The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah

Like with everything these days, there is a big online community for books, which - when you think about it - is just a tad ironic since, in some ways, the internet killed the literary star. On the contrary, however, the internet has made more books, authors, and publishers accessible to fans and potential readers, and has cast a wider net in terms of passing along recommendations. No longer is it just groups of a dozen slightly buzzed middle-aged women discussing the latest New York Times best-seller; now we simply post a picture of the book online and it reaches an immeasurable amount of people in a short amount of time. It was in this way that I learned of Kristin Hannah's The Nightingale (a book that I saw a woman glancing at at Costco and walked right up to her and told her how phenomenal it was), how I learned that Hannah had written a new book, The Great Alone, and how I learned that it was quickly garnering rave reviews.

As we know, judging a book by its cover is never ok. Except that it's totally ok and it's basically how we choose anything at the bookstore. Judging a book by the title is encouraged and while I cannot exactly articulate what my predispositions were of The Great Alone, after having read it, I was left thoroughly underwhelmed. The title and hypnotic book cover lulled me into a false expectation of something glacial and dramatic, and while it is certainly dramatic, it is a literary roller coaster like no other. I don't expect to be blown away by everything one of my favorite authors writes; case in point, Erin Kelly's The Poison Tree, and I pretty much live in fear of anything Liane Moriarty publishes. But Hannah left me with a new degree of disappointment - The Great Alone made me feel...uncomfortable.

Mother and daughter, Coraline and Lenora, are two peas in a pod. At least, they have to be in order to navigate both the rough terrain of Dad, Ernt's, post-Vietnam personality, and the rough wilderness of Alaska, a place they find themselves grossly unprepared for. Hopeful in the same way that Jack and Danny Torrence were hopeful at the beginning of The Shining, there are moments of this book that actually scared me. It never quite escapes that Overlook Hotel feel, and as the story progresses, a feeling of Shakespeare, Sleeping with the Enemy, and the news tags along for the ride. It is real and raw, but showcases human frailty, especially of our own making, more than anything else. 

This being my second of Hannah's novels, I can say that she has a true talent for creating vivid characters, set against a magnificent backdrop, and for weaving everything together to form a remarkable, poignant story. Her writing is profound, moving, clear, and imaginative, and she digs deep to really give her books a three-dimensional feel. My trouble with this specific book, however, is that the main thing it made me feel is sadness. Where The Nightingale is sad because there is nothing about WWII that is not sad, in The Great Alone, Hannah corners the market on sadness. And just when you think that there can't possibly be anymore sadness, here is a big heaping scoop of even more sadness. It reminds me of one of the many reasons that I didn't enjoy Blind Your Ponies - it's like one Lifetime movie regurgitating every other Lifetime movie.

Cora and Leni's story is definitely dramatic, engrossing, emotional, and heart-stopping, so I understand the glowing reviews. But it's in the way that I don't relate to people who enjoy binge-watching murder shows at bedtime - this book's level of sadness and unfortunate circumstances is simply not my personal taste.

Hannah has many a book in her arsenal, including one that is currently on my shelf. I will continue to read Hannah's books, though maybe paying a little less attention to the cover and the title and the rave reviews.

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.

An Unwanted Guest by Shari Lapena

Page 254 - I have no idea who the killer is and why they're doing the killing.

Page 256 - I know who the killer is.

Page 260 - Wait, the killer might be someone else.

*Takes a shower instead of reading the final pages in order to stew over what I thought I knew, the details I thought I remembered and thought were important, and make connections that I thought were there.*

Page 270 - Ok, now I know who the killer is but I don't know why.

An Unwanted Guest by Shari Lapena is a modern-day game of Clue with a handful of complicated characters who share a common goal one snowy weekend in the Catskills: to have a peaceful, relaxing, luxurious weekend. But just as their weekend gets started, their common goal evolves into simply staying alive.

The story unravels much like it would if it had happened in real life. When one person winds up dead, it appears to be an accident, but each new detail that unfolds can either be easily explained away, or is part of something far more sinister. Each character has a reason, an opportunity, and a personality trait that would make them a killer, either in a crime of passion or premeditation. And each guest has a secret to keep and judgments to make through the lens of those secrets. It is truly brilliant how Lapena can bring together characters who don't know each other yet are still affected in some way by their own separate baggage.

An Unwanted Guest is a clever mystery with a subtle build where nothing is overtly obvious. It is well and efficiently written, though I am not a fan of the particular style; I don't appreciate three-word sentences, it makes me feel like I'm reading my grocery list. The book is light on imagery, but that's probably because most of it takes place in a hotel during an ice storm with the power out. There is no real investment in the characters, but the focus of the story is on the whodunnit and why. Like playing Clue, we don't care about who the characters are, we just want to solve the mystery before anyone else, so in that regard, I enjoyed the story and it was well-crafted.

I enjoyed this book more than Lapena's other, The Couple Next Door, which ended in a similar fashion to An Unwanted Guest. I'm not sure why Lapena does this; does she just put the pen down and decide to stop writing, or is it to leave room for sequels? Because in either book, a good extra page or two of explanation would be sufficient.

This is a book you will read in a weekend, aided by the fact that the entirety of the book takes place over a weekend. It is a chilling murder-mystery, perfect for reading under a thick blanket by the fire, particularly as the weather gets more blustery. And if you read this and The Shining, you probably won't be checking into any remote hotels any time soon...

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.

Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

There was a point while reading Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng that I thought, wow this story could truly be remarkable, and this book wind up on my regularly-referenced All Time Top Five Fave list. But, alas, it is not, and did not.

To start, Ng is a phenomenal writer. The imagery is clear and does what is intended - for you to imagine. The story has a graceful, elegant flow, moving seamlessly from one character perspective to another, who are - as characters - multi-layered, thoughtful, and relatable. This book sparks fiery discussion questions, chief among them, ones that Ng bluntly poses herself like, What would you do? 

A present-day intensely real topic, especially with social media being the launchpad for our opinions, the book is set in the late 1990's in the idyllic Midwest suburb of Shaker Heights. Elena Richardson naively believes that a life following strict structure and rules is a life to be lived undisturbed and unpunished. Many of us know this not to be true, enter newest resident Mia and her teenage daughter, Pearl. Mia rebukes the rules and lives a life of relative uncertainty. When a mutual acquaintance of the two women try to adopt a Chinese American baby, Mia and Elena are suddenly pitted against each other in a poignant reminder that we don't need something to be racist to still have the very subject of race be a driving force.

This is an interesting story that Ng chooses to tell, a simple tale of the lives of a neighborhood as they slowly veer off course through choices they probably shouldn't have made. Then again, as Ng asks, what would you do? The problem is that I find myself asking a different question; the same question I posed on page 90: why does this story need to be told? There are several storylines that are brilliantly engineered and beautifully woven together to form the tapestry of the tumultuous relationship between the Richardson family and pretty much everyone else, but Mia's choices are especially confusing, and the major theme of motherhood, the ties that bind, and nature vs. nurture are overshadowed by tales of teen sex.

A fellow Goodreads reader gave Little Fires Everywhere one out of five stars. Though I like to reward beautiful writing, I can understand why this person had that particular reaction. In my self-described professional reading opinion, the characters fell short of truly being able to empathize and sympathize with them. It was difficult to get a true sense of them, and the book was more or less like a stop on the J. Peterman Reality Tour and we got a brief glimpse into their lives, didn't like what we saw, then quietly went back to our own. Literary rumors have this book becoming a television series, which I am totally on-board with; maybe that is what it will take to truly make Ng's characters come alive.  

The Immortalists by Chloe Benjamin

Let's be real: most of us readers don't choose our books - or any other form of entertainment - based on escapism alone. If we did, Fantasy would be the only published genre and Hallmark the only channel on cable. We don't have an aversion to observing people exhibit bad behavior, but mostly when there are clear distinctions between the good guys and bad guys, and we are aware of it beforehand, and because we perceive their situations to be so far removed from our own reality. And we"ll accept morally challenged characters in exchange for a good story. So when a book comes along with characters so inherently selfish, narcissistic, and unapologetically so without committing any major legal infractions, accompanying a story that is decidedly not worth the pay-off, that is when us readers feel betrayed. Chloe Benjamin's The Immortalists is a definite disappointment; a promising story propped up by an engaging topic, taken over by truly unfortunate characters.

What would you do if you learned the exact date of your death? Would you seek out that information in the first place? Would knowing the date of your death change the way you lived? What would be the difference - if any - in finding out when you were a child versus finding out as an adult? Benjamin takes on these provocative questions with even more provocative answers by way of the Gold siblings - Simon, Klara, Daniel, and Varya - who sneak out of their childhood home one summer night in 1969, lured by the kid-gossip that doubles as campfire tales about a haunting woman made infamous for accurately predicting the exact date of a person's death. Though they are just children, they immediately grasp the enormity of the information they have just been given. And what follows is a poignant, depressing story propelled by self-inflicted guilt and victimization. Published in 2018, if ever there was a book to highlight the entitlement of middle class youth, The Immortalists is it.

The book is written well, albeit a bit crass, the research is timely, and the story is what good book discussion are made of; I made up about ten discussion questions in my head while I read. Of all the directions lives can go after learning the date of death, Benjamin takes a decidedly darker one with four self-destructive individuals completely devoid of empathy or personal responsibility, which I find personally distasteful. That aside, they are brilliant representations of the various paths one's life can take after learning the exact date of their death. The characters are decidedly unlikable, and though that exists in every entertainment medium, the Gold siblings are just awful, terrible people, hauling what could have been an otherwise engaging, interesting plot into a depressing depiction of our deep self-inflicted wounds. Did Benjamin do this on purpose merely to highlight one of the ways in which a life can go, or is her's just another voice in the race to play victim?

A book worthy of many a discussion groups, the premise had promise but is lost amongst the unfortunate characters. With such an enormous topic, what Benjamin ultimately laced together is brilliant, but I was thoroughly disappointed, and this book left me with a dent in my faith in humanity, which is definitely not why I read.

Final Girls by Riley Sager

I finally read Final Girls. By Riley Sager, Stephen King had praised, “The first great thriller of 2017 is here!” And further reviews compare it to the likes of Gone Girl because I guess that’s what we do now – compare all thrillers to Gone Girl. Personally, I found no such comparisons between the two. In fact, Final Girls reminds me a lot of the great ‘90’s slasher-flick series, Scream; particularly Scream 2 where Neve Campbell is still scared and always looking over her shoulder even though the obvious threat has been eliminated. Rare is a book that starts with everything out in the open but that is Final Girls. The crime scenes cleaned, the killers cold underground, the cases closed. All that’s left are the survivors. So what could possibly go wrong?

Some people kill for no reason; just go on murderous rampages not for vendettas or betrayals or avenging, but just to feel the sensation of a sharp blade moving through human flesh like a warm stick of butter. Those left in the wake are the survivors; people – women – left to endure the psychological and emotional pain that come with gruesome murders. Quincy Carpenter and Lisa Milner thought they had it all figured out. Lisa was turning her evil into good by helping troubled women, and Quincy moved on to a normal, quiet life as a baking blogger and would-be fiancé to a Public Defender. Another “Final Girl,” (as the press liked to dub them because what would tragedies be without cute catch-phrases?) Samantha, is in hiding as her coping mechanism of choice. But then Sam shows up on Quincy’s doorstep and Quincy learns she doesn’t have her shit together as much as her Xanax and wine would like to make her believe.

With sharp characters who make dark choices, Sager creates a pointed example of the perilous decision to ignore our emotions and try to convince ourselves that we’re “fine,” especially after dealing with anything traumatic. Quincy is a generous depiction of things resurfacing, often in violent ways, with Sam and Quincy’s boyfriend, Jeff, as the proverbial angel vs. devil, both taunting Quincy with what they think the know about her and what they think she wants or needs. Soon, after Sam’s arrival, Quincy is conflicted, and unsure of what is real and not real.

The book is written well, and the story is dark, deeply mysterious, and only gets more so with every turn of the page. There are shocking twists and constant turns, all built on the solid foundation of you not knowing the true nature of the mystery in the first place: we know the killers, we know how, and why, and where, and it’s done. So why is Final Girls so mysterious? Even so, it is.

We follow along with Quincy, but get an outsiders perspective of the events at Pine Cottage because her memory has chosen to store them in an inaccessible part of her brain. Her lack of memory doesn’t seem to be an issue, until suddenly it is. What I didn’t appreciate, and why I gave it 4/5 stars on Goodreads, is the section from several weeks after Pine Cottage to two years after Pine Cottage. I would prefer if this section just simply didn't exist; or if was put into a conversation between the two women; or maybe even part of an Epilogue. I guess I am a picky reader in that I like to be treated like a character and not a reader, learning things I otherwise wouldn’t know simply because I’m in the audience.

I’m not sure if any other great thrillers followed Final Girls in 2017, but this one definitely met my expectations. It was intense and creepy, but also human and empathetic. We all have a bit of “Final Girl” in us; survivors; after Buffy transferred her Slayer Strength to every future Slayer.