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my rating |
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58
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| 177843052X
| 9781778430527
| 177843052X
| 4.83
| 6
| unknown
| Sep 03, 2024
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None
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Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
not set
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Jul 12, 2024
|
Paperback
| ||||||||||||||
57
| 
| 0385545428
| 9780385545426
| 0385545428
| 3.78
| 8,988
| Aug 27, 2019
| Nov 12, 2019
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None
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Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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not set
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May 20, 2024
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Hardcover
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52
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| B0BTZW48Q6
| 3.57
| 25,515
| Sep 12, 2023
| Sep 12, 2023
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it was ok
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**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on cults, mental illness, physical violence, physical abuse, psychological abuse, the loss of a loved one, grief, promiscuity & others. The mysterious allure of the morbid drew me once again to a book that was not written for me. This statement is not to be interpreted as a petty nuisance or as a bourgeois stance on the department of stories. Rather, the seasoned reader; the reader whose mind longs for the ghouls to show their malicious tendons in the night; the reader who wishes the grotesques spoke riddles & mumbled turmoil into the wind, will find themselves stunned into stone by the catatonically monotonous premise & plot of this book. It would be an understatement to say that I am disappointed. As a lover of Horror in all its many ludicrous forms, I cannot help but develop sentiments of eagerness when faced with the opportunity to add a new author to the inventory. Awad’s name is everywhere; readers boast about her writing skills as though no book had ever been so well written in the history of stories before she picked her pen & drenched the page in ink. I will not shy away from saying that I have very little faith in the collective when it comes to social media’s darling authors. Certainly, it would be ignorant to say that authors whose work has become popular are not worth your time in retired Canadian pennies. There are thousands of writers around the world, it just so happens that a collective group of people feel the need to share their enthusiasm & there is nothing wrong with that. However, here I sit, conflicted & not a little bit confused about the plot I just read. I have seen no criticism of Awad’s work that veered from praise; no single word shadowing a disappointment or lack of thrill. Once again, it would be untruthful of me to say that this did not leave me intrigued. It is human nature to feel the pull of the wave of joy that surfs the social medias in which we visit. The main character in this book, Mirabelle, is a victim of this feeling as well. Yet, so rarely does the dive pay off. I became quickly aware that I had been duped, led astray & left to rot with a story that made no sense & not because it was illogical but because it had been done before, with depth & talent; to find myself reading a semi-sewn attempt at derivative work from the fables & fairytales well-known, was tedious at best. To begin at the start, this book is about Mirabelle who travels to the California coast from Montréal, Québec, following the sudden death of her mother, Noelle. Mirabelle is an awkward person. Her personality veers on reflective, never actually adopting any depth or sense of self. Though readers might be inclined to state that this is intentional, there is a fine line between vapid & struggling. Never once throughout the entire novel does the main character experience any level of growth or revitalization from her self-loathing. This can be read as a consequence of a poorly built character, one who has so few things going for her that there is little desire to add dimension. This very same fault befalls all the characters in this book. Not one in the array of casual tertiary characters develops an identity all their own; there is the shop attended, the shirtless window cleaner, the fake-beard-wearing man, the lady in red, the twins, the manager, the male companions, & the mother. Certainly, somewhere among this crew, someone deserved to be written with dimension; someone merited to have a personality all their own & not be stuck in a loop of redundant dialogue & action. Hope as one might that a Horror may be written with the delicate syrup of a tremor in mind, this book fails at hitting the mark. Mirabelle’s arrival in California allows the story to adopt a dual narrative. At once, the reader follows her experiences in real time as she attends her mother’s wake, speaks to her mother’s friends, & walks the halls of her mother’s condo. In between these events, Mirabelle recalls the childhood that shaped her; her time seated watching her mother prepare for a date with another man who promised her movie stardom, another day complaining about working at The Hudson’s Bay Company (The Bay), another moment wherein her grand-maman, spoke to her of the end of the world. I appreciated the flashbacks to a youth, which was evidently deranged by the shadow of the ghost of Tom Cruise. That is not to say that I think the inclusion of Tom Cruise was a good idea. On the contrary, I think this aspect added a facet of lunacy that was both hilarious & succumbed the story to a Drama rather than the Horror it was purporting to be. The inclusion of the past proved to be far more interesting than any of the actual alleged drama of the present. I cannot necessarily fault the author for including a more intriguing aspect of a dual narrative. This is often the way of these things, one tends to prefer one timeline to another & the book hardly reaches favouritism amongst readers given none can agree on the superiority of the whole. Back & forth the narrative flows until the reader has grown tired within the first five percent of the mundane redundancy of the story. Throughout my reading experience, I questioned whether or not the author’s previous work followed a similar suit. How can so many people love a writing style that is so trite, corny, & bland? Cruel it is, perhaps, to say such a thing but, regardless, it is true. This story would have benefited from being half the length. The joys to be found when reading a novella are in the knowledge & first-hand experience noting that the author has kept the fruit itself succulent & juicy for consumption. Having this story play out within a novel format dragged it down. There was no suspense, no tension or worry, there was repetition & redundancy galore & nothing else. The sheer number of times the reader explores the very same passages leaves them with no other option than to call to mind the original works that the author has used to line her book. The red glass slippers ring true to “The Wizard of Oz” (1939). The path through the cliffs & the wood to a woman who houses sweetness, a callous representation of the Brothers Grimm’s “Hansel and Gretel” (1812). The shiny twin bodies of the slimy red queen, shadowy forms the likes of which can be found in “Alice in Wonderland” (1951). The wishful desires of the mirror are nostalgic reminders of the story of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” (1937). The castrated reflection aiming for independence is just such a one as is found in “Peter Pan” (1953), which was originally a play written by J.M. Barrie in 1904. The list goes on & perhaps the point of this book was to case the small plot in a magical world of familiar faces & actions so that the reader might find themselves eased through the story. I cannot say for certain, I am not the author. What I can say with certainty is that though these markers of nostalgia & similarity might ring a quaint tune, the story should not lie wholly on the backs of works that have already been done by champions of storytelling. Fables & fairytales can be adopted to find the modern consumer without necessarily regurgitating platitudes. I found the nomenclature of the Woman in Red to fit ideally with the lore associated throughout many cultures & centuries, with the Woman in White. Awad had ample opportunity to craft a tale dark & mysterious as the ghoulish masked face in the mirror for which she drew a pound of flesh. Yet, in lieu of malevolence turned beast & instigator, the reader is met with Tom Cruise. I repeat this fact twice because there were many more important things to explore than the movie roster of the actor. Mirabelle deals with low self-esteem as a consequence of her skin pigmentation. The child of mixed parents, her encounter with the world shines light on her mother & leaves her darker skin to callous, unloved. This should have been presented with the gumption that is deserved. Instead, here we come through another long-sequenced dialogue from the paranormal spirit in the mirror whose actual name was….Seth. What was the purpose of this? Surely, readers note the abundantly corny writing that nose dives into rocky gardens as an attempt to bring cultural awareness & link the reader’s own past childhood crushes to Mirabelle’s. Yet, this is supposed to be a Horror. This story is supposed to incite feelings of dread & malaise; one is not supposed to be wriggling with discomfort at a ghost named Seth who seems to speak kindness to Mirabelle who is experiencing colourism. Where is the fright? Where are the screams & moans of torment? Seth (a.k.a Tom Cruise) is a worm of a character who does nothing but bring down the quality of this book. Ultimately, I am aghast, not because of the cult of skin-care-loving abusers who slurp the soul like a Windigo; escape the legal system’s clutches like a Changeling; roam the countryside like maggots the likes of which feature in any number of episodes of “The X-Files” (1993); I am aghast because this was a story about listening to skin-care regiments & reading about the main character’s walk down the same pathways every single chapter. This book is quirky in the worst way. It’s shallow & tedious & truly a lost potential. Therefore, for any readers who consume literature as I do, you may take this voluntarism of my time as freedom in yours to save yourself the burden. With that being said, I know this book will be beloved. The readers who have found themselves eagerly knocking at Rouge’s cult door will nibble the crumbs of a treatment meant specifically for them; the sly grimy minds of the fandom of easy reading. As always, this is not said with malicious intent. The world needs all kinds of people—readers included. Though none of this story was of particular joy to me; joy in the sense of finding a story brooding & gothic like the haunting pain experienced in Mirabelle’s neglected & abandoned childhood; I am confident in my assessment that the plot is a gem the likes of which many readers will seek to possess & admire. As for those who, like myself, need something altogether different. The darkened rocky pathway leading to the house of the banal cult will veer into the ocean wherein the detritus of the Leviathan’s passage will ask us to be brave & dive headfirst into the original & familiar encasing of the deep. Thank you to NetGalley, Penguin Random House Canada, & Mona Awad for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! Merged review: It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on cults, mental illness, physical violence, physical abuse, psychological abuse, the loss of a loved one, grief, promiscuity & others. The mysterious allure of the morbid drew me once again to a book that was not written for me. This statement is not to be interpreted as a petty nuisance or as a bourgeois stance on the department of stories. Rather, the seasoned reader; the reader whose mind longs for the ghouls to show their malicious tendons in the night; the reader who wishes the grotesques spoke riddles & mumbled turmoil into the wind, will find themselves stunned into stone by the catatonically monotonous premise & plot of this book. It would be an understatement to say that I am disappointed. As a lover of Horror in all its many ludicrous forms, I cannot help but develop sentiments of eagerness when faced with the opportunity to add a new author to the inventory. Awad’s name is everywhere; readers boast about her writing skills as though no book had ever been so well written in the history of stories before she picked her pen & drenched the page in ink. I will not shy away from saying that I have very little faith in the collective when it comes to social media’s darling authors. Certainly, it would be ignorant to say that authors whose work has become popular are not worth your time in retired Canadian pennies. There are thousands of writers around the world, it just so happens that a collective group of people feel the need to share their enthusiasm & there is nothing wrong with that. However, here I sit, conflicted & not a little bit confused about the plot I just read. I have seen no criticism of Awad’s work that veered from praise; no single word shadowing a disappointment or lack of thrill. Once again, it would be untruthful of me to say that this did not leave me intrigued. It is human nature to feel the pull of the wave of joy that surfs the social medias in which we visit. The main character in this book, Mirabelle, is a victim of this feeling as well. Yet, so rarely does the dive pay off. I became quickly aware that I had been duped, led astray & left to rot with a story that made no sense & not because it was illogical but because it had been done before, with depth & talent; to find myself reading a semi-sewn attempt at derivative work from the fables & fairytales well-known, was tedious at best. To begin at the start, this book is about Mirabelle who travels to the California coast from Montréal, Québec, following the sudden death of her mother, Noelle. Mirabelle is an awkward person. Her personality veers on reflective, never actually adopting any depth or sense of self. Though readers might be inclined to state that this is intentional, there is a fine line between vapid & struggling. Never once throughout the entire novel does the main character experience any level of growth or revitalization from her self-loathing. This can be read as a consequence of a poorly built character, one who has so few things going for her that there is little desire to add dimension. This very same fault befalls all the characters in this book. Not one in the array of casual tertiary characters develops an identity all their own; there is the shop attended, the shirtless window cleaner, the fake-beard-wearing man, the lady in red, the twins, the manager, the male companions, & the mother. Certainly, somewhere among this crew, someone deserved to be written with dimension; someone merited to have a personality all their own & not be stuck in a loop of redundant dialogue & action. Hope as one might that a Horror may be written with the delicate syrup of a tremor in mind, this book fails at hitting the mark. Mirabelle’s arrival in California allows the story to adopt a dual narrative. At once, the reader follows her experiences in real time as she attends her mother’s wake, speaks to her mother’s friends, & walks the halls of her mother’s condo. In between these events, Mirabelle recalls the childhood that shaped her; her time seated watching her mother prepare for a date with another man who promised her movie stardom, another day complaining about working at The Hudson’s Bay Company (The Bay), another moment wherein her grand-maman, spoke to her of the end of the world. I appreciated the flashbacks to a youth, which was evidently deranged by the shadow of the ghost of Tom Cruise. That is not to say that I think the inclusion of Tom Cruise was a good idea. On the contrary, I think this aspect added a facet of lunacy that was both hilarious & succumbed the story to a Drama rather than the Horror it was purporting to be. The inclusion of the past proved to be far more interesting than any of the actual alleged drama of the present. I cannot necessarily fault the author for including a more intriguing aspect of a dual narrative. This is often the way of these things, one tends to prefer one timeline to another & the book hardly reaches favouritism amongst readers given none can agree on the superiority of the whole. Back & forth the narrative flows until the reader has grown tired within the first five percent of the mundane redundancy of the story. Throughout my reading experience, I questioned whether or not the author’s previous work followed a similar suit. How can so many people love a writing style that is so trite, corny, & bland? Cruel it is, perhaps, to say such a thing but, regardless, it is true. This story would have benefited from being half the length. The joys to be found when reading a novella are in the knowledge & first-hand experience noting that the author has kept the fruit itself succulent & juicy for consumption. Having this story play out within a novel format dragged it down. There was no suspense, no tension or worry, there was repetition & redundancy galore & nothing else. The sheer number of times the reader explores the very same passages leaves them with no other option than to call to mind the original works that the author has used to line her book. The red glass slippers ring true to “The Wizard of Oz” (1939). The path through the cliffs & the wood to a woman who houses sweetness, a callous representation of the Brothers Grimm’s “Hansel and Gretel” (1812). The shiny twin bodies of the slimy red queen, shadowy forms the likes of which can be found in “Alice in Wonderland” (1951). The wishful desires of the mirror are nostalgic reminders of the story of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs” (1937). The castrated reflection aiming for independence is just such a one as is found in “Peter Pan” (1953), which was originally a play written by J.M. Barrie in 1904. The list goes on & perhaps the point of this book was to case the small plot in a magical world of familiar faces & actions so that the reader might find themselves eased through the story. I cannot say for certain, I am not the author. What I can say with certainty is that though these markers of nostalgia & similarity might ring a quaint tune, the story should not lie wholly on the backs of works that have already been done by champions of storytelling. Fables & fairytales can be adopted to find the modern consumer without necessarily regurgitating platitudes. I found the nomenclature of the Woman in Red to fit ideally with the lore associated throughout many cultures & centuries, with the Woman in White. Awad had ample opportunity to craft a tale dark & mysterious as the ghoulish masked face in the mirror for which she drew a pound of flesh. Yet, in lieu of malevolence turned beast & instigator, the reader is met with Tom Cruise. I repeat this fact twice because there were many more important things to explore than the movie roster of the actor. Mirabelle deals with low self-esteem as a consequence of her skin pigmentation. The child of mixed parents, her encounter with the world shines light on her mother & leaves her darker skin to callous, unloved. This should have been presented with the gumption that is deserved. Instead, here we come through another long-sequenced dialogue from the paranormal spirit in the mirror whose actual name was….Seth. What was the purpose of this? Surely, readers note the abundantly corny writing that nose dives into rocky gardens as an attempt to bring cultural awareness & link the reader’s own past childhood crushes to Mirabelle’s. Yet, this is supposed to be a Horror. This story is supposed to incite feelings of dread & malaise; one is not supposed to be wriggling with discomfort at a ghost named Seth who seems to speak kindness to Mirabelle who is experiencing colourism. Where is ...more |
Notes are private!
|
2
|
not set
not set
|
Aug 27, 2023
not set
|
Apr 09, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||||
56
| 
| B08LDXW9Y2
| 3.86
| 64,816
| Jul 06, 2021
| Jul 06, 2021
|
None
|
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
not set
|
Apr 03, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| ||||||||||||||||
55
| 
| 1668014238
| 9781668014233
| 1668014238
| 3.85
| 18,670
| Jan 30, 2024
| Jan 30, 2024
|
liked it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on self-harm, attempted suicide, parental neglect, grief, parental abandonment, mental illness, & others. There is a particular aspect of fanaticism that renders the make-believe frightful. There is no looming monster under our bed, nor any perched ghoul on the roof. The part of our brain that engages with the imagery of these tales utilizes its power to remind us that the scales & oozing secretions could be present; they could become real threats, if, at any point, the brain decides upon a narrative shift. In a world where there are no fantastic beasts, we rely on the sharpened edges of stories, crafted from the sedentary troubles of terrible humans to rivulet the dark of night & send us tormented under folded sheets. The experiences of those around us shape the world in which we live, without our realizing that the craftsman’s hands are ailed. When the reader is introduced to Enid she is painted with crusted colours. The main character of this book is insecure; she has no fixture; she is on the precipice of snapping; she is uncertain. Like in many of the books I have enjoyed reading, the author has offered a morsel of time for the reader to masticate. Enid’s insecurity is an Everest, making her person fragile porcelain where once she was a stone. When Enid was young her life became a secret. It is never very pleasant to speak on things that hurt us & for Enid, her quotidian was filled with gelatinous beasts salivating in every corner. Her father, a man she hardly knew, had a short stint relationship with her mother; they became pregnant; Enid’s existence in the world knew him only as a shadow. Her father chose to invest his time with a woman who became a mother to two (2) daughters. As the story goes, what was first is now last & by the time it mattered, Enid’s father was dead in the ground & the cacophony of women left behind, responsible for healing the wounds he inflicted. While reading this book, I was reminded of what it promised me; a story that would comfort readers—the worst thing they had ever done wasn’t so bad. Perhaps it was pessimistic to believe that this story couldn’t achieve what it set out to do. I have been in the world too long to fall prey to the eagerness of what is promised; we are not always so lucky as to see our hopes transform into concrete reality. Rather than take my apprehension personally, this story continued on its course. I am glad that I was allowed along for the ride. Enid’s life is a strange one & that is not because it is unusual. Rather, Enid’s life is strange because it is palpably tangible. In Enid, I found much of myself & if readers allow for the discomfort of personal recognition, they might too. I can imagine that for Enid, living life in a house that was never a home was difficult, especially because her mother attempted to make it into a place of safety. Yet, both became enshrined by despair; her mother was no match for her mania & Enid, was left alone in the hallways awaiting the latch of the lock holding the bedroom door separating them, in place. This story deals primarily with mental illness & disorders. Nearly each of the characters is plagued by some form of torment. In this way, Austin has allowed her story to be real. The reality is that many people experience the repercussions of intergenerational trauma; what the reader is faced with in this book is the beginning of what might surely become a long series of pains. It was admirable to see each woman within this mangled family tree attempt to prevent what they felt could happen. The daughters brought into the world by loving mothers & an angry absent father, offered to each other the promise of comradely. Their efforts were wrought with distress but, most of all, hope. I was perhaps enamoured with Enid because she experienced much of what I have. Her paranoia & distressing anxiety were home to me in my childhood body & as I grew I became aware that the world was perhaps filled with colours in a palette I could not see with my eyes. How the author incorporates horrible things into her characters is earnest & I applaud her for that. I am hopeful that that Austin did not live these experiences firsthand hand though, the delicate nature of her storytelling slithers with the possibility that she sees in the dark too. Regardless, her ability to present eager or apprehensive readers will Enid & her life make her an author I will revisit until she decides to write no more; with shelves settled from the stories she held inside. The exploration of trauma & the denigration of brain matter as a consequence of illness is no easy feat to present. Readers might find themselves utterly upset by the story. It would be entirely acceptable for them to place the book aside, never to weave their hands across its back, ever again. That is to say; this story is upsetting. Enid is suffering & unable to find her way but, at the same time, she is strong & dangerously forceful in keeping her place in this world. The fact that she climbs through her window to avoid someone, or that she refuses to speak frankly with her mother about her feelings does not dismiss her essence; Enid is a force. I have written some points relating to Enid’s experiences & the story itself circles these in ways that feel rather trite to recount in a review. I have sat with my thoughts as they relate to this story for some time; what do I think, how do I feel, what is there to say? There are few stories among the thousands that I would simply pass on to others, wanting them rather to read what is written than hear what I have to say. Austin has a strangely melodramatic way of writing. Her characters are unlikeable & mean; sometimes altogether annoying. Yet, page after page, I could not loosen my grip, because they were human beings too. The romantic entanglements that took place as a backdrop to the main plot added a layer of dimension that felt authentic. One might relinquish their fear that Austin has simply added lettering for the sake of checking boxes or shades of blue to confuse the sky. Every aspect of this story made sense in that it was relevant. When Enid sent templated text messages; when she sat in the shower with the person who turned out to be the love of her life; when her mother wore lipstick; & when she thought about space & time; she was Enid & the reader grew to know her as one might any other important person in their life. Though I have added many sentences of praise, I would not advocate for this book for all readers. I will not shy away from saying that a handful of readers will miss the beauty in this book entirely. I admit that it is not my place to decide for them what is worth their time & what moral they should take away from careful writing. However, it is my place to state that this is a beautiful book. The facet that renders it lovely is the innate & intricate care that the author has brought forth. Readers are lucky to grasp the bind that holds love; the likes of which never disappear for it is in ink & stone. Where does this leave me & how might I conclude a review that is certainly lacking? While reading this book, I knew that I would not be able to compile all that is of value from this book into a single review. I found Enid’s earnest & tender recollections about special & interesting facts about space familiar & nostalgic. I wanted to whisper through the pages that life would not be unkind to her forever; tomorrow she would meet the reprieve she surely needed, as I saw it coming down the lines of chapters formatted just for me. Somehow, this experience has left a part of me within the pages. Humanity is a harsh critic, I will never lie & say that all of my reviews are kind; I have been harsh—nearly cruel in my comparisons & analogies. Words are very important to me. In the silence of hours, the twinkle of the eyes or the breath of a syllable can bring me back to the life I am leading. I have always found books to be among my most precious possessions; the discoveries I cherish like gemstones. When a reader meets a character like Enid whose life is torn apart by what she cannot describe & she is faced with people who cannot see her, the days of existence are very long; I say this from experience. Austin’s talent for truth & terrible honesty will have readers giggling & gruesomely sad. Enid is an innocent child; an innocent adult; she is an innocent person who placates herself by behaving as a phantom in her life. I cannot fault her for this. She is intelligent & hopeful; she is thoughtful & eager; she tries her best & sometimes, she doesn’t even do that. But above all the mistakes & her horrible incomprehension of existence, Enid remembers the stars & the galaxies & she thinks of them when she wants the people she loves to know that, she is thinking of them too. The most beautiful thing we have while alive is the knowledge that the entire universe is of its own; we are within it like a beating heart. Enid’s social claustrophobia & transferred revulsion stemming from the shadows in her memory are not cancer to her cells; she has healed in the only way she knows how. Therefore, I must ask; Who is this story for? Which reader will read the tale of a woman sick from the dark confines inside? Who among us will be eager to know Enid & her flaws? Me. Ultimately, this is a story about a woman who was once a child in a home where she was scared. Her fear manifested itself into paranoia & a demented sense of self. The loathing murmur of certainty has eaten her alive; no one is seated at the table to witness her cannibalistic demise. The reader has arrived at what is possibly the most ideal time. The reader will walk through the halls of a silent home, where behind the doors people are crying; terror brooding; rouge wasting; babies growing; the sky darkening; laundry sagging; dishes moulding; & a clock ticking the time passing as though counting down to the final moment when Enid remembers who she is. Thank you to NetGalley, Simon & Schuster Canada, & Emily Austin for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Nov 21, 2023
|
Nov 21, 2023
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
54
| 
| 177041732X
| 9781770417328
| 177041732X
| 3.94
| 754
| Apr 09, 2024
| Apr 09, 2024
|
it was ok
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on the death of an animal, domestic abuse, the death of a loved one, death as a consequence of physical abuse, the abuse of a child, sexual assault, pregnancy, adultery, miscarriage, & others. The forlorn madness of the shadow of equity has long loomed over women. Societies have cultivated a sentiment of superiority for the vanquishers; the broad shoulders; the tenor; the dweller; the man made a King. Barbarism has seeped into our communal area, slithering like an eel over the bare toes of the river wanderer; Where is a woman’s place? Throughout the years, many pieces of literature have broken the planches that offer themselves as steady roads into endless bodies of water. From within yellow wallpaper; the moors; the attic; the underbelly of the serpent is cool to the touch; she is us. After so many centuries of stories highlighting the plight of the female experience, readers may grow weary of the story that presents a villain in the shape of the lamb; a victim in the wolf’s body. This particular story was familiar to me as I have read it before. Veteran readers will find much to remind them of tales long since read deep into the night. Lovers of dreadful stories, ones that bring forth the gothic dread of the otherworldly sorcerer’s secret will also be met with an old friend; or an acquaintance that reminds them of the dreary night whence the soundtrack to madness chimed. It is not a negative thing to write a story that has been told before. The benefit of the exploration of the familiar is that the core messages in these tales are formatted for a reader who will see them better in a new light or, perhaps, who will meet them for the first time via this story. In the case of Ada Byrd & her melodramatic ravings, I am hopeful of the latter. As a main character, Ada is nothing special there is rather little to her person. Ada’s main characteristics are that she is frumpy; dumpy; ugly; loves plants; is a teacher; & is a lover of women. Alongside this list, one notes that Ada is an abuser of women & children; she has a violent temper; she is cruel-spirited; & is overall rather stupid. Perhaps that last one was not inserted in good faith but, I have a rather difficult time forgiving a malicious individual for their self-proclaimed intellect when their actions accuse them of the opposite. A cruel person cannot be well-read, well-informed, or highly intelligent. Smart people do not go around setting fire to the world. Instead of encouraging trees to grow & animals to experience their cycle of life, Ada endeavours to be callous & unkind to the utmost innocent life forms on the planet; Why is that? It is the marker of a small, stupid, & egotistically inept individual to be malevolent to those for whom life is a petal to the rose. In my introduction, I presented the account of female representation in literature. In this book, the author similarly presents Ada, as though she would be able to stand toe-to-toe with the titans of her time. Perhaps, I am wrong. It is possible that the author sought to write about a morally corrupt person for the sake of having her live on the page & it is the reader’s fault for believing her to be an advocate of women at writ large. As with all my reviews, I remain an advocate for the truth, & the facts, & I highlight that which is my opinion. Though this story is presented to the reader as though it will follow the format one is familiar with, it is entirely its own. Readers will find themselves in Ada’s journal entries in something of a new play on “The Tenant of Wildfell Hall” (1848) by Anne Brontë, “Wuthering Heights” (1847) by Emily Brontë, & “Jane Eyre” (1847) by Charlotte Brontë. I am not a great fan of stories that present themselves to the reader via journal entries. For one, this requires the forgiveness of the reader. The entries include quotations & detailed retellings of events that took place off-page; the character would need an insane amount of time on their hands to essentially write an entire novel as well as formidable memory recall to quote those with whom they have had interactions. If one can forgive this approach, as it rings the tune of a story within a story; one will be able to appreciate the details as though they were taking place inside the mind of the character as they entered their explorations of the day to the page. Ada’s character is not written to be likeable. There are few cases in literature where an author presents a reader with a person they will surely despise. To read this story requires the apathetic reader or, perhaps, the reader who awaits vindication. Ada is introduced to the reader via her interpretation of events. At once a teacher who pursues the profession because there is nothing else available to her, Ada is entirely wrong for the job. At times, her behaviour might lead one to believe that the story at hand was taking place far further in the past than it was. The events of this tale are rooted in the years 1900, 1901, & 1902. One does not need to have a detailed understanding of the culture of the early years of the century. The author does not write her story as though Ada was a well-raised lady of class. The language is dry & simple, almost as though to reinforce the fact that Ada is dry & simple. I would have wanted more from this story in terms of the vocabulary the author chose to employ. Ada’s character did not need prose to accompany her but the flow of the story did nothing to draw readers to her person. She is never someone the reader can trust nor is she particularly good at telling a story. She withholds information & recounts events as though they were Shakespeare-inspired scenes; whereas in reality, Ada is a lonesome woman with nothing going for her but the troubles she causes. I will make myself clear; there is a scene that depicts Ada’s rape at the hands of the man whose house she was residing in during her previous teaching contract. My previous comment in no way speaks to this situation. Ada is not at fault for the actions this man took; she is not to blame for the assaults she suffered. What I am saying in the previous paragraph is that Ada goes through life engaged in angry & vile behaviour as though she deserves a free pass because her father was abusive. Certainly, what might encourage the reader to reflect on the moral turmoil that Ada experiences is her long history of abuse. Ada loses her temper with the children in school, she beats a child, she treats children like they are the scum of the earth; she does not listen to the concerns of these children’s parents because she believes she knows what is best. One may wish to believe that the religious lifestyle chosen by the townspeople is ridiculous however, it is not our place to judge. Ultimately, the people in this town have had the opportunity to live whatever form of lifestyle they choose. They live in a small town in the country, they go to church, they pray to a God, & they send their children to school to learn the basics (i.e. reading, writing, & arithmetic). It is odd for Ada to wish to cause harm to children whom she deems poorly educated. Why would she not take it upon herself to encourage them to be better? Arguably, Ada does think that she is helping by bringing the children around the woods to look for dead animals; the river; berries; etc. However, these are country children. Therefore, it would stand to reason that they would learn about these facts of life regardless of Ada’s hundred-acre wood wanderings; these ultimately feel like a waste of time & do not accurately tie into the reality of the story’s setting. Though Ada’s appreciation for the natural sciences might seem odd for a woman at the time, she does act peculiarly. During her youth, Ada & her sister brought home animal bones, they drew pictures of dead animals; they collected fallen leaves, accords, & other such random things. Yes, it is good to be aware of your surroundings & no, it was not acceptable for Ada’s parents to physically beat her & her sister in response to their interests. However, Ada was a weird person from the jump. What makes her character all the more peculiar is that she appears to enjoy being odd. Her hobbies do not ring true to an earnest appreciation. Rather, throughout the book, Ada seems to do things for the sake of wreaking havoc. I am not ashamed to say that I do not remember any of the character’s names days after reading this book; such is the nature of a shallow story. I do not say this to be mean. However, there is no depth to this story. By the end, Ada is roaming around the country as though eager to meet someone who will tell her she is unwell so that she can openly assault them. Why is that? The story itself does not set up the pretense that Ada is a woman scorned. Ada is a person who has experienced abuse, yes. However, Ada is also a person who abuses others; she is sexually abusive towards her alleged “friends”; she beats children; she disregards the sentiments of people who care about her safety, etc. It is hard to care what happens to Ada one way or another. With that being said, the final portion of this book is reminiscent of “The Witch” (2015). Ada is courted by an unknown entity who is neither scary nor monstrous as it is given no form; no one can describe it except to say that it has appeared as a big dog—a Clifford, of sorts, if you will. Ada’s journals go round & round the premise as though coveting prey though Ada’s inability to speak with clarity was consistent throughout the entire book, therefore rendering the conclusion rather tired. Why would the reader care that a paranormal entity is pursuing Ada? What good could Ada bring to anything? Is the reader meant to feel fear? Is the reader meant to care that Ada will vanish into the woods? What makes Ada an attractive person to claim—she has no attributes to speak of. There is little detail given to the reader about the logistics of women being coveted by a demonic force. Those who have watched satires of horror films or who have delved into the realm of paranormal romances will have had their fill of the invisible looming darkness of Peter Pan’s shadow. There is nothing in these last parts of the story to make a person feel any level of intrigue. Ada murders her friend because she cares about her—how very predictable. What I am saying is that the pacing of the novel was unsettled; & chaotic in that it was not well-paced. Had the beginning of the story seen Ada act as any normal well-adjusted person with a secret, the tension build-up would have been superb. Scenes depicting the carved & hollowed-out eyes of children can be overlooked. A demon took a child into the woods & the child carved his eyes out because he couldn’t live with the sight he beheld; What does that mean? There are ample examples in this book that are well-placed for literature at the time of this story but which have no impact in the modern world. What is a thing that is too horrible to see? One need only turn on the television to be flooded with news stories of children dying in war. In comparison, a demon who adopts the shape of a dog is not so horrible as to curse your eyes out of your head. Therefore, I ask again: What is the terrible thing in the woods? Ultimately, I wanted more from this story than it had to give. The writing style was juvenile, simplistic, & dry. The characters were one-dimensional & offered no room for the reader’s emotional investment. With that being said, readers of Horror who find themselves with similar books on their shelves & movies in their repertoire, as me, are not the target audience for this book. As a debut, it attempts great things for those who have not drowned in the river of scares. Straub, Bradbury, Malfi, Jackson, Hogarth, & Reid are among a league of Goliath writers whose stories creep into the blood like leukocytes to the site of the unknown. It is difficult to write scary stories, I shall never deny that. What is terrifying lies deep within & it is the successful touch of the writer who sees through the dark to find the reader within. Thank you to NetGalley, ECW Press, & Elliott Gish for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Nov 14, 2023
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Nov 14, 2023
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Paperback
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50
| 
| 1774505703
| 9781774505700
| 1774505703
| 3.75
| 4
| unknown
| Aug 15, 2023
|
it was ok
|
Sometimes, the stories we share hold the unitarian goal of keeping a memory alive. Certain stories are of knights, dragons, & stormy skies. Other stor
Sometimes, the stories we share hold the unitarian goal of keeping a memory alive. Certain stories are of knights, dragons, & stormy skies. Other stories are of the shining star of a person that kept us warm in their embrace, with love, tenderness, & all the time they had in this life. This picture book explores the author’s short recollections of her grandmother—Nuakuluapik—in three (3) scenarios throughout their childhood. As a reader, an individual, & a person who holds memories of adults from childhood, I hesitate to know how to form my thoughts. This is not a book I might recommend because it’s not so much a story as a quick moment wherein the author tells the reader that once upon a time, there was someone who loved them very much & now, they are gone. There isn’t so much a story in this book as there is a quick succession of moments. At once, Nuakuluapik, is introduced, she allows the author’s childhood self, to help her with sewing, come on trips, & play with homemade toys. Then, the recollection is at a close. When I finished reading this book I felt the actual story was missing. There is no girth to this book save for the emotional ties that one assumes the author holds to the subject matter. This is a very cold way of speaking. My intention is not to be cruel. If a reader does not mind sifting through a couple of pages wherein a memory is clicked forward & then moved out of the scene, they will appreciate this. I wanted to know more. I wanted to be immersed in the memory rather than find myself sitting on the sidelines adopting an adult stance to what I suppose are heavy memories on the author's heart. Young readers will appreciate the illustrations & might even find themselves curious about the amplitude of what is being hinted at but, they will not be given the depth of the relationship that the young girl shares with her Nuakuluapik. This book has much more room for what is hidden in the heart. Thank you to Edelweiss+, Inhabit Education Books Inc., & Irène Jonas for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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May 21, 2023
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May 21, 2023
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Paperback
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49
| 
| 198218180X
| 9781982181802
| 198218180X
| 3.67
| 15,903
| Jan 11, 2022
| Jan 11, 2022
|
it was amazing
|
**spoiler alert** Some days, when the light hits just right, our inhibitions are slanted, & when the day feels like an awning for secrets, we learn ab
**spoiler alert** Some days, when the light hits just right, our inhibitions are slanted, & when the day feels like an awning for secrets, we learn about something hidden. On afternoons when the grocery line has tired us out, we find ourselves smiling into the face of someone we will probably never see again. Mornings bring the eagerness to spill our fatigue into the waiting hands of a barista in exchange for a brew. Part of the marvel of these interactions is that they catch the interlocutor by surprise, as though they weren’t actually intending to share that they hadn’t slept or that the purchase was a last-minute forgetful hurrah. Yet, there we find ourselves regardless, snuck into a small moment with another. The narrator of this story is the author or, if one is so inclined, it could be anyone they chose to imagine. The main character of this book is Jeff Cook, a man who adopted the tertiary role that we all do in other people's lives. The approach that this story took was wholly enjoyable, in my opinion. The narrator is waiting, as one does, for the next set of circumstances to arrive. In this case, he finds himself at the airport as his flight to Germany continues experiencing delays. There, he stares into a face he has not seen for over twenty years. At first, the unsettling way in which Jeff is decorated in the background of the narrator’s college experiences appears malignant. Every moment feels anticipatory; with one more turn of the cheek, a swiped circumstance will be emitted, something utterly miraculous to the mundane experience of post-secondary life. The sense of longing for reason persists throughout this story as the series of events progress from absurd to intriguing. Perhaps, we might regard the derogatory tedium of our own lives in such a way. I have certainly passed the same faces on my afternoon walks, almost every day, yet, never did they feel as shadowed as Jeff’s. The narrator’s oublie, lack of remembrance, and utter insouciance towards Jeff intrigued me. I had tasted something that made me nostalgic and wanted to come back for more. At first, glance, describing a story in such a way is strange because it is, after all, not a gustation. The narrator brings the reader down common laneways & allows them to picture themselves mirrored in the actions of his own experiences. The pitter-patter of a heartbeat as the car backs out of the driveway only to be met, once again, with the face of a person we have come to know as familiar, yet, who remains utterly unknown to us in his essence—this is enticing. I read on, seeking to understand how a tertiary character might have amassed the gusto to become the primary, centre-stage figure, in this exchange. One may decide that Jeff Cook was never a background parader but, has always been eager to find himself in a conversation that becomes a monologue. If the reader is inclined to jump around, they will remember that Jeff remembered the narrator even when the narrator seemed devoid of the same ties that bound them. Certainly, one might deduce that Jeff took note of the narrator as they so often found themselves in similar situations. However, what might possess Jeff to remember the name, the face, & the habits of a person so dissociated from himself & his life? It has always been to Jeff’s benefit to remember everything. When he begins to tell the narrator his story, we note that Jeff begins by roping the narrator into the sequence with emotions. What might lead a reader to feel connected to the story at hand is their ability to emotionally connect. One does not need to have stalked someone to have emotions evoked within their heart. Just as one does not need to have saved someone from drowning to feel the overwhelming sense of confusion, detrimental turmoil, & angst that plagued Jeff—these feelings are common & so Jeff employs them strictly to draw in the listener. This same tactic worked on me. I found myself reading this story only to wonder what might have prompted a person to write a book about a story that someone shared one time with people who are neither myself nor the reader. Why was I reading a story about another story, of which I knew none of the players? What made me want to read a book about something that is innately unfamiliar to me? These questions are very simply answered & they are to the discretion of the reader to reveal to themselves. Therefore, I must ask—why not? With the emotional senses & mental eagerness of the reader & the narrator engaged in this twisting tale of lies, Jeff repeatedly asks us to stick with him, to wait one more time for something more to be shared. This tactic is, obviously, very revelatory in the ways in which his story is shared & therefore making the reveal, that he most definitely killed Francis, believable. What are we waiting for if not the death of the vanquished? This does not make the story any less enjoyable, if anything it allows us to trust Jeff—he delivered on his promise. Does that make the reader as cruel & rueful as Jeff? Was the narrator waiting for Jeff to explain that none of the people in his story are around any longer? Would it have made both the narrator & the reader feel appeased to know that spoiled, crass, Chloe was now in a relationship with some poor unsuspecting fellow away in some foreign land? All along, I suppose we might have hoped for something different. However, Jeff has always been who he is. He has spent an entire story telling us that, somewhere along the line, it mattered more for him to survive to inherit the blood money of his foes than to collect on his dues independent of their sour source. When Jeff saves Francis from drowning he wants us to understand that this very moment changed him forever but, that would not be true. His recollection of events prods the narrator, before laying the groundwork for a moment in time far enough removed that the narrator would think the time had passed since Jeff was the strange face in familiar spaces. Jeff has strategically placed himself in a moment, safe from the world that knows him, to be the saviour & christener of life. Because he compounds such responsibility onto his own shoulders he believes that he alone can decide when time has run out. Many moments of this story allow the reader to break free of the narrative. Do we need to know that Jeff was without motivation in life or does that hit too close to home—is he overshooting his mark? Do we need to know that Jeff was just a puppy dog boy in a world of greying hounds or, is he overzealous in his desire to describe himself as the unsuspecting victor? What makes Jeff such an interesting storyteller is his inability to view himself as the antagonist. Ultimately, this is what left me with an appreciation for this book. The narrator does not try to convince Jeff of anything. When the story is over & the Odyssey has been told, Jeff is eager for commentary that might support the narrative that he has set. Neither the reader nor the unnamed narrator is inclined to provide more to the man whose ears are blocked with soil as a consequence of digging the graves of those he deems terminally useless. A simple nod of the head & an acknowledgement that anyone might have done as Jeff has is enough to confirm that someone was listening to his great adventure. One is never so lucky as the person who wanders the fields with their head bent looking for the four-leafed clover. Our intention & drive are what master the luck that befalls us. I do not think that this is a story that every reader will appreciate. One must be of a mind to listen to ramblings. The reader cannot trust Jeff & the narrator is not in a position to counter any of what has been said—he is bipartisan to the glorious world of wealth that has engulfed the sultry murderer in front of him. Francis named Jeff as the villain at first glance & Jeff was eager to pretend that every comment of similitude was in jest. Poor Francis was but a middle-aged fool too eager on wetting the sheets of intimate partners; he failed to look death in the eye. I believe that, once upon a time, Francis would have killed himself too—he would have killed the man that looked at him & named him for what he was—a self-loathing parasite. When all is said & done, this book is well-written & leads the reader down a road that is set with delicate care, especially for their reading experience. The detriment of the villain in this story is his need to be acknowledged. Had Jeff never told anyone what had allowed him the luxury he parades in casual encounters, he might have gone his whole life delighting in a well-crafted facade. The narrator, a man of prose, settings, sequences, & despair, makes no false claims but he looks to the reader with his eyes slanted to the side. Dribbles of faltering timber like cavernous mites awaken from the castles made of stone to crumble the story of a man for whom the all-seeing-eye of the author is unaccounted. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Apr 22, 2023
|
Apr 23, 2023
|
Hardcover
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51
| 
| 0385684290
| 9780385684309
| B0BP6M4WGM
| 3.96
| 1,254
| 2023
| Sep 12, 2023
|
it was amazing
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on fertility, pregnancy, a stillbirth, miscarriage, disordered eating, marital infidelity, Depression, parental abuse of a child, & others. The age of innocence is broken by the soothing claw of a human finger. One day, the daydreams & dewy grass of childhood are shed from our vision to behold the demonic figurines of apocalyptic mammals. The sidewalks are no longer a laneway for races & chalk cities, our brain must fight to withhold us from the depleting sensation of no longer having joy to engage with; no more giggles into the night, no more silly putty or swing sets; we are grown now. For the main character of this story, life has held very little mystery & the intrigues of childhood were plagued by omniscient adults deviantly intent on allowing the young to drown. In the mirrored fashion of the vampire, Dey writes a family into existence. The tree of their life seethes with a poison that renders their bark to tatter & break; the leaves to rot from dehydration; & the wind to deviate from its course. What has made me sit in reflection after finishing this book is my uncertainty about how to translate what I have read into a review. While at once a phenomenally enthralling read, this story remains disappointing, uncomfortable, & nasty. I would hesitate to recommend this book to anyone for the emotions left within the reader at completion. Yet, it is also because of this power of sentimental evocation that I twiddle my thumbs & wish to pass on the paper that has trapped me. Therefore, I will start with a reminder of the content warning. In this book, there is no certain conclusion—no resolution to the bad times. Readers are faced with characters who are both victims of trite & overbearing absences during childhood while also perpetrating vile & degrading behaviour toward children in their environments. This story makes no comedic relief in the darling way cycles rebound on themselves, nor does it evade capture by secretly hiding the reader from the villain inside. If you are in any capacity, near or familiar, with the experiences of this story, the reading of a fictional account that reflects the very daring reality of pain, might altogether feel too much like the quotidian you seek to evade. I hesitate to begin with the introduction of a main character because I do not believe that this story was written with the intent to be carried by a single narrative. In fact, Dey allows each of the characters, minus a select few, to abuse the narrative in their own liberal ways. Mona is the first character we meet on their journey through the psyche & she endeavours to allow the reader to become an escapee stuck within the underground sewers of the house that houses the mastermind of this tale. All of this is to say, Mona is a very gloomy character. Her narrative is sulky & forlorn; she rarely smiles & that is a strange claim to make because she may very well have smiled. Yet, I am left feeling that her narrative deliberately excluded muscle movements that would encourage the reader to feel that Mona was anything other than a victim. Stories such as this one are complicated to review. On the one hand, the reader is faced with the make-believe. As Mona returns to sit in her father’s company for the hundredth time, we long to find solace in her decision—she must know something we do not. However, as time progresses, it becomes difficult to sympathize with Mona. She allows herself to intentionally return to situations where she was harmed. Her claim to masochism is her need to have her father in her life. Here we find ourselves at the other side of the coin—why remain in a place which harms you? By the third dinner date, the fourth twirl up the drive of her father’s home, & the fifth phone call; Mona loses her shine as the victim worthy of sympathy. Is it wrong to admit to worrying less & less about a person who has fallen prey to the cycles of a narcissist? In the early hours of Mona’s introduction, we see her as a version of herself. We have very little information that would contradict this image we have created. It is simple to look at Mona’s environment & clock her as being the naive, innocent, victim of a bad childhood; of difficult circumstances; of pain. This conclusion is not entirely honest if not, rather misinformed. I do not believe that the author wanted the reader to feel pity or displeasure for her characters. I do not believe that one is meant to choose a single person to root for. Rather, this story feels too similar to the third wheel strung to a wooden cart; one has been invited to dinner in a home with no food to offer. As the reader learns that Mona is probably not the person they believe her to be, the story decides to introduce other people. Maybe this time around we might find Paul, the disciple of the family unit, more endearing & charming. Perhaps, on second thought, Cherry, the first infidelity & sharp-teethed abuser, will prove to be the tenderhearted lover all along. One is given no time to breathe while reading this book. Back & forth the pages sway. Is Eva a sociopath or is she her mother’s daughter? Is Wes a white knight or is he the faceless man in a ghost village? Where among all of these people is the rational mind of the leader? Who along the way will save the reader from themselves? Here we come to the more difficult part of the story to appreciate. However, arguably the most intimate. The children in this story are everywhere. No single character in this book was born into adulthood without first passing through the troll’s home under the bridge. In the darkness of the cold stone cavern, some may come out shattered from their hopes, while others snigger at the prospect that they are anything other than what they choose to be. The correspondence between the entire family was morbid. Reading about Eva’s holier-than-thou perception of self, & Juliet’s attempt at a good-natured bid for neutrality, made me feel depleted & tired. I couldn’t understand why Mona would allow Juliet to be the only one defending their side of the story—their reality. I felt horribly for Juliet as she constantly advocated for Mona while Mona allowed Juliet to be the villain of their version of events. It made me feel a great lack of sympathy towards Mona. To read through her inner monologue as she vied for the warmth her father would never give her by sacrificing her sister to the darkness of absence. Eva was not someone I had any particular feelings towards. Many people exist in the world as Eva does; void of natural understanding & shied away from the mental capacity to view the world via a tertiary stance. One could not expect more from Eva than what she was capable of—i.e. an overzealous ego & a depraved daftness with regard to her self-awareness. Neither of her parents—Paul & Cherry—ever gave her the opportunity to be anything other than a pawn. I found it rather dull to read about Cherry’s use of her own daughter as a plaything to win the affection of a man who didn’t have anything in his heart to give. Was the reader meant to feel sadness for Paul because he has no friends in his adulthood? Were we supposed to feel sorrow for the lost prospect of all the manuscripts unpublished & shamed by Cherry? The magic in this story is its ability to understate how deeply one wants there to be a winner. Perhaps, the ultimate joy would be if there were no losers. Cherry is an adult who acts badly. One might even say she is a bad person. She advocates for her daughter’s disordered eating. She pawns her daughter to the sharks in the hopes of safe crossing; she abuses her stepdaughters & treats everyone around her that isn’t Paul, like garbage. When one takes a reclined revolt at the scenes, one is left bent-neck & keeling in consequence of Paul’s absence. Every mother is the villain in the life of her daughter. The mothers are cruel in their lax demeanours, skimming the surface of apathy. Yet, they turn back to their children—their daughters—for what they feel is owed to them. Maybe, in the youth of every woman, there came a time when parental responsibilities became a necessary thing. It is both uncomfortable & degrading to realize that the adoption of adulterated behaviour is not normal but, a result of absence. The vapid space in family photographs & the paranormal wanderings of the children of absent parents will forever result in nicks in wood; the leading cause of splinters along fingers & wrists. The family in this story is despondent to their own ardour; their participation in the deadly game results in the next born faces riddling with age as their tears weary their brand-new skin. I do not believe that Mona is prepared to act any differently than her own mother. Perhaps I cannot blame her for wanting to skip out on life after she had to give birth to a stillborn child. However, Mona's codependency in her relationship with her father leads me to believe that her cycle of abandonment will continue to thrive. Even when Mona seems to make room for Wes, there isn’t actually space for his needs when her focus is all but dissociated from their relationship. Working tirelessly in the background of family drama are the houses. One day, the island will drown the inhabitants when it succumbs to the changing ocean tides. On this same day, or maybe on another, the rotting wood of Mona & Wes’ shared apartment will crush their lives & soil the sheets where they lay endlessly. The park paths & night ponds, the curving neighbourhood streets & sullied storage units act as simple markers for a world that is hardly inhabited by the characters of this story. Cherry’s cold stone house brightens only when the curtains are drawn. Paul’s mattress is warm only when the heat of a new conquest pools his heart. The houses that are meant to act as reminders of life are desolate. The reflections of the self that evoke these landmarks act as ravaged loins to the dull-eyed stare of the characters. There is a bedroom here & the kitchen is over there but, the home is inside & no one is ever admitted. What is the reader to make of this? We return to the start whereupon we have been invited to play card games, & sip water from a rusty tap while flies nibble on the day-old fruit laid out special for no one in particular. Perhaps, in the end, the troubles remain whether we are homeless or not. The temptation to reveal a pulsating wound is null; why would we be invited into an empty house at all? Yet, Mona wanders back to the patio space of a restaurant that is more her father’s special place than the childhood home where she grew up. Eva scampers the mountainside to be nourished by the essence of the world itself. Juliet has vanished into faceless family members she chooses, all but abandoning the original crew. Cherry is no more herself than her own mother was. Natasha remains stuck in the groves alongside her tender heart. Then what? When the reader closes the book & leaves the family to ramrod each other once more, there is no peace to be had. There is no settled fate, everyone dies & babies are born, & more people pass away. The unfortunate & sickening cycle of pain, intentional violence, glassy despondency, & stilted, fabricated hopes, all fall into the crevices of the buildings that house the characters. In all honesty, I am left wondering what the point of this story was at all. Not in the sense of grasping for equations but rather, why paint clear the vision that haunts the waking nightmares of many? To become stuck within the pages of a story that shares the insights of a family quite fabricated is an exceptional feat. Do not mistake my inquiring mind for revulsion. On the contrary, I would read this story again. Perhaps this review has said a bit more about me than is necessary. Perhaps you will meet Paul & be reminded of the argument winner who was never very invested in the dialogue to begin with or, you may find Natasha to be the representation of a person you once hoped to love. When a writer has the talent to be trusted by the reader, they have all of the power in the world. Who wants to read a story about horrible pain, morbid childhood memories, & sacrificial self-loathing? As it turns out, me. Ultimately, what Dey has done is written via the gall of pure talent. To feel so confident in the words one knows how to use is a rather cunning trick. A simple title; the walking fingertips of the eager veteran reader who knows how this story goes until they look up & realize they cannot stop now or they might be left with the feeling of suffocation forever. I applaud Dey for opening the cupboards in the vintage chalet to the common reader; encouraging one to dip one’s toes into the lake while fresh watermelon was being sliced. Only for the swimmer to realize too late that something was waiting for them at the bottom of the lake. Thank you to NetGalley, Penguin Random House Canada, & Claudia Dey for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Jul 2023
|
Apr 19, 2023
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
48
| 
| 103900296X
| 9781039002968
| B0BML65NZF
| 3.73
| 3,122
| May 23, 2023
| May 23, 2023
|
it was amazing
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on fertility, pregnancy, fertility treatments, bigotry, stalking, & others. The cold city streets of the unknown enthuse when a walker stumbles. The Canadian seasons foster the winds, rains, & humid atmosphere making the plaques of morbid windows sleeking the streets of big cities all the more ominous; we are never certain of the world we are walking into from the comfort of our home. These elements oozed the tension from an otherwise tedious story that brings the reader back to themselves. Yet, somewhere between blooming memories once suffocated to the corners of one’s mind comes the gentle reminder that this story is about Natalie. The cooing of her anxieties maroons the reader once more into the gentle rocking tides of the pages as they sway out of the hand, then in. Natalie is young, as we all were once. I found her to be an entirely strange person to read about because she was absolutely a person I recognize as myself. That is not to say that a twin flame guides us through life. Rather, Natalie is as morbidly self-loathing, destructive, uncertain, & intelligent, as the reader. Because Natalie is a person all to her own it is easy to find characteristics of ourselves to draw us to her—we want to see her succeed & we offer her our friendship as a token of our support. Her inner monologue sees the reader tense their shoulders & breathe sighs reflective of their nerves. Why doesn’t Natalie make the right decision? We have all been at crossroads placed haphazardly through life & we have all made less than insightful choices. That is part of being human. Natalie’s choices are not revolutionary in their destruction of her person, rather they are so alike to our own, we are once again faced with ourselves. When Natalie leaves her small town in Northern Ontario to attend the University of Toronto she is desperately unsure if she has made the right decision. She is plagued with the figures of her parents who, up until this point, cultivated a life for her that saw her clothed, housed, fed, & safe. At the precipice of such a life-altering change, Natalie begins to convince herself that none of what she does in Toronto matters, she can just as easily go home & be content to never have tried at all. Her course load revels in absurdity as Natalie has yet to find her footing. She meets people who pretend to know themselves & yet pollute the environment with bigotry & distorted views of who a person should be. When Natalie meets new, soon-to-be, familiar faces during Frosh week, she deliberates on her own ineptitudes. Whereupon she meets Nora, a woman in her late twenties, if not early thirties, who so happens to be sitting on a park bench near Natalie on the same afternoon. From there, the two participate in a sexual relationship that teeters on romantic; the intimacies they share are never named but are expected to be intrinsic. I suppose what made this book so enticing was the Canadian setting. I cannot help but be drawn to a place I call home. The streets of the city need not be familiar to the reader in the literal sense. Fischer has crafted Toronto to be a place wherein anyone can juxtapose their own home. The important thing to remember is that the winter months frost the warm feelings that Natalie tried to coddle; the summer sun zapped blisters onto the heels of her running romance so that it might never again achieve forward movement. It is important to note that Nora & Natalie share a rather imposing age difference. It is not indelicate to state that this is not an uncommon age difference & certainly Nora’s age is never revealed explicitly because Nora understands that, though under Ontario legislation, all participants are viewed as consenting adults, Natalie is immature to the point of needing to be sheltered. Much of what transpires between the two women is confusing. What draws Natalie to Nora? One might make excuses for why Natalie was enamoured by Nora’s breezy confidence the first afternoon that they met, but there is little reason for their joint attraction. Perhaps, the reader is meant to believe that Nora needed saving. I do not state this lightly as my intention is not to degrade Nora as a person. She is, after all, a highly functioning, independent adult. However, we see her sneaking cookies in the grocery store as though no one eats the food in their basket while they peruse the aisles. We read about her active desire for secret keeping as though she were once more a young child on the playground. Alone, these instances illustrate a person who is somewhat taken aback by their society—not yet part of the big-bad world that towers over us all. Collectively, Nora’s characteristics sing the tune of a person who is bewildered by simplicity. She eagerly abandons a meal she intentionally made with the intent of engaging in sexual relations with Natalie. I refuse to believe that she did not know what she was doing when she eagerly told Natalie that she would give her a tour of her house. Her abandonment of apple pies, snow shovelling, the reveal of inner thoughts, translucent dialogue, truth, & tenderness, is shocking. What has made Nora so jaded that she felt it was okay to engage in detrimental behaviours with Natalie? I can appreciate that Nora is troubled. The person that she loved most in the world is separated from her & she is on the brink of finding out that her fertility treatments have settled roots. Meeting Natalie might have felt like a reminder for Nora. When she was Natalie’s age, Nora was in love with a person who was smart & engaged in poetry, readings, words, & rhymes. It might have been enticing to meet someone who had so few inhibitions towards the world, their mere presence became the work of art they sought to produce. But that is not enough of a reason for me. When the coin is flipped, I find the same to be true of Natalie’s infatuation with Nora. What part of Nora was appealing in the delicious ways that unbridled physical intimacy tends to be? Maybe, it was enough for Natalie to meet a woman who was openly who she was. Perhaps, to be in the presence of someone who is tender during your first moments of something new, the heart longs to draw an eternal connection to them. To Natalie, it might not have mattered that Nora’s mind gravitated to the familiar, always seeking to bring her back to the relationship she lost. I found myself fully invested in their relationship from the start. This is bizarre to admit because very little seems to transpire in their relationship save for miscommunication. At once, Natalie is trying to tell Nora that she is confident in their proximity & that what she feels for Nora is love. All the while, Natalie is insecure in her role within the relationship. Both of these things can be true. I think that what made Natalie such a riveting character to follow was her dedication to herself. Her inner monologue felt earnest & familiar like the smell of freshly baked warmth in the kitchen of a home where love lived. Her inclination to use Google for the most absurd reasons made me feel tender toward her. All of the things that made Natalie a person one longs to see succeed were reflected negatively back in the secondary characters. Clara is difficult to read. She seems suffocated by the idea that someone might be queer, gay—a member of the LGBTQ+. Yet, one almost wants to reason her choice to ostracize her former friends because they weren’t honest with her. That small part of the reader that wants to forgive is soon set on fire by Clara’s intent engagement in the opposite direction. This person lives in one of the largest cities in Canada, one that has a blooming Gay Village. I cannot possibly believe that she, in this day & age, could not understand that queer folks might not feel safe to divulge themselves to the world. I say this but, I recognize that there are people out in the world, in Canada, that are intent on maintaining their ignorance. The plight of free-living applies to them alone & they are unperturbed by the struggles of others to attain a semblance of safety. It is disappointing to read about Clara because one recognizes her as the antagonist of the novel & of herself. Clara will most certainly go forward in life seeking to cause harm to the LGBTQ+ community because of her own demented sense of self. One remembers Annie throughout all of this & longs to whisper through the pages that she is supported. A character that grew in imbecilic action was Rachel. Part of my mind wanted to feel sympathy for her but, I was never able to achieve the sentiment because—like Clara—she is intent on being an idiot. I appreciate how Rachel was written into the story as being a genuinely awkward person to socialize with. Her inability to understand that people might read the same book as she had was astounding & made me laugh out loud. At the same time, I understood that we were once again, dealing with a character with immense immaturity. What prompted her to believe that she was different from anyone else at the University, let alone any better than Poets who had been naturally talented in the field—no schooling required. I suppose I am feeling somewhat spiteful. Rachel did not meet the consequences of her actions that I believe she deserved. She was rude to her classmates & an all-around mean person. Even when Natalie was inebriated, Rachel was focused on being condescending & short. Maybe she had never had an encounter with someone under the influence—they are chronically difficult to have a conversation with when one party is sober. I digress. Rachel is stalking her professor & yet the story simply moves past this as a consequence of including Jones in the narrative. Stalking is a serious offence & I do not think it was taken seriously by anyone. Rachel assaults Natalie when she broaches the topic & we never read about it after she continues to invest all of her energy into delving deeper into Jones’ life. It was very disturbing to read about a person who simply got to continue on in life, unhindered by the confines that legally shape our world. With that being said, the aspects of the book I appreciated include the particulars of the situations that I did not. Every part of this story played an important role in the total sum of the plot. It made me glad to see the way Natalie’s inner dialogue developed over the course of a year & all of the ways her person sought to improve her circumstances. Her slow easing confidence in her skin, the intention behind her eagerness to believe in love, & her deliberate innocence encouraged this story to become one of gratitude. We are seldom so lucky as to grow without grime. I am not so naive as to believe that Fischer wanted the reveal of Nora’s wife to have been some largely crucifying twist. In my mind, Jones was the obvious choice but that was not the point. The purpose of this story was to explore each individual character’s relationship with themselves, each other, & the world at writ large. We can conclude that the book would still have held intrigue had Nora’s wife been a stranger to us but, it needed to be Jones. Her character is well-established & lives a life fulfilling her desires. While we ponder what might have made Nora an appealing partner for Natalie we are nudged to remember that Nora is not meant to be an appealing partner for Natalie—she is an ideal partner for Jones. In all, I am grateful for this book. As a reader, I am enthused to find myself in the middle of a story that brings me back to myself. I cherish the experience of allowing my mind to remember. Stories that guide us through times in our lives reflect an intimacy in the talent of the author. Certainly, one who can write with so much transparency is someone who has understood what it means to be alive. Through the moments we are caught unawares, mind flown back in time, the eyes remind us of the blooming stories petalled in our hands & we are welcomed back once more to the time of now. For Natalie, I wish warmth, tenderness, cool raindrops, & gentle sunshine. In the world, there are many people like Natalie & I hope they find themselves peering into a mirrored spring stream & recognize the greenery that surrounds them, the life that exudes the scaly, salty, blistery winds of their mind. Thank you to NetGalley, Penguin Random House Canada, & Bronwyn Fischer for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Apr 10, 2023
|
Apr 10, 2023
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||
47
| 
| 082345083X
| 9780823450831
| 082345083X
| 4.35
| 471
| 2023
| Mar 07, 2023
|
really liked it
|
The delicate memories of childhood, sometimes hidden or darkened with age, have been given the opportunity to come alive on the pages of this book. I
The delicate memories of childhood, sometimes hidden or darkened with age, have been given the opportunity to come alive on the pages of this book. I have found Scott to be a phenomenal storyteller since I was first exposed to his work. He wonders with his ability to alleviate the weight of memory on the soul; maneuvering it alongside art that guides the reader to sensations of nostalgia & bliss. This particular book welcomes readers into a specific time in the life of a young child as their life begins to change. We have all had those moments, more times than we can probably count, yet it’s a complication to go so far into the past. With warm stovetops heating the house of his Baba, the young protagonist wanders under raindrops & over the wiggling bodies of worms on cement to tell us the story of how things changed. What I find most memorable about this story is how easy it was for me to become immersed in the story while allowing the illustrations by Sydney Smith to weave me back to a time when I wandered under raindrops waiting for my warm bowls of tomato soup near the special chairs where my own grandparents sat. It is truly a talent unmatched that upheaves the mind of the adult—one that is on guard & poised—back to a time when life was new when the weather felt large, the roadways river beasts looming as titans alongside us, all the while never alerting the reader to the journey. I appreciated that very much. Though this is a story that young readers might appreciate, I think that veteran readers might find a tenderness waiting for them, specifically, in the gloom of the dark shades; moments they haven’t revisited in many moons, for whatever reason. Thank you to Edelweiss+, Neal Porter Books, & Jordan Scott for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Mar 25, 2023
|
Mar 25, 2023
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
46
| 
| 152530657X
| 9781525306570
| 152530657X
| 4.22
| 217
| unknown
| May 02, 2023
|
it was amazing
|
It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on th
It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on mental illness, feelings of intense overwhelm, Depression, & others. Abigail is a girl with a dark cloud; it follows her everywhere she goes. Sometimes, Abigail finds herself forgetting the blue that colours the sky. Other times, Abigail is reminded that there are colours her dark cloud prevents her from seeing. Overall, Abigail knows that she has a dark cloud & in consequence, feels very alone. This story explores the reality of maneuvering through life with very intense emotional experiences. Abigail is a young person who doesn’t yet understand what it means to have a dark cloud, let alone know how to describe the experience. Throughout this book, the reader is allowed to be met with life under the cloud; exploring the shadows that loom over the rainbow world we live in. These books are essential for the reader as much as they are for those around; those with whom the reader might lean on to discuss the clouds that exist over many people's heads. Mental illness is a difficult subject matter to broach. How do we begin to explain the feelings that leave us submerged an inch from the surface? How can a person truly understand how depleting it feels to live just out of reach of reprieve? Penny Neville-Lee’s illustrations grant the reader the ability to point at images that reflect invisible feelings inside themselves. I am very grateful to her for her ability to breach the divide as she has done in her work. Throughout this story I found myself feeling rather sad. I was sad for Abigail. In my years on earth, I have not come across an accurate way to describe the array of mental illnesses that exist in our beings. The human brain is such a master at its craft, we seem to struggle to keep up. Having literature, & different mediums of art allows people like Abigail—like myself—the freedom in being seen without needing to say anything at all. I am glad to know this book exists. I hope that every reader who needs it has the opportunity to feel seen & heard through the lovely prose & the delicate imagery that clears the clouds that shelter them from sunny days. Thank you to NetGalley, Kids Can Press, & Anna Lazowski for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Mar 19, 2023
|
Mar 19, 2023
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
45
| 
| 9781550656060
| 1550656066
| 4.57
| 7
| unknown
| 2022
|
it was amazing
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on mental illness, hoarding, financial insecurity, the sexual experience of a minor, the insinuation of a sexual encounter between a minor & an adult, intergenerational trauma, gender-based violence, & others. Paul is a writer; a former journalist; a father; a partner; a man embedded with secrets that consume him. When the reader meets Paul he is on the brink of something, a change he is yet unable to name or account for. As swiftly as we fly through recollections, moments of reminiscing & baggage too heavy to hold, we find ourselves at the end of the story; what have we learned? What part of this jaunt—such a short maneuver through the days of life—can we make sense of? How do any of the events play into the title of the book? Which house is haunted? Who is the spirit in the hall? Does the author intend for the story to follow a ghost; are we lost souls or do we pretend to know ourselves in the hopes that one day we will be found? All these questions feel somewhat pedantic & trite. To whom do I pose the greatest questions but myself? While reading this story I found myself immersed in the life of a man I knew not, in a decently familiar city. It is a feat to bring forth a narrative that can be tangible to the reader all while remaining wholly disconnected from the pages we hold while reading it. By this, I seek to find answers to my own experience reading this story. When I found this book it was via a CBC list; the list that brought to my attention various Canadian authors & their books, soon to be published. I cannot say for certain which aspect of this book caught my attention but, I am glad that it did. Those fleeting seconds upon which I was grasped by a simple cover & delightfully ambiguous title extended themselves into the moments that had me waiting for the known spirit to appear. I find myself, still, unable to say exactly who this book seeks to expose to the light; which cavernous creature hides in the drum of a city sewer system waiting for its moment of escape. I have come to find that the stories I enjoy the most are the ones that present something to me, as though we were known to one another, a delicacy I have hidden in my heart, only to linger with me down a path I had not endeavoured to take. As the narrative of this story progressed I realized that I found myself in familiar territory & I was not necessarily glad about that. Much of this book takes place in something of an absence of time. Certainly, we note the days that pass between Paul’s visits to the photographer. We note the hours that pass when he visits with his family. Yet, in between each of these exchanges lives a series of memories that seem to drown out the reality in which they linger. It is difficult to explain how wonderful this approach played out. Because Paul is faced with things that he was not prepared to face—such as I was while reading this story—his character felt three-dimensional; he was real, he was familiar, he was Paul. However, Homel does not give the reader ambient light by which to study his character. He allows us to linger in the hall as Paul wiggles & worms his way through a maze of debris & trauma, hoping that we catch enough of a glimpse to realize we might have been looking in a mirror the entire time. Through these scenes, we are allowed time to remember. I have not lived a childhood in Chicago & I have not loved an older woman who owns a porn shop, yet, these encounters led me to the neighbourhood I knew & the adults that wandered the shops that became stopping grounds for me. Is it safe for me to feel that Paul’s experiences are segways to my own? Is Paul a study or a marker of experience? Via these memories, I began to remember what it felt like to feel as though all the normalcies of my youth were indeed quite uncommon occurrences. This is not a good feeling. This review is not the place, nor are we at a time, in which revealing what I mean would be relevant. Suffice it to say that amputating the sense of the reader’s assumed dissociative stance allowed for the book to open like a maw & for the reader to wander in like Aladdin at the Cave of Wonders. I do not think that this book will evoke that same sentiment in every reader, but I am grateful for that. Perhaps, there are people who do not know what it means to stand in the house of a person whose possessions allude to protection from the literal actions they hold in their dust. Perhaps, some readers will not know what it is like to sit at a table with someone & be told that they are hiding from their memories. Perhaps, some readers will encounter this story & remember the chalk & skipping rope that shouldered them through summer’s sunny days with the ooze of sticky popsicles dripping down chins, crinkled from full-face smiles. There are innumerable ways in which a reader might interpret this story. There are a thousand ways in which a person might find themselves in words. I have taken this story quite personally & yet, there are many aspects of the plot that have escaped me. Should I be asked what this book was about, I might struggle to give a concise & constructive answer. Can one say that Paul’s environment was void of the spirit of life? Are Paul’s sons the spirit that keeps him alive? Is the house empty without the spirit of the love that Paul wishes to have? What is the spirit that is named in the title but remains undistinguished within the plot? This is perhaps an over-dramatization, I am being unfair. Homel makes clear what happens to a person when they live acutely in situations that see their body go on without them. The photographer captures moments against the will & contrary to the comfort his subjects find in their own agency. In these photographs, the spirits of his subjects become encapsulated until they are able to salivate with disgust at the people they believe themselves to be. Is the photographer cruel in his pursuit? Are we supposed to be perfected entities within every frame of our lives? There are the backstories of each of the characters that lend themselves to the ongoing mystery we see play out in real time. Someone dies every minute, so soon, one after the other. We never know anyone fully. It’s sometimes funny to think that we are able to keep secrets hidden from ourselves. Paul demonstrates this in the ways in which he interacts with his partner & with his own children. He seems to strategize his moves during every interaction as though he were playing Battleship & every word he said counted for something; no mistakes allowed. Because of this, I found myself conflicted about the character I envisioned Paul to be & the one that Homel had in mind when he set out to write this story. I crafted Paul as a person completely unlike whom I was made to believe he was. I do not think I was wrong in choosing another avenue for Paul to walk. This feels like the point of the book; we are each someone identical & dissimilar to ourselves & our experiences. We are imagined beings that other eyes in the world view as shades altered from what we see in the reflective glass of mirrors & we vary from one nighttime dream to the next. Who are we, really? In all, this book opened the door to an abandoned theme park where my mind ran wild with predictions & theories. I will have to read this book again to ramble past the rides I have taken during this reading. I will be met with new attractions, different greenery & certainly, more distinguished faces to play around the carnival-like moor that has settled as the scenes in which this story takes place. All of this is very bizarre because Montreal is a city entirely too similar to my home to be foreign. Yet, I have placed everyone in this book within a landscape that distinguishes them from my own. This story allows for a somewhat mundane series of events to be transformed into the moments in a life that matter the most. Different memories, new people, the same house—over & over again, altered only for argument’s sake. I adored so much of this story, it is interesting to understand why. ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Feb 20, 2023
|
Feb 21, 2023
|
Paperback
| ||||||||||||||
43
| 
| 4.62
| 8
| unknown
| 2020
|
it was amazing
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on grief, animal endangerment, death, graphic descriptions of the physical ailments of a family pet, & others. I often wonder about our ability to connect with one another. I have written reflections on solitude & what it means to be alone. This story finds me on a warm, slushy Monday. The streets are filled with brown molasses, once tender fluffy snow. The skies are drearily grey, highlighted only by the shadow of white clouds. Reading this story has felt like sitting down with a friend in the midst of the changing weather during a day that feels like the perfect time for tales, long & detailed. Who are we, really, but the stories we share? When the reader meets Dave it feels rather quaint. The narrator of our reflection comes to us as a friend, someone we know, someone we care about; sitting down to tell us the ways in which his life has evolved since we last spoke. It took me no time to become immersed in the narrative of this tale because the writing style leaned so wholeheartedly on the intimate, & the tender. Dave seeks to present his life just as it is. He certainly does not have all the answers to what has taken place & in some cases he feels a little confused, maybe even a bit conflicted. Regardless, he wants to share these things with you. As all good stories do, this one starts in the middle. I do not say this in earnest but rather to highlight that many of the stories I love find me when they need to. I am not a reader who necessitates standing at the marked line for a story’s transition to make sense to me; I am happy to be along when my ears, eyes, & mind are needed. I did, however, question what this story was about. In its entirety, we read about the quest that two parents have undertaken to adopt a family pet. At first, they must consider themselves, their individual needs & restrictions, before adopting another member. We learn so much about the narrator & his partner through this segment. When once the recollection of these lists is done—allergies, attention, fur, the outdoors, etc.—they decide that a rabbit is as good a choice as any. I don’t know that we are ever fully prepared to adopt something new into our lives. The adults did not seem, to me, as unorganized folks. Rather I felt like they must have been the types to research & settle out details before jumping into the unknown. This turns out to be a false assumption. Even though we read about their attempts to narrow their search, these efforts are introspective instead of extrospective. Can the reader blame them? As the story goes on we realize that the individuals leading the quest for a family pet are no two people, rather they are a singular orb that cajoles through life. There cannot be room for more; the orb’s nucleus is sealed tight. However, they adopt the rabbit anyways. Gunter becomes a part of the family that doesn’t know one from the other. Gunter doesn’t seem to mind. He either lives or dies. It is simple fate that brings him closer to the core of Dave’s person; a caring man with tenderness given in all of the silent ways in which we communicate in this life. I am still unsure as to how I might interpret this story. I was lucky enough to have read this alongside « Scott » & « Olivia », both of whose perspectives helped shape my own. All the while I was reading this book as though someone had been telling me details as minute as mouse prints on a carpeted floor, they saw something more. All the while that I felt a connection to the silent maneuvering of the outside force that was the rabbit, they reflected on the man. I am appreciative of this fact. I might have forgotten that Dave was meant to be my friend had it not been for their points. This leads me to question my own motives & we find ourselves at the onset of this review—solitude. How do we connect with one another? Can we understand the pain that lives in those with whom we share space? Do things need to be said to be understood? All the while I was reading about a divorce, a home made empty & changed to be something completely different & new, I thought about the rabbit who had no choice. Yet, I am a person, just like Dave who has had their life changed & seen the rising moon & setting sun. Why do I connect with the only entity in this story who has no lines, whose presence is nothing more than the fleshy mount that wanders close to the floor? I do not wish for my comments to come across as lacking empathy. I love animals, a great deal, in fact. Yet, we cannot exchange thoughts. I cannot turn to the dogs in my family & ask them if they are okay in their hearts. There is no way for me to breach the silence that binds us to our differences. That being said, silence is often where I feel the most heard. I have been this way all my life. It is unsurprising that I should make eye contact with Gunter & feel comfort in the still air surrounding us. Maybe that is the point, for each of us to read & listen & reflect. Maybe tomorrow I will remember the ways in which Dave remembered love. Maybe next week I will look at my teeth & wonder if the sawing motion hurt Gunter. The writing style of this story is transportive. It is intimate & kind, it is everything that lies within the mind; those words we sometimes don’t know how to say, those feelings that are uncomfortable to name. I appreciated this story very much because it was honest. Reading this story felt like meeting another living being at the precipice of their own story; not the beginning, yet not quite at its end. Reading these lines reminded me of how long we have on this earth if only a day; this is infinitely more than a moment, longer than a second, eternally bigger than a blink. If you would like to read this story, please visit this •LINK• ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
|
not set
|
Jan 23, 2023
|
Jan 23, 2023
|
Hardcover
| ||||||||||||||||
41
| 
| 1772275077
| 9781772275070
| B0C632XSB1
| 4.20
| 86
| unknown
| May 16, 2023
|
liked it
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on child endangerment, violence, the forced disappearance of a child, grief, the loss of a loved one, & others. When I endeavour to read a Horror story I feel immense eagerness at the prospect of fear. It is not that I believe fear to be an enjoyable emotion or even something that I strive to find rather, fear is a tenderness within the heart of each of us that is hidden, coddled, & safe. When an author has the ability to produce a work of fiction that breaches the veins & muscle matter of the protector of our fears, I am faced with a joy indescribable in common words. To find that which is hidden inside each of us is a skill uncommon in the abysmal literary world of hyper-production, sloshy vernacular, & disparaging plots. Only the masterful, the monstrous, the transcended writer knows us through the thickness of skin peeled from a tree & ink thicker than bone. Fournier’s work was brought to my attention while I perused the CBC’s yearly list of authors that I should be aware of; books that I should add to my ever-growing pile of literature, lining every corner & crevice of my home. In this story he presents two tales of lore & terror that nestle themselves in the looming evening & drenching light of a fading sun; structuring in the stories told to Inuit children to keep them safe. I will not lie to you; these stories did not affect me at all. They did not traverse the page to knock on my door as I read them in the dead of night during a bout with my ever-tender friend, insomnia. The reason for which I have written my introductory paragraph as I have is to remind readers & myself that the merit of a good book is in its devices. There are many readers who will come across these stories & regret turning off the light before they hid their toes under the blanket. The combination of illustrations within this collection brings the stories to life in a way that transcends the imaginary; suffocating the presence of real & fake; bridging a divide that we did not know kept us safe. If I had one contention with this book, it is that I am unsure who the target audience is. The folklore tells of skinwalkers, demons who lure children out of their parent’s grasp into the tundra to be consumed for their life force. The stories remind readers of the horrors that exist in conjunction with the lore that crafts these tales. To be honest, I enjoyed reading about them. However, I did not enjoy reading about them from a position of ghoulish pleasure—as stated in the introduction—but from the stance of the casual observer, sat waiting for their turn; silent until the demon’s eyes catch their own. Ultimately, these stories read as very young, very simple, & intended for burgeoning audiences. This is not meant to be interpreted as a knock against the book itself. Rather, I maintain my uncertainty with the target reader for it is certainly not me. Might I recommend this book to others? Definitely. It’s an interesting take on stories that I have been well aware of for many years of my life. Yet, I would not state that the stories form a whole that needed to be consumed. If the intention of these tales was to remind children to be watchful, respectful, light-footed, & cautious then the book might do well in the hands of a reader who was once just like me. This reader might be curious & eager to explore the stories that shape the shadows of our world. If this is the case, then I think it has hit the mark. Fournier has truly presented stories in the flesh; made them real, & given them follicles, lashes, grime, & gunk. However, for readers who are as I am today, the book presents something of a short & quaint read. The number of stories (two) leaves the book to be almost too short to leave an impact. Had there been an evenly odd three or perhaps a quartet of stories uniform in length, the book might not feel disjointed. After the first story has ended I began to feel that it should have been the last; not the introduction to the book but the one that left us gasping for thanks. The second story is very short & leaves the conclusion of the book pin-pricked with emptiness. A child is dead—disappeared—this would serve well as the tale that cautioned the reader; reminding them that they have chosen this book not because it was comforting or quirky but because they want to find what I detailed in the beginning; their own fear presented to them on the pages. Overall, I enjoyed this short jaunt through cautionary tales of those others who inhabit the land with us. The ones that bring us underground, shave off the bottom of our feet so we disappear into thin air. The others who cast themselves a skin as silky & new as the baby born into a home lined with precautious words detailing the loss of those who came before it. I will be eagerly awaiting future work from Fournier. Thank you to Edelweiss+, Inhabit Media, & Jamesie Fournier for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
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not set
|
Dec 02, 2022
|
Dec 22, 2022
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||
40
| 
| 1525301438
| 9781525301438
| 1525301438
| 3.94
| 396
| Mar 03, 2020
| Mar 03, 2020
|
really liked it
|
I will start off by saying that somewhere in the adult mind exists the recollections of youth. When I was young I adored this style of illustration, i
I will start off by saying that somewhere in the adult mind exists the recollections of youth. When I was young I adored this style of illustration, it made me feel as though there were dimensions to be felt & held within the special book I was reading. I am glad to see this style come back again; it brought me to a time when the inside of a book held the whole world—the world I hoped to live in one day. Stories are vital & presenting all types is just as valuable as incorporating distinct art. This is a story for a young reader, one who might be eager to jump in & name the colours on the page or highlight that the crab is red. I am appreciative of the conjoined efforts by the author & the illustrator, Ashley Barron, for creating a book so powerful in motion, as the waves on the sand. By welcoming the different kinds of oceans that exist in the world we welcome the possibility that every aspect of life exists in a nuanced state; nothing is quite like anything else though there are certainly similarities. The characters in this book could be a mother & a daughter or a caretaker & a client. They could be a surrogate or a loved one, simply & for me, that is a welcomed possibility. Children deserve to see themselves in books. Just as I remembered the craft & worldly density of this art style, so too will children remember when they could see themselves within stories—those parts of our species that make us who we are. This was a lovely book for a young audience who will be encouraged to participate, stay at attention, & be guided through memories of their environments & all the colours that exist around them. Thank you to Edelweiss+, Kids Can Press, & Darren Lebeuf for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Oct 30, 2022
|
Oct 30, 2022
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
39
| 
| 1459749731
| 9781459749733
| 1459749731
| 4.23
| 721
| Sep 13, 2022
| Oct 11, 2022
|
it was ok
|
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on abuse, child endangerment, extreme violence, parental neglect, the sexual abuse of adults & children, psychological distress, racially motivated crime, & others. For those unfamiliar with the Canadian landscape intimately looming between the tree line, one might find themselves shocked & surprised that violent crimes pollute our cities just as they do every other country in the world. For some reason, we have become comfortable with believing that certain parts of the world are absolved of human tendency; placed beyond the confines of behavioural extremities. However, this is simply, & sadly, not true. Canada is home to all forms of criminal activity. Within this reflected account, the author revisits seven (7) cases that he says haunt him still; cases that changed the rules of the game as he knew it. First & foremost, I think that shedding light on the realities of society is important. I am a born & raised Canadian who is from the part of the country where these recollections take place. Much of what transpired within this book, both in the written word & in the actual matter, influenced my life even if indirectly. I am acutely aware of the reputation that my country holds both internationally & within the confines of our borders. For the most part, violent crimes such as the ones listed in this book, become well-known to the majority of Canadians through simple word of mouth. Just as the ties between each of us in this country link our experiences through travel & relationships, so too do crimes. We are not immune to curiosity. Because there are different kinds of people living in Canada, the news is shared at a very rapid rate. In that same breath, I have found reading stories about the criminal activity that has transpired within my country to be, oftentimes, rather tedious. This is primarily because I have already amassed a lifetime of knowledge by simply sharing information—word of mouth—alongside my own research on the matter. When there was a manhunt across Canada, we quickly became aware. Yet, within this text, we read about the recollections of a retired homicide detective who was able to uphold a seemingly naive view of Toronto, Canada, & people at large, even while working cases that highlighted the graphic extremes of human nature. This is my first point of contention with this story. I struggled quite heavily with this book because I have never held the naive point of view of the world that Ryan does. This is largely due to my life experiences & the availability of information. It becomes rather impossible to ignore everything constantly happening in the world. Through social media, documentaries, literature, film, & trusty word of mouth, information & facts are splattered over every facet of our lives. At the age that I am writing this review, I have been acclimated to the obscure terrors that lie dormant within people as well as the brilliantly kind acts that may befall us. Therefore, I was faced with the realization that this book was not meant for people like me. There is nothing wrong with believing in the best of people & society—I admire that trait quite strongly. There is also nothing wrong with holding a youthful naivety about the world. However, at what point are we purposefully ignorant due to our beliefs? I found it difficult to believe that a homicide detective in Toronto would be flabbergasted that parents abuse their children beyond recognition & until they are dead. I found it difficult to believe that the author, after introducing one of the more graphic violent crimes involving a child, proceeded to list all the times they were shocked that bad things happened. I reside at an impasse of being confused & simply concluding that this isn’t the style of book that would be recommended to a person with a great deal of exposure to life, shall we say. For those readers who are not acclimatized to the world, to human beings & their behaviours, & to the more gruesome side of our abilities, this book might read as something of a gentle introduction to the larger-scale occurrences that plague the world over. On my side of the scale, I found the manner in which the subject matter was presented interesting in a disconnected fashion. Primarily, when Ryan was detailing a case involving the death of a seven-year-old (7) child by her guardians. When the two (2) biological children of the offenders were seen to be showing no physical signs of brutal violence (i.e. bruises, cuts, bumps) he claims that he felt relief because that meant that those children were safe. This is atrociously ignorant. Setting aside the fact that the male caregiver in this instance—the boy’s father—was an alleged pedophile, how can you, as law enforcement, assume that a child is safe from the person who was directly linked to the death of another child? This instance made no sense to me & quite honestly, left a bad taste in my mouth. There is no world in which the indications of clear skin would mean that a child is safe in their home; a home where their parents brutally abused another child. Regardless if these boys were beaten to pulps, they lived in a home where they would have been privy to witnessing the deliberate & quotidian abuse of another child. They are psychologically far from being in the clear & it is beyond ridiculous to think otherwise. This leads me to my next qualm, though the information presented in this book gave a generous overview of the cases, there was nothing of detail that might surpass a genial addition of a casual opinion garnered thanks to a Google search of the case file. I can appreciate what Ryan might have been doing when trying to get these cases out of his psyche. However, there could have been a more intentional approach to this book. Where it stands, we read en mass about how emotionally distressed he became when being presented with cases that revealed the possible nature of the species, over & over again, whilst focusing little on the tangible aspects of the situations. The rehashing of public opinion regarding the last case was not necessary. For those amongst us who were aware of the situation at the time, this information would have been known. If a reader is not amongst the first group, this section does nothing but add gossip into what is meant to be a more strict recounting of factual events & information. Should a reader long to know the gross way that the general public approaches criminal cases, they could type in the case information online & be faced with the rags themselves. All of this commentary sets aside the book from what it is. I thought that I might be going into a heavier account of some of the more gruesome cases. Instead, I read about a police officer & detective who went into a job blind to the truth which is particularly curious given this all takes place in the Greater Toronto Area (GTA). I am glad for those folks who can view the world through rose-coloured glasses & keep the youthful splendour of the innocent. I wish that for all the children in this life. However, I could not fathom it coming from the mouth of an officer of the law. We cannot all afford to be so naive as to wonder that evil does reside in the hearts of species. How many people’s situations have been misunderstood because they were unfathomable? If you are in the market for a gentle approach to rather horrific events, this is the book for you. With everything said, I know to whom I would recommend this book & I am certain that there is a great audience out there for the content & the approach of the subject matter. It just so happens that I am not among them. Overall, I hope that the families of these cases were consulted before writing about them, given that their full government names were written & the locations described in mounting detail. I hope that the surviving loved ones of the victims of these crimes are doused in waves of reprieve—though I acknowledge that this is an ambitious hope quite impossible to believe & achieve. Thank you to Edelweiss+, Dundurn Press, & Steve Ryan for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Oct 23, 2022
|
Oct 23, 2022
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||
38
| 
| 1773217402
| 9781773217406
| 1773217402
| 4.22
| 87
| unknown
| Apr 18, 2023
|
it was amazing
|
I remember the squish of the yellow petals of dandelions. When I was a child I was fascinated with the plants that seemed to find no adversity in the
I remember the squish of the yellow petals of dandelions. When I was a child I was fascinated with the plants that seemed to find no adversity in the obstacles human beings put in their way; the chemicals, the lawnmowers, the snipping of blades & spikes of tools. How can something so mellow & soft be bad? Ultimately, as Okemow expresses in this book, perhaps it is not so much the dandelion that is out of place so much as our opinions of it. When we are young it is important that we find a place in the world to call our own. So much the better if that place is where our loved ones raised us, where our family is from, or even so much as a house that can be referred to as a home. In many cases, we are not so lucky as to find ourselves in the company of safety & security. In some cases still, we simply feel the weed in a bed of red roses, longing for a place where we might be considered beautiful too. What I appreciate the most about this book is that it welcomes the reader to be tender with themselves; this is a safe space. Though the author does not need to indicate their reason for writing such a book, I felt very connected to them for having done so & for the way they approached feelings of alienation in their environment. In such a wide world it can oftentimes feel impossible to locate the exact area which is to us, the one in which we belong. By referencing a plant that has been deemed outlandish, unwanted, destructive, & misplaced, we can connect with ourselves in a roundabout way; these words are unfortunately ways many of us have felt about ourselves. Why? Why do we feel that way about a living breathing entity who flies through the wind & has a mind enough to find rich soil to grow? What part of ourselves merits such bemoaning? It does not, nor does the dandelion. I hope that this book is placed on the shelves of all who read or are read to. I hope the prose nestles in the darkened corners where a being feels lost & out of place. I hope this person remembers that reality is much different from the imagined. The poetic fashion in which this message is transcribed is soft, soothing, & as mesmerizing as I found the sunshine petals of the dandelions to be, all those many years ago. Thank you to NetGalley, Annick Press Ltd., & SJ Okemow for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
37
| 
| 1773217763
| 9781773217765
| 1773217763
| 4.29
| 86
| unknown
| Apr 04, 2023
|
it was amazing
|
At the core of culture amongst Indigenous communities there is the land; the water, the lilies, the trees, the skies, a territory of vast life with pa
At the core of culture amongst Indigenous communities there is the land; the water, the lilies, the trees, the skies, a territory of vast life with passages through the ages, narrating the transitory cycle of existence. Without knowing where we walk, float, & soar we are lost to rubble that hides us from ourselves & the ancestors who have cascaded the skies so that we might experience the beauty of the earth. This is the message we are reminded of within this story; remember whence you came, remember to be kind, remember to be gentle, & you will remember who you are. For me, this story presents itself as a warm & tender return to home & family. That being said, I think that it is one that everyone can appreciate—whether you are culturally tied to the authors, the illustrator, or the Mi’kmaq whose belief soothes this story. The illustrations by Emily Kewageshig walk the reader through a land that is beyond the most nostalgic dreams one beholds in their innermost self; a land we share, a land that is home. I was filled with the desire to have the illustrations showcased on my walls, so powerfully did they speak to me. Alongside images of a world that is imagined with strokes that bequest the heart of every worthy warrior of love, the prose manifests itself as a gentle voice from an invisible force, guiding the reader in a familiar & forgiving way. I say forgiving for there have certainly been times for us all when we have not made our ancestors proud or, perhaps, we have not treated the land & those around us with the kindness they deserve. The prose—this guiding voice—reminds us of our participation in life & of how important it is to see through the dual experience even if that means working through the behaviours we have been undertaking, towards those we seek to present. At its core, this is a beautiful & breathtaking narrative that sets forth a practice that we should all readily adopt; one that asks us to be the person the guiding voice knows us to be. In all, this is a book I am thankful to have had the opportunity to read & one that transcends the ages of every set of eyes that read it, every pair of ears who hear it, & every fingertip that feels it. Miigwech to the late Spiritual Leader & Healer, Chief Charles Labrador who gestured for us to be as strong as the interwoven tree roots; rapprochement in skin, bodies, hearts, & minds. Thank you to NetGalley, Annick Press Ltd., Elder Dr. Albert D. Marshall & Louise Zimanyi for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
35
| 
| 1459831314
| 9781459831315
| 1459831314
| 4.13
| 62
| unknown
| Sep 13, 2022
|
liked it
|
This book presents very crips & dense illustrations by Rachel Wada that lend themselves to a very short poem set to explore the world when it gets dar
This book presents very crips & dense illustrations by Rachel Wada that lend themselves to a very short poem set to explore the world when it gets dark. Though I would say that this is a tender poem, the illustrations set themselves as a bit too dark—I found it difficult to grasp what we were to be taking from the sombre images. Certainly, there is something to love & appreciate about the artistic choice & I should not want my review to indicate that I think that this choice was wrong. However, this is a book for very, very, young readers. There is no plot & is simply a dedication to the night. Therefore, given the widely imaginative reality of a young mind, I think it might have been nice to explore some of the transition from daylight to moonlight & then, what happens when it’s totally dark. This might have encouraged younger readers to remember that the shapes they see are only those with whom we share this space on earth. Regardless, this is a sweet poem. It’s very short & very pointed, meant to invoke feelings of calm when putting a child to rest. With that being said, I appreciated all the aspects of the poem that were covered. I think many children will find these words spoken by a loved one to be of comfort before sleep. Thank you to NetGalley, Orca Book Publishers, & Charis St. Pierre for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
|
Sep 02, 2022
|
Sep 02, 2022
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Hardcover
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
my rating |
|
|
||
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
58
|
| 4.83
|
not set
|
Jul 12, 2024
|
||||||
57
|
| 3.78
|
not set
|
May 20, 2024
|
||||||
52
|
| 3.57
|
it was ok
|
Aug 27, 2023
not set
|
Apr 09, 2024
|
|||||
56
|
| 3.86
|
not set
|
Apr 03, 2024
|
||||||
55
|
| 3.85
|
liked it
|
Nov 21, 2023
|
Nov 21, 2023
|
|||||
54
|
| 3.94
|
it was ok
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
|||||
50
|
| 3.75
|
it was ok
|
May 21, 2023
|
May 21, 2023
|
|||||
49
|
| 3.67
|
it was amazing
|
Apr 22, 2023
|
Apr 23, 2023
|
|||||
51
|
| 3.96
|
it was amazing
|
Jul 2023
|
Apr 19, 2023
|
|||||
48
|
| 3.73
|
it was amazing
|
Apr 10, 2023
|
Apr 10, 2023
|
|||||
47
|
| 4.35
|
really liked it
|
Mar 25, 2023
|
Mar 25, 2023
|
|||||
46
|
| 4.22
|
it was amazing
|
Mar 19, 2023
|
Mar 19, 2023
|
|||||
45
|
| 4.57
|
it was amazing
|
Feb 20, 2023
|
Feb 21, 2023
|
|||||
43
|
| 4.62
|
it was amazing
|
Jan 23, 2023
|
Jan 23, 2023
|
|||||
41
|
| 4.20
|
liked it
|
Dec 02, 2022
|
Dec 22, 2022
|
|||||
40
|
| 3.94
|
really liked it
|
Oct 30, 2022
|
Oct 30, 2022
|
|||||
39
|
| 4.23
|
it was ok
|
Oct 23, 2022
|
Oct 23, 2022
|
|||||
38
|
| 4.22
|
it was amazing
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
|||||
37
|
| 4.29
|
it was amazing
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
Sep 30, 2022
|
|||||
35
|
| 4.13
|
liked it
|
Sep 02, 2022
|
Sep 02, 2022
|
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