24 Hour Library

A Library Blog by Abby Hargreaves

Category: Abby Reads (page 1 of 13)

Reviews of books I’ve read in real life.

Abby Reads: If I’m Being Honest by Emily Wibberly and Austin Siegemund-Broka

Hi friends! I’m trying something new with reviews. I have a handful of full-length ones to post still, but I’ve found that I’m more able to keep up with reviewing material I’ve read in shorter forms. This will also include a visual element and, if you want immediate updates on reviews you can follow me at @24hourlibrary on Instagram where the content will be the same. Let me know what you think!

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REVIEW: “If I’m Being Honest” by Emily Wibberly and Austin Siegemund-Broka- Continuing with a heavy Shakespearean presence after their debut (this time, “The Taming of the Shrew”), “Always Never Yours,” Wibberly and Siegemund-Broka have a bit of a sophomore slump with their second novel. Although the plot is cutesy enough, the authors rely on too many tropes to make it refreshing, including “popular girl falls in with ‘freak’ crowd,” “‘freaks’ have actual depth and are people, too,” “popular girl has secret nerdy hobby,” “bully is bullying to feel better about being bullied herself,” and “daddy issues” (*cringe*). Still, with her family circumstances, Cameron is a sympathetic character despite her cruelty. While chemistry between her and her younger love interest is limited, there’s enough to carry the plot. Aside from a fun cameo of characters from the authors’ first novel, “If I’m Being Honest” isn’t bad, but probably skip-able. For fans of Morgan Matson, this could still be a breezy, low-key, and enjoyable read — If I’m being honest. 🕹 3/5⁣ ⁣ #bookreview #ifimbeinghonest #books #bookstagram #booklover #bookworm #bookish #bookgram #bookgeek #bookdragon #booklovers #booklove #booknerds #booknerd #bookphoto #bookporn #bookphotography #bookworms #bookvibes

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Abby Reads: Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy by Rey Terciero and Bre Indigo

Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy: A Graphic Novel by Rey Terciero and Bre Indigo
Little, Brown Books for Young Readers, 2019, 256 pages
Juvenile Graphic Novel

A retelling of Louisa May Alcott’s classic Little Women, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy begin their story with a modern look for a modern audience at Christmastime in New York City. The family is struggling, with an exhausted mom (Madison March) who works as a nurse, and faraway dad, who is serving overseas in the military. While the girls lament their lack of means, each has dreams that extend far into the future. Meg lives for fashion and marrying Image result for meg jo beth amyrich (which will no doubt solve her and her sisters’ problems), Jo focuses on writing and social justice (much to the annoyance of those around her), Beth yearns to play music (if only she could get out of her own way), and Amy obsesses over art and video games (but art supplies aren’t cheap). When the sisters meet Laurie, the new boy across the street, everyone is in for something new. But even the kindness of Laurie and his family can’t help Meg with her love life, Jo with her secret, Beth with her illness, and Amy with being the baby of the bunch. This graphic novel is by Rey Terciero and Bre Indigo, along with a team of artists.

The authors make several changes to the plot of Little Women to modernize it — for example, Beth, rather than suffering from scarlet fever, instead becomes ill with one of the biggest disease threats to today’s children. Then there’s Jo, who — I’m not counting this as a spoiler because Rey Terciero shared the panes on his Instagram — must decide whether or not to accept herself as gay and then come out to her family. Overall, the authors provide a sound plot — though adult readers may wonder how the family makes out with Beth’s medical bills. Like Little Women, there isn’t so much a storyline as there is watching a family grow over the course of a year through a series of loosely-connected vignettes to emphasize character development.

Because the book is so heavily focused on character development, the characterization of each character must be developed. Terciero and Indigo achieve this to some extent, and probably mostly to the satisfaction of most younger readers, but older kids and adults may find it somewhat lacking. So, too, is the concept of sisterhood and relationships between women. It’s there, and the authors make an attempt, but it does not quite feel genuine. Instead, there’s a sort of sitcom-like sheen on the relationships that feel a bit one-dimensional and inauthentic. With the sisters and their many interests, most readers will find at least one character with whom to identify. However, the authors missed out on an opportunity represent young women interested in STEM. The four interests are decidedly creative in nature, and perhaps a STEM-oriented sister might have felt like forced representation (and, true, another departure from the source text), but it still feels like a missed opportunity. It seems, too, that much of Jo’s sexuality is represented with stereotypes — while they aren’t stereotypes I’ve found to be horrifically untrue, their presence did call to question why, when LGBTQ representation is so lacking in the first place and, when it does appear, often portrays LGBTQ characters in a limited set of ways.

Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy maintains the spirit of Little Women which makes it an overall successful adaptation. Despite getting at that spirit, the authors don’t bog down the work in a way that is inaccessible on its own. Fans of Little Women will probably have at least one or two opinions about things that have been changed, but this is a fun graphic novel with enough seriousness to make readers want to savor it. With the characters ranging in age, readers of different ages will easily get different things out of it. And many readers will likely turn to the original story, eager to find out more about the March sisters.

❤❤❤❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur

The Sun and Her Flowers by Rupi Kaur
Andrews McMeel Publishing, 2017, 256 pages
Poetry

Following up her major success with Milk and Honey, poet Rupi Kaur brings a new collection of poetry to her audience. In The Sun and Her Flowers, Kaur explores relationships with herself, her mother, men, and society at large. With each section themed by relationship and the conflicts found in those relationships, Kaur also finds focus on concepts such as identity, feminism, immigration, racism, and beyond. Concise language pairs with simple 35606560illustrations to pull this reasonably-sized collection of poetry together and follow up on one of the most well-known collections of poetry of late.

Realistically, The Sun and Her Flowers is going to be compared to Milk and Honey and its enormous success (and, if you pick up The Sun and Her Flowers, you’ll likely find yourself doing the same), so let’s get that out of the way: The Sun and Her Flowers, though very similar to Milk and Honey, is not quite as good. Perhaps it is because so much of what is present in The Sun and Her Flowers has already been done in Milk and Honey so, while the quality is perhaps the same, it doesn’t feel quite as new or as revolutionary (which, caveat: there are lots of folks pointing out what Kaur has done isn’t original and is perhaps even plagiarism) as it did in Kaur’s first collection. (Plus, and this isn’t Kaur’s fault, but, let’s be honest — Milk and Honey’s cover is far more useful for Instagram purposes than is The Sun and Her Flowers. Just saying.)

In the section about breakups, Kaur mixes language that feels entirely fresh and original while other poems spout out the same kind of melodramatic and eye-roll-inducing phrases you’d expect to find in your middle school journal. Though Kaur is forced to use dramatic language due to her extremely pared down style (most of the poems are still no more than a dozen or two dozen words at most — a couple exceptions extend into a full two pages’ worth of words, albeit with still very short lines), the cliches she employs in this “chapter” in particular feel especially cheap.

Meanwhile, in poems about her mother, Kaur presents a relationship with plenty of gray areas and conflicting feelings that are displayed with powerful language and ideas. From admiration to resentment, though Kaur speaks in specifics with particular attention to her mother’s status as an immigrant and what that means for Kaur, the notions Kaur illustrates are largely universal. Readers will find plenty of familiar material in the collection as a whole, but some of the more striking pieces sit within the context of Kaur and her mother’s relationship.

The Sun and Her Flowers is somewhat lengthy; not all of the pieces included necessarily should have been. While Milk and Honey felt to be a good length, many of the poems in The Sun and Her Flowers felt extraneous and repetitive. Given that a handful of poems felt especially like extracts from a middle school journal, the length of The Sun and Her Flowers doesn’t make sense, except that due to the popularity of Milk and Honey, Kaur and her editors likely felt they could get away with a longer piece and that fans might want it regardless of the actual quality.

The illustrations of the poetry are still a great addition to the work as a whole. Simple, wiry, and beautiful, each drawing works to provide additional dimension and emotion to the page. Despite their simplicity, however, the illustrations are always clear in what they are meant to be, even when their representation does not quite match the content of the poem with which they are paired.

Overall The Sun and Her Flowers is another win for Kaur. Though not a perfect set of poems and lacking in some places in one way or another, fans of Milk and Honey will appreciate a return to many themes (if it’s perhaps a bit limiting) in overlapping concepts while finding new life in poems about mother-daughter relationships. Kaur’s concise and powerful language continues to make her work incredibly accessible and therefore a popular choice for an entry point to poetry. An easy metaphor of plants and growth underscores this accessibility as well as the stark femininity with which Kaur themes her collection. Though you don’t need to rush out and buy this one, it is worth a read.

❤❤❤❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: Bird Box by Josh Malerman

Bird Box by Josh Malerman
Ecco Press, 2014, 272 pages
Horror/Thriller

In Josh Malerman’s Bird Box, the people of America have been plagued with unseen creatures that, when viewed, cause the victim to go insane and inflict violence on others before killing themselves. When these creatures first arrive, Malorie soon discovers she is pregnant. It’s not long before she is convinced of the reality of these creatures, their existence and impact brought home by her sister’s grisly death. Malorie becomes a housemate at a small group of survivors and witnesses — and participates in — the various conflicts that come with dealing with this new world. In the present, Malorie endeavors to escape the house and make a perilous twenty-mile journey down the river where she’s been promised safety. But how do you navigate to a Image result for bird box book coverplace you’ve never been without opening your eyes?

If you’d asked me before I read Bird Box if I liked horror novels, the answer would have been no. I tried Stephen King when I was in middle school (Pet Sematary, if you’re curious) and was bored to tears over it, so I figured horror just wasn’t my thing. While I’d read a few other things marketed as horror since (Asylum by Madeleine Roux, for example), nothing in literature really scared me. Plenty of people said they’d read books they couldn’t read at night they were so terrified by them — often listing Pet Sematary as their own example — and so I figured there was something wrong with me.

Bird Box did not keep me up for fear — but it did keep me up for wanting to read more. Though I don’t have a lot to compare it to (see the previous paragraph), Bird Box feels painfully original and Malerman does an astounding job at creating tension and a weird sense of slow urgency in the context of his highly inventive plot. As the reader moves between Malorie’s present and past, the question remains until the end as to whether or not she and the two children she brings with her will survive and thrive.

Though Malorie begins as one of the more blase characters when it comes to the existence of the creatures at the beginning of the novel, she is easily one of the most neurotic about surviving them by the end. It’s this character development that pushes Malerman’s novel to the top. Originally somewhat self-absorbed and, aside from her pregnancy, fairly lighthearted, Malorie ends up a nervous wreck who is specific, demanding, harsh, and tense. She names the children Boy and Girl, fully aware of how futile it seems to give “real” names to children who don’t live in a “real” world and may not survive the day. Meanwhile, deceit and alliances create fascinating relationships throughout the novel with a manageable size of a cast. Seemingly small choices, like the lack of names for the children, indicate in very powerful ways the mental states of the characters and Malerman manages each character fantastically this way.

Malerman doesn’t push the gore too much in the novel. This means when he does describe scenes of carnage, it’s especially effective. Malerman is sometimes restricted by perspective of his characters who are often forced to keep their eyes closed, but he uses this again to his advantage, creating suspense much like the lack of visual on the famed Jaws creates dread in Jaws.

Even if you’re not a fan of horrors or thrillers, Bird Box may be well worth a shot. On top of being fantastically exciting in the most dreadful way, the novel poses fascinating questions and is an impressive exercise of the senses. Fun and smart, the novel doesn’t take too long to read — no matter how I tried to pace myself, I just couldn’t. And once you’ve finished Bird Box, you can look forward to Malerman’s spring publication, Unbury Carol.

❤❤❤❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: The Curiosities by Susan Gloss

The Curiosities by Susan Gloss
William Morrow, 2019, 368 pages
Contemporary Fiction

With thanks to William Morrow for the final copy.

After the loss of her newborn, Nell can only think of how to fill the void. Despite treatment after treatment, Nell and her husband Josh are seemingly unable to get pregnant. And while Josh appears to have moved on, Nell cannot let her grief go. Meanwhile, the bills from fertility treatment have added up and Nell has kept just how much money has been spent on treatment from Josh. Now, she has an opportunity to work as the director of a new artists 40712737colony in an attempt to chip away at the bills, but it might be more of a challenge than she’s up to. There’s the hippie-photographer who might be dealing out of the basement Annie, the even-keeled sculptor Odin who gives Nell a case of the butterflies, and Paige, a printer who isn’t ready to settle. As Nell navigates her new position and the people in her life, she must first get out of her own way.

While characters who are diverse in thought and age inhabit The Curiosities, their execution leaves something to be desired. Each character seems to be driven primarily by a personal tragedy, leaving no room for other traits or meaningful history. While certainly things like child loss and partner loss are hugely impactful events, their effect cannot entirely encompass a person. Gloss’s characters are, as a result, rather flat and lacking the roundedness and complexity of real people or believable and compelling characters.

Although the characters may not be entirely convincing, the plot of The Curiosities is reasonably so. The initial setup of Nell hiding crucial financial information from her husband is perhaps a bit far-fetched, but not entirely implausible. From there, Nell does conveniently get the first job for which she applies — and is evidently fairly unqualified for — but the subsequent events, involving the building of the artists colony and a death in the house that causes upheaval for all of the residents feel fairly natural and realistic.

Gloss struggles some with showing over telling, favoring a prose style that is rather unspecific. Rather than extend information into scenes that conveys the goings-on at the colony, Gloss indicates passing time with vague indications of the activities of the artists and leaves more detailed scenes for looks into the characters’ pasts, including the deceased benefactress. Overall, this makes the plot pass quickly and, to some extent, without notice. Additionally, the prose does its job and just that — there are few turns of phrase to savor and enjoy, few impressive descriptions. Readers who seek a more driving plot will latch onto the death and be lost in the details of seemingly more extraneous scenes that develop character, but do little to push events forward. Meanwhile, readers who prefer novels that are heavily character-driven will enjoy The Curiosities if they can get past the singular dimensions of the characters.

The Curiosities is a moderately quick and enjoyable read. Fans of Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows will find some shared elements to enjoy, though the work is not quite as adept. It’s a novel that is easily categorized as women’s fiction — though that’s generally not something I believe in — and will no doubt find many book clubs to enjoy it.

❤❤❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: Born Wicked by Jessica Spotswood

Born Wicked by Jessica Spotswood
Speak, 2012, 352 pages
Young Adult Fantasy

Full disclosure: I work with Jessica Spotswood. I wasn’t coerced into reading her work; it was something that would have interested me anyway. My thoughts here are my own and have no bearing on Jessica as a person, who is lovely. Onward!

Having assumed responsibility for her sisters following the death of her mother in the face of a father who doesn’t know his daughters are witches, Cate Cahill has more to worry about than just being found out for her magic. In Born Wicked by Jessica Spotswood, a group known as the Brotherhood has 11715276striven to drive witchcraft out of society. Cate and her sisters live in a world that is an alternate history of our own, but with careful world-building and plenty of borrowing from the real-life Salem Witch Trials of the Seventeenth Century, Spotswood achieves a story that feels realistic despite its fantasy and will be a fun read for those who love teen romance stories.

With a specific kind of world-building to achieve and loads of exposition to provide, Born Wicked does feel slow at parts. Cate is reluctant to allow a governess into their home in the absence of their father and, while this conflict is one of the central conflicts of the story, its arrival in the narrative is a late one. Meanwhile, the threat of the Brotherhood, while certainly real, does not feel terribly heightened. The reality is the Cahill sisters have managed their threat for the duration of their lives, including three years without the protection and guidance of their mother — why is this threat suddenly so much greater? The Brotherhood does scrutinize Cate a little more carefully now that she is nearing their prescribed age of marriage and the uncertain presence of the governess makes the sisters uneasy, but neither of these things seem to quite warrant the panic Cate seems to feel around being found out.

Naturally, with a prescribed age of marriage comes potential suitors. Somewhat predictably, Cate finds herself at the center of a love triangle involving an old friend and a young man Cate’s acquainted with but doesn’t know well until he begins working on her land at the direction of Cate’s father. Despite the predictability of the existence of the love triangle itself, Spotswood executes it in such a way so as to make it feel somewhat new. The dynamics of the characters work in a way that freshens the trope in some aspects and does cast doubt as to with whom Cate will end up.

Character dynamics are something Spotswood does well in a variety of places. Known for her stories of sisters, Spotswood doesn’t make an exception here. For all its romantic love, witchcraft, and ostracism, Born Wicked is primarily a story about sisterhood. Each sister is uniquely developed and has her own interests. While Cate is the focus of the story, her sisters play interesting and important roles nonetheless and Cate is well aware of it. Other characters, too, have their own personalities and motivations with well-developed and defined characteristics.

Cate’s narration style does provide some roadblocks. Employing a vocabulary and sentence structure that attempts to indicate an antiquated world with various inflections and exclamations, the prose often feels put-on. Taking on this kind of stylized speech is a challenge, no doubt, and it didn’t always work in Born Wicked. A book written in speech more typical of modern times, however, might have more easily confused readers, so there might not be a “right” answer here.

Born Wicked is a fun read, if slow in parts, for readers who are looking for witchcraft without a dark or spooky element. It’s a novel of pastels and lace from the start, so if you’re looking for something a little more lighthearted, if in some ways heavily political (and politically relevant), this is a good place to start.

❤❤❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: Monster by Michael Grant

Monster by Michael Grant
Katherine Tegen Books, 2017, 432 pages
Young Adult Science Fiction

I received this eBook from Edelweiss in exchange for an honest review. Monster is available for purchase as of the writing of this review.

Years after the FAYZ has been eliminated, many of those who lived through the harrowing events of the original Gone series are struggling to live normal, healthy lives in Michael Grant’s Monster. But to make matters worse, the alien virus which kicked off those events has returned and with greater strength in the form of projectiles from space. As they land all over the world, kids and teens are exposed to the virus — both purposefully with the intent of gaining superpowers and by mistake — and the United States government wants to intervene. With both familiar26082351 and new characters, Monster brings a new level of thrill to fans of the Gone series.

Grant has a history of being called out for being problematic. He and Debbie Reese have come up against each other multiple times, particularly over his depiction of Native American characters. I have an opinion about the whole situation, but it’s not useful or valid to hear more white people talk about it, so I’ll just inform you that it’s a thing that’s been going on and you can decide whether or not you want to engage with Grant’s work from there. I’ll take one more beat to note that Monster features characters who are absolutely transphobic and homophobic, so be aware of that if you choose to read Monster. The remainder of my review will assess the book as separate from the author and these issues.

As in the original series, Monster has an excellent cast of characters, all of whom have strong, well-defined motivations, interesting and complete backstories, and personalities that are varied and play well against and with each other. Given the number of books Grant has written, I am always astounded by how thoroughly the characters are developed, both as characters, period, and how they actively develop on the page throughout the narrative. Without being heavy-handed, Grant manages to clearly trace back inciting events and circumstances to explain the actions of his characters and this helps bring a level of realism that is necessary for his high-intensity science fiction world.

Along with the intangible realism Grant provides in his novel is the visceral gore he continues to excel at writing. This signature style was one that really elevated the Gone series for me, and its presence in Monster is just as appreciated. Grant’s skill in depicting the grotesque and horrific lies in his ability to do so without cliche and with a great deal of specificity without becoming overly clinical or repetitive. The tedium isn’t held quite as well during fight scenes — of which there are many in Monster — but by the end of the book, it’s clear these moments of physical conflict are leading to something much bigger in a book yet to be published. Monster is, essentially, the first few chapters of the spinoff series, so it’s logical that it sometimes must play the part of exposition.

Grant includes interesting pieces of what I’ll call “mixed media writing,” particularly toward the end. These passages include a speech from the President of the United States and tweets. Like the characterizations and gore, Grant somehow finds a way to make these sections heighten the realism rather than cheapening the book, which, from many other attempts I’ve read, is a real challenge to do.

For all I’ve mentioned Gone, it’s possible to read Monster (and, presumably, its follow-ups) without reading the original six novels. It’s not entirely clear whether Monster is, in fact, part of the original series (Amazon and Wikipedia would have you believe it’s Gone #7) or truly a spinoff (the narrative and characters seem to suggest this — and I feel like Grant himself has indicated this status as well), but Monster includes enough detail about the events of Gone and its sequels that readers new to the world could easily hop on board without reading Gone (though, why you wouldn’t want to read the incredible first six books is beyond me).

Monster holds up to Grant’s previous work. It’s just as well crafted as an exciting story with originality, excellent characters, and striking realism within a fascinating science fiction world. The novel is a tough one to put down most of the time, even as a piece that is introducing a new storyline and requires a lot of explanation and exposition which sometimes means sections that feel a little slower. If you enjoyed Gone, Monster is absolutely worth the time and the space on your bookshelf.

❤❤❤❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: Ever by Gail Carson Levine

Ever by Gail Carson Levine
HarperCollins, 2011, 288 pages
Juvenile Fantasy

When her mother is sick and nearing death in Gail Carson Levine’s Ever, Kezi and her family will do just about anything to spare her. When her father makes a promise to sacrifice the first person who congratulates him on his wife’s healing — assuming their god grants them Kezi’s mother’s health — it’s not long before the mother improves and Kezi’s aunt visits. Just as she’s about to congratulate Kezi’s father, Kezi jumps in and does it herself, thus 2204464dooming herself as a sacrifice. But nearby is the self-made outcast known as Olus who is a god unknown to Kezi and her family. His presence has been periphery since his arrival as a tenant of Kezi’s father, but he’s about to become more.

Apparently drawing from many existing mythologies, Levine does an impressive job building her world and new mythology. Though the reader isn’t overwhelmed with details (this is, after all, a juvenile novel), the universe and explanations for it still seem quite complete. I don’t pretend to know of every religion or mythology out there and, in fact, checked quickly to be sure that Levine was not pulling solely from one existing faith or cast of gods. The world in which she works here feels well-established and seems to exist beyond the pages the reader is given.

Levine lacks this skill in her development of Kezi and Olus’s relationship. Perhaps due to the target audience of the book, the chemistry between Kezi and Olus is practically nonexistent. Neither character, it seems, is developed enough to warrant feelings for the other. Kezi’s character is wrapped up in her love for her family and dance while Olus is mostly concerned with his identity of a god. Beyond this, neither character has a personality enough that there’s any substance for the other to fall in love with. While both characters are young, this does not fully explain the lack of character development and the consequential lack of chemistry. Though mythology and fables are often populated by characters with little definition as characters, for a novel-length work, this shortcoming has bigger consequences.

Throughout the entirety of the story, Levine uses a stylized prose which helps to build the world and explain the lives of the characters. In alternating first-person perspective, both Kezi and Olus have similar — though not identical — voices. That said, the style is a little distracting and melodramatic. Though its richness might be appropriate for a less observant, younger audience who needs something with a stronger flavor, the strength of the prose style is such that it might be distracting for older readers.

Ever likely would have worked better for a young adult audience, though the plot might have been a little more trite in that space. While the world is well-developed, Levine falls short with her characterization, chemistry, and, in some ways, the prose. The conflict at times feels contrived rather than natural and this is underlined by a similarly contrived-feeling solution to the conflict. Ever is pleasant enough, but isn’t a stellar novel for any audience.

❤❤❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne

The House of the Seven Gables by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Ticknor and Fields, 1851, 240 pages
Fiction

In the generations that follow the Salem Witch Trials, one family continues to experience what they believe is a curse placed upon their ancestor by one of the accused in Nathaniel Hawthorne’s gothic classic The House of the Seven Gables. Now caring for the house that belonged to the accused and was 90192taken into possession by her ancestor, Hepzibah Pyncheon has found herself near poverty and must open a shop to offset the costs of living in her old New England town. It seems that various forces are trying to get her out of the house, including her relative who has an interest in owning the house himself. Meanwhile, a young cousin, Phoebe, arrives to Hepzibah’s home and finds herself courting Hepzibah’s tenant, a man by the name of Holgrave. Their connection, however, is more than it appears and the question of the curse continues to linger over the household.

I’ve had an interest in reading this novel for a long time — ever since I visited Hawthorne’s home in Salem, Massachusetts, which is widely believed to be the structure upon which the house of this novel is based. While I tried to read it last October, the prose proved to be too dense for me at that time, so I held off and returned to it this year in the spirit of Halloween. I expected The House of the Seven Gables to have a creepier feel to it, and found that the supernatural elements of the book are more ambiguous and the descriptions less grotesque than I expected, but still found many of the societal horrors Hawthorne portrays chilling.

Hawthorne is surprisingly socially aware, particularly for his time. While you shouldn’t expect anything to the level of Black Lives Matter in Hawthorne’s work, like The Scarlet Letter, The House of the Seven Gables explores themes of the marginalized. In this case, those in poverty. While the story’s aim, it would seem (never assume author intent!), is primarily one of entertainment, these comments on society find their way into the narrative and Hawthorne finds excellent ways to illustrate the effects of systemic, generational poverty and how it is perpetuated.

Additionally, Hawthorne’s awareness extends into the philosophy of perception, in that while readers are first introduced to Hepzibah Pyncheon essentially through her eyes, her reliability and sanity come into greater question as the perspective shifts to be more from cousin Phoebe. This subtle move brings interesting questions into play about truth, reality, and, of course, perception in a way that is strong without being overbearing or distracting from the story.

Like its contemporaries, The House of the Seven Gables is full of rich prose, which can at times make the novel especially slow. The narrative itself is a bit of a slow burn with subtle plot points and a conflict that, frankly, is not terribly exciting. Still, Hawthorne maintains his readers’ attention with astute observations couched in a style that is fun to unravel and roll around in the mind. And, too, like a Dickens novel, this work slowly builds a case that is revealed in the end — at least in some plot aspects, while others remain shrouded in mystery or up to the reader, depending on what kind of reader you are.

The House of the Seven Gables is about what you can expect insofar as Nineteenth Century classics go — a little on the slow side; full of dense, flowery prose; atmospheric; and philosophical. Although the plot is not full of excitement and drama, it’s still an interesting one and the book as a whole provides a fascinating study of life in Salem, Massachusetts in the 1800s.

❤❤❤💔 out of ❤❤❤❤❤

Abby Reads: Jane, Unlimited by Kristin Cashore

Jane, Unlimited by Kristin Cashore
Kathy Dawson Books, 2017, 464 pages
YA Science Fiction

After her Aunt Magnolia makes her promise to accept any invitation to a house known as Tu Reviens, Jane of Kirstin Cashore’s Jane, Unlimited finds herself the recipient of just such an invitation from her former tutor, Kiran. With her umbrella-making supplies in tow and her heart still broken by the 32991569death of her Aunt Magnolia, Jane heads to Tu Reviens where a strange cast of characters, from the owner of the house to Kiran’s twin brother to the housekeepers, all seem to have something to hide. While odd things happen around Jane, she’s not sure who to trust and where to go. It all comes down to making the right decision — but what is it?

The feeling I got from Jane, Unlimited was, in short, this: (perhaps inspired by E. Lockhart’s We Were Liars), Cashore had a gimmicky idea and placed the importance of that concept over the actual quality of the book as a whole. Like We Were Liars, it’s difficult to talk about the shortcomings of Jane, Unlimited without giving away the bulk of the book. The book is not realistic fiction, but instead mixes fantasy and science fiction in pursuit of the concept in a way that doesn’t feel entirely natural. And, due to the construction of the idea, the idea itself is never fully developed in a meaningful way.

So, the gimmick wasn’t executed well and the prose Cashore seats it in doesn’t help. Cashore employs third person, present tense in the novel, combined with a style that I haven’t quite wrapped my head around. Something about the sentence structure is incredibly deliberate and, consequently, distracting. Much of it made the narrative drag even more. While present tense often serves to amp up the tension (ha) and immediacy of a plot, here, though it was necessary for the concept, it seemed only to slow things down. The development of the concept, meanwhile, requires a significant amount of exposition, which further slowed down an already-sizable book at 464 pages.

Another aspect bogging down Jane, Unlimited was the sheer number of characters. Although many individuals live and work at Tu Reviens (and, indeed, a party is one of the central plot points of the story), the house always seemed to have an empty feeling. I suspect this was partially by design, but further emphasized by a challenge of character development — again, the victim of the concept of the novel. Too many characters inhabit the story and, without getting to know many of them, the narrative falls short. This, however, has another side — Jane knows as much about the characters as does the reader. Her confusion and such, then, is more palpable and easier to invest in, in some ways.

Cashore’s ending — again, a complicated term, given the concept of the book — felt insufficient. Without a better development of the concept, the concept is unable to be resolved and the ending provided by the narrator and all of the frustration built up over the course of the book doesn’t pay off in a way that matters.

Jane, Unlimited might do interesting things with allusions (especially Jane Eyre, from my perspective), but the gimmick of the book ultimately provides an excuse for all the flaws in the novel without making up for the flaws. With all the excitement over the book, I was pretty severely disappointed in this one. As one Goodreads reviewer, Sarah, wrote, “I’ve been walking around for days thinking that I don’t like reading anymore.” And, truly, that was my experience with Jane, Unlimited, too. Don’t buy the buzz on this one.

❤ out of ❤❤❤❤❤

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