Danielle
Really didn't like this one. Tbh, I skimmed it after the first ~third because it was so insufferable. Don't get me wrong: Alex Honnold's climbing achievements are truly incredible. But I'm not into climbing, nor have any desire to be, so all of the technical language and narratives around specific climbs were boring to me. And then Alex himself presents as a misogynistic megalomaniac, though that's not at all how he or the journalist writing the other half of this book present him. He's unlikeable, untelatable, and one-dimensional. Also words I would use to describe this book.
Am I proud that I read another book from the Bachelor franchise? No. Am I surprised that I liked it? Yes.
Let's get it straight: this is not an objectively good book. It reads like a cobbled-together blog. If you don't watch the show, and don't know who Hannah Brown is, then forget about it.
Not only did I watch her season, but I really liked her. She's got magnetic charisma (hence, why I bought this book) and I like that's she's unabashedly imperfect. This could have been a money-grab book about all the behind-the-scenes secrets, but really, it's about self-discovery and growth across her entire life, with only relevant bits from her time on TV. Reality TV is so reductive, so devoid of context, that it's nice to see a fuller, messier, more compassionate picture of someone (albeit, their crafted narrative, but still). Like all of us, she's been through a lot. This is a relatable book, and serves as a good reminder that someone who seems to have it all could be struggling immensely inside (and to not compare struggles – hurt is hurt).
Okay. Gonna go read some Tolstoy or Joyce or something.
I thought this would be a book on getting through difficult times, but really, this is a crash course in mindfulness and meditation. It was exactly the inspiration I needed to get back into a meditation practice, examine mindless habits I partake in to avoid discomfort, and try to practice self-compassion and outer-compassion at every turn. Plus a bunch of other gems. I underlined these pages like mad.
Taking place in the first several months of the pandemic, this novel portrays a story of a cast of six friends, old and new, of varying ethnicities, backgrounds, and careers quarantining together on a country estate in upstate New York.
From the outset, the book is written like a classic Russian novel, including many of the same tropes and literary devices. But the setting is so distinctly contemporary, with the uneasiness and paranoia of the virus, the isolation of quarantine, the political polarization, cancel culture, and questions of race and nationality all at the forefront, creating perfect alchemy for intense relationship dynamics.
This is a novel about relationships, personal identity, and American identity. The characters are so beautifully developed, and the writing is truly exquisite and perfectly paced. It's funny, it's self-aware, it's devastating, and it is immersive. I felt so invested in the characters that I may as well have had my own bungalow. I think this book really captures a moment in time with characters and writing that are timeless. I found this book captivating and relatable and truly couldn't put it down.
I loved this book when I first read it Freshman year of college, and I still love it now. I decided to read it amidst the Virginia gubernatorial debacle to remember the details causing all the fuss.
And oh, did it come back... There are certainly some things that cause one to feel, euphemistically, uneasy: things of the Oedipal, incestuous variety. Also, murder. Also, race conflict. Which, in my personal opinion, all bound up in lovely prose and magical realism, makes for some fantastic reading. Based on the Song of Songs, it's a book all about Black love. It reads a lot like a reclamation of a biblical narrative, and it's a hard-hitting, beautiful novel. Can't recommend enough.
A former manager gave me this book close to 7 years ago, as she knew I was a runner (very thoughtful!). I just decided to pick it up now, hoping it would inspire me as I move into my marathon taper. Not so! Honestly, this book is a disappointment. The author clearly thinks himself witty and self-deprecating while also a master of prose and it comes off arrogant and cheesy. There were some relatable passages, but mostly this is a part-memoir, part “here's why running is great and how to do it” coming from a washed-up, middle-aged writer and cross-country coach. I hate to be scathing and probably a runner snob but I found the author unlikable and so little of interest or value here, having myself 15+ years of competitive running experience, and having read many good books about running. Honestly, I don't see this being very interesting or helpful to new runners, either. I say skip it.
Personal opinion: this book is on the better side of just okay. I liked Michelle's memoir way more. Maybe that's because I'm not the most interested in the inner-workings of the American political system, especially because any first-hand account of that bipartisan system will be inherently very biased; or maybe it's because this was so pragmatically written, in a linear “this is what happened and this is what I did about it” kind of way. Or maybe it's because it's REALLY long. It was interesting to hear more about the big events from his first term because I was young and barely following the news at the time; it was also interesting hearing about his family/personal life. Always the diplomat, Obama was very tactful in his telling of his experience, and it read very much so like his politics; idealistic (in a lovely way, I think), pragmatic, calm, well-paced, but also a little stiff. Still a perfectly decent read.
These stories are powerful, the slightest bit morbid, and close to home in a way that is emotional and difficult to explain. I loved the flash fiction pieces. Some were only a few paragraphs long, but had such emotional heft — a true talent of economy. E.g. the titular piece: short, beautiful, and poetic. “Cloudland” was significantly longer, but just as beautiful.
In this book, a family is vacationing at an AirBnB in a remote part of Long Island when something terrible and mysterious happens. This has the build of a thriller but reads like contemporary fiction with subtle sci-fi. There are some really interesting character dynamics that provide commentary on race, class, and social mores in contemporary American society. I enjoyed it, and to some extent, enjoyed that the author doesn't spoon feed us all the answers; that's truer to the experience of disaster as it's happening. But the details aren't enough to be clear on the big picture, at least on the first read. Perhaps that's intentional but it did leave me wanting.
This was a strange one and I'm not sure how to feel about it. I'm also especially unsure how to feel about translations, or how to critique them — the writing is direct and unadorned, which does mirror the narrator's perspective. The book follows a woman who has been working at a convenience store for nearly 20 years because as it's the only way she has been able to function in society — I'm no psychologist but it seems pretty clear this woman is a psychopath. There is an air of suspense and weirdness carried throughout that keeps it interesting, but otherwise, not much happens. Without being super familiar with Japanese culture I'm only vaguely aware of the social commentary.
I accidentally read this just a week or so after the 20th anniversary of 9/11 without knowing this is a book about 9/11 — kismet? I'm so glad I decided to read it, and the timing just added to its emotional heft. There's also some cool experimental writing that was unexpected but totally my jam. The book follows a young boy named Oskar(I don't think it ever says his age, maybe 10?), clearly on the spectrum, who is grieving the death of his father who died in a building on 9/11. This narrative is overlain with the story of his grandparents who were bombed out of Dresden. The generational tragedy mixed with the innocence of a precocious young boy makes for reading that is at once super sad and uplifting. Definitely recommend!
Oof. I think I got this one free from Amazon Prime, so thank goodness I didn't pay for it. This book reads like a Hallmark screenplay. It's cheesy, predictable, and totally unrealistic. It tries to tackle difficult topics like addiction and sexual abuse, but without any tact or nuance. There's no grittiness to it, so it feels super fake. Also, in what professional world do therapists become besties with their clients, and end up in a relationship with their client's best friend, with no mention whatsoever of ethical misgivings?
Wow. It will be difficult for me to summarize here 550+ dense pages, but I will try. This is a powerhouse of a novel, an engrossing and highly-nuanced narrative of the intricacies of marriage and parenthood, traditional American values held in the light of increasingly polarized politics, and the paradoxically complicated nature of what it actually means to be free.
The story follows a perfectly midwestern couple, Walter and Patty Berglund, and their perfectly nuclear family, who at the start seem cliche in their normalcy and unflappable kindness. But slowly, as their children become teenagers, Patty begins to crack, and then the family cracks, which then sets off a permanent and increasingly damaging rift that grows into all kinds of scandal.
Franzen does a remarkably thorough job of harping on freedom, and what characters will do to try to find it; Walter seeks freedom from his childhood, and from the ills of an environmentally-imploding society; Patty seeks freedom from her marriage with Walter, and from the pervasive regrets of having not hitched the rockstar; Joey wants to be free of his too-committed high school girlfriend; etc, etc, while in the background is 9/11 and then the ensuing war for freedom in Iraq. And so it seems that all journeys for freedom end up messy, painful, and even if freedom is found, it is vacuous and unfulfilling. Walter's older brother Mitch is the prime example of this, and perhaps even Richard Katz.
I may need to think more on the takeaways, thematically, but I will say that Franzen's clever structure and knack for detailed, long-haul character development is captivating from the start. The dialog is delightful and the overall story a little absurd but still firmly enough in contact with reality to be uniquely charming. This book is a commitment, but if you've liked other Franzen novels, or David Foster-Wallace, or the like – then I definitely recommend picking this one up.
In Howard's first memoir, Feast, she navigates her eating disorder in her early adulthood and the beginning of her career in the food industry. Now in recovery, Howard recounts the next phases of life (getting married, trying to get pregnant, getting pregnant, getting a dog, buying a house, etc.) through her relationships with other women, mostly in the food industry, that have inspired her through their strength, determination, and love of food.
I'll be honest, I didn't enjoy this. I enjoyed her first memoir well enough, but this one was just kind of boring. She weaves her personal narrative into chapters about inspiring women she's met in the food industry – who honestly, felt more like convenient or happenstance choices vs actually impactful or inspiring to her. This structure detracted from the memoir; it reads more like interviews done for a magazine. The bits about her life, though personal and vulnerable, felt disjointed with the other content. And I hate to say it, but the author just wasn't particularly interesting or likable. I can totally appreciate that she is a sensitive woman, and has faced hardships, but it really seems like she crumbles into tears at the slightest provocation, and generally doesn't have much personality. I don't want to be mean, but it felt like this book was rushed together & poorly edited to get done just after her pregnancy.
This book follows the story of Henry Pulling, a single, very square early retiree of the British persuasion as he reconnects with his aunt at his mother's funeral, and is soon thereafter pulled into her wild life of international travel and crime.
While I did enjoy the characteristically dry and somewhat absurd British humor, I couldn't stay engaged with the writing or the plot. There's a decent twist at the end.
The House of Mirth follows Lily Bart, a young(ish?) woman in New York's high society in the early 20th century, in the days of wild Wall Street speculation, over-the-top opulence, and aristocratic ennui. Lily, however, does not actually have the money of the society she keeps with, as her parents died and left her broke and living with her aunt. Her only aspiration, it seems, is to continue to live life the only way she's known it: with egregious, superfluous expense, more or less doing nothing but gossiping and wearing Parisian dresses and playing bridge. To continue to do this, she must marry into wealth – but each time she's on the precipice of snagging some nice (read: terribly boring, sometimes boorish) rich man, she does something to sabotage it. She lives with the imp of freedom and independence whispering into her ear, though that is totally at odds with the live she wants to live; thus she is constantly at odds with herself. There's also something of an underplayed romance with her and Lawrence Selden, but, meh. To me this felt ill-developed so as to cause no flutterings in my heart.
Anyways, blah blah, she continues to ruin herself via self-sabotage and having really shitty friends, but they keep her around, it seems only because she is very pretty.
Suffice to say that I didn't like this one much. The flourish of the writing, typical of the era, captivated me at first with delightfully overwrought phrases, but eventually after a few chapters that wears, and it seems like the book just drags on and on well after the point is made pretty clear. Also, as a self-respecting, independent woman reading this, I just wanted her to make up her mind already and sell her soul to an unhappy relationship and bountiful wealth or independence and poverty. I get that it's not so simple (there were 200 pages expounding upon the inner turmoil) but it's frustrating as a reader.
Maybe it's because I've read a lot of self-help books, psychology books, business books, and have attended my fair share of professional development sessions, but I felt like this was a dryly-written synthesis of things I already knew. Now, I'm not saying I'm the pinnacle of emotional intelligence; I've just spent a lot of my adult life learning to understand and cultivate it as a super important part of one's social life. Maybe if this is your introduction to EI, you might find it useful. Or you might find it boring and difficult to get through, as I did.
It's rare I read a slavery narrative that feels fresh, but this book is truly unlike any I've read before. The same powerful, poetic voice of Between the World and Me is thick and beautiful throughout. The first-person perspective is so strong as to be immersive, and the world-building is more like reading fantasy than historical fiction. This writing demands attention, and when I lent myself to it, I found myself sucked into the narrative. Beautiful read.
This is a perfectly decent book of short stories. I enjoyed them, but did not love them. The title is apt as each story centers around a person with a chief life complaint – no independence, financially-constrained, societally-constrained, etc... and in each person trying to address their complaint, there's a feeling of futility, or perhaps a grass-is-greener conclusion? I dunno. Seemed like a bunch of short stories about kind of shitty people, doing weird or shitty things (not always, though). Also as usual with books of short stories, some were far better than others. All seemed to end in very unclear, abrupt ways, which I liked as it allows the reader much room for interpretation.
I realize this is a vague review, but that's because I have only vague feelings about this book.
This is a cute compilation of essays in which Conaboy describes her relationship with her rescue dog, Peter, which is somewhere between adoring and obsessive (definitely leaning obsessive). Also, Peter just happens to look like a carbon copy of my dog, Carina. But Peter was described as having the heart of a poet, and Carina has the heart of an anxious spaz. But this is not relevant. I liked the essays of relatable dog-ownership, as they were fun and mostly funny and easy to read. However, it felt really unnatural anytime she brought in field experts to answer questions around essay topics, even if in a satirical way. I couldn't really figure out whether this was trying to be journalistic, humorist essays, memoir... I also found myself wishing for more moments of sincerity throughout, versus one vulnerable emotional apex towards the end, which, again, felt very unnatural given the rest of the book.
This YA book follows the story Juliet, a Puerto Rican college student from the Bronx who is coming into her sexual identity. This book is fun & light while tackling serious conversations around sexuality, gender, and race. It's genuinely informative, though sometimes it's a bit blatantly pedantic; though that's not necessarily a complaint, knowing the audience this was written for.
As a philosophy nerd, language-lover, and literary geek, this book converges in all the right places for me. The authors explore how metaphors are not merely literary constructs, but rather entire conceptual frameworks that govern our understanding of the world. Example: good is up, bad is down: “I'm feeling down today,” “my spirits are up” etc – these kinds of phrases are so rote, we fail to recognize they are metaphorical, and that the up/down spatial metaphor applies to so much more. I would extrapolate, but then why would you read the book? (She says, realizing most people will not want to read this book).
If you do read it, I would only recommend the first 15 or so chapters; after that, the argument is reiterative and less compelling.
This collection is not quite like anything I've read before, which is always a delightful experience in poetry. The book is an ode to the experience of black women and children, and a hopeful reimagining. Ewing experiments in mixed media with displays of modern-looking art, some black pages with white font, different fonts of varying sizes, and handwriting all lend to a vivid, textured, and emotional experience. “appletree” is one of the best poems I've read this year.