Moto Hagio was truly ahead of her time. Her artwork is stunning, and its beauty both complements and contrasts the dark themes she explores in this st Moto Hagio was truly ahead of her time. Her artwork is stunning, and its beauty both complements and contrasts the dark themes she explores in this story. Describing the story as heavy would be an understatement—it's intense and disturbing. What happens to Jeremy is horrific, but Hagio never sensationalizes his trauma. Instead, she shows the insidious nature of his abuser's psychological and emotional warfare, convincing Jeremy that he is somehow to blame and should be ashamed of being sexually assaulted.
In contrast to the story's disturbing content, Hagio's imagined Boston feels almost picturesque. Her vision of England also feels fairy-talesque, drawing inspiration from various eras and images associated with the UK. I found it amusing that no one remarks on Jeremy's American accent, or that we are repeatedly told the UK is colder than Boston.
I first read this when I was but a sad sprog, and it left a lasting impression on me (i even created a playlist that i could listen to while reading this). Hagio shows profound empathy in exploring Jeremy's psyche, alleviating the story's relentless darkness through beautiful imagery—often of landscapes—and touching interactions that serve as reprieves in a story centred on abuse.
A word that would adequately capture this series is haunting, so read at your own discretion. ...more
i really wanted to like this but there is a scene early on, one that acts as the catalyst to the remainder of the story, that feels way too similadnf
i really wanted to like this but there is a scene early on, one that acts as the catalyst to the remainder of the story, that feels way too similar to one from Liar, Dreamer, Thief by Maria Dong. the opening of this novel also feels kind of...messy. it's the kind of opening that tries to be gritty and real, but feels sensationalistic and more suited to a piece of media from the late 90s/early 2000s. if this novel is on your radar i recommend you check out reviews from readers who have actually finished this....more
disclaimer: the below opinions are based on a small portion of this book so if you are looking for a more comprehensive review of Determination, i recdisclaimer: the below opinions are based on a small portion of this book so if you are looking for a more comprehensive review of Determination, i recommend you check out reviews from readers who have actually finished it.
dnf
not only does her neck grow "taller" when her father praises (one would expect something along the lines of 'she stood a little taller', or that the praise made her 'straighten her shoulders' etc...). a few pages later we get a scene featuring a man whose "winged ears twitched." on the whole, the writing is very unconvincing. the opening scene struck me as particularly clunky, and there are several corny descriptions, both detailing our mc's actions and her inner thoughts/emotions. that is not to say that Khan is a bad writer or this a bad book. i believe that a more thorough editing process would have improved Khan's storytelling or, at the very least, made her writing smoother and more fluid. ...more
our mc, the (quasi)estranged daughter of wealth, runs her own fashion brand and is possibly in line to inherit the family empire...sounds familiar?dnf
our mc, the (quasi)estranged daughter of wealth, runs her own fashion brand and is possibly in line to inherit the family empire...sounds familiar? initially, this nod to Crash Landing onto You amused me. however, Zen Cho's latest novel quickly devolves into a bland rehash of romcom and K-drama clichés. what's most disappointing is the complete absence of Cho's trademark witty humor and playful satire. Cho's prose feels flat and uninspired compared to her usual works.
it pains me to admit that The Friend Zone Experiment feels like an attempt to cash in on the romcom trend. while i understand its potential for commercial success over Cho's fantasy novels, i had hoped for her to inject more of her style into the genre. instead, we're served one cliché after another—like a beautiful MC who doesn't realize her own attractiveness ("conscious about her jaw," but somehow "no less lovely now—more so, if anything").
despite the characters' wealth, Cho's attempt to immediately garner sympathy for our 'relatable' MC (who has launched a successful brand and owns a flat in London... in this economy?) feels rushed and contrived. then there's this perplexing moment: "She had wondered over the years if he was gay and that was why things had gone wrong when she’d fallen for him. But she wasn’t wearing a blouse under her jacket, and there was something about the way Ket Siong’s eyes were carefully avoiding her neckline that made her think that wasn’t it." i don't even know where to begin with this. it was a choice, one that would not be out of place in a Wattpad story, but i am dissapointed to see an author who previously centred her stories on queer characters write something so banal.
this novel falls short of Cho's usual brilliance (boring characters, predictable story, flat writing) and lacks the charm and depth i have come to expect from her...more
i'm going to put this to the side for now... i want to like armfield's work, her use of motifs, repetition, and her ability to create a certain opaquei'm going to put this to the side for now... i want to like armfield's work, her use of motifs, repetition, and her ability to create a certain opaque ambience appeal to me. but i often find her language affected and her characterisation predictable. her attempts at bluntness also don't really work for me as they seem rather edgy. my friends here on GR loved it so i recommend you check out more positive reviews as i'm very much an outlier....more
It's-a me, Luce, and-a welcome to my review! Bellissimo!
I wasn't a fan of Mcquiston's previous books (I only managed to finish Red, White & Royal BluIt's-a me, Luce, and-a welcome to my review! Bellissimo!
I wasn't a fan of Mcquiston's previous books (I only managed to finish Red, White & Royal Blue, which was childish, even by romcom standards) but I decided to give their latest novel a chance. However, within just a few pages, I found myself cringing at their humor (dildos...ah-ah) and their portrayal of places outside of America (that whole pub scene in London...why?)...it's giving Emily in Paris. Mcquiston writing once again delivers some serious wattpad vibes, or the kind of character interactions and scenarios that would not be out of place in a romance movie of the netflix original variety.
The introduction of the Italian tour guide sealed my dislike for this book. His welcome: "Ah! The last two! Meraviglioso!" It's the same tired caricature of an Anglo-American's perception of an Italian, which is an amalgamation of clichés based on men from Rome or Naples (who are often portrayed as loud, boisterous, charming, handsy even). Imagine someone from northern italy or from a small southern town, working with or for a British company, greeting clients with a 'meraviglioso!'. Ridiculous, right? He also says "Ciao bella" to Theo because of course he fucking does.
And don't get me started on the cheek-kissing... Americans have misunderstood this whole kissing cheeks greeting. Depending on where you are in Italy, you might do it with family, friends, and depending on the setting, with friends of friends or when your friends are introducing you to someone or whatever. The Italians who work in Britain or with a British/non-Italian clientele wouldn't pull this.
It's frustrating how this Fabrizio character, despite his fluency in English, can't seem to resist sprinkling in Italian phrases/words like 'meraviglioso,' 'ciao,' 'grazie mille,' etc. It feels lazy and perpetuates a shallow stereotype. Frankly, it comes across as puerile, so much so that I doubt whether I'll bother finishing this book. Unless it's revealed later on that Fabrizio isn't actually Italian or is just playing up to the expectations of non-Italians (performing his own Italianness, so to speak), this portrayal is just lazy.
I don't care if you want to make fun of Italy and Italians, go for it. All I ask, is that you be clever, witty even, about it. Don't resort to such tired clichés, which are so unimaginative & unfunny that they could have been generated by AI.
Anyway, YMMV, so if you are the kind of reader who likes Emily in Paris chances are this book will be up your street....more
Originally published in 2002 Perma Red has recently been reissued. Its bold new cover, featuring praise from Louise Erdrich, caught my attention. The Originally published in 2002 Perma Red has recently been reissued. Its bold new cover, featuring praise from Louise Erdrich, caught my attention. The opening pages were intriguing enough but the more I read, the more puzzled I became by the story’s unfolding events. While I enjoy novels that challenge conventions, Perma Red left me bewildered by its mishandling of its central character, Louise, who is stripped of both a personality and agency.
Set predominantly on the Flathead Indian Reservation in the 1940s, the novel orbits around Louise, a Native girl who, following her mother's death, is raised by her grandmother. Time and again Louise has run from the Ursuline schools, only to be taken away from her home and placed into another one. She’s seen as trouble, especially by Charlie Kicking Woman, a tribal officer who is fixated on Louise. Baptiste Yellow Knife, his younger cousin, is also determined to pursue Louise, employing tactics that frequently verge on violence, whether through physical force or preternatural means.
But before I talk about what went wrong (for me) with Perma Red, here are a couple of things that I liked about it. It’s very much a vibe-driven novel, and it succeeds in establishing the harsh realities of Louise’s life. The novel’s stark atmosphere reminded me of Daniel Woodrell’s Winter’s Bone, Una Mannion’s A Crooked Tree, and A Prayer for Travelers by Ruchika Tomar (all of which center around girls living in rural or otherwise remote areas, with absent/dead parents, and have dealings with dubious men). In theory, I also appreciated the ambiguity permeating the narrative and that the characters, their motives and desires, remain somewhat inaccessible. I liked the imagery, which contributed to the novel’s evocative atmosphere and I did appreciate that the author, through Louise's experiences, sheds light on the violence faced by Indigenous women.
However, my enthusiasm waned as Louise's narrative veered away from her development. Instead, it fixates on the men around her, neglecting her agency and reducing her to a vessel for their desires. Must a story exploring how women are objectified, objectify its central female character? Louise's potential for growth is stymied by the overwhelming presence and focus on the story’s male characters and of ‘what’ Louise is to each of them ( the white men appear to fetishize her, Charlie resents and desires her and Baptiste..i don’t know what the fuck is going on with that dude. He wants to ‘mark’ her as his…?). There are a couple of scenes where Louise is alone, that hold possibility, especially those scenes taking place outdoors. But these are cut short, her thoughts circling back to bloody Baptiste or the other losers.
Louise’s grandmother and sister are given barely any time on the page (they have one or two lines of dialogue…) which is a pity as this novel was in dire need of some female solidarity or at least time dedicated to exploring relationships that do not hinge on the male gaze (that is underlined by the men's weird & obsessive thoughts and actions towards Louise).
I could not for the life of me understand what was going on with the characters. I’m all for keeping things enigmatic, but here the characters are made almost entirely inaccessible, which isn’t great when said characters exhibit only trashy behaviors. Sure, I appreciated that the author doesn’t resort to lazy good/bad dichotomies, especially with the character of Charlie Kicking Woman, but the narrative fails to really consider just how creepy and predatory he is. Baptiste…I really thought that the narrative had established as an obstacle, a threat even, to Louise’s happiness and self-fulfilment…but turns out they are in love...? I did not get the memo. He is appalling, he is shown to be horrendous to Louise, the kind of 'love interest' I’d expect to encounter in Colleen Hoover's fiction. The narrative fails to explore just how damaged or damaging he is, making it so that he ends up being a very thinly rendered character, one who, by the end of the novel, we are meant to feel something for, but this payoff feels unearned. Louise is ping-ponged between men who are different levels of shitty, all of whom, except Baptiste, are way too old for her.
And why are they fascinated by her? I can’t say. The narrative seems to reduce Louise to what these men view her as, that is an object whose only value lies in her body, in her appearance. Charlie Kicking Woman was giving me some serious Humbert Humbert vibes, and I was exhausted by just how much time he was given.
The novel's conclusion attempts to grant Louise agency but falls short, redeeming unsavoury male characters without addressing the harm they've caused. Charlie’s predatory nature goes unexamined, while Baptiste's abusive behavior is unjustly romanticized. Louise's supposed love for Baptiste feels forced and undermines the narrative's earlier tension and intention. I’m meant to be happy that Louise is once more reunited with the man who has taken pleasure in tormenting and neglecting her? Sure, early on, that frisson of danger could have felt like desire, love even, to a young Louise, but later on it just made no sense. Rather than making Baptiste into a fleshed-out character, the narrative and Louise condone him just through the possibility that he has come to harm. Their love story didn’t need to be cutie-patootie or easy (i'm all for the exploration of toxic dynamics), but here I swear for the whole novel I thought of Batpsite as a one-note abusive asshole who stood in the way of Louise’s freedom…but it turns out that no, she loves him and he too loves her…(?).
Maybe the characters are so inaccessible as to make them rather far-fetched. There were several instances where a character would randomly come up with a realization about someone or themselves that to me made no sense and felt very out of nowhere (like sure, whatever floats). I also was disappointed by the novel not exploring Louise’s grief or her family dynamics…it just made her character hollow.
Perma Red offers glimpses of promise with its evocative atmosphere and exploration of Indigenous experiences, but its disjointed narrative, vague characterization, and its preference for the male voices ultimately diminish the impact of Louise's story.
If Perma Red is on your radar, I recommend giving it a shot, despite my mostly negative review. Perhaps you'll be able to make sense of the characters and storyline in a way that I wasn't able to. Every reader's experience with a book is unique, and you might find aspects to appreciate that I overlooked....more
if you are into gen x nostalgia, look no further. we are introduced to a female character who is beyond unbelievable. while i'm open to variationsdnf
if you are into gen x nostalgia, look no further. we are introduced to a female character who is beyond unbelievable. while i'm open to variations of the manic pixie girl trope, chang takes it to another level (her quirky and brusque manner, meant to signal her uniqueness, often comes across as obnoxious and overly contrived—anyway, this girl was clearly the product of a male creator). the dialogues in general were unconvincing as well so i've decided to call it quits early on. if you are interested in this book pls check out more positive reviews....more
the strikethroughs are incredibly annoying (whereas in the book version the text is crossed out, in the audiobook the narrator says 'strike that' ednf
the strikethroughs are incredibly annoying (whereas in the book version the text is crossed out, in the audiobook the narrator says 'strike that' every single time...a choice for sure). i think i'm just too old to enjoy this type of simplistic, almost wattpadesque, storytelling. if this book is on your radar check out other reviews....more
The audiobook edition of Butter spans over 17 hours, yet its narrative could have been condensed inti was excepting something with a bit more bite...
The audiobook edition of Butter spans over 17 hours, yet its narrative could have been condensed into a fraction of that time. The story feels weighed down by excessive filler content, and while its intended themes hold potential they are belabored to the point of being ham-fisted. The characters, particularly the protagonist Rika and her friend Reiko, are often made to behave moronically for seemingly no reason other than to create conflict, but these misunderstandings and instances of idiocy diminished the coherence of the narrative.
The novel revolves around Rika Machida, a journalist in her 30s with a very poor work/life balance. Seeking a hit story, Rika reaches out to Manako Kajii who is currently serving time in the Tokyo Detention Centre after being convicted of the serial murders of businessmen she allegedly lured with her cooking skills. Kaji refuses to see her until Rika, at the suggestion of her friend Reiko, takes a different approach. Rather than asking Kaji about the murders, she asks for her beef stew recipe. As they interact, their exchanges focus more on food and Kaji’s ideas of ‘etiquette’ than murder, prompting not only a personal introspection for Rika but a culinary awakening. Rika’s newfound appetite results in her gaining weight, and we see how that affects the way she is seen by the people in her life. Her boyfriend, who is just as work-oriented as she is, critiques her for it, seeing it as a sign of her ‘letting herself go’, and believes that women should be especially careful of their appearance. Rika’s closest friend, Reiko, also, despite once being outspoken on matters of sexism, expresses ‘concern’ over Rika’s weight, but her remarks may have to do less with Rika’s body than Reiko feeling jealous of Rika’s fixation with Kaji. Inspired by true events, Asako Yuzuki's Butter explores themes of misogyny, obsession, beauty standards and culinary pleasures in contemporary Japan.
The cover and blurb for Butter are somewhat misleading, as the novel proves to be less unsettling than they suggest. While the book does feature vivid sensory descriptions, particularly regarding food—its preparation, aroma, and taste—Yuzuki’s storytelling relied too much on repetitive depictions of glistening lips and sweaty bodies to elicit discomfort. There was an intensity ascribed to these descriptions that made many scenes feel unintentionally over the top (i was reminded of the business card scene from American Psycho…but in Butter these instances lack the former’s self-awareness and are delivered seemingly with seriousness). Butter aligns more closely with contemporary social critiques like Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982, Diary of a Void, Breast & Eggs, Boy Parts, Ripe, The Glow, and Natural Beauty, books that explore themes of women challenging or questioning gender norms and navigating misogyny and beauty standards within various societal contexts.
Throughout Butter, every scene appears to reinforce these thematic points. It delves into the double standards around aging and the pressures faced by women to conform to traditional gender roles, especially within cultures with more conservative values. The novel extensively interrogates ideas surrounding femininity and the expectations placed upon women, particularly the impossible standards of the 'ideal' Japanese woman. While I appreciate narratives featuring diverse portrayals of female characters and exploring complex female friendships, Butter falls short in this regard.
Rika, the protagonist, comes across as painfully uninteresting and exists seemingly only to convey certain messages. Her experiences, such as gaining weight and rejecting societal pressures regarding relationships, feel didactic rather than authentic. Despite Yuzuki’s attempts to depict complexity and contradiction in her female characters, their behaviors often feel contrived and surface-level, emerging only to serve the narrative's thematic agenda. I wouldn't have minded as much if said themes had been explored in-depth, but I found the story's treatment and portrayal of misogyny somewhat superficial. There are several scenes in which Rika reflects on societal expectations regarding women's appearance and behavior (and comes to the conclusion that no, women should not have live their lives in accordance with what men find sexually attractive) and that show her professional integrity being questioned by a male colleague (who assumes that she couldn't possibly have a male friend and that she is exploiting said man to gain information for scoops). And the novel also touches upon the cultural expectations placed on married women to prioritize their husband's well-being, including taking care of household chores and cooking for him.. But I just wanted more, especially given the novel's 'run-time'. But Yuzuki never delves into the more insidious aspects of sexism and misogyny. If anything, I found her takes somewhat naive. For instance, portraying a woman who emerges unscathed after spending time with a dubious man who is certainly a creep and could have also been involved in a murder. The lack of consequences felt overly idealistic to me.
The supposed tension between Rika and Kaji, the central dynamic of the novel, lacked oomph. Kaji's influence on others, including Rika, feels unconvincing given her grating demeanor and, for all her portending to be an expert in culinary matters, her ‘hot takes’ weren’t all that hot. While Rika eventually sees through Kaji's facade, her prolonged influence on Rika's perspective on food and possibly life seems disproportionate to her actual impact. Kaji's character, at first presented in an enigmatic manner akin to Hannibal Lecter had neither the charisma nor depth necessary to maintain my interest.
If Butter had delved deeper into Rika’s experiences at her workplace and prioritized the development of her friendship with Reiko, perhaps I wouldn’t have felt so exasperated at this story. I found the narrative to be full of unnecessary dramatic moments (including Reiko impulsively playing detective to prove…something? What was going through her head? And then what…she just gives up like that?, Reiko is traumatized by her parents' open relationship and by the fact that her husband, like her father, also finds physical intimacy between spouses wrong—using her father’s words almost verbatim—Rika’s own trauma around her father’s death and cooking, the whole stuffed turkey thing at the end). Several plot points are introduced that seem promising enough but ultimately lead nowhere. The characterization of Kaji remains shallow, failing to evolve beyond her initial portrayal, making me wonder to what extent Rika truly understood her ‘twisted’ psyche. The novel’s conclusion was jarringly cheesy, as Rika and the people around her advocate for self-acceptance (a trite "found family" trope is shoehorned for good measure), which felt contrived and lacking in depth.
Rika's inadequacies as a journalist are... noticeable. She’s a shit journalist. She claims to want to write an article on Kaji but her tactics to get Kaji to open up are incoherent (she does what Kaji wants her to do, but then asks very stupid questions or makes tone-deaf remarks—she tactlessly complains about her weight gain—that are bound to alienate someone as demanding and misanthropic as Kaji). Also, why didn’t it occur to Rika, like it did for Reiko, to find the man Kaji was staying with prior to her arrest? The exploration of Kaji's family and past feels cursory, presenting a cliched portrait of a Daddy’s Girl without offering meaningful insight.
The narrative dangles several intriguing threads—such as the implication of a character's predatory tendencies and Kaji's alleged crimes—yet Yuzuki fails to follow these up satisfactorily. Despite being referred to as a serial killer, Kaji's actions and motivations receive only a surface-level examination and consequently Rika's view of Kaji is rather simplistic and her newfound understanding of her feels unearned (Kaji’s vices are emphasized throughout the narrative—her body too is described in a way that left much to be desired as if to emphasize just how ‘uncontrollable’ and defiant to norms she is— but then at the end we are meant to find her pathetic and kind of a victim—of her internalized misogyny, of the public’s gaze, of her need for male validation). Kaji's real life counterpart was also convicted on murder charges despite the lack of evidence, and Japan does have an incredibly high conviction rate...so why did not have Rika question whether Kaji deserved to be convicted? Or seen and spoken of a serial killer...? Kaji is antisocial, narcissistic, callous, manipulative and she doesn't seem to feel any remorse over the fact that she targeted/defrauded men…but then again their relationship seemed to me very much transactional…so why does Rika so readily accepts that Kaji is this 'serial killer'?
Overall, Butter fell short of delivering the darker, psychologically gripping narrative I had hoped for. Rika's journey towards uncovering the ‘truth’ feels aimless, and the murder aspect of the story is glossed over in favor of these overly dramatic moments that fail to provide a meaningful exploration of the novel’s thematic elements. I had expected the novel to explore Rika's (supposed) 'corruption', but it never happened (unless you count gaining weight and learning to love food again as 'bad'). As a result, her own anxiety and Reiko's concern about her growing too close to Kaji seemed somewhat uncalled for. Like, chill. Not like Kaji is urging Rika to kill men. To give the author the benefit of the doubt, one could argue that she deliberately crafted a narrative of smoke and mirrors, teasing depths and thrills without fully delivering on them.
I just was hoping for something darker, something more on the lines of a psychological cat-and-mouse game. Maybe on the lines of The Silence of the Lambs, or something in the realms of Barbara Vine or even My Sister, the Serial Killer. And, sure, maybe I thought that this book would deal with, shall we say, more monstrous appetites (i do love a cannibal story).
Was this novel terrible? No. Was it frustrating? Sure. But, as I said before, it was so annoying as to be almost amusing. The type of book that makes you want to rant to someone about how unbelievably stupid the characters are or how ridiculous the story is.
I wanted to genuinely like this novel as I am fond of the woman-being-weird-about-another-woman subgenre, but Butter missed the mark. Yuzuki's attempt to balance seriousness, realism, and drama didn't quite coalesce into something cohesive, resulting in a narrative that tone-wise felt very uneven. Even her exploration of misogyny, though earnest, lacked depth and wasn't all that thought-provoking. There seemed to be potential in delving deeper into Reiko's experiences as a stay-at-home wife, but her perspective only receives brief attention towards the end of the novel. Similarly, the portrayal of Rika's challenges in a male-dominated industry could have been more compelling, especially considering the doubts cast upon her professional abilities (then again she is a shite journalist so...).
I've read plenty of books that tackle the themes this novel sets out but fails to explore them deeply. And if I were to view it as a slice-of-life narrative about the experiences of women in the workplace, in marriage, and so on, Butter wasn't as compelling as most female-centered dramas out there.
If this novel is on your radar, I recommend you check out more positive reviews or give it a try. Who knows, you might find something in it that resonates with you in a way that it didn't for me.
Also, credit goes to the narrator of the audiobook, Hanako Footman. I really enjoyed her performance and I doubt I would have managed to finish this book if not for her narration....more
kudos to this book for inducing so many eye rolls on my part in such little time. yet another novel that portrays contemporary humanities studednf 10%
kudos to this book for inducing so many eye rolls on my part in such little time. yet another novel that portrays contemporary humanities students as privileged snowflakes with zero media literacy and who refuse to engage with materials depicting 'troubling' things and whose criticism of said materials can be boiled down to their inability to realize or concede that portrayal doesn't mean endorsement. of course, in this novel the snowflake in question is a white blonde, who is 'triggered' by the rapes occurring in the tale of genji. our narrator is puzzled by this! it doesn't compute! young ppl are so self-centered that even in their analysis of a piece of media they have to make it about themselves! that we have a voice of reason amidst the sheep, a student who knows of a thing called historical context!
sure, some students/young ppl are or perform oversensitivity, so why not have fiction poking fun of them (there is a scene in american fiction that does so quite effectively). but here the author's knee-jerk reaction over the word triggering and the notion of trigger warnings makes that whole class scene seem both simplistic and inaccurate. when someone says "this book is triggering" or "this book should have trigger warnings" they are not saying "this book is bad" or "this book should be banned/censored/cancelled". the author's feelings about this whole thing are quite obvious, yet, the narrator of their novel pretends to puzzle things over, but in way that feels entirely performative and condescending. the icing on the cake is having a student say something along the lines of : "we can't read this book like it's a 19th century exploration of the psyche this book is before a time before anyone was worried about being a girl-boss..." dio mio.
this lazy portrayal of gen-zers and young millennials falls flat for me as a reader. if you're going to mock them, at least do it without broadcasting the fact that you're several generations removed from their experiences and have a limited interest in understanding their perspectives. or, elevate said scene with something. but the scenes unfolds in such a predictable way as to make its contents all the more shallow. this was neither a witty nor a keenly-observed depiction of academia. the dialogues are stilted and do not ring true to life and the storytelling is uninspired.
even if the contents of the novel had not annoyed me, i would have felt little interest in continuing this book. the writing is awkward and the pacing is off. we have this opening scene that feels all over the place, despite doing very little.
if this novel is on your radar i encourage you to look up more positive reviews. my thoughts are based only on a small portion of a book, so it may very well be that the novel is not what i made it out to be....more
While I typically appreciate coolly restrained storytelling, mood-driven narratives, and melancholic slice-of-life stories, Blue Light Hours doesn’t sWhile I typically appreciate coolly restrained storytelling, mood-driven narratives, and melancholic slice-of-life stories, Blue Light Hours doesn’t succeed in pulling any of these off. The writing feels overly trimmed down, stripped of its intended meaning and substance. It brings to mind a review discussing contemporary fiction of the Rooney variety: “The results, allegedly, are blanched, lifeless novels, characterized by minimalism of description, coolness of tone, humorlessness of style, and wobbliness of genre—not quite fact, not quite fiction.” While the author of this review goes on to praise Rooney and novelists like her for her “supremely intelligent critique of our discourse,” I cannot do the same. In fact, I agree with the criticism directed at these books. They are ‘less’, less funny, less emotional, less compelling, just less.
These types of novels seem affectedly apathetic, even clinical, but not in a lethally precise way, such as Brandon Taylor's style, but rather robotic, as if they could have been written by AI. Despite their attempts to present reality unvarnished and resist plot and character arcs, they strike me as incredibly artificial and labored, which makes them pretentious, despite their efforts to be authentic and real. In Blue Light Hours, the interactions between the mother and daughter, while not inherently off-putting given my fondness for mumblecore-esque books, lack authenticity. Despite attempts to portray natural, unadorned dialogue, the exchanges between them feel studied. The rhythm of their conversations is discordant and stilted, failing to convey a sense of their relationship or history together. Instead, reading their back-and-forths felt like watching amateur theatre, with the characters reciting lines without conviction.
Additionally, the prose occasionally ventures into twee territory, reminiscent of Instagram poetry ( millennial ennui vibes: “I lived alone, I rarely spoke, I ate badly”), detracting from the overall experience. Despite my desire to connect with the theme of a young woman navigating college life away from home, the book failed to convey the narrator's longing (be it for home, for Portuguese, or for her mother) that I anticipated.
The latter section, with its perspective shifts and clinical references to 'the mother' and 'daughter,' further highlights the book's tendency towards style over substance. While the summary promises a poignant exploration of the mother-daughter relationship across borders, there was nothing in these pages. Sure, now and again the author captures a certain mood, thanks to descriptions of the weather and changing seasons, but these did not make the book particularly atmospheric or immersive. Writing-wise, I can't help but compare it unfavorably to Cold Enough for Snow by Jessica Au and Dove mi trovo (aka Whereabouts) by Jhumpa Lahiri. Theme-wise, there are plenty of other novels that managed to explore these themes with either more depth or style: American Fever by Dur e Aziz Amna, The Pachinko Parlour by Elisa Shua Dusapin, Tell Me I’m an Artist by Chelsea Martin, The Idiot & Either/Or by Elif Batuman, Lucy> by Jamaica Kincaid, and Villette by Charlotte Brontë.
Reading this left me feeling completely indifferent. It didn't elicit any positive or negative emotions; it was like glancing over a grocery list or a bus schedule. I felt absolutely nothing. While it might be better than feeling annoyed or disliking something, at least when I read something that causes those (negative) emotions, I know it's had some effect on me.
I could see this novel working for readers who enjoy the work of Rooney, Aysegül Savas, or Bronwyn Fischer. As with any of my other negative reviews, take it with a pinch of salt, and if you are undecided about whether to read this novel, I recommend you check out some more positive reviews. ...more
“Being one of four sisters always felt like being part of something magic.”
Blue Sisters is the kind of book that, depending on my mood, I will either
“Being one of four sisters always felt like being part of something magic.”
Blue Sisters is the kind of book that, depending on my mood, I will either detest or adore. Fortunately, this time around, it was the latter. Having given Coco Mellors’ debut a hard pass, I was weary of reading more by her, yet, the premise for Blue Sisters sounded a lot less insipid than the one for C&F. While certainly not flawless, Blue Sisters makes for a tender, if occasionally too sentimental, exploration of sisterhood, grief, and self-sabotage. It should definitely appeal to fans of the people-fucking-up genre (examples being films like: The Worst Person in the World, Passages, Return to Seoul, Frances Ha and series like The Bisexual) or readers who enjoy complex sibling dynamics (such as in Yolk, Sunset, Butter Honey Pig Bread, The Arsonists' City) or female-centered books like Writers & Lovers, We Play Ourselves, and Self-Portrait with Boy.
“Their family had always been good at hellos and goodbyes, moments ending even as they began. It was easy to love someone in the beginnings and endings; it was all the time in between that was so hard.”
The characters are messy and there is a lot of friction among the sisters, so yes, we get a lot of arguments. With the exception of perhaps one or two cases, these come across as very authentic, sometimes overwhelmingly so. Hurtful words are hurled, sometimes with the intention to hurt, sometimes not. Things escalate, but not always. Mellors’ approach to these scenes felt cinematic yet intimate, and I appreciated how she is able to convey the conflicting feelings of her characters. The sisters are often unable to escape the dynamics of their childhood, with Bonnie acting as a pacifier, Avery as the mother, and Lucky as the rebellious youngest one. Avery and Lucky are assholes a lot of the time, something the narrative knows and doesn’t shy away from. Yet that doesn’t make them any less rounded or sympathetic. While Mellors doesn’t use their loss or childhood to excuse their actions, she allows those things to inform our understanding of her characters. I found her very empathetic, and loved many of the reflections around love (be it sisterly or romantic), insecurity, loneliness, and grief.
“She was home, the only one she knew, not because she always lived in it, but because it always lived in her.”
Through alternating chapters, the novel follows three of the Blue sisters, Avery, Bonnie, and Lucky, a year after the death of the fourth sister, Nicky. At the beginning of the novel, the Blue sisters are in different parts of the globe, but they are all similarly not coping, if not downright freefalling. Bonnie, once a boxer, is now working as a bouncer in LA. She does find herself making her way back to NY, where she is forced to confront her grief, the shame over her last match, and the feelings she’s been long harboring for her former mentor, Pavel. Avery works as a lawyer in London where she is married to Chiti, an older woman who was once her therapist. Chiti wants a child but Avery isn’t ready, in fact, ever since Nicky’s death she has been withdrawing from her marriage. Chiti has noticed but mostly relies on therapyspeak to remind Avery that she too has lost Nicky (as if being reminded of that would help avery…). Avery finds escape in rigorously attending AA meetings. There she meets a younger man, a poet, and their attraction is mutual and has disastrous consequences for Avery’s marriage. Lucky is a model who has spent most of her adulthood in relishing a carefree partier lifestyle. But Nicky’s death has changed things, and now Lucky is not so much as partying because it’s fun, but because as a means of oblivion. After screwing up her latest gig in Paris, she travels to London. Her and Avery’s relationship is more frayed than ever and the two sisters end up driving a further wedge in their bond. Lucky sees Avery as sanctimonious, smothering, and a hypocrite, whereas Avery is exasperated by Lucky’s careless attitude to others and herself. Eventually the three sisters reunite in NY, but their reunion is far from smooth.
The prologue serves as a character introduction, one that, through the use of literary devices such as alliteration, succeeded in lending this tale of the Blue sisters the rhythms of a fairy tale. Despite the novel taking place over a fairly contained period of time, the characters have a lot of history with each other and a lot of personal baggage, yet, these forays into the past never weighed down the narrative, and if anything they made the characters more rounded. We come to understand why they act the way they do, the origin of some of their insecurities and anxieties, and why some of them try to escape their grief by avoiding what they once loved, sabotaging their relationships, and opting for self-destructive ‘coping mechanisms’. Bonnie is the more grounded of the sisters, and her arc is not a downward spiral, as it is for Avery or Lucky’s. Still, Bonnie feels responsible for Nicky’s death, and is unsure whether she can box like she used to. Avery has a tendency to shut out other people, something that makes her a hard character to get into. Yet, we can see how hard she has tried to make up for her parents, to look out for her sisters in all the ways they didn’t. She also believes that she was the one to have let down Nicky, but is not fully able to admit this, so she lets her hurt and guilt fester. She misdirects her anger towards Lucky, who is also as lost as she is.
I thought that the novel was very self-assured, and that for the most part, it sticks the landing. Sure, one could say that Mellors was trying to cram in too much into the novel. Take the Blue sisters jobs…they are giving ‘try out different careers with Barbie’ (lawyer, model, boxer). They are also too beautiful and not-like-other people at times (Avery and her tattoos…sure, cool aesthetics, but it didn’t seem in line with her character). Even their mother, a character whose presence is mostly relegated to the outskirts of the narrative is subjected to this beautification: “at the time, she had silky auburn hair down to her waist and a beautiful, tulip-shaped face”. While I understood Lucky being beautiful, and her having a troubled relationship with her beauty (she takes it for granted, especially when it comes to what she can get away with, for instance, her beauty glamorizes how unpleasant, rude, and selfish she can be; she is also burdened by it, with other people unwilling to truly see her, or becoming obsessed with her because of her looks, or thinking she is a dumb shallow blonde) when it came to the other characters…these descriptions weakened the novel. They were syrupy and somewhat affected.
Avery was the type of lesbian character that feels that has been written by a non lesbian, as in, the writer, in their attempts to avoid clichés about lesbians, ends up writing the straightest lesbian character ever. I did not understand why Avery is made into a lesbian character, given that the person she has an ‘affair’ with is a man…one thing is someone who is still for whatever internal or external reasons unable to identify and/or live as a lesbian, but Avery has been in a relationship with a woman for a long time, she describes herself as a lesbian who is interested in being with women…so why have her cheat with a man? A man she is insanely attracted to. It was a Choice™, one that seemed to me to exist only for dramatic effect (not only she cheats, but she cheats with a man!). Their sex scene also consolidated my perception of her as a very straight character. I just wish the author could have made her bi, queer, or pan. I also find the whole image of the (outwardly) strait-laced lesbian a bit of a bore, but thankfully Mellors does manage to make Avery into a flawed yet complex character. I didn’t like how the cheating plotline is handled,(view spoiler)[ especially when it comes to her being ‘found out’, I found Chiti finding the ‘evidence’ too much of a convenience, and had a hard time believing that Lucky wouldn’t cover for Avery, despite all their issues (hide spoiler)]. Lucky also skates close to being a bit of a cliché, but thankfully the narrative doesn’t romanticize her self-destructive ways. I did found that musician subplot very cheesy—it felt like something straight out of Hollywood—and I thought it was an unnecessary add-on. Similarly, the epilogue, despite the author's heartfelt acknowledgments, felt more corny than touching.
However, these aspects didn't significantly detract from my overall enjoyment of the novel. I still loved it (which just goes to show how good mellors can be). The characters and their dynamics were compelling, and I particularly admired Mellors' prose style and ability to establish atmosphere. Mellors also adeptly balanced action and introspection, ensuring that the story never felt either rushed or slow-paced. Additionally, I appreciated that certain elements remained unresolved, such as the sisters’ complex relationship with their mother, adding depth to the narrative. Mellors' portrayal of grief is heartfelt and authentic. Through the lens of the surviving sisters' memories and flashbacks, she paints a vivid picture of Nicky, allowing readers not only to empathise with her but to miss her presence. Mellors' depiction of addiction and the journey to recovery feels genuine and relatable. She captures the struggles and setbacks with honesty, which in addition to making for a candid portrayal of addiction, also made the sisters' experiences all the more compelling and real.
I can definitely see myself re-reading this as I found it to be a captivating tale. It had dramatic moments and plenty of emotional beats. Evocative and thoughtful, Blue Sisters made for a compelling read, full of imperfect people and fraught relationships, all underscored by an undeniable heart. I think readers who are less averse to sentimentality than I am will likely adore it even more than I did. I look forward to Mellors' next novel, hoping that it will align more closely with the style and depth of Blue Sisters than C&F.
I'm grateful for this arc and (depending on my funds) will purchase a copy of my own once it is released....more
i didn't think that in 2024 i would come across this type of old-school YA protagonist: -she's short & unlike other girls has curly hair that dnf @ 10%
i didn't think that in 2024 i would come across this type of old-school YA protagonist: -she's short & unlike other girls has curly hair that cannot be tamed -she's quirky and a bit of a clutz -she's got a snarky sense of humor -she's unpopular
maybe the novel subverts her characterisation along the way or the story ends up demonstrating a certain level of self-awareness but given that i don't feel invested enough in the author's storytelling i don't see myself giving it a chance. the whole premise is just making me think back to authors like Holly Black, Natalie C. Parker, C.L. Herman, Maggie Stiefvater, & co. in short, it's giving 2010s YA. the writing isn't terrible (aside from the humor which...yikes) and maybe young teens who have just gotten into magical realism and or urban fantasy might find this to be a spellbinding read....more
Despite collecting stories dating from the 1960s, Neighbors and Other Stories possesses a remarkable immediacy, its stories achieve a timeless qualityDespite collecting stories dating from the 1960s, Neighbors and Other Stories possesses a remarkable immediacy, its stories achieve a timeless quality that makes them feel as though they were written nowadays. Set against the backdrop of the 50s and 60s, these stories explore race and racism during Jim Crow America. The seemingly humdrum settings in many of these stories belie their disconcerting nature. Several stories are quietly sinister, evoking an unease reminiscent of the work of Shirley Jackson and Nella Larsen.
Given their subject matter, these stories are often harrowing. Yet, Oliver maintains a distance almost that allows her to delve into the unsettling undercurrents of humanity. The title story, ‘Neighbor’, stands out as the most emotionally engaging piece in the collection. It takes place over the course of a single night, one filled with apprehension and danger for a Black family whose son is set to be one of the first Black students at a newly integrated school. Faced with threats from white nationalists, the parents grapple with guilt for potentially endangering their son or subjecting him to violence.
The following story explores a similar scenario, except this time it revolves around a Black college student. ‘Mint Juleps Not Served Here’ very much brought to mind Jackson’s work, as it is a perfectly unnerving story following the lengths to which a Black couple is willing to go to protect their son and themselves from the white gaze. While the story is characterized from the get-go by an uneasy atmosphere, the crescendo of disquiet accompanying the back-and-forth between the mother and a white stranger proved strikingly effective. In ‘Banago Kalt’ three American girls travel to Switzerland, and here the Black girl finds herself the object of curiosity, and feels both extremely alienated by the locals yet strangely hypnotized by their bizarre questions and behaviors. This story’s exploration of racism outside of America very much reminded me of Larson’s Quicksand. any stories also delve into the banality of marriage, focusing on women resentful or exhausted by the monotony of domestic life. From petty jealousies to outright hatred, Oliver doesn’t shy away from portraying the full spectrum of human emotions. Quite a few stories feature adults who are not in the least bit keen on children, and their coldness brought to mind the short stories by Taeko Kono (which, to be fair, are far more overt). Anxieties around being known, boxed in, preoccupy many of the characters, and I appreciated Oliver’s varied approach to this theme to be compelling. I also thought that unlike many other authors, Oliver is able to depict children who sound like actual children.
There were however a couple of stories that failed to register their presence, lessening the impact of the other stories in the collection. One story in particular, came across as little other than an exercise in style. I found it to be annoying and repetitive, its experimental nature a gimmick.
Still, this makes for a gripping collection, one that is permeated by ambivalence. Oliver’s social commentary is incisive, her storytelling simultaneously subtle and frank....more
“Isn’t that what life is about? Forging forward with the answer you have – stumbling along the way and picking yourself up – only to one day realise t
“Isn’t that what life is about? Forging forward with the answer you have – stumbling along the way and picking yourself up – only to one day realise that the answer you’ve held on to for a long time is not the right one . When that happens, it’s time to look for the next answer. That’s how ordinary folks, like herself, live. Over our life span, the right answer will keep changing.”
A balm for the soul, Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop makes for the perfect comfort-read. Hwang Bo-reum’s storytelling was a delight, and I found myself wholly won over by how thoughtful and humane her novel is. A healing slice-of-life, Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop around the Hyunam-dong Bookshop, located in a small residential neighborhood outside Seoul. We meet the owner, Yeongju, a woman who by her late 30s feels burnt-out, both by her professional life and her personal one. After divorcing her husband and quitting her job, Yeongju decides to fulfil her dream and opens a bookshop. But setting up a successful business is no easy feat, and in the first few months, Yeongju is still feeling emotionally drained. So she spends most of her days crying, or looking gloomy, which does little in terms of attracting new customers. She does have a regular, an older woman who is quite frank in pointing out Yeongju’s flaws when it comes to managing the bookshop. Yeongju ends up hiring a barista, Minjun, who is also dealing with doubts about his future (starting a ‘real’ career, and so on). We then meet new regulars, some of whom end up working at the bookshops, while others end up participating in its reading clubs and or attending its various events.
“Running an independent bookshop was like roaming a stretch of land without roads. There was no tried-and-tested business model. Bookshop owners live day by day, hesitant to plan too far ahead .”
We gain insight into their lives, their everyday worries, their thoughts on happiness and love, and their differentiating values (should you pursue a respectable high-paying career? Should you stay in an environment that is detrimental to your mental health? How do you cope with parental pressure? If you choose to follow your dreams, does that make you selfish?). I loved how despite their differences in age and personality, they are all trying to heal, to be a little less lost, a little less lonely.
“A curious feeling swept over her. The feeling of being accepted.”
We are given almost a documentary-like insight into the behind-the-scenes of running a bookshop. Yeongju has to come up with ways to attract more customers, she has to weigh whether she wants to stock books that are bound to sell (because they are written by a well-known author or were mentioned by someone famous) or whether she should treat all books the same way, regardless of the likelihood that they will be bought. And what to do when someone asks for a recommendation? As a bibliophile, I was utterly absorbed by this verisimilitude approach to the publishing and book-selling scenes. Not only is the book full of literary references but we also get to read about the characters’ different opinions of the same books, debate what is and what isn’t good writing, and so on.
“Because it’s our first life, worries are aplenty, and anxiety, too. Because it’s our first life, it’s precious. Because it’s our first life, nobody knows what’ll happen even in five minutes.”
I loved seeing the way they connect and support one another, and I found the pace of their blossoming friendships to be really believable. There are also some bittersweet moments. We have characters confronting painful memories, thinking back to past disappointments, and or struggling to see a more fulfilling future. The author allows her characters to question themselves, their past behaviors, and their present-day feelings. The way these characters change and or consider things felt very organic, and I was almost lulled by the realistic rhythm of their thoughts and their conversations. Throughout the novel, I found myself growing fond of the Hyunam-dong Bookshop and its people.
“All of you should find something you enjoy doing, something that makes you excited. Instead of pursuing what is recognised and valued by society, do what you like. If you can find it, you’ll not waver easily, no matter what others think. Be brave.”
Welcome to the Hyunam-Dong Bookshop is such a charming novel. Its heartwarming slice-of-life atmosphere wholly complemented Hwang's meditative and slightly melancholic storytelling. The characters, from their everyday worries to their longstanding regrets, felt like real people, and I was completely invested in their journeys. I can’t wait to read this again as I already miss Yeongju & co!...more
after The Hunger Games there were like a gazillion YA dystopia rip-offs everywhere; Gone Girl resulted in a whole bunch of domestic thrillers wdnf 10%
after The Hunger Games there were like a gazillion YA dystopia rip-offs everywhere; Gone Girl resulted in a whole bunch of domestic thrillers with the same he/said/she/said vibes; madeline miller's Circe paved the way to countless feminist retellings of greek myths; and now, thanks to Leigh Bardugo's Six of Crows, heist fantasy novels are the lateest trend. maybe younger readers will be able to enjoy this or feel less cynical about it...i tried giving it a shot but found the writing, from the banter to the character dynamics, childish ...more
i am baffled by the hype surrounding this book; not only has been blurbed by several 'big' authors, but apparently it's also slated for adaptationdnf
i am baffled by the hype surrounding this book; not only has been blurbed by several 'big' authors, but apparently it's also slated for adaptation into a BBC drama. i have questions...
to use an overused term, this book is mid. inoffensive, if you will. it's doing nothing new, and it is written in the kind of witty (usually) British voice that seems rather derivative of authors like Diana Wynne Jones, possibly even Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman. but the wit here is missing their spark. nor does the book have the same delightfully satirical tone Zen Cho's historical fantasies. the storytelling here feels lacklustre & vanilla.
right from the outset, the book's attempts at self-awareness about the tropes of its genre ("anyone who has ever watched a film with time-travel, or read a book with time-travel […] will know that the moment you start to think about the physics of it, you are in a crock of shit. How does it work? How can it work?") backfire, as we are offered a generic explanation of time-travel along the lines of "[D]on't worry about it. All you need to know is that in your near future, the British government developed the means to travel through time".
what made absolutely 0 sense to me was not so much the time-travelling and the lack of explanation around it, but the identity of these 'expats' (would they really 'rescue' someone who was in the midst of a war? surely they would consider them unsuitable, or too much of a risk, given that they are bound to have some form of ptsd and might believe that they have been captured by the 'enemy), and their 'bridges'. we're led to believe that their bridges undergo careful selection and multiple interviews, yet our protagonist seems entirely ill-suited for the task at hand. it would have been more logical for someone with an understanding of the expat's era to care for them. moreover, the notion that these time expats wouldn't be institutionalized but instead released to live with their bridges seems implausible. and would they really place them in London? surely it would have made more sense to find safehouses in the countryside, as opposed to smackbam in the middle of modernity. despite the considerable resources invested in extracting them, they're entrusted to a single individual who promptly forgets their surveillance duties, allowing them to wander the city alone?
it's nonsensical. while i'm willing to suspend disbelief regarding time travel, if i'm to buy into this 'ministry', it should feel less slapdash.
i skimmed ahead and saw how the romance subplot would unfold...if anything the romance made the story all the banal. why can't we have significant non-romantic relationships between male and female main characters? must it inevitably result in a romance, even here? the optics were dubious, akin to a therapist and their patient embarking on a romantic relationship.
given all the buzz around this novel, i recognise that i am an outlier and chances are that it will be a hit for most readers (i just happen not be one of them). i recommend giving this novel a shot and forming your own opinion. YMMV and all that jazz....more
between A Good Happy Girl and Worry, it's official, i am feeling a gross-grimey girl fiction (aka the She's Not Feeling Good at All subgenre) fatidnf
between A Good Happy Girl and Worry, it's official, i am feeling a gross-grimey girl fiction (aka the She's Not Feeling Good at All subgenre) fatigue. you know the drill by now: she's messed up, has daddy or mommy issues, doesn't know how to wash, doesn't want to wash, wants to be more or less treated like a dog by her dubious sex partners because of guilt, trauma, ennui, neglect. bodies are abject, bodily fluids abound, our main character thinks about outlandish things because she's just so messed up and weird, and her malaise is all consuming, warping her worldview and self-perception. chuck in some supposedly provocative scenes that are actually there for shock value and ta-da. you have on your hands a Sad Girl book. the author here switches things up by making the mc a lesbian (usually they are in the realms of heterosexuality) and becoming involved with a married couple who in very Mona Awad fashion seem interchangeable. but at the end of the day this dynamic, of a single/lonely woman becoming involved with an older/more affluent couple is uninspired. Jean Rhys was doing it nearly 100 years ago in Quartet. many of these gross-self-sabotaging-sad girl books strike me as cash grabs. pulpy yet profoundly uninspired, this book is not bringing anything new to the She's Not Feeling Good at All table....more
at this point, i am so familiar with the Sad Girl canon that i find myself inclined to propose an addition of my own...
picture this: a 20-something that this point, i am so familiar with the Sad Girl canon that i find myself inclined to propose an addition of my own...
picture this: a 20-something that’s-literally-me woman revels in her own grime and has not washed in the last 6 months (she finds all bodies to be abject). she collects her own fingernails as a quirky yet gross hobby and spends her days posing as a child on social media to chat with pedophiles, because she's 'just so messed up’. she masturbates to pictures of serial killers or war footage, because yes, she's fucked up and finds human depravity arousing. she only eats foods that start with the letter P and has not seen her reflection in the last 3 years. her favorite pastime? dissociating from reality, of course. her bff? an anorexic named Marie-Françoise (EDs are funny aren't they? get it? ah-ah), who exclusively wears pink and speaks in a nauseatingly babyish voice (they absolutely hate each other). oh, and let's not forget her beloved pet, possibly a dog or even something as out-there as a one-legged albino pigeon, whom she believes is the reincarnation of Napoleon Bonaparte. and yes, of course, she has Mommy or Daddy Issues, sometimes both, and when she has sex with her on-off again bf she pretends that she likes being slapped. and to add some extra 'edge', toss in a few scenes designed solely for shock value—think animal cruelty and copious descriptions of bodily fluids. and to finish off, a supposedly wry social commentary that is as 'fresh' as a slice of stale bread.
actual review:
i'm all for books about 20s women mired by ennui and bickering sisters (such as Blue Sisters by Coco Mellors, Candelaria by Melissa Lozada-Oliva, Yolk by Mary H.K. Choi, and Sunset by Jessie Cave), but Alexandra Tanner's Worry is a soulless entry to the She's Not Feeling Good at All subgenre. if i asked AI to write a book in the vein of authors like Ottessa Moshfegh, Mona Awad, and Melissa Broder we would get something along Worry...which is unfunny and unoriginal. the mc’s inner monologue is incredibly derivative of the genre, her interactions with her sister try to go for a grittier grosser take of the sisters from fleabag but fail to. frankly, it's giving Boy Parts (so if you like that one i guess this one is for you too).
additionally, like too many other contemporary novels, Worry pokes fun at social media. if you are to mock online communities, go for it, however, don't include so many threads or comments in your book of said community because they will just age your book and interrupt the flow your narrative (do i care to read about a fictionalized character's brainrot? not really. or to read pages of comments that might as well be taken directly from facebook, X, and or tiktok? no.).
this is satire at its lowest form (a not so distant cousin to the atrocious 'satire' of family guy)....more
luce (cry baby)
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