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howlinglibraries's Reviews (1.85k)
Content warnings: sexual assault, misogyny, suicidal thoughts, violence, brief physical torture, victim-blaming, slut-shaming, murder, betrayal
When I was given the opportunity to participate in a blog tour for this book’s release, I was absolutely elated. I didn’t know much about the writing itself, but I knew that it was historical fiction (check), feminist (check), widely beloved by a slew of my favorite authors (check), and about an actual human being (check). Those were all of the traits that I was expecting, but what I wasn’t expecting was for the book to be written mostly in verse (incredible), partially in second-person narrative (haunting), one of the heaviest and most heart-breaking things I would ever read (devastated me), and one of the single most important works of literature to ever grace my shelf.
Artemisia’s words are beautiful, angry, passionate, and chilling—but if you already know where it’s headed, it’s a tough one to read. Have you ever watched two vehicles collide? It feels like time slows down right before it happens, and of course, you wish you could stop it before it begins, but you’ll never be quick enough. You’ll never manage to go back in time, to put yourself in exactly the right moment, the right space, to prevent these damages from occurring. That feeling—that utter helplessness—was precisely where I found myself through every page I turned.
The painter isn’t some flawlessly happy protagonist: she’s angry, exhausted, and bitter, but in all the best ways. At such a young age, she’s already seen enough of the world to become jaded. We don’t have to watch Artemisia learn distrust—it’s already there, right where it’s been since the day of her birth. Right where it’s been since the day any baby girl is born into a world that wants to raise her like a lamb for the slaughter.
I adored Artemisia’s tenacity, her weariness with the world of men, because I related so strongly to it. After twenty-five years on this earth, I’ve seen and felt enough to nearly lose hope, and in the verses our painter weaves, there’s this beautiful, bittersweet sort of comfort. There’s a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, a voice saying, ”I know you’re angry. I know. Me, too.” It’s everything I wish I’d had as a little girl. It’s everything I want little girls to have, present and future. I want stories that tell young girls, already red-faced from the touches and gazes of society, that it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to want more, and better.
Alongside Artemisia’s poetry, we get brief glimpses of her late mother’s bedtime stories in prose. Her mother has passed on years before the story takes place, but the second-person narrative we’re given from her is so beautiful and fiery that it makes it impossible not to love her, despite never actually “meeting” her. We instantly see where Artemisia’s fire comes from. More than that, as a mother, I’m reminded of how easy that flame is to pass on when we nurture its spark.
And if you’re thinking to yourself that all of these words are empty insults flung at kindly, innocent victims, wrongfully attributed with malice where they meant only compliments and courting, Joy McCullough stops you there, too. Blood Water Paint isn’t just a story of anger and assault. Artemisia’s attacker isn’t just the handsome teacher with the roaming hands and hips—it’s the judge and jury, too. It’s the entire world of onlookers, literally torturing her in hopes that she will rescind her claims, accept the loss of what was ripped away from her and tuck herself away into a silent corner while the world spins on.
I wish I could say this was just a beautiful story, but what you have to know is that Artemisia was a real woman. This is her true, brutal story. These are her truths, taken from the chapters that will never make it into most history texts. More than just her truths, these are the truths of 1 in 6 American women (and 1 in 33 American men, with higher rates for trans women and trans men, respectively). These are the truths of individuals of all walks of life, all gender identities and sexual orientations, all nationalities and skin colors, all religions and ages, all wealth classes and educational statuses, worldwide, today. This book may be historical fiction, but nothing about what happened to Artemisia has been left in the past.
Perhaps the most important aspect of Blood Water Paint, though, is one I haven’t touched upon yet: how incredibly, desperately, unspeakably vital it is that we listen to victims and believe their stories.
Through Artemisia’s story, and her mother’s bedtime tales of the biblical Susanna and Judith, we are reminded again and again that we—especially those of us identifying among the same groups who are at highest risk for assault—absolutely must support, love, and trust victims when they come to us. Whether we are survivors or not, it is so essential that we take the necessary steps to creating a world where we put rapists on trial, not victims.
I think I could stretch this review on for days, with the way this book impacted me. Blood Water Paint is brutal. It will not kindly lead you into its metaphors and parables; it will leave you breathless from gut punches you didn’t see coming. As a survivor, there are phrases in this book that mirrored my own thoughts so profoundly that my own blood felt like ice in my veins. I implore you, please practice self-care while reading—but please pick up a copy of this book. Find it in a bookstore, ask your library to add it to their collections, borrow it from a friend. Get this story into your hands and let it break you open and remind you of how far we still have to come. Let it remind you of the actions you can take to help us get there.
If you or a person you love are a victim of sexual assault and need someone to talk to, please don’t stay silent. Please seek help. There are helplines and support systems in place. And whatever you do, never be afraid to speak your truths. You can call the National Sexual Assault Hotline 24/7 at 800.656.HOPE (4673), or log on to the RAINN site at centers.rainn.org to find a local service provider who can help you with counseling, legal advocacy, healthcare, and more.
All quotes come from an unfinished ARC and may not match the final release. Thank you to Dutton Books for providing me with this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
You can find this review and more on my blog, or you can follow me on twitter, bookstagram, or facebook!
I will show you what a woman can do.
When I was given the opportunity to participate in a blog tour for this book’s release, I was absolutely elated. I didn’t know much about the writing itself, but I knew that it was historical fiction (check), feminist (check), widely beloved by a slew of my favorite authors (check), and about an actual human being (check). Those were all of the traits that I was expecting, but what I wasn’t expecting was for the book to be written mostly in verse (incredible), partially in second-person narrative (haunting), one of the heaviest and most heart-breaking things I would ever read (devastated me), and one of the single most important works of literature to ever grace my shelf.
I wish men
would decide
if women are heavenly
angels on high,
or earthbound sculptures
for their gardens.
But either way we’re beauty
for consumption.
Artemisia’s words are beautiful, angry, passionate, and chilling—but if you already know where it’s headed, it’s a tough one to read. Have you ever watched two vehicles collide? It feels like time slows down right before it happens, and of course, you wish you could stop it before it begins, but you’ll never be quick enough. You’ll never manage to go back in time, to put yourself in exactly the right moment, the right space, to prevent these damages from occurring. That feeling—that utter helplessness—was precisely where I found myself through every page I turned.
She did not ask for the beauty that attracted him. She did not ask for gold and jewels. To you these might seem like unimaginable luxuries. But beauty is a heavy crown.
So is womanhood.
The painter isn’t some flawlessly happy protagonist: she’s angry, exhausted, and bitter, but in all the best ways. At such a young age, she’s already seen enough of the world to become jaded. We don’t have to watch Artemisia learn distrust—it’s already there, right where it’s been since the day of her birth. Right where it’s been since the day any baby girl is born into a world that wants to raise her like a lamb for the slaughter.
That’s just the way of things.
I beg and fight and scrape
for scraps while he just has to glance
upon a thing to make it
his.
I adored Artemisia’s tenacity, her weariness with the world of men, because I related so strongly to it. After twenty-five years on this earth, I’ve seen and felt enough to nearly lose hope, and in the verses our painter weaves, there’s this beautiful, bittersweet sort of comfort. There’s a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, a voice saying, ”I know you’re angry. I know. Me, too.” It’s everything I wish I’d had as a little girl. It’s everything I want little girls to have, present and future. I want stories that tell young girls, already red-faced from the touches and gazes of society, that it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to want more, and better.
(Sometimes that’s all you need, my love—another woman’s faith in you.)
Alongside Artemisia’s poetry, we get brief glimpses of her late mother’s bedtime stories in prose. Her mother has passed on years before the story takes place, but the second-person narrative we’re given from her is so beautiful and fiery that it makes it impossible not to love her, despite never actually “meeting” her. We instantly see where Artemisia’s fire comes from. More than that, as a mother, I’m reminded of how easy that flame is to pass on when we nurture its spark.
(If you remember nothing else of Susanna, remember how she speaks her truth. She knows it will cost her something. She’s not aware yet quite how steep the cost will be, but still, she speaks her truth.)
And if you’re thinking to yourself that all of these words are empty insults flung at kindly, innocent victims, wrongfully attributed with malice where they meant only compliments and courting, Joy McCullough stops you there, too. Blood Water Paint isn’t just a story of anger and assault. Artemisia’s attacker isn’t just the handsome teacher with the roaming hands and hips—it’s the judge and jury, too. It’s the entire world of onlookers, literally torturing her in hopes that she will rescind her claims, accept the loss of what was ripped away from her and tuck herself away into a silent corner while the world spins on.
Is this all I get?
I wish I could say this was just a beautiful story, but what you have to know is that Artemisia was a real woman. This is her true, brutal story. These are her truths, taken from the chapters that will never make it into most history texts. More than just her truths, these are the truths of 1 in 6 American women (and 1 in 33 American men, with higher rates for trans women and trans men, respectively). These are the truths of individuals of all walks of life, all gender identities and sexual orientations, all nationalities and skin colors, all religions and ages, all wealth classes and educational statuses, worldwide, today. This book may be historical fiction, but nothing about what happened to Artemisia has been left in the past.
Not all stories have happy endings. I cannot promise this one will either. But I am certain you will be glad you stayed with Susanna to the end. She deserves that much—a witness, one who says I see you, hear you.
Perhaps the most important aspect of Blood Water Paint, though, is one I haven’t touched upon yet: how incredibly, desperately, unspeakably vital it is that we listen to victims and believe their stories.
When a woman risks
her place, her very life to speak
a truth the world despises?
Believe her. Always.
Through Artemisia’s story, and her mother’s bedtime tales of the biblical Susanna and Judith, we are reminded again and again that we—especially those of us identifying among the same groups who are at highest risk for assault—absolutely must support, love, and trust victims when they come to us. Whether we are survivors or not, it is so essential that we take the necessary steps to creating a world where we put rapists on trial, not victims.
“You would have done whatever you had to do to survive the moment. And you would have received no judgment from me either way.”
I think I could stretch this review on for days, with the way this book impacted me. Blood Water Paint is brutal. It will not kindly lead you into its metaphors and parables; it will leave you breathless from gut punches you didn’t see coming. As a survivor, there are phrases in this book that mirrored my own thoughts so profoundly that my own blood felt like ice in my veins. I implore you, please practice self-care while reading—but please pick up a copy of this book. Find it in a bookstore, ask your library to add it to their collections, borrow it from a friend. Get this story into your hands and let it break you open and remind you of how far we still have to come. Let it remind you of the actions you can take to help us get there.
If you or a person you love are a victim of sexual assault and need someone to talk to, please don’t stay silent. Please seek help. There are helplines and support systems in place. And whatever you do, never be afraid to speak your truths. You can call the National Sexual Assault Hotline 24/7 at 800.656.HOPE (4673), or log on to the RAINN site at centers.rainn.org to find a local service provider who can help you with counseling, legal advocacy, healthcare, and more.
All quotes come from an unfinished ARC and may not match the final release. Thank you to Dutton Books for providing me with this ARC in exchange for my honest review.
You can find this review and more on my blog, or you can follow me on twitter, bookstagram, or facebook!
When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist.
Where do I even begin? This was one of the most amazing, beautiful, intricate, captivating books I have had the pleasure of reading in my entire life. I have been a bookworm since I was barely walking, and yet this book, this gorgeous retelling, has impacted me so profoundly that I genuinely do not know if I will ever be entirely the same.
It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures—flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment’s carelessness. If I had ever believed it, I no longer did.
As a child, I loved Greek mythology, and though I lost some of that knowledge through recent years, when I heard that this story was releasing, I knew I just had to read it. I thought it was going to be the story from Circe’s point of view, but ultimately, I expected it to revolve around Odysseus; I had no idea that I was in for such a treat, though, as he is only a small portion of the immortal Circe’s life. This isn’t a retelling, it’s an origin story, a history, a tale of centuries’ worth of loves and losses, griefs and triumphs.
The thought was this: that all my life had been murk and depths, but I was not a part of that dark water. I was a creature within it.
From the very start, we see that Circe is so vastly set apart from her fellow gods and goddesses; as a nymph with the reedy voice of a mortal, she is told she is wholly useless, but it’s evident from the beginning that she is this brilliant, clever, strong woman: a force to be reckoned with in every way. I knew I would love her, but I couldn’t have predicted how fast or hard I would find myself rooting for her to succeed.
But of course I could not die. I would live on, through each scalding moment to the next. This is the grief that makes our kind choose to be stones and trees rather than flesh.
Of course, Circe’s exile on the isle of Aiaia is bound to be an unhappy story, and that’s a common thread throughout Circe: you always know something miserable or painful is on its way, but the moments in between those travesties, and the ways Circe handles the hand of cards life has dealt her, makes it so incredibly worth the ache. Perhaps the greatest thing about watching her struggle is how much relatability it lends to her character; despite being a goddess, an immortal, and a witch, Circe at her core is a spurned woman who has lived too long under the heels of spiteful, power-hungry men, and a wicked society that values beauty over strength.
But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation was he to me.
Of course, Circe’s tale is not entirely a desolate one, but her joys are often her curses, as she loves mortals and sees in them the same potential that cursed Prometheus to his rock. Throughout her life, we get to see relationships come and go, and I was enthralled by how incredibly sex-positive and sure of herself she remains. Rather than selling herself away to the highest bidder, Circe’s primary focus is to never let her pursuit of pleasures and companionship win out over her need to be her own person.
“It is not fair,” I said. “I cannot bear it.”
“Those are two different things,” my grandmother said.
It was so enjoyable to watch the different characters cycle in and out of her memories, whether it was Daedalus and his loom, or Hermes and his messages and antics, or—of course—Odysseus, who we saw in a much more realistic light, as Circe portrayed an image of him that was far less heroic or noble than many of the legends would have one believe. There are even mentions of Patroclus and Achilles, and what became of them, though I was pleased to find that prior knowledge of The Song of Achilles was not at all necessary to fully enjoy this book.
I would look at him and feel a love so sharp it seemed my flesh lay open. I made a list of all the things I would do for him. Scald off my skin. Tear out my eyes. Walk my feet to bones, if only he would be happy and well.
Of all the things Madeline’s writing had to offer me, though, the one that meant the most to me was wholly unexpected: the perfect, beautiful depiction of motherhood through Circe’s relationship with her son. As a mother to a wild little boy of my own, I related to so many of her thoughts and fears, but most of all, to the utter authenticity of the love she describes for him. It consumes her entirely—for better or for worse—and her need to protect him holds such ferocity that she worries it will destroy her at times. Many of the thoughts she held for him gave me chills or brought tears to my eye, and throughout it all, I just kept thinking that I had never felt like motherhood had been so perfectly described as it is in this book.
You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you.
Truly, I could gush for days, but I’m going to cut myself off here and just ask you to please, please pick up a copy of this beautiful book. I sound like a broken record, but it meant so much to me, and has earned such a warm place in my heart that I know I will reread it over and over in the coming years. Whether you are a mother, or a lover of Greek mythology, or just a bookworm looking for a story that will capture you so wholly, you’ll never want to leave its embrace—this book is flawless, utter perfection, and I cannot possibly recommend it highly enough.
All quotes come from an unfinished ARC and may not match the finished release. Thank you to Little, Brown and Company for providing me with an ARC in exchange for my honest review!
Buddy read with Heather!
You can find this review and more on my blog, or you can follow me on twitter, bookstagram, or facebook!
#1 Aurora Rising ★★★★★
#2 Aurora Burning ???
#3 untitled ???
They’re all dead. Hundreds. Thousands. Every single person on this ship is dead, except her.
I want to come up with some sort of witty introduction to this review, something to “hook” you and convince you that whatever I can ramble onto this page will be worthy of this book, but honestly, I’ve just gotta tell you up front. I'm calling it now, in April: Aurora Rising is going down as my favorite book of 2019. I honestly don’t know if anything I read for the rest of this year will come anywhere near the magnificence that is this wonderful, hilarious, heart-wrenching, suspenseful adventure in space.
Thing is, impossible always comes with a price.
I already knew I was going to enjoy this; after all, it’s another gorgeous brain-child from Jay and Amie, the authors of one of my all-time favorite series, The Illuminae Files. What I didn’t know was how well Aurora Rising would hold its own against their first trilogy, how easily it would set itself apart (despite being another banter-filler, emotional roller coaster in the stars), or how singularly consuming it would be. I constantly alternated between reading this slowly to savor it and devouring massive chunks at a time because I just never wanted it to end, but I couldn’t get enough.
Once we walked the dark between the stars, unequaled. What have we become?
While the plot is fantastic, the banter is hilarious, and there are some surefire swoon-worthy moments, what really sells Aurora Rising is the rag-tag bunch of misfits in Squad 312. These characters are easily some of the most lovable, precious beans I’ve ever read in my entire life. I am endlessly amazed by how well these authors can make their characters feel so real that I want to protect and love them at all costs, forever, and become so attached that I literally miss them when the book ends.
I was born with the taste of blood in my mouth. I was born with my hands in fists. I was born for war.
The chapters alternate between their perspectives, and there are quite a few of them, but each of their voices are so particular to that character that I felt like I could’ve easily recognized whose eyes I was looking through, even without the chapter headers informing me. That alone is a nearly impossible feat for writers to manage, but it works so well here. We have:
"Bicho Raro was a place of strange miracles."
I am so grateful to have been given an ARC of this by my friend Julie! Thank you again! ❤
The synopsis for this book sounded so good, and the cover is gorgeous, and there are owls, and I had to have it. I was not disappointed in the slightest.
✘ PLOT
In the desert of Colorado, there lives a family - the Sorias, who have been blessed with a generational ability to perform miracles. These miracles are unusual, though; they draw a person's darkness out of them, so that it might form a physical entity or trait to be defeated. The only problem is this: once the miracle has been performed, it is that person's own responsibility to defeat their darkness, and no saint can help them, for fear of creating the vastly stronger and more frightening darkness of the Sorias.
When Daniel Soria is forced to face his darkness, he retreats into the wild to keep his family safe, but his family knows there is a puzzle to be solved if they are ever going to save their beloved saint.
✘ CHARACTERS
This book is brimming with amazing, complex, lovable characters. There are the cousins - Beatriz, Daniel, and Joaquin - who are each so different, but so attached to one another they might as well be siblings. There are the adult Sorias, each of whom is cursed with their own difficulties and griefs that they must overcome. Last, there are the Pilgrims: those who have been given their first miracles, but have not yet vanquished their darkness.
I loved the way Maggie took the time to delve into the back stories of so many of the characters. I don't really feel like there was ever just one main character, because so many different individuals felt so important and crucial to the story, even among the older Sorias and the Pilgrims.
✘ WRITING
How can I review a Maggie Stiefvater book without talking about her writing? I know it isn't for everyone, but I loved it in The Raven Boys, and I loved it even more here. Every line is lyrical or metaphorical, and she constantly hides little gems in her words. You can't skim a book of Maggie's, because you'll miss half the beauty that lies simply in the way she writes. I wish I could share all of my favorite quotes with you, but half of them would be spoilers, and really, they're just words that you should read in the context of this beautiful story she created.
✘ CONTROVERSY
I know this book has been a bit controversial, and I don't want to say much on that, but I didn't feel right leaving it out altogether, because I know a lot of you guys will be curious about it. I did not personally feel as though the Hispanic culture was being represented poorly in this book. Maggie threw in tidbits here and there about historical figures in the Latinx community that had done great things, and from these tidbits, I actually learned some really cool, positive things!
HOWEVER, I am not Latinx and can not speak for an entire group of individuals that I do not belong to. I would be extremely open to hearing opinions from Latinx reviewers who have read this book, and would encourage all of you to open your minds and hear their viewpoints on this as well! Nobody can ever give you as well-formed of an opinion on a piece of "diverse" art as the marginalized groups that the author is trying to represent, especially when it is not an own-voice piece.
✘ FINAL VERDICT
I loved this book. I was delighted to have the opportunity to read it ahead of its release, and I thought it painted such a beautiful story about this family and how much they loved one another. The magical aspect of it was portrayed in such a fun and unique way. Plus, owls are some of my favorite creatures on earth, and I loved the idea that they were attracted to the miracles and so massive groups of them constantly inhabited Bicho Raro.
I would highly encourage anyone who enjoys Maggie's writing - or beautiful, lyrical writing in general - to pick this up, especially if you're a fan of realistic fantasy.
You can find this review and more on my blog!
I am so grateful to have been given an ARC of this by my friend Julie! Thank you again! ❤
The synopsis for this book sounded so good, and the cover is gorgeous, and there are owls, and I had to have it. I was not disappointed in the slightest.
✘ PLOT
In the desert of Colorado, there lives a family - the Sorias, who have been blessed with a generational ability to perform miracles. These miracles are unusual, though; they draw a person's darkness out of them, so that it might form a physical entity or trait to be defeated. The only problem is this: once the miracle has been performed, it is that person's own responsibility to defeat their darkness, and no saint can help them, for fear of creating the vastly stronger and more frightening darkness of the Sorias.
When Daniel Soria is forced to face his darkness, he retreats into the wild to keep his family safe, but his family knows there is a puzzle to be solved if they are ever going to save their beloved saint.
✘ CHARACTERS
This book is brimming with amazing, complex, lovable characters. There are the cousins - Beatriz, Daniel, and Joaquin - who are each so different, but so attached to one another they might as well be siblings. There are the adult Sorias, each of whom is cursed with their own difficulties and griefs that they must overcome. Last, there are the Pilgrims: those who have been given their first miracles, but have not yet vanquished their darkness.
I loved the way Maggie took the time to delve into the back stories of so many of the characters. I don't really feel like there was ever just one main character, because so many different individuals felt so important and crucial to the story, even among the older Sorias and the Pilgrims.
✘ WRITING
How can I review a Maggie Stiefvater book without talking about her writing? I know it isn't for everyone, but I loved it in The Raven Boys, and I loved it even more here. Every line is lyrical or metaphorical, and she constantly hides little gems in her words. You can't skim a book of Maggie's, because you'll miss half the beauty that lies simply in the way she writes. I wish I could share all of my favorite quotes with you, but half of them would be spoilers, and really, they're just words that you should read in the context of this beautiful story she created.
✘ CONTROVERSY
I know this book has been a bit controversial, and I don't want to say much on that, but I didn't feel right leaving it out altogether, because I know a lot of you guys will be curious about it. I did not personally feel as though the Hispanic culture was being represented poorly in this book. Maggie threw in tidbits here and there about historical figures in the Latinx community that had done great things, and from these tidbits, I actually learned some really cool, positive things!
HOWEVER, I am not Latinx and can not speak for an entire group of individuals that I do not belong to. I would be extremely open to hearing opinions from Latinx reviewers who have read this book, and would encourage all of you to open your minds and hear their viewpoints on this as well! Nobody can ever give you as well-formed of an opinion on a piece of "diverse" art as the marginalized groups that the author is trying to represent, especially when it is not an own-voice piece.
✘ FINAL VERDICT
I loved this book. I was delighted to have the opportunity to read it ahead of its release, and I thought it painted such a beautiful story about this family and how much they loved one another. The magical aspect of it was portrayed in such a fun and unique way. Plus, owls are some of my favorite creatures on earth, and I loved the idea that they were attracted to the miracles and so massive groups of them constantly inhabited Bicho Raro.
I would highly encourage anyone who enjoys Maggie's writing - or beautiful, lyrical writing in general - to pick this up, especially if you're a fan of realistic fantasy.
You can find this review and more on my blog!
Go ahead, sign me up for the heartache. :( This sounds so sad but important.
Goodreads says this is my 2nd reading... Goodreads lies. This is something like my sixth reading.
Still 5 stars from me! I swore I had reviewed this ages ago, but evidently not - maybe I'll type up a few thoughts on it later. Hazel Grace + Augustus Waters = <3 5evr
Still 5 stars from me! I swore I had reviewed this ages ago, but evidently not - maybe I'll type up a few thoughts on it later. Hazel Grace + Augustus Waters = <3 5evr
#1 Dead Until Dark ★★★.5
#2 Living Dead in Dallas ★★★★
#3 Club Dead ★★★★★
This was pretty exotic stuff for a telepathic barmaid from northern Louisiana.
Like many, I first picked up the Sookie Stackhouse series years ago, in my teens, when paranormal fantasy was all the craze and I couldn't get enough of those sexy, brooding vampires. You know how it goes. I remember loving this book back then, and being exceptionally fond of Bill Compton, but for whatever reason, I never really continued on with the books back then.
Recently, I decided it'd be fun to reread this one and continue the series, so here we are. What surprised me the most was how different Bill was from my memories! Teen Destiny definitely thought he was a brooding, stoic, protective gentleman, but adult Destiny just finds him to be a bit of a pig, frankly — and boring as hell. Give me literally any of her potential love interests other than Bill, please.
Before I get into this review, I feel like this is one of those books that is so widely loved that I should offer a disclaimer: please, know that just because this story didn’t work for me, does not mean that I am insulting the bookish taste of anyone who loves this book/series. Now that that’s out of the way… I have a lot of feelings about Anna and the French Kiss.
First, let’s talk about the positives. The writing in this book is fun and it flies by in a breeze; I mentioned this when I reviewed There’s Someone Inside Your House, but I think Stephanie Perkins is just such a fun storyteller and I find it so easy to get sucked into her stories and to find myself rooting for the relationships she crafts, because they seem to follow this track record of combining just the right amount of angst with a lot of cuteness and chemistry.
I also loved the setting of the story! I’m a sucker for boarding school settings (blame my growing up in the HP fandom, what can I say?), and I liked the idea of this whole girl-gone-abroad ordeal. I was also initially sucked into the romance between Anna and St. Clair; they had killer chemistry from the start, and I won’t lie, I wanted to root for them a little, even though something about their relationship didn’t set well with me the whole time (besides the obvious of, you know, months of emotional and sometimes physical cheating).
The further away from reading it I got, and the more I discussed it with others, the more I realized that I couldn’t really approve of the messages in this book. After watching this video review (which sums up all of my issues and then some, while being way more entertaining than I ever could be), I felt so validated in my concerns that I lowered my rating to 2 stars. Below, I’m just going to run through a quick list of things I struggled with:
• the cheating: holy shmoly, the romanticization of emotional and physical infidelity is strong here
• victim-blaming: Ellie, St. Clair’s girlfriend, isn’t the nicest person, but she still doesn’t deserve to be cheated on; somehow, though, the book manages to vilify her so thoroughly that Anna at one point literally even fantasizes about brutally attacking Ellie just to get her out of the picture
• girl-on-girl hate/drama: seriously, Anna is determined to hate and/or treat poorly every girl she meets. Ellie is the wicked girlfriend, her best friend from Atlanta dates a boy Anna was interested in but never established anything “real” with (and sorry honey, you were in another continent for a year—girl code only goes so far in this scenario!), her best friend in France is also in love with St. Clair and it becomes soooo much unnecessary drama and toxicity… I could go on, but I won’t.
• slut-shaming: because Anna feels the need to comment on every single revealing outfit she sees, especially when it’s Ellie wearing a—gasp!—revealing Halloween costume.
• St. Clair’s wishy-washy asshole tendencies: because honestly, he might be cute and Ameri-brit-frenchish, but Ellie isn’t the only lady he treats like garbage. He is super obviously into Anna for ages, but strings her along because he’s too scared to end his current relationship, and frankly, his refusal to commit to either of them should have left him empty-handed if this were the real world.
• Anna’s attempts at forcing jealousy: Anna literally dates another boy, who she has no interest in and doesn’t even want to spend time with, JUST in hopes of making St. Clair jealous. Letting the object of your affections see you flirt with someone else to get a rise out of them is a trope as old as time, but she legitimately strings this poor child along for a fair amount of time, which makes her just as gross as St. Clair is.
I feel like I’m forgetting things and this is one of those reviews that I should’ve written as soon as I finished the book, but alas, this thing is already long enough as it is. The only reason I’m giving it 2 stars instead of 1 is because, as I mentioned earlier in the review, Stephanie’s writing voice itself is fun and breezy. There’s a definite reason behind the fact that so many people had similar situations to myself, wherein they were having fun (albeit perhaps feeling uncomfortable) while reading this book, but after putting it down, began to feel very angry or disappointed.
So, here we are—will I continue this series? I honestly don’t know. Will I read more by Stephanie Perkins? Yeah, honestly, I will—I liked her latest release a lot and I think she’s probably grown tremendously as an author since this story first released. That said, this one is going in my unhaul pile.
———
Buddy read with Reg!
“Boys turns girls into such idiots.”
First, let’s talk about the positives. The writing in this book is fun and it flies by in a breeze; I mentioned this when I reviewed There’s Someone Inside Your House, but I think Stephanie Perkins is just such a fun storyteller and I find it so easy to get sucked into her stories and to find myself rooting for the relationships she crafts, because they seem to follow this track record of combining just the right amount of angst with a lot of cuteness and chemistry.
“French name, English accent, American school. Anna confused.”
I also loved the setting of the story! I’m a sucker for boarding school settings (blame my growing up in the HP fandom, what can I say?), and I liked the idea of this whole girl-gone-abroad ordeal. I was also initially sucked into the romance between Anna and St. Clair; they had killer chemistry from the start, and I won’t lie, I wanted to root for them a little, even though something about their relationship didn’t set well with me the whole time (besides the obvious of, you know, months of emotional and sometimes physical cheating).
“I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul.”
The further away from reading it I got, and the more I discussed it with others, the more I realized that I couldn’t really approve of the messages in this book. After watching this video review (which sums up all of my issues and then some, while being way more entertaining than I ever could be), I felt so validated in my concerns that I lowered my rating to 2 stars. Below, I’m just going to run through a quick list of things I struggled with:
• the cheating: holy shmoly, the romanticization of emotional and physical infidelity is strong here
• victim-blaming: Ellie, St. Clair’s girlfriend, isn’t the nicest person, but she still doesn’t deserve to be cheated on; somehow, though, the book manages to vilify her so thoroughly that Anna at one point literally even fantasizes about brutally attacking Ellie just to get her out of the picture
• girl-on-girl hate/drama: seriously, Anna is determined to hate and/or treat poorly every girl she meets. Ellie is the wicked girlfriend, her best friend from Atlanta dates a boy Anna was interested in but never established anything “real” with (and sorry honey, you were in another continent for a year—girl code only goes so far in this scenario!), her best friend in France is also in love with St. Clair and it becomes soooo much unnecessary drama and toxicity… I could go on, but I won’t.
• slut-shaming: because Anna feels the need to comment on every single revealing outfit she sees, especially when it’s Ellie wearing a—gasp!—revealing Halloween costume.
• St. Clair’s wishy-washy asshole tendencies: because honestly, he might be cute and Ameri-brit-frenchish, but Ellie isn’t the only lady he treats like garbage. He is super obviously into Anna for ages, but strings her along because he’s too scared to end his current relationship, and frankly, his refusal to commit to either of them should have left him empty-handed if this were the real world.
• Anna’s attempts at forcing jealousy: Anna literally dates another boy, who she has no interest in and doesn’t even want to spend time with, JUST in hopes of making St. Clair jealous. Letting the object of your affections see you flirt with someone else to get a rise out of them is a trope as old as time, but she legitimately strings this poor child along for a fair amount of time, which makes her just as gross as St. Clair is.
I feel like I’m forgetting things and this is one of those reviews that I should’ve written as soon as I finished the book, but alas, this thing is already long enough as it is. The only reason I’m giving it 2 stars instead of 1 is because, as I mentioned earlier in the review, Stephanie’s writing voice itself is fun and breezy. There’s a definite reason behind the fact that so many people had similar situations to myself, wherein they were having fun (albeit perhaps feeling uncomfortable) while reading this book, but after putting it down, began to feel very angry or disappointed.
So, here we are—will I continue this series? I honestly don’t know. Will I read more by Stephanie Perkins? Yeah, honestly, I will—I liked her latest release a lot and I think she’s probably grown tremendously as an author since this story first released. That said, this one is going in my unhaul pile.
———
Buddy read with Reg!
#1 City of Bones ★★★★☆
#2 City of Ashes ★★★☆☆
#3 City of Glass ★★★★☆
#4 City of Fallen Angels ★★★★★
#5 City of Lost Souls ★★★★★
#6 City of Heavenly Fire
I know I’m slow to pick up this series, but I honestly spent several years of my life thinking that Cassandra Clare’s books didn’t hold anything special in store for me. They just didn’t strike me as books that I would like very much, but when my friend Julie started binge reading them last fall, I decided to finally give them a chance, and I am so happy that I did!
“It means 'Shadowhunters: Looking Better in Black Than the Widows of our Enemies Since 1234'.”
→ Clarissa Fray ←
Clary, our narrator, was a little more trope-y and cliché than I’ve grown comfortable with in YA, but for a mid-2000s release, her character isn’t wholly unlikable or offensive. She falls victim to the “not like other girls” stereotype a few times, and she’s aggressive when interacting with… well, almost everyone… but she’s also caring, artistic, and bright. She struck me immediately as the sort of protagonist that, while I felt ambivalent towards by the end of the first installment, I could certainly grow to love throughout the series.
“Sorry, are you telling me that your demon-slaying buddies need to be driven to their next assignment with the forces of darkness by my mom?”
→ Simon Lewis ←
If Clary falls prey to tropes and clichés a bit, Simon does, tenfold. He’s the epitome of the “jealous best friend” trope from the start, and was honestly the only thing about this book that I fully disliked. A little of his banter with Clary was cute, but for the most part, his scenes felt whiny and boring – much like his character, as a whole, felt to me.
“The meek may inherit the earth, but at the moment it belongs to the conceited. Like me.”
→ Jace Wayland ←
Jace, on the other hand, hooked me from the beginning. I’m such a sucker for the conceited, arrogant teddy bear love interest, and he fulfilled that to every extent. His sarcasm and ridiculous remarks had me laughing out loud more than a few times, but he’s also the sort of character who you immediately can find this gooey, tender core in, and you just know he’s going to make your teeth ache sooner or later (and he totally does). I lived for Clary’s adventures with him. Even if I hadn’t enjoyed the rest of the characters and the plot, I feel like I’d have kept reading this series just for how damn cute he is.
“Where there is love, there is often also hate. They can exist side by side.”
→ Isabelle & Alec Lightwood ←
Full disclosure: I went into this series expecting to love these siblings just because I’ve heard so much raving about them (*coughJulie!cough*), but they really are precious. I mean, Alec spends most of the first book being kind of a jerk, but he has his motives, and they’re worth pitying. Isabelle comes off as the “airheaded hot girl” cliché to begin with, but it’s immediately evident that she’s a skilled warrior, kind, and entertaining (even if she’s a terrible cook). I don’t feel like I got to know either of the Lightwood kids very well in this installment, but I definitely felt like their characters were set up well enough to make me excited to spend more time with them in the future.
Beautiful. He'd called her beautiful. Nobody had ever called her that before, except her mother, which didn't count. Mothers were required to think you were beautiful.
→ hunting, fighting, twists, and turns ←
I was left impressed by how well Cassandra mixed world-building, character development, and action scenes in this book, but one of my few complaints was that I didn’t particularly enjoy any of the fight scenes. I know a lot of authors say they’re difficult to write, so I won’t hold it against her (especially in her debut!), but the battles were a little hard to visualize and actually had quite a few inconsistencies (such as a character being annoyed by a lack of pockets to hide something in, but on the next page, hiding said item in her previously nonexistent pocket).
What the book lacked in fights, though, it made up for with world building and twists – most of which I, admittedly, was able to peg before it came to pass, but I didn’t think they felt so obvious that it bothered my reading experience.
“The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and that to be loved is to be the one destroyed.”
→ final thoughts ←
City of Bones might not have been perfect, and it might have held true to some of the mid-2000s writing clichés I expected, but I was so pleasantly surprised by how much this story sucked me in, and how quickly I became invested in these characters’ lives and the outcomes of their struggles. More than anything, I was stunned by how quickly I fell in love with Jace and the Lightwood siblings, as well as some of the lesser-seen side characters, like the magnificent Magnus Bane and the kindly, brave Luke Garroway. I’m so glad that I’ve already got the entire TMI series waiting on my shelf, and I miiight have already ordered the TDI trilogy, if that tells you anything about how excited I am to continue this story!
Even as a child, I’ve always been obsessed with ghosts and cemeteries, and despite the fact that I would have been terrified, I remember having this idea that it would have been so cool(!) to just move my whole family to a graveyard and live surrounded by spirits and ghouls and whatever other sort of lovely non-living things one might find therein. Since that obviously never quite worked out for me as a child, it only makes sense that I would eventually pick up The Graveyard Book to live vicariously through Nobody Owens.
I’ve struggled with Gaiman’s work in the past, but this was my first time trying out his middle grade work or an audiobook format of one of his stories, and I’m not sure which of those details (or maybe both!) contributed to the outcome, but it was incredible. I absolutely could not get enough. I didn’t have any errands to run to justify car-listening like I usually do, so I literally talked myself into cleaning just so I had a good excuse to listen to this book. That never happens.
First, Neil Gaiman’s writing is absolutely stunning. I actually find The Graveyard Book a little hard to categorize strictly as middle grade, because I think readers of any and all age ranges could easily enjoy this book. It makes it even more interesting that we get to watch Bod grow up throughout the book, going from a toddler to a young man, with adventures occurring every so often throughout his childhood. We zoom in on these adventures, but Gaiman’s writing has a way of making it feel like you never missed a beat, despite there often being years spanning between chapters.
Bod is a really enjoyable protagonist, but for me, the shining stars were the side characters—namely Silas, Bod’s mysterious, secretive mentor, but also Miss Lupescu and Liza Hempstock, both of whom I would have loved to see even more of. The only problem with the time jumps between chapters is that we rarely get to see the same character two chapters in a row, with the exception of Bod and Silas, but Miss Lupescu’s chapter was quite possibly my favorite in the entire book.
Of course, Gaiman isn’t known for writing particularly happy books, and there are some surprisingly tragic themes to the story—from the very beginning, in which we hear that Bod’s entire family has been murdered, all the way to the painful but necessary ending that had me choking back tears of both sorrow and indignation (how dare you, Mr. Gaiman?!) That said, it’s the sort of sadness that won’t be too much for children, and I dare say, I think would hit an adult or teen reader much harder than it would a child in the “intended” readers’ age range. Despite those heavier moments, it’s also full of light and smiles (and thinly veiled sighs of relief as Bod is saved from yet another disaster he’s landed himself in).
The Graveyard Book was so lovable that it’s completely changed my mind on Gaiman as an author, and has convinced me that I absolutely must give his adult books another try, because I loved every moment of this spooky little read and could happily see myself picking it up again and again in the future.
“You're always you, and that don't change, and you're always changing, and there's nothing you can do about it.”
I’ve struggled with Gaiman’s work in the past, but this was my first time trying out his middle grade work or an audiobook format of one of his stories, and I’m not sure which of those details (or maybe both!) contributed to the outcome, but it was incredible. I absolutely could not get enough. I didn’t have any errands to run to justify car-listening like I usually do, so I literally talked myself into cleaning just so I had a good excuse to listen to this book. That never happens.
“If you dare nothing, then when the day is over, nothing is all you will have gained.”
First, Neil Gaiman’s writing is absolutely stunning. I actually find The Graveyard Book a little hard to categorize strictly as middle grade, because I think readers of any and all age ranges could easily enjoy this book. It makes it even more interesting that we get to watch Bod grow up throughout the book, going from a toddler to a young man, with adventures occurring every so often throughout his childhood. We zoom in on these adventures, but Gaiman’s writing has a way of making it feel like you never missed a beat, despite there often being years spanning between chapters.
“You're alive, Bod. That means you have infinite potential. You can do anything, make anything, dream anything.”
Bod is a really enjoyable protagonist, but for me, the shining stars were the side characters—namely Silas, Bod’s mysterious, secretive mentor, but also Miss Lupescu and Liza Hempstock, both of whom I would have loved to see even more of. The only problem with the time jumps between chapters is that we rarely get to see the same character two chapters in a row, with the exception of Bod and Silas, but Miss Lupescu’s chapter was quite possibly my favorite in the entire book.
“People want to forget the impossible. It makes their world safer.”
Of course, Gaiman isn’t known for writing particularly happy books, and there are some surprisingly tragic themes to the story—from the very beginning, in which we hear that Bod’s entire family has been murdered, all the way to the painful but necessary ending that had me choking back tears of both sorrow and indignation (how dare you, Mr. Gaiman?!) That said, it’s the sort of sadness that won’t be too much for children, and I dare say, I think would hit an adult or teen reader much harder than it would a child in the “intended” readers’ age range. Despite those heavier moments, it’s also full of light and smiles (and thinly veiled sighs of relief as Bod is saved from yet another disaster he’s landed himself in).
“The tongue is the most remarkable. For we use it both to taste out sweet wine and bitter poison, thus also do we utter words both sweet and sour with the same tongue.”
The Graveyard Book was so lovable that it’s completely changed my mind on Gaiman as an author, and has convinced me that I absolutely must give his adult books another try, because I loved every moment of this spooky little read and could happily see myself picking it up again and again in the future.