Take a photo of a barcode or cover
anatdr 's review for:
Tot ce nu ţi-am spus
by Celeste Ng
reflective
sad
medium-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
I approached Everything I Never Told You with a lot of curiosity, but I have to admit that, for me, it didn’t quite land. Overall, it’s a readable book with clean prose and some interesting social observations, but I felt detached from the characters, frustrated with certain narrative choices, and ultimately left questioning the point of it all.
One of the biggest issues for me was that I couldn’t connect with the characters — in fact, at times I actively disliked them. Hannah and James felt frustratingly shallow, Marilyn was a symbol rather than a fully realized person, and even Lydia, around whom the story revolves, felt distant. Marilyn’s struggle — giving up her own dreams to raise Lydia, then projecting her unfulfilled ambitions onto her daughter — was clearly intended to comment on societal pressures on women and feminism. But it felt like the book ended up reinforcing the “woman can’t have it all” trope rather than challenging it. Marilyn’s choices, while tragic, seemed unnecessarily constrained to the idea that motherhood and ambition cannot coexist, while James never faces similar pressures. This imbalance made the feminist commentary feel incomplete and, at times, contradictory.
I also struggled with the story’s structure. The book goes back and forth between past and present, but since the “mystery” of Lydia’s death is known from the start, the constant time shifts didn’t build suspense or deepen understanding for me. The attempted plot twist — that certain events might implicate other characters, only to reveal that Lydia’s death was self-inflicted — felt forced. Small subplots, like Lydia learning to swim, offered some minor twists, but they weren’t enough to create the tension one might expect from a thriller-like premise. Similarly, the subplot with Jack’s sexuality seemed added for complexity but didn’t meaningfully clarify character motivations or enhance the narrative.
The book clearly aims to highlight societal pressures, racism, and family dynamics, but I felt it often skirted the depth it could have explored. The ending, which leans toward healing and reconciliation, felt soft and somewhat unrealistic given the severity of the issues presented. In reality, such pressures don’t resolve neatly, and human flaws are rarely so easily corrected. While the story gestures toward messy, incomplete healing, it ultimately tips toward a hopeful resolution, which undercut the darker, more thought-provoking possibilities.
I also recognize that part of my reaction may have been shaped by my own state when I read it. Books dealing with depression, societal pressure, and personal tragedy can resonate differently depending on when and how you read them. I suspect I wasn’t in the ideal mindset to fully engage with the subtler aspects of the story. That said, reflecting on it now, I feel clearer about why it didn’t resonate.
Everything I Never Told You is a competent novel with strong thematic intentions, but for me, it fell short in execution. The characters felt frustratingly constrained, the attempted plot twists were underwhelming, and the ending felt too neat for the story it was telling. It’s a book that might resonate more with readers who connect deeply with the emotional lives of flawed families or who are reading it in the “right” emotional state. For me, it was readable and occasionally engaging, but ultimately, I felt detached and wished it had gone deeper into the complexities it hinted at.
One of the biggest issues for me was that I couldn’t connect with the characters — in fact, at times I actively disliked them. Hannah and James felt frustratingly shallow, Marilyn was a symbol rather than a fully realized person, and even Lydia, around whom the story revolves, felt distant. Marilyn’s struggle — giving up her own dreams to raise Lydia, then projecting her unfulfilled ambitions onto her daughter — was clearly intended to comment on societal pressures on women and feminism. But it felt like the book ended up reinforcing the “woman can’t have it all” trope rather than challenging it. Marilyn’s choices, while tragic, seemed unnecessarily constrained to the idea that motherhood and ambition cannot coexist, while James never faces similar pressures. This imbalance made the feminist commentary feel incomplete and, at times, contradictory.
I also struggled with the story’s structure. The book goes back and forth between past and present, but since the “mystery” of Lydia’s death is known from the start, the constant time shifts didn’t build suspense or deepen understanding for me. The attempted plot twist — that certain events might implicate other characters, only to reveal that Lydia’s death was self-inflicted — felt forced. Small subplots, like Lydia learning to swim, offered some minor twists, but they weren’t enough to create the tension one might expect from a thriller-like premise. Similarly, the subplot with Jack’s sexuality seemed added for complexity but didn’t meaningfully clarify character motivations or enhance the narrative.
The book clearly aims to highlight societal pressures, racism, and family dynamics, but I felt it often skirted the depth it could have explored. The ending, which leans toward healing and reconciliation, felt soft and somewhat unrealistic given the severity of the issues presented. In reality, such pressures don’t resolve neatly, and human flaws are rarely so easily corrected. While the story gestures toward messy, incomplete healing, it ultimately tips toward a hopeful resolution, which undercut the darker, more thought-provoking possibilities.
I also recognize that part of my reaction may have been shaped by my own state when I read it. Books dealing with depression, societal pressure, and personal tragedy can resonate differently depending on when and how you read them. I suspect I wasn’t in the ideal mindset to fully engage with the subtler aspects of the story. That said, reflecting on it now, I feel clearer about why it didn’t resonate.
Everything I Never Told You is a competent novel with strong thematic intentions, but for me, it fell short in execution. The characters felt frustratingly constrained, the attempted plot twists were underwhelming, and the ending felt too neat for the story it was telling. It’s a book that might resonate more with readers who connect deeply with the emotional lives of flawed families or who are reading it in the “right” emotional state. For me, it was readable and occasionally engaging, but ultimately, I felt detached and wished it had gone deeper into the complexities it hinted at.