Nine Perfect Strangers by Liane Moriarty

Of the Liane Moriarty books I've read, I'm about 50/50. I loved The Hypnotist's Love Story and Big Little Lies, but I did not enjoy My Husband's Secret or Truly, Madly, Guilty. Each story she creates is so intriguing and intricate that each book needs to be taken independent from the others, unlike some authors who disappoint you once, shame on them; disappoint you twice, shame on you, and aren't worth going back to. After reading her latest, Nine Perfect Strangers, Moriarty proves she is an author worth your attention and effort.

Each for their own personal and confidential reasons, nine strangers arrive at a remote Australian health resort prepared for what is promised to be "transformative." Run by an enigmatic, beautiful, former Corporate Executive who was inspired to start Tranquilliam House after her brush with death, things start out as normal as possible for a remote health resort - massages, Yoga, meditation, smoothies, no technology, etc. Suddenly, during a moonlight meditation, things turn kooky, and then just plain crazy. You, the Reader, quite honestly cannot guess what will happen next.

This story is creative and compassionate, even as it underscores the snap judgments we make about strangers for the sole purpose of unburdening ourselves of our own insecurities, complete with cute nicknames like Loony Woman and Serial Killer. The book jacket boasts that you "will laugh and gasp" and that is most definitely true. Nine Perfect Strangers is unexpected and nutty with a charismatic cast of characters who are witty and interesting with just the right amount of drama to perfectly reflect...life. The writing is clear and jocular, dramatic fun that is not overly horrifying but still gives you pause. Definitely one of Moriarty's better novels, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐/5 on goodreads.  

The Reckless Oath We Made by Bryn Greenwood

Wow, what a peculiar book. An imaginative, harsh, yet whimsical, novel that sucks you in without you even realizing it. Eventually you are just so invested in Zee and Gentry and the eclectic cast of characters that The Reckless Oath We Made by Bryn Greenwood feels more like a show you want to binge-watch instead of the novel you can't put down. It is an interesting story, told like no other, and, to be completely honest, had I not read (and loved) All The Ugly and Wonderful Things, this story synopsis might not have appealed to me. As it was, it took me a few passes to eventually select ATUWT and books like those remind me of why I always take a chance on them. While slightly obscure on the surface, The Reckless Oath We Made is innately human and as real as real can get, and told by a true writing talent.

Lady Zee - Zhorzha - is nobody's Princess. But two years ago, told by the voices in his head, Gentry is called to be her Champion - her watch and protector and hero in all things. Mostly he has kept his distance, and his autism prevents him from looking her in the eye, or barely speaking to her in those last two years. But when a dangerous abduction puts Gentry directly in line to protect her, the two forge a unique, empathetic friendship that leads them into very dangerous territory, both in their attempt to help Zee's kidnapped sister, as well as what it means to intertwine two very different people.

Greenwood's writing is superb. It is real and honest and specific to each of her dynamic characters with just the right amount of sarcasm, wit, and humor. She creates a cast that we either love or hate but are nonetheless invested, and Zee and Gentry's story is complex and unassuming. I had no idea what to expect with the ending, or how it would make me feel, as this is a truly unique story. But where Elin Hilderbrand is Queen of the Beach Read, Greenwood is Queen of the Final Scene.

There is nothing blatantly special about the two endings of Greenwood's books that I have read and perhaps that is why they deliver such a gut-punch. They are simple, standard scenes in which Zee and Gentry (et al) are being the most human in their lives, doing something as normal and mundane as sitting around a dinner table, or taking a picnic atop a grassy hill, being happy in the moment, being themselves free of judgment and full of only love and friendship, real, human people who have walked through fire and made it out ok on the other side. Greenwood's endings are a subtle reminder that we can do this thing called life, in every form that takes.

Greenwood's books are truly unlike any other. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐/5 on goodreads. 

The Bucket List by Georgia Clark

I've noticed that I have an interesting habit when it comes to the books that I end up finding absolutely amazing and how I select them at the library. The last few phenomenal books, I've picked them up off the shelf, read the synopsis, briefly considered adding it to my stack, before ultimately putting it back for next time. After two or three rounds of this, I finally bite the bullet and take the book home, and usually wind up utterly blown away. The Bucket List by Georgia Clark is...brilliant. It is witty and fun, heart-warming and heart-breaking, sexy and hilarious. I laughed-out-loud with, literally, every turn of the page, and found several moments where tears sprang to my eyes. I'm not usually on the yay-women! bandwagon, but this is a book every woman can appreciate, for so many, many reasons.

Lacey Whitman is a brash up-and-comer on the New York fashion scene, 25-years old and not afraid of a little hard work. Assuming it's nothing, and just another box Lacey wants to get ticked off, she requests the testing for the BCRA1 gene mutation only to find out that she's positive. With an almost-certainty that she will get cancer at some point in her life, Lacey is faced with deciding on years of close surveillance or mastectomy. While trying to choose, Lacey and her friends realize just how connected our boobs are to our sexuality, and even relationships, so they create a Boob Bucket List; everything she's ever wanted to do with her boobs before they get lopped off or turn into ticking time bombs.

To start, this book is phenomenally written. It is deep and profound, yet sharp and funny. Clark has her pulse on the cultural polarities, while also creating something deeply soulful and real. And each element to the story, each character, adds a component to the book that everyone can appreciate or relate to. I have none of the medical issues that Lacey is faced with, but this book resonated with me in ways I didn't expect.

At times, you love and empathize with Lacey, and at times you think she's a selfish bitch, because she is all of us; she is all of us women wrapped up in a colorfully likable character who is faced with a most undesirable decision with equally life-altering consequences. She is trying to navigate the tumultuous roads of friendships, relationships, family, and career, while stumbling into the stereotypical woman-pitfall of needing to be everything to everyone and a burden on no one. What on the surface is campy, fluffy chick-lit, actually touches on so many topics, especially those important to women, including our sexuality. 

Clark expertly makes the distinction between being in control of our sexuality and it being controlled for us, as Lacey discovers that, as she sits in the driver's seat of sex-ed, it ignites other, more fierce powers within her, giving her confidence in the areas of her life not ruled by libido. Clark also brilliantly showcases the fine line between caring for ourselves and when that self-care turns selfish and starts to harm others. And this is a fantastic read for a time in our culture when we're trying to find the socially acceptable balance between sex and power, and grasp how the two relate, compliment, and confuse one another. What Clark offers up in The Bucket List is charming and charismatic and covers the wide spectrum of emotions as Lacey goes through it all - fear, indecision, lust, romance, rejection, loss, anger, heartbreak, and happiness, all with a wry, infectious humor that really makes you believe laughter is the best medicine.

The Bucket List also gave me a new appreciation for boobs and a deeper understanding of just how involved they are in our lives and those we choose to bring close to us. They are our sexual antennas, our pregnancy beacons, and worshiped by many. I encourage anyone with an interest in good books, relatable characters, and laughing through the tears of the curve-balls of life to read this book. I encourage people who have the gene mutation, breast cancer, or know people from either to read this book. 

I laughed, I cried, and I am so glad that - after three tries - I finally checked it out. Let's hear it for the ladies! (And get those checked out, too.)

Ghosted by Rosie Walsh

No doubt the Russian bots over in Europe are well-versed in my constantly-touted Top Five Fave List, because it is so coveted and all, and due to my tremendous pull in the literary world. 🙄 But I have decided to permanently name it the Phenomenal Phive, and it exists only in my mind. Rather than being an ever-rotating tabulation, I envision my list like slots waiting to be filled. And although I read, on average, 30 books a year, and I award a lot of five stars on Goodreads for the simple fact that I am able to appreciate most everything I read, only a handful of books have ever really given me all the feels; and that is what makes a phenomenal book. Ghosted by Rosie Walsh is, in a word, phenomenal. Fortunately, I have a lot of other words to use to describe this incredible, beautifully-crafted story with multi-layered, heart-breakingly complicated characters. Where Heart's Invisible Furies fell flat in the drama of missed opportunities; and reminiscent of what made The Woman in the Window utterly heartbreaking, Ghosted absolutely shines and takes its rightful place among phenomenal books.

Sarah Mackey is a trans-Atlantic mover-and-shaker who has convinced herself that she is happy. A chance meeting on a particularly challenging day and suddenly Sarah is certain her happiness lies in Eddie David, a large, handsome, charming man tending to a stray sheep. After a whirlwind week together, they part ways and he says he'll call. Only he doesn't. And seems to disappear altogether. But Sarah is convinced it is more than just a simple change of mind. What follows is a heart-twisting tale packed with romance, mystery, drama, heartbreak, love, loyalty, desire, and betrayal set against a backdrop of beautifully-engineered imagery. The writing is exquisite, packed with such standard, though powerful, details that give the book wings, and sparkle, and flavor, and to read it is to feel like an elephant is sitting on your chest. Ghosted made my heart race, made me yearn for the unanswered questions, made me laugh out loud, and moved me to tears. This is an extraordinary book that is - according to the Goodreads reviews - not given its proper due, which is truly unfortunate. The basic premise - the infamous guy who never calls - is so much deeper and more poignant that what the book jacket suggests, which is perhaps why this book does not meet certain readers' expectations. But, wow. Just, wow. This book is absolutely stunning and is one of those I wish I could give a million stars to.

But with every book I find absolutely phenomenal, there are reviews of it that I absolutely do not understand. Case in point, the reviews of All the Ugly and Wonderful Things truly make me angry. Some reviewers thought Ghosted to be, "blah," but this book is a wonderful example of the importance of reading every single word; the "Eddie" section alone is pure romantic torture. I hope people read this book and see the life in it; see the joy and sorrow that is burdened on every person who walks this earth, and how some feel that their mere existence is a cause for pain. And I hope people read this book and see the power, and love, and new life that can suddenly be sprung on us at any moment. This is definitely a book that could be read in a weekend and you might need a handkerchief come the final chapter. But, wow, is it a tremendous book and I happily award it a slot on the Phenomenal Phive.

In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex

Book after book, genre after genre, century after century, tales of animals seemingly "turning against" man is considered unfathomable; at once scary, un-Godly, un-natural, and - to us - completely unprovoked. Take the year 2012 in which James Patterson's Zoo was published. A relentlessly stupid, over-dramatic story so obviously written to appease the warped minds of TV producers and directors that the point of the story was completely lost: humans are not just mere spectators in this melting pot of ecosystems.

Almost 200 years earlier, the disaster of the whaling ship The Essex follows a similar pattern and familiar theme; both books - one fiction, one non - leaves us with the ever-burning question of if and when animals will finally turn against man for real.

While Nathaniel Philbrick doesn't outwardly explore this particular theme in In the Heart of the Sea, choosing instead to focus ,,more on the intricacies of nineteenth century sailing and whaling more than anything else, it can't be ignored by the avid reader, especially since most of the whaling industry was fueled by ego, machismo, and the supposed ultimate dominion over the world. Philbrick expertly articulates this idea in his book, but perhaps a little too well.

In shockingly few pages, Philbrick relays a sea of information that is at times helpful but mostly confusing, speaking as if the reader already has a working knowledge of Northeastern shipping, whaling, and societal culture. He, however, does an admiral job of linking information he previously mentioned to what is currently happening in the story, and any conflicting accounts and fictional tales; Moby Dick makes several appearances as a point of reference and almost as proof to his tale.

Aside from what those of us who have never been whaling find confusing, In the Heart of the Sea is a captivating story of the lengths people go to to line their pockets.

While the book does make central the animalistic instinct of survival, it's hard to miss the underlying point that man wouldn't find themselves seeking revenge on giant whales (both metaphorical and literal) had they not put themselves in those very positions in the first place; and for little else than a chance at a paycheck. And although seeking wealth is taboo among many major religions, Philbrick subtly points out through his story that our interest in defeating nature as a means to wealth perhaps stems from our need for spiritual guidance, with many sects preaching man's superiority and rule over Earth as a right and truth. Such is the case here in regards to the Quakerism practiced among many a whaler. And oftentimes as a result of oppression in the name of this religion, ego and suppressed rage took over in an almost sub-human form. Given that, it's hard to come away from the book viewing these whalers as anything resembling heroes, especially as Philbrick dissected the always-taboo subject of cannibalism.

Although not the first documented case of the practice, and certainly not the last, Philbrick carefully, if not a tad gruesomely, attacks the issue of cannibalism by highlighting that eating one's fellow human does little to alleviate death or even hunger, especially in terms of the mind. Philbrick points out that fear of cannibals is what kept the survivors from uncharted islands, contributing to their almost pointless and futile drift around the Pacific Ocean, but doesn't go so far as to point out the hypocrisy of their decision to eat human flesh, skirting the issue by focusing instead on their struggle with the mere idea then ultimate execution.

But all of that aside, In the Heart of the Sea serves little as a warning and more just adds to the depths of whaling lore. Known as the "Titanic of it's day," the very idea that a Titanic II is well under way proves we have learned nothing. Philbrick's story of a time centuries before - and Patterson's tale of a time centuries later - proves we never will.

Fierce Kingdom by Gin Phillips

I try not to pull the Mother Card; the, "only a mother would understand," half-insult to everyone who hasn't pushed a kid out of their body, or adopted one as soon they were. I parent like they did in the '80's - I don't know what they're doing and they don't know what I'm doing. But reading Fierce Kingdom by Gin Phillips tugged at a very specific part of my heart, the part that was suddenly ignited after having, and taking care of, my own kids. While this novel will no doubt have a profound affect on most anyone who reads it, a mother can take this novel to another, heart-wrenching level. I would love to lead a discussion group comprised of both moms and non-moms to dissect the depths of this book.

A fast-paced, breathless novel, Fierce Kingdom begins as the zoo is closing and Joan and her 4-year old son, Lincoln, are rushing to the exit. As he picks up his toy action figures, a tragedy begins - and continues to unfold - unbeknownst to them and a few other zoo stragglers. Creating a world in which the desolate zoo is creepy in and of itself, Phillips is able to implore that while being accidentally locked in with the scraggly animals isn't ideal, it's about to become downright dangerous. The next three hours - the entirety of the novel - is a gripping, suspenseful game of cat-and-mouse that has become all too commonplace in today's world.

Well-written in a halting, concise manner, Phillips creates a vivid world within in the zoo, where the outside world, and the Who's and Why's don't matter. However, the imagery is a bit too much and I found myself either zoning out or getting confused, and important details seem to pop out of nowhere, causing me to re-read several pages, or have to flip back. What Phillips does expertly, though, is create a character in Joan that is Mother; playing on the natural empathy of humans in general and the savage empathy of mothers in particular. There is not a mother alive who wouldn't ask themselves, "what would I have done?" without also completely understanding the steps Joan takes; the trash can scene in particular is a genius indicator of where we land on the Nuclear Family timeline.

A page-turner at its best, this is a quick, though emotionally savage, novel that made me cling to my three-and-a-half-year old son - and oddly enough - want to visit the zoo, because - as Susanna Daniel expertly observes - we live "in a world teeming with pressing domestic details along with unpredictable violence." A brilliant gut-punch of a read.

The Last Winter of Dani Lancing by P.D. Viner

My husband asked me, "What is the book you're reading about?" And I said, "A college girl is found raped and murdered."

"Oh my God. And you won't even watch the news!"

But books like these - crime thrillers - aren't just about telling the tragedy. In The Last Winter of Dani Lancing by P.D. Viner, the story revolves around the ripples that perpetuate right after - and even long after - death and tragedy; the people affected, involved, and devastated are the eye of their self-inflicted storms. These books are usually always entertaining, page-turners, and creatively crafted, but The Last Winter of Dani Lancing is brilliantly different in the same way the TV show LOST was cleverly captivating.

Twenty years ago (well, according to 2010), Dani went missing. Several weeks later she was found dead in the most unpleasant of circumstances, and thus begins a chain of events that shock and awe even ten years into the new century. A story such as this is written to require changes in the time period, but Viner expertly does it by not making the switches overly long or overly complicated to where the reader is bogged down with too much information. It is easy to visualize while still maintaining the aura of deep mystery; the reader is able to follow along, reminded of important details in not-so-obvious ways, while still able to form their own theories. But more than just figuring out "whodunnit," Viner creates characters we grow to know, sympathize with, and care about.

As with any novel, especially a crime thriller, each character is deeply flawed and horribly haunted. And, like the Storm of Swords series (Game of Thrones, et al), it can be difficult to spot the so-called good guys from the bad guys, knowing they oftentimes switch (or wind up also dead). But Viner knows, and tragically showcases, that in life there are no good-guys and bad-guys; that we all are one in the same, doing good and loving each other, but also making magnificent mistakes. Through such a terrible story, Viner embraces our empathetic instinct, and the overwhelming desire to love and be loved.

Quickly written, The Last Winter of Dani Lancing has just a few too many pages to read in one sitting, but if you are able to do that, this book definitely won't disappoint.

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.

Certain Girls

Once again, I will gush about the wonder that is Weiner. Jennifer Weiner, to be exact, but I guess the other kind has its positives too.

After you've read a couple of Weiner's books, there are certain characteristics and a certain tone that you eventually come to crave, actually being drawn to reading one of her books, knowing nothing other than that she wrote it so it has to be good. Weiner's Good In Bed is what initially sparked my love of her so you can imagine my excitement when I happened to find a sequel: Certain Girls.

Reading Good In Bed first is a must if understanding auxiliary characters is something that is important to you. Otherwise, I think the overall theme and general plot of the book is something a lot of women can relate to, especially mothers and daughters.

Cannie Shapiro I Won't Even Attempt Her Married Last Time, is the very understatement of "helicopter parent," long before that was even a thing. Her now-teenager, Joy, is your typical, American teenager, embarrassed by her mother and critical to everything she says, does, and wears, but is otherwise beautiful, intelligent, and empathetic. When curiosity gets the better of her and she picks up the fiction-based-on-non-fiction novel her mother published shortly after she was born, Joy's life feels turned upside down. While both blaming her mother and dying to know about a part of her mother's past, she sets out in search of it, be damned she's only 13!

What she finds is both heartbreaking and heartwarming. Through personal experience and by traveling through her mother's past, Joy learns what makes us all human, not perfect and worth understanding and at least sympathy. She learns things aren't always what they seem and that maybe most dark clouds do have silver linings. And that loving your mother really isn't so terrible after all.

With a certain amount of humor you come across in her other books noticeably absent, the laugh-out-loud moments were few and far between, something that also surprised me with her The Guy Not Taken: Stories. But she touches on some difficult subject with charm, wit, and a healthy dose of sarcasm. It's a good curl-up-with-an-Irish-Coffee kind of book while still making you think - especially as a mother to a daughter - how will I handle her questions to me about my past? It also proved to be a beacon of how my writing might one day affect her. It also made me think about my mother and how she handles my questions about her past. What we all want, when we're Joy at age 13, is to not know our mothers are human. When we're an adult with daughters of our own, what we want to know is that they are human.

A Captain's Duty

This particular story flew onto my radar by way of the thing that controls all of our televisions: The Today Show, which is regrettable for a few reasons: 1) The story of Captain Phillips and his kidnapping by Somali pirates, as documented in his memoir, A Captain's Duty, happened not that long ago in April of 2009 but I was just made aware of it in December 2013; and B) The show was interviewing Tom Hanks about his role in the newly released film as Captain Phillips himself. *shudder* After spending most of The DaVinci Code and Angels and Demons wishing someone else had played Robert Langdon, I find it hard to watch a Tom Hanks movie that's not A League of Their Own. So when I heard them discuss the movie, I jumped up to my computer to search for the book. No way there wasn't a book to precede this new Hollywood spectacle. Of course there was a book, and fortunately written by the Captain himself (and Stephan Talty).

I read this in December, long after I had called it quits on the Summer of the Memoir. But after reading several non-fiction, I now consider it one of my favorite genres, and one that I'm inexplicably drawn to. A Captain's Duty did not disappoint.

Phillips is an experienced Merchant Marine with a love and passion for the trade that not everyone shares or understands. He's dealt with his share of ups and downs, crews that wouldn't cooperate or that he had to replace altogether, near-death accidents, and the surprisingly common pirate warnings and seizes. He's learned that remaining calm is the best route to take especially, and which he exemplifies, as he's taken by pirates to use as ransom on the mainland, only heightening his danger as the chance for locating him once on land would be slim to none.

Written with the blunt honesty of a man who spends most of his life at sea, but with an easy-to-understand flow even when it came time to insert all of those blasted Merchant Marine facts and figures, Phillips expertly conveys the waves of emotions during those perilous days at sea. Gripping yet solemn, once Phillips is taken hostage by pirates, the reader can almost imagine him huddled in the life-raft with a pen and paper, documenting every move and breath rather than suffering as he did. Or maybe that is just more comforting for us readers to picture.

The story takes a bit to get going because, as with any book, a certain amount of set-up information is involved. And if you watched any of the news coverage back in 2009, as I didn't because I haven't had cable in a few years, you already know what went down. Was it important is that he lived to tell the tale. And oh what a tale it is, the least we can do is carry it around in our tote and read what actually happened instead of the overblown Hollywood version.

Dark Places

Gillian Flynn does not mess around. When she says she's going to take you to some dark places, boy does she mean it. After finishing Gone Girl, I wasn't sure I'd ever be mentally prepared to step back into the disturbing worlds she seems so hell-bent on creating in such vivid, morbid detail. But I found myself in a bad mood for about a week and was inexplicably drawn to Dark Places, knowing I was only guaranteed an ending, not whether it would be a good one.

Set in both 1985 and present day, Flynn takes us on a mysterious journey of murder, Satan worship, and family drama. Libby is the sole survivor of "The Satan Sacrifice of Kinnakee, Kansas," and to say her emotional scars run deep is a vast understatement. To say her pockets run just as deep is a misconception that leads to her using her story and involvement in the murder as a way to keep afloat a lifestyle she's not all that interested in. But what she inevitably discovers is that what she thought she knew isn't what she knew at all, and that while she was the one person to help convict the killer 25 years ago, she's probably the only one who knows the least about what happened.

Just reading the back book cover and it's no big surprise who the killer is. Or is it? Like Sharp Objects and Gone Girl, the reader goes through the range of emotions of it being obvious who did it but maybe they didn't do it, not having any idea who did it, thinking every character did it, then figuring out who did it and thinking, D'oh! Why didn't I think of that before? But what I most appreciate about Flynn - besides her penchant for going where we're all thinking without holding back - is that, as the reader, we unravel the mystery right along with the main character. Too many mysteries I've read have the protagonist figuring everything out long before the reader is supposed to, and patronizes the reader by making them wait to find out what they know. With Libby, we had the pleasure of the cogs in our brain turning right along with her's, and thankfully only she was subjected to the immediate result.

An incredibly dark story written with zero glints of sunlight, Flynn enlightens the dark places hidden in all of us and what sets them free and what keeps them in check by our morals. She subtly breaks it down to reveal that none of us are very different and that all of us are just a few misunderstandings away from turning into the darkness ourselves. A must-read you won't mind carrying in your tote - or not even have to since it's completely plausible to finish in a weekend - Flynn expertly weaves together what is great about Gone Girl and what is great about Sharp Objects: mystery with just enough creep to keep it intriguing, and horrifying while still maintaining a bit of fantasy. Or at least that's what I tell myself in order to get to sleep at night...

Frozen In Time

I know I routinely tout that there isn't anything I won't read (except that time I refused to read The Girl Who Played with Fire). I'm still disappointed I misplaced The Book of Mormon an Arizona Senator gave me when I was in my early 20's, and I've tried reading the Bible a few times but have never gotten further than the apple. When they find one that reads like a novel, let me know. But it's not like I refuse to read historical non-fiction, it's just that I've never considered it before. Like the Fantasy genre, it has never entered my book-verse. But I read and enjoyed Game of Thrones so I can read Frozen In Time: An Epic Story of Survival and a Modern Quest for Lost Heroes of WWII and enjoy that, too. And I did.

If I were to pick up a historical non-fiction of my own volition, a story about any war would not be it. While incredibly interesting, when it starts to get down to details like airplane types, bomb types, rankings, etc. my brain goes numb. So this book was introduced to me by my friend who agreed to read The Gringo with me if I read this with her, and I have to say, she made a much better choice.

A professor at Boston University, Mitchell Zuckoff embarks on a highly improbable mission to recover downed airplanes in the expanse of Greenland, lead by a man whose sole purpose in life is to recover people and items from the war and return them to US soil. Missions of this exact nature were tried and failed in the past, making government intervention highly unlikely and unstable at best. Without losing hope and with time rapidly closing in before nasty-ER weather smothered Greenland, the crew and Zuckoff, documenting the expedition, reached Greenland with no other option than to find the Duck, a WWII amphibious airplane that disappeared while trying to rescue another crash.

Zuckoff expertly weaves together two enthralling tales: one of the courageous, heroic, and amazing men struggling to survive in half an airplane during a rough Arctic winter (like there's any other kind); the other a modern-day adventure of mystery, intrigue, danger, drama, and suspense as they try to solve the mystery of exactly what happened all those years ago. Although the beginning takes a bit of effort to trudge through thanks to those darn things called "facts" and "information," and given this wouldn't have been my first book choice....ever.... I was surprised to find myself unable to put it down in under 100 pages (if it takes over 100 pages I start to wonder why I'm wasting my time with your book). I even hauled it in my tote across the country to - how ironic is this? - Boston (if I had read the book jacket more closely, I probably would have stalked him while I was in the area).

Written clearly, concisely, and with only a hint of personal feelings about what was happening at any given moment, Zuckoff takes something that could have ended up extremely dry and turned it into something so thrilling that the moment I finished the book, I tweeted him begging to tell me a follow-up was in the works (as far as I know, no; but he did send me the link to his blog).

Finishing this in a weekend would be a little ambitious, there is a lot of information and a lot of things that promote putting it down every few minutes and staring off into space to contemplate. Thanks to this pick, I've added his previous best-seller, Lost in Shangri-La: Escape from a Hidden World - A True Story, which received high-praise from people I take book advice from: my friend and my Uncle.

I'm sure most war-based, historical non-fiction books are interesting but since this is my one and only experience, I'm going to go ahead and recommend you read this one. It's one of the few I've "taken for the team," and read on hard-cover, and I'm glad I did.

Twenties Girl

I make no secret of how much I love Sophie Kinsella. Freshly on board the chick-lit train thanks to another one of my faves, Jennifer Weiner, I happened across Confessions of a Shopaholic back when I didn't have a husband or baby and could afford to be a shopaholic myself. Knowing me, really, how could I *not* have picked it up? I had found my literary soul-sister! And to my jubilation, other books with the same character and basic subplot soon followed (find my review of Mini Shopaholic HERE).

When I found other novels of her's - The Undomestic Goddess, Can You Keep A Secret?, Remember Me? - I was hesitant to be introduced to characters that weren't the lovable, relatable, irresistible Becky Bloomwood. Had I indulged my hesitation, I would have missed out on some very remarkable novels.

As much of a book-lover as I am, I don't keep up with the up-to-the-minute literary news. I'm often surprised to learn my favorite authors have many more books than I realized, Kinsella chief among them (and that's not counting the other names she writes under). First published in 2009, I snagged Twenties Girl a few years later as a paperback (can't stand reading hardcover but I'll take one for the team now and again), and included it in my must-read vacation-reads.

Coming off A Dog's Journey, I wanted something fun, frothy, ridiculous, but still incredibly endearing, and I found that all amongst the 400-ish pages of Kinsella's Twenties Girl. A young woman in her twenties, Lara, is befriended by an odd guest at her great-Aunt's funeral with a very interesting demand request. Sucked into a world that is the past amongst the present, Lara and her friend become on odd match against the world but embody the promise that it is not what is outside that matters most, but what is on the inside. And that first impressions can be misleading.

Written with patented Kinsella charm, humor, empathy, and a real investment in the characters, Twenties Girl is a laugh-out-read that makes you wish the ridiculous story she weaves be even partly true. I was almost sad when it was over, wishing the misadventures of Lara and her world would never end. But Kinsella will no doubt create more fantastically interesting characters for me to get wrapped up in and I can't wait. (Remember Me? is calling to me from my bookshelf.)

Wild

After finishing Amanda Knox's Waiting to be Heard, I was in the mood for more female empowerment and picked up Cheryl Strayed's Wild as my second in the Summer of the Memoir. Or, at least, what I thought would be female empowerment.

Don't get me wrong; there is no way I could have done what Strayed did. After the way her hike initially started, I would have bailed before I lost sight of the highway. Her's is a story of a lost woman thrown into yet more upheaval at the death of her mother. Desperate and destined to be alone, Strayed makes every effort to push the people who care about her as far away as possible. Then epitomizes the very definition of being alone by hiking through the wilderness - the Pacific Crest Trail, specifically - refusing any indication of togetherness, camaraderie, or, well, the opportunity to not be alone. But her trip has a purpose: the ever-cliched, "find herself," and rid herself of the demons that possess her to crave her solitary existence. Her's is a story built on the theme of being completely alone, highlighting both the benefits and terrible pitfalls, sometimes literally.

As readers, it's natural for us to place ourselves in the character's position and imagine what we would do, what decisions we'd make, if we were them. Especially if what we're reading is non-fiction. Had I been Strayed, the first thing I would have thought when considering this wilderness endeavor was, "What about all the freaks I'm going to meet along the way?" And then I probably would have scrapped the whole trip altogether. My friend read the book with me and we both wondered why she didn't think to bring a gun among her condoms and other relatively unnecessary items crammed in her pack. But what I ultimately really enjoyed about the story was that she didn't encounter any real freaks. There was the odd-ball here and there, but most everyone restored the human spirit that we'll help someone just because it's the right thing to do.

Strayed's adventure also proved that no matter how meticulous you plan your life or anything in it, it can be shot to shit in a matter of seconds (but anyone who's been pregnant and wanted a pickle only to see it come back 30 minutes later could tell you that). And that, ultimately, in this big, bad, world, no matter how much us humans try to convince each other it's the other way around, Mother Nature is what really rules this beast.

Of course, the story wouldn't have been interesting if everything had gone exactly as it should have. There were ups and downs, literally and figuratively, re-routes, no water where there should have been (I was genuinely scared at that point), misplaced trails (pretty scared during that, too), wild animals, and the ultimate fear and set-back of unpredictability.

I suggested this book as a summer-read to my book club the year before, touting it as a better, not-as-ridiculous option to Eat, Pray, Love, a memoir-turned-movie that was treated as the Bible for women. I thought it was good, but nothing as life-changing as my friends insisted. And I definitely didn't waste time seeing the movie. With that said, I definitely appreciated and enjoyed Wild more than Eat, Pray, Love and found it a lot more relatable even though both stories center around incredibly selfish people with self-destructive tendencies. But who can't relate to that? Perhaps Eat, Pray, Love is geared more towards the older generation, already settled but not wanting to be, while Wild is for those still young, unsure of what roads to take in life but it's either hike alone through the woods or eventually wind up in jail on drug charges.

Well written and succinctly told, Cheryl Strayed's Wild is definitely worth hauling in your tote, and something you'll polish off in a weekend. She takes you on her emotional and physical journey, leaving the reader feel as if they were walking beside her, feet-achingly exhausted but perhaps learning something about themselves along the way.

If you're going to read Strayed's adventure, and I highly recommend that you do, you better get on it as Hollywood has turned it into a movie, out sometime this year. I'm always a proponent of reading the book before seeing the movie (or, more often than not, *instead* of seeing the movie), but in this case I'm particularly worried about the story being made into some thriller-bordering-on-horror flick given the premise of the single, blond, white female in the woods alone. I shudder at the mere thought of what those "creative" types could come up with after the liberties Stanley Kubrick took with The Shining (nope, I'll never get over it). With Reese Witherspoon starring as Strayed, my hope is somewhat restored.

I don't remember if Strayed had decided to write the book of her hike before she embarked on it, or if it was something that came together later, but its existence highlights one major, underlying theme: you are never really alone.

Waiting to be Heard

As the summer of 2013 approached, I came across an article on NPR Books that said this was to be the summer of reading memoirs. I was intrigued with the idea so I did just that, starting with Waiting to be Heard by Amanda Knox. Coincidentally, I picked it up right around the time it was announced they were going to re-try her in Italy for the murder of her British roommate several years ago.

I didn't follow much of the story as it was happening back in 2009, just aware of the minor points. My friend, Meredith (just a horrible coincidence that the victim was also named Meredith), followed the news a little more closely and told me the Italian police were saying it was some sort of sex-game-gone-wrong. My mind couldn't make the connection so I decided the best thing to do was read the story in her own words, what happened moment by moment from the person who was actually there living it. While an amazing story, and amazingly well-written, none of my questions were really answered. As it happened, though, that is the ultimate fault of the story, not the storyteller.

In all honesty, since we know the outcome to present day (closing arguments in the re-trial were completed before the holidays for a verdict early this year), reading this book can be quite difficult. So much so that Meredith (my friend, not the murdered girl) couldn't read it, knowing what she already does about the case. Personally, I couldn't put it down, waiting for that obvious link between mousy-girl-studying-abroad and sex-vixen-who-kills-for-pot.

Written remarkably well and shockingly honest, which became the deciding factor in voting for either this or Jenna Miscavige Hill's Beyond Belief in the goodreads.com awards, my mind boggled at how someone so smart and seemingly capable could be so naive and incredibly stupid. Several times you find yourself exclaiming out loud, "How could you be so stupid?!" And wanting to shake her by the shoulders. Entirely too trusting in foreign government built on hearsay and exaggerations, even as she is being locked up in prison, Knox is sure someone somewhere will realize this has all been a terrible mistake. Not old and experienced enough to understand the political puppet-show behind the scenes and the desperate need for a conviction, she waits....and waits....and waits....for someone to see, hear, and believe her side of the story to the extent that I don't think you could call what she did during her first trial "defending herself."

Convicted and processed in prison in a haze, Knox slowly begins to understand the forces around her and how she is the only one who can really help her. While being in an Italian prison isn't exactly the Four Seasons, Knox continues her education and builds her self-esteem to the extent that surely was a factor in powering her second trial acquittal.

Although the main purpose of this book was for Knox to tell the story in her own words, it also highlighted the incredible failings of a foreign government, particularly those towards their foreigners. This entire story has put a spotlight on the Italian judicial system and raises serious questions about their investigative practices. Particularly, why exactly is it so important Knox be convicted of having some role in the murder, even when scientific evidence proves otherwise? Is it just about saving face and not wanting to admit they were wrong?

Living back in Washington, and going to school to study creative writing, Knox now awaits the fate she's waited for twice already. As many failings as our own government and judicial system might have (*cough* Republicans), Amanda's story makes you thankful you live in the great U S of A. Just don't go to Perugia anytime soon.

Doctor Sleep

Everything of pop culture that I enjoy has inevitably come directly from from pop-culture and Stephen King's The Shining was no different. I started watching Melrose Place on DVD in my mid-twenties after the iconic Seinfeld episode, and I decided to read The Shining after it was the only book Friends' Joey Tribiani would actually read (I tried to read Little Women too, but that didn't work out so well).

Almost ten years later and thoughts of The Shining still give me the creeps. I can't remember anything other than the general plot-line, and the movie forever tarnished the book for me as a "good one," but I still think it is a must-read. I didn't know King was releasing a sequel until about a week before, and while I've never been excited about a book release (Harry Potter doesn't count, of course), the news of this made me excited in the way you are to go on roller coasters. I didn't remember most of The Shining and that was written over 30 years ago; only God and Mr. King knew what could possibly be in...Doctor Sleep.

Danny, being too smart and too experienced for his young age with a mother who was too naive and too inexperienced for her age, didn't have the best childhood. His horrific history in Colorado combined with a family history of alcoholism didn't line him up for the best of opportunities, either. Running from town-to-town, bottle-to-bottle, the now-middle-aged Dan searches for a place he can call home. Far-removed from the horrors of Colorado, in a small, Norman-Rockwell, New-England town, Dan begins to make a life for himself that just happens to include being able to do the same....uh....tricks he was able to do when he was younger. Only now he's not alone.

A young girl with talents similar to Danny is wanted by sub-human, literal soul-suckers (there are a lot of those in Colorado) and the only person who can really help her is Dan. This, of course, means facing evils he's spent his entire life running from and drowning in liquor. But the question isn't if he'll save her but how.

Given that King isn't the first author on my reading list, his books are always a bit of a surprise. I don't remember what I was expecting from The Shining, but there are parts of it that I still don't understand. Ten years and a lot of read-books later and what I expected from Doctor Sleep was not to understand everything. Probably the biggest thing I don't understand with authors like King, Martin, and Tolkien is the extent of their imagination and the expert way they are able to weave together stories to make one fantastic tapestry of story-telling. So many times I had to put Doctor Sleep down so my heart could quit racing and let my brain digest everything. Reading like part diary, part novel, part AA pamphlet, King's latest scare-fest is something you can't put down and could conceivably finish in a weekend if you're ambitious.

I'm not a fan of being scared. I've hated Halloween most of my life, and horror movies have grown largely distasteful after they turned into the exploitation of the worst of the human race instead of creating monsters that could never actually exist. King expertly delivers both. Doctor Sleep creates the monsters from under your bed but has them prey on the fears and evils of the human condition. And I'm not sure about King's other books, but in this read, one bad-ass literary hero emerges and that is always a bonus.

Abra Stone is the only other person in the world who knows what it's like to be Daniel Torrance. Plagued by the same...shining...we go along for the ride as she is born, lives, "meets" Dan, and battles to keep her life from ending before hitting her teens. And all the while I'm reading her journey, my friend's question of If You Could Be Any Female Character from a Book, Who Would You Be? kept running through my mind. While I don't think I'd change my answer from Hermione to Abra, I think they are one in the same: problem-solvers, smart, brave, kind, true, and strong. But of course Hermione still wins because she ends up married to Ron Weasely in the end.

Other Doctor Sleep reviews prohibit reading The Shining first, obviously mistaking it for the Robert Langdon trilogy of Dan Brown, a case in which I adamantly suggest reading The DaVinci Code before Angels and Demons as the latter will literally give you nightmares. But I think reading The Shining first is imperative to really understanding Dan, how Abra and him are so inexplicably linked, how they're able to fight the ultimate fight, and in being able to comprehend the importance of certain characters who only make small appearances but huge impacts to the story.

Doctor Sleep truly is a remarkable story and King is nothing short of a miraculous storyteller. Weaving factual information with personal experience and the ultimate imagination results in a book you sort of float through; you're not consciously aware of picking up the book and reading but all of a sudden you're on page 400. If there is one thing that plagues me, it is that there is one main question left, if not unanswered, largely assumed. Given it took 30 years for the sequel, I highly doubt a third book to accompany The Shining, so that can't be the reason, in which case I will assume what I can only assume the author wanted me to assume.

That point aside, Doctor Sleep is definitely worth a haul in your tote and highly recommended. Score another one for pop culture!

 

(The creepy starts about page 4 but the cover gets things going well enough.)

Mini Shopaholic

I know you're not supposed to judge a book by it's cover (then why do they try so hard to make them pretty, I ask you?!), but since shopping is in my blood, I instantly gravitated towards Sophie Kinsella's Confessions of a Shopaholic. Then leaped for joy when I learned it was a series. And even more when I learned the series would continue (this discovery was many years back so *sigh* Mini Shopaholic is the final book in the series. I did tweet Kinsella begging for a Shopaholic Takes Hollywood but have yet to hear back. Fingers crossed!)

So then I guess I don't need to tell you, I love these books. But more so, I love Sophie Kinsella. A British charmer with a quick wit and the vital talent of putting said wit to paper and have it properly translate. One of my goodreads friends gave her a bad review and I was offended! Her books are laugh-out-loud funny, endearing, intelligent, dramatic, fun, and completely worth the effort (unlike Outlander but don't even get me started on that hot mess).

We pick up shortly where Shopaholic and Sister leaves off, with Luke and Becky Brandon living with her parents while they try to find a suitable home for them and Minnie, their precocious two-year old. I'd say spoiled, but Becky's parenting skills aren't what's being reviewed, here...

In the midst of deal after deal falling through, for one unimaginable reason or another, a national financial crisis leaves Becky feeling like the fate of the economy is on her shoulders when she's probably the only one supporting it. While laughing at the ridiculousness that is her and her life, you can't help but like her, feel like she was the best friend you never had, understand the euphoric ecstasy that comes with shopping, and might even be compelled to do a little shopping yourself. She is assertive and stands up for herself, while also reminding us readers why it pays to be nice to everyone all the time no matter what.

No, the subject matter doesn't make you squirm for the sake of art; the climax of the story was Becky spending an obscene amount of money when the entire series was based on one question: will Becky finally get her financial life under control? The answer: no! And that's ok because we love Becky and everything about her. And no one can say she didn't help the economy.

Any of Kinsella's Shopaholic series - or The Undomestic Goddess, Can You Keep A Secret?, Twenties Girl, Remember Me?, or any of the litany of books she has published - is worth a haul in your tote, but it probably won't be there for long. I blew through these books because they're fun, funny, and surprisingly down to earth. Kinsella - as usual - gives us a sparkly, designer life-raft to survive the dark, deep ocean that is made up of the critically-acclaimed uber-dramas. I hope Kinsella never stops writing.

A Dog's Purpose

What is a dog's purpose? Not *the* dog's purpose, but this specific dog's purpose? Like, your dog? What is his purpose in his life, a considerably shorter one than we'll hopefully enjoy? Is it just to be a human companion? To save people in every definition of the word? What about a dog who doesn't enjoy the comforts of domesticity? What purpose do the stray dogs have? In W. Bruce Cameron's A Dog's Purpose, one such dog - yes, dog - grapples with all of these questions and more as he moves through, experiences, and loves and hates various different lives.

As a puppy - and as he continues to grow, die, and be reborn a new puppy - his instincts are sharp, the most pointed towards humans; responding to them, reacting to them, obeying them, and feeding off the emotions of them. He knows right off that man trumps all other Top Dogs in his makeshift packs, that his life is completely dependent upon how his owner wants it to be; and he's ok with that, relishes it and even craves it.

"He" has various names as he navigates the very different aspects of each of his lives. He is given names and accepts them wholeheartedly but, interestingly enough, is very particular about who he chooses to attach himself too. Some extra scrutiny pointed towards my own dogs and I notice this is very much the same - other people just don't matter.

But once he leaves his most favorite person of all, he's frustrated and confused to learn that taking care of him hadn't been his ultimate purpose. What was it?! And if his life is supposed to have purpose, why did he come back only to have lives that seemingly had no purpose?

Over the span of several lifetimes - some short, some long - he experiences a wide range of the dog-life spectrum, from puppy-hood, to the family dog, to the working dog, stray dog, forgotten dog, neglected dog, abandoned dog, traveling dog, but always a good dog. He always remembered his previous lives, and the lives before that, often drawing on experiences from each to roll him into one extraordinary dog (clearly my own fur-babies are on their first life).

Research was done, and while the book isn't anything scientific, it does offer some enlightenment and heartfelt appreciation for those pooches we do make as family. And it's interesting to see some of Cameron's simply-described, yet incredibly vivid scenes play out in my own dogs, being aware of them taking their cues from our emotions, observing when they know they need to stay close as opposed to wandering more freely, and noticing when each sticks to the respective person they've deemed "theirs" (I type this as the dog I had before getting married lays at my feet).

Written simply, as though written by a dog, I often found myself needing to be reminded that it was actually written by a human. And then there were other instances where it was clearly written by a human who didn't think very highly of cats (or horses). As appropriately stated on the front cover by the author of The Color Purple, "I laughed and smiled and cried," sometimes all at the same time.

So while The Art of Racing in the Rain focused on the Mongolian belief that dogs are reborn as humans, A Dog's Purpose operates on the idea of reincarnation until their purpose is satisfied, reminiscent of what little I know of Hindu theology that a person will continue to come back and live until they have lived a "good" life. This book makes me wonder if my childhood Golden Retriever, Sam, might someday make it back to me.

As Buddy, he finally, heartbreakingly understands his purpose and is ready for peace. But his work might not be over yet....

I wasn't aware of the sequel until writing that last sentence so the sudden, rough ending of A Dog's Purpose is now understandable. Written as if Cameron wasn't sure a sequel would follow, the end is an abrupt, ragged, everything-wrapped-up-in-a-tear-stained-bow ending without really explaining why.

I emotionally rated this book on goodreads.com five stars out of five after it was the only book I actually cried after finishing as opposed to while I was finishing. After calming down and considering the blunt - dare I say, forced - ending, I'd change it to four out of five. While this read is completely worth the time and effort, and worth hauling around in your tote, animal stories - particularly dog stories - always come with a certain trepidation. Being written from the dog's perspective can ease that as well as make it worse, depending on the circumstance. Do I really want to know how he feels being dropped off at the shelter? While at the same time, appreciating his lack of understanding when he just *has* to be in the bedroom during "adult wrestling," Cameron expertly dancing between the two.

All in all, A Dog's Purpose is a great book, worth the time, and one of those rare specimens that leaves you a little altered afterward. And it's like my dogs knew I was reading about them or something, as they seem to appreciate me just a little more, too. But maybe that is just their purpose.

Goodnight Nobody

After perusing Goodreads.com, I briefly considered making this summer the Summer of Weiner (as in, Jennifer). There is quite the long list of hers I've not read or even heard of so I'm sure they'll wind up on a summer reading list at some point.

I brought few books with me on vacation to Arizona and Mexico because I'm literally the last person on earth not to have an e-reading device (when I made an effort to pay close attention, I noticed I was the only one around me in airplanes holding a physical book). Being in the middle of Gone Girl, I knew I would want my next read to be something that would suck me in and make me laugh. Weiner did not disappoint. Just as I suspected with The Guy Not Taken: Stories, Weiner really shines in the 350+-page novel category.

As a full-time working mom, Goodnight Nobody is a story of what I want to be, but is also a frightening portrayal of what some fear of becoming. And, of course, working or stay-at-home, discovering a murdered neighbor isn't high on my priority list.

Kate Klein is what she refers to herself as an "accidental mother of three." With her husband gone a lot, she spends a lot of her time with arts n' crafts, frozen, microwavable food, board games, and at least one trip to the playground a day that usually ends up leaving Kate frustrated with her apparent ineptitude at parenting according to the suburban, Stepford, super-moms. But one of those super-mom ends up dead, Kate being the one and only to stumble upon her body, and the only one with the resources to solve the crime. What ultimately ends up happening is that the world is just too damn small, something everyone everywhere can relate to.

Once again, Weiner delivers a witty, intelligent, funny, dramatic, and intriguing novel with great mystery and the obligatory twist. It was a great beach n' travel book, totally worth hauling in your beach tote (no doubt you've downsized to a clutch for summer). The cast of characters keeps you involved, constantly wanting more, and liking them even though you probably shouldn't; just like Miss Klein, herself.

Glad to check off another one of hers as read.

Gone Girl

So I took a bit of a detour from Jennifer Weiner's The Guy Not Taken: Stories and Goodnight Nobody with a returning author, Gillian Flynn and her incredibly disturbing Gone Girl. I read her Sharp Objects for book club and was thoroughly creeped; most of the scenes left me feeling like Flynn could use a nice long stay in a pysch ward. And I have to admit, had I read Gone Girl first, I think I would have "accidentally forgotten" to read Sharp Objects. For the losers who didn't read the book that month, we filled them in and it was enough to detour them from ever reading it.

Flynn writes the story we've seen a million times splattered over the news - wife disappears, husband is the prime suspect, and his strange behavior isn't helping matters. But the vivid, creative, every-detail-thought-of way she tells the story can only lead me to assume she's thought about unfolding this scenario before.

Flynn leads you on a wild chase of you knowing who did it, not being entirely sure who did it, wondering who actually did do it, and all the while in the back of your mind thinking what you do when it's a news story: was anything actually done or is it like that story of the bride who staged her own kidnapping? You never actually know until you do, and then you're even more disturbed than before.

This book is a definite beach-read and something you'll get sucked into and feel slightly dirty by. I lent it to my coworker and it was the first and only book we actually discussed (besides the quality of the bodice-ripper I gave her as a joke for Christmas).

I said before that Sharp Objects was fuuuuuucccckkkeeedd up and I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Gone Girl is fuuuuuucccckkkkkeedddd up to the second power. She has another book floating around the book-o-sphere and I might be compelled to read it in the future. But I say that more so because I would never close myself off to reading something. At least now I know that when I feel that draw, I will be reading some seriously disturbing shit. I mean, I knew Gone Girl was going to be similar in disturbing nature as Sharp Objects but now I'm like that puppy who's been bopped one too many times.