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0063272806
| 9780063272804
| 0063272806
| 4.38
| 6,433
| May 07, 2024
| May 07, 2024
|
it was amazing
|
If I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I've done a shamefully poor job of addressing my love for Cat Sebastian's books around these parts. I've c
If I'm being perfectly honest with myself, I've done a shamefully poor job of addressing my love for Cat Sebastian's books around these parts. I've certainly noted each time her beautiful stories have appeared on my end-of-the-year best of lists, see: The Perfect Crimes of Marian Hayes, basically every book in The Cabots series, and of course We Could Be So Good. And the pull is, quite simply, this: nobody is as kind and gentle with their characters and with their hearts than Cat Sebastian. Nobody. I haven't always been one for the gentler stories, but I cannot overstate the absolute gift it is sinking into one of Sebastian's exquisitely crafted historicals knowing that I get to spend the next however many pages watching two idiots pine and deny that feelings exist and just take care of each other as they fall in love. I wouldn't trade that experience for the world. Not this one or any other. Only two things in the world people count by months. How old a baby is, and how long since something awful happened. Mark Bailey hasn't known what to do for more than a year. Longer than that, probably. But it's been nearly a year and a half since he lost his partner and his will to go on. Which is why, as an arts writer for the Chronicle, he is severely less-than-pleased to be unceremoniously placed on the sports beat covering the story of the New York Robins' hapless new shortstop. Eddie O'Leary was supposed to be the new golden boy of baseball. Traded to a team already circling the drain, in a city that somehow cares even less for him than he does for it, he immediately loses his swing. And things go rapidly downhill from there. Until Mark Bailey walks into the locker room, unwillingly sniffing after a story about the hick from Kansas City. And somehow, these two solitary souls find that they're needed after all. Independent of their stalled careers and the mess of emotional damage they're trailing behind them. Because Eddie can see the few remaining pockets of life slowly draining from Mark's eyes, and Mark realizes his flagging heart may actually have enough life left in it to protect the spark he sees in the struggling young phenom. But whether or not trust of the longterm variety is in the cards, that may take more seasons than Eddie has left to solve. He thinks that the game may have earned those metaphors. It's slow and often seems pointless. It's beautiful, when it isn't a mess. There's a vast ocean of mercy for mistakes: getting hits half the time is nothing short of a miracle, and even the best fielders are expected to have errors. The inevitability of failure is built into the game. I confess, I did not see baseball coming and I am so here for it. I'm a longtime fan of the sport, and it was a damn delight reading Cat Sebastian's beautiful take on baseball in 1960s New York, especially as seen through the exacting and incisive eye of one Mark Bailey. Whose faultless fashion aesthetic I may never recover from. Rolled sleeves agenda indeed, sir. After reading (and absolutely loving) We Could Be So Good, my expectations going into Sebastian's next mid-century historical set in the same "world" were sky high. Every one is exceeded. The expert craftsmanship that goes into this novel works a kind of slow-creeping magic on its readers, effortlessly setting us down in an incredibly specific period in time—one not often renowned for its magic—and wrapping us up in the inexorably charming rhythm of taxis called and taken, of baseball fans whose teams have left them, of players who are forced to leave their teams, of the precise cut of a hand-tailored suit, the push and pull of the characters' vernacular, and the uniquely human longing to know we're not alone. An ache took up residence in my chest the entire time I read this book. The kind of ache I felt the compulsive need to press down on so as to keep myself together long enough, to acknowledge through the feeling and the pressure that what I was reading was as beautifully rendered as it seemed. It will come as no surprise to anyone who knows me even a little bit that I identified with Mark to a somewhat lethal degree. Maybe Mark is wrong. Maybe this swing will slip away from Eddie, or maybe it will settle into something just above marginal, something good enough but never great. He knows better than to count on good things lasting. But when he watches Eddie—when he sees that stern set of his jaw, and when Eddie flashes a grin toward the bleachers—Mark thinks he's seeing something that's for keeps. For all the baseball talk and culture and wonderful history, this is an intensely interior sort of story. It is two people quietly grappling with what it means to be queer in a society and a time that won't allow it, coming to terms with how comfortable they are taking up space in that world and on whose terms, and how to move forward together without giving up the things and the people, the sport and the words that they love. I could read a thousand more quiet, aching pages full of bowls of pasta in unassuming Italian restaurants, aging sportswriters and team managers quietly fighting injustice and time, two ridiculously likable characters bonding over horror novels, milkshakes, and not talking about their feelings. I'll close with my favorite exchange of all, one that coincidentally (or perhaps not, after all) perfectly encapsulates all I ever want from the story of a relationship: "I love you," Eddie says....more |
Notes are private!
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2
|
not set
not set
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May 07, 2024
not set
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May 07, 2024
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Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
0593336828
| 9780593336823
| 0593336828
| 4.14
| 1,490,096
| Sep 14, 2021
| Sep 14, 2021
|
it was amazing
|
Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I couldn't not review this book. Because reading it was something special. I knew nothing about Ali Hazelwood's Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I couldn't not review this book. Because reading it was something special. I knew nothing about Ali Hazelwood's debut novel except that it involved women in STEM and that the cover made me smile. I decided to set it aside for myself as a reward. Work has been . . . punishing . . . for the last year, and I have been so exhausted every hour of every day. And so I determined to buy The Love Hypothesis on release day knowing nothing about it. But when I went to the bookstore to get my copy, none were available. In fact, none were available anywhere for love nor money, in store or online. At first I was moderately disappointed. Then I told myself maybe it's not that great after all and I didn't necessarily need to feel this preemptive sense of loss. But it kept gnawing at me. The loss. And so I paused work and read the first chapter online, mostly thinking that it wouldn't grab me as much as I thought it would and I could therefore let go the sense of loss that I wouldn't be able to crawl into bed that night with it. Except, of course, the first chapter utterly grabbed me. I sat there at my computer with a ridiculously dopey grin on my face. So I bit the bullet and did something I virtually never do with unknown quantities. I bought the ebook and ordered a print copy at the same time. As my husband says, every day ends. And come hell or high water, I was going to end this day with something charming. "Are you okay?" He must be really tall. His voice sounded like it came from ten feet above her. Olive is considering the possibility that choosing a life in academia was a monumental mistake. On paper it all tracks. She knows why she's pursuing a PhD in biology at Stanford, and her reasons are very personal. Which is fine, because other people have always been somewhat difficult for Olive. She's been on her own for a long time, and while she managed to form two strong friendships with fellow PhD candidates, she always feels most at ease in the lab. Which is why she's so bugged by her current social situation. After weeks of trying and failing to convince her best friend, Anh, that it's okay to date Jeremy, the last guy Olive went out with, she resorts to inventing a fake boyfriend. Honestly, Olive doesn't understand the fuss. Anh and Jeremy would be great together, and Olive wasn't ever that into Jeremy anyway. She's rarely into other people in general. Science is what makes sense. But Anh refuses to hurt Olive, and the ridiculousness of the situation is driving Olive quietly mad. Thus the fake boyfriend is born. Which is bothersome enough in and of itself. But things get suddenly and comprehensively worse when Olive (who is supposed to be on a date with her fictional boyfriend) is hanging out at the lab one night and spots Anh heading her way. Olive panics and does what anyone would do: rush up and kiss the nearest warm body to avoid being caught out in her scheme. And so begins the most tangled, confusing, and oddly exhilarating period of Olive's life. Because the nearest warm body turns out to be none other than Dr. Adam Carlsen, the most intimidating, ruthless professor in the department. Who may actually have a reason or two of his own to participate in Olive's madcap charade. She was just going to pretend nothing had happened, nod at him politely, and tiptoe her way out of here. Yes, solid plan. Reader, I am hopelessly charmed. I could not stop grinning for the entirety of the book. I found myself unconsciously bookmarking every single page in my ebook. It has been awhile since a book made my heart feel so light. Olive and Adam are compelling and delightful together, so much so that I had a difficult time wanting to be anywhere but with them. The banter is at once fizzy and deadpan, and it just merrily steamrolls over everything in its way. For two such serious individuals, each new hysterical scenario is an exercise in not running screaming for the hills. But underneath all that, Olive and Adam lock into place with each other in a way neither of them have experienced before. Being the solitary scientists that they are, it remains difficult for them to find and use the words to fit the shape of what's happening. Well, Olive never has a moment's trouble finding words. But the right ones. The ones that aren't so terrifying to utter that you cannot face the prospect. In that arena, she's right there with Adam. The silences that stretch, people. You know I'm a fan. It didn't hurt that I felt such an affinity for Olive's experiences in graduate school as they echoed so many of my own. Not the dating a professor part, fake or otherwise. But the experience of constantly contending with the realities of being a woman in higher education, of being in no way adept at any social aspect of life, and of wrestling with your choices regarding a true and abiding love of academic study and whether or how it will continue to sustain you on an intellectual, financial, and spiritual level for years to come. Layering these achingly real aspects of her life over the headily charming (and very self-aware) fake dating trope made for such a brilliant narrative. "What did Adam's fortune cookie say?" My heart is light. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
|
not set
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Sep 2021
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Apr 12, 2021
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
0349429464
| 9780349429465
| 0349429464
| 3.70
| 248,665
| Jul 01, 2003
| Feb 11, 2021
|
really liked it
|
Originally reviewed here @ Angieville The first book to make it onto my best books I've read so far this year list was actually a surprise. Thanks to B Originally reviewed here @ Angieville The first book to make it onto my best books I've read so far this year list was actually a surprise. Thanks to Bridgerton's massive success, Julia Quinn's name is everywhere these days. And I'm chuffed about the whole thing. That said, my Quinn reading up to this point has been sporadic at best. And I'd only read two novels in the actual Bridgerton series. So I decided to rectify that at the beginning of the year by starting with Eloise's story (the fifth in the series) because she is my uncontested favorite of the siblings. I had no idea what her story held, but I knew she would be a compelling lead. I also love the title and the role that letters play in the story. Eloise Bridgerton is tired of everything. She is tired of the endless inane whirl of life among the ton. She is tired of being paraded around and forced to dance and converse with all the wrong men. But most of all she is tired of being suddenly and unexpectedly alone after her best friend Penelope up and marries Eloise's brother Colin. And so when she receives a letter from a man she scarcely knows, she responds without thinking much of it. Thus begins a correspondence that alternately entertains and intrigues both parties. Which is why when the mysterious Sir Phillip writes to invite her to visit his home with the specific goal of seeing if they might suit, Eloise throws caution to the wind and dashes off for the countryside in the middle of the night. From her window she could see Sir Phillip's greenhouse. She assumed that was where he was, since she hadn't heard him here in the house, stomping about and bellowing at his children. The glass was fogged up and the only thing she could see was a blurry curtain of green—his beloved plants, she supposed. What sort of man was he, that he preferred plants to people? Certainly not anyone who appreciated a fine conversation. Ah, Eloise. I know the feeling. Her spirit and vivacity are my favorite sort, and she is so deserving of a proper adventure. At first somewhat dismaying glance, Sir Phillip does not appear quite the dashing fellow Eloise hoped might await her. It turns out he is a widower with two difficult children. He knows very little of how to be a good father (or a father of any sort), preferring to spend his time working in his greenhouse. And Eloise finds it difficult to find the man who wrote such funny and absorbing letters buried somewhere within the man whose foremost priority seems to be securing a mother for his hellion children so that he may continue his quiet life of solitude and greenery. Happily, Eloise is having none of that. And Phillip finds himself roped into not only participating in his life once more, but talking to the young lady who in turn is not remotely the kind of woman he expected. There is such a great deal of beauty and depth to this tale. It felt more serious to me than the others in the series, partially because it takes place almost exclusively outside London. And partially because Phillip's history is such a tragic one. And while he makes several dunderheaded moves with regards to his motivations for inviting Eloise to his estate (and while he is decidedly better with the written word than the spoken and with plants than people), I was so proud of him for trying. For reaching out in the first place after life had dealt him such blows. For wanting more for his children than he was currently able to give them. And more for himself (though he cannot even acknowledge it). I found it impossible not to love Phillip. Blind spots and all. Fortunately for him, the woman he wrote was Eloise Bridgerton. Because she frankly carries the day from the very first page. Eloise could talk from sunup to sundown and still not have enough time to express all of the feelings and curiosity and desires of her heart. She is witty and perspicacious and her heart is big enough and strong enough for all of them. It leads her to the right place before she even comprehends why. It falls in love with Phillip and his neglected children and refuses to leave them alone and hurt any longer despite the very real danger her presence at his home places her in. It isn't an easy process, nor is it a painless one. And more than once, the whole thing goes pear-shaped. But it is so touching, infused with so much longing and genuine emotion. It is also, at times, hilarious. Especially when Eloise's raft of brothers make an appearance in peak Bridgerton style. But of the entire lot, Eloise and Phillip are my favorite. They feel like the truest, if initially unlikely, match. A favorite exchange: "It's not that at all," she said quickly, mostly just to make him stop talking about it. "It was . . . " Her voice trailed off, and she sighed. "It was . . . " I'm so pleased to have started off the new year with them. I went on to binge the entire series (Anthony, you rascal, I still believe I will see you in hell), and a fun time was had by all. But To Sir Phillip, With Love will always be my favorite. ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Jan 2021
|
Feb 19, 2021
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
B07ZXJB894
| 4.62
| 2,897
| unknown
| Nov 01, 2019
|
it was amazing
|
Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I feel a bit giddy finally talking to you all about this series. If you'll remember, I fell madly in love with Th Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I feel a bit giddy finally talking to you all about this series. If you'll remember, I fell madly in love with The Q when it came out a few years ago. Now, Beth Brower is writing The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion—a series of novellas set in London in 1883. Each volume is an excerpt from the incorrigible Emma's journals, and the first two volumes are already available with the third on the way soon. I think they'd make rather perfect pandemic reading. Humorous and charming down to their bones, they're just what the doctor ordered to lift your spirits in this uncertain time that just proves to be too much some days. Miss Emma M. Lion has waited long enough. Come hell or high water (and really, given her track record, both are likely), she is going to take back possession of her rightful home from her odious Cousin Archibald. Which is how she finds herself setting foot off the train in London (at last) and making her way to the lovely (if rather unusual) neighborhood of St. Crispian's and her lovely (if rather unusual) home Lapis Lazuli House. In the wake of a number of personal tragedies, Emma has been mouldering in the countryside for years with her fatuous and extremely irksome Cousin Matilde, forced to cater to her every whim. Meanwhile, Cousin Archibald has been occupying the home her parents left her when they died and playing fast and loose with her inheritance. Emma is fast approaching her majority and bound and determined to take charge of her own life. But the tyrannical Archibald refuses to give up without a fight, locking up the library, and relegating Emma to the garret. To add insult to injury, it isn't even a whole garret but a portion of one, as Cousin Archibald walled off ten feet of the house, dubbed it Lapis Lazuli Minor, and rented it out to a Tenant in order to pay for his inexplicable morning robe habit. And so Emma is forced to roll up her sleeves and do battle for what should have been hers years ago. And in true Emma M. Lion fashion, she chronicles the ins and outs of her increasingly hilarious and frustrating life with both a critical eye and an abundance of wit. I've arrived in London without incident. Emma is a singular personality and one that grows on you immediately upon acquaintance. Her unselected journals are positively Wilde-esque, as she employs a cutting, grandiose, yet always self-effacing approach to her treatment of daily life. Every denizen of St. Crispian's is a fully-fledged character in their own right and one that I would follow beyond Emma's eye were I given the chance. From the hapless Scottish maid/cook Agnes to the truly bewitching (though he would abhor the term) vicar Young Hawkes, who was rather abandoned at his post and who mixes poetry and Shakespeare into his "sermons," cheered on by his rowdy Eton and Oxford mates in the back pew. From the habit that objects in St. Crispian's have of regularly going missing and reappearing in other people's homes to the specter of a Roman centurion who haunts the neighbourhood. To say nothing of the forbidding Duke of Islington, who is the unwitting and unwilling author of Emma's greatest temptation and The Tenant himself, with his quicksilver eyes, who moves into the other portion of the garret across the wall from Emma and begins exchanging notes with her written on torn off scraps of paper and slid through a crack between the boards in the wall. I mean, honestly. The entire host of them are revoltingly charming and winsome and they basically each made me want to tear my hair out by the roots at some points and hug them ferociously hard at others. Well, with the exception of Young Hawkes. He never makes me want to tear my hair out, and I always want to hug him. Not that he'd allow it, of course. As it stands, a number of shenanigans are in the works, a number of games afoot, and I would truly love to chat about them with any and all of you. Until such time as you've had a chance to swallow Emma's tales whole, I'll leave you with possibly my favorite exchange (which is saying something) between Emma and The Tenant (taken from Volume 2). Emma initiates the exchange, and The Tenant's responses are in all caps: Do you have an obscure fact regarding cartography that would catch the attention of a man whose only other interest is the sweet pea? These journals are a joy, I tell you. I can scarcely wait for more. ...more |
Notes are private!
|
1
|
not set
|
Nov 2019
|
Apr 25, 2020
|
Kindle Edition
| |||||||||||||||||
B07ZXJHPBK
| 4.31
| 3,730
| unknown
| Nov 01, 2019
|
really liked it
|
Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I feel a bit giddy finally talking to you all about this series. If you'll remember, I fell madly in love with Th Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I feel a bit giddy finally talking to you all about this series. If you'll remember, I fell madly in love with The Q when it came out a few years ago. Now, Beth Brower is writing The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion—a series of novellas set in London in 1883. Each volume is an excerpt from the incorrigible Emma's journals, and the first two volumes are already available with the third on the way soon. I think they'd make rather perfect pandemic reading. Humorous and charming down to their bones, they're just what the doctor ordered to lift your spirits in this uncertain time that just proves to be too much some days. Miss Emma M. Lion has waited long enough. Come hell or high water (and really, given her track record, both are likely), she is going to take back possession of her rightful home from her odious Cousin Archibald. Which is how she finds herself setting foot off the train in London (at last) and making her way to the lovely (if rather unusual) neighborhood of St. Crispian's and her lovely (if rather unusual) home Lapis Lazuli House. In the wake of a number of personal tragedies, Emma has been mouldering in the countryside for years with her fatuous and extremely irksome Cousin Matilde, forced to cater to her every whim. Meanwhile, Cousin Archibald has been occupying the home her parents left her when they died and playing fast and loose with her inheritance. Emma is fast approaching her majority and bound and determined to take charge of her own life. But the tyrannical Archibald refuses to give up without a fight, locking up the library, and relegating Emma to the garret. To add insult to injury, it isn't even a whole garret but a portion of one, as Cousin Archibald walled off ten feet of the house, dubbed it Lapis Lazuli Minor, and rented it out to a Tenant in order to pay for his inexplicable morning robe habit. And so Emma is forced to roll up her sleeves and do battle for what should have been hers years ago. And in true Emma M. Lion fashion, she chronicles the ins and outs of her increasingly hilarious and frustrating life with both a critical eye and an abundance of wit. I've arrived in London without incident. Emma is a singular personality and one that grows on you immediately upon acquaintance. Her unselected journals are positively Wilde-esque, as she employs a cutting, grandiose, yet always self-effacing approach to her treatment of daily life. Every denizen of St. Crispian's is a fully-fledged character in their own right and one that I would follow beyond Emma's eye were I given the chance. From the hapless Scottish maid/cook Agnes to the truly bewitching (though he would abhor the term) vicar Young Hawkes, who was rather abandoned at his post and who mixes poetry and Shakespeare into his "sermons," cheered on by his rowdy Eton and Oxford mates in the back pew. From the habit that objects in St. Crispian's have of regularly going missing and reappearing in other people's homes to the specter of a Roman centurion who haunts the neighbourhood. To say nothing of the forbidding Duke of Islington, who is the unwitting and unwilling author of Emma's greatest temptation and The Tenant himself, with his quicksilver eyes, who moves into the other portion of the garret across the wall from Emma and begins exchanging notes with her written on torn off scraps of paper and slid through a crack between the boards in the wall. I mean, honestly. The entire host of them are revoltingly charming and winsome and they basically each made me want to tear my hair out by the roots at some points and hug them ferociously hard at others. Well, with the exception of Young Hawkes. He never makes me want to tear my hair out, and I always want to hug him. Not that he'd allow it, of course. As it stands, a number of shenanigans are in the works, a number of games afoot, and I would truly love to chat about them with any and all of you. Until such time as you've had a chance to swallow Emma's tales whole, I'll leave you with possibly my favorite exchange (which is saying something) between Emma and The Tenant (taken from Volume 2). Emma initiates the exchange, and The Tenant's responses are in all caps: Do you have an obscure fact regarding cartography that would catch the attention of a man whose only other interest is the sweet pea? These journals are a joy, I tell you. I can scarcely wait for more. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Nov 2019
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Apr 25, 2020
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Kindle Edition
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1250146070
| 9781250146076
| 1250146070
| 3.91
| 109,997
| Sep 24, 2019
| Sep 24, 2019
|
it was amazing
|
Originally reviewed here @ Angieville Let's just agree not to pull any punches, shall we? I'll start by admitting that this book wrecked my life. To be Originally reviewed here @ Angieville Let's just agree not to pull any punches, shall we? I'll start by admitting that this book wrecked my life. To be clear, I am not complaining. It's just that it had been a long time, yeah? A long time since Carry On came out. Just such a very long time since I'd been in the company of these two. And their crew. And I thought I was ready. Don't I always? Must remember to learn from past mistakes. But more than that, I wasn't thinking about the fact that of course Rainbow Rowell would create nothing less than the sequel that would naturally follow the events at the end of Carry On. Which is to say a sequel that would hurt. Because everything about what happened to Simon Snow from the beginning of his life to his graduation from Watford was designed to damage. With the shining exceptions of Penny and Baz. And so the bulk of Wayward Son is composed of one wild American road trip adventure born of Baz and Penny's increasingly desperate and ongoing attempts to revive their friend before he disappears completely. Simon Snow has given up. Or at least, he's absolutely determined to. It's just that Baz doesn't seem to want to let him. Baz. Who deserves so much more than the erstwhile Chosen One, now couchbound lackluster layabout. Simon is determined to do the right thing by his vampire boyfriend. If there's one thing he knows how to do, it's the right thing. So he'll cut Baz loose. If only Penny didn't go and muck up his plans by proposing that post-graduation trip to America she and Simon always said they'd take. Well, here they are: alive and well (in Penny's case, at least) and there is absolutely no reason they shouldn't cross an ocean, take to the open road, and see where the wind takes them. And so Simon gives in, a course that is proving all too easy these days, and the three of them head to America. And if they run into their old chum Agatha and Penny's longtime boyfriend Micah along the way, so much the better. What they don't plan on is just how vast America actually is. Well, that and the fact that it seems to be home to as many monsters in the night as back home in England. Who knew? Sometimes Simon kisses me like it's the end of the world, and I worry he might believe that it is. How could he not? From the very beginning Simon was specifically engineered to face the end of the world. Now that life as they knew it has ended, there is no particle of Simon that knows what to do with himself. I have some experience with depression, and I was—well, slightly blown away at Rowell's painfully compassionate depiction of Simon's depression. The way that she alternates points of view—just as she did in the first book—enhances this multilayered approach as we are allowed to witness the ways in which Baz and Penny experience Simon's struggle. None of them know what to do, and it is staggeringly hard to watch them try and fail and try again and battle against losing hope. But the setting? The three of them coasting down the highway in their rented '68 Mustang (Tahoe Turquoise). Baz teaching Simon how to drive. Penny heckling the slowly unraveling Baz from the back seat. Their inadvertent and hilarious appearance at a Midwest Renaissance Faire. The setting provides such organic and spontaneous moments of ease and helpless delight that it goes a small way toward relieving the ever-present spirit of despair and uncertainty. I welcomed those moments as I did the introduction of Shepherd, a Normal who encounters the crew and inserts himself into their developing quest to find the troubled Agatha and fend off the enemy they didn't know existed. Simon Snow, it hurts to look at you when you're this happy. This is my favorite passage (of so many) from the book. And of course it's from Baz's point of view. If you love Baz as I do, beware. Beyond this place, there be dragons. All Baz wants is for Simon to be okay. And he is so careful in this book. He so carefully tries not to take a wrong step, not to make a wrong move and trigger Simon in a way that might prove irrevocable. With his mother's scarf and his flowered suit, Baz is every inch himself. This is a middle novel. The second in the trilogy. And we all know how that goes. There's complexity and pain, blood and unresolved wanting. And every bit of it hurts and left indelible prints on my weary heart. But it's worth it. Go ahead and shoot me. This isn't my favourite shirt. Because Rainbow Rowell knows where I live. And that is a Baz made of fury, issuing iconic lines like this one with not one single thing in this world to lose. Wayward Son leaves you dangling off the edge, and it took me honestly weeks to recover. I may have found myself driving aimlessly around town blasting the book playlist and just trying to cope with the emotional fallout. I may have had to reread it immediately after just to process my feelings. This all sounds overwhelming, and it was. But, my, how I loved it. For being brave. And true to its characters and their arcs. I always admire Rainbow Rowell's storytelling, and I can't wait for the conclusion to the tale. My feelings for Simon & Baz are America-wide. I know it will end in flames. But I can see them coming through them. I can see it. So mote it be. "The homes are so far apart," Snow says. Now that we're off the motorway, we can hear each other speak again. "It seems a bit greedy, doesn't it? Just to take up as much space as you can?"...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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not set
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Apr 20, 2020
|
Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
1338188321
| 9781338188325
| 1338188321
| 4.25
| 36,001
| Nov 05, 2019
| Nov 05, 2019
|
it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville Ronan Lynch thinks he can do it. He thinks he can leave the Barns for short, controlled periods of time. Just lon Originally reviewed here @ Angieville Ronan Lynch thinks he can do it. He thinks he can leave the Barns for short, controlled periods of time. Just long enough to visit Adam at Harvard, just long enough to check in on his brothers in DC, just long enough that the nightwash won't arrive and bleed out enough darkness that he won't wake up at all. But short and controlled have never really been in Ronan Lynch's playbook. And the spectacular failure of his first attempt casts the kind of pall they all struggle to shake. Meanwhile, his older brother Declan has broken the rules for the first time in his perfectly scripted life. An expert at short and controlled, he finds himself unable to go on not knowing the truth of the people in his life, his dreamer father, his dreamed mother, and his dreamless self. And as Declan dips his toes in waters deeper than he knows, a woman named Hennessy arrives in town complete with dreams and an agenda of her own. A number of them, in fact. All flawless copies. And as Hennessy's best friend Jordan finds herself tangled up in Declan's search for the past, Hennessy herself is running out of time. Because she and her dreams aren't the only new arrivals in town. A darkness is headed for the Lynch brothers and those unfortunate enough to be within striking distance when it finds them. A darkness with teeth both real and dreamt. A dreamer, a dream, and Declan: that was the brothers Lynch. Here's the first brilliant thing about this novel: it's as much Declan's story as it is Ronan's. And that fact thrills me right down to my toes. Because we have simply not been on the receiving end of enough Declan thus far in our journey with the brothers Lynch, and it was high time. And also the perfect time. I didn't expect Declan to be the next Lynch thread to unravel (and in so devastating a fashion), but I certainly admire the boy's style. Call Down the Hawk is a love letter to Declan Lynch and to those like him who love and are inevitably hurt by dreamers and the dreams they design. My heart broke over and over for Declan and the ever-rigid confines of the life his father left him. Which is why Jordan was such a gift to this tale. She's a forger and a thief and exactly the kind of person to whom Declan doesn't give the time of day. And she's placed squarely in the path he's treading toward the truth. Declan and Jordan's story glints in the light and creeps by in the shadows, and I am here for it every day of the week. Declan Lynch knew he was boring. This is the second brilliant thing about this novel: its arc bends toward Ronan Lynch not being alone. And I don't mean just in the sense of Adam Parrish and the Barns and home (though you all know I am never not meaning Adam Parrish and the Barns and home). But I also mean in the sense of his place in the world. We often think it was an oddly lonely thing to be Gansey, and it was so painfully lonely a thing to be Adam. But the Dreamer Trilogy opens reminding us how lonely it is to be Ronan, trapped in the place he loves most in the world and endangering the people he loves most with every night's sleep. And so if there is a ray of light in this wild car chase of a novel, it is that much like Blue Sargent discovering her father was a bit of a tree and magical with it, Ronan finds the world he lives in may not only be manipulable by himself and his father before him. There are other dreamers out there, not all of them (possibly none of them) as benevolent as he. And there are, perhaps inevitably, those who want to kill dreamers and who do so. Violence and a smile made for war. But if he can survive, there may be the hope of forging dreams together for that same boy who, "left to his own devices, manifested beautiful cars and beautiful birds and tender-hearted brothers." And since it is a trilogy, we'll go with three brilliant things. This is the third one: I remember back when I wrote my review for The Dream Thieves, I said that it filled me with anxiety and murderous affection. Well, these essential elements are alive and kicking and have possibly taken some sort of Kavinsky-approved stimulant. But I know them. As Adam says, "Ronan, I know you." I know these characters, and I know these words and the way they connect to form a new thread in my life. There are new characters I am now coming to know and who I already love. There are those I hate as well. And, taken together, they fill in empty spaces and build up walls. They forge brilliant copies and dream swords to pull out of the air in the arc of my most perfect need. This is the third brilliant thing. Words and the magic they make. Maggie style. Which is to say beautiful from every angle and impossible to be perfectly replicated. She wanted to stop being afraid, and she wanted to be able to call Declan Lynch and give him something she'd painted with Tyrian purple, and she wanted to have a future that didn't look exactly like her past. Until we meet again, my friends. Stay alive. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Apr 2020
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Apr 08, 2020
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Hardcover
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0008169322
| 9780008169305
| B01N3SW6UZ
| 3.84
| 51,223
| Jan 01, 2019
| Jan 01, 2019
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it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville There's really very little to say, isn't there? I hope you are well, wherever you are. I hope that your loved one Originally reviewed here @ Angieville There's really very little to say, isn't there? I hope you are well, wherever you are. I hope that your loved ones are. I hope that you're finding small ways to stay afloat, to remain connected to something, someone, someplace (real or fictional) that sustains you. Dark and difficult times, indeed. I've rather been holding on to this review. I felt so much, so quickly, so irrevocably for this book that it rapidly became hard to talk about to anyone who hadn't read it. And so I hope I can do it justice, just barely enough justice that, if you haven't, you'll run right out and do so. Now is the perfect time. I feel strongly that this book is what you need in your life at this moment. And so. You might want to prepare yourselves. I'm about to wax rhapsodic. But first, and introductory excerpt: At the end of that session, Fay said, What if it's not what happened with this boy you regret, it's you? It's the you who you left behind. It's who you were at eighteen and the things that happened subsequently, and you look back on it as a watershed. You broke up with yourself. Georgina Horspool's life hasn't gone the way she thought it would. She had things well in hand. She fit in wherever she needed or wanted to be. She could charm anyone. She had the wit and enough looks and ambition to make it. And she had, secretly and most importantly, Lucas McCarthy. Assigned to be partners in their senior English class, the bright and bubbly popular girl and the quiet loner Irish transplant boy fell in love quietly and without anyone noticing. And they kept it that way, neither of them sure what would happen to their bond if it found its way into the harsh light of the public sphere. And then graduation night. And all their plans. And the moment when it all fell apart, as quietly and inexplicably as it began. Now thirty and fired from the last in a string of spectacularly dead end jobs, Georgina stumbles home to find her boyfriend has been cheating on her. Unable to bear the disappointment on her sister's and mother's faces, she jumps at the first job offer that comes her way. Serving as a barmaid at the new pub in town, Georgina's walls close in on her further when she realizes the pub is co-owned by two brothers. The McCarthy brothers. And to make matters worse, Lucas does not recognize her. Grown up and as devastatingly himself as she remembers, Lucas McCarthy has no idea that his new employee was the girl he once loved. And the pain, the uncertainty, of not knowing, of not being known is somehow the most anguish Georgina has been forced to feel in twelve long years. Lucas McCarthy. An unknown, who kept to himself, like all future murderers. Not social contagion, but not who I would've chosen. Mhairi McFarlane opens with her two protagonists in high school, and I admit I felt a frisson of fear that we might spend too long in the past. But fear is not an emotion you need worry about with this incredible novel. Every storytelling decision is just right. I mean, perfectly crafted. The reader gets the exact glimpse she needs of the past before plunging into the present alongside Georgina. And from then on, it's the most wonderful, agonizing ride. I admire the hell out of Georgina. She is fierce and loud and trying so hard. She has so many reasons to be hurt and afraid and wary, and she simply presses forward. Which is not to say that all the things she does not say aren't taking a toll. And that toll, along with the sudden appearance and apparently now constant presence of Lucas, make up the meat of this story. The thing is, I wasn't prepared. The absolute punch of this book took my breath away. The punch that simultaneously smacked of joy, heartbreak, rage, hilarity, and strength. I found myself barely halfway through and afraid that this book that already held all of my heart might be running under the radar, that its charming cover and lighthearted title might somehow slip by so many readers who needed it. Because it is endlessly charming and frequently lighthearted (she is so, so witty), but there is also so much depth and weight to it. Such an astoundingly slow burn of a romance. And most importantly of all, such a vital treatment of one woman's life (and at the same time all women's lives) in this world that we live in and the ways in which those lives can be forcefully shaped by it and the men in it and how we respond. How we fight to shape ourselves. I wanted to punch something as I read it, wanted to let fly my own punch of joy, heartbreak, rage, hilarity, and strength. That is the kind of weight Mhairi McFarlane is just casually throwing around like it's nothing, when in fact it is everything. Don't You Forget About Me is the best book I've read this year. And, friends, it's not even a close call. It made me feel more than I thought I could, it has one of the most perfect declarations I have ever read (I kid you not, you will not be able to contain your feels), and it's important. It's just . . . important. I'll be giving copies to everyone. A favorite of countless favorite lines: I'm not carrying it anymore. I spoke the words aloud, used my words, and broke the curse....more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Feb 2020
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Mar 20, 2020
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Kindle Edition
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1250079098
| 9781250079091
| 1250079098
| 4.02
| 4,110
| May 17, 2016
| May 17, 2016
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really liked it
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I have now read two retellings of Much Ado About Nothing (possibly my very favorite Shakespeare play, which is sa Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I have now read two retellings of Much Ado About Nothing (possibly my very favorite Shakespeare play, which is saying something), and I'm just sort of delighted with the whole situation. You know how strongly I felt about McKelle George's incredibl Speak Easy, Speak Love. That book is perfection from start to finish, and I will die on that hill. Then this year I ran across Lily Anderson's The Only Thing Worse Than Me is You, which just by the way became my favorite book title in forever and just so, so perfect for Beatrice and Benedick and their mad, wonderful war. This was my first book by Lily Anderson, and from the snort of laughter I let out at the opening lines, I knew that we would be getting on just fine: Ben West spent summer vacation growing a handlebar mustache. Trixie Watson and Ben West have been at odds since time immemorial. They both attend Messina Academy—the same elite private school for nerd geniuses (though neither fits in quite as seamlessly as first appearances might indicate). They both hang with genuinely good, sunny personalities distinctly at odds with their own prickly natures. They both love comic books and all things Dr. Who with an unholy passion. And they are both bound and determined to knock the other out of the third place class standing senior year. And things are progressing rather swimmingly in the Watson vs. West department until Trixie's best friend Harper begins dating Ben's best friend Cornell. The whole situation is too treacly and inconvenient for either of them to countenance. But then the unimpeachable Harper is expelled for cheating and Trixie cries foul. The shifting alliances within their two groups are thrown into even more chaos, and somehow Ben finds himself enlisted in helping Trixie get to the bottom of just who framed Harper and why. I adored Trixie. She felt so much like a kindred spirit, especially in the calm, but often perplexed, ways she views her peers, herself, her various relationships, and what she might want out of life. The drama she allows into her world is carefully allotted and reserved entirely for harassing her nemesis Ben, a decision I wholly approved of. And Ben is such a worthy, quirky opponent. He continually surprises. They both go about their sparring in such an intelligent and methodical manner, it's difficult not to admire the whole intricate tangle and fall for them both page by page. One of my favorite examples of Trixie's musings: I grabbed two ends of my hair and yanked until I felt the ponytail secure itself to the base of my skull. It was shameful to be dissecting my own appearance. I blamed Cornell Aaron and the way he stared at Harper, as though he'd plucked her out of a claw machine and couldn't believe his luck. I wasn't jealous, exactly. I certainly had no designs on Cornell for myself. He was a nice guy and good-looking, but nothing like the vague idea I had in mind for a male companion. She doesn't want to waste her time. Yes. She's just exactly who she is, Trixie. Her head is on straight. Her internal thought processes are honest and organic. And the lovely thing is the entire group of friends (on both sides of the battle lines) follow suit. They are a distinct pleasure to be with. Harper, Meg, Cornell, Trixie, Ben, their parents (who, happily, play actual roles in their lives). Like the original source material, each character is carefully delineated and integral to the story as a whole. The entire romp is laugh-out-loud funny and pulls at your heartstrings in subtle and sophisticated ways. I was initially somewhat skeptical of how well this story would translate to high school, even one designed for uber-driven prodigies. But Lily Anderson pulls it off winningly and, at the same time, questions the inherent value of such an institution, the pressures it places on these young adults, and the sometimes detrimental ways those pressures manifest in other areas of their lives. I didn't find a single fault with this novel. Every single page was as charming and smart as you could want. I'll close with my favorite (of so many) scenes between Trix and Ben: "So, if you had your license, would this week have gone differently? I've seen the Yahtzee episode of Community. I know alternate time lines are tricky and all."...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Aug 2019
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Oct 18, 2019
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Hardcover
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B0796SN24S
| 3.96
| 4,159
| Feb 26, 2019
| Feb 26, 2019
|
it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I found my way to Julie Anne Long's writing in a bit of a piecemeal fashion. Her long-running Pennyroyal Green s Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I found my way to Julie Anne Long's writing in a bit of a piecemeal fashion. Her long-running Pennyroyal Green series is widely beloved and records the various and sundry escapades of the always-scheming, never repentant Eversea and Redmond families. Really, the series is worth the price of admission for the hilarious (and ever-evolving) "Ballad of Colin Eversea" alone (though Colin's is not actually my favorite book). But I've come to believe that this sweeping eleven-book series has something for every reader. You just have to dip your toes in enough times to find your favorites. And once you do, they will become instant and confirmed comfort reads. Spoiler alert: mine are It Happened One Midnight and What I Did for a Duke. I'm sorry, Colin, but the Duke of Falconbridge, you are not. You'll be just fine, though. Madeleine has enough moxie to take care of you both. Delilah, Countess of Derring, is having a bad day. The absolute worst sort of day, really. The kind of day in which one finds oneself sitting in the office of one's late, unlamented husband's solicitor being told that one is destitute and then forced to make the acquaintance of said unlamented husband's mistress. But it turns out that, though no one ever thought to ask how Delilah would handle utter ruin and humiliation, they are all about to find out that she handles it very well indeed. Or she will, just as soon as she has one more unorthodox chat with her husband's former mistress (one Angelique Breedlove) and the two of them properly investigate the sole item the despicable Derring owned outright―a derelict building on the banks of the Thames. And thus a plan of salvation (and permanent independence) is born out of the all-but-dead hopes and driving desperation of two women who should never have met, let alone become business partners. If only the building, its dubious history, and Derring's ownership of it weren't being investigated by naval hero turned agent of the crown Captain Tristan Hardy. But Delilah and Angelique aren't about to give up on their dreams, no matter how sneaky and determined Captain Hardy finagles to be. It takes zero pages, my friends, just no pages at all to fall in love with this beautifully written novel. With Delilah, with Angelique, with Tristan, with each and every last ridiculous and hysterical denizen of the Grand Palace on the Thames. In fact, though I knew how charming the tale was likely to be (and it so was), I don't think I was quite prepared for how sensitive and artful the storytelling would be (it so was). And the very first tell is the friendship between these two women. These two women who have been so badly hurt by the same man. So much of their lives were forged of solitude, they could so easily have fallen back on that very real shame and pain and focused their individual hatred on one another. But Delilah and Angelique are more than the sum of their hurts and the foibles of that man. Watching them first warily and then certainly hold on to each other as they build the foundation of something fine and good and safe is one of the great joys of this novel. A favorite moment taken from early on, just after the plan is hatched: Angelique gave a little snort. But her posture suggested that some sort of internal knot had finally loosened. This image is fixed in my mind―these women choosing not to give in, not to die, but rather toasting their hope and their newfound strength and their future with light. In fact, I don't think the way that scene made me feel will ever leave. Light and its attendant imagery and symbolism pervades the tale. Enter one sea captain who, among other things, is tall enough to reach the sconces. For the record, Tristan Hardy is many excellent things, but that may be my favorite of his qualities. And it is referenced just perfectly throughout the book. Tall enough to reach the sconces. But, of course, he is also in disguise and ruthlessly determined to break up the smuggling ring with which he has been tasked, never mind Lady Derring's fine eyes and the way she has of making him want to stay in the drawing room, threats of nightly musicales notwithstanding. Their evening conversations are light-footed things of beauty, and laughter bubbled up out of me on more than one occasion. For example: "Would you mind telling me a bit more about the rules?" Ah, Tristan. Your instincts are so very good. There is nothing not to admire about Delilah. But the truly wonderful thing is that both Delilah and Tristan are equally admirable. It is so often the case that one or the other partner in a relationship has been decidedly less than admirable. And part of the narrative inherently involves a coming to see the error of their ways, if you will. It's not that I don't thoroughly enjoy that trope, but I was just so gratified to find that these two were worthy of my admiration and regard (and each other's) from the word go. It was such a pleasure watching them quietly learn each other. I enjoyed the balance of intrigue surrounding the They regarded each other somberly, making internal adjustments to accommodate the mere glorious fact of each other....more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Feb 2019
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Feb 25, 2019
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Kindle Edition
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0735220689
| 9780735220683
| 0735220689
| 4.23
| 1,274,819
| May 09, 2017
| May 09, 2017
|
it was amazing
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Originally published here @ Angieville This title. This title is my favorite book title in ages. No question. It made me feel things for the titular ch Originally published here @ Angieville This title. This title is my favorite book title in ages. No question. It made me feel things for the titular character, made me long to meet her and join her on her completely fine journey, long before I ever picked up the book itself. My mom gave me a copy for my birthday back in the summer, and I kept it on my nightstand for ages just admiring the colors and the font and the general splendor of what might lie within. Basically just another example of present day me wanting to kick past myself for not starting a book sooner. Because this book is so much better than fine. Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine is Gail Honeyman's debut novel. I am waiting in delicious anticipation for her sophomore novel. Eleanor learned long ago that the only socially acceptable answer to the question "How are you?" is "Fine." She learned long ago, reinforced by her mother's constant and stringent dictums, that she wasn't like other people. And, what's more, she shouldn't be. Other people were quite dreadful, and should never serve as suitable outlines for proper behavior. And so she has gone through life, constantly perplexed by the behavior of others, by their informality, their audacity, their continual, inexplicable bleeding outside the lines. And life is fine. Eleanor is fine. Content with her solitary existence. Competent at her office job. Willing to suffer through her weekly calls with Mummy. Until one night she finds herself at a local pub listening to a band. And without warning, she knows. She knows she is meant to be with the lead singer of the band. And so she sets about rearranging herself and her life so that when the inevitable meeting comes, all will fall seamlessly into place. Around about the same time, she is thrown together with Raymond, a man who works in her company's IT department and who seems to enjoy her company, though she is nothing but befuddled by his. And so, bit by bit, things in her meticulously ordered life begin to change, whether Eleanor is ready or not. Raymond sent me an electronic mail message at work the next week―it was very odd, seeing his name in my in-box. As I'd expected, he was semiliterate. Eleanor's dry-as-a-vodka-martini sense of humor is one of the sheer highlights of this book. Her inner dialogue surrounding her efforts to parse the emotions and actions of those around her are as delightful as they insightful. And always lurking beneath them are the inescapable, if fleeting, references to the mother that shaped every aspect of her life and whose presence is felt, even now, in every one of her thoughts and actions. I felt the entire length of the novel as though I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the last remaining length of the thread to unravel. Which is why Eleanor's sense of humor, and Raymond's wonderfully offbeat and accepting interactions with her are so vital to the story's success, saving it as they do from the shadows that loom so eerily from the corners of the room. I watched him amble toward me. His peculiar loping walk was almost endearing now―I wouldn't recognize him if he started to walk as normal men did. He had his hands in the pockets of his low-slung denim trousers, and was wearing a strange, oversized woolen hat that I hadn't seen before. It looked like the kind of hat that a German goblin might wear in an illustration from a nineteenth-century fairy tale, possibly one about a baker who was unkind to children and got his comeuppance via an elfin horde. I rather liked it. I laughed out loud on multiple occasions while reading Eleanor's story. And I think that Raymond rather likes Eleanor for the same reasons she gets on with him, though her loping walk and elfin horde hat is worn mostly on the inside (her visible facial scars notwithstanding). The way Gail Honeyman manages to insert the reader as one of Eleanor's "insiders" (though in practice, she actually has none) is such a crucial tool, so that while we see the way most people are offput by our heroine, we never are. Because we walk home with her at night, and sit up eating frozen pizza, and stick to the plan each day. We know what her shoes feel like, and they are comfortable even though we can see how strange they may look to those outside the know. And it is this sense of being on the inside that makes the final reveal that much more effective. Because though we may have suspected, it creeps up just the same as it does on Eleanor. It creeps up on such soft feet. And how happy I was that by that time she had Raymond. And his mum. And Sammy the old man they helped on the street. And a boss who values her for the good work she does. How glad I was. I was so incredibly moved by this woman's story. And by the way she saves herself. I'll leave you with my favorite passage in the entire book, out of context as it is, because that final sentence instantly entered my personal canon. And I recite it to myself in comfort. I took a breath. Back in that house, on a good day. Stripes of sunshine on the carpet, a board game set out on the floor, a pair of dice, two brightly colored counters. A day with more ladders than snakes. A day with more ladders than snakes. Sigh. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Sep 2018
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Dec 27, 2018
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Hardcover
| |||||||||||||||
0425281426
| 9780425281420
| 0425281426
| 4.23
| 17,675
| Oct 02, 2018
| Oct 02, 2018
|
it was amazing
|
Originally reviewed here @ Angieville This series. My feelings for it are fierce and tangled, much like the ties that bind its protagonists. Charlotte, Originally reviewed here @ Angieville This series. My feelings for it are fierce and tangled, much like the ties that bind its protagonists. Charlotte, Lord Ingram, Livia, Inspector Treadles, Bancroft, Lady Ingram . . . characterize them each how you will, but there is nothing equivocal about them. While there is infinite room for every sort of gray area in their circumstances, their histories, and their difficult presents, the feelings that they engender (at least in me) are nothing if not strong one way or the other. And really, I wouldn't have it any other way. Who wants to feel the least bit milk-soppy about the people who inhabit their wonderfully complicated Victorian mysteries? Not me. That is who. Which is to say that I was prepared for a tumult of emotions as I embarked on this the third volume in Sherry Thomas's Lady Sherlock series. Just, as it turns out, nowhere near prepared enough. Be warned: unavoidable spoilers for the first two books abound. Death has finally found its way to Lord Ingram's door. Though it may have seemed to him and to those who know him best that he was already bearing one man's fair share of suffering in his life, the term takes on new meaning when the body of his estranged wife is found on the grounds of his country estate. He is already playing impromptu host to a number of his neighbors who were forced to flee their house party nearby, and the group just happens to include Charlotte Holmes's sister, Miss Livia Holmes. All hell breaks loose in a matter of a few short hours, and both the London gossips and Scotland Yard are calling for his blood in short order. And Charlotte, the only person who can really help him, the only person he actually wants at his side throughout this ghoulish ordeal, is forced to do so in disguise. Unable to disclose her identity for fear of betraying her oldest friend, Charlotte enters a race against time and the mysteriously related Moriarty to clear Lord Ingram's name and uncover the true culprit. "Charlotte Holmes. I thought I might see you here." A complicated pleasure, this book. I knew it would be far more personal than either of the previous adventures. But I had no real comprehension of just how grave this tale would be, when the danger comes calling at the very door of the one character who deserves it the least. Because it's Ash. It's Ash. And from the moment Charlotte turns in his orchard and says, "Hullo," I was full of fear. I mean, I was flooded with anxiety for all three hundred and twenty-nine pages. Every last one of them. And so while I might have reasonably expected to enjoy the larger quantities of page time in which these two dear characters are actually together, the whole thing was neatly sideswiped by the terror of the unknown and of what they both actually stood to lose. Being somewhat conversant with Ms. Thomas's willingness to put her characters through their paces, as it were, I felt no sense of assurance that the pain would not be too much to bear. In point of fact, every single thing about The Hollow of Fear felt very nearly too much to bear. And while that may sound dire, and it is, this book is also threaded through with small and perfect moments, with Thomas's trademark empathy and insight. As always with this series, many of my favorite moments involve the realities of the lives of women and the truths that are so difficult to speak. Lady Ingram hadn't been angry because she'd wished to marry a different man, as Mrs. Watson had thought at the time, but because her life hadn't been her own. My, what empathy. Even the lady monsters. My Circe-loving heart all but exploded at that particular moment. And then this between Lord Ingram and Charlotte: "Is it true, what I once heard your sister say, that you don't like to be embraced?" Ah, Ash. It's untenable, the whole situation. But I shall continue to hope. And while I was pleased with how things played out on nearly every level, there was a part of me that felt a twinge of disappointment at how one aspect of their relationship developed. As I reflect on it, my reaction may be simply that it felt somewhat abrupt, that I would have appreciated a more measured progression, given how restrained and private these two individuals are. I value those two qualities in them so very much, not the least because I know I recognize them in myself. That was my one qualm. But honestly, the writing. It continues to slay me. The complexity of emotion redolent in every word is a joy to read. Sherry Thomas absolutely nails it, and I am nothing if not dying for the next book. A final favorite passage: She wasn't sure that she wanted to understand the full spectrum of human emotions―everything that remained seemed dire to one degree or another. But this warm, silly mutual delight, this she wouldn't mind experiencing until she comprehended its place in the world....more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Oct 2018
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Dec 21, 2018
|
Paperback
| |||||||||||||||
000826824X
| 9780008268244
| 000826824X
| 3.90
| 34,494
| Aug 28, 2018
| Aug 20, 2018
|
it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I think this is (shamefully) the first Tessa Dare book I've really reviewed. I believe I initially read a couple Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I think this is (shamefully) the first Tessa Dare book I've really reviewed. I believe I initially read a couple of her Spindle Cove books awhile back and didn't really land upon the "right" one for me. Then I gave Romancing the Duke a try and found it to be ridiculously charming. The rest of the books in that series weren't quite my cuppa, but that first one was so fun that I went back and found the right Spindle Cove novel for me ( Any Duchess Will Do, in case you're interested; ugh, I love that book). Which brings me to The Governess Game, which is a delight from start to finish. That's the wonderful thing about books by talented and prolific authors. They're not all necessarily going to work for you, but it is so lovely reading your way through as time and whims allow and finding the ones that are yours. Alexandra Mountbatten tells time. That is to say, she sets clocks. For a living. Carting her instruments from aristocratic house to aristocratic house, she pays the bills during the day and watches the stars by night, hoping one day to spot a comet she can call her own. And that is exactly what she thinks she's there for when she arrives on Chase Reynaud's doorstep―to set the time. The dissolute heir to a dukedom, however, is in desperate need of a governess to manage his two young wards. Taking her for the latest in a long line of applicants for the governess position, Chase quickly realizes what gold he's found in Alex and won't take no for an answer. Happily, Alex is the opposite of a pushover. She rightly sizes up the situation, hands Reynaud his hat, and heads for the hills. Matters are made worse by the fact that the two have met before, though Chase does not appear to remember their previous encounter. Alas, circumstances conspire to throw the rake, the budding astronomer, and the two varmint children together again. And before long, they're hopelessly (and entertainingly) entangled in each other's lives. Witness the delicious disaster of their first (or technically second) meeting: Alex couldn't hold it in any longer. She buried her face in her hands and moaned into them. I dare you not to grin your way blithely through the entirety of this charming novel. From their first encounter in Chase's glorified man cave to the first (of many) wakes they are forced to preside over on behalf of Daisy's dolls, I knew these characters were going to worm their way into my affections with the greatest of ease. And so they did. Alex is the core. Alex is the reason any of it works at all. She will not be defeated, no matter how many skies have fallen. And in the lives of one man who never should have been the heir and two young girls who never should have been left on their own, let alone dependent on a rapscallion bachelor who has no idea of how to look after them, many skies have fallen indeed. It takes all Alex has to keep them together (as they should be) and force them to see just why they need each other (as they do). And, of course, Chase is more than he appears. And smarter than anyone but Alex gives him credit for. And if Alex is the one who can see Chase and the girls clearly, Chase is the one who can see Alex. They take care of each other so beautifully. They take care of each other. "You don't need to pity me. I'm here. And I'm alive. So there's your answer, Chase. When am I giving up? I'm not. I did not give up on myself then. I am not giving up on you now." She smoothed her apron. "Now I'm going to tidy myself up, take the girls for ices, eat two of them myself, and not bring you any. When we return, I'll send Rosamund and Daisy in to visit you, and you will behave. Treat me as you like. But you will not belittle those girls for loving you. I won't allow it. And do not ever waste your breath again with more of that 'lost cause' nonsense. Consider yourself found." All my spinning emotions came together in that last firm, wonderful line. "Consider yourself found." I adore an uncompromising heroine (as you know). Alex is one of the best. Her own history is as unconventional as one might expect from a scientifically-minded independent lady timekeeper in Victorian England. And then there's Chase's dogged desire to go to his grave unattached and unmourned, which does rather put a damper on anything that might resemble a relationship. And, of course, neither of them is ignorant of the multitude of reasons why she cannot be anything but his governess. And yet. They fight against those constraints anyway. Not always in concert and not even always for the same reasons, but they fight. Against each other's demons when they cannot fight against their own. Which is perhaps one of the truest definitions of love in the end, isn't it? "I think the world is spinning." I love them so. Don't do yourself the disservice of missing them. ...more |
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not set
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Jul 2018
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Aug 28, 2018
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Paperback
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0062850008
| 9780062850003
| 3.90
| 19,051
| Feb 09, 2017
| May 22, 2018
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it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I am almost always up for a sequel. You know this about me. But you also know how there are just some books that Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I am almost always up for a sequel. You know this about me. But you also know how there are just some books that are so right a sequel doesn't even enter your head? And it's not necessarily even that things are tied up neatly at the end, it's that the book as a singular entity is . . . whole. On a fundamental level. That is how I felt about The Cafe by the Sea. I finished it completely happy with the world and completely unaware that a sequel was not only in the works, but had already been published just a few short weeks prior. And it's not that I didn't immediately hightail it to the bookstore the moment I found out (because I did), it's that every footstep was laced with fear. Because a sequel meant the potential for a great deal of pain. A sequel meant . . . things could go horribly wrong and, because I loved these characters so very much, I would have to sit by and witness it. But enough about my neuroses. On to the tale! A word of warning: Beyond this point there be unavoidable spoilers for The Cafe by the Sea. Flora MacKenzie had no way of seeing this life coming. Nothing in her years in London prepared her for settling permanently back on Mure, for taking up the reins of a real relationship with Joel on that tiny island, for watching her father age and her brothers muddle their way toward happiness and her best friend Lorna die quietly by inches of the kind of unrequited love that only exists in fairy tales. Or so she thought. And yet here she is living and breathing all of those things. And it is a beautiful, terrifyingly fraught existence. One in which this kind of happiness feels at once new and remembered and far, far too breakable to withstand the wild storms of Mure and of Joel's past. And somehow that nascent happiness is the source of both increased drive and self-possession and a mounting fear she cannot shake. As she watches the demands of Joel's work for Colton and the faceless specter of his past silently take up residence in the cozy world they're building together. As the approaching family wedding requires more from all the members of the MacKenzie family than they may be able to give. As the local island doctor Saif, a refugee, faces the agonizing prospect of being reunited with his two young boys without their mother in a land they do not know. It is as though the threads of every island inhabitant's (and transplant's) lives are being interwoven against the always-ethereal backdrop of a series of sightings of a most unusual sea creature. She had handed him her heart in her hands without truly knowing whether this quiet, enclosed man could be trusted with it. But it had gone; it had flown from her as if it had always been his, regardless of what he wanted to do with it. First off: this book will always and forever be titled simply The Endless in my head. Because that moment in the first book when Flora, at her wit's end, asks Joel if he'll come walk the Endless with her was the moment the majority of my insides liquefied into a puddle of delight. Most perfect name for a beach ever. Ahem. Secondly, I cannot think of a single way this book could have been better crafted. It succeeds on simply every level. And of course I was right. There was pain. A good deal of it. And not always coming at you from expected corners. But every single moment was organic and earned, was the only logical, possible next step for each of these beloved characters. Jenny Colgan tells this tale the only way it could be (indeed, should be) told. And when an author accomplishes that feat, I am forced to give up all the accolades. I'm forced to conclude that if the reader has a problem with the way Flora and Joel's story (in particular) plays out, then she had no real grasp of who they were, who they really were, as individuals (and as a fledgling couple) before this volume began. I so fiercely admire it when an author takes on the messy details of the real lives of her characters, especially in a second volume, and manages to stays true to every aspect of their arcs as well as the spirit of the first volume. The three central relationships here are so sensitively, so wisely rendered that my small set of hopes became secondary to the unfolding. I was never certain what they would look like on the final page, but I was certain that image would be right. Painful and jagged and beautiful and right. She didn't look like anyone else Marsha had ever seen, and she lived in New York where eventually you saw everyone, more or less. Her pale hair; her skin was practically albino; those strange silvery blue-green eyes . . . You didn't quite notice her at first glance; she was average . . . then you took a closer look and she was extremely striking. Her voice when she spoke wasn't always easy to understand, but it sounded to Marsha like music. Please, she thought to herself. Let her be kind. But not too kind. The inclusion of Joel's longtime therapist (and father figure) and his wife, of Flora's trip to New York, of Lorna and Saif's growing bond were all extremely deft, enhancing the emotional depth for both the characters and the reader. To say nothing of the heartbreaking and exquisite treatment of Saif's boys' and their introduction to life on Mure, the father they barely remember, and the traumas of having lived multiple years in a war zone. It was no small challenge pulling off this sequel. But Jenny Colgan accomplishes it beautifully. I'm so happy to have read it, so happy to have Mure―another fixed point on the map of my literary life. ...more |
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not set
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Jun 2018
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Aug 10, 2018
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ebook
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0399180982
| 9780399180989
| 0399180982
| 4.19
| 134,682
| Jul 10, 2018
| Jul 10, 2018
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it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I've had a good feeling about Spinning Silver ever since I first heard it would be a thing. That might sound a to Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I've had a good feeling about Spinning Silver ever since I first heard it would be a thing. That might sound a touch ubiquitous, because basically everyone I know has been on absolute tenterhooks waiting for its release from the moment they finished Uprooted. The thing is, I read Uprooted back when it came out and the hype was huge. And the writing was truly beautiful, beautiful in a timeless way. Naomi Novik is a consummate world builder and a frightfully skilled storyteller. That combined with her homage to Robin McKinley's Luthe (and Damar in general) guaranteed I would be picking up her next volume. But it's worth stating that I was comparatively underwhelmed by the characterization in Uprooted. A persistent, somewhat chilly chasm separated me from them emotionally. And so a measure of apprehension did color my anticipation for her next standalone fairy tale retelling. However. That good feeling I mentioned earlier? It lingered invitingly. Somehow, I just knew this one would be the one. I was not wrong. I had never felt sorry for the miller's daughter before, in the story the villagers told; I'd been sorry for my father, and myself, and angry. But who would really like it, after all, to be married to a king who'd as cheerfully have cut off your head if you didn't spin his straw into gold? I didn't want to be the Staryk's queen any more than I wanted to be his slave, or frozen into ice. Miryem is forced into action by her tenderhearted father and increasingly ill mother. Growing up, she watched her moneylending father try and fail and try and fail to collect what he was owed. And so her small family went without in the bitter cold winters while she was forced to watch the people of her village, those who continued to borrow from her father and refuse to pay him back, live in contentment and ease. No more. Stiffening her spine and forcing her heart to harden, Miryem takes up the reins of the family business and begins to collect on every debt. To her parents' surprise (and, at times, dismay), she is unequivocally successful. Due to her swift economizing and unsentimental actions, the fabric of their small world changes. Their cottage is warm, her mother is nursed back to health, they have stacks of silver coins, enough to trade for gold ones, enough to place in her grandfather's vault and save against a bitter day. A bitter day they are all certain will come, as the mystical Staryk who live parallel to humans (and who crave nothing more than gold) are encroaching farther and farther upon their lands, leaving their icy chill and their disdain for human life dripping in their wake. It is not long before word of a girl who can turn silver to gold spreads throughout the land, reaching not only the ear of the tsar himself, but that of the feared Staryk lord. And soon Miryem's life is unwittingly bound up with the lives of two other young women who have been similarly caged and forced to strike out in the name of survival. "You were challenged beyond the bounds of what could be done, and found a path to make it true." This is a perfect book. I just wanted to get that out there from the start. This book? It is a finely wrought marvel, and I want to hold it tight at all times. Spinning Silver is a retelling of the Rumpelstiltskin fairy tale that focuses on the nuances of truth and honor, strength and autonomy. As in Uprooted, Ms. Novik displays just how well she understands the price we humans (and her wonderfully imagined fey and demonic corollaries) pay when we sacrifice portions of our humanity on unworthy altars, when we willfully (or even unintentionally) trespass on others' agency, twisting it to fit our conceptions of what should be. Equally beautiful (if heartbreaking) is her treatment of the sacrifices we make to maintain our dignity, to stay alive, to turn away others' ill treatment and not absorb it, to keep going when the way is dark and no alternatives are good ones. It is breathtaking, her capturing of humanity in all its indecencies and simple, longing truths. At first, Miryem may seem as cold as she makes herself be. But, as always, the truth is more than what we see with our eyes. Her interactions with the woman Wanda, who Miryem extracts from a hellish environment, and employs at her own home (along with Wanda's two brothers Sergey and Stepon), as well as her escalating sparring with the Staryk lord who comes demanding gold, perfectly highlight the straight and unbending line she has made of her life. As has the third woman, Irina, who is forced into a marriage that is literally designed to kill her. She chooses life, for just as long as she can. She chooses not bending or giving in. From all the terrible choices available to her, she continues to move forward and choose and employ her agency when and how she can. "You can't want to marry me. What will anyone think?" Marriage plays an integral role throughout the interlocking stories of these three women. True to the roots of this tale, the marriages presented are not states to be desired. I found it fascinating how the characters worked within the confines of their time period, the magic systems surrounding them, their family dynamics, and the lives of the many souls involved to press toward freedom and balance, equality and consent. That might all sound a bit heavy-handed, but, oh, it is not. It is artfully and organically rendered. There are even pockets of levity, such as this one―one of my favorites―between Miryem and Irina: "Did the tsar refuse to marry you?" I asked. I thought the duke might have been angry with her if he had: he hadn't seemed like a man to be satisfied if his plans went awry. Though their actual paths cross but rarely, this exchange occurs at such an ideal moment. A brief, protected moment of catharsis before these two women take up their swords again and press on. I can't tell you how it turns out. I can't tell you how and when and if each of these dear characters make it out alive or intact or resembling themselves in any ways that count. All I can tell you is that Naomi Novik made everything count. There were no wasted words, no faults in the line of her tale, no mote of disappointment to be found anywhere in me when I came to the final perfect line and said to myself and the universe, "Yes." And so I'll leave you with Wanda and her brothers, in a moment that holds in it everything that this book made me feel: I reached out my hands to them, suddenly: I put out my hand to Sergey on one side, and to Stepon on the other, and they put out their hands to me, and to each other, and we held tight, tight; we made a circle together, my brothers and me, around the food that we had been given, and there was no wolf in the room....more |
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not set
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Jul 2018
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Aug 01, 2018
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Hardcover
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0062662988
| 9780062662989
| 3.86
| 30,829
| Feb 09, 2017
| Jun 27, 2017
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it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I was not expecting this. I was simply not expecting just what was to come when I picked up this deceptively plea Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I was not expecting this. I was simply not expecting just what was to come when I picked up this deceptively pleasant-looking novel. My mom gifted me a copy of Jenny Colgan's The Café by the Sea awhile ago, but it took until the other night while I was browsing my shelves after starting and stopping no fewer than four different books for me to snatch it up off my TBR shelf and give it a go. And I'm not remotely ashamed to say that I didn't even make it past the epigraph before falling hopelessly and irretrievably in love. The epigraph read: hiraeth (n): a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home that maybe never was; the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for lost places in your past Tears filled my eyes. I cannot tell you how frequently I experience that emotion as an adult, how complicated and full (and yes, very often painful) it has been trying to accommodate it, and just how very much it meant to me, knowing that there is a word out there that means exactly what I feel, that holds in it the precise shape and weight of my longing. Flora MacKenzie fled to London as soon as she possibly could. Leaving the northern Scottish isles and her home island of Mure, her brothers, her parents, and their farm, she went in search of the life she (and her mother) felt certain should be hers. And life as a paralegal at the top law firm in London does have its perks. A couple of truly good work friends, not bad pay, access to everything that kind of bustling, never-sleeping city can provide. And, of course, it has Joel Binder. Never mind that he is her boss, technically American, and can never remember her name unless his secretary provides it. Joel has just kind of been it for Flora ever since she walked into the office on her first day at the job. And yes, she realizes it's hopeless and ill-advised and simply never going to amount to anything. But, try as she may, she just can't seem to shake the crush. And then one day she is summoned to Joel's office. It seems an extremely high profile American client requires Flora's expertise as a native of Mure. He plans to set up a luxury resort on the island and wants her to ease the way, so to speak, with the locals. Which is how she finds herself sent back home against her will and her better judgement. And everything is exactly as it was (and as she feared). Her mother is still dead. Her father and brothers are still failing to deal with it. The townsfolk are still judging her for up and leaving in the first place. And the whole thing seems utterly impossible, to say nothing of the fact that Joel will be flying up shortly to check on her work and she has absolutely nothing to show for it. As they stood together gazing out to sea, Lorna leaned over toward her. The friendships between the people on this island are very quiet and very real. Flora and her childhood best friend Lorna are quite different from each other, and Lorna (who stayed on the island and teaches at the local primary school) spends much of the novel trying to open Flora's eyes to how she really feels about their home. But they are always there for the other and very much in each other's pockets when it comes to Flora's hapless brothers' antics and Lorna's hopelessly unrequited love for the local doctor. As for the setting, there's very little to say beyond the fact that the moment I landed on Mure with Flora, I was a goner. There is magic embedded in the shores of Mure. The way Ms. Colgan describes this fey land is filled with a love that is bone-deep and a spirit that is wild and endless. My question wasn't whether Flora would stay. It was how in the world everyone that should stay would ever be able to. Fortunately, the pop-up café that Flora finds herself setting up (with the help of her mother's old recipe book) goes a long way toward bringing the island inhabitants (and transplants) together and healing many of the old wounds that have plagued them. It is not a hardship loving these characters. Particularly Flora. And particularly Joel. Joel was taken aback, suddenly, by the startling nature of seeing them there. It was the oddest thing. He'd never known anything quite like this; he had never thought about families, not in this way. But if he had . . . It was so strange. The laughing girl with the pale hair; the tiny child who looked like a miniature witch, who even now was running up to him, that strange white hair cascading out behind her, shouting, "YOEL!" with a huge grin on her face; the music; the turning, laughing women; the soft scent in the air; the warmth of the lights. Joel. My chest feels rather tight whenever I think about Joel and his solitary soulness, his crushing drive, and the helpless and inevitable way he falls under the thrall of both Flora and her home. This land where the sun rarely sets in the summer, where the people lean always into the wind, where some women are just acknowledged to be selkies and that's the way of it. It isn't a wonder this pair of Americans wanted to stay. I did, too. The Café by the Sea is summer reading of the finest kind. ...more |
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1
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not set
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Jun 2018
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Jun 22, 2018
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ebook
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0451490819
| B075HXST4P
| 3.89
| 456,042
| Jun 05, 2018
| Jun 05, 2018
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it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville The Kiss Quotient crossed my radar around about the same time I got wind of The Wedding Date. Both debut books l Originally reviewed here @ Angieville The Kiss Quotient crossed my radar around about the same time I got wind of The Wedding Date. Both debut books looked like exactly the sort of charming romcoms I wanted in my life at this specific point in time (always, really), and both sported perfectly adorable covers. I was intrigued not only by the obvious mathematical aspect of this novel, but with the fact that the protagonist is on the spectrum and that the story itself was inspired by Helen Hoang's own diagnosis with Autistic Spectrum Disorder. I found myself very eager to dive in and find out just what this gender-swapped Pretty Woman revision had to offer. Stella Lane's mother will not leave her alone. She would like a suitable suitor for her daughter and the requisite grandchildren, and she would like them now. And Stella just can't with the pressure anymore. Relationships―interactions with people in general―have never been her strong suit. She far prefers math and her job as an econometrician to attempting to unravel the muddy subtleties that make up dating, to say nothing of the absolute minefield that is physical intimacy. Which is where the idea of hiring an expert comes into it. Stella figures if she can study and train, as it were, under the tutelage of a male escort, maybe, just maybe she'll be able to learn the skills to find someone she can and would want to be with. Enter Michael Phan, who Stella selects from the agency because he looks like Daniel Henney―one of her favorite K-drama stars. Michael has his own reasons for working as an escort, when it was never what he wanted to do with his life. But the demands of family and finances led him here, and he does take pride in being excellent at what he does. If only he didn't have to do it anymore. But when Stella outlines her unorthodox plan for him, even unflappable Michael is taken aback. He should leave. He really should leave. It's just that something about this efficient, self-conscious, highly intelligent, if unusual, woman will not leave him alone. And before he knows it, he is all in. Even knowing that there's no chance it can end in anything but disaster. The Kiss Quotient is wildly entertaining, the kind of book that lures a smile to your face the moment you open it, the kind of smile that lingers undimmed until the moment you close the book and sigh in pure happiness. I closed it and wanted nothing more in this world than to read it straight through again the next day. Helen Hoang exceeded any and all my expectations, as did Stella and Michael, who were so likable and right that I hardly felt the passage of time as my eyes tracked across the page. How is it even possible to resist this setup? It is not. I am convinced it is not possible. As impossible as it is for Michael to walk way from Stella's stacks of ordered lists, her pristine, but empty house, and her unwilling but real need for someone she can learn (at her own pace and in her own time), who wants to learn her in return. And that is what they proceed to do, though thankfully nothing is glossed over in this story. The progression of their relationship is halting and filled with missteps and moments of incomprehension and pushing back desires to run or just be done with this insane plan so that one or the other (or both) of them don't have to face the realities of how much they want to be together and how difficult that would necessarily be. To say nothing of the attendant (sometimes ugly) baggage of his occupation, the needs of the family he doesn't talk about, Stella's intense dislike of being touched, and the huge differences in their cultures and temperaments. But it is also filled with all of the undeniable reasons they should be together, with all of the minute ways they care for each other and unconsciously reshape their lives around that person that is somehow their person. I loved the slow-building realization that while this crazy notion of Stella's was undoubtedly flawed, it also managed to start two solitary souls on the path to something not only valuable, but vital. As Stella says, "I don't want just a night or a week or a month with you. I want you all the time. I like you better than calculus, and math is the only thing that unites the universe." This line is my very favorite line of all the lines because it is so very Stella. Because Ms. Hoang so deftly captures the day-to-day realities of Stella's life, this line came along and flooded me with its import, packed as it is with all of her need for order and space and reason together with her longing for this beautiful, unexpected man who somehow seems to have eased his way seamlessly into her life, taking care to take up just enough but not too much of her order and space and reason. Who makes everything brighter and who needs her, too. Michael was mint chocolate chip for her. She could try other flavors, but he'd always be her favorite. They're so kind to each other, Michael and Stella. They are so kind and dear. Swoony, funny, heart-stopping, and massively fun, The Kiss Quotient is an absolute keeper. ...more |
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not set
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May 2018
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Jun 05, 2018
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Kindle Edition
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0062641751
| 9780062641755
| 4.14
| 885
| May 29, 2018
| May 29, 2018
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it was amazing
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I am barely keeping it together as I type this, you guys. I read my review copy of The Prince some time ago and have literally been counting down the
I am barely keeping it together as I type this, you guys. I read my review copy of The Prince some time ago and have literally been counting down the days until I could reasonably share my thoughts with you. Because I want to shout my love for this book from the rooftops, I love it that much. I do, occasionally wish that Choose Your Own Covers were an option, because I've been feeling positively agitated at the thought that there might be someone out there who doesn't pick up this book because something about its trappings throws them off. Hence, today's review. I discovered Katharine Ashe a couple of years ago via her very enjoyable Falcon Club series. Those books segued nicely into her Devil's Duke books, of which this is the fourth volume. Libby Shaw will have none of it. She is through trying to stuff herself and her ambitions into the tiny box society has set out for her and, come hell or high water, she is going to medical school to become a surgeon. She isn't about to let anything so trivial as gender stop her. And so it's pasted on beards and trousers and taking herself off to Ediburgh to fool them all. Which is where the reclusive portrait artist known as The Turk comes in. He once strove to delineate Libby and was frustrated at never being able to quite get her lips right. When the two meet once again in Edinburgh, he recognizes her for who she really is. In an effort to stop him from exposing her, Libby proposes a deal of sorts. He will allow her to board in one of the empty rooms in his town home and, in exchange, she will sit for him once a week for one hour only. Against his better judgement, the deal is struck. And thus begins the most beautiful of partnerships, though neither party is fully aware of the gravity of their relationship. Because Libby is far from the only one keeping secrets. And it is perhaps his secret that will prove the most impossible to overcome in the end. I know that Muslims believe in the same god as Christians, although they call that god by a different name. When the American Thomas Jefferson insisted on that, many people made a fuss about it, but I think it makes perfect sense. And I know that idols are prohibited you. Admittedly I don't know anything about harems . . . and such. But I don't understand how anybody schooled in Scripture could think a child would be a useful religious sacrifice, for of course Abraham, who was the father of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, made that mistake with his own son so that the rest of us needn't ever after. In general I am not taken to fanciful notions, for I read a lot—a lot more, that is, than the caricatures of Byron or Morier. And I don't depend on the ridiculous portraits of foreigners one sees at the opera to inform me. I regret that is not the case with every Englishman or Scot you have encountered. If I could slap them all, I would." This is an incomparable romance. It is incomparable historical fiction. And it is wordsmithing of the finest kind. There. How's that for setting the bar just a little high? But I am convinced there is simply no amount of praise I could lavish upon The Prince that could be even remotely considered overdoing it. It is not only a highlight of my reading year thus far, but of my entire history of reading in the genre. It should be taught in historical writing classes, as far as I'm concerned. One of the primary reasons is it is such a fine example of purposely crafted, elegant storytelling. Libby and Ziyaeddin are so whole. And by that, I mean not only are they fiercely vibrant characters, they are presented from every possible facet. Not one whit of emotional depth or intellectual complexity is overlooked. And while I always wished for them to be together no matter what page I was on, I never felt lonely or off balance when they were not, no matter which of them I was with at any given time. Which brings me to their verbal interactions. The dialogue in this novel, the sheer, joyful, unadulterated, endlessly witty banter. It is off the charts stellar. In fact, "banter" seems too small a word for the effortlessness of what passes between them. I tell you, my actual person felt physically incapable of holding the delight it brought. To say nothing of their ongoing internal dialogue and the way they quietly admire each other. Libby rarely, if ever, stops talking. And Ziyaeddin would happily stay silent for days on end. Libby lives with what would now likely be termed Asperger's. And Ziyaeddin uses a cane to walk in the absence of the limb he lost in an incident he will speak of to no one. Both of them use assumed names and are used to feeling (and often being) unknown, even to those who might be expected to know them best. All of which combines to make the most beautiful backdrop for the development of an unrivaled companionship. Heart tight, she turned to the stairs and went up as swiftly as her bandy legs would carry her. When she paused on the landing and looked down, he stood there still, watching her. You know that feeling, when you're just so massively grateful that a certain book was written? That it came into existence at a time when you happened to be living? That is how I feel right now. I look forward to pressing it into many hands, knowing that disappointment won't ever even be on the table. Because beauty and humanity are what this novel does. They are what makes up the fabric of its soul. Reading it is a joyous experience. One I shall always treasure. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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Feb 14, 2018
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Mar 2018
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Feb 14, 2018
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ebook
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0316556343
| 9780316556347
| 0316556343
| 4.23
| 1,126,440
| Apr 10, 2018
| Apr 10, 2018
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it was amazing
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Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I'm still struggling to believe this moment is actually here. It was almost exactly three years ago that I read a Originally reviewed here @ Angieville I'm still struggling to believe this moment is actually here. It was almost exactly three years ago that I read and reviewed Madeline Miller's stunning The Song of Achilles and essentially dissolved into a puddle of shock and awe. It was difficult to summon the will to move on in the wake of such a book. The crafting of it felt almost too good for this world, as though it had been created slightly above mortal ground and continued to hover there, just above us, in its natural state. So when I got wind that Ms. Miller was working on a new novel—that not only was she shifting from The Iliad to The Odyssey, but that she was focusing the tale on Circe—it was difficult not to will Chronos to speed up time so that I could have that book in my hands. To say that it was one of—if not the—most anticipated novel of the year for me is not any kind of exaggeration. When I was born, the name for what I was did not exist. They called me nymph, assuming I would be like my mother and aunts and cousins. Least of the lesser goddesses, our powers were so modest they could scarcely ensure our eternities. We spoke to fish and nurtured flowers, coaxed drops from the clouds or salt from the waves. That word, nymph, paced out the length and breadth of our futures. In our language, it means not just goddess, but bride. Circe has always been uneasy about names. The name by which the gods call her. The names by which they call themselves. Titan. Olympian. Daughter of the Sun. Nymph. Witch. The words that are permitted and those that are not. The children who are welcome at her father Helios' feet and those who are not. For much of her early life, Circe coasts under the ever-raging storm of her mother's petty schemes and her siblings' wars for dominance. Born first, but deemed least of her father's children, Circe is the butt of every joke. Pitied for her weak and scratching voice, her uncouth eyes, and her relative limpness in every way that matters to feckless deities. And yet, she never stops trying to find love and meaning and peace where there is none. Even her beloved little brother Aeëtes leaves her without a second thought when he is offered a kingdom of his own. Until one night, a turning point. Prometheus, a god himself, sentenced to be punished for his merciful gift to mortals, is hauled within their halls and whipped as a form of entertainment before he is to be chained to the rock for his crimes. Circe alone offers him drink, and their brief exchange hails the entrance of mortals into Circe's life. One act of mercy begetting many more—a long chain of actions and reactions, spooling out over the centuries and serving to outline the shape of one lone goddess' existence. The anger stood out plain and clean on his face. There was a sort of innocence to him, I thought. I do not mean this as the poets mean it: a virtue to be broken by the story's end, or else upheld at greatest cost. Nor do I mean that he was foolish or guileless. I mean that he was made only of himself, without the dregs that clog the rest of us. He thought and felt and acted, and all these things made a straight line. No wonder his father had been so baffled by him. He would have been always looking for the hidden meaning, the knife in the dark. But Telemachus carried his blade in the open. Madeline Miller deals in exiles. In the paths of individuals who are sent away, forced to flee—to other realms, to underground labyrinths, to lonely isles for the rest of their days. It is a long tale Circe has to share, and one that is difficult even for her to tease out how it may have begun and how it will likely never end. In fact, so much of the tale is threaded through with the search for a reason, if any, for her existence, for a purpose that will fit the shape of her hand and feel comfortable in her grasp for as long as she cares to hold it. From the opening lines, I was lost in Circe's story. Like her, I became enamored of each fragile mortal that crossed her path. Of Glaucos as he once was, of Daedalus with his marvelous hands and his quiet presence, of Odysseus and all his clever guises. And like her, I grew more and more uncertain—at times, fearful—of how the game would play out, of whether or not she would ever find the peace, the shelter, the companionship for which she longed. Of where and when mortality and immortality may meet and whether it is possible for anything to survive. It was a long journey, filled with pain and grief and merciless beings bent on their own course and leaving swaths of lives crushed in their wake. It was also unquestionably beautiful and sensitive in its rendering. Circe is another side of the same coin that is flipped in The Song of Achilles and that we watched tumble end over end to the earth. Different, yes, and cunning in its shiftiness. But also shining and true in the same sympathetic light. I closed the book feeling a deep certainty that Madeline Miller is of the same ilk at Circe, as Penelope, as those ancient weavers of cloth, of light, of both words and worlds. And looking around me, after having walked a time in the company of these women, the fabric of this world, too, seems to hold the imprint of their sure and steady hands. ...more |
Notes are private!
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1
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not set
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Feb 2018
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Feb 13, 2018
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Hardcover
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044024112X
| 9780440241126
| 044024112X
| 4.21
| 22,409
| unknown
| Mar 01, 2005
|
really liked it
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That's it. Favorite Mary Balogh book, no question. It was just too much fun. I'm fairly picky when it comes to my Pride and Prejudice adaptations, s
That's it. Favorite Mary Balogh book, no question. It was just too much fun. I'm fairly picky when it comes to my Pride and Prejudice adaptations, so I worried going into this one. But it was so utterly delightful from page one that any apprehensions I had were immediately swept away under the force of Christine and Wulf's wonderful, at times hilarious, story. I laughed so many times. And I love that Ms. Balogh turned it into a second chance at romance tale for each of her protagonists. Not a second chance with each other, but with the possibility of seeing happiness and choosing to keep it.
...more
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Notes are private!
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1
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Jan 20, 2018
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Jan 26, 2018
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Jan 20, 2018
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Mass Market Paperback
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my rating |
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4.38
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it was amazing
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May 07, 2024
not set
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May 07, 2024
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4.14
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it was amazing
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Sep 2021
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Apr 12, 2021
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3.70
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really liked it
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Jan 2021
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Feb 19, 2021
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4.62
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it was amazing
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Nov 2019
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Apr 25, 2020
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4.31
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really liked it
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Nov 2019
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Apr 25, 2020
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3.91
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it was amazing
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not set
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Apr 20, 2020
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4.25
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it was amazing
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Apr 2020
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Apr 08, 2020
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3.84
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it was amazing
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Feb 2020
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Mar 20, 2020
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4.02
|
really liked it
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Aug 2019
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Oct 18, 2019
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||||||
3.96
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it was amazing
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Feb 2019
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Feb 25, 2019
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4.23
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it was amazing
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Sep 2018
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Dec 27, 2018
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4.23
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it was amazing
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Oct 2018
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Dec 21, 2018
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3.90
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it was amazing
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Jul 2018
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Aug 28, 2018
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3.90
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it was amazing
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Jun 2018
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Aug 10, 2018
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4.19
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it was amazing
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Jul 2018
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Aug 01, 2018
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3.86
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it was amazing
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Jun 2018
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Jun 22, 2018
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3.89
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it was amazing
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May 2018
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Jun 05, 2018
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||||||
4.14
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it was amazing
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Mar 2018
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Feb 14, 2018
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4.23
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it was amazing
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Feb 2018
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Feb 13, 2018
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4.21
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really liked it
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Jan 26, 2018
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Jan 20, 2018
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