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patchy_at_best's Reviews (1.47k)
[a:Ransom Riggs|3046613|Ransom Riggs|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1475462673p2/3046613.jpg]’ debut novel combines vintage photographs with fast-paced fantasy. Although this book has a unique vision, poorly developed characters let it down.
After a horrific family tragedy, 16-year-old Jacob travels to a tiny island off the coast of Wales to investigate his grandfather’s mysterious past. There he finds a home for children with extraordinary abilities, hidden from the outside world. However, evil lurks one step behind him, hellbent on destroying both his world and that of the peculiar children.
Jacob is an unconvincing narrator. His voice seems to belong to a much older character, and he regularly fails to explain the thoughts and feelings behind his impulsive actions. Although his interactions with the other children are more believable, the lack of emotional depth and motivation makes the characters feel one-dimensional. That said, the individual children’s unique abilities are dynamic.
The book has an eerie atmosphere that doesn’t match the Gothic vibe of the photographs scattered throughout. The marketing gave me the impression it would be a horror, but it’s really a fantasy adventure story.
Although the photographs are the book’s biggest selling point, they limit readers from using their own imaginations. In fact, too much description is one of Riggs’ recurring flaws. The pace of the opening chapters are bogged down by unnecessary details. Pruning this back could have helped to drive plot. Despite a slow start, the plot contains enough twists and turns to hold your attention.
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children is far from perfect, but still a fun read. With such an inventive vision, I’m intrigued to see how the series will (hopefully) improve as the plot and characters develop.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
After a horrific family tragedy, 16-year-old Jacob travels to a tiny island off the coast of Wales to investigate his grandfather’s mysterious past. There he finds a home for children with extraordinary abilities, hidden from the outside world. However, evil lurks one step behind him, hellbent on destroying both his world and that of the peculiar children.
I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen. The first of these came as a terrible shock and, like anything that changes you forever, split my life into halves: Before and After. Like many of the extraordinary things to come, it involved my grandfather, Abraham Portman – page 1
Jacob is an unconvincing narrator. His voice seems to belong to a much older character, and he regularly fails to explain the thoughts and feelings behind his impulsive actions. Although his interactions with the other children are more believable, the lack of emotional depth and motivation makes the characters feel one-dimensional. That said, the individual children’s unique abilities are dynamic.
The book has an eerie atmosphere that doesn’t match the Gothic vibe of the photographs scattered throughout. The marketing gave me the impression it would be a horror, but it’s really a fantasy adventure story.
Although the photographs are the book’s biggest selling point, they limit readers from using their own imaginations. In fact, too much description is one of Riggs’ recurring flaws. The pace of the opening chapters are bogged down by unnecessary details. Pruning this back could have helped to drive plot. Despite a slow start, the plot contains enough twists and turns to hold your attention.
Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children is far from perfect, but still a fun read. With such an inventive vision, I’m intrigued to see how the series will (hopefully) improve as the plot and characters develop.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Hidden is a powerful introduction to disability narratives. As the first book I’ve read representing adult intellectual disability, it lays the foundation for me to engage with the topic with better understanding and compassion. Importantly, it opened my eyes to the key issues surrounding adult intellectual disability.
Our first person narrator, Mirranda Burton, tells true stories from her time teaching art to adults with intellectual disabilities. Despite her often chaotic environment, Mirranda is calm and always self-aware. With an attitude of non-judgment, she fosters a respectful, patient, and caring art space. As a result, her students have a safe environment to learn, share, and create. Hidden is divided into short stories, each exploring a different student’s relationship with their art and their community.
Although Mirranda maintains a peaceful exterior, she expresses the duality of her external/internal self through the visual metaphor of drowning in a teacup. Although I have no experience working with disability like Mirranda, this description of self-criticism and feeling out of her depth resonates with me. I love how the graphic novel form allows her to communicate this in such an emotive way.
As the title suggests, the overarching theme is how the world of disability is hidden from society. Mirranda’s students have complex needs, passions, and fears. Yet they are isolated from their families and their communities. For example, when Mirranda helps one of her students to apply for university, she is dismayed to find that the only courses that support students with disabilities are about basic life skills. Once again, the world of disability is restricted within a tiny bubble of uneducated assumptions.
Hidden is a short but memorable journey into forgotten lives. It teaches compassion, and shows us the humanity we so often overlook. This is a poignant must-read.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
When I took on a part time job as an art instructor to adults with ‘intellectual disabilities’ ranging from down syndrome to autism, I was rescued from learned ideas of human progress. I stepped into a reality outside of the box and hit the ‘reset’ button. It was like opening a new tin of ink and rolling out a colour I had never seen before – Hidden
Our first person narrator, Mirranda Burton, tells true stories from her time teaching art to adults with intellectual disabilities. Despite her often chaotic environment, Mirranda is calm and always self-aware. With an attitude of non-judgment, she fosters a respectful, patient, and caring art space. As a result, her students have a safe environment to learn, share, and create. Hidden is divided into short stories, each exploring a different student’s relationship with their art and their community.
Although Mirranda maintains a peaceful exterior, she expresses the duality of her external/internal self through the visual metaphor of drowning in a teacup. Although I have no experience working with disability like Mirranda, this description of self-criticism and feeling out of her depth resonates with me. I love how the graphic novel form allows her to communicate this in such an emotive way.
It’s all one really needs to know in life… …just keep a sharp focus on what’s important and keep going… and going… – Hidden
As the title suggests, the overarching theme is how the world of disability is hidden from society. Mirranda’s students have complex needs, passions, and fears. Yet they are isolated from their families and their communities. For example, when Mirranda helps one of her students to apply for university, she is dismayed to find that the only courses that support students with disabilities are about basic life skills. Once again, the world of disability is restricted within a tiny bubble of uneducated assumptions.
I have often felt that navigating humanity is like being lost in the woods… …but for Julie, it seems like a complex network of streets in which she is desperately trying to put adequate signage at traffic lights. While she works relentlessly, she is regularly stopped by a little alarm clock in her heart. Without fail, at nine o’clock in the morning she leans towards me, and without me saying a word, she says, “I love you too Mirranda” – Hidden
Hidden is a short but memorable journey into forgotten lives. It teaches compassion, and shows us the humanity we so often overlook. This is a poignant must-read.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
White Space is the captivating first book of [a:Ilsa J. Bick|143691|Ilsa J. Bick|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1468281133p2/143691.jpg]'s young adult fantasy series, The Dark Passages. What starts as a cool concept evolves into a scary and unputdownable epic.
Told from the intersecting viewpoints of the eight main characters, White Space is a fast-paced fantasy thriller with horror influences. It revolves around the magic of reading and writing; how authors pull stories seemingly out of thin air. But what if writing characters gave them life? Or a dark and hungry force demanded your blood in repayment for the stories you wrote? Most importantly, would you know fact from fiction once trapped inside a book?
The plot is a mind-bending maze of smokescreens and alternate realities. In this intricate narrative, Bick’s insanely imaginative mind is always one step ahead. I loved Bick’s commitment to developing her idea to its absolute limits. A lot of fantasy books and films I’ve read and watched failed to push ideas to their full potential, but White Space left my expectations in the dust. Admittedly, the plot is tricky to mentally map since so many narrative threads run alongside each other. (Not to mention all the alternate realities and timelines.) However, the great pacing helped me to follow along whenever the structure was jumpy.
Bick has a fantastic vocabulary. For a 560 page book packed with action sequences, I expected to get bored. However, she repeatedly surprised me with vivid descriptions that brought these scenes to violent life. I enjoyed the scattered literary references throughout, especially repeated nods to [b:Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There|83346|Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, #2)|Lewis Carroll|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1359299332s/83346.jpg|17240250]. Not only did these help build layers of meaning, but also added to a gothic, eerie atmosphere in parts. Bick’s word choices and literary references felt deliberate and well-edited, showcasing her genre diversity.
Dialogue is the only aspect worth noting that fell short of Bick’s high standard. I felt that Emma and Rima were by far the best developed characters with the most believable voices, while Bode’s and Lizzie’s characters sometimes didn’t match their dialogue. In Lizzie’s case, this was because Bick needed a five-year-old girl to explain the complex lore of “White Space” and “the Dark Passages”, resulting in Lizzie sounding like a 30-something Time Lord rather than a child. Granted, Lizzie is by no means naive. I totally forgave these dialogue/character inconsistencies because I was much too immersed in the story to care.
The ending left me panting to read the sequel. White Space isn’t the sort of book I typically pick up, but I’m so glad I followed Bick through the looking glass into her incredible world.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
When Emma woke up yesterday morning, life had still been pretty normal. Well, as normal as it got for a kid with a head full of metal, killer headaches, visions that appeared more or less at random, chunks of lost time, and nowhere to go over Christmas break – page 31
Told from the intersecting viewpoints of the eight main characters, White Space is a fast-paced fantasy thriller with horror influences. It revolves around the magic of reading and writing; how authors pull stories seemingly out of thin air. But what if writing characters gave them life? Or a dark and hungry force demanded your blood in repayment for the stories you wrote? Most importantly, would you know fact from fiction once trapped inside a book?
The plot is a mind-bending maze of smokescreens and alternate realities. In this intricate narrative, Bick’s insanely imaginative mind is always one step ahead. I loved Bick’s commitment to developing her idea to its absolute limits. A lot of fantasy books and films I’ve read and watched failed to push ideas to their full potential, but White Space left my expectations in the dust. Admittedly, the plot is tricky to mentally map since so many narrative threads run alongside each other. (Not to mention all the alternate realities and timelines.) However, the great pacing helped me to follow along whenever the structure was jumpy.
Bick has a fantastic vocabulary. For a 560 page book packed with action sequences, I expected to get bored. However, she repeatedly surprised me with vivid descriptions that brought these scenes to violent life. I enjoyed the scattered literary references throughout, especially repeated nods to [b:Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There|83346|Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, #2)|Lewis Carroll|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1359299332s/83346.jpg|17240250]. Not only did these help build layers of meaning, but also added to a gothic, eerie atmosphere in parts. Bick’s word choices and literary references felt deliberate and well-edited, showcasing her genre diversity.
Dialogue is the only aspect worth noting that fell short of Bick’s high standard. I felt that Emma and Rima were by far the best developed characters with the most believable voices, while Bode’s and Lizzie’s characters sometimes didn’t match their dialogue. In Lizzie’s case, this was because Bick needed a five-year-old girl to explain the complex lore of “White Space” and “the Dark Passages”, resulting in Lizzie sounding like a 30-something Time Lord rather than a child. Granted, Lizzie is by no means naive. I totally forgave these dialogue/character inconsistencies because I was much too immersed in the story to care.
The ending left me panting to read the sequel. White Space isn’t the sort of book I typically pick up, but I’m so glad I followed Bick through the looking glass into her incredible world.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Who better to talk about LGBTQIA life in Asia than Benjamin Law? Openly gay and born in Australia to Chinese immigrant parents, he approaches Gaysia with concern and respect… not to mention the perfect dose of comedy.
Gaysia is a journalistic adventure into the LGBTQIA nerve centre of Asia, from “clothing optional” gay resorts in Bali, to the homes of Chinese gays and lesbians who fake heternormative marriages to keep their identities secret. Law opened my eyes to a diverse range of socio-political landscapes, all posing unique challenges to the LGBTQIA community.
I strongly recommend listening to the audiobook version of Gaysia. While the writing is clear and authoritative, Law’s voice is loaded with charisma. He gets the balance exactly right – he’s a comedian, but he can nail the serious moments too, seamlessly flowing between different moods. You can tell he’s a brilliant writer by the way he makes statistics compelling.
As Law travels across Asia, he shares interviews with a diverse cast of characters, from HIV positive sex workers in Myanmar, to trans beauty pageant contestants in Bangkok. Hearing their stories in their own words is powerful, especially considering these voices are normally silenced. Listening to them express their personal battles, as well as their relationship with their culture, government, and families, is incredible. Sometimes the stories are uplifting, but usually the squalor and injustice is heartbreaking. It really puts the Australian way of life into perspective.
I appreciate how Gaysia covers both ends of the spectrum in its hunt for truth, from wealth to poverty, from people who celebrate their sexuality without fear, to people who are closeted due to threat. Besides delving into the lives of people with diverse gender and sexual identities, Law even hears from “ex-gay” Christian fundamentalists who campaign to cure “broken sexuality”. The result of such an inclusive and varied reporting method is that we can piece together a detailed picture of attitudes and beliefs surrounding LGBTQIA issues.
Regardless of your familiarity with the cultures and issues Law explores, this book is an amazing way to expand your awareness. Chances are, these issues don’t impact your day-to-day life. However, understanding the diversity of experiences in the world is so personally enriching. I hope this book will entertain, inspire, enrage, and educate you as much as it did me.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages
Gaysia is a journalistic adventure into the LGBTQIA nerve centre of Asia, from “clothing optional” gay resorts in Bali, to the homes of Chinese gays and lesbians who fake heternormative marriages to keep their identities secret. Law opened my eyes to a diverse range of socio-political landscapes, all posing unique challenges to the LGBTQIA community.
I strongly recommend listening to the audiobook version of Gaysia. While the writing is clear and authoritative, Law’s voice is loaded with charisma. He gets the balance exactly right – he’s a comedian, but he can nail the serious moments too, seamlessly flowing between different moods. You can tell he’s a brilliant writer by the way he makes statistics compelling.
As Law travels across Asia, he shares interviews with a diverse cast of characters, from HIV positive sex workers in Myanmar, to trans beauty pageant contestants in Bangkok. Hearing their stories in their own words is powerful, especially considering these voices are normally silenced. Listening to them express their personal battles, as well as their relationship with their culture, government, and families, is incredible. Sometimes the stories are uplifting, but usually the squalor and injustice is heartbreaking. It really puts the Australian way of life into perspective.
I appreciate how Gaysia covers both ends of the spectrum in its hunt for truth, from wealth to poverty, from people who celebrate their sexuality without fear, to people who are closeted due to threat. Besides delving into the lives of people with diverse gender and sexual identities, Law even hears from “ex-gay” Christian fundamentalists who campaign to cure “broken sexuality”. The result of such an inclusive and varied reporting method is that we can piece together a detailed picture of attitudes and beliefs surrounding LGBTQIA issues.
Regardless of your familiarity with the cultures and issues Law explores, this book is an amazing way to expand your awareness. Chances are, these issues don’t impact your day-to-day life. However, understanding the diversity of experiences in the world is so personally enriching. I hope this book will entertain, inspire, enrage, and educate you as much as it did me.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages
We Were Liars has a reputation for dividing readers – whether you love it or hate it, everyone seems to have a strong opinion about this book. While I hoped to be blown away, I didn’t connect with the characters. While some aspects of the story resonated with me, overall I wasn’t impacted as much as I expected and hoped to be.
Every summer, the Sinclairs live it up on their private island. 15-year-old Cadence and her cousins – the “Liars” – spend the summer making mischief. However, an unexplained accident that results in Cadence’s amnesia and crippling migraines forces her to question the Sinclair’s paradise.
We see the events of We Were Liars through Cadence’s eyes. Her voice is unique, ironically romantic to show how tragic her family’s delusions of grandeur truly are. Cadence is an unreliable narrator – we learn the events leading up to her memory loss through time-hopping and guesses. Her voice also uses a lot of repetition and surreal imagery. While some readers will enjoy this style, I found it jarring.
Cadence’s story centres on her relationships with her fellow Liars – cousins Mirren and Johnny, and step-cousin Gat. I didn’t empathise with any of them – not even Gat whom Cadence views through rose-tinted glasses. That said, the Sinclairs are purposely dislikable. Their attitude of entitlement and constant fighting reveals the ugliness of their hearts. As a result, I often felt like I was watching an over-acted theatre performance. I assume this alienation is deliberate, but it didn’t resonate with me at all.
The entire plot leads up to a shocking twist. Exactly as the book’s title suggests, every nook and cranny of the story is littered with lies that amount to one huge deception. Although I didn’t feel connected to the characters, the twist was confronting enough to shock me.
I understand why readers disagree over We Were Liars – different aspects of the story and the character’s struggles will touch many different chords. It has the power to provoke self-reflection and discussion. I can see the merit in this story even if it wasn’t for me.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Every summer, the Sinclairs live it up on their private island. 15-year-old Cadence and her cousins – the “Liars” – spend the summer making mischief. However, an unexplained accident that results in Cadence’s amnesia and crippling migraines forces her to question the Sinclair’s paradise.
Welcome to the beautiful Sinclair family. No one is a criminal. No one is an addict. No one is a failure. The Sinclairs are athletic, tall, and handsome. We are old-money Democrats. Our smiles are wide, our chins are square, and our tennis serves aggressive – page 1
We see the events of We Were Liars through Cadence’s eyes. Her voice is unique, ironically romantic to show how tragic her family’s delusions of grandeur truly are. Cadence is an unreliable narrator – we learn the events leading up to her memory loss through time-hopping and guesses. Her voice also uses a lot of repetition and surreal imagery. While some readers will enjoy this style, I found it jarring.
My full name is Cadence Sinclair Eastman … It is true I suffer migraines since my accident. It is true I do not suffer fools. I like a twist of meaning. You see? Suffer migraines. Do not suffer fools. The word means almost the same as it did in the previous sentence, but not quite. Suffer. You could say it means endure, but that’s not exactly right – page 4
Cadence’s story centres on her relationships with her fellow Liars – cousins Mirren and Johnny, and step-cousin Gat. I didn’t empathise with any of them – not even Gat whom Cadence views through rose-tinted glasses. That said, the Sinclairs are purposely dislikable. Their attitude of entitlement and constant fighting reveals the ugliness of their hearts. As a result, I often felt like I was watching an over-acted theatre performance. I assume this alienation is deliberate, but it didn’t resonate with me at all.
The entire plot leads up to a shocking twist. Exactly as the book’s title suggests, every nook and cranny of the story is littered with lies that amount to one huge deception. Although I didn’t feel connected to the characters, the twist was confronting enough to shock me.
I understand why readers disagree over We Were Liars – different aspects of the story and the character’s struggles will touch many different chords. It has the power to provoke self-reflection and discussion. I can see the merit in this story even if it wasn’t for me.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
For Today I Am A Boy is a no holds barred exploration of transgenderism against a backdrop of traditional Chinese culture. This is the rawest and most confronting LGBTQIA story I’ve read.
From childhood, American-born Peter Huang knows she is a girl, but is too ashamed to tell her family. Over the course of decades, Peter and her sisters drift from the lives their traditionalist parents planned for them. Only after suffering silently through an abusive relationship, workplace bullying, and indoctrination from a Christian “ex-lesbian”, does Peter rethink her relationship with family and self.
For Today I Am A Boy isn’t sugarcoated or clichéd. Peter’s story is often hard to read, opening my eyes to LGBTQIA issues I’d never considered before. A lot of the events and themes throughout Peter’s journey made me squeamish and uncomfortable – things that were previously invisible to me as a cis gender female (i.e. I identity as the gender I was biologically assigned). Kim Fu handles the countless taboos with care and purpose, unlike many writers who butcher delicate topics by biting off more than they can chew and only scratching the surface.
As an only son, Peter’s gender identity is unthinkably shameful. In her patriarchal culture, sons are responsible for keeping the family line alive. She is indoctrinated from a young age to view masculinity and femininity as binary – one dominant, one subservient. She is haunted by her father’s expectation to bring honour to the men of her family, past and present. Before reading For Today I Am A Boy, I was unfamiliar with Peter’s culture, especially regarding parent-child relationships. I felt sad and anxious reading how cultural norms alienated Peter from her family – and from her true self. With immigrant parents from Hong Kong, Kim Fu writes about Peter’s American-Chinese upbringing from a knowing point of view.
Regrettably, the story structure – beginning in Peter’s childhood and continuing chronologically into her 40s – got in the way of me connecting emotionally. I felt like I waited until the second quarter of the book for the story to really start. Also, the tangents focusing on her sisters’ stories distracted me even further from engaging with Peter. I think if the book started when Peter is a teen, I would have invested in her more quickly. I feel like she becomes more layered and empathetic as an adult. That said, Peter’s character arc is very believable. Her decisions and experiences are always authentic to her internal journey.
While there are many amazing elements of this book, my favourite is Peter’s relationship with the female body. Going against media and societal pressure to be one of two set beauty standards – skinny or curvy – Peter falls in love with the athletic female body. I found this inspiring, even shocking, since the athletic body is so rarely celebrated despite being healthy.
For Today I Am A Boy is an unfiltered and powerful LGBTQIA narrative with a rich cultural context. Reading this book expanded my awareness of transgender issues. Peter’s complicated and confronting journey moved me.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages
From childhood, American-born Peter Huang knows she is a girl, but is too ashamed to tell her family. Over the course of decades, Peter and her sisters drift from the lives their traditionalist parents planned for them. Only after suffering silently through an abusive relationship, workplace bullying, and indoctrination from a Christian “ex-lesbian”, does Peter rethink her relationship with family and self.
For Today I Am A Boy isn’t sugarcoated or clichéd. Peter’s story is often hard to read, opening my eyes to LGBTQIA issues I’d never considered before. A lot of the events and themes throughout Peter’s journey made me squeamish and uncomfortable – things that were previously invisible to me as a cis gender female (i.e. I identity as the gender I was biologically assigned). Kim Fu handles the countless taboos with care and purpose, unlike many writers who butcher delicate topics by biting off more than they can chew and only scratching the surface.
“We waited a long time for you. In a family, the man is the king. Without you, I die – no king” – page 16
As an only son, Peter’s gender identity is unthinkably shameful. In her patriarchal culture, sons are responsible for keeping the family line alive. She is indoctrinated from a young age to view masculinity and femininity as binary – one dominant, one subservient. She is haunted by her father’s expectation to bring honour to the men of her family, past and present. Before reading For Today I Am A Boy, I was unfamiliar with Peter’s culture, especially regarding parent-child relationships. I felt sad and anxious reading how cultural norms alienated Peter from her family – and from her true self. With immigrant parents from Hong Kong, Kim Fu writes about Peter’s American-Chinese upbringing from a knowing point of view.
I saw our dead father everywhere. In the way the guards held their mouths in disgust, their bland, shaming voices: How dare you bring a water bottle? Did you think we wouldn’t know? That we can’t hear the vile thoughts in your head? The twisted happiness you squeeze out of dresses and dolls when you think you’re alone? We are watching you from the other side. How Father would love the new America, its all-seeing, all-knowing eye – page 191
Regrettably, the story structure – beginning in Peter’s childhood and continuing chronologically into her 40s – got in the way of me connecting emotionally. I felt like I waited until the second quarter of the book for the story to really start. Also, the tangents focusing on her sisters’ stories distracted me even further from engaging with Peter. I think if the book started when Peter is a teen, I would have invested in her more quickly. I feel like she becomes more layered and empathetic as an adult. That said, Peter’s character arc is very believable. Her decisions and experiences are always authentic to her internal journey.
While there are many amazing elements of this book, my favourite is Peter’s relationship with the female body. Going against media and societal pressure to be one of two set beauty standards – skinny or curvy – Peter falls in love with the athletic female body. I found this inspiring, even shocking, since the athletic body is so rarely celebrated despite being healthy.
For Today I Am A Boy is an unfiltered and powerful LGBTQIA narrative with a rich cultural context. Reading this book expanded my awareness of transgender issues. Peter’s complicated and confronting journey moved me.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages
Eleven Hours combines the stories of two women from totally different walks of life. The first is Lore, a fiercely independent 30-something woman in labour with her first child. The second is Franckline, her pregnant Haitian midwife. For the next eleven hours, both women undergo life-changing emotional journeys.
This story could not exist without its complex female characters. Lore is a standout for me. When we first meet her, she’s determined to have her strict birth plan obeyed to the T. Franckline observes how, beyond Lore’s seemingly impenetrable walls, she’s only a scared little girl.
At first, I found Lore’s defensiveness made her off-putting. However, the more that [a:Pamela Erens|763626|Pamela Erens|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1455843636p2/763626.jpg] reveals of her story, the more empathetic she becomes. She grew into an extremely relatable character, whose development challenged me to reflect on myself.
A standout aspect of Lore’s character is how she defies normative gender boundaries – she is strong and weak, hard and soft equally. In a world where female opinions and consent often come second to male agendas, Lore’s self-belief is refreshing, even confronting.
On the other hand, Franckline has a wealth of experience worlds apart from Lore’s middle-class American life. Her intuitive talents as a midwife far precede her immigration from Haiti.
Like Lore, Franckline is at a pivotal moment in her life, and must come to terms with past trauma before she can embrace the future.
Lacking chapter breaks, the narrative flows fairly seamlessly between the points of view of both women. The division was approximately 60% Lore and 40% Franckline. I can imagine some readers wishing the division was the other way around, since Franckline’s narrative is more unique than Lore’s. As is, the differences between these American perspectives are thought-provoking.
Sadly, the ending gave me mixed feelings, bringing down my overall rating by one star. Since finishing Eleven Hours, I went on to read Pamela Erens’ better known novel, [b:The Virgins|25766721|The Virgins|Pamela Erens|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1434886706s/25766721.jpg|23697951], which suffered from a similarly rocky ending. I found both endings slightly melodramatic and alarmist. I’m relieved I read this book first, otherwise The Virgins may have put me off ever picking it up.
Eleven Hours was mentally and emotionally stimulating from start to finish. Its representation of women and parenthood inspired me, while the themes of relationships and identity were close to home.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
This story could not exist without its complex female characters. Lore is a standout for me. When we first meet her, she’s determined to have her strict birth plan obeyed to the T. Franckline observes how, beyond Lore’s seemingly impenetrable walls, she’s only a scared little girl.
Lore got her classwork done and managed to stay it school, but she never found the time to make friends, and finally it was as if she’d lost the knack of it. Four years of her mother’s illness contracted around her and squeezed her into a different shape, so that she became detached and careful, a provisional sort of person, someone who did not believe in the day after next. Then her mother was truly better, but Lore stayed close by and kept her heart free, afraid to be spirited away by some love affair or ambitious impulse – because What If? – page 28
At first, I found Lore’s defensiveness made her off-putting. However, the more that [a:Pamela Erens|763626|Pamela Erens|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1455843636p2/763626.jpg] reveals of her story, the more empathetic she becomes. She grew into an extremely relatable character, whose development challenged me to reflect on myself.
A standout aspect of Lore’s character is how she defies normative gender boundaries – she is strong and weak, hard and soft equally. In a world where female opinions and consent often come second to male agendas, Lore’s self-belief is refreshing, even confronting.
“No,” says Lore. And though she says it quietly, there is finality in it. Franckline has rarely heard such a “no” from a woman. Where did Lore learn to say hers? What makes her believe it will be honoured? – page 16
On the other hand, Franckline has a wealth of experience worlds apart from Lore’s middle-class American life. Her intuitive talents as a midwife far precede her immigration from Haiti.
They called her Ti Matrone, the little midwife. Over time she absorbed the practicalities: when to make the woman walk, when to make her drink, when to wait. By the time she was eleven or twelve she knew how to turn a breech baby, apply herb compresses for heavy bleeding, make a woman expel a baby that had died. The villagers said she has the gift, she was what they called pon, or bridge, could bring life safely from there to here, from the womb to the world – page 20
Like Lore, Franckline is at a pivotal moment in her life, and must come to terms with past trauma before she can embrace the future.
Lacking chapter breaks, the narrative flows fairly seamlessly between the points of view of both women. The division was approximately 60% Lore and 40% Franckline. I can imagine some readers wishing the division was the other way around, since Franckline’s narrative is more unique than Lore’s. As is, the differences between these American perspectives are thought-provoking.
Sadly, the ending gave me mixed feelings, bringing down my overall rating by one star. Since finishing Eleven Hours, I went on to read Pamela Erens’ better known novel, [b:The Virgins|25766721|The Virgins|Pamela Erens|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1434886706s/25766721.jpg|23697951], which suffered from a similarly rocky ending. I found both endings slightly melodramatic and alarmist. I’m relieved I read this book first, otherwise The Virgins may have put me off ever picking it up.
Eleven Hours was mentally and emotionally stimulating from start to finish. Its representation of women and parenthood inspired me, while the themes of relationships and identity were close to home.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Challenger Deep is a rare and wonderful mental illness narrative. It portrays schizophrenia accurately and non-judgmentally, illuminating both insider and outsider perspectives towards it. With inventive storytelling, this book balances serious with hilarious.
15-year-old Caden is an ordinary American teenager, except for one thing – he believes in an alternate reality in which he’s a pirate on course to plunder the deepest point of the ocean. As Caden’s hallucinations and paranoia worsen, his realities bleed into each other. This is a story of hitting rock bottom, and finding the way back.
It took me several chapters to get into the story, but once I was onboard (pardon the pun), I couldn’t put it down. At first, I enjoyed Caden’s “real life” chapters more than his pirate chapters. However, as the line separating the two realities blurs, I love how they feed into each other, revealing clever parallels and metaphors. The surreal nature of the pirate ship reminds me of [a:Lewis Carroll|8164|Lewis Carroll|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1192735053p2/8164.jpg]’s Wonderland.
Isolation is an insidious side effect of mental illness. I appreciate how Caden communicates the stigma he experiences – how outsiders treat him like he’s contagious. From my uneducated, outsider perspective, schizophrenia seems complicated and scary. It falls within that problematic “crazy” stereotype, taught to us by movies depicting”mad” patients raving in mental hospitals. Obviously, this stereotype is untrue and extremely damaging. I love that Challenger Deep has an empathetic hero who demystifies schizophrenia. After reading this book, I feel Caden’s challenges are affirming for all mental illness journeys, and without being alienating.
I was also impressed how well Challenger Deep explains the effects of Caden’s mental illness on his parents:
Neal Shusterman uses point of view very meaningfully The whole narrative is told from Caden’s perspective, but as his mental illness snowballs and he becomes a mental hospital patient, his point of view swaps from first person to second person, making him seem outside of himself and showing his lack of control over what happens to him. I love this technique. It reminds me of [b:The Bell Jar|6514|The Bell Jar|Sylvia Plath|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1473890514s/6514.jpg|1385044], in which [a:Sylvia Plath|4379|Sylvia Plath|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1373572652p2/4379.jpg] uses passive voice to portray her powerlessness inside the mental hospital.
Whether you are on your own mental health journey, or want to understand the journey of others, Challenger Deep is a must read. It strips away the alarmist, fear-induced perspective many outsiders hold and communicates the feelings involved in an empathetic way. I love how it educated me to stop seeing people with schizophrenia as “other”.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
15-year-old Caden is an ordinary American teenager, except for one thing – he believes in an alternate reality in which he’s a pirate on course to plunder the deepest point of the ocean. As Caden’s hallucinations and paranoia worsen, his realities bleed into each other. This is a story of hitting rock bottom, and finding the way back.
So what happens when your universe begins to get off balance, and you don’t have any experience with bringing it back to centre? All you can do is fight a losing battle, waiting for those walls to collapse, and your life to become one huge mystery ashtray – page 27
It took me several chapters to get into the story, but once I was onboard (pardon the pun), I couldn’t put it down. At first, I enjoyed Caden’s “real life” chapters more than his pirate chapters. However, as the line separating the two realities blurs, I love how they feed into each other, revealing clever parallels and metaphors. The surreal nature of the pirate ship reminds me of [a:Lewis Carroll|8164|Lewis Carroll|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1192735053p2/8164.jpg]’s Wonderland.
Isolation is an insidious side effect of mental illness. I appreciate how Caden communicates the stigma he experiences – how outsiders treat him like he’s contagious. From my uneducated, outsider perspective, schizophrenia seems complicated and scary. It falls within that problematic “crazy” stereotype, taught to us by movies depicting”mad” patients raving in mental hospitals. Obviously, this stereotype is untrue and extremely damaging. I love that Challenger Deep has an empathetic hero who demystifies schizophrenia. After reading this book, I feel Caden’s challenges are affirming for all mental illness journeys, and without being alienating.
There are many ways in which the “check brain” light illuminates, but here’s the screwed-up part: the driver can’t see it. It’s like the light is positioned in the backseat cup holder, beneath an empty can of soda that’s been there for a month. No one sees it but the passengers – and only if they’re really looking for it, or when the light gets so bright and so hot that it melts the can, and sets the whole car on fire – page 107
I was also impressed how well Challenger Deep explains the effects of Caden’s mental illness on his parents:
The two of them are in a lifeboat, together, but so alone. Miles from shore, yet miles from me … Right now it sucks to be me – but until now, it never occurred to me that it also sucks to be them – page 266
Neal Shusterman uses point of view very meaningfully The whole narrative is told from Caden’s perspective, but as his mental illness snowballs and he becomes a mental hospital patient, his point of view swaps from first person to second person, making him seem outside of himself and showing his lack of control over what happens to him. I love this technique. It reminds me of [b:The Bell Jar|6514|The Bell Jar|Sylvia Plath|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1473890514s/6514.jpg|1385044], in which [a:Sylvia Plath|4379|Sylvia Plath|https://images.gr-assets.com/authors/1373572652p2/4379.jpg] uses passive voice to portray her powerlessness inside the mental hospital.
Whether you are on your own mental health journey, or want to understand the journey of others, Challenger Deep is a must read. It strips away the alarmist, fear-induced perspective many outsiders hold and communicates the feelings involved in an empathetic way. I love how it educated me to stop seeing people with schizophrenia as “other”.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Ever since reading [b:Eat, Pray, Love|19501|Eat, Pray, Love|Elizabeth Gilbert|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1294023455s/19501.jpg|3352398], I’ve been in love with Liz Gilbert’s warm and wise voice. This exciting little book teaches the bravery to commit to a creative life.
Have you ever been too afraid of failure to embark on a creative journey? Have you ever viewed your creativity as a burden or curse that tortures you? I’m guilty of both these things plus countless others I indulge. Surrendering to fear and having a martyr’s mindset towards creativity prevents you from ever having a playful, joy-filled creative life. Big Magic is a guide to changing your attitude, facing fear, and following the clues that lead you to inspiration.
I can’t think of the last time I felt so motivated to tackle my projects. While readers will take or leave some of Gilbert’s ideas, I adore her perception of the world and find it resonates with my own. After finishing Big Magic, I felt deeply moved to be my best self, and experienced an attitude adjustment towards my own creativity.
I pledge to reread this book whenever I find myself blocked or self-judgmental. It helped me to free my creativity from my own cage-like self-judgment.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Do you have the courage to bring forth the treasures that are hidden within you? – page 8
Have you ever been too afraid of failure to embark on a creative journey? Have you ever viewed your creativity as a burden or curse that tortures you? I’m guilty of both these things plus countless others I indulge. Surrendering to fear and having a martyr’s mindset towards creativity prevents you from ever having a playful, joy-filled creative life. Big Magic is a guide to changing your attitude, facing fear, and following the clues that lead you to inspiration.
Dearest Fear: Creativity and I are about to go on a road trip together. I understand you’ll be joining us, because you always do … There’s plenty of room in this vehicle for all of us, so make yourself at home, but understand this: Creativity and I are the only ones who will be making any decisions along the way … You’re allowed to have a seat, and you’re allowed to have a voice, but you are not allowed to have a vote – page 26
I can’t think of the last time I felt so motivated to tackle my projects. While readers will take or leave some of Gilbert’s ideas, I adore her perception of the world and find it resonates with my own. After finishing Big Magic, I felt deeply moved to be my best self, and experienced an attitude adjustment towards my own creativity.
I pledge to reread this book whenever I find myself blocked or self-judgmental. It helped me to free my creativity from my own cage-like self-judgment.
This review can also be found on my blog Paige's Pages.
Using her wealth of experience as an international model, bestselling crime novelist, human right’s activist, and mother, Tara Moss equips readers to confront gender inequality in every aspect of society. Through immersive research and intimate wisdom, this dynamic duo will educate and empower.
I listened to The Fictional Woman and [b:Speaking Out: A 21st-Century Handbook for Women and Girls|28113709|Speaking Out A 21st-Century Handbook for Women and Girls|Tara Moss|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1461771218s/28113709.jpg|48122564] as audio books, and now have a HUGE crush on Tara Moss’s voice. As a strong and confident speaker, her warmth and wisdom bursts through her rich tone. Hearing the author read her own work is intimate, and sometimes unearthed my own pain. Although I plan to buy all my female friends and family members these books for Christmas, I know I’ll be returning to the audio versions.
The Fictional Woman confronts the countless “fictions” that have kept the status quo well-fed for centuries. As a woman who has filled many different roles throughout her life – is it so hard to believe a girl can be a hot blonde AND a bestselling crime writer? – Moss combines personal memoir with in-depth research to discuss the socio-historical constructs of gender roles.
The aim is to open readers’ eyes to the burgeoning reality of gender inequality, and how this affects both men and women in every layer of society. Methodically, Moss explores key aspects of modern life that are impacted by sexism, including politics, film and publishing industries, domestic violence and sexual assault laws, representations found in folklore and fairytales, stay-at-home parenting and maternity leave, and childbirth and abortion laws.
While this book can be pretty damn heavy, the intimacy of Moss’s storytelling makes The Fictional Woman raw and moving. Several times during reading, I felt my heart rate accelerate to a dizzying speed – its no-holds-barred approach to issues that are routinely silenced and misrepresented means that the content is often confronting. However, I love knowing that my values as a feminist are now empowered by knowledge and shared wisdom.
I have so much respect and gratitude to Tara Moss for this intimate insight into her life to show the indisputably real effects of gender inequality. I empathise with her pain and find her confidence to fight discrimination truly inspiring. These books not only gave me a new role model for navigating life, but also the self-belief to speak up for my rights and values.
This review can also be found on my blogPaige's Pages.
I listened to The Fictional Woman and [b:Speaking Out: A 21st-Century Handbook for Women and Girls|28113709|Speaking Out A 21st-Century Handbook for Women and Girls|Tara Moss|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1461771218s/28113709.jpg|48122564] as audio books, and now have a HUGE crush on Tara Moss’s voice. As a strong and confident speaker, her warmth and wisdom bursts through her rich tone. Hearing the author read her own work is intimate, and sometimes unearthed my own pain. Although I plan to buy all my female friends and family members these books for Christmas, I know I’ll be returning to the audio versions.
The Fictional Woman confronts the countless “fictions” that have kept the status quo well-fed for centuries. As a woman who has filled many different roles throughout her life – is it so hard to believe a girl can be a hot blonde AND a bestselling crime writer? – Moss combines personal memoir with in-depth research to discuss the socio-historical constructs of gender roles.
The aim is to open readers’ eyes to the burgeoning reality of gender inequality, and how this affects both men and women in every layer of society. Methodically, Moss explores key aspects of modern life that are impacted by sexism, including politics, film and publishing industries, domestic violence and sexual assault laws, representations found in folklore and fairytales, stay-at-home parenting and maternity leave, and childbirth and abortion laws.
While this book can be pretty damn heavy, the intimacy of Moss’s storytelling makes The Fictional Woman raw and moving. Several times during reading, I felt my heart rate accelerate to a dizzying speed – its no-holds-barred approach to issues that are routinely silenced and misrepresented means that the content is often confronting. However, I love knowing that my values as a feminist are now empowered by knowledge and shared wisdom.
I have so much respect and gratitude to Tara Moss for this intimate insight into her life to show the indisputably real effects of gender inequality. I empathise with her pain and find her confidence to fight discrimination truly inspiring. These books not only gave me a new role model for navigating life, but also the self-belief to speak up for my rights and values.
This review can also be found on my blog