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130
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| 1039056423
| 9781039056428
| 1039056423
| 3.85
| 1,627
| Jun 04, 2024
| Jun 04, 2024
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liked it
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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 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, parental abuse, physical violence, homophobia, substance abuse, Dementia, grief, & others. Following the red thread that links one person to the other is a tedious endeavour. One might be surprised to find that the thread is slim, nearly indistinguishable. Whereas on occasion, a person may feel as though the entire universe conspired to weave two people together, the connections we share are tender & delight in the interpretations we might gather independently of the bones that hold us up. When exploring the nature of genealogy & the intricate study of genetics, one observes the foundation on which rests human society; one must be the same as the other to merit entry to a neighbourhood, a home, or a heart. Conflicts arise through adoption, abandonment, displacement, & the forlorn forgetfulness of stories that can no longer be told. Stories speak to an intimate experience of the world. The author has in their hands the ability to weave a narrative that is powerful & overwhelming though they may decide to go the other way; choosing instead to make their story one of slow wandering worry, paved with secular stones, & false idols. Whereas Talty had experienced success in their previous work, namely “Night of the Living Rez” (2022) & most recently by contributing to the anthology “Never Whistle at Night: An Indigenous Dark Fiction Anthology” (2023), their recently published story follows a very sullen path & readers may not find the terrible tremble of the plot as engaging as in the author’s previous work. However, if they have the patience to accept that not all stories are Odysseys, that some stories are simple tumbles of stones at the base of a mountain, they may thoroughly enjoy what Talty has brought to their doorstep. In essence, this is a story about a man who lives outside the community that raised him. Charles is not an Indigenous person by heritage or ancestry, yet his entire life is shaped & sung by the voices & people of the community he was raised in. When the reader meets Charles, he is seated on his porch, watching the world go by. More specifically, Charles sits outside of his house day & night to watch the goings on of his neighbours across the river; the house where his child once lived & where his former best friend & romantic partner now resides with her husband. As he watches their lives unfold, Charles toys with his freedom to inform Elizabeth, his daughter, that she is his child. The reader must decide whether Charles is correct in his pursuit or if his silence is worth the torment, it causes him. My experience with this story is strange to quantify into words. Talty’s writing style is very simplistic, I am confident any number of readers will be able to grasp the inner workings of the story at play & leave with more than they bargained for. The stylistic choices he employs throughout the book allow an easy flow to the narration that the main character provides. At times, the juvenile reflections gave me pause: Why was I reading this story? Charles is older than I am & has lived a life humbled by regret & guilt. The reflections he provides throughout this story felt tangible & realistic because the book was not littered with prose. Though, there are times when writing with smoother edges might have cushioned the transitions of the story, Talty did well by providing Charles with the saw-toothed letters he spoke with. While reading this book I found myself reflecting on the sincerity of the accusations Charles brought to the reader. While it was true, Charles felt immense guilt for the death of his stepfather, & though it is accurate to say that he was self-involved, much of this story could have been avoided had the main character been granted the opportunity to be heard. This might seem like a silly thing to say & you would be correct in thinking this. Ultimately, Charles is not able to speak his mind & he does not have anyone who will earnestly listen to him, this is not the reality of this story. However, I find it useful to ponder the nature of his circumstances because they are too tangible to be fictitious. In life, many things take place that remain outside of our control. When Charles refused to go with his stepfather into the woods, he could not have known that the man would pursue a moose deep into the trees until he succumbed to frost & ultimately, death. What makes the plight of the main character so dreadful is that there is no redemption. His life is moving in a direction that no longer parallel’s his parent’s; he must go it alone. Talty has ensured that the cast of characters were fleshed out enough for a reader to see similarities between themselves & their environments, within the strict frame of the story. As the plot unveils itself to the reader, several key pieces are brought to light. The communal influence that has left Charles feeling Indigenous; the home that reels with the absence of his parents; the proximity to what he can no longer attain. Certainly, one may find the dilemmas that Charles ponders rather annoying, nearly insulting. However, it is not the reader’s role to judge the main character for his views nor for his moral conundrums. Rather, because the reader is not given a full scope of the reality that has surrounded Charles, they are kept in a distinctly primed position. The author knows they will judge Charles, & he bets on their heightened feelings to drive home the conclusion of this story; we are all who we are in part because of the people we meet, & primarily because of those who have come before us. The scope of this story follows one man & his troubles are valid; he has a child & his partner all but abandons him with this knowledge so that their child can be perceived as “full blooded”—a practice wholeheartedly inappropriate & reminiscent of the deranged lack of understanding that accompanies those without knowledge of genetics; blood is not mathematically fractioned, it is oil & stone into the entity; rippling monsters under the cavernous sea to boast of old stories & lore unbeknownst to the newborn. However fancifully I wish to write about this subject, the truth remains; certain communities still perceive blood, heritage, lineage, & ancestry to be something one can keep purely to the point; a tit-for-tat in the mirror of dynasties & mile-high perverse incompetency. I am not here to write about my feelings towards Charles identity. This is not my place & I would not want to add fuel to a fire that is burning ominously as it is. Rather, my reflections contain the truth of my experiences in the world as a person who is the human fraction, a putrefied equivalent of a mutt dog; a mongrel; a half breed; a silly slimy frog in a pool of swans. That being said, so are we all. In some storybooks the Prince is tender & sweet, whereas in others, she is hidden behind the beast of his own appearance. These tales are meant to guide humanity & ease their personal burdens—they are not alone. No matter the moral at the end of the fantasy, one must acknowledge that there is a role for all to play & so we do. Charles was a son, he is a father, he is a recovering alcoholic, he is lonely, he is a friend, he is frustrated, & warm-hearted; he is a human being with a complicated relationship to the world & with himself. Part of the joy of this story is being privy to the chaptered representations of his philosophy. On occasion, Charles is the Prince & in other cases, he is the magic mirror captive in the house. The character was dynamic & crafted to reflect the people we share this life with. However, there were still instances wherein I found the story to stall & I wondered what the point of such a narrative was, if my thinking had been thought & all my ruminating had been completed before the final curtain call. The story hinges on the decreased mental ability of Charle’s mother who has Dementia. The secret of her past tumble forward when she is at her most vulnerable & the author nearly reveals what happened before the reader arrived on scene but, he doesn’t. Instead, he reminds readers that the spectrum of this story is contained & sheltered in the confused fear of the narrator. I cannot fault him for this, it appears that he wrote the story he wanted to tell & he did not leave room for meandering. Rather, I mention this detail because I was waiting for something more. Perhaps it is unkind to reveal that I wanted more from a story that simmered so densely on subject matter that is objectively difficult to experience firsthand. Yet, I claim my spot here; I wanted the story to reveal more vulnerability than it had in store. Though the characters were earnest in their portrayal, the core of the narrative remained poised on the surface level. Charles does not necessarily grow from his reflections, nor does he ever truly take into account the reality that encumbers each of the people impacted by Elizabeth’s unstable mental state. I do not say this to be unkind, but rather to highlight that each character who was a parent to her tried to give her the upper hand without understanding the vulnerability that coveted her psyche. Ultimately, this is a good book & one that reveals a distinct reality for many people. Readers may find themselves drawn or repulsed by Charles & his quest to speak truth into Elizabeth’s life in an attempt to clear her blue skies. Their genuine attempts to do the right thing, while being uninformed & self-serving, made harsh the environment where their shared love grew into a matured & tender greenery. If one has the patience to follow flawed characters, one will find themselves drawn to the yellow brick road that leads to the protected centre of the story; we are who we are & no claim, chain, status, or census will change what nestles deep within; the studies & fruitfully crafted code that propels us forward until the end. Thank you to NetGalley, Penguin Random House Canada, & Morgan Talty 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 12, 2024
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May 12, 2024
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Hardcover
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129
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| 0374168156
| 9780374168155
| 0374168156
| 3.81
| 16
| Nov 12, 2024
| Nov 12, 2024
|
liked it
|
**spoiler alert** The world’s movement is rarely felt by the life forms who live on its shoulders. Ancient prophecies speak of a shift that will lead
**spoiler alert** The world’s movement is rarely felt by the life forms who live on its shoulders. Ancient prophecies speak of a shift that will lead humanity to falter & require the species to change direction; to make better choices & understand that their existence is insecure & easily eliminated. Supposing that the threat is not said in jest, one may ask what the purpose of such a reset would be. Will the forest dwellers feel relief? Will the concrete scurrying rats feel free? The world functions by default, without anything but the axis; life on Earth is a blessing, one which many human beings seek to shed. When I requested this book, I had no concept of what I would find inside. This might be a silly thing to admit but, I did not regard the title as profound insight into the plot, nor did I seek to decipher the colour scheme of the cover art to mean more than what they were—a reflection of choice. Inadvertently, I found myself reading this novel perturbed by its approach. While a more studied reader will have further criticism of the stylistic approach that the author has taken when presenting the narrative with characters whose lives are both specific & ambiguous; my review will focus primarily on the time count, the hours it took me to realize that this book wasn’t as long as I felt like it was. In essence, this is a story about despair. The author introduces the reader to Anthony, a man whose past is riddled with drudgery. This first chapter promised a great saga with lore to confound the reader & I anticipated the story to play a rhythmic fiddle when enunciating the malaise that accompanied Anthony. However, this was not to be. Price’s novel incorporates the perspectives & realities of a slew of different characters & though, at first, Anthony appears to be an ideal narrator—a character worthy of following, ever so despondent as he is—the story’s shift tumbles over the heads of those whose chapters were less riveting, one from the other. It is not easy to incorporate so many perspectives into a single story. While the main driver of circumstance is the destruction of the apartment complex, each character reflects deeply about their feelings regarding events & people whom the reader never knows. These instances are beneficial in building the realism that Price offers the reader but, while perusing the chapters, it was difficult to engage fully with characters whose value to the story remained hidden. Anthony reappears in the later portion of the book as the titular Lazarus man, having been found beneath the rubble of the building, it appears that he was there for days. Yet, in truth, the shock that Anthony experiences led him to wander back into the building in the hopes of finding purpose, a calling, or the door that would lead him to the end. There is a great deal of time that can be spent reflecting on the build-up of this revelation however, I feel great frustration now as I did then. Though the story is well-written in the traditional sense, the story itself is of no interest to me. Rather, the plot was filled with individuals whose lives were riddled with anger & grief but, while reading about the slow progressing days of their lives, I was acutely aware that my days were passing me by. More often than not, I found myself wanting to toss away the book & be done with it. I could not understand how such a story could feel like such a drag. Herein lies my main issue; this is not a story to be told in the traditional sense. The modern era of visual aids, such as documentaries films & series, remind readers that the slow progression of the redundant events in this plot, would have felt far mor engaging & interesting had they been coloured by film. This is not a stance I am averse to adopting. Arguably, all stories need to be told a certain way for them to be appreciated as they should. In the case of these characters, one may find the hours slowly ticking by without any sensation of thrill that often results from reading a good book. The telling—the transmission of this tale—felt stilted & dull. Not all stories need to feature speeding cars & lightning bolts but, at some point one must ask what the purpose is in rehashing the same sentient patter of the life that is lead by each character. Each character is dealing with an infidelity; their faith has faltered, they are engaged in a sexual relationship with a less than desirable person, they are experiencing financial insecurity, & they have found themselves in the environment of the apartment collapse. At face value, their experiences are altogether human & though perhaps less than intriguing, they are lives led by individuals & they contribute to the whole of existence. Rather, perhaps a reader who has more patience than I do will find the dreadfully slow-moving chapters that are the middle portion of this book, easier to consume. My main qualm with this book was that it wasn’t for me. I have met readers in my life, happy to consume a book because it was a book & they needed nothing further than a story & so, they read it. Readers who may connect with this approach will appreciate this story. In reality, nothing much happens throughout the entire book. The police officer is searching for a man whose wife died in the collapse—she finds him & he’s just a man grieving the loss of his loved one. Anthony lies & acts holier than thou, & is able to continue doing so because he’s not the first, nor will he be the last. Yet, with each character one is left wondering what the point is. What is the story trying to say about life in New York City? What is the author’s goal when presenting readers with a slice of life rather uninspiring to those who may not be living life in the same way? Is the reader meant to feel pity for the characters who miss their loved ones or for whom family is the collection of stray pebbles? Which part of the plot highlights the earnest truth about a life sheltered by grief? Is the narrator Anthony or Mary? Does it matter if Anthony is lying to gain praise or should a person be honest to a fault if they wish to speak on salvation? What is perhaps most odd of all is that by the end of the story, the conclusion sets nothing to right. In some ways, the reader plays the omniscient being who watches the gastric incision take place from the amp theatre, safe from splatter. In this way, the reader is able to watch poverty, praise, sorrow, love, loss, disenfranchisement, gentrification, justice, & cheating, scramble through the lives of others without adopting any value to these experiences. I wonder whether a deeply sensitive reader might not appreciate this stance more than a reader who, like me have walked the roadway of these realities & have little care for the clinical view they may offer a privileged reader who cares naught for the consequences of these experiences. I have spoken ad nauseum about how tired I felt while reading this book. The cold approach it took to present a cast of characters who lived within the confines of the same community was unnecessary. There is a possibility that I am wrong & that Price saw something in this approach that I have not, having spent more time with the faces that remained in shadow than I have reading about them. Regardless, the final product left much to be desired & though the writing was enticing & the stylistic choice of vernacular well-placed, the plot itself felt dense, while vapid of any gooey elixir. Ultimately, the plot wraps up the storylines with enough detail to highlight that life goes on. The photographs, sexual encounters, the rambling & raving, the family business & youthful hope, the changing neighbourhood & tumultuous flow of life, weave a tapestry that is daunting & humble, leaving readers with no fond feelings of gladness for the continuation of life but rather, joy accompanied by the end of the book. Thank you to NetGalley, Farrar, Straus and Giroux, & Richard Price for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
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not set
|
Apr 27, 2024
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Apr 27, 2024
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
128
| 
| 0593546903
| 9780593546901
| B0CC1D7GM2
| 3.65
| 1,695
| Apr 16, 2024
| Apr 16, 2024
|
really 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 substance abuse, violent crime, the death of a loved one, alcoholism, the death of a child, parental negligence, self-harm, cannibalism, the death of an animal, suicide, mental health, & others. Great Spirit sees all, observing as the wind ruffles the newborn skin of life, day in & day out. To explain our origin in the windy world, humanity has cast spells of lore; riddles that mask our sorrow at the dark cavern from whence we came & to which we will return, giving nutrients when once we had received them. The weaver is the key element in breaching the dark; the voice whose ease at transporting the listener revives still sounds, casting them like Northern Lights to the silent sky. Without storytellers where would we be? The obsidian nature of our travels leads us back to ourselves; the storyteller lights our way. The tapestry of creation has offered the wandering soul ample room for whispers from the Great Spirit, Creator, the Lord Himself, His Son, the Archangels, Muhammad ibn Abdullāh, Siddhartha Gautama; the list raves onward, tirelessly presenting the species with individuals who carry word from the unseen. This statement is perhaps, as you may note, not altogether true. For many cultures, proof of holiness, or the existence of a larger entity than the self, is in the world around us. Who could think of something as beautiful as the sun whose warmth shines for all on earth? Who could have conjured a more perfect globe where land & water exist in tandem for all of existence? The small & large shapes, sounds, visuals, & tangible experiences that exist alongside humanity breathe air into the mythology that colours systems of belief. Though, if you have made your way through my previous writing you will note a strong stance on the subject of religion, this review does not exist as a critique of schools of belief. Rather, while reading this book, I found myself earnestly, curious about the creatures who suffered the wrath of humankind. Where was Creator when the rock was cast that killed the woodpecker? Where was Great Spirit when Johnny burned alive in the fire pit? In such a beautiful landscape how can such horror thrive? Where is the kindness riddled in stories that are meant to guide us? Perhaps this story sets in place the doubt that has long seeped into the mind of the burdened; it is not enough to believe in goodness, one must be good to see it live in the world alongside them. In essence, this is a story about intergenerational trauma. Medina has woven two tricks into his story allowing the reader to remain nearly disengaged when torturous emotions drown children & zombie forces lure them out to pasture where their neglectful parents bury them alive. If readers feel this reality too obstructive to the view they hold of their kin, they are welcome to watch the alligator slither across the page, swallowing unsuspecting victims like stones to the riverbed. Nestled in between the detrimental, blood-soaked narrative is the truth; intergenerational wounds seldom heal. This story is formatted in a dual narrative. In the present, Noemi experiences the sudden death of her fiancé, Roddy, & the return of her uncle Louie, whom she hasn’t seen in over a decade. Louie’s narrative explores the past, namely the year 1986 when the events that tormented him came to a head. Readers who develop an appreciation for both Noemi & Louie will revel in this approach. Both characters are adults, aged over forty, & have lived long & obscenely complex lives. Presenting readers will characters who are well-established individuals, in the sense of the years they have spent on earth, allows readers the opportunity to delve further into the material that is being presented. Unfortunately, this is my first qualm with this book. In the introduction, Roddy is described as having committed suicide by jumping in front of a Jeep. His body is then ravaged by a coyote when the driver of the vehicle runs to get help. This approach to introducing the dual perspectives of mythology & trauma was delightful to read. To be clear, this choice of scene—the road, the wild animal, the woman, the man, their home, the land—allows readers to immediately immerse themselves in the story. The borders of the page disappeared as I wondered where the narrative would bring me; Who would I meet along the way? What insights would they give me? When would I be met with the horror I was promised by the genre? Certainly, one may read about the terrible fate that befalls each of the characters in this story as horrible enough, that there was no need to further the torment of humanity by inducing ghastly soul-eating alligators. This would not be an incorrect decision to conclude. Indeed, this story did not need two perspectives, two narratives, & two timelines. In reality, Louie carried the entire story & this left me grating my teeth every time Noemi was brought back to the page. I am still conflicted as to what made her so annoying. In an attempt to decode my feelings, I pondered the nature of her character & the benefit of including a forty-year-old woman who was so deeply ignorant, to a story that was emboldened by the Goliath that was her uncle. Perhaps, I should consider myself lucky that I have such an intimate understanding of Depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm, & suicide. Perhaps, I should learn to be more patient with the world as there are certainly more people like Noemi than there are who are like me. For this reason, call it a lack of patience or desire to sit in the company of someone who was troubled by their own volition, I felt frustrated every time Noemi narrated her sections. This is primarily due to her lack of knowledge. In her forty years of life, not once has Noemi ever sought to understand the complexities of mental illness, not once has she stepped outside of herself. The death of her long-term partner, Roddy, comes to her as a shock only because it means she now has to find someone else to support her dreams. For chapters on end, Noemi speaks about how impossible it would be for Roddy to have committed suicide because they were happy & they had plans, & his bad days weren’t that bad. This was insulting to read. It is insulting because Noemi has no clue what she’s talking about yet, she’s a grown woman, she’s an adult, in a world where children rely on adults to guide the way down the road of life, & where other adults inadvertently lean on each other to safeguard the road when it becomes too hard to walk alone. All the while, Noemi fails at her role, in her community & life. You may deem my criticism harsh but, ignorance is violence & what Noemi states as impossible is in fact what leads so many people who are experiencing mental distress, suicidal ideation, & depression, to be burdened in silence & misunderstanding. Why is Noemi so ignorant of the parameters of mental illness? People who commit suicide could have sat & had the most delicious meal with the most loving people & this would not be indicative of a change; this is simply one moment in time. The burden of weight carried in the spine, dousing the brain, is not swayed by one lovely meal. This is not difficult to comprehend. In the middle of her rambling ignorance, Noemi corners Roddy’s sister telling her she’s wrong & wishing to one-up her in the pursuit of answers. Why does she do this? Are readers to believe that not once in forty years of life did Noemi ever encounter another person who was experiencing mental illness? Did Noemi never venture outside the confines of her own bedroom? Certainly, in life, as I have said earlier, many people lack understanding of what leads a person to commit suicide. I am disheartened to know that this is the case because the solution is simple. Whereas readers are enveloped in a story that deals with the ill-structured home life of a family on the brink of collapse, the world at writ large is littered with situations exactly like the fictionalized one in the reader’s hands. Can I fault Noemi for being a product of her existence? Will readers be more ready to forgive Noemi for her cruel self-centered ignorance regarding Roddy’s suicide? What I have come to understand in my many years of life is that some people never learn because they are not seeking the knowledge that will set them free of their ignorance. Noemi was raised in a house with a grandmother who suffered from alcoholism—an illness that ultimately led to her death—with a mother who was crass & rarely present. Noemi also had the opportunity to grow past the ignorance of her parent, a woman who raves love for men who are ghosts, men who are the opposite of the protagonist, Louie. Again, perhaps it is too demanding of me to assume that Noemi has the willpower or the strength to become more than what she is; few people do so, why am I so caught up in her issues? The troubles that plague Louie left me empathetic to him. He was sixteen when the events in 1986 took place & readers will note the matured tone of a person who struggles to grow like a rose hidden under a log. Louie is written with gusto, & gumption, with faults in his naive logic but, who can blame him, he lives in a world where his neighbour committed serial murders & blamed a malevolent spirit for his psychological issues. In that same breath, you may wonder why I struggle with approaching Noemi with such patience. Perhaps it is because I have been sixteen, & similarly to Louie, I took the reins for a situation I was in no way grown enough to heal. Whereas I have not reached the age of forty & what Noemi lacks, I have in spades. What is the role of a reader? Am I supposed to compare myself to Noemi & Louie? Am I supposed to pick a side & stick to the path I have chosen? Halfway through this book, I abandoned hope that Noemi would change, I did not believe her to be capable of it but, Louie had such a long life yet to lead, & I did not want to read about his youth becoming entrapped with the slithering gizzard that crouches on my bedpost. Philosophical masticating in the background, I maneuvered my way through lore & mythology that was not my own. The stories of critters & crawling friends were familiar to me & I was glad to see the comfort of tales that would not give me the answer I needed, neither did they present the characters with the road they should take. The community of people who vanished, were murdered, & died as a consequence of their addictions or their mental illnesses, clobbered the silly tale of ghosts & screaming corpses. I read most of this book at night, lying in bed listening to the wind whisper to me; each of these situations was more than the life they consumed. Certain characters presented readers with good reason to pause & take inventory. Why did Jean-Luc eat the bones of the deceased? In some systems of belief, eating the flesh, bones, & meat of people whom one respects allows this person to consume their essence. When Jean-Luc explains that he dug up the graves of respected members of the community & people who were loving & kind, readers may reflect on the person that he is rather than the one he thinks he wants to be. In wishing to be like the Tamahka (Tunica-Biloxi word for alligator) Jean-Luc emptied himself of his essence, becoming a shadowed sac some may refer to as a Wendigo. Therefore one may be left asking; Do the dreams we have require us to scalp divinity from top to bottom? I appreciated the morose, gruellingly devastating approach that Medina took to introduce the deadly sin of desire, specifically, the longing to escape the body we are sewn to. Ernest murdered his mother because he could, because he was bored, & because inside he was probably a person who was clinically psychotic. The flashbacks that the reader is given to remember Horace added a layer of sadness to this story that I did not expect to find. Odd, perhaps, for me to admit that I was not ready for sorrow when I read Horror as though I have never experienced fear in my life but, true it is, nonetheless. Indeed, reading about the potential that was striped from Horace by being a person who had a stutter, to being the child of a family that was on the receiving end of violence from another feuding family, sunk the stone deeper in my soles. Readers will surely wander through the chapters of this book swiftly, & wonder at the ease they feel while reading such a story. In truth, the experiences of the characters are terrifying because they are not dedicated fabrications, intended for a freaky night of reading. Indigenous Peoples experience the highest rate of suicide worldwide. Indigenous Peoples experience starkly high rates of addiction worldwide. It is no mystery why this is yet, in Noemi, readers may find comfort in their ignorance. It is unacceptable to remain in the dark when people, who do not deserve to suffer Charon’s cold finger directing them to their seats on the splintered boat, continue to drown. Why then, do people revel in the shocked face of ghastly surprise meant only for birthday cakes & Christmas morning? This is a story about the intergenerational burden of a community of people who have struggled to stay-face in a world that has repeatedly told them their demise would be a pleasure to witness. I return to what I said earlier, my frustrated notions of annoyance against Noemi & her structured ignorance. Perhaps you will think me a product of a life that has left little room for patience, forgiveness, or tenderness; you would be wrong, but only partly. In fact, I work tirelessly to ensure that the spaces in which I go reflect the song the crows have sung as we greet each other, & that I spill only soft wind into the rooms where doors have been previously closed. I am troubled by a reality I know well & I remain frustrated that humanity does not advocate for a space where what has been need not be any longer. Whether an alligator swallowed Mrs. Shelby or whether her son murdered her in her home; whether Horace was mutilated by a Vampire or whether his friend carved out his heart so that he may never rest; whether Mae was consumed by a demon or whether she chocked on her own vomit; victims of crime, victims of exhaustion from fighting against a beast greater than the Meli Omahka or any of its other names; people suffer the fate that befalls them as they dangle on the edge of a cliff where, rather than sacred & safe, the rocks have been moulded into the dead-eyed faces of the perilous Nazgûl. Ultimately, the beating that reverberates the ribs, pumping willpower to the brain, & steadying the river watcher, riddles a tale as old as time; Who can escape the self? Readers will be met with causes worthy of their care with optimism that the alligator, the woodpecker, the armadillo, & the coyote will act as guides to them whereas in life they persist in ignoring the very people for whom these animals are kin. Troubling as the ghost may appear, his reflection is often more coyly our own than we care to admit. For readers who have wandered the land in tune with the formidable looming cloud, this story will wriggle into the tendinous ring, like the fantom of despair made into the giggling forest’s safe-heaven for the Alligatoridae who seek to return to the underworld where their smooth underbelly guard the stones of souls long since laid to rest. Thank you to NetGalley, Berkley Publishing Group, & Nick Medina 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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Apr 21, 2024
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Apr 21, 2024
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Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||
118
| 
| B0BTZW48Q6
| 3.57
| 25,563
| Sep 12, 2023
| Sep 12, 2023
|
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 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!
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2
|
not set
not set
|
Aug 27, 2023
not set
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Apr 09, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||||
127
| 
| 180336758X
| 9781803367583
| B0CJTPY8FQ
| 4.04
| 1,210
| Jun 04, 2024
| Jun 04, 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 violent crime, the death of an animal, grief, the death of a loved one, body mutilation, substance abuse, & others. Oh, the rumble of the familiar road. Some form of resemblance to the life once known, a twinge of the dimple engraved in the hollowed false smile, lies the dawn of reparation; the final layer of the beast that is regret. Who is to judge that which causes harm to the wishing & washing of casual daydreams? Sometimes, the ghoul itself will raise its head in a pulsating threat, staring down the reflection it finds in the mirror. Seldom is more terrifying than that which is comprehensible, attainable, & proximate to the reader. I have stated before that the scariest story is one that reminds the reader of themselves & I remain convinced of this fact after finishing Malfi’s most recent novel. It is certainly the fangs of reality, those able to pierce the security one pretends to have in this life, that creep & crawl through the mind long after the immortal bat has taken flight. You will find that I repeat myself & that is only to reinforce my point. Readers familiar with my reviews will have heard me praise Malfi before. What you shall read in this review will be nothing new though, my experience with this story adopted new edges & saw me invested without shedding my annoyance, only to leave me surprised that I had come to the conclusion I accepted at the start. In essence, this is a story about regret. Andrew, the main character, is thirty-five & is living a life he is proud to have achieved. The borderline trite nature of his experiences in Manhattan is cooling to the touch; the lawyer, his wife—the editor, their soon-to-be-born first child, the life of luxury all stemming from the humble beginnings in a town whose name no one knows but which is familiar to readers like a collector’s coin they’ve hidden in the attic. Andrew returns to his hometown to meet his four friends. Though they have not kept in contact & though it has been, cumulatively twenty years since they engaged in any friendly activity, Andrew returns to engage in his trade in keeping one of his friends out of jail. The rest, as they say, is history. When I was young, I was quite certain that Horror was not the genre for me, therefore, I distanced myself from the garish covers & tomes lining the shelves of the libraries I frequented. I had enough to deal with, I did not need a reminder of the threat I knew by name. As the years passed, something like comfort grew in me as I poured over books that spoke to me through the pages; the experiences I sheltered, secretly pleading to disappear, transcribed gently via the time-stamped ink of a total stranger, allowed me reprieve. The transition between these two realities was rather more seamless than I am detailing. It never ceases to astound me that the wide world with all its rivers, oceans, mountains, molehills, & prairies, can be so very small as to fit compactly within the binds of a book. I highlight this personal experience because this story brought me back to the feelings I had towards those early novels. I often wondered why the truth was never spoken or why a character’s guilt allowed them to evade the claws of self-decomposing despair. The convenient ending felt too quaint & I pondered the nature of concluding a story that covets reality with the magical dreamland bonbons of forgiveness & tender healing. You may think me a pessimist & you may not be entirely wrong. However, this question persisted. It was through many years of life & a gargantuan pile of books that I concluded that the age-old adage was indeed accurate; the sun does, in fact, shine bright & clearest on the unperturbed landscape. Where does that leave the veteran reader? When coming upon this book, my immediate sentiment was, thrill. After reading “Black Mouth” (2022) by Malfi, I was a fan for life, regardless of whether his books ever impacted me so deeply, ever again. Readers will find in the repertoire of stories that the author crafts the ease of a storyteller’s gift. Certainly, there are plots that pivot the gaze of marvel & in some others, the Leviathan itself seethes through the veins of a foul tale. It is a gift to tell a story; it is a delicate talent to transmit it to others. I would not say that the main character of this story had such talent though, he had little choice but to share or hold his peace, forever. This is an interesting story & one that devoted readers will clock as the ode to the Titan’s great work, “Ghost Story” (1979) by Peter Straub. Should a reader not have had the opportunity to read about the jaundiced demons intent on revenge, this story will still offer them a sliver of flavour to masticate on, unique in its succulence. The witching aspect of this story gave me pause. Following everything I’ve said, one would be right to assume that I had a complicated relationship with this story. The opening chapters reminded me so deeply of Straub’s work that I forgave them for the meandering dialogue. I wasn’t necessarily reading because I was invested in Andrew’s personal life or because he may prove to be insightful. Rather, I read this book because I love the sentiment of fear—the most intimate of emotions. The weaving nature of the terror that loomed behind the everyday grief—consequences of a series of horrible decisions—was not something I welcomed. The Graves family & their history was interesting. I was not seeking a story that would include earnest witchcraft, spells, or ghoulish old women on a murder rampage but, that is what the author has written. My insecurity towards my feelings began to develop early in my reading. At times, I grew hopeful that the plot would be the double-entendre; the morbid nature of a mind that does not rest & the fabulously mystical Grimm Brother’s antagonist in her cottage. Certainly, readers who do not mind one or the other, or even both, will delight. I, on the other hand, found myself conflicted. Though I appreciated the nature of a real-life villain, one that was always around & one that felt rather quaintly placed in reality, one asks oneself in actually, who it is that is rioting against the cause for colonialism & gentrification? Who can be rooted for? My personal sentiments about the mystique of the old Graves woman did not leave me with unease but, a sulking frown. Do not mistake me, Malfi paced his story well & the villain was ripe with reason, she was a vigilante whose goal was to murder those who violently killed her child twenty years ago. I understand her plight. While reading about their torment of Robert Graves I too found my sympathy waning. The group of friends vandalized the Graves house, nearly setting it on fire, then shot a firework through Robert Graves' eye socket, leaving him to drown after shooting off the side of a cliff. Is a reader meant to root for these characters? In some sense, I believe that Malfi played on my secret desire to read a story that did not offer a calming ending. The characters did not experience reprieve & rather, their tar tore each other apart, leaving one after the other for the vultures to devour. Will readers believe that each character was treated with the consequence, torment, guilt, & terror that they deserved? I cannot say that I feel that each member of the group received what they merited. In the original situation, wherein Robert Graves was murdered by negligence, assault & battery, not every member of the group acted in an equal fashion. Here the reader may need to call upon their mature experiences to deconstruct the setting. An innocent life was taken because a group of teenagers were spoilt, deeply ignorant of how closely death walks in step with each of us, & they held a deep inability to gauge the legal consequences of manslaughter. Tig did not pay for the death of Robert Graves. She grovelled for forgiveness & was set free whereas Andrew was left in a coma following a car crash. Meach was murdered by Eric, & Dale was murdered by Eric; can these be considered as penance paid or, the easy way out? What was it that the Graves Witch wished to inflict? If one is pondering her motive to act twenty years after Robert’s death it may be as simple as her knowing that her time is nearing a close or, perhaps she has seen how well the lives of those responsible have become & felt it her calling to act now, though, this is not altogether true since Tig is experiencing very serious financial insecurity & Meach is suffering from physical illness & addiction. Neither of these characters acted as violently as Eric & Dale—who, in my opinion, are the true antagonists. Though I would not state that Andrew is innocent, I am not sure whether he deserved to be in the cellar of his mind’s horror for the rest of time. The cowardice that took place across the pages, as was exhibited by each character left me to wonder how this same situation may play out for anyone in real life. The answers one looks for, those that may set us free from the guilt we hold for our actions, are rarely found in this lifetime. Andrew became a shadow of his potential because the people he was close with were responsible for the death of another teenager. Does this make him the evil mastermind? Should he have told Rebecca that he knew what happened to her brother? What is altered by telling the truth? I found Andrew to be a compelling narrator only because he was so simple. His goal was to escape, no matter the consequences or the toll it took, yet at every turn he made the most ignorantly banal decisions. I found myself curious only because he was so silly. Readers observe Andrew deciding to live in a house that is infested with flies; a house that has a possible sewer leak; a house that is without basic amenities for reasons he never makes clear. What would have led him to be comfortable with living with all of these things, let alone one? It would not have been unusual for him to choose to sleep in his car rather than lay in a bed that was swarming with flies. Andrew’s senseless behaviour persisted throughout the story. He engaged with Eric who was surely culpable of the First Degree; he sat with Dale as he lied straight to his face; he went back to his hometown knowing how little gumption he held in his person. Why did he do this? When analyzing the behaviour exhibited by Andrew one may wonder at his reasoning. I suppose it might be as straightforward as to state that he is not a complex person, nor he is very smart, or well-rounded; he’s a man who went to law school & married the sister of a boy he left for dead. The rest is background noise. Reading about the absurd decisions that Andrew was intent on making left me frustrated. I kept hoping that something more would happen that would leave him shocked & electrocuted to the world around him like a strike from the sky. In some ways, I felt that there was something he was not communicating to the reader, something that left this story wanting altogether. What was the point in all of this? Why did Tig murder Cynthia? Why did she attack her with an ashtray? Tig has worked in a bar her whole life, she would have known, or even seen, the repercussions of an ashtray thrown in anger. Why did Tig lean on Dale & his unspoken love of her to get her off Scott-free while Dale died? In an ideal world, readers may consume this story & judge the characters for their actions. Readers may wonder why none of the characters made different choices Why did none of the characters go to the police & why did they not tell the truth? Based solely on the cold written word of the law, Dale is to blame for Robert’s death & the others may be tried as accessories to the fact. Had they called for help immediately Robert may have been blind, but it is not a certainty that he would have died due to his injury caused by the firework. Leaving him for dead secured their fate, each character is responsible for his death. Would calling a first responder have prevented any of the events that took place? Had Eric’s father not been a police officer or the sheriff, I may be inclined to believe that real life would swoop into the story & the group of friends be made to suffer the consequences of a wishy-washy justice system. One could ponder the probabilities all day, my point is that no consideration was given & in their adulthood the characters believed it their right to take justice into their own hands, leaving each other for dead. My favourite part of this book was the scene in the Motel. By this point in the book, I knew who the cold-blooded killer was & I knew who relied on their self-secured ignorance to wade the tides of criminal activity. I was sure that Rebecca was Robert’s sister & I was sure that the parents of the group, had done what was in their abilities to safeguard their children from the law. What I wanted from this story was for it to spell out how morbid the lives of these characters were. I wanted the narrator to make clear to the reader all of the terrible things that happened leading up to the horror the reader encountered but, it did not offer any of this. Instead, the Motel allowed readers to ponder the nature of the story they were reading. Is time linear or, did Andrew act as a voice to young Meach? Was Meach’s psychosis as entrenched as his friends believed or was, he suffering the repercussions of untreated addiction? Why was Bonnie sleepwalking? Why did the Graves Witch include Bonnie as a vessel for the torment? How were Bonnie & Cynthia beckoned in sleep to wander the town? Did Eric’s father remain physically abusive or did his behaviour extend into other forms? Why did Eric’s father commit suicide? Ultimately, I think what made this story enjoyable was the ending. There was no resolution, no happiness, no final hurrah to forgive & live a life worthy of existence. The characters, each in their own way, suffered a fate that they created for themselves. It is unkind to say that Meach deserved his addiction & it is cruel to say that the innocent life of Robert Graves merited a torturous end. Neither of these individuals were granted freedom for what befell them. I will not sit & write out how much better Meach is now that he is free because I do not know that his soul could rest, floating around a room carved out of the flesh of lies, terror, & sorrow. The familiarity of this plot spoke softly to the reader, the shadowed carcass of the deceased, the vultures, the shadow man, & burning figure of desecration in the drywall; the paralysis, the nightmares, the loved ones lost, the group's secret, the small town, the stories, the lies. It is up to the reader, depending on the day & the hour, whether they feel that these glimmering notes of an ode sung to the departed whisper a tune worthy of the Serpent himself. In dreams, the nightmare fuel of walking through rays of sunlight is made clear, cruel, & staunchly vivid, to the suffering soul who has thrown away the key to their salvation. Meriting a second’s glance is the accessory; the sorcerer whose spell is in the living creatures who suffer the magic cast with intent to harm. May the souls of the birds whose necks were snapped & whose bellies sliced open, be free in skies unincumbered by torrential rain & human horror. Thank you to NetGalley, Titan Books, & Ronald Malfi for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
|
not set
|
Apr 11, 2024
|
Mar 31, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||
126
| 
| 0802162959
| 9780802162953
| B0CH1NHWNW
| 4.03
| 6,350
| Apr 02, 2024
| Apr 02, 2024
|
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 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 a loved one, graphic violence, torture, forced confinement, the sexual abuse of a child, violent crime, lynching, grief, & others. The good story begins with the voice of wonder speaking down from the clouds; sneaking blissfully through the wind; resounding like falling timber in the woods; offering the sounds of sonorous fantasia into the pulsing eardrum of the reader. The narrator may never be seen by the reader but for his resounding voice, which often feels too far away to chase & yet resounds with comfort, too close to release into the page. Rainy’s narration is one of a man whom readers will love immediately. His story begins where all good stories do, with his heartstrings sewn tightly to the instrument he sets forward to play. As readers open the page to this chronology they will meet what defines the traveller’s furry; the incomparable emaciating infatuation of a story. The cover art for this book gave me pause. I will always admit, with truth & compassion, that I judge books by their covers. I do not do this because my opinion matters more than the artist or the author whose time & investment crafted the joint nature of visual art. Rather, I do this because the beast's shell speaks to me or is silent. I have been reading for a great many years, I state with certainty that I know when to listen to the tectonic murmur of a story & when to go on my way. This is not a science; sometimes books do not appeal to me or, in other cases, their colours seem to promise me the ruby & leave me empty-handed in the end. I enjoy reading so, it’s no love lost, either way. In this case, Enger chose wisely. The colourful painted world of his tale was brought to life on the cover & for this reason, I requested the opportunity to read what was held inside. It was early in my reading experience that I realized that I could not eagerly run to the end of this book. It was too good to leave. I reached out to a friend, who will surely recognize himself in this section—rather what are friends for if not to support one’s adulation of reading? As it so happens, I knew he would love this book as much as me, yet, I was hesitant to tell him so because, at that point, I had only read about ten percent of the 300+ pages. Every sentence reminded me of the joy I felt as a child, reading the adventurous series of books « Amos Daragon : Porteur des masques » (2003) by Bryan Perro. As an adult, I felt that the years spent reading as a child shaped the world around me & I never stopped chasing the format that contained the stories I adored. In adulthood, adventures & turmoil, hidden treasure, fantasy & lore, often disappear into the backdrop. Yet, readers of these genres, such as myself & my friend, often make our way indirectly to the origin of what was for us, the beginning of enchantment. Enger welcomed me into his story after time away from such imaginativeness. The introduction will allow readers to ease their way into the milky sautéd waters of the Great Lakes which are home to me & my country’s neighbour. The story will be a dystopian nightmare, yet not ghoulish like the fanged villains who bomb the houses where children live, yet seething in a way that reminds readers why dreams of adventure are so deeply important. In its essence, this is a story about death & grieving, & the ways in which our person dies a slow death waiting to rejoin those whom we have loved in this life. Rainy, the main character, is a man who is kind, he is tender & funny, smart & musically inclined. His narration of the story comes from a point in the future. The reader is unsure of why Rainy has chosen to share his recollections or if he knows that we are listening. However, these details are not as important as they may seem; Rainy has something to share & so he does. This excursion began when his beloved wife, Lark, was murdered in their home by a group of government bruisers who ransacked the house in search of a runaway prisoner. I find this story difficult to review. I felt terribly sad when Lark was murdered & yet, I hardly knew her. In fact, Lark wasn’t a real person at all, she is a character in a book. Her character was warm, cunning, savvy & humorous, she was gentle & firm, empathetic & silly. Lark felt like the rain over dry crops; she was a person who brought life into the story by the mere mention of her person. It is no mystery to me why I felt so positively devastated by her untimely demise. Lark’s character enters the story & acts as the light that shines the way for Rainy. Their marriage is one that would make the most claustrophobic covet the cupboard to feel such snug warmth. Lark was a keener of delicate & valuable books—readers will love her for this fact alone. She owned a shop in the town & roamed the country in search of estate sales & delicate treasures she may amass for her collection. In the world of this story, such treasures were rare & often miscategorized for their lack of immediate value, such as one would find in a tool or wire. I suppose in some ways, I wanted the opportunity to visit Lark. I did not forget where I sat while reading this book nor did I envy the characters their world; a society in which rampant triads of gore shimmered in every horizon & sunrise. Yet, had the opportunity to visit her little shop of wonders been granted, I would have taken it. You see, I cannot pass up the chance to see what stories are beloved by another. Here we find ourselves at the heart of the story. Though this book deals primarily with violence, the adventure of finding a person one has lost to death, & the trials of surviving in a gruesomely barbaric society; this story also teases the reader with sweets in the form of tales & first drafts, of chronicles that the bind knows the reader cannot pass up. The title of this book is the same as the one that Lark has pursued throughout her adult life. I am compassionate of her endless & tiresome travels, attempting to obtain the precious gem that has escaped her. When finally she finds it, her death follows soon after. What is the purpose of this book? What is the goal when including a secondary author in the torment of grief that overshadows all other things? Readers may find that Enger confuses himself by encouraging Rainy to carry a book that Lark loved & yet never had the opportunity to ruminate on, throughout the months of his travels in search of her spirit reincarnate. Veteran readers, or readers who are people with days under their skies & dozens of meetings with the moon, will not begrudge Enger or Rainy their small comfort. As referenced earlier, the goons who were responsible for Lark’s murder were chasing an escaped prisoner whose name was Kellan. His character is flawed, rather sullen, sulky & shy. However, Kellan is also patient, insightful, & kind. Though the reader never learns the details of Rainy’s age, they may come to look at him as a man in the middle; a person who has lived long enough to know the patterns & flow of life but who has enough spirit left in him to try something new & tempt fate, one more time. The relationship that these two characters share is short-lived. Kellan runs away in the middle of Lark’s birthday party & Rainy sees him only upon arriving on the government’s prison ship. Yet, their time is well-spent & readers are given the layout of the viper’s nest that sits quietly in the tall grass. Though I do not think it is my place—a reviewer’s place—to recap the story in its entirety, I hope this morsel suffices for readers who have yet to read the book, to engage their curiosity further by going to the source. Enger writes a story that lingers in the mind. Every single character is a delight, even when they act as the antagonist to the melodramatic chants of the protagonist. The feat of writing an adventure the likes of which rivals Homer’s “The Odyssey” (725 BCE), is incomparably difficult. Readers seldom forget themselves in their reading experience. Those who do are perhaps reading for escapism or are less critical of the world built around them; none of which are bad things. To be met with the dedicated talent of an author who understands their characters & the shadow figures of their imaginary world is a treat one savours upon encountering. Enger is an author whom I will seek out again. What made this story so enthralling had perhaps less to do with the plot than it did with the characters. Rainy was not without his faults & none of the secondary characters were altogether trustworthy. In scenes, the reader meets people who are abusive, cruel, & tormented. The next chapters gently untangle a forgotten memory that Rainy wishes to share & it seems that the story is forgiven for the introduction of an annoying child or of a dirty malevolent predator. Just as life is flawed & faulted by the very nature of its existence, so too was this story. The flow of the narrative captured what it meant to mourn a loss that was stolen; a thieved facet of what made life worth living. The imagery presented throughout Rainy’s travels reminded me of home while also speaking to me in a language foreign to my understanding. The claim of this being a dystopian novel is factually correct, though I would hesitate to state that devourers of this genre of story will be met with their most beloved in this bind. Rather, this story appeals to readers because of its adventurous nature; wandering minds & analytic thinkers will have something to devour & deconstruct without necessarily stepping outside the confines of comfort. The equation presented is one that a tired & true reader may have encountered before. In some ways, this reminded me of John Langan’s “The Fisherman” (2017), which is how I sold it to my friend, telling him that in this book he would find the classic storytelling of ancient philosophers & the clawing nature of the magistral beast that we both loved in Langan’s fantastical horror. These points are not meant to discourage readers, on the contrary, I believe that one has certainly come upon a book that missed the heart of what their reader’s mind was seeking to find & I believe that I have been satiated by reading Enger’s book. Certainly, the storytelling style of a personal narration, mixed with memories, side notes featuring feelings, & characters the reader will never become acquainted with firsthand, may lead some readers to flounder; What is the purpose in so much detail? While I reference my nameless friend so often it is not without purpose. There were times while reading when I wondered if my grasp of English was strong enough or if I had enough life experience to empathize with Rainy. On other occasions, I felt overexposed to feelings I kept locked away or memories that reminded me of my existence. Though I shall never come out & say the things that make me who I am & very rarely hint at them, the books that I appreciate—the stories that I love—do that for me. To share such high esteem with another person is quite a vulnerable position. Rainy spends an entire novel speaking to the reader because they are a stranger. He knows how he may sound & he understands that he will come across, as sometimes shallow, & sometimes a silly dreamer, but he shares his experiences because this part of him has lived in his person for so long, & it has come time to set it free. I knew I loved Rainy immediately & I rather bemoan myself for writing that sentiment here because I do not want you to know this. Rainy reminds me quite intimately of the hope I held a very long time ago. He remained nearly faceless throughout this entire story because, as all great love stories go, we met in the written word & we shall never have the chance to meet with eyes locked in understanding. His deep-rooted admiration, tenderness, respect—his love—for Lark opened a soft spot for him in my mind & it was overwhelming to see him remain a man that a reader could trust, flaws & all. What kind of reader does this make me? Perhaps in the same way that Rainy sought refuge with the quietly gentle couple in the remote town near a Great Lake, so too have I tilted my head upward to meet the bear waiting for me in the forest. Ultimately, as I wrote out my recommendation to my friend—a person who knows me well enough now to understand the grappling nature of sickness that cut off crumbs of paper for him to follow when it was his time—I remembered myself as a child, reading the great books that shadowed the hallways of the houses I frequented & the people whose minds they lived within. A recommendation is a person’s way of saying; in this delicate treasure, you may find me, alongside the uncharacteristically earnest people who colour the ink. Perhaps, I feel brave because I read a story about a man who could not escape his grief. Maybe, in some way, this story was made magical because it reminded me of something else, or because the prose was more beautiful than a naturally grown rose, or the morning song of a bird waking one from slumber. Certainly, the pilgrimage of grief exists alongside Rainy for the rest of his life. His story does not end as the reader closes the page to stare into silence. Rather, snippets of his joy, his cool water resounding mornings, his riddles & strums, the waves of his forearms & Ursidae heart, beat into the night like a drum whose belly is soft as the fur that once adorned it; tanned with the sorrow of a long & succulently devious life. Thank you to NetGalley, Grove Atlantic, & Leif Enger for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Mar 02, 2024
|
Mar 02, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||
125
| 
| 0316568066
| 9780316568067
| 0316568066
| 3.75
| 65
| Aug 20, 2024
| Aug 20, 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 violent crime, grief, murder, distorted body image, eating disorders, substance abuse, sexual-based violence, clinical distress, the death of an animal, & others. Ample are the parameters, definers, symptoms, & faces of grief. The altruistic nature of the sentiment prevents the shadow of emptiness from hovering over a future horizon, perhaps never to be met by the sufferer. The quotidian rhythm of existence promises grief in the rise & fall of all that we do; there is no way to avoid loss. However, grief is not simply a loss. In its own beautiful way, grief speaks to something unknown; a splinter in the beast itself. Culture will define grief & will prevent it from growing tall; nipping it at the heels with the poignant hymn of truth. Yet, one must ask; What is the truth? When I requested this book I knew not what to expect. This is perhaps a silly statement. Rarely do I endeavour into books that gift me a clear idea of what they wish to present. I have always been a reader who prefers the silent miss-matching of story & mind. The ambiguous clarity provided by a synopsis is one I usually forfeit altogether; I have done this too long not to read the shaded colours & stencilled shapes on the wall. In this particular case, I was glad to hold my ignorance. The format of the story is adopted primarily to sequester a reader in what might be a primal stance; to be victim, victor, or vanquished. In essence, this story is about Jane. It appears trite to say that the story relies upon Jane’s disorders to reel the reader into submission but, this is the truth. The story opens with Jane’s redundancy. Her mornings see the consequence of dread filling her lungs after a night of being caught in the riptide of her illness (Bulimia Nervosa). She runs the city, scours her room, rides the train to work, eats a salad, occupies every free second with her best friend, hitchhikes her way home through pizza joints & doughnut shops, & repeats her dissociated dance of online activity & purges evidence of nutrition into the bellies of the toilet bowl. Jane’s story is split into three parts. The first of which explores the first-hand experiences of Jane’s diligent & harmful cycle, as listed in the paragraph above. In between the sections that read like a malevolent tornado, Jane meets men; she sleeps with them, runs the pedestrian’s path with them, & works on literary projects with them. All the while, Jane remains essentially unknown to all the people around her. This first section is meant to act as both a cautionary tale & a reminder that the mundane sickness of life may not end us but, death is certainly around the corner. That is to say, Jane’s life is sad to take in. Readers unfamiliar with the cycle of distress that accompanies an eating disorder may feel just as suffocated as readers who have felt the weight of horror in their bodies & bones. Montague works diligently to prevent the reader from forgetting who Jane is. Rather than stick to the mounds of dread, scratchy throats, & dirty bile; Montague reminds readers that Jane is a person misunderstood; she has likes & dislikes, passions & terrors. All the things that make the reader the essence of who they are also exist in Jane. This is what made her section both insightful & ruefully grievous. Through the pages of repeated daily activity, Jane becomes a person that the reader wishes to know. Some form of the fingers on the pages longs to intervene before it is too late. Throughout this section, I found myself actively engaged in the anthropologist’s role. Would Jane be able to find peace? Which of the men in Jane’s life murdered her? Every morning run reminded me of the curious nature of life; our habits shape the day as we move through it, tedious as they sometimes seem. However, in so far as I found Jane’s section engaging, the narrative lost steam because we learned so little about her environment. This was most likely done intentionally. Jane is the victim of a violent crime, her section could not be the length of a tome, she was nearing her final days & it was soon time that the reader shifted points of view to better understand the narrative at play. Regardless, I felt taxed as a consequence of a morbid existence, otherwise seen as being Jane’s life. The redundancy of Jane’s life shifts to welcome a new character, Jesse. The second part of the story explores a tertiary point of view of the crime. The players the reader grew accustomed to seeing in the backdrop of Jane’s life become the villains; men with voices too loud to discern clearly. Jesse’s role is as an investigator for the Defendant, Jeremy. In all sincerity, I preferred this section to the two others because it felt real in a way that is difficult to achieve in writing. Jesse’s life is flawed & hurtful; his days are wrought with anxiety & pain. His family life consists of hours spent guiding his mother through repetitions brought on by her Dementia & attempting to prevent her from losing hope in the darkness brought on by her mind. Jesse’s narrative was raw, earnest, pleading, ambitious, & genuine. His person brought realism to a plot that introduced the reader to people they might never understand & then, here came Jesse, a character who could also be their friend. Notable in this section is how Montague wrote the turmoil of a terminal diagnosis alongside the finality of death at the hands of another. In both cases, for both women—Jane & Jesse’s mother—the end of their lives became a truth they were not privy to learning. While Jesse attempted to wander in the dark to find the pieces of his mother that might still exist in her mind, he also attempted to find the truth in the void left behind by Jane’s murder. The links between both women are ample & a diligent reader will piece together the ropes that tie them to one existence; that of a woman without agency. I found Jesse to be amiable & warm. His earnest pursuit of the truth among all the shaded groves of different people & their experiences, helps the plot move forward but it also grants it the girth that it needs. In many ways, both the first & the third sections do nothing to speak to the reader & rather seek to isolate them from the narrative at play. At times, the secrecy behind an intentional intellect—think a philosopher without any lived experience to rely on—confounds this story into a heaping waste of time. The legal aspects are not explored in the first & third sections; the grainy details of the crime of homicide are not brought forward by any of the characters & rather, these sections poise the characters to make everything about their person, forgetting the societal implications of selfishness. This is, as I have said many times in my writing, not meant to be cruel. Rather, the author allows the reader to deduce that the real storyteller is Jesse. He is the driver of the story, the hero, & victor throughout all the chaos caused by two people who were egotistically overly involved in themselves. This truth made Jesse more appealing. The links between the deterioration of the brain & the body as well as the reality that horrors succeed without humanity being capable of concluding rationales is the crux of what is bulbous, overwhelming, & distressing both in life & in fiction. However, upon reflection, I wonder still about the reality of the case. Jane’s cell phone was found in the dumpster at her office building. Jane was having an affair with her boss, Tom, & she knew that he had the business appraised for an obscene amount of money. By the end of the second section, we learn that Tom was accused of the crime but was acquitted. Why is that? It will not come as a surprise to anyone who knows their way around the legal system that the processes are not always correct nor are they efficient. If Tom did not murder Jane, who did? How would Tom have known where Jane ran? How would Tom have known that Jane would have heard him calling to her in the alleyway? Had Tom met Aaron? Did Tom know that Aaron usually met Jane down the laneway from where she was murdered? Had he accounted for the fact she might not be alone or that other people were awake during this hour of the morning? There are so many variables that could & should be analyzed before concluding that the murder was committed by Tom. What is apparent & dull is that the justice system did not ask any of these questions. In the state of New York, the Double Jeopardy, also known as the Fifth Amendment, prevents a person who has been acquitted of a crime from being tried again for the same crime. Therefore, Tom is a free man. I reflect on this fact because the logistics do not make sense to me. None of the men regarded as possible suspects in Jane’s murder were approached with dedicated caution. Jesse came across the evidence of Jane’s affair with Tom at random. Why was he not being properly investigated from the start? Certainly, my questions are somewhat annoying because they will bring the reader no clarity. Though multiple characters claim that Jane’s schedule is meticulous, a murder in the morning is too risky to be well-planned. One can easily assume that Jane was not running in the dark of 4:00 AM but rather closer to 6:00 or 7:00 AM given the number of people out & about. This speaks to the personality trait at play as we know for a fact that Jane walked around the city alone at night between restaurants & bars. What I seek to highlight with these questions is not that the irresolution of her murder is flawed but that the story is not about the crime. The third part of the book drives home my point as Jeremy is introduced via his own experiences as he interviews for a podcast. The desolate & lovely gore of the story is sadly lost entirely in the third part. Perhaps the author sought to allow the vanquished man to hold his court & share his truth. In some ways, allowing Jeremy the chance to speak to his experiences as the accused feels just; his life will forever be altered by the suspicion that lingered on the cellphone tower. Yet, if one looks back to the perusal through the logistics of the murder, one is left wondering (again) whether the judicial bodies did any work in this case, at all. Jeremy, like Jane, held a meticulous schedule & visited similar places, over & over again. The suspicion that he might have been responsible for Jane’s murder arises simply because his cellphone pinged off a tower near the scene of the crime. Of course, reading Jeremy’s section does nothing to incite confidence in his character; rather he reads as a very tedious liar but, I digress. If one were to properly seek to understand the case against Jeremy, one would be left exasperated. Perhaps the author sought to include this final section to encourage the ambiguous ending; maybe, Jeremy did murder Jane. This leaves me asking what the point of the story is, if, in fact, the driving force is the men who do very little of anything worth reading throughout the entire story. From a neutral point, one can accept that it is kind to allow Jeremy to close off the story. However, this story is not about him so the narrative feels as though has lost its essence. Is this the point of the book? Are readers meant to conclude that a woman’s truth is lost as a consequence of a man’s presence/involvement? I am not convinced that this is the moral of the story. Rather, I feel quite comfortable in concluding that the author was simply writing to write; the final section shows a flexed finger as Montague quotes great writers whose word use reinforces the burden of existence whereas her book simply showcases the lost causes that exist in between rumbling subway stations. The dialogue between Jeremy & the podcast host did not insight knowledge into the story, nor did it create space for reflecting on what the story was actually about. Perhaps, because I was not a fan of who Jeremy was; after sections of blabbering about being a writer with talent & time; I found myself wishing for the book to end so that I was relieved of the boredom that accumulated around the third section. Truthfully, had his character been set up as a man of men, a person with flaws but the ability to not be chauvinistic & rather daft, I might not have felt as I did. Unfortunately, looming in the centre of the cream egg was mould & I did not see the purpose in writing pages about a man who made clear who he was in each section of the book. Ultimately, this is a good book & one I would recommend to other readers. I long to meet Jesse again & I hope that the sorrow of his life is healed. He was not a perfect person but he was a person in all his entirety, making him a man I grew eager to know. Just as I have chosen a favourite section, other readers will meet the parts of the story they deem valuable & agreeable. One is left wondering if the purpose of transcribing human horror is lost on the three subcategories of readers who will approach this book as I have & then also, in completely different ways. The burden of grief lays itself raw to the reader in the failed investigations & cruel characters that once appeared as best friends. The essence of a person is never quite lost as we live inside the story & reality that exists in the brains of others. Jane, a woman who was quiet & ill, was also mean & uninterested, while simultaneously being catastrophically numb to life, she sought out its warmth & excitement in any place she could. In just such a way, may the reader find that each of the characters is more than they appear yet, not a lie of who they hope to be. Much of the burden of loss exists because the imagery we hold is no longer visible to us until we become one with the illusion that shelters our person from days that continue to move forward without the comfort of those who are no more. Thank you to NetGalley, Mulholland Books, & Eugenie Montague for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Feb 25, 2024
|
Feb 25, 2024
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
124
| 
| 147359409X
| 9781473594098
| B0CKHBSYH2
| 3.68
| 87
| unknown
| Jun 27, 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, infidelity, suicide, substance use, sexual image-based abuse (i.e. nonconsensual pornography), theft, & others. The tingle of a promise, ominous, loathsome, looming, renders the threat ticklish, gruesome, & exciting. When a promise is not kept, when something is hinted at, only to be forgotten, one is sunken in quicksand by the angelic hands of a friend. Literature that engages the tonal shift of enticement, one that lingers just outside of the deliberate letter, twinges inside the iris of the reader; the next page will hold something more; the scene that follows shall make clear what the smog has cloistered. Yet, the writer whose tone escapes them, like a mime who screams out in terror, leaves readers with disappointed spittle soaking their bib, where the saucy delight of broken ribs should have been. The author & I have met through her work in the past. When I first read Setton’s work “Berlin” (2022) I hoped to find the delight of oddity. The promise that lingers in the synopsis of Setton’s works breathes air into rotting lungs. Readers, like myself, who enjoy a challenge will be deflated upon completing the windmill-style turn through her plots but, readers who are unlike me will revel & gloat at the feet of the feast she presents them. Both of Setton’s books appeal to a reader who is looking for a challenge. These readers are not seeking out Plato’s “The Republic” (375 BC) or Mikhail Bulgakov’s “The Master and Margarita” (1967), nor are they coyly ruminating on Yiyun Li’s “The Book of Goose” (2022). Rather, these readers enjoy the bizarre colours of a palette left unused; enough to make them tongue-tied when reality seeps its curious fingers into the spine & paralyzes the story where it stands. These readers are fond of the odd as long as it remains caged; they long for the horror that can be seen through the screen of a protective visor; they are habituated with the heart’s murmur after a branch snaps in the woods. However, they do not seek to go outside the confines of their comfort. I do not begrudge them for this, in fact, I applaud their self-awareness. Setton writes for them & I am sure their hunger will be appeased by her second novel. In essence, this story follows Anna as she pursues her PhD at the University of Cambridge in 2020. The Coronavirus (COVID-19) has spread its wings & altered her inflated egotistical approach to life; she meets a handsome man & they have sex; her friends are smart & vapid all at once. The story follows her throughout the banal realizations that she comes to. She meets herself head-on, watching her actions in reflective services & in the whites of the eyes of the men she covets & yet, in the end, another woman is the magnificent beast that towers over the castle & castrates the love she seeks to possess. Of course, this is an oversimplification. Anna sees a car crash, she has her diamond earrings stolen, & she is responsible for the death of a cat & multiple members of the rodent family. Anna is also a person who is allowed to make mistakes. She invests all her time with a beautiful man because he is beautiful & she is not. This makes her feel of value when all along she claimed to be better than women who were granted the blessing via their genetic code. The purpose of the narrative seems to encourage readers to empathize with Anna while also degrading her for the harm she causes those around her. The semi-automatic format of this story left me disappointed & winded. I had succumbed to the enthusiasm granted to me in the opening scenes; a dual car crash, a chase in the roadway, pounding fists of violence, a runner, & first responders who never arrived. Yet as the novel roared onward, these scenes—my promise of horrors set to be unearthed like the ravenously broken jaws of a corpse—never gave the reader, or the story, more than what they had at their introduction. The cars were driven by Caden & Jack, brothers who sought out Giselle, the woman turned monster as a consequence of having everything. The absence of first responders was nothing but a fluke & if you live in a city not unlike my own; this ominous fiction is also an unfortunate reality. For reasons I cannot quite explain, I read this entire book hoping that Setton would return to her work. The pause of the tone of malevolence that she incorporated early on was all but abandoned, as though the woebegone banality of a woman self-declaring herself smarter than others was worth all the pages she dedicated to her. I suppose that at some point I decided that the crudely boring nature of the seesaw was something I could masticate; it was no loss to me to spend a few hours waiting in the wings for Anna to become the villain I knew she could be. I have been clear-cut with my disdain for the lack of direction in tone & trajectory in this story. However, I did read the entire book. As I have said, there are reasons for this, some of which I might not be able to discern but, should I take a moment to reflect, it is no secret to me that the primary reason I was able to do so was because Setton’s writing is easy to digest. There is no depth to the vernacular that is employed, even when the characters are expressing the depths of their theologies. This is not something I find fault in, rather it is helpful to approach this style of story with monotonous language that engages every reader; one need not be a theologian or astrophysicist to comprehend the underbelly of the women’s studies at Cambridge. On the other hand, the links that formed between subjects explored, both among the characters & the flow of the story could have been allowed to seep further into the plot. That being said, I am not certain that Setton wanted to write a devoutly amoral & overall heinous story. My conclusion is that she wrote the story she had in mind; I appreciate her efforts & her success in doing so. This leads me to ruminate on feelings of vexation; I know she could have done more. This book is a prime example of what it means to attract a person who is unlike the self. I know I am not the target reader & I would be hopeful in stating that Setton might agree. There is a part of me that longs to encourage her to go deeper, to drive home the homilies of terror that linger just outside of her spider’s web but, this is not what she has wanted to do. This review should not act as a call to action; the author has written out page after page about a character who can be forgiven by the right audience. Setton’s story is about a woman who is still very young. The main character is twenty-three & as someone who was once this age, a moon or two ago, I understand how very juvenile a person of this age is, in reality, now that I am no longer shooed in this very space by birthdays & sentient holidays. Her mistakes are quite horrible & her decision to remain engaged in a rumpus dull relationship with Caden is boring but, Anna is still growing. The world has yet to open itself to her. When she speaks about her childhood & the nature of her family dynamic, the reader will note no horrific trauma; there exists only the sullen nature of a rainy day & parents too egotistical to care. Do not mistake me, I firstly do not wish for anyone to be traumatized, it is a rather despairingly drunken state to live in. Secondly, the minutia of Anna’s experiences are not ones I seek to diminish. Rather, I highlight her family life, her upbringing, & her character as markers of a person who has not necessarily had the opportunity to be faced with the terrible things that do exist, in plain sight. Anna’s father is a beast, like many men—many women, if we are being honest—he wants his wife to be thin, he has opinions that are always correct & he cannot accept the nature of nuance that exists in the human species. Anna’s mother is frail & angry, she does not seek to escape her cage as it defines her as a woman of the house; a kept flower in the forest burnt to a crisp. Neither parent is particularly spectacular. Feeding your children wet dog food ranks rather uncomfortably as a nasty thing to do. However, Anna has an inflated ego as a result of the comfort of her home & therefore is poorly prepared to deal with the ferociously complicated nature of real life. During the earlier parts of the story, I found myself displeased with Anna & entirely uninterested in what she had to say. She covets the nature of her superiority as though readers have not walked the streets of life, once, if not twice. I found her character entirely dull & yet, she was the narrator. From some point in the future, she felt within her a challenge & desire to tell us a story. This same story ends when Giselle, Caden’s ex-girlfriend, follows her down the path to what one might assume is her death. This leads me to the nature of the secondary & tertiary characters. Setton fleshed out her characters well. By nature, this story is not profound & does not explore the depth of the situation at play. It will not come as a surprise to readers such as myself that the story ends on a distinctly ambiguous note. As I read, I wanted to have the story told to me by someone who would be honest. I did not trust Anna to be able to be clear with her thoughts or her experiences. She transformed everyone around her into villains. Perhaps, Caden did commit suicide & perhaps, Giselle is riddled with regret for the pain she caused. The reader will never actually understand the parameters of what is truth as Anna does not look to speak it. Truthfully, I did not hate this story. I will seek out Setton’s work again. However, I did not like this story either. I did not want to accept that there was nothing more to this story than a peculiar triangle meshed with sodden lake water & drowned in disregard. There is a scary story that can be found awaiting the curtain behind the nature of reality that is often cocooned within bulbously tepid stories. Anna toyed rather romantically with death on more than one occasion & she felt it her due to live on. Her pleas to die were to the void, something she knew would never answer her. Would it be cruel to say she is a coward for calling into the Dark Matter to have a desire fulfilled while she is aware that it cannot deliver? Ultimately, the body of this text is dull because it altered the course I wished to run; I wanted servant’s bodies & biblical slices of clay & skin to render my hands into anguished clusters. Instead, I was met with a monotone girl who is blonde & thin; she is educated & well-off; her goals are achievable & people will forgive her cruel naivety because one time she cried alone. How utterly unforgivable it is to forget that Anna is also a person who engaged in sexual image-based abuse. Therefore, forget, the reader shall not. In life, forgiving & forgetting seems to be done in tandem & maybe Anna will be able to bloom into a person, unlike the one we met in this book. However, one must not forget that consequence is often the lingering encourager behind change. I peruse the muddy river & those early rising who breathe a mist that flows from the mouths of the silent people in Cambridge like a ghost, haunting the very streets that hide bombs underneath. A narrator’s cool temperament does not excuse a boring tale. No lore can reinvigorate the tonsils extradited from the cavity of the mouth, so one must therefore choose whether to speak or remain silent. Were the diamond earrings worth hiding in plain sight? Was the secret worth keeping that killed the cat who sought out the warmth of a cave of wonders, Anna could not invade? What is certain is that the freedom to leave off here is mine to hold & yours to accept & so, with these words we part ways, possibly never to meet with this sordid tale of fictional sadness, ever again. Thank you to NetGalley, Random House UK, & Bea Setton 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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Feb 17, 2024
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Feb 17, 2024
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Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||
120
| 
| B0CNM77W9J
| 3.79
| 132
| unknown
| Dec 15, 2023
|
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 religious extremism, sexism, bigotry, self-harm, mental illness, mania, & others. Religion is a lingering facet of human society. There has always been a need to believe in more than the self. Alongside this comes the desire for structure. It is certainly attractive for every hour of the day to have a purpose. However, humanity’s self-motivating ability is great; Why would we need someone else to tell us what to do? What is the purpose of a system of beliefs that alter our free will? There is hardly a straightforward answer to either of these questions. Suffice it for humanity to rest easy, contemplating the essence of a creature devout in celestial abilities whose features resemble the mirror’s reflection but whose consciousness is unbound by the valour of malice that pungently exhausts the land. This story follows a female religious devotee; she leads a church, she reads, & she is mistaken for a follower though she is the leader. She is a devotee of the philosophy of belief; the concept of something other than herself. Her character is nearly inconsequential to the story, so it matters little whether she is of flesh & bone or small choking hazards—plastic. Rather, what is most fascinating about Kaye is the fact that she does not matter at all. She has a husband & yet this man has an entire life, fulfilled by his independent enjoyments, one is left wondering where she factors in. Her church functions independently of her sermons & one is left wondering what part of the Lord’s whispers reaches her ears at all. While reading this book I found the time swiftly passed me by. I was not preoccupied with the length of the book, the ticking of the clock or the sun’s passage in the sky. What grabbed my attention was the premise; a woman whose faith seems utterly devoid of belief. That is not to say that Kaye has no system on which to rest but that her essence floats like moats in the summer’s sun. Readers will find in her a character that is shallow & grave like the hole whence the body lays in final tranquillity. This is not a bad thing. In certain cases, the main character of a book is the vessel by which the reader becomes immersed in the narrative. Kaye does not offer readers the opportunity to know her, she isn’t even the person translating the story into palatable chapters. This story is told by some omniscient being, rather unlike the God Kaye has grown to believe in, the narrator understands that Kaye is a woman without much gumption. I appreciated the tertiary narration. At times, I wanted to know who was telling me the story as I felt this might have engaged me further in the rather ridiculous series of events. However, the secrecy of the recounting—the disengaged words from no one in particular—felt intimate & led the story in the direction it needed to go. Readers who have a firm grasp of various systems of belief, of the houses that bind religions & their facets, will have a better time appreciating this story for what it is, a philosophical question on the foundation of ideology. Though an archive of religious knowledge will be of use to readers, it is not necessary. One may lean on the narrative to appreciate the depth; Kaye is a woman in a man’s field, she is a woman hearing the word of God, she is a woman speaking the word of God—always thought to be a male entity—to communities led by male figures. Certainly, this is a simplistic view because it is easily ascertained. One need not live in the city center to understand the vast nuance of gender freedoms. However, Kaye never really questions herself in this sense. She is aware that people do not regard her as an authority figure because priests are men & Kaye is a woman. The simplicity of this fact needs to be considered as it contributes to the downfall of the main character. Had she not met a man in the park maybe she would have been less sympathetic to his ramblings. Had she seen a homeless woman would she have bemoaned the society that led her there? If Kaye had not been in a heterosexual relationship would God have whispered pleasantries about faith & comfort into her ear to be shared with her community? If Kaye’s mother hadn’t foretold of her daughter’s failure, would Kaye have chosen a path to success? Kaye’s father is not mentioned. Her husband is mentioned only so far as to highlight that he rumbles through life like a tumbleweed; believing in this, incorporating that, & not paying close enough attention to anything in particular to be considered devout. What is the author trying to convey? Which of the characters is the antagonist? What I find to be a great drag is when turmoil & fear are built up to be a storm but are, instead, raindrops across a garden’s bed. That is to say; Kaye is a person who ponders the truth of her ideology. Her entire system of belief is based on the alternative—a woman priest rather than a male, a traditional church rather than the new-age bigoted lot; devotion on park benches rather than pews; prayer with hands held tight rather than palms facing the sky. Is Kaye different for the sake of being different or does she believe that this path is the right, bona fide & absolute road? The narrative lacks consistency. When I speak of torrential rain it is in line with what the novel attempts to promise. The scene in the park & the ultimate loss—homelessness—are represented as small dandelions in a field of green, nearly indistinguishable in the grand scheme. Kaye’s reliance on published works might lead readers to conclude that her beliefs are rather seeded in the English language; it does not matter what is written so long as she can read it, consume it, speak it, & live it to be true. When she meets the man who claims to be a planet, a star; a nucleus of the Gods; Kaye poses no objections. Who is Janus? Due to the nature of this story, one that poses itself as a rather sour satire, I found the answer to this question invisible to my eyes. What would have led Kaye to believe a man she met in the park? What was it about his speech that brought to light the providence of what he foresaw? In ancient Rome, Janus was the God of Doors; he saw what was coming down the line & how it tied into the current state of being. His ability to gauge time allowed him to act as a clairvoyant. His status in ancient Roman religions & mythology declared him as the God of gateways, change, transition; the beginnings, ends; & archways. Picture yourself standing in a public park in the middle of the rain. A stranger approaches you; a person with perfect teeth but no home. This person offers you a sermon, stating that you have made the wrong decision & you should change course immediately. What do you do? If you live in a boisterous city, this situation has probably happened to you before. I have stood in grocery stores & had similar experiences while contemplating the cracker selection. This makes Kaye’s mental turmoil difficult to understand. She loses her way after a rapid-fire conversation that offers little in terms of morsels of nourishment; Janus says little to Kaye & yet she is consumed by a mania that was triggered by the invisible. Can the reader conclude that this stranger—Janus—spoke worry into her broken mind? Was Kaye’s temperament likely to crack, regardless of the person who visited her in the park? What made Janus claim that Kaye’s future would need to be altered for her well-being? What part of her lax & rather unburdened existence posed cause for worry? As I am not the God of Doorways, I am perhaps poorly placed to ask such questions. Yet, the reality is that this story took place in our world, in our day & age with a person who was viscerally integrated into the casualty of modern-day society. Why did she believe a prophet in the park? One can understand reading books & believing the words they share; this happens all the time—this is part of the reason that drives book bans; people have very little critical thinking ability & so become immersed in whatever fiction or fancy is presented to them (think: the Bible). What I am saying is that the author was unintentional with their premise. It is fine & dandy to have a character fall head over heels for ludicrous stanzas, but this scene felt foggy in the worst way; it was incomplete. There is no motive behind anything that happens. The free will of each individual in the exchange reads as cloistered behind the mind of the author. This plays well into the premise, that God is playing dolls with humanity or that the Prophet—whichever one you believe existed—is a spoilt child longing to alter the narrative of their plastic toys. However, one still needs to ask why. When one is sitting in a religious institution one is not waiting for mystery. One listens to a speaker who has punctuation to add to folly. One is present & attentive waiting for the parable that will nestle their worries. For Janus to appear in the church after Kaye experiences fever-induced mania does not read as the miracle of prophecy. Rather, this scene feels like a manic episode. One is left feeling rather sad for Kaye as she sinks further into the mud of her mind. Perhaps this is the point. Is religion a muddy stream seeking to sink anyone who steps foot in its waters? Does it matter that Janus came to Kaye rather than her God manifesting himself in Gabriel or the burning bush? Is the essence of all-encompassing ideology that one loses oneself in their philosophy? What would have become of Aristotle if he had wandered the streets of another city? What if walking across the water was a metaphor for performing that which feels impossible? What if no one hears God because he does not have a voice? The eclipse of methodology encourages this story to nestle firmly in the absurd. Kaye becomes the familiar face of every person you might know which leaves her disappearance an impossible case to close. Was Kaye a real person to begin with or was she simply a metaphor for the cosmic domesticity of humanity’s insecurity? Is the story’s narrator the author or another omniscient being intent on grotesque exposition in an attempt to instil the bedtime story with a proverbial warning; hold steady to your beliefs or any droplet of rain is likely to turn your life into a monsoon; beware the aimless roamer; hasten your scripture or the pages of your life with slice you to pieces. Ultimately, the reader may select their interpretation. Religion is a personal philosophy. One may wish to believe that they are unique in their care for the land or their tenderness of a stranger’s well-being yet, cultivated in the woods & within the sewer ways are the gathering of these same drowning foes. Making their way into the cerebellum from the gentle nerves behind our skin; ideology is that which we are better off ignorant of understating least we opt for the drowning vessel carrying feet that can neither part the seas nor walk through waves to safety. Thank you to NetGalley, Cemetery Dance Publications, & Nicole Cushing 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 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 religious extremism, sexism, bigotry, self-harm, mental illness, mania, & others. Religion is a lingering facet of human society. There has always been a need to believe in more than the self. Alongside this comes the desire for structure. It is certainly attractive for every hour of the day to have a purpose. However, humanity’s self-motivating ability is great; Why would we need someone else to tell us what to do? What is the purpose of a system of beliefs that alter our free will? There is hardly a straightforward answer to either of these questions. Suffice it for humanity to rest easy, contemplating the essence of a creature devout in celestial abilities whose features resemble the mirror’s reflection but whose consciousness is unbound by the valour of malice that pungently exhausts the land. This story follows a female religious devotee; she leads a church, she reads, & she is mistaken for a follower though she is the leader. She is a devotee of the philosophy of belief; the concept of something other than herself. Her character is nearly inconsequential to the story, so it matters little whether she is of flesh & bone or small choking hazards—plastic. Rather, what is most fascinating about Kaye is the fact that she does not matter at all. She has a husband & yet this man has an entire life, fulfilled by his independent enjoyments, one is left wondering where she factors in. Her church functions independently of her sermons & one is left wondering what part of the Lord’s whispers reaches her ears at all. While reading this book I found the time swiftly passed me by. I was not preoccupied with the length of the book, the ticking of the clock or the sun’s passage in the sky. What grabbed my attention was the premise; a woman whose faith seems utterly devoid of belief. That is not to say that Kaye has no system on which to rest but that her essence floats like moats in the summer’s sun. Readers will find in her a character that is shallow & grave like the hole whence the body lays in final tranquillity. This is not a bad thing. In certain cases, the main character of a book is the vessel by which the reader becomes immersed in the narrative. Kaye does not offer readers the opportunity to know her, she isn’t even the person translating the story into palatable chapters. This story is told by some omniscient being, rather unlike the God Kaye has grown to believe in, the narrator understands that Kaye is a woman without much gumption. I appreciated the tertiary narration. At times, I wanted to know who was telling me the story as I felt this might have engaged me further in the rather ridiculous series of events. However, the secrecy of the recounting—the disengaged words from no one in particular—felt intimate & led the story in the direction it needed to go. Readers who have a firm grasp of various systems of belief, of the houses that bind religions & their facets, will have a better time appreciating this story for what it is, a philosophical question on the foundation of ideology. Though an archive of religious knowledge will be of use to readers, it is not necessary. One may lean on the narrative to appreciate the depth; Kaye is a woman in a man’s field, she is a woman hearing the word of God, she is a woman speaking the word of God—always thought to be a male entity—to communities led by male figures. Certainly, this is a simplistic view because it is easily ascertained. One need not live in the city center to understand the vast nuance of gender freedoms. However, Kaye never really questions herself in this sense. She is aware that people do not regard her as an authority figure because priests are men & Kaye is a woman. The simplicity of this fact needs to be considered as it contributes to the downfall of the main character. Had she not met a man in the park maybe she would have been less sympathetic to his ramblings. Had she seen a homeless woman would she have bemoaned the society that led her there? If Kaye had not been in a heterosexual relationship would God have whispered pleasantries about faith & comfort into her ear to be shared with her community? If Kaye’s mother hadn’t foretold of her daughter’s failure, would Kaye have chosen a path to success? Kaye’s father is not mentioned. Her husband is mentioned only so far as to highlight that he rumbles through life like a tumbleweed; believing in this, incorporating that, & not paying close enough attention to anything in particular to be considered devout. What is the author trying to convey? Which of the characters is the antagonist? What I find to be a great drag is when turmoil & fear are built up to be a storm but are, instead, raindrops across a garden’s bed. That is to say; Kaye is a person who ponders the truth of her ideology. Her entire system of belief is based on the alternative—a woman priest rather than a male, a traditional church rather than the new-age bigoted lot; devotion on park benches rather than pews; prayer with hands held tight rather than palms facing the sky. Is Kaye different for the sake of being different or does she believe that this path is the right, bona fide & absolute road? The narrative lacks consistency. When I speak of torrential rain it is in line with what the novel attempts to promise. The scene in the park & the ultimate loss—homelessness—are represented as small dandelions in a field of green, nearly indistinguishable in the grand scheme. Kaye’s reliance on published works might lead readers to conclude that her beliefs are rather seeded in the English language; it does not matter what is written so long as she can read it, consume it, speak it, & live it to be true. When she meets the man who claims to be a planet, a star; a nucleus of the Gods; Kaye poses no objections. Who is Janus? Due to the nature of this story, one that poses itself as a rather sour satire, I found the answer to this question invisible to my eyes. What would have led Kaye to believe a man she met in the park? What was it about his speech that brought to light the providence of what he foresaw? In ancient Rome, Janus was the God of Doors; he saw what was coming down the line & how it tied into the current state of being. His ability to gauge time allowed him to act as a clairvoyant. His status in ancient Roman religions & mythology declared him as the God of gateways, change, transition; the beginnings, ends; & archways. Picture yourself standing in a public park in the middle of the rain. A stranger approaches you; a person with perfect teeth but no home. This person offers you a sermon, stating that you have made the wrong decision & you should change course immediately. What do you do? If you live in a boisterous city, this situation has probably happened to you before. I have stood in grocery stores & had similar experiences while contemplating the cracker selection. This makes Kaye’s mental turmoil difficult to understand. She loses her way after a rapid-fire conversation that offers little in terms of morsels of nourishment; Janus says little to Kaye & yet she is consumed by a mania that was triggered by the invisible. Can the reader conclude that this stranger—Janus—spoke worry into her broken mind? Was Kaye’s temperament likely to crack, regardless of the person who visited her in the park? What made Janus claim that Kaye’s future would need to be altered for her well-being? What part of her lax & rather unburdened existence posed cause for worry? As I am not the God of Doorways, I am perhaps poorly placed to ask such questions. Yet, the reality is that this story took place in our world, in our day & age with a person who was viscerally integrated into the casualty of modern-day society. Why did she believe a prophet in the park? One can understand reading books & believing the words they share; this happens all the time—this is part of the reason that drives book bans; people have very little critical thinking ability & so become immersed in whatever fi ...more |
Notes are private!
|
2
|
not set
not set
|
Oct 29, 2023
not set
|
Jan 21, 2024
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||||
123
| 
| 9780593441220
| 0593441222
| 4.29
| 458,451
| Apr 23, 2024
| Apr 23, 2024
|
really 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 parental abandonment, parental abuse, psychological abuse, parental neglect, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, & others. In all the stories of romance, the epicentre of the narratives that leak love derive their fluorescent nature from darkness. Whereas once the lonely heart beat on its own, enjoying the days as one must when one is alone; now the heart beats in a thrum, like hands over the steady skin of a drum. What makes the romantic narrative so engaging? Which part of the lovers’ odyssey sings to the lonely-hearted auditor? The nature of love is that it is attainable to all, no matter the pestering pain or deep-rooted ache; every single monstrous fear & deeply hopeful dream leaves room in their catacombs for the visually invisible magic that changes the world, one person at a time. When I learnt Henry was publishing another book I was less than enthused. I have read every single book she has published & only one (1) mildly settled my reader’s soul. I have always advocated for readers to find the books that speak to them. Not all books are for every reader but, it is good to try something different; like an aroma unplaced at a fancy dinner. However, I tried & we never met at a place where the efforts of the author were appreciated by me; my efforts never reached her ears, falling, rather, into the wasteland of reviews that I have written over the years. Who is to blame? I wanted to love each of Henry’s books because everyone else did but, I am not everyone else. Yet, time after time, I was reminded of the type of reader I am; a reader who longs for realism even when writing about the most mystifying aspects of life. This has left me not a little sad. The Romance genre appeals to so many readers & though I knock my skull against the library shelves, I have yet to find the cozy warmth so many readers have nestled themselves into. I suppose it is to my credit that I did not abandon all hope. I do not say this to be coy, rather, I know Henry can write & this is why I was disappointed. Throughout our time together, I have found her books to cater to a very particular reader, one who is perchance rather dedicated to the online world of acronyms & a tragic lack of vernacular. I cannot be unkind to these readers; I admire them & their eagerness to love all books. It is refreshing to see people approach reading freely, without the inhibitions of a mind that critically deconstructs & analyses at every turn. Readers, like myself, who pick their books as though it were their last meal; seated to devour the prose, the scenery, & the intimacy with the author like being born anew while keeping the skin they have always lived in—are less likely to simply love a genre meant for the causally earnest consumer of words. It is with gratitude to the publisher that I come to you now, ravishingly pleased with the story I have read. I prepared myself by reading nothing of the synopsis & no word of the praise her dedicated fans brought to her door; I came to Henry’s writing desk & asked her to give me a chance to see in her efforts the skill I knew she possessed. She obliged. Daphne is thirty-three; she has no idea where she fits into the world or how her life has gotten to a point where, on the flip of a coin, her days could become so devastatingly empty. Whereas one spring day she was engaged to a man who was tidy & scheduled, on the eve of a new life, he cast her aside to run away into the sunset with his best friend. The tale as old as time is rather not the dramatics of being abandoned by someone whom you thought would care for you, but rather, that love is in the small things; the cool breeze, gentle waves of the river; the warm Chai, the fresh bedsheets; the person who wandered the periphery casting light into all your cloistered shadows. The romance that develops between Daphne & Miles—the roommate; the ex-boyfriend of her fiancé’s best friend turned lover—is slow. It is not painstaking but earnest. Neither character is entirely sure of themselves but, this does not mean that they are incurably flawed. What I found in Henry’s writing was her ability to make real the dark ink on the page; her characters are people who breathe life into their own stories. Henry’s ability to present readers with entirely genuine characters is a skill that should be admired; it is not altogether easy to achieve vivid images of people while asking the reader to empathize with something they might not understand. The characters in this book have had difficult childhoods. When I went into this book, I did not expect to see reflections of myself in the blank faces of people that did not even exist but, there I was. I applaud Henry for incorporating the essence of cruelty & lasting pain into characters who fought for their day on the page; their spot in the sun & the peace that was brought to them in the conclusion. That is to say; trauma is a very difficult thing to present to readers. Some people go through life unscathed & the presentation of complex human experiences is tedious to explain. Not everyone has lovely relationships with their parents but this does not mean that they were abused. Therefore, an author must either choose to present a middle ground or, encourage their reader to follow them into deep dark water. In Henry’s case, she allowed the reader to remain safe outside the book. Ultimately, readers know that love will prevail—it always does. However, readers such as myself, who have personal experience with the events that cause Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (c-PTSD) & who have read more than their fair share of books, might linger & that is, as Henry allows it, entirely to their discretion. Somehow, Henry has welcomed the array of readers to the sandy beach where they will root for the tender touch of Daphne & Miles, while still allowing for the mind of the reader who will become stuck in the memories that cloud their mind. This is an extraordinary skill. Though stories can be accessible to all, it is challenging to write for everyone; this is something no author can do. However, Henry has gotten very close. While reading about the escapades & trials that Miles & Daphne endured in their own lives, I found myself relaxed & eager to see what life had in store for them. It was helpful to have characters walking the roads in a town that was filled with good people. We live in a world that often seems starved of tenderness, leaving readers malnourished. Whereas Miles was a complicated man, he never came across as stupidly egotistical. The fine line was drawn by the author when she accentuated Miles’ gentility & friendliness. Once again, veterans of life & lore will see in Miles the characteristics of a person who is friendly without being profound & their walls might begin to rise. I found the repetitive nature of Daphne’s compliments towards Miles rather trite. It is not a good thing to be liked by everyone; one cannot be friends with the world or one is rather hollow. I found myself annoyed that Miles was only known as a nice person & that the sole compliments Daphne could give him were that he was adventurous, super nice, & hot. These traits are not very telling. Who is Miles? I am not altogether convinced that Daphne understood who Miles was as a person; rather their interactions skimmed the surface of a shallow pool. Yet, as the book went on & the essence of their person was elaborated upon, I felt confident in the direction that Henry was taking her story. Though I do not trust a person who likes everyone & whom everyone likes, I can appreciate the desire to avoid the needless conflict that arises by allowing people to see who you are. In Miles’ case, his pattern of avoidance was to ensure his protection. Whereas he was a good person, his kindness was used against his inner peace to satisfy the world around him. When an older crowd of onlookers took the time to converse with him, I am inclined to believe that their eyes saw through the casual kindness of a person who understood how far manners got them. In this way, I grew protective over Miles, in a laid-back sense. I wanted to see his success as much as I hoped he grew to understand that safety was now in his hands. This observation made me fearful that Daphne would be the ever-annoying character I have seen so often in this style of book. When she was first introduced I found Daphne to be someone who harped on a nearly insignificant aspect of her life far too much. I wanted her to tell the reader why she kept putting herself down; this was not attractive, cute, coy, or funny, it was mean. Her nostalgia for a time when she was small & relied wholeheartedly on adults who were out in the world, living a life they were unsure of, made it clear to me who I was dealing with & then, I felt afraid she would misunderstand Miles & in turn, me. When I go into books, I do not expect to meet myself nor do I need the ego wrapping of a Christmas gift to appease my innermost self. I read because the world is filled with people who I am not & in some corner of the earth, someone is probably very alike to me, & in some special niche cases, we meet in the pages of a storybook. When I come upon classically telling features of a person I can clock like the hands of a round timekeeper I become somewhat defensive. I worried that the author would misunderstand the very clear reality that I have lived; already living in the shadow of truths I shall never reveal; I hope to find these revelations written with earnest intent. That is to say, when Miles spoke about the shadow he became & when Daphne revealed the despair of being left to wait while life moved on, actively without her; I grew protective of something I know well. It is not easy to trust an author. Some stories seek out the controversial & they do so with the intent to advertise misdirection. Somewhere deep inside, I hoped that Henry would write in a way that spoke to those of us who stood solid on the beach; waiting in the library aisles; experiencing a childhood that is not known, shown, or seen. It was not her responsibility to do her characters justice. Ultimately, this could have been a story about lovers who were so tortured & traumatized, that they could not overcome the very real struggles that resulted from years of parental neglect & active harm. However, as I have said—love does prevail & in this case, I am glad to have seen it steaming around the corner with rosy cheeks. What this story sought to present to readers was the complexity of timing. Daphne & Miles are people in their thirties; they have loved people, & had their love cast aside; their parents hurt them & could not protect them from the adult world that loomed over their childhood spirit. The magic in their relationship comes down to their desire to reverse the tides of trauma in their life & the lives of those around them. Henry has presented a slew of secondary characters who experienced their own levels of mistrust of others. Via the tormented & often strained relationships that each of the characters held with family, & friends, & their struggle to overcome that which held them back; readers were allowed to see how a person can be both complex & blithe of the life they wish to live. In this sense, Henry’s storyline was able to see the multiplicity of having a parent be absent; a friend forgetting their promise; a love dissipating; & the weight held by speaking truth to secrecy. In all of these experiences, readers grow intimately alongside the characters. Their path is not unbound by struggle but, the characters trust in themselves, even if only a little; enough to put their faith in tomorrow’s promise of a warmer sun, a cooler breeze, & a more restful moment along the way. Perhaps this is what made me appreciate this story. Through the jaunts around a town that casually reminded me of the town in which I grew up, I found in this story the charm of a gentle tug; there is beauty in life & so much more light than there ever was dark. In a theoretical sense, light can mean anything. One can find light sitting in a dark room via the memory of a smile or the warmth emanating from a person they loved. Technically, the universe & all her Black Holes might swallow us up tonight, but this does not mean that the soul dies. Therefore, what can a reader take away from this story? Daphne learns that her place in the world is just as important, if not more so, than the space she has held for the people who left her in waiting—the parents who are far away & who have walked away from her life, expecting her to be stagnant until their return. Miles has allowed a breeze in the locked room of his mind—the stale space where he has hidden himself is now being freed. The secondary & tertiary characters of this story reveal a truth that is useful to all readers; the life we lead is as good as our luck, our efforts, & the dime we flip to encourage hope to flourish in ourselves & our choices. Ultimately, I find myself grateful that Henry allowed me to read her book. I am grateful for Daphne & her desire to intricately read the pages of her life to ensure that her narrative is sound. I am grateful for Miles & his desire to create tenderness in the confines of his mind for an everlasting glow. This story is romantic in that the characters fall in love; they remember the details that count, the time frames that shape their days & the sweet treats that make life nectarous. Readers will find in this book the tenderness of life in all its dimensionality, presented to them in a way that will guide the pages like a saw through wood; slowly building the home dreamt of in faraway fantasies, wherein love lived safe, soft & sound. Thank you to NetGalley, Berkley Publishing Group, & Emily Henry 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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Dec 22, 2023
|
Dec 22, 2023
|
ebook
| ||||||||||||||
122
| 
| 1668014238
| 9781668014233
| 1668014238
| 3.85
| 18,694
| 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
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not set
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Nov 21, 2023
|
Nov 21, 2023
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||
121
| 
| 177041732X
| 9781770417328
| 177041732X
| 3.94
| 757
| 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!
|
1
|
not set
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||
119
| 
| 0393866645
| 9780393866643
| 0393866645
| 3.78
| 3,835
| Jun 14, 2022
| Jun 14, 2022
|
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 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 Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), violent crime, murder, the death of a loved one, grief, gun violence, rape, sexual violence, suicide, self-harm, the death of an animal, animal abuse, & others. When written by an author with talent, certain stories can be like lightning to the skeletal system that holds us in place. There is no tender way to speak to the ways in which the mind can lose itself to pain. It has become more commonplace to speak of the value of a healthy mind; the care that should be given to the ailing; the patience we all need to offer. In reality, when soaking wet the rain feels like acid; mental illness is not easy, it is not kind, it is not smooth or palatable; mental illness is painful, it is destructive, it is turmoil, & pain. I cannot fault the fallacy of misunderstanding that follows the innocent intent of the majority. It is nice to know that we are known, if still misunderstood. In some sense, to meet people like Bonnie is a privilege. The world is very different for each of us & I remain inclined to acknowledge that we experience it in varying ways too. Sometimes, the small things feel like the end of the world; it is not bad to feel overwhelmed by the stone in our shoes. What becomes tricky to communicate is the monsoon in the heart that wallows the mind in dead water. People familiar with life & its many facets will find in this story a character who merits a second chance. What is interesting about this story is the impact it has on its readers. Should you have come to the place where reviews live, you will see people degrade Bonnie & claim she is a horrible person who was impossible to root for. I cannot fault them for their opinions. What I would like to propose in this critique is the opposite. Certainly, Bonnie is complex. She suffers from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) & in my unprofessional opinion, shows signs of Schizoaffective Disorder. Our ability to share with one another has muddied our understanding of complex issues. One might feel nervous about speaking to a cashier but this does not mean that one has an Anxiety Disorder. A person who lives with conditions that shape the mind & in turn, the world around them, do not experience life in the same ways as those who do not. Once again, I cannot necessarily fault people for not grasping the complexities of mental illness & mental disorders; if one is sheltered, one cannot know. Admittedly, I am rather happy to know that people experience life free of the burden that shadows out the light. Unfortunately, due to this, conditions like the ones I listed above leave people upset, disgusted, & rather repulsed with the person in question. When exploring the realities that Bonnie has experienced throughout her life, it would be simple to conclude that she has had a rough go. While growing up she lost her father to suicide; her mother fell into a Depressive episode due to grief; her mother attempted suicide; her mother died in palliative care. Her best friend adopted her into her family. Bonnie was welcomed into a home with a father & a mother; a brother, & a sister. She became a surrogate for the childhood she never got to experience; when she slept she was sound & secure. Rather than accept that this was an experience that would advocate a change which Bonnie would be unprepared to deal with, the people in Bonnie’s life perpetrated actions that allowed her condition to worsen. This is not to say that it was their fault; Bonnie is responsible for her person. What is perhaps rather more difficult to accept is our participation in the lives of people we meet in passing & in whose precious time we nestle our hours. Without a loving home, Bonnie would have had nothing to compare; her life would have remained a series of unfortunate events. She was accepted into a home & then these same people allegedly spoke badly about her when she was healing. There is no easy way to reflect on the events of this book. I cannot fault the foster family for their uncertainty & annoyance towards Bonnie. In life, many things transpire; some regularly bad & others wonderfully good. At the end of each day, we remain in our own company & have the responsibility of owning the experiences we had along the way. There is no point in initiating change in a person’s life if the goal is to throw this same kindness in their face & reveal lies; cracks in the foundation of trust they thought they had with you. The recollections that Bonnie shares with readers speak of a terrible thing. When Bonnie finally felt able to trust that life would not leave her out in the open alone, her adopted family was gunned down in their convenience store; Bonnie was violently sexually assaulted; & life was no more than a burdened reminder of everything she would never have again. Throughout this book the main character is unlikeable, I will not pretend otherwise. For readers whose experience with the world is perhaps sheltered, or ground in the soil of a single neighbourhood, their time spent with Bonnie might feel altogether horrible. Bonnie does not have any redeeming features. What the reader will have to decide is whether or not she deserves forgiveness for the ways in which her brain chose to change as a consequence of the events that she experienced. Again, to a certain extent, we are all responsible for the ways we act in the world. Bonnie did not need to leave the dog for dead by starving it & abandoning it in the woods. Bonnie did have a choice as to how she treated the innocent animals; she chose abuse & death. I will not ask the reader to forgive Bonnie for the malaise she created in a sea of blue. Rather, what I want to draw the reader’s attention to is Bonnie’s inability to be a functioning human being. Discussions surrounding mental health & disorders often integrate some of what I have already written; people are responsible for themselves & their actions. To be ill is not an excuse & an excuse is interpreted as being something that would automatically pardon or wipe clean the blood on the blade. The contrary is, in actuality, true. People who are ill do not have the benefit of clear thought. Of course, journeys to heal open wounds help individuals flow through the seasons with more ease but, for some, the innocence of life is lost forever. It is positive to include details about a person’s mental state so as to better understand the facets of the illness or the disorder; in this way we become better informed as to the ways in which a brain can hanker down & demerit the life it is keeps breathing. This is true in Bonnie’s case. Bonnie is a person whose personality is degrading; she is mean, insensitive, cruel, shallow-minded, simple-minded, & harbours a desire to mistreat others. As she maneuvers her way through memory lane, she presents the reader with a fulsome version of herself. This approach is odd given Bonnie has very little ability to see things in their entirety & rather views everything in fractions. Perhaps, the author felt inclined to write Bonnie as a person who lived entirely in a darkness of their own making; a person who remains disinclined from turning on the light. On the other hand, readers might feel that Bonnie is lost in a catacomb that mazes under a city she has never visited. Regardless of a reader’s interpretation, this story allows them the opportunity to regard advanced stages of trauma on the brain. As her dream house is built, Bonnie allows herself the feeling of excitement; soon she will evade the human world for her personal paradise built in the likeness of “Three’s Company” (1976). I have never seen this show & for most of the book, I had to check records for references to the cast or search for photos of the scenes; most of what took place left me feeling apathetic. Instead of wondering at the distance between myself & Bonnie’s comfort, I chose to look for my own. When I was young, my grandma & I used to watch episodes of “The Golden Girls” (1985) together. As I grew up, I found myself going back to the series over, & over again. Since my grandmother’s passing I meet her in the televised security of a story I know well; one that does not change in the ways of life; a series of events yet unknown to me. I am inclined to believe that many people will understand Bonnie’s desire to live inside a place she deems as safe. In the world in which we live, safety can be a passing fancy or a concept one rarely encounters. Rather than roll the dice, Bonnie chose to take things into her own hands—I cannot blame her for that. There is, however, a difference between having a favourite show, film, album, blanket, food, or hat rotate through life with you & what Bonnie has chosen which is to say; it is normal to find comfort in various aspects of life. It is unhealthy to shed the skin you live in to nestle through a groove so that you are never felt by life as a whole, ever again. Though there were parts of this story that left me confused; the convict, the pets left behind by a contractor who knew a woman to be deliriously unwell; the storm; the best friend; the story as a whole tells the tale of an experience that deserves to be shared. One is lucky to never understand what it feels like to want to hide in the ground forever. Ultimately, within this story, I found myself picking apart the plot to reveal the inner workings of a mind that could not voice reason into the malady it suffered. Surely, Bonnie could love the cold stone facade of the wandering convict & surely, she would have it in herself to love the story that allowed her to perish within its antiquated design. As the train track & Christmas village that waited yearly for its time to make way into the hearth; Bonnie’s life will probably never be healed, wait & pace the halls of confinement as she did. Inside the dark there is always the form the human eye cannot absorb. In Bonnie’s recollection she murdered her friend. Perhaps, she murdered the woman she loved & instead of admitting this to herself she wrote herself a letter in her lover’s hand. Perhaps, instead of murdering her best friend, Bonnie lashed a knife against her own skin. There is no set conclusion to this story. The reader will not receive the reprieve of a final moment between the characters they met within this book. When all is said & done, that was not the point in their meeting. Readers, people at writ large, will probably never meet someone like Bonnie but, they will rewatch their favourite series; they will settle to re-watch their favourite film, replay their favourite song, & tell someone close to them about the intimacy of their prized piece of art. Within books, one is granted the ability to live a life that does not belong to them. We grow as individuals when we expose ourselves to the wandering eye of the skylight; the omniscient being that heaves monstrosities in our mind. Though, I would not like to be in Bonnie’s shoes, I wish her well. I am hopeful that stories like this one remind us of who we are. Whether one is at ease or weighed down; one is in this life, if only for a moment. In as much time as it might take to read this book, one is given permission to forgive the horrible violence of invisible illness & the ways in which it cauterizes the self; preventing thy own freedom from within. Thank you to NetGalley, W. W. Norton & Company, & Ashley Hutson for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
|
not set
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Nov 06, 2023
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Nov 06, 2023
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Paperback
| |||||||||||||
117
| 
| 4.27
| 3,188
| Sep 05, 2023
| Sep 06, 2023
|
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 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 parental neglect, the death of a child, grief, mental illness, harassment, & others. The magical realm of ghosts & spectres concludes in a shimmering wave of goodbyes & unanswered questions. Where once there was a blooming & complex friendship, now Wendell & Marjorie part ways, heading on to new adventures alone. Readers of this series might hope to find more of Wendell in this last instalment; previous books saw him play second fiddle to stories that miscalculated the interest of the reader. In so doing, the adventure of the protagonist remains independent of the reader’s favourite. In this third & final book, the cast of characters of which the reader will by now be overtly familiar, find themselves faced with a final project; solving Wendell’s murder. Eliza & Marjorie’s friendship is once again in turmoil as Marjorie seeks the companionship of people who participated in tormenting both of them a few months before, all in the name of desperation. Perhaps this is harsh, maybe there are only five (5) people in the town with whom Marjorie can be friends. Regardless, the story becomes redundant as both Eliza & Marjorie attempt to live out their truth; experiencing an array of different things with the people that matter. All the while, Wendell longs to remember what he has forgotten. Readers will remember that in the first book, The Land of Ghosts is filled with the spirits of people who have been forgotten by people in the land of the living. Rather than maintain this truth, the author chooses a new pathway & alters the story she has built in order to accommodate a scene that may leave a less sensitive reader rolling their eyes. The main plot of this story sees the three friends (Wendell, Eliza, & Marjorie) roaming the town exploring different things as friends. Marjorie longs to do more traditional girlie things—sleepovers, nail polish, rom-com movies—but she has no one to do these things with. Eliza learns that her hyper-fixation does not leave room for her friend to feel appreciated within their friendship. At its core, the development of this key piece of the friendship is a nice addition to the story as a whole. It was positive to see the girls attempt to ensure that each other was being respected & valued. Unfortunately, the resurgence of the bullies was a tired trope in this third book. The story had already explored the turmoil of befriending those who seek to do harm to others. Yet, once again, these same characters come back around to confront the same issue as before. Marjorie is rather intent on remaining friends with these girls even though she states that she is not. What makes this scenario all the more awkward to read about is the participation of her father in all of the events. I kept wondering when Marjorie’s father was going to be written as an adult rather than a moaning incompetent who required his children to make all the adult decisions for the household. Yet again, we find him where we left off, with no character development & a rather annoying character to read about. He never listens to his children, & does whatever he thinks is best—which was categorically seen as not the best choice. I grew tired of seeing him make decisions for Marjorie without paying attention to her whatsoever in the process. There was never a moment within the entire series where I felt an ounce of pity for her father. In that same breath, the main antagonist of this story is Wendell’s babysitter—whom I am not altogether convinced wasn’t an adult for the majority of this book. The reader comes to learn that before his death, Wendell’s parents—who were chronically unavailable to him; always travelling & working; leaving him behind—put him in the care of one of the ballerinas at the studio while they voyaged independently. The person whom Wendell refers to as the “Sea Witch” was meant to be his guardian for what we might assume to be months. The author pens this interaction as though hoping the reader will view it as more heartwarming than it actually was. Once again, it feels impossible not to draw on one’s own lived experiences when reading about Wendell’s experiences with his caretaker—if you hate kids, don’t be around kids; they do not deserve to be the brunt end of your angst & turmoil. Rather than see any positive interactions between the two, Wendell is subjected to an array of crude & irresponsible actions, situations, & conversations. The Sea Witch treats Wendell like trash. The reason for this is said to be her own annoyance at having to work to pay for her enrolment in the School of Ballet. Surely, readers may be able to draw some level of sympathy for the Sea Witch. While everyone else seems to glide through life, she is required to pay her way. However, there is a discrepancy between what the reader is shown & what actually takes place. I am glad that Wendell feels that there were a great number of positive experiences shared with his babysitter. The reader sees one such experience but it is nowhere near enough to comfort the shrill redundancy of cruel behaviour that Wendell experiences. Wendell drowns as a consequence of the babysitter’s eagerness to audition for the School of Ballet. Why she could not simply bring Wendell with her is a mystery to me. Overall, there was something innate missing within this story. I was glad to see the story focus more closely on Wendell but, once again the inclusion of so much dreary material—unexplained & given none of its due weight in severity—is glossed over within a book that is intended for younger readers who deserve to understand what is happening. It is not enough for a character to state that the Sea Witch was a dangerous person & for the reader to then see her crying when Wendell’s ghost appears. The girth of this story felt flimsy & rushed. Whereas I suppose I am hesitant to say that this deviates from any of the instalments, it felt particularly crass in this final book as a beloved character does not get their happy ending. Ultimately, I am glad to have read this series. I loved the illustration style & the colour schemes. I found the transition between sequences superb as emphasis was given to the environment in which the story takes place. With that being said, I think more time could have been given to bring the characters outside of their one-dimensional statuesque poses to render them just as colourful & kind as the illustrations made them appear. I am glad to see Wendell find some semblance of peace in the knowledge that he was neglected & therefore died through no direct fault of a villain in the bushes. I hope that each of the characters finds some level of ease in the flow of what life will surely hold for them in the world in which they live. As for myself, I am left feeling a bit letdown, overall, but, such is life. Thank you to NetGalley, Oni Press, & Brenna Thummler 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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Aug 19, 2023
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Aug 27, 2023
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116
| 
| 4.19
| 10,545
| Mar 23, 2021
| Mar 16, 2021
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did not like 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 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 suicidal ideations, the death of a child, grief, the death of a parent, parental neglect, mental illness, harassment, extreme forms of bullying, & others. Before exploring the essence of my review, I would like to make it abundantly clear that this story deals outwardly with sentiments of self-loathing, suicidal ideations, & attempts at self-harm in children. There are scenes which depict a group of children encouraging another child to kill themselves; scenes that highlight the feelings that are often evoked when dealing with detrimental levels of self-deprecating thoughts, depression, & low self-esteem. Though this story explores these topics I am not of the belief that it was done well. There are no clear discussions surrounding the repercussions of dealing with suicidal ideation nor of what happens if someone commits suicide. The characters in this book are young—ranging from four/five (entering the first grade) to twelve/thirteen (entering the eighth grade). The weight of living with suicidal ideations is never explained in the context of the age of the characters nor is it explored in terms of the depth of these illnesses. I would caution all guardians & readers of all ages to be kind to yourself if you or someone you know endeavours to read this book. One does not need to be a veteran reader to understand the implications of the scenes presented in this story. Should you not be in a position to read about graphic emotions that deal with depression, harassment, heightened levels of bullying, self-harm, & suicidal ideations, I welcome you to leave off reading the rest of my review & the book as a whole. Following a paranormal encounter of the cutest kind, Marjorie’s life has seemingly returned to normal. A year has passed since her family’s laundromat was threatened, the bullies that harassed her are set upon being her friend, & Marjorie has met a boy whom she thinks holds the key to a bright & new adventure—young love & summertime chocolate fish. However, as tends to happen, things did not go as planned for Marjorie. The summer she envisioned brought change. At the beginning of eighth grade, Marjorie is presented with a new set of obstacles, some of which are partly recycled due to a lack of parental presence in Marjorie’s life. I have never been one to mince words. I spend time writing these reviews as both a practice that is cathartic to me as well as a project that is put forward with the intention of making the world of books a better place. When I was young, I had many reading role models. I was brought to the library for a reading circle, the adults in my life always had books lining multiple shelves in their homes; I was encouraged to be critical when reading, always seeking the deeper meaning, all while being asked to define my feelings in tangible words; what does it mean to enjoy something? What part of a book made it unpleasant? For this matter, I was greatly influenced by the royal readers that create safe spaces for growing minds—think LeVar Burton & his “Reading Rainbow” (1983). My experiences do not leave me roaming the ocean alone. Many readers seek to understand what they have in their hands. What is important to remember—what I keep in mind when reading books intended for younger audiences—is that not everyone was as lucky as me. The adults in my life listened to my queries & helped me look for answers when my philosophizing young mind brought forwards a riddle unbound. Their guidance & encouragement allowed me to flourish into the person whose reviews you read today. I employ the same tactics I did all those years ago & overall, I am not shy to say, I adore stories all the more for it. Yet, for young readers who might ponder the written word & who may be left with lists of similar queries, the absence of a helping hand may lead them to feel rather neglected & ultimately, less able to gauge the story they are consuming. I highlight this fact because this story was shocking & I shall be very disappointed to find that young readers become overwhelmed & pained as a consequence of a book that did a pitiful job at exploring a reality that impacts children in shadow. It is a cruel world that sees children plagued with suicidal ideations, depression, self-harm, & many other illnesses of the mind. One does not need personal experience in the domain to understand that these feelings are horrifically difficult to deal with. Children are bound to guardians & in sad circumstances, these adults do not act as protectors; leaving children to be faced with similar circumstances as Eliza experienced in this story. I should not want my comments to come across as though parents & guardians should always know when something is wrong. Part of dealing with mental illness is the need for self-preservation. After all, mental illness is still an illness, it can feel embarrassing & belittling to live with. Eliza’s character is introduced to the reader via her quirky & unfortunate circumstances. Having failed the eighth grade the year before, Eliza will have to repeat a year. What the reader comes to find out is that Eliza is a character who has obsessive tendencies. I am not in a personal or professional position to reflect on the accurate representation of Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD). My observations come from a place of earnest assumption. With that being said, Eliza reads as a person who might very well be Autistic. Her behaviours, favoured patterns & clothing material, her struggle to socialize & discuss subject matter not associated with her hyper-fixation, etc, all contribute to my conclusion. I would wager to say that many adult readers might clock the possibility of ASD in Eliza as well. For that reason, the journey her character undergoes in this book is quite simply repulsive. It would be repulsive had it happened to anyone however, much of what takes place within this story seems to shine a light on the lived experiences of children who are undiagnosed & whose parents tiptoe around the quirky behaviour their child exhibits, all of which leaves them ostracized from society. Eliza & Marjorie (the main character) are in the same class when their paths cross. Readers will be reminded that Eliza’s father is the swim teacher & so, is around the school playing “cool guy” while his daughter gets the brunt end of horrific bullying, all the while he remains utterly oblivious. I am getting ahead of myself. In essence, this second book sees Marjorie opt to be in the popular group—which is arguably not the popular group at school if everyone hates the members given they are all bullies but, I digress—in lieu of spending another year without friends. I was quick to empathize with Marjorie because I remember what it was like to live through difficult things at a young age & I remember being young. Her inability to stand up to the group of bullies felt authentic—she just wanted to belong to a group of friends. I should highlight that Marjorie’s father remains a deadbeat. Though I can appreciate that he is grieving the loss of his wife, he has two children who have had to become adults in an attempt to keep the peace & so the family does not become destitute. I have no pity nor any fond feelings for Marjorie’s loser father. Wendell is still a most beloved character to read about. His joy & eagerness to be part of something good & warm was exceedingly welcomed by me. I wish we had gotten more opportunities to see his character throughout this book. Rather than have any of the ghosts play any type of role, Marjorie’s friend group troubles take up the bulk of this story. For readers who might have been looking for the continuation of personal growth, fun times with ghost buddies, & the healing of a family unit; this book will be both a bore & a disappointment. I appreciate the transition this book took to engage with the authentic representation of a person who is struggling to make their way in the world without adult encouragement. However, this is a long book & it went nowhere fast. With this being said, the main conflict in this book arises as Eliza attempts to befriend Marjorie who in return lies to her & opts to remain highly engaged with a group of kids who bullied her the year before. There is no explanation that sheds light on the reasons why Marjorie decided to become friends with a boatload of bullies but, such is life. Other than a curiously dull crush, Marjorie seems to remain friends with the group so that she is not alone & I am inclined to believe that this is enough of a reason for many people do to & say silly things. As a consequence of Marjorie playing sides & shying away from Eliza as she tries to be social, the group of bullies chides Eliza for being highly invested (obsessive) in paranormal phenomena. They ridicule her every single day at school & out around town; they make snide comments at her expense & treat her like a second-class citizen. Meanwhile, Eliza’s parents are apparently fully involved with Eliza’s two other siblings—which is never explained—so much so that they are totally unperturbed by their daughter’s solitary existence at the age of thirteen (13). I found it difficult to read this book. Eliza confronts her parents about the insistent bullying (harassment) she is experiencing on a daily basis & instead of being patient & helpful, they tell her to give people less of a reason to think she’s weird. What kind of moronic thing to say was that? Are children supposed to read this section & feel connected to the neglect Eliza’s parents are feeding her? Don’t get me wrong, I was a child in the 90s, I understand how the story goes but, this is a book that was written within the past five (5) years, it would be to the story’s benefit not to have characters bemoaning the child who is suicidal because of her quirky pastimes & rather refocus the dialogue to explain that harassment is not acceptable. Her father is a teacher at the school for crying out loud. This scene divulges the painful experience that Eliza lives through wherein the group of bullies corners her in the tower of a lighthouse & tells her to kill herself. Eliza has asked for help, she has turned to the people who were meant to be there & they told her to change who she was so that she wasn’t the subject of vile people’s loser lives. I find it rather tedious at best, & malicious at worst, to read a story intended for middle-grade audiences wherein their doppelgänger is treated like barn decay & not once in the entire book does the narrative shift to reflect the poverty of such a stance. I would like to highlight, once again, that I understand—fully & completely—that human beings are not mind readers. Regardless of the circumstances, suicide is a devastating occurrence. What I am trying to state in this review is that there is no better moment than the present to be an active listener. When you decide to have children you endeavour to create safety for the life you have welcomed into the world, via whatever way this might mean. The second best moment to be an active listener is when a saving grace allows you to be. Eliza’s parents are able to sit with their daughter & listen to her recount all the ways in which she felt that suicide was the best option. Eliza’s parents get her a therapist & they ensure that her lifestyle changes—she is not directly exposed to triggers for a while. This is great & I was glad to see that happen. With all the good that takes place, we also see some difficult conversations happen among friends. Sometimes, we do not realize that our actions can hurt someone. We might have loved & cherished another person for all of the days of their lives & still, there would come a time when our actions or words resulted in pain. It’s important to discuss that this is part of life. We gain so much as human beings when we engage in understanding our own behaviour. I was glad to see Marjorie be made aware of what it meant to be a bystander & in consequence, be part of a problem. These discussions open up the floor for readers to explore very crucial life experiences. It’s good to be able to apologize & it’s wonderful to understand that mistakes happen & we are able to take from that & be better the next time. With that being said, I do not think that Eliza should have needed to apologize to the person who told her to kill herself. Though the photographs of Tess in her house were a clear invasion of her privacy, it was not Eliza who distributed them. Tess legitimately was egging someone to suicide & yet there is never a moment of remorse on her part though she is made aware that Eliza was moments away from committing suicide. I found this ending rather morose & disappointing. Ultimately, this book was a huge disappointment. The subject matter was poorly explored & does a great disservice to the younger readers who will come across reflected images of themselves among the illustrations. I was eager to meet the characters again & was curious to see where the story would go now that the weird uncomfortably familiar villain of the first book was out of range. However, I think that there is much tenderness that remains to be seen in this book. It is my belief that a good book, is a good book & everyone deserves that, regardless of age or reading ability. This story purports truths in graphic malevolence, ignoring the purity that could exist when young people open their hearts, as they have done before, to the ghostly apparitions of tenderness in friendship, connection, & fun. Thank you to NetGalley, Oni Press, & Brenna Thummler for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review! ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Aug 12, 2023
|
Aug 21, 2023
|
Hardcover
| ||||||||||||||||
114
| 
| 1668011654
| 9781668011652
| 3.64
| 17,787
| Jul 11, 2023
| Jul 11, 2023
|
really 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 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 suicide, parental abuse, financial insecurity, homelessness, substance abuse, pregnancy, abortions, debates in relation to being pro-choice, mental illness, & others. Human society exists on the corner of a crossroads. Simultaneously we walk the streets of riches & decomposition; never certain of our position in the hierarchical structure of wealth & security, we mince our meagre existence to compound fear into submission. Tomorrow is a day far away from the one we are experiencing & yet it remains the messenger of the future. Our savings & settled structures lay in anticipated wait. The city streets of every great nation denounce the cruelty of its own people as they sidestep their coin-tossed fate. The imaginary labour that prevents poverty; the lucky clover & soul-bearing sale, our bid to ensure we are not the dried crust of a life that weasels alongside the empire towers of the capital city. Our dedication to forgiving the bladed knife of effort is lost on us. Perhaps we opt to believe that what we have is based on merit, like the religious titans of old who pillaged our minds with a need for forgiveness & sin. This leaves little room to incorporate a diversity of nuance. No single person has left untouched the sin of the species. What constitutes the merit of a good life? Who is the innocent that wealth seeks to protect? In Etter’s novel, the possibility of a teetering utopia hinges on the individual’s belief that their choices are a result of a match made in heaven. The premise of this story dedicates itself to readers with language that is soft & metaphorical in a tangibly simple approach. The main character, Cassie, is nearing the completion of her first year working at a tech start-up whose main goal is the collection & sale of personal data. Cassie is consumed by despair. Having grown up in a small American town, several States away, she finds herself calling her father for reminders that her current position in life is better than the alternative. The premise of this story meanders the engaged mind of the reader as they seek to pinpoint an antagonist; someone who might be responsible for the collapse of validation. Cassie is an interesting character as she is the optimal representation of a culture of people who have to work to survive. This statement is not meant to exclude anyone nor shame the lives that are led down different pathways. Simply, Cassie is tethered to her career, ever so much as she hates the person she has become while working in it. The necessity for a salary might lead a person to feel that their personal value is representative in the system of numeric sequences. In a world where our possessions act as a representation of our successful accomplishments, whilst our inner turmoil is allowed to be sheltered & bathed in loathing; one loses sight of the self. Cassie toys with her living condition & her grocery bill; she needs a home but not one that costs her over three (3) grand to maintain. She needs food but not enough to impoverish herself in the stores of the ignorantly wealthy. The reader grows frustrated with Cassie as the narrative moves forward. Why does she make such stupid choices? Why does Cassie work at a job that requires the sacrifice of all her personal freedom? Why does Cassie live in an apartment that surpasses her means? Why doesn’t Cassie advocate for herself? Why does Cassie allow her thoughts to drown her in sorrow? No one question necessarily has a simple answer. The terror of this narrative is that any one reader might find themselves reflected in Cassie. Are we to bemoan one another for a collection of books or film posters? Is it wrong to want to enjoy a streaming service or a selection of sweaters? Where do we draw the line between life enjoyment & living in excess? For Cassie there is not necessarily a clear definer of security nor does she possess the ability to gauge her own needs. This narrative presents the main character as though she were living in a dystopian world gone utterly awry, yet, this world is our own. Cassie’s corporate job resembles the corporate world of snakes & ladders. I also work in a field brimming with sea urchins & sour weeds. Many people benefit from the pull of performance; what others think of our accomplishments matters more than the success itself. While others find the cold lonely chair of architecture without community rather malevolent. No one has a black hole circling their skulls but they do wear the darkened circles of skin under their eyes & the dreary look of extroversion. I cannot blame them—I am one of them. My life is just as much a part of the corporate culture as Cassie’s. We go into an office space & we are expected to perform. No one shares meals until a person’s intent is clear. Yet the people littering the street with their inability to be like the corporate crawlers act as a reminder that the freedom of privacy remains up for grabs. If one does not go to the lunch, does not show up to the greeting; does not have their camera on, is not dressed presentably; or does not look eager to be there; they are reminded that others around them want it more. One need only step aside to make way for the forward movement of the eager as they greedily relinquish their independence for the machine. Yet, I do not believe it is as dreadful as all of that. I rather enjoy my job. I appreciate all the freedom that my revenue accords me. However, I remember when I had none. The story explores the very real probability of falling between the cracks. This reality has recently gained traction as our society experiences the cycle of community. Our ability to share knowledge has been tinged with the malaise that awakens when information is misrepresented—situations fraught with lies. Our social networks heave the weight of misinformation in a bid to save the lost minds of the unlucky. Mock documentaries, homemade presentations, & intimate conversations showcase the disparity of wealth that exists across North America. Cassie’s Silicon Valley is no different than the one presented in YouTube shorts & reel formats to eager viewers who wish to know more about their own neighbours. Though her days see people set themselves on fire & sever their bodies against moving trains, the differences between fact & fiction grow fewer as the novel progresses. Cassie falls pregnant with the man she has been seeing, casually, for some time. A great debate rages inside her, bringing long-since suppressed experiences with Catholicism to the surface. She does not tell her partner that she has become pregnant nor does she share the news with anyone—which is her right. The city streets reek with human excrement & her office space closes in as she is repeatedly told that her performance is falling short. There is no space for a new life in the decaying forestry of fire. The experience changes Cassie. Previously a bonified Easter bunny, she shadows the black hole that salivates at her demise. It is difficult to read about Cassie’s final pensive moments before she commits suicide. The termination of her position in a company in which she poured her entire life; the home that is too expensive in which to reside; the friends who are enemies with scales of performative intrigue; the family that was cold as a marbled stone; Cassie sees no way forward. One is left flummoxed but accepting of the end. Cassie’s despair is nothing new. According to her, she has been experiencing a loathsome dread for the majority of her life. When it was time to intervene, the streets were silent with the hum of a stoned heap; no one comes running when we have no jogging mates. Though this view is morbid & rather sad, the reader notes the absence of real connection within Cassie’s world. Her romantic relationship cannot move forward, the man she loves is prevented from loving her—one does not actually know if he wants to fall in love, or simply enjoy the confines of the spaces within Cassie. The family & friends, the society at writ large, no one cares whether Cassie loves her job or whether she becomes like the sleeping man under her window—insane to the high achievers. The putrid resemblance of our societies is shocking. The author colours the world of Cassie’s surroundings with clear lines; no one escapes their role in the fallen kingdom. One is explicitly seen throughout the pages. Perhaps, the disentangled reader might wish to evade capture. After all, the majority of the characters in this story are crude—downright horrible—people. Who wants to be faced with the masked killer clown doused in makeup so uncomplimentary? Unfortunately, the extremes presented in the character makeup are not meant to be a friendly reminder. One can regard Cassie as an out-of-touch adult who has now been faced with the realism evoked in the hearts of the world. Regardless, some of her traits flare on the skin of readers. Ultimately, what Etter has done is present the viewer with a home movie; has masticated the familiar features of childhood into alien skin. We watch & listen as the plot thickens; will Cassie kill herself? Death to the self is not so different from death at the hands of a stranger though, we might be inclined to trust the hand we know. The black hole that gobbles the protagonist will litter stones & sticks into the city street, reminders along the curbs for those without homes. What is the reader meant to deduce from this narrative? Can one be inclined to be honest & truthful? Can one pursue truth in the theatrical extremes? This story explores what it means to be human in a time wherein being human is existing in two worlds. The icons of our profiles mirror only the lies we tell ourselves. The sidewalks know the thud of our step & the kneeling pressure of our psyche on our heels & bones. Who we are is perhaps not so different than the neighbour whom we watch rise up to the hillside to kill his own son or, so the great visionary joked. The magic of the mirror is that one’s mind might intentionally lie. Rainbows, butterflies, bumble bees, & honey are sweet nectar to the human species. Inside of us lies the hidden Hyde that saunters the night in broad day, waiting to play victim & villain to the self; the morosely intelligent, studied, & learned mind of humankind. Thank you to NetGalley, VERVE Books, & Sarah Rose Etter 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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Jul 24, 2023
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Jul 25, 2023
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ebook
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115
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| 3.67
| 540
| Mar 10, 2014
| Mar 10, 2014
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liked it
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**spoiler alert** There is little way to birth the story that speaks of consequence. The reader is meticulously swaddled, coddled & cooed. The author
**spoiler alert** There is little way to birth the story that speaks of consequence. The reader is meticulously swaddled, coddled & cooed. The author in question, an operatic monsoon undulating repose of the fable they hold. In so doing, Li has arranged the sentences perfectly. Welcoming me back into her graces like a fresh bundle of joy, as though for the first time, though we have met before. I seem to forget that the stories this author crafts are delicate. They invite me to a new lair; a worn Chesterfield; depravity & luxury; all nesting the day-to-day of people who are their own demise. In the United States, Auntie Mei enters & exits the homes of new mothers. She is strict with her approach. Nearly making an equation of the relationships she builds. In an effort to remain neutral, to foster only a shell of warm skin to a sweat-drenched & worried alcove of motherhood, Auntie Mei remains possessed by the demon who feels nothing that is not ultimately intended for her. The reader notes the disconsolate approach the protagonist undertakes to perform her job & wonders, perhaps, how a person could be so insightful of the needs of new life while slowly decaying themselves. One cannot necessarily blame Auntie Mei for the way she approaches her work or her life. The pearl she holds has been sold. Readers are allowed to believe whatever it is they so choose. Ultimately, it does not matter if one believes Auntie Mei to be a deity or a devil; she is a woman trying to make her way in a world that has no room for her & is not prepared to make space. The author makes no false promises & offers no form of diligent information sharing that might lighten the load on the reader. This story follows Auntie Mei as she is met with what might be her final round. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, also known as yesterday, & the day before, women were not taken seriously. Birthing a child, bringing life into the world, & the preparation for a new human being, all require a toll to be paid & one person fronts the bill. Certainly, we evolve to be better than the alleged barbarians of old. However, much of the punishment of labour begins far sooner than the contraction alerting the body of breech. To be in a bad way, to be unprepared, uninterested, toiled; the bearer of hardships unspoiled by words & collectivity renders a solitary existence that might exceed the thousand-yard stare of the man in the 40-day desert. Li’s character does not acknowledge Postpartum Depression as a condition, let alone one that might alleviate its force on the brain of a new mother; the bearer of new & bright life. This dynamic places the reader in the middle of the ground with no centre. While the reader is inclined to bring facets of their reality into their reading experience, so too do the characters. The mother in question, whose chosen nomenclature is Chanel—like the sympathizing French girl once an impoverished dreamer—never wanted to be a mother. Chanel is anything but prepared or enthusiastic about her condition. She is rather unperturbed by the needs her child has for her. The situation presented in this story masticates the written word; the sheltered word; the truth. Chanel is playing a game with pons & ploys to win the attention of a man who was once married to someone else, all intending to cause pain to her father. Auntie Mei cares for the child she fears might die, to the detriment of her rules that keep her disconnected from the humanity she tends to. Both women are slightly antagonistic to themselves while vying through a life that they did not plan to lead. Overall, though this story was good & enticing, I appreciated it most thanks to the narration of Samantha Hunt. Via The New Yorker’s podcast, my morning started with the introduction to two women who lived shadowed in the American lifestyle hopeful from abroad. Hopeful for the change that might not follow them, this mundane normalcy of expectation & business that is commonly known. A hope that life did not need to be the way it was for everyone else, with them. Readers saunter the grounds of a mansion in the dreaming state of being. The meticulous shred of money, vanity, healing, & the despair that is carried via the recollection of memories we forget that we keep. Li remains a writer I find in the pages, by surprise. Her talented foresight of the road ahead gives me time to look back, hoping to find the sign that might reveal to me the way ahead. If you would like to listen to this story, please visit this •LINK•. Thank you to NetGalley, 4th Estate and William Collins, & Yiyun Li for the free copy of "Wednesday’s Child" (2023) - the anthology in which "A Sheltered Woman" is featured - 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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Jul 17, 2023
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Jul 22, 2023
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ebook
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113
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| 1549301799
| 9781549301797
| B07CRPVRDJ
| 3.85
| 44,963
| Aug 28, 2018
| Aug 28, 2018
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really 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 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, the death of a loved one, financial insecurity, & others. Marjorie is treading water. At just thirteen (13) she must maintain her family’s laundromat, take care of her preschool-aged younger brother, go to school, & flow through the parental responsibilities that her father has long since abandoned. Since her mother's passing in a freak swimming accident at the local lake, Marjorie has been faced with turmoil, stress, & a slew of dread, all of which she has had to wade through alone. The family business suffers as she teeters to attempt to maintain some normalcy in her young life. The grownups around town show her no mercy, almost berating her for needing to attend school because she was not able to open the laundromat on the hour. In what appears to be the final hour, reprieve comes via the dirty sheet of a young ghost, Wendell. Before moving forward with this review I would like to take a moment to highlight the content warning. This story deals almost exclusively with grief. Marjorie’s mother died & her father has all but physically abandoned his children as a consequence of what one might assume is Depression. Marjorie is faced with very detrimental circumstances. Her parent's passing is present throughout this story & emphasis is placed on the act of dying. While this is taking place, Wendell’s death at the age of eleven (11) is detailed & used as a means of reflecting on mortality. It is my opinion that the subject matter was approached with tact. However, for young readers who might not yet have been exposed to this topic or who may be particularly sensitive to the concept of loss—specifically the loss of a loved one—I would caution parents & guardians to approach this book ready to discuss what it means to pass away; where we go when we die; what happens to the people left behind. As always, be kind & gentle with yourselves & the young readers in your environments. I have had this graphic novel sitting on my wish list for some time. It was a stroke of luck that it was made available to me by the publishers. I’m not sure what I had been expecting when I began reading this book. My mind’s eye was caught by the beautiful illustrations & I would be lying if I said these did not play a rather large role in my enjoyment of the book. Though the story itself is interesting & coy, the comic strips themselves were the reason I enjoyed this book so much. All of the characters felt so very alive; they had texture & colours, & their lives were full & detailed. At times, I found myself skipping the written word to delve further into the art. This story adopts a very morbid stance. Marjorie is just a child & her circumstances were difficult to stomach. I have been the reader that I am today for many moons—my tendencies towards the absurd, the philosophical, the morbid, & overwhelming have been present all the reading years of my life. For some readers, that is not the case. I like to believe that I keep this group in mind when I read stories intended for younger readers. Because of this, I found this story’s tone to be quite shocking. The reader watches the main character shuffle through life, absolutely consumed with the dreadful consequences of her family situation. I won’t lie—I wanted the father to step up his game & found myself frustrated, not on one occasion, by the presence of the adults in this story. I remember what it was like to be thirteen. I remember what these sentiments felt like. I remember walking through crowds alone to the gaze of grownups who were meant to know better than to let me be on my way. Being placed in this role, the neutral & silent reader was uncomfortable. This is why I must grant praise to the author. One is so often reminded of one’s own experiences, it is not easy to forget where we have come from. The ease by which this book encourages the reader to adopt the mature & theological stance is lovely. I am inclined to believe that it does not necessarily matter if a reader is an adult or a younger person; the author encourages & asks the reader to be present & kind toward Marjorie, & we oblige. It would be unkind to say that the main obstacle Marjorie faces is the dreadful moustached man & his ploy to boot the family out of their home. Marjorie’s life is consumed by responsibilities. She is in charge of running the family business all on her own while going to school. This leads me to a small qualm. The duress that Marjorie is experiencing is already quite high—obscenely high for a child of her age. I do not believe there needed to be multiple antagonistic adults pinning for her demise all while the reader watches her delve deeper into herself & further away from the world. The inclusion of multiple grownups looming over her shoulder, waiting for her to fail, felt particularly unfair & rather like overkill. The point is driven home in multiple instances; Marjorie is without parental protection. The main antagonist is breaking into the laundromat to vandalize it in the hopes of using the building for his yoga resort. All the while, Marjorie is suffering from a lack of sleep & is then expected to wake up the next morning & take care of her younger brother, then go to school. I recognize that I am an adult with many years of life experience on my tab. Therefore, I am taking this to heart. However, as I indicated earlier, I have some rather proximate experience in the furrow of Marjorie's life. The wee level of reprieve that is granted to Marjorie via the help of the ghosts is not enough to ease the story forward. One is left feeling horrible for a child who has legitimately no one looking out for her. Sure, the swimming teacher & his family are kind to Marjorie but, the entire story revolves around the terrible time she is having, daily, surviving life with absent parents & tormenting local adults. I would have appreciated it if she had been given more freedom to be kind. One antagonist is enough, the entire town didn’t need to ride her back until it broke. The first half of this story was very slow-moving & this worked to its benefit. Tensions were high as the characters were being introduced & readers were given the opportunity to understand each of the two main kids. Wendell’s character was such a vivid light in the darkened shades of his surroundings. Again, the illustrations that were paired with this part of the story were lovely & did an exceedingly good job of setting the tone of these sequences. I very much appreciated that each of the young protagonists felt like they were, indeed, kids of their age. This is perhaps aided by the fact that this story takes place in the 90s. The lack of media & collectivized gadgets eases the reader into the moment. I opt to bring forth my adult perspective in the case of Wendell’s death; when we learn that all of the ghosts residing in the black & white town are the spirits of those that were forgotten, I felt a great pang in my heart. All those young children were left behind by the forgetfulness of people who were meant to be their guardians. Perhaps I am reading too much into this. The young boy who was killed by a train might have died many, many years ago—we are not given the logistics of the time of forgetting. Yet, I could not help but feel sad. Wendell died all of two (2) years ago & he is stuck because, as the story indicates, his own parents have forgotten about him. Rather than twiddle thumbs, the story catapults itself forward after the main conflict has arisen. Wendell & his ghost friends arrive in the night to help Marjorie save her laundromat & give her special ghost detergent that will clear away any & all stains. Had the book set itself at a quicker pace throughout its entirety the ending might not have felt so rushed. Given the amount of information the reader is given, about both protagonists & the antagonist, I think it would have been to its benefit to see a greater restraint in terms of pacing. This is the first book in what appears to now be a series of graphic novels, all of which I am eager to read. I am hopeful for the second instalment & will tune in for the third. This story set the tone for nostalgia & realism, all while guiding young readers through beautiful illustrations, reminiscent of a coastal town in autumn. I am rather glad to see this style of book remain beloved & highlight the very important subject matters that it does. In all, this was a good book. Readers will surely find characters to root for & questions to ask. If anything, this story might delight the curious reader, one who is eager to ask questions & delve deeper. Ultimately, I am glad to have met Marjorie & Wendell. The pair of friends, once brief acquaintances, now lifetime soulmates, shed light on the love that can be shared when you have a friend. There is something to be said for the quaint breeze of youth that reminds us of how good it felt to be cared about by a friend; to have someone to call on when we needed a laugh or someone to share a favourite snack with. This book reminds me of the starting point of many of my friendships & how thankful I am for the ones that have lasted since far before my thirteenth year. Thank you to NetGalley, Oni Press, & Brenna Thummler 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
|
Jul 16, 2023
|
Jul 16, 2023
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Kindle Edition
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112
| 
| 1250865379
| 9781250865373
| 3.83
| 23,626
| Aug 01, 2023
| Aug 01, 2023
|
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 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 Hoarding Disorder, Traumatic Brain Injury, parental abandonment, the death of a loved one, grief, terminal illness, substance abuse, & others. North of New York & south of the city, to the west of the centre, & east of the middle vagrants a subtle Irish diaspora intermingling in a fulsome lineage of burdens. Lange has introduced the reader to this part of the State before via the Brennans; a dynamic family unit ripe with secrets & mysteries, both of which might have been resolved with a bit of gumption & a salivated tongue. However, that is not how families are run. That is not to say that all units have their weak point, yet, this would remain an accurate statement. I mean to say that Lange writes about families that are quite similar to the one you might have heard about from a friend, or, maybe they are like your own. With the boastful delight of a welcomed breached birth, Lange has offered the reader a new family to ponder & possess. The Connelly family is quite unfortunately in utter disrepair. The youngest sibling, Tara, is on the brink of release from a stint in the penitentiary where she served a sentence for being charged with transporting drugs. Here, the reader is immediately required to forgive the New York State legislation that indicates that this is actually classified as a Major Felony—resulting in between eight (8) & twenty (20) years of served time—rather than a crime that might allow Tara the two (2) year sentence she was granted. Indeed, we may note that Tara is a first-time offender which might mean the law would be gentle—2.5 years maximum. However, Tara is accused of being in an intimate relationship with a known drug lord, she has been charged with battery after physically assaulting her sister-in-law; she has a history of disregarding the legal system, including in school, & others. Perhaps we have come to this hard stance rather quickly. You will forgive my lack of a smooth introduction in this case. I feel inclined to delve into this story & its logistics rather harshly because I feel let down. When Lange released her debut novel, “We Are The Brennans” (2021), I was lucky enough to be granted an Advanced Reader’s Copy (ARC). At this time, I was still new to the game—I have been a reader all the days of my life; via the narration of a parent & guardian until I was literate all by myself. I appreciate the nuance that exists in reading. Sometimes, we find ourselves in a place in our lives wherein the story clicks & we fill the page with colourful words of praise. While, other times, we are disappointed & morose as a consequence of what we had hoped would be a grand adventure. In the year 2021, I was at a place where audiobooks were greatly appreciated. I had been dealing rather heavily with a health condition—one that tenderly remains with me to this day—& found myself able to immerse my brain in the world of the Brennans. This time around, without the narration of a dedicated professional or the atmosphere of belief that I was in for a real treat, I found myself wrinkled & confused at the quirky language & superfluous plot of this book. That being said, this book will be appreciated by the same crowd that adored Lange’s first book. I am rather inclined to believe that, in this age of social sharing, many of the more platformed folks will find themselves with their ideal book in hand. The premise of this story will offer them the ease of a conclusion they can find comfort in & a story that presents some of the more unseemly aspects of life without the trauma that decimates the carrier. To begin at the start, this story is about Tara as she adapts to life outside of prison. Both of her parents are absent from her life. Her mother died from cancer & her father is a deadbeat. Rather than explore the repercussions of this reality Lange presents the orphaned children in a mystic mirrored fashion. The trauma that each of the characters carries is reflected in very specific ways though there is no real exploration as to the root cause. By this I mean, Geraldine suffers from a Hoarding Disorder, Eddie has a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI), & Tara remains coffined in a perpetual state of fight or flight—which might be attributed to Generalized Anxiety Disorder. I have a rather well-rounded experience in a significant portion of the subject matter explored in this book. Therefore, while getting to know each of the characters & their “quirks” I felt encouraged to give more leeway than was perhaps necessary. After all, these are grown adults—the choices they make are their own. On the other hand, the consequences of traumatic events on the brain of a child remain present for the rest of the person’s life. It would be a crude oversimplification to claim that because Geraldine was habituated to being responsible she could clock her own disorder for the repercussion to trauma that it was. As the story progresses the turbulence of the narrative veers from one thing to another. At first, the antagonist is Roland, the lowly kingpin. The local police have their sights set on him & have been badgering everyone in town in the hopes of being granted some form of intel that would allow them to lock Roland away for life. Then, when it’s apparent that Tara is not romantically involved with Roland, the local Detective jointly responsible for her imprisonment feels that this is the appropriate time to begin an intimate & romantic relationship with her. To the great confusion of many readers, this relationship becomes the focal point of the narrative. As Tara struggles to regain her place in the family home, tries to find herself employment, & advocates for her libidinous desires; the world of the Connelly family stalls. This book is not very long, clocking in at around 288 pages. However, near the middle point, right after the cast of characters has been presented & tepidly explored; the author seems to lose her way. Nothing of note happens & though one could certainly argue that the tedium of the middle adds to the reality of the subject matter, I do not believe this to be the case. Rather than encourage the material to spider itself into webs that the reader will need to untangle, the plot remains dull. Tara has sexual encounters with the Detective (whose name I have all but forgotten); Geraldine steals from her place of work instead of admitting that she fell behind; Eddie is doing nothing but going to work & kissing his coworker; & that’s all there is to say about the middle. Because the middle bits of stories are often where the marrow is found, the disappointment that arises due to the sluggish centre of this book is rather unfortunate. It would not be wrong to feel disgust towards the apparent “romantic” relationship that is blossoming between Tara & the Detective. Why did this need to happen at all? If one can cast aside the absolute poverty of morals that overshadows this story, one is still left with questions. If the intent was for Tara to learn to try & overcome her coping mechanisms as she learns that they do not serve her & in fact cause harm to those around her, why does the story spend so much time with her lallygagging around town with the man who was & is leading the case against her? Tara is never actually granted the ability to work through her own trauma. In the place of self-efforts & coming to terms with the past we witness a romance that is severely misplaced. This story would have benefitted from the inclusion of realism. One can certainly hope to find a tender version of the more crass reality of the human world. I do not fault readers for seeking out a story that might allow them to escape their reality. However, the apparent aspect that remains lacking throughout the twists & turns of the straight-lane Saskatchewan highway is the truth. One single moment in which Tara came to terms with how difficult it might be to be in Geraldine's shoes; one moment to appreciate that headaches were the cherry coating on a mold-ridden sundae of issues associated with a TBI; time to appreciate that people hurt each other even when they are trying very hard not to. The depth of the relationships that the characters shared was all but non-existent. Due to this fact, the chapters on end wherein the same situation was repeated—over & over again—felt insulting. In all of this, there is a child that is suffering the silence of adults. It would not have been too much to hope to see consequences be met with actions. The ending of this book all but swept everything under the rug in a Cinderella style-maneuver. Though I can appreciate that Tara wasn’t going to have the heart-to-heart she deserved to have with her father in the few pages they shared, it mattered to see them awkwardly sitting together vying for the first word after years of solitude from each other. Overall, this was not the book for me. I wanted the story to offer further opportunities to the characters; for them to be seen as tangible, well-rounded, entities in the world. What was given instead was very surface-level. Everyone felt like a caricature of themselves. I return to my original point which is to say that I know other people will love this book. If you find yourself with similar reading tendencies to me you may row your boat onwards to fuller waters. Ultimately, I found the language crass & cringe-worthy; the obstacles anthills alongside the dunes. The blockade of suspense never reaches its full potential & yet I appreciated the mention of the Brennans & their bar. The story maneuvers itself well in the universe of families in New York State who long for proximity to a home they have never known. Whereas the essence of this story hints at folklore & fairytale stories of old, little of this transpires within the story. Instead, these imaginings remain locked in the childhood mind of the Connelly children & are rather absent from the narrative altogether. For readers who enjoyed the first book by this author, the Connelly crew will undoubtedly present a new aspect of the realm of fiction they came to enjoy. As for myself, I disembark from the boat that led me here to make way for easy readers who won’t scoff at the corroded fiction they seek to behold. Thank you to NetGalley, Celadon Books, & Tracey Lange 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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Jun 24, 2023
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Jul 14, 2023
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Hardcover
| ||||||||||||||
110
| 
| 1433841967
| 9781433841965
| 1433841967
| 4.21
| 100
| unknown
| Sep 05, 2023
|
it was ok
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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 topi
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 mental illness, grief, suicidal ideations, the death of a loved one, suicide, & others. Oliver’s father has died by suicide. His absence looms over the family. As Oliver grows he seeks to understand where his father went & why he isn’t with him & his mother anymore. Oliver’s father experienced such severe depressive episodes in life, he became unable to wake with the dawn & was perpetually sheltered from life; his depression cripple him. This is difficult to explain to the most learned of individuals. This book seeks to try to bridge the divide between a child’s understanding of the world & death. This was an important book for me to read because I was a curious child with a morbid fascination with the disappeared, the unusual flow of life & the permanency of death. However, this is not a book that is well-written. The flow of the story is highly redundant with pages literally repeating the same sequence of both words & events that were showcased in the pages previously. This is not done to drive home a positive message; it would be beneficial to repeat how much Oliver’s father loved him. Rather, the redundancy bogs down the story because it repeats things that are not the core message. Yes, it is good to know that Oliver’s father held his child but, it is just as important to take up space on the pages explaining that Oliver’s father was a human being who was suffering. What I am trying to express is that the core message of this story is lost in overt uses of the inquisitive term, without actually providing an answer. I would have wanted to see language that encourages children to ask questions & not be afraid of feeling sad or worried that their inquisitive nature might be making their parents sad. Many children withhold curiosity because they do not want to cause sadness to their parents. In this situation, it should be highlighted that the parent’s role remains one of a caretaker to the child. Oliver is not responsible for healing his mother. The nature of the story is beneficial to explore & I should hope to see further stories broach the reality. Children deserve to know why someone who was meant to love them for all of their life, isn’t there anymore. There is language & action that can be used & done to shed light on these situations in tender & earnest ways. Ultimately, this story could be good if edited to incorporate more than the emphasis on the mother’s emotions & experiences. Oliver is a shadow character whereas his own father is the one that is gone. Thank you to NetGalley, American Psychological Association, & Melissa Allen Heath 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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Jun 11, 2023
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Jun 11, 2023
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Hardcover
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my rating |
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|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
130
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| 3.85
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liked it
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May 12, 2024
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May 12, 2024
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|||||
129
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| 3.81
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liked it
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Apr 27, 2024
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Apr 27, 2024
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128
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| 3.65
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really liked it
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Apr 21, 2024
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Apr 21, 2024
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|||||
118
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| 3.57
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it was ok
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Aug 27, 2023
not set
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Apr 09, 2024
|
|||||
127
|
| 4.04
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liked it
|
Apr 11, 2024
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Mar 31, 2024
|
|||||
126
|
| 4.03
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it was amazing
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Mar 02, 2024
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Mar 02, 2024
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|||||
125
|
| 3.75
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liked it
|
Feb 25, 2024
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Feb 25, 2024
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|||||
124
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| 3.68
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it was ok
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Feb 17, 2024
|
Feb 17, 2024
|
|||||
120
|
| 3.79
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liked it
|
Oct 29, 2023
not set
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Jan 21, 2024
|
|||||
123
|
| 4.29
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really liked it
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Dec 22, 2023
|
Dec 22, 2023
|
|||||
122
|
| 3.85
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liked it
|
Nov 21, 2023
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Nov 21, 2023
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|||||
121
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| 3.94
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it was ok
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Nov 14, 2023
|
Nov 14, 2023
|
|||||
119
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| 3.78
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it was amazing
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Nov 06, 2023
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Nov 06, 2023
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|||||
117
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| 4.27
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it was ok
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Aug 19, 2023
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Aug 27, 2023
|
|||||
116
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| 4.19
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did not like it
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Aug 12, 2023
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Aug 21, 2023
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|||||
114
|
| 3.64
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really liked it
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Jul 24, 2023
|
Jul 25, 2023
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|||||
115
|
| 3.67
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liked it
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Jul 17, 2023
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Jul 22, 2023
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|||||
113
|
| 3.85
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really liked it
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Jul 16, 2023
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Jul 16, 2023
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|||||
112
|
| 3.83
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it was ok
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Jun 24, 2023
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Jul 14, 2023
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|||||
110
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| 4.21
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it was ok
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Jun 11, 2023
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Jun 11, 2023
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