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I wish that this were not such an appropriate title.
Emotionally immature MC, petty conflict, and dialogue that made me laugh out loud (derogatory).
Emotionally immature MC, petty conflict, and dialogue that made me laugh out loud (derogatory).
This went from "yeah I need to read that buzzy book someday" to "I'm reading this now" at the recommendation of a Goodreads friend, and OOF, but I'm glad I read it. It hits just the horror balance I love between disturbing ideas and images that are simply wrong, and the result is skin-crawling. It makes you feel dirty in a way that a hot shower and a therapy session can maybe start to clear away, maybe. And it does creeping dread pretty perfectly; you don't really want to read it, but you just have to keep going.
I would have polished this off in a couple of days if not for the incredibly heavy recent memories it brought up, but I also don't think it would have had as much impact otherwise.
I would have polished this off in a couple of days if not for the incredibly heavy recent memories it brought up, but I also don't think it would have had as much impact otherwise.
13
A subject people knows this.
The first loss is through history.
The final one is through language.
14
It is time to go back to where I came from.
--Rereading Oliver Goldsmith's The Deserted Village in a Changed Ireland
I bought my copy of A Woman Without a Country on a work trip about five years ago, and I selected it the way I select most poetry books: the cover caught my eye, the title caught my ear, and at least one line while flipping through caught my heart. And then it sat on my shelf for years until I decided 2023 was the year I would read a poetry book each month, and November was the month for this one.
It feels like the appropriate time to have read it. Though I knew nothing about the subject matter when I bought it, the poems are concerned with the Irish diaspora and its associated losses, colonialism, the way that eroded history and language fallen into disuse (or forced into it) result in a loss of identity. It strikes a similar mood as "Butchered Tongue" on Hozier's Unreal Unearth, an album I've been listening to a lot since its release this year. I like how these two unrelated works can extend a hand to one another in my mind.
A subject people knows this.
The first loss is through history.
The final one is through language.
14
It is time to go back to where I came from.
--Rereading Oliver Goldsmith's The Deserted Village in a Changed Ireland
I bought my copy of A Woman Without a Country on a work trip about five years ago, and I selected it the way I select most poetry books: the cover caught my eye, the title caught my ear, and at least one line while flipping through caught my heart. And then it sat on my shelf for years until I decided 2023 was the year I would read a poetry book each month, and November was the month for this one.
It feels like the appropriate time to have read it. Though I knew nothing about the subject matter when I bought it, the poems are concerned with the Irish diaspora and its associated losses, colonialism, the way that eroded history and language fallen into disuse (or forced into it) result in a loss of identity. It strikes a similar mood as "Butchered Tongue" on Hozier's Unreal Unearth, an album I've been listening to a lot since its release this year. I like how these two unrelated works can extend a hand to one another in my mind.
Fake relationship/marriage of convenience toaster oven romance in which a woman--whose first thought when her lesbian friend needs to get married is, "well, I would marry you!"--realizes that she's not straight and maybe her eagerness to marry a woman ~just to help out~ should have tipped her off? Not that I'm judging.
I loved this book. Characters with real chemistry and real problems to deal with. Fun secondary characters (Pari's mom!). Great audio narration. Surprise demisexual representation. And Pari is one of the most crushworthy love interests I've read all year.
I just wish it had been a little bit longer, to develop the details of Rachel and Pari's lives a bit more. And because it's a lovely story that I wouldn't have minded more of.
CW for discussion of eating disorders and addiction.
I loved this book. Characters with real chemistry and real problems to deal with. Fun secondary characters (Pari's mom!). Great audio narration. Surprise demisexual representation. And Pari is one of the most crushworthy love interests I've read all year.
I just wish it had been a little bit longer, to develop the details of Rachel and Pari's lives a bit more. And because it's a lovely story that I wouldn't have minded more of.
CW for discussion of eating disorders and addiction.
I did it! I achieved my goal of reading a nonfiction book per month in 2023! I know so many more things now!
Honestly, I think you might be better served reading Jessica Woodbury's review of How Far the Light Reaches than anything I might say, because her sentiments are pretty much the same as mine, but more coherently strung together.
I agree with her that the essays in this collection are good--I remember especially liking the first two--but that they grow repetitive as a collection because each one follows the same format of alternating personal anecdotes and discussion of sea creatures. After awhile, it became a bit difficult for me to differentiate between the essays because this format doesn't vary.
Honestly, this book makes me think that I just need to start reading more straightforward science and nature writing, because I enjoyed the sea creature sections more than I enjoyed the personal anecdote sections. In some ways this feels like two books smashed together, except that neither half feels developed enough to stand on its own. But I'm not sure that the combination works 100% of the time, either? Something about the combination of the two occasionally made me think that maybe the striving to make connections was overreaching, just a little? That maybe this book was taking itself slightly too seriously?
Maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm too burnt out to be the ideal audience for this book. There might have been another time or frame of mind when I would have been properly amazed at the thought that yes, the dyke march is exactly like a string of salps in the sea, maligned and unwanted but floating along, all pushing out water at different times, out of sync but somehow getting somewhere, together!! But as it was, I felt more like the worker at the Panera, looking blank-faced and annoyed about all the sweaty, loud people who crammed themselves into the bathroom, making my day a little bit harder than it already was.
However, I will say: that the stuff about the immortal jellyfish regenerating? I think that's going to hang around in the back of my mind throughout the next year.
Honestly, I think you might be better served reading Jessica Woodbury's review of How Far the Light Reaches than anything I might say, because her sentiments are pretty much the same as mine, but more coherently strung together.
I agree with her that the essays in this collection are good--I remember especially liking the first two--but that they grow repetitive as a collection because each one follows the same format of alternating personal anecdotes and discussion of sea creatures. After awhile, it became a bit difficult for me to differentiate between the essays because this format doesn't vary.
Honestly, this book makes me think that I just need to start reading more straightforward science and nature writing, because I enjoyed the sea creature sections more than I enjoyed the personal anecdote sections. In some ways this feels like two books smashed together, except that neither half feels developed enough to stand on its own. But I'm not sure that the combination works 100% of the time, either? Something about the combination of the two occasionally made me think that maybe the striving to make connections was overreaching, just a little? That maybe this book was taking itself slightly too seriously?
Maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm too burnt out to be the ideal audience for this book. There might have been another time or frame of mind when I would have been properly amazed at the thought that yes, the dyke march is exactly like a string of salps in the sea, maligned and unwanted but floating along, all pushing out water at different times, out of sync but somehow getting somewhere, together!! But as it was, I felt more like the worker at the Panera, looking blank-faced and annoyed about all the sweaty, loud people who crammed themselves into the bathroom, making my day a little bit harder than it already was.
However, I will say: that the stuff about the immortal jellyfish regenerating? I think that's going to hang around in the back of my mind throughout the next year.
I did it! I completed at least one line in Jae's Sapphic Book Bingo, and I achieved my goal of reading one award-winning novel per month in 2023! I'm so much gayer and more cultured now!
I picked Warm Pearls and Paper Cranes for the "roommate romance" square because its setup stood out from other roommate romances I was finding. The dual timelines intrigued me, especially as this means historical lesbians, perhaps my all-time favorite sort of lesbian.
And I did enjoy the historical setting. I got very wrapped up in Bea and Maud's pre-WWII love story and the drama of whether they would get to be together. The Shakespeare! The Morse code! How romantic!
But I struggled more with the modern-day plot, largely because I hated Hannah's relationship with Suki, who treats her horribly, leading her on before they start dating and then hiding her afterward. I wanted their plotline to resolve with Hannah realizing that she deserves better, that she should be dating someone who isn't always in a horrible mood and in need of appeasement, but no!
I had other problems with this book, as well. Suki's culture as a Japanese woman felt very surface-level and inauthentic to me, limited as it is to, well, her reading manga and knowing the story of the little girl with leukemia who folded paper cranes? And that's about it? The pacing was also off, major problems stalled for ages before being solved way too quickly, and let's just not discuss the pillow talk.
I picked Warm Pearls and Paper Cranes for the "roommate romance" square because its setup stood out from other roommate romances I was finding. The dual timelines intrigued me, especially as this means historical lesbians, perhaps my all-time favorite sort of lesbian.
And I did enjoy the historical setting. I got very wrapped up in Bea and Maud's pre-WWII love story and the drama of whether they would get to be together. The Shakespeare! The Morse code! How romantic!
But I struggled more with the modern-day plot, largely because I hated Hannah's relationship with Suki, who treats her horribly, leading her on before they start dating and then hiding her afterward. I wanted their plotline to resolve with Hannah realizing that she deserves better, that she should be dating someone who isn't always in a horrible mood and in need of appeasement, but no!
I had other problems with this book, as well. Suki's culture as a Japanese woman felt very surface-level and inauthentic to me, limited as it is to, well, her reading manga and knowing the story of the little girl with leukemia who folded paper cranes? And that's about it? The pacing was also off, major problems stalled for ages before being solved way too quickly, and let's just not discuss the pillow talk.
I did it! I achieved my goal of reading a poetry book each month in 2023! I'm so much more poetic now!
I think that I originally encountered this book on the attic shelf of my undergrad adviser's house, when I was housesitting over the summer. I was reminded that it existed recently by the random, strange tides of the internet.
This was a bit too much "my father's cock, my mother's cunt, their glistening sex" for my tastes at present. However, Sharon Olds writes about motherhood with admirable ferocity (I say, not now and unlikely ever to be a mother). I think that if I had read this back during that undergrad summer, when I was working on my poetry manuscript and obsessed with confessional poetry, and when I reveled in making boys in my workshops uncomfortable with how comfortable I was writing about menstrual blood, I would have loved it.
I think that I originally encountered this book on the attic shelf of my undergrad adviser's house, when I was housesitting over the summer. I was reminded that it existed recently by the random, strange tides of the internet.
This was a bit too much "my father's cock, my mother's cunt, their glistening sex" for my tastes at present. However, Sharon Olds writes about motherhood with admirable ferocity (I say, not now and unlikely ever to be a mother). I think that if I had read this back during that undergrad summer, when I was working on my poetry manuscript and obsessed with confessional poetry, and when I reveled in making boys in my workshops uncomfortable with how comfortable I was writing about menstrual blood, I would have loved it.
I read this not because I'm a huge Maria Bamford fan--I think I've seen a couple of reels of her comedy, because Instagram thinks that I want to watch standup and shows them to me--but because I've had a Bad Year and the title was immediately relatable.
This is a manic book, and I can absolutely see why some Goodreads reviewers noped out of the audio early on, and why at least one that I read said this book gave them anxiety. If I had listened to it, and if I'd had to hear to a violent tire screech sound effect frequently while driving my car, I would also have decided that the experience was not for me.
Fortunately, I opted for print, and found it to be an entertaining read. Some sections felt short and abrupt, the focus was more weighted toward her family than I expected, and "cult" is pretty misleading terminology (she means, mostly, twelve-step programs and psychiatric treatment facilities), but I still found it difficult to stop reading. It felt like having an aunt who's been through some shit and was giving me the insider's take on what it's like to be hospitalized and what meds will make you incapable of coherent speech. I liked it.
CW for discussion of suicidal ideation, but bigger CW for pet death, because you expect the first but not the second, and (to me) the second is far more distressing to read.
This is a manic book, and I can absolutely see why some Goodreads reviewers noped out of the audio early on, and why at least one that I read said this book gave them anxiety. If I had listened to it, and if I'd had to hear to a violent tire screech sound effect frequently while driving my car, I would also have decided that the experience was not for me.
Fortunately, I opted for print, and found it to be an entertaining read. Some sections felt short and abrupt, the focus was more weighted toward her family than I expected, and "cult" is pretty misleading terminology (she means, mostly, twelve-step programs and psychiatric treatment facilities), but I still found it difficult to stop reading. It felt like having an aunt who's been through some shit and was giving me the insider's take on what it's like to be hospitalized and what meds will make you incapable of coherent speech. I liked it.
CW for discussion of suicidal ideation, but bigger CW for pet death, because you expect the first but not the second, and (to me) the second is far more distressing to read.
Getting a head start on my 2024 goal to read mostly books that I have been meaning to read for years. (Because the future is an illusion and mortality could strike at any second. Yes, I am fine, HOW ARE YOU??)
I like Krysten Ritter mostly because if I love Don't Trust the B-- in Apt. 23 in an "if I were Jeff Bezos rich I would first pay off a bunch of strangers' medical bills and then fund a new season of this show" sort of way, so when I discovered that she had written a book back when it was released, I was intrigued but apprehensive for reasons that are probably rather cynical and condescending. Who am I to doubt that an actress also has writing skills?
And well, she's got writing skills. Past me was being dumb, as she is wont to do!
Bonfire is a tantalizingly slow-burn suspense novel about a woman returning to her hometown to ferret out its dark secrets and finding more of them. It reminded me pleasantly of Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn, and the high-school scandal aspects brought Megan Abbott to mind, but Bonfire doesn't read like a ripoff of anything. It reads like a movie or TV drama that I would want to watch. The beats build upon each other nicely, almost every chapter contains a reveal that thickens the plot without giving you whiplash, and there's a satisfying payoff for every single detail in the book. It's not over-the-top dark, but it is disturbing in ways that I didn't expect. If you want a spoilery CW, click here:
Glad I finally read this!
I like Krysten Ritter mostly because if I love Don't Trust the B-- in Apt. 23 in an "if I were Jeff Bezos rich I would first pay off a bunch of strangers' medical bills and then fund a new season of this show" sort of way, so when I discovered that she had written a book back when it was released, I was intrigued but apprehensive for reasons that are probably rather cynical and condescending. Who am I to doubt that an actress also has writing skills?
And well, she's got writing skills. Past me was being dumb, as she is wont to do!
Bonfire is a tantalizingly slow-burn suspense novel about a woman returning to her hometown to ferret out its dark secrets and finding more of them. It reminded me pleasantly of Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn, and the high-school scandal aspects brought Megan Abbott to mind, but Bonfire doesn't read like a ripoff of anything. It reads like a movie or TV drama that I would want to watch. The beats build upon each other nicely, almost every chapter contains a reveal that thickens the plot without giving you whiplash, and there's a satisfying payoff for every single detail in the book. It's not over-the-top dark, but it is disturbing in ways that I didn't expect. If you want a spoilery CW, click here:
Spoiler
sexual exploitation of teenage girls, both through photos and, it's strongly implied, coerced sexual activityGlad I finally read this!
This was undoubtedly my most anticipated release of 2023, but I have to say, I did it and myself a disservice by reading it in print instead of audio. I think that Travis Baldree's narration is a huge part of why Legends and Lattes was so enjoyable to me last year. Bookshops and Bonedust has a lot of the same enjoyable elements as its predecessor (it's pretty much the same book but set in a bookstore and with a rattkin who says fuck a lot), but I found it hard to muster the motivation to pick it back up every time I set it down. The leisurely pace would have made this wonderfully suited to keeping me calm on my heinous commute or keeping me company while cross-stitching, though.
I didn't hate this, and there were certainly several moments that made me feel all teary about the power of books or the truth of timing being wrong. The hopeful ending was one that I probably really needed to read at the end of this year. I just didn't adore it the way I expected to.
Edited to add: Satchel was perfect. More talking skeletons in books, please!!
I didn't hate this, and there were certainly several moments that made me feel all teary about the power of books or the truth of timing being wrong. The hopeful ending was one that I probably really needed to read at the end of this year. I just didn't adore it the way I expected to.
Edited to add: Satchel was perfect. More talking skeletons in books, please!!