The Midnight Library by Matt Haig

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Books are like boyfriends: every once in awhile you stumble across one that you wouldn't change anything about, in the places that you'd least expect. I found The Midnight Library by Matt Haig at the airport while in search of coffee for my mid-morning flight. Standing in line, I noticed a small, unattended, stack of books and upon closer inspection, noticed a Post It note on the top that declared "Free books!" Not only did I greatly appreciate this as a book-lover, but I took it as an excellent sign as a would-be traveler. Already weighed down by two other books, and not wanting to be selfish, I took only the one, and was instantly enthralled by the end of the first chapter. The Midnight Library is truly mesmerizing.

"Between life and death, there is the Midnight Library..." and suddenly Nora Seed finds herself there. She is an Everywoman, weighted down by the small - though many - disappointments in life: a confrontational encounter, the loss of a pet, an unfulfilling job and stalled career path, wandering through the world of what-ifs. Filled with regret, remorse, and heavying sadness, Nora - in the Midnight Library, and with the help of an old friend - finds herself able to undo these regrets; the chance to make different choices and try on - so-to-speak - the varying consequences. With cleverly witty writing, truly genuine characters, and imagery reminiscent of Harry Potter, I literally loved every page. It is one of those rare books in which you can't wait to power through it, but you also never want it to end, and I would love to see The Midnight Library on the big, or medium-sized, screen.

This book is pure magic, in the most brilliant of ways. What is at once a hypothesis of life and death is also very much a testament to what it means to truly live, with explanations for the magical that are purely scientific; impressive, though easily understandable by those of us who cheated in Physics class, and buoyed by an honest ebb and flow of emotions, like bobbing through the ocean of ideas, at times sad and lonely, at others funny and lighthearted, and sometimes incredibly intense. Ahh, such is life.

I wholeheartedly recommend this book to anyone who has recently lost a loved one, specifically by way of their own doing. But, regardless, the takeaways from this book are plentiful and deeply personal; everyone will have something different that they can glean from this story that not only spans time but universes. ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐/5.

Lucky You by Erika Carter

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If you did not read Lucky You by Erika Carter, nor did you select it as part of your Book of the Month Club box, of which it was selected in January 2017, then lucky you.

I've managed to read about three Book of the Month Club picks over the years, mainly due to finding them at second-hand book stores, and they have all been very strange; like the Book Pickers are trying to prove to the world their maudlin intellect. Well Carter's debut novel, Lucky You, is not only a waste of a BOTM selection, but a waste of paper and a waste of time.

Rachel, Ellie, and Chloe are frenemies, each stuck in their own cycles of self-destruction; you know the drill: sex, bad relationships, too much booze. Then Rachel up and moves deep into the Ozark mountains with a man who is sure that he can change the world by learning, and writing about, and thus teaching, how to live off-grid and on the land. Ellie and Chloe are eventually convinced to join the couple at their remote house and work on The Project. What is an otherwise interesting and intriguing concept, not only fell short but will live forever in my mind as one of the worst books I've ever read. Not only do these insipid characters with a proclivity for claiming Chinese proverbs as their own, not "solve the conundrum of being alive," they struggle with getting their would-be cult off the ground in favor of depressive loafing.

The writing is slow and dispiriting, and grey and frigid, despite writing scenes that supposedly take place in intense heat. "She had to pee. Then she flushed," is the sort of riveting storyline that you can expect from this droll, much more lame, non-serial-killer, version of Emma Cline's The Girls. Lucky You is one big bad mood that is so nicely summed up by one paragraph: "they traded turns talking in stream of conscious monologues. After a while, they weren't even listening to each other, it was more about just filling the air with the comfortable lilts and turns of story." Lucky You is like reading Carter's disoriented, rough-draft of her own personal journal. There is no real point, prompting me to wonder, Why am I reading this book? Many books of this similar genre are bound to be far better, can I even give this one star?

Where the Crawdads Sing by Delia Owens

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Even those non-bookworms among us have heard of - and great things about - Delia Owens's beautiful debut novel, Where the Crawdads Sing, promoted by everyone from Reese Witherspoon to Instagram makeup Influencers to your good friend who enjoys fishing in places similar to the book's North Carolina setting. And I most definitely understand the hype and adoration for this lyrical tribute to things, people, and places we know little about.

"Kya" - also known as "Marsh Girl" by nearby villagers - has lived in solitude deep in the North Carolina marsh, learning everything nature has to teach her, since finding herself slowly abandoned by her family and ostracized by the community, surviving and living and loving among the birds. Kya is smart and strong and creative, and though she has accepted and swiftly navigates the life she lives, as she grows into a beautiful, young woman, she wonders how the opposite must feel; to be loved, touched, and kept sacred. Where the Crawdads Sing is a highly emotional, incredibly moving, coming-of-age story, pulled along by a vague murder mystery and frosted by an intelligent courtroom drama, though - ingeniously - the two are not stand-alone stories; one cannot exist without the other.

The writing is melodic and serene, delicately painting the lush swamp and marshland with lustrous talent and intellect for this incredible, mysterious, ecosystem. In her own right, and as a result of her surroundings, Kya is sad but strong, scared yet brave, secluded yet attractive, the story moving as slowly as the marsh waters it honors, not picking up any speed until it reaches the chaotic, open ocean that becomes the murder investigation of the local popular guy, Chase Andrews. The story then slows to a gentle ending that was surprising in the way that it wasn't. Owens leads you through the story as if she were Kya gliding through the still waters, which - as we all know - run deep.

As a nature-lover myself, and as someone who wants to wander into the wild, never to be found, to dwell amongst the deer and bears and bugs of the woods, to forget my unrequited love, I was drawn to Kya's story, her determination, and her knowing enough to believe in herself. This is definitely a great read for when you have the time and are in the mood for a good, hearty tale. ⭐⭐⭐⭐/5 on my goodreads profile.

The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides

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I picked up The Silent Patient by Alex Michaelides in much the same fashion as everyone else who has ever decided to give it a go - obvious curiosity for "But why does she not speak?" (Euripides) But as I started to burn through the pages, I developed a different reaction to this book altogether. I stopped caring about, and wanting to know why, Alicia Berenson - a famous painter married to an in-demand fashion photographer - refuses, or is unable, to speak, and I just got it. I absolutely get why, after shooting her husband in the face five times while he was tied to a chair, Alicia never spoke another word. And by the end of the book, I was ready to shoot every character in the face five times.

Alicia Berenson is tucked away at a secure psychiatric unit in North London when, like most in the field, Criminal Psychotherapist, Theo Faber, becomes entranced by the story. Also like most in the field, he is positive that he is the one to rescue her, to save her from herself, and to save The Grove from imminent closure. Alicia's case quickly becomes his main focus, questionably blurring the lines between patient and therapist in a self-satisfying effort to truly understand her.

The story is intricate and well-told, with a lot of moving parts that Michaelides deftly keeps from getting too complicated. It is a definite page-turner, and offers up a serious twist that will make even the most seasoned reader gasp. It irritatingly reads more like a crime novel, the upside being that Faber is not actually a Detective, which, for some reason always gives characters a level of arrogance I cannot stand. The Silent Patient shouldn't necessarily be categorized as a psychological thriller, either, but more of a dramatic thriller, reminiscent of You by Caroline Kepnes.

The writing is clear, concise, and invokes some serious introspection, which all novels are meant to do, but this book far surpasses the norm, at least for this reader. In much the same way the book discusses transference, Alicia stops being simply a character and becomes a representation; I am her and she is me. We think of death as the cease to function by our physical bodies, not realizing or acknowledging how many times we die on the inside, while our bodies continue to plug away like machines. 

I really had to think about my goodreads rating before I made it and ultimately settled on ⭐⭐⭐⭐/5. The Silent Patient will definitely leave a lasting impression.

I'm Thinking of Ending Things by Iain Reid

Since giving birth, I've read the last half of Sold On A Monday, the entirety of The People We Hate at the Wedding, and half of This Is Not Over, and yet I managed to read I'm Thinking Of Ending Things by Iain Reid in exactly two days. And those two days involved the older kids being home from school, and the first drop in temperature and snow storm, virtually stranding them inside the house. I first saw this book - where else? - on Instagram, and when I saw it in Target, I bought it for this tagline alone: "You will be scared. But you won't know why." In my ever-evolving reading career, I've grown to appreciate books with little to no description, and I even find myself steering away from books with overly long and complicated synopses. I'm Thinking of Ending Things lives up to its limited description. You will be scared and you won't know why, and then you will feel incredibly uncomfortable.

The book doesn't offer a synopsis, so I won't either, but that might just be an impossible task, anyway. How do you describe a book like this? This book? It's short and to the point even though there are moments when it feels like the story is getting away from you. It is, at times, overly complicated, but in a way that makes you feel creepily disoriented, like you're walking through a maze of mirrors. It is a scary story, but it also offers insight and epiphanies into the complex function of our brains and our minds, and what it means to be human. It's like those dreams where nothing innately scary happens, but you wake up feeling weird and scared, anyway. Between reading this book and watching The Good Place, my mind has been properly fucked with.

I don't usually read scary stories until this time of year, just like I only read beach-reads in the summer, and I am always hoping that what I choose will be scarier than The Shining, even books deemed, "scary as hell," by King, himself. But nothing has measured up to The Shining, not even Pet Sematary, which is scary for an entirely different reason altogether. I'm Thinking of Ending Things definitely keeps you guessing and keeps the pages turning; there is no way you won't want to know the conclusion, until you do, and then you kind of wish you didn't.

In my limited knowledge of triggers, I believe the end of this novel is one. BUT, I can't tell you what the trigger is without spoiling not just the ending, but the entire book as well. The end isn't exactly unexpected, but it is disturbing, and I honestly don't know how I would be able to watch the Netflix movie after having read the book. Well, ok...I am slightly curious...maybe tomorrow as it continues to snow...⭐⭐⭐⭐/5 on goodreads. CLICK HERE TO PURCHASE $5.00 Like New.                     

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The Man from Primrose Lane by James Renner

I don't even know where to begin with this book. So I will start by saying that I have no idea where to begin in reviewing this book. I suppose I will start at the end and declare up-front that I gave the first two-thirds of this book 3.5 stars and the last third one star, basically for the effort of putting pen to paper. Though I have been disappointed by books in the past, could see the shocking twist from a mile away, or was generally underwhelmed, I have never been completely let down by a book before; like a roller coaster that is wild and crazy and unexpected and then suddenly turns into the Lazy River meets Terminator 2.

David Neff is a successful true crimes writer and one-time author who is taking care of his four-year old son while still reeling from his wife's sudden suicide. On a tip from his publisher, who has always been anxious for Neff's next work, David immerses himself in the random, yet gruesome, murder of an old man, The Man from Primrose Lane. Others knew him as The Man With a Thousand Mittens. Who was he? Why would anyone want him dead? And why did he always wear mittens? These are questions you either won't get answers to, or will have to find like the needle in the completely not-worth-it haystack. A big swing and a miss with this one.

The story of The Man from Primrose Lane is so intricate and mysterious and just twisted enough to make you feel like you're navigating a big spider's web while still making you feel like you have a good handle on the situation, a sign of a well-written thriller. There are a lot of twists and turns that keep you turning the page, and although triggers abound - abduction, pedophilia, torture - I am able to look past the sometimes gruesome nature of the storytelling in order to get to the real root of the story: who was The Man from Primrose Lane and who murdered him? The book is engrossing and unsettling, then suddenly takes a very unexpected move and turns into a hundred-page orgasm that never happens and slowly, confusedly, fizzles away, and if that isn't a let-down, I don't know what is.

Renner seems to work very hard in putting the story together, creating the vivid characters, their histories, and how they connect to one another. He threw in a murder and added some extra mystery then just sort-of chucked it to the four winds. In a drastically over-complicated section, Renner heaves his deviously plotted murder mystery into the arms of an entirely too easy explanation. SPOILER ALERT: 

time travel. Well, fuck if every complicated problem can't be just explained away with a little time travel. *eye roll* Although the explanation of which is convoluted and elaborate, the "solving" of the murder by using time travel makes the story too easy and stupid and more like Renner is applying for a job with Tesla instead of working to find a more credible solution. I skimmed the final section, all while thinking, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid; so stupid that I can't even decide if it was a waste of time. Any other book about murder or time travel would probably be better.

Final rating ⭐⭐/5 on goodreads.

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Good Morning, Midnight by Lily Brooks-Dalton

During these often bleak and always confusing times, it feels crass to theme-read. Then again, it is at precisely these moments when we can really benefit from the empathetic value of reading someone else's story, fictional or not. Reading others' situations or perspectives can help us better understand our own situations and perspectives, which is why I was particularly drawn to Lily Brooks-Dalton's short novel, Good Morning, Midnight. In all the bibliophilic blaspheme, I picked up the book solely based on the cover, but the synopsis is what made me plunk down the money and buy it.

Dedicated researcher, Augustine, is nearing the end of his work and the end of his life when he decides to ignore evacuation orders from the Arctic due to some cataclysmic event in the developed world. Knowing he will die there, alone, he is wrapping up his work when he discovers a little girl named Iris among the gear, and suddenly his perspective is shifted. 

Sully - short for Sullivan - is aboard the first space mission to Jupiter and, with her crew, is headed home to an Earth they haven't received communication from in over year. What unfolds is a melodic, profound, existential look into the personal lives we lead and how an uncertain crisis can help us better understand ourselves, for better or worse.

If you're looking for a fast-paced read, or think it will be based on the synopsis, then this is not the book for you. It is a slow-moving 252-page story that - had it been any longer - I probably would have abandoned. The writing is dramatic and meant to be absorbed rather than glossed over, with the main focal points of the story being on how our perspectives are altered in spite of - or because of - even the best-laid plans. Though the story is slow, it is beautiful and lyrical and unexpectedly engrossing, and the crystal-clear imagery both paints the timeless beauty of each different, yet inherently similar, landscape, and is a haunting parallel to each characters' self-imposed isolation.

Although the "cataclysmic event" is rumored to have something to do with war, it is difficult not to draw immediate similarities to what is going on in our current world. Brooks-Dalton perfectly encapsulates the fear and confusion and hope and unexplainable calm yet deep uncertainty that we are all currently grappling with during our own self-imposed isolation. In another way, it is also a good example of the struggles we are having with solitary as well as group isolation. And Good Morning, Midnight really makes the effort to underscore the reasons we feel the need to complain about our current circumstances, both in the importance of having a task to perform, work to do - as in Sully's case - as well as having something or someone besides ourselves to take care of - as in Augustine's.

Good Morning, Midnight really is a great book, though the reflection of current events might not be some readers' cup up tea. And while I am glad the book isn't any longer, there is a particular aspect of the ending that some readers may find frustrating, though this book is most definitely not supposed to be centered around the apocalypse. ⭐⭐⭐⭐/5 on goodreads.

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