aserra's reviews
31 reviews

The second book to ever make me cry.

As I do with any book I'm considering giving 5 stars, I spent hours ruminating on this, looking for reasonable qualms. Anything I could think of had a stronger counterargument. Truly, my only nitpick is a stylistic choice: when characters interject "like" as a filler word, there was always a comma after "like," but not always before. (e.g. " Yeah, he's, like, Dodge Truck Month level straight. I'm not wasting my time. " vs. " Yeah, he's like, Dodge Truck Month level straight. I'm not wasting my time.") Otherwise, I think the plot was wonderfully paced, the narrative shape clever, the character building intelligent and phenomenal, the dialogue excellent and true to the various age groups (without being overly cringe-worthy, with regards to the teenagers' dialogue).

The author's note resonates succinctly with my feelings on the book: queer folks (Southern US queer folks, BIPOC queer folks--all queer folks) deserve and need saccharine, melodramatic rom-coms. Global cinema is oversaturated with contrived heterosexual rom-coms--queer folks don't have the same access to the luxury of indulgence in the genre.

So, if queer YA rom-coms aren't your thing, this book probably won't be your cup of tea. That's fine.

If queer YA is your thing and you're picking up this book--you're in for a treat. Especially if you're a queer person from the southern states (or a place like False Beach). Get ready for melodramatic, contemporary teenagers, a mean girl's manufactured mystery, and so much beautiful, meaningful representation.

That's the review. Below is an address of a few gripes I've encountered several times for this book and find unreasonable.



As can be expected with any review aggregator site, there are some absolutely foul, unreasonable, and/or laughable takes in some of the reviews. I didn't see many (but still too much) reviews like this, but those unjustly bring the overall score down. My two cents on a few things:

Annoying/unlikable characters: Those who are saying Chloe is annoying, that other teenagers in the book are annoying (to the point where it made people score the book worse)...they're teenagers. What did you expect? How many teenagers are completely nonabrasive, especially in (a religious!) high school? Teenagers get hung up on trivial matters. Teenagers say iconic shit sometimes. They also say cringe-worthy shit. McQuiston's character building here retained that authentic reality. It's a testament to their prowess as an author in their niches (queer YA and queer NA from what I've seen). That's not an indicator of a bad book or bad writing.

It's a "Mean Girls" wannabe: Did we read the same book? Not everything that portrays high school well is a "Mean Girls" rip-off. Knock it off.

"Unrealistic" amount of queerness: Ope, babe, your casual queerphobia + heteronormativity is showing @ anyone who complained about this. I feel like anyone who asserted that the amount of queerness present at Willowgrove is "unrealistic" has, somehow in 2024, never heard of the common phenomenon of entire high school friend groups turning out to be queer. It starts with a Chloe, with "that one nonbinary kid," with "that gay guy," etc. and, 3-15 years later, the queer folks observe their high school companions and classmates and realize, "Wow, we've got enough gays for at least 10 rainbows here."

Ending was "easy" and/or "idealistic" and/or saccharine: This gripe I understand, and I used to have with books like this. Personally, I now believe there's a lot of catharsis, destimgatization, paradigm-shifting, and importance in modelling the type of queer joy displayed in endings like this one (and I think it's especially important for queer YA).
Also, I'd argue that the ending veers away from idealism in the following sense:

It's very obvious, at least to me, that several, if not most of the couples by the end probably won't make it long past high school. Chloe even intimates this, regarding her and Shara's relationship. Maybe one couple will stay together (place your bets--I'm voting for Rory/Smith personally), but the rest probably won't. And that's how it goes in reality.

A very solid, quick Agatha Christie read!

Christie's classic "people are not who they seem" premise and reveal.

For anyone hesitant to read because it's the fourth book in a series: you absolutely do not need to read the previous installments to comprehend what's happening. This novel completely stands on its own.

Bonus: this book features a lesbian couple (not outright confirmed in the book, but all but so, given the heavy historical queer-coding).

Unfortunately, the "bury your gays" trope does occur. It's murder mystery, though, so...some grace, I suppose?

Did I guess the killer? (I like to keep track of this for Christie novels) No :( Not mad about it, though--I think the setup was quite clever!

Another solid book from Quindlen, all in all. It very much falls into the category of what I refer to as "white suburban mom fiction," but at least it's (and Quindlen) are aware of that, and it doesn't try to hide what the book is at its core. I don't enjoy "white suburban mom fiction" myself, but I don't consider that a large factor in my rating here.

This book is, for the most part (and in my opinion, of course), a respectable 3 stars. The two reasons for docking 0.25 "stars": snags in the syntax and sentence structuring, and lack of diversity.

Given the book's main rural, mountain setting, I think a predominantly white cookiecutter population is passable. It's New York City that feels very whitewashed, when it does appear. There's some casual queer representation in the periphery, so points there. Even from 1990-2010, when the population was ~43%-33% white (reportedly), there were substantial Latine and Black populations, neither of which make an appearance in the book--not even peripherally, or to scaffold the setting. Ergo, in that respect, this detracted from my suspension of disbelief (i.e. I was acutely aware that I was reading a work of fiction, in a fictionalized version of reality.

Then, on the note of syntax, I simply think a copy-editor should've combed this a little closer. The vast majority of the book is written quite well--there's no disputing Quindlen's experience as a creative writer. There were, however, at least 5 moments throughout where sentence structuring and/or syntax were befuddling (to the point of interruption). In most of these cases, I understand that the tone was striving for a very humanizing stream-of-consciousness. I don't think it always worked, and it happened enough to somewhat impact my reading.

Otherwise, the book is a personable, compelling narrative about a white lady finding herself. Still Life with Bread Crumbs is an incredibly apt title; none of the events are melodramatic or "flashy," the focus is mundane. The protagonist achieves strong character development given her personal contexts, but nothing mind-blowing or truly drastic. Rebecca, Sarah, Jim, Ben, etc. definitely appeal to folks out there, and they are quite fine--just not my cup of tea.

The book most appeals to fans of Quindlen and/or "white suburban mom fiction." It's aware of its niche and thrives within it.

Foremost, I appreciate what this series strives to accomplish and its abundant, casual diversity. More books should implement this. At the very least, such representation illustrates humanity with much greater accuracy, thus making it easier to suspend disbelief, place faith in the author's world-building and character development skills. Whatever else I (or anyone else) has to say about this book and this trilogy as a whole, Elison's proficiency in this skills is undeniable.

I had high hopes for the finale to The Road to Nowhere trilogy, especially after The Book of Etta evoked such visceral discomfort and emotion from me. The main issues I find in this installment lie in the pacing, nonbinary and transmasc representation, and book blurb. Elaboration follows below, with spoilers.

The strengths of this book: the selection and positionality of the narrator, the world-building, its balance of callbacks and independent narrative, the digestible writing style (some of the analogies in the book are very unique and really shine), and

the execution of a nonlinear narrative

.

All characters made at least one choice I didn't like, but respected and recognized as true to each individual's personality. Elison doesn't sugarcoat the unsavory aspects of humanity and emphasizes the greyness inherent to human behavior. If someone were to ask me for my favorite character of the series, I would choose no one--I like the trilogy and this book no less for that. In fact, I'm delighted to walk away from a series (mostly) pleased with no characters I truly adore. This is a novel and precious experience to me as a reader and writer.

To elaborate on what I believe to be The Book of Flora's glaring shortcomings (again, spoilers ahead):

Book Blurb
The back cover blurb for this book is somewhat misleading in regards to the book's major focuses and beats. The first full paragraph is fine, no issues there.

The first sentence of the second paragraph is okay, but could be improved. 

The ambiguity here could belie readers. What is the catalyst for this navigation? Is it purely because

Nowhere has been decimated

? Not quite.

The neo-Mormon city of Ommun and its leader Alma are equal, if not greater, catalysts for the main characters' expedition.

The book spends a significant chunk of time there, with several major events occurring within that period. It's very odd to me that would not garner a mention in the blurb.

The second sentence of the blurb's second paragraph isn't inaccurate on its own (though I argue gender is not as fluid on the boat as the blurb claims). My issue is the emphasis on this that derives from the significant space it occupies. This sentence is half the second paragraph in a blurb that is 6/7 sentences total. The book doesn't spend half of the time on the boat (mentioned in the blurb). To me, that leg of the journey felt belated in the grand scheme of things. This relates to the next issue--

Pacing
The book blurb doesn't properly set the reader's expectations, in my opinion. It's better to go into the book not reading the blurb at all.

That, however, was not my experience, so the time and attention devoted to certain beats in the story confused me.

The Ommun arc occupies such a significant portion of the book, it ultimately takes away from the other arcs. Brambritch feels underdeveloped in comparison; insular, esoteric, and depleted in activity. Flora relays the place's history, but it is brief and never really shown or felt (as opposed to Nowhere, Ommun, Shy, Florda, etc.). Flora and Connie's relationship feels noticeably artificial (in a way that does not pertain to the characters' behaviors) and under-explored, especially given the ending. I think slightly more time could've been devoted to the Librarians. Ultimately, I think the blurb needed serious revision, and the Ommun arc either shortened to make way for arc on the Ursula or the book lengthened as a whole.

Returning to Connie, who felt disappointingly underdeveloped, ushers this lengthy review to the last issue--

NB + Transmasc Rep.
If this book were published in a literary milieu rife with good genderqueer and trans (especially BIPOC trans) representation, this would likely diminish dissatisfaction with this qualm. However, and unfortunately, this book does not enter into a literary canon with good representation of many marginalized groups. Great strides have been made, are being made, but the issue remains.

The last time we see Eddy,

a Black trans man, at the end of the arc taking place in the year 104N, the Librarians utterly misunderstand and disrespect his gender. Dell asserts that they have "women like [Eddy]" on the Alexandria (a ship on which only women are allowed), but it's clear to me (through repeated assertions in this book) that Eddy isn't a masculine woman--he fully identifies as a man now (recall the scene of Ina's funeral). I'm all for Eddy becoming a Librarian but, the way it's left, the book heavily intimates that, to do so, Eddy has to just acquiesce to chronic misgendering and negation. Eddy's actions throughout this book make it clear that he's done with that, yet this is where his path ends.

Then there's Connie, who feels more like an embodied plot device than a person on their own. Already, that's not great, but add to it that Connie is the only explicitly nonbinary character in the cast, and nonbinary characters are woefully rare in literature. Moreover,

Connie being the Big Bad of the book makes this representation sting all the more, and not in a productive way.

Yes, the world is hyper-gendered in the wake of the Dying (some places less so than others), but no place in the trilogy, as Flora observes multiple times, is truly accepting of all gender expression.
Yes, that factor would undoubtedly weigh heavy on a nonbinary person (identifying as nonbinary myself, I can only begin to imagine).
Yes, that would result in some nonbinary people developing views and acting in ways that are kindred with Connie.
However, we do not get to see nonbinary people. We get one nonbinary person, and that person

is deranged, homicidal, incapable of accepting reality, and, frankly, moronic. Connie's ultimate mission statement (i.e. clearing the way for frags) is astoundingly illogical, especially because Connie studied (and comprehended) ecology, wildlife biology, and environmental science on their own time. Speaking from experience, I can attest that, since Connie was reading textbooks that included the concepts of parthenogenesis, they would've encountered and arguably needed to comprehend a vast hierarchy of concepts preceding that. Teenage Connie makes astute observations on evolution, then apparently their brain rots for four decades and they return to misunderstanding the basics of evolutionary pressures.

The result of this (plus the lack of insight we get into Connie's past, inner dialogue, etc.) is a character that is confounding on a scale that interrupts one's suspension of disbelief. The result is that Connie

is a cartoon villain.

The result is that the one nonbinary character in the trilogy is shallow and stigmatizing, rather than destigmatizing. Even if representation (especially nonbinary rep.) isn't important to a reader, Connie's pivotal role in The Book of Flora cements this as a giant issue.


TLDR; Ultimately, the book earns 2.25 stars, not for deficient worldbuilding or poor quality writing, but for the aforementioned reasons, exacerbated by the fact that this concludes what was a very promising trilogy. (It doesn't ruin the trilogy for me, but I will reread the first two books and not this one in the future)

Horror and gore that is at times subtle, dramatic and cinematic at others, and always exhilirating. The prose soars, the dialogue believable and familiar. I particularly appreciate the index of content warnings included with the text. It's easy to skip if you don't want the warnings, crucial if you benefit from content warnings in your navigation in horror and other genres. Doesn't take away from or distract from the excellence of the short stories at all.

I want to read more from Tiffany ASAP.

This was the second story of Jackson's I've read and it was solid all around. Jackson has assessed what buttons she can push in a person and her characters and the treatment of the protagonists pushes emotional buttons without apology and to great effect. Outrage was the primary emotion that accompanied me through the read, and fear derived from that rage as cruelties stacked up against the protagonists.

Additionally, I called the plot twist and predicted another one of the book's major events within the first 18 pages. Regardless, the story was incredibly effective for me, which testifies to the strength of Jackson's craft.

If I had to ask anything more of this book, I would ask for a prequel book focused on the Blackwoods (infeasible, as this was Jackson's last novel), and I think Charles could've been a few degrees creepier with incredible results. I want to describe Charles as unequivocally sinister but, instead, I feel he's more plaintive, entitled, and irritating. I can understand why he wasn't taken to that level, though, and think this is an indication of preference rather than quality of the book.

For a quick, tense, gothic read, consider picking up We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

With an unapologetically forthright portrayal of this aggressively queer-unfriendly world and xenophobia's generational echoes in North America, Kim Fu stuns with her debut novel.

If one is (very fairly and understandably) looking for a more joyful story (along the lines of If I Was Your Girl by Meredith Russo), that is not this book

(though the ending is happy)

. If one can contend with the emotional challenges and portrayals of queerphobia, I highly recommend this novel. To me, it read as a trans, bildungsroman story prioritizing elucidation and a cogent appeal to compassion of cis readers. This entails certain pros and cons, of course, but I think it feels appropriate considering the author's individual standpoint.

Support a queer author and their incredible debut novel!

Prepare for a crawling, yet poetically meandering read if you're picking this book up for the first time. It is written in Woolf's classic coveted stream of consciousness style. This doesn't make it a bad book if you don't like that style, it just means it isn't a book for you, most likely.

Quite honestly, I don't think I'm intelligent enough to fully grasp the profundity and implications of everything in the novel, but that didn't detract from my contentment with the text. Others undoubtedly comprehend and therefore appreciate the book much more fully than I do, just something to consider if you are reading this one review and wondering whether to pick this up.

Woolf's eloquent prose scrutinizes human nature and connection, highlighting, despite stark differences, subtle universalities with the extremely fluid and volatile POV. It is very worth noting, however, that this is a very white, privileged scrutiny of white, privileged people. This creates one's of the novel's few downfalls: it reinforces a white gaze within English literature. To expect diversity from this novel would be to set one's self up for disappointment. In the interest of balancing a deep admiration of Woolf's poetic prose and recognition of the stifling whiteness (Woolf was very actively ingrained in the myopism of white, upper class, 20th-century English society), this book earns a hearty 3.75 from me; an enjoyably challenging, reflective read from an excellent author who didn't express much interest in and subsequently did not venture outside the white world view in a work that examined the nature of humankind (which is, of course, not majority white).

Simply: a decent book of poetry from the likes of great writer Alice Walker. It is, as always, disappointing, heartbreaking, and infuriating to see how little progress the States have made in anti-racist efforts in the decades since the penning and publication of these poems.

This incredible debut from Hannah Baker Saltmarsh synthesizes the author's experiences of motherhood, childbirth, mental health and thorough archival research into an intimate yet historical and informative collection. Throughout the poems, a communal, feminine aura permeates, surrounding the speaker and adding richness, depth, and population. Even as someone with no interest in child-rearing, these poems swept the wind out of me and shepherded slowly and with care. If you're like me and do not connect personally to the topics, Saltmarsh succeeds at evoking sympathy and fostering connection to the experiences of other women and herself throughout. Highly, highly recommend.