fought my mental battle, desperately searching for words.

“I just…” My hands waved and moved in gestures I didn’t understand. Maybe it had been better if I only communicated in sign language; speaking while trying to hold back tears was too hard. “I don’t feel much, and I know I should. It’s just that I –”

“It’s ok,” he interrupted softly. “You’re in shock.”

A small shudder rippled through me as I pushed the tears further back, somewhere where they couldn’t possibly escape. I wasn’t going to cry tonight.

To me, crying was more than just a weakness; it was submission, surrender. And I wasn’t the type to give in so easily, freely spill myself into frequent greedy hands, where I could be used and abused without second thoughts. For years I’d learned to keep myself pent up, rather than give myself away. It was better that way. I would know.

“Hey,” Chris murmured softly. He reached over and patted me on the shoulder in a comforting manner. “The case is open. They’ll find whoever did it. Don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”

I looked up at him. Pity consumed his features like a disease. He pushed the mug closer to me. “Drink it,” he said. “It’ll make you feel better.

Sitting there, staring unseeingly into Chris’s face, I was a little disturbed by the new surge of anger that flashed through me. Lucky guy, I thought bitterly. It must be nice to have a normal life, normal family, and not have to deal with the real world and what heartbreak it brought. He had no clue what it felt like to have someone you love –love and nothing else –taken away from you. He didn’t know the feeling, the grief, of having someone you’d treasure forever slip away into nonexistence. He didn’t understand that feeling, and would probably never come to face it.

No, Chris would never understand. He’d forever be his mother’s precious pet. He’d always be cared for, cherished by a loving family, and unexposed to the agonies of the world. While I, on the other hand, would continue to lose and mourn my entire life, over the suffering and wounds that he will never come to know.

The numbness quickly turned to rage and jealousy. I realized that I was breathing heavily now. It was the anger rushing through my bloodstream, devouring me. I tried to hold it back, swallow it in. I didn’t want to hate my brother.

“Andrea?”

He got up and came to sit at my side at once. Draping a comforting arm over my shoulders, he said, “It’s all right. It’s gonna be ok.”

It was too late to pent any anger up. It had already consumed me.

“Oh yeah?” I whispered cynically.

Best answer:

Answer by Midnight
plot wise I’m more into fantasy, but looking at it objectively it’s very good. Her style is very nice. She lets us understand what’s happening without being too blunt. She’s good!

Know better? Leave your own answer in the comments!