thebigemmt505's reviews
36 reviews

“It’s as strong as it needs to be. It exists- it, and everything in it- at the benevolence of something far greater and more terrible than itself.” 

The Deep is a a book that encapsulates the horror and mystery of the deep blue sea. We follow Luke, a veterinarian with a troubled past, as he’s called to see his brother in a base built at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. 

I really, really loved the atmosphere in this book. It’s consistently eerie and unforgivingly grimy and gory, which, is not for everyone. I’m personally a fan of the body horror in this book as it served a purpose to the main plot, (it showed how disgusting and powerful the ambrosia is). It was not meant to be just for shock value. The world building was really unique. I loved the description of a semi-post apocalyptic world, with a population whose collective head is barely above water against an incurable illness. Everything in The Deep kills slowly; everything is driven to madness then stamped to a pulp. The descriptions are written well and the tension is sustained well throughout the book. We feel the pressure build with those eight miles of water above. There were parts that meandered, and certain flashbacks that felt unnecessary, but overall the pacing was fine. I liked Luke as a character; he was be no means extremely profound or deeply relatable, but likeable and easy to root for. He was perfect for this plot. The plot, speaking of, is really want drew me back to this book over and over. I absolutely love horror that tackles themes of trauma and this struck a great balance for me… well… until… the end. 

I was planning to give this four stars until the last part. Admittedly, the full last 50-75 pages or so I found to be a bit messy, but not so bad it impacted my enjoyment. It felt as though it couldn’t wrap up all of its themes, drive them home, so they were left scattered in a pile of gore at the bottom of the Trieste

like everyone else in this book.

The last part of this book, The Fig Men, was so, so bad. It read like a shitty villain speech, dumping unnecessary and cliché exposition to wrap up all of the parts of this story that were best left to the imagination.

I mean come on man, two alien creatures calling the character my child, ancient beings that control parts of the human experience, oOoOoOohhhhh we want to be fReE, fReE so Luke accept our GIIFFTT, everything just…

… listen I finished this book moments ago so my thoughts aren’t fully collected, but GOD that really pulled down the rating for me. I legitimately thought that whole section would be revealed as a dream, or at least a mix of dream and Luke’s mind succumbing to grief and madness. When it wasn’t, I let out such a disappointed sigh, my first breath at the surface of this ocean and I was so annoyed I couldn’t even inhale. After reading other reviews, it seems I’m not alone in that thought, at the very least. 

Anyways, ending aside, I want to offer my opinion on a part of the book that is quite divisive. There’s lots of talk about the gore in this novel too, notably,

the death of LB. Usually, I would have a huge issue with this, not even because of the concept, but because dogs are so often killed off unnecessarily in horror stories purely to shock the viewer. In the case though, I can actually make a pass. LB’s death scene was written with so much care and emotion, much more so than the human deaths. It was gross, it was awful, I did shed tears, but Luke’s love for that creature was evident. I hated her death but I ended up really liking the scene. In addition, everyone else died too, so her death felt less like a sacrifice to the plot and more like a part of it.

That’s just my take, though. It was still upsetting to read. 

I want to recommend this book, especially if you love aquatic horror but god the ending… you choose on this one. Maybe you’ll love it. The read was still worth it for me, but boy am I let down. Oh well! I would still recommend it more than Our Wives Under The Sea. 

“Christ save me from Americans.”

What Moves The Dead is unique retelling of The Fall of The House of Usher by Edgar Allen Poe written by T. Kingfisher. It follows Alex Easton’s journey to the House of Usher, following the reception of a letter from the sister of one of ka’s close army friends.

Now, admittedly, I haven’t read the original- I just pick up books when I find them interesting, I suppose. Even without the context of Poe’s story, I really enjoyed this one! The writing is fun and easy to read, but not lacking in great description and very solid dialogue. I find fungi fascinating, so having it be a driver of the narrative was entertaining and interesting. The depiction of the hares was downright disturbing and worked well. The characters are well-characterized, as much as is needed for the story, anyways. Alex Easton is a delightful character to read. Ka’s quick humor and fascination with people’s passions makes the character super likable, even without the narrative being strictly character driven. It’s a really unique portrayal of a queer character as well, and very refreshing in the wake of so many forced, hetero-ified, cliché portrayals found in a myriad of other novels being released today. (I don’t say this in the grifter way- I’m one of the LGBTQs myself, and I do love a lot of queer media, but dear lord do some need to get better at writing! The main draw of a book doesn’t have to be watered down queer-ness, people.) 

I don’t have many critiques as far as the writing goes. My rating quality wise is closer to a 4/5 or even 4.25/5, but I suppose the story didn’t pack the full punch I wanted it too. I don’t think that’s what the story was necessarily going for though, so I wouldn’t call that a flaw. It comes down to preference more than anything else. I also feel as though Madeline could’ve had a bigger presence in the story before the end, and that might’ve made the climax more effective. Anyways, it was a really nice read!

Overall, What Moves The Dead is a fun little re-telling of a classic that anyone who is into horror should add to their list. 

“‘One loved because one is loved. No reason is needed for loving.’”

I include the somewhat-sappy quote because admittedly, it did touch me, because it’s something someone very close to me has said nearly word-for-word. Much as it’s a bit eye-roll worthy, its simplicity is effective. It made me happy to be reminded of my friend. The essence of The Alchemist is this- simple, uplifting words meant to remind us of the beauty of the human experience. 

…or, it should be. We’ll get to that. 

The Alchemist is a short novel that follows a boy named Santiago on his quest to see The Pyramids of Egypt. He follows this path in order to fulfill his “Personal Legend” and along the way, he learns about alchemy and “The Soul of the World.” He meets various figures along the way, such as a Crystal Shop owner, an Englishman, and an Alchemist. 

The narrative is competently written and engaging. It’s fast paced so it’s difficult to feel bored. I found most of the writing to be pleasant, though not astounding. There were moments it bordered on condescending in it’s themes. Perhaps the translation impacts the tone and that makes it feel this way, though. The characters are rather simplistic and purposefully so, in order for the reader to easily put themselves in the shoes of the people in the story. On a technical level, I have little issue with the way the novel is written. 

As for the story itself I…think I liked it. I was touched by it in many ways. Santiago’s journey is cute and whimsical and it’s difficult to not get absorbed in it. It’s very easy to visualize the story and the pictures are a nice little addition. It’s a very enjoyable piece of writing in its purest form. 

Having said that, I have issues with this book, ones that mostly transcend the narrative itself. The Alchemist is rarely boring, but the story left me wishing for more. It’s very basic by the end. For example,

I did not anticipate that the treasure the boy found would quite literally be treasure, like riches, (the impact this had on the manifestation girlies is worthy of study).

The repetition of certain phrases the author clearly believes to be profound got old really quickly (i.e. “maktub”, “when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you achieve it.”, “all things are one.”). Believe these sentiments or not, as I do to a certain extent, it’s extremely heavy-handed. It’s a lazy way to re-express one’s ideas. So, some of the cute sentiments were really ruined by incessant repetition. Overall, many of The Alchemist’s words broke through to me but the story itself fell flat. Which leaves me wondering…how has it gained the status that it has? 

What I am most perturbed by is how a simple adventure story with some light-hearted mystical messages has become the pinnacle of the arrogant self-help manifestation crowd. Unlike some other books that are in this sort of “mystical self-help” category, I struggle to call this book irresponsible- it seems to just embolden the irresponsible, or, more accurately, immature reader. To some, Santiago finding his treasure at the end of the book must justify the level of arrogant individualism it takes to preach about love and non-dualism while attempting to manifest money and cars and houses and luxury, all at the expense of the rest of the world these people supposedly care so deeply for. The Alchemist seems to serve as an LSD alternative for those uninitiated to the mysterious art of having love and empathy, which is unfortunate, because at its core it’s a light-hearted reminder to trust in ourselves and in the world around us. Granted, what’s new about spirituality and it’s adjacent ideas being used to justify the abundance of the few at the expense of the many? It’s disheartening. Of course, it’s not only this type of person who loves the novel- so many people have been (genuinely) positively impacted by its messages. In many ways, it’s beautiful that the words have reached so many in a way to change their lives for the better, but it’s truly horrifying how these simple words have been twisted. How do we make the world a better enough place so that love and oneness don’t always revert back to selfishness? 

Alright, last but not least, I have to be that guy. It’s unfortunately a bit difficult to connect with a book that regards a woman’s personal legend as “waiting for a man”, and does not depict the personal legend of any other woman as similar to a man’s. I am not a super huge fan of the continued use of “Gypsy” for the Romani people, either. I swear man living in Europe has made me realize how racist everyone is towards them. As we degenerate zoomers like to say, it’s a bit YIKES innit?!? (Well, I’d say it like that at least.) Anyways, it’s worth noting that this book was published in the 80s, and I don’t get the impression any of this was malicious or all that uncommon for the time period. Still, it’s worth noting how aspects of this book have aged poorly. 

Novels like these seem to always spawn counter-novels from me, so I’ll shut up now. Read The Alchemist not for its acclaim, but for its gentle reminder to dream on. Take in the words as a reminder of your capacity to love and connect. Perhaps if more people ground these simple teachings into their present, we’ll all succeed in whatever endeavor our lives will for us, and nourish whatever soul the world has for the benefit of all life. 

“Sometimes, at the end of everything, the only option you have is to make it worse.” This sentence essentially summarizes the book. 

Tell Me I’m Worthless is a story about trauma and fascism…or…is it? The story follows two woman, Alice and Ila, as they navigate the trauma they faced after visiting an abandoned house. In this house, they lost their friend Hannah, and this is the only part of their memories that doesn’t conflict with one another’s. Throughout the book, each of them accuses the other of rape. After this trauma, Alice, turned to drugs, partying, and a bit of racism, and Ila became a TERF. The reader journeys through the hate and pain that fascism forces onto them and what this ultimately results in. 

There’s a good, great, even, story within this mess of a book. It’s received a lot of love, so much to the point I feel as though I’m crazy for having not liked it. In fact, it’s probably one of the worst books I’ve ever read. 

Before I criticize, I admire the author for tackling difficult topics and not shying away from graphic content to make a point. Trauma should not be sugar-coated and I am always happy to see transgressive horror push the boundaries. There are harrowing descriptions and great body horror that made me squirm. The chapters about the history of the house were well done; I genuinely enjoyed reading these. The story overall is fast-paced and engaging. I was never bored, much as I was annoyed. Morally grey characters are my favorite, so to see marginalized characters portrayed in an imperfect yet human way was nice. Somehow, at the end of the clusterfuck, I still found the ending really touching. 

However, that’s it, and this is being generous. Tell Me I’m Worthless is a goddamn mess. Every metaphor is put under the brightest flashlight, gleaming in apparency, then shoved down the readers throat so far it comes out of their ass. The book insists on its themes more than it lets story speak to those themes. The name of the haunted house is Albion, for fucks sake. Theres a poster in Alice’s room that is supposedly a reference to Morrissey; whoever it is, it sure isn’t subtle in its depiction of celebrities’ influence on the culture war. Much as I agree with many of the sentiments the author presents, with each long political rant that is clearly just the author venting, I felt my eyes roll so far into the back of my head they got stuck there. On that note, the writing got on my very last optic nerve less than a quarter of the way through, with unbelievably bad writing and cringe-inducing dialogue, not to mention the clumsy references to internet culture. I stumbled blindly to the end of this narrative, tracing my fingers along the page in the hopes of finding some coherence, some elegance in the indentation of these words that disappointed me over and over. It’s ham-fisted, too on-the-nose, funny when it’s not meant to be and cringy when it’s trying to be funny. Tonally, it’s all over the goddamn place, much like uh, uh, England is all over the place because colonization!!! Get it!!! Do you get it reader?!? 

I wanted so badly to like this. I love transgressive LGBT horror with bold themes. Perhaps this is why my aggravation is so strong. So honestly, in my opinion, avoid this one. It is Alison Rumfitt’s debut novel. Maybe, her second one is better. Maybe, every one of her writings after this will be better. Maybe, it’s just not for me. Many people loved this book, so who am I to say? I rest my case though. 

Admittedly the funniest part of the book to me was the fact the only slur she shied away from was r*tard. 

“Yes, that’s right. I’m about to tell you that if you eat animal foods instead of plant foods, you just might go blind.”

The quote is regarding macular degeneration, but it feels broadly applicable given not only the health, but the environmental and moral implications of eating animals.

The China Study is a an influential book about health and nutrition that deserves the praise it gets, especially for what it brought to the table at the time it was released. The study itself is a landmark in how we understand the way our diet impacts or health and our disease development. It’s well researched, thorough, and well-intentioned. Despite already knowing a lot of the science in this book, I still learned plenty of new information and I’m appreciative of that. The part about industry players and the hostility towards such a simple solution as diet was especially pertinent for me, as I’m always surprised by the extent of it. 

All of that said, I found the writing a bit repetitive and sometimes disorganized. It flipped between general to detailed very quickly, which made the layout jarring to me. The semi-conspiratorial writing (no matter how justified in this case), especially before a case was presented about the corruption of the medical industry, turned me off as well. Most of my issues come down to preference, as I prefer a structure that’s detailed information -> general conclusion and I dislike hyper-conspiratorial, “they’re out to get us” rhetoric that can both be used by well meaning people who observe legitimate corruption and crazy conspiracy theorists drawing conclusions where there aren’t any. 
Of course, T. Colin Campbell is a lot more level headed, but it’s still something that stood out to me. That being said, the writing wasn’t bad per-se, and I enjoyed a lot of the anecdotes and bits of humor thrown in. 

Also, admittedly, there’s some dated information in here now, which I can’t blame the book for, but GOD can we PLEASE stop using BMI for any measure of anything! Thank you 🫶

Anyways, it was a must read for nutrition nerds like me. Vegan ones, at that. It dragged a bit and was dense but I don’t regret reading it. Give it a read, it’s a “classic” in a way. At the end of the day, beyond all of the science, beyond the intrigue of everything we have and will learn about nutrition, for now we must do what is tried and true: eat our vegetables. 

The Haunting of Hill House is a novel much different than I expected it to be given all its hype as a scary ghost story. It follows four characters: two women who have had supernatural experiences, the hier to Hill House, and a doctor investigating the existence of the supernatural. The narrative centers around the perspective of Eleanor, one of the women, who slowly descends into madness while staying at Hill House. 

Of course, The Haunting of Hill House is a classic for a reason. Its writing is unique and intriguing, and the atmosphere is impeccably crafted through each paragraph. The book is relatively fast-paced, though it meanders through a lot of character dialogue that is, in all honestly, utterly bizarre. The dialogue is a strength and a weakness in the sense its strangeness fits the vibe of the environment, but it also makes the characters feel unreal, like they’re not even fully present in the narrative. I found myself un-intrigued by the characters aside from Eleanor. Eleanor is a meek and anxious woman who daydreams of excitement after a long, bleak life caring to an overbearing mother, and this characterization both makes her interesting and explains how she was so easily influenced by the house (or, alternatively, influenced by her own fragile mind in an unfamiliar environment.) Technically speaking, though, this book is very well written and executed. 

I expected more from the horror. It falls more into a gothic psychological horror category than a supernatural horror one. The narrative, ironically, was haunting more than it was scary. The supernatural events are vague and left to the interpretation of the reader which is again, a strength and a weakness. I found the whole novel to be more sad than scary and more intriguing than thrilling. While I’m satisfied with the read, the story fell a bit flat. It’s much more anti-climatic than one would be led to believe from the hype. It’s certainly an interesting exploration on the fragility of the human mind and the importance of belonging, lest one slips into the deceptive embrace of their own “Hill House,” but there was something missing. It might just be the hype around the book that opened this void, but it was there nonetheless. 

Oh, and also, I did not expect this book to be queer-coded. And like, ACTUALLY queer-coded, not the weird projection so many people put on every popular piece of media where a character slightly subverts gender or orientation norms. The weird dynamic between Eleanor and Theodora was fascinating. Bravo lesbians!!! 

Anyways, I enjoyed this one a lot, just not as much as I was hoping. I might have to look into some of the film adaptations of this to see how the horror translates on screen… 

“It even used to be said there is no such thing as blindness, only blind people, when the experience of time has taught us nothing other than that there are no blind people, but only blindness.”

The premise of Blindness is this: the population slowly behind to go blind without any explanation. The world quickly devolves into chaos as human nature is stripped down to its bare bones. There remains only one sighted person throughout the book. 

It’s difficult to review this one. The writing style is difficult to get used to, with long run on sentences and no breaks between character dialogue. The author stays grounded in the plot while also being quite philosophical. The pace of the book is mixed ;  the progression of the narrative feels extremely fast while the way it’s written slows it down.  The characters are meant to fill simple roles, not even having names, and while this is intentional, the behavior of these characters throughout the book does actually give them a lot of distinguishing characteristics. It’s technically a very well-done book, but the whole product feels…odd, in a sense. 

It’s thesis is both obvious and vague. Breaking the fragile threads that bind society is not difficult, in the sense it takes just one disaster, just one collapse, just one event that’s too difficult to manage before all social cohesion dissipates. It’s cliche almost, pointing out the fragility of society. I think the book depicts a collapse much more obscene and rapid than what would actually happen, even if there are now some very real life parallels to be drawn between this and the recent pandemic everyone faced in the real world. Though way over the top, I think it puts into perspective how ephemeral society and it’s constructs are, and how quickly their artificial importance slips away in the face of crisis. Education has no importance. Money has no importance. Even names bear no importance anymore. If no one can see it, what power does it have? This, for better and for worse. 

There’s a lot of symbolism I likely missed, though, which makes it even harder for me to fully flesh out my thoughts on the overall meaning and impact of this book. 

My favorite moment in the book is definitely the first scene with the dog of tears. Through all the barbaric, disgusting, “animalistic” behavior of the blind masses, two sentient beings who can still see the humanity in one another bond. My interpretation likely isn’t what was meant to be drawn from it, but I found it beautiful nonetheless. 

All in all, it’s not an easy read, though I’d argue it’s a rewarding one. It’s a bit of a slog at points, if only after reading the same three lines seventeen times to try and figure out who is saying what, but still an intriguing and engaging read. It makes for an interesting experience, unsettling and disturbing, read. Give it a go, if you’re really in the mood for something dark and literary. 

“I want whoever reads this to understand what they’re getting, which is mainly confusion, because I don’t know how to be clear about any of this.” 

Our Wives Under The Sea follows a couple, Leah and Miri, trying to (or, well, not really trying to) navigate life after Leah comes back from a submarine expedition gone awry. Typically, in a review, I’d first explain all the positives that stand out to me in a book- of which there are… some. The premise is immensely intriguing and there are beautiful descriptions throughout much of the novel. There’s plenty of purposeful mystique around what happened to Leah and why she refuses to talk about it. The treatment of grief, as long as it takes, is ultimately tragic as it is poignant. The clever moments are clever, with symbols and motifs that recur in a way that makes the pattern recognition in one’s brain go “oh, right, cool!” My snark has kicked in already though, and I must unfortunately explain why this book massively disappointed me. 

It’s underwhelming. The book slogs through long chapters of Miri droning on about ultimately irrelevant information, interspersed with tiny chapters that hint at the strange and horrifying nature of Leah’s expedition. The theme is obviously all about grief, its tears stained across each page Miri talks about distracting herself, living on autopilot, trying to grieve someone still alive in the bath next to her. It’s unfortunately only at the end of the book that this works. Everything before mimics the feeling of a slow drip of water on my forehead, startling me as I try to keep my eyes open for another chapter of Miri explaining the same day she’s had four times over. When something finally does happen, it’s skipped, and Miri simply does not explain or acknowledge anything going on. It’s absolutely infuriating to read. Grief is hollow of but that doesn’t mean writing about it has to be equally empty. 

How about the characters themselves? There is, of course, plenty of reminiscing about Miri and Leah’s relationship, which might’ve been sweet if not for the fact the writing made me want to drown myself. To elaborate, if the characterization of characters in a piece of media relies only on the other media they consume, the characters are not well written. There are moments in these scenes where it’s multiple sentences full of cultural references to the point I never got to know the characters as anything more than a list of interests and attributes told plainly and never shown organically. The characters never grow to feel like characters, the plot never fleshes out to feel like a plot, and all of the talent in between the lines of this novel is drained away, ineffective, because of these two facts. 

To put aside my crassness, there is lots of potential here. When the author isn’t trying too hard to be clever, or impressive, or knowledgeable, she has a talent for everything emotional. If this had been a short story where the last quarter took up half of the book, I’d be giving this a much higher rating. I’m genuinely saddened I didn’t enjoy this one. 

At the end of the day, Our Wives Under The Sea is that empty abyss at the bottom of the ocean. As Leah says when the lights finally do turn on in that submarine, all I could think reading this book was “come on, give.” 

Give it a read if you want. I might just be a cunt. Frankly, though, I think Iron Lung accomplished what this book meant to (minus all of the grief) in about 30-40 minutes of gameplay maximum. (If you know, you know.) 

Now, strangely, I picked this one up before its predecessor; on my own admission this is sort of an accident, as I’d realized I put a hold on the wrong book too late. I decided to read The Power of Geography anyways, and given the many reviews saying Prisoners of Geography is better, I’ll definitely be picking that one up! 

The Power of Geography is a fascinating and well-written dive into various countries’ geopolitical advantages and disadvantages, then the resulting history. It’s dense without being inaccessible, it’s detailed without being too complex, and it’s intelligent without being snobbish. The chapters are structured well and each point is explored thoroughly. It leans much more into history than strictly into geography, which doesn’t necessarily impact the quality of writing, but was unexpected. That being said, the geography aspects were super interesting! 

The pacing varied by chapter, and while it was mostly decent, some chapters dragged on and felt repetitive. I would’ve liked to see more explanation as to why each country was specifically chosen, too. Perhaps to someone familiar with geography studies, or those who read the first book, would have found it redundant, but I still think if the book wants to be more stand-alone those explanations would’ve assisted. I asked myself many times “why specifically this country?” in relation to the overall theme of the book. In addition, some of the history felt highly rushed. Just from my minimal context of some the countries’ histories, I noticed huge gaps that felt relevant to at least mention. What was explained and left out was sometimes arbitrary. 

Overall though, the book is great! It’s definitely made me want to read more about geography, geopolitics, and history. Give it a read! 

It needs more basketball 🏀