A barely-future sci-fi fantasy that involves some of my favorite things - fae curses and worker's rights. Iridescent and charming.A barely-future sci-fi fantasy that involves some of my favorite things - fae curses and worker's rights. Iridescent and charming....more
While things start off interesting, with atmosphere and a flair for the cinematic, there seems to be something irreparably off about this book. TheDNF
While things start off interesting, with atmosphere and a flair for the cinematic, there seems to be something irreparably off about this book. The prose doesn't keep pace with itself - meaning that it's weirdly easy to miss important information and actions because nothing is given particular emphasis. There are all these possible mysteries being introduced at once, but I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be curious about or what I'm supposed to care about. It all just blurs together.
But most importantly, Eleanor is just an absolutely bizarre main character. There is nothing grounded about her, nothing relatable, nothing that actually sounds like a real human being. There is a fine line between making stylistic choices for the sake of creating a particular vision, and just sounding contrived. This is well over that line....more
This book...was not ready to be published. It still reeks of a young, inexperienced author trying to figure out how to tell a story, create a worldDNF
This book...was not ready to be published. It still reeks of a young, inexperienced author trying to figure out how to tell a story, create a world and inspire with evocative prose, all of which Mikuta tries so hard at you can feel how hard she's trying.
The world is incredibly flimsy, the different sides only vaguely established. Militaries that don't really behave like military, rebel factions that don't really seem like rebel factions. It all just seems like high school. Gearbreakers reminded me a lot of Honey Girl, in the way it uses a lot of lyrical and flowery prose - or an attempt at it, anyway - and tries really really hard to make the characters sound like they have a youthful camaraderie, but mostly sounds forced. It sounds like a college student trying to replicate the spontaneity of their friend group on paper, but in this case its even more out of place because these are supposed to be trained killers. And honestly, the prose was better in Honey Girl.
Here's the thing - it's not enough to make a sentence sound pretty. It has to serve your story, and you have to use words and structure that speaks to what is happening within the story. Mikuta uses a lot of passive voice because it sounds elegant and different, but it undercuts the action at every turn.
The moment the Pilot recoils, her palm presses flat beneath his chin, and his enraged shout winds down to a single note before disappearing altogether. Even from here, I can see the point where his eye flickers out, and an almost sweet tone takes the girl's growl as she reaches the same conclusion. But before she can shove him away and leap to her feet, the butt of a guard's rifle falls against her temple, sending the dark eyes spinning back as she crumples.
That is way too many words for an action sequence. I honestly could barely figure out what was going on most of the time, it gave me a headache trying to parse things out. I'd say this was a good start for someone working on their first manuscript, but not a published work. Mikuta has some interesting ideas, but not the skill those ideas called for....more
Not for me! Very cringy teen urban fantasy stuff, a la CW shows or that terrible 00s witch boy movie, The Covenant. Also just way to heterosexual for Not for me! Very cringy teen urban fantasy stuff, a la CW shows or that terrible 00s witch boy movie, The Covenant. Also just way to heterosexual for my tastes. ...more
A little while ago, I came across a TikTok creator who makes videos on nihilism and philosophy. The video I found was talking about how the experienceA little while ago, I came across a TikTok creator who makes videos on nihilism and philosophy. The video I found was talking about how the experience of nihilism is much different for man than it is for women. The answer that comes when you have figure out what to do in the face of a meaningless is existence is often to live as authentically as you can, but for women living authentically comes with a price men don't often ohave to pay. For men, becoming their true selves is idealized and lauded. Women who are their true selves are often ostracized. By breaking away from expectations, they are often forced to break away from their communities or families. Or their families break away from them.
Such is the case with Milicent Patrick, the beautiful artist behind the design of the creature of Creature from the Black Lagoon, whose story is both extraordinary and also fairly commonplace. As I was reading this book, I didn't really feel like I was reading about an artistic genius, Hollywood pioneer or trailblazer. Milicent was just a talented artist who grew up in Los Angeles, during a time when new groundbreaking jobs in movies and animation were available to people like her. And then after experiencing an extraordinary career high with Creature from the Black Lagoon, her career was cut short by a jealous man. That's show business, baby. Though, I guess that's kind of the point. Mallory O'Meara makes an effort to emphasize that the importance of Patrick is not that she was one important woman, but that she is representative of the many women who have had extraordinary gifts, skills and dreams that were dismissed and pushed aside because of their gender.
This book as a whole is a straight forward look at the early movie making world and one woman's small part in it, as well as the experience O'Meara had in trying to track down any information on her. You won't find any huge Hollywood revelations here (though I was pretty thrilled to find out that Patrick was part of the animation team that worked on Night on Bald Mountain of Fantasia), or much in the way of artistic insights. While this is an enjoyable, it's not exactly thrilling, and by the time I was getting through the last chapters, I was kind of forcing my way through it. Though she was clearly proud of her accomplishments, Patrick wasn't exactly a firestarter - she was non-political though generous, forgiving perhaps to a fault, and conflict averse even as she insisted on being independent and wholly her own. The simplicity of that kind of life is rather inspiring, even if its not that exciting to read about....more
Maybe it's the Shakespeare thing. Not the fact that this book has a significant amount of text and quotes from ShakespearShit, now I'm mad about this.
Maybe it's the Shakespeare thing. Not the fact that this book has a significant amount of text and quotes from Shakespeare's work, or that big blocks are dedicated to the characters' performing said works, but rather how Shakespeare perhaps informed the structure of this novel. I don't really know, it's been a long time since I analyzed Shakespeare, and I was never particularly good at it. But I have learned - not from school, but from a Tumblr post - that Shakespeare's tragedies are marked by a protagonist that is made for a different kind of story than the one he is in. If Hamlet was in Othello's situation, he would have carefully analyzed things before jumping to conclusions and there would be no play; and if Othello was in Hamlet's, he would have just killed Claudius in the first act, and once again there would be no play. In M.L. Rio's If We Were Villains, there is in fact someone who finds himself playing the wrong role in the wrong story. It's not the main character though. And like many of Shakespeare's tragedies, its less about creating a satisfying conclusion and character arc, and more about just watching things slowly tumble down hill until they crash to the bottom. Fun.
If We Were Villains is a story told by Oliver, a man who has spent the last ten years in prison for the death of one of his classmates at the highly selective and high pressure school of Dellecher Classical Conservatory, where they eat, breathe and sleep nothing but Shakespeare. He tells this story to the detective that supposedly "solved" the case, relaying the weird dynamics of a bunch of pretentious theater kids who may or may not have killed someone. The conceit of relaying a tale in such a way is very classic mystery, but I found myself wondering by the end of it whether Detective Colborne said to himself, "Huh. Yeah, I probably should have been able to figure that out myself. Cool, this was a waste of an afternoon."
I give this book marks for atmosphere and prose. It wasn't as lush as I would hope for something like this, but Rio was fully committed to the vibe. The descriptions of the performances are probably some of the book's coolest and most vibrant moments. But it's the characters that fall dead for me. All seven senior Dellecher acting students are introduced as archetypes - the hero, the whore, the villain, the king, the nobody. I don't think its remarkable that I found this extremely annoying right off the bat, but I expected Rio to subvert it. I kept waiting for her to do just that. But aside from a single comment from Meredith about three quarters into the book about being labeled the sexy one, no one seems to bother. I found myself reading in disbelief that I was just supposed to take at face value everything I was told these characters were, rather than what I was shown they were. I was so mad that the story takes for granted the kind of societal programming that comes with labeling Meredith the whore, or that I was supposed to understand what was so loveable about James just because he has a hero's face. And of course the faceless one is our protagonist, Oliver - the unexceptional one who attaches himself to someone more beautiful, and becomes what the people around him need him to be. That might be my least favorite character trope.
No one ever did anything that surprised me. Or excited me. Hell, the guy who gets himself killed at the beginning is probably the most exciting part of this book, and we never really know what was driving him to act the way he was. Again, the story leans heavily on the role he is assigned - the arrogant king. And despite the amount of supposed queerness (thanks, by the way, for assigning the only openly queer character as the "scary" one), this felt deeply heterosexual. Like in a way that is almost hard to describe as a queer person. I know if I had read this as a teenager I would have swooned over James and Oliver's deeply repressed love for each other, so desperate I was to have something outside of the heterosexual paradigm. Now as an adult who has to spend a lot of mental energy undoing comphet programming, I am so very over it. I feel like this book regresses queer rep a solid twenty years.
Yeah, you know what, I'm too mad about this to give this anything above one star. For a while, about mid way through I was debating between a two and a three. Before I sat down to write this I was pretty convinced of two. But no. I'm not sure why people like this so much, I guess if you're a hardcore lit nerd who loves Shakespeare but somehow has not read a single thing with a queer character since The Secret History (that's not a knock, I loved that book, I still love that book, but it is largely of its time), then have at it. But for the rest, there are much better, much gayer, dark academia books out there....more
There are some writers that you can just rely on. Mackenzie Lee is without a doubt one of them for me. Her writing is always so swift, her characters There are some writers that you can just rely on. Mackenzie Lee is without a doubt one of them for me. Her writing is always so swift, her characters rich and engaging, and while her stories can twist and turn in unconventional ways they always hold my attention.
Loki: Where Mischief Lies is not quite good as the two books of the Gentleman's Guide series, but it has a similar flair and pace that keeps you turning the page. Loki, much like the MCU character we meet in the first Thor film, is a young prince struggling with his identity and his role as a likely second in line to the throne, but never first. His closest friend - and big fat crush - is Amora, a confident and powerful young sorceress who encourages him to grow his magic and take risks. When Amora is banished to Midgard for taking the blame for one of Loki's schemes gone wrong, effectively killing her slowly as Earth will gradually drain her magic away, Loki is left with nothing but to do his best to be the perfect prince, the perfect diplomat, the person his father wants him to be. Naturally, he never quite get its right. When he's sent to Midgard to solve a mystery that Odin can't be bothered to address himself, he finds Amora, some charming humans and gets in touch with his inner villain.
Loki is a natural choice for a tie-in book like this, as his portrayal by Tom Hiddleston in the MCU has captivated so many (myself included) but never underestimate what a challenge it can be to write from the point of view of a villain. Especially when he's not quite the villain yet. How gray to make him really? How naive? How dangerous? I think what's so interesting about Lee's version of Loki is that he is so unapologetic about who he is and what he wants that it makes sense that being denied the ability to use the magic that comes naturally to him, to be the sorcerer he was meant to be, is so grating. It's what pushes him towards Amora, what frustrates him about how Thor is so easily loved when his magical abilities and cleverness should be considered just as valuable as Thor's strength, and what sews those seeds of darkness and arrogance in him. His characterization is solid, but I think Lee struggled a little bit with how far to take things.
I think there was a lot Lee wanted to do here that she only got to skim over. Loki's relationship with Theo and the other humans he meets is a lot of fun but feels more abbreviated than it should have been. Like, I felt like the story was on a really good roll with Loki developing stronger and stronger ties to Theo and Mrs S until suddenly it wasn't. The more substantial relationship is between Loki and Amora, and don't get me wrong, I loved it. Their energy is incredibly sexy and intense. But even the ambiguity, the inherent danger in their relationship, kind of gets cut off before it can really be explored. As such, you neither get the vulnerability that would have come from him falling for Theo or the darkness and temptation that comes from his love for Amora.
What this story does best is the slower stuff. The spooky atmosphere of a 19th century seance, the muck of London streets. I wish the structure of the story had stuck closer to that of a mystery, because that is what really got me invested. When it moves into the third act, which resembles those of many MCU films, I found myself drifting away. I appreciate what Lee was trying to do - cool action on a speeding train, writhing hordes of the undead, and of course a double cross - but I think I would have liked something that was a little subtler. A little more like Loki himself.
A very solid 3.5 stars rounded up because I undeniably enjoyed this - it's fun, funny, fast and surprisingly sexy - it's just overall its a little thematically convoluted, and the last act felt too conventional for my tastes....more
This is one of those reads that I spent a considerable amount of time getting through, but have little to say about it by the end. I felt like the bonThis is one of those reads that I spent a considerable amount of time getting through, but have little to say about it by the end. I felt like the bones, structure, everything about this story should have been good, great even, but it just wasn't.
Touraine is a lieutenant in the Balladairan army - a powerful colonial empire that took Touraine from her home country, Qazal, as a child, and made her into a loyal soldier. Which she is. She wants nothing more than to rise in the ranks and prove herself worthy. As you can imagine, that's not what happens. In fact, almost as soon Touraine sets foot in Qazal, as part of a battalion of other conscripts like her, things start to go wrong. Sure, she saves the life of the princess, or at least helps a bit. But within a week, she's on trial and facing execution. Instead, Princess Luca plucks her from the military's clutches and makes her her personal assistant, in the hopes that Touraine's inherent ties to her country will help Luca quell a growing rebellion. This will prove to not be a great plan.
There was something I found myself craving while reading this book. Something about it just needed to be...meaner. Maybe. There's grit and death and war, yes, but none of it really seems to land. One of my biggest points of frustration was that whenever a major event or action sequence happened I often came away from it confused rather than excited. It's not like the plot is particularly complex or anything, but whenever some twist happened I would spend several pages going, "Wait, what?"
I also never found Touraine particularly compelling. She's not really impressive at, like, anything. Most of the book she spends forced around by events, changing sides and allegiances, and dying and getting saved repeatedly. Luca I wanted to like more, I liked the promise of a princess that is sharp and weary, rather than, well, princess-y. But she's still pretty naive, and it undermines anything that would be intellectually interesting about her. Also, I never really felt any chemistry between them.
This is a political thriller with pretty thin politics, a military-fantasy with not a whole lot strategy and confusing action sequences (though Touraine's one-on-one fights with Jaghotai and Cantic were definite highlights). For all the effort put into the world, the meat of the story felt pretty anemic to me. It premise and setting had a ton of potential, but I felt like it just never went anywhere....more
Remember when I said I was annoyed by the indulgence of Honey Girl? That its irreverence impeded it more than colored it? This, this book is how you dRemember when I said I was annoyed by the indulgence of Honey Girl? That its irreverence impeded it more than colored it? This, this book is how you do indulgence. Where else are you going to get a story where three women fall unapologetically and non-committedly in love with each other?
Ok, sometimes the irreverence was a bit much, but most of the time it was just right.
Plain Bad Heroines is many stories in one. If that's freaking you out a bit, I wouldn't worry. It's less confusing and unwieldly than it sounds. There is the story of Flo and Clara - the inciting incident, that in fact only takes a small portion of the book -, two girls enamored with the memoir of Mary Maclane and each other (I read this book under the assumption that Ms. MacLane was something Danforth had made up, but she and her books are very real, as it turns out), the story of the chaos that erupts at their school after their horrifying deaths, and then the story of two actresses and a young writer a hundred years later, all trying to put the story to screen without falling to the supposed curse themselves. The stories of Audrey, Harper and Merritt in the present day has the clever irreverence of contemporary fiction along with a suspenseful Hollywood feel, while the one happening in the past is a frightening gothic horror story. All the while yellow jackets hum in the background, shining black apples rot in a field, and Emily Danforth is intent on haunting your mind with every element of this story.
This book is great. Despite its girth, its a profoundly easy read. It's 600+ pages and I read it in 20 days. I haven't done that in...I don't even know. Ninth House took me four months. As stated, this book is indulgent with the way it digs into the characters stories and relationships, but its also economical and efficient with the way their drawn. Harper Harper, the bona fide movie star, is marked by her affableness and charm, her ability to be indefatigably sexy and pleasant at the same time. Merritt Emmons, the author of the book that tells the story of Flo and Clara and their school, is understandably the opposite - prickly as a cactus, but deeply relatable. Audrey Wells is the closest to the "everywoman," the mostly unremarkable actor daughter of a notorious scream queen, who is the most effected by the otherworldliness of shooting a scary movie at the cursed Brookhants school. Danforth gives each of them their stories and their perspectives, but also doesn't try too hard to make you believe them. Which I appreciate. Danforth trusts her story and her reader.
This strategy is maybe a little less effective with the characters in the past story - Libbie Brookhants and her lover Alexandra Trills. It's not until you hear Libbie's backstory that you understand that this principal of a boarding school for girls was in fact a wild child caught in a web that she never could have anticipated (well, maybe a little), and poor poor Alex deserved better (I hate that phrase, by the way, especially when it comes to horror. It's horror! Everyone deserved better! But still, poor Alex). When we had to return to the past, especially when it was Alex's POV, I found myself a little irritated. But Danforth is very clever with the way she bounces backing forth between past and present, from character to character. It's done in a very crafty way to keep you engaged, and just about every chapter is worth it, even if there are certain characters that you would prefer to be reading instead. While the present story is funny and charming with some thrills thrown in to remind you this is in fact horror, the one in the past is rich with mystery and intrigue. For those aesthetically minded, its a brilliant mashup of dark academia and pulp slasher vibes.
That all being said, Plain Bad Heroines is a lot of a lot of things. As such it lacks the streamlined precision that is often necessary for the genres and elements its throwing together. Instead of choosing a particular ghost or reasoning, Danforth instead uses these pieces (black seaweed, buzzing yellow jackets, nesting dolls, poisonous flowers etc etc) and repeats them over and over to get you drunk on atmosphere. The characters are not so much terrorized but so overwhelmed they become delirious. Its incredible fun and deeply absorbing, but when all is said and done its a little...meaningless? There's no evil witch to defeat, no malady to overcome, no tortured ghost to free. No lesson. Should all scary stories have lessons? Most of them do, at least the ones we like to tell. This one though is more like real life ghost stories. The characters live through it and then live on with it. It's not clean and tidy, but it is very satisfying and very enjoyable.
Also gay. Just absolutely undeniably sapphic and gay. Like I said, this is the kind indulgence I like....more
I mean, I'm pretty sure I get why people like this. Or rather, I can imagine the mentality. You've dreamed about sweet, overl*throws hands in the air*
I mean, I'm pretty sure I get why people like this. Or rather, I can imagine the mentality. You've dreamed about sweet, overly sensitive bookish men and being the otherworldly woman who changes his life? I'm not saying that Addie LaRue is an MPDG or anything - that phrase is so dead - I'm saying that this book relies heavily on you soaring on the emotional wave that is created by a pretty boy and an immortal girl's relationship (and I guess the magic of New York City, or whatever), because this certainly isn't relying on plot twists or tense rising action. But in order for that to work, you have to actually feel that emotional wave. And I did not. I spent his entire book standing on a dry beach, wondering where all the waves were.
Adeline LaRue was born in the wrong century. It's not that she wants to be anything in particular, she just wants something more than 17th century provincial French life. But that's what she was going to get. At 23, she had nearly ensured spinsterhood when a damn widower comes to town and needs a wife. He'll settle for old maid Addie. Desperate to escape, despite never doing anything in her 23 years to do so before - aside from hiding in her parents' house-, she runs to the woods and prays to the old gods to grant her a way to be free. An old god answers, but a dark one, and because she doesn't really know what she wants only what she doesn't, she manages to garner herself a pretty terrible deal. She gets her freedom, and an immortal life complete with her eternal youth and health - but in turn she cannot be remembered. Everyone she knew before would forget her, and everyone she meets going forward will forget her as well as soon as she's out of sight.
This leads to a pretty miserable couple of years figuring out how to exist when always just out of people's sight and mind. She can't own anything, she can't tell anyone who is she is or her story. She can't make a mark, or change anything. But eventually, she starts to figure out the rules. Eventually she starts to squeeze in moments of joy and wonder between trying to find a place to sleep for the night. All the while, the old god from the wood dogs her step, trying to convince her to give in and surrender her soul. She holds on to it out of spite, and despite everything her curse puts her through, there's always more to see. And eventually, she makes it to modern day. Eventually she meets a boy who actually remembers her.
I feel like a bit of an asshole for not having much sympathy for Addie. As a woman born in the 20th century, I have everything she wanted - I have independence, I have agency. I can travel, I can choose to be married or not, have children or not. But maybe it's the times we're in - we're all craving something simple. Something comfortable. Hell, there's a whole movement of people obsessed with the provincial aesthetic and lifestyle (granted, with less patriarchy). Something about the way Addie sneers at the people of her village - the weak-chinned man who she's betrothed to, the childhood friend who is content to marry and have children and play her part - leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This new spin on the Not-Like-Other-Girls Girl is the extent of Addie's personality for a large portion of the book, before her stubbornness takes over. And I thought this would be examined at some point - not necessarily that Addie would regret her decision, even after the years of suffering she goes through because of it, but that she would look back on her old life and realize that there was value there, and there wasn't really anything special or more deserving about her. But that's literally never discussed. You're apparently supposed to take Addie's aimless desire at face value.
I spent a good chunk of my adolescence reading about sad immortals, thanks to Anne Rice. Lestat de Lioncourt, interestingly, has a similar origin story to Addie. Doomed to a backwater life in 18th century France, desperate to live a life that is something more, he finds himself in the path of a powerful immortal, who damns him to a dark eternal life. The difference is that Lestat, like, actually does stuff before this point. He runs off with his boyfriend, he joins a group of traveling actors. Lestat is a bipolar vampire, but you feel his lust for life from the very beginning. You get none of this from Addie. Even as she starts to enjoy her life as a ghost, it is as an observer. Wow, she likes opera, why should I care?
A book like this should be lush and decadent. A character like this should drip with agency and passion. I feel like this book thinks its doing that, it seems very impressed with itself. But Addie's various encounters throughout her long life are not very interesting. Even the old god (who Addie names Luc) who granted her wish over the centuries is not very interesting, neither is their relationship (which is a pretty big handicap, as its important to the plot). This book actually seems very uninterested in anything eternal - while Luc points out that Addie is barely human anymore after her 300 years, she never once examines herself from this lens. The effect this curse has had on her humanity is never discussed. Likewise, Luc may be a god, but he is treated in the most mundane ways.
A good chunk of this book is Addie and her doomed sad boy lover, Henry, going to various art installations around New York City, much the same way Addie figured out the best way to survive 300 years was to just to see a lot of stuff. I don't need a bunch of student art projects described to me, thanks. I wasn't a fan of If We Were Villains, but that is a great example of doing that well. However, M.L. Rio only does this two or three times, and she makes a point to really dig into the emotional impact of the art (and the scenes are described gorgeously), not to mention how they are wound in with the plot. This is genuinely just Henry and Addie doing stuff because art is nice, I guess. And yes, there's the theme of Addie being a muse, but I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be getting out of all this.
Let's talk about Henry real quick. I was hearing some criticism about this book and how white it is. The thing is - it's not, actually. Henry is Jewish, his best friend is black. Yes, Addie spends most of her life in predominantly white areas, except when she spends thirty years in New Orleans (which is basically skimmed despite it being pretty important to the finale!). Here's the thing though - it feels really white. It feels like a lot of privileged white whining. As if the preoccupation on art installations and stuff weren't enough, you have Henry and his sad. I already talked about how Addie's problems during her mortal human life seem quibbling, and I'm not here to belittle what sounds like Henry's clinical depression and possible personality disorder. But his problems are never presented this way. Rather, he just...feels things! Super hard! As far as I can tell, aside from having a jerk for a brother, Henry has never had it particularly rough. But like Addie he can never decide on what he wants so he dates the wrong women and studies the wrong things, and before you know it he's contemplating suicide after a marriage proposal gets rejected (do you know what kind of guys do that? Not good ones). Again, I thought this would be addressed in some way. But all Henry is told at the end is to, like, actually live his life and stuff, whereas I think some better advice would be to go the therapy and consider medication.
I have rambled about this enough. My point is that there are no peaks and valleys to The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue. There is no plot development that I didn't see coming a mile away. There is really no rise, not compelling conflict. It just kind of...goes? The same way Addie lives day to day, I just drifted from page to page, not really getting anything out of any moment in particular. There are a lot of ways to make a story like this more compelling - but a lot of them mean making it darker and more dangerous. Anne Rice was a master of fabulism and sweeping you off your feet - but the content she wrote was deeply problematic at times. Maybe the kind of shamlessness this book required is not really possible in this day and age. Instead, Schwab had the bones of the concept, and just filled in the space in between. But I guess for most people it worked. ...more
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