It’s been so, so long since I’ve posted here. That makes me sad and incredibly happy all at once. I wish I missed writing about books more, but I don’t. It got tedious and tiresome and boring. And frankly, I just never felt like I found my voice here. I always felt like some other version of ‘Brooke’ who was trying too hard.
I now spend most of my time on Tumblr talking The Walking Dead. That’s my current happy place. Even though it can be a total freakshow over there. And wow, people can be such douchecanoes. But I’ve made some awesome friends. I’ve even booked tickets to San Diego next summer to spend some time with a couple of said new friends.
I’m still reading! But I’m following ZERO rules. Well, beyond keeping up with my IRL book club. And I’ve been reading the Riot Read selections. Other than that – FREEDOM! I choose whatever I want, whenever I want. And it is GLORIOUS. No lists, no goals, no pressures. No – ‘I’m not reading enough of this or that’. No – ‘I’m reading too much of that or this’. No guilt. Because enough was enough.
That’s not to say I’m not being a conscious reader. I still believe in reading diversely. But I don’t weigh myself down with expectations and numbers and statistics. I don’t make myself TBR lists. I go to my shelves and pick out books that speak to me in that particular moment. And I’ve been reading slump free. Because sometimes I just don’t want to read novels, dammit. So then comics become my main jam. And that’s totally fucking fine.
Right now I’m having a little nonfiction moment. I’ve read books by Jen Kirkman and Julia Child. I’m in the middle of Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay. Five Days at Memorial by Sheri Fink is next on the list. I can’t remember the last time I let myself linger over nonfiction. I WAS SO LOST FOR SO LONG.
Maybe I’ll come back here one day. Maybe I’ll find myself posting from time to time. Who knows? And who really cares? I miss the lovely bloggers I interacted with on a daily basis. But y’all are still over on Twitter when I need you! I care so much more about conversations these days anyway. I’m DONE with reviews. DONE AND DONE.
Anyway, just wanted to stop by, explain my absence, and wish y’all a merry Friday.
I can’t believe I haven’t written a review for Gone Girl yet. How do these things happen to me? Oh, that’s right, TWD obsession. Well, fear not my friends. The time has come. Gillian Flynn sure does know how to pull the feelings from you, doesn’t she?
Amy and Nick are a thirty-something married couple who’ve hit some financial and family trouble. They are now back in his small Missouri hometown, and we open on the morning of their 5th wedding anniversary. The narrative shifts back and forth between Nick present day and Amy’s diary from the beginning of their relationship. Because Amy’s gone missing and it doesn’t look good. We go from there.
The film trailer was released a few weeks ago, and so I knew I had to get on reading Flynn’s latest and greatest. I refused to even watch the preview before I’d read the book. GG was a huge darling a couple of years ago and fell victim to the hype monster, which means I refused to read it until things had calmed. While I waited, I read her first two novels – Sharp Objects and Dark Places. One I loved; the other I liked.
Gone Girl is a whole other thing. What impressed me so much about Sharp Objects were the risks Flynn was willing to take, particularly in making people nasty and the imagery even worse. She had a grit and a bluntness to her work that was able to shock even me. GG is different in its way but not any less shocking. But this time, she’s focused primarily on making you hate all of the people just because they are shitty people. The worst, really. You think someone can be redeemed and then shit just falls apart. You will want to punch everyone and fling the book across the room, but you will not be able to stop reading. And that’s the pleasure of Gone Girl. It grabs you, shakes you, and won’t stop until you’ve turned the last page.
Was the novel perfect? No. Personally, I had moments where I wondered what was the point, you know? All those pages just to see the lengths people will go to out-do one another. To see how shitty we can be at the core of who we are. To see how much our childhood or rearing can fuck us up? To just play with the audience like we’re the mouse and Flynn’s the cat? But it’s one hell of a ride so who cares?
The Weirdness by Jeremy P. Bushnell is exactly that, weird. But in the best of ways. It’s a Faustian tale for the millennial generation. Throw in a Devil-owned Lucky Cat, and well, you had me at hello.
Billy Ridgeway is kind of an odd, hipster-ish guy. He’s 30, works at a sandwich shop, and lives in Brooklyn. He’s a writer without much success and has a girlfriend who may or may not be that into him. But one day, Satan shows up in his apartment looking to make a deal. Help him retrieve his lost Lucky Cat in order to save the world from a fiery extinction, and he’ll grant Billy his one true desire – the chance to become a happily published novelist. How can Billy refuse?
If you aren’t sold by now, you might as well quit reading. Because if that synopsis doesn’t push all your buttons, this isn’t the book for you. Sorry. For those still with me, I really think you’ll love The Weirdness. It’s the perfect beachside romp filled with clever moments and well-written sentences. Bushnell gets NYC and failed writers in a way that makes this fantastical story feel very, very much like some truth you never thought you needed to know. The whole story is mostly just a giant metaphor of what writing is like these days, particularly being an unpublished writer. Which is pretty much just the most amazing metaphor, certainly the most fun, that I’ve read in a long while.
The Weirdness gets two thumbs up and several wet, sloppy kisses from me. I think most readers – from the casual to the very serious – can find something to love here. The sci-fi/fantasy kids get a nonstop, crazy adventure. The literary folks get beautiful writing and a plethora of smartly done literary devices and allusions. There’s religion and romance, if that’s your bag. And werewolves. Because someone out there always needs werewolves.
James Baldwin is a literary legend who needs next to no introduction. Except that I feel like no one reads any Baldwin anymore. Is this true? Have y’all read anything by him recently? If Beale Street Could Talk is my very first and will not be my last. Now that I’ve read one, I intend to read his entire backlist. And I need y’all to do the same thing.
Tish loves Fonny and Fonny loves Tish. They are a young, sweet couple living in NYC just trying to create a home and a family of their own. But when Fonny is wrongfully accused of raping a Puerto Rican woman, he’s thrown in jail, separated from his now pregnant fiance.
And it’s heartbreaking. Heartbreaking because how much this fictional story embodies the harsh realities of life and racism and shitty people. The irony of the police force and the law system being the very evil they’re supposed to serve and protect us from. Baldwin’s writing is no nonsense and doesn’t allow you to make excuses for the fact in his fiction. He demands his readers see through the bullshit. But he does so by making you fall in love with these wonderfully drawn, full-bodied characters who will crawl inside your heart and stay there even when you put the book down. It’s a story of the human spirit pitted against the ugliness of humanity.
The novel is short, yet powerful. The ambiguous ending was expertly done. Baldwin’s talent with the written word had me underlining and highlighting and sharing quotes on Tumblr with every turn of the page. It’s a book that still feels so very relevant even decades later. Because we’re still trapped inside this horrific bubble of prejudice and racism and making people feel other despite knowing better by now. So perhaps we need James Baldwin now more than we ever have.
So, what’s your favorite Baldwin novel? Where should I head next?
So I read this book and now I shall discuss it in this post. So get ready, y’all. Oh my goodness, I’m in a mood. But this should be fun, I promise. Anyway, I read this for multiple reasons: It’s our chosen book for April (my IRL book club), it was a booktube book club choice in March, and Adichie is such a queen of all writers that it was a thing that just had to be done.
Half of a Yellow Sun follows five different protagonists from different walks of life as they navigate the civil unrest/war that occurred in Nigeria during the 1960s and the turmoil following Colonialism. The pov switches back and forth between these five narrators and between the early 60s/late 60s. So basically, character driven African historical fiction.
And there’s a whole lot to love about this book. Seriously, it won many awards and well-deserved accolades. Adichie’s writing speaks for itself. Despite its 500+ pages, I flew through the story with a fervid pace. I cared about each character and needed to know what happened to them. I loved Adichie’s decision to jump between the now and then. To show us the effect of moments that hadn’t yet been divulged to us, the readers. And then to rewind and spill the beans in reverse. So good. And spectacularly effective.
What was a bit of a miss for me was bogging down the story with so many historical facts and figures and events. Sometimes I felt like the characters had a hard time rising above being mere historical vehicles. Instead of being living, breathing people they had a tendency every now and again to feel like dusty relics from a museum tour. That sounds so, so harsh. And it’s not meant to be, really. Some might even really enjoy this aspect. But I’d have preferred a little more subtlety to my story telling. Just a personal preference.
But overall, I loved the book. I still think Americanah is her stronger novel (although I think I’m in the minority there), but Half of a Yellow Sun is not to be missed. Honestly, Adichie can’t write fast enough to satisfy my cravings for the way she tells such a complete and enthralling tale.
Can’t wait to see what my Litwit ladies have to say when we meet later in the month to discuss. I’m nervous because I’m such a delicate Adichie fangirl and can hardly stand to hear a negative thing said, even if it’s coming out of my own mouth!
Happy Monday y’all!!
Hey there, folks! How ya doing? Having a good day? Loving the weather where you are? I guess I should use this time more wisely and wrap-up March. Because not enough has gone on in April, so far, to talk about yet.
Ah, March. Where the last vestiges of winter go to die (at least in Georgia) and spring attacks with a smattering of pollen. My reading started off like a high-speed grand prix and ended with a soft pfft. I read four novels and the latest issue of Saga. The real win was that I loved all of them. Quality over quantity and all that.
Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein
Burial Rites by Hannah Kent
Half of a Yellow Sun by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
Three Souls by Janie Chang
Saga, Volume 3 by Brian K. Vaughn
I spent most of my time watching, talking, or writing about The Walking Dead. I’m sure you’re shocked. April has been spent coming down off the TWD high and returning to normal life. What else happened? Let’s see…a whole lot of nothing. We did our taxes. Ate at some good restaurants. And spent a lot of time working. We attended the auto show. Be jealous.
With all that nothing going on, Jimmy and I were able to spend far less money than usual. We’re paying off my car in May (FINALLY) and another small debt as well. A major win for adulthood. Okay, I’m gonna quit putting y’all to sleep and sign off.
Happy Apriling, dearies!