underwaterlily's reviews
88 reviews

There is a dreamy urgency to these prose poems. I love lines like this one: “I stood leaning on the gates of hell with a cigarette in my mouth, and some trees were on fire and they resembled lilies in their white eternal flames, and I knew it appeared to the others that I was callously watching the world unravel.” Frank X. Gaspar addresses what is sacred in beautiful, chaotic-sounding moments that read like surreal journal entries. “You can almost hear the heavens opening.”

I’ll never paint my nails red again! I may sleepwalk into the kitchen, lop off my right hand, and find a well to toss it in.

This book gets a lot of hate, and on some level, I understand why: it’s fan fiction, loosely based on 2004’s A Cinderella Story, and I cringe whenever Maddy or Sir Leo says something like, “Now I’m/you’re a real gamer girl!” Still, I think it’s a sweet, cutesy love story. I was that bullied “Freak Girl” in high school (though I had better taste in music), and I relate to Maddy for this reason. Plus, I’m a sucker for a story about online romance. I can’t get enough of that air of mystery and uncertainty. (“Who is he in real life? Will he like me offline?” Etc.) I knew Maddy and Sir Leo would wind up together, and I knew who he was long before she did, but the journey still made me sigh. What can I say? I’m a teenage girl at heart.

This book is well-researched and well-written, but I don’t believe the murder conspiracy. My personal theory is this: it’s possible Kurt’s mysterious stomach pains were terminal cancer, and he had help ending his life. The handwriting samples found in Courtney Love’s bag give me pause, but...

I thought for sure Fangirl would receive five stars from me, but the story simply... ends. Abruptly.

Fangirl is about a timid wallflower who emerges from the shadow of her more confident twin sister. By the end of the story, it is Cath’s twin, Wren, who seems vulnerable and unsure. I could do without a certain essay excerpt at the end of the final chapter; it cheapens the story by being a little too on the nose. We don’t need basic metaphors to know what the book is actually about. I admit, the essay excerpt is a nice “coming of age”/“coming into her own” touch, but I’d prefer a more solid conclusion. Less “tell,” more “show.” The ending feels rushed, the loose ends tied together a little too quickly and without much oomph.

That said, the characters make the story. Anyone who is shy and searching for their voice (like me... still!) will see themselves in Cath. A wonderful story—one that deserves a better ending, yes, but a wonderful story nonetheless.

Bird Box is a book about the unseen, and Malerman knows how to build suspense (it’s why the book deserves four stars), but make no mistake: it’s chiefly the story of a woman. I enjoyed it a lot, but there’s touches of “Guy in Your MFA” in it. Malorie’s voice doesn’t always feel authentic. She starts out a dark-haired damsel, delicate as cooing birds, and she winds up gazing at her reflection and thinking about what a strong, empowered woman she’s become. (I wish I were kidding!) And while she’s pregnant, she wonders if she’d find her male housemate’s ideas any good, you know, if she weren’t pregnant and helpless. Everything else feels authentic: the initial crisis, Malorie’s interactions with her housemates, the way she adapts to her changing world. She is a strong woman. But I don’t know any woman who sits around and waxes poetic about it. Women think about how trauma changes us, yes... just, not like this? Bird Box is Manic Pixie Dream Girl becomes Strong Trauma Queen. Lots of dudes write women really well, and Malerman mostly succeeds. There are some serious eye roll moments, though.

I enjoyed this book for its flawed characters. Haeger loves to write “sweet and innocent” heroines who are really quite self-absorbed and superficial. In this book, Bess Blount falls for Henry VIII simply because he’s handsome and she thinks he’s sensitive and gallant, like Lancelot du Lac. Not long after Bess “matures” and grows to love and appreciate her long-suffering friend, Gil—whom she marries because she feels she owes him and because she’s fed up with Henry—he dies from consumption, and she’s swept off her feet by yet another handsome nobledude (whose lands border her own; convenient, that). Still, I find Bess somewhat sympathetic. The court of Henry VIII was the place to be for a teenage girl in the 1510s. I can’t imagine I’d have acted much different.

Fred Trump beat down everyone in his family—everyone, except his son, Donald. I don’t believe anyone is born bad: even the most self-obsessed tyrant was once an innocent child, in need of love and care. Donald Trump is still that child, deep down. He throws tantrums and bullies people because he was never nurtured. He was neglected at a crucial time in development and later rewarded for his bad decisions and behavior. Mary L. Trump writes of a spark of kindness that is no longer present in her uncle. I find it all kind of sad. It’s obvious Donald Trump is too far gone for any sort of redemption. He is the world’s most dangerous man and will never see the error of his ways. But when you factor in the cycle of abuse... my heart particularly aches for Mary L. Trump’s late father, Freddy. I wish someone had intervened and cared for the Trumps when they were children. Would they have turned out different?

Part Silent Hill, part The X-Files (owing to a character who reads like a teenaged Mulder), and part A Nightmare on Elm Street, The Devouring is a quick, icky read. The disjointed plot and frenetic pacing adds to the book’s nightmarish quality, and I enjoyed reading about the fearscape. If I were twelve, this book would gross me out.