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469 reviews by:
hayleylouisephd
This was an odd read for me, mainly because I've only read Interview With the Vampire before now, so jumping from book 1 to book 11 was quite a massive leap. Luckily for me, but probably not for followers of the entire Vampire Chronicles, Anne Rice spends a ridiculous amount of time recapping previous events in the series in the first few chapters. I imagine, if I had all this information already, this may have become a DNF, but instead I got exposition-heavy but useful material.
Let's be blunt: Prince Lestat is RIDICULOUS. Every character is an overly emotional, omnisexual dandy who cries blood tears. Everybody falls in love with each other in the blink of an eye. Anne Rice says "preternatural" in pretty much every sentence. I don't know if the other books follow this pattern, but I didn't get this much flowery melodrama from Interview. Perhaps because Interview was completely from Louis' perspective, whereas Prince Lestat is full of character perspectives which, frustratingly, are all the same! The only characters I got any distinct personality from were Lestat himself (for better or worse) and the fabulous Gabrielle. Add on top of that the terrible Rose and Viktor, and you should have a recipe for pretentiously-trashy disaster.
Yet I give it a decent review. Why? Because when the plot FINALLY gets going, it's a lot of fun. The central idea of The Voice is an intriguing and well-realised one, and it felt like something new and different. Plus, all my criticisms above make it an enjoyable read. Once you come to accept the flaws, you can laugh along with them. Maybe if I knew more about the Vampire Chronicles, I'd feel differently, but for now I was just happy to be along for the silly ride.
Let's be blunt: Prince Lestat is RIDICULOUS. Every character is an overly emotional, omnisexual dandy who cries blood tears. Everybody falls in love with each other in the blink of an eye. Anne Rice says "preternatural" in pretty much every sentence. I don't know if the other books follow this pattern, but I didn't get this much flowery melodrama from Interview. Perhaps because Interview was completely from Louis' perspective, whereas Prince Lestat is full of character perspectives which, frustratingly, are all the same! The only characters I got any distinct personality from were Lestat himself (for better or worse) and the fabulous Gabrielle. Add on top of that the terrible Rose and Viktor, and you should have a recipe for pretentiously-trashy disaster.
Yet I give it a decent review. Why? Because when the plot FINALLY gets going, it's a lot of fun. The central idea of The Voice is an intriguing and well-realised one, and it felt like something new and different. Plus, all my criticisms above make it an enjoyable read. Once you come to accept the flaws, you can laugh along with them. Maybe if I knew more about the Vampire Chronicles, I'd feel differently, but for now I was just happy to be along for the silly ride.
A YEAR OF READING WOMEN CHALLENGE
May - works by LGBT+ women or books by women containing LGBT+ themes.
Oranges are Not the Only Fruit is not the first Jeanette Winterson I have read (that would be The Powerbook) but it perhaps should have been. Many of the intricacies of The Powerbook's narrative structure that I struggled with initially are much more clear having read Winterson's most famous work. Playing with timelines, blurring reality and fantasy, is a unique and fascinating way to tell a (fictionalised) life story, and spins beautiful metaphors out of intolerance, small-mindedness, and self-discovery.
I listened to the audiobook of Oranges are Not the Only Fruit and this was a fantastic way to consume the story. Read by Winterson herself, it personalises the tale even further. Winterson's strong, broad Northern accent brings her characters to life, making the read feel more like a radio play of sorts. I'd definitely recommend the audiobook, but only as read by Winterson. Any other performer and you may as well read the novel because only Winterson herself can add that depth to the narrative.
I plan to read more Winterson soon, as the most fascinating aspect of her work for me is how all the novels interconnect without needing to be read in a specific order.
May - works by LGBT+ women or books by women containing LGBT+ themes.
Oranges are Not the Only Fruit is not the first Jeanette Winterson I have read (that would be The Powerbook) but it perhaps should have been. Many of the intricacies of The Powerbook's narrative structure that I struggled with initially are much more clear having read Winterson's most famous work. Playing with timelines, blurring reality and fantasy, is a unique and fascinating way to tell a (fictionalised) life story, and spins beautiful metaphors out of intolerance, small-mindedness, and self-discovery.
I listened to the audiobook of Oranges are Not the Only Fruit and this was a fantastic way to consume the story. Read by Winterson herself, it personalises the tale even further. Winterson's strong, broad Northern accent brings her characters to life, making the read feel more like a radio play of sorts. I'd definitely recommend the audiobook, but only as read by Winterson. Any other performer and you may as well read the novel because only Winterson herself can add that depth to the narrative.
I plan to read more Winterson soon, as the most fascinating aspect of her work for me is how all the novels interconnect without needing to be read in a specific order.
A YEAR OF READING WOMEN CHALLENGE
April - works by women of colour.
For the most part, this felt like a refreshing young adult romance. The Afro-Asian American protagonist, Madeleine, is a rarity, both due to her ethnicity (because how many of the highly buzzed YA phenomenons are led by women of colour?) and because of her illness, which provides the central focus of the narrative. Madeleine has SKID, a rare condition that leaves her allergic to the world, trapped in her house for seventeen years, home schooled, with no social interaction aside from her doctor mother and her nurse, and her only friends are her books.
Things change when she meets her new neighbour, Ollie. Through window mimes and instant messenger, the two fall in love. It's a doomed romance much in the vein of The Fault in Our Stars (complete with magical holiday) and other works, but it is a curious and refreshing take as, rather than being in love and facing death, Madeleine is very much alive, but under the constant shadow of death. Despite this intriguing premise, the novel itself is quite cheesy, but always kept enjoyable and engaging through the unconventional narrative techniques of emails, doodles, IMs, limericks, and Madeleine and Ollie's other varied communications.
All of this is undone by the novel's final twist. I will not reveal what that twist is, but it cheapens the narrative. Rather than commit to a unique slant on star-crossed lovers, this ending appears to be tacked on as a ray of hope. However, it should really be treated as horror. The truth of Madeleine's situation is not treated with the life-shattering destruction of trust that it deserves. Madeleine is not given the space to fully reflect on what has been robbed of her, and ultimately, it results in lazy, unsatisfying storytelling. Without this ending, Everything Everything could have been one of the most exciting YA romances of recent times.
April - works by women of colour.
For the most part, this felt like a refreshing young adult romance. The Afro-Asian American protagonist, Madeleine, is a rarity, both due to her ethnicity (because how many of the highly buzzed YA phenomenons are led by women of colour?) and because of her illness, which provides the central focus of the narrative. Madeleine has SKID, a rare condition that leaves her allergic to the world, trapped in her house for seventeen years, home schooled, with no social interaction aside from her doctor mother and her nurse, and her only friends are her books.
Things change when she meets her new neighbour, Ollie. Through window mimes and instant messenger, the two fall in love. It's a doomed romance much in the vein of The Fault in Our Stars (complete with magical holiday) and other works, but it is a curious and refreshing take as, rather than being in love and facing death, Madeleine is very much alive, but under the constant shadow of death. Despite this intriguing premise, the novel itself is quite cheesy, but always kept enjoyable and engaging through the unconventional narrative techniques of emails, doodles, IMs, limericks, and Madeleine and Ollie's other varied communications.
All of this is undone by the novel's final twist. I will not reveal what that twist is, but it cheapens the narrative. Rather than commit to a unique slant on star-crossed lovers, this ending appears to be tacked on as a ray of hope. However, it should really be treated as horror. The truth of Madeleine's situation is not treated with the life-shattering destruction of trust that it deserves. Madeleine is not given the space to fully reflect on what has been robbed of her, and ultimately, it results in lazy, unsatisfying storytelling. Without this ending, Everything Everything could have been one of the most exciting YA romances of recent times.
