Becca

I remember reading this book when my youngest sibling was a baby and coming to my mom absolutely distraught that they would in fact grow up. I reread it today for the first time in forever and I am sorry to report that I do not love this book forever. In retrospect, creepy and scary. We can't be breaking into peoples' homes to pick them up while they're sleeping. We can't be doing that.

I have a soft spot for abrasive unsympathetic women protagonists, so I should have loved this. But I also have boundless disdain for ennui-filled literary fiction, so I did not.

My Year of Rest and Relaxation has a gorgeous cover and great title. Julia Whelan did an excellent job with the audiobook. The writing is descriptive. The characters feel human and real and flawed. Dr. Tuttle was my favorite. So irresponsible, so scatterbrained, so disinterested. I like that the narrator is so determined and decisive in doing nothing. She knows exactly what she wants and how to go about it.

Yes, the writing is descriptive, but the descriptions are gross. This book is gross. Yes, the characters are flawed, but ultimately, not in a compelling way. I don't need or want a redemption arc. I don't mind a slow build. But I want...something to happen. I want the listlessness to build to something, or at least to have some impact. When I read a book, I want something to be going on.

The protagonist sucks. She's awful to herself. She's awful to Reva, the only person in the world who cares about her. Trevor sucks. I hate him. The narrator's hibernation venture is couched in privilege available to very few. All of the above is intended and obvious. 9/11 looms over the book like a dark heavy shadow as soon as the setting is established. It's finally addressed at the very end, in a tragic but offhand way. You don't really get any closure, any indication of what the motivation was behind any of this, whether it was worth it, what's next.

This book kind of put me in a funk while I was reading it, but I haven't thought about it much since wrapping it up. Reading is a very subjective experience, and I know this struck a chord with many. Maybe there's something there that I'm not sophisticated enough to appreciate. But in the end, I found this annoying more than anything.

I have an established grudge against World War historical romance. I don't like when a horrific setting is included primarily to raise the stakes of a relationship. If you need to invoke images of mass violence to make your love story that much sweeter, that much more agonizing, frankly, I think your love story sucks. Romance shouldn't need held up by whitewashed war. All this is to say, I went into Lovely War with trepidation. And while it wasn't my favorite, I concede that it was better than I thought it would be. The writing is lyrical. Though it's long, I couldn't put it down. And, fine, it made me tear up more than once.There is a lot of instalove—characters go quickly from seeing each other for the first time to being sure they want to spend their lives together. Berry justifies this with Aphrodite. See [b:Exit West 30688435 Exit West Mohsin Hamid https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1477324680l/30688435.SY75.jpg 51234185] for a more realistic (and, I think, compelling) depiction of love in times of political turmoil.Unfortunately, the aspect of the story that interested me most—the mythology—added nothing. If anything, it detracted. The gods' commentary about the Power of Love™ was painfully trite. I kept waiting for more. The historical note at the end was a pleasant surprise. It even includes a bibliography. It's apparent Berry worked to understand WWI's impact on people like her characters: younger generations, women, and Black Americans. I still have my hang-ups about the genre—the title is Lovely War, for one—but I appreciate the clear efforts to be thorough and sensitive.

Men will literally get a dozen penguins as pets before helping with housework. Mr. Popper is a menace, and no one knows that better than Mrs. Popper.

I read this as a kid, but barely remembered it and wanted something the exact opposite of Dracula. This was far more violent than I remembered, but also, separately, far more funny than I remembered. When he gets tangled in the leash? When the cops and firefighters pick sides? Comedy gold.

The audiobook is an absolute delight. The music, sound effects, and Nick Sullivan's narration and different voices are all top notch. Weird patriotism notwithstanding, this is (for me) a cute nostalgic story about how pets and special interests make life worth living. And also money. People need money.

I'm torn on this one. It started out so strong—hilarious and compelling. Unfortunately, the middle really dragged for me. Everything gets bogged down with angst and failure to communicate. The tropez (ha) get heavy-handed and tangled up. The ending was better than the middle, but I still think the book loses momentum over time.

I did like the ambivalence in characters. Elliot is hurt by people physically, but hurts people verbally. He's committed to diplomacy, but highly abrasive. Luke is an idolized jock, but also a withdrawn bookworm. Serene spends the whole book puzzled by the logic of patriarchy in contrast to elvin culture's intense matriarchy.
This added dimension, though I wish Brennan had allowed her characters to challenge their worldviews earlier on, and more substantially. Elliot was needlessly antagonistic...the whole time. Serene was patronizing...the whole time. Luke should probably have remembered Myra and Peter by some point. That's all I'm saying.

I think fantasy as a genre provides opportunity to explore culture and identity in really expansive ways. And in some ways, Brennan does that. Serene's matriarchal culture of origin shows how contrived gender stereotypes are. Elliot refuses to accept that interactions with those different than or unfamiliar to us have to be violent. Brennan uses several characters to normalize both queerness and its acceptance by peers and family.

Here's the but: talk about prejudices against dwarves and mermaids sits atop a background sorely lacking racial diversity. And then Serene's superlative beauty is repeatedly and explicitly tied to her pale skin. This is an issue in SFF as a whole, but it feels more obvious when a book is nuanced enough to tackle biphobia across several species and realms, but every human just happens to be white.

A few smaller gripes: on two separate occasions, adult characters pursue characters they know to be underage (because they ask), both times responding with some variation of “close enough!” I don't like that. A 20 year-old man was 16 year-old Elliot's first romantic experience with a guy. I don't like that. ALSO, the on-and-off again hyperbolic “I might not come back next year” from Elliot. That misery just doesn't make sense in conjunction with his misery over having absolutely nothing in the human world. I think Brennan was going for a “he feels caught between worlds and doesn't know whether he can belong or be loved anywhere,” but I had trouble buying it.

To end on a good note: I loved Elliot sneaking massive bags of technology to school every year, despite it immediately smoking, Luke saying he looks like “a snail that's about to explode.” I loved Luke and Elliot yelling at one another as Luke comes out in class while Dale holds his hand up for his turn to come out and Serene holds her hand up to ask a question pertinent to the actual lesson.

In all, this would surely be more enjoyable for someone who doesn't care as much about the things I care about. But I'm me, so here we are. I loved some of it, but it's not a favorite.