Every Ugly Word » Book Review

This review is my attempt to finally get through some of my Netgalley backlogs in the hopes that I can pull up my dismal feedback ratio to a reasonable level. I was supposed to review this more than a YEAR ago.

Let that sink in guys... and let the walk/write of shame, begin.

Every Ugly Word

This is a difficult book for me to describe, let alone review. I was just so surprised by how much it moved me. I thought it would be like many of the other contemporary YA books out there. Compelling enough, but lacking some fundamental depth. However, Every Ugly Word didn't pull any punches.

The novel starts off with Ashley, the main character, sitting in a psychiatrist's office at an inpatient mental facility. She is desperate to leave that day, and the only way to do so, is by recounting the events that led to her commitment in the hopes that the doctor would believe that she has recovered enough to go home. Every chapter begins with conversation and analysis with the doctor, followed by an episodic account of her life. This served the dual purpose of building tension within and across chapters while giving us information and background on our protagonist.

There is an element of magical realism within the story. Ashley can see an older version of herself in the mirror and has frequent conversations with her. Older Ashley tries to be a source of support for current Ashley, in the hopes that the younger Ashley would choose a different path and have a healthier outcome.

I was very intrigued by the author's choice to use that element in her story. I have been in outpatient therapy for several years for a variety of issues, one of them being trauma. In therapy, I have been frequently encouraged to 'talk to the little girl inside me'. It sounds wonky, I know. But it's done in an effort to help you be there for yourself through those past traumatic memories without having to rely on others, especially those who have been unsupportive in the past. I found the parallels between the aforementioned therapy technique and Ashley communicating with her older/younger self quite surprising. I wonder if the author had made that connection on purpose, or if it just happened to be a coincidence.

The romance in the book is also very realistic. Most contemporary YAs make the fatal mistake of introducing the concept that love conquers all, even trauma and mental illness. And nothing could be farther from the truth. In the beginning of the book, Ashley views Matt with love-blind glasses. But as the novel progresses, we see Ashley realizing that Matt is just as flawed as everyone else. She realizes that Matt can't fix her, and that sometimes there is nothing to fix. There is nothing to do but to just get through those terrible moments with whatever willpower there is left, and have hope for a better future.

There is a wonderful quote towards the end of the book that sums up what it's like to go through a horrific event and feel how different you are. How empty, yet hopeful.

"I was afraid because, even after everything I'd overcome, I still had holes. My dreams were coming true - but they weren't filling the gaps. I still felt... less than. I'd decided to keep fighting, keep searching for answers. Because as long as I did that, there would always be a chance my holes would heal. I could have hope. My gaps only became inevitable when I stopped believing they could be filled."

Every Ugly Word is free through Kindle Unlimited.

My Heart and Other Black Holes Review

Right now, novels about teen suicide are everywhere.  Just in the last few weeks, we've seen four high-profile ones — All the Bright Places, I Was Here, The Last Time We Say Goodbye, and My Heart and Other Black Holes.  I wasn't sure if I was up to reading another suicide book so soon after All the Bright Places, the ending of which really frustrated me, but Jasmine Warga's debut came in at my library, I sat down to browse the opening pages, and then I couldn't stop reading.  I read the whole thing at my library, while sitting in a horribly uncomfortable wooden chair.

This really speaks to the excellent flow of My Heart and Other Black Holes.  I haven't read through a book so smoothly in some time.

The general subject matter is nothing new under the sun, but Warga does focus on a concept I haven't come across before — suicide partners.  The idea of suicide partners is that by teaming up to plan and execute your suicide with another person, your chances of successfully killing yourself go up.

This is dire stuff, right?  It's so starkly bleak that I almost couldn't believe I was reading such dismal content in a book marketed towards young, impressionable readers.  It's not that I believe in censorship.  Just that I'm alarmed by the thought of depressed kids being sucked down even farther into despair by reading a high-profile, critically affirmed YA.

Thankfully, if troubled individuals read through the end of My Heart and Other Black Holes, they might actually be positively bolstered by the book's message — that severe depression, although it can seem utterly insurmountable, is something that can be fought against.

Overall, this positive message, along with the brisk pacing, compelling characters, and realistic depiction of major depression make My Heart and Other Black Holes an above-average read that I really enjoyed.

I give it four stars and recommend.

Tampa Review

This novel is not enjoyable to read.  I went through it as quickly as I could, treating it as a grim, grim task.  I'm left very torn over whether it's a book of any worth.  I'm uncertain over the author's motives for writing it.  What am I sure of?

It is a book about a female sexual predator. 

The most convincing arguments I've read that support Tampa praise the book for its examination of predatory female sexuality.  They argue that Nutting's writing is feminist, that treating women as the superior sex — less evil, more saintly than men — actually does women a disservice.  Better instead to acknowledge the full spectrum of female behavior. This is an argument that I understand, and can even get behind.  Because of this point of view, I have a reason to not throw Tampa in the trash.

Nutting uses explicit language.  

It cannot be argued that Tampa isn't sexually explicit.  The question is, does Nutting verge into the gratuitous?  In my opinion, yes.  Nutting has a reason for the lascivious prose — she wants to provoke the reader.  But she goes above and beyond.  I was so provoked by Nutting's language, that my nausea overtook my intellectual reactions.  To be fair, I consider Lolita.  Now universally celebrated, Nabokov's masterpiece elicited horror and disgust at the time of its publication.  It could very well be that, for me, Tampa's hyperbole is masking its worth.

The novel is interpretable.  

I found Tampa to be largely problematic, but the novel does elicit thought and elicit argument. That alone should warrant the book's worth, but does Tampa's repulsive gratuitousness strangle what points it strives to make?  My answer: yes.

 

 

Review: The Dinner

Mostly I'm a kindhearted person.  But the truth is, I have a nasty streak.  Let me be clear! In no way am I a threat to society!  In fact, I'm kind of a goody-two-shoes.  Still, I'm a flawed human being.  I smile and laugh. I cry and sneer.

Being so flawed, I find myself drawn to black humor.  Humor of the, "That's awful! Haha!" variety.  Along with that, I have a sympathy for crooked characters.  And I appreciate the exorcism of human demons through fiction. All of this is to say, I loved Herman Koch's The Dinner.  

The narrator of The Dinner is a Dutchman named Paul.  He, his wife, his brother, and his sister-in-law, gather one evening for dinner at an upscale restaurant.  They meet to discuss their teenage sons, who have committed a shocking crime...  Which is gradually revealed in bits and pieces.

As readers, we take in all of this information through Paul alone, and his cognitions are both hyperactive and deranged.  Is he an unreliable narrator? Absolutely.  While reading, you can occasionally glimpse a glimmer of reality through the fog of Paul's perceptions, and the stark contrast often provoked my disbelieving laughter.  He's a fun narrator — if you happen to be fascinated by behavior on the psychopathic/sociopathic spectrum.  His rhetoric is utterly insane!

Just so, reading the book is a twisty ride.  I was amazed by how fast I was turning the pages, because the plot was miniscule.  For the most part, the book's events take place during a single night, so the main heft of the book is the gradual revelation of Paul's character, the slow understanding of his son's crime, and a crazy amount of detail (emphasis on the crazy.)  Although, for having a tiny plot, the book had a great sense of suspense.  In many cases, Paul reacts to information before he shares it with us — we hear the scream before we see the monster.

Despite loving this book — I give it five north stars out of five — I do understand that it won't appeal to everyone.  If, especially, you're put off by depraved characters — or if justice helps you fall asleep at night — maybe pass on The Dinner.