I'm still not fully sure what to make of this book. I feel like it implied it was going a certain direction and then went somewhere completely different. This book is about The Seep, a strange alien entity that infiltrates the world as we know it and "enlightens" people to where they suddenly have an inherent understanding of how to live in harmony with each other and the planet. But ultimately, it's much more interested in this very human story of a woman whose wife leaves her after they've grown apart and want different things and who then grapples with the aftermath of that decision (obviously the specifics of this are strange because this is a post-Seep world, but that's the gist of it). Ultimately, the book feels too short and doesn't explore The Seep well enough to satisfy that element of the plot, nor does it give enough time and exploration to the interconnected stories that Porta attempts to tie together in an odd and abrupt conclusion (especially the Compound kid, who was the driving force behind Trina's journey for most of the novel but who doesn't really amount to anything as a character). However, the idea itself is really interesting and the characters she's introduced are great; I just didn't feel I spent enough time with all of them for the climax to have the effect Porta wanted.
I found this one much less divisive than Ninth House. Still had that signature blend of humor and darkness, but it didn't feel like any of the character arcs were unnecessarily traumatic this time around. I liked that we got to see a lot more character development this time, especially in the flashbacks we get for four of the central characters. Bardugo gives us a lot more to connect with in both Dawes and Turner, characters who I appreciated and liked from the first one but didn't feel like I really knew that well. I think the central mission in this one is a little more interesting as well, taking less of a traditional mystery approach and leaning more into the fantasy and supernatural elements that made it a little more unpredictable. All in all, I really enjoyed this one and am excited for the third.
I picked this up on a whim because I needed something to listen to at the gym. This is not my typical genre, and I kind of realized pretty quickly that I'd need to be open-minded about it. The characters are a little cookie cutter and the progression of the romance feels a little contrived, but it's not enough to hinder the enjoyment if you're someone who appreciates a more rom-com take on a love story. I don't read a lot of erotica, but the sex scenes seemed fine? Aside from a few questionable descriptors—"Nick's dick wept", for example—I wasn't completely taken out of the moment at any point. I will say, I could very much tell it was not written by a gay man based on the lack of nuance in the main characters' personalities and the progression of their relationship; there's a lot of traditional masculinity in here. And I'm sorry, but if you're 6 months into railing your male neighbor every night and spooning them to sleep and saying you're falling in love with them, you're not going to also continually have moments where you stop to think how shocking it is you're putting a dick up your ass. I listened to the audiobook version, and while this worked for Nick and Bryce, the narrator's voice was horrific for every female—weirdly whiney and high-pitched to the point of distracting from the story. All in all, though, this was a fun listen.
I didn't dislike reading this book—on the contrary, I was somewhat compelled to keep going because I wanted to figure out what actually happened. It does, however, feel unnecessarily long and maybe a little too cluttered plot- and theme-wise to the point that it comes off unfocused. And I don't think I'd describe it as a mystery novel necessarily because the mystery feels secondary to all these other things going on in the story. Rebecca Makkai seems interested in asking questions about the true crime genre, such as the role of the independent investigators and internet sleuths that tend to amass around some of these cases as well as the impulse to take theories and run with them with no regard for consequences. She also clearly wants to explore power imbalances and systemic male violence against women as well as the way women can internalize this and feel forced to play the part they're supposed to. However, neither of these feel super well explored, and the story doesn't really land on any conclusion about what it's trying to say or bring anything new to the conversation around what feel like pretty well-tread topics at this point. There also were a few choices that just flat-out didn't work for me. The first was this odd thing that begins a couple chapters in where Bodie starts slipping into the second-person, addressing someone who we slowly learn more about over the course of the book. It feels gimmicky and doesn't really serve much of a purpose. The second was this thing Makkai does where she's describing some faceless female victim and continually swaps out the details from various high- and low-profile cases over the years; it's a bit, "We get it" after the first instance, but she does it a handful of times throughout the book for pages at a time. All in all, it was a decent read still - Makkai is obviously a talented writer, and the pieces are there to still get something interesting out of it, even if you have to take some leaps and liberties to get there.
This book was pretty underwhelming. You can tell Natalie Haynes is a capable writer, and I did find myself interested in the retellings of these various Greek myths. However, she heavily misses the mark on the feminist slant, relying on heavy-handed tropes to analyze these Greek figures through a suffocatingly modern, Western feminist lens that leaves much to be desired. We get these awful second-person chapters where Haynes tries to "gotcha" the readers, saying things like (I'm paraphrasing here), "You might be feeling sorry for this man, but have you thought about the fact that he's bad?" Like...yeah, obviously. First of all, the way she tells the stories leaves the reader with no alternative conclusion but this one. Second, is this really the most interesting way Haynes thought of to make this retelling feminist - by asking obvious questions and leaving out all the interesting gray area where people are neither wholly bad nor good? Let's look at Athena, for example - a goddess who gets sexually assaulted by another god. In this moment, her thoughts are something like, "He knows what he did was wrong. I feel ashamed to talk about it with the other gods, even though I know I have nothing to be ashamed of." Haynes is forcing these very modern, Western concepts into the head of a Greek god with no justification for why she'd be feeling them. Not to mention, before this encounter, Athena brutally mutilates Medusa for having the audacity to be raped by a God in Athena's temple; she also goes on to assist in Perseus' quest to behead Medusa. But do we ever explore the complex actions of Athena? No, not even a little bit. All of that is glossed over so that Haynes can focus on these specific, obvious takes. It's such a terrible fumble that feels like a cash grab to get people legitimately interested in a retelling that would center and explore the complexities of the female experience in these stories. Would not recommend.
My first Octavia Butler, and it did not disappoint. We jump immediately into the action, with Dana drifting back in time within the first couple of pages, and the story just goes from there. Butler uses this time ripple to explore themes of fear, grief, and generational trauma, specifically for Black Americans in relation to our country's history of slavery and segregation. From the moment we see Dana's fear take hold as she realizes she's in the 19th Century, we are confronted with the sharp contrast between two periods that are barely more than 100 years apart. In the conversations Dana has with her husband throughout the book, we are confronted with the fact that there is absolutely no way someone who is not black can understand the full extent of what that history actually means, how that trauma can carry and harbor itself, invisible, within someone. This approach is such a unique take on exploring these themes and allows them to really sink in with the reader while keeping the momentum of the story itself. We see the ways black people were made to have complicated relationships with their owners and, in turn, with the ideas of justice, equality, fairness. Rufus's father is considered a "fair" man because he upholds his word, for example. Rufus believes he's different from his father because he can comprehend and lightly entertain the idea that black people are equally capable as white people, especially because of his interactions with Dana, but he refuses to challenge the status quo out of selfishness and lack of emotional regulation. Yet throughout the story, we are, through Dana, meant to wonder about the core of these characters and at the ideas of good and evil. All in all, this is a compelling story that leaves you with a lot to digest and think about, as well as some characters that you won't soon forget (shout out Dana, Alice, Sarah, Carrie, and Nigel, among others).
You absolutely have to listen to this book to get the full experience. You are immediately reminded that Viola Davis is a performer, but you also realize she's got a lot of passion about recounting her experiences and that she's thought a lot about what her story is and what it means. Sometimes autobiographies/memoirs fail to tie all the strings together, but Davis has clearly gone through her life and found these threads that she's woven into a really compelling, moving story. She's got a killer sense of humor and is able to move between that and gravitas easily as she takes us through an admittedly often grim childhood into her early adulthood trying to make it in the industry and finally into her time as a certified A-lister. With humility and gratitude, she tells us about the people in her life who have left an impact and contrasts the different versions of herself over the years, exploring how those contradictions created tension over time as well as opportunity to challenge herself and be reborn. One of my favorite books of the year!
I read a lot of reviews saying they thought this book was repetitive - honestly, I didn't really get that because the way it progresses seems to make sense for the main character and this specific story. This is a tale of a modern breakup from the point of view of someone who is pretty self-centered and uncertain of what they want out of life, yet is adamant they are aware of this and are doing really good, actually, for most of the book. I can understand how some people might find Maggie grating - she seems like the type who would be fun to be around but you'd never want to get caught in a serious conversation with them (because it'd likely involve them trauma dumping onto you with zero self-awareness). I think there are a lot of relatable moments throughout this book, and I did laugh quite a bit at Maggie's stream of consciousness. I also found her trajectory through self discovery and realizing she's kind of been an asshole pretty honest and well done. There is a scene in particular with a therapist where everything kind of comes to a head, and Monica Heisey does a solid job of wrapping things up after that point. All in all, it wasn't amazing, but Heisey is a sharp writer and at least asks some interesting questions about main character syndrome by putting Maggie through the ringer and leveraging the unreliable narrator trope.
Definitely one of my favorite books of the year. Colson Whitehead gives us well developed and lovable characters, especially in Elwood and Turner, and his writing style strikes a perfect balance between minimalism and flourish. This is a story about the tension between idealism and realism (cynicism/pessimism) set in the midst of the Civil Rights Movement, specifically in a prison for young men that's officially branded as a reform school. Through Elwood's journey at Nickel, Whitehead explores themes of racism, justice, trauma, and survival. Also has one of the most subtle but gut-punching endings I've read in a while.
Though this memoir did not blow me away, it was still a good listen as Pamela has led an undeniably interesting life. Admittedly, her tone has a certain breathiness to it that took me a bit to get used to, but as usual, listening reigns supreme for memoirs as you get that additional layer of context you sometimes miss out on when reading. I think maybe what was missing for me here was a deeper examination of some of the more significant aspects of her life, such as her relationship with her parents growing up as well as their relationship with each other; her relationships over the years with toxic, abusive men; and the impact of slut shaming culture that specifically targets women like her. The insights she draws from these experiences often feel incomplete or are missing entirely. Part of this might be attributed to her attitude; she seems to be a very spiritual and positive person, and her reflections on her life are cast through this lens, which at times leads to them feeling a bit shallow. Part of it also may be attributed to the structure, which jumps between periods in her life without always providing clear transitions or clarifying seemingly contradictory details (her father has reformed himself but then is suddenly terribly abusive again, she's working with Playboy but then isn't but is still affiliated with them and attending their parties); while these variations are natural in the messiness of true life, the writing style creates confusion and, in turn, it's difficult to understand what these moments mean to Pamela or how she reconciles these contradictions. That being said, I definitely learned a lot about her life and have a lot of respect for the path she carved out for herself, and I enjoyed hearing her tell her story.