The narration style of this book was atypical, and I found myself oscillating between fascinated and irritated as a reader. I found each characters' stories compelling in their humanity and the vulnerability displayed in the omniscient narration. I was, however, really disappointed with the way each characters' section and the novel, as a whole, were concluded. The origins of the illness and its biblical ties aren't well fleshed out at all, and I was frustrated by the rapid scene-flashing finish to Erin's story as a human, most of all. While fascinating in the author's ability to write cannibalism(ish) as a metaphor and/or act of love, I was really disgusted with the culmination of Erin and Betty's relationship as they both lost hold of their humanity. Like I'm actively not sure how to rate this book because of how viscerally gross I found it to have Betty have the top of her head surgically detached so her lover could lick her brain while she drank their blood. I have a headache (ironic) thinking about this.
As the novel progressed, the attention to detail faltered. Character motivations seemed to shift to being controlled by an external force, while the external force was never defined. Savannah going full insane was kind of fun, and made some sort of sense, though I thought her (and by proxy the author's) handling of Gregory's dealing with gender dysphoria was tactless.
I found Mareva's story intriguing, with her childlessness being a familial point of contention and the condition that caused her infertility being the reason the angels/gods/aliens wanted to keep her alive. But, unfortunately, the end of her story is unsatisfactory. There is no explanation for the catalyst behind the extinction of humankind, and there is no explanation behind the opposing force that allows Mareva to keep from becoming the amorphous blob-like mother of a new world order.  I thought it was interesting character development for Mareva to pick up the creature Gregory at the end of the novel, but it was, once again, and abrupt and unsatisfying end to the character.
There was some social commentary, beyond that of Gregory's character, but again, it felt like it missed the mark. Everyone was hurt, and everyone died, and those with marginalized identities and/or in need of the most help died gruesome deaths on the page. This is advertised as feminist fiction, but I don't know that the commentary on forced contraceptives, forced births, and religious bigotry/gender roles actually amounted to anything when subterfuge free will explored by the novel's female characters lead to the extinction of the human race and the total destruction of their bodies in multiple stages. It just felt like too much was forced into too little space. The escalation of the plot destroyed the character development. The latter sections of the book read as if the author is trying to emulate Lovecraft's cosmic horror, but in doing so, she neglects to remove the problematic aspects of his fear of the unknown, leaving the story weaker in the process.

This was a fun, quick listen. It was interesting to see young (or younger) Kirk, Chekov, Scotty, and Sulu at the academy, making mistakes and playing with rules. As a somewhat casual watcher and reader of early Star Trek media, it was neat to see the way characters that I'm not as familiar with as I'd like to be, be compared and contrasted with their younger selves.

This was a quick, fun listen. I didn't realize Roald Dahl, of my beloved childhood books, also wrote banger horror. I'm looking forward to reading/listening to more by him.

This is a twist on Goldilocks and the Three Bears that I wasn't expecting. The detail in the illustration is fantastic. This is a great book to flip through when you're done reading just to look at the detail in the illustrations.

Sutton's writing style is reminiscent of Jim Butcher's Dresden Files series. Malfus feels somewhat like a noir protagonist pushed into a fantasy world, but it blends well. The setting isn't what I expected it to be - it did tell me on the back of the book, but somehow I thought they'd continue to progress on their journey - which was a pleasant surprise. Malfus's continued  to reference himself and his style of speech as sarcastic, throughout the book, though such self referential moments did become more sporadic as the novel progressed. The beginning of the book, in that regard, felt poorly edited with the character telling us how we should perceive him over and over. I think a few of those edge lord comments could have been sacrificed for more substance, and I would have enjoyed the character more from the jump.

I found it refreshing that while Malfus was the protagonist, he was not necessarily empathetic as a person. He's selfish, greedy, and devoted to the necromantic arts. When his relation to the inquisitor/why it is the inquisitor hates him so much is revealed, Malfus isn't redeemed. He's just a man who did bad things, which became worse things, and he is continuing to do bad things in an attempt to right one of the worst of his wrongs. I did really enjoy the comradery of the soldiers as well as the abbreviated way they're forced to grieve while under siege.  The switching of perspectives as we watch the young soldiers die was one of the most heart wrenching parts of the book. It spikes in quality very quickly, so if you have a lukewarm reaction to the first chapter or two, keep going.

Jennnie Egerdie nailed the syntax of Arnold Lobel's original Frog and Toad in Frog and Toad are Trying Their Best. This is one of the better pieces of COVID pandemic-inspired fiction I've seen. It manages to be charming, capturing aspects of what it was like to live through the pandemic as little tableaus lived out by familiar faces. Pandemic fiction isn't my favorite genre, but for what it is, the addition of Frog and Toad made this moment of reflection enjoyable. 

The story behind the creation of The Story of My Teeth just adds layers of depth to the interesting and uniquely enjoyable story and syntax that are still incredibly consumable when translated into English (One of these days, I will have the Spanish language skills necessary to read this again as it was written. I was very ready to go along with Highway's version of events, in that I was willing to accept him as an unreliable narrator, and follow his story to its conclusion, whatever it may be. I was very surprised by the turn of events in which he wakes up in a room full of video clowns. The last chapter POV switch was also really cool to see - to have the story retold, summarized, and expanded on from a third party observer in the situation. I enjoyed the quasi realism of it at the humanity level, in which the clergy at the beginning and Highway's son are the bad guys in Highway's story (as told by his biographer/scribe but not as perceived by Highway), and Highway is the bad guy in his son's story. The complicated nature of people and their self perception is masterfully captured in this book. I also really enjoy the way Highway conveys information with full stops

The Virgin Suicides is so sad. Writing-style-wise, it's a highly consumable read, offering what feels like a snapshot into the life of a suburban family. Slowly, and then all at once, it devolves into a story about extreme parental control and a spiraling series of abuse and isolation that culminates in the Lisbon girls feeling that their only option to escape is death. With voyeuristic narrators horrified, fascinated, and obsessed with the girls, they are a good example of the bystander effect. They watch the girls' quality of life wane, watch them grow sicker and dirtier, and don't step in until it's too late. Lux is the daughter that they focus on most, as she experiments sexually and flirts with danger out in the open, damaging her body further than the harm caused by their situation through sex with strangers and using condiments as contraceptives. Outside of Cecelia who is herself made unique from the sibling set by her death, Mary, Bonnie, Therese, and Lux are made into individuals in the minds of the narrators through their causes of death. Lux suffocating in the car, running in the closed garage puts her on the cusp of escape. Bonnie hangs herself in the remains of Cecelia's party in the family basement, Therese overdoses on sleeping pills, and Mary attempts to end her life by putting her head in the running oven. Though Mary survives initially, she is a shell who ends her life with sleeping pills a month after her sisters die. Because this story is told through the eyes of boys who barely knew them as a collective, and who definitely didn't know them as individuals, the reader is left wondering as to their motives. There are possibilities explored, the parallels of their lives ending a year after Cecelia's is mentioned, but because they never come to be viewed as more than objects of fascination by the narrators, we are left grasping for meaning at the end of the novel.

Margaret Mead, Gregory Bateson, and the rest of their peers made interesting history and caused so much harm. The nepotism in the early psychedelics field, with sons named after their fathers taking on their work, made the individual histories hard to follow at times. While detailed in the telling of history, I wanted more information about the events and individuals addressed over the decades discussed. Breen is good at picking up the loose ends of stories, making sure to finish the stories and histories related to their work in psychedelics, of those discussed early on. It was interesting to see the shift in perspective of scientists as they became addicts, gurus, g-men, spies, strategists, and disenfranchised maniacs. Horrifying that people like that seem to have been at the heart of our country from the start.

I find S.A. Barnes' writing style to be unique among horror, as her books seem to follow a similar sort of formulaic patterning to that of the romance genre - in that I know what to expect in terms of who dies first, who survives, and that the government/a horrifyingly powerful corporation is going to be a force of antagonism that acts as catalyst for the events of the book.

Both Dead Silence and Ghost Station feature a female lead who can't trust her own mind (Claire and Ophelia); a strong and quiet man on the team who becomes the female lead's love interest (Kane and Sevren), a misogynist who dies first and is quasi redeemed in his loss (Voller and Suresh); a squishy young female character who does a vital job and dies second and whose death is most upsetting (Lourdes and Liana); and at least one other character who is vital to plot development and with knowledge of the female main character's past or excess knowledge in general who dies in an unnecessarily horrible way (Nysus and Birch/Kate).

I really enjoyed how Claire was characterized in this book. She cannot and does not trust her own mind, but her having to live with that makes her more prepared than anyone else to survive the inhospitable environment of the Aurora. I kind of liked that the questions the book posits for us are never answered. Though, after talking it through with Kane, Claire and readers are ready to accept and understand that Claire would only have left Kane and Nysus behind if she was leaving to get help and wasn't sure that the escape pod would keep her alive, the inconsistencies of memory mean that she can never know for sure. Similarly, we never know if Claire is insane, or if she really can see ghosts. I know my opinion leans more towards ghosts, but I think it's neat that that part of the plot is not laid out as irrefutable truth for Claire or the reader.

Claire being employed by the same company that raised her after she was orphaned in an incident caused by their negligence and catalyzed by her ability to see ghosts/inability to differentiate between who is and isn't dead, worked as a fantastic foundation for an added layer of horror. The banality of it all, in which the company's bottom line is worth more than human lives and the revelation of corporate greed and envy being at the root of mass death rooted the more fantastical elements of the novel into the present for me as a reader in 2025.