The Girls by Emma Cline

Emma Cline's The Girls popped up on Reese Witherspoon's Book Club Instagram page and suddenly it had 49 holds at the library, which - in my mind - translates to it being one of the season's it books. So I used a Christmas gift card to pay full price at Barnes and Noble, and it sat on my shelf, determined to wait until actual, calendar summer to crack it open. But like that great, splendid family vacation you planned and looked forward to and ended up being a huge bust, The Girls is one, big, juicy double of Nothing Burger; what I've often equated to the ever-so-eloquent Elaine Benes: "It's like a big-budget movie that goes NO WHERE." And since The Girls is a Black Swan-like Freudian trip through masturbatory fantasies more than anything else, Ms. Benes description holds even more true.

Set in California in the summer of 1969, The Girls is highly indicative of 2016/17, with the cultural upheaval and the general indifference to structure and authority. Evie Boyd finds herself adrift after her father leaves for his secretary and her mother flounders with the general survival of life. She finds herself drawn to Suzanne and the world she seemingly controls, a young girl who can burn down a house with a single glare. Though Evie makes it redundantly clear that she is aware of the Linus-esque grunge that follows Suzanne around, she repeatedly makes the decision to ignore it in exchange for what Evie can only assume are bigger and better things. Those "bigger and better" things are "Russell," his "Ranch," and what begins as the largest and most infamous cult phenomenon in history.

The description alone is what makes this book fly off the shelves. And though it is hauntingly written, cryptic, and darkly psychological, the writing, at most, creates a grim haze that, either purposeful or not, engulfs the entire story. Cline uses most of her word count to wax-poetic, which is obviously supposed to highlight the story, if there had been one in the first place. There is adequate imagery, mysterious, dismal, and, naturally, the stuff of horror movies, which would also lend nicely to a story line that isn't mostly about the time in between doing drugs, masturbating, and waiting for life to start. And given the premise of the book, it's not surprising that none of the characters are particularly likeable. Lacking base and any sort of substance, Cline's actors are very stoic and one-dimensional; like the robotic ducks you shoot at carnivals. Even highly sexual, angry, too-bitter-for-a-14-year-old-who-didn't-suffer-trauma-or-abuse Evie can't make a story appear where there is none.

Emma Cline's The Girls reeks of poor-little-rich-girl, out for excitement before being yanked back from the brink, and is a textbook case of childhoods lacking an appropriate father/male figure. Evie Boyd is a genius depiction of every adolescent, willfully naive, 14-year old girl spending her summer being too old for everything and being too young for everything. But where Cline goes full-speed ahead on language, the rest of the book is a lot of start-and-go before finally crapping out on the side of the highway. It is gruesome yet vague, and oddly descriptive without actually telling us anything. And though nothing really happens until the last 30 pages, what story line does materialize is obvious and cliche. I had been anticipating this book for an entire year and it was a major let-down. And while I appreciate and respect Cline's obvious writing talent, The Girls felt largely under-developed and mostly like I was reading Cline's diary interspersed with her own personal fantasies; like if the Black Swan danced through the Manson Murders.

(Shout-out to my Mom who recently told me she reads this blog. HI MOM!)

The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead

Colson Whitehead's The Underground Railroad is an interesting novel to critique. On the one hand, it's a maudlin, bleak, tragedy, peppered with moments of hope, but ultimately bringing into question the nature of humanity, and a pessimistic semblance of meaning as to why we subject each other to such pain and ambivalence. But on the other hand, those grains of hope and perseverance are what propels the story forward, and that which places Cora on a pedestal next to Hermione Granger-Weasley (I figure she'd be progressive like that).

Banking on expecting the unexpected, Whitehead weaves a startling tale of slavery in America, leaving the reader never knowing if what follows is extreme pain or intense salvation, which is, at it's root, the dormant-come-active volcano of the suppressed. Though in a halting yet poetic prose, Whitehead re-creates a vivid world that can at once, by the educated mind, find parallels to the Native American's plight with the Colonists, to Nazi Occupation, and even so far as the social injustices we experience and witness in present day, rendering this novel a truly timeless tome.

Though widely praised - I first heard about it during the patented-15-second segment on the Today Show - I can understand why some would find this novel depressing and dull, and otherwise confusedly written. Being the first of Whitehead's for me to read, I just assumed this his style, thus reading his words with a slow fluidity. The downside of this, however, was that I couldn't blaze through it like a page-turner, but found myself setting it down every few pages in order to digest the enormity of what I had just read. Even with his vague imagery and lack of direct character interactions, the impact of his story was not lost on me, which - I'm assuming - is the point.

What struck me the most while reading this book was how shockingly familiar it all was, leaving me to really contemplate the illusion of the world we live in, which is why I am of the former opinion, that The Underground Railroad is on par with such classics as To Kill A Mockingbird, Black Like Me (though I didn't enjoy that nearly as much), and Invisible Man. Cora, though unexpectedly, is a real, true hero; a woman of gumption, courage, and though it tries to be beaten from her, a strong sense of self-worth. I applaud and appreciate Whitehead for creating such a character - and female at that - of whom I would be proud to know.

The Dollhouse by Fiona Davis

As many a bookworm can attest, naming your favorite book can be almost as complicated and emotional as naming your favorite child. But without warning, Fiona Davis' The Dollhouse rapidly ascends to one of the coveted top spots.

I'll be honest, The Dollhouse was a book I passed on many times over when I saw it at the library, breaking the cardinal rule of reading: judging a book by it's cover. Then a fellow Instragrammer and bibliophile raved about it so my next trip to the library felt like I had hit the jackpot. I wasn't sure what to expect from the book, but I certainly didn't expect it to grab me by my glove-less hand and transport me to a world of propriety, glitz, glam, and gumption. And that I'd never want to leave.

Unlike Donoghue's The Wonder, Davis doesn't utilize any specific writing style to separate her book from any others, but she creates vivid, empathetic characters who we can't decide if we want to be best friends with, or just be period. Darby, Rose, and the gang are so magnetic and charming, the mystery of the plot - which serves to prop up the storyline - is quickly lost to simply wanting to know more about the characters and their lives; like FRIENDS but with more drug rings and alcohol, and less coffee houses and sarcastic one-liners. A story I didn't want to end, I was completely enveloped in the energetic atmosphere, enchanting setting, and the engrossing, expertly intertwining tale.

Written in alternating chapters, which could have muddied the story, Davis ingeniously infuses her tale with blatant label-feminism, and highlights the almost anti-feminist fact that we humans need each other, from the basic food-and-water necessities, to the complexities of navigating a hotel for women in New York City, both in the 1950's and in present-day. Davis expertly tells of what it meant to need a man back then and what it meant to NOT need a man, as well as what it means to need a man in present-day, and how those issues are strikingly different but also shockingly similar. Davis even throws in some sexual identity issues just to make the melting pot even spicier. The elements Davis includes in The Dollhouse are brilliant, from the basic plot backbone, all the way down to the details of a simple spec of spice.

Written in a to-the-point, almost blog-ish way, Davis appropriately and concisely wraps up any loose ends in such a way that is sympathetic to the complex characters, yet isn't stymied by some horrific, just-for-the-sake-of-drama tragedy that would sully the actors or setting. So while the mystery added a fragrant twist, the spicy characters and the peppery plot were able to stand on their own. As an avid bookworm, I'm excited to see what Fiona Davis comes up with next...

The Wonder by Emma Donoghue

For some reason - even for authors I can't get enough of - I am of the mindset that once an author publishes a "New York Times Bestseller," that's it; they're done. Like the Tubthumping of novels. So I was equally surprised to not only discover that Emma Donoghue - of Room fame - had released a new novel, but that it was added to none other than Reese Witherspoon's Book Club. Sorry, Oprah; your's is so 90's. Room, with it's unique viewpoint yet not-so-unique storyline, left me with author trepidation, much like some people feel for Gillian Flynn. But after I read the premise of The Wonder - a young girl who is believed to subsist on little else than water and thin air for four-plus months - oh, there was no question I had to read this book, Reese Witherspoon recommendation aside (but that definitely helped).

Though an avid reader, the history of the Fasting Girls - known throughout Europe in the 19th Century - is a subject matter I was/am not at all familiar with. And while Donoghue's novel is mainly fiction, it is exquisitely researched and effectively communicated. The language and stilted prose have a tendency to muddy the scenes, but overall adds to the experience of reading the story. And Donoghue's electric, deeply troubled characters lend credence to a tale that could just as easily sore on its own merits.

This story, so deeply rooted in pious faith, is at times both blasphemous and devout; where the lines between dutiful faith and obvious logic simultaneously strengthen and blur; when God leads us to where miracles and science co-exist for the whole of mankind. A true testament to a young mind's devotion to her God and family, Anna - The Wonder - teaches Nurse Lib not only of the pitfalls, but also the restoration, of faith, and how it can happen to the most unlikely among us. Reminiscent of Unholy Night, The Wonder not only spotlights that often evil is done under the cloak of religion, but that faith is also the safety net when there is nothing left, which, more often than not, means using the tools God has already given us.

Told with an abrupt, stoic, bitter tone, none of the characters are particularly likable but all are somewhat relatable and make us question what we would do in Lib's position; or the mother's; or Anna's; or the doctor's; or even the priest's. Stunning, gripping, horrifying, and enigmatic, Donoghue's story is brilliantly executed and effectively constructed, and is one of those rare reads sure to spark discussions among book clubs and college courses the world over.

The Heart You Need by Diane R. Jewkes

It's hard to believe that during my thus far lustrous reading career that I could encounter anymore "firsts" when it comes to books. But alas, I have; and for a few different reasons. First, The Heart You Need by Diane R. Jewkes was my first foray into e-reading. Second - and perhaps even harder to believe - Jewkes' foray into Historical Romance was my first of this particular genre, which was coupled with yet another first - being approached and asked to read this specific book in exchange for an honest review. So while Historical Romance with a Sensual classification isn't a section of the library I will find myself in very often, Jewkes, with her multifaceted characters, intriguing story lines, and impeccable research, just might have me going back.

Set against the backdrop of San Francisco on the cusp of becoming one of the world's most formidable cities, we meet Adeline - Linnie - who is a formidable woman in her own right. Using her job as a Society columnist, Linnie repeatedly straddles the boundaries between proper decorum and family loyalty, but not without the help of new companions, Alec, Kara, and Hawke. In her characters, Jewkes expertly crafts a cast who are both likable and relatable, but also highly emotionally-charged, while managing to avoid being overly dramatic. With exquisite, clear imagery, Romantic prose, and artful metaphors, Jewkes pays homage not only to the budding romance of Linnie and Alec, but also to the beauty of the budding West.

Alec, thanks to the talents of Ms. Jewkes, is a splendid character who is not only strong, stubborn, and sometimes boorish, but skillfully sexual and ruggedly romantic. On business from Scotland, he meets Linnie in the most obscure way and soon finds himself enraptured by her penchant for moving a mile a minute; one moment she's there, then another she's gone, at least until she's wrapped in Alec's broad arms. But while we can appreciate this particular facet of Linnie, the execution and transfer of the scenes can sometimes be a bit rocky and sudden. Nevertheless, Jewkes employs her charismatic characters to steer the story into very intriguing places.

As a storyteller, Jewkes is an exceptional writer, creating clear, concise plot movement, and her meticulous use of metaphors is on point. Her sex scenes are cigarette worthy, and she expertly gives us a twist in the story without waxing poetic or using unnecessary filler. Reminiscent of a Hallmark Channel movie or mini-series, The Heart You Need provides just enough danger and violence to keep you turning the page, but not so much so that you can't read the book late at night. However, while Jewkes skillfully and appropriately ties up the loose ends, one pivotal plot point remains unanswered, which - given that this is her second novel in what I can only assume will be a lustrous literary career - may pave the way for a companion novel or sequel. Jewkes skilled linkage of each character and story - a la Thomas Kinkade - can only lead to more novels starring this magnetic cast.

All in all, I couldn't have chosen a better novel to steal my e-reading virginity than The Heart You Need. Well thought-out, exceptionally researched, and exquisitely emotional, Jewkes' talent can only get better from here. When she eventually stands with Nora Roberts, Danielle Steel, and Stella Cameron, I can say I knew her when...