2015: A year in reading

(*) = a pick for top 10 of 2015


The Girl Who Was Saturday Night by Heather O’Neill

The Paying Guests by Sarah Waters

Landline by Rainbow Rowell

The Fever by Megan Abbott

Shopaholic to the Stars  by Sophie Kinsella

The Next Best Thing by Jennifer Weiner

I’m just getting my bearings working at the new library that opens in Halifax. An almost hour-long commute on the bus means plenty of time to read and so I devour novels like light snacks. The Girl Who Was Saturday Night lives up to the Giller-prize hype and I find myself wishing I hadn’t put it off for so long, O’Neill’s first book Lullabies for Little Criminals still echoing in my mind from years ago. From there I pick up another much talked about novel The Paying Guests which is equally as good about a woman who falls in love with her married tenant and the tragedy that results from their affair. There’s something about affair story lines that always intrigue me, keep pulling me back for more, the ultimate question of happiness and fidelity never gets old. Landline was my first taste of Rowell which was surprisingly grounded considering the outlandish premise (a woman finds a way to talk to a past-version of her husband from a rotary phone in her childhood bedroom… I know, right?) and I thoroughly enjoy it the way you might enjoy a jelly-filled doughnut, which if you’re me, is immensely. I’ve already forgotten the newest Shopaholic book and what it was about, ditto the Weiner. Both are just filler, but fun filler, if you know what I mean. The Fever starts out strong but devolves half-way through.



Going Clear: Scientology, Hollywood, and the Prison of Belief by Lawrence Wright

The Mime Order (The Bone Season, #2) by Samantha Shannon

The Diviners (The Diviners, #1) by Libba Bray

Ugly Girls by Lindsay Hunter

Paper Towns by John Green

My first non-fiction in I don’t know how long is heavy (430 pages heavy) but like watching Tom Cruise bounce on Oprah’s couch—distasteful but impossible to look away. Going Clear tells you everything you ever were curious to know about Scientology plus a lot more you maybe wish you didn’t. After all that, I need something I know I’ll enjoy so I pick up the new installment in a great fantasy series that I really love—The Mime Order. It’s every bit as exciting as I thought it would be. Which gives me a taste for YA-skewed fantasy so I go for Bray’s book which I’ve seen around for ages but never actually got my hands on. Then it’s just downhill from there. Kidding, Ugly Girls is good (though honestly not that memorable) and Paper Towns… is well, everywhere.



When Everything Feels Like the Movies by Raziel Reid

Men Explain Things to Me by Rebecca Solnit

Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

Nobody Is Ever Missing by Catherine Lacey

The Appetites of Girls by Pamela Moses

I start with one of CBC Canada Reads recommended books but really can’t enjoy it to be honest, not my cuppa tea. Which makes me want to skew back to familiar territory with Solnit’s book of fantastic essays. I enjoy Everything I Never Told You even with the sad lack of tension in what appears to be a mystery, it doesn’t grab me in the way I need it to. The Appetites of Girls is better, the way friendship through the ages always is but for all its hype I get my first flop of the year in Nobody is Ever Missing. I really dislike the writing style and the story is one long stream of consciousness run-on sentence that I have to force myself to stick with. If I wasn’t going for a reading goal this year I would have ditched this 1/4 through. It feels gimmicky and insincere.



The Walking Dead vols. 16-22 by Robert Kirkman

Outline by Rachel Cusk

In April I remember that I should catch up on The Walking Dead, so I do, furiously. I’ll never understand people who only watch the show or movie and neglect the comic or book—there’s so much more in pages than on screens, and when you put the two together, even how they differ just fills up the empty space. I’ve heard good things about Outline but I end up hating it. If we’re judging books on technicality then yes, it’s well-written but nothing about it catches and holds on to me, it’s like sitting through a lecture for a class you have no interest in passing. Its title feels so spot-on, for me, there is nothing but hollowness in the middle.



The Country of Ice Cream Star by Sandra Newman

Dark Sparkler by Amber Tamblyn

The Unspeakable: And Other Subjects of Discussion by Meghan Daum

Mouthful of Forevers by Clementine von Radics (*)

Animals by Emma Jane Unsworth

I write about most of these and some from June in Read my list: books for your next beach trip in The Coast. All around a great month for reading, The Country of Ice Cream Star is a stand-out, and I fall into poetry again. Clementine von Radics is the kind of poet that fans tattoo lines onto their bodies for—she gets under your skin—while Tamblyn proves people still underestimate her.



The Opening Sky by Joan Thomas

The Girl on the Train by Paula Hawkins

Skin Cleanse: The Simple, All-Natural Program for Clear, Calm, Happy Skin by Adina Grigore

Still No Word by Shannon Webb-Campbell (*)

Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair by Pablo Neruda

Mother, Mother by Koren Zailckas

Maybe I have more time in the summer, I’m not sure, but I pound back books like shots. The Opening Sky is another broken family novel (I do so love those) this time following a teenage couple that gets pregnant which just drives their families further apart. The Girl on the Train is a bestseller for good reason, hard to put down but ultimately a bit of a let-down climatically. Still No Word (read my review at The Coast) by a local poet and acquaintance of mine makes it on my year-end list and Mother, Mother is so much better than I thought it would be, more credit due to the fact that it ends up standing up against most of what I read this year, but who would have known that in the summer. It’s about an over-bearing abusive mother and the three children and husband who manage to survive her.



Second Life: A Novel by S.J. Watson

Eight Hundred Grapes by Laura Dave (*)

The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty by Amanda Filipacchi

Love May Fail by Matthew Quick

The Walking Dead, Vol. 23: Whispers Into Screams by Robert Kirkman

In the Unlikely Event by Judy Blume (*)

I get married at the end of the month, surprisingly these books aren’t a blur. When I’m looking forward to something I’m more focused than usual. Second Life is a decent mystery about a woman whose sister dies and she tries to unravel the reason why—not great, but solid. Eight Hundred Grapes (read my review at The Coast) is light but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t have heft. It’s a fun read all the way through about the choices we make, tradition and inheritance. I really loved it, and I guess it’s being turned into a movie so that’s even better. Hopefully they don’t ruin the magic. The Unfortunate Importance of Beauty is so weird. So so weird. But highly enjoyable regardless. A group of artist friends deal with the suicide of one of their own while each also wrestles with their own demons. One character is so beautiful she wears a costume to appear ugly just to live an uninterrupted life while another learns to control emotion with music. Perhaps one of the most original stories I’ve ever read. Love May Fail is OK. Nothing special. In The Unlikely Event (read my review at The Coast) is ambitious and Blume rises to the occasion.



Wake The Stone Man by Carol McDougall

Luckiest Girl Alive by Jessica Knoll

No Matter the Wreckage by Sarah Kay

Beyond The Pale by Emily Urquhart

His Whole Life by Elizabeth Hay (*)

The Bones Below and New Shoes On A Dead Horse by Sierra DeMulder

The Affinities by Robert Charles Wilson

Wake The Stone Man (read my review at Atlantic Books Today) is informative and interesting but lacking something to really make me love it. I liked it quite a bit but it didn’t get to the heart of me. Luckiest Girl Alive lives up to the hype, a tense quick read the exposes the underbelly of high school, cliques and things that happen to us that we can’t forget and really shouldn’t. I really enjoyed it. Following up with Sarah Kay’s fantastic book of poems No Matter the Wreckage. She is one of the most talented slam poets I’ve ever heard. I love her and especially this poem “If I Had a Daughter.” I picked up the memoir Beyond the Pale after reading a review somewhere that raved about it. Emily Urquhart talks about her experience raising a daughter with albinism and the different mythical stories she discovered about the condition as well as some horrible tragedies happening the world over to people who have it. Really really good. Sad. Intriguing. His Whole Life (read my review at The Coast) was just fantastic. Perhaps my favourite book of the year. Hard to tell. It definitely made my year-end list. Elizabeth Hay always astounds me. The two books of poetry by Sierra DeMulder were also great, another talented slam poet. My favourite poem of hers is this one “The Unrequited Love Poem.” (“My body is a dead language/and you pronounce each word perfectly”). Check her out, she’s the real deal. I summed up the month with a return to Sci-Fi, I can’t help it, I just adore dystopian futures. The Affinities is one where people can take a personality test that allows them access to clubs of people exactly suited to them. It’s about looking for purpose, belonging, and what happens when you get it. (Not always good things…)



The Summer of Good Intentions by Wendy Francis

Who Do You Love by Jennifer Weiner

The First Husband by Laura Dave

Between the World and Me by Ta-Nehisi Coates (*)

Confessions of a Sociopath: A Life Spent Hiding in Plain Sight by M.E. Thomas

I take a break in September and read three light novels in a row that are all mediocre before I settle in for Between the World and Me (read my review at The Coast) it deserves all the accolades it’s getting. A really vital read. Of course then I follow it up with the least vital read, a memoir that is passable at best.



Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff (*)

Why Not Me? by Mindy Kaling

Back to fiction in the Fall. I’m not sure why this was such a lean month, maybe because I was devoting all my time to creating the perfect Gamora costume for Halloween. Another year-end top fiver, Fates and Furies (read my review at The Coast) is so good I can’t stop talking about it to anyone who will listen. Read this book, you will not regret it. I was so looking forward to reading Mindy Kaling’s newest memoir, I think she’s just the funniest, but it really let me down. Why Not Me? feels hurried, it just doesn’t carry the same spark her first one did.



The Heart Goes Last by Margaret Atwood

Barbara the Slut and Other People by Lauren Holmes (*)

Spinster: Making a Life of One’s Own by Kate Bolick

Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear by Elizabeth Gilbert

How to Start a Fire by Lisa Lutz

How to Be a Grown-up by Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus

Seating Arrangements by Maggie Shipstead

I am a huge Margaret Atwood fan, however her newest novel The Heart Goes Last was lacking something special for me, it just didn’t do it… whatever “it” is that she usually does. I think it just fell a little flat, it was supposed to be a mystery but there was very little suspense. I didn’t care about any of the characters either. It was alright, but Atwood carries the weight of her career, no one wants to bother with an average Atwood novel. Barbara the Slut and Other People (read my review at The Coast, and on the blog) more than made up for it though. I could write more about this book of stories but I’ve used up enough time. It’s good. Read it. I had heard good things about Spinster but I ended up suffering through it slowly and painfully, barely made it to the end without clawing my eyes out. I’d rather read a textbook tbh. Big Magic (read my review at The Coast) was so so surprising to me. I have enjoyed Gilbert’s books in the past but who knew she could light such a fire under me. If you’re struggling with writers block or finding your creative purpose read this book, it does something to you, lights a match. How to Start a Fire and How to Be a Grown-Up were both really enjoyable, both sort of about finding your way when you’re in your 30s or 40s and still looking. All three authors are ones I’ve loved for a long while, so no surprise there. Ended the month with Seating Arrangements which got a lot of critical acclaim in 2012 and that I never felt like picking up but ended up really fully enjoying. But again, anything with a dysfunctional family, throw in a wedding, romantic disputes, an aging patriarch going through a mid-life crisis and I’m on board.



Career of Evil (Cormoran Strike, #3) by Robert Galbraith (J.K. Rowling) (*)

The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty by Vendela Vida (*)

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell

Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell

The Opposite of Loneliness: Essays and Stories by Marina Keegan

It just didn’t feel like the holidays this year. From above average temperatures (it felt like the first day of Fall on Dec 25) to just a general lack of spirit, I escaped to fictional worlds. The newest Cormoran Strike book Career of Evil (read my review at The Coast) really blew me away which was so surprising because while I really liked the first two books, they weren’t something I would rave about really. This one though, hoo boy. The same with The Diver’s Clothes Lie Empty (read my review at The Coast) which was so great, but in a totally different way. More of a literary mystery, instead of a genre mystery. Both ended up on my year-end list though. Then I fell backwards into Rainbow Rowell’s world and I may never get back up. I had enjoyed Landline back in January so much that I decided to try some of her YA books, and Carry On was just sitting there on the new releases rack waiting for me. At first I thought it was pulling a little too heavily from Harry Potter but about 1/4 of the way in it really won me over. The love story was so unexpected and sweet, although, if I had read things in order it wouldn’t have been nearly as unexpected. Fangirl is about a college student that writes fan fiction about a fictional series like Harry Potter in the novel, Carry On is basically the fan fiction she’s writing in the first book, only Rowell says it’s not, it’s a totally separate thing. Not sure why she would give it the same title if it wasn’t though. Anyway, both really really good, easy, light, happy reads. I ended the year on kind of a low note with The Opposite of Loneliness, a book of stories and essays by an author taken entirely before her time, only 5 days after graduating from Yale with a promising future ahead of her, Marina Keegan died in a car crash. Her last essay, the titular The Opposite of Loneliness that was published in the Yale Daily News went viral and touched a lot of people. This posthumous collection is really very good, obviously reflecting her burgeoning talent and the promise of a long and interesting career that she would have had.


All in, I read 68 books total. Blew past my goal of 52 books in 2015 and there were so many good ones. One of the best years in reading so far.


2014: A year in reading

January: The Cuckoo’s Calling by Robert Galbraith (aka JK Rowling), The Invention of Wings by Sue Monk Kidd, Lazy Days by Erlend Loe

It’s always colder than I remember. I finally read JK Rowling’s foray into mystery wondering why she needed to publish it under a male pen name. It’s the year of #ReadWomen2014 and it seems fitting, somehow. It’s really really good, easily devoured. Swinging the opposite direction into Kidd’s historical novel about slavery and abolitionists that I just can’t get behind while Lazy Days just feels lazy.

February: The Opposite of Me by Sarah Pekkanen

It’s weird how I don’t even remember this book. It’s likely I’ll read it again in five years and not realize until 3/4s in. Everything is a jumble because this is the month we adopt our dog Sundance.

March: The Best American Essays 2013, The Likeness by Tana French

The essays are edited by Cheryl Strayed. I finally follow up French’s debut that I loved. This mystery is so strange I fall for it too and add all her other novels to my to read pile. The idea of a series that moves from supporting character to supporting character is great.

April: Bird Box by Josh Malerman

This comes through in a review pile but I never get around to it. A creepy horror novel about an apocalypse that comes about from some kind of creature that drives you insane just by looking at it. Survivors spend their lives blindfolded. It’s good, and feels original, which isn’t easy when it comes to this genre.

May: Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, The Whole Golden World by Kristina Riggle, Sisterland by Curtis Sittenfeld

Everything falls apart. My Grandfather gets sick. Americanah is the kind of life-changing novel that you’re lucky to come across in a year. The hype is real. I need to feel light so I flip to YA but it just makes me cry. Two equally mediocre novels follow it. We buy a house.

June: Mad About the Boy by Helen Fielding, Beautiful Ruins by Jess Walter, The Thing Around Your Neck by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Consumed: Food For a Finite Planet by Sarah Elton

I read Beautiful Ruins in the sun on my porch. When I close my eyes it could be anywhere. In Ohio on the way to the funeral home my mother and I take turns reading short stories aloud from The Thing Around Your Neck. I am so far away. Non-Fiction feels necessary now but only reminds me how broken this world is.

July: One Plus One by Jojo Moyes, Boy, Snow, Bird by Helen Oyeyemi, All My Puny Sorrows by Miriam Toews, The Traveler by John Twelve Hawks

A good month for reading. I love everything I consume from the single mom raising a girl math genius, to the re-imagining of Snow White and the start of a trilogy about a big brother-esque future that eats me up. But especially Toews’ heart breaking semi-autobigraphical look at a pair of sisters, one who wants to die and the other desperately trying to convince her to live. It’s nominated for, and should have won, the Giller prize.

August: To Rise Again at a Decent Hour by Joshua Ferris, The Dark River by John Twelve Hawks, The Book of Life by Deborah Harkness

We go to Portland and I finish the second in the Twelve Hawks series on the plane. We get engaged under my favourite bridge and I finish The Book of Life on the way home, the last in a trilogy about supernatural love only not shitty like Twilight.

September: A Life in Men by Gina Frangello, The Broke-Ass Bride’s Wedding Guide by Dana LaRue, The Golden City by John Twelve Hawks, The Magician’s Land by Lev Grossman, Penguin 75: Designers, Authors, Commentary

My best friend gets married and I get to stand with her at her wedding. There’s a speech. It’s emotional. I read A Life in Men and remember our trip to Europe, how wrong it could have gone but didn’t. I finish the Twelve Hawks trilogy without a bang, the first two were way better. I also finish the Grossman trilogy which is great. It’s sort of like what Harry Potter would have been if it started in college and starred Malfoy instead. It’s hard not to see it as “borrowing” a little too much from C.S. Lewis and JK Rowling, though.

October: The Vacationers by Emma Straub, Not That Kind of Girl by Lena Dunham, The Silkworm by Robert Galbraith (JK Rowling), How to Build a Girl by Caitlin Moran

It’s cold and Straub is a disappointment. We put up last minute Halloween decorations and I finish the month off perfectly with three awesome books.

November: Yes, Please by Amy Poehler, Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay, Adult Onset by Ann-Marie MacDonald

Possibly the best month of reading yet, all three books end up on my year end list.

December: The Dilettantes by Michael Hingston, Our Endless Numbered Days by Claire Fuller, The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley, Love Enough by Dionne Brand, The Republic of Imagination: America in Three Books by Azar Nafisi, Us Conductors by Sean Michaels, Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

It all went by so fast I think. I finally read Hingston’s book that’s been on my shelf for awhile, it’s as good as I thought it might be. Really enjoyable. Fuller’s yet-to-be-released novel about a girl who’s kidnapped by her survivalist father and raised in a cabin in the woods where he tells her the world has ended is fantastic. It deserves a lot of love in 2015, I hope it gets it. I finally start yet another mystery series that I’ve heard so much about. Brand disappoints, as does Nafisi. I read Us Conductors only because it won the Giller prize and I had to see if it was better than All My Puny Sorrows. It’s beautiful, but no. I finish the year off with an instant favourite. Station Eleven is an apocalyptic tale told in many POVs about a virus that disseminates the world and then, 20 years later, a group of travelling actors and musicians that believe survival isn’t enough. It’s perfect.

Books, Personal

Think of all the books you could read

My to-read pile has morphed into a to-read shelf.I hardly read at all this year—19 books, which is still more than one a month but woefully short of 2012’s impressive 70. To me this feels like an abominable failure.

When I was younger (but not that young, not young enough to admit this out loud and not feel totally embarrassed) I was terrified in the dark. I wasn’t afraid of the dark, I was afraid of my own imagination, because without fail it would begin to churn. I had a number of ways to deal with whatever thoughts would plague me on any given night—reciting every character in the Archie comics that I could think of without repeating or singing the Care Bears countdown were my go-to—but the most effective was to logic my way out of any problem. The first such time I can recall was worrying about vampires. I think this started when I accidentally watched part of Interview with a Vampire and was subsequently scarred for life. Oddly, my abject fear manifested itself in a kind of obsession. For a long time, the only horror movies I could bring myself to endure were vampire-themed, and even now they might be the only ones I truly enjoy. Of course, before coming to terms with the bloodsuckers I had to convince myself they weren’t that scary. So I told myself, “Sure there might be a vampire in the hallway or under your bed, biding its time, but what’s the worst thing that could happen? It either A) kills you, and your life’s over so oh well or it B) turns you into an immortal being. Think of all the books you could read.

It’s a dark way of looking on the bright side (not something I’ve ever been that great at to begin with) and I’ve decided to re-embrace it for 2014. Last year’s resolution was to be a better friend. I’d like to think I managed that—in part just having the mantra helped me get through a few tough spots. This year I’m going to think of the books. That might mean taking some time away from the internet to refocus on reading or setting aside a time every day that I do. Or maybe it means writing more book reviews. What it mainly means, for me though, is to finally make some progress on a book idea I’ve been harbouring throughout 2013. It’s exciting, I’m excited. What about you? What’s 2014 going to be the year of in your life?


The Interestings, life, love and not knowing anything at all, ever

Meg Wolitzer's The InterestingsWe get bound up in each other. It’s inevitable. That’s what makes life interesting—the push and pull of people, especially the ones that you yearn for in one way or another, although not always the way that they want. We make promises in our youth that lack the follow through of day-to-day living. We love people but sometimes with limits, carefully placed for our own protection. That’s what Meg Wolitzer’s The Interestings made me ruminate on. Especially because the central relationships are friendships, of course, but also a little bit of envy, some obsession and love. That strange lingering love that pools itself in your most creative friends. They quench you—that aching need that lives behind your breastbone and never quite goes away. The parts of you that the people you love most might not even understand.

I like what Wolitzer says about honesty, about the secrets you carry with you forever, and the intimacy you sacrifice just by keeping them. It’s a book about a group of friends, sure, but it’s also about knowing and how there isn’t really such a thing, not completely, and how arrogant we are when we think we do. It’s about love but also about what real love lacks and how that’s OK, better even, because it’s not about finding everything but about choice—prioritizing. Which sounds clinical but isn’t. Not really, it’s about being real with yourself about what actually makes you happy.

I don’t talk much about art anymore. I don’t discuss writing, not in the way I used to, all tangled up with big ideas and theories. Plans. It’s not because I can’t, but more because I don’t need to. I’m sated with everyday happiness, the kind that comes from being with someone who has love that shores you up. The kind that passes through generations and lasts. I feel like Julz, really, deciding that I don’t need to be so creative, don’t need to define myself by it or feel like I have to be miserable to feed it. But we’re both still chasing something, a feeling we used to have, a worry for the future.

But maybe that’s just what life is.


On reading Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore in 24 hours

15939672Half-way through Robin Sloan’s bibliophile adventure tale I wasn’t sure that I liked it quite as much as I wanted or expected to. Here were all the ingredients to the perfect story, and for all intents and purposes, I was Sloan’s target audience. So, I was surprised that the adventure wasn’t nearly as striking or pulse pounding as I hoped it would be, but then, I’m getting ahead of myself.

Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore begins with struggling designer Clay Jannon happening upon a help-wanted sign in a mysterious bookstore, exactly the kind of bookstore that I would foam at the mouth to discover, let alone work for, but this is no ordinary bookstore—when Jannon’s curiosity leads him to open one of the books in the tall stacks of the “Waybacklist” he sets in motion an adventure of decoding, spying, infiltrating a secret society and the age-old quest for immortality that hangs heavy in almost all the fantasy novels of my youth. Like Clay Jannon, I owe a great deal of my own imaginative swings to great fantasy series like the Chronicles of Narnia, His Dark Materials and The Lord of the Rings—for Clay, it’s his childhood love of a series called The Dragon-Song Chronicles that primes him for adventure in the first place (after all, if not a fantasy-lover, whose mind would automatically hover in a suspension of disbelief?) and then connects all the mysterious dots, like a key. But, as is the case for so many quests—the result, the treasure, the holy grail is never quite what you expect it to be.

The holy grail in Mr. Penumbra’s 24-Hour Bookstore isn’t what I thought it would be, and like some of the characters who were holding their breath for the secret of life, I was expecting a big hullabaloo, words of wisdom, a secret—the secret—and like so many who hold their breath for such things, I was ultimately disappointed… but only for a moment.

It’s not the quest that makes Sloan’s novel fantastic, not the fantasy, the mystery or the chase—it’s the very last paragraph in a brightly crafted, spinning read that moves you without even realizing it. It’s heart-warming, frenzied, often hilarious tribute to all the books that have come before, all the friendships you forge with the written word, and it’s this—the very last line, “A clerk and a ladder and a warm golden light, and then: the right book exactly, at exactly the right time.”

Because sometimes, that’s all it takes. It’s the trump card, Sloan—you nailed it.


The End of Everything is hard to abandon

I’m a sucker for an unreliable narrator. And what could be more questionable than a 13-year-old girl’s account of the mysterious disappearance of her best friend?

Lizzie Hood, your average suburban middle-class tween is suddenly not so average when her best friend Evie goes missing one day after school. Overnight she becomes the closest link police have to the missing girl and the crutch Evie’s father leans on in her disappearance. She must know something, maybe she just doesn’t recall it, but she must know something. In her efforts to uncover the truth about Evie’s disappearance, Lizzie treads closer and closer to an adult world she can’t quite comprehend, the violence of desire and the lengths she’s willing to go to bring her friend back.

Megan Abbott writes crime thrillers so you might be surprised to find out that the actual crime here is secondary to the story. What Abbott really focuses on is the insidious relationship that brews between young girls and the older male figures in their lives. This is a line Abbott toes throughout the book and then casually stomps right over.

The most curious part is the agency the girls have. It’s Lizzie who puts herself in compromising positions with Evie’s father, Lizzie whose desire for a father figure—or maybe to be part of Evie’s family—moves her to command his attention in any way that she can. The father is supposedly so grief-stricken that he either can’t see what’s happening or perverted enough to see how far she’ll take it. Both Evie and her sister, Dusty, are equally fulfilling their own destinies. There are no adults in The End of Everything; there are teenagers stumbling into maturity and parents who refuse to take responsibility for themselves or the impact they are having on their kids. And the kids? The kids aren’t taken…they go willingly.

It has tinges of Lolita but told through the eyes of the Lolita that Humbert imagines. As though, any young girl would want that. But, then, maybe I just didn’t grow up in the same suburbia that they did. If you’re looking for a hard-to-put-down read you’ve definitely found it, but the story—and the dark slimy layers underneath it—aren’t as easy to abandon as the book is when you’re through.

Books, Prose, Writing

Oh, the places I’ve been

A quick recap for all my admiring fans. cough. I got more traffic on my last post about the publishing apocalypse than on anything else all year! I feel like this means I’m not a crazy person ranting to the wind. Rather, a crazy person ranting to the relative silence of the internet.

Or something.

To my left is my most recent book review for The Coast, they didn’t see fit to post it online but it was in the print paper. The book of poetry is Sympathy Loophole by Jaime Forsythe, a local writer, and it is actually  slap-yourself-in-the-face-amazing. She’s that good. Quirky, funny, but also a little dark and disturbing. All things that are good in a book of poetry. And reading it didn’t feel like a chore—as I find a lot of poetry does—rather, each new poem was a treat to be read and reread. I mean, any author that has you reading up to and including their page of acknowledgements is pretty special.

Today, you can find a bit of fiction I wrote called “The Last Summer of Love” over at Pooping Rainbows:

It was the summer of engagement. Almost as if—like a light turning on—the entire generation took that next relationship step together, feet protruding in unison.

At first, you wanted to hear all the details: the whens and whys and hows of it all. But, WILL YOU MARRY ME? spelled out in beach rocks was superseded by a villa in Italia and then a handmade scrapbook with Post-it notes, rings hidden in cakes, Jumbo-trons, hot air balloons, a dolphin trained to flip a fish into her hands—“But look inside it!” Screaming yes with fish bones in her hair and scales under her nails, which of course would all wash off but the ring…the ring would last forever.

You can also scan last month’s “Ophidiophobia” which is a little bit darker:

I’ve always been afraid of earthworms. Their bodies curling in around themselves, stranded on the pavement, each segment a revulsion, what I imagine the inside of my throat to look like—pulled inside out.

And, that’s about it for now. Thanks for keeping up with me!