Nik
When I started reading Brave New World, I couldn't figure out why we were made to read it in school; it seemed a middling sci-fi novel, at best. From a discussion standpoint, things really pick up when John is taken from the reservation and introduced to "civilisation." Now that I've finished re-reading it, I like it even less than I did last time—not at all, in fact—but at least I understand why we read it in school.
3.5, I think. Reading WWII-related historical fiction always leaves me at a loss for words. Just thinking about it evokes so many feels, y'know? There are a couple of things that set this book apart: it's about a little-known tragedy and it comprises exceptionally short chapters, switching among the viewpoints of four characters. I'm grateful for the former, to have learned something new; but the latter, I'm not sure.
As a rule, I don't love short stories. I feel like by the time I'm really getting into it, the story's over. While not a collection of short stories, the format of this book made me feel kind of the same way. On one hand, the short chapters made the reading fly; on the other, I felt a kind of unexpected emotional detachment from the characters.
Still a really good story, well worth a read.
I feel like I've been reading either 1s or 5s, lately, and I'm kind of exhausted. This is yet another in a long line of debut novels I've unintentionally read this year, and it's unexpectedly, astonishingly brilliant.
The pace was perfect, in that my mind never wandered whilst I read it. The storytelling was perfect, in that I had trouble putting down the book and kept thinking about it when I wasn't reading it. It was almost entirely predictable, but not offensively so, which I found impressive. Great ending, too, which is often where a story fails me.
The content (warning: child abuse) makes it difficult to read, but in the end Eleanor's story didn't leave me shattered. While her experience was certainly devastating, she survived and eventually learned how to live. Her life is full of hope and compassion in entirely delightful ways. Within context, Eleanor's interactions and leaps of logic felt natural; the story didn't feel contrived and I didn't feel manipulated.
Fantastic.
I love e-books. I prefer them. I don't want to get into a whole big thing about how they're so much better than paper books and how you're wrong for disagreeing with me, okay? I will concede that you're entitled to your erroneous opinion. I will also concede one other point: paper books are more huggable. I wanted to hug this book. But a phone doesn't have sufficient ... mass, to make it a gratifying hug. So I had to open the book on the behemoth tablet and hug that. It's just not the same, I'll grant you.
Anyway. If you are a grumpy old man like I have always been, you will love this story. If you have a soft spot for the grumpy old men in your life, you will love this story—and also, thank you. If you have strong opinions about right being right and wrong being wrong, with little wiggle room in between and very, very few, reluctant shades of grey, you will love this story. If you anthropomorphise inanimate objects and pets, you will love this story.
A Man Called Ove is about unexpected and sometimes sadly tenuous connections. It's about integrity and compassion. Most of all, it's about a surprising love and a purposeful life.
It's also about a cat.
2.5 stars.
My first #lesfic! Rebecca perfectly and succinctly explains exactly what I didn't like about this book. But either because I'm from Bollywood-land where instalove is the standard or because I'm generally just a sucker for love stories, I mostly liked the story despite all those things. (“Those things” in a nutshell: cliché characters and plot, instalove, weird writing with inconsistent use of contractions and two POVs—in itself okay, but one written in first-person present tense.) I figure there's gotta be something to a story that has me reading it in a single sitting, right? =)
I spent way too much time reading this book to have it end the way it did.
(╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻
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Now that I've gotten that out of the way. This story is full of stereotypical characters and all sorts of -ist language. Sometimes when the journey is amazing, I can appreciate it and be grateful for that even if the destination is less than satisfying. Unfortunately, this journey made me (ಠ_ಠ) a lot and I could tell early on that I was going to be dissatisfied with the explanation. And then I was.
S'not entirely terrible. But the (ಠ_ಠ) bits make it not worth the slog. Especially when there are so many really good King books to read.
I have so much to say about this book that it's all a jumble and I don't know where to begin. I feel so many things that I'm numb. My heart says one thing and my brain says something completely different. My star rating, then, is somewhere in the middle.
Before I read about how problematic this book is, I really enjoyed it. Initially, I thought it was a bit too Y as far as YA goes, but by part iii I was pretty well invested in (some of) the characters and wanted to see how things would turn out for them. Towards the end, things got pretty emotional.
The book is really very touching and enjoyable in blissful ignorance. It is not an accurate guide to schizophrenia (thanks, brain!), but otherwise there is plenty in the story that I appreciated (thanks, heart!). Apparently the author was in high school when she started writing the book and at university when she finished it. I think this is an astonishing debut novel published at such a young age.
On some level I feel like things were tied up very neatly: something happened with the scoreboard in the past, something happens to Alex with it in the present; something happened with the snake in the past, something happens to Alex with it in the present—and none of it is hallucinatory. Despite loving their daughter and experiencing her schizophrenia from a young age, it's a teenaged boy who has to put the parents in their place, as if he knows what's what, as if public perception of a family member with schizophrenia is the same as the reality (since his mother was basically committed for nothing).
What I appreciate most about it is how well it engenders empathy and enables dialogue about mental health among teenagers. As long as we don't look too closely. It shouldn't be seen as a reliable guide specifically for child onset schizophrenia: I was reading some of the reviews and people are saying that the focus on hallucinations and delusions is really one-sided and that the narrative isn't really accurate. Some said that the author didn't do any research, but I find that difficult to believe.
¯_(ツ)_/¯
hashtag unpopular opinion: I loved Miles.
aside: Never before have I been so taken with a book cover. Never before have I shared a link to the cover with everyone I know, saying, This is the book I'm about to start reading; isn't the cover stunning? The cover is stunning.
If read in small doses, this is a five-star book; if read in a single sitting, three. I split the difference. It helps—but it's not necessary—to have read the first book first. When I read the book in small doses—say, a chapter or two at a time—I felt like I was feeling all the things I was supposed to be feeling: I was right there with the author, enjoying the humour and feeling heart-hurty with empathy. When I read big chunks at a time, some of the humour started to feel forced, and not in a way that I associate with being furiously happy. It's the kind of book that I like to devour, so I had to force myself to take breaks so that I could better appreciate it. And I really do appreciate it. This is Lawson's life, a really intimate look inside her head, and I both applaud her bravery and am grateful for her generosity in sharing it with us.
ALL OF THE STARS. It's been a minute since I've read a book that I couldn't put down. My house is a mess and I have guests coming and I haven't eaten properly and none of that matters because I had to finish reading this story.
It's interesting to read my friends' reviews of this book. Geekery levels being equal, I find that the younger they are, the less they liked it: my friends currently in their 30s consistently were more critical of it than my friends currently in their 40s. Honestly, I don't have a whole lot of love for the 80s. I wasn't allowed to play those games or listen to that music or watch those shows/films, so the nostalgia doesn't mean much to me. But what struck a chord was the adoration. Like, if you put so much love into something, it's hard for me not to love it. And this world is very, very lovingly created.
And what a world it is! If you've ever played World of Warcraft or a similar multiplayer online game and wished the simulation could be more realistic, the experience more visceral, you'll really enjoy what Cline has done with OASIS. And with virtual reality taking off (again), it feels like that kind of thing isn't completely out of reach anymore. I could do without the real-world-falling-apart aspect of it—I'm fine with that not actually happening, but I hope I live long enough to see such immersive environments become reality (outside of specialised fields like the defence industry and such).
I'm still grinning! What a fun read.
It's possible that I like the backmatter more than the actual comic. It's so good! If you can, I highly recommend buying the individual issues, because that stuff isn't in the TPB and you're missing out. It effectively triples (quadruples? quintuples? exponentially increases!) the value of the book. So good.
The first time I read this book, I was so enraged by the whole idea of it and turned off by the violence. I like going in to new stories without knowing anything about them, but in this case it might have been a little better if I'd read the backmatter for some context. Now that I know a little more about the book and its creators, the grr has turned into a rowr, the rage into power.
I love fairy tales and the TV series Once Upon a Time taught me that I love fairy tales reimagined, so I was really looking forward to Fables. In fact, I was looking forward to it so much, I was so sure that I was going to love it, that I've been “saving” it for when I needed a sure thing to captivate my interest.
Sadly, I couldn't have been more wrong. I don't mind the mature themes—after all, so many of the original tales were rather grim—but ... it was just so boring. You know how a game developer will sometimes take a tried-and-true thing, slap a licensed “skin” on it, and sell it as something new? That's how this felt: like Fabletown was just the set decoration for a run-of-the-mill mystery.
There was nothing about this volume that made it stand out. Standard, all-caps, randomly bolded text. Uninteresting artwork. Just ... blah.Really disappointing start. Except for the individual issue covers. The cover art is different and rather lovely.
5 for the subject matter, 3 for the book. I'm not a big nonfiction reader and I didn't know much about Ginsburg. Thanks to this book, now I know a little bit. It was a quick read, and I'm glad; it was about as much real life as I can manage in a single dose.
I want RBG to live forever. What an amazing, determined, focused human being. And cheeky, too! #lifegoals
Most of the time when a book is categorised as both sci-fi and fantasy, I roll my eyes because I'm tired of the two getting lumped together. But this really has elements of both, which is interesting. Unlike many readers coming to this series, I'm not familiar with Vaughan's work; I'm not yet sure how I feel about some of the elements in these first issues, but I like the story enough to keep reading. There were some moments that made me laugh out loud, which is always a promising start.
And, even if I didn't, I would probably still keep reading, because Staples's artwork is beautiful. In fact, visually, there's just so much to like about her art and Fonografiks's lettering:
- The expressions aren't overly exaggerated, they're exaggerated just the right amount. Which shouldn't make sense, but it does.
- Lines and colouring are brilliant in both senses of the word, practically leaping off the page (screen) so my eyes can devour them.
- Speech bubble placement is great, but what I like even better is the bubbles themselves. I love that the speech bubble belonging to the person you can't see is drawn differently from the one belonging to the person you can see.
- The lettering might just be one of my favourite things.
* All-caps lettering in comics has always irritated me. In Saga, all-caps lettering is used when people are actually, y'know, shouting. WHICH IS GREAT BECAUSE READING AN ENTIRE SERIES SHOUTING AT MYSELF MAKES MY BRAIN-EARS SORE AND IS VERY TIRING.
* The practice of randomly bolding words in comics has always irritated me. In Saga, words are bolded when they are meant to be, y'know, emphasised. Which is great, because now I don't have to read the whole series in the voice of Daria's Mr. DeMartino.
* Different fonts and colours, as appropriate. Not one per character, that'd be a bit much. But like one per race(ish). Luuuuurve.
I'm just getting out of a long-term rel—er, I mean, I've just finished reading a series I started reading in 2010, so I'm still a little bit steeped in that world. It amuses me when the universe creates connections between completely unrelated things. That series also had a being that could detect lies, of whom The Will's lying cat reminded me, and that series also had a precocious, cheeky teenager, of whom Izabel reminds me. I didn't have to read Saga right after I finished Fever, that's just the way it worked out. ¯_(ツ)_/¯
It's interesting that Freelancers have their own honorific: “The”.
I love Izabel.
4.5/5
Why -.5? I kind of liked Lor until he opened his mouth. I could have done without the chapter written from his POV. The whole lovable ableist misogynist really doesn't work for me.
Why 4.5? Any story that makes me, “OMG. Whaaaaaaat.” every couple of chapters deserves its kudos. And just when I think all the characters are developed and the twists are navigated, just when I think, surely, nothing more nerve-racking and explosive can happen so close to the end, it happens again: “OMG. Whaaaaaaat.”
Well. That was surprising. Part I of the book was kind of boring, and I had resigned myself to Burned being a disappointing instalment in the series.
And then.
I should have seen it coming. I should have guessed. In hindsight, it could have been nothing else, no one else. All the signs were there, but I missed them. And it changed everything.
Parts II and III were so good! I'm still grinning. I love invisible Mac. I mean, I thought it was a creative and really funny way to finally, finally give us some answers.. I especially enjoyed going behind the scenes at Chester's and being privy to the private interactions of the Nine. And holy moly has Dani turned into something, eh? I hope she doesn't stay Jada forever, but wow, what a fierce, powerful being. It's amazing to see how she has realised some of her potential. I think Dani's lust for life is important to make her whole, though, so I hope the fractured can be made whole again. Also, I had thought that the Highlander series was completely separate from this one, but upon reading the guide at the end, it appears there's a connection after all; so now I want to read that one, too.
Despite the darkness, there was much more humour in this story than I was expecting, and the execution was really enjoyable. It flowed smoothly with no jarring bits. Lots of fun and a great addition to the series.
Let me just get my irk out of the way. The way Dani is written is highly irritating: I've had my fill of “dude,” “I seen,” “all the sudden,” and the like. As a middle-aged word nerd, I couldn't ignore it.
But my goodness is this kid lovable, equally because of her brash exterior and despite it. There's really a lot to like here and it's a great story.
The grown, immortal men taken with a 14yo are gross in their state of smit, but are otherwise really fascinating characters: Christian's slow transition to full Unseelie prince and Ryodan's semblance of humanity. On the human side, Dancer is as adorable as Dani (can be) and the two of them are adorable together. There is a grand, climactic showdown with multiple big bads at the end, and I enjoyed this one the most so far; it's action-packed, really intense, and immensely gratifying. Yes, yes, Dani and Mac's relationship doesn't really get touched this time around. This would be really problematic, were there no more books in the series. Thankfully, there are, and I'm off to read the next one right now.
This is a very, very, absolutely ridiculously biased rating. Another reviewer wrote, “But I have to ask myself, when I read queer stories, if I like it because it's a love story between two women or if it's because it's actually a good story.” I absolutely liked this because it's a love story between two women. Two brown women. Two brown women played in the film by one of my favourite people-I-don't-actually-know and a friend of a friend. And I absolutely liked this book because I liked the film.
These are all not very good reasons for liking the book. I don't care. It's a simple, sweet love story. It's an entirely relatable coming-out story (albeit a bit on the fluffy side for many of us). I googly-eyes, heart-hands lurve it.
What a beautifully told, riveting tale. I felt less like I was reading a book than sat by the hearth for story time. The Golem and the Jinni is simply yet powerfully written, steeped in mathematical mysticism, Arabian mythology, and Jewish folklore.
Our story is a fascinating mish-mash of fantasy and historical fiction that takes place, for the most part, in 19th-century New York City. If you're familiar with the Lower East Side, there's a bit of extra special magic in visualising the beloved, present-day streets overlaid with exquisite historical detail conjured from imagination and gleaned from old photos of the area.
It's amazing that this is the author's first novel. It's a sublime reading experience that I hope will be matched by future works.
Which would you like first, the good news or the bad news? I like to end on a positive note, so let's start with the bad news.
Boo:
The artwork is awful. I feel like a jerk saying this, because I read about the absolute love and admiration KMM has for the late Al Rio, but ... no. It's not just that the illustration doesn't match what I imagined, it's that it blatantly doesn't match what has been described to us by KMM throughout the series.
Over the years, we've gotten to know these characters. This va-va-voom character who's almost as tall as Barrons is not Mac. This va-va-voom character with the body of an adult woman is not the 13yo Dani. This bloated toad of a woman is not Rowena. These fae with demonic fingers and toes are not the Seelie described to us over and over again as physical specimens for whom even the adjective “perfect” falls short.
In KMM's introduction to the book, she talks about how this is really Rio's vision. If that's the case, it makes me sad; I can only hope that her own was different and more true, and wish that she had stuck to it. If I wanted this type of adolescent fantasy, Boris Vallejo does it better.
Some of the interactions are also quite strange. Barrons has been toned down and prettied up for an audience unfamiliar with the rest of the series. It takes time to get to know Barrons, so I can understand this choice, but it leaves the rest of us with a diluted facsimile who responds and speaks as we know Barrons never would. Blech.
Yay:
The story of the Fear Dorcha is a very cool one and, despite my aversion to how most of the characters have been realised, I'm glad I read it. The character himself is one of the ones depicted best—creepy and mysterious in all the right ways. He's not alone: the shades are how I envisioned them, as are the rhino boys (save for horn placement) and the grey lady. It's a testament to KMM's descriptive prose and Rio's skill that these characters so closely matched the ones painted on my mental canvas. But that's what makes the deviations all the more disappointing.
The introduction in the beginning and the inside look at character sketches and the *Fever world at the end are themselves worth the price of admission. They kept me from regretting my purchase, but couldn't save the book's rating.
If you can find this on sale, it's worth adding it to your collection for the background info alone; at full price, I wouldn't bother.
When I started reading this book, I appreciated the prose: it's been a long time since I've had to reach for the dictionary so much; but by the time I hit my first stopping point at 20ish percent, I was over it���it's pretentious and I found it unbelievable that anyone actually speaks like this. And who includes this much detail when recounting things to someone who was there?
I've long been interested in abnormal psych, and I've long wondered about what's experienced by the parent of a mass murderer. From that perspective, the story is fascinating. But it's also infuriating! It's not like Kevin just snapped one fine day. There were signs his entire life that had been excused, overlooked, or ignored. Argh! But there isn't a single likeable character, which makes getting through it tedious. Except for the murdered teacher. She was pretty great. There's something particularly grating about Eva, especially in the beginning. It felt like a male voice speaking through her—odd, since the author is a woman.
I really wanted to like this. But it just thinks it's so much more than it is. It didn't help that I wanted to throttle the entire Khatchadourian family.
Generally I feel that authors are perpetuating stereotypes when they write kids' dialogue; too often, it sounds like an imitation of the real thing. Here, Oseman has done a great job making the language sound natural. I'm probably a little too old for this one—it was just a touch too angsty, y'know?—but the story kept me interested throughout: I was invested in the characters and really wanted to know what was going to happen next. The diverse cast is also a refreshing and welcome change from my usual fare.
This young author is off to a fantastic start.
The story is essentially enjoyable, but some of the characters have gone stale. Dani is a great character, but the story told from her perspective—the prose used—is incredibly irritating. I know it's meant to sound like a kid, but it's over the top. There was too much telling and not enough showing: it seemed like certain situations were contrived just so a conversation could take place that explained things. I usually like first-person storytelling, but here it grated. If there's going to be such detailed, long dialogue, I think third-person works better; otherwise, it just doesn't make sense to me.
I keep hearing the series has ended—and indeed, this book certainly feels like a conclusion, of sorts—but more *fever books keep getting published. I'm kinda confused, but I'll keep reading. O.o Speaking of conclusions, it felt very, very weird to me to omit resolution between Dani and Mac from this book.
A disappointment. I read the book for the first time pretty recently. I enjoyed it but don't have attachment to it created in childhood. I was really looking forward to reading the graphic novel; I'm discovering that I love the medium and appreciate adaptations of existing books.
I hate to say it, but the art really dragged down the experience. I could get past not connecting to the style if I thought it fit the story, but most of the time I thought the characters' expressions were way off, based on what they were saying or thinking. Another reviewer said that, at times, she wondered if she were reading the panels in the correct order. I had this experience as well; in fact, I enabled the animated, guided progression in the Kindle app. I didn't love reading it that way (the book isn't high-res and looks a little on the awful side when the software zooms in on the panels), but at least I was sure I was reading things in the right order.
As another reviewer said, I'm also wondering if maybe the source material isn't as great as I thought it was. I'm not in a rush to re-read the book, but I'm kind of sad that the graphic novel adaptation has left me doubting my memory of it.
It's not all bad. I love Aunt Beast.