If I had any shame about what I read, the Southern Vampire Mysteries would likely be the guiltiest of my guilty pleasures. As it is, it was a real fun time to go back to this world and read about vampires and weres and supernatural politics (oh my!) after a few years away.

My favorite thing about Sookie is that she's just a regular ol' working-class woman, with a very ordinary life - except for that little telepathy problem (and later, fairies ... I feel like Harris lost her way a bit with that storyline). She just tries to live her life in a way that her grandmother would approve of, while also not dying from Bad Choices. Sookie is fundamentally kind and she tries to be good, but sometimes she can be downright cruel. It happens more often as the absolute shitshow that is the supernatural world wears on her, abrasive and demanding. The sly peeks of dark cleverness are always a delight for me, a very mean reader.

"So," Bill caught my arms and looked down at me. "Were you trying to make sure he died all along, or were you trying to send him back to the queen?"
"Yes," I said.
One-word answers never hurt.

Sometimes, though, I question Harris's writing on the little things - Sookie, a career waitress, wearing sandals to work? I think not.

3.5 stars.

Chosen for France in my read around the world challenge.

Lucie Toledo is a woman working for a PI agency who is moderately good at her job. After "botching" a job tailing a teenager named Valentine, she is then promptly hired to find Valentine by the girl's grandmother. Lucie is out of her depth, having never worked missing persons, so she turns to someone who she has only ever heard of, a legend in the PI/unofficial LEO circles: the Hyena, an unrepentant hardass and lover of women. Lucie is unenthused about being dragged all over various parts of Paris and then Barcelona on a job she didn't even want - until she meets a woman who changes all her thoughts on lovin' the ladies.

To be honest, Lucie was the least interesting part of this book - after reading her impression of Valentine and then as they investigated and got dozens of opinions on the girl, I wanted to hear more from her perspective. In the end, we only got a single chapter that culminated in something pretty damned explosive.

What did I know about Sean Pronger? Pretty much only that he is the older brother of Chris Pronger, who made the list of 100 Greatest NHL Players in History and also was kind of a dick on the ice (but not Avery levels, at least). Chris is also one of the examples of the bad shit that can happen to professional hockey players - post-concussion syndrome symptoms forced him into early retirement.

But Sean? He may have lacked a little bit of his brother's je ne sais quoi in the ice, but seems like he got the family's lionshare of better personalities. He is funny. This book is actually opened by Chris, who talks with slight humility about how being the star player is maybe not as fulfilling as being the worker bee fourth-liner, because "they probably work harder than anyone else and they may even enjoy it more than anyone else, because every shift means something to them."

A lot of this memoir is just up and down, back and forth between the minors and The Show, it's dizzying to read and must be even moreso to live. It was an intense amount of hard work, with difficulties surrounding moving and trades, but you are left with the knowledge that Sean would never change what he did or how he did it, because the simple fact of the matter is: he got to play hockey, somewhat frequently, in the best league in the world. There's nothing better than that.

Side note: I did enjoy the call out to Fedorov's little brother, who had the talent to make it, but couldn't find the wherewithal to be a team player and not like, a giant goddamn asshole.

What else do you need to know about Sean Pronger? At the end of the book, he makes up a fantasy team of all the best players in the various leagues he's played with or against and makes himself the healthy scratch.

Chosen for POPSUGAR's reading challenge: "a book you borrowed or that was given to you as a gift". The Great Cat was tucked in next to an excellent bottle of champagne from my bff this past Christmas.

I'm a lifelong fan of cats, though as an adult I have never been able to have one (curse you, apartment rules and regulations!) Poetry, on the other hand, has always been an uphill struggle for appreciation. So most of the stars are for the subject. I really liked the way Fragos curated this collection, going from the chapters on "Adoration" and "Beauty" to "The Superior Cat", "The Scorned Cat", "The Old Cat" and finally, "Mourning the Cat", which was of course The Worst™ because who wants to contemplate that?

Probably my favorite piece is from the "Mystery" section, by John L'Heureux, entitled "The Thing About Cats":

Cats hang out with witches quite a lot;
that's not it.

The thing about cats is
they're always looking at you.
Especially when you're asleep.

Some cats pretend they're not looking
until you're not looking.
They are not to be trusted.

Some cats scowl because they're wearing
imitation fur. They feel inferior.

Some other cats look at you straight on
so that you can't drink you drink
or make love
      but keep thinking
that cat's looking at me straight on.

But all cats do the same:
they look at you
        and you look out
and in.

A cat is not a conscience; I'm not
saying that.

What I'm saying is
        why are they looking?

There's a lot to unpack here about Mao's Cultural Revolution, the Great Leap Forward and all the terrible repercussions it had on the ordinary people of China. That said, this book was not without its own hilarity. Upon interviewing a migrant worker in Chengdu:

LIAO: If you were so poor, why did you keep having children?

ZHAO: I am penniless. I have no luck with money at all. That's my fate. But my dick is not willing to accept fate.

Review to come.

I suddenly feel the need to trek down to Queens to try every single thing mentioned in this book. Action Bronson might have a weird Thing about ketchup, but he clearly knows his shit regarding good food. His enthusiasm specifically about natural wines has me curious.

Standard sportsball fare. Sora's personality reminds me of a less endearing Eijun and his love for basketball pales in comparison to Kuroko's, but he's still a lovable idiot.



("Those" are his basketball shoes, btw. They have sentimental value to him and his mother.)

I love the Mercy Thompson series, so why not the graphic novel? The narrative flow in this volume could have been a lot better; it was choppy and relied too heavily on the reader's prior knowledge of the world. That being said, the illustrations in the first two issues were gorgeous af. Francis Tsai outdid himself with a beautiful, strong Mercy, an unrealistically handsome Adam and a variety of phenomenal wolves in various settings.