"The Good Girl" Book Review

With the awards this book has been nominated for, and the constant mentions to Gone Girl, I thought hey, this might actually be a good thriller. I’ve read a few thrillers lately - this is a new genre for me - so I was excited to try another one out. The problem for me, because I can’t just go along for the ride, I tend to guess the ending way too early. Sometimes I don’t mind this because I end up going on a whirlwind trip trying to see if my guess is correct. But most of the time, the story is poorly done, or the writing is off, or the characters are just downright boring that the rest of the read is the same. Well, queue The Good Girl.

Let me start by saying that this ending was given away too early. I mean seriously, leave us in suspense a little bit longer. Even the big reveal in the epilogue, the only time that we hear from Mia herself, comes as no surprise. I was not taken on a joyride. And I hate to sound so mean, but the writing itself was boring. At about 50 pages in, I already wanted to put the book down. Sadly, I have this thing where I must finish every book that I start. And I don’t know what is worse, the fact that I had to finish the book or that my book club is reading a different Mary Kubica book next month.

There was one thing that I found interesting and I want to give it kudos. I recently took a writing class. One week, the professor had us sit down and write a short synopsis of our three main characters, their wants and ultimately, what might change about them during the story. We then sat in groups, reading aloud and the other students would vote for the character they wanted to tell the story. I feel this was a huge high-five to Kubica. Most authors probably would have told the story from Mia’s point of view. There is plenty of great stuff to work with there. But instead, she decided to tell it through the eyes of Mia’s captor, mother, and the detective searching for her. Excellent decision and I think the only reason that saved this book from getting a 1 star on Goodreads.

With the amount of time I have, and the fact that I have a lot of books to get through this year, I really regret wasting my time with this one. Ugh, those impulse grabs in the library. I should know not to grab one from that front display unless it’s on my list. I think that I have officially learned my lesson with this one.

Happy reading everyone!

Feeding Strays

The world had ended It was as simple as that. No elaborate story or neat little bow to tie it all together. At least that was how Cat liked to look at the situation. Her name was like the world, simple and definite. She was never gifted with a last name since her mother couldn’t see the point. But it worked, a little too well.

Hunger was Cat’s calling card. It was what drove her to keep moving. If one place ran dry then there had to be another. But, since the world had ended, those others were becoming harder to find. Who would have guessed the end of the world would be like this?

Cat was on another day. Food had stopped coming at their last home so they just left. No blame on the owners. They needed to take care of themselves first. It was a comfortable home. Well kept even with the world ending and the owners had been so kind, opening doors wide and letting all of them in. Cat had hated to leave. She could see the signs. The couple were sleeping more and forgetting simple items. Cat and everyone else could move more easily, 80 year-olds not so much.

The sun was setting. The cold felt colder since they had been inside for the change of seasons. Most of the houses they had passed had been dark, lonely and abandoned, all the scraps removed or eaten by other wondering parties. Cat pushed everyone on quickly from those spots. There was no point wallowing and getting discouraged.

One advantage of the dark was you could spot occupied houses much easier. And that was exactly what Cat saw a hundred yards ahead, a brightly lit bungalow. Food.Cat signaled to the others. A quiet nod of her head was all that was needed. A dozen pair of eyes trained on their new destination. Moments later they had arrived.     

The smell of food was apparent. It seemed to cover every surface. Cat felt the group ready to pounce, but they needed to play their cards right. One wrong step and they would get nothing. First, a volunteer would need to go to the door and get the owner's attention, explain the situation. Then one by one, with no signs of aggression, they would walk up.

A quick vote. Cat was picked. Each of them was supposed to take a turn but Cat felt her always came a little too quickly. It was probably because she was the cutest, the one least likely to get shooed away. One of the last few girls in the group too, yet the bravest.

With caution, she moved stealthily. No point in drawing attention till she was sure these people were checked out. There was no crazy blood on the ground or screams. Not like the house before they found their last place. Sam hadn’t survived. By the time they realized the owners were maniac killers, Sam had been snatched. Cat hated to leave him behind but they needed to look out for themselves.

Cat felt safe. Maybe she wasn’t, but the food was getting overwhelming. She made a commotion, soft scratches at the door. It was dead silent. Was there really anyone in the house? Were they too scared to even check the door? Then they were very stupid to set the house ablaze with all the light.

It felt like forever but soon footsteps echoed off the floor. Young feet with a sure step. This was good, Cat thought. Competent hunters to feed them. The door squeaked open. Cat saw the well-oiled leather of upkept boots.

“Well, what have we here?” The voice was husky from years of smoking. “Becka, I think we have a guest for dinner.”

A young woman poked her head into view. She seemed kind. At the sight of Cat her face distorted into a fully defined smile.

“Oh goodness. Exactly what we need to brighten up this place. Bring it in and let me see if Luke is up.”

Cat felt the floor give way to air. She wasn't sure if she was upset from being called it or being picked up.

“What shall we call…” there was a pause as the man carefully inspected Cat’s underside, “her?” He followed Becka into an old farmhouse style kitchen. Becka was reaching into a large box, pulling out a sleepy-eyed boy of about one year old. Cat squirmed, digging nails into flesh. She hoped her friends would her her cries and leave. This was not a home. It was a nightmare.

"The Chemist" Book Review

*Enter Sarcasm*    

Stephanie Meyer did it again. She created a love story where an abnormally talented creature/human falls in love with an average damsel in distress. This time she just switched the sexes and tied it up with a spy novel bow.

*Exit Sarcasm*

Ok, but seriously. I had such hope, showing this book off at my book club, claiming that at 130 or so pages in, there was yet a love interest. This isn’t a love story guys. She is branching out. Boy was I wrong, as I sit hanging my head in same. Nope, it was all a lie. Again, Meyers fell back on what she does best except that this time, it was really poorly executed.

I was hoping for something different, or at least well executed. Twilight was great and I can ignore the less to be desired writing skill. Meyers was new to the scene, first novel jitters. Well, that card was played and is gone. For the number of books to her name, the skill needs to be upped. Instead, my belief is that this is the worse one she has written to date.

A basic item, characters felt flat. I couldn’t really get behind Alex and I hate to admit that the dog was the best one of the lot. After the 130 pages, when the love interest came in, I got bored. There was nothing holding my attention. I ended up reading two others books before I eventually put my adult pants on and got down to finishing this book. It was a real struggle.

Honestly, the only thing that saved this book was the fact that it was a spy novel, though I’m not one to actually say whether it hit the mark there either. I don’t read a lot of spy novels, so for me, it was new and fresh. I did want to find out what would happen.

So in the end, girl loves the boy. The boy loves the girl. Some crazy special events happen and the end. No vampires included this time. My vote is a 2 out of 5 stars.

Magical Glasses

I was walking down the sidewalk one day - it was your average weekday kind of jaunt - when I felt a pang upon my head followed by a clattering of metal on concrete. Looking down I beheld a curious sight of gold-rimmed spectacles with tinted glass. As any person would suspect to do, I looked around and around for the source of this suspicious appropriation. No buildings stood above me to warrant a casual drop or fling from such heights, nor was there a soul around me. What was one to assume but that these spectacles came from God? Sure that I was to be the next prophet and these were to be like the arc or burning bush, my own grand talisman of power, I quickly scooped them from their resting place.

For something supposedly coming from God, I expected them to be much heavier. Why were they not pure gold? All biblical stories spoke of great wealth and craftsmanship in God’s objects. I felt gypped of my moment. These glasses could have been purchased from Target, with their cheap gold colored painted scrap metal and plastic lenses. There was no way that I would accept this as my prophetic calling card. But, because I’m a quality neighbor and a fine resident of this city, I tucked those glasses into my jacket pocket with intentions of swiftly dropping them in the next garbage pail that I came upon.

Oh but the story doesn’t stop there. I dare say, I wish it had, for not two steps along the business of my walk, I walked head first - and in a very painful manner, I have the lump to prove it - into the air. When my doctor asked later the cause of my accident - I had to make sure that I wasn’t concussed you see - he didn’t believe that I had simply walked into air. But I tell you I did. When I went to move forward once again, I smashed right into that darn air. Now, I still to this day have no clue how the thought of putting those spectacles on popped into my head, but it sure did. Sometimes I wonder if that was God’s way of saying, “No Sir, you can’t die this day.” So I reached into my pocket and put on those cheap things, but oh, they weren’t cheap anymore, I tell you. Those very spectacles saved my life.

That wasn’t air before me. No. It was this grotesque creature and in his hand was this club that he planned to bludgeon me with. I am not ashamed to admit that I yelped and scurried right out of the way of that flying club and right down the street. I don’t know what God’s intentions are with these here spectacles - now, no you cannot touch them and I won’t be passing them around - but I plan on carrying them with me everywhere. Oh, is it time now. Well good evening to you all. I guess it’s time for my medication.

A white clothed nurse came forward and wheeled the old man from his spot by the window. His imaginary audience stood up as well and shuffled on their way. Once the man and his aid had left the common room, another door from the opposite corner opened. Stooping to clear the door frame, a grey scaled creature walked in, club dragging behind him.     

"Lilac Girls" Book review

*WARNING: Spoilers ahead*

From the moment I saw this book and read the description, I had such hopes and then I read the first sentence; chills went down my back. This was going to be the best seven hours of reading. But, when I got past that, there was serious buyer’s remorse. I wanted with all my heart for this book to be good, wishing it with every word that I read, but, I’m sorry to admit, it didn’t hold up. My first response would be that I was sorely disappointed.

Let me begin by saying that the best part of the whole book was the author’s note at the very end. Wow. That little side note of explanation told a better story of Caroline and what she did for the girls of Ravensbruck, not the 487 pages of actual story. Martha Hall Kelly took this amazing woman, who is supposedly the inspiration for writing the book, and turned her into a shallow, soul exasperating person with a fictional love interest that in my opinion brought the whole story to just above daytime soap opera. And, I will add, that this love interest was never fully wrapped up in the end.

This story begins right before WWII. Since Caroline is considered a war hero, I assumed that her actual heroism would occur during WWII. No, in fact, it actually occurs about 12 years after the war has ended. Something that is not alluded to till you read that part about 2/3rds in. Kelly did nothing to dissuade this and I feel many times played into that thought process by adding in certain facts in addition to including characters such as Herta and Kasia. A backstory is extremely important, but did we have to go through every detail of what occurred and then only spend a bare minimum on the heroism of getting the survives help?

And I also ask why was Herta included? Seeing a different point of view was interesting, but there was no Schindler’s List ending. Herta ended up being the same evil person feeling no remorse for her part in the experiments. For myself, and a few others, we expected Herta to turn around at some point and help save the girls. She went from having a conscience about killing to, oh look now, I can do this without a second thought. In essence, the character felt like two different people.

Kelly also included too many topics for each one to be fully developed. She touches on motherhood, mother-daughter relationships, mental illness, WWII which has enough material, concentration camps, politics, women’s rights, marriage and so on. Characters also felt thrown in. Major characters that had larger roles were left hanging. In my opinion, Kelly took on too large of a task. This could have been broken down, one POV, and multiple books. One book about the sisters and one book about Caroline.

One of the most intriguing characters was Kasia’s mother. With so much potential of even her own story, this character was in essence left hanging. She had such a chunk of the story she almost felt like a main character. For Kelly to only spend a few lines at the end to explain what happened to her was so sad. Instead of having Herta explain to Kasia what happened at the end, since Herta supposedly saw it, Kelly could have used the old teacher's adage of show don’t tell. If Kelly wrote a book about the mother, I would give her a second chance.

And my final mark against this book is the writing itself. What started as elegant prose that was sweeping me through the streets of New York and Lublin, turned into an annoying list of she did this and he did that. The description and sweeping melodies were lost about halfway in. It became dry and downright boring. No more getting into the character’s mind and experiencing how they felt and saw things. I continued to read only because I wanted to see how it all turned out.

In truth, though I had hoped for so much more, this book felt like a waste of my time. I will give it a 2 out of 5 stars. I’m glad that the Ravensbruck girls have had their story told. I had such better hopes for Caroline though.

It's Ok

It’s Ok

Come here, my sweet boy. Be safe and warm in my embrace. Let the silent tears fall down your face. It’s ok.

Let them be your sound. Let them show your hollowed soul and empty heart. It’s ok.

Relax the hands clamped in your hair. It will not help to rip out the pain you feel in your gut. That pain will not budge. It’s ok.

My love, this is normal. This is life. It’s ok.

You are feeling life. The ebb and flow of emotions as we experience all the different facets of existence. It’s ok.

There is nothing wrong with you. As time keeps moving forward, the pain will change again. It’s ok. 

Never hide this side of yourself. Show it to the world. Let them know how you feel. It doesn’t make you less. It’s ok.  

You are braver than a knight. Without walls or armor, you’ll stand upon a field saying, “Look at me, this is who I am”. It’s ok.

You will be loyal, empathetic, loving, strong, courageous, and wise. It’s ok.    

The very men that have walked before you will lay a box at your feet. You will look upon that box, scuff at its four walls, its small cramped interior, and its lid that will shut too tight. It’s ok.

Instead, standing tall, you’ll bare your soul to the world and stand proud. It’s ok.

Know that the souls that follow you will never see that box. Will never be forced to stand on that field and decide between that horrid confinement to the shame, exclusion, and ridicule that you will brave for them. It’s ok.

I’m sorry that you must forge this path. But you are my son. The very first of its kind.

You will always be loved.

And when the day comes and my arms are no longer here to climb into, just know that your heart will always be protected by the shielding of my love.

My Father's Hands

My father’s hands are worn and aging. They can tell the stories of his life. The stories of a father, husband, son, lawbreaker, veteran, student, mechanic, surfer, caretaker, builder, friend, brother, and abuser. I have seen many of these hands; in warm strong embraces from visits too far apart, claps on the back when I achieve greatness, bloody torn versions from so many projects, and anger filled rages leaving holes in walls. As much as they can be gentle they can also be strong, shoving my face into the ground as I hear the horrid words of my disgraceful existence. Then the same hands folded in a begging plea to be forgiven. Today, I cannot hate these hands. These old, worn hands that have loved, brought me into this world, and will one day hold my children. There is fear that they will turn again into those weapons of damage. But they have grown still, flowing through each day grasping, grabbing, expressing, and making new stories. It is said that every seven years our entire bodies are replaced with new cells. I hope that like our bodies, my father’s hands have become replaced. Yes, there are scars and fears but I have grown and found what true love is. My father’s hands have taught me that.

"The Hearts We Sold" Book Review

What would you trade for an arm or a leg? What would you trade for a heart? These are the questions asked in the novel The Hearts We Sold by Emily Lloyd-Jones. A unique twist to fairytales and demons, the story takes you on the journey of Dee who has decided how much her heart is worth.

I don't regret reading this book. So many times I bore from the constant storyline, we have a hero and the hero must learn about him/herself before saving the world. It feels that if sci-fi or fantasy is the theme, this is the typical plot. Just look at Harry Potter and Hunger Games, exact duplicates except for the big difference; their stories are super unique. We are given distinct characters, descriptive worlds, and something that we can sink our teeth into. Now, I’m not saying that this book is as good as those classics, but I was given something that swept me along the journey.

As the protagonist, Dee was believable. Lloyd-Jones’ description of Dee’s home life was extremely accurate and made Dee’s desire in making a deal with a demon something the reader could get behind. The addition of the secondary characters added color and flavor for the in-betweens. James was someone we could all love and we mourned the loss of others. Lloyd-Jones took moments in the story to develop intricate backstories to enhance the complex construction of her characters. In addition, the twist of possible sci-fi aliens in the mix was a fun take to your traditional fairy tales.

Some areas were less than believable. I wouldn’t say plot holes but areas where it took some effort to take what Lloyd-Jones was dishing out. I won’t go into details because it would give the story away. Sadly, you’ll just have to read the story and fall into the holes like the rest of us.

My final rating would probably be a 3.5 stars out of 5. Not something that I swoon for but definitely a good use of my reading time.

Love

And I looked upon the water asking, "Mother Earth, what can I do for you?"

She lapped her waves upon the shore contemplating what I had asked. "Child," she answered, "no one has paused to ask me question. You can teach your children how to grow, because if they can see something bloom then maybe they won't want to destroy it. You can teach them resilience, because when I have been sucked dry, they will have to find new ways to live. But most of all, you can teach your children and your children's children to love. For if they know what love is, they can surely love me." 

Decisions

Slap.

Heads turn and eyes look to the flat hand pressing against the shellacked tabletop. No one dares to voice their concerns over Derek's sudden outburst, but all question his motives, except for Sandy. She stares at him with the same ferociousness that had just brought his hand down. 

"I don't give a damn what the boss wants, but I sure as hell ain't walking out that door. Let the old man face his own fate. I ain't fighting his battles no more." Derek ends his rant with a grab of his half-filled stein and slowly empties it, keeping his hazel eyes locked with Sandy's blue ones. 

Sandy watches this, not moving even an inch, just taking in every movement that her brother makes. She has experienced this anger before, never backing down, and she isn't going to make this one an exception. 

"Fine. If that's how it's going to be." Her words are icy and they have a small effect on Derek. He lowers his stein softly to the table, his face changing ever so slightly with her words. He was expecting more of a fight. Something that would reveal she was struggle with the decisions too. It wasn't fair that they had to make the choice and change the future. He liked it the way it had been the last thirty years. 

"I'm telling the doctor to take dad off the life support tomorrow." Sandy grabs her jacket off the back of the chair and leaves the bar to make good on her words. 

Smelling in Color

Smelling in Color

What is a word but a collection of sounds.

Hello sounds.

You convey meaning.

What is meaning?

Emotions? Feelings? 

The essence of life itself?

Life, Hope, Love, Passion

*Crying*

The strong emotional sharing of our inner desires.

Overpowering, Overwhelming

Breaking into my inner mind.

Talking over my own thoughts.

Cars, Wind, Neighbors

The tiny breath of my four legged son.

How to list words when I wish we could display in sound.

Better, Stronger, Connection.

Smell.

Smell awakens a part of our consciousness rarely let free.

It's bottled like the very smell itself. 

Have you flown?

I fly from every smell that raises to my faculties.

But not every scent.

We crave the smells of our souls.

If the world smelled pretty would wars end?

I hear this argument outside.

All I sense is shame. 

More shame, judgmental. 

What would that smell like?

Garbage, coal, rank air.

*Pauses to grasp the conscious soul pounding in these words.*

I crave the silence of acres.

Of peace.

Quiet smells like fresh air.

Cool crisp breezes, fresh fruit ripening.

But not flowers.

Those are reserved for something else.

Smells can be anything.

Molded in our minds to be sweet remeberances.