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.

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.

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.

Annie Bot is one of those books that makes me, against my better judgment, strongly desire to return to academia so I can teach a Gender Studies class where it is one of the readings. It also falls into my “I'm so scared of a man in this I don't fully enjoy consuming this piece of media,” camp, accompanied by Nate Jacobs in Euphoria. Why is he so scary? Why are men so scary?

Annie is a highly sophisticated android, a Stella whose primary function is having sex with her owner Doug. This is glossed over with the euphemistic label “cuddlebunny.” Other Stellas serve as maids or nannies, though there is overlap between the categories.

This book provokes questions about humanity. What makes a human? What turns a something into a someone?

An organic vessel teeming with organs and blood, requiring food and water to survive? What about having independent aspirations and preferences? Passing a certain threshold of self-awareness? Feelings, strong ones, including empathy? A base need for autonomy and independence? Deep, warranted resentment for the inherent violence of being owned by someone else?

Some may think there are simple answers to these questions, or that comparing any robots to humans is offensive, naïve, or both. Playing God or becoming sympathetic to machines are dangerous slippery slopes.

Still, as Annie progresses, the water is muddied. Just how sentient and free-thinking must a robot be before consent is relevant? If you are literally programmed to please your owner, does that include lying to spare his feelings?Annie finds herself caught in a central bind, warring with whether to share that Roland had sex with her. This demonstrated so perfectly how women are not believed. We speak up and are dismissed or villainized. We withhold the truth because we know this, have experienced it. We shoulder this weight, then maybe say something long after the fact, when we cannot bear to not. Only then, not speaking up immediately is disqualifying. Why now? Why are you trying to ruin someone's life? He has a wife, a child, a family, a career, whatever it is. He has made something of himself and you are trying to erode that by telling others who he really is.It is not simply disbelief. You are never seen as more duplicitous than during your most vulnerable and truthful admissions. Your credibility is never more undermined than when you are finally saying what actually happened. Women are just dramatic. They are irrational. They have unrealistic standards. They need to calm down. They lie. That's not what really happened. Meanwhile, their partners are idolized. They are being ungrateful. They are so lucky. Many other girls, er, I mean, women, would gladly take their place in a heartbeat. Which Annie does not even have!The main issue I had was the author's choice to cast Annie as an equal and willing participant with Roland. That knocks it a full star down for me, to be honest. I kept waiting for it to be different, for realization to dawn. I think in order to keep us in the dark about Annie's inevitable escape, far too much time and effort was spent trying to lull the reader into a false sense of complacency, with little time left for Annie to come into her own. This was a big disappointment for me. A real letdown, if I'm honest. I think it undercut Annie's motivations in a crucial way.

For fans of [b:Klara and the Sun|54120408|Klara and the Sun|Kazuo Ishiguro|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1603206535l/54120408.SY75.jpg|84460796], [b:Stepford Wives|52350|The Stepford Wives|Ira Levin|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1554371721l/52350.SY75.jpg|1534281], Ex Machina, and [b:Ella Enchanted|24337|Ella Enchanted (Ella Enchanted, #1)|Gail Carson Levine|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1410727190l/24337.SY75.jpg|2485462]. If you are interested in emerging technologies, relationship dynamics, and fiction about free will and freedom, I think you would enjoy Annie Bot.

A quaint, short graphic novel about the value of being patient in a world that keeps moving faster and faster, leaving many people and skills forgotten. It's a book about mindfulness, regard for history, and understanding that the importance of an art is not determined by how popular or profitable it is.

Overall, a quick and enchanting read with adorable, soft artwork. Surprisingly diverse without feeling hamfisted. If anything O'Neill shows how simple it is to accept and celebrate differences. I'm looking forward to the rest of the series.