Sasha

By far, this was the most disappointing read thus far this year. Between the rather boring and sometimes annoying reading style (for lack of a better phrase) from the narrator and the mostly uninteresting chapters—although there were a fair share of interesting history and moments—I wasn't really intrigue beyond a raised brow occasionally. Specifically, when Satan himself is being talked about—his origin and rise to infamy constitutes most of these moments. Also, I did find the origin of “devils” kind of interesting too. But for most of its two-hour run-time, I felt like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel for moments as interesting as these. Far as the actual writing style, it ran relatively bland compared to other historical nonfiction I've glimpsed at, but this wasn't the worst aspect of the book: boring but not poorly written.

For my first supernatural horror novel (and impressively presented gothic romance), the read was pretty pleasant all the way through. It wasn't the most gripping story I've read, but I still enjoyed the tension, graphic moments, and overall atmosphere; moreover, I enjoyed the prose themselves: balancing flowery language with a grim glaze. My favorite aspect of the story was probably the characters, though, but even this element wasn't particularly remarkable compared to the stuff I've read thus far this year. Nonetheless, the atmosphere and general tone of the story was successfully creepy―maybe even sinister―for my money; I didn't consider it “scary”, per se, but I still think the horror elements were pulled off effectively for what it is. And whether it affected me or not, this story was objectively weird (even for me) and appropriately engaging enough to lure its reader into the The Hellbound Heart series, however I don't feel compelled enough to check out the remaining two novels. This goes the same for Heart's film adaption series, Hellraiser from which I've only seen the first installment but, like its source material, was still fairly enjoyable. But I appreciate Heart pushing its graphic nature considerably further than the movie adapation already went, which I'm always excited about regarding the adaptations v. source material discussion.

Yet another work of fiction that's inspired me with a craving for more from the author, McCarthy creates an almost unrelenting gauntlet of hopelessness, humanity (for better and worse), and tale. Londonian in spirit and transgressive in style, this work tells a beautifully constructed narrative that was unapologetically regressive but simultaneously characteristically revolutionary thanks to McCarthy's intimately bleak attention to character and experience. Although, the story seemed to revel in moments of metaphor or simile (those otherwise beautiful Londonian passages) almost superfluously, bringing it just a hair short of perfection.

Despite its only three-hour run-time, McCarthy doesn't waste a page telling this transgressive gem. Suffice to say, I'll be reading more McCarthy.

While not as explicitly graphic as Exquisite Corpse in its prose (as well as far more accessible), the topic at hand is still arguably just as―if not more―disturbing. Though, for me, it was also very bearable to digest and enjoy: the prose wasn't purple, the plotline was easy to follow, and our two main characters were interesting and engaging enough in my experience. However, despite impressively done first-person perspective of a toddler-turned-adolescent girl, certain literary motifs and and mechanics were done a little too much for my tastes, leading to some rather uninteresting moments of deja vu. Nonetheless, these technical choices did benefit the narrative and still seemed necessary given the context.

I wouldn't call this work unforgettable by any stretch, but I commend the author's boldness to create a teen-aimed contemporary horror that walks a daring line (for better or worse) between a technially accessible presentation that is yet potentially both too disturbing for its targeted readers to confront and/or perhaps too perplexing thematically to meaningfully comprehend and thus appreciate.

I didn't think a book of this slimness, of this brevity, could be so densely mind-bending, depressing, and depraved of resolution. But I suppose that was the ultimate sentiment this book was trying to achieve, and I believe it succeeded. While not seemingly a biased indoctrination, Peck still manages to write in not only a thought-provoking philosophical style (makes sense since he's a philosophy scholar) but in a paranoiac (though not fear-mongering) and terrifyingly human way. The story seems to walk a fine line between being rather humorously dark and almost intentionally presumptuous or convictive in its approach to religion. But I realize he's not being intentionally manipulative in order to indoctrinate, but rather is very much intentionally tapping into (and creatively confronting) an almost universal fear humans have about what we believe is true and, perhaps more importantly, why it's important for humans to question everything—even what we think we're certain of.