Eric Stone

4.5 Stars. This book was incredibly powerful and expertly written. McCurdy accomplishes something rare: she provides a raw, honest depiction of an eating disorder and a toxic home life from the point of view of a child who doesn't yet realize how terrible her situation is.

There is no overt "demonizing" of her mother in the text. Instead, McCurdy simply shows us the reality of her life and lets us reach that conclusion ourselves. The result is a book that is gripping and deeply engaging.

The audiobook narration by McCurdy herself should not be missed. It does so much to highlight her pain and the authenticity of her journey. There was one part in particular that I listened to over and over again because her voice and her story demanded space and honor in a way I’ve never experienced with an audiobook before.

It only loses half a star because I don't think it's a book I’d reread, but I am more than comfortable rounding this up to 5 stars on platforms that don’t support halves. Truly outstanding.

I’ll start with the positives: I enjoyed the structure. The story bounces between opposing timelines until they eventually meet in the middle, and I’m a sucker for time travel mechanics. Unfortunately, those were the only redeeming qualities.

This was the single most predictable book I have ever read. A friend once told me, "‘Book Club’ picks just mean the plot is dumbed down enough for the masses to understand. I SAID WHAT I SAID." After finishing this, I don’t think I disagree.

For a genre that relies on the "mind-bend," there was no bend here. The stakes felt low because the resolution was visible from a mile away. If you’re looking for a complex puzzle to solve, this isn't it. It’s a well-structured but ultimately hollow experience.

I really enjoyed this one - it’s just a great story. While the concept is fun, King doesn’t take it where most would expect. He delivers fantastic body horror, great environmental tension, and a truly satisfying resolution.

This isn't a title you hear about as often as his more famous books, but it was a required stop on my journey to full-fledged "Constant Reader" status. I’d been looking forward to it for a while, and it delivered.

The idea behind the book is especially interesting when you consider the history of Richard Bachman. I love how pseudo-autobiographical so many of King’s books are, and this one is no exception. The mentions of the main character’s new-found sobriety, the young children, and the quest to be the "light" while a darkness hides just under the surface - it’s all here, and it’s all incredibly satisfying.

The subtext here is my favorite aspect. Will King lose his voice or his talent if he kills his darker half? If he can't partake in mind-altering substances? As is usually the case for the most talented amongst us - the answer there is thankfully, no.

The inner dust jacket claims this book is perfect for anyone who enjoyed Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow. Having read them both at the same time, I can confirm that statement is false. While I found Tomorrow effortless, The Ministry of Time was a challenge.

A significant part of that struggle was the audiobook. The narration was totally immersion-breaking for me; I started the book unable to put it down, but the moment I switched to audio, I lost all momentum. I eventually realized I simply could not listen to it if I wanted to finish the story.

Beyond the format, the story suffered from an unnatural focus on romance. It felt like the author was forcing a love story where it didn't belong. While it’s plausible that two single people of similar ages forced to live together would develop feelings, there was nothing easy about this progression. The protagonist went from intrigued to fully in love in the blink of an eye, causing the emotional stakes to skyrocket far too quickly to feel earned.

The spy thriller elements were solid, and the twist toward the end was genuinely good. Ultimately, it felt like the book was trying to do too much at once, which prevented a good premise from becoming a great novel.

This book is tremendous. It is the kind of story that brings into focus how challenging some books are to read, simply because this one is so effortless. Zevin reveals information across the past, present, and future in a non-linear way that feels completely natural - the transitions are incredibly smooth.

I was 30% in when I realized I didn't want this to end. I was dreading the bad things I knew were coming, but I couldn't put it down. When the turning point with Marx arrived, it didn't feel like it came out of left field; the book is so deeply rooted in action and consequence that even the smallest moments carry weight.

Sam and Sadie are written perfectly. They are walking contradictions - loyal yet disloyal, self-serving yet selfless. They are all the things we are, whether we want to admit it or not. As someone who grew up in Massachusetts and is almost exactly the same age as these characters, the nostalgia hit home - from the Metal Gear Solid reference to the "palpable, if irrational, longing for all things Massachusetts."

The portrayal of deeply platonic love here is the best I have ever read. The "Pioneers" section and the reveal of Sam's grandfather’s will were exactly what the story needed, exactly when it needed them. As I approached the last handful of pages, I was met with an enormous sense of mourning. Now that I've turned that final page, I grieve; and pray that I will someday reach "acceptance."

This passes my criteria for a 5 star rating. I would reread it immediately, and I will be recommending it to everyone I know for the foreseeable future. You don't need to love video games to love this book - you just need to open your heart to the possibility that anything can happen to anyone at any time - and there's nothing more important than holding on to something real.

Thank you to RBmedia and NetGalley for the ALC in exchange for an honest review.

When I read the description for this book, I had high hopes. A fragmented, balkanized United States where the "great promise" is forfeited? Sign me up. I was excited. But then I listened to it.

This book bills itself as a "Mosaic Novel," and I think that is where it falls apart. While the print version likely has section breaks to indicate jumps between the five stories, the audiobook provides zero transition. The narrator has one speed, one tone, and one voice. There is barely any variation between male and female characters, and none between the different male participants. The result is a level of confusion totally foreign to me. With 30% of the book left, I still had no idea what was going on. Is the soldier the same man as the doctor? It’s impossible to tell, and ultimately, it makes no difference - which is a major problem, imv.

The writing itself is good, but it isn't cohesive. While the sense of being unmoored might be an intentional reflection of a fractured land, it simply didn't land for me.

Furthermore, the promising premise feels empty. We aren't given meaningful information about how the government fell or what the power struggles actually entail. We're told the "great promise of America" is forfeited, but we don't see how that impacts society in a meaningful way beyond a guy living in the woods. I really wanted to love this, but the incoherence - compounded by the audio format - made it a pretty big struggle.

This book started off reasonably solid, but I quickly struggled with the "men writing women" aspects of Bobbi's narrative. It was jarring enough that I actually paused to research the context of this book's creation. Finding out it was written at the absolute peak of King's substance abuse issues - and that he has personally referred to the book as "awful" - really soured the middle third of the experience for me.

That middle section is a nightmare to get through - hard to follow, oddly paced, and jumping all over. I’m pleased to report that the book resolves fairly well, however. The closing scene was surprisingly tender, which I appreciated.

Thematically, the book is a success in specific areas: it portrays intelligence without empathy very well, and its depictions of substance abuse and hive-mind are super interesting. It just doesn’t represent King-level storytelling at its finest. If you’re a completist, get it out of the way - but try to avoid reading too much outside commentary until you’re finished.

The subject matter here was interesting enough, but nothing that would usually grab my attention. However, the way this book is written is absolutely fantastic.

Mary Roach’s voice is so distinct and engaging that it completely carries the narrative. She has this way of taking technical or scientific concepts and injecting them with a level of wit and curiosity that makes you want to keep reading regardless of the topic. And those footnotes! This was my first experience with her work, and it definitely won't be my last. I can’t wait to dive into the rest of her catalog.

I’m finding that I don’t love short story collections as much as King's longer works. They don't always hold my attention, and while they are always worth the time, they often lack staying power compared to his novels. The further we get into King’s career, the more these collections feel hit-or-miss for me.

That said, there are some absolute standouts here. The Mist is a classic, but Gramma was the highlight - wonderfully creepy and exactly the kind of atmospheric horror I'm looking for.

If you're a King fan, it’s a required stop on the journey, but this isn't one I'll revisit in totality. Gramma.. that I'd reread.

Name a subculture. To people outside of it, it means nothing. To people involved, it is everything. I witnessed this book firsthand. Having grown up in Central Mass, graduating in 2003, and attending college in Boston, the Boston Hardcore scene was very much a part of my world. Reading this felt like stepping into a time capsule.

It brought me right back to September 13, 2003, at the ICC in Allston. I had spent two months in the hospital following a car accident exactly two years prior, and I spent that night sitting on top of a piano watching Bane, Comeback Kid, Mental, and The Promise. That feeling of belonging and purpose was exactly what I needed at that moment in my life.

Whether it’s this or King’s Faithful, I will consume any perspective on the Red Sox 2004 World Series season. Wrenn’s ability to switch from descriptive storytelling to historical recollection is seamless. He captures the balance of Boston outside Fenway in the fall perfectly. The description of Have Heart’s last show and the afterword were particularly emotional - they perfectly captured what made that era and that scene so special.

I listened to the audiobook from Hachette on an ALC. The narration was solid, though it tripped me up slightly because my edge friends always put the emphasis on the "straight" versus the "edge," but that’s a minor regional detail in an otherwise great performance.

Wrenn doesn’t just document a subculture; he bottles the lightning of a very specific era in Boston’s history. For anyone who felt the belonging and purpose of the Massachusetts hardcore scene or lived through the magic of the 2004 Sox season, this isn't just a book - it’s a time capsule. A seamless blend of grit, nostalgia, and historical recollection.

While the resolution was decent enough, the story felt incredibly disjointed. At times, it felt like the author literally lost the plot.

The pacing was all over the place. We would get deep, atmospheric descriptions of some planes of hell, while others were essentially skipped entirely. This inconsistency extended to the character development as well - new, "important" characters would be introduced, but it wouldn't be until hundreds of pages later that we’d learn the protagonist had a childhood affinity for them. It made the emotional stakes feel bizarre and unearned.

I did enjoy the ending and the way the main character finally reclaimed her power. That scene was a highlight, especially since she spent the majority of the book as a "woe-is-me" sad sack. I found her arrogance and self-centered nature deeply annoying, and unfortunately, she doesn't actually grow out of it; she stays that way right through the resolution. I just wasn't made to feel anything for her.

I wouldn’t reread this or recommend it. I was actually urged away from this book by people saying Babel is much better - I’ll likely give that one a shot eventually to see if the structure holds up better than it did here.

Truly impressive debut by Laura Marie Meyers. It manages to capture middle school nostalgia perfectly while navigating some heavy themes. Keep an eye out for this in July - review coming in June!

This is a classic fairy tale from the mind of Stephen King. It is easily his most child-appropriate work, and likely one of the first I’ll give to my kids to read when they’re ready for his stuff. It was, afterall, written specifically for his thirteen-year-old daughter who - up to that point - not read any of his work.

The story features familiar names for King fans - Roland the Good and Randall Flagg - in a tale of wrongful conviction, escape, and the retaking of a throne. It definitely gives off some Count of Monte Cristo vibes, but set within King's specific brand of fantasy. It reminded me quite a bit of The Talisman, as well as his much later work, Fairy Tale - which is one of my personal favorites. It’s interesting to see the DNA of his more recent fantasy epics starting right here.

Because it’s earlier King, the prose is quick and clean. It’s an unmuddled story that moves exactly where it needs to go without the sprawling detours he sometimes takes in his later epics. I also have to tip my hat to the narrator, Bronson Pinchot; the atmosphere he created for Flagg's voice was excellent. An all-around enjoyable read.

This is a review for the upcoming audiobook release of Shy Girl.

Holy moly - this one was wild. It’s a very quick read, but the impact is massive.

Two minutes in, I realized the descriptions of texture were next level. This was narrator Ebony Jonelle’s first solo credit, and she does a fantastic job capturing the main character’s innocence, desperation, and constant overanalysis. The tension is palpable before Gia even arrives at Nathan’s house, and from there the story really takes off. I noticed Nathan’s Southern accent tends to slip in and out, but the transition to the Patricia character was fantastic.

The book explores powerful themes in a new - albeit delightfully disturbing - way. I loved this quote on mental health: "I used to think about killing myself as if it was something I might get around to eventually... It was quieter than that. More practical." It captures that internal closed system of depression perfectly.

I’m honestly speechless at the end of this. It did NOT end how I expected - it was so much better. The body horror elements and the manifestation of Gia’s desperation were incredible. As the author notes in the closing, this is about women refusing to remain victims and reclaiming their own narratives. Truly great stuff, well worth a listen!

3.75 Stars. This period of historical fiction doesn't usually appeal to me, but I wanted to read an account of historical women's oppression written by a woman.

About 40% of the way through, I noted that the characters weren't quite distinct enough to tell apart. I still think that’s a fair criticism, but I’m pleased to report that the story itself really came into its own after that point. Inspired by true events, this is a tale that cannot be told enough. It’s a stark example of how far we’ve come, but also a reminder of how far we have to go.

Specifically, the way the book handles the "Hysteria" diagnosis of the late 1800s - and how the ruling class used it as an acceptable tool of control - is great food for thought. It's impossible not to draw parallels to modern injustices that are still viewed as "acceptable" by society today.

The story had some solid twists that felt grounded enough to maintain immersion. Overall, it’s a quick read and a powerful reminder of the systems man is capable of building to keep others down.

I’m giving this a 4.75. The only reason it isn’t a flat 5 is that I’m not sure I’ll ever do a full re-read, but if that changes, I’ll update this.

I’m not sure what else can be said about this book, but the emotional connection to the characters and the world-building is tremendous. Despite the length, I didn’t feel like a single word was wasted. I loved the format; the way it bounces between the 50s and the 80s is so tightly interwoven that one chapter will end and the next picks it up mid-sentence. Some might find it slow, but I was entirely engaged throughout.

I split this 50/50 between the physical book and the audiobook. This is the first time I’ve ever been so enamored with a narrator that I looked up their other work - Steven Weber is next-level here. If the length intimidates you, go for the audio.

I’ve read 38 of King’s 69 novels, and he might be at his best here from a storytelling perspective. I still prefer The Stand (I’m a sucker for end-of-the-world systems), but the way King transports you back into the mindset of a child is impressive. You feel that hyperfocus where nothing matters but your friends, until something else takes over and that becomes your entire world. The characters are tremendously flawed, and watching them overcome those flaws by focusing on what really matters is deeply satisfying.

I do want to address the "infamous" sewer scene. While I don’t think it’s as vulgar as some suggest, I think the book could have done without it. That said, claiming I know how to craft a story better than King is nonsense. Like the scene itself, I can't quite make sense of it.

Overall, I think I’m better for having read this. I can’t quite put my finger on why yet - something about how childhood is captured in those final pages - but IT hits really hard.

A classic closed system. In this one, the system is designed specifically to break you. Similar to Wool, the setting itself is the antagonist. Orwell builds a world where the language and the constant surveillance are just as oppressive as the dirt and the lack of resources.

When I read it in high school, I didn't consider it a heavy read. As an adult, I certainly do. In the intervening years, mentioning 1984 in regards to government has gone from tongue-in-cheek to reality. For that reason, the book hits a lot harder for me now. The weight of the institutional oppression is constant - it’s the definitive look at what happens when the rules are designed to be inescapable.

A huge thank you to Tachyon for an advance copy of Meg Elison's Foundling Fathers!

I found this book while digging through spec-fic publishers and the premise just looked like too much fun to pass up. Finding out the author, Meg Elison, is from the Berkshires (right in my backyard) pretty much sealed the deal. But then I checked out the press kit and author’s video - which got an actual lol - and I was officially excited.

The book delivers in a big way. The writing is super witty, and I adored the contrast between the 18th-century period English and the bluntness of modern speech. “What is this before me?” to “John Hancock had fucking had it" is peak comedic timing for me. I found myself laughing out loud at the start of nearly every chapter.

By the middle of the book, I was already picturing this on-screen. There are some abrupt transitions between characters and timelines, but if you view it through a cinematic lens - thinking of them as hard cuts, really - the pacing makes a lot of sense, especially when all four boys are speaking concurrently.

My only real gripe is that I wanted more. The “explosive” events leading to the boys' escape felt a bit rushed, and I think there was a lot of tension there that could have been fleshed out further. I also wished Jefferson had faced some actual consequences for his inferred sexual assaults, but the book stays true to the reality that, in his life, he never really did. All that said, of course I want more. It’s a phenomenally-written novella, and wanting more of a world is a pretty good sign of a successful story.

I really like when an absurd concept is taken seriously. We get that here. Elison gets the temperaments of these guys right - they are flawed people in a flawed system overseen by flawed men. The ending, where they finally meet the person who "made" them, is handled perfectly. I usually hate using the word "masterful," but for that specific scene, I can't think of a better way to describe it. Elison captures the boy’s profound disappointment wonderfully - a sentiment she echoes in her afterword.

It’s a huge “Mission: Accomplished” for Meg Elison and Foundling Fathers. Like an actual “Mission: Accomplished,” not a USS Abraham Lincoln “Mission: Accomplished.” We’re lucky to be along for the ride.

Keep an eye out for this one from Tachyon in June.

I just finished revisiting the Wool omnibus after finding a physical copy at a library sale. It’s been years since I first read it, and I'm pleased - though not surprised - that it holds up well. Even with the new show on Apple TV, there is something about the way Hugh Howey builds this world on the page that a screen just can’t capture.

The whole story takes place in a giant underground silo - and I love a closed system. You’ve got 144 floors and no elevator. My favorite thing about this book is that the setting is the antagonist. Howey writes in a such a way that you can feel the weight of the dirt and institutional oppression.

The story focuses on my favorite kind of protagonist - regular person in an irregular situation. She’s a mechanic. She treats her problems as things that need to be fixed, and seeing her realize the silo is her prison remains satisfying.

If you’re into high-stakes stories like Seveneves or The Long Walk, where the rules of the world are rigid and breaking them has actual consequences, Wool is for you. The tension and excitement far outweigh what you'd think possible in a book about a hole in the ground.

Definitely worth the shelf space.

Brilliant "People's History" concept, but the character work is missing.

In Touch with Laika takes a fascinating Zinn-esque approach to sci-fi, using a transmission from the far future to give a voice to those history has silenced - starting with the Soviet space dog, Laika. As a fan of narrative history that highlights the disadvantaged, I was fully onboard with the premise. However, the execution feels more like a proof-of-concept than a fully realized story.

The Critique:

• The Zinn Angle: The concept of telling the untold stories of figures like Laika (and eventually Tesla and Marcus Aurelius in future installments) is incredibly compelling. There is a wonderful opportunity here for a deep emotional arc about being a conduit for the forgotten.
• Surface-level Protagonist: At 86 pages, we simply don't get enough of Ethan. We’re told he’s an emotional wreck, but because we don't see his daily life or his motivations, his mental breakdown feels unearned. He feels like a passenger in his own story rather than an active participant.
• The Social Media Loop: The final third of the book is heavily focused on the repetitiveness of internet skepticism. In a book this short, that space would have been better served deepening our connection to Ethan or the futuristic entity.
• The Format: Spreading this story across three separate novellas released over the course of six months is a big ask for the reader. Without a stronger emotional hook in Part 1, it's hard to feel the urgency to wait until June for the conclusion.

The Verdict: The writing is solid and the audiobook narrator was an excellent choice, but the story lacks the depth needed to make the reader feel the weight of Ethan's journey. I love what this book is trying to be - a sci-fi lens on the marginalized - but Part 1 doesn't quite bridge the gap between a great idea and a great story.

A masterclass in the Believable Impossible.

Unwind is one of the very few series I have reread independently of a new release. While it enjoys a high rating online, I still feel it’s criminally underrated for the sheer technical skill Neal Shusterman brings to the table.

Why this is a 5-star entry:

• The No-Slog First Entry: I never have to tell people, “Just get through the first book, it gets better.” Shusterman has a rare knack for the solid first entry (similar to Scythe). The world-building is immediate, immersive, and doesn't require the reader to do homework to understand the stakes.
• Believable Characters: These kids feel like kids. They aren't chosen ones with superpowers; they are terrified teenagers facing an impossible future in a way that feels grounded and realistic.
• The Speculative Extreme: There is nothing better than a book that takes a sliver of our current societal tensions, pushes it to an extreme, and then treats that premise with deathly seriousness. The post-civil war societal change depicted here is a logical progression of real-life conflict.

If you want speculative fiction that respects your intelligence and maintains its narrative integrity through the entire series, this is the one I constantly recommend.

"There’s always room to do a little bit better."

My eight-year-old daughter saw me reading this and asked "why." I told her the truth: I know I love my three kids, and I know how I show it, but I think there’s always room to do a little better. That’s the mindset I think you need to have going into this.

The breakdown of the five love languages is solid and provides a great framework for understanding how children receive affection. However, as a parent in the thick of it, I found the execution slightly lacking in practical "trench" warfare.

My Takeaways:

• The "Busy House" Gap: I wish there was more focus on how to actually fill these love buckets in a high-speed, busy lifestyle - especially when you have multiple young children competing for attention. It spent a bit too much time on general discipline and not enough on the logistics of the busy parent.
• The Spiritual Element: The book leans into religious themes toward the end. While I’m not a particularly religious person, I didn’t mind it; I view exposure to those values as a net positive in this context, though I can see how it might be a hurdle for some readers.

It’s a quick, helpful read for any parent looking to fine-tune their connection with their kids, even if it doesn't quite solve the puzzle of "time management" in a full house.

Spotlight on power dynamics, retribution, and the vulnerability of existing.

This book was a blur - couldn't put it down. Per usual, I alternated between the physical copy and the audio during my son’s basketball game. It is a compelling retelling that avoids the smut trope and instead dives deep into the psychological reality of being a pawn to the gods.

What struck me most was the author’s ability to communicate the internal conflict of trauma. Watching Meddy - who is portrayed here as a genuinely good young woman - navigate the grooming of Poseidon and the betrayal of Athena was devastating. The way Athena's victim blaming, and Meddy's visceral reluctance to speak against her patron, made me understand that specific power dynamic in a way I never quite have before.

In a change of pace, I took notes during this one.

• Arrival at Acropolis: The moment another acolyte feels entitled to touch Meddy’s hair was a sharp nod to body autonomy that still bears repeating.
• The Sisters: I loved the explicit breakdown of power - the realization that "power is not given, it is taken." It’s a meaningful lesson and I'm glad it was explicitly stated. Prior to the explanation, I was kind of into how that dynamic was unspoken but once I read it it occurred to me.. Having this in print is never a bad thing. Say it again for the people in the back.
• The Tone: It communicates the female experience and the weight of societal station without beating the reader over the head.

It’s a powerful story that makes a decently well-known tale feel urgent. While it might not be a reread for me, I will be recommending it to anyone who wants a period mythology retelling with meaningful current-day lessons.

One more thing - I love everything that’s included but I adore what was left out, as explained in the afterword.

This is a tremendous book and a true hidden gem. I ordered it out of the back of either Hit Parader or Circus Magazine in the early 2000s when I was fourteen, and I’m not overstating it when I say it literally transformed my life. It was my definitive coming-of-age tale, and it shifted the entire path of my journey. I’ll be forever grateful for it.

A few years ago, I reached out to the author, Charles Romalotti. He was incredibly kind and sent me the 10th Anniversary Edition (the one with the black cover) and a copy of his later book, Bride of the Reaper. Super kind of him to do so.. but Salad Days? If you can track down a copy, read it.

At first I was like... Now I'm like...

On paper, Armada has every element I want in a book: video games, high-stakes sci-fi, and a heavy dose of "Dad stuff." It’s a fun, engaging story, and I’m still stoked on the overall concept. But the execution left me with some serious questions about the pacing.

I found myself repeatedly thinking, “Okay, I guess this is happening now.” Things that we as an audience know are coming - the inevitable story beats - arrived much earlier than they should have. Instead of a slow build that earns the payoff, it felt like the plot was in a rush to get to the finish line.

Cline still manages to hold onto the element of surprise, but unfortunately, those twists often feel more like a lack of technique than a purposeful subversion of the genre. It’s a great "guilty pleasure" read, but it leaves you wondering how much better it could have been with a bit more room to breathe.