It could be a magic country like Narnia, and the only way you can get in is by swinging across on this enchanted rope.
There isn't a lot of
It could be a magic country like Narnia, and the only way you can get in is by swinging across on this enchanted rope.
There isn't a lot of substance I can say about this without spoiling the story. That's because the main plot point and purpose of the story doesn't happen until towards the end (it's a very short book).
It's not a fantasy novel, although it references some classics, like The Chronicles of Narnia and The Chronicles of Prydain (which I weirdly read just before this and managed to catch the reference). No, not fantasy, but two kids playing outdoors and carving out a realm for themselves there. The book will usually not get more into it than something like "they played at Terabithia every day that week."
Leslie was one of those people who sat quietly at her desk, never whispering or daydreaming or chewing gum, doing beautiful schoolwork, and yet her brain was so full of mischief that if the teacher could have once seen through that mask of perfection, she would have thrown her out in horror.
A new kid, Leslie, moves into Jess's neighborhood. He doesn't like her at first because she's a tomboy who beats him at running, but they quickly warm up to each other and establish Terabithia. Leslie is metaphorically the bridge of this relationship, because she brings Jess into a world of fantasy and imagination he hadn't known before.
He hardly slept the rest of the night, listening to the horrid rain and knowing that no matter how high the creek came, Leslie would still want to cross it.
Most of the book is fairly mundane and boring (as an adult reader). There are also some weird aspects, like a crush Jess has on his music teacher. These interactions made me really uncomfortable because it was inappropriate but goes unaddressed. On the other hand? Cheers to a tiny spot of 1970s atheism, which I assume is what has gotten this book banned (as opposed to the weird teacher)....more
“Very well,” said Coll, “if that is all that troubles you, I shall make you something. From this moment, you are Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper."
“Very well,” said Coll, “if that is all that troubles you, I shall make you something. From this moment, you are Taran, Assistant Pig-Keeper."
Like many people, I knew this story first from the Disney film (titled The Black Cauldron, which is actually the name of the second book in the series).
It follows Taran, a boy...being raised by two old men (I think he was orphaned?). They give him lessons, and he takes care of a pig named Hen Wen. But, it turns out, Hen Wen isn't just any pig. She's an oracular pig. Yes, that's oracular as in oracle. Because of this, some bad dude who likes to wear another person's skull on his face raises an army of dead to retrieve the pig, all for...reasons.
Taran is joined by multiple people/beings along the way. They typically have a specific quirk, like a dwarf who visibly strains to go invisible like the other dwarfs, a creepy-sounded man-hound hybrid named Gurgi (which they opted to make small and cute in the cartoon), and a bard whose harp strings break dramatically when he lies.
"I’m not officially a bard.” “I didn’t know there were unofficial bards,” Eilonwy remarked. “Oh, yes indeed,” said Fflewddur. “At least in my case. I’m also a king.” “A king?” Taran said. “Sire …” He dropped to one knee.
The author drew from Wales and Welsh mythology. In theory I like that, but in practice, my simple memory of the Mabinogion was clearly not enough to fully appreciate it.
I swear I'm not just being mean when I rate this 2 stars ("it was okay"). It's actually hopeful, because I see a lot of reviews that say this is the worst of the series, and I hadn't otherwise planned to continue. So, I'll save the 3 for those if they really are better.
I think my main issue is that I never felt invested, either because it felt too simplistic, or because of the lack of reasons for what was going on. Maybe it's also because it's a travel-adventure narrative, which tend to be episodic (and which I tend not to like).
“I just, I never should have invited them in,” she thought aloud. Charlie scoffed. “You think they’re vampires?” “No.” Eve paused, tilting her h
“I just, I never should have invited them in,” she thought aloud. Charlie scoffed. “You think they’re vampires?” “No.” Eve paused, tilting her head. “Maybe…?”
We Used to Live Here follows Eve, who just bought an old house in a sparsely populated part of Oregon with her girlfriend Charlie.
They plan to flip it. So, it's just a little awkward when a guy shows up at their door in a snowstorm, family in tow, asking to see his childhood home. Even, who has difficulty saying no and setting boundaries, eventually relents; the family seems nice enough, and it feels bad telling them no.
If you’ve followed directions properly up to this point, RED LAKE will be bone dry. At its deepest point, there will be a steel hatch in the ground that leads to a house of refuge. A middle-aged woman will be there to provide further instruction. If her son has passed away in the last year, leave immediately and backtrack your route to the last house of refuge. Ensure the woman does NOT follow.
Enter Thomas, Paige, two annoying kids, and one barely there kid. Enter the weirdness.
Chapters are separated by documents of various types that relate to strange incidents. And maybe I am too nerdy in a specific way for this book, but the author mentions record types in a way that indicates he doesn't know how they work. For example, county-level records being treated like town records. Transcriptions of published obituaries with information redacted in the copy--like, why redact your own copy of the newspaper???
These documents all amount to a greater mystery in the background of the novel, and it's too big for the book's pages. And frankly, it all ends up seeming rather lovecraftian, with its labyrinth mapped out by ancient meaninglessness, which is something I've never liked.
I wanted to read a book in which we read the warning about the widow only after we've visited her, and right before we turn around and realize that she's followed us. But that is not this book, and these documents feel mostly like throwing around story ideas without the effort of actually writing them. Or like the author hinting that he had a better story idea than he actually wrote.
When things felt right, it only meant there was so much more that could go wrong.
Frankly, I could say this same thing about this book. It started strong, in media res and everything. However, by around the 75% mark, it was clear this wouldn't live up to its own intrigue; there just wasn't the time/pages left to do it.
I think this could make a great mindfuck movie as it is, though, assuming a movie version wouldn't introduce documents that don't really relate to the story, or signs of depth that are never explored. ...more
“Did I not drive them from this land once before?” “Ah, you are beginning to remember, Father. You did indeed.” “And they have returned?” “These
“Did I not drive them from this land once before?” “Ah, you are beginning to remember, Father. You did indeed.” “And they have returned?” “These are new people. A different kind of people. They come from far away and know not to be afraid yet."
Slewfoot is a mixed bag in several different ways. What had the biggest impact on me, though, is that the story got worse and more boring as it went on. Already, the plot is entirely predictable, even if the message on the memorial plaque at the beginning didn't tell you the tl;dr.
I did like the first half, though, so it's a disappointment it only led to a generic witch trial and massacre.
“That is not what you want, that is what you need. You are not made out of needs, you are made out of your dreams and desires. What is it you wish and dream of?”
The main character is Abitha, a Londoner who had the misfortune of being sent to a Puritan village in Connecticut to marry. She has the brilliant idea to sell natural remedies and love potions in this environment.
We also get "Father," some type of primeval forest god that has just reawakened near Abitha's secluded farmstead. His memories didn't come back with him, though, and his self-rediscovery is both humorous and mysterious.
“You will confess!” he demanded, spittle flying from his lips.
Let's be real, this is no Crucible. It lacks the nuance of historical fiction, and it also lacks the horror of a horror novel. The black-and-white nature of the villains reaches cartoonish levels, but since actual witch trials were so ridiculous, it's hard to be sure if that is a fault of the book or just...reality. Either way, that's not a great breeding ground for complexity.
And there was something about these people that horrified Abitha even worse than those whose faces were lined with cruelty. As at least cruelty was a thing that could be pointed out, confronted. But this belief, this absolute conviction that this evil they were doing was good, was God’s work—how, she wondered, how could such a dark conviction ever be overcome?
I think the biggest problem for me with this book is that the whole point of witch trials is that they were unfounded as no one had ever made any real covenant with the devil, and there were no real witches. The message gets mixed up when you write a story that gives justification to the Puritans. As a reader, it feels like it breaks some kind of etiquette rule to put me in a position in which I'm reading about a witch trial and sometimes thinking, "Well, they're more or less right." I wish the book had gone in a different direction in the second half to either avoid or mitigate this.
This is my first book by Brom, but I'm getting the sense that he gets certain scenes in his mind and builds a book towards that. Which makes sense, because he's an artist. In this case, at least, these (seeming) goal scenes were not as compelling to read as the story he wrote to lead to them....more
I’d sit in bed after Mommy and Daddo tucked me in and I’d look to the closet doors and they would open, just a little bit. I’d see her eyes in
I’d sit in bed after Mommy and Daddo tucked me in and I’d look to the closet doors and they would open, just a little bit. I’d see her eyes in there like she was smiling. Sometimes I thought I saw her teeth, too, but when car headlights came through the window, I’d see she wasn’t smiling.
This book is told from the perspective of Bela, a child who is being visited by a ghost or demon called Other Mommy. I see the description says she is supposed to be 8, but I read it as a much younger child. I think of something closer to a 4 year old saying "Mommy and Daddo." I have a niece this age, so I feel fairly certain that 8 year olds are more sophisticated than this. I've read a few books lately that have kids with adult voices, so I guess I prefer that this errs on the young side, because it at least has a distinct child's voice.
Are we friends? I don’t think so. I don’t think friends are this scared of each other.
At first Bela thought Other Mommy was a friend, probably because her real mom is kind of shit too. But at the beginning of the book, it has recently started asking her if she would let it into her heart. This makes even Bela uncomfortable, but it's in a way she doesn't understand and that conflicts with the lessons on kindness that her Daddo teaches her.
Then Daddo said: Hey, I’m Other Daddo!
I'm left feeling mixed. I could complain about the monologues the adults give to Bela when they think she's sleeping, but I think those have an explanation. I could complain about the contrived meeting on the psychic character right before she's needed.
It's probably my own fault for barely looking into what I read, but I had been expecting and wanting incidents around the house. Not incidents around the state of Michigan. I was groaning every time someone suggested going somewhere else.
On the other hand, the descriptions of Other Mommy are creepy, and I enjoyed the character voice and child-style writing (even if I didn't agree on what age the kid sounded like). I like the ambiguity it leaves us with, to wonder which conversations were real and what was right....more
“She was the head of her—” “Society?” Mika couldn’t resist asking. “I would prefer to use the term group of witches sharing a similar geography,
“She was the head of her—” “Society?” Mika couldn’t resist asking. “I would prefer to use the term group of witches sharing a similar geography,” said Primrose coldly. Mika rolled her eyes. “Yes, that sounds much better.”
As one may ascertain from the title alone, this is a light fantasy and romance novel following a modern witch (named Mika Moon). She's an orphan, just like every other witch, as a result of a curse placed a few centuries ago. Instead, she was raised by the cold and cautious Primrose, who heads the group of witches living in England. They aren't allowed to talk to each other outside of quarterly meetings for fear of outsiders rediscovering their existence.
Despite this, Mika moves to Norfolk to teach three young witches who are quite irregularly being raised together. In secret. Especially from Primrose.
Winding a tendril of magic around her finger, Mika summoned all the tiny pieces of glass and collected them together in a neat, glittering ball that hovered in mid-air and sent reflected light dancing across the room. “Disco or bin?” “I think you know I’m going to say bin.”
My top literary shame is probably that I still haven't read Pride and Prejudice. But regardless, I'm guessing the male romantic interest in Mandanna's novel is supposed to be a Mr. Darcy type due to all the Austen name drops. But maybe he's closer to a brooding Byronic hero.
The book actually changes to his perspective a few times, and I'm not sure if I liked that or not. It made him seem desperately easy to get, but there was also a lot of humor in those chapters. And I'm not sure what the usual convention is for a romcom novel marketed to women, so I was surprised that it was only the man's perspective during the sex scene. I guess because he's been living in that house like an incel for who knows how many years, the author decided to just let him have his time.
It was a bit like that old philosophical question about a tree falling in the woods, wasn’t it? If no one remembered her, and she didn’t matter to anyone, did she really exist?
Ultimately, this book granted me more smiles (sometimes despite myself) than eyerolls. I read this for a book club. It's hard to rate since it's outside the usual genres and vibes I would normally choose, but I have the feeling it's about average for a quirky, wholesome romance.
Now I return to my world of nightmares and children's historical fiction....more
Is not late May an odd time for a wedding, with so much here that has to be done, and with Spring plowing and planting? Joy and sorrow, says o
Is not late May an odd time for a wedding, with so much here that has to be done, and with Spring plowing and planting? Joy and sorrow, says our father, each makes its own season.
I'm going back and forth between two and three stars for this. The reason is because this book isn't as good from a story perspective as any of the Dear America books I've read (to which A Gathering of Days is a clear precursor). It reads more like a diary than Dear America, with some entries just being little snippets or quotes.
Honestly, this book is like jamming together the plots of multiple different children's historical fiction novels. You've got the white kids helping a runaway slave. You have the dead friend and deader mom. Teacher drama, winter stuff, the making of maple syrup. It might be realistic, but it doesn't make for much of a story arch.
The berries grow so close to the briars one can not have one without the other.
It follows Catherine, a teenaged girl who lives in Meredith, New Hampshire. Her diary is wrapped inside an extra layer, which is a note from Catherine to her own granddaughter, to whom she is giving her diary decades later.
Interestingly, the author had a specific plot of land in mind when she wrote this, but I'm not sure what her connection to it was; Wikipedia says she lived in Michigan....more
“Did you eat it?” asks Jake. “Wasn’t it weird that this guy was offering you candy? And didn’t it gross you out that he touched it?” “I’m getti
“Did you eat it?” asks Jake. “Wasn’t it weird that this guy was offering you candy? And didn’t it gross you out that he touched it?” “I’m getting to all that. But yes, it was weird. And yes, I was grossed out. But I ate it.”
I'm Thinking of Ending Things starts with a woman and her boyfriend (Jake) of a couple of months on a short road trip to visit his parents at their farm. She's having second thoughts on this trip to meet his parents since she was already thinking of ending things.
I always thought I would light that candle one day. I never did. The more time passed, the harder it became to light. Whenever I thought an occasion might be special enough to burn the candle, it felt like I was settling.
It's not because of anything specific; she's just not sure she would be happier with him than alone but independent. Not chained to someone who gets white stuff in the corners of his lips. She just can't be sure it's the best choice.
She's also been getting some creepy phone calls. At first, the Caller said he was a wrong number, but he continues to call and leave weird voicemails.
I don't want to say anything about the parents or what actually happens outside of the drive during which we begin the story.
It's a short book (one that could probably have been even shorter, hence why I think my instinct was to rate this a 3 instead of 4). There are also short dialogues between chapters about some horrific scene a couple of people are discussing. These conversations feel contrived and have a less mature tone than the rest of the book. And yes, sometimes I wished they would just shut up and drive in silence. Maybe if I could really be sure the ending was the best possible ending, I would rate this a 4 instead.
We can’t and don’t know what motivations people have for doing the things they do. Ever. Not entirely. This was my terrifying, youthful epiphany. We just never really know anyone. I don’t. Neither do you.
I watched the movie version afterwards, and it was trippier than I expected with some really interesting choices. All or most of the dialogue was changed, which is kind of strange. Usually you notice the sentences taken straight from the book. I recommend reading the book and then watching the movie. Both are good and their own unique experiences.
In an interview at the end of the book, the author mentioned that he would be happy if readers read this in just a couple of sittings. I ended up doing that because after a certain point, I just couldn't stop....more
Silvertjärn, a former mining village in the heart of Norrland, has stood more or less untouched since 1959, when all nine hundred of its resid
Silvertjärn, a former mining village in the heart of Norrland, has stood more or less untouched since 1959, when all nine hundred of its residents disappeared under mysterious circumstances.
I thought this was very average and ultimately forgettable. It follows a woman who is on the verge of fulfilling her dream of creating a documentary on Silvertjärn and maybe solve a 60-year-old family mystery, since her grandmother's family vanished in the mass disappearance. She has a small crew with her to get some initial footage to entice investor or production companies or whoever...I don't know the details of how that works.
Interspersed within the modern narrative are old letters that her great-aunt Aina (disappeared) sent to her grandma. We also see the events of 1958-9 play out through the eyes of Elsa, her great-grandmother (also disappeared). I liked these parts, and they are probably the main thing I'll remember about this years from now.
One thousand empty windows stare back at me on every side. I look left and right, try to catch some sort of movement, spot something out of the corner of my eye, but everything is quiet and still.
I kind of hated the end, or maybe the entire last third or so besides the flashbacks.
The author also made some weird descriptive choices about multiple characters that had me falsely thinking multiple people had some relation to someone else. For example, in a book with only a handful of characters, how are you going to say two men look genderless? Or focus on the eyelashes of two different men with thick blond hair? It's just irritating from a reader's perspective. I felt like there was also kind of a Chekov's gun scenario in regards to where the townspeople should have been.
I don't know. It seems some mysteries are better before you solve them....more
“Your mind is free now,” he’d said to me. “There’s nothing binding it. It’s free, absolutely free.”
So we're back with Richard Matheson and
“Your mind is free now,” he’d said to me. “There’s nothing binding it. It’s free, absolutely free.”
So we're back with Richard Matheson and some of the same things I didn't like about The Shrinking Man.
We start with a strong premise: a man's hidden psychic potential is released after his brother-in-law puts him under hypnosis during a party. He begins to know things--and see things--such as a woman in his house. This leads us to a unique haunted(?) house story.
“What’s the matter,” I said, “do you have something to hide? Maybe a—”
“Everyone has something to hide!” she burst out.
I think there are two major things that kept me from enjoying much of this.
1. Matheson seems to have had a tendency to overwrite about boring things. I say this as a former history major who thinks the stock market and genealogy are interesting.
2. It feels dated in a "man writing women" type of way. This ties into the first point, because being so traditional and stereotyped makes the plot boring, and yet most of the book focuses on female characters. The women revolve entirely around men and babies (men first, babies second). They didn't feel like people. Matheson even squeezes a preteen girl (team baby) into that tiny space. The "outburst" above from the main character's wife saying that everyone has something to hide was the only interesting thing from a woman in this whole book.
“Think of it this way,” he said. “You—and the great majority of undeveloped mediums—are traversing a dark tunnel with a flashlight that goes on occasionally—completely beyond your control. You catch fleeting glimpses of what’s around you, never knowing what you’re going to see, never knowing when you’re going to see it.”
Maybe this book would have seemed better if I hadn't seen the movie. Maybe it would have seemed better in a month other than October. For me, it was just okay....more
PIP: But they were serious? CHLOE: I guess so. Define “serious”? PIP: Well, I…Were they sleeping together? CHLOE: Wow, school projects have chang
PIP: But they were serious? CHLOE: I guess so. Define “serious”? PIP: Well, I…Were they sleeping together? CHLOE: Wow, school projects have changed since I left. Why on earth would you need to know that?
A Good Girl's Guide to Murder is a fun detective-style murder mystery. Our detective is Pip, a highschooler who boldly choses a recent local murder as her capstone project. It's partially told through interviews and other documentation kept by Pip, which help make this a speedy read.
I lied slightly, told them I was a reporter for CNN named Penny.
While the murder is a charged topic for many, it's personal for Pip, too. She knew the boy who was accused of the murder, and her gut told her it wasn't him. Most of the rest of the small town shuns the boy's family.
“Well, that was fun. Thanks for the invite to my first blackmailing.”
There's not much I can say about this one without getting into spoiler territory. All the little reveals and advances are part of the fun of reading it. But I'll say two things:
1. Pip gets a fun sidekick who always has the best lines.
2. Jackson skillfully wove a lot of different threads together that create many possibilities for the reader to ponder. Even better, I think half the mystery is solvable by readers who follow Pip's lead and trust their own gut.
One last thing to note is that the location of the story was changed from England to Connecticut for the American version. The text was also partially rewritten for American audiences. I find this kind of thing really unnecessary, and it can rob a story of any atmosphere. Indeed, this gave me no sense of Connecticut, and it was easier to pretend it was an English town anyway; I don't know how you could get any more British than the nickname Pip....more