Bubbly Nerd
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
This one was way too overhyped for me. I went in expecting a sharp, witty, high-stakes sci-fi adventure with laugh-out-loud moments, especially after seeing all the glowing reviews, but what I got felt like a pretty generic sci-fi novella. The plot moved along fine, but it never reached the level of tension or humor I was hoping for.
The worldbuilding is serviceable, and the premise of a socially awkward, security-obsessed android navigating human interactions is interesting, but it just didn't wow me. The pacing and tone stayed fairly flat, and the “comedic” moments didn't land for me the way they seemed to for others.
Maybe it's a case of mismatched expectations, but I was left thinking, That's it?
Rating: ★★★☆☆ (3/5) . Okay, but nothing special.
At this point, I think Jeneva Rose and Freida McFadden are in a secret competition to see who can recycle the same plot the most times before readers notice. Spoiler: we noticed.
Sara is back. Still the all-seeing, all-knowing goddess of crime who can predict everyone's moves like she's playing 4D chess in her sleep. Logic? Never met her. This is basically the last book copy-pasted:
1. Marriage problems.
2. Husband cheats.
3. New love interest enters.
4. Sara kills husband with new love interest's help.
5. Somehow gets away with it.
5. Lives happily ever after... until the sequel where she'll definitely kill the new guy.
The daughter? Pure prop. Neither
parent cares about her. She's just there to slap a fake “perfect family” bow on the mess.
And that sheriff subplot? Might as well have been titled Coming Soon: Book 3. Completely pointless except to set up the next predictable twist. My official prediction for the sequel: Alejandro betrays Sara, and she teams up with Scott to kill him. Screenshot this and remind me when it happens, unless Jeneva reads this and rewrites it. (Hi, Jeneva. Please prove me wrong.)
Rating: ★★☆☆☆ . Not the perfect marriage, not the perfect divorce, not even the perfect book. Just the perfect déjà vu.
This book was... fine. Not great, not terrible... just okay. It constantly felt like it was building toward something big, but the payoff never delivered. From early on, it seemed pretty obvious that Kasey was alive, so the only “twist” left was that Nic turned out to be the killer. By the time that reveal came, it didn't feel shocking, I t felt inevitable.
The characters didn't help much either. Jenna and her sister were the only ones I found remotely likeable. Nic, on the other hand, is a complete mess, and Kasey shamelessly manipulates her disaster of a sister just to play hero. Was I supposed to feel sympathy for Nic? Because all I felt was disgust.
The setting choice was another disappointment. Basing the story in Mishawaka seemed like it would play a meaningful role, but it ended up being little more than a name-drop. It's symbolic of the entire novel, everything promised significance but ultimately led nowhere.
The whole thing reads like someone wrote a bunch of random sentences on scraps of paper, pulled a few out of a hat, and tried to stitch them into a plot. The result is a disjointed, messy story with flashes of potential but no real payoff.
Rating: ★★☆☆☆ — Mediocre at best, frustrating at worst.
This novella is a masterclass in tension and misdirection. Every twist caught me completely off guard, and even after finishing, I'm still questioning who was telling the truth. Flynn's writing is as razor-sharp as ever. Darkly witty, atmospheric, and unsettling in the best way.
If I had one complaint, it's that the story ended far too soon. I would have loved more time with these morally gray characters and their tangled web of lies. Still, in just over 60 pages, Flynn manages to deliver the kind of psychological suspense that lingers long after the last sentence.
Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5). Another brilliant piece from Gillian Flynn.
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.
Just as bad as the previous book, maybe even worse cause the killer comes out of no where . Repetiré writing with almost the same plot as he last book, except now Dnzo who barely jnteracted with Millie in the last boom is suddenly thee love of her life?? Come the fuck on. And once again Millie gets off through acts of God. Once again Freida McFadden is proving that she is a terrible author who plagiarizes other authors buts makes the stories worse somehow. I'm just hate reading her books at this point
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.
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
Die with Zero by Bill Perkins presents some solid financial advice regarding insurance, annuities, and long-term care, but its overarching philosophy—maximizing life experiences and aiming to “die with zero”—ultimately falls flat. Perkins argues that people should focus on spending their wealth while they are alive rather than hoarding it for retirement or inheritance. While this concept might sound appealing in theory, in practice, it is riddled with privilege and impracticality.
One of the biggest flaws of this book is how it seems to promote a hedonistic, experience-driven lifestyle without fully acknowledging the realities of financial constraints, obligations, and unpredictability. Perkins' perspective assumes a level of wealth and flexibility that simply isn't attainable for many people. Not everyone has the luxury of dropping everything to travel the world or pursue every fleeting experience. There are responsibilities—family, debt, medical expenses, and economic uncertainties—that can't be ignored for the sake of “living in the moment.” While he tries to justify his approach, his arguments come across as privileged and out of touch with the financial realities of the average person.
Beyond that, Perkins' perspective on wealth distribution, inheritance, and legacy feels overly simplified. While he emphasizes spending money on experiences rather than accumulating savings, he overlooks the security and peace of mind that financial stability brings—not just for oneself but for future generations. Not everyone wants or needs to die with zero, and the book fails to make a compelling case for why they should.
That said, I can't give this book a one-star rating because there is some genuinely useful financial advice sprinkled throughout, particularly regarding long-term care planning and the importance of strategic giving. However, the book as a whole felt more like a justification for self-indulgence rather than a practical financial guide.
Unless you are already wealthy and looking for ways to justify extravagant spending, Die with Zero isn't worth the read. 2/5
Framed: Astonishing True Stories of Wrongful Convictions is a painful but necessary read. Not because it's poorly written—far from it. This book is compelling, well-researched, and eye-opening. But the reality it exposes is harrowing. Reading about these wrongful convictions and the systematic failures of the justice system was deeply unsettling, especially seeing how law enforcement often prioritizes securing a conviction over pursuing the truth. Once they decide someone is guilty, even when the evidence overwhelmingly suggests otherwise, they seem willing to do whatever it takes to uphold that narrative—destroying lives in the process.
What makes this book particularly chilling is how innocent people were dragged into crimes they had absolutely nothing to do with—sometimes simply because they wanted to help, other times because of the color of their skin. It's horrifying to think that while these wrongfully accused individuals endured years, even decades, of suffering, the real criminals remained free. The book sheds light on how racism, systemic biases, and flawed investigative techniques disproportionately lead to the mass incarceration of Black people, trapping them in a cycle of injustice. The legal system, which should serve to protect, instead exploits and oppresses, with wrongful convictions becoming another tool for modern-day slavery—forcing inmates into labor under horrific conditions.
Perhaps the most devastating aspect of this book is realizing that while some of these wrongfully convicted individuals were eventually exonerated, others never got that chance. How many more innocent people are sitting behind bars, their voices unheard? How many have been unjustly executed? It's a terrifying thought—one that reinforces my belief that the death penalty has no place in a flawed system capable of such grave errors.
This book was heartbreaking, infuriating, and necessary. It forces readers to confront the uncomfortable reality of wrongful convictions and systemic injustice. It's not an easy read, but it's an important one—one that everyone should pick up. 4/5
Amazing book—I thoroughly enjoyed this retelling of Ariadne's story. The way it highlighted the struggles of women in the era of Greek mythology was both compelling and heartbreaking. It's devastating to see how many women were affected by the actions of the men around them, and how, in their own quiet yet resilient ways, they tried to escape the confines of their circumstances. Ariadne is truly an iconic feminist novel, offering a fresh perspective on a well-known myth while also shedding light on themes of strength, autonomy, and survival. I loved every moment of this retelling.
Rating: 5/5
Alright, alright, alright... Greenlights by Matthew McConaughey is, to put it bluntly, one of the most frustrating memoirs I've read. While McConaughey undeniably has charm, this book makes it clear that a significant portion of his success comes from sheer luck, privilege, and, of course, his good looks. Unlike most struggling actors who grind for years, facing rejection after rejection, he seemingly stumbles into success time and time again. His ability to simply take time off, wait for better roles, and somehow always land on his feet is a luxury that most people—especially in Hollywood—don't have.
The memoir reads less like an introspective journey and more like a collection of anecdotes from someone who has coasted through life, getting by on charisma rather than hard-earned effort. McConaughey comes across as self-assured, but not in a way that's particularly enlightening or reflective. His musings often feel superficial, and his deep thoughts don't really land. He frequently touts his Christian faith, but his actions don't always align with the values he claims to uphold, making his perspective feel a bit hypocritical. A little more self-awareness about how privilege played a role in his career would have gone a long way.
That said, there is something undeniably entertaining about seeing the world through the eyes of a man who has, for the most part, had a smooth ride. It's almost like reading an unintentional satire of what it must be like to live life as a good-looking, effortlessly successful white guy—must be nice.
Greenlights isn't necessarily a terrible book, but it lacks depth and fails to offer anything truly meaningful beyond a glimpse into McConaughey's peculiar mindset. Unless you're a die-hard fan, this one isn't worth the read. 2/5
This is a solid book about depression that delivers exactly what its title promises—it offers reasons to stay alive. Haig's reflections on his own struggles resonated with me, particularly the way he highlights how even the smallest reasons can become lifelines in the depths of depression. Some of these reasons may seem trivial to someone who hasn't experienced it, but that only underscores the reality of depression—sometimes, holding onto even the tiniest thread of hope is what gets you through.
Haig's vulnerability and honesty make this book worthwhile, though I wouldn't call it the best book on depression, nor a bad one—just a good one. It may not be groundbreaking, but it's heartfelt and relatable.
Rating: 3/5
Prince Harry paints a vivid picture of royal life, highlighting its highs and lows and showing that royalty isn't all it's cracked up to be. He conveys that it can even become your hell. While I sympathize with the prince's struggles and hardships—especially the trauma he endured because of the paparazzi and the loss of his mother—he comes across as self-centered and whiny throughout the book. He makes royal life seem like the worst thing on the planet and does little more than complain about every single thing. Yes, he's had a tough time with the media, but it feels like he blames all of his struggles on the paparazzi. Perhaps he should self-reflect and recognize that many of his issues are internal. The press wouldn't have as much material if he weren't constantly doing reckless things and expecting no consequences.
Prince Harry also has one of the most prominent victim mentalities I've ever encountered. He blames everyone else for his problems. When he talks about Africa “saving” him, it's off-putting because he treats the entire continent like a monolith—an exotic escape for wealthy people. Africa is diverse, with both beautiful experiences and real hardships. He seems to have enjoyed it only because he had all the resources money could buy, yet he still complained about his life. Then, he falls into a sort of messiah or white savior mindset, implying he alone can help Africa. He hasn't worked a day in his life, but he imagines himself as both special and doomed. Dancing with impoverished children in Africa isn't going to change the world. Real difference-making requires hard work and sustained effort, neither of which he seems to have done. Although he contributes to charities, the money isn't his—it comes from the family he criticizes so harshly. He hasn't earned money on his own, yet he bites the hand that feeds him. His constant “woe is me” attitude became so grating that I had to take breaks from reading.
Prince Harry stops portraying himself as a martyr only when he speaks about Meghan. To his credit, it sounds like he really loves her. However, I questioned how much of it is love versus desperation—like he's putting Meghan on a pedestal as his “savior.” His victim mentality seems so deep that he clings to the first woman he sees as a potential rescue. I understand wanting to stand by your partner, but there were numerous other ways to support her. By directly opposing the entire family who raised him, he left himself—and now his wife and kids—without the security the family once offered.
He also doesn't refute many of the claims about Meghan with concrete evidence; he just tells readers to take his word for it. That isn't easy to do when he's turned his back on everyone who has known him since birth. It's highly unlikely that all of them collectively decided to hate Meghan for no reason. Yes, racism could have played a role, but Meghan is one of the most white-passing biracial women I've ever seen. I didn't even realize she was mixed until Harry and Meghan claimed racism was a primary reason for leaving their royal duties.
I don't know these people personally, but by abandoning everyone who has been there for him, Harry has essentially bound himself to Meghan. If their relationship ever fails, he has nowhere to return. He might stay with her indefinitely to prove a point. In the book, he chooses Meghan over his brother and tries to paint William as a jealous, self-important man. Jealous of what, though? William is the heir and doesn't need anything from Harry. Yet Harry insists William envies his so-called “freedom” as the spare—the same freedom he constantly complains about as “burdensome.”
Harry insists his life is “hard” throughout his narrative but inadvertently describes a glamorous lifestyle. He never seems to acknowledge his privilege. He says he wants to be normal, but I believe he wants the perks of royalty without the responsibilities. Regular people don't get to travel the world on a whim, mingle with fascinating figures simply due to birthright, or enjoy private chefs. Many of us struggle to afford basic necessities. Meanwhile, he has everything and still complains.
From his account, the family—including William—initially loved Meghan. Such a drastic shift from love to hate doesn't happen overnight without a cause. Another aspect that bothers me is how he publicly trashes his family when he knows they can't respond or defend themselves similarly. It feels malicious to tear them down so freely, knowing they're constrained by protocol.
Finally, if Harry truly wanted to distance himself from the royal family, he wouldn't publish his memoir under “Prince Harry.” He claims to seek normalcy yet continues leveraging his royal title. I was a huge fan of Harry and Meghan, but this book changed my perspective entirely. He comes across as an entitled, whiny man-child who doesn't appreciate what he has—even though he's trying to paint himself positively. For the first time, I sympathize with the royal family. If this is how Harry behaves when attempting to look good, I can't imagine what he's like behind closed doors. Perhaps his upbringing shaped him into this spoiled brat.
Rating: 1/5
I absolutely loved this book and truly couldn't put it down. While Stephen Fry does take a few liberties in his retelling of Greek mythologies, he still preserves the larger-than-life awe of the gods and the essence of these ancient stories. In fact, I'm glad he included those creative flourishes, because it made Mythos the most interesting and fascinating Greek mythology retelling I've read yet.
I especially appreciated that Fry didn't portray the gods as purely benevolent beings or as malevolent forces bent on humanity's downfall. Instead, he approached them from a standpoint of genuine interest and fascination, and that perspective shines through in every chapter. The gods come across as complex, three-dimensional figures—capable of good, evil, and everything in between—which makes them feel all the more compelling and real.
Overall, Mythos is a riveting read, and I wholeheartedly give it a 5 out of 5 rating. If you're looking for a fresh take on classic Greek myths that stays true to their grandeur while adding modern insight and wit, this book won't disappoint.
War by Ben Woodward offers a comprehensive overview of the conflicts in Ukraine and Gaza, providing valuable insight into the United States' role in these wars. The author also illustrates why he believes Donald Trump is ill-suited to serve as the U.S. Commander-in-Chief. These elements make the book an engaging and informative read.
However, the author's bias is evident. While thoroughly examining Trump's numerous shortcomings, he largely overlooks any redeeming qualities that contributed to Trump's election. Meanwhile, President Biden is portrayed in a consistently positive light, as though this book were a “love letter” to him. Although Biden's presidency was successful in many respects, I would have appreciated an examination of his weaknesses, particularly concerning his age. Woodward repeatedly insists that Biden is of sound mind in private, but I am skeptical, especially given that even some of Biden's allies seemed eager for him to step aside.
Focusing so much on Trump's flaws, Woodward barely addresses why Kamala Harris might be a more decisive leader. Her merits remain underexplored because of the author's fixation on painting Trump in a negative light. Moreover, one of Harris's significant obstacles—the notion that America was not ready for a woman president—is mentioned only in passing, and its relevance to her ultimate loss in the election remains underdeveloped.
The book would have benefited from publication after the 2024 election, enabling Woodward to include both the outcome and a thorough analysis of what led to it. The narrative builds toward this crucial moment—the election that will determine the fate of countless people globally—yet ends before the reader can witness the result. This abrupt conclusion makes me question the author's motivation: Is it genuine journalistic endeavor, an effort to cast Trump as an ineffective candidate, or perhaps a strategy to publish a follow-up volume and capitalize on the anticipation? Ending the book prematurely left a sour taste in my mouth.
Overall, War is a strong work, and I found it difficult to put down. Still, it would have been more compelling if it had offered a balanced examination of each leader, leaving readers to form their own conclusions. Although I do not mind a certain level of bias—mainly since I am not a Trump supporter myself—the extent of partiality here raises doubts about the accuracy of some of the claims. Ultimately, a fair treatment of both sides and a post-election perspective would have elevated the book significantly.
Rating: 4/5 stars
Maybe the true hell was the journey along the way???
But the journey has no end...
I'm just gonna leave you with the final paragraph of the book.
““All hope is gone also. All hope for anything has vanished – meeting a person, finding a book, discovering some hidden way out. So much time has passed, what is left to say? All variety is lost, and billions of years spent searching through books has left me a poor conversationalist. I could tell you of my fall to the bottom – the starving and dying over and over in endless cycles of pain and forgetfulness. I could tell you of starting my search in earnest from the bottom floor. Of moving slowly up light years and light years of stairs. Of opening books beyond count. I could tell you of occasionally, every eon, meeting a person, with whom I might stay for a billion years. But what of it? After a billion years there is nothing left to say, and you wander apart, uncaring in the end. The hope of a human relationship no longer carries any depth or weight for me, and all meaning has faded long ago into an endless grey nothingness. Now the search is all that matters. I know there will come a time when I find my book, but it is far in the future[...]”