"Okay, so. I'm fucking sick of it.

I'm sick of thrillers that burn through female characters like the author is keeping score. None of these women have any agency: they're clearly there to be fucked and beaten and raped and abandoned and called bitches and be mad drooling hags and be violently killed. Oh, except for the one lucky woman who gets to be the hero's mom.

Hero's totally the wrong word, though, of course. Instead of anyone remotely admirable or interesting, we're forced to suffer through this valley of despair and human indecency with some racist, homophobic, misogynistic schmuck who has no interesting character traits outside of what an asshole he is. Great, let's spend 300 pages watching this charmer bumble around investigating a bunch of little girls' brutal murders that turn out to be part of some sort of giant conspiracy of I don't give a fuck. Like, the police, politicians, and businessman are sometimes corrupt and stuff. I'm positive no one has ever used that plot before!

And, sure: I get this is all supposed to be gritty and real. Whatever. I am so tired of that being used as an excuse for another vile, cynical book that doesn't say anything interesting about humanity other than the fact that the author apparently thinks it fucking sucks. Or at least that the '70s sucked. Except, aside from the protagonist constantly telling us the year (I'm not sure I caught it...is it NINETEEN SEVENTY-FOUR?) and tossing out song references ("Life on Mars" was playing in a pub at one point, and god did it make me wish I was watching that show instead), this book could pretty much take place whenever. It certainly doesn't make any interesting points about how things may or may not have changed in the last 36 years. Just: people are shits, people are shits, people are shits. Thank you, please sexually harass your waitresses.

I can't read any more books like this. These highly-acclaimed thrillers that are blurbed with words like "explosive" and "raw" and that are the equivalent of spending several hours hanging out at the bottom of a cesspit. But how to avoid them? Certainly read fewer thrillers by men; definitely skip anything blurbed by Ian Rankin. And you know what: maybe for a while sidestep thrillers all together.

Anyone got any recommendations for books in which women with swords get to stab a lot of people? For some reason I have a craving."

"Joe Peacock (p.s. worst name ever) probably surrounded himself with people that said "Joe! Dude, you need to write about book about all the weird things that have happened to you!" not considering that there are other people in the world -- ok, in this country, even, that most definitely have had weirder things happen to them. In fact, I guarantee ever single reader of Mentally Incontinent has said aloud, "If this guy thinks he's got problems, then he should look at my life, because..."

He talks of the one time his stalker showed up at his home. Oh yeah, Joe?! How 'bout the time MY stalker hid in the bushes at college and Campus Security revoked his dorm-privileges? How's that, Joe? Oh, and you think it's weird that you spent your birthday in a hospital? Try having amnesia and not even realizing it even IS your birthday, and just figuring that people are giving you cards and presents because they like you.

You get my point. All of us had weird things happen to us. And we all think they're either funny, humiliating, outrageous, crazy, whatever. The only difference is that we're all not so egocentric to believe that our stories deserve to be read by the masses.

If you have a stack of books on your "To Read" list, put this one on the bottom and reserve it only for the time that you have nothing else left to read.

***

(I don't think I've ever written such a mean review before. Sorry, Joe Peacock.)"

"turns out a story going viral for being controversial and potentially plagiarized is maybe not the best sign of literary quality.

i wanted to read this purely out of my love of drama, and drama is what i got. in a way.

this was the literary equivalent of a 13 year old who shops at hot topic because it's the edgiest thing she can possibly imagine. every story tried to one up itself in gruesomeness and shock value, and instead revealed an unnuanced, stupid perspective on a world populated with evil, simple men and women who are twisted but whose personalities and flaws come solely from the wickedness of the patriarchy, not due to any complexity or individuality of their own.

i hated reading it!

bottom line: kristen roupenian has never written anything as strong, complicated, or unique as the essay by the woman whose life cat person stole from."