Tag: am reading

Book Reviews

The Wives (or that rollercoaster you hate)

Manda Kay

            So, there you are. Rollercoasters usually aren’t your thing, but this one came so highly recommended that you couldn’t not go for at least one ride. The line was long, but you powered through to get to this point, this moment in time. You climb in, you strap up, and the guy running the machine comes and clicks the bar down. He smells like vinegar, but you give him the benefit of a doubt. It’s a hot day outside, and who knows how long he’s been working. He makes it to the end of the cars, then saunters back up to his podium to press that button that makes the contraption go.

            And that’s when you remember: You fucking hate rollercoasters. You always have. They thrash you around and make you think you might fall out of your seat because the seat belt is worn and the bar is never snug against your legs except when you flip upside down and gravity teases your body. Every time you’ve gone, you’ve made it out alive, but every time you’ve gone, you’ve also gotten sick in the bin and had to go home for the rest of the day feeling miserable.

            So you raise your hand up to ask to be let off, that you have made a mistake and are supposed to meet up with someone else anyway, but even though the vinegar man running the thing sees your hand, sees your distress, he pushes the button anyway, and you are flung into a three minute ride into the depths of hell.

            That’s what reading The Wives by Tarryn Fisher was like: a rollercoaster ready to fall apart. I have a lot of mixed feelings about this one, so bear with me here.

Manda Kay (@___mandakay) • Instagram photos and videos

Spoiler-Free Synopsis

            The Wives follows a young woman by the name of Thursday who is in a relationship with a man named Seth. Seth is also in a relationship with two other women he refers to as Monday and Tuesday. Thursday doesn’t know the identity of Monday or Tuesday, and Seth prefers it that way, keeping his life between the three of them separate.

            Modern day polygamy at its finest.

            It isn’t until one day Thursday happens to see a receipt hiding in Seth’s pocket that gives her a name that her interest in the other women piques into jealousy and obsession. Thursday is determined to find out who his other wives are, and she will stop at nothing to simultaneously save them and destroy them.

This Is A First

            I don’t think I’ve ever read a book that I’ve enjoyed where I’ve hated every single character thrown my way. I mean every single one. All the wives: horrible. Seth: atrocious. All the side characters that usually breathe some life into the rest of the novel: good god no. I cared so very little about them all, but I couldn’t put the book down.

Fuck you and fuck you and fuck you — Photo by Aleksandr Burzinskij on Pexels.com

            It was like watching trashy tv like Honey Boo Boo or Real Housewives. Or like looking at a bad train wreck, I guess. It’s bad, but I can’t fucking look away. I need to know what happens next.

            This whole concept is bizarre to me. Usually I at very least love to hate someone in a book, but this gave me nothing to work with. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that has nothing to do with the author and everything to do with me. Like, they all seemed real and reacted in a way that people would really react, but none of these people were my people, you know what I’m saying? Like, I hated Roland from The Dark Tower with an undying passion but his mannerisms and actions enthralled me to the core. Tarryn Fisher gave me nothing to work with here.

            I think I’m just bad at making friends.

Plot Isn’t Everything—Except for When It Is

            I don’t like to read books for the plot. I know there are readers out there who do, but I don’t fall into that category. I’m more interested, normally, with the characters in the book. That’s why books like The Cell didn’t jive with me. That book was a lot of things, but a great study on character was not one of those things.

            Fuck, I sound like a snob, but I’m being honest. I have a point here somewhere. Just roll with it for a hot minute while I gather myself.

            Okay, so the relationship between myself and the characters were lacking. That’s fine, different tastes, all that jazz.

            But I kept reading. I kept on and I didn’t throw the book in the corner to think about what it’s done like I did with The Cell (also this isn’t my book so I had to take extra good care of it). What saved it for me was the very thing I don’t usually read a book for. The fucking plot.

            Tarryn Fisher is amazing at cliffhangers. There, I said it. She left me constantly wanting more even though a part of my brain was like “nah, don’t care” and she kept me in that state up until the final page, and even then I was flipping it over expecting there to be just a little more, just another few sentences, just GIMMEE that FIX Tarryn and I SWEAR I’ll be GOOD.

            Folks. Void. It worked.

            I didn’t have to like the characters because the story wasn’t about the characters, you dig? The story was about this crazy fucking thing that happened to these people I don’t want to keep in contact with but I still love to hear about them getting kicked around because deep down I know they all deserve it. And I’m probably throwing my own foot in my own mouth because I know for a fact there is someone out there who adored Thursday and understood Seth and craves more of their story, but that someone just isn’t me.

            But fucking a. For what it’s worth, it was still a damn good read.

Little Side Notes

            It should be obvious that this book didn’t paint polygamy and polyamory in a good light, and it should also be obvious that that was not this book’s intention. Believe it or not, there are healthy relationships out there that are not monogamous—far from it, actually. It’s all about consent, folks. That, and minding your own business if it’s not your thing.

            I’m not polyamorous (too jealous), but I have a friend who is, and they make that shit work just fine for them. They are happy, and I think that’s all that matters.

            I just wanted to touch on that point because I feel like that lifestyle gets a bad rap because the rest of society is so focused on the cult-style polygamy where the women are held captive and are raped by their dad, but that’s just one side, the dark side, where it’s not about consent and being a free spirit.

            Being a comment on society isn’t what the author intended. They intended a thriller and they fucking delivered a damn good thriller. Tarryn Fisher dived headfirst into the mind of Thursday, who both accepts and resists her situation, no censorship whatsoever, no sugarcoating it for the feint of heart, and she did fantastic at that.

A Gift from Me To You

            Since polyamory is a theme of this book, and since I love Breaking Benjamin, here’s a song for you to listen to. It’s a good one. 😊

            For what it’s worth, I enjoyed this book despite not enjoying the characters in it. I was promised an edge-of-your-seat thriller, and it fucking delivered. My arbitrary rating system says it’s a solid 9/10. I want you to go read it with an open mind, no outside influence. Go in blind and see how you come out. You might love the characters and roll your eyes at the plot! You might write Tarryn Fisher and demand she delve deeper into Thursday or do a retelling through the eyes of one of the other wives! Don’t ever take anything negative I have to say about anything too much to heart. I’m just a girl who wants to be published but instead is a pro at getting rejections. What you should take to heart is all the good I have to say instead. You know, like how it’s a damn fine thriller and you won’t regret reading it.

            Why am I still sitting here justifying my opinion?

            Anyway, here’s to you, Void. Is there something you’ve read or watched that had key elements you normally look for that it failed on but you kept pushing through for the satisfaction of what happens next? Let me know!

Book Reviews

Hidden Bodies (or how to find the will to keep writing when you find a book you’re in love with)

Manda Kay

I. Adore. Caroline. Kepnes.

Let me backtrack. I read You a few years back and was enthralled by it. I have a soft spot for crazies, what can I say. The more fucked up, the better. I bought Hidden Bodies soon after, and there it sat on my bookshelf for years. It was one of the many that gathered in the to be read pile that I kept pushing back for one reason or another. I loaned it out, and a few weeks later, I took up the series on Netflix. I tried to space it out, as I do, and I had to binge it, as I do, and I needed the book before I could continue on to season two.

So I did what any other rational adult would do. I went all the way to the nearest Barnes and Nobel, which is a whole four hours away from where I live, to buy another copy. I let the person I loaned it out to keep it, both to be nice and because when I get fixated on something I become the most impatient person on the planet. Whoops.

An Excuse to Gush

Manda Kay (@___mandakay) • Instagram photos and videos

Why do I adore Caroline Kepnes? Motherfucking runon sentences. They sound crazed and desperate and that’s my favorite type. Most books I read, whenever the POV gets handed over to the bad guy, that’s the way he thinks, he rationalizes. In my own writing, I have thrown it in at emotional moments where the character isn’t thinking clearly, that panicpanicpanic sort of feel.

Caroline Kepnes took a whole book, a whole series, and managed to push out the entire thing with runon sentences galore. I am a sucker for it. It’s easy to read and understand. It sounds like thoughts sound. I’m in love with her writing style, at least for the You series. She has another book that is a standalone, but I haven’t been able to track it down yet. Never mind that it’s literally a click away, but when I do my book shopping, I like to do big hauls in a physical store so I can smell them (don’t pretend like you don’t), and it doesn’t have the same rush online as in person. When I find it, I want to grab it and be like “Fuck yeah, I’ve been looking for this forever.” Online is too easy.

That’s enough rambling. Moving on:::

The Briefest Spoiler-Free Overview of Your Life

Hidden Bodies is not like season two of You. The show and the book exist in alternate realities. The book follows Joe as he moves to LA in search of his ex. Instead, he finds Love, a rich girl with a psychic twin thing going on. The two are from two completely different worlds, both financially speaking and upbringing, but they find a way to make their love work.

With a few bodies piling up. Naturally.

It’s truly a phenomenal book that will have you equal parts creeped out and laughing in a way that just works.

Reading Like A Writer

Back to my rambling. But it has a point. Just trust me on this.

Oh god I’m back on my bullshit — Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

When you read a book, you just read it and enjoy the story that plays out before your very eyes. It’s 100% enjoyment, or at least it should be as long as the book is a good one. I haven’t read a book in that way for way too many years.

I’m one of the ones who reads a book like a writer. It’s the same thing, but fine-tuned in a way that makes you zero in on things like word choice and subplots and pacing. It’s like reading, but also studying at the same time. What works, what doesn’t, all that jazz.

Do I read like a writer right? No idea. Is reading like a writer honestly different than reading like a reader? I think so. I mean, I also sort of think that people who focus too much on it ruin the fun of reading the damn thing and come off as snobbish, but hey, I still think it’s a thing. Am I trying to come off as snobbish? Nope, but I have a point to this whole thing, this whole post.

You ready?

Okay. Two words:

Author Envy

I read like writer because a writer is what I am (or at least what I want to be if the query gods wish it to be true). I pay attention to what works and all that bullshit because I’m researching ways to be better in everything I do. When I find something that works on all levels, I am elated, because that rarely happens where literally every single thing is on-point. Or maybe I’m just picky.

That’s not the point.

The point is, I found these books (there is a third one that I literally just finished before writing this post up that I still can’t stop thinking about), and they work SO DAMN GOOD. It’s the run-ons. I’m confident of it. And they speak to my black little heart. And on one hand, I’m in love. And on the other hand, I’m fucking depressed. It’s not because I’m caught up and I have to wait around for the next book and the next season. It’s because I don’t think that I can ever create something half as good as what she has built up to be one of my favorite (if not the absolute top) series of all time.

This is embarrassing to put out there. It feels petty, and if anyone I looked up to read it, I would roll in a hole and just die. But, I feel like it’s something that doesn’t get talked about enough. So here I am to try my best to justify my feelings.

You work hard to create whatever it is you want to create—it doesn’t have to be writing—and you put your everything into it. Then, when someone else comes along and brings it harder, creating perfection…do you know what I mean? It’s like one-upping without one-upping because what the two of you came up with are completely different things, but the bones of it are the same, but they just look better. It’s like having a sibling that wins beauty pageants while you’re shoved to the background for family photos. It’s like getting a C on a test and you’re stoked for the professor to grade it on a curve but your classmate got a fucking A++. It’s like the statue of David next to a stick figure drawing.

It’s exactly like all of that, but it’s not like any of it at all, because creating isn’t supposed to be a fucking contest. The rational part of me knows this, and knows that there is nothing wrong with my own voice when I dabble in that tip-tap-type way of life. But when I read something perfect, not perfect to the world, mind you, but perfect to ME, it’s hard not to get down on myself.

I can’t be the only one who does this. I have this overwhelming need to justify myself and overexplain and everything else, but this is running long as is. You don’t want to read it, and I am just going to talk in circles.

Finding the Will to Overcome

Getting back into the swing of things is hard when you’re down on yourself. I have found that acknowledging what is going on in your brain helps speed up the process. I felt myself drop into low territory on and off throughout the book, and it hit harder on the last page. My emotions are a mystery to me on the best days (you’d think I’d have this figured out by now), so just vocalizing (quietly) that I feel bad because I feel like my work is shit, while it didn’t make me necessarily feel better, it did put my feelings into perspective.

And stop treating yourself like a fucking product — Photo by Jeremias Oliveira on Pexels.com

Distance is another something that helps move it along. Not in the sense of getting rid of the books, because um, hell no. More in the sense of time. More time passes=more time to process=less owie feelings. Almost like when someone dies, but less serious.

I’ve also found that acknowledging that while your feelings are real and valid, you’re freaking out over absolutely nothing. It’s a weird realization to come to, since it should be obvious, but it’s not always obvious in this brain of mine. Am I or will I ever be on the same level as another famous author? Statistics tell me hell to the no. But does that mean I should just give up? Hell to the fuck to the no. And neither should you. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing, whether it’s writing or drawing or singing or anything at all.

So you found someone you admire, someone you envy just the tiniest (or biggest) of bits. So what? Use that as inspiration. It’s okay to enjoy someone else’s work. You can allow yourself that enjoyment without making it all about you. At the end of the day, it’s not a competition—unless you entered into a competition with them, which hey, good on you for taking the initiative—and you should quit acting like it is—unless it actually is, but whatever, you get what I’m saying.

Grant yourself permission to enjoy the things you love, and stop fucking trying to be the best. It makes life a helluva lot easier. I promise.

As for me, I’m going to stop killing myself over not being good enough, and start reveling in the fact that someone else out there loves run-on sentences and crazy people just as much, if not MORE, than I do.

I’m also going to post this embarrassing trash and hope the right people read it and the wrong people don’t. Um, that’s right people=like mindset dealing with writer’s envy and wrong people=literally anyone else.

Final Thoughts

This is where I leave you, Void. But not without my arbitrary rating system, obviously. Hidden Bodies gets a fucking 15/10. It’s off the charts for me. Joe is a maniac, and I am here for it. Supercunt is my new favorite word, and you have him to thank for that. Just read it. Read You, then read it. You’re not going to be disappointed.

Annnywayyy, comment section. Have you ever read or seen something so good that it just made you mad? Let me know so I don’t feel so alone in this bubble. Until next time…

Book Reviews

The End (or coping with the ending in your head hitting harder than the ending you were given)

Manda Kay

Void, imagine with me, if you will, the coziest of places. You have your beverage of choice, some warm lighting in an otherwise dim room, and that blanket that drapes over you (more for softness than for warmth, naturally). In your lap, you have a new book. The story enthralls you; whenever you put it down, the impact of what you’ve just read replays in your head, tempting you—no, demanding you—to pick it back up and keep going. The pieces are laid out, the stage is set, and you are on your way to that big end, that climax, and you know just how it’s going to go. You aren’t upset by this—not every great story needs a twist after all. In fact, knowing how it’s going to play out is satisfying in its own right, it’s exciting, it’s breathtaking, it’s, it’s…

…Not at all how it was supposed to go.

Huh, well, it’s an ending. It’s…huh… It’s a little like a visit from the minutemen if you know what I mean, but, you know…it’s an ending and it ended and I suppose that’s all it had to be…

Enter The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

This one has been out for a bit. I don’t know if I had originally intended to read it or not. It’s the prequel to The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I read the first book in the series turned blockbuster several years ago and loved it, but I never got around to getting ahold of the following books. This one was leant to me by a coworker. I think I just needed a reminder of why I loved that first book. The story blew me away.

Stickers on books are the absolute worst — Manda Kay (@___mandakay) • Instagram photos and videos

The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes lures you into a false sense of security before hitting you full force with brutal violence without warning, oftentimes without reason. It was so in-your-face, keeping the reader on the edge of their seat, especially after the reaping. Collins puts a lot of focus on the tribute from District 12, Lucy Gray. As often as she successfully steals the spotlight, there is no separating her from her mentor, a boy from the Capitol: Coriolanus Snow.

Snow Lands on Top

Coriolanus Snow is everything I love in a narrator. He’s unreliable. He’s untrustworthy. He’s bad news shoved in a nice body, and he uses his charms to get exactly what he wants, even at the cost of his fellow classmates. Snow is the kind of guy I would hate in real life (lord knows I know a few Snows), but I absolutely adore on the page. He’s a kind of menacing that’s interesting. He’s fucked up in the head and he plays people with a smile on his face and they are none the wiser.

What I loved most about him was his “love” for Lucy Gray. It’s not true love (thank god; romances make me puke). It’s pure, unadulterated ownership. He wants to use her to win the favor of the Capitol, and when the tingle of her kiss stays on his lips, he wants to own her. He doesn’t want a relationship. He wants a goddamn puppy. He’s jealous of her past affairs and acquaintances. He’s quick to snap when she doesn’t say or do the right thing. He loves her in the same way Eminem loves Rhianna in Love the Way You Lie.

That’s the kind of love that gets my blood pumping. That fucked up, controlling side of love that is horrible, terrible, wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It’s a whole branch of romance that can turn any book into a horror novel. Maybe that’s why I like it so much.

No Spoils Found Here

I want you to read this book, so I’m not going to delve into all the little plot points and whatnot that made it great. Even if you haven’t read or watched The Hunger Games, you should be aware of the general premise. Kids from different Districts are rounded up for a fight to the death. Only one survives.

That being said…

The One That Could Have Been

What I will tell you, using as small amount of detail as possible to avoid spoilers of the real thing, is my own personal headcannon of an ending. Brace yourselves for huge amounts of vague confusion.

Snow slips Lucy Gray something to help her win the Games. After a long and grueling battle for life, she survives, keeping the something he gave her. Snow reveals to her his plans to keep her with him, not allowing her to go back home to District 12 to be with her self-made little family. Lucy Gray sees the madness in his eyes, understands his crazed obsession with her, and decides to play along. Then, the first moment she gets, she commits suicide. Snow finds her on the ground and holds her, crying at the loss of his girl, his toy. Before Lucy Gray draws her last breath, she tells him that she will never be his, that she is as free as a bird now. Snow, grief-stricken and sick, but most of all pissed off, grows to be the ruler of Panem. He holds onto his hatred of the girl who got away, and uses that hate to fuel the continuation of the Hunger Games.

Dark? Of course. But there’s meaning behind it. It ties up some otherwise loose ends. It’s not cannon, but it’s real in my heart.

If you love me let it die — Photo by Akshar Dave on Pexels.com

You Brought Me Up Just to Let Me Down

Everything up until the last twenty pages or so was phenomenal. You stick with Snow through his ups and downs, his wins and losses. There’s so much emotion in the story that burst through full force in the simplicity of it. When evoking emotion from the reader, I’ve always felt like less is more, and Suzanne Collins is an absolute master of this. The most impactful scenes ended with a short string of words, forcing me to put the book down for a hot minute to fully digest it before itching to pick it back up again to see what happens next. It made me laugh, cry, and feel absolutely disgusted and enthralled. I enjoyed it all the way up to that ending. Ugh.

So, on my arbitrary scale, I’d rate it a solid 9/10. The rest of the book is just too good to downgrade it more than a point.

So here’s the point where I turn it over to you. Have you read The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes? What did you think of the ending? Have you read a fantastic book with a horrid ending that you just can’t get out of your head? Let me know!

Book Reviews

Not All Who Wander…

Manda Kay

Let’s be real with each other. How many of us have screamed at the homeless? “Get a job!” “Get off my property!” “I’m calling the police!” I’d say there’s probably a good chunk of us who have. To an extent, it’s your right to. It’s your right to protect what is yours, and if someone pushes, no one would blame you for pushing back. How many of us have ignored the homeless? They sit out there day after day with their signs and you just look right through them. There’s most likely an even bigger chunk of us in that category. I’m part of the latter, myself. It’s easy for me to look through people in general. I’m intimidated by almost every person I meet, so that’s a normal occurrence for me. I won’t use that as an excuse, though. I won’t lie and say that the emotions that go through me when I walk by a nicely dressed stranger are the same as when I walk past someone begging for money. The homeless seem more threatening to me. Their willingness to ask for assistance strikes me as odd, outside the normal realm of human interaction. They will talk to anyone with little regard for how that person will react or what they will think of them.

And, honestly, I think that says more about me as a person than about them.  I think it says more about all of us.

Does society shun the homeless because they are an eyesore to the better off?  Or do they shun them because they are living better off than the rest of us?

Hear me out.

There’s a freedom associated with living on the streets. Who here hasn’t thought a time or two about running away from our job or family or responsibilities to just go do what we want when we want? You tell me no, and I’ll call you a liar. Think about it for a minute. True honest to god freedom. What does that look like for you? For me, it would be a lot of traveling to places I’ve never been, reading anything and everything I could get my hands on, and writing, simply for the joy of writing. It sounds appealing, and it’d be so simple to do. Just drive.

Just gimme something to read and some food and I’ll be golden

So then, if it’s all good and well, what stops us from taking the leap?

I think the things that stop me are the same things that stop a lot of us.  I hate having a mortgage, but I love having a roof over my head with heating and air available to me whenever I want it (in exchange for a higher electric bill, naturally).  I hate having a 9-5, but I love the steady income every two weeks.  Knowing when my next meal will be and having the luxury to be picky is something I can’t imagine life without.  I have dogs that need spoiled, a wedding to plan, and, while I normally don’t think of myself as high maintenance or materialistic, there are things out there that I look forward to buying or viewing or consuming.  

Letting go of responsibility and throwing caution to the wind sounds lovely, but I’m just too damn comfortable.

I never really thought about homelessness and what all is involved with it until I read the book Those Who Wander: America’s Lost Street Kids by Vivian Ho. In it, Ho takes a critical look at the homeless, street kids in particular, and seeks to offer insight as to why some choose to live on the streets, and why others can’t get off them no matter how hard they try. She interviews street kids of all ages and creeds and walks of life, from the wanted to the unwanted, the sane to the mentally ill, the criminals, the innocents, and everyone in between. Ho takes her work to the next level by interacting with them in their own environment, whether it be taking a walk with one street kid in the park, or attending a convention of sorts with dozens upon dozens of homeless people on the beaches of California. The one thing they all have in common is a sense of community. Street kids, for the most part, look out for their own. It is truly a fascinating read that I would recommend to anyone interested in sociology or curious about the people who hold up signs.

Such a great cover, too – https://www.instagram.com/p/CDhfMXVg5O0/

I’m honestly not doing this book justice.  I think the biggest takeaway from Those Who Wander is this: Don’t be so quick to judge.  You never know the other person’s story.

That, and, maybe be a little nicer to your fellow man.  It costs absolutely nothing to be kind.

If I had to rate this, I’d give it a 10/10.  Vivian Ho writes in such a way that gives an unbiased look at the homeless youth’s way of life, and I am here for it.  After reading every chapter, I’d put the book down for a moment to absorb what I just read.  She tells their stories so carefully, no details spared, and she includes her own previous biases and how the people she met morphed her to understand where they were coming from.  This book is absolutely incredible.

Alright, void I scream into, you know the drill.  Your turn.  Tell me about a time you helped someone less fortunate than yourself.  Gimme some feel-goods.