“I feel sorry for you, and I'm going to be your friend." "I don't want to be your friend," Cath said as sternly as she could. "I like that we're not fr
“I feel sorry for you, and I'm going to be your friend." "I don't want to be your friend," Cath said as sternly as she could. "I like that we're not friends." "Me, too. I'm sorry you ruined it by being so pathetic.”
“There are other people on the Internet. It's awesome. You get all the benefits of 'other people' without the body odor and the eye contact.”
At first glance, Fangirl positions itself to be a silly, fluffy piece about identical twin sisters and their freshman year at college, and how one sister in particular must navigate her way through this perilous and confusing time, all while trying to churn out chapter after chapter of fanfiction to her adoring online readers. And it is that book, sweetly refreshing, never taking itself too seriously, but it also manages to be so much more -- about mental illness, friendship, sisters, mothers, living as an introvert in an extrovert's world, and falling in love, safely and sensibly with someone who deserves it (no creepy pouty vampires here ladies and gentleman! and no love triangles! hooray!)
I really related to Cath and her introverted, super anxious in social situations ways. I got her Simon Snow obsession and her need to escape into that world rather than dealing with real life. A lot of times, that is why we're reading in the first place, isn't it? To escape? To fall down the rabbit hole and be somewhere else, be someone else?
The compulsion to create fanfiction is just taking it one step further, so in love are you with a particular world and characters, that you are willing to write your own stories about them just to keep the magic from ever ending, and keep the reality wolves away from your front door for just one more day.
I love what the author has to say about the act of writing, its highs and lows, obsessions and doubts, how telling the story can be as profoundly transformative an act as reading it. When you stop to think about it, the synergy between author and reader is a gobsmackingly powerful, beautiful thing. Neither can exist without the other.
I'm home today with a horrible cold and this was the perfect book to help me escape the realities of my bodily suffering. Fangirl is a complete rabbit hole, and down I went. I was going to use this review to confess to some of my own fangirl proclivities, but I think I'll save that for another time. ...more
My TBR pile has grown ridiculously huge of late (my house is hoarding half my public library's precious cargo). Despite this ever-increasing mountain My TBR pile has grown ridiculously huge of late (my house is hoarding half my public library's precious cargo). Despite this ever-increasing mountain of unread promises, my reading pace has proportionately slowed. At a time when I should be blazing through the pages of every book I pick up, I find myself smelling the proverbial roses. The faster I burn through a book, the more quickly I am to forget it anyway, even the real gems. Plus, life just gets in the way sometimes and it's been doing a darn good job of pulling me away from the last few books I've picked up.
This one I was more than happy to spend a whole week with, sneaking short sweet moments with it every chance I got. Nothing really happens in this book, but it hums along at a wonderful pace. How could I not be pulled into a story about sisters and the dynamics of small town life, that celebrates books, the Bard, and new beginnings. As Rose, Bean and Cordy show us, no matter how much a life seems utterly derailed, it's never too late to start over. Quite often only through complete failure can we find our way to where we're supposed to be.
If that all sounds a little too touchy-feely, hippy-do for you, I won't lie -- it is touchy-feely, hippy-do -- but it's a touchy-feely, hippy-do that's wrapped in staggeringly gorgeous prose and turns of phrase. I nearly drove my boyfriend crazy following him around the house to recite certain passages. I just couldn't resist, Brown uses language that's meant to be read aloud.
The novel could have easily descended into an Oprah/Hallmark co-production of the week but it is saved from that nausea-inducing fate by carefully crafted and lovable sisters and language that flows like sparkling water out of a mountain spring (too much? yeah, I should have quit while I was ahead).
I'm a zombie-loving girl who needed a break from bleak dystopias and nerve-jangling apocalypses. This book totally fit the bill.
If you haven’t already done so, make time to read (or listen) to this book as soon as possible. It is as unique as it is beautiful, heartbreaking as iIf you haven’t already done so, make time to read (or listen) to this book as soon as possible. It is as unique as it is beautiful, heartbreaking as it is hopeful, filled to the brim with love and ugliness, hope and despair. I absolutely adored this book the first time I read it, and had no idea that experience could be rivaled, but this audiobook read by Allan Corduner took the story to a whole other level of amazing.
Corduner is a remarkable, theatrical voice and perfect as Death, the omniscient narrator, but he also breathes such distinctive life into Papa, Mama, Max, Rudy and Liesel herself. The novel is presented in such an unusual way on the page that I feared there would be something profoundly missing from the audio version, but there really isn’t; if anything Zusak’s lyrical prose just sings in Corduner’s mouth and sounds even better read aloud. What is missing here though, are Max’s sketches which accompany the stories he writes for Liesel. Those you cannot miss, which is why I’m giving the highest recommendation to both the novel and the audiobook.
Corduner’s delivery of the ending is more profound and sad than I could have ever imagined. (view spoiler)[Liesel’s guttural screams for Rudy to wake up left me sobbing, as did her wretched grieving over the broken bodies of Mama and Papa. (hide spoiler)] Highest possible recommendation ever!
Original review of novel (January 2009):
This book left me gutted and absolutely speechless. It is the kind of book that we can only hope to see once or twice in a generation. And that’s if we’re lucky.
Narrating The Book Thief is Death, who confesses he is haunted by humans — our beauty, our savagery, our contradictions. I, on the other hand, will remain haunted by Liesel’s story for the rest of my life (and little Rudy Steiner). There is really no way to describe this book that will come anywhere close to doing it justice. It defies all regular categorization and usual comparisons.
There are only a handful of books that after the reading is done I want to run out and buy copies for everyone I know and plead with them to drop whatever it is they are doing and read it immediately (before they get hit by a bus or a comet smashes into the Earth) — this is one of those books. The words lyrical and profound, spiritual and uncompromising are quite often overused, to the point where we’ve rendered them almost meaningless and that’s too bad -- because I want to use them here and have them mean something.
Zusak’s prose is staggeringly gorgeous both in its simplicity and in its complexity; his choice of words is flawless and inspired. I am humbled by such immense talent. The Book Thief is a gift for the ages, a love song to words, books, and what it means to be human. It is a story that will steal (and break) your heart.
Summer came. For the book thief, everything was going nicely. For me, the sky was the color of Jews. When their bodies had finished scouring for gaps in the door, their souls rose up. When their fingernails had scratched at the wood and in some cases were nailed into it by sheer force of desperation, their spirits came toward me, into my arms, and we climbed out of those shower facilities, onto the roof and up, into eternity's certain breadth. They just kept feeding me. Minute after minute. Shower after shower (The Book Thief)
I so wanted to love this book, but alas I was left exhausted by page after page of intrigue and misdirection, undone by dense passages describing streI so wanted to love this book, but alas I was left exhausted by page after page of intrigue and misdirection, undone by dense passages describing streets, buildings, and sub-plot upon sup-plot. While there is a colorful cast of characters, make no mistake that Zafόn’s protracted plot is the star feature of The Shadow of the Wind. That is not to say this is a bad book, because it isn’t; in places it is wonderfully charming and whimsical. Zafόn has a delightful humor that comes out in some great passages on the human condition, delivered by the book’s most memorable character – Fermin Romero De Torres.
If you are a fan of Dickens and other 19th century writers of his ilk, then I would imagine this is the book for you. I’m not a fan of Victorian novels which I find too heavy on plot that’s driven by external forces rather than by the choices and behaviors of the characters. I do love a good gothic mystery however, and am a huge fan of Jane Eyre, but the mysteries embedded in The Shadow of the Wind take too long to fully unfold, and by the time they do two things have probably happened: 1) you’ve likely guessed everything way before now (I did and not because I’m good at that) and 2) you’re so exhausted by the entire journey that you just don’t care all that much anymore. By the end, I was crying “Uncle” and couldn’t take one more “twist”. For me, the pay-off isn't worth the time and effort I put in.
My other disappointment is that “The Cemetery of Lost Books” plays such a small part in this 500 page novel. I was charmed by the idea of such a thing, so much so it’s what drew me to the book in the first place.
When a library disappears, or a bookshop closes down, when a book is consigned to oblivion, those of us who know this place, its guardians, make sure that it gets here. In this place, books no longer remembered by anyone, books that are lost in time, live forever, waiting for the day when they will reach a new reader’s hands.
If only such a place existed! Then maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty every time I weeded a novel from my library’s collection. I always feel so bad for these non-circulating books that are no longer held or read. I have to believe that someone somewhere would love them, if only I could find that person. Some of these books get saved (at least temporarily) by book sales, but how many end up in land fills? Too many to count I fear, and how much better would it be if they ended up on the labyrinthine shelves of The Cemetery of Lost Books? ...more
This book starts out slow with not a whole lot happening. It’s definitely one of those reads that sneaks up on you in an amazing way, and you are so gThis book starts out slow with not a whole lot happening. It’s definitely one of those reads that sneaks up on you in an amazing way, and you are so grateful to have stuck with it by the time you reach the end. Strachan uses a lot of Welsh idioms and dialect which takes a bit of getting used to. The first half is on the lighter fluffier side as the characters that populate Gwenni’s young life and a small 1950s Welsh town are introduced.
Told in the first-person, Gwenni is a precocious and imaginative child, her narrative voice colorful, innocent and sweet. As the town and her family begin to deteriorate around her, it is painful to watch this young girl try and find meaning in the chaos and make her way through it to the other side. When Gwenni becomes an easy target for a cruel, selfish mother who is possibly suffering from a serious mental break, all I wanted to do was protect Gwenni from the hurts and confusion and whatever it is she’s going to uncover.
This is a book about loss – of innocence, of love, of one’s mind. It is a coming-of-age story beautifully told, wrapped in mystery and shot through with tragedy. I fell in love with Gwenni’s Tada and Nain who cherish her and are there for her in ways that Gwenni’s mother is unable to be – some of it out of pure selfishness, most of it due to a tragedy in her own past that haunts her and has crippled her mind. ...more
I love the idea of matching books to mood -- but I guess I just wasn't overly impressed by the choices. For example, in the category "to be afraid, beI love the idea of matching books to mood -- but I guess I just wasn't overly impressed by the choices. For example, in the category "to be afraid, be very afraid" there is no Stephen King. What!? That's just ludicrous. King is a prolific author whose writing can be placed in many categories, but he's consistently been the world's bogeyman for the past 35 years, delighting in scaring the bejesus out of people. If you're in the mood to be badly frightened, King is your man. To omit him from this section really made me doubt Ephron's selection process. The irony is, King's books appear in five other categories, just not the "be very afraid" one.
Ephron also includes Pat Conroy's Beach Music over The Prince of Tides, another dubious choice as the latter is the far better book (I've read them both and loved them both and as a Conroy fan I can say that with confidence).
Ephron labels books as being provocative, influential, humorous, brainy, challenging, as easy reads or page turners, as having literary merit or a bathroom book, she even denotes which books have been made into movies. But such labels are so subjective as to render them almost meaningless. Even if you wanted to use the labels, it's tough because they are not cross-referenced or indexed in any way. If you want to get a list of all the provocative books or the brainy reads, you have to go through each "mood" chapter book by book and look for the appropriate icon.
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