Rachel

I really enjoy Rebecca Solnit's writing style and essay structures. I started reading this book before the election, and the essays I read were fresh and inspiring. Because of life and work, I had to take a break, and then the election happened. Reading the rest of this book after the election was a much different experience for me. In this moment, it's harder for me to share Solnit's hope about the progress that we've made (especially in her essay “Worlds Collide in a Luxury Suite: Some Thoughts on the IMF, Global Injustice, and a Stranger on a Train,” about the head of IMF being accused of sexual assault) as a society. The essays that specifically explore how far feminism has come and how unsuccessful Republicans will be at chipping away at womens' rights were really difficult for me to read with any investment or hope right now. I kept thinking, “Would she still say all this, now that a misogynistic, racist, xenophobic, ableist sexual predator is our next president? What does she say/think now?” That's all my own shit though – all of her essays are well-written, engaging and approachable. The essays I found myself invested in were “Grandmother Spider” and “Woolf's Darkness: Embracing the Inexplicable.” “Grandmother Spider” encourages us (women) to take control of the narrative, to not be erased in the (hi)stories that are told about us. “Woolf's Darkness” was a salve for my post-election heart. Her words about despair and optimism as attitudes that are equally certain about the future and equally unproductive were particularly salient for me, especially now.

This book was fine. It was well-written, and a lot of characters were fleshed out nicely, from the town sheriff to the high school quarterback to the waitress at the diner. Rather than centering on any one relationship, The Wanderer is more of a story about an entire town and the subtle ways everyone is affected by the titular character. It's a little bit whodunit, a little bit romance, a little bit Friday Night Lights. My one complaint is the treatment of the one character of color.

loc 3472: “True,” Eve said. “Okay, tell me more about this guy.”
“Well, he's African-American. Mostly.”
“Mostly? Does that mean he's black?”
“Latte,” she said. “He's also Native American, lots of different European and Caribbean.” And then she smiled. “He's very beautiful.”

I almost threw my Kindle out the window. Calling someone “latte” is ridiculous. “Latte” as a racial identifier is not a thing. Maybe it's how white folks talk about POC and think they're being complimentary, I don't know. But this (and it happens a couple other times) almost made me put down the book entirely. Every time I think about this passage, I roll my eyes and think about chucking this thing out the window again, just to make myself feel better.

Other than that though, this book is fine to read on a rainy day.

For the most part, this book was cute. It takes place in the post-Civil War South. The main character, Lottie, needs to get $15,000 fast, so she decides to learn how to play poker. She also decides to ask the best poker player around to teach her. Shenanigans ensue.

I like the premise. I like that slavery is acknowledged, that the love interest fought for the North and that there's a little bit of Lottie working through what it means to own slaves (and when I say “a little bit” I do mean like maybe a paragraph). Lottie's got a lot of verve despite her naïveté, but not a whole lot of street smarts, and that's what really bugs me. She ends up needing to be saved a whole lot, and runs around thinking she's saving others when she's really just complicating things and endangering others. And she doesn't actually learn to play poker that well, but she's everyone's sweetheart, so everyone on the boat (unbeknownst to her) throws the games they play against her so she can make it to the big poker championship in St. Louis.

Overall, though, the story is cute, entertaining, and a quick read (I read the entire thing on a plane ride).

I turn to Marina Adair books in times of crisis, and if the current state of the world today doesn't qualify, I don't know what does.

Terrible title and terrible cover aside, this book is super cute. I adore Harper and Adam – they're both strong characters that complement each other well. Their interactions are A+, and their evolutions as individuals and within the relationship are both so charming and real. The town – especially the geriatric population – is a character to fall in love with as well. As much as I enjoyed this book, it doesn't quite hit the marks that the first two in the series do. I'm not sure what it is, but I still recommend this book and would definitely read it again.

Too much of the conflict in this book was created by miscommunication or lack of communication in general. I'm not a huge fan of missed connections or any kind of story where the conflict could be avoided with some simple communication. Most of the conflict here could be solved with a few simple, mature conversations. There wasn't any character development that would justify these characters not communicating with each other. Still an entertaining read though.

My review of this book is hovering at 2.5 stars. There is so much to like about this book, but, lord, the writing itself is garbage. Cliches, typos, mediocre writing, and imprecise phrasing abound throughout the book. I liked both main characters for the most part (Avery's stubborn silence and crippling insecurity were a little much for me, but completely and totally believable). And the story is one that I was so excited to see in a new adult book, and for the most part, I think it was developed and handled really well. But the writing. The writing. So disappointed in that. If the writing had been much, much better, this could easily have been one of my favorite books.

I actually want to give this 4.5 stars. I haven't followed music criticism too closely for quite awhile, so, shamefully, Jessica Hopper wasn't on my radar until Bust featured an article about her and this book. Hopper's writing is smart, funny, and real. What I love most are the essays/articles where she marks her position where she addresses gender and what it's like to be fan and/or musician who happens to be a woman; whether we like it or not, gender (and feminism) is important, and I love that she directly addresses it.

The first thing I remember reading by Roxane Gay was “What We Hunger For” on The Rumpus. What I so admire about that essay, and so much else that Gay writes, is the way she complicates a love and devotion for something like The Hunger Games and connects it to something very real and deeply personal. That essay exploded my idea of what a pop culture essay could do, and the rest of the essays in Bad Feminist follow suit. Another highlight in Bad Feminist for me included the essay on women's reproductive rights and access to abortion and contraception. I found myself throughout the essay thinking, “YES!” and then staring angrily into space, mentally ranting in agreement with whatever she was saying. Throughout this book, she says so many things I've thought but never thought to say out loud. She doesn't shy away from sorting through and acknowledging complexity that is so often glossed over and simplified for a lot of folks. I could go on and on about all the things I admire about this book, but I'll stop and just say: please read it all the way through. And then read it again. I know I will.

Unrelated note: I'm glad Goodreads is reminding me that it's taken me over a year to finish this book.

:( No thank you. This book creeped me out from beginning to end, from Theron's paternalism that bordered on abuse to Isabella's single-minded scheming to the way that Theron reacted to “taking” Isabella's virginity. Not to mention that both of these characters have no character development, no past, no context. I appreciate solid character development, but this book didn't even have that. Nope, no thank you. Not for me.

This book was a tough read for me. The writing was clean and lovely, and the characters were written with complexity and an unflinching eye. Many of the reviews and blurbs I've read about this book seem to take this book at its most simple and superficial: as a story about bullying, as a story of caution to anyone who has children. What I found most compelling about this novel was its exploration of the ways each one of us can be cruel to each other, regardless of age. The adult narrator of the story was the most unreliable character, and the narrative she created to explain what was happening to Callie was so frustratingly myopic and willfully naive, that I found myself saying aloud, “UGH. Are you serious?!” It was also believable and so very real, so hats off to Lauren Frankel for that. What I also found more striking than Callie's bullying experiences (as intense as they were), was the way that the adults in the story bullied and ostracized children who were already experiencing cruelty and isolation. It was unsettling, uncomfortable, infuriating, and all too real, I'm sure.

My main gripe with the book comes toward the end, when one of the narrators reflects on the events of the entire book and sums them up as if to say, “In case you didn't get it before, these are the themes of this book and what I'm trying to say is that we bully each other all the time.” I could have done without that.

Other than that, this novel was one that will stick with me for awhile.

This is the second Kathleen O'Reilly book I've read, and I'm definitely a fan. Her characters have very real flaws and insecurities that they work through together and on their own. There was one subplot that didn't seem to have anything to do with the main plot – I thought it was going to serve as conflict later on, but it never came up again. I'm glad that subplot didn't emerge again, but it seems puzzling to have it there.

Okay, yeah, so I read a book called “Sex, Straight Up.” Yes, the title is terrible, and the cover doesn't match the tone of the book either. This book was unexpectedly sweet and fulfilling. Each character was dealing with some heavy stuff: loss; grief; regret; unrealized potential; the need to be bolder and more vulnerable; the desire to take up more room and take a place at the table because it's not going to be given to you. Those struggles are real, and I enjoyed watching each character grow into the new versions of themselves.

Loved this! Nugent's voice is kind and hilarious, and doesn't shy away from the messiness of certain topics, like eating disorders and body image. This is a great book for those who aren't quite sure what feminism means for them or why they should give a damn. Even though I'm a seasoned feminist, I still loved reading these essays and being reminded of why it's so great and necessary to grow up, speak out and find feminism. I will say that, thanks to this book, I am so inspired to wear lipstick, skin tones and complementary hues be damned.

I do wish she had spoken a little more to the importance and necessity of intersectional feminism, and go more into detail in how race, class, gender identity, etc. affect a person, but maybe (hopefully) she's saving it for her next book.

I guess there are spoilers below, but I'm not sure how anything in this story could be spoiled in any way, shape, or form.

My top 7 beefs with this book:

1. The male protagonist of the story is a video game designer named Brady Finn, who is dark-haired, attractive and can get any woman he wants (so he says). This may be my own stereotypes creeping in here, but this doesn't seem realistic. I'd believe a slightly nerdy but good-looking guy being the CEO of a video game company, but this character just seems like he's been transplanted from a Fortune 500 company and put into this scenario. Maybe it wouldn't seem like that if we were shown more about his character, rather than told. (See #4)

2. It doesn't occur to Brady Finn that Aine, our heroine, can't just stay an extra few weeks in the U.S. without calling home and telling her family where she is and what she's doing. She says something like, “That's how family works” or something, and he says, “I wouldn't know.” Really, Brady Finn? A bright guy like you doesn't understand how family works because you “don't have” a family?

3. The writing of this particular Irish vernacular and speech pattern really bugs me. It's just not necessary. I get why a writer might want to write Aine's voice in that way (i.e. it might show that she's from a small village in Ireland, which might read as SUPER Irish), but it just comes off as awkward and inauthentic. It's like that time when I had a friend who made a habit of imitating my mom's Filipino accent so inaccurately and so offensively. She really thought she was pulling it off and being funny, but what she was really doing was disrespecting my mom and my culture, and pissing me off.

4. Aine loves Brady? Really? Why? He's been nothing but a mediocre dude at best, and a real big dick at worst. We have been shown nothing that makes this guy even slightly lovable, and there is no chemistry between these two at all. We get a lot of backstory and a lot of the interior life (I guess) of these characters, but we don't see much of any interaction between them. We're told things a lot, and not shown – that's a basic creative writing 101 no-no. You can't just tell us there's tension/heat/chemistry between these two – you have to show us. It's also unacceptable to have the characters tell each other that they have heat/tension/chemistry without the receipts. Watching and experiencing the development of a relationship is what makes the whole thing enjoyable.

5. PLAN B, YOU GUYS. The answer to the whole premise of this book is so easy. It's not even like they have to decide between continuing a pregnancy or having an abortion. They just need to go get Plan B. There's no reason to “not worry until there's something to worry about.” Surely, one of these two characters can get their hands on some Plan B. There's just no fucking reason to play the wait-and-see game when a white dude with money and easy access to services is involved. COME ON.

6. The last half of the book is so non-descript, I'm too tired to write about it. Of course, Brady Finn flies to Ireland, finds out Aine is pregnant, and demands that she marry him. He says all these things like, “I had a right to know about the baby,” and I made notes that said things like, “No, Brady Finn, you actually don't have a right to know about the pregnancy because, a-you're a huge dick, and b-you could have solved this whole thing by going to the store post-coitus and GETTING PLAN B, you asshole.” She resists him with the force of a kitten, and then marries him. The end.

7. Now, I know what you're saying. Maybe Aine was just okay with being single mom, and I can buy that. She certainly said something like, “Would it be so bad to be pregnant and have this baby?” I would actually have adored that scenario and decision. I would have loved for her to say, “Brady Finn, that asshole. He can go to hell. I've always wanted a child, and this is my chance. I'm having this baby!” That's not what happened here though. It seems that she continued the pregnancy mainly to keep a link between her and Brady Finn, as a symbol of the love she could never express to him (a love that grew for no reason at all, as far as I'm concerned). What's so frustrating to me is that Aine is written with no agency or decision-making abilities at all. Sure, she talks back and “has a temper,” but she isn't written with any complexity that makes any sense.

I could write more – I'm that frustrated with this book – but I don't want my review/rant to be longer than the actual book itself. This is the third Harlequin Desire book I've read, and all three have irritated me to an equal degree. These plots are meant for a longer format – let them be longer books! I'm willing to bet that the storytelling would be better.

If you liked this book, and you somehow managed to read through this entire review, that's cool. Different strokes for different folks. This one was not my bag at all.

Pretty handy for those who are thinking about getting into the home-owning game. Lots of the basics are covered here, and lots of space is given to things like the inspection and title companies. Love the chapter on pitfalls to avoid.

I really liked this book for the most part. There were some ableist and body-shaming jokes that really rubbed me the wrong way, but they didn't overpower the story or voice for me. Adored the open-hearted and romantic Mack, and Andie was flawed and hilarious (except for those ableist and body-shamey jokes). Eastern Oregon was an interesting choice for a setting, mostly because I grew up going through through eastern Oregon at least 6 times a year, but I'm glad it's set there. It's unexpected and truly is gorgeous once you get to know it.

Anyway. One and a half thumbs up.

Oh boy.

Warning: Spoilers!

I thoroughly enjoyed volumes 1-3 of this series. However, volume 4 jumps the shark a bit for me. The narrative relies on more soap opera-y elements to move forward, and while I love a good soap opera as much as the next gal, this just didn't live up to the complexities of the first two volumes. Lucas making out with Claire out of anger at Zoey just wasn't enough to center an entire half-volume around. Aisha gets mugged in an alley, hits her head, loses consciousness and wakes up thinking she's 14 years old again? The shark has been jumped, my friends.

(Side-note: Things that really upset/irritate me in a book or television series: body switches (see: Buffy, The Vampire Diaries) and temporary and ill-timed amnesia that manages to create a series of unfortunate and cringe-inducing mishaps (see: Aisha Goes Wild).)

This seemed as good a point as any to wrap up the series. I don't know if they're planning on re-publishing the rest of the “Making Out” series in a similar fashion, but I think this was a good stopping point. Every thing gets tied up rather nicely - Claire winds up beautiful and alone (as usual). Jake, having woken up in a cemetery next to a bottle of tequila, is substance-dependent and working out like a maniac (as usual); Zoey has forgiven Lucas and the whole sex debacle has been forgotten (for now). The Passmore parents have reconciled their differences and are moving back in together. Aisha has miraculously recovered from her head trauma in the course of 6 hours and Christopher has believed and forgiven her for the whole weird situation he found her in. Nina and Benjamin (my favorite characters of the whole bunch) will live happily ever after, forever and ever always. The end.

Sorry, y'all. I couldn't finish this. There was definite potential in the characters and in the story line, but the writing was really tedious for me. When the omniscient narrator wasn't narrating every move, the characters would go ahead and narrate with their own dialogue. Narration upon narration...

Ish. This book was not my jam. Luckily, I was able to “read” it in an afternoon. By “read,” I mean that I skimmed a lot of this book because it felt like the same conversations/thoughts were happening over and over again. I fully recognize that there's only so much two people can do when they're (kind of) snowed in together, but...dang. There's also a subplot that seems mildly intriguing, but doesn't find any significance in the overall plot. If the book had been longer, there's a lot that could have been developed. I will say that the main characters' internal struggles were very real, and that's what kept me skimming until the end.

I enjoyed Alison Kent's first book in this series, but I didn't dig on this one too much. It was well-written, but I didn't connect to either main character very well, and I wasn't super compelled by the storyline. That might have more to do with me and my readerly sensibilities than with Kent's writing, but this just didn't live up to the first of this series.

I'm not even going to try to be cool about this one. With all the enthusiasm in the world, I give this five stars. A very human and flawed heroine, extremely swoon-worthy hero who also has some nuance to his character. Sweet and fun read.

Not my fave Marina Adair book, but still a fun read. Still not convinced by the “bad boy golf champion” premise, and Adair's trademark meddling blue-hairs are a bit more over the top and mean this time around. The last quarter of the book dragged on a little bit for me, but still a super fun read.

This book filled my heart with so much joy I thought it would explode, and then it tore my heart in half and flung the pieces everywhere. So good.

Alright. It's pretty safe to say that I'm a loyal Marina Adair fan at this point, terrible book titles aside. I put off reading this one because I'm averse to holiday tales, the title is pretty awful and the cover makes me cringe. Having said that, I blew through this book in a day and loved every minute of it. shrugs Read if you're into witty banter, meddling blue-haired ladies and stories set in small towns in wine country.