Bubbly Nerd

This was a solid book, but not an exceptional one. I appreciated that most of the female characters weren't portrayed as helpless damsels in distress. Instead, they each had their own strengths. That said, Prim felt more like a plot device than a fully fleshed-out character—her entire personality seemed to exist just to highlight Katniss's selflessness.

The world-building had its issues. It didn't quite make sense how, after the supposed collapse of the previous country, the Capitol retained near-magical levels of technological advancement—capable of restoring hearing and other medical miracles—while the districts remained practically medieval in comparison. The disparity felt exaggerated and, at times, inconsistent.

The romance also felt juvenile, but despite these flaws, the book kept things interesting. Unlike many other young adult novels, it still made me want to continue the series, which says something.

This book is so bad it loops right back around to being entertaining. The writing is clunky, the dialogue is straight-up painful, and I had to put it down multiple times just to recover from secondhand embarrassment. If you can muscle through the fact that literal teenagers are getting married in a glorified pageant, you'll quickly realize this is just The Bachelor with a flimsy dystopian coat of paint. Kiera Cass must be a huge fan of The Bachelor because I refuse to believe this wasn't inspired by one of those “most dramatic seasons ever!”

Let's talk about America Singer—because yes, that is actually her name. Kiera Cass either loves this country a little too much or named her protagonist during a fever dream. And despite the name, America has no personality beyond being a textbook “pick me” girl who is not like other girls—except, plot twist, she is exactly like every YA heroine from the early 2010s. Her entire existence feels less like a character and more like the author projecting onto her own self-insert.

And the world-building? A mess. This dystopian society is supposedly built on the ashes of the United States, yet for some reason, instead of, I don't know, rebuilding a democracy or literally any kind of rational government, they just slap a monarchy on top and call it a day. Because nothing says “post-apocalyptic recovery” like reverting to medieval political structures! Makes perfect sense.

I will not be continuing this series. I barely survived this book, and I refuse to subject myself to more of America's self-righteous inner monologues. 1/5 stars, but honestly, it might deserve a second star just for making me laugh at how ridiculous it is.

Harrowing, haunting, and deeply unsettling, The Lottery is a chilling exploration of tradition, morality, and human nature. It forces the reader to wrestle with the core question of utilitarianism: Do the ends ever truly justify the means if an innocent life must be sacrificed for the supposed greater good? Where, exactly, do we draw that line?

Jackson exposes the danger of blind tradition, how superstition can be used to rationalize cruelty. The villagers believe that stoning someone to death will ensure a bountiful harvest, yet there is no real correlation between the sacrifice and the outcome. Even so, would the act be morally acceptable if the harvest were guaranteed? And if it would not, then why is the belief alone enough to justify it?

The story also lays bare the frightening power of herd mentality. Friends and neighbors turn on Mrs. Hutchinson without hesitation, convinced they are acting “right.” Most chillingly, even her young child participates in the killing. Would the same have happened if the chosen victim were a child? Would a parent have stepped forward in their place, or would the ritual have continued unchallenged?

And what of fairness? Tessie Hutchinson insists the lottery was unfair, but was it truly, or was it only “unfair” because she was the one chosen? Would her stance have been different had someone else's name been drawn? Would anything have changed if Bill Hutchinson hadn't been rushed to pick the slip?

Shirley Jackson doesn't offer clear answers, and that's what makes The Lottery so disturbingly timeless. It's a short story that lingers long after you close the book, daring you to question the traditions and systems you take for granted.

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5). A thought-provoking, unforgettable read.

The Girl on the Train is an absolutely gripping psychological thriller. One of the things I love most about this book is its deeply flawed and morally ambiguous characters. Almost no one in this story can truly be called a “good person”—except maybe Rachel, and even that is debatable. This complexity makes the novel feel raw and real, highlighting how human nature isn't simply black or white but full of contradictions, weaknesses, and hidden motivations.

I also appreciate how this book explores the insidious nature of abuse in relationships. It does a fantastic job of illustrating how narcissistic and manipulative behavior isn't always immediately recognizable—especially when love and emotional dependency cloud a person's judgment. The way gaslighting is depicted is particularly chilling. Many books touch on emotional abuse, but few capture how it can systematically dismantle a person's perception of reality, making them doubt their own memories and sanity. The psychological manipulation in this novel feels disturbingly authentic, making Rachel's downward spiral all the more painful to witness.

The writing itself is immersive and fast-paced, and I found myself completely engrossed. Paula Hawkins masterfully builds tension, making it impossible to put the book down. However, my biggest critique is the predictability of the mystery. From the first few chapters, I suspected the truth, and by the time the big reveal happened, it felt unnecessarily drawn out. While the psychological elements were executed brilliantly, the suspense lost some of its impact because the resolution was painfully obvious from early on.

Despite this, The Girl on the Train is an excellent read for anyone who enjoys psychological thrillers with deeply flawed characters, unreliable narrators, and themes of manipulation and deception. Even if the mystery itself didn't surprise me, the journey through Rachel's fragmented mind and the tangled web of relationships kept me hooked until the very last page. 4/5

A beautifully written novel with lyrical prose that captures the intimacy and tragedy of Achilles and Patroclus. Miller's storytelling is gorgeous, and she brings a deeply human perspective to one of the most legendary relationships in Greek mythology.

That said, while it's a strong retelling of the Iliad, it takes significant liberties. Many key events and details are either missing or simplified, which may frustrate readers looking for historical or mythological accuracy. My biggest issue, however, is the twinkification of Patroclus. He's softened and reshaped into a more passive, delicate figure, which doesn't quite align with the warrior he's meant to be.

Still, even with those flaws, the book is a compelling and emotional read that makes the Trojan War story accessible to a modern audience. It's not perfect, but it's moving and memorable.

Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5). Beautiful, but not without its shortcomings