Becca

I remember reading this book when my youngest sibling was a baby and coming to my mom absolutely distraught that they would in fact grow up. I reread it today for the first time in forever and I am sorry to report that I do not love this book forever. In retrospect, creepy and scary. We can't be breaking into peoples' homes to pick them up while they're sleeping. We can't be doing that.

This feels like a modern classic. Also, every character is gay.

Monstrilio begins seconds after parents Magos and Joseph realize their son Santiago is dead. This loss rocks them, and they cope in different ways. Their relationship waxes and wanes, with each abandoning the other in turn.

Still, their lives remain intertwined. Largely because Magos has salvaged a piece of Santiago and turned it into a little destructive demon. And I know what you're thinking, oh it's a powerful metaphor for the grief she is perpetually saddled with. And yes, sure, but also it very much is a sentient real being that others can see and interact with. And it is a him. And she names the him Monstrilio.

This is a disturbing, beautiful book about how we move on from emotional wreckage. It is a story about family, home, and change.

It speaks to how grief cannot be civilized or tamed. No matter how long it remains our companion, it will always retain its wild edge and ability to suddenly hurt us. The rawness of grief may and even probably will dull over time, but nothing will map exactly over the hole grief leaves, or stop the sadness from seeping out around the edges.

It is also a book about maladaptive coping. Being in the throes of grief and fully accepting a loss are not one and the same. Sometimes pain is harder to let go of than to live with. When, decades later, we are still letting our grief consume us, sometimes we forget the value of the life still here.

If you want a morally gray book about every kind of love and/or like some grotesque little guys in your books, pick up Monstrilio. It's not a fun or entertaining beach read (especially if you're squeamish and prudish like me), but it is very good. The cover is magic and it would be a wonderful class reading. Move over, Catcher in the Rye.

I have a soft spot for abrasive unsympathetic women protagonists, so I should have loved this. But I also have boundless disdain for ennui-filled literary fiction, so I did not.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation has a gorgeous cover and great title. Julia Whelan did an excellent job with the audiobook. The writing is descriptive. The characters feel human and real and flawed. Dr. Tuttle was my favorite. So irresponsible, so scatterbrained, so disinterested. I like that the narrator is so determined and decisive in doing nothing. She knows exactly what she wants and how to go about it.

Yes, the writing is descriptive, but the descriptions are gross. This book is gross. Yes, the characters are flawed, but ultimately, not in a compelling way. I don't need or want a redemption arc. I don't mind a slow build. But I want...something to happen. I want the listlessness to build to something, or at least to have some impact. When I read a book, I want something to be going on.

The protagonist sucks. She's awful to herself. She's awful to Reva, the only person in the world who cares about her. Trevor sucks. I hate him. The narrator's hibernation venture is couched in privilege available to very few. All of the above is intended and obvious. 9/11 looms over the book like a dark heavy shadow as soon as the setting is established. It's finally addressed at the very end, in a tragic but offhand way. You don't really get any closure, any indication of what the motivation was behind any of this, whether it was worth it, what's next.

This book kind of put me in a funk while I was reading it, but I haven't thought about it much since wrapping it up. Reading is a very subjective experience, and I know this struck a chord with many. Maybe there's something there that I'm not sophisticated enough to appreciate. But in the end, I found this annoying more than anything.

I have an established grudge against World War historical romance. I don't like when a horrific setting is included primarily to raise the stakes of a relationship. If you need to invoke images of mass violence to make your love story that much sweeter, that much more agonizing, frankly, I think your love story sucks. Romance shouldn't need held up by whitewashed war. All this is to say, I went into Lovely War with trepidation. And while it wasn't my favorite, I concede that it was better than I thought it would be. The writing is lyrical. Though it's long, I couldn't put it down. And, fine, it made me tear up more than once.There is a lot of instalove—characters go quickly from seeing each other for the first time to being sure they want to spend their lives together. Berry justifies this with Aphrodite. See [b:Exit West 30688435 Exit West Mohsin Hamid https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1477324680l/30688435.SY75.jpg 51234185] for a more realistic (and, I think, compelling) depiction of love in times of political turmoil.Unfortunately, the aspect of the story that interested me most—the mythology—added nothing. If anything, it detracted. The gods' commentary about the Power of Love™ was painfully trite. I kept waiting for more. The historical note at the end was a pleasant surprise. It even includes a bibliography. It's apparent Berry worked to understand WWI's impact on people like her characters: younger generations, women, and Black Americans. I still have my hang-ups about the genre—the title is Lovely War, for one—but I appreciate the clear efforts to be thorough and sensitive.

Men will literally get a dozen penguins as pets before helping with housework. Mr. Popper is a menace, and no one knows that better than Mrs. Popper.

I read this as a kid, but barely remembered it and wanted something the exact opposite of Dracula. This was far more violent than I remembered, but also, separately, far more funny than I remembered. When he gets tangled in the leash? When the cops and firefighters pick sides? Comedy gold.

The audiobook is an absolute delight. The music, sound effects, and Nick Sullivan's narration and different voices are all top notch. Weird patriotism notwithstanding, this is (for me) a cute nostalgic story about how pets and special interests make life worth living. And also money. People need money.