Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts
Showing posts with label book review. Show all posts

Release Date: September 24, 2013
Publisher: Tor
Category: Adult
Genre(s): Paranormal(?), science fiction, (urban?) fantasy
Pages: 364 (hardcover)
Format / Source: Hardcover, purchased
Victor and Eli started out as college roommates—brilliant, arrogant, lonely boys who recognized the same sharpness and ambition in each other. In their senior year, a shared research interest in adrenaline, near-death experiences, and seemingly supernatural events reveals an intriguing possibility: that under the right conditions, someone could develop extraordinary abilities. But when their thesis moves from the academic to the experimental, things go horribly wrong. Ten years later, Victor breaks out of prison, determined to catch up to his old friend (now foe), aided by a young girl whose reserved nature obscures a stunning ability. Meanwhile, Eli is on a mission to eradicate every other super-powered person that he can find—aside from his sidekick, an enigmatic woman with an unbreakable will. Armed with terrible power on both sides, driven by the memory of betrayal and loss, the archnemeses have set a course for revenge—but who will be left alive at the end?

★★★★★

A searingly intelligent, morally dubious rivalry story: think BBC's Sherlock meets X-Men meets The Prestige. (V.E. Schwab owns my entire heart. No one is surprised.)

I went into Vicious already knowing that I would adore it. What I didn't know is just how eagerly I'd be hanging on to every single word.

I'd had it on my shelf for over a year before reading it; I think part of me wanted to save it for a particularly bad day when I needed to be blown away by good writing, or a special occasion when I just had to have the perfect book to read. But one of my unofficial 'resolutions' this year is to read all the books I own that I haven't yet gotten a chance to dive into—and besides, why deny myself nice things for no real reason?—and I thought Vicious would be the perfect way to start out.

Victoria Schwab captured my heart way back in 2014 with her YA contemporary fantasy The Archived (the sequel of which I have yet to read, despite the fact that I own it—perhaps that'll be up next!). She then hit another home run for me in 2015 with her adult fantasy A Darker Shade of Magic. With her incredibly inventive concepts, fascinating and magnetic characters, and flawless prose, she's indisputably become one of my very favorite authors. So what better book was there to begin my reading year with than Victoria Schwab's first adult fantasy?

What first drew me to this book—other than the obvious fact that Victoria Schwab had written it—was the stunning, stunning premise. To put it bluntly, it promised everything I'd wanted from, say, X-Men but had found lacking: a more coherent explanation for superpowers (which the book does give, by the way, and it's pretty awe-inspiring in its logic), an honest-to-goodness cutthroat rivalry between two brilliant people with extraordinary abilities, and shade after shade of moral ambiguity. I confess that I've never really been one for superhero films, hence my status as possibly the only person in the known universe who isn't really in the Marvel fandom, but the concept of Vicious hinted at something darker, less clean-cut. I was—to make a gross understatement—excited about that.

Victor Vale, as well as his relationship with Eli Ever, is the most prominent highlight of Vicious for me (although this book is, in my honest opinion, made of highlights). At first, I viewed him askance, because I prefer having leading characters I can root for to some extent. But Victor grew on me at a rate that I found somewhat alarming, considering his, er, skewed moral compass. His ways of evaluating fellow humans were troubling, albeit nothing short of fascinating. Despite the feeling of wrongness he initially gave me as a reader, I soon found that he has a host of compelling qualities that I couldn't look away from, things that I understood. His single-minded ambition. His interest in someone—Eli—who seems so like him yet not. His startling moments of empathy, which always come when he least expects it. Victor Vale may not live in all of us, but parts of him do, like different dialects of the same language, and that was what kept me following him, straight through to the end.

Which leads me to the other half of the rivalry that defines this book: Eli Ever. Although neither of our two leading men are 'heroes' in any sense of the word, Eli somehow manages to get away with casting himself in a positive light, thanks to circumstances and his own conviction. His motivations, shaped by his nature—which has always been somewhat off—and emotional upheaval of the worst kind, are deeply perturbing but intriguing to read about nonetheless. He's tricky to get a feel for and almost seems amoral at times, but he has an undeniable pull to him, possibly because the reader can understand him in some sense. He's like Victor in this way, and in many others. His and Victor's relationship is thorny and driven by so many overlapping emotions that it's hard to make them out: envy, love, regret, hatred, respect. An affinity for each other that no one is really able to name.

What inevitably jumps out to me after discussing Victor and Eli is the themes that this book examines in a way that is powerful and yet seemingly effortless. I know, I know—for many of us, the word 'theme' brings back vivid flashbacks of high school literature classes (trust me, I'm in one). But what matters about Vicious is not its ability to act as a teaching tool; rather, the important thing is the book's capacity for generating weighty food for thought. For me, it showed that the difference between a hero and a villain is often simply a matter of perspective, and there may be no good people on either side—or the many sides—of a conflict. The ones we revere may merely be the ones who justified their actions to the majority more effectively. As for morality? It's an ever-changing construct for every individual. To quote Hamlet: " ... there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."

The rest of the cast is no less superb, especially the Friendly Murder Crew™ led by the true problematic fave, Victor Vale. The 'strays' Victor picks up on his quest for revenge are certainly strange, and perhaps not entirely whole, but they're still strangely lovable, much like Victor himself. Mitchell Turner is, in summary, someone I'd definitely want on my zombie apocalypse team, and I loved reading his backstory. Sydney Clarke is quite possibly one of the most sinister and wonderful twelve-year-old girls in all of literature. And of course we have to mention Dol, because no murder crew is complete without a semi-dead dog. (You think I'm joking.) The dynamic between Sydney and her sister Serena is also worth a mention, as they're both very layered characters whose history with each other is complex and fraught with emotional tripwires. Serena is a whole other story in and of herself as well, with her interior that leaves even the most powerful characters frightened. In a book with such magnetic main characters, one might think that the supporting cast would fall by the wayside, but that's not the case here, and this book is all the stronger for it.

In Vicious, Schwab writes with all the cunning wit, dangerously gorgeous language, and incisive insight into character that I've come to expect from her. There are few things I appreciate more than excellently crafted prose, and this book delivers that in spades. It doesn't embellish so much that it detracts from the story itself, but it adds a perfect tug at the heartstrings whenever it's needed, in the form of a sardonic description or a devastating metaphor or a flawless turn of phrase. Really, Schwab's writing speaks for itself far more eloquently than any description of it that I could possibly give.

This book has some of the most heart-in-your-mouth pacing you'll ever experience, and there's never a slow or predictable moment in the plot. A calm before the storm, maybe. But nothing to let you really settle. I had a bit of a moment every time I needed to stop reading and drag myself away from the pages. I don't think there's as much overstated action as one might expect, but the characters spark volatile reactions in one another that keep the storyline moving constantly, and Schwab deftly manipulates the book's timeline so that the reader gets only the vivid, essential information they need at exactly the right times. (I'm also in love with some of the book's scene parallels. Once you finish, you'll know what I mean.)

On the whole, Vicious is a beautifully executed, thoroughly ingenious story that questions the lines between good guys and bad. It was a superlative way of kicking off my reading year—reinforcing my love of everything Victoria Schwab writes—and I can't wait for the sequel.


Favorite Quotes

"[...] Hell, we could be heroes."

"We could be dead."

"That's a risk everyone takes by living." 
The moments that define lives aren't always obvious. They don't always scream LEDGE, and nine times out of ten there's no rope to duck under, no line to cross, no blood pact, no official letter on fancy paper. They aren't always protracted, heavy with meaning.
[...] Victor was the first to speak, and when he did, it was with an eloquence and composure perfectly befitting the situation.

"Holy shit."
A hero. Wasn't he? Heroes saved the world from villains, from evil. Heroes sacrificed themselves to do it. Was he not bloodying his hands and his soul to set the world right?
Someone could call themselves a hero and still walk around killing dozens. Someone else could be labeled a villain for trying to stop them. Plenty of humans were monstrous, and plenty of monsters knew how to play at being human.
There were some people you had to stay away from, people who poisoned everything in reach. Then there were people you wanted to stick with, the ones with silver tongues and golden touches. And then, there were people you stood beside, because it meant you weren't in their way.

Who else is in need of a Schwab Support Group? Are there any unread books on your shelf that you'd like to get to this year?

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Another mini-review—this one goes over Virginia Boecker's YA debut The Witch Hunter, which I think could have been a lot better.


Release Date: June 2, 2015
Publisher: Little, Brown Books for Young Readers
Category: YA
Genre(s): Fantasy, alternate history
Pages: 368 (hardcover)
Format/Source: Paperback ARC, Received from publisher (Many thanks to Little, Brown!)
Your greatest enemy isn't what you fight, but what you fear.

Elizabeth Grey is one of the king's best witch hunters, devoted to rooting out witchcraft and doling out justice. But when she's accused of being a witch herself, Elizabeth is arrested and sentenced to burn at the stake.

Salvation comes from a man she thought was her enemy. Nicholas Perevil, the most powerful and dangerous wizard in the kingdom, offers her a deal: he will save her from execution if she can break the deadly curse that's been laid upon him.

But Nicholas and his followers know nothing of Elizabeth's witch hunting past—if they find out, the stake will be the least of her worries. And as she's thrust into the magical world of witches, ghosts, pirates, and one all-too-handsome healer, Elizabeth is forced to redefine her ideas of right and wrong, of friends and enemies, and of love and hate.

★★★

a fun light read that, in retrospect, didn't click with me super well.

I first heard about The Witch Hunter because the author, Virginia Boecker, is part of the Freshman Fifteens (which you may remember as the group of 2015 debut YA authors that includes my lovely COMMON ROOM mentor Kim Liggett). At the time, it sounded like a really cool, action-packed, twisty YA fantasy—and you all know I'm always up for that. So I was ridiculously pleased to receive an ARC in the mail from Little, Brown.
and look the title page is gorgeous
The book was a really fast read—the pacing felt a little jerky at times, going back and forth from action to calm a little too quickly sometimes, but overall it was very snappy and speedy. There was lots of action and fight scenes, which is always nice, because I love reading fast fight scenes. This book is a definite page-turner. Actually, I was originally planning on rating this book a solid four stars, because while I was reading, I definitely enjoyed myself. It wasn't anything mind-blowing, to be sure, but it was fun.

However, I eventually decided to lower my rating because The Witch Hunter didn't hold up so well in retrospect.

While the characters were pretty endearing on the surface (resident 'mean girl' Fifer especially), none of them stood out to me as individuals I was deeply invested in. The heroine, Elizabeth, seemed serviceable but nothing special, and while I appreciate her willingness to question her own morals and address her flaws, she seemed very readily convinced to switch sides when it was convenient. Most of the side cast kind of fell flat, including the sweet but incredibly bland love interest (whose relationship with Elizabeth frankly screams instalove). Although the dialogue is cute here and there and I didn't outright hate anyone, there's not a ton of attention given to developing characters in a realistic and dynamic way, and that hurts this book overall.

I haven't read a lot of alternate history books, so when I figured out that this was one of them, I got really excited. Especially because this is an alternate spin on the Reformation in England, aka 1500s aka one of my favorite time periods ever to learn/read about. I thought that witch hunting, alternate Reformation, and magic would meld to produce an incredibly complex, layered storyworld. Unfortunately, it didn't really feel like that was the case. The magic wasn't anything all that different from what's already out there, as there wasn't a hugely original magic system. The rest of the worldbuilding wasn't that extensive, either; to me, it felt like a light fantasy world with a thin layer of semi-history on the surface. It wasn't bad worldbuilding necessarily; it just wasn't all that good, either.

The prose was fairly decent in that it did its job and let scenes play out without grating on my nerves, but it didn't stand out to me as especially well-crafted. However, I do tend to focus on style a lot as a reader, so it could be just me who wasn't satisfied by the writing. Also, at times I was really annoyed because the writing style itself felt like something of an anachronism, flip-flopping between a 'historical' tone and a modern one—I don't know about you, but I don't think the word 'okay' has a place in ANY version of sixteenth-century England. (According to Google, it didn't really come into use until the mid-1800s.) Little things like that kept bothering me as I was reading, and I think these distracting inaccuracies detracted significantly from my reading experience. Then again, I nitpick a lot, so they probably won't have quite as pronounced of an effect on many other readers.

Additionally, you can kind of see the twists coming from a mile off. I say this as someone who's usually ridiculously bad at guessing plot twists. It's really, really easy to surprise me with a plot because sometimes twists can be staring me right in the face several pages in advance and I. Won't. See. Them. But in this book nothing felt all that shocking, which was a letdown because the blurb seemed like it was promising a thoroughly convoluted plot.

There's also another thing that really, really bothers me about this book that feels very problematic. It's kind of a spoiler, so I'll enclose it with a button, but it forms a large part of my reasoning behind my rating. So I feel it's my duty to inform you all.

CONTENT WARNING: RAPE

In the book, Elizabeth has a 'relationship' with the the king of Anglia, the alternate England where the book is set. It's essentially rape. But the book never delves into the trauma that this must have caused for Elizabeth, effectively using rape as nothing more than a plot device and spending little to no time exploring Elizabeth's resulting emotions or her recovery from this abuse. The rape doesn't really factor into Elizabeth's character at all, and it's not used to discuss sexual violence in depth. To me, that's incredibly disappointing and I feel it trivializes the experiences of survivors.

I'd say give this a shot if you're looking for something quick and fun, but go in knowing that it's not perfect. If you're looking for a truly groundbreaking YA fantasy, I personally think that you'd be much better served elsewhere.

Favorite Quotes

I'm quiet for a moment, enchanted by the idea of something stealing over you, settling into you, and telling you, with absolute certainty, who you are and what you're meant to do.

So what do you think? Is this something you'd like to try out or is it not for you? Or, do you have a favorite debut of 2015 so far?

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Another mini-review for you all today, this time focusing on Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar. Known for being Plath's first and only novel, this book is semi-autobiographical and an absolute gem of a story.


Release Date: first published 1963
Publisher: Everyman’s Library
Category: Adult
Genre(s): Classic, contemporary, semi-autobiography
Pages: 229 (hardcover)
Format/Source: Hardcover, Borrowed from library
The Bell Jar is a classic of American literature, with over two million copies sold in this country. This extraordinary work chronicles the crack-up of Esther Greenwood: brilliant, beautiful, enormously talented, successful – but slowly going under, and maybe for the last time. Step by careful step, Sylvia Plath takes us with Esther through a painful month in New York as a contest-winning junior editor on a magazine, her increasingly strained relationships with her mother and the boy she dated in college, and eventually, devastatingly, into the madness itself. The reader is drawn into her breakdown with such intensity that her insanity becomes completely real and even rational, as probable and accessible an experience as going to the movies. Such deep penetration into the dark and harrowing corners of the psyche is rare in any novel. It points to the fact that “The Bell Jar” is a largely autobiographical work about Plath’s own summer of 1953, when she was a guest editor at Mademoiselle and went through a breakdown. It reveals so much about the sources of Sylvia Plath’s own tragedy that its publication was considered a landmark in literature.

★★★★

A deftly written, astonishingly raw portrait of one young woman's experience with mental illness. Truly deserving of the 'classic' label.

Before reading this, I'd wanted to get into Plath's work for a while but had never known just where to start. She was a writer whose name I'd heard and had my interest piqued by, but I'd never actively searched for anything of hers to read. My literature teacher had recommended her to me, but I didn't necessarily have any immediate reason to seek out her work.

Well, no longer. You can now count me among the most ardent of Sylvia Plath's fans. 

But how to go about writing this review? How to do this book justice?

The Bell Jar's heroine and greatest achievement, Esther Greenwood, is a mess of contradictions. And that's putting it lightly. But if I look at her from the right angle—as if she's some kind of fractured mirror—I can see an unmistakable reflection of myself. Esther wants bold new experiences and skills for herself, with a thousand different gorgeous career aspirations, and she dreams wildly and fiercely. Yet she finds herself crippled by indecision and self-doubt when the opportunities to realize those dreams appear before her. She refuses to recognize that self-doubt and ignores everything about herself that she hates most, which gradually causes her mind to turn against itself. She's intelligent and cynical and uncertain, trying to find her way in a world that wants to pack her into a neatly defined box. She's an incredibly complicated, emotional, observant, and unreliable narrator/protagonist. She's a very unstable core for a very unstable book. But she is, without a shadow of a doubt, a stunning character, and I think much of her fear and desperate ambition aligns with my own. Her yearning threatens to consume her (it very nearly does), and that's a feeling I can identify with.

Since I myself could relate to Esther's struggles on this level, I think the book's impact was doubly powerful. But I think many, many others will be able to take away just as much as I did. Not to sound like an overly pedantic literature teacher, but the book thoughtfully handles themes surrounding femininity, sexuality, transformation, and death, among others. (I especially loved how Esther's dynamic with her college boyfriend opens up the fields of gender roles and careers. Her boyfriend's revolting condescension toward her goals says it all, really.) Its exploration of broader topics is meaningful, defiant, and thought-provoking, and done in a way that feels like the book itself is learning with you rather than dictating to you.

Sylvia Plath's prose in The Bell Jar is startlingly lucid and so honest that it's nothing short of a shock to read. It has a frightening, effortless cadence and frankness to it that shows simultaneous disgust and love toward humanity. It's indubitably well-crafted in a literary sense, but it also allows Esther's sometimes-brutal voice to project directly into the reader's head, which is arresting and might take some getting used to. The figurative language throughout is vivid and gorgeous. To make a gross understatement, it leaves a lasting impression. It dances on the line between life and death. It's electric. 

Although Plath's breathtaking writing style and heroine stood out to most—as can be expected, because I'm very driven by prose and character as a reader—there are countless other aspects of this book that I could try and wax poetic about. The supporting characters, who are layered and strangely beautiful and quietly despicable. The plotline, which forges ever onward, exhibiting a quietly disturbing haze in some places and an almost violent kind of clarity in others. 

I really have to thank the literature honors project that led me to this book (if you're curious, I was doing a comparative analysis of The Bell Jar and Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451). I'm definitely planning on rereading The Bell Jar when I'm older; I think this is one of those books that will leave me with something new to consider every time I return to it. This is by no means intended to be a comfort book, as some of my reading material is, but it's found its way into my heart nevertheless. I loved it on first read—it's a strange and eye-opening creature, no question—and I feel that it, along with all of Plath's other work, is a special gift indeed to the literary canon.

Favorite Quotes

There are many, many more (I think I have a favorite line on just about every page), but I returned my copy to the library, so I had to pull some from Goodreads!
There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It's like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction—every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it's really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.
When they asked me what I wanted to be I said I didn’t know.

"Oh, sure you know," the photographer said.

"She wants," said Jay Cee wittily, "to be everything."
I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get.
I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am.

Are you a Sylvia Plath fan? If so, what's your favorite work of hers? Alternatively: have you ever read a semi-autobiographical book? What was it like?

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Another mini-review for you all today! This one is of Blood and Salt, a forthcoming YA debut from my Freshman Fifteens mentor (!!!) that you won't want to miss.

NOTE: I received an advance copy of this book for free from the author. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.


Release Date: September 22, 2015
Publisher: G.P. Putnam’s Sons Books for Young Readers
Category: YA
Genre(s): Horror, fantasy, romance
Pages: 352 (paperback ARC)
Format/Source: Paperback ARC, Received from author (Thanks, Kim!)
Romeo and Juliet meets Children of the Corn in this one-of-a-kind romantic horror.

“When you fall in love, you will carve out your heart and throw it into the deepest ocean. You will be all in—blood and salt.”

These are the last words Ash Larkin hears before her mother returns to the spiritual commune she escaped long ago. But when Ash follows her to Quivira, Kansas, something sinister and ancient waits among the rustling cornstalks of this village lost to time.

Ash is plagued by memories of her ancestor, Katia, which harken back to the town’s history of unrequited love and murder, alchemy and immortality. Charming traditions soon give way to a string of gruesome deaths, and Ash feels drawn to Dane, a forbidden boy with secrets of his own.

As the community prepares for a ceremony five hundred years in the making, Ash must fight not only to save her mother, but herself—and discover the truth about Quivira before it’s too late. Before she’s all in—blood and salt.

★★★★

A haunting look at the time-transcending bonds of love and revenge and fate—all drenched in blood and magic.

Blood and Salt combines two things that are pretty out of my comfort zone: horror and full-blown romance. (I mean, I love a good romantic subplot because as you all know, I can SHIP THE SHIPS. But I usually pass over such overt romance for something with a different main plot and romance on the side.) It's not the kind of thing I usually actively seek out; in fact, even the cover isn't something I would be drawn to of my own volition.


However, the author—the lovely and ever-so-insightful Kim Liggett—was my mentor for the Freshman Fifteens COMMON ROOM writing project, and I was getting an ARC of her book as a prize. I'll admit I was terrified that I might have to lie politely through my teeth to the world if I ended up not enjoying it. But I felt that someone who gives such good editing advice would have to have written a pretty decent book, and I pushed past my misgivings.

I'm really, really glad I did.

Firstly, I think the fact that I tore through this book in less than a day really says something. It's incredibly readable and easy to settle into even for wary readers like me. The pacing, quite frankly, is downright addicting. The plot is full of twists and turns and tension, and it all plays out with an urgency and force that I wouldn't ordinarily expect from a story like this. This book went from intriguing to unputdownable really quickly, and that was both refreshing and fitting for the story it had set out to tell.

The overall ambience of Blood and Salt is a unique and strong one. From the very beginning, we're given full-on spooky aesthetic, made even better by haunting, story-savvy prose. And by full-on spooky, I mean full. on. spooky. Visions of floating dead girls, centuries-old flashbacks, predatory corn (you think I'm joking but you haven't read this book), violent deaths—this book has it all. If you know me at all, you're aware that I am a shining example of unapologetic aesthetic trash, so I ate this up. The story of Katia, which almost runs alongside Ash's plotline thanks to Ash's flashbacks, is deeply tragic and stunning and scary. The way those two plotlines intersect and eventually meld is also extremely well-executed and refreshing.

Bonus points for the chapter titles because oh my goodness. The chapter titles are exquisite.

I also really enjoyed meeting this cast of characters! Ash as a heroine is a combination of seemingly incongruous elements that still manage to strike a distinctive balance in her narrative voice, combining more-or-less mundane bits of snark with the magic that's running through her veins. In addition, Ash and Rhys's realistic, tender sibling dynamic is one of the high points of the book—in fact, I got pretty unreasonably attached to Rhys as the story went on. (He totally reminded me of me in some places. But I digress.) The eclectic side cast that populates Quivira is wonderfully strange, especially the way there are only a few main families and wow those are some messed-up family trees. The collective mindset of Quivira is portrayed perfectly, too. By this I mean it's very focused and very terrifying.

I'll admit the romance wasn't my favorite thing, and I became a little impatient with it at times, but I think that's largely due to my personal preferences. I tend to be leery of earth-shattering, supernaturally influenced romances most of the time, so I wasn't surprised when that tendency extended to this book. But if you gravitate toward those romances, then you might end up warming to this one much more than I did.

All in all, I'd say that even if this isn't your usual cup of tea, give it a go! It may very well surprise you. And it's absolutely a must for those who are already comfortable with the elements I've described here—a bone-deep romance, a chilling setting, and a gorgeously creepy writing style.

Favorite Quotes

[Quotes taken from an advance uncorrected galley / may be subject to change]
"[...] The Larkin women fall too hard, too fast, and too fierce." [...] "When you fall in love, you will carve out your heart and throw it into the deepest ocean. You will be all in—blood and salt."
I feel her life unfold in my bloodstream like a poem.
"It's good to be afraid," [...] "It means you still have something to live for." 
I felt my world crumble. I wanted to burn down villages, cut out people's beating hearts, and rip the stars down from the sky. 

Is this book on your fall TBR? (I feel it should be.) Or, hmm, are there too many cornstalks there for you?

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This is my first book review post on Fairy Skeletons in over two years! I’ve been incredibly behind on reviewing books lately, so I’ve decided that I’m going to be doing mini-reviews until I catch up. Here goes nothing!


Release Date: September 9, 2014
Publisher: Knopf
Age Group: Adult
Genres: Apocalyptic
Pages: 336 (hardcover)
Format/Source: Ebook, Borrowed from library
An audacious, darkly glittering novel set in the eerie days of civilization’s collapse, Station Eleven tells the spellbinding story of a Hollywood star, his would-be savior, and a nomadic group of actors roaming the scattered outposts of the Great Lakes region, risking everything for art and humanity.

One snowy night Arthur Leander, a famous actor, has a heart attack onstage during a production of King Lear. Jeevan Chaudhary, a paparazzo-turned-EMT, is in the audience and leaps to his aid. A child actress named Kirsten Raymonde watches in horror as Jeevan performs CPR, pumping Arthur’s chest as the curtain drops, but Arthur is dead. That same night, as Jeevan walks home from the theater, a terrible flu begins to spread. Hospitals are flooded and Jeevan and his brother barricade themselves inside an apartment, watching out the window as cars clog the highways, gunshots ring out, and life disintegrates around them.

Fifteen years later, Kirsten is an actress with the Traveling Symphony. Together, this small troupe moves between the settlements of an altered world, performing Shakespeare and music for scattered communities of survivors. Written on their caravan, and tattooed on Kirsten’s arm is a line from Star Trek: “Because survival is insufficient.” But when they arrive in St. Deborah by the Water, they encounter a violent prophet who digs graves for anyone who dares to leave.

Spanning decades, moving back and forth in time, and vividly depicting life before and after the pandemic, this suspenseful, elegiac novel is rife with beauty. As Arthur falls in and out of love, as Jeevan watches the newscasters say their final good-byes, and as Kirsten finds herself caught in the crosshairs of the prophet, we see the strange twists of fate that connect them all. A novel of art, memory, and ambition, Station Eleven tells a story about the relationships that sustain us, the ephemeral nature of fame, and the beauty of the world as we know it.

★★★★.5

A lovely, eerie, thought-provoking look at humanity and the end of the world as we know it ("not with a bang but with a whisper").

Station Eleven certainly wasn’t something I would have picked up on my own. For one thing, I rarely read outside of YA—a habit I should change, perhaps?—and I generally don’t go in for Weighty Literary Adult Novels that Have Won Pretentious-Sounding Things (unnecessary capitalization is great, just saying). But then Alyssa read it and adored it, and although our book taste diverges on some points (I’ve got a much bigger soft spot for romance and sentimentality, possibly too big, and I am also an unabashed YA fantasy monster), I still trust her opinions because she’s an amazing writer and an even better friend. So when Alyssa pushed this book in my direction with the promise of Shakespeare love and gorgeous writing and also the apocalypse, I had to give in to my curiosity.

Moral of the story: LISTEN TO ALYSSA.

This book was such a visionary work. Let me just get that point out of the way first—it was brilliantly conceived and executed. It was audacious and new and stunning. Yes, the end of the world is something that has fascinated us for a long, long time. But Emily St. John Mandel takes this premise and breathes life into it. She makes it realistic and uncomfortable to read. She connects characters across time and space with the quiet power of coincidence and chance meetings. She makes her setup into a work that is honest and sad and, by all accounts, thoroughly poetic.

Oh gosh. The writing style. I can’t quite pinpoint exactly what about it is so entrancing, but it’s so easy to settle into and navigate. At first, I felt mostly unimpressed, but as I went on, I began to warm to the style. While it is, at heart, definitely more for the high-minded and/or cerebral readers out there, the prose in Station Eleven reads like the voice of an old, intelligent friend.

I think I took the half star off mainly because it was kind of hard to connect to the characters. But I realize that deep character connections are extremely difficult to pull off with this kind of ensemble cast and the third-person narration, and I respect that.

To conclude: Station Eleven is a brave, brave book, and I highly recommend it, especially to fans of Interstellar or Cloud Atlas (I’ve only seen the film, so I’m basing my rec off that).

Favorite Quotes

He felt extravagantly, guiltily alive.
Because survival is insufficient.
It was the most beautiful place I have ever seen. It was gorgeous and claustrophobic. I loved it and I always wanted to escape.
Hell is the absence of the people you long for.
First we only want to be seen, but once we’re seen, that’s not enough anymore. After that, we want to be remembered.

So what do you think of my review comeback? Does this book sound like it'll be for you? 

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