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crystalstarrlight 's review for:
The Sea of Tranquility
by Katja Millay
DID NOT FINISH: 5%
DNF at 21 pages.
You know what? Everyone has something of a sh!tty life. I spent a good deal of my childhood alone and unable to talk to anyone other than a journal about my inner-most thoughts - a condition that continues to plague me today. I was a fat, secluded homeschooled child whose biggest social interactions came from weekly trips to the grocery store or the 15 minutes before and after church. (Remember people: the internet wasn't really around when I was a teen.) I read books to figure out what people my age were doing - and envying them going to classes, having a locker, dating, kissing boys, dreaming about real boys instead of dudes from 30+ year old movies and TV shows, DRESSING UP in things other than sweatpants for school.
College wasn't that much more freedom. I went to a local community college, wasn't supported in getting a job, and let my parents talk me out of pursuing a degree I wanted vs one that was closer to home. My MySpace account lasted all of 3 days before my mom basically forced me to get rid of it. When I asked for faster internet (we finally got NetZero in the early 00's), I was accused of wanting to keep up with Britney Spears - as if I didn't need it to watch the videos and do research that was increasingly necessary for my classes.
During college, I was always the good girl - I went from class to home promptly. I didn't party; I made few friends; I dated no one. I didn't do drugs, drink, fail classes, hook up for casual sex, party until 1 am in the morning. I did nothing wrong - and yet more than anything, I wish I could go back and let my hair loose.
(NOTE: This is not to say my childhood and young adult years were 100% sh!t, just to say, we can all have sh!tty backgrounds.)
Given this background, I have very little sympathy for fictional characters who whinge about being effing gorgeous with no effort, who don't talk to pout around others (if I didn't talk to my mother, I got yelled at, I certainly wouldn't have been treated like Nastya, pretentious Drama Queen, who is allowed to live essentially without rules with her aunt), who dress in fashionable clothes that look good on their body, and who can GO TO SCHOOL with others their own age and interact with more people than your mom, dad, and sister on a daily basis.
Even thought it's been nearly two months since I tried to read this, I get enraged just remembering Nastya and her world of "Woe Is Me". I have no doubt something awful happened to Nastya, and I'm not trying to undermine what happened. But I can't be bothered to give two sh!ts about it when she has it "so good". She could easily talk to a counselor about her problems - but instead, she can mope and be silent and get all the sympathy from her family.
At first, I just threw this book from "Currently Reading" to "On Hold" for my "Summer Challenge" of reading what I liked. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no way I could attempt to go back to this book, so much did the first 21 pages enrage me.
To those that love this (and there are loads of you): Very happy for you, but I cannot see the appeal.
To those who are fans that will now hop on this review and fansplain why I am a harpy: Why are you here in the first place? If you love this book so much, why don't you write a review or read the book for the 8 billionth time? Leave me in peace.
(And this was my set off for "Summer of Love: Rediscovering My Love of Reading"!! YAY!!)
You know what? Everyone has something of a sh!tty life. I spent a good deal of my childhood alone and unable to talk to anyone other than a journal about my inner-most thoughts - a condition that continues to plague me today. I was a fat, secluded homeschooled child whose biggest social interactions came from weekly trips to the grocery store or the 15 minutes before and after church. (Remember people: the internet wasn't really around when I was a teen.) I read books to figure out what people my age were doing - and envying them going to classes, having a locker, dating, kissing boys, dreaming about real boys instead of dudes from 30+ year old movies and TV shows, DRESSING UP in things other than sweatpants for school.
College wasn't that much more freedom. I went to a local community college, wasn't supported in getting a job, and let my parents talk me out of pursuing a degree I wanted vs one that was closer to home. My MySpace account lasted all of 3 days before my mom basically forced me to get rid of it. When I asked for faster internet (we finally got NetZero in the early 00's), I was accused of wanting to keep up with Britney Spears - as if I didn't need it to watch the videos and do research that was increasingly necessary for my classes.
During college, I was always the good girl - I went from class to home promptly. I didn't party; I made few friends; I dated no one. I didn't do drugs, drink, fail classes, hook up for casual sex, party until 1 am in the morning. I did nothing wrong - and yet more than anything, I wish I could go back and let my hair loose.
(NOTE: This is not to say my childhood and young adult years were 100% sh!t, just to say, we can all have sh!tty backgrounds.)
Given this background, I have very little sympathy for fictional characters who whinge about being effing gorgeous with no effort, who don't talk to pout around others (if I didn't talk to my mother, I got yelled at, I certainly wouldn't have been treated like Nastya, pretentious Drama Queen, who is allowed to live essentially without rules with her aunt), who dress in fashionable clothes that look good on their body, and who can GO TO SCHOOL with others their own age and interact with more people than your mom, dad, and sister on a daily basis.
Even thought it's been nearly two months since I tried to read this, I get enraged just remembering Nastya and her world of "Woe Is Me". I have no doubt something awful happened to Nastya, and I'm not trying to undermine what happened. But I can't be bothered to give two sh!ts about it when she has it "so good". She could easily talk to a counselor about her problems - but instead, she can mope and be silent and get all the sympathy from her family.
At first, I just threw this book from "Currently Reading" to "On Hold" for my "Summer Challenge" of reading what I liked. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was no way I could attempt to go back to this book, so much did the first 21 pages enrage me.
To those that love this (and there are loads of you): Very happy for you, but I cannot see the appeal.
To those who are fans that will now hop on this review and fansplain why I am a harpy: Why are you here in the first place? If you love this book so much, why don't you write a review or read the book for the 8 billionth time? Leave me in peace.
(And this was my set off for "Summer of Love: Rediscovering My Love of Reading"!! YAY!!)