A killer prowls the streets in 1896 New York City, prompting a reporter and a brilliant alienist to investigate with the help of modern criminology methods.

There's absolutely nothing in that sentence that wouldn't get me all giddy and excited. I noted the existence of The Alienist a couple of years ago, and the announcement of the TV show bumped it further up on my reading list. I've learned to trust my instincts when it comes to choosing what to read, but although Carr chose an incredibly interesting topic to tackle in his debut novel, it failed miserably to catch my attention. Although I always encourage myself to finish books, because you never know if the last 100 pages are significantly better, sometimes quitting is the healthier choice. I also don't believe that a book should be left unrated if it's unfinished. I know I didn't like what I got, and that's that. In this case, when my bookmark fell off, I realized I don't care enough to find the page I had been reading.

There's nothing in The Alienist that seems effortless or seamless. Carr essentially writes fiction with the mind of a non-fiction writer, which results in a clinical and lackluster world where the plot is constantly interrupted by historical details that don't always relate to the actual story (my pet peeve in historical novels and probably the reason why I read so few of them; if I want a lecture, I'll stick to non-fiction).

When it comes to anachronisms, I don't necessarily mind them if they are a coherent part of the story or are supposed to be there for fun. When they result in a character like Kreiszler, who is burdened with so many opinions that won't offend a 21st century reader and with other perfect qualities, that character is not a human anymore. Only a miserable cardboard cutout. The rest of the characters are just as tedious, mere contrived tokens and devoid of personality, but at least a mountain of clichés hasn't been dumped on the poor things. Add to all this a few tacked on real historical figures and we've got me signing out and moving on to better things.

Sure, I've read worse, but The Alienist is just so dull, lifeless, and too easy to put down, which are perhaps the biggest no-nos to me. Not a huge mess, just... Dull. I can't even think of more adjectives! Unappealing both as a historical novel and a mystery novel.

As they say, though, there's a silver lining in everything. I watched the first episode of the TV show, and it was pretty great. Gritty and dark with fantastic costumes and set design, but above all: it evokes atmosphere fantastically, exactly what I was expecting from the book. You'd better believe I will be spending the rest of the weekend wrapped in my blanket and eating cookies and ice cream while watching the rest of the episodes. I've earned it.

Yes, I liked them. Some of the descriptions were precise and beautiful but otherwise I haven't really captured his brilliance yet. Maybe I should get back to these some day.

The curse of having too many interests: no patience to focus on one of them at a time. I would love to read biographies more, but there are too many interesting books and movies! I finally got back to them, but it was a conflicting experience.

What I love about biographies is the fact that the good ones are well researched and objective. Memoirs leave room for the person to twist events in their favor or leave uncomfortable things out.

The problem with trying to write about Diane Arbus specifically, though, is that she was very private. Patricia Bosworth's attempts to decipher her personality and motives seemed a tad useless, especially when she claimed to know what Arbus was thinking at a given time (no sources) or repeated people's perceptions of her. The latter isn't that bad when done sparingly, but when the author and her sources are all trying to probe her personality... Made me a little uncomfortable. If someone wants to live behind a curtain, let them.

Overall, though, this might just be the best we can get about Arbus. She may have failed at becoming a wholesome 1950s housewife like she originally tried to be, but she was an incredibly talented photographer, who didn't seem to believe in herself all that much. Her burning desire to create and follow her passion is something we can all learn from. She poured her intensity and power into her photos. All her photos. She never wanted to be just a "freak" photographer. She sadly didn't see a way out of her depression and decided to cut her life short, but no one should be judged for that. She of all people was incredibly brave during her entire life.

Judging by the amount of time I had it on hold, Sin City wasn't the good book I had been looking for to draw me out of my epic reading slump. Arguably a very fine noir with amazing artwork, but the two of us just didn't mesh. I didn't care enough about the story or the characters, which is saying a lot, because noir isn't necessarily the deepest literature you can find and even the most simple premise can usually get me involved.

Obviously, my problem wasn't helped by the fact that I decided to try The Sims 4 for the first time (better than 2; there, I said it), resulting in me spending almost all of my spare time building houses and figuring out the most entertaining way to get rid of my millionaire husband. But when a few days ago I started to get thirsty for books again and still didn't care about Sin City, that's when I knew it wasn't me, it was you Miller.

The two Jim Thompson books I just bought will eventually take me in their comforting arms, though, so no worries. Jimmy has never put me in an indifferent mood.