This Week, I Read… (2020 #30)

#113 – Buzz, by E. Davies

  • Read: 7/30/20 – 7/31/20
  • Mount TBR: 101/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

This is a plot that never had the potential to be more than okay, made worse by poor construction.

The quick and easy complaints: Leading with a sex scene as prologue when the characters haven’t been introduced is not going to get me interested. A character spending most of a chapter doing absolutely mundane things that don’t advance or even relate to the plot is not going to get me interested. Randomly diverting to one of the lead’s brothers for a POV is going to irritate me, especially when the lead just had a chapter he spent doing absolutely mundane things that I don’t understand why I had to read about. So why didn’t the plot point in his brother’s chapter happen then instead? Why did we constantly have to see important things through a side character’s perspective when nothing much happens during the lead’s POVs?

A slightly more complex complaint: Did we spend so much time with the minutiae of Noah’s work as an art curator so that he didn’t feel less developed than Cameron and his almost-hockey career? Because Noah’s job at any given point was either boring or explained poorly–I never got a sense of what he did or why it was causing him so much stress. He would say he was stressed but then a single phone call would clear up the problem; or he would whine that he wasn’t going to have space for everything he wanted because the big, bad (I don’t really know how to describe his antagonists here–building owners? angry stupid rich people? who did he answer to, anyway?) didn’t give him enough space. But then later he’d turn around and need to commission something new from a different artist…why do you need more art if you’re already worried about space for what you have?

Finally, as a romance this story fails the “why aren’t they together now?” question at nearly every stage, because the couple is together for most of the book, and there’s nothing really to keep them apart. There’s no real tension in their relationship, because they’re so open and honest with each other about nearly everything. Don’t get me wrong, I like to see men talking about their feelings, whether it’s m/m romance or not–but the only “obstacle” they encounter late in the story is Cam hiding his almost-hockey-career. From Cam’s perspective, it’s not even framed as a lie, just as an “I haven’t told you this yet” because a) they’re not serious yet, and b) he’s enjoying the relative anonymity. Noah finds out accidentally from Cam’s brother, sits on that knowledge for a chapter or two, then immediately forgives Cam without any fuss when he confesses. So, again, no tension. Cam’s ex is a total piece of trash who obviously isn’t going to storm back into his life, no matter how the brother worries Cam would take him back–obvious, pointless red herring. And there’s never any reason to suspect Cam is going to return to hockey and leave Noah behind, so the ultimate question of relationship success is merely “are they compatible or not?”

Which the narrative made it clear very early that they are. Their happy ending was inevitable–this is a romance, after all–but it was never once truly threatened, so I never had a reason to get invested.

#114 – In Other Lands, by Sarah Rees Brennan

  • Read: 8/1/20 – 8/3/20
  • Around the Year: A book about a non-traditional family
  • The Reading Frenzy: Read a book about friendship
  • Mount TBR: 102/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

Oh, boy, this is going to be messy. Unpopular opinions ahead!

What did I like about this? Luke is a treasure. He is best boy. I cannot fully express with mere words how much I love this child and need him to be happy. He is the only reason I finished this book.

As for the rest of it, I can give passes to a few things it attempted to do but failed to achieve, and I dislike the rest.

I’m always harping about the missing b-word, so credit where credit is due, Elliot eventually grows comfortable enough with his sexuality to actually use the word “bisexual.” Several times, in fact. I don’t mind that it took him so long because it’s obviously part of his coming-of-age arc. I’m less impressed with the fact that he is, by far, the one with the most active sex life, because while it shows that it’s possible for someone to learn and grow from failed relationships, even that young, it also plays into the promiscuous, flighty stereotype. The text does attempt to address this in the later stages with Elliot bracing for someone to reject him for admitting he’s bisexual, but it’s little more than a lampshade acknowledging that he fits the stereotype. As a bisexual person myself, I’m honestly conflicted about this, because there’s some good and some bad about Elliot as bi rep.

I think that pales in comparison to his place in the story as the outsider with a clear savior complex. While it’s not “white savior” in the classic sense, because everyone in this book is white, it’s impossible not to view the various fantasy species as Other when so much of the plot revolves around inter-species tension, whether it’s on the societal or personal level. But here comes Elliot, the snarky bratty pacifist who’s so much smarter than everyone else, he’s going to prove to this entire fantasy world that war isn’t the answer and his way is soooooo much better. The fact that nearly everyone in our world would agree–war is awful and we’d be better off without it–doesn’t mean he isn’t tromping in to impose his thinking on inferior (to his view) cultures. I can agree with his moral viewpoint without endorsing his actions or attitudes.

Also, I don’t like Elliot as a person. I can’t simply label his meanness as bullying, because that implies he’s seeking some sort of power over the people he mistreats, and he mostly isn’t. He’s just a deeply unpleasant person who takes literal years to realize other people have feelings too, and his behavior for 70% of the story is disgusting and cruel. I can tell I’m supposed to like him, because oh look he’s a sad boy with a bad home life and he’s unwanted and unloved and that’s why he’s the way he is…but I stopped falling for that trick years ago. I’ve had enough people in my life who were constantly, offhandedly cruel but somehow expected me to understand that they didn’t really mean it, they were just joking, hey why are you so offended. But that’s not even the case with Elliot, because we’re inside his head, and he’s not joking. He really does think everyone else is stupid, and even by the end of the book when he can grudgingly admit that some people aren’t so bad, I still didn’t like him.

On a smaller but still dissatisfying note, Serene got tiring quickly. The whole “elves are sexist but in favor of women” was a joke that started out decent but didn’t last through the whole book, and it’s not empowering for me as a woman to have a female character being as much of a raging misandrist as some real-world men are misogynist. It’s not a subversion, it’s just a reversal, and it’s not interesting for long.

So there are my issues with the story. I also have issues with the writing itself. I appreciate the effort put into showing how characters are feeling–especially Luke, who gets most of his characterization through displaying how angry or not he is with whatever insulting thing Elliot’s just said. The slow burn of this romance is telegraphed through four years of schooling and over four hundred pages–that’s the other thing that made this read at all bearable for me.

But the rest of the plot is thinner than a steamrolled penny and has pacing issues out the wazoo. If I lost focus for even a second and accidentally skipped a paragraph, the characters who I thought were in the library might suddenly be in the middle of a battle. Fights started out of seemingly nothing. Conversations usually seemed to start somewhere in the middle with no context. Scene breaks might cover thirty seconds, or months. There was no real structure beyond “this part of the book is this year of school and Elliot is this age” and the knowledge that time does indeed proceed forward, not backward, not sideways, as there’s no time travel. Events that most other books would emphasize were breezed past so we could have more time with Elliot being cranky–instead of those events being opportunities for him to grow as a character through his actions, they’re wayposts, mere plot points the story has to have but doesn’t want to linger on, so we can get back to the “good” part, the constant teenage angst.

I might have loved this when I was a teenager myself, but as an adult, I have no patience with it. Even knowing that this humor is supposed to be genre-mocking, at least partially tongue-in-cheek, most of it didn’t land for me, because as hard as I tried, Elliot never grew more funny or likable.

#115 – Norwegian Wood, by Haruki Murakami

  • Read: 8/3/20 – 8/6/20
  • Around the Year in 52 Books: A book related to the 2020 Olympic Games in Tokyo (Keep It Simple version: set in Japan)
  • The Reading Frenzy: Read a book set on an island
  • Mount TBR: 103/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

There were glimmers of brilliance scattered throughout this novel, moments of emotion I connected to. I have been depressed in my life; I have been alone; I have questioned my worth as a person because of my mental illness.

But if the character I was most interested in, who I most sympathized with, was Naoko, who quite obviously was never going to survive this story, then I don’t think this book was written for me.

This work is deeply misogynistic, but what I’m having trouble with is separating the misogyny that’s realistic/expected for the time and place, and thus appropriate for the story as a work of historical fiction, from the misogyny that’s a part of the author’s worldview. Yes, this book has a male protagonist, Toru, surrounded by complex female characters who are all important to him in some way and drive the plot forward. Generally that’s a good thing, but here, all of the women are portrayed as badly damaged. Naoko is beautiful and pure(ish) and lovable, but also struggling with an unnamed but obviously complex mental illness that isolates her from Toru. Midori is cute and fun and much more available (despite having an offscreen boyfriend for most of the book) but also emotionally manipulative and sometimes downright abusive. Reiko generally functions as the wise mentor character, as much as possible while still acknowledging that she has her own issues, but then at the very end she’s out of the care facility and sexually available to Toru, in a scene that I both saw coming from miles away and yet still can’t quite believe actually happened.

When you boil this story down to its bones, Toru himself might not view all women in terms of their sexual availability; he tires of meaningless sex with random women quickly, he decides to wait for Naoko and thus refuses Midori at first, and with Midori herself, they’re friends long before sex enters the picture. So Toru doesn’t fare too badly with me for his treatment of women, and the mistakes he makes along the way are understandable given his circumstances. He learns; he grows.

But I can’t help feeling that author sees women that way, because ultimately if there’s a named woman in this book, she’s got to perform a sexual act with the protagonist at some point. Maybe they serve another purpose in the story (Naoko being symbolic of Toru’s past, Reiko as the mentor, Midori as the future or at least its possibilities) but none of them escape the need to be sexually available to the protagonist to justify their place in the story. Reiko bothers me most in this context–I can understand why Naoko and Midori are viewed in terms of sex, they’re the two spokes of the past-future false love triangle. But why did Toru need to sleep with Reiko? It doesn’t further his arc, he would have “chosen” Midori in the end anyway. It doesn’t further hers, because if it does then that means sex made her a “real” person again after her long isolation and that’s just gross, thanks I hate it.

I almost put this book down long before any of this twisted sex-death dynamic came to light, because there’s a short list of famous works that are always red flags to me when I see them referenced, and The Great Gatsby is front and center here early on. If a creator draws on that (or a few other select titles) I’m almost guaranteed not to enjoy the work they made because there’s a fundamental disconnect between what they value and think is good, and what I value and think is good. I kept going in this case because it was clear that reading literature was part of Toru’s characterization as the young college student, and it didn’t necessarily predict that the entire work was going to be tainted by association. And since it’s been a long time since I was forced to pick apart Gatsby sentence by sentence for my high school English class, I don’t immediately see parallels between the stories that make any sense–this isn’t derivative of the classic or leaning on it thematically. Yet in the end, I’m wishing I had paid attention to that red flag, because ultimately I’m drained by this and honestly believe that I would be better off not having read it, despite those brief flashes of brilliance and connection I had.

This is a depressing work dealing with heavy topics in such a way that I didn’t gain any catharsis from it. It takes a rather grim view of mental health, despite individual characters doing their best to heal or stay strong in the face of illness; Naoko’s suicide was both predictable and inevitable. The lack of resolution in the ending leaves me unsettled in a way I don’t enjoy.

This Week, I Read… (2020 #29)

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#109 – Your Irresistible Love, by Layla Hagen

  • Read: 7/24/20
  • Mount TBR: 97/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

Well, that didn’t take long. DNF @ 27%, and let me show you the quote that did it.

“Nothing. She’s a grown woman. We have to respect her decisions.”

Out of context, I’m all for this. In context, it pissed me off to no end. The hero says this to his younger brother because they’ve both been excluded from attending their sister’s divorce hearing; she doesn’t want them there, and so they’re not going.

Too bad this is a complete 180 for the hero, who has been irritating me right from the beginning with his utter inability to respect the heroine’s boundaries. She says she can’t accept his gift of a spa afternoon because she barely knows him; he refuses to take it back and insists she use it. She says she wants to explore San Francisco on her own because she’s new to town; he insists on going with her. She explicitly states that they can’t date because she’s a consultant newly assigned to his company and there’s a clause about it in her contract; he asks, “Is there really no way around that?”

He’s a control freak, and he gets what he wants. I was tolerating him even though he was acting inappropriately because the heroine a) was constantly flirting right back, which made it seem more like a game than being pursued by a creeper; and b) never stuck to those boundaries she attempted to set for more than two minutes at a time. She uses that gift card. She goes with him around San Francisco and has a great day. And at the point where I’ve given up reading, she’s actually considering how to get around that no-dating-the-boss bit of her contract. She’s clearly enabling his pursuit, despite her lip service to the contrary. So their dynamic isn’t one that sets my world on fire, but I didn’t consider it as harmful in this case as I so often do in other stories when a man thinks it’s sexy to keep pushing a woman to accept him.

But if the hero outright states that he’ll respect his sister’s decisions, while constantly challenging his love interests…

That doesn’t sit right with me.

I wasn’t really enjoying the book anyway, it’s got plenty of other issues. Stilted and unnatural dialogue, flat characters, weird pacing. I was hanging on in case things got better when they actually got together, but now I see I don’t need to, because I simply can’t respect the hero and his double standard for women’s autonomy.

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#110 – Knocking Boots, by Willow Winters and Vivian Wood

  • Read: 7/24/20 – 7/25/20
  • Mount TBR: 98/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

On top of everything else I didn’t like about this book, it has the absolute worst description of a penis that I’ve ever read in a romance novel: “…two soda cans stacked end to end.”

First of all, nobody’s schlong is really that big. Second, even if I’m wrong about that and this gargantuan penis does exist, that’s the least sexy way possible to describe it. I am not attracted to a man because he has a big penis, and I am definitely not attracted to the idea of two soda cans stuffed into someone’s jeans.

And that’s a microcosm for a lot of my issues with the book. The situations don’t make sense or aren’t realistic, and then also aren’t sexy. If I’m a lonely single thirty-year old woman who’s having fertility issues, you want to guess who one of the last people on earth I would talk to them about would be? The hot bartender I have a crush on. (I mean, I wouldn’t be telling any bartender, but especially not the hot one I have a crush on.)

If this is supposed to show me how close they are before their fake-then-maybe-real relationship starts, it doesn’t, because HE’S A BARTENDER. YOU ARE PAYING HIM TIPS TO LISTEN TO YOUR PROBLEMS. The book doesn’t even pretend to examine the customer/employee dynamic, the hot bartender is a totally fine target for the heroine’s lust and it’s totally okay that she starts hanging around the employees-only sections of the bar without explicit permission and no there couldn’t possibly be any fallout for the business if this relationship tanks, why would you think that?

Another supposed-to-be-sexy-but-isn’t situation: heroine paints an erotic picture, it’s for sale at her friend’s booth at an art fair. She calls him up, hey want to go on a fake date to this art fair? He sees the painting and buys it after finding out she painted it. She’s embarrassed but turned on.

A) if you’re that embarrassed by your work, why is it for sale in a public place? B) if you’re not embarrassed in general but you didn’t want Mr. Bartender seeing it, why did you bring him? C) if you allowed both of those conditions to be met because you actually did want him to see it, then why are you embarrassed at all? What am I supposed to get from this scene? Because it doesn’t make sense.

The plot is a basic case of baby lust vs. commitment-phobia, and yeah, that’s a thing, but the bartender doesn’t even really get over his “I don’t want to settle down” attitude. At one point (I forget whether this is during actual sex or just one of his fantasies) he’s “cured” by wanting to give the heroine the baby she so desperately desires, and then poof! his issue is gone. There’s no real self-examination, and his semi-tragic backstory to explain why he’s anti-commitment doesn’t really enter into it. It’s just over! Time for a happy ending!

Even if this is a trope I actually wanted to read, this is a really poor example of it. Not recommended.

#111 – The Runaway Bride, by Sandra Chastain

  • Read: 7/25/20 – 7/27/20
  • Mount TBR: 99/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

I did a double take when I checked the publication date for this. 1999? This reads like an ’80s romance novel.

The characters are all uniformly bland, mostly because they’re all defined by being stubborn. Both of our lovebirds are stubborn, refusing to bow to the dictates of their parents and/or society. All of the supporting characters are also primarily defined by being stubborn–the plucky little urchin Joe/Josie living a pickpocket-runaway lifestyle, unmarried Ginny with her baby on the way who refuses to give up hope that she can make a good life for herself Out West, the fathers and business partners and villains–all just stubborn with little else in the way of personality.

I picked this up originally because the setting and time period were unusual for the historical romances I’ve encountered–post-Civil-War America (not during) and at least partially set in the West, but definitely not a typical cowboy Western. I thought romance in the era of railroad expansion might be interesting, but it wasn’t. It was bland. The railroad plot drove the story far more than the romance did, aided by what I consider to be the biggest flaw of the book–absolute transparency about what the villains were up to. Every so often there’d be a scene break and we’d peek in on some rich jerk back East plotting the downfall of our hero and his father. So when the big explosion happened, derailing the train and putting everyone in danger, there was no mystery–obviously someone was out to get them. Obviously somebody set those explosives, we already watched them cackle devilishly about it. So there was no tension. And we know all along who the “spy” in the hero’s camp is, but I don’t think knowing that adds to the story in any way, despite the spy getting his own romantic subplot.

The story wanted to make sure I had every bit of information I needed to understand what was going on, to the point where nothing was surprising and I didn’t have to think at all.

Lastly, it should be said that, this being set in the era of major westward expansion, Native Americans show up in the story. Early mentions of them being obstacles to the railroad spur set my teeth on edge, despite being historically accurate; but these were mostly coming from the mouths of the villains, so it was bearable. When they appear later as actual characters, they were generally treated with the sort of racism that also appears to be historically accurate, but that didn’t make it easier to read. The hero and heroine in their own fashions work as best they can within the context of their setting limitations to be “good,” egalitarian people and treat the Native characters well, but whether or not it would have actually happened that way (surely not everyone in that time period was awful, there must have been outliers) it came across strongly as putting modern views retroactively onto historical characters. I would rather have seen a plot line that didn’t require a potential feud with a Native tribe at all, so all of this could have been avoided.

The actual romantic elements of this romance were stilted and strange at best, while the larger story suffered from a lack of tension. I’m giving it that second star mostly because it was more entertaining than the two romances I saddled with one star a piece last week, but really it’s more of a one and a half. Nothing stands out in this book as noteworthy that would make me want to recommend it or reread it.

#112 – Blood of Dragons, by Robin Hobb

  • Read: 7/27/20 – 7/30/20
  • Mount TBR: 100/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

[StrongBad voice] IT’S OVERRRRRR!!!

Lots of you aren’t going to get that reference, but it’s exactly how I feel so I don’t care.

I don’t really care about this ending, either. I’m honestly a little amazed that once again, Hobb manages to tie up so many plot threads so neatly; but I’m just as amazed how little it affected me after spending three books with these characters.

Maybe because each individual ending felt so lackluster within the whole.

I was tolerating the Tats/Thymara/Repskal love triangle, even though I generally dislike the trope, because it was being used to give us useful information about the characters and to show the growth pains of founding a new society that could shed the restrictions of the old one. I was still sure pretty much the whole time that Tats was end-game, and no surprise there, I was right. But having Repskal sink too far into the Elderling memories and become a different person should have been a bigger plot point than simply making him ineligible for Thymara’s affections. After her rejection, he goes off to fight the big battle at the climax and I honestly thought he might die, just to drive the point home, as Greft did back in book 2. But no, he and a few other dragons and keepers finish the book offscreen in Chelced. I’m not saying he needed to die, but I don’t think that ending is satisfying.

Introducing a “love” triangle in the dragons to mirror them (sort of) at this late stage in the story felt odd and unnecessary. Tintaglia returning to the young dragons after her absence and finding them altered by their long contact with humans was great–her bewilderment at Kalo’s treatment of her was priceless, and this is one of the stronger aspects of the book, that the human/dragon changes aren’t a one-way street. But the plot couldn’t ignore Icefyre’s existence so it either had to kill him off or give him something to do, and that something was apparently be the spoke of a mating triangle.

(Also, doesn’t it invalidate the Tawny Man trilogy somewhat that killing/releasing Icefyre was the Big Quest of the series, and releasing him meant mating with Tintaglia so dragons get to survive, only it ends up she gets another mate entirely? I know that’s not clear at the time that that’s possible, or even from the outset of this series when the new generation are disfigured runts who won’t all survive, but still, if Icefyre had been killed in Fool’s Fate instead, Tintaglia’s arc here would have been different but she still would have had a viable mate available by the end. Takes some of the narrative wind out of the TM trilogy’s sails.)

Selden’s plot was more developed here than in previous books, though still thin compared to others. I’m not sure it had the room to breathe as much as it should have, but it wasn’t bad and I’m not unhappy with it.

Reyn and Malta and their baby? I don’t know, I never felt the tension. Maybe I was too sure the kid wouldn’t die, and I didn’t really believe Tintaglia would, so it fell flat.

As for Leftrin and Alice and Hest, Sedric and Carson, it all came out pretty much exactly as I expected (and as it should.) I enjoyed Sedric’s confrontation with Hest, and honestly the high point of the book for me was Hest’s eventual fate. But Leftrin and Alice deciding to get married and stay in Kelsingra was such a foregone conclusion that having to lay it out felt weird.

Ultimately, this is a technically competent ending to the series in that it leaves few threads loose and provides clear resolutions to everything the books have been juggling, but somehow most of it failed to move me emotionally even though I was invested in these characters earlier in the series (notably book 2, which I thought was amazing and rated 5 stars.)

This Week, I Read… (2020 #27)

#103 – Sphere, by Michael Crichton

  • Read: 7/10/20 – 7/11/20
  • Mount TBR: 93/150
  • The Reading Frenzy: A book with the night sky on the cover (or a black cover)
  • Rating: 4/5 stars

Given that I saw the movie once, twenty years ago, and remember not being impressed, I was prepared to be disappointed by this. I recalled a few key events of the plot, but not the ending, and of course I didn’t know what got changed or cut for the adaptation anyway.

To my page-turning delight, I was not disappointed. For a good chunk of the book, I can honestly say I was enthralled. Give me unreliable narrators, mysterious technology of unknown origin, and lots of action, and I will be glued to the page. It’s been a while since I read a thriller that was actually thrilling.

But this isn’t flawless, and some I can forgive more than others. Crichton’s writing style has always been more adequate than good, and this one in particular is heavy on dialogue and military jargon that hasn’t aged well. In fact, this book is so reliant on then-current technology for its setting that a reader who was not alive in 1987 might be mystified by some of it, and god only knows this plot wouldn’t work half so well with 2020 technology. It’s still good sci-fi if you also consider it historical fiction of a quite recent time period.

So that’s reasonable in my eyes, but the character issues…those are dicier. Part of the reason this feels so heavy on dialogue is that a great deal of the conflict is character-based, which requires more development than say, Jurassic Park. Not that it’s not a fantastic book/movie for other reasons, but those characters are pretty thin. Here, though, by the end those well-developed characters (relatively speaking, for a Crichton novel) are broken back down to incredibly simple archetypes as part of demonstrating how they would break under stress–the hyper-intelligent black man becomes paranoid that the two white characters are teaming up against him because of his race; the white woman is convinced she’s a constant victim of sexism throughout her life, culminating in the remaining man trying to wrest control from her; that one remaining man, a middle-aged white psychologist, cannot conceive that he might be the one at fault and is quick to diagnose the others as the problems.

All of it is reasonable, sure; it could happen that way. But it all felt simplistic, reductionist. And because of the events leading up to this flattened view of the characters, because of the pacing which had a bunch of solid action before a meandering and philosophical climax, I did feel a bit let down by the ending. Not in what happened, precisely, but in how it unfolded. The beginning was a big of a slog to set up the mystery, the middle was fun and strange and sometimes pulse-pounding, but the end was cerebral and reflective, lacking some of the tension I wanted.

#104 – The Light Between Oceans, by M.L. Stedman

  • Read: 7/11/20 – 7/13/20
  • Mount TBR: 94/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

I have so many issues with this that I’m not even sure how to make a structured review out of them. I’m usually pretty good at that.

It’s too long and too slow. Lots of padding. Some of the padding I actually liked–sure, the descriptions of Janus Rock and how lighthouses work didn’t need to be as fleshed out as they were for the story to function, but at least they were interesting to me. The plot did not justify all the extraneous POV characters who took control for a few pages to little purpose, nor did I want to read the history of every person who had ever had even the most tangential connection to the main characters, especially the kid.

The first half and second half felt like different books. The first half is centered on isolation and grief and family and the lighthouse; the second half is “this is where everything goes wrong and now everyone’s life is constantly miserable forever.”

The ending is unsatisfying. It’s not sad, it’s not happy, it provides no clear message and gives no closure.

None of the characters felt sympathetic to me. The narrative sure spent lots of time explaining everyone’s motivations for their selfish actions, but failed to make me feel anything about them other than bewilderment or disgust. No one was great, but Isabel was the worst–I could tolerate her at first by reminding myself that her selfishness was born from intense grief, but when they got found out and she turned on Tom in a fit of ridiculous melodrama, I couldn’t pretend anymore. Her argument was basically “You didn’t help me keep committing this crime so clearly you never loved me or our fake daughter and I will hate you forever!” Am I supposed to feel bad for this woman? Because I barely did to begin with, and after that point in the story I definitely didn’t.

(As a side note, strangely enough, I was actually hoping this might be good because I have the movie tie-in cover, and somehow, despite his popularity, I’ve never seen a movie starring Michael Fassbender. I hear he’s great, but the only thing I’ve seen from his entire career is 300, and he had such a small part, and also I didn’t know who he was at the time. But I’m not watching this movie. Even if it’s better than the book, that still doesn’t mean it would be good, and since I didn’t like the story at all…)

#105 – Like Falling Stars, by Avalon Roselin

  • Read: 7/14/20 – 7/16/20
  • “Hot Single Books Looking for Readers” Book Club July Selection
  • Rating: 3/5 stars

This is outside my usual reading tastes–I rarely read middle-grade anymore and I’ve had a bad run lately with fairy-tale-like books–but it was one of this month’s selections for the indie-author book club I belong to. I ended up with some strongly mixed feelings, so let’s start with the good stuff.

I liked a lot about this. Structurally it’s basically a slow-burn friend-mance; I recognize a lot of story beats from a typical romance, though friendship is the end goal here, as is carefully and tactfully pointed out from time to time. And that’s a better take on the young(ish) girl/immortal-and-much-older man dynamic that never seems to go completely out of style. Faeries and humans are different enough, and Nicolas himself isolated enough, that it’s more believable that Ann is opening him up to friendship and not romantic love.

I love that Nicolas is a crafter/artist. He sews, he paints, he bakes, he candy-makes. (Yes, I made up that word for to get a rhyme. What can I say, this is a pretty lighthearted read.) He’s stuffy and stiff-necked and insecure, while also being intelligent and yes, kind, when he’s motivated to be. His fumbling early attempts to be a good host are adorable, and everything related to the in-universe book Caring For Your Human was utterly charming.

Ann I found to be more challenging to know and like as a character. In the end, there’s some justification for that, and clues to her history hidden within the issues I had with her, so I can’t say much without spoiling that completely. But the very vagueness of her amnesia made her difficult to pin down, unpredictable. I can appreciate the craft involved in her portrayal, but retroactively it doesn’t really make me more comfortable with her or her role in the story. (Also, she treats everyone she meets like they already know she has amnesia, even when she doesn’t tell them, and every single one of them takes it completely in stride. I’m trying to chalk that up to “this is a fairy tale” but that threw me whenever it happened.)

Which leads me to the things I didn’t care for as much. Ann is one step up from a Manic Pixie Dream Girl in function, and I don’t like that dynamic in general, but especially when 90% of the other characters are male…seriously, where are the women in Faerie? There’s the Queen, she’s important, and there are some random girl faeries at the Yule party. (I don’t recall any really being mentioned earlier on at the fall festival.) All of Nicolas’ friends/former friends are male–his predecessor was female but she’s long gone. The town librarian is male and has a boyfriend he constantly mentions. So the only other woman of importance in the story is the witch…who is not the greatest person at any point in the story for a number of reasons.

Yeah, sure I love that the book is queer-inclusive, but it rings a little hollow if the only queer relationships shown are m/m, even when romantic relationships aren’t the point of the story. Why don’t any of those random female faeries at the Yule party that Ann makes friends with for about ten seconds introduce their girlfriends? On top of all of the important friendships in Nicolas’ past being exclusively male relationships, this felt like a bit of a kick in the teeth. It feels like male relationships are being prioritized (aside from Nicolas’ growing friendship with Ann–but hey, her friendship “fixes” his other friendships, so it’s still kind of about men.)

So Ann does have an arc of her own, which means she’s not fully MPDG, but if half of her purpose is to discover who she is, then the other half is to make Nicolas less of a jerk through the power of friendship. I don’t think it’s the greatest look, especially for a younger target audience, that the heroine (who has a murky backstory for reasons) is constantly spending a great deal of her emotional energy trying to better the life of the hero who has a rich and complex backstory complete with lost friendships and long-held grudges, who is part of a richly detailed and complex society, and what’s more, who has power in that society. That imbalance between the development of their characters, while understandable eventually for Plot Reasons, made me uncomfortable the whole way through.

My last complaint is that this book felt longer than its actual run time. It meanders through the plot at a relaxed pace, and the narrative style often errs on the side of wordy and complex, which I think is strange for a MG novel–usually those are written more simply, with straight-forward grammar and structure.

This Week, I Read… (2020 #26)

#100 – Ancillary Sword, by Ann Leckie

  • Read: 7/1/20 – 7/5/20
  • Mount TBR: 90/150
  • The Reading Frenzy: Read a 5-star prediction [holy crap was I wrong about that]
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

Given the nature of the first book’s ending, I expected many things from this book. I expected Breq to take her shiny new ship and shiny new officers and go to the system where Lieutenant’s Awn’s sister was and get involved deeply in politics there and muck things up in an effort to eventually make them better, while figuring out how to stymie the Lord of the Radch’s next plan for civil war with herself.

I expected all of that, and I got it. What I did not expect was that it would bore me half out of my mind.

What this book did not give me was any sort of emotional connection to any character, least of all Breq herself, whom I was so heavily invested in before. As her identity as an AI is no longer a novelty to be explored by the text, in this story her near-emotionless state of being is a dull slog as she batters her heavy-handed way through one transparent social justice issue after another. It’s not that I don’t think someone should do their best to fix things like domestic abuse, extreme poverty and its attendant social isolation, and wage slavery–Breq has power and consistently attempts to use it for good–but there’s no personal stake in it to show me why she’s invested, because the personal stake I thought she was meant to have, the sister, had almost nothing to do with anything and definitely wasn’t involved in ninety-five percent of the politicking. It’s a variation on the white savior trope, shifted to accommodate that no one in this universe is actually white; but no matter everyone’s skin colors, the point stands, because Breq is an outsider with sweeping power who marches in, decides to fix everything, doesn’t do enough to consult with the actual people she’s “saving,” and messes up along the way. (She does get called on it and allows one of her lieutenants to set up a consultation office, but doesn’t do anything directly except to back off slightly herself. No matter how many people say to her face that she’s mishandling things, she’s still convinced she was right to get involved because Justice is Good.)

At points it was actually painful for me to read how thinly and obviously all of these terrible injustices could be fixed so that Breq could move along to her next objective. Let’s just stack every intractable social issue in her way so she can knock them over like dominoes! Breq can fix anything!

And then at the very end, we get back to the “real” plot where the Lord of the Radch is presumably amassing an army of stolen ancillaries in secret behind an unused gate in an empty system where no one ever goes, except maybe it’s not her? Maybe they should probably deal with that but the book ends without a tangible cliffhanger or any clear forward momentum for the final book? Maybe this was just a killing-time side trip that took up way too much space because the actual “mystery” of what’s going on behind that gate couldn’t possibly fill more than fifty pages and something had to take up the other 300?

After how much I adored the first book, this was such a terrible disappointment. I have the final book and I’m probably still going to read it for completion’s sake, but it will be a while before I can muster the energy because now I’m no longer excited about this series in the slightest.

#101 – The Neverending Story, by Michael Ende

  • Read: 7/5/20 – 7/8/20
  • Mount TBR: 91/150
  • Around the Year in 52 Books: A book with an “-ing” word in the title
  • The Reading Frenzy: Read a translated book
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

I tried to like it. I even tried to like it for its own sake, and not because I have fond memories of the first movie. (I’ve seen the second several times, not because it’s good–it isn’t–but I was just the right age in the years following its release to have an adolescent crush on Jonathan Brandis. Ah, I’ve made myself sad now.)

But this is just clunky, pedestrian storytelling at best and slogging stupidity at worst. This happened. Then this happened. Then Atreyu did this. Then Bastian did that. It was almost tolerable until the midpoint, while the story had some clear momentum and a goal in mind, but the second half is a directionless mire of Bastian becoming a terrible person. I might have appreciated the balance of symbolism there (Bastian saves Fantastica, then Fantastica in the form of his friends Atreyu and Falkor “save” him in return) if Fantastica in the form of AURYN wasn’t the very thing that was ruining him in the first place. What am positive message am I meant to get from that? Absolute power corrupts absolutely? Thanks, got it, not sure what it’s doing chained around the neck of a childhood fantasy hero. Bastian’s redemption isn’t even well-written, it just kind of happens; he only gives up AURYN after it holds no more power because he has no more memories for it to take. That’s not showing him to really be making a choice to set aside power, is it?

Even more than its garbled message though, I take issue with the style. It’s a fairy tale to the nth degree, where nothing has to have any kind of explanation or make even the slightest lick of sense. The “world-building” consists of a small set of rules that are constantly overturned for plot convenience. (Does Fantastica have borders? You’ll get four different answers depending on which part of the book you’re reading.) Events don’t lead to each other with any kind of pattern or logic, it’s all just “check out this cool place where Bastian climbs a big tree” and then “now he’s in a desert but it’s all different colors and there’s a death lion” followed by “now there’s a bunch of knights and a tourney for some reason” and then “watch him wander aimlessly while alienating his friends.” Everything that could have been wondrous to me was spoiled by the boring, repetitive language used to describe it, all telling, no showing. (Which, to be fair to the author, is generally the style of fairy tales and not a criticism I’ve reserved for this work alone.)

Sometimes I can look at a work for a younger target audience and say “yeah, I may not like it much as an adult but I would have LOVED this then.” But not in this case. I would have been as bored with this book at ten as I am at forty.

#102 – General Winston’s Daughter, by Sharon Shinn

  • Read: 7/8/20 – 7/9/20
  • Mount TBR: 92/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

Original 2015 rating: 3 stars, no review. (I didn’t start reviewing every book I read until 2016.)

I’ve lowered this to two upon rereading. Whatever charm I saw it in the first time around has mostly vanished under the weight of the Imperialism for Dummies layout of the story. Sheltered and wealthy girl travels to a foreign country occupied by her nation’s army, learns that colonizing places is bad and of course the natives don’t want them there, falls out of love with her pro-empire army officer fiance and then in love with another officer who’s only in the military because he’s a foreigner from another subjugated nation and it’s basically the only decent career path open to him. Think England and India, because I sure did, though this is all fantasy; you could make a compelling argument that Aeberelle is a hybrid of Victorian England and 1940’s wartime USA, which I got a strong vibe of from the constant parties thrown for young women to flirt with all those handsome officers. Xan’tai isn’t culturally like India (in fact very little is said about its culture to draw any sort of real-world parallel with) but fits the pattern of older colony whose people become somewhat accepted into the home society, though never regarded as anything but second-class citizens.

The nation where the story actually takes place, Chiarrin, doesn’t closely resemble any culture I know about at all, but that doesn’t detract from the story.

So, as a work of fantasy, this feels thin, probably because it spends most of its runtime inside Averie’s head dealing with her teenage flights of emotional fancy and the growing pains of realizing her country is a racist bully. As a romance, it’s even thinner, because she has to spend half the book falling out of love with her fiance before she can “realize” she’s in love with other man, and he’s just not well-developed enough for me to believe that. Do I like Ket personally and would I want to get to know him better? Sure, the few personality traits he has are ones that appeal to my tastes. But most of his actual screen time is being politely stoic about all the racism around him, including the unintentional stuff from the heroine, and then saving her occasionally from scrapes she gets into.

If you feel like I’ve been writing a one-star review for this book so far, I can’t blame you. Centering a YA fantasy-romance on a white girl starting to unlearn her racist ideas and fall for the “exotic” hero who rescues her from danger…it’s pretty bad. (And yes, the text does call him “exotic and appealing” once.)

But there are a few good points as well, mostly in isolated plot moments that stand out as unusual compared to my other reading. The breakup scene between the heroine and her fiance was actually kind of brilliant for being a mutual decision portrayed as sad and full of regret for what could have been; even if the fiance is a pro-colonizing moral trashfire, it’s clear that he’s emotionally invested and really heart-broken–he would have been a good husband who cared about the heroine. There’s a serious plot twist late in the book that I won’t spoil, but knowing about it for this reread, I was looking for the foreshadowing I missed originally and I’m impressed with how it’s present, but it can all be adequately explained in context, so the surprise really is surprising. And the heroine’s characterization carries her right through to her happy ending; she’s compassionate and impulsive through and through, and that informs how she decides to move forward with her life at the end, when events have freed her from what would have been her life if she had married as originally planned, and she pursues her foreign lover. It’s clear she’s changed over the course of the story, but the axis of that change is intellectual, not emotional–she hasn’t had her personality beaten out of her by the events of the book. She’s just trying to be a better person now.

(I could write probably another five hundred words on whether or not her choices in the ending qualify her as a white savior or not, but at this point, does it matter? It’s clear I’m not recommending this book to anyone, despite my general love for Sharon Shinn. This one’s not even close to her best work, and though I haven’t read everything of hers–yet–I’d say it’s probably in the running for worst.)

This Week, I Read… (2020 #25)

#96 – Get a Life, Chloe Brown, by Talia Hibbert

  • Read: 6/25/20 – 6/26/20
  • The PopSugar Ultimate Reading Challenge: A book about or involving social media
  • Rating: 4/5 stars

Redford Morgan is my new book boyfriend. Sensitive, thoughtful, funny, and one hundred percent willing to apologize for his mistakes. And he’s got great hair.

Chloe Brown is somehow simultaneously a hot mess and a completely put together gal. Yes, she’s dealing with a serious disability, but she’s dealing with it. She’s got a coping system, she’s successful at a job that allows her to work around her limitations, and she’s trying her best to live without fear.

I loved this pairing almost unreservedly; the only sticking point for me was early on, when they weren’t yet friends, because I often felt Chloe was coming across in their “banter” as ruder than maybe the author intended me to think she was, for a rom-com sort of situation. Part of that might be the rapid-fire nature of the conversation, where it flies by so fast I don’t pick up tone quite so well, and part of it might be a difference in sense of humor, because Brits and Americans can differ quite a bit there. (I wasn’t actually aware this was set in the UK until I’d gotten through a few pages and recognized enough Britishisms.) It’s not an out-and-out flaw, it’s just something that didn’t resonate with me as well as it probably does other readers. Once Red and Chloe started opening up to each other and becoming friends, I was all good with it.

On top of that, this novel deals with a handful of Serious Issues lightly but with admirable sensitivity; disability, of course, but also interracial dating, classism, and past abusive relationships. Nothing felt like it was there as part of an agenda or a teaching moment; it all read as authentic and important to the story.

A friend got me to read this by raving (a little) about it and the sequel, so I look forward to reading that too!

#97 – The Remains of the Day, by Kazuo Ishiguro

  • Read: 6/27/20 – 6/29/20
  • Around the Year in 52 Books: A history or historical fiction
  • Mount TBR: 88/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

A well-constructed and thought-provoking piece of navel-gazing about old men and their possibly wasted lives. I probably would have enjoyed it a great deal more if my personal taste was for philosophy rather than emotional connection, because I found no emotional connection to be had with Stevens.

He is undoubtedly in all ways the epitome of English butler-ness; while he spends the entire length of the book pondering the qualities such an individual must possess, and whether one can even be a great butler if not in service to a great man, his actions constantly show us he is that perfect servitor, even when veiled in the one-two punch of unreliability and hindsight. In every instance when he could have chosen to be a human with natural human emotions, he instead suppressed his wants, needs, and even his identity in order to be a more perfect butler.

I understand all of this, and I understand the point it makes. At the end of the day/book/life, the pursuit of professional perfection at the cost of love, family, and other personal concerns only leaves one with the same hollow feeling the book left me with, an absence of emotion and fulfillment. My heart isn’t breaking for the man Stevens could have become if not for the restrictions wrapped around him by society, his employment, and even his father, who raised him both actively and by example to be this perfect, agency-free automaton. I instead feel nothing but vague pity and disgust, because while I might find his situation sad, I find the man that situation created an entirely unsympathetic person; his recalled memories consistently show him being unfailingly polite to his social superiors but often rude, short-tempered, or cold-hearted to everyone else, especially Miss Kenton. Stevens may very well be a great butler, despite serving a man who perhaps was not so great, but he is definitely not a great person, and I don’t generally have sympathy to spare for sad old men who got that way by their own choices.

#98 – The Art of Peeling an Orange, by Victoria Avilan

  • Read: 6/29/20 – 6/30/20
  • Around the Year in 52 Books: A book related to the arts
  • Mount TBR: 89/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

DNF @ 20%. Getting into the high melodrama of this zany plot with unhinged characters would have been a stretch for me anyway, but I was repeatedly distracted by simple errors of realism that could have easily been fixed with little or no detriment to the plot. Two of the worst examples so far: a sixteen-year-old girl can’t become her younger sister’s legal guardian in the US, because she’s a minor and would require one herself; a character dramatically throws together a letter to a celebrity, slaps it in an envelope and runs outside to drop it in a mailbox, then immediately regrets it and wishes to get it back…but it wouldn’t be delivered anyway, because at no point does she add any postage, so perhaps I’m meant to assume she keeps a stack of pre-stamped manila envelopes around, but her life is in shambles and she simply doesn’t come across as that organized a person. (And the letter does reach its intended recipient without hassle.) I can’t suspend my disbelief about the more soap-operatic elements of the story that already strain credulity if I also am constantly fighting obvious mistakes about the way the world works.

#99 – The Bookish Life of Nina Hill, by Abbi Waxman

  • Read: 6/30/20 – 7/1/20
  • The Ultimate PopSugar Reading Challenge: A book that has a book on the cover
  • The Reading Frenzy: A book about books or a library
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

I’m always interested in books about book lovers, but this book felt designed to capitalize on that interest rather than celebrate it. I feel marketed to as a bookworm, rather than provided for.

I understand that not every piece of women’s fiction has to be a trauma-laden sob fest, and not every romance has to be angst-filled, but this didn’t feel fluffy or light to me; it felt shallow. Despite several subplots, there was no real conflict driving the story. We just bumbled along behind Nina as she went about her days, and anything that should have been a conflict was either dealt with promptly and easily, or ignored for most of the story while other things happened then fixed with a wave of the hand and an obvious solution. While there were many minor characters with vastly different (usually stereotypical) personalities on display, somehow they were all incredibly similar in how they related to Nina: each one of them, be they a long-time friend or a newly-met family member, said exactly what they were thinking with no filters and dealt with her in an extremely forthright manner, whether their interactions were positive or negative.

No one in this book possessed a single ounce of subtlety, nor was there ever any subtext for me, the reader, to have to think about. Nothing surprised me. Nothing challenged me.

I didn’t even like the romance subplot, when that should have been the thing I enjoyed most! Tom was so laid back he was practically disengaged from the story entirely, and his not returning Nina’s calls for most of the middle of the book only exacerbated his non-entity-ness. The fade-to-black sex scenes, while appropriate for the style of the narrative, served as further ellipses to his personality, which could have been showcased instead by including more intimacy between him and Nina.

Lastly, and perhaps most tellingly, I found the portrayal of Nina’s anxiety to be thin and disingenuous. For most of the story, it’s just an excuse for preferring to be alone–it isn’t shown to impact her life beyond her penchant for planners, especially as it becomes obvious that despite her repeatedly stated preference, she is constantly with other people–the various book clubs, her friends at the movies or trivia nights, meet-ups with her new family members. The story tells me she’s a hermetic bookworm but shows me she’s a freaking social butterfly whose dance card is so full she can’t even find room for a date for three weeks with Tom when he finally asks. Then, when the plot needs her to, she has a full-blown panic attack. Yes, everyone with anxiety can have a range of symptoms and presentations and one person’s anxiety will look different from another’s. I don’t expect Nina’s to be a carbon copy of mine, but I also don’t expect it to be a plot convenience with absolutely no depth to it. Not impressed.

This Week, I Read… (2020 #24)

#92 – City of Dragons, by Robin Hobb

  • Read: 6/18/20 – 6/19/20
  • Mount TBR: 85/150
  • Bookwyrm Readathon Challenge: Read a book about dragons
  • Rating: 3/5 stars

Aahh, the dreaded filler book. This feels to me much the same way that Dragon Keeper did before I got to the majesty of Dragon Haven. Not a lot happens to move the plot forward–not nothing, but not a lot. A good chunk of this book was spent reintroducing neglected characters as brief POVS (Tintaglia, Malta, Selden) all of whom I’m glad to see back, but it’s just setting them up at the edge of the chess board so they can make their moves later–none of them really “do” much other than decide to move somewhere else, be forced by circumstance to move somewhere else, or in Selden’s case, are forcibly moved somewhere else against their will.

I’m sure it’s all going to be important, but it really doesn’t amount to much yet.

That systemic flaw aside, there is good stuff here about Kelsingra and how interesting it is, though the fact that I was interested in it meant I wished there had been more than we were given. I wanted to see the whole of this mysterious Elderling city that I’ve only glimpsed before, as characters visited it through the stone portal magic, or in memory, across the many books so far. Someday, when I have the time and energy to reread the whole series from the beginning, it’s going to mean a lot more to me when the tower window gets broken and I’m all like I KNOW WHERE YOU ARE RIGHT NOW IT’S SO COOL. (Still haven’t figured out the deal with the damn rooster crown, though. It keeps showing up but I haven’t put the pieces together yet. The final trilogy with Fitz and the Fool better finish that up.)

Overall, the series is a marvel of plotting and world-building, and that’s still true here as a piece of the whole, it’s just a short and relatively featureless piece that spends all its time setting up for the more interesting stuff that’s coming.

#93 – So You Want to Talk About Race, by Ijeoma Oluo

  • Read: 6/19/20 – 6/21/20
  • Bookwyrm Readathon Challenge: Listen to an audiobook + Read something outside your comfort zone
  • Rating: 5/5 stars

An excellent and organized primer on how to engage with race as a topic for those who don’t already know how–which is a lot of people.

Different people are going to get different things out of this book, and given its title and its black author, I did expect going in that it was going to be aimed squarely at white people. It’s not. Oluo takes time to acknowledge, quite often in fact, the ways that different groups of people of color can be biased again each other, which is a part of the conversation that I (being white) am not often privy to. The advice she gives about how to examine yourself for privilege and how to dismantle your learned biases apply to everyone; while white people might benefit most by taking this book seriously (and then doing what they can to change the culture of white supremacy,) anyone can benefit. There are many pieces of advice for people of color on how to handle interacting with racist people and microaggressions, their rights to stand up for themselves vs. the pressure to educate others, and plenty more that does not in any way apply to me, but I still found helpful to learn about.

Topics were divided by chapter, and some were more basic than others, but I value the goal of meeting everyone where they are. I did not need Oluo to teach me why I cannot ever-ever-ever use the n-word, I knew that; but others might not. I think the most illuminating chapter for me personally was on Asian-Americans as the model minority–this really isn’t talked about much in my sphere, and while I was aware of a few of the classic stereotypes of East Asians specifically, I did not know about many others, nor about the vast disparities in wealth, education, and opportunity that correlate closely with country of origin. While this topic wasn’t covered in depth (it’s not the point of the book) I’m concerned enough by my lack of knowledge that it’s something I want to investigate further.

And that’s really the point of this work, a starting point. If someone is new to educating themselves on anti-racism, this is an accessible entryway, a good first read. It would make a poor only read because it provides an introductory view on many topics but doesn’t cover anything in depth, except perhaps the personal struggles of the author herself as a black woman, as that’s a narrative thread carried throughout the book. What I’m taking away from this work is that, while I may know and already practice much of what Oluo wants to tell me, she’s done an excellent job pointing out where I can improve, and I need to educate myself further on those issues.

#94 – The Rise and Fall of the Dinosaurs: A New History of Their Lost World, by Steve Brusatte

  • Read: 6/22/20 – 6/23/20
  • Mount TBR: 86/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

The book fell down for me on several fronts. DNF @ page 99, and once I outline my growing qualms with the presentation throughout the first chapters, I’ll share the quote that made me set the book down for good.

Issue #1: The author is quietly sexist in a way I’m sure many people wouldn’t notice, but I did. I read an article several years ago concerning the troubling tendency of Western journalism to infantilize women by referring to them only by their first names, while men in similar circumstances would be referred to by their last names. It’s not by any means universal; the current round of think pieces on the most recent J.K. Rowling debacle aren’t calling her “Joanne,” for example. But it does happen, and since becoming aware of it, I’ve seen it crop up in many places. In fact, a well-liked review on Goodreads of a book I recently read does it, referring to the female author repeatedly by her first name, despite being positive and respectful in most other ways. (Yes, the reviewer is male.)

In Dinosaurs, Brusatte name drops many, many colleagues, mentors, and well-regarded pillars of paleontology and geology. All of them are introduced by full names, but the men (with one exception) are thereafter referred to by last name, while the comparatively few women are referred to by first name only. The particular instance that brought this home to me was the “skilled geologist Jessica Whiteside,” whom Brusatte takes great pains to laud as brilliant, amazing, and so forth, to the point where it seemed he heaped praise on her in an effort to not sound sexist. But then she was “Jessica” for the rest of the section about her, while a man in the same position would have been “Whiteside,” like most of the other men referred to so far in this work. (The lone exception was person who entered the narrative as a teenager and was referred to by his first name presumably because of his youth, which carried over even after the tale was describing his adult work. There was another similar anecdote later in the book of a scientist who got started young but did not receive the same lack of respect re: naming conventions; I have no sure explanation for that, and I realize it weakens my argument slightly. If I had kept reading, maybe I would have found other women who were not treated in this manner, but that’s not good enough reason for me to keep reading, nor to stop me from calling this out.)

To some this might seem like extreme nitpicking, but it left a foul taste in my mouth.

Issue #2: This book can’t decide what it wants to be. There’s science in it, sure, like the title says–I have read things about the rise of the dinosaurs, and I’ve stopped long before I get to their fall, but I’m sure it happens. And what science there has been so far has been interesting. I had a dinosaur phase as a kid, I was obsessed, I memorized names and average sizes and diets and whatever other facts I could get my hands on. Eventually I grew out of it–at least in the sense that I moved on to other fascinations–but I’m not not interested in dinosaurs as an adult, and the early part of this book promised me a paradigm shift, because I’ve been out of touch with the facts about them for thirty years. Thirty years can do a lot to change a scientific field. I was intrigued.

So why am I spending so much time reading about the boys’ club of field researchers? Why is the author trying to hard to seem cool? Why do I care who you have beers with and what type of pub you’re in? Why is so much of these first 99 pages about what chill guys you all are? I suppose that little peeks of the behind-the-scenes of field research could be fun if used sparingly, or even just to make me appreciate what hard work it can be to make these discoveries, but the tone I got from this was that the author desperately wants to prove he’s not a nerd, despite, you know, being a paleontologist and writing a book about dinosaurs. I’m not here for this ego stroking, I wanted to read about the world blowing up and how the dinosaurs dealt with it, until they couldn’t anymore. (There has been some of that, lava and continents tearing and noxious gases. That’s been fun.)

Issue #3: The quote that killed my patience with this book completely. For context, we’ve reached the part of the tale when Pangea splits and the resulting cataclysm precipitates another extinction event, toppling the ecosystem of the late Triassic period and starting the Jurassic, when dinosaurs flourished while many of their previously strong competitors died out.

After stating that the mystery of why the dinosaurs thrived while other groups went extinct “quite literally has kept me up at night” and going on to spend a full paragraph asking hypothetical questions about what might have caused it, he drops this bomb:

Maybe dinosaurs were just lucky. Perhaps the normal rules of evolution are ripped up when such a sudden, devastating, global catastrophe happens.

No. Hard no. The author’s personal failure to know what it was about the dinosaurs that spurred their survival does not equal “maybe evolution is meaningless.” No one else knows the answer yet either, and maybe we never will, but an absence of evidence does not mean we chuck our understanding of a fundamental principle of biology–I’m only going to question the validity of evolutionary theory if someone can present me credible evidence that some other system is responsible for producing the hundreds of years of observations that currently support evolution. There is a reason, or reasons, the dinosaurs were successful when other creatures were not, even if we will never pinpoint what those reasons were.

If Brusatte is joking or being hyperbolic with this statement for effect, I think poorly of him for bringing “luck” into a book about science and expecting me not to narrow my eyes at it. If he’s being serious, then I can’t take this work seriously, end of story.

#95 – Secrets of a Summer Night, by Lisa Kleypas

  • Read: 6/23/20 – 6/24/20
  • Mount TBR: 87/150
  • Rating: 3/5 stars

Historicals have never been my go-to for romance, but as I’m still working through the many, many battered paperbacks I acquired several years ago at used book sales, attempting to change that fact, here I am with another middling review of a middling book.

Kleypas has fared better than some in my evaluation, but I’m still not enamored of her, and after four tries, I think she’s not my thing. Even among my general dislike for Regency England, this was just okay.

The problem is, as with many other similar novels, all the conflict is external. Sure, you might be persuaded into thinking that the love interests have internal conflicts about whether or not they should be together, but all their muddled thinking is strictly due to the rules of the society around them. Annabelle doesn’t like Simon because his personality and attitudes chafe against her delicate upper-crust sensibilities; Simon doesn’t even have an internal conflict, he just wants Annabelle however he can have her, and has no apparent problem switching from “mistress” to “wife” ambitions when the plot needs him too.

All this, to disguise the fact that once you set aside the classism and learned distaste of their relative positions in society, they’re actually perfect for each other; they have tons of fun when they forget they’re not supposed to.

And for some, I guess that’s the appeal of historical romances from this period (and any other that relies on strict class behavior keeping people apart,) but for me, it gets so tired, and this was a particularly tiring example.

But you’ll notice I still gave it three stars. So what did I like? Well, Simon is just fun, even if he’s not particularly deep. The writing style is smooth and palatable, without anything to keep me from being immersed in the story. And most importantly, this novel puts more emphasis than most on the importance of female friendship. Yes, the Wallflowers here band together with a husband-hunting scheme in mind, but their banter is hilarious, their personalities reasonably well-developed for being minor characters (though with plenty of room to grow in their own books later in the series) and they all do genuinely grow to care for each other, rather than using each other for their goal. I don’t plan on continuing the series because this subgenre continues not to be my cup of tea (outside of a very small pool of exceptional authors who could write phone books and I would still read them) but I do feel a twinge of sadness that I won’t be seeing the other three friends get their own happy endings, because I did enjoy them. Just not enough to keep wading through a genre I generally find mediocre at best.

This Week, I Read… (2020 #23)

#87 – Along Came Love, by Tracey Livesay

  • Read: 6/11/20 – 6/12/20
  • Mount TBR: 80/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

I was hoping this would be better than the first book, but it was worse. Even setting aside my own dislike of surprise pregnancy stories, this was worse.

Early in the story, maybe one or two chapters apart, our hero Mike offers two different versions of his reaction to waking up and discovering Indi left at the end of their weekend together without saying goodbye. First, he’s grateful and relieved that he didn’t have to deal with the awkwardness of shooing his brief fling out of bed. (My reaction to this: kind of a dick move, but he’s got the whole book to grow into a better person, right?) But the second time he tells the reader how he felt, it was RAGE. RAGE that his little boho sexy beauty was gone, RAGE so bad that it took him a few days to feel able to interact with the rest of the world. (My two reactions to that: 1) how on earth can you feel both grateful and enraged that she left before you woke up, I don’t believe those feelings can coexist as you’ve presented them, and 2) am I really supposed to believe you formed such a connection with her in two days of marathon sex that you’re enraged that she left? Or is this rage because you no longer have access to her body?)

Because Mike has serious control issues about access to Indi’s body. Thankfully the narrative takes abortion off the table right away, Indi always intended to continue with the pregnancy, so at no point does Mike have to “convince” her not to abort. But he spends most of the book using emotional manipulation tactics to persuade her to allow him to raise the child rather than giving him up for adoption (I’m going with “him” because eventually they assigned “him” to the baby, whose gender was actually undeterminable at this point of her pregnancy.) Later in the story when she’s pretty okay with that idea, he ups the pressure and starts working on the idea of them sticking together as a family even though she’s made it clear she doesn’t want to be a mother.

But my problems don’t end there, because Mike also has a girlfriend, Skylar. He had his fling with Indi after Skylar left him, no issues with that, he was single. But they later got back together, and he’s about to propose. Literally, he intends to propose the evening of the day Indi re-enters his life. But Skylar is quite conveniently about to leave town on business, so instead of having to actually deal with the mess Indi’s making of his life plan and how it impacts his current relationship, the narrative shoves Skylar into a box for a while so Mike and Indi can have their screen time together. It takes until 70% for Mike to finally talk to Skylar about what’s happened and for them to break up with very little fanfare or negativity–but then, they were never a love match, they both say so, they were a high-powered business partnership willing to be married to each other for mutual social benefit and (presumably) sex. (I actually can’t recall if the book ever explicitly states that Mike and Skylar had a sexual relationship. Everything we do see of them together is incredibly dry and society-minded, so if you told me they weren’t sleeping together, I’d believe you.)

So, Mike is prone to controlling and manipulative behavior (remember, he’s the one in the first book who hired Chelsea in secret to deceive Adam in prepping for the company’s big presentation–that, at least, is consistent with his character) and also HE’S A CHEATER because he finger-bangs Indi but stops himself before they have penis-in-vagina sex, because apparently that’s the line where he thinks he’d be cheating. I guess it’s not “sex” to him if he doesn’t orgasm? Because Indi definitely does, and yeah, sorry, you’re a cheater, Mike, that was sex. You were having sex with Indi before you broke up with Skylar, and Indi even calls you on it, saying what you did “wasn’t fair to me or Skylar.” So, Indi, I guess you’re okay being with a cheater?

And man, I haven’t even gotten to how the entire book is the spawn of a single giant plot hole. Indi re-enters Mike’s life in the first place because she needs him to post bail for “breaking in” to Chelsea’s apartment because she’s not on the approved list of guests. It could all be cleared up with a single phone call before police ever get involved, but Chelsea’s on her honeymoon at a “no contact” resort, completely cut off from the outside world. Like, call the resort even if you can’t call Chelsea directly? They’ve got to have a policy in place for reaching guests in times of emergency. What if a guest’s family member died or something else life-altering like that? There’s absolutely no way they wouldn’t reach out to a guest in a crisis, and I think “loved one about to be arrested for a crime you could exonerate her from” would count. (But if we write that scenario logically there’s no plot, because she doesn’t need Mike for bail and then he doesn’t feel responsible for keeping her close by the rest of the book.)

I’m done, I’m out, I will not be continuing on with this series.

#88 – The Tropic of Serpents, by Marie Brennan

  • Read: 6/12/20 – 6/14/20
  • Mount TBR: 81/150
  • Rating: 4/5 stars

A solid follow-up to the amazing first novel of the series, but it didn’t quite live up to its predecessor for me.

The most impressive and emotional aspects, I found, were also some of the smallest. Most of the book is still “Isabella goes to do research, accidentally ends up involved in local politics, has a harrowing adventure,” and that’s all fine, I have no objections to the formula or most of how it was executed. But what I will take away from this, long after I’ve forgotten the details of the impending war between pseudo-African nations, is how the story handles women who don’t want to accept the narrow life society demands they live. It’s already obvious that Isabella herself will continue to reject that life, and she does, but the story also allows her to air her views on motherhood (which are shocking in the context of her society and unhappily, would still be the subject of criticism and censure by many today) and acknowledge the gender roles that limit women to being mothers in a way that never limits the fathers equally. On top of that, a secondary character, Natalie, gets to have her own (scanty but definitive) arc exploring her sexual identity, in the end, deliberately not choosing to marry and disavowing completely any interest in sex, no matter the gender of her partner. (Ace representation!)

Though it’s more minor, I also appreciate the growing relationship between Isabella and Mr. Wilker for being exactly what it is–awkwardly professional at first but eventually friendly, though dealing with the elephant in the room that others might expect them to engage in a romantic relationship. I found the entire dynamic charming.

What I didn’t like, strangely enough, was the end, and how flat and anti-climactic it felt. After all the adventure, Isabella goes through the end of the book entirely alone, we don’t find out what happens to the others for several chapters and even then they don’t reappear in the story until everyone’s safe at home in Scirland, a footnote. Isabella does her dramatic walk out of the jungle and saves the day–sort of–but then the book has to spend several chapters winding down through multiple layers of political maneuvering. It’s reasonably interesting, I didn’t throw it across the room or anything, but it’s such a letdown that the stage of the story I wanted to be her warm reunion with her colleagues/friends is actually forty pages of angry men bickering (or Isabella reporting that bickering in short, after the fact.) Sure, it concluded the plot adequately, but it didn’t feel like the proper end of the story.

#89 – A Princess in Theory, by Alyssa Cole

  • Read: 6/14/20 – 6/15/20
  • Mount TBR: 82/150
  • Bookwyrm Readathon Challenge: Read a diverse book
  • Rating: 3/5 stars

This is an odd duck to review, because I liked a lot of it and disliked a fair bit too, and it took me quite a bit of thinking in the hour since I finished (thank you, the mindless task of hand-washing dishes) to figure out what the root of the problem is: a problem I’m not sure I’ve ever had with a book before, which is why it was so hard to identify.

I just met two well-realized, vibrant characters who are stuck in a plot that doesn’t deserve them.

Ledi is a fantastic deconstruction of both the generic Strong Female Character and the Strong Black Woman. She’s smart and determined, certainly, but she’s also decided the wisest course toward life success is to bend under the weight of her problems, not break herself against them; the “pushover” flaw I see other reviewers criticizing her for is a carefully chosen survival strategy, that is both easy to empathize with and heartbreaking to watch in action.

Thabiso manages to betray his privileged upbringing in so many small ways without being a complete jerk all the time, which is a feat, but also without coming across as stupid rather than simply out-of-touch. It’s a hard tightrope to walk and one I rarely see authors do well (or at least to my satisfaction; I’m looking at you, dime-a-dozen billionaire or CEO romances.) Going into his deception of Ledi on a whim, without a game plan for getting out of it safely, was a dumb move that can be attributed to his arrogance; by the time he actually needs to extract himself from his false identity, his feelings have gotten involved and you just know it’s going to be a spectacular mess, but by then I also liked him enough to be sympathetic even though it’s his own damn fault.

Once the jig is up, in most books I would expect a quick turn around, an underdeveloped ending where after a chapter or two of wallowing, all is forgiven and we get our HEA. But no, the reveal of Thabiso’s identity happens far closer to the halfway point, maybe around 60% (? I didn’t make a specific note of exactly when, but it’s earlier than I expected.) In theory, I like that it takes time to rebuild their relationship, it takes time for Ledi to learn to trust Thabiso again. That’s fantastic–in isolation.

The problem is that in the second “half” of the book, when this necessary time to rebuild is going on, we’ve got an entirely new country/culture, many minor characters, and two faintly ridiculous subplots shoehorned into a little more than a hundred pages. You mean to tell me the medical establishment of this fictional nation can’t tell the difference between poisonings and a disease? That a mere handful of cases with no clear pattern of infection is treated as an “epidemic?” That literally no one has ever detailed the effects of over-ingestion of a common plant to the region that is so ubiquitous to the culture that its scent is one of Ledi’s memory markers? We know the harmful effects of basically every single plant ever cultivated in any garden in the world, why on earth is this a knowledge gap the plot leaves for Ledi to intuitively fill? And how freaking obvious is it from the very moment Alehk conspicuously hands her a mug of tea that he’s behind it all? I didn’t even know before then that the mysterious disease was actually a series of poisonings, but as soon as a suspicious man bearing tea shows up, it blows the entire subplot open. And I don’t really understand his motives, because the whole traitors-in-her-history family dynamic around Ledi is rushed and underdeveloped, with the revelations coming fast and furious and not clearly stacking neatly with each other.

So, basically, the first part of the book (just over half) is slow and thoughtful and goes into great detail setting up the characters and the romance, and the second part (just under half) would really benefit from being expanded into an entire second book, given the rushed pace and half-assed-ness of the plots, so that it didn’t feel like nonsense that was killing time while Ledi and Thabiso reconciled. If it hadn’t been so rushed, there could have been other potentially nefarious characters present to disguise the identity of the true villain. There could have been more time spent developing Thesolo as a nation and people, more time devoted to expanding Thabiso’s parents past their Sternly Disapproving trope (which the Queen stumbles past, briefly, when she softens slightly towards Ledi by the end, but that didn’t feel earned to me.)

There could have been an ending that felt truly triumphant instead of banged-together out of necessity from plot-scraps from other, better stories. The first part was an updated Coming to America, but the second part was, at best, a confused mashup of any half a dozen bad medical thrillers.

#90 – No Ordinary Star, by M.C. Frank

  • Read: 6/15/20 – 6/16/20
  • Mount TBR: 83/150
  • Bookwyrm Readathon Challenge: Read a book under 150 pages
  • Rating: 3/5 stars

It’s a little bit sci-fi, a little bit fairy tale, a lot dystopian, and I’m getting just a hint of budding romance. It’s a strange mix that makes a strange little book with some surprising strengths and some obvious flaws.

First, it’s pretty clear that this is just the first act of the story packaged as a single volume, because this is all set-up with very little internal forward motion. The book ends just after we get to the first goal post–we know Felix has to get the clock running, and he finally finds the clock. It’s an abrupt cut-off point, though it might be logical in the larger context of the story. But that’s a problem, isn’t it? I feel like I can’t evaluate this honestly because I’m aware that I’m trying to review just the first act of something larger, so of course it’s not going to feel complete and I’m going to have problems with it.

Second, doing my best to set that aside; I think there’s a lot of potential in the world-building, but it’s thrown at us willy-nilly. I find the concepts themselves interesting–how different would society look if no one needs to sleep or eat? What would happen if a dictatorship forcibly separated men from women to different parts of the planet and criminalized interaction between them? How effectively can a leader strip the world of its history and culture to recreate society in their image, and what technology would that take? But the flow of information is clunky, handed to us flatly instead of being discovered through narrative, and nothing is explored in any real depth. (I’m not a fan, specifically, of how casually rape is mentioned for shock value; it’s not treated seriously at all. I would rather lean in on the psychological horror of a prison where you’re never allowed to sleep while you remain standing immobile, packed in a room with the other prisoners you’re not allowed to speak to. That’s novel, that’s interesting, that’s a whole wealth of trauma to explore, so why even add off-hand “and if you do fall asleep the guards will take you away and rape you to death” and that’s that.)

So much of Felix and Astra’s conversation is a tense push-pull of unthinking assumptions and missing information, so why can’t more of the state of the world be revealed through them talking to each other? Astra knows more about how Felix lived than he knows about her, so why doesn’t he learn more from her than he does? (Stubbornness, I suppose, but I’m getting to that.)

The greatest strength of this work, though, are the characters. I don’t fully understand the world they’re living in yet (I’ve got the second and third books, or maybe I should call them Acts II and III, to help me with that) but I do understand, at least a little bit, the characters and their motivations. Even if I don’t get why Ulysses wants Felix to finish the clock (if these two kids are going to be rebels, why would they be supporting the status quo?) I do understand why Felix would feel compelled to follow the orders he’s been given, he was raised a soldier. Even if weaning him of the drugs that kept him in line is making him question his place in the world, his underlying drive would still be to do as he’s told, he’s just changed commanders. And Astra? She’s a born rebel whose family and whose own actions have placed her outside of the protection of the law. Of course she wants to discover the treasure of old, forbidden books that would tell her about how things used to be, how things could be again someday.

I’ll keep reading. I have hope for this story. But it’s kind of a rough ride getting there.

#91 – Desperation, by Stephen King

  • Read: 6/16/20 – 6/17/20
  • Mount TBR: 84/150
  • Bookwyrm Readathon Challenge: Read a book over 450 pages
  • Rating: 5/5 stars

Reading this in just over a day as part of a readathon was a trip and a half, but honestly, even if I hadn’t been devoting as much free time as possible to reading, I would have had trouble putting this down. The tension starts right away, the action not long after, and then it’s insanity for half the book and good vs. evil for rest. It’s been a long time since I read a King novel that was as much a page-turner as this one, and the two of my favorites that stand out best to me–The Stand and Under the Dome–share a lot of common traits with this. Strong ensemble casts with interesting dynamics. An otherworldly pressure exerting influence on human behavior, bending it towards destruction and chaos. Equal shares of obvious death and creeping terror.

I often refer to King as one of my favorite authors, with the caveat that when he’s good, he’s great; but when he’s bad, he’s awful. I’ve read so many of his clunkers in a row, apparently, that I’d forgotten how persuasive a slap on the face his best works are.

I will say that this leans into Christianity far harder than either of the other works I’ve mentioned, even The Stand, and that’s saying something. As someone long divorced from her Christian upbringing, it was a strange experience to find myself so gripped by a narrative drenched in God and miracles, because usually I’m pretty jaded to it. But this wasn’t preachy (aside from clearly coming from someone who, at the time of writing, believed in God and miracles enough to use them positively in his fiction.) It was more that Christianity deeply informed the traits and behaviors of one character, and his actions gradually led others to believe. (Okay, yeah, David was a Jesus figure, I get it, he even did the loaves and fishes trick, it’s not subtle. I bring all this up because, somehow, I still loved the book anyway. That’s how compelling it was.)

This Week, I Read… (2020 #22)

#83 – Wednesday, by Kendall Ryan

  • Read: 6/5/20
  • Mount TBR: 78/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

Ugh. I can’t fault it for being exactly what it says on the tin–dark, angsty, and burdened with near-constant sex. All of that is true. But it comes at the cost of having characters with personalities beyond “abusive and messed up” for the hero and “absolute doormat” for the heroine.

She even manages, somehow, to convince herself that she’s the one using him, despite the fact that, at the house after his wife’s funeral, he pulled her into a bathroom and starting taking her clothes off and proceeded to have sex with her. It’s not strictly non-consensual–she had plenty of opportunity to say no but never actually said yes either, and he certainly never bothered to ask.

But okay, fine, we’re setting up the “dark” tone and the hero has a hundred pages to get better, right? It comes along far too late and isn’t all that believable–suddenly there’s a hurricane! he could be in danger and she might never see him again and they might never figure out what to do about their super-twisted fuck-buddy situation! she’s worried! he shows up! he decides to turn over a new leaf and actually date her instead of just showing up at her house every Wednesday to have sex with her!

…really? A hurricane? I guess since she never once bothers to stand up for herself, it would take a natural disaster to make the hero change, because it’s not going to be anything she does.

The hero’s face-turn is a paper-thin veneer over an entire novella of abusive, possessive, unhealthy behavior, and the whole time THE HEROINE LITERALLY JUST LETS HIM DO WHATEVER BECAUSE SHE WANTS “TO BE THERE” FOR HIM.

#84 – A Natural History of Dragons, by Marie Brennan

  • Re-read: 6/5/20 – 6/10/20
  • Original rating: 5/5 stars
  • Reread rating: 4.5/5 stars

I want to knock the rest of the series out this year, and while I read Dragons in April 2019, I’ve read so much else since (and so much has happened since!) that I didn’t remember the plot as well as I would like to before continuing on with the next novel. My original review was no help there, as I mostly spoke about the style of the book and how it made me feel, rather than any specifics of what happened.

So I reread, and I’m glad I did. Did I like the book as much the second time around? Nearly. Towards the end I was impatient with the intrigue plot that wraps everything up, because my memory had washed this title with a sort of science-based nostalgia, when in reality it’s just as much action and mystery. I felt scales tipping in that direction this time much more keenly, and while that doesn’t make it a bad book–far from it–it does take a little bit of the shine off, compared with what I remember.

This is actually the first time I’ve formally reread a book I previously reviewed, and I wasn’t even planning to write a second review for it, just make a few explanatory comments about why it was showing back up on the blog, and then I found I actually did have things to say. It’s still a great book, and I still recommend it.

#85 – Stamped from the Beginning: The Definitive History of Racist Ideas in America, by Ibram X. Kendi

  • Read: 6/3/20 – 6/10/20
  • The Ultimate PopSugar Reading Challenge: a book on a subject you know nothing about
  • Rating: 4/5 stars

This book turned my comfortable and complacent view of American history on its ear. I was aware before this that my decades-ago public-school education on the subject was lacking in nuance, and even to some degree sanitized, and my college education was spread across many other subjects–I never went back to fill in the gaps of what I knew I didn’t know, let alone question what I’d already been taught.

Almost all of it was inaccurate, as it turns out.

In addition to poking large holes in my concept of history, this gave me a new framework to think about racist ideas as a whole, with its assertion of a three-sided system rather than the simple two-sided one: the world isn’t divided into racist or non-racist, but segregationist, assimilationist, or anti-racist. This explained so much, and will give me a good grounding going forward in my anti-racism reading and learning journey. (At least until, and if, I come across a work presenting a different structure to the system of racist ideas.) Also of note, the assertion that racial hatred is not the source but the result of institutional racism, which actually comes from the political and economic self-interests of those in power; which is a complete reversal of how I had been taught to view racism, and again, it explains so much. People in positions of power create racist policies out of self-interest (thank you capitalism), which then creates the need to justify those policies, and out of those justifications, you get prejudice and intolerance and hatred.

My (minor) issues with this work are not content-based, but structural and tonal. This swings wildly and somewhat unpredictably between dry, factual history and excited activist exhortation, a sort of whiplash that never got easier for me to navigate. And while the structure appears neat from the outside, with the history broken into five parts surrounding a major historical figure of the day, so much of each section was completely unrelated to that person, and every so often, usually at the start of a chapter, the narrative would jump tracks from a tangent to drag itself back to that person, again, a sort of mental whiplash. It may be that these issues were more apparent to me because I was listening to the audiobook and not reading the text, where I wouldn’t have heard the changes in the narrator’s voice as the tone of the piece changed.

This might not have been the best choice for my first anti-racism read, because of its length and relatively dry historicality, but whatever flaws I find in the presentation don’t diminish the content. This was a valuable and eye-opening experience from start to finish.

#86 – Love On My Mind, by Tracey Livesay

  • Read: 6/10/20 – 6/11/20
  • Around the Year in 52 Books: a book with an emotion in the title
  • Mount TBR: 79/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

Part of me wants to say this is well-constructed, because its theme is crystal clear–communication is essential to successful relationships–and all the conflicts support that. You’d be surprised how often I see romances pile on dozens of unrelated conflicts onto their characters without even a hint of a central organizing theme.

But, on the other hand, the conflicts themselves are paper-thin, both ignored and then solved with no real effort. Adam got his pride and reputation ruined by the last women he was serious about, and he has Asperger’s, which in his case makes social interaction difficult for him. Chelsea values her career more than anything, to the point where she uncomfortably accepts the order to lie to a client (Adam) about her presence in his life, engaging in a business relationship with him under false pretenses.

Both of them start by telling themselves they should make it a personal relationship despite their obvious chemistry, though Adam folds on that far faster than Chelsea, who has far more reason to stand her ground. But she doesn’t (of course) and after an incredibly brief span of happiness together, everything blows up in their faces (also of course.)

But they both make huge changes/concessions in their lives almost instantly–Adam having an epiphany about trust, and Chelsea resigning from her job to prove love is worth more than her career–and while those about-faces make logical sense from a thematic standpoint, they come with basically no soul-searching, both of them in less than a day of story time. Then they apologize and get back together and she gets her job back and everything is totally fine now happy ending whee!!!

Also, there’s a stiff quality to nearly everything. Chelsea has no apparent personality or interests to speak of beyond her job, and Adam’s video game habit is poorly executed. Nobody calls video game characters “avatars.” Source: I’m a lifelong gamer. They’re playing a thinly-veiled version of one of the Uncharted games, apparently, based on the name and what little description is given. You’d just call the thing you control on screen a “character” like everyone else does. It makes no sense to use “avatar” in this context, because Uncharted specifically is a story-based game following a main character on his adventures, he’s how the player interacts with the video game, sure, but he’s not a meaningless shell encasing the player with no traits of his own.

Judging from other reviews, the techie-corporate aspect is just as poorly executed. I wasn’t knowledgeable enough during my reading to know the specifics of the industry, but the whole setup felt off. Adam’s best friend and COO hiring a PR firm but insisting they work undercover, essentially? How was anyone supposed to be successful in doing their job while having to disguise who they were or why they were there? If Adam hadn’t been attracted to Chelsea, how on earth would she have accomplished what was basically an impossible task, on her own, with no support or direction from her firm?

I have the second book in the series–they were both freebies or maybe 99 cents back when I picked them up–so I’ll read that too before I decide if this author is a no-go in the future for me, but I have to say, I was hoping for better.

This Week, I Read… (2020 #21)

#79 – Sexy in Stilettos, by Nana Malone

  • Read: 5/29/20 – 5/30/20
  • Mount TBR: 74/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

Badly in need of an editor/proofreader. This story was riddled with errors, from poor punctuation and word choice to misspelled celebrities: one minor character was obsessed with “Patsy Klein.” I was actually confused by that at first–until I realized the author probably meant the famous singer Patsy Cline. (Which is still a throwaway detail that wouldn’t really matter if that obsession weren’t how his brother the hero found him when he was in hiding, which was strange and unsatisfying because it wasn’t told to the readers ahead of time.)

Beyond the lacking presentation, did I like the story? Not really. The characters weren’t solidly constructed, everyone’s wishy-washy in their traits. The heroine is a pushover when confronted in person about most things but when alone is doggedly determined to prove she’s not a failure, even to the point of making unwise life decisions. The hero is a committment-phobe in most areas of his life but is unswervingly loyal and obedient to his stepmother (who is actually a snarky treasure and probably the best thing about this book.) The heroine’s father is Comically Awful at the start and gets an upgrade at the end to Tragically Misunderstood, which was a pseudo-heel-face turn that was unbelievable and wholly undeserved. The heroine’s sister is a total bitch who stole her fiance but also wants her to be at the wedding and be supportive. (Like, it takes two people to cheat. If your sister and your fiance knowingly slept together, they’re both equally at fault, you can’t hate him for it but forgive her. Not if you want me to respect your intelligence, anyway.)

I never felt much chemistry between the leads, and I didn’t really think they were falling in love, just having lots of sex. The happy ending resolution jumps forward past six months of no-contact pining and concludes with a marriage proposal, and I just didn’t buy it.

#80 – Sultry in Stilettos, by Nana Malone

  • Read: 5/30/20 – 5/31/20
  • Mount TBR: 75/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

DNF at 70%, hear me out, I’ll get to why.

I had lots of notes in my brain about how this book was basically the same book as the first one. Jaya was an event planner; Ricca and Beckett are both event planners, too. Alec was a semi-dilettante rich guy who was semi-obsessed by rally car racing; Beckett is far less rich, apparently, but still gets to actually drive rally cars in the story, twice by the point I gave up. Why am I reading about the same characters with only slightly different personalities?

The plot is definitely different, I’ll give it that. The first book was a fling-turned-real, whereas this is best-friends-to-lovers. Fair enough.

And the “mystery” subplot at their job is new, too, but badly executed. The culprit is so obvious I don’t even need to read the rest to know I’m right and the leads suspected the wrong character.

I could say more about that, but it’s not the reason I dropped the story when I did. Let me give you a quote:

“I’m almost done. You might as well come in and not waste your workout time. We’re headed to “Morocco landmark” at nine, and we’ll want to make sure we confirm the rest of the day.”

This book isn’t finished. The author left in a “fix me later” note from the drafting cycle. I said about the first book that it needed much better editing, and here’s the eventual culmination of it–a missed research tag that never got resolved. The work up until that point had the same sloppy, needs-editing quality as the first one, but this moment pushed it over the edge for me, it’s simply unprofessional to publish something that clearly isn’t finished.

#81 – Dragon Haven, by Robin Hobb

  • Read: 5/31/20 – 6/2/20
  • Mount TBR: 76/150
  • Rating: 5/5 stars

I did not expect to be giving this book five stars. Not after reading the first in the series, not when starting it, not even when I was halfway through. Yet, here I am.

This is some of the strongest character work I’ve seen from Hobb. Sure, Fitz is super-well-developed across his six books of first-person POV, but this series is following the Mad Ship narrative style: multiple third-person POVs. And while I enjoyed those books a great deal, it works even better here.

Every single major and several of the minor characters find themselves, in this section of the story, addressing the question that I eventually realized is the central theme of the novel: “Are you going to let other people dictate who you are?”

Alise shackled herself to a bad husband, and Sedric to an abusive lover. (Even worse, they’re the same person.) Both of them break free and find new love, while also moving the plot forward. Kudos to finally having a healthy, canonically queer relationship; it’s a nice antidote to the quasi-homophobia of Fitz’s personal disgust re: the Fool, which was clearly not meant to be a blanket statement against queerness but a deep character flaw–still, it got old and it’s nice to see positive representation.

But back to my main point. All of the dragon keepers are, by design, rejects of their own societies. Some use their exile as freedom to be who they want to be and love who they want to love; others use that freedom to try to impose new rules on the group in a bid for power. Thymara in particular understands the desire to reject the old ways but refuses to fall in line with Greft’s new social order that would continue to put her at a disadvantage.

The dragons themselves were born weak, stunted, “wrong,” and after years wallowing in that wrongness, they strike out to find a new home for themselves, one where they can be as they were meant to be–and they grow stronger on the journey, both physically and mentally, no longer limited to the pitiful existence they had as malformed hatchlings.

No one in this book is upending the social order on a revolutionary scale, but they don’t need to (and also that looks like it might be on the horizon anyway, what with founding a city of healthy dragons and everything that entails, everything that would change.) I like that this big, strange, apparently doomed journey that clearly is going to change the world never has that as the goal in mind, not really. It’s always about personal survival and personal freedom and individual stories that weave together to produce something much larger.

I liked the characters after their introduction in the first book, but I love them now.

#82 – One Perfect Night, by Bella Andre

  • Read: 6/3/20
  • Mount TBR: 77/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

When will novellas stop trying to be novels?

I picked this up as a freebie because I had enjoyed some of Andre’s other work. None of it set my world alight, but it was mostly solid. This premise seemed bite-sized enough to work as a novella without the number-one complaint I have about romance novellas: “this should have been a full-length novel, it’s trying to do too much.”

I got burned here with that. The lovebirds spend one day skiing together, one week apart and thinking about the other, then get reunited in a too-cute-for-reality setup through mutual friends and end up spending their “one perfect night” together.

During which they drop L-bombs and claim they’re “meant to be.” Um, excuse me? What planet am I on now? Why did a perfectly good novella set up have to rush them to InstaLove when a “this has potential, let’s give a try” kind of Happy For Now ending would have been the absolutely perfect cap to the story? Why does it have to be forever already?

This Week, I Read… (2020 #20)

73 - First Frost

#73 – First Frost, by Sarah Addison Allen

  • Read: 5/21/20 – 5/22/20
  • Mount TBR: 69/150
  • Rating: 5/5 stars

I read Garden Spells all the way back in 2016, and I haven’t reread it since, though now I definitely want to. I remember it being sweet and comforting and blessedly easy to read. Being me, I was mildly concerned that I wasn’t going to remember what happened well enough to dive back into world with its sequel nearly four years later with no refresher, but that didn’t end up mattering. The exact details of the plot that matter are reincorporated, and the time frame leaps forward by a decade, so it was smooth sailing all the way.

This is proof that the stakes don’t need to be high to make a piece of media engaging–no one’s in danger, the world doesn’t need saving, and aside from one teenage fistfight there’s no action to speak of. But when you care about the characters, you want to keep turning pages to find out what’s going to happen to them, and that’s how I ended up reading from page 93 to the end in one sitting this morning. I wanted to see if Bay and Josh had a chance of working out. I wanted to know when Claire was going to figure out what was wrong with her career choices and how to fix them. I wanted to know if Sydney was going to come clean with her husband about the change in their dynamic. (I’d say I wanted to know who Mariah’s new best friend was, but I figured that out really quickly, and I was right. But hey, I’m not reading a novel like this for big plot twists or surprises.)

I went into this wanting more Garden Spells, and that’s exactly what I got, and I’m extremely happy with that.

The Necessary Beggar

#74 – The Necessary Beggar, by Susan Palwick

  • Read: 5/22/20 – 5/24/20
  • Mount TBR: 70/150
  • The Reading Frenzy: Read a book with a yellow cover
  • Rating: 3/5 stars

For a random freebie I got from the Tor newsletter, I was surprised how much I liked this, because freebies are always hit or miss, you download them because they’re there!

But it was far from great, and while many elements in this strange sci-fi/magical realism/slice of life mashup were interesting and moving, many were too strange to fit or downright harmful.

The central “plot”–and it’s pretty loose, structurally–is supposed to be this amazing love story, this recreation in human flesh of a myth, that sends a message about the power of love and forgiveness, and also provides catharsis. But notice how I didn’t include “romance” in the mashup listing? Because not one of the love stories contained in the book, spread across the members of a large family, felt authentic, and one had a strong abusive dynamic (the aunt and uncle) while the young adults (the daughter and her American boyfriend) were downright creepy. I never felt like they were in love, although I know I’m not supposed to think she was in love with him because for a long time she wasn’t, but his love is so obvious and forthright that at first it seems pure, but then gets twisted by the necessities of the plot into a semi-coerced marriage, and that was just ALL KINDS OF WRONG to me. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t beautiful, it didn’t feel good after everything else the book had heaped on the daughter’s shoulders.

So what did I like about this book? The strong emphasis on familial love and loyalty, the richness of the fictional culture the family comes from, the culture clash in the early parts of the book when the children are adapting but the adults are struggling. (Part of me feels like it’s a cop-out to explore the immigrant experience in America with an entirely fictional culture when there are so many interesting ones right here in our own dimension, but at the same time, sci-fi has always been a lens through which to examine humanity, and by using a fictional culture the [white] author isn’t co-opting a real culture not her own. Yes, this was written in 2005 and I shouldn’t expect it to be up to today’s levels of “woke” but as I was reading I really wasn’t sure if this was a great idea or a lazy one. After finishing I’m still not sure. Of course, the central conceit of the story is based on a fictional myth, so I guess practically speaking it had to be a fictional culture to go with it…)

In the end, I didn’t like the ending. It was obvious to me long before then what was going on, and while that’s not me demanding some big twist–I’m not, I swear–I didn’t feel satisfied to be right, when I got to the incredibly predictable ending. After all the emotion I had built up for (some of) these characters, it did feel like a letdown. So it’s an interesting blast from the recent past that I probably never would have read if it hadn’t been a freebie, simply because I probably never would have heard of it. But my thoughts on it are too mixed, my reaction too “meh” by the end, to call this a hidden gem that I should recommend to everyone.

75 - Room

#75 – Room, by Emma Donoghue

  • Read: 5/24/20 – 5/25/20
  • Around the Year in 52 Books: A book with the major theme of survival
  • The Ultimate PopSugar Reading Challenge: A book with only words on the cover, no images or graphics
  • Mount TBR: 71/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

The book that I started last night and felt absolutely compelled to read straight through to the end became, this morning when I finished it, a dreary slog that didn’t satisfy the questions it raised in the beginning.

Seriously, this did not pay off its premise.

So many other reviewers, now that I’ve finished the book and skimmed some of the reviews, hated Jack’s narration and listed in detail why, all the quirks and odd word choice and Capitalization; and I feel that, but I also feel that the situation he was in explained it all adequately, and any annoyance I felt at the style was overwhelmed by interest in the story. I was hooked. It was horrible and gripping and I wanted to know what was going to happen and how they were going to escape and what would become of them afterward.

The escape itself is thin. It probably shouldn’t have worked, but I’ll give it a pass because at least it wasn’t belabored. Ma thought of it, explained it, Jack got scared and whined, but he did it, and it didn’t take more than a handful of pages to get through.

Once they’re both back in the real world, though? The book completely fell apart, because as interesting as it might be to see from Jack’s own perspective how he deals with an environment he’s never known–the whole world–by focusing on that the book almost completely ignores Ma’s struggles with reintegration. Her attempted suicide feels more like an excuse for the narrative to force Jack to deal with someone else for a change than it does a consequence of her precarious mental health. I wasn’t interested in seeing Jack go to the mall with his aunt and uncle, I wanted to see Ma’s recovery.

There’s plenty of disturbing things in this book on the surface, but I’m walking away from it with some equally disturbing thoughts about motherhood, because not only does Ma repeatedly imply or outright state that Jack’s life is more important than hers, the narrative seems to think so too, focusing narrowly on Jack’s pain and Jack’s struggles while his mother suffers in the background, almost entirely off-screen, and all in support of furthering Jack’s story. It’s not exactly the same as being fridged, but in many ways it echoes that harmful trope, and I don’t care for it.

#76 – Bound to be a Groom, by Megan Mulry

  • Read: 5/25/20 – 5/26/20
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

I read the prequel novella earlier this year, and despite it having some major flaws, I enjoyed it as a fluffy, “don’t think about it too hard” erotic romance. The premise of the first novel in the series still interested me, so here I am.

This was equally good, which is to say, equally bad. The historical and political aspects of the plot may be accurate, for all I know, but they weren’t interesting, and they weren’t a major enough part of the story to even be worth investing in. They were, at best, a skeletal framework on which to hang the notion of four people having a lot of licentious, semi-forbidden sex.

The bulk of the story was the sex, as tends to happen with erotic romance of course, but even for the genre this was stretching the “romance” aspect, because in two hundred pages four people have to forge several “love” relationships and one notable “we can have sex with the same people but no way no how with each other” dynamic.

Everything felt thin and rushed because there simply wasn’t time for anything more to develop. And to be honest, the sex scenes themselves were only so-so. I’ve read better, I’ve read worse. But if the entire point of the novel is the sex, shouldn’t it be better than so-so?

I gave the author a second shot, but I will not waste time on a third.

#77 – Melting Steel, by C.M. Seabrook

  • Read: 5/26/20 – 5/27/20
  • Mount TBR: 72/150
  • Rating: 1/5 stars

I had a running list in my head of all the small issues I had with this book throughout the first half, many of them being related to needing a better editor. (Two different people were wearing “sequenced” dresses. Don’t let auto-correct write the story!)

But by the end, none of that matters, because this novel wouldn’t be any better for being perfectly proofread and presented. The heart of the problem is that the hero is a controlling and possessive man whose behavior crosses the line into abusive several times and the heroine is a pushover whiner with very little agency who lies back most of the time and lets the hero do whatever he wants–be that have sex with her, make her move in with him, have her followed whenever she leaves his apartment, runs a background check on her, forbids her from leaving later on when she tries to break off their relationship….

[The sex is always consensual, but often of the type that’s “I shouldn’t sleep with him for ALL OF THESE VERY GOOD REASONS but he’s just so hot and I’m just so weak-willed so I’ll let him convince me.” While I would consider much of the hero’s behavior abusive, there is no actual rape. And that’s about the best I can say about him.]

On top of that, the two of them fall in InstaLove, despite the only things they have in common being sex and trauma, since eventually it comes out that she’s half-sister to his dead best friend he feels guilty for not “saving” from her own mental health issues and eventual suicide. The circumstances surrounding their mutual traumatic past made this impossible for me to read as anything beyond the hero “loving” the heroine because she reminded him of his lost friend, which is so gross.

The circumstances surrounding their mutual traumatic past also spawn a ridiculously contrived suspense subplot involving the drugs, stolen money, the heroine’s little brother, and her rape-y ex-boyfriend, which culminates in the hero getting non-fatally shot at his sister’s wedding.

The level of melodrama in this was beyond believable. This isn’t the worst romance I’ve read, but it’s got to be hanging out down there in the bottom ten somewhere.

#78 – Never a Mistress, No Longer a Maid, by Maureen Driscoll

  • Read: 5/27/20 – 5/28/20
  • Mount TBR: 73/150
  • Rating: 2/5 stars

The pacing here was strange and definitely impacted my enjoyment of the story. I read on my Kindle, and the end of the prologue was at 9%. What? The prologue takes up nearly a tenth of the book? The early chapters seemed fine, but then the last act packs a lot of action and intrigue in at a pace that left my head spinning: two failed kidnapping attempts before a successful one; a murder; a daring rescue; blackmail; and the end to the subplot I originally thought was the major external conflict, a strange and rushed resolution to an unwanted betrothal for the hero.

The last act seemed like it was finishing a different book than the one I’d been reading, which had almost no physical danger in it.

As for the romance itself, I’m used to contrived setups, but this didn’t put in the work to make it really work. The hero’s career as a “spy” is thin and never seems important aside from making sure he’s in the war in Belgium to have sex with, then lose, the heroine. Who also has a somewhat unbelievable backstory, that she runs away from home to be a surgeon in the war but then as soon as she’s found goes meekly back to England to be a good daughter, except woops she’s pregnant now.

And neither of them display much growth as the story progresses, because most of the conflicts are those pesky external ones, the kidnapping, the unwanted almost-betrothal, the murder. I guess the hero does go from finding marriage distasteful to being all on board, mostly due to meeting and falling hard for his adorable little daughter (who was probably the best thing about this book, realistic, funny, not too well-behaved or perfect, but not a stupid brat either. I liked Violet a lot.) But the heroine’s internal conflict is “I don’t want to get married because I think that means giving up the life and career I have now” and she doesn’t deviate from that at all until the very end, when the rampant danger to her, her daughter, and the hero, prompts her to change her mind and think being a family together is more important than her career. I’m not saying it’s impossible, but it didn’t feel natural, because it wasn’t set up at all by the earlier story.