readwatchdrinkcoffee's Reviews (382)

I read this book in one sitting on my summer holiday. It’s a short and sweet romance with likeable characters, a quick-paced adventure, and an original twist on your generic boy-meets-girl.

The story is quite predictable but it’s still intriguing and enjoyable due to its short length. It’s definitely a young adult romance so I certainly felt my age with it, but Maddy and Olly are both engaging characters and their romance is bittersweet.

With illustrations, note pages and snippets of book reviews intertwined in the story, the book works almost like a diary, with Maddy documenting her daily routine, detailing her medications and test results, and giving us more insight into her mind through short snippets of her day-to-day activities and thought processes.

With the use of instant messaging, as well, these narrative techniques all allow the story to be told in a quick pace, making conversations snappy and using illustrations to show things on a single page rather than having to go into detail about them. Not only is this visually appealing, making every page of the book look different and unique, but it is because of how quickly you can get through the story that makes it so interesting, as it would have been more sentimental and cliche if it was drawn out more than necessary.

Because of that, Everything, Everything is an enjoyable read that you can delve into for a few hours and come away feeling cheery and light. For younger readers especially, the romance will also be one to swoon over and Olly a character to daydream about hoping to find for yourself one day. I’ve definitely outgrown that, but I do still think that Yoon captures the feelings of a first-time romance in a really lovely way.

The Goldfinch is a difficult book to criticise because of its quality, but one that I also found difficult to commit to. I didn’t look forward to picking it up again and wanted to get through it as quickly as possible, but I had to put it down often and then force myself to keep on going. It became a chore, yet I also admired something about it on every page.

The story itself covers a lot of ground and, aside from a few jumps ahead in the timeframe, it doesn’t skip over anything to get you there more quickly. It’s a full and deep novel with immaculate descriptions, detailing every tiny thing in the most beautiful of ways. You certainly come away from this book feeling heavily educated as you learn about everything from the history of a painting to Theo’s experience of drug-taking. The bigger descriptions are certainly more captivating, but it’s the two-paged details of the type of veneer in the wood that Theo is handling that stunt the story in its progress.

It really is a spectacularly crafted novel and Tartt obviously has a true understanding of language and narrative with the constant use of metaphors, but I just found it so hard to engage with at the same time. It is complex and depressing and it fills you with anxiety.

The characters aren’t particularly likeable, either. Not even Theo, as he is bent on self-destruction. There are times that he tries to work on himself and Tartt details the mental struggles going on his mind wonderfully, but with a lot of focus on his alcohol and drug abuse, the details of his PTSD are hard to read.

There’s a lot I can forgive the book for, but what I cannot get over is how the plot drags so much. It’s so rich and dense that it becomes a painful struggle to get through, zigzagging between more interesting and tense scenes and then getting caught up in tedious details. Even the final philosophising chapter has some remarkable moments of self-reflection, but it just goes on for so long that the heart in the message gets lost.

I was just relieved to have finished it in the end and have already but in a charity box before letting it sit on my shelf for a while longer to be tempted to re-read at another time. I just know that I won’t.

When you read an Agatha Christie book, you know exactly what you're going to get. Usually, this would be seen as a negative, but that's exactly why you read her books. They may follow a similar formula, but that's why Christie is deemed a classic mystery writer. She does the basics incredibly well and doesn't have to distract the reader to send them down the wrong path. Her clever mysteries speak for themselves, filling readers with suspense - and often fear - and always keeping you guessing until the very last page.

And whilst her stories may be simple in structure, you know you're not going to guess who did it until the very end. Christie makes sure of that, filling her thrillers with so many twists and red herrings that you'll be convinced it's every single character at some point or another.

She doesn't keep you reading just to find out who did it, either. She also makes you care about who did it, filling her pages with so much back story, keeping you gripped to the characters' stories, wanting to find out more about them to see if their motives slip.

With a title like "And Then There Were None", as well, it's easy to predict that the guests of Soldier Island are about to picked off one by one until no one is left, but we're left just as confused as the guests by that. Whether the murderer is amongst them or it's somebody else hiding on the island, how can nobody be left behind? It's a brilliant narrative technique, getting the reader to question everything straight away, even before we are given any hints as to what may be occurring.

The only thing that annoyed me about the story is that we weren't reminded of the poem throughout, or that the guests didn't think to re-read it to predict who will die next. But as much as I wanted somebody to go, "Oh, the next line says the soldier is 'chopping up sticks' so maybe we shouldn't go and chop the wood alone", I avoided going back in the book myself so that I wouldn't find out, so maybe it was done for that reason. Not everything would have been that obvious, though, as a lot of the poem was very vague, but I do think that the avoidance of it by the guests is a bit of a plot hole.

Aside from that, the relatively short story poses some big questions, asking who has the right to decide what justice is? And who, therefore, has the right to decide what punishment serves the crime? It really gets you thinking. Do these people really deserve to be punished? And what kind of person thinks they are above everybody else? It is this aspect that keeps you so on edge, as you begin to feel that manic presence lurking in every corner of the book.

This may only be my second Agatha Christie novel that I've read, but I'm eager to read more. It's easy to see why she is classed as such a prominent author in the mystery genre and why her books are still so readable today, and I can't wait to pick up my next one.

Just as is written, "Sometimes there's beauty in the tough words - it's all in how you read them." Whilst I enjoyed this book when I first read it, I didn't feel much of a connection to it at the time. On a second reading, however, it really hit me. When you know what's going to happen, it's much easier to pick up on the smaller details a second time around, seeing the hints of what's to come earlier on, with the story's messages standing out more predominantly.

Although I have some problems with the book's ending which I will discuss further down, All The Bright Places is a brilliantly developed story and its themes are set up incredibly well. It's a book that makes you both think and feel, and even though it is a young adult story led by high school-aged characters, it's still a story that sparks a reaction.

Alternating between chapters narrated by Finch and Violet, you really get to see inside these characters' young minds. The book does an amazing job of exploring the thoughts of these characters who each have a lot to deal with, showing two contrasting sides to how the mind can work - the light in the world through Violet's progressions, but also the dark times through Finch's continuous struggles.

For the darker moments, Niven doesn't hold anything back, brilliantly captures what it's like inside the head of somebody struggling with a mental illness. By showing the darkest of depths that your thoughts can go to, she gives a brilliant insight into how you can feel like you're the only person in the world, despite having important people around you.

“It's my experience that people are a lot more sympathetic if they can see you hurting, and for the millionth time in my life I wish for measles or smallpox or some other easily understood disease just to make it easier on me and also on them.”

Whether you've personally felt like these characters or not, the two leads are immensely relatable because of the range of the emotions they feel, not just relating to mental illness but also of the general pressures of being a teenager. Their emotions feel very genuine, but whilst you always hold out hope with a story like this, hoping that one character can change another, that their love for one another can be enough to drag themselves out of the quicksand, that's rarely the case. Once you're in that mindset, it's almost impossible to get out, and that's why this book is so heartbreaking.

Most of all, the book highlights that anybody can be struggling with a mental illness and that not everybody shows their struggles on the outside. It also shows that having a mental illness can relate to anything from being depressed to suffering from bulimia, highlighting that things aren't always as straightforward as a label might suggest. It's a really relevant topic that needs a lot more recognition, emphasising the need for young people (or people of all ages, for that matter) to talk to somebody and share the load if they aren't coping with something going on in their life.

"I know life well enough to know you can’t count on things staying around or standing still, no matter how much you want them to. You can’t stop people from dying. You can’t stop them from going away. You can’t stop yourself from going away either. I know myself well enough to know that no one else can keep you awake or keep you from sleeping.”

However, whilst I think the book sets up its discussions well, I do think that Niven could have done a lot more with the subject in the final few chapters. When Finch is gone, there's not a lot of time spent reflecting on what he did and why, leaving no message of hope or looking at how to better help somebody going through the same thing.

Everybody is too quick to say that was just the way Finch was and that it's too late to think back on what-ifs. Only one character questions if they could have done more, but the adults, especially, show very little attention to the emotions of these young characters. They all reflect their responsibilities and get away with having very little input, not showing a level of support that you would hope to see.

Moreso, instead of sending a bigger message about the importance of communication or exploring Finch's potential diagnosis of being bipolar more, the use of these heavy themes seem to be cut short, not ending with a standing-on-a-ledge-impact that the book began with.

Still, the book does a great job of discussing some really important issues and includes some wonderful messages about finding light in the darkest of places. It may neglect to conclude its themes in a more significant way, but it's still a powerful story with lovely characters and relationships that has a lot to take away from.

Picking up where The Philosopher's Stone left us, Harry Potter And The Chamber of Secrets brilliantly rounds up what happened in the first book, not going into too much detail but rounding things up enough and explaining most of Rowling's original concepts to make this an easy read for young or new readers who may not remember a lot from before.

This second instalment is much darker than its predecessor, building up the tension of Voldemort’s return and unravelling some of Hogwart’s darkest myths and secrets. But whilst there is more of a sense of fear in this book, it also keeps the magic and imagination alive by brilliantly expanding on the wizarding universe with new classes, teachers, creatures, and spells.

It may follow a similar plot outline, but it also hastily develops the story with a lot more history and context, revving up Harry's part in it all with a whole lot more mystery for him to unravel.

On a re-read, you can easily see hints at the bigger picture that Rowling has included in this book, too, developing a connection between Harry and Voldemort early on and even of Ron's affection for Hermione. She's so good at developing a story arc and it's fun to go back to the start and see all of this being set up.

An emotional tale with a huge heart, Patrick Ness‘ story is a gothic folktale about hope, processing loss, and letting go, transforming a difficult subject into one of strength and bravery.

It’s the kind of story you can read into as deeply as you feel comfortable to; one that younger readers will find more and more meaning in as they grow older. Although the book is an easy read and quite simple in prose, it reads so poetically that you can swiftly read through it in one sitting. And whilst its story-telling methods are basic, it’s messages deep down are complex and it is filled to the brim with beautifully descriptive imagery.

“You do not write your life with words… You write it with actions. What you think is not important. It is only important what you do.”

Tender at times, A Monster Calls is both heartbreakingly sad and destructively powerful. The story’s central character, Conor, is a troubled and isolated young boy, but he’s also full of an immense courage, as he is made to face a truth inside of him that he struggles with all his might to keep buried inside.

To fight his demons, Conor calls for the help of a monster, a protective but also quite threatening beast, who gives Conor something to fight against. Although the monster appears to be pushing Conor into causing physical damage, to objects as well as to others, at times, he is there as a visual representation of what’s going on Conor’s mind. Conor is merely looking for a friend in a troubled time, urged to let out his feelings of sadness and guilt, to lash out from the anger that’s been building up inside of him, in order to come to terms with what’s going on.

Using the visuals of a terrifying monster to act as the antagonist of the story, the real monster is actually what’s going on in Conor’s head: the haunting struggles of coming to terms with his mother’s imminent death. For me, the emotional moments didn’t revolve around Conor’s mother’s illness, but in the hidden meanings that are shadowed by the monster, instead.

It’s not only what Conor has to face that is painfully sad, but also the intense anger that has built up inside of him that makes this deeply emotional, a pain which nobody of his age should ever have to experience. To imagine a young boy wanting to cause this much violence and damage, for him to be burning up with this much anger inside, that’s what I felt was the heart of the story.

Beautifully and almost innocently decorated in tales of monsters which can be read so differently by different age groups, this is such a compelling read. With a similar feel to Harry Potter’s The Tales of Beedle the Bard because of the use of effective fables, only with a much more impacting punch, we’re left with so much to think about, from lessons to be learnt and judgements to be made.

I can only hope that my children will never have to face anything like what Conor has gone through but, if they do, I will be handing them this book so that they can cherish it themselves.

What Lies Between Us is a truly addictive read that left me wide-mouthed in shock after every chapter, and that tension doesn’t stop until the very last page.

I went into this book knowing nothing about it. I hadn’t even read the synopsis, only seeing that it was getting great reviews. And I’m so glad that I did it that way. The synopsis doesn’t give away too much, but without knowing about Maggie and Nina’s relationship or the situation they are both in, there were so many shocks early on for me.

As the story switches between Nina and Maggie’s narration in both the past and the present, Marrs gives a new revelation in almost every chapter, ranging from small hints to what happened to cause the characters to behave as they are, to huge cliffhangers as their secrets are revealed. There’s so much to uncover and just when you think you have the answers to everything, their dysfunctional lifestyle becomes even more complicated.

Nothing is as straightforward as it seems in this wholly captivating thriller. It’s very dark and disturbing, which I love, and some pages did leave me feeling uncomfortable. But because of the interesting structure, you never know who to fully trust, so you’re always on the lookout for another explanation.

The best thing about What Lies Between Us is Nina and Maggie and how well they are developed. The mother and daughter relationship is like no other I have read. With the constant twists, you never know which character to hate the most or who to start feeling compelled towards. And I still don’t. There are reasons to despise them both, but they also make effective cases for their actions. Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes, you want to lock them both in a room and throw away the key.

While Marrs throws a lot of small events and details at you piece by piece, he doesn’t forget to tie up any of his loose ends. There were a few smaller details that I made note of to see if they were concluded in the end or not, but Marrs ticks them all off. He is obviously a very talented writer, and this is such a unique thriller that I already can’t wait to read more of his books. I’m already eyeing up The Passengers.

This is a book that I’ve seen everywhere at the minute, and it’s one that stood out to me because of the stunning cover. So, I had to see what all of the hype was about. A story about loneliness, desperation, survival, prejudice, determination, strength and love, Where The Crawdads Sing is a book that will leave you with all the feels.

At first, I found it difficult to get into. But this was only for about the first 60 pages or so. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it was. Maybe it’s because I’ve only recently been reading quick-paced thrillers at speed or because I’m not used to the North Carolinian accents and turns of phrases, but this is a book that you need to take your time with. And it deserves your time, too. It deserves for you to linger on every word and slowly take it all in.

After my initial slow start, the words soon began to flow and it’s not long until you feel completely consumed by Owens’ beautiful prose which reads like poetry. An American author and zoologist who spent years studying animals in Africa, Owens’ knowledge of wildlife is apparent. She uses breathtaking details about the flora and fauna as her vivid descriptions guide you through the swamp. Every page feels full of colour, bringing even more warmth and beauty to her words as you feel the solace of the blush pink skies, the tranquillity of the teal waters, and the softness of the crisp-white leaves.

As Kya grows older, you then begin to feel her yearning to be touched and loved, as the coming-of-age elements of the story are weaved beautifully with the second narrative, as the two stories are told alongside each other brilliantly. With Kya at the heart of them both, you really begin to care for her. It’s a sad book but not in a depressing or heartbreaking way. It’s sad because of how much you want to comfort Kya. You want to mother her, protect her, to show her that there is good in the world, and it breaks your heart that she is often so alone.

It’s a wonderfully illustrative and emotive narrative that really pulls on your heartstrings. The theme of loneliness, especially, has a real impact. It is so tenderly explored that Kya is undoubtedly going to be a character that you won’t easily forget about.

My final thoughts are around the reveal of who Chase’s killer is (don’t worry, I won’t give away any spoilers!). I don’t know if I loved how this reveal played out and the delicate way that it was told, or if I think that it attempted to rewrite too much of what had already been said. I had a few theories and, of course, this was one of them. But I feel like the build-up made such a good case against this outcome that it almost changed my feelings towards the character involved.

Still, I come away from this book absolutely in awe of it. There are so many memorable quotes and lines of poetry that hold so much meaning to them that this book went straight onto my favourites shelf after finishing it. As Owens writes herself:

“I wasn’t aware that words could hold so much. I didn’t know a sentence could be so full.”

I’m also so excited that the film rights have been picked up for this book by Reese Witherspoon‘s Hello Sunshine production company after she selected it for her book club in September 2018. I look forward to finding out more about this.

Synopsises will tell you that this book is about the weight of secrets and the nature of art and identity. And with subplots about race, class, adolescence, and the balance between right and wrong, there’s certainly a lot going on. The themes of race and class feel most important, highlighting how being white and entitled can often allow you to give your child better opportunities. But for me, it’s the theme of identity that stands out most.

Little Fires Everywhere explores the importance of finding out who we are, where we come from, and what parts of our upbringing define us. Is it better for a child to come from a family who can afford to give them better opportunities, or is it better for a child to be with their biological parents, despite anything else? At its heart, it’s a story about what it means to be a mother, whether your child is biologically yours or not, beautifully exploring the fragile bond between mother and child while also discussing the right we have to decide whether we want to bring a child into the world or not in the first place.

The plot is pretty minimal as things move slowly. The story, instead, is full of development and character study. It’s rich with personal detail which really makes you feel something for every character. With the fire being a pinpoint in the story, it quickly goes back a few months to begin the lead-up to what’s been going on in Shaker since the arrival of Mia and her daughter. The story sometimes gets a little lost in the detail of its characters’ pasts, but it brilliantly paints a complex portrait, slowly unravelling to catch up with the issues they face in the present.

What the book does best of all is that it uses the subplot of a court hearing to explore the conflicting viewpoints on this issue through two very different characters. Celeste does a great job of showing a balanced story, exploring multiple themes from all angles, without making the discussions about class and race too obvious or appearing as though it comes from a certain standpoint.

With Mia, we see a mother who is doing everything she can for her daughter, but who is restricting her from thriving because of the love she has for her. We do get to see a really caring side to her at times as the book tries to craft her into being the character you root for. But this is my one criticism of the book. While Mia may be one of the few who’s standing up for what’s right, her own actions don’t reflect that. Most of all, she’s selfish, and I can’t get past the book trying to justify her actions when I don’t think that what she did in her past was acceptable.

On the other side, we have Mrs Richardson. She has good intentions but she’s blind-sighted. She’s planned her whole life to ensure that she can give her children the best of everything, but she’s also neglected to put them first to be able to do this. You can see why Reese Witherspoon wanted to play her. There’s a lot to aspire about a woman like her, but her ignorance is what makes her very unlikeable at the same time. I really wanted to like her, but I can’t forgive her for her treatment of Izzy, even if I completely understand and relate to her explanation of why she struggled to bond with her after her birth.

There’s a lot to like and dislike about them both, and it’s the good traits that each other’s children see in them. Pearl sees a mother who could give her better opportunities, while Izzy sees a mother who accepts her for who she is. However, the only character I could fully get behind was Izzy. She’s impulsive and strong-minded, but she still wants comfort and support and there’s so much to relate to in that. She was developed perfectly, and really becomes the driving force behind the storytelling.

Taking place in Shaker Heights, Ohio, where Celeste grew up, the backdrop is the perfect setting for a story about breaking out of the ‘perfect’ stereotype. What it leaves me with is the message that only you know what’s right for you. Being a good mother isn’t about what’s in your house or bank account, it’s about the person you shape your child into becoming, the will you have to do what’s best for them, and the love that can replace everything else. It’s certainly a book that will get your mind ticking away and that will – hopefully – end with you closing the book with a more open mindset.

There was a section near the end that especially made my heart ache. As things are rounded up with Bebe, Mia’s past is revealed, and Lexie has to deal with the consequences of her own decision, the book brings these stories together to put a focus on the lengths a mother will go to for their child. There’s a discussion about how you cuddle and kiss your baby as much as you can because these intimate moments become less and less the older they get. With that, I hugged my baby a little tighter and all I can do is go away with the hope that my best is enough.

As Mara’s debut novel, there are some obvious flaws in The Other Side of the Wall. First of all, there are so many characters and timelines that it gets really confusing at times. As the narrative switches from past to present and from one character’s story to another, it easy to get lost in the plot and there are a few plotholes that the author falls into.

Mara obviously takes on too much and needs to have stripped things back a little, but the layered story comes together well in the end. Nothing is too obvious, there are some original twists, and the tension builds quite nicely, so it’s certainly worth sticking with.

As usual with this trend of female-led thrillers, there are some great themes of womanhood which start off well but soon get left behind. As the story begins with Sylvia wondering if night feeds and sleep deprivation are getting to her, I liked how Mara explored the early weeks of motherhood. I’ve been there with the hallucinations from sleep deprivation due to breastfeeding a newborn every two hours, so I thought that she did this well.

We also see her character juggle the pressures of life at home and work as she forgets to make time for herself for fear of being judged on her parenting skills and abilities, so she is a relatable character to follow. But as always, those around Sylvia are so unsupportive and ignorant of her emotions that her opinions are quickly dismissed and nothing more comes of these developments.

Too often these themes are explored well in the beginning to build up a character’s personality, but as female author who is writing about a female character, Mara could have made better use her experiences and knowledge to really make a point about such issues, instead of only using them as a narrative technique to create an unreliable narrator.

There are a few negatives of this book as there’s too much going in the beginning and then a lack of tied up endings when things come to a close, but as Mara’s first publication, I still think that she’s an author to keep an eye on. Her thriller is addictive and captivating for the most part and it doesn’t fall flat to predictability or disengagement; there are just a few elements that will undoubtedly improve with experience.