"ok, i'm going to type this out in a way that i hope that people will understand.

i absolutely believe that there should be more literature about women discussing and exploring their beliefs on motherhood, sex, their bodies, gender, etc. that is a no brainer in my opinion, and it is literature that must be supported as middle-aged women are often silenced.

with that out of the way,

it would be great if i could read a book by a well-known female author who wasn't under the impression that descriptions of cutting matted hair from a dog's ass or running her hands under her lover's pee was "original", "sharp", or "illuminating" writing.

i am so BORED of this type of lit fic that equates "disgusting" bodily fluids/acts as provocative and therefore, interesting, writing.

it isn't!

and if you are willing to go there then at least make a goddamn point that's better explored and more nuanced than "shoving my hand up our dogs' ass was how my husband and i reunited our connection."

also, i am sick and tired of the theme that opening up your relationship/going poly inherently means that you are more mature, intelligent, and sophisticated than another. i really don't understand how we got to this stage of believing that monogamy=immaturity/naivete and being poly=maturity/wisdom.

i was looking for a introspective story about a middle aged woman, roadtrips, change, and an examination of all types of relationships.

what i received was the most generic, millenial, ChatGPT-coded book that literally believes that discussing "gross" things makes the content refreshing/intelligent/good, and that after a failed solo cross-country trip, the solution to fix or reconnect with your partner is opening up your marriage.

nothing about this book read as "tender" or "moving." It was written in a way that was so narcisstic and self-centered.

so boring. so typical. so predictable.

the half star is for the ONE (1) paragraph that i loved where the narrator leaves her house for her roadtrip and feels as if she isn't far enough to start listening to podcasts, music, etc. THAT was breathtaking writing."

"I honestly dont know what to even say about this book. I think I probably had my WTF face on the entire time I was reading it. Perhaps I am too conventional, but I cannot imagine having the internal thoughts that the main character does (please note that it is not that I cant remember her name, it's that she doesnt have one provided in the book). I alternated between incredulity and screams of laughter because of something completely absurd. I forced myself to finish it because I have a strange aversion to not finishing books. I honestly do not recommend."

"I know, I know. Everyone loves this book. No fewer than forty-three people asked me "Have you read The Shack yet?"

Invariably, they responded to my negative response with something along the lines of "You have to! It changed my life! I was full of questions, and life stunk, and then I read the book, and God made sense to me, I understood quantum physics effortlessly, and all of a sudden I could spin flax into gold!"

So, what I'm about to say is going to make a lot of people pretty angry.

The Shack appears to me to be an ex-hippie's best attempt at amalgamating God, Dr. Phil, and Oprah. The writing is bad, the story is cheesy, the format is formulaic and cliche, and the theology is spotty and poorly explained at best, and downright heretical at worst.

I was not impressed. If it makes a lot of people think hard thoughts about God that they'd rather avoid, then I suppose that's fine. I'm just not sure hard thinking should be done at the expense of clear thinking. And I'm certain bad writing is no way to advance good theology (even if this were).

"

"Find all of my reviews at:

“What a great time to have a dissenting opinion about a book written by an author with a particularly rabid fanbase!â€� said no one ever. In case we haven’t met and you’re seeing this review due to the new IN YOâ€� FACE! Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ format which shares reviews/updates to your feed errrrrrrrry single time one of your friends likes or comments on them, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kelly . . . .



Also, I spoil things, so back away quickly if you don’t want this one to be ruined for you.

My glaring 1 Star in a sea of 5s probably makes it pretty clear that I detested this book, but please refrain from fetching your torches and pitchforks for a moment and take note that not only did I just 5 Star a CoHo Story two weeks ago (as well as shoved it down everyone’s throats I possibly could), but also I want to make all of the sexuals with Miles Archer and will fight anyone for dibs on his imaginary lurv making. I didn’t pick this up in order to hate on it. I’m one of you . . . . sometimes. Definitely not this time, but lots of times. And this is why I don’t ever give up on Hoover novels. I never know how I’m going to react.

Allow me to explain what went wrong for me with this one . . .



Let’s start with the obvious annoyances that seem to be in nearly every NA book that drive me batshit before getting to the real nitty gritty. First, the character names. Ryle, Lily Bloom and Atlas???????



Is it against the law to not use absolutely ridiculous (â„¢Ron2.0) names in these books????

Second . . . .

“Your lips. I love how they’re as red as your hair.�



According to Google (all hail Google) less than 2% of the world’s population has red hair, and yet 99.998% of all NA leading ladies do. Just stahp.

Third, non-existent chemistry. In this story Lily and Ryle meet by chance on a rooftop after experiencing respective miserable days. In a matter of minutes Lily goes from worrying the stranger on the roof could be a psycho killer/rapist to getting into his super sexy (NOT) pick-up lines . . .

“If you wouldn’t sleep with someone you just met . . .� His eyes meet mine again. “Exactly how far would you go?�

Ewww. She already said thanks but no thanks freakshow so STFU.

Now let’s move on to the real big issue. I took a gander at my friends� reviews before I started typing this and noticed my buddy Chelsea was the only other naysayer in the batch. She summed it up perfectly when she talked about the massive amounts of emotional manipulation that was forced down the readers� throats in order to make them feel all the things.

It’s a running joke with my friends/family/co-workers that I have a robot heart. And for the majority of the time it’s true. I generally experience two emotions � happiness and annoyance. But even a robot like me can be manipulated into having a feeling/crying the ugly tears like a Kardashian once in a blue moon (*cough Me Before You cough*). This time, though? It was like a flashing neon sign . . . .



To begin with, our first leading male Atlas is a homeless teenager who Lily befriends/eventually loses her virginity. In case you don’t get the writing on the wall, Atlas is being set up as the most perfect perfection that ever perfected. He’s also the way to getting the “raised in an abusive household� plotline uncovered. Like in all NA stories, Atlas and Lily are torn apart. Lily moves on with her life, graduates college, yada yada, and, as mentioned above, meet-cutes super creeper Mr. Right 2.0 on the roof. Mr. Right 2.0 is not only another most perfect perfection that ever perfected, but he’s also rich and a neurosurgeon and very obviously husband material even though he’s never had a girlfriend (also after dating only six months), annnnnnnnd due to their mutually busy schedules not really knowing the guy.

It wasn’t too hard to see where the story was going to go (and no, I hadn’t been spoiled because I didn’t read any reviews or the synopsis, I just auto-request everything by Hoover from both NetGalley and the library). Basically this was a story about domestic abuse and making excuses not only the first time he knocks your ass down “on accidentâ€� but also the second time when you wake up after “fallingâ€� down the stairs and hearing his sob story about a superbadawful that effed him up as a kid and then agreeing on a policy where “When you’re upset, just walk away. And I’ll walk awayâ€� (because °Õ±á´¡°Õ’S going to fucking work) and then saying “It’s okay, Ryle. It’s okay. You were angry, it’s okayâ€� and making sure even when you’re bleeding profusely out of your fucking skull and are concussed and have quite possibly just been raped by your own damn husband that you get taken to an emergency room in a hospital other than the one where your bastard abuser works in order to protect his ass as well as explaining “sometimes the reason women go back is simply because they’re in loveâ€� and in case all that wasn’t e-fucking-nough you add in a whoopsie baby (another NA per usual) to serve as the wake-up call that maybe it’d be a good idea to ditch this zero and eventually find you a hero, buuuuuuuuuuuut you just come to an agreement regarding visitation and whathaveyou rather than involving the court and much needed supervised interaction because you know he wouldn’t hurt the baby since it’s obvious he loves her . . . .



Nope.

I’m well aware I’m going against the grain here. I give zero fucks. Don’t bother trolling me to tell me how stupid I am (especially if you’re a teenager who has lived a privileged lifestyle and never experienced anything contained in this book for yourself). I went to the wholesale club yesterday and stocked up on big ol� batch of . . . .



I will be using it freely.

Many thanks to the library for having nearly every book I ever want to read � especially books like these that are only approved to fangirling 5 Star reviewers prior to publication.
"