I am someone who loves slower-moving stories, but this was too slow, even for me. It wasn’t that nothing was happening – it was just that the things that were happening were not that important to me.
It felt as though the revelations were small in comparison to what had occurred in the past few books, and lots of time was spent focusing on petty drama and working towards a goal that was likely to be unsuccessful. Too much of the focus was on the task at hand, but not the reasoning behind the task. I think going into more depth could have made the novel more interesting. Where was the motivation, the passion? The yearning?? How can something be a slow-burn romance if the romantic interest is barely mentioned because the main character is too busy studying?
Also, I understand that it was necessary to the plot for the story to take place on a different ark, but I wish the Pole was featured more. I grew attached, especially to Berenilde, and I think she could have played a larger role in the story.
While this was my least favorite book in the series so far, the last 80 pages made up for it. However, I have lower hopes for the fourth book after reading the third one.
Chanel Miller’s memoir, “Know My Name,” tells the story of her s*xual assault, highly-publicized trial, and years of healing.
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 5 out of 5.
The short version: this is one of the best books I have ever read.
The long version:
Have you ever been reading and felt the need to scream? That was how I felt reading “Know My Name.” Never before have I read a memoir that has so touched me; Miller’s writing style is heartbreakingly beautiful and incredibly intricate. Her prose, her pacing, her use of metaphors and flashbacks, all of it shows the talent of an award-winning author, and an award-winning author she is. She deserves it all. Miller has a way of describing feelings I didn’t even know I felt, pulling them out of her life and saying, “Here it is, and here’s a pattern in my life of that feeling,” and immediately I see it, I see that feeling in my life and I wonder, “How does she know me so well?”
I run a sexual violence prevention group at my high school, and after reading the novel, I hand-typed an excerpt and printed out copies, using them as a discussion starter during a club meeting. Each sentence was important to someone, each one deserving of analysis and repetition aloud. I told them that I couldn’t recommend “Know My Name” enough, and I will say it again now. I cannot recommend this book enough. It has touched me beyond belief, and I can only say thank you. Thank you, Chanel Miller. Thank you.
This edition of “Sense and Sensibility” comes from a box set from Macmillan Collector’s Library
MY REVIEW
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
Skip to the bolded line to avoid spoilers!
When I finished Jane Austen’s “Sense and Sensibility,” I felt a sense of disappointment. I felt uneasy; its perfect ending was actually, in a way, horrifying to me. The novel ended with Elinor marrying Mr. Ferrars, a man who had been recently disowned by his family, and Marianne marrying Colonel Brandon, a man with whom she had no chemistry or conversations. The two couples live side-by-side in the country, happy as can be. I couldn’t understand why or how this could satisfy any of the characters. How could Elinor be happy in almost certain poverty? How could Colonel Brandon marry someone who didn’t love him back the way he loved her? How could Marianne marry someone she didn’t love, especially as a character so in tune with her emotions?
I was ready to give the book 3 out of 5 stars, disappointed and unsettled, before I read the afterword, which argued that the ending was supposed to feel somewhat uneasy on a first read. At no point in the novel does it make sense for the characters to make the choices they did; nor does it make sense to have this incandescently happy ending when the whole novel has been about turmoil: falling into hysterics over information about a potential suitor’s betrayal, screaming into pillows, fainting and falling ill. This wasn’t supposed to feel right, because the characters at the end are not the same as the characters we knew in the body of the novel. They have changed for the better. However, we were unable to see this change. The ending is more of an epilogue in truth, and without any context given in the months that pass between the second-to-last and final chapter, it is difficult to understand this.
What I came to understand was that Marianne needed to marry someone she wasn’t desperately in love with. Intense love had nearly killed her before, with the betrayal of Mr. Willoughby making her sick for months on end. She didn’t need passion; she needed a partner. She already found passion in her everyday life: in nature, in literature, and within herself. Marianne needed a husband who was a friend first and lover second.
On the opposite side of the spectrum, Elinor needed to marry someone she was desperately in love with. She was used to making practical choices, having been the one earlier in the novel who stated the importance of a man’s wealth when picking a match for marriage. She ends up marrying a poor man, cut off from his family. Why would she do this? Elinor comes to realize the importance of passion, something which she is lacking. She already has sense. What she needs is someone who will make her see the joys of life, even if he is not the most practical choice. Once I understood this, I upped my rating to 4 out of 5 stars.
“Sense and Sensibility” is not what I was expecting; it is less of a love story than it is a story of self-discovery, of teen girls learning how to be adult women in society without losing their identities. I think that is why I was initially disappointed by the novel — where was the chemistry, the romance? In the end, the focus wasn’t supposed to be on the chemistry or the romance. The focus was on how the characters dealt with the romance, or lack thereof: their overly emotional, or, on the other hand, entirely hidden responses, and how those change throughout the book.
“Sense and Sensibility” is not “Pride and Prejudice.” They are not even comparable on some levels because “Sense and Sensibility” is a coming-of-age story first and romance second, while in “Pride and Prejudice,” you find the reverse. While both include Austen’s gorgeous and witty prose, along with the issues of marriage and money, their objectives are different. One is written to tell a love story. The other is written as almost a lesson on growing up and finding love, as well as finding maturity. However, the story is magnetic and, in a strange way, relatable. As a teenage girl, it is interesting to see how so much has changed, yet so much has stayed the same between now and Regency Era England. While I might not be dressing up for a ball or getting engaged at 18, I can understand wanting to scream into a pillow when you find out your crush likes your friend or getting frustrated with your younger sister when she keeps talking about the guy you like.
Although I don’t see myself rereading “Sense and Sensibility” anytime soon, I know I will continue to think about it for many months to come.
A beautiful and distinguished family. A private island. A brilliant, damaged girl; a passionate, political boy. A group of four friends—the Liars—whose friendship turns destructive. A revolution. An accident. A secret. Lies upon lies. True love. The truth.
REVIEW:
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
We Were Liars has so many mixed reviews. “It’s the best book ever!” “It’s the worst book ever!” In truth, it just comes down to what you like. E. Lockhart has an unusual writing style, including random paragraph breaks for emphasis and extended metaphors (that are not always obviously metaphors). I thought that these elements added to the somewhat disturbing atmosphere of the book, but if you don’t like them, you won’t like We Were Liars.
Additionally, I’ve seen reviews complain about the plot and characters. The characters are not good people, but I don’t think they’re supposed to be. Yes, they focus on “rich people problems” and are childish in the way they handle them, but that’s a main theme of the book. And yes, the plot is more atmospheric than concrete, so I recommend reading it in a few sittings rather than spreading it out as to not get lost or bored.
While I don’t see myself reading We Were Liars again or purchasing it for my shelf, I have to say that it is cutting, atmospheric, and utterly original.
When Charlotte wins a scholarship to a writing workshop in Venice with the charismatic and brilliant Luca Bruni, it’s a dream come true. Writing is her passion, she loves Bruni’s books, and going to that romantic and magical sinking city gives her the chance to solve a long-time family mystery about a Venetian poet deep in their lineage, Isabella Di Angelo, who just might be the real author of a very famous poem.
Bruni’s villa on the eerie island of La Calamita is extravagant—lush beyond belief, and the other students are both inspiring and intimidating. Venice itself is beautiful, charming, and seductive, but so is Luca Bruni. As his behavior becomes increasingly unnerving, and as Charlotte begins to unearth the long-lost work of Isabella with the help of sweet, smart Italian Dante, other things begin to rise, too—secrets about the past, and secrets about the present.
As the events of the summer build to a shattering climax, Charlotte will be forced to confront some dark truths about the history of powerful men—and about the determination of creative girls—in this stunning new novel from award-winning author Deb Caletti.
REVIEW (TW for sexual abuse):
Using the Elizabeth Bennett bookmark from Page Petal (pagepetal.com)
⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4.5 out of 5.
This book was heartbreaking and beautiful and so, so real. It was heavy, but it was so worth it.
“One Great Lie” focuses on power imbalances and abuse of power when it comes to the sexes, and Caletti interweaves many stories of abuse of power, mainly one happening in the present and the story of main character Charlotte’s 16th-century ancestor, Isabella. Both stories were hard to read, mainly because of the truth to them. So many women have had the same experience, whether it was the 16th century or 2021, and something has to change.
Oftentimes, it was difficult for me to read this book because of Caletti’s incredible storytelling. I was fully immersed in the story; I was deeply disturbed. I felt the “uh-oh feeling” for the first two-thirds of the novel, knowing something bad was going to happen. Caletti completely drew me into the story.
Despite the distressing subject matter (please check trigger warnings before reading), there were moments of light. The relationship between Charlotte and Dante was a breath of fresh air, and the beautiful scenery and adventure were so fun.
Additionally, I loved Caletti’s writing style. She almost uses a tell-don’t-show style, which sounds strange, but ends up feeling very conversational, which I love. I really felt like I was inside of Charlotte’s head and able to understand her passions, her family, and her struggles.
Caletti was also able to show the realistic complexities of power imbalances in a way I have never seen before. (Spoilers start here) The way Charlotte talks about Luca Bruni is so nuanced and so real. Before he assaults her, she sees red flags and excuses them. She goes through phases of trusting her gut, followed by phases of guilt for avoiding him and lots of love for him and his talent. After the assault, she goes through so many emotions, often directly following each other. She loves him, she hates him for what she did, she feels guilty and embarrassed, he’s in the right, no he’s not, it was wrong, she hates him, but wow, he’s so great. This thought pattern is really what survivors go through, and the way she described it was perfect. (Spoilers end here) It isn’t clear-cut hatred. It’s complicated.
In “One Great Lie,” Caletti tells a powerful and, sadly, nearly universal story that everyone should read today.
Every May 7, the students at Coffee County High School take a class trip. And every year, Lulu’s relationship with Alex Rouvelis gets a little more complicated. Freshman year, they went from sworn enemies to more than friends after a close encounter in an escape room. It’s been hard for Lulu to quit Alex ever since.
Through breakups, make ups, and dating other people, each year’s class trip brings the pair back together and forces them to confront their undeniable connection. From the science museum to an amusement park, from New York City to London, Lulu learns one thing is for sure: love is the biggest trip of all.
REVIEW:
⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 2.5 out of 5.
I have so many mixed feelings about this book. I was so excited for the premise: a relationship told through snippets from field trips over four years. I thought it would be interesting to see how a relationship changes over the course of high school, especially considering many books are unable to do this when using a traditional chronological writing style. However, I almost DNF’ed this before the first “year” was even over.
In the freshman year section of the book, the writing style and humor felt childish, making me believe this book was intended for a younger audience. I thought of dropping it after reading one too many fart jokes, and while I didn’t enjoy them, I have to say that author Miranda Kenneally wrote the most accurate depiction of high schoolers I have seen in a while. That doesn’t mean that I enjoyed that she wrote them the way she did, just that it’s something I noticed. Many books portray high school students as being overly mature, while “Four Days of You and Me” highlighted the idiotic nature of teenagers.
However, I disagreed with one way she chose to show this nature, which is including a rape joke. This was brushed over and used as an opportunity to portray the main character’s love interest, Alex, as a good guy because he didn’t laugh. That doesn’t make him a good guy. That is an absolutely average thing to do—maybe even below average because he didn’t stand up to his friend.
Additionally, Alex and main character Lulu are advertised as having an “enemies-to-lovers” arc. Here is the key with enemies-to-lovers: the enemies must change for the better before they become lovers. In the first “year” of this book, there is no growth. They prank each other dramatically. They hurt each other’s feelings. And then they make out. It doesn’t make sense. There’s no “aha” moment. They’re both jerks to each other.
By the time I finished the second “year” of the book, I was glad I didn’t DNF. The fart jokes disappear (thank God) and things start to heat up between Alex and Lulu. I can definitely feel the connection, but when it comes to their relationship problems, it’s just a matter of miscommunication. If you like the miscommunication trope, maybe you’d enjoy this, but it just annoyed me. Sure, it was accurate for their ages as most 16-year-olds cannot communicate like adults, but it was frustrating as a reader.
The second “year” also left me feeling off because Alex’s character had changed dramatically. While this change is for the better (well… sometimes it is), you could have swapped his name with someone else’s when it comes to personality traits, and it would have made just as much sense. He became a generic “good guy,” when just the year before he had picked a class field trip he knew Lulu wouldn’t like just to piss her off. What? And then he messes around with other girls after being all-in on Lulu? There’s a problem with character continuity here.
The third and fourth “years” left me loving Alex and Lulu’s connection (as well as their character growth), but I couldn’t get past Kenneally’s writing style. Her word choice and use of cliche similes made me feel with every bone in my body that this book was meant for a younger audience, but then she would throw in a sexually explicit scene! I don’t know who this book was meant for.
Additionally, Lulu’s character was annoying me. She was a two-dimensional “social justice warrior” vegan and had a hard time leading the story. The side characters were much more interesting, and I would have much rather read a book about Max and Caleb’s relationship or even one about Grace and Ryan’s relationship.
The fourth “year” provided me with a new source of anger, as well. Lulu is a graphic novelist and has submitted her book, “Here Comes the Sun,” to several publishers and editors. When she hears back from them, they always say that their favorite part is the inclusion of science. This inclusion is only because of Alex, who suggested it and helped her do the research. Maybe this is nitpicking, but it felt like this was indirectly giving Alex credit for Lulu’s years of hard work. It was already obvious that he had helped her to improve “Here Comes the Sun.” He didn’t have to receive credit in this way, too.
I finished “Four Days of You and Me” feeling as though the positives and negatives of the novel canceled out. While I admired Kenneally’s realistic portrayal of teenagers, I can’t say that I enjoyed that element of the book, as it was often annoying. And even though I liked the connection between Lulu and Alex, I couldn’t get past my dislike of Kenneally’s writing style. Because of this, I won’t be looking for any future books by Kenneally, unfortunately.
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