You need to sign in or sign up before continuing.
Take a photo of a barcode or cover
2.01k reviews by:
ninetalevixen
There were some really interesting thoughts in this novel, and I liked that Laureth's blindness was clear and present throughout but not her main defining characteristic. Nice pacing, fluid plot progression.
This is my favorite type of dystopian novel; it's slightly reminiscent of The Giver but is of course completely different. That said, while I did enjoy this book I don't think I'll be picking up the sequel; the ending just wasn't all that compelling to me.
Not half bad, but not extraordinary either. Loved the Prodigium, the blend of witches & faeries & shapeshifters. But seriously - Jenny the lesbian vampire? She was awesome.
I received an advance review copy through Netgalley; all opinions are my own and honest.
2.5 stars.
To be fair, the synopsis is a good indicator of what the story is about. I was interested in the premise since I'm fascinated by interpersonal relationships, "dark" characters, and art; the novel delivers all these things, but through the eyes of a fundamentally unlikable narrator — not an issue in and of itself, but Abby's internal monologue is repetitive and a little predictable, which for me is an issue. The progression of the novel felt more like a long flat hike than a build to a strong, satisfying ending; the different elements (ulterior motives, dream scenes, schemes, etc.) didn't really mesh well together.
That said, I do think readers of thrillers and "dark" contemporary will enjoy this, because it's an engaging read with interesting characters.
content warnings:
2.5 stars.
To be fair, the synopsis is a good indicator of what the story is about. I was interested in the premise since I'm fascinated by interpersonal relationships, "dark" characters, and art; the novel delivers all these things, but through the eyes of a fundamentally unlikable narrator — not an issue in and of itself, but Abby's internal monologue is repetitive and a little predictable, which for me is an issue. The progression of the novel felt more like a long flat hike than a build to a strong, satisfying ending; the different elements (ulterior motives, dream scenes, schemes, etc.) didn't really mesh well together.
That said, I do think readers of thrillers and "dark" contemporary will enjoy this, because it's an engaging read with interesting characters.
content warnings:
Spoiler
referenced attempted suicide, drug & alcohol use (during pregnancy), sexual content, child abduction
(Won through a Goodreads giveaway! Thank you to Flatiron Books for sending me a free copy.)
Marlowe is a terrific protagonist, self-aware and sensitive and snarky, with a relatable struggle to figure out who she is and what exactly she believes in; her little brother Pip is adorable, unabashedly imaginative and affectionate (and he’s at an age where’s he’s becoming his own person without having outgrown hero-worshipping his older sister, which hit me right in the feels); their mother is a fiercely feminist vegan activist, and clearly means well but doesn’t always make the best choice; Zan is the badass gay Chinese-Australian best friend I wish I had (though I’m mildly curious how the author named her and her brothers, Chao and Jian); Leo is a bit of a cliche (boy next door, antagonist-to-friend, butcher’s son/apprentice to Marlowe’s vegan’s daughter) but still so cute and such a fun guy; and all the other characters are vivid and complex and memorable.
The plot isn’t groundbreaking, but it’s told well — multifaceted, considerate of everyone’s perspectives (although Marlowe’s is the first-person POV), focused enough on emotion to make you care about the journey even though you know where it’ll ultimately end up.
Marlowe is a terrific protagonist, self-aware and sensitive and snarky, with a relatable struggle to figure out who she is and what exactly she believes in; her little brother Pip is adorable, unabashedly imaginative and affectionate (and he’s at an age where’s he’s becoming his own person without having outgrown hero-worshipping his older sister, which hit me right in the feels); their mother is a fiercely feminist vegan activist, and clearly means well but doesn’t always make the best choice; Zan is the badass gay Chinese-Australian best friend I wish I had (though I’m mildly curious how the author named her and her brothers, Chao and Jian); Leo is a bit of a cliche (boy next door, antagonist-to-friend, butcher’s son/apprentice to Marlowe’s vegan’s daughter) but still so cute and such a fun guy; and all the other characters are vivid and complex and memorable.
The plot isn’t groundbreaking, but it’s told well — multifaceted, considerate of everyone’s perspectives (although Marlowe’s is the first-person POV), focused enough on emotion to make you care about the journey even though you know where it’ll ultimately end up.
I received an ARC of this book from Gallery Books through a Goodreads giveaway. This does not affect my rating or opinions.
1.5 stars.
I should maybe stop trying to read thrillers. Especially the kind that involve mental health storylines, because wow this was a hotbed of privilege, classism, ableism, fatphobia, and some really, really unhealthy relationships. I'm not saying that the author believes or condones any of these, but when the narrators spout off a lot of ignorant remarks (and I've never been a fan of the "product of their times" justification; the author lives in the 21st century) it's really not fun to read — especially when it has little, if any, bearing on the plot. There's prescription drug abuse, domestic violence, and seriously unhealthy relationships galore, and I'm genuinely starting to worry that I'm becoming desensitized to these and other issues.
Honestly, I didn't like any of the characters, and I had the distinct impression that we weren't meant to, with the possible exception of Karen. But (as I've often found is the case with thrillers) I didn't relate to any of them or sympathize with the holes they dug themselves into. Lack of communication as a source of conflict/tension is really starting to annoy me, andAlso, every time a narrator implies "Girl, you don't know you're beautiful" I roll my eyes because the 1D song is about to be stuck in my head for hours.
There are a handful of quotable moments and scenes that did hit home, which is probably why I finished the book and didn't hate it. I will say that the plot feels well-paced, if not revolutionary or unpredictable; I wasn't on the edge of my seat, but I wasn't falling asleep either.
As thrillers go, this is kind of in the middle of the pile [that I've read]. It's probably a combination of "not for me" and objectively objectionable content, though I don't imagine people read thrillers because they're looking for a happy ending so that just might go back again to "not for me."
content warnings:
1.5 stars.
I should maybe stop trying to read thrillers. Especially the kind that involve mental health storylines, because wow this was a hotbed of privilege, classism, ableism, fatphobia, and some really, really unhealthy relationships. I'm not saying that the author believes or condones any of these, but when the narrators spout off a lot of ignorant remarks (and I've never been a fan of the "product of their times" justification; the author lives in the 21st century) it's really not fun to read — especially when it has little, if any, bearing on the plot. There's prescription drug abuse, domestic violence, and seriously unhealthy relationships galore, and I'm genuinely starting to worry that I'm becoming desensitized to these and other issues.
Beauty is an international passport to acceptance.
Honestly, I didn't like any of the characters, and I had the distinct impression that we weren't meant to, with the possible exception of Karen. But (as I've often found is the case with thrillers) I didn't relate to any of them or sympathize with the holes they dug themselves into. Lack of communication as a source of conflict/tension is really starting to annoy me, and
I knew what it felt like to be ignored, but I wasn't sure what it felt like not to be noticed. I imagine they are very different experiences.
There are a handful of quotable moments and scenes that did hit home, which is probably why I finished the book and didn't hate it. I will say that the plot feels well-paced, if not revolutionary or unpredictable; I wasn't on the edge of my seat, but I wasn't falling asleep either.
We can't let these tragedies stop us living. We'll never forget our loved ones, but they would want us to be happy, darling.
As thrillers go, this is kind of in the middle of the pile [that I've read]. It's probably a combination of "not for me" and objectively objectionable content, though I don't imagine people read thrillers because they're looking for a happy ending so that just might go back again to "not for me."
content warnings:
Spoiler
domestic violence, unhealthy parent/child relationships (manipulation/gaslighting), underage drinking, fat-shaming, slut-shaming, prescription drug abuse, on-page heart attack & parent death, on-page murder of a child by another child (twin), mentioned and on-page miscarriages, queerphobic language, ableist language, classism, racism, revenge porn
(Won through a Goodreads giveaway! Thank you to St. Martin's Press for sending me a free copy.)
3.5 stars.
The writing itself is accessible, if heavily populated with short-lived metaphors and sprinkled with contemporary and nostalgic references. It served its purpose in conveying the story, with some sense of place (particularly in the handful of scenes set among nature), but it wasn’t the best I’ve read. Also, other than a single early in-text appearance, I’m not really sure how fitting the title is.
What really made this work was the characters — I particularly enjoyed the wholesome interludes with the kids, but each of the adults is flawed but sympathetic, in over their head despite their genuine best efforts. Their neuroses and worries are realistic without being too melodramatic, and I was genuinely rooting for them to make a happy ending out of their situation.
3.5 stars.
The writing itself is accessible, if heavily populated with short-lived metaphors and sprinkled with contemporary and nostalgic references. It served its purpose in conveying the story, with some sense of place (particularly in the handful of scenes set among nature), but it wasn’t the best I’ve read. Also, other than a single early in-text appearance, I’m not really sure how fitting the title is.
What really made this work was the characters — I particularly enjoyed the wholesome interludes with the kids, but each of the adults is flawed but sympathetic, in over their head despite their genuine best efforts. Their neuroses and worries are realistic without being too melodramatic, and I was genuinely rooting for them to make a happy ending out of their situation.
I won this book through a Goodreads giveaway and received a copy from WWNorton for review purposes. This does not affect my rating or opinions of this book.
Perhaps the greatest strength of this book is that it was understandable for the layperson with minimal technical experience, but not patronizing or reductive which would alienate a more knowledgeable reader. It's written conversationally, with an occasional witty aside/observation/pop culture reference, but always stays on topic: balancing thorough research with practical applications and analysis.
The thematic organization (the use of algorithms vs. human judgment in "Power," "Data," "Justice," "Medicine," "Cars," "Crime," and "Art") makes good sense, introducing specific case studies, hypotheticals, and conclusions for comparison within and without each topic. The conclusions are substantiated and realistic, and I definitely learned quite a bit.
Perhaps the greatest strength of this book is that it was understandable for the layperson with minimal technical experience, but not patronizing or reductive which would alienate a more knowledgeable reader. It's written conversationally, with an occasional witty aside/observation/pop culture reference, but always stays on topic: balancing thorough research with practical applications and analysis.
The thematic organization (the use of algorithms vs. human judgment in "Power," "Data," "Justice," "Medicine," "Cars," "Crime," and "Art") makes good sense, introducing specific case studies, hypotheticals, and conclusions for comparison within and without each topic. The conclusions are substantiated and realistic, and I definitely learned quite a bit.
(Won through a Goodreads giveaway! Thank you to author Jacci Turner for providing me a free e-copy.)
This reads more like a caricature of high school life than the kind of immersive proxy experience I like in my books. Rather than any kind of world-building — even contemporary high school novels have their own quirks and culture, or at the very least unique characters — it’s frequent (though short) infodumps that could be inferred or are irrelevant, built of cliches and archetypes: the “normal” protagonist who’s average-looking (except for her bust, which she hides with baggy sweatshirts) and is uninterested in girly-girl things, the pretty but bitchy and entitled best “friend,” the “edgy, artsy” alternative best friend who wants to be a reporter, the hot senior jock, the clueless exchange student doubling as the female athlete “who could be pretty if she just tried,” cute ambitious Asian boy she meets at the beach (who even has a cousin who does martial arts — also, Asians playing guitar is really not a thing, it’s piano and violin). How quickly technology changes — the information about Snapchat is already outdated (Snaps sent to other people can now be set on an infinite timer instead of maxing out at ten seconds) and that information could have been excluded altogether, on the probably-safe assumption that the reader already knows or could figure out how it works.
Ari is exasperatingly naive, and I’m not sure if the word I’m actually looking for is “sheltered” or “misinformed” but both apply. Choosing sunscreen with a “low number of protection so she could still tan,” being completely unable to understand why her friend might struggle in English (“Did she just not do the reading? Was she bad at writing papers?” There’s more to doing well in class), writing off “a blackness in her very soul” as the depression she’d experienced “off and on for two years in middle school,” boys suck so “maybe she should become a lesbian” followed by a laugh because she’s “not built that way,” simultaneously bothered by her friend’s racist question and confused by the addressee’s reaction, etc, etc. Actually, a lot of the characters say dumb things — like a boy who thinks it’ll be “super easy to fit in” at a university abroad with 10% international students. And I’m not sure how much research was done; I don’t know any Asian families that would cook sweet & sour pork or gong bao/kungpao chicken (points for spelling it phonetically in Mandarin, I guess?) for guests.
The writing itself seems stilted, even a bit juvenile, with primarily short simple sentences, all-caps and exclamation points for emphasis, LOTS of adverbs and synonyms for “said,” some grammar mistakes (especially with commas), and incredible misspellings. Not sure if “ou la oui” some French phrase I don’t know or a misspelling or just made up, or if teenagers anywhere in the country actually refer to their parents as their “folks.” Also, despite clear attempts at diversity (multiple non-white and gay minor characters, Asian love interest), the way it’s approached isn’t great: it’s just mentioned that the character is black or gay, and then they don’t show up again; Ari also propogates stereotypes by wondering whether the two gay guys at her school (one of whom seems to be officially closeted even if “everyone knows”) have dated, and in some of the things she thinks about Clayton and his family.
I applaud the intention behind the premise, but it’s baseball-bat-to-the-head blunt and Hallmark-movie neat. The dean believes them immediately, the police start an anti-cyberbullying initiative and invite her to be spokesperson, the boys involved with the lewd site face significant consequences, Ari literally gets standing ovations for the cafeteria showdown and her speeches at middle schools. It’s just not at all realistic, and I think that greatly undermines the message.
This reads more like a caricature of high school life than the kind of immersive proxy experience I like in my books. Rather than any kind of world-building — even contemporary high school novels have their own quirks and culture, or at the very least unique characters — it’s frequent (though short) infodumps that could be inferred or are irrelevant, built of cliches and archetypes: the “normal” protagonist who’s average-looking (except for her bust, which she hides with baggy sweatshirts) and is uninterested in girly-girl things, the pretty but bitchy and entitled best “friend,” the “edgy, artsy” alternative best friend who wants to be a reporter, the hot senior jock, the clueless exchange student doubling as the female athlete “who could be pretty if she just tried,” cute ambitious Asian boy she meets at the beach (who even has a cousin who does martial arts — also, Asians playing guitar is really not a thing, it’s piano and violin). How quickly technology changes — the information about Snapchat is already outdated (Snaps sent to other people can now be set on an infinite timer instead of maxing out at ten seconds) and that information could have been excluded altogether, on the probably-safe assumption that the reader already knows or could figure out how it works.
Ari is exasperatingly naive, and I’m not sure if the word I’m actually looking for is “sheltered” or “misinformed” but both apply. Choosing sunscreen with a “low number of protection so she could still tan,” being completely unable to understand why her friend might struggle in English (“Did she just not do the reading? Was she bad at writing papers?” There’s more to doing well in class), writing off “a blackness in her very soul” as the depression she’d experienced “off and on for two years in middle school,” boys suck so “maybe she should become a lesbian” followed by a laugh because she’s “not built that way,” simultaneously bothered by her friend’s racist question and confused by the addressee’s reaction, etc, etc. Actually, a lot of the characters say dumb things — like a boy who thinks it’ll be “super easy to fit in” at a university abroad with 10% international students. And I’m not sure how much research was done; I don’t know any Asian families that would cook sweet & sour pork or gong bao/kungpao chicken (points for spelling it phonetically in Mandarin, I guess?) for guests.
The writing itself seems stilted, even a bit juvenile, with primarily short simple sentences, all-caps and exclamation points for emphasis, LOTS of adverbs and synonyms for “said,” some grammar mistakes (especially with commas), and incredible misspellings. Not sure if “ou la oui” some French phrase I don’t know or a misspelling or just made up, or if teenagers anywhere in the country actually refer to their parents as their “folks.” Also, despite clear attempts at diversity (multiple non-white and gay minor characters, Asian love interest), the way it’s approached isn’t great: it’s just mentioned that the character is black or gay, and then they don’t show up again; Ari also propogates stereotypes by wondering whether the two gay guys at her school (one of whom seems to be officially closeted even if “everyone knows”) have dated, and in some of the things she thinks about Clayton and his family.
I applaud the intention behind the premise, but it’s baseball-bat-to-the-head blunt and Hallmark-movie neat. The dean believes them immediately, the police start an anti-cyberbullying initiative and invite her to be spokesperson, the boys involved with the lewd site face significant consequences, Ari literally gets standing ovations for the cafeteria showdown and her speeches at middle schools. It’s just not at all realistic, and I think that greatly undermines the message.
(Won through a Goodreads giveaway! Thank you to Creators Publishing for providing me a free e-copy.)
To be fair, I don’t listen to Alison Rosen’s podcast or follow her on social media, so I didn’t have that level of initial investment/attachment. She’s definitely funny and fairly relatable, but there’s also an unaddressed level of privilege; it doesn’t seem like a stretch to say she’s living and working in a bubble — sure, it’s a lighthearted collection based on her own personal experiences, rather than an analytical social commentary, but in this day and age “funny and relatable” doesn’t seem to be enough on its own anymore.
To be fair, I don’t listen to Alison Rosen’s podcast or follow her on social media, so I didn’t have that level of initial investment/attachment. She’s definitely funny and fairly relatable, but there’s also an unaddressed level of privilege; it doesn’t seem like a stretch to say she’s living and working in a bubble — sure, it’s a lighthearted collection based on her own personal experiences, rather than an analytical social commentary, but in this day and age “funny and relatable” doesn’t seem to be enough on its own anymore.