This review originally appeared on the book review blog justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.

“I am a bad feminist. I would rather be a bad feminist than no feminist at all.” I feel this quote deeply. I have many opinions and feelings about being a feminist and either stand up to or fail at my own expectations, depending on the week, the day, the hour. But I’m taking my own small steps. I read. Obviously. A lot. But until this year I had made almost no move into the feminist side of one of my most favorite ways to spend my time. So I made a goal to do better – thank you Roxane, for writing this book and allowing me to better myself by read it. I had so many thoughts while reading this collection by Roxane Gay – like if I actually took the time to write them all, the result would be at least half as long as the book itself. And I’ll do my best to keep it all concise for you in the following review. But that quote above, the very last line in the book, brought together everything that had been building in my mind as I read. Maybe, like Gay, we are all a mass of contradictions and don’t always act in perfect accordance with the ideals we espouse. But it’s got to be better to try than to avoid it because we are sure we won’t measure up.

This collection of essays covered an almost overwhelming number of topics. Gay starts things off a little lighter, allowing the reader time to get to know her, her mind, and her style before fully diving in. We learn about her as a person: a daughter of Haitian immigrants, a professor, a competitive scrabble player, a reader, a survivor. And throughout the book we are allowed further insights into her youth, her traumatic experience as a victim of a gang rape, her soft spot for rap music despite her guilt over enjoying music with such terrible lyrics, and all the times she has been a less than ideal (whether in reality or simply in her own judgement) paragon of feminism.

This collection took me much longer to get through than Caitlin Moran’s How To Be A Woman (a book that is actually talked about in one of Gay’s essays, with an explanation and partial indictment of the levity and single-sidedness that perhaps explains why it was such a faster read). For anyone who cares, I enjoyed both Moran’s and Gay’s writing in equal but different ways and will choose to operate under the understanding that they are both addressing a universally impactful topic in the way they best could – to paraphrase an reiterate, better to be a bad feminist than not one at all. In any case, Gay’s essays are a mix of literary and cinematic critique and insightful (at times scathing) social commentary and opinion. She addresses topics central to the marginalization of women, minorities (particularly in reference to Black people), and the innumerable moments of intersectionality between the two. She addresses general societal expectations and allowances, rape culture, the inequality of women in the workplace and in interpersonal life, reproductive rights (or lack thereof), the lack of realistic and worthy portrayals of women/minorities/minority women in tv and movies, and much more. Everything is written with Gay’s caveat at the beginning that these essays, like herself, like feminism, are flawed, but are what she has to offer.

Although the heavy topics meant it took me awhile to get into it (it’s hard to read about the way real life is failing us…it’s so much easier to jump into a fantasy story and be carried away), I generally loved these essays. Gay made beautiful and well-articulated points on every topic she chose to address. She presented well researched opinions and included guest quotes and examples from extremely varied literary, cinematic, and interview/article sources that show her depth of knowledge and thought, while simultaneously giving us the chance to see that even such wonderful feminist role models (yes, you are definitely one of those, Gay) are allowed to enjoy entertainment that doesn’t necessarily jive with our views of the “perfect feminist.” She references, among others, books and shows and movies from Girls, Fifty Shades of Grey, Tosh (Tosh.0) and Tyler Perry to 12 Years a Slave, Fruitvale Station, Chris Brown and Robin Thicke – speaking to both her disappointments and appreciation at what they have accomplished. She speaks about events like the Sandusky case and Treyvon Martin to Anderson Cooper (and others) coming out and women’s clearly “alienable right” to have control over their bodies in the current cycle of reproductive rights repression. Actually, now that it’s been a few years since this was published, I would love to see some of Gay’s thoughts on songs/movies/books/events that have occured more recently, as I feel like her perspective highlights things I likely might never have thought of otherwise (which, straight up, is one of the things I love most about reading).

Often, Gay discusses her own struggles to respect what a book/movie, etc. has accomplished versus her unreasonable expectations of what it could have been, which comes across particularly strong in the chapter she writes about body shape/size. In any case, this is, in fact, probably my biggest complaint about the book. Although she always pointed out the good things, most every critique ended with Gay’s opinion of what could have been better. And mostly that’s fine, that’s what this collection was for. But there was one major contradiction that rubbed me the wrong way every time I read it: that she wants (though she recognizes the impossibility) every book/movie to do/be more, wishes for an “everything to everyone” situation, while at the same time complaining (again with self-recognition of the unfairness) when people write about things they don’t know about. I feel like these are mutually exclusive ideals to hold. For example, she (rightfully, I believe) was upset about the falseness/shallowness of Stockett’s “magical black maid” characters in The Help and mentions Stockett’s skin color in her complaints. At the same time, she complains about Moran’s How To Be a Woman for its’ narrow scope, even though that’s Moran writing about what she really knows, her own experience and perspective. I feel like, as I said, these are mutually exclusive complaints and that frustrated me. So in response, I am trying my own hand at accepting us all as bad feminists. I harken back to Gay’s self-recognition of her contradictory-ness and I try to think that this complaint of mine just proves our unreachable standards of “good” feminism. (I think I learned something here!)

This collection touched on so much, in a very easy (as far as pacing and writing style, not in regards to topics) way that really appealed to me. I want to read more, know more, understand more, take a stand more, as a feminist…but it can be scary. Gay wrote about it all in a very approachable and unintimidating way that. And though it made me feel guilty at times, it was from the cognitive dissonance her writing inspired and not from any tone of accusation in her writing. I want more of this in my life. And I highly recommend these essays.

There are a few quotes/thoughts in particular that I’d love to pull out because they really struck me:

She touches on beautiful points about her connection to the books she read in childhood and the nostalgia they hold, something I identify with so strongly I don’t really have to words to explain it. (In “I Once Was Miss America.”)

I loved the chapter about happiness and unhappiness as a muse for writing, “The Smooth Surfaces of Idyll.” Why is it that unhappiness is more interesting to read, or easier to write about? Gay’s discussion of looking for the happy, even if it is incomplete or subtle, was super interesting.

Finally, I've found someone else recognizes the contradictory darkness of the Hunger Games vs the sanitization of “love lives” for young adult readers! I enjoyed this trilogy, but have yet to find anyone else who thinks beyond the surface to how absolutely horrible (and kind of possible) the story actually is. And I hate when people assume that young readers have never seen/experienced anything bad and thus refuse to let YA books follow those themes. Ugh. I feel super vindicated right now. (in “What We Hunger For.”)

“It’s hard to be told to lighten up because if you lighten up any more, you’re going to float the fuck away.” Just yes. (In “Blurred Lines, Indeed.”)

Rape Culture and comedians (in particular here Tosh.0) – humor about violence suggests permissiveness. How many men are encouraged to ignore a woman’s “no” because of a comedian’s comments? And…“what are the consequences if the number is only one?” (in “Some Jokes Are Funnier Than Others.”)

“The Alienable Rights of Women” essay literally made me stand up and clap. Loudly. At home by myself. I don’t care. It was that spot on.

Compassion is not a limited resource (In “Tragedy. Call. Compassion. Response.”). We do not have to compare atrocities to confirm which is “worse” or who deserves empathy or assistance more. This is something I have definitely found myself doing and it hurts to think about. This is where
I’ve been a bad feminist. This is where I will work to be better.

There is no one type of feminist. Feminism is not necessarily “having it all.” Feminism is supporting the option for women to choose, to be able to decide which parts they want or, if they do want, to try for it all. I can be a feminist and not understand cars or want to take out the trash (true for both Gay and myself). And I can be a feminist even if I don’t want to have a baby or if I’d prefer to be taken care of sometimes instead of only relying on myself. And I am a feminist because I want every women to choose and act how she wants to on those same points, even if it’s different from my own choices or actions. (In “Bad Feminist: Take One” and “Bad Feminist: Take Two.”)

This review originally appeared on the book review blog justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.

Every little review blurb that I saw about this book included the word “ambitious” in it somewhere. And, not to just jump on the bandwagon, but I cannot think of any other way to say how I feel after finishing this novel. There is no other way to describe the scope of what it covers than to use that word; it is incredibly ambitious. Impressively ambitious. Frighteningly ambitious. Overwhelmingly ambitious.

What is this ambitious book about, you ask? Well, it’s weird. Because I’ll tell you, but you’ll read what I write and no part of it will seem that impressive. This is the story of Lotto and Mathilde. They meet and get married at 22, young, beautiful in a striking (not actually beautiful) way, talented (we are told), and completely in love (in that gross way that makes their friends roll their eyes, but kind of secretly smile at the same time). And this is their story. The first half, the Fates, is written from Lotto’s perspective. Where he came from, his life before Mathilde, and then the story of their marriage told through his eyes. The second half, the Furies, is Mathilde’s – her past, her perspectives (read also: many secrets), and her (semi-spoiler alert) post-Lotto life. Both sections are a gorgeous interweaving of past and present. And it’s a vast story to tell. Spanning both Lotto and Mathilde’s lives in their entirety, first the way Lotto lived it and then with corrections from Mathilde (what any real marriage looks like, really). And that’s it. So you see? It’s just a story of a couple. It’s the lives of two slightly larger than life, but primarily just normal, people. Nothing about that screams ambitious. At least, it didn’t to me. But truly, I come away thinking that this is one of those great American novels - the ones that get recognition for portraying life as it really is, painting the reality of a certain period of time, with all the subtleties therein. Its power lies in the ability to tell us our own reality, but to convince us that it’s something worth writing and reading (in the same vein as a novel like The Grapes of Wrath, or almost anything by Faulkner, its contribution is the uncensored depiction of living a more or less ordinary life during a given period). And in this case, it’s done with language that, while occasionally weighing us down with its depth and intensity, is truly a work of art. The words themselves, Groff’s staccato style for writing passages of grace and beauty, creates a completely original, harsh yet poetic, reading experience. To illustrate, I give you this example: "Grief is pain internalized, abscess of the soul. Anger is pain as energy, sudden explosion." (p. 300).

Truly, I feel like that’s all I have to say about this novel. I mean yes, there are many things I loved about the story itself – the depiction of Lotto as an artistic soul and what all the entailed, Mathilde’s perspective of herself as two different people (her true self and one she attempted to see because that’s who she thought Lotto saw her as), the masterful way that the two perspectives are told separately but by the end balance and explain each other so intricately. And I think some of the supporting characters, Antionette and Chollie, in particular, are fleshed out realistically, fully, and their roles are written exactly as they needed to be. And there were some twists and reveals towards the end that added some perfectly placed new angles and truly changed my opinions/reactions, as the reader, of almost the entirety of what I’d read up to that point (which is just another example of how remarkably written this is). And I loved the deft use of asides throughout, as Groff helped guide the reader to feel and see what she wanted us to feel and see. And maybe it’s worth noting that at times I felt like reading Lotto’s perspective lagged a little, while I felt like I sped through Mathilde’s. And maybe these extra things will help you decide whether or not to pick up this book. But honestly, even though at times I felt bogged down by the story, by the details, I would still recommend this read…and the true reasons for that are all enumerated in that first paragraph. If it’s not enough to know that this book tells a truth, in the same way many great American novels do, that it’s worth reading despite the spots you have to struggle through (because honestly, anyone who tries to say that Faulkner’s works never require that kind of grind is definitely lying), then none of the extra details about my favorite or least favorite scenes and quotes and characters is going to make the difference.

Despite the apparent mundanity of the plot, there is genius here. Some will love the style, the story and some will hate it; I’m sure Lotto could tell you how that feels, struggling to compromise the varieties of feedback about his works. But regardless, you cannot deny the skill with which these dual perspectives were crafted and told. And you cannot deny the truth they hold. If you can make your way through this ambitious story, I think you’ll find, at the end, that it was completely worth it.

To conclude, I leave you with this passage on love, that I feel truly encapsulates the ambiance of this entire work: 'Forgive her if she believed this would be the way it would go. She had been led to the conclusion by forces greater than she. Conquers all! All you need is! Is a many-splendored thing! Surrender to!' (p. 235)

This review first appeared on the book review blog justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.

This is going to be a weird review to write, not because I’m unsure of how I felt, but because it it’s almost like I’m having to rate/review two different books at the same time. On the one hand, there are the actual “diaries” that Carrie Fisher kept while she was filming Star Wars, written years ago and published in their original form. On the other hand, there are her reflections back on that time, and on her current relationship with Star Wars, written by the Carrie Fisher of today. And I have wildly different thoughts about the two parts.

I’m going to talk about the original diary entries first, since those are the titular pieces and thus, at least theoretically, the more important part. They showed up somewhere in the middle of the book (keep in mind that I listened to it as an audiobook, so I’m not sure exactly where in the middle it was), after an extensive introduction from Carrie that I’ll talk about later. They were also read by someone different, while the rest of the book was narrated by Carrie herself, which I thought was a nice touch. In any case, I truly enjoyed this part. It was such an interesting self-expression, a mix of poetry, sing-song-y blurbs, self-reflection, snippets of conversation, and general thoughts/feelings. It was all written with a very introspective feel and flow, soft and damning all at the same time. You could feel young Carrie’s confusion, insecurity, self-condemnation, and frustration all coming through. And her background in theater was very evident in the way she wrote and presented it all - it feels as if it's written to be spoken and performed, polished and creative and expressive, as if it came out ready for its audience. For lack of a better (or more original) term, it came across as a very theatrical inner dialogue. Perhaps parts of it were cheesy, perhaps parts were overdone, but I think the important thing was that when they were written, they were written for herself. No matter what your thoughts are on the way she wrote it, you have to recognize that this was not actually written with the goal of being presented to an audience, but as an outlet for herself. We are able to really get a glimpse into the Carrie of that time, the private self that she didn’t share with anyone. In that respect, this part of the book is an insight that cannot be critiqued in the way one would normally judge a published work.

On the other hand, there were the parts that current Carrie wrote, which I was somewhat less enamored of overall. To start, I was pretty fascinated. Carrie describes the major world (and entertainment) events of the time period in question, both the 70s in general and the specifics of 1976, and then gives us some background on her life growing up, her family, etc. I definitely learned some things here and, as I’ve been getting more into celebrity memoirs lately, I find the “how I got there” part fascinating, since it is so different for everyone. She also spends quite a lot of time giving us the details of her “affair” with Harrison Ford, something that heretofore had never been fully confirmed as more than rumor. And, as an avid (though not fanatical) Star Wars “fan” and a general admirer of Harrison Ford, I found myself  super interested in this part. I was [mostly embarrassingly] really into Fisher's reflections on why it happened, how incompetent/nervous she felt around him (it’s so easy to forget how much younger and inexperienced she was – at acting and life in general – I mean she was only like 19 when everything started), and even the basic "what/how" details. So I liked this intro part and also recognize that it was very necessary for the reader, in order to really understand everything that was in her diary entries. 

But then after the diary entries, I felt like things fell apart a little. I mean I know that the Star Wars universe and fandom that was created was absolutely unprecedented at the time (and pretty much still is, except for Harry Potter, at least in my personal belief/observation). Carrie was thrust into a position that, even with famous parents, there was no way to prepare for. And, as she self-proclaims, it wasn’t something she was wanting out of life anyways. Hearing how that affected her and how she felt about it was definitely thought-provoking. I giggled at some of her reflections on the hair thing, the metal bikini, the comments from fans she met, etc. However, I think that entire part just dragged on a little too long and was, perhaps, filled with a bit too much sarcasm. It was hard for me, listening, to follow at which points she was “quoting” things fans had said and at which points she was just narrating what her own thoughts and reflections – to the point that by the end I was starting to get a little annoyed. It also was fairly repetitive, by that point. I think she could have, and actually did, give her examples and make her points, in fairly short order...so it seemed to me that after the points were made, she was just beating a dead horse. Honestly, I totally understand (or empathize with, at least) the conflicted feelings she has towards Leia, the near impossibility to separating her real self and her Leia self, the wonderful and the terrible things the intense fandom provides her. But, I don’t know, her tone in the telling of it just made it less compelling for me. In any case, it’s frustrating that it ended like that, because up to that point it was super interesting and insightful and it sucks that the last impression was the most negative… 

Regardless, if you are a fan of Star Wars, if Leia’s strong female presence affected your life in any positive way, I’d still recommend this read. The brief glimpse inside Carrie as she first played Leia is something that really did bring more dimension and life to both the actor and the character. And, as the tragedy of her death still looms in the recent past, it’s a perfect way to reflect back on this woman who brought so much to the lives of so many.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.

I’ve been wanting/planning to read something by Sarah Dessen for awhile now. She is a rather prolific and well-respected YA author and she happens to be from NC. O heyyyy, that’s where I live! And especially since she just published a new novel, her name has been everywhere for the last few weeks. In any case, I’ve almost checked out one of her books at the library like 7 times and for some reason I never actually have. Then I was at a used book sale one day and this was sitting right on top of a pile in the YA section. Although it’s not one of Dessen’s more well-known titles, I figured if I buy it for like, $1, and it’s in my house (removing the step of checking it out at the library and having a time limit on getting through it), maybe that’ll be what actually gets me to read it. It did work, though in a slightly different way than I had imagined, as there was a perfect opportunity for a photograph with it and then, once that was taken, the pressure from my husband to actually read it (so I could post said photo with the review) was pretty strong.

It’s a weird coincidence that this novel is on theme with It Ends With Us by Colleen Hoover, which I posted about a few months ago, and is probably the only other book in this genre that I’ve read in years. And it’s a little unfortunate, I think, because that makes it impossible to avoid drawing comparisons between the two. But I’ll try to give a non-comparison review first (the best I can).

This was such a fast read - I think it took me a total of maybe 3 hours, over 2 sittings, to finish it. The dialogue was solid, not stilted or overdone, and the writing didn’t have too much telling/explaining, but trusted that by showing the reader what was happening, we would be smart enough to draw the “right,” or really any, conclusions. So the normal things that make me cringe while reading weren’t present. However, that lack of overt bad didn’t necessarily equate to a full “good.” The character development ranged from nothing special to nothing at all. Caitlin, our main character and narrator, was the only one in the story that had any real sort of depth or development. And though the author clearly tried with Rogerson and Cass as well, and there was some promise, it just didn’t quite happen. The rest just felt like a lot of tropes all mixed up together: the “hippie” neighbors, the sports-enthused dad, the “bad influence” friend… Also, there were a lot of what seemed like “trying too hard” efforts to create metaphors with sports references and swimming/drowning. Even the titular “dreamland” reference started very forced (though it grew into itself a bit throughout the story). But despite all that, the story that’s told is one that I think a lot of youth can identify with. In fact, if I look back, I definitely can. The pressure from parents to live up to “your full potential,” or to match the potential of a sibling, and the need to do something totally opposite/different in order to get out from underneath that, is widespread. As a high schooler, it is much easier to let that carry you too far away, or in too deeply, as happened here with Caitlin, and really Cass as well. This book is important in that it talks about concepts and situations that are important to recognize and represent in literature about this age group, even if, perhaps, adults would rather pretend that none of it is happening. 

However, this is where I really have to jump into a comparison with It Ends With Us. The same type of [negative] relationship is handled there, in what I felt like was a much more capable, nuanced way. Now, to be fair, Hoover’s book is about an older couple, both of whom had graduated college and had their own lives, jobs, etc. I do believe that that allows for a more complex handling, because at that age there is more freedom for the characters actions and, theoretically, they know themselves better and have grown into who they are more. But the fact that Hoover's main characters' youths, backgrounds, etc. were more fleshed out and handled better as well is a stark difference. Plus, some of the deeper consequences of this type of relationship can be, and were, explored - which is much more real and does allow for the reader to really learn more (in my opinion, super important, in this case).

Mini spoiler alert: If you are looking for a story about an abusive relationship, Hoover’s is significantly deeper and more compelling and I recommend it. I will say though, that if you are looking for a novel specifically to introduce the idea of an abusive relationship to a younger person, and you want something they’re more likely to identify with and that will cover everything (getting into it, getting stuck in it, working to get out/over it) in more of a surface level way, then I do think Dessen’s book is a good choice. Also, it would be good to read so that even if it’s not something that ever happens to a young reader directly, they could perhaps recognize signs in their friend(s) and be able to help. Learning signs and how to step in for someone else can be just as important as learning how to step in and help yourself. And Dessen really does show, perhaps even more so than Hoover, that anyone can get into a situation or relationship like this, even if there are no “red flags” in their background.

All in all, this was not necessarily something special, but it did give me some insight into Dessan's popularity with her YA readership, and, for me, that made it worth reading. After reading some reviews though, it also seems that this book is very different than her others, so perhaps I'll have to read one more to truly get it - we'll see.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog justonemorepaige.wordpress.com.

Palacio's lyrical prose, bordering on the mystical, beautifully tells the story of a Cuban family, the Encarnacions.  Isabel and Ulises are siblings caught between parents, countries, and cultures. Their mother, Soledad, wants to take them to America, hoping for a better future for them than they would find in Cuba. But their father, Uxbal, refuses to leave his country and his revolutionary cause. So Soledad steals them away, heading to America without Uxbal, and putting into motion what will be a lifelong feeling of "pulled between two places" for Isabel and Ulises.  

Oscillating between some of the most tender and some of the harshest descriptions of family and relationships, this novel is told in the same vein as many well known Spanish language/heritage stories of magical realism. But an odd thing I noticed was that, as I read, I realized my view was much more pragmatic than in the past. Although the story is written in the tone of magical realism, and many scenes and parts could easily be interpreted that way, there was also a way to interpret the story where nothing necessarily magical is actually happening. There is rarely a point where what the author describes could truly not happen. And the reader could choose to interpret the exaggerative style as just that, just hyperbole, or as something more, as a more factual, and thus magical, telling. This time, unlike in the past, my mind steered me towards just seeing these fantastical elements as over-stating of reality, but not necessarily magical. Take, for example(s), Isabel's role as the "Death Torch,"  Ulises' size and incessant re-readings of The Aeneid, the physical presence of Uxbal's letter in the kitchen, and Henri/Soledad's rough sex after her diagnosis and cancer treatments: all border on the magical, but at the same time, all those things could also reasonably have happened and the telling of them is just distorted here.  But that shouldn't be the point, and it makes me sad that my mind automatically put that at center stage. It also makes me thankful that I read so much of Garcia Marquez before my "adult" brain decided to play more of a role. I hate that I may have lost some of the easy imagination that made magical realism such a draw for me. 

But regardless, there is some real magic in this story. It's in the way that Palacio takes a set of normal occurrences, a family life that is [in general] no more or less happy or difficult than any other's, and retells it in a way that makes it seem ethereal, spiritual, mythical. At times, I actually felt like everything that happened here was told and experienced at such a distance that I couldn't get into it, so intangible as to not be relatable, but that would be probably my only, and minor, critique. Otherwise, this was a gorgeous homage to family and to the difficulty presented by family relationships. It explores the love, the pain, the simultaneous physical and emotional closeness and distance that are found in families. And it's also an homage to a homeland, one that connects a family, that calls to them and haunts them in equal measure, a piece of themselves that each must confront. This is a story equally about the day to day survival of a family and the larger scope of their pasts, their promises, their hopes and dreams.

Soledad, Uxbal, Isabel and Ulises each face the inability to forget alongside the impossibility of remembering, and must deal with the guilt that builds from both eventualities. This exploration of their lives really comes down to the various coping mechanisms they, and we all, use to deal with those realities. Very human. Very impressive.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I’m not even sure what to say to where to start with this book. When I originally read the blurb about it, it sounded like a retelling of the Joan of Arc story in a wasteland future. And that sounded pretty awesome to me. I’ve always had a thing about Joan of Arc, though I’m not sure why. Maybe because she was one of the only “strong” females in history that you really learn about in school, especially Catholic school. But in any case, I did a project on her in elementary school – my dad helped me make a “spear” out of a little wooden dowel and some heavy stock paper. I remember feeling so cool. Well, I guess technically this book was exactly what that blurb made it sound like, but somehow, at the same time, it was nothing like that and I was totally unprepared for reading it.

This was an insane mix of dystopia, sci-fi, fantasy, poetry. An “elite” class of humans, led by the dictator Jean de Men, have managed to make a “life” in a sort of space station orbiting the charred remains of Earth. An earth that was destroyed by none other than our story’s “heroine” Joan, through some sort of special connection she has with the planet and living matter. But there is a lot going on that’s starting to come to the surface… Joan (who was supposedly executed years ago) is in fact still alive, saved by her partner(?), Leone, and scraping by in a sort of half-existence life on Earth. Primarily unbeknownst to them, there are other humans left alive trying to do the same (though apparently their story isn't very exciting because we really never find out more about them). And up in the space station thing, Jean de Men is losing his(?) mind, trying ever more drastic and disgusting methods of ensuring reproduction for his “people” up there that have, somehow, lost all biological ability to reproduce (due in large part to the “erasure” of sexual organs, inside and out, in some kind of bodily evolution that still makes no sense to me). And then Jean de Men finds out that Joan is still alive and somehow holds to key to reproducing, while at the same time a planned execution on the station incites a plan to overthrow him. So things come to a head.

Honestly, I mostly do not understand the science or the timeline or most of the actions (or, to be clearer, the WHY behind the actions). The story is written almost too metaphorically and ethereally. I often felt like I was drowning in words, beautiful words, but I couldn’t figure out why they were all there. So it’s a really frustrating read because of that. It feels compelling, it feels like there is something going on that is deep and meaningful and will change your entire worldview if you can just get it…but it remains completely and entirely out of reach. GAH!

Some things are super weird in a cool way, like to burning of stories into flesh, kind of a new type of tattoo. Some things are just plain weird, like the erasure of genetalia and what that meant “in practice,” if you will. And the, in my opinion, somewhat gratuitous graphic violence and sexual activity(?).  Some things might have been weird or cool (or both) but were so mystifying that I couldn’t get a handle on them enough to decide, like Joan’s blue aura, her power, and what it could do. And some things, I think, were trying to make a bigger point but weren’t quite handled right, like the idea of gender (or lack thereof), reproduction, bodies becoming nothing more than just bodies (“skinsacks”). The many ideas and representations of love and connection and personhood were a necessary and difficult focal point within the context of the plot, and I feel like there was something big there. It’s just…the author was never clear enough about it or consistent enough writing about it to make it the more it could and needed to be.

But for all the faults with the story, there is nothing negative to say about the writing itself. It was stunning. It was harsh and short at times, flowery and soft at others. The exploration of love through word expression was something special. This was kind of a novel length poem. In fact, I feel like publishing this as a set of poems, a sort of epic chapbook, would have been a better, more fitting, format. Some sections, like Joan’s dreams of Christine, were so striking. The passage about the white lady in space spinning stories like spider webs, created a remarkable mental and visual connection between the recurring spider clone and the engraving/searing scarred white words into white flesh. It is super meta in an eerie and beautiful way. I stopped so many times to write down quotes to share in this review and cutting them down to my favorite few (below) was nigh on impossible.  

“But not all legend becomes history, and not all literature deserves to become legend.” P.20

“In the beginning was the word, and the word became our bodies.” P.22

“It’s like we’re stars in space. It’s like space is the theater and we are the bits of stardust and everything everywhere is the story.” P.82

“…to end war meant to end its maker, to marry creation and destruction rather than hold them in false opposition.” P.105

“They’d made a life here. No. Life made itself here. They merely coexisted.” P.141

“If she feels anything about the word brother, it is here, in this space that smells of water and dirt and living things. Her memory remains loyal to all the times they played in the woods together as children.” P.166

“Joan’s head fills with all the dead people she could not save. Armies. Her eyes sting. The spider in her hand tickles. The walls whisper and creak.” P.170

“What do we mean by love anymore? Love is not the story we were told. Though we wanted so badly for it to hold, the fairy tales and myths, the seamless trajectories, the sewn shapes of desire thwarted by obstacles we could heroically battle, the broken heart, the love lost the love lorn the love torn the love won, the world coming back alive in a hard-earned nearly impossible kiss.” P.191

“Corrupted, white and wounded an unflinching. They will perform an epic poem written across their bodies.” P.201

“You deserve the word “love,” spoken over and over again and untethered from prior lexicons, an erotic and unbound universe, the dead light of stars yet aching to stitch your name across the night sky, the ocean waters singing your body hymn to shore day into night into day.” P.265

In the end, this is a masterful mash of words in homage to [the power of] and condemnation of [the abuse of] sex and people’s obsession with it – for love, for reproduction, for power - with a small, but existent, homage to the story of Joan of Arc and the strength of conviction to sacrifice yourself for a cause/world/people you believe in. I so wish I had enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed the words. I think I just didn’t follow or understand the point enough to love it, but the reading of it was gorgeous.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

This was lovely. I mean, with a title and cover like this, it really sets some high standards for itself. But truly this is one book that you can definitely judge by its cover. Gorgeous inside and out, this tale made me feel all the feelings.

The story itself, the way it was told, and the many stories it incorporated were all perfectly aligned in their mystical, religious depths. And when I say religious, I mean in the spiritual sense, not the rules and regulations of ceremony sense. This book is a mix of traditional coming of age and an almost fable-like depiction of love and creation.

Although we watch as our protagonist, Natalie Cleary, experiences so many of the normal challenges of growing up, naturally extra nuanced since she is adopted and has experienced some kind of mysterious secondary trauma, we also get to see another layer. Natalie is starting to see “wrong things,” glimpses of places or times that aren’t hers, is visited by an old woman she calls Grandmother who knows far too much to just be a figment of her imagination, and meets a mysterious new boy named Beau who she has more in common with than she realizes. When one night Grandmother appears and gives Natalie a cryptic warning, she is set down a path of self-discovery that will change her past, present, and future.

There was a lot I loved about this book. I felt like the representation of the high schoolers was fairly nuanced, considering the length of the book and the number of characters introduced. The majority of them, honestly minus the best friend (Megan), were multi-faceted and pretty realistically written. In a general sense, the entire presentation of the high school experience seemed realistic. I think perhaps there was a little more drinking present than would be normal (Short aside: I’m biased a bit due to my job, but I know that the majority of students report that they do not drink or do drugs. And this book really overly promoted the saturation of alcohol culture, if you’ll pardon the pun, and encouraged the misconception that that’s all high schoolers do.), but otherwise things seemed authentic to my memory. I also loved that many types of families and resulting stresses were presented. Often, I feel that YA literature tends to over-represent the Beau or Rachel-like characters – those from broken homes or dealing with very difficult issues. And while those stories are real and should absolutely be recognized and told, I also love that here we see some more “normal” or less traumatic stressors, like truly learning to be in your own skin or dealing with pressures relating to grades or sports, that can be damaging in different ways, even with incredibly supportive and well-meaning family and friends. It was very representative in that way. In addition, I adored the Native American, and other, cultural stories, myths and fables that appear throughout. They are told in such a supernatural and otherworldly way that perfectly matches the tone of the main plot – Natalie and Beau’s story. And the way they are used as a parallel or foreshadowing device is deftly done – suggesting certain things but never giving away too much. I truly felt like, while I was reading, that I was in a transcendent sort of place.

I was less a fan of the scientific side of things that was presented. It was a very original spin to put on the story, as many theories do exist regarding time travel, parallel worlds and the psychological basis for vivid dreams/visions, and it’s not something I often see in the YA genre. But it was at times quite technical. I applaud the author for her obvious research and effort in addressing such a complex concept, it just wasn’t for me. I loved the spirituality of the rest of the story and I felt that the juxtaposition of that aspect with the technical element was a bit jarring. I also would love to hear from the Native American community their thoughts on the representation of their culture in this novel. I thought the stories were beautiful and something that I do not see much, so having that in such a popular [young adult] mainstream publication was new for me, and fascinating to read. But I readily acknowledge my lack of knowledge in this field and therefore hesitate to make any definitive statements on how authentically they were told or how well the rest (i.e. Natalie’s adoption details), or lack of the rest (there is very little specific information about Natalie’s heritage included, which kind of made it seem a little too much like just as a plot device) was handled. I did a little googling after finishing, but wasn’t able to find much about the heritage of the author or reactions regarding that aspect of the book, either positive or negative.

This was almost a one-sitting read for me – a compelling story with quick pacing. I’m not ashamed to say that I cried at the end (no spoilers on whether they were happy or sad tears – if you know me, you know how much of a toss-up that truly is). If you are looking for a fast, satisfying YA story about love, with a bit of the magical and dream-like thrown in (i.e. – if you were a fan of Strange the Dreamer), then this book is for you.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.


Confession: I love Gilmore Girls. Love. Love. It’s cheesy and girly, but it has some of the best (read also: fastest) dialogue of any show I’ve ever seen and I identify pretty hard with Rory’s love of books. It’s one of the only shows I’ve watched all the way through more than once. Definitely a not so guilty pleasure of mine. So, when I saw Lauren Graham wrote this book that was at least mostly about her experience with Gilmore Girls, both the first time around and the reboot (and can I just mention how excited I was for that?!), I knew it would only be a matter of time before I read it. Or, as has been the norm for me recently, listened as she narrated it herself.

This book was fast and fun, just like Lorelai Gilmore (and, I assume, Lauren Graham herself). We get the typical background information: a couple funny childhood stories, the just starting out as an actor stories, the “my big break” story, the random funny stories (her time on Project Runway, for example), the advice/personal reflections stories (i.e. the Hollywood diet and exercise advice), etc. And then the part that I was most looking forward to: her reflections on Gilmore Girls. I really enjoyed the way Graham talked about it. It was super interesting to me that she had never actually watched the show before, instead preferring not to watch herself on screen and therefore to avoid self-critique, etc. That seems so smart. And it gave a really unique perspective for her to write from. I mean, we get the normal thoughts and feelings and situations that she is able to remember from the time, and looking back. But then, she walks through each season, one at a time, giving the reader a little intro, and then a “Times Were Different,” “Fashion and Hair,” “What I Love,” and “Season Finale” blurb for each season. It was just really cool to read through these reflections that Graham is, essentially, having for the first time as she watches for the first time something she experienced years ago. Definitely one of my favorite parts of the book.

Then she talks through her experiences after those 7 seasons, primarily regarding her time on the show Parenthood (which I’ll admit I haven’t watched, not because it doesn’t look amazing, but because honestly every commercial I saw for it looked so real-life funny and serious that I was pretty sure I’d never get through an episode without balling my eyes out…). But it was neat to hear the differences between the two shows and how she ended up “meeting” her now husband on the set (they played siblings, which is pretty funny). In this section of the book, she also talks about her experience writing her novel, Someday, Someday Maybe, that she discusses as decidedly not autobiographical, despite what everyone says (I have not read it, so I have decided to believe her). I have always wanted to write a novel, so I appreciated her musings about it, plus the discoveries she makes and advice she gets on how to write efficiently.

And then we are back to Gilmore Girls (yay!). The details on how things got started and the messiness of the process was not something I really expected, but I guess it makes sense. There’s a lot going on in showbusiness… And this time, Graham still hasn’t watched the 4-part series, hasn’t watched herself reprising Lorelai, but we get something almost better. She kept a little journal while filming this time and we get to read a whole series of her favorite passages. So good. Her voice comes through clearly in the writing and the insights into the process and revisiting all the old characters and story lines is priceless (for me…and it seems like it was for Graham as well). Mmmmmmm.

On theme with the end of the Gilmore Girls revival, the same thing Graham chooses to finish this book with, I’ll finish with a 4 word “ending.” I adored this book! (Whispered: but is this truly the end??)

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

“What do you do when the one true thing in your life turns out to be a lie?” This quote turns up about a third of the way through the novel and, for me, really represents Lee’s story from start to finish. It is by no means a happy story, but somehow, you still come away from it feeling hopeful for her. Augustus Rose takes Lee, and us readers, on a wild ride in this genre-defying novel. And it’s a ride a recommend you take.

The book follows Lee through just over a year in her life. When we meet her, she is a normal-ish 17-year-old high school student, trying to fit in and make friends and stealing/selling drugs to make money for college. But then things take some pretty crazy turns, a betrayal from a “friend” that lands her in juve, abandoned by her family and, eventually, on the run. Homeless and without friends/funds, Lee thinks she finds refuge with a group of others living “underground,” but things are definitely not what they seem. Somehow, Lee gets sucked into the world of a hidden society, founded by a group of fanatical men attempting to decode the secrets of a higher understanding, a mix of science and art and alchemy, left behind by the early 20th century French artist Marcel Duchamp. A society that, for some reason, thinks she holds the key to Duchamp’s secrets and seem willing to do anything (literally anything), or go through anyone, to get their hands on her. And she meets a young artist/computer genius, Tomi, who may or may not be involved with this secret society, that nevertheless manages to insinuate himself deeply into her life (and maybe her heart?).

This was an interesting mix of page turner and slow-moving plot development. I am not actually sure how else to describe it. I was literally always on the edge of my seat, because you never knew when the next development, or devolvement, would happen – it was always fast and sudden. But at the same time, I sometimes felt like some of the details (especially regarding the descriptions on the specifics of “creeping” - the practice of exploring abandoned buildings, “thief training” – for last of a better term, and some of the art and philosophy discussions) dragged on a little. I’ve taken a whole day between finishing the book and writing this review to think about how to categorize this story, but, as I mentioned above, it truly is unclassifiable. I actually wrote to myself at the beginning, probably through the first third or so, that I got a creepy 21st century Oliver Twist sort of vibe. Then, things started to turn a little more mystery/thriller, lots of danger and looking over one’s shoulder at all times. As we start to learn more about the S.A., the secret society tracking Lee, things turn super theoretical and philosophical and treasure hunt-y (with a Dan Brown sort of vibe, but grittier, gothic-ier, crepuscular - in general, way cooler than Dan Brown). And throughout it all, there’s a heavy air of classic tragedy, with everything that Lee deals with, feeling left behind, let down, unable to trust anyone, and struggling to get by without a home or way to make money. Honestly, I have no idea how the author got all that into one book in a way that truly does fit together. Plus, the amount of research, on such a huge variety of topics – from juve to alchemy to hacking/the Darknet to Duchamp, just to name a few - is impressive, really.

A couple things rubbed me the wrong way while reading – there were some times where a person, or persons, took care of or helped Lee to an extent that seemed unrealistic to me (not because I don’t have faith in people, but just based on the logistics of the situations). I felt like Lee was able to accomplish things that bordered on too fantastic/lucky a few too many times (like her return to the Silo at the very end, and what she finds there). At times, as I mentioned earlier, I got a little lost in the descriptions/explanations and things slowed down more than I wanted them too. And, though it is, in fact, totally realistic/possible, it just made me sad how alone Lee was at times.

However, on a larger scale, there were a lot of things I loved about this book. I think Tomi was amazing, as a character in general and also the way his relationship with Lee was written and developed with time (even after things…changed - *no spoilers*). I loved reading (almost) every scene he was in. And though I don’t know anything about it (so this could be a completely false representation of it), the parts related to the Darknet/Subnet, the characters there, and the various roles it played in the story were some of my favorite parts to read. The way that Duchamp and his art, theories, and followers’ devotion were woven through the entire story was done with great skill. The small things, like the way the title fits in, and how each section is named after one of his works, were nice touches. But it’s the overall feel that it most impressive. It’s the way that the book is focused around his art and the theories (whether true or not), spun around them regarding science and alchemy and explanations for the world that connect everything, and was simultaneously written to match. At one point, Duchamp is quoted as saying “…the artist is ‘a mediumistic being who, from the labyrinth beyond time and space, seeks his way out to a clearing.’” And that metaphysical outlook seems exactly the inspiration for the way this story was written. The way the author creates that feel throughout the entirety of this tale was beautiful. In addition, you could really tell how much time and effort went into each of the details in this story. There are no ends left hanging or unexplained side storylines. At all. That alone is evidence of the care the author took. But it’s more than that too: everything is tied up very adroitly. A clean ending to a very messy tale.

Truly this story defies labels and classifications. It seemed to morph as I read, representing many different genres, existing in a very philosophical, experimental dimension (very apt, really, considering what it’s about). Get ready for an atmospheric and immersive reading experience.  

Thanks to First to Read and Viking Books for providing this ARC in return for an honest review.

This was a really solid first book. First, to be fair, I have a soft spot for Scotland and Scottish lore, so the setting and faerie names/types were all just really up my alley. I may be bias on everything else as a result of that. Who knows? I love Aileana as a main character, she's tough and vulnerable at the same time - wanting to really prove herself but also having a hard time fully cutting ties with the "proper" life she led before everything changed. And, no worries about spoilers because this is revealed really early, everything changed when her mother was murdered by a faerie (which are considered either extinct or myth by the majority of the population) and Aileana met Kiaran, a faerie who helped hone her need for revenge and trained her to kill faeries. I think Kiaran's character is pretty well written as well. For a faerie who's been alive for thousands of years, he has a reasonably complicated history that is only slowly revealed and the suspense in finding things out (like why is he helping train Aileana to kill his own kind??) is well drawn out. I'm definitely excited to learn more about him as the story continues. Also, I love Derrick - the pixie who lives in Aileana's closet, mends her dresses, and is obsessed with honey. I wish I had one of him in my own life really badly. I can't decide how I feel about the "steampunk" aspect - Aileana's ability to quick invent/build weapons and flying contraptions and things. It's a really cool addition that makes this story a little different from the many like it, and I do love the steampunk subculture, but I have yet to decide if it actually fits well in this story or not. Plot-wise, the pacing is well done and the story is developed nicely. Even though it's nothing super original, it's really easy and entertaining to read.

A couple things did bother me though. First, the writing itself was borderline. There were times where Aileana's inner thoughts made me cringe a bit. I mean, I understand her conflicts (mentioned earlier) and respect that as a YA heroine, she may not be the most confident and self-aware character ever. But I do think that there were some thoughts she had that confused me, like at the end when she talks about not being "worthy" to carry her mother's tartan with her. Like what the heck? Her mother wasn't a warrior or anything, and she'd just have it as a momento/memory, so how can a person be worthy (or not) of carrying a remembrance of a loved one? Just...a few odd moments like that made me scrunch up my brow and prevent the flow of the story from being seamless. Also, although I like both Kiaran and Aileana, I think the way their relationship is written takes advantage of many other similarly written relationships. As a reader, you have suspicions and hopes because of what similar things you've read in the past, I think, and not necessarily because this one is written particularly well. For me, I feel like this is very similar to Aelin and Rowan in Maas' Throne of Glass series, but not as well developed. However, because of having read Aelin and Rowan, I'm assigning similar development to Kiaran and Aileana in my head, and May benefits from that. I don't know if that makes sense to anyone else, but that's what's happening in my head. Haha. Also, as I usually find in books where there is a proper "public" figure who has a secret pastime (killing faeries, in this case), there are lots of plot holes that arise - like how does one stay up all night fighting and then process normally at all the next day? Plus, for their friends, like Catherine in this case, I feel like they get written very shallowly, just to fill a necessary public figure role and generally "all supportive" sidekick place, that just rings a little false. Gavin is partially like that here, but he has much more potential and I cannot wait to see where his story goes next. And, conveniently, Aileana's one surviving parent is often absent, which at least makes that less of a possible plot hole.

In any case, the action was consistent and the ending left us with a serious cliffhanger (both relationship and plot-line wise), so thank goodness I wanted to start this until all three books were out! I definitely enjoyed this read and cannot wait to jump into the next one.