Leamos

I do not understand the Twilight comparisons. I just don't see that they have anything beyond the incredibly superficial in common. This is slow, tense, smart, measured, lush... and it's not instalove: they've been falling in love for years through their psychic connection.

What I found most intriguing was the tension between the intimate and the societal, even familial. Their relationship has a sweet innocence to it that balances the intensity and depth. Their shared dedication to each other, and to a thoughtful morality, together with their consciousness is such a contrast with the violence, neglect and anger of the world that surrounds them. This tension is mirrored in the continual reminders of the tenuousness of Sam's humanity in the temperature readings in each section heading.

There was much to love here. I adore Stiefvater's lyrical prose.

I just was not pulled into the story in the way I wanted to be - I think I'm just not in the right headspace for YA romance. I've already started the next book, though.

What I loved most about this book were the scenes that took place in Mexico City and the village - such a beautifully rendered depiction of Mexico in the 1950's that really contradicts so many stereotypes. The author says she took inspiration from her family - I see elements of my own family reflected as well. I especially loved the respectful relationship that existed between the healer and the doctor, and their hospitality towards Noemí. It may have been off-page and barely there, and yet it felt like an important distinction between the British mining family and the Mexicans they saw as disposable. It's these kinds of details that give stories impact, and this book was full of them.

I very much appreciate the way the author dropped in the little bits of knowledge that Noemí had picked up from her many varied experiences and studies (and that they were accurate for a woman of her time and place) - it served as a needed reminder of the astuteness that accompanied her penchant for pretty shoes. The social commentary is clear and sharp.

I think I would have been more drawn in by the mystery if I hadn't read or watched The Girl With All the Gifts and Get Out, if I were less informed about mold/mycotoxins, or hadn't developed a mild interest in mycelial connections in the last few years. As it was, I caught on very early on to what otherwise would have probably been a subtle and appropriate detail of gothic atmosphere, and I was unable to just get lost in the story as I so badly wanted to. Instead of feeling tension as things came to a head, I found myself bored and just wanting to get through it.

I've seen this categorized as gothic horror and gothic romance. I would put it firmly in horror - the romance elements are minimal. I did find the graphic descriptions of body horror and attempted rape to be rather sudden and unexpected.

Opening: "Either everything matters, or everything is an outrageous waste of time. That’s what she would have said, if anyone had asked her. But no one asks crazy old ladies for their opinions."

This is a book about what matters and what doesn't, what's temporary and what's eternal, what it means to live, and how joy and sorrow juxtapose with purpose and expectation.

But more than anything, it's a book about the importance of the story itself.

What's impressive is how Dr. Horn explores all of that without the story ever feeling weighed down by the existential themes or the 2000 years of history. For the most part, the book feels light, fitting well into magical realism and/or fantasy genres.

This is an unapologetically Jewish book told from the perspective of a character whose Jewishness is so old and so engrained it doesn't seem to register for her unless there is an active persecution of Jews happening - she seems far more concerned with familial relationships, her relationship with her eternal partner, the impact of her gender on her experiences, and how all of these change and don't change over the millennia.

The book is filled with references to Jewish culture, scripture, writings, and history, none of which are made explicit in any way. All the important characters are Jewish, very well fleshed out, very obviously flawed, and they reflect certain elements of global and historical Jewish communities. The story itself follows a Jewish narrative pattern to the point thatthe ending itself is not an ending, as Rachel and Elazar so often say through the book - there are no endings, only more beginnings.

I found this all very refreshing, and I find myself wondering if it might be challenging to connect with the story, and even with Rachel herself, if the reader is unfamiliar with Jewish culture and history.

I rather enjoyed the re-imagining of Rabbi Yochanan's parentage and lifetime, and I absolutely loved the idea of the son of the High Priest becoming his own son's youngest student. It just felt so very poignant, fit so beautifully with the whole exploration of parenthood as sacrifice, and brought the story full circle in various ways.

Overall, this is a gorgeous, imperfect, and too short book about a gorgeous, imperfect, and too long life.

I feel compelled to write a review for this one because my response is complicated.

The Four Weddings and a Funeral structure was cute, but distracted from the relationship development, which is what I wanted to read about. It's a structure that works well for an initial romance, rather than the development of a complex relationship between two people who both have big huge issues.

I don't know whether it says more about me, Alexis Hall, or what, that I found the most engaging and satisfying section of the book to be the funeral, and I think that might just be because it was the only section of the book where Luc actually focused on Oliver. So much of the rest of the book was very angsty, which, unless they're working through it, as Luc did in the first book, is not something I enjoy in my MCs in first person narratives.

The humour, the banter, the irreverence were all there. The secondary characters were fabulous - I adore the quirky wisdom of Luc's mom, the ott and more mature best-friending, the co-workers...

The thing is that through each wedding, Luc's pov grated even more, as did his absolute certainty that the vast majority of the conflict was "Oliver problems, not me problems," which felt deliberately delusional. It felt like all the character development took place in the last bit of the book, and it took place far too quickly for me to be convinced, especially since there seemed to be so little in the two years between the last book and this one.

What saved the book for me was the actual ending - it brought together what I felt were the themes that kind of popped up throughout the book but I couldn't really see through all the angst. And they are themes I absolutely love: Self-differentiation, self-exploration, authenticity...

And SPOILER now:

I just really really wish there had been more exploration of alternatives to weddings/marriage than the brief conversations with Pryia and her partners, the mother, and the very last couple of pages. I also wish there was more room for Lucien to face that the "Oliver problems, not me problems" were actually his own damned problems all along. If it had, this book could have been a brilliant satire about heteronormativity and convention. The entire discussion over the rainbow arch could have become a truly enlightening exploration on the conventions of the performance of queerness.

I do however, love that they walked out on their own wedding. Like, really really love it.

I was overjoyed to read a book that ends with a clear hea that doesn't require a formal commitment ceremony - this is something that is very counter-genre, and unlike many readers who freaked out about it, I am so very much here for the subversion.

So yeah... complicated response to this one.

I was surprised to be moved so much by this book, because the first book, apart from the Autistic POV (about which I had mixed feelings) was a fairly standard insta-lust mystery romance. I enjoyed it well enough to keep going with the series.

This one is anything but your standard romance. It shows instead the reality of what often follows insta-lust - how a relationship between two damaged people can make less of both of them no matter how powerful their love. It is ultimately a story about a reconciliation made possible by both parties doing their own inner work confronting their demons, owning their prior actions, and changing their attitudes and behaviours. Only then can they tentatively, vulnerably, come back to each other to put it all to work in developing a healthier relationship.

The flashbacks reflect with painful accuracy what a relationship with an alcoholic who has family trauma can be like, and how destructive it can be to both partners. Same with how much effort and dedication it takes to break such an addiction and begin to heal.

It's not a 5-star for me because of genre related reasons- the repetitiveness, the fawning, the stereotypical depiction of Scottish people, and the melodrama of the mystery/suspense subplot.

Ironically, those are among the elements that made the book light enough for me to be able to finish it and, to my surprise, enjoy it, even as I read through reflections of some of the most traumatic moments of my life. In turn, the very elements that were fully expected and made the book less appealing to me, actually made reading this book a healing experience for me.