I’d put this somewhere between middle grade and young adult, both in terms of the writing style and complexity. The Alex/Eliza plotline had most of the hallmarks of a classic romance novel, complemented and balanced by the political struggles of the budding USA. Definitely far from my favorite account of the Hamiltons, but not at all bad.

3.75 stars.

This is a very slow novel, told in straightforward but detailed prose, with a small but vivid cast of sympathetic yet flawed characters. I guessed just about all of the major twists before they played out, but the reveals felt organic and while not quite original, the twists themselves fit with the plot, tone, motifs, and other aspects of this book. It’s been a while since I had trouble making peace with an ambiguous/open ending, which goes to show how effectively this narrative was set up to hook the reader.

A different kind of knight, one who’d chosen to protect the girl the world wanted to destroy; one born to slay dragons, but maybe to befriend them, too.

I loved this book, but I hate to have to admit that I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’ve read this narrative a hundred times — a hero (or really multiple heroes, but that’s beside the point), a quest, mythological conflicts, alliances and betrayals and just a bit of romance. It’s a wonderfully crafted and wonderfully told story, empowering and touching and exciting, but for me it just lacked the spark of a five-star novel.

This book is really something. I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of fate versus free will, and entwining it with the theme of family really enhanced the narrative — as did the focus on the hyphenated-American (ie, children of immigrants) experience, which encompasses the same motifs. It’s alternately heartbreaking and hopeful.

I really wanted to like this book, but the ending espcially was so packed with cliches — and just packed in general: it feels like the first two-thirds of the book are just Laurel struggling with emotions, which is 100% valid irl but not very engaging reading, and in the end this is a novel.

Which might be part of the problem, the form. Letters didn’t seem to work very well for the story meant to be conveyed, because so much of Laurel’s letters were just summarizing things about her addressees’ lives, even going so far as to say how they must have been thinking/feeling/etc. They’re more like diary entries, which defeats the purpose: for the most part, diary entries are for you, while letters are for other people. (Yes, I know the point is that the addressees will never read them because they are dead. But it still doesn’t work for me.)

Additionally, the voice and a lot of Laurel’s thought processes would’ve better matched a middle schooler; the naivete and teenage drama is more stereotypical than relatable high schooler. There’s also a childish self-centeredness that bothers me — of course it’s important to ultimately prioritize your own well-being, emotional distress is valid and debilitating; but other people matter just as much, especially if their friendship is really “saving” you. (I also take issue with the emphasis on dating drama, drinking, smoking, parties, etc., but that’s more of a portrayal issue across the genre than a bone to pick with this particular book.)

Finally, the ending.

Spoiler

I hate how neatly and quickly everything wraps up, with the secondary characters’ timelines somehow coinciding perfectly with Laurel’s breakthrough (of sorts).

To be honest, I would’ve been disappointed not to see what we got in the epilogue, but personally I thought

Spoiler

the tone was too optimistic and life-goes-on, it’s all better now that I personally have come to terms with this loss for my liking

.

3.5 stars.

It’s good storytelling, the epitome of personalizing the narrative: emotion-driven but reasonable, logical; it even has sociohistorical context to ground it. At its core, it describes the relationships listed in the subtitle — father, daughter, cult — but also the impact on those around them, on the main players themselves, and even to some extent the world at large. There’s insight into religious fanatacism and brainwashing; personal anecdotes of both faith and doubt; examinations of various human and literary influences on the narrator’s own development and beliefs.

None of the characters are extraordinary, though that’s not to say they’re not unlikable or unimportant. They’re very human, and through them the memoir comes to life.

Not sure why I continue to read Andy Weir books when I’m not all that interested in the hard science behind his sci-fi (particularly when it concerns chemistry: air pressure and chemical combinations bring me right back to a nightmare Intro class), but here we are. Jazz really reads more like a late-teens/very-early-twenties protagonist (rather than her alleged twenty-six years), but it doesn’t really come up often so it’s a minor issue. The plot was alright, not super compelling or suspenseful but interesting enough; the setting was well-developed.

What annoys me is the constant sexual innuendos, the underdeveloped-but-overpresent romantic entanglements (her past doesn’t have much bearing on the present but comes up every few pages; her ultimate romantic status only makes sense under heteronormative assumptions that she’ll just end up with the closest heterosexual — or attracted-to-women, but bisexual men are rare in literature, and pansexuals all but nonexistent — single man who isn’t a relative), the constant reminders that she has “a lot of” sex (yet doesn’t hook up with a single person during the book). For such a minor aspect of the narrative, it sure takes up a lot of space on the pages.

3.75 stars.

I’ve definitely read this book — probably back in middle school, which would explain why it’s not already on my shelves. It’s somewhere between middle grade and young adult, with simple but nuanced themes and pretty straightforward character development. I definitely got more of the geek references than I would’ve the first time, and overall it was a fun easy read.

Which is not to say it makes light of mental illness or homosexuality or betrayal or any of the issues it addresses; it matches Solomon’s own facetious irreverence in joking about the “worst” parts in every situation. The overall development is pretty condensed and the plot is fairly predictable, but there’s something comforting in that. Like Solomon’s holodeck: escapism at its finest and closest to home.

Incredibly compelling, and a welcome reminder of how powerful, lovely, and/or heartbreaking historical fiction can be. I certainly didn’t know the details and nuances of “orphan” trafficking systems (for lack of a better term) like Tann’s; it’s certainly not a topic that gets much coverage but deserves to.

All the characters were relatable and vivid, if not all that complex — but since this story is more about how one specific event affects the characters, it actually helps maintain reader focus in the right area. The plot development overall is believable, and though often used, the concurrent timelines effectively enhance rather than detract from the narrative.

Major Neil Gaiman (Graveyard Book) vibes: creepy, yes, but with abundant humor and empathy. Not really groundbreaking stuff, but a fairly quick and certainly fun read — and for a middle grade novel, written with a degree of maturity and sophistication that appealed to me as a reader.