Kelsey
I preferred the first book. And I ordered the third (and final book) after finishing this one (though I wish it was less than the daunting 850 pages that landed in my mailbox). Take what you want from that.
I preferred the first book. And I ordered the third (and final book) after finishing this one (though I wish it was less than the daunting 850 pages that landed in my mailbox). Take what you want from that.
I went into this book wanting to be told what to think. I wanted to be told what to do about my internal conflict over whether or not it's okay to still (inadvertently nowadays) laugh at Louis CK jokes or sing along to I Believe I Can Fly or read [insert whatever Hemingway book people like] (spoiler alert: I won't ever be finishing a book by Hemingway, but that has nothing to do with him being a shithead — I just think he's bad).
But, as it turns out, that was not the purpose of the book. And, as it also turns out, I'm grateful for that. Though it was at times meandering, I thought Monsters was an excellent exploration of ideas that weren't just limited to monstrous artists (men, mainly) — we also get a taste of film history, flavors of motherhood, theories of beauty, and an innovative look into our role as consumers of art.
Aside from its captivating subject matter, I really just enjoyed the feeling of hanging out with Claire Dederer for 250 pages. As one would expect, she is brilliant. But she's also pretty damn funny, and I found myself laughing out loud several times even during some really dark shit. Plus, Monsters could have been a huge bummer, but it mostly wasn't. What could've easily been a tirade about an unfair world full of disgusting men who fuck young girls, Monsters was a surprisingly objective (“objective” might be gracious, but I don't have a better word for “somewhere-between-subjective-and-objective”) and thoughtful internal dialogue that we've likely all had before: What standard am I supposed to hold these public figures to? Do they deserve my empathy and adoration or my hatred? Why is it that I, as the consumer, am left responsible for deciding how to handle my idol's biography? Can I forgive them? Does it matter? Am I also monstrous? Where do we draw the line between human and monster?
Would recommend. Would read again. Hope someone I know reads it soon so that I can discuss.
I went into this book wanting to be told what to think. I wanted to be told what to do about my internal conflict over whether or not it's okay to still (inadvertently nowadays) laugh at Louis CK jokes or sing along to I Believe I Can Fly or read [insert whatever Hemingway book people like] (spoiler alert: I won't ever be finishing a book by Hemingway, but that has nothing to do with him being a shithead — I just think he's bad).
But, as it turns out, that was not the purpose of the book. And, as it also turns out, I'm grateful for that. Though it was at times meandering, I thought Monsters was an excellent exploration of ideas that weren't just limited to monstrous artists (men, mainly) — we also get a taste of film history, flavors of motherhood, theories of beauty, and an innovative look into our role as consumers of art.
Aside from its captivating subject matter, I really just enjoyed the feeling of hanging out with Claire Dederer for 250 pages. As one would expect, she is brilliant. But she's also pretty damn funny, and I found myself laughing out loud several times even during some really dark shit. Plus, Monsters could have been a huge bummer, but it mostly wasn't. What could've easily been a tirade about an unfair world full of disgusting men who fuck young girls, Monsters was a surprisingly objective (“objective” might be gracious, but I don't have a better word for “somewhere-between-subjective-and-objective”) and thoughtful internal dialogue that we've likely all had before: What standard am I supposed to hold these public figures to? Do they deserve my empathy and adoration or my hatred? Why is it that I, as the consumer, am left responsible for deciding how to handle my idol's biography? Can I forgive them? Does it matter? Am I also monstrous? Where do we draw the line between human and monster?
Would recommend. Would read again. Hope someone I know reads it soon so that I can discuss.
Wow.
I may have to revisit this pathetic “review” after I manage to pick my jaw up off the floor. Maybe then I can add a handful of concrete reasons why There's Always This Year has been my favorite book in the last decade.
This book is art at its finest.
It's been a VERY long time since a book made me feel the way that There's Always This Year did; it was the most beautiful thing I've read/experienced/felt since (probably) adolescence (a time when my brain was ripe for feeling everything deeply). My brain is no longer ripe for feeling so deeply, and yet... something was triggered. I can't even comprehend how this was possible.
For the sake of whoever is reading this, I cannot emphasize this point enough: There's Always This Year is not only for people who have played or who love basketball. Sure, it helps to be familiar with some of the players (caveat: if you haven't heard of LeBron James, then... fine, this book isn't for you), but it's not a prerequisite to appreciating this masterpiece. Sure, it would maaaaaybe help to understand the feeling of playing pickup with your childhood friends on the blacktop with shitty nets (or, if you're lucky, chain nets) or the feeling of tuning out the entire world while shooting around in a gym that's all your own at 9pm because the janitor didn't mind staying late... But the great thing about this book is that you really don't have to have experienced any of those things in order to feel what you're meant to feel.
I'm saying “feel” a lot. It's probably because I struggle with poetry. I struggle with poetry because I don't know if I'm smart enough to identify what it's doing to me or why (frustrating), but I know that it's doing something big (equally frustrating). And this entire book was pure poetry to the point of disbelief. I re-read nearly every sentence at least once, and I found myself scratching my head, wondering, “How the fuck did someone think to do this? What makes this string of words the most perfect string of words that have ever been composed? How are these words communicating something to me that doesn't even line up with the words themselves?”
Now this section is more for my benefit than anyone else's (as is the rest of this review, let's not kid ourselves [ourselves being the multiple versions of myself, of course]): I'll forever be disappointed by whatever writeup I manage to produce here. My only real thought after finishing this book is that everyone I know needs to read it as a way of vastly improving their lives. My only real regret is that I read it too quickly (to be amended next time). And my only identifiable feeling is that I'm equal parts devastated and inspired.
What am I supposed to do with that? How do I move on?
Wow.
I may have to revisit this pathetic “review” after I manage to pick my jaw up off the floor. Maybe then I can add a handful of concrete reasons why There's Always This Year has been my favorite book in the last decade.
This book is art at its finest.
It's been a VERY long time since a book made me feel the way that There's Always This Year did; it was the most beautiful thing I've read/experienced/felt since (probably) adolescence (a time when my brain was ripe for feeling everything deeply). My brain is no longer ripe for feeling so deeply, and yet... something was triggered. I can't even comprehend how this was possible.
For the sake of whoever is reading this, I cannot emphasize this point enough: There's Always This Year is not only for people who have played or who love basketball. Sure, it helps to be familiar with some of the players (caveat: if you haven't heard of LeBron James, then... fine, this book isn't for you), but it's not a prerequisite to appreciating this masterpiece. Sure, it would maaaaaybe help to understand the feeling of playing pickup with your childhood friends on the blacktop with shitty nets (or, if you're lucky, chain nets) or the feeling of tuning out the entire world while shooting around in a gym that's all your own at 9pm because the janitor didn't mind staying late... But the great thing about this book is that you really don't have to have experienced any of those things in order to feel what you're meant to feel.
I'm saying “feel” a lot. It's probably because I struggle with poetry. I struggle with poetry because I don't know if I'm smart enough to identify what it's doing to me or why (frustrating), but I know that it's doing something big (equally frustrating). And this entire book was pure poetry to the point of disbelief. I re-read nearly every sentence at least once, and I found myself scratching my head, wondering, “How the fuck did someone think to do this? What makes this string of words the most perfect string of words that have ever been composed? How are these words communicating something to me that doesn't even line up with the words themselves?”
Now this section is more for my benefit than anyone else's (as is the rest of this review, let's not kid ourselves [ourselves being the multiple versions of myself, of course]): I'll forever be disappointed by whatever writeup I manage to produce here. My only real thought after finishing this book is that everyone I know needs to read it as a way of vastly improving their lives. My only real regret is that I read it too quickly (to be amended next time). And my only identifiable feeling is that I'm equal parts devastated and inspired.
What am I supposed to do with that? How do I move on?
A fulfilling (in some ways, at least) end to the series. I'm not a huge fantasy person, but I did enjoy the escape that these books offered. Makes for great bedtime or airplane reading.
Now time for me to say what everyone who's read this book is already thinking:
There should have been more sex scenes. The final saga had disappointingly few (and by that, I mean... 0 gasp). This, of course, was on purpose because Nahri is her own damn woman who don't need no man and all that, but... sometimes you gotta give the people what they want. We get a spicy, 1-page kissing scene (of the whopping 752 pages), and it's just got me wondering... oh, what could have been?!
I guess I'll have to consult A Court of Mist and Fury soon to scratch that itch.
A fulfilling (in some ways, at least) end to the series. I'm not a huge fantasy person, but I did enjoy the escape that these books offered. Makes for great bedtime or airplane reading.
Now time for me to say what everyone who's read this book is already thinking:
There should have been more sex scenes. The final saga had disappointingly few (and by that, I mean... 0 gasp). This, of course, was on purpose because Nahri is her own damn woman who don't need no man and all that, but... sometimes you gotta give the people what they want. We get a spicy, 1-page kissing scene (of the whopping 752 pages), and it's just got me wondering... oh, what could have been?!
I guess I'll have to consult A Court of Mist and Fury soon to scratch that itch.
As expected after reading There's Always This Year, I adored this book. As someone who grew up in the bubble of Savannah private schools, I'm deeply embarrassed (but certainly not surprised) by how little I knew of the story of A Tribe Called Quest (and all the related 90s rap-related tales I learned in this book). So, while I should have educated myself sooner, I'm thankful that I got to hear the story for the first time from one of my new favorite writers. An added bonus is that I was turned on to a shit ton of albums that I'd never listened to (or heard of) before.
Would recommend for anyone interested in: 90s rap, the music industry, poetry/lyricism, or great writing – i.e. everyone on Goodreads.
As expected after reading There's Always This Year, I adored this book. As someone who grew up in the bubble of Savannah private schools, I'm deeply embarrassed (but certainly not surprised) by how little I knew of the story of A Tribe Called Quest (and all the related 90s rap-related tales I learned in this book). So, while I should have educated myself sooner, I'm thankful that I got to hear the story for the first time from one of my new favorite writers. An added bonus is that I was turned on to a shit ton of albums that I'd never listened to (or heard of) before.
Would recommend for anyone interested in: 90s rap, the music industry, poetry/lyricism, or great writing – i.e. everyone on Goodreads.
I'm a huge Michael Chabon fan, so when I saw this little snack in a used book store, I figured I owed it to myself to give it a go. I skimmed through a few other reviews after I finished the book (a whopping 131 pages, by the way – it takes 2 hours, just read it), and folks are throwing a lot of shade at the storyline itself. Haters always gonna hate, aren't they?
Forget about the story! Is it memorable? Not really. Is it going to keep ya on the edge of your seat? Only if you're working on your posture. But if you love Chabon as I do, then you'll relish this book for its humor and creative style. I'm always here for a crotchety old man, particularly with Chabon's linguistic flair. Best part: the penultimate chapter is from the parrot's perspective, and it is pure delight.
My sole complaint: I wanted more. Another 75 pages, and we're in 5-star territory.
I'm a huge Michael Chabon fan, so when I saw this little snack in a used book store, I figured I owed it to myself to give it a go. I skimmed through a few other reviews after I finished the book (a whopping 131 pages, by the way – it takes 2 hours, just read it), and folks are throwing a lot of shade at the storyline itself. Haters always gonna hate, aren't they?
Forget about the story! Is it memorable? Not really. Is it going to keep ya on the edge of your seat? Only if you're working on your posture. But if you love Chabon as I do, then you'll relish this book for its humor and creative style. I'm always here for a crotchety old man, particularly with Chabon's linguistic flair. Best part: the penultimate chapter is from the parrot's perspective, and it is pure delight.
My sole complaint: I wanted more. Another 75 pages, and we're in 5-star territory.
My skin crawls to give any work of Márquez less than 4 stars, but... they shouldn't have done this. And I shouldn't have read it, but the temptation was overwhelming. It read almost as if someone else was mimicking his style (as many have tried and failed to do). I guess that's what happens when you publish a book that wasn't finished by a man that wasn't wanting it published in the first place.
My skin crawls to give any work of Márquez less than 4 stars, but... they shouldn't have done this. And I shouldn't have read it, but the temptation was overwhelming. It read almost as if someone else was mimicking his style (as many have tried and failed to do). I guess that's what happens when you publish a book that wasn't finished by a man that wasn't wanting it published in the first place.
I read this book on a day when I was already feeling pretty depressed. And after the first 75ish pages, I thought, “today probably isn't the day for this...” But after giving it a little more time (and after taking a little break), I decided that it was actually the perfect day for it. Didion puts words to the apathetic and reckless nature of depression that I've never considered before; sometimes leaning into that type of day is better than trying to rage against it with manufactured energy or enthusiasm.
So I deeply appreciated this “depression incarnate” (quoting another review I skimmed) on a day when I could relate to the dreamlike, sometimes incomprehensible inner monologue of Maria. If I'd read this on a day when I was happy, I think it would've ruined my week. But now? I feel refreshed.
I read this book on a day when I was already feeling pretty depressed. And after the first 75ish pages, I thought, “today probably isn't the day for this...” But after giving it a little more time (and after taking a little break), I decided that it was actually the perfect day for it. Didion puts words to the apathetic and reckless nature of depression that I've never considered before; sometimes leaning into that type of day is better than trying to rage against it with manufactured energy or enthusiasm.
So I deeply appreciated this “depression incarnate” (quoting another review I skimmed) on a day when I could relate to the dreamlike, sometimes incomprehensible inner monologue of Maria. If I'd read this on a day when I was happy, I think it would've ruined my week. But now? I feel refreshed.
Of all the devastating books I've read so far this year (and there have been arguably too many), this one might have topped the list. I'm happy I read it; I learned a lot, and it was probably a necessary read for me as I tend to intentionally avoid the darker realities of our world; I appreciated how the story was wrapped around one central event rather than trying to encapsulate the entire history of conflict (the book was only 217 pages and could've easily been 500+).
That being said, I do wish Thrall would've gone a little deeper; I wish he'd offered a more critical take on the events. He intentionally didn't try to tackle the “why” – likely to avoid bias, which I guess I appreciate – and only gave us the “what”. But in some ways, that makes the whole thing even harder to understand. Given all the interviews he conducted to make this book happen, I would've been really interested to hear more about each person's motivations.
Of all the devastating books I've read so far this year (and there have been arguably too many), this one might have topped the list. I'm happy I read it; I learned a lot, and it was probably a necessary read for me as I tend to intentionally avoid the darker realities of our world; I appreciated how the story was wrapped around one central event rather than trying to encapsulate the entire history of conflict (the book was only 217 pages and could've easily been 500+).
That being said, I do wish Thrall would've gone a little deeper; I wish he'd offered a more critical take on the events. He intentionally didn't try to tackle the “why” – likely to avoid bias, which I guess I appreciate – and only gave us the “what”. But in some ways, that makes the whole thing even harder to understand. Given all the interviews he conducted to make this book happen, I would've been really interested to hear more about each person's motivations.
If this had been written by anyone else, I doubt I ever would've picked it up. But as much as I loved Kitchen Confidential, it felt like a no-brainer to make this a quick vacation read. It's... fine. But it's just that: a vacation (or even a bathroom) read.
It got a few giggles out of me, but definitely nothing to call home about. If you're looking for a palette cleanser after a tough book or a break from one of your longer reads, then go for this one.
If this had been written by anyone else, I doubt I ever would've picked it up. But as much as I loved Kitchen Confidential, it felt like a no-brainer to make this a quick vacation read. It's... fine. But it's just that: a vacation (or even a bathroom) read.
It got a few giggles out of me, but definitely nothing to call home about. If you're looking for a palette cleanser after a tough book or a break from one of your longer reads, then go for this one.
I have conflicting feelings about this book – mainly I hated it. Before I digress into my disappointment, I'll start with a positive (though wildly underwhelming) opinion.
On the one hand, this book has been the topic of many conversations since I started reading it. It also put me into a deep, dark funk for days (which I think is an impressive feat for any author). And, finally, I can't hate on any book too harshly when I was able to sit down and read it for 3+ hours at a time. So from that perspective... Fine. It was engaging, thought-provoking, well-written, etc, etc.
BUT (this is a big but, requiring all caps) the other hand wanted to throw this book (and myself) out the emergency exit of the airplane where I was reading most of it...
Bear with me as I get a little dramatic (if you liked this book, then I expect you won't take issue with any form of dramatic flare): I mentioned having many conversations about this book. I've also had many conversations about death, international conflict, the gender and race pay gap, sexual assault, etc, etc. Should that mean I'm glad those things exist? Because they give me something to talk about? Sure, I was able to read this book for 3hrs straight; I could also doom scroll on Instagram for 3 hours straight, but I wouldn't recommend that to anyone.
A Little Life was self-indulgent grief porn at best. I will concede that there were descriptions and stories of trauma that I found enlightening; I was surprised at how easy it was to relate to Jude's experience of trauma, despite the exaggerated and deeply disturbing circumstances in which it occurred. However, the hyperbolic display of hardship struck me as cheap in many ways. It seemed like the author spent a week or two contemplating the worst things that could possibly happen to a human. Then rather than attempting to artfully display childhood trauma's effects on adults (which was seemingly her goal), she exploited extreme circumstances to demand an emotional response from the reader.
I would have loved this book if it had left just a sliver of room for the imagination. I'd almost compare it to a movie where the director doesn't believe in the audience to put the pieces together themselves; they give you a montage at the end to over-explain how the heist/murder/escape actually went down, frame by frame. I think readers of this book could have walked away with all the same insights into trauma, friendship, and grief without 140 scenes of pedophilia and abuse.
All that being said, I understand that a lot of people loved this book. I'm open to the possibility that my interpretation was simple-minded, and I'd happily be convinced that all of the shit in this book was necessary.
I have conflicting feelings about this book – mainly I hated it. Before I digress into my disappointment, I'll start with a positive (though wildly underwhelming) opinion.
On the one hand, this book has been the topic of many conversations since I started reading it. It also put me into a deep, dark funk for days (which I think is an impressive feat for any author). And, finally, I can't hate on any book too harshly when I was able to sit down and read it for 3+ hours at a time. So from that perspective... Fine. It was engaging, thought-provoking, well-written, etc, etc.
BUT (this is a big but, requiring all caps) the other hand wanted to throw this book (and myself) out the emergency exit of the airplane where I was reading most of it...
Bear with me as I get a little dramatic (if you liked this book, then I expect you won't take issue with any form of dramatic flare): I mentioned having many conversations about this book. I've also had many conversations about death, international conflict, the gender and race pay gap, sexual assault, etc, etc. Should that mean I'm glad those things exist? Because they give me something to talk about? Sure, I was able to read this book for 3hrs straight; I could also doom scroll on Instagram for 3 hours straight, but I wouldn't recommend that to anyone.
A Little Life was self-indulgent grief porn at best. I will concede that there were descriptions and stories of trauma that I found enlightening; I was surprised at how easy it was to relate to Jude's experience of trauma, despite the exaggerated and deeply disturbing circumstances in which it occurred. However, the hyperbolic display of hardship struck me as cheap in many ways. It seemed like the author spent a week or two contemplating the worst things that could possibly happen to a human. Then rather than attempting to artfully display childhood trauma's effects on adults (which was seemingly her goal), she exploited extreme circumstances to demand an emotional response from the reader.
I would have loved this book if it had left just a sliver of room for the imagination. I'd almost compare it to a movie where the director doesn't believe in the audience to put the pieces together themselves; they give you a montage at the end to over-explain how the heist/murder/escape actually went down, frame by frame. I think readers of this book could have walked away with all the same insights into trauma, friendship, and grief without 140 scenes of pedophilia and abuse.
All that being said, I understand that a lot of people loved this book. I'm open to the possibility that my interpretation was simple-minded, and I'd happily be convinced that all of the shit in this book was necessary.
You could've fooled me into believing this was a Thomas Hardy novel (though I should add that I haven't read any Thomas Hardy in about ten years). That is, until the last ~100 pages.
This is an excellent, sleepy novel that I'd highly recommend for a rainy/snowy day. I made the mistake of choosing this as my travel book for a trip to Greece/Italy; I call it a mistake because I tend to prefer easy, lighter reads during vacation. But this delightful and funny feminist take on early 1900s ideology still kept me turning the page during all my transportation (my favorite place to read).
I've been a big Olga Tokarczuk ever since I read Flights, and I should have known (especially given the title) that this one would be a doozy. The book is set in the early 1900s and the whole plot (no spoilers, promise) is basically a bunch of men going on walks, coughing, smoking, drinking, and talking about “ideas” (mainly that women are inferior beings). And yet it's narrated by female tree spirits. (Whaaaaaa?!)
I'd like to say that it's scary to consider that this was actually how people thought during that time period, but... I'm not entirely convinced a whole lot has changed. It was really fascinating to read how she turned gender on its head (trying to avoid spoilers so I'll leave it at that) all while framing these “women are lesser than” arguments as scientific fact.
I'm just rambling at this point, but all things considered, I'd say Tokarczuk has done it again. She's created a world for us in which everything feels somehow simultaneously familiar and foreign all at once. She's yet again challenged our mode of thinking (similar to Flights) in a way that feels a little repulsive, a little confusing, and juuuust a little naughty.
You could've fooled me into believing this was a Thomas Hardy novel (though I should add that I haven't read any Thomas Hardy in about ten years). That is, until the last ~100 pages.
This is an excellent, sleepy novel that I'd highly recommend for a rainy/snowy day. I made the mistake of choosing this as my travel book for a trip to Greece/Italy; I call it a mistake because I tend to prefer easy, lighter reads during vacation. But this delightful and funny feminist take on early 1900s ideology still kept me turning the page during all my transportation (my favorite place to read).
I've been a big Olga Tokarczuk ever since I read Flights, and I should have known (especially given the title) that this one would be a doozy. The book is set in the early 1900s and the whole plot (no spoilers, promise) is basically a bunch of men going on walks, coughing, smoking, drinking, and talking about “ideas” (mainly that women are inferior beings). And yet it's narrated by female tree spirits. (Whaaaaaa?!)
I'd like to say that it's scary to consider that this was actually how people thought during that time period, but... I'm not entirely convinced a whole lot has changed. It was really fascinating to read how she turned gender on its head (trying to avoid spoilers so I'll leave it at that) all while framing these “women are lesser than” arguments as scientific fact.
I'm just rambling at this point, but all things considered, I'd say Tokarczuk has done it again. She's created a world for us in which everything feels somehow simultaneously familiar and foreign all at once. She's yet again challenged our mode of thinking (similar to Flights) in a way that feels a little repulsive, a little confusing, and juuuust a little naughty.
I've had to give this one a few weeks to settle. I still haven't decided if I loved it or hated it, but in a weird way, that's what's most impressive about this book. The plot was... disorienting. I loved the idea of “things” having a voice and a life of their own with desires and needs of their own – That premise certainly had the potential to be corny or silly, but I think Ozeki really pulls it off.
That being said, I have no desire to read this book again. I still can't put my finger on it, but it made me uneasy and a little sad (not just the themes of mental illness, death, and depression, but also the writing style itself).
I've had to give this one a few weeks to settle. I still haven't decided if I loved it or hated it, but in a weird way, that's what's most impressive about this book. The plot was... disorienting. I loved the idea of “things” having a voice and a life of their own with desires and needs of their own – That premise certainly had the potential to be corny or silly, but I think Ozeki really pulls it off.
That being said, I have no desire to read this book again. I still can't put my finger on it, but it made me uneasy and a little sad (not just the themes of mental illness, death, and depression, but also the writing style itself).
Ugh.
Something about this book left me feeling exasperated and depressed each time I put it down. About halfway through, I hated it more than I've ever hated anything. But toward the end, I was starting to feel... at peace? Like I was one with the protagonist? Or, at minimum, like I understood her. But then we get to the last sentence, and it felt like being beat across the head with a large blunt object: “I hadn't learned what I had wanted to about how language worked. I hadn't learned anything at all.”
!!!
You really hate to hear that after 400+ pages exploring language, culture, and education (I guess that's what this book was, anyway... who friggin knows). So, yeah. I audibly laughed when I read the last paragraph.
This one may have simply been over my head. Or maybe it was so deeply IN my head that it ruined my life for the few weeks that I was reading it. Now I have to spend the next hour reading through other reviews so I can try to understand how anyone could possibly enjoy this.
Ugh.
Something about this book left me feeling exasperated and depressed each time I put it down. About halfway through, I hated it more than I've ever hated anything. But toward the end, I was starting to feel... at peace? Like I was one with the protagonist? Or, at minimum, like I understood her. But then we get to the last sentence, and it felt like being beat across the head with a large blunt object: “I hadn't learned what I had wanted to about how language worked. I hadn't learned anything at all.”
!!!
You really hate to hear that after 400+ pages exploring language, culture, and education (I guess that's what this book was, anyway... who friggin knows). So, yeah. I audibly laughed when I read the last paragraph.
This one may have simply been over my head. Or maybe it was so deeply IN my head that it ruined my life for the few weeks that I was reading it. Now I have to spend the next hour reading through other reviews so I can try to understand how anyone could possibly enjoy this.
First 100 pages: 5/5
Second 100 pages: 3/5
Final 100 page: 4/5
So... 4 stars?
I loved the writing style and 90% of the content, but there were sections where I simply could not get over how annoying I found the main character. At the risk of sounding insensitive, I really needed him to just get over himself. I also expected it to become a book about addiction (which I'm here for) based on the first handful of pages; I was deeply moved by some of the ways in which the author described that experience of depression and anxiety as the source of addiction. But once we got really in the weeds about death, martyrdom, etc., it entered a realm of arrogance that had me rolling my eyes.
That being said, the last ~100 pages were much more self aware. Zee finally calls Cyrus on his bullshit. And then... the end?! Granted, it was around 1AM when I read the last 20 pages, but they left me feeling like I was a little high. I'm looking forward to reading others' interpretation of that...
I guess I could give this another read and feel differently, but here we are for now.
First 100 pages: 5/5
Second 100 pages: 3/5
Final 100 page: 4/5
So... 4 stars?
I loved the writing style and 90% of the content, but there were sections where I simply could not get over how annoying I found the main character. At the risk of sounding insensitive, I really needed him to just get over himself. I also expected it to become a book about addiction (which I'm here for) based on the first handful of pages; I was deeply moved by some of the ways in which the author described that experience of depression and anxiety as the source of addiction. But once we got really in the weeds about death, martyrdom, etc., it entered a realm of arrogance that had me rolling my eyes.
That being said, the last ~100 pages were much more self aware. Zee finally calls Cyrus on his bullshit. And then... the end?! Granted, it was around 1AM when I read the last 20 pages, but they left me feeling like I was a little high. I'm looking forward to reading others' interpretation of that...
I guess I could give this another read and feel differently, but here we are for now.
I'm genuinely so sad this book is over. I absolutely loved it. Every character was so deeply human and relatable (and sometimes absolutely hatable, which... I can also relate), it made me feel completely immersed in the story.
And I don't even play video games!
I LOVE IT when authors can take subject matter that you don't particularly care about and make it unavoidably delightful.
No notes.
I'm genuinely so sad this book is over. I absolutely loved it. Every character was so deeply human and relatable (and sometimes absolutely hatable, which... I can also relate), it made me feel completely immersed in the story.
And I don't even play video games!
I LOVE IT when authors can take subject matter that you don't particularly care about and make it unavoidably delightful.
No notes.
Garth Greenwell's first two novels blew me away, and I was really excited to see he was releasing a third. So I didn't bother even reading the description (maybe I should have, oops).
You're basically immersed in a hospital during Covid. The writing is incredibly descriptive, and I appreciate the amount of detail and precision that this novel demanded. That being said, I do wish I'd known what I was getting into (of course that's my own fault) because oof what a time that was. Here I was expecting Greenwell's typical erotic prose and what I got was... not that. But damn it if he isn't one of the more versatile authors out there right now! I look forward to whatever he does next.
Garth Greenwell's first two novels blew me away, and I was really excited to see he was releasing a third. So I didn't bother even reading the description (maybe I should have, oops).
You're basically immersed in a hospital during Covid. The writing is incredibly descriptive, and I appreciate the amount of detail and precision that this novel demanded. That being said, I do wish I'd known what I was getting into (of course that's my own fault) because oof what a time that was. Here I was expecting Greenwell's typical erotic prose and what I got was... not that. But damn it if he isn't one of the more versatile authors out there right now! I look forward to whatever he does next.
Read this one for my company's “book club” because it was recommended to my boss by some guy he follows on LinkedIn (classic). I actually enjoyed it more than I expected to, but I thought that the second half of the book (the “intentionally discovering authentic demand” bit) was lacking in believability. Even the guidelines they laid out for discovering authentic demand seemed to rely just as much on luck as the stories laid out in the first half (about accidentally discovering demand).
Just a longwinded way of saying that I thought the book had occasional nuggets of wisdom and thought provoking ideas but may have been better off with a little more editorial oversight.
Read this one for my company's “book club” because it was recommended to my boss by some guy he follows on LinkedIn (classic). I actually enjoyed it more than I expected to, but I thought that the second half of the book (the “intentionally discovering authentic demand” bit) was lacking in believability. Even the guidelines they laid out for discovering authentic demand seemed to rely just as much on luck as the stories laid out in the first half (about accidentally discovering demand).
Just a longwinded way of saying that I thought the book had occasional nuggets of wisdom and thought provoking ideas but may have been better off with a little more editorial oversight.
I never thought I'd say what I'm about to say, but... this book inspired me to run.
And it's because I've never felt so disgusting
I never thought I'd say what I'm about to say, but... this book inspired me to run.
And it's because I've never felt so disgusting
I should caveat this review with two biases: I'm a sucker for a) most coming of age stories, particularly if they're b) set in Ireland.
So, yes, I was deeply enthralled with this book. It was the perfect catalyst to get me back in the reading game after a 3-month draught. The story-telling was 10/10 and by the end of the book, I felt so invested in all the characters that it felt like it was somehow my own story. They were just human enough, just likeable enough, and just present enough to be chef's kiss lovely.
Would recommend to anyone looking for a moving portrayal of... well, humanity. Not sure what better way to describe the central plot
I should caveat this review with two biases: I'm a sucker for a) most coming of age stories, particularly if they're b) set in Ireland.
So, yes, I was deeply enthralled with this book. It was the perfect catalyst to get me back in the reading game after a 3-month draught. The story-telling was 10/10 and by the end of the book, I felt so invested in all the characters that it felt like it was somehow my own story. They were just human enough, just likeable enough, and just present enough to be chef's kiss lovely.
Would recommend to anyone looking for a moving portrayal of... well, humanity. Not sure what better way to describe the central plot
So... I grabbed this book after briefly scanning the description, seeing the cover, and thinking that it looked like a pretty decent, mindless beach read.
It was not that.
I love going into something like this without reading any reviews or knowing much about it then coming out the other side being amazed at how it impacted me. I never worked in the service industry (sad!)... I've never done cocaine (also sad!)... and I've never lived in New York (a little less sad IMO)... But I do remember what it was like to be 22. To feel everything so deeply and to perceive the world like it was still waiting for you to enter it. To have that mix of envy and admiration for someone older who both fascinates and horrifies you.
The heady writing style and the often jagged dialogue and hazy plot line (for me anyway) did an incredible job at conveying all of that excitement and hope and anxiety of being fresh in your career in a new city. So - dark themes and all - I reaaaally loved this one.
So... I grabbed this book after briefly scanning the description, seeing the cover, and thinking that it looked like a pretty decent, mindless beach read.
It was not that.
I love going into something like this without reading any reviews or knowing much about it then coming out the other side being amazed at how it impacted me. I never worked in the service industry (sad!)... I've never done cocaine (also sad!)... and I've never lived in New York (a little less sad IMO)... But I do remember what it was like to be 22. To feel everything so deeply and to perceive the world like it was still waiting for you to enter it. To have that mix of envy and admiration for someone older who both fascinates and horrifies you.
The heady writing style and the often jagged dialogue and hazy plot line (for me anyway) did an incredible job at conveying all of that excitement and hope and anxiety of being fresh in your career in a new city. So - dark themes and all - I reaaaally loved this one.
Despite being less than 200 pages, this was a slow burn for me (I actually paused about halfway through it to read something else). If one were to translate the experience of people watching in a coffee shop into a book, this book would be it. It's a sleepy, meandering story (if you can even call it that, honestly) where the timeline bounces around and the characters weave in and out over the course of ~10 years... But somehow by the end, I felt nostalgic for a place I've never been and for characters I hardly understand.
If you're looking for a fast-paced, story-driven novel, then go ahead and skip this one. But if you've got a few rainy days ahead with nothing to do, then it could be a good time.
Despite being less than 200 pages, this was a slow burn for me (I actually paused about halfway through it to read something else). If one were to translate the experience of people watching in a coffee shop into a book, this book would be it. It's a sleepy, meandering story (if you can even call it that, honestly) where the timeline bounces around and the characters weave in and out over the course of ~10 years... But somehow by the end, I felt nostalgic for a place I've never been and for characters I hardly understand.
If you're looking for a fast-paced, story-driven novel, then go ahead and skip this one. But if you've got a few rainy days ahead with nothing to do, then it could be a good time.