Faithful by Alice Hoffman

“You rescue something and you’re responsible for it. But maybe that’s what love is. Maybe it’s like a hit-and-run accident; it smashes you before you can think. You do it no matter the cost and you keep on running”

While not without its flaws, Faithful is a gem of a book. Alice Hoffman has crafted a heartfelt and ultimately uplifting coming-of-age. Faithful revolves around After being involved in a car crash that leaves her best friend comatose, Shelby Richmond, a teen from Long Island, is left bereft. Reeling from this loss Shelby is unable to resume her ‘ordinary’ life. After a suicide attempt and a stay in a mental institution where she experiences further trauma, she segregates herself into her parent’s basement. She shaves her head, ignores others, and spends most of her time getting high in an attempt to numb the guilt that gnaws at her. Her mother tries to reach out to her but Shelby has become convinced that she’s worthless and undeserving of love and forgiveness. She eventually becomes involved with Ben, a nerdy pot dealer who used to go to high school with her, who unlike others seems to accept this new version of her. Ben convinces Shelby to move with him to New York. In spite of her new surroundings and the distance between her and her best friend, Shelby cannot shake the by now deeply-ingrained belief that she’s undeserving of happiness. Her self-sabotaging is not easy to read about, but thanks to the clarity of Hoffman’s prose, I could always understand where Shelby was coming from and I did not feel frustrated by her low-self esteem and self-hatred. Shelby begins working at a pet store where she befriends one of her co-workers, Maravelle. Over the years she also grows close to Maravelle’s three kids, who experience struggles of their own. In New York Shelby also starts taking in rescued dogs which later on paves the way to her decision to become a vet. Shelby’s love life is complicated as she finds herself growing away from Ben and falling instead for a married man who is a walking talking red flag.

While the premise itself may not sound very original, Hoffman’s unembellished style is devoid of unnecessary sentimentalists, which makes those poignant moments and/or scenes all the more powerful. That the story takes place over the course of seven years or so makes Shelby’s character arc all the more authentic. She never completely gets over the accident nor does she completely forgive herself, however, she does, in time, stop punishing herself.
While readers are told—on more than one occasion—that Shelby hates herself, we soon realize that does not define her character. She certainly dislikes herself, but, she can be surprisingly tenacious and her dry humor is certainly amusing. The mistakes she makes along the way make her into a very relatable and realistic character. I loved Shelby’s snarky charm and her well-hidden kindness.

One of the book’s greatest strengths lies in its characters and Shelby’s various relationships with them. She forges new friendships and begins to see her parents and their marriage in a different light. The fragile bond she shares with her mother is touching and heartwarming. It is with the help of an unlikely cast of characters that Shelby is able to overcome her self-hatred. Slowly we see the connections she makes influence her: she becomes strong in order to help the ones she loves.
In her clear yet graceful prose, Hoffman depicts simple everyday life scenarios that can be at once moving and funny, from capturing silly moments between two ‘stoned’ friends to focusing on more emotional scenes such as a mother-daughter heart-to-heart. While Faithful begins with a terrible loss, Shelby’s past tragedies do not dominate her story. Yes, forgiveness and guilt play a big role in the novel, but, Faithful is also about hope and love (familial, platonic, romantic).

I do have a few minor criticisms. Shelby steals quite a few dogs. Yes, she steals them from people who were not abusing/neglecting them and no the narrative doesn’t demonise those responsible, however, it seemed a bit weird that she would keep coming across dogs in need of rescuing from bad owners. There are a few lines related to suicide, depression, mental disorders, that were a bit…icky, I guess. We then have this random guy who works at the hospital and refuses to help Shelby unless she promises to grow out her hair…which she does. And wow, now she’s pretty again. This had the same energy as a man telling you to smile more and you do and lo-and-behold your depression is cured. Great. Throughout the course of the novel, Shelby receives letters/messages from an unknown person. These messages at times seemed straight out of a self-help book. At other times they just puzzled me. They basically try to make Shelby ‘better’. Towards the end of the narrative, we meet the person behind these and I will say I did not approve of any of it. I would be wary of someone like that.

Nevertheless, despite these ‘flaws’, I was still able to fall in love with Hoffman’s storytelling. While it may not appeal to those who are looking for plot-driven stories or who aren’t keen on stories that are heavy on the telling, I found this to be a bittersweet noel about survivor’s guilt, trauma, forgiveness, and hope.

my rating: ★★★★☆

| | goodreads | tumblr | ko-fi | |

Fifteen Hundred Miles from the Sun by Jonny Garza Villa

“And I think about how Dad gave me everything I could need. Except for the one thing that shouldn’t have terms or conditions. That should be a given. That should be so easy. Acceptance.”

Written in a simple conversational style Fifteen Hundred Miles from the Sun is a tender love story, equal parts funny and heartfelt. Julián Luna’s voice is exceedingly authentic and it will be easy for readers to form a connection to him. Jules lives with his father in Corpus Christi, Texas, and he is in his last year of high school. He has a tight group of friends, most of them Latinx like him, and a supportive older sister. His relationship with his father however has become increasingly strained in recent years. Jules’ father has a fixed vision of what being his son should be like. His rather passè notions of manhood and masculinity lead him to abhor anything he perceives as ‘different’. He’s also quick to anger and is verbally and physically abusive towards his son.
Even if Jules is not ashamed of being gay he isn’t willing to ‘come out’ in this kind of environment. His plans to ‘lay low’ are however sabotaged by one drunken tweet. The author does a brilliant job in depicting the, shall we say, highs and lows of coming out. On the one hand, Jules feels as if he can finally be himself, and many of the people around him are incredibly supportive and ‘there’ for him (i particularly loved his bond with his sister and jordan). On the other, well, given that his father has always been outspokenly homophobic it is unlikely that he will have a sudden change of attitude.
As Jules goes through this particularly difficult period in his life he becomes close to Mat, who lives in Los Angeles and whom he ‘met’ via Twitter. Mat, also in his last year of high school, is an immeasurably sweet and empathetic guy and their texting was the perfect blend of cute, funny, and real. When they both start catching feelings they decide to try a long-distance relationship.
What follows is a touching coming-of-age. There are many light-hearted and romantic moments that balance out the more heartbreaking ones. The author demonstrates great empathy in the way they portray and address abuse and struggles faced by lgbtq+ teens. Jules’ story, however painful, is one that needs to be told. Sometimes the people you love the most are the ones who will reject you or hurt you just for being yourself. Jules’ makes for a relatable and likeable protagonist. The author articulates Jules’ insecurities (about being ‘out’, his future, his relationship with his dad and others) in a very realistic manner. I also appreciated how bilingual the novel is—through Jules’ inner monologues and his conversations with his friends/family.
The love story was probably my favourite part (was the moon/sun thing a bit cheesy? yes. did i care? no). While the story itself isn’t the most ‘original’, we have quite a few classic YA tropes, and some of Jules’ friends are rather one-dimensional, I overall really enjoyed this. Some of the pop culture references did go over my head, the kind of music the characters listen to in this novel is the kind that would make my ears bleed (just kidding), and having a character say “OTP” in real life is cringe, but whatever, these are minor things that probably won’t bother other people.
Fifteen Hundred Miles from the Sun will definitely appeal to fans of the YA coming-of-age genre and I would 100% recommend it to those looking for an engrossing story filled with romance, heartbreak, and hope.

my rating: ★★★½

Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

Our Dreams at Dusk: Shimanami Tasogare, Vol. 1 by Yuhki Kamatani

Ever since reading Nabari No Ou back in the early 2010s I have been a huge fan of Yuhki Kamatani. To call Nabari No Ou my favourite series ever doesn’t convey just how much it means to me. Our Dreams at Dusk boasts Kamatani’s beautiful artwork and storytelling. Once again Kamatani provides some wonderful platonic relationship that will make you feel all the feels. While the issues the narrative touches upon, namely the realities of being lgbtq+ in Japan, are certainly realistic Kamatani does add a fantastical touch to this story through a character knows as ‘Anonymous’. If you’ve read and liked this series I 100% recommend you check out Nabari No Ou (it has ninjas, one of the best non-romantic relationship in the history of manga, some laugh out loud moments and plenty of my-heart-is-breaking scenes). Our Dreams at Dusk is such a breath of fresh air considering how many manga out there fetishise same-sex relationship or portray wildly unrealistic queer characters.


my rating: ★★★★☆

Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

The Sky Blues by Robbie Couch

The Sky Blues is a wonderfully wholesome YA coming of age that makes for the perfect summer read. The novel is narrated by Sky who is in his last year of high school. After coming out as gay Sky finds himself living with his best friend, Bree, and her supportive family as his own mother and brother aren’t accepting of his sexuality. At his school, Sky tries not to act too ‘gay’ but even when he lies low he’s still subjected to other student’s taunts. Sky and Bree pour their energy into coming up with ideas for his promposal to his crush Ali. Most of their ideas are silly but that makes the experience all the more fun. Until someone leaks a photo of these plans at his school. Humiliated Sky struggles to come to terms with this huge invasion of his privacy. But when his best friends and other classmates reach out to him, showing their support and love, Sky decides to find out the culprit.

Sky’s story was the perfect mix of fun and affecting. There were many moving moments (between him and his friends or him and Bree’s parents) that truly make this book well worth a read. Sky’s voice is incredibly authentic and compelling, and I truly appreciated the narrative’s focus on his personal growth. He isn’t perfect and as the prom approaches, he comes to realise that the people closest to him are also facing their own struggles. His character arc was truly satisfying and I loved that he learns from his mistakes. The novel also doesn’t sugar-coat certain subjects or realities.
While the novel is very much about Sky and him navigating this particular period of his life, there is the lightest of romantic subplots that added a sweet note to Sky’s story.
This was a truly engaging and heart-warming novel, one that I would definitely recommend to readers wanting a great lgbtq+ YA read. The Sky Blues was such a welcome surprise and I will for sure be checking out whatever Robbie Couch writes next!

my rating: ★★★★☆

Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara

“Fear and hatred, fear and hatred: often, it seemed that those were the only two qualities he possessed. Fear of everyone else; hatred of himself.”

A Little Life is a heart-wrenching tour de force. Dark, all-consuming, devastating, moving, stunning, brutal, dazzling, beautiful, disturbing, A Little Life is all of these and so much more. This is the kind of novel that haunts.

“Fairness is for happy people, for people who have been lucky enough to have lived a life defined more by certainties than by ambiguities.”

The first fifty pages or so may give one the illusion that the story they are about to read is the usual tale of a group of friends trying to make it in the big city. Which in some ways, it is. Friendship is one of the novel’s underlying motifs. But, A Little Life is first and foremost a novel about pain, suffering, and trauma. And as highly as I think of this novel I could not in good conscience bring myself to recommend it to anyone else. Large portions of this 800-page novel are dedicated to depicting, in minute detail, a man’s past and present physical, emotional, and psychological suffering. We also have to read paragraph after paragraph in which adults inflict all kinds of horrific abuse on a child. What saves this novel from being yet another sensationalistic or gratuitous take on sexual abuse are Hanya Yanagihara’s clear and realist style and the many moments of beauty, kindness, love, empathy that are interjected throughout the narrative. Still, even so, I can see why some may find A Little Life to be too much. Hell, there were many instances where I found myself thinking ‘I can’t it, this is too much’. But who was I kidding? Once I started this novel I knew that I had to finish it and in fact I devoured it over the course of three days.

“Friendship was witnessing another’s slow drip of miseries, and long bouts of boredom, and occasional triumphs. It was feeling honored by the privilege of getting to be present for another person’s most dismal moments, and knowing that you could be dismal around him in return.”

The novel recounts, decade-by-decade, the lives of four friends in New York City from their early 20s to their 50s. There is JB, a gay painter, Malcolm, who still lives at home and dreams of becoming an architect, Willem, an orphan who is pursuing an acting career, and Jude, also an orphan, who is a lawyer. Jude’s is reticent about his past and his friends know to leave it well alone. He has a limp and suffers from many health-related issues, which were caused by a car injury. As the story progresses the narrative shifts its focus on Jude and his many ongoing struggles. Jude’s horrific childhood and teenage years are revealed to us slowly over the course of the story. To cope with his traumatic experiences Jude self-harms, something that definitely hit close to home so I appreciate the authenticity with which Yanagihara portrays Jude’s self-harming. Similarly, his self-hatred and self-blaming are rendered with painful realism, without any judgment on the author’s part. While there were many—and I mean many—horrifying and painful scenes, there are moments of beauty, lightness, and tenderness. As an adult Jude is surrounded by people who love him, there are his friends, colleagues, neighbours, mentors, and it is here that the novel is at its most moving.
This is a novel about sexual abuse, pain, grief, friendship, love, intimacy, hope, and silences. The characters (it feels wrong to even call them that) are fully-formed individuals, imperfect, at times incongruent, yet nonetheless lovable. Oh, how my heart ached for them.
Yanagihara foreshadows certain events but even so, I found myself hoping against hope that the story would not be a tragic one. Yet, this unwillingness on Yanagihara’s part to provide a happy ending or to give her characters sort of closure that makes her novel simultaneously subversive and all the more realistic. Things don’t always get better, people can’t always overcome or reconcile themselves with their trauma, love doesn’t ‘fix’ people, you can’t magic away someone else’s pain. I have never sobbed while reading a book but I was sobbing intermittently throughout my reading of A Little Life. At times reading about Jude’s pain was brought me to tears, at times it was when coming across a scene that is brimming with kindness and love (basically anything with Jude and Harold or Jude and Willem).

“I want to be alone,” he told him.
“I understand,” Willem said.
“We’ll be alone together.”

This novel made me feel exposed, naked, vulnerable, seen in a way I wasn’t ready to be seen. It broke my fucking heart. It disturbed me, it made me ugly-cry, it made me want to find Yanagihara so I could shout at her. To describe A Little Life as a piece of fiction seems sacrilegious. I experienced A Little Life. From the first pages, I found myself immersed in Jude, Willem, JB, and Malcolm’s lives. When I reached the end I felt bereft, exhausted, numb so much so that even now I’m finding it difficult to to articulate why I loved this so much (then again my favourite band is Radiohead so I clearly like things that depress me). I doubt I will ever be brave enough to read it again but I also know that I will be thinking about A Little Life for years to come.
Adroit, superbly written, and populated by a richly drawn A Little Life is a novel unlike any other, one that you should read at your own risk.

my rating: ★★★★★

ps: the bond between Jude and Willem brought to mind a certain exchange from Anne Carson’s translation of Orestes:
PYLADES: I’ll take care of you.
ORESTES: It’s rotten work.
PYLADES: Not to me. Not if it’s you.

Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

Storm of Locusts by Rebecca Roanhorse

Usually, I don’t go back on DNFs (there’s plenty more books in the sea and all that) but I also get that sometimes my enjoyment of a book depends on me getting to read it at the ‘right time’. The reason why I’d DNFed Storm of Locusts after reading just a chapter or so was that I found a certain scene to be way predictable. And that’s it. I was annoyed so I moved on to other books. Nearly two years later, I decided to give it another try, and I’m glad I did. Storm of Locusts was even more enjoyable than its predecessor and I had a really fun time reading it. There is action, character growth, and, as with Trail of Lightning, Rebecca Roanhorse seamlessly incorporates certain aspects of Native American culture or beliefs into her story and world-building.

Maggie Hoskie, our narrator and a Diné monster hunter, is still recovering from Black Mesa. She’s heartbroken, having lost her only friend, and possibly more, Kai Arviso. Her latest job ends badly and Maggie finds herself taking care of Ben, a teenager who like Maggie also possess clan powers. Maggie is reluctant about her new position as Ben’s ‘carer’ but she was entrusted to her (this scene was a wee bit predictable, I mean, when you have someone say something on the lines of “If anything happens to me” you know something is going to happen to them).
Luckily (or not) for her Maggie doesn’t really have the time to adjust to having Ben around as she finds herself with twins Rissa and Clive Goodacre on a mission to find the ‘White Locust’ who may be responsible for kidnapping their younger brother. Although Rissa insists that Kai is in cahoots with the White Locust, Maggie refuses to believe him capable of harming the youngest Goodacre or supporting someone like the White Locust.
To find them, our gang has to travel outside the walls of Dinétah, and here they came across some dangerous people.
Maggie’s characterisation is phenomenal. Roanhorse captures her conflicted feelings towards her own actions—towards Kai and others—as well as the toll of her monster hunter title. Her feelings towards Kai are also depicted with realism and depth. We can clearly see why she cares for him so much and as I was reading I found myself growing apprehensive about their inevitable reunion. Maggie is not strictly likeable but I loved her nonetheless. I think Roanhorse makes it quite clear why Maggie is sometimes aggressive or cold towards others. Roanhorse gives Maggie her vulnerabilities while also making her into a bit of a badass.
There is also a focus on platonic relationships, which was great. Rissa initially treats Maggie with open hostility and even blames her for Kai’s actions. But as the two find themselves going through hell and back their feelings of enmity slowly give way to a bond based on mutual trust, perhaps even respect.
At first, Ben, being a teenage character in an adult book, acts like the classic teen brat. Thankfully, as time goes by, we see different sides to her, and I look forward to seeing more of her in the next books.
The
It’s been four weeks since the bloody showdown at Black Mesa, and Maggie Hoskie, Diné monster hunter, is trying to make the best of things. Only her latest bounty hunt has gone sideways, she’s lost her only friend, Kai Arviso, and she’s somehow found herself responsible for a girl with a strange clan power.

In her journey to find Kai Maggie becomes makes new allies, discovers how the people outside Dinétah have coped with the Big Water, lands in the territory of human traffickers, confronts a god at a casino (something about this part reminded me of American Gods, an all-time fave of mine) before, at last, coming face to face with Kai and the White Locust.

Roanhorse’s prose is terrific and kept me flipping pages. After the first few chapters, the pacing is fantastic, and the shifting dynamics between Maggie and the other members of her group were engrossing.
This is probably my new favourite by Roanhorse and I can’t wait to hear more from Maggie&co.

my rating: ★★★★¼


Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

Ragged Company by Richard Wagamese

“We become eternal by being held in memory’s loving arms.”

After I read Richard Wagamese’s Medicine Walk, I was looking forward to reading more of his work. And Ragged Company did not disappoint. Similarly to Medicine Walk, which felt like a long conversation between a dying man and his son, Ragged Company presents its readers with a dialogue-heavy narrative. Amelia One Sky, Timber, Double Dick and Digger are the makeshift family at the heart of this novel. After enduring personal tragedies and hardships they now live on the street, referring to themselves as rounders, where they spend their days drifting from street to street, on the lookout for warm spots, food, and drink. During a particularly cold winter they start seeking refuge in movie theatres, where they find themselves being swept away by the films they watch. They repeatedly come across the same man, a former journalist called Granite, who also views films as an escape. After the loss of his wife and child Granite views films as an escape from the pain of his lonely existence. While not everyone is keen on his presence, Digger for one is particularly against ‘Square Johns’ (that is ‘respectable’ members of society), our rounders form a sort of companionship with Granite.
When Digger picks up a winning lottery ticket, for the value of 13.5 million dollars, their lives are irrevocably changed. Because they don’t have any proper identification they seek Granite’s help. Although their newfound wealth drastically changes their lives and lifestyles, they have difficulty assimilating back into society. They carry their trauma with them, and are all similarly haunted by their past. As each character tries to confront their past actions and mistakes, the bond between our makeshift family deepens. Things don’t go smoothly for all, and at times no matter how hard you try you won’t be able to forgive yourself for the terrible things that you did.
As I said this is a very dialogue-oriented story. Whereas in Medicine Walk descriptions of the natural landscape offer breaks in the father/son talk, in Ragged Company the focus remains on the characters’ conversations and arguments. Still, First Nation beliefs and teachings around spirituality illuminate its narrative.
Although this isn’t an easy or fast read, I loved it. Wagamese has a gift for creating realistic characters, and an ear for dialogue. Although he doesn’t loose himself in sentimentalities he demonstrates careful empathy when writing about his characters’ suffering. Because the story is set in 1980s the films our characters watch and discuss could easily seem dated or obscure, but thanks to Wagamese skill for conveying his characters impressions of these films they don’t (if anything he made me want to watch those films I didn’t know about). Plus Cinema Paradiso gets a mention!
If you happen to have read other books by Wagamese or you watched and enjoyed Satoshi Kon’s Tokyo Godfathers chances are Ragged Company is the book for you.

My rating: 4 of 5 stars
Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

Little Family by Ishmael Beah – book review

EXBiy0tWsAUxInm

“Almost everything in this country is on its way to losing itself.”

Little Family is a deeply felt novel. Set in an unnamed African country, the narrative revolves around five young people whose makeshift home is a derelict airplane.
Ishmael Beah’s paints a sobering landscape: government corruption, extreme social divide, the malignant vestiges of colonialism, colourism, military/police brutality. The ‘little family’ at the heart of his novel do their best to survive, pouring their different skills and strengths into clever swindles. Beah’s illuminating prose gracefully renders their day to day activities.
The first half of the novel follows each member of the family without delving into their pasts. I really loved these early chapters. In spite of the dangers they face, the members of this family are brave beyond belief. Beah clearly has a wonderful ear for the rhythm of children’s conversations: there is silliness and the kind of banter that teeters between playful and not-so-playful. Unlike the adults in his novel Beah never dismisses the voices of his young characters. Although they are painfully aware of being “the ones society had no use for”, and that each day may bring a new form of dehumanization, they unanimously wish for change (for safety, for their poverty to end, for their country to rid itself of corruption and the inequalities brought by colonialism).
Elimane and Khoudi, the older members of this little family, are not only incredibly self-aware (of their role in their society, of their country’s fraught history, of the different degrees of inequality within their community) but often encourage others to question established norms. As we follow them during their daily routines we gain an impression of the dynamics within this family. It was Namsa, the youngest one in the family, who stood out to me in this first half of the novel. She approaches her family’s excursion with a sense of buoyant adventure, and although she worries that she won’t be able to keep up with the others, she’s just as, if not more, quick-witted.
While outside of their home the group often has to keep apart from each other, as not to draw suspicion, the depth of their bond, their mutual ease and trust, is clear.
The tempo in the latter half of the novel is far less absorbing. The story focuses almost exclusively on Khoudi and her ‘awakening’. What follows is rather predictable: she learns the power of her own body, becomes intrigued and eventually entangled with a group of privileged young people, and distances herself from the ‘self’ she is within the ‘little family’. While I can appreciate a ‘coming of age’ tale or a story that charts a quest for one’s identity, I did find Khoudi’s journey to be clichéd and clearly written by a man. There are a few scenes that seem straight out of a boy’s fantasy of a girl who is on the cusps of womanhood (discovering her beauty and sexual desire, becoming close to another beautiful young woman…and of course, although each one of them is interest/infatuated with a man, when they are alone together they kiss…but it means nothing). The tonal shift too, left me wanting. The little family is sidelined in favour of a love story, one that was particularly uninspired (if anything the whole star-crossed lovers thing made Khoudi’s early characterisation somewhat redundant). The ending was abrupt and unsatisfying.
As much as I loved the first half, Khoudi’s half was bland. I also felt annoyed that the characters we grown to know in the early chapters are more or less abandoned by the narrative in favour of a romance.
Still, the author treats his characters and the issues they face with empathy so I would probably recommend this one to those readers who don’t mind when novels change the direction of their story.

My rating: ★★★✰✰ 3 stars

Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune — book review

45046567.jpg

“He was here to observe and nothing more. He couldn’t influence the orphanage. It wouldn’t be proper. The RULES AND REGULATIONS were specific about such matters.”

The House in the Cerulean Sea tells an equal parts heartwarming and silly tale. The world in this novel is fairly reminiscent of our own one however its pages are full of magical people and creatures. The government closely monitors those who are deemed not human and they are raised in government sanctioned orphanages.
As a case worker at the Department in Charge Of Magical Youth (often abbreviated to DICOMY) Linus Baker, a solitary forty year old, oversees and inspects these orphanages. His job consists in ensuring the children’s wellbeing and that the people who are running these orphanages are following DICOMY guidelines. Linus himself abides by DICOMY’s strict rules and regulations.
His routine is brusquely interrupted when he is summoned by DICOMY’s Extremely Upper Management, only to be unexpectedly tasked with an unusual and highly sensitive assignment: he has to leave the city and travel to Marsyas Island Orphanage. The orphanage is run by the rather mysterious and eccentric Arthur Parnassus. It is up to Linus to determine whether the six children who reside there (a female gnome, a sprite, a wyvern, an unidentifiable green blob, a were-Pomeranian, and the Antichrist) should be taken away from the Island.
As the story progresses Linus begins to question DICOMY and its methods. Once he is able to move past what his case files tell him about these children, he begins to see them in their own right.

In the novel magical powers/appearances is a metaphor for being different. They are isolated from ‘ordinary’ humans, raised in controlled environments, treated with mistrust and or outright hatred. Linus finds himself challenging his own assumptions and preconceptions about these children.
Ultimately this is a story about the family that you choose: Linus himself has always felt like he doesn’t quite belong. On the Island, alongside the children and Arthur, he starts to feel more at ease with who he is as well as the type of person he wants to be.
The novel is filled with quirky humour and charming dialogues. There were quite a few elements that struck me as being a bit too silly for my taste, so that occasionally the story verged on being ridiculous (such as all of those ‘Oh My’ that Linus utters) but for the most part I liked this novel, it even made me smile here and there.

My rating: ★★★✰✰ 3.25 stars

Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads

The King of Crows by Libba Bray — book review

unnamed.jpgI hate to say it, or write it, but The King of Crows wasn’t a very satisfying conclusion to The Diviners series.

“Who got to decide what made somebody an American? America, the ideal of it at least, was its own form of elusive magic.”

While it isn’t as drawn-out as the finale to the Gemma Doyle series (which was around 800 pages) it struck me as being similarly anticlimactic.
In The King of Crows the pacing of the story is all over the place and the characters have very rushed and unsatisfying arcs.

Nearly three years have gone by since the release of Before the Devil Breaks You. Given that this series started back in 2012, it isn’t all that surprising that I’d forgotten a quite a few major plot-points. Still, I remembered the diviners, their personalities and powers, as well as their group dynamics. Libba Bray doesn’t spend too much time recapitulating old events, and once I caught up or remembered what was going on I found the first few chapters of this novel to be promising enough.
Once the diviners are scattered across America however the story’s upbeat pace comes to a halt. What follows over the course of the next three-hundred pages is a tedious repetition of similar scenarios.
The diviners encounter good folk, who are willing to help them or understand what it means to be different (such as the members of a circus), as well as horrible individuals and groups of people (the most noticeable being the KKK). They all come to terms with their simultaneously beautiful and terrible country/world. All the while we get random chapters showing us that ghosts are coming (phrases such as ‘ghosts are coming’ and ‘this country is full of ghosts’ are repeated so many times as to loose the initial sense of danger and urgency that they carried). The confusing showdown between our good guys (aka the diviners) and the baddies is crammed in the last hundred pages.
The narrative in The King of Crows lacked the mystery-factor that made the other volumes in this series intriguing.

In short: the story is just padding.

Characters behave as flimsy versions of their former selves (Evie and Ling, both of whom I previously really liked, were simply irritating) and had very rushed storylines that seemed to add very little to their overall arc.
Take Henry. Most of his scenes revolve around the way in which his sexuality is deemed abnormal by his society. That’s pretty much it. Ling’s sections also often emphasise her sexuality. Whereas those scenes that focus on characters such as Memphis and Theta seem to focus on other aspects of their lives (their general desires and fears, etc). Jericho has the most eye-roll worthy storyline which sees him (view spoiler).
Even the banter between the various diviners felt unimaginative. At times their conversations and discussions seem to rely on their catchphrases (Evie says something ‘scandalous’, Sam says something flirty, Jericho doesn’t get whatever is going on, Ling is disapproving…).
None of the romances were interesting. They mostly revolved around cute nicknames (such as baby vamp) and on scenes featuring some very uninspired flirting.

The King of Crows is a Disney type of villain. I remember that the first instalments of this series presented us with creepy or fascinating antagonists…but this guy is just dull. He has a few cameos here and there, scares our protagonists, does some mayhem, and is very much the novel’s boogeyman.

The setting too seemed to lack its usual spark and vibrancy. Previously I loved the way in which Bray brought 1920s New York to life. In this volume however most of the ‘action’ is outside of New York, and we read of a series of small and forgettable towns…which do not make very intriguing backdrops.

The plot was full of convenient coincidences. What frustrated me the most was a ‘revelation’ towards the end, which came as no surprise whatsoever (view spoiler)

Bray draws an unsubtle parallel between the rampant racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, anti-Semitism, othering, and other forms of bigotry of the 1920s and today’s political climate (there are phrases such as ‘get out of our country’). Her approaches to some of these topics came across as rather on the nose. For example when Theta learns that someone she likes was raised by slave-owners she has such an unbelievably naive ‘how could she?’ reaction.

The epilogue struck me as predictable….(view spoiler)

All in all…this was an incredibly disappointing followup to Before the Devil Breaks You.
While Bray is an undoubtedly good writer The King of Crows simply lacks the glamour and electricity that made the other instalments so much more engaging and atmospheric. It had a meandering narrative, with lots of repetition regarding the importance of storytelling and stories, a passage from Nietzsche which felt rather out of place, some lacklustre cosmic horror, and a cast of one-dimensional characters.

My rating: ★★★✰✰ 3 stars 

Read more reviews on my blog / / / View all my reviews on Goodreads