Books Read in 2023: Two Stars

Broken (Will Trent #4) by Karin Slaughter: Synopsis from Goodreads: Karin Slaughter’s internationally bestselling novels are as notable for their vivid portraits of lives shadowed by loss and heartbreak as they are for their dramatic criminal investigations. Broken features the return of her most compelling characters and introduces memorable new ones in a tale of corruption, murder, and confrontation that will leave more than one life . . .

When Special Agent Will Trent arrives in Grant County, he finds a police department determined to protect its own and far too many unanswered questions about a prisoner’s death. He doesn’t understand why Officer Lena Adams is hiding secrets from him. He doesn’t understand her role in the death of Grant County’s popular police chief. He doesn’t understand why that man’s widow, Dr. Sara Linton, needs him now more than ever to help her crack this case.
While the police force investigates the murder of a young woman pulled from a frigid lake, Trent investigates the police force, putting pressure on Adams just when she’s already about to crack. Caught between two complicated and determined women, trying to understand Linton’s passionate distrust of Adams, the facts surrounding Chief Tolliver’s death, and the complexities of this insular town, Trent will unleash a case filled with explosive secrets—and encounter a thin blue line that could be murderous if crossed.
Spellbinding and keenly paced, Broken is Karin Slaughter at her best. Here is an unforgettable story of raw emotions, dangerous assumptions, the deadly and layered game of betrayal, and a man’s determination to expose the most painful of human truths—no matter how deeply they’re hidden . . . or how devastating.

-”...how to tell Will not to feel sorry for Lena. ‘She goaded him. I know this sounds horrible, but it was like Lena wanted to be abused.’” (fuck you Sara Linton)

-”And Jason was miserable. It radiated off him like the heat lamp over the french fries at McDonald’s.”  (a simile that tortured is probably against the Geneva convention)

Truthfully, this is really on me. I know I don't like Sara Linton. I am baffled as to how this author went from the gripping grittiness of the first few Will Trent books to feeling the need to add Sara Linton back in in a horrible Nancy Drew/Harlequin romance mashup. Mourning her perfect husband at great length (even though he cheated on her). Spouting truly repugnant stuff about Lena. Being tall and auburn-haired and perfect and envied and desired by all, barf. I was hate-reading this by the end. 

And the mystery outside of that? - I'm sort of done with the whole 'some cops are corrupt' and then other cops being souls of integrity bent on ferreting out the bad apples. Look, either we go with the fantasy that cops are actually interested in solving crimes or we treat them honestly as instruments of fear and injustice. Hard to have it both ways. Some of the new entries in the series look interesting, and I felt like I should go back and read in order, but it's becoming an exercise in self-torture. I need some kind of support group. Who wants to be my No Will Trent Books sober companion?

Sleep Tight by J.H. Markert: Synopsis from Goodreads: Dark and twisting at every turn, fans of Catriona Ward will love this chilling new tale from the deviously inventive horror author that Peter Farris calls the “clear heir to Stephen King.”

Beware the one who got away . . .
Father Silence once terrorized the rural town of Twisted Tree, disguising himself as a priest to prey on the most vulnerable members of society. When the police finally found his “House of Horrors,” they uncovered nineteen bodies and one survivor–a boy now locked away in a hospital for the criminally insane.
Nearly two decades later, Father Silence is finally put to death, but by the next morning, the detective who made the original arrest is found dead. A new serial killer is taking credit for the murder and calling himself the Outcast.
The detective’s daughter, Tess Claibourne, is a detective herself, haunted by childhood trauma and horrified by the death of her father and the resurgence of Father Silence’s legacy.
When Tess’s daughter is kidnapped by the Outcast, Tess is forced to face her worst fears and long-buried memories. With no leads to follow, she travels back to Twisted Tree to visit the boy who survived and see what secrets might be buried in the tangled web of his broken mind.

They DARE to compare this to Stephen King and Catriona Ward? *spits on floor* Ridiculously overwrought, strained the bonds of credulity even for me (and I can suspend my disbelief like no one's business), not even sure it maintained internal logic.

A Killing Cold by Kate Alice Marshall: Synopsis from Goodreads: A woman invited to her wealthy fiance’s family retreat realizes they are hiding a terrible secret—and that she’s been there before, by the bestselling author of What Lies in the Woods.A whirlwind romance.When Theodora Scott met Connor—wealthy, charming, and a member of the powerful Dalton family—she fell in love in an instant. Six months later, he’s brought her to Idlewood, his family’s isolated winter retreat, to win over his skeptical relatives.

Stay away from Connor Dalton.
Theo has tried to ignore the threatening messages on her phone, but she can’t ignore the footprints in the snow outside the cabin window or the strange sense of familiarity she has about this place. Then, in a disused cabin, Theo finds something impossible: a photo of herself as a child. A photo taken at Idlewood.
I’ve been here before.
Theo has almost no recollection of her earliest years, but now she begins to piece together the fragments of her memories. Someone here has a shocking secret that they will do anything to keep hidden, and Theo is in terrible danger. Because the Daltons do not lose, and discovering what happened at Idlewood may cost Theo everything.

-”...with them, and from Vonnegut we ranged from George Saunders to Virginia Woolf and Jennifer Egan, and then I admitted that since I’d graduated, I’d read mostly popular fiction, books either about kissing or death, and he said all books are about kissing and death when you get down to it, and I told him that was the sort of thing that sounded deep but wasn’t really once you thought about it for more than two seconds, and he told me that later he was going to ask me if he could kiss me, and then without taking a breath continued our discussion of which of Cormac McCarthy’s books we preferred.

We still talk about books. He makes fun of my lowbrow taste; I crack jokes about Jonathan Franzen he pretends to take personally.” (yes, I realize this quote is both funny and kind of witty, shut up)

I know I'm going to sound like an asshole, and I'm sorry. But how does someone who generated the brilliant, magical pieces of wonder that were Rules For Vanishing and the Thirteens trilogy then progress to this? It's not bad, exactly, it's just so exceptionally mid. The trope of the rich fiance (I can't make an accent, sorry) and the penniless girl with the dark past and the unwelcoming rich family. Suppressed memories that gradually and conveniently emerge. Not an ounce of the complex characters and emotional intelligence found in her books for younger audiences. Bait and switch, and switch, and switch, and everybody is so bland that who actually cares who actually did it (I literally said to myself "which one is that?") I guess I confine myself to Marshall's teen and middle grade fiction and stop banging my head against this particular wall. Did anyone buy that? Ha ha, me neither. I have faith that she will get better! Or I will just persevere and also keep complaining.

Old Sins (D.I. Kelso Strang #4) by Aline Templeton: Synopsis from Goodreads: On a clear, moonlit night, DCI Kelso Strang hears, faint but unmistakable, the howl of a wolf. An unsettling sound, but not the only unsettling thing about the remote township of Inverbeg, where he is taking a break with an old army friend.

Sean Reynolds is obsessive about rewilding his Auchinglass estate and there are rumours that he has taken illicit steps to hurry that on, much to the anger of the local farmers. There are other tensions too. An elderly lady died some months before, officially in a tragic stumble off a cliff path, but she was burdened with many secrets and her closest friend believes her death was not an accident, but murder.
When horror strikes in Inverbeg, DCI Strang fears further retribution is at work. As he gets closer to uncovering the ugly truth, he finds himself in more danger than ever before.

-”In fact, it was rather a good lasagne and the pod was really cool. But as she made coffee she still felt like a cat with its fur being rubbed up the wrong way. She’d rather been counting on feeling overworked and ill-used and she’d nothing to complain about. Less than nothing, really. Apart from the fact that people who always got everything right were really hard to take.”

For the first half of this book, I had a vague feeling that I wasn't that into the mystery, but the Scottish setting was really working for me and that was enough. For the last half that totally wore off and I was wholly fed up with the ludicrously, cartoonishly obnoxious 'bad' characters and the belaboured insecurities of the two female police officers( I'm a bit ashamed of that, because I also don't like it when police woman characters are women of steel who give everything to the job and can't sustain a relationship, but dammit, some subtlety is required!) I was invested in the marital strife of the married couple Strang was staying with (I can never remember character's names half a second after I've finished a book), but it wasn't enough. I didn't care who did it. I should care who did it! I will not continue the series.

If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio: Synopsis from Goodreads: Oliver Marks has just served ten years in jail - for a murder he may or may not have committed. On the day he's released, he's greeted by the man who put him in prison. Detective Colborne is retiring, but before he does, he wants to know what really happened a decade ago.

As one of seven young actors studying Shakespeare at an elite arts college, Oliver and his friends play the same roles onstage and off: hero, villain, tyrant, temptress, ingenue, extra. But when the casting changes, and the secondary characters usurp the stars, the plays spill dangerously over into life, and one of them is found dead. The rest face their greatest acting challenge yet: convincing the police, and themselves, that they are blameless.

-”As they rose from the water their fingertips dripped and the fabric clung so closely to their bodies that I could tell who was who, though their faces remained downcast. On the left, Fillippa, her long legs and slim hips unmistakable. On the right, Wren, smaller and slighter than the other two. In the middle, Meredith, her curves bold and dangerous under the thin white shift.” (sigh)

-”I don’t know how to continue. Of course, I was at Meredith’s mercy. LIke Aphrodite, she demanded exaltation and idolatry. But what was her weakness for me, tame and inconsequential as I was? A thing of mystery.” (a thing of vomit)

Took me about ten pages to go from "oh, a book where people speak in long Shakespeare quotations, that'll be charming" to "oh, a book where people speak in nothing but long Shakespeare quotations, that is pretentious and annoying as fuck". Why did I keep reading, you might ask? That is a question for the ages. Again, not really the author's fault that I am old and cynical and not up for a book about university students who, as is typical of university students, think their lives and loves are the most dramatic and meaningful things EVER, (and did I mention that these ones go to a pretentious drama school and do a bunch of Shakespeare plays and REALLY LOVE SPEAKING IN QUOTATIONS). This could have been a tiresome young-adult romance, except for the deaths which made it into a tiresome young-adult mystery. It will absolutely find its audience.

The Holy Terrors (Holy Terrors Mystery #1) by Simon R. Green: Synopsis from Goodreads: Six people locked in a haunted hall . . . Cameras watching their every move . . . And then someone dies . . . This first in a spine-tingling new paranormal mystery series from New York Times bestselling British fantasy author Simon R. Green will make you doubt your judgement - and believe in ghosts!

Welcome to Spooky Time, the hit TV ghost-hunting show where the horror is scripted . . . and the ratings are declining rapidly. What better way to up the stakes - and boost the viewership - than by locking a select group of Z-list celebrities up for the night in The Most Haunted Hall in England (TM) and live-streaming the 'terrifying' results?
Soon Alistair, a newly appointed Bishop, actress Diana, medium Leslie, comedian Toby and celebrity chef Indira are trapped inside Stonehaven town hall, along with June, the host and producer of the show. The group tries to settle in and put on a good show, but then strange things start happening in their hall of horrors.
What is it about this place - and why is the TV crew outside not responding? Are they even on air?
Logical Alistair attempts to keep the group's fears at bay and rationalise the odd events, but there are things that just can't be explained within reason . . . Can he stop a cold-blooded would-be killer - even if it's come from beyond the grave?
This locked-room mystery with a paranormal twist is classic Simon R. Green, featuring his trademark humour and imagination, irresistible characters, and thoroughly entertaining plotting.

-”I’ve never understood why supernatural warnings have to be so vague,’ said Diana. ‘Why can’t they take the time to get the details right?’”

I was sent a book of Simon R. Green short stories (Tales of the Hidden World) that were outstanding. I had to double check that this was by the same author - it was so flat and amateur-ish. It takes half of the (short, at least) book to introduce the characters and establish their wooden personalities, before anything the least bit frightening happens. Then the frightening stuff is not that frightening, and the 'twist' is telegraphed a mile away, and "he said slowly" is repeated so many times, and then it was mercifully over.

The Library at Hellebore by Cassandra Khaw: Synopsis from Goodreads: A deeply dark academia novel from USA Today bestselling author Cassandra Khaw, perfect for fans of A Deadly Education and The Atlas Six who are hungry for something a little more diabolical.

The Hellebore Technical Institute for the Gifted is the premier academy for the dangerously powerful: the Anti-Christs and Ragnaroks, the world-eaters and apocalypse-makers.
Hellebore promises redemption, acceptance, and a normal life after graduation. At least, that’s what Alessa Li is told when she’s kidnapped and forcibly enrolled.
But there’s more to Hellebore than meets the eye. On graduation day, the faculty go on a ravenous rampage, feasting on Alessa’s class. Only Alessa and a group of her classmates escape the carnage. Trapped in the school’s library, they must offer a human sacrifice every night, or else the faculty will break down the door and kill everyone.
Can they band together and survive, or will the faculty eat its fill?

-”I thought about hunting Ford down to demand a more complete picture of what was to come but that felt too much like submitting to one of those tests where they diagnose your potential for developing any variety of deadly ailments. Knowing what hereditary cancers were advancing in your direction always seems like a strategic move until you realize there’s no actual stopping them.”

First of all, I got a hardcover from the library and the book is beautiful - gorgeous cover, blue-edged papers, I kept closing it just to look at it. Second of all, I was confused and underwhelmed about fifty pages in but kept going hoping it would pick up, and I regret that decision. I have loved much of Khaw's short fiction, but this was ... there was no THERE there. Or there was there, but that's all there was. Multiple descriptions of fucked-up, dangerous, good-looking, arrogant students who spent all the time they weren't trying to kill each other thinking up clever quips and eye-rolling soliloquies. I thought this would maybe be a darker Scholomance, but it was more like an endless prequel for a Scholomance-type thing. I would only be more bitterly disappointed if I had bought the book.

Darkly by Marisha Pessl: Synopsis from Goodreads: Arcadia “Dia” Gannon is obsessed with Louisiana Veda, the game designer whose creations and company, Darkly, have gained a cult-like following. Dia is shocked when she’s chosen for a highly coveted internship, along with six other teenagers from around the world. Darkly, once a game-making empire renowned for its ingenious and terrifying toys and games, now lies dormant after Veda’s mysterious death. The remaining games are priced like rare works of art, with some fetching millions of dollars at auction.

As Dia and her fellow interns delve into the heart of Darkly, they discover hidden symbols, buried clues, and a web of intrigue. Who are these other teens, and what secrets do they keep? Why were any of them really chosen? The answers lie within the twisted labyrinth of Darkly.

-”Poe frowns. ‘So this fifth party who was present, locking you in the tomb. You never actually saw this person?’

Cooper shakes her head. ‘It happened too fast.’” (uh, no, you couldn’t see them because you were inside the tomb and they were OUTSIDE)

-”This kind of knowledge cannot be returned to the package with the receipt for a refund. It will ruin me, destroy me, if I’m not smart, if I don’t play the game brilliantly, staying six moves ahead.” (puh-lease)

What a mess. I loved Special Topics in Calamity Physics but I've disliked everything since and I need to stop thinking the next will be different. I guess I can almost swallow these teenagers accepting a mysterious internship and not leaving even when the overseer warns them to stay in line if they want to 'survive' it. The initial descriptions of the games are intriguing, but the real-world iterations are just silly. The writing is clumsy, she does things like having everyone swim in their clothes to an island and then wander around as if they're not soaking wet, and Dia is made to come to realizations about her 'family' that are ridiculous and contradictory. It's like Pessl came up with this dark, mythological, tortured author and game concept as a twelve-year-old and then never took the time to fill in any details as an adult. And the end is just dumb. I think good YA fiction features young people but should meet the same expectations of coherence, style and clarity as adult fiction. This does not.

How to Survive a Horror Movie by Scarlett Dunmore: Synopsis from Goodreads: Horror movie enthusiast Charley is determined to keep a low profile when she's enrolled to a girls' boarding school on a remote island. That is, until someone starts killing off her senior class! From elaborate scare tactics to severed heads in fridges, Charley has found herself at the centre of a teen horror movie. And that's not the only alarming thing that's happening - she's now seeing the ghosts of her former classmates!? Haunted by her peers, and with everyone beginning to suspect her, Charley decides to do something about it. She and her only best friend Olive are going to solve the murders and find out who's killing off the class before graduation. Charley just needs those pesky ghosts to shut up and give her a hand...

A fast-paced tongue-in-cheek YA novel about two friends trying to survive senior year - literally!
Perfect for fans of Fear Street, The Midnight Club and the SCREAM franchise.

-"'She's boring my brain cells into dust, even after the first page. Why are all her books just about a woman trying to find a husband? Nothing exciting ever happens, and there are always balls and dinners with fancy goblets. I want --"

"Heads in freezers? Bodies in cupboards? Serial killers in masks?"

  "Excitement."

I can't even pretend that I will ever pass up a book about horror movie-loving characters and horror movie-based plots, even though the turkeys outweigh the good ones considerably. This one is pitched much younger than usual for YA, the 'satire' is more just silliness and the author went way overboard in blowing right past grisly scenes making Charley nauseous to having her throw up in her room's sink multiple times which, ewwww. I am not a big lover of gross-out horror anyway, and here it is not in service of anything larger. The chapter titles being horror movies and the rules for surviving  - great devices, but Scream did the second one much better. 

Death on the Island by Eliza Reid: Synopsis from Goodreads: Trapped on a remote island by a howling storm, nine people sit down to dinner.

One of them is about to die.
A group of international players has gathered in a tiny village off the coast of Iceland for a diplomatic dinner. There's Kristján, the mayor reeling from a personal tragedy. Graeme, the ambassador with an agenda to push. Jane, his wife, along for the ride on another one of her husband's many business trips. And several others, from Iceland and from abroad, each with their own reason for being there, their own loyalties and grievances. By the end of the night, one of them will be dead. And it will be up to the ambassador's wife, Jane, to figure out how—and why.
What Jane soon comes to realize is that small communities can be the most dangerous of them all… and no one in their group is safe. With secrets around every corner and violent weather trapping the finite list of suspects together on the island, this locked-room mystery by internationally bestselling author Eliza Reid brings Agatha Christie and Nordic noir together in a brand-new twist.

-"In tiny Vestmannaeyjabaer, where everyone knew each other's history and had a personal connection, the ability to keep secrets was both rare and highly prized. Linda could have blackmailed half the town for some transgression or another. But blackmail was such a bourgeois habit."

-"a tall, blond woman with puffy, styled hair"... (puffy, styled hair?)

Ughghghghg, the author seems so lovely and Iceland is such a cool setting and this sounded very cool and it was not. It was dull and the characters were thin and the motivations were so tiresomely cliche and only the food and drink descriptions were the least bit attention-holding.

The Third Rule of Time Travel by Philip Fracassi: Synopsis from Goodreads: Rule One: Travel can only occur to a point within your lifetime.

Rule Two: You can only travel for ninety seconds.
Rule Three: You can only observe.
The rules cannot be broken.
In this riveting science fiction novel from acclaimed author Philip Fracassi, a scientist has unlocked the mysteries of time travel. This is not the story you think you know. And the rules are only the beginning.
Scientist Beth Darlow has discovered the unimaginable. She's built a machine that allows human consciousness to travel through time—to any point in the traveler's lifetime—and relive moments of their life. An impossible breakthrough, but it's not perfect: the traveler has no way to interact with the past. They can only observe.
After Beth's husband, Colson, the co-creator of the machine, dies in a tragic car accident, Beth is left to raise Isabella—their only daughter—and continue the work they started. Mired in grief and threatened by her ruthless CEO, Beth pushes herself to the limit to prove the value of her technology.
Then the impossible happens. Simply viewing personal history should not alter the present, but with each new observation she makes, her own timeline begins to warp.
As her reality constantly shifts, Beth must solve the puzzles of her past, even if it means forsaking her future.

-"The quest to control a power not meant for human control -- a power that lies beyond the science, beyond the machine and the screens of scrolling equations.

Something undefinable.

But she will define it. She will harness it. And then....

And then she'll change the world."

Aw man, what a terrible thing to do to a cool time travel concept. I'm not firmly in the camp of 'men can never write women', but they certainly should not like this. A bunch of sappy, nothing descriptions of Beth's relationship with her daughter, oh sorry, her 'beautiful baby girl' who draws stupidly sweet pictures and says treacly improbably-insightful things. Oh, and did I mention that in the very first scene of the book, Beth gets up in the morning and runs ten miles and then comes home and finds her nanny on the porch and they go into the house and THEN the daughter gets up - like, she went for a ten-mile-run LEAVING HER THREE-YEAR-OLD ALONE IN THE HOUSE? I read it over a few times, pretty sure I had that right, although how the hell an editor didn't catch it is baffling. Oh wow, I just typed "how the hell AM editor didn't catch it" which would have been really funny if I didn't catch it. 

The science was pretty-much non-existent, which isn't a big deal for me, but everything else was also kind of non-existent. All the men are sinister and douchey, and for a female scientist she was oddly prone to becoming hysterical (not judging her, you understand, just the author, because of course he would make the male scientists stoic and strong (even in an evil way) and the female scientist prone to freak-outs.) 

Annus Novus - hee hee, "Annus"

 We had people over for New Year's Eve, as usual - the same people as the Christmas party, but a scaled-down version of the festivities, with music and conversation and usually a game or two. This year I had bought Canadian charades, which was very fun and amusing and would have been really difficult if we hadn't decided to forego using the timer. I enjoy observing the different processes employed by various players of charades. Some people pick a card and immediately grab their head as if the difficulty level has given them an aneurysm while others just get on with it. If the first technique doesn't get any good guesses, some people will change it up while others go with just repeating the same gesture or ceasing the motions altogether and just staring at everyone expectantly.

The two things I had to act out were Portage la Prairie and Lake Superior. For the first one I mimed putting a canoe on my head and Matt got it immediately, while half the room had never heard of it. For the second I acted like I was diving into a body of water and someone eventually got Lake, and then Collette guessed Lake Superior before I had to mime looking down my nose at everyone. Various other clues were Winnie the Pooh (Janet mimed sitting on a toilet and someone got it from that), Just for Laughs Comedy Festival (that was hard), smoked salmon, and Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, which I got only because Michael has talked about it many times because he wants one, and he was really mad that I got it first. 

The pics are mainly to show that when people come to our house they all wear thick sweaters, while I will be sleeveless and still too hot. I also offer cardigans and fleecy reading socks.

The whole "2026" thing is hitting me kind of hard emotionally. I guess something about being past the quarter of the second century I have lived in, along with this being the year I am officially past mid-fifty, is making me feel old and apprehensive. I am trying to stamp that out, because otherwise I feel like my mood is better than usual for this time of year. I had my first alcoholic drink of the holiday season at the new year's eve party, and didn't sleep at all that night. I feel like I recovered from the flu to eighty-five percent, but the cough and snottiness has not subsided entirely. I had stopped taking my opioid cough medicine and cold medicine because I had been taking them for two weeks and that seemed like a lot. I realized yesterday it was kind of dumb not to take the medicine when I still needed it, so I took it all at bedtime and slept for ten hours.

I get Anne Helen Peterson's Culture Study substack, and she said something like "I know it's cool not to make resolutions, but I'm not cool so I do". I feel the opposite, like it's expected to make resolutions and I'm a loser for not wanting to. Some combination of low self-esteem and being raised with Catholic guilt AND the Protestant work ethic just makes me feel like resolutions have to be punitively burdensome, and I will either accomplish them at great personal cost, or fail at them at great personal disappointment. The past year has been good for exercising more - the year before I never made it through a single thirty-day Yoga with Adriene program, and this year I made it through two, with other sessions in between. I also started tracking that and most other exercise in a notebook at the desk in the yoga room. Sadly I am too lazy to go up and find that notebook and count how many days I actually exercised, which would be the obvious next thing for this post. Oh well.

I feel pretty happy about the fact that much of my reading was instead of doom-scrolling also, and that I stopped scrolling my phone in bed in the morning. This is also my eighth (possibly ninth) year working in libraries when I didn't actually believe I would ever have a library job while I was doing my diploma. 

My current plan is to keep doing what I'm doing and putting more effort into not feeling guilty about what I'm not doing. Or about sleeping when I need to sleep. Also, I think I'm going to make a list of small achievable goals and another one of really good things that are already in my life, and paste them up somewhere really visible, because I have ADD and lack object permanence. 

More books tomorrow!

Books Read in 2025 Post The First: Now With 71.17% More Books!

 191 books as of 9:21 p.m. on December 30th. I don't think I'm going to finish anything tonight, and we're having a party tomorrow. I like prime numbers anyway.

I read 111 books in 2024, which was my lowest total since 2019. In comparison to that, I ate books in 2025. I mostly blame Sarah (because I was trying to be more like her, although I only read stuff with my eyes, I am bad at ear-reading.) I think the fact that I read more paper books than in recent years meant that I clicked away to look stuff up or follow texts or news articles that popped up on the screen while I was reading on my iPad. Maybe there was just nothing good on tv. "Have you ever cracked 200?" Eve asked. "Nope," I said, and she hastily added "I"m not saying you should try. In fact, probably don't." 

The vast majority look to be four-star reads, so I either selected well or rated generously, both of which are fine with me. Then again, I have six one-star reads, which is more than usual, so maybe I've gotten more willing to dole out the single-star rating too. I have a tab opened for a book called "On Reading Well: Finding the Good Life Through Great Books". I remember seeing someone mention it and opening the tab, but I have lost track of where it was mentioned. I'm not sure I have, in fact, found the Great Life through Great Books, but I feel okay about that because if I did find it I probably would have lost it by now. 

I did largely read books that I combed the library catalogue for and requested based on good reviews. I do still read, though, more for pleasure than for any other reason (filling in gaps in my knowledge, looking for examples of how to live a more efficient/more virtuous/more admirable life). Should I change this up? Maybe. Will I? Probably not this year, although I did just read Engie's book post and have requested How to Read Literature Like a Professor from the library. 

My usual format: Title and author, Synopsis from Goodreads, notable quotes if I pulled any (my sentiments sometimes follow the quotations in brackets), my review. Let me know if any of it is formatted in a confusing manner. 

One-Star Reads i.e. "I Didn't Like It"

Hunting Game (Embla Nystrom #1) by Helene Tursten, Paul Norlen Translator: Synopsis from Goodreads: From a young age, 28-year-old Embla Nyström has been plagued by chronic nightmares and racing thoughts. Though she still develops unhealthy fixations and makes rash decisions from time to time, she has learned to channel most of her anxious energy into her position as Detective Inspector in the mobile unit in Gothenburg, Sweden, and into sports. A talented hunter and prize-winning Nordic welterweight, she is glad to be taking a vacation from her high-stress job to attend the annual moose hunt with her family and friends.

But when Embla arrives at her uncle’s cabin in rural Dalsland, she sees an unfamiliar face has joined the group: Peter, an enigmatic young divorcé. And she isn’t the only one to take notice. One longtime member of the hunt doesn’t welcome the presence of an outsider and is quick to point out that with Peter, the group’s number reaches thirteen, a bad omen for the week.

Sure enough, a string of unsettling incidents follow, culminating in the disappearance of two men from a neighboring group of hunters. Embla takes charge of the search, and they soon find one of the missing men floating facedown in the nearby lake, his arm tightly wedged between two rocks. Just what she needs on her vacation. With the help of local reinforcements, Embla delves into the dark pasts of her fellow hunters in search of a killer.

I had read An Elderly Lady is Up to No Good by this author on Engie's recommendation and enjoyed it, so I decided to take a flyer on this one. Here's my recommendation: strap on your snowshoes and tramp away from this as quickly as possible. It is dumb, dull, drivelly dreck. Fancy cars and posh hunting cabin decor were lovingly described in excruciating detail, while characters had less sparkle than the copper kitchen accessories. Enjoy such scintillating passages as: ”She’d gone into Peter’s secret room. This was her punishment. He had beaten her and tied her up. Hung her from the ceiling. Her body ached. Crazy. He was crazy. What did he intend to do with her? Kill her? Was it really possible that he could? Why hadn't he killed her yet? Must gain time.”

He had beaten her and tied her up and all evidence pointed to him having murdered several people already but was it really possible that he could kill her? Probably not because the title of the series is her name and this is only number one. More's the pity.

Cockroach by Rawi Hage: Synopsis from Goodreads: Cockroach takes place during one month of a bitterly cold winter in Montreal’s restless immigrant community, where a self-described “thief” has just tried but failed to commit suicide by hanging himself from a tree in a local park. Rescued against his will, the narrator is obliged to attend sessions with a well-intentioned but naïve therapist. This sets the story in motion, leading us back to the narrator’s violent childhood in a war-torn country, forward into his current life in the smoky émigré cafés, and out into the frozen nighttime streets of Montreal. Bold, haunting, and emotionally trenchant, Cockroach is a powerful story of immigrant experience, indignation, and unrelenting fortitude.

”I watched Matild’s firm ass bounce towards the kitchen.” (ew)

-”Had she waited for the bus like those girls I saw walking in short plaid skirts in forty-degree-below temperatures? Had she giggled when she saw cute boys? Had she, like my sister, played with herself under her bedclothes,  had she bitten her lower lip as she ejaculated rivers of sweaty men?

But really, how naive and innocent this woman is, I thought. If she only knew what I am capable of.” (ew)

-”That was when I realized how grown-up she was, how pretty and how attractive she had become. It saddened me, but also in my confusion and in her presence I felt an embarrassing erection.” (ew - his SISTER?)

This isn't actually the only book we've read in book club called Cockroach. The other one was spelled with a K and was a reversal of Kafka's Metamorphosis, and I really liked it. This one I hated. I have accepted that I don't like Hage's writing. I get that it is illustrative of the way people who immigrate are dehumanized. I was a little curious to see how the Kafka reference would work. I got less of a sense of 'immigrant experience, indignation, and unrelenting fortitude' than smugness, misogyny and gleefully-written icky sex stuff. I find the way he writes about women really off-putting. I made one last effort, and now I'm done.

Ink Ribbon Red by Alex Pavesi: Synopsis from Goodreads: A wickedly plotted new thriller, in which a group of friends play a deadly game that unwraps a motive for murder, from Alex Pavesi, the author of The Eighth Detective.

Anatol invites five of his oldest friends to his family home in the Wiltshire countryside to celebrate his thirtieth birthday. At his request, they play a game of his invention called Motive Method Death. The rules are simple: Everyone chooses two players at random, then writes a short story in which one kills the other.

Points are awarded for making the murders feel real. Of course, it’s only natural for each friend to use what they know. Secrets. Grudges. Affairs. But once they’ve put it in a story, each secret is out. It’s not long before the game reawakens old resentments and brings private matters into the light of day. With each fictional crime, someone new gets a very real motive.

Can all six friends survive the weekend, or will truth turn out to be deadlier than fiction?

This came available with my library holds at the same time as his first book, but I read this first. I sincerely hope this is the disappointing sophomore effort and that the first book is much better (edited to add: it was not). This is only 'wickedly plotted' in the sense of an editor being wicked enough to publish it and inflict it on the public. 
I often wonder with this kind of 'group of friends' novel why no one in the group of friends ever seems to like each other very much. They variously tell each other "you just like complaining", "you just like making things difficult", "it's your fault my father sexually harasses you because you tempt him" (pretty much verbatim). This is never balanced out with anyone saying what they actually like about anyone else.
The device would be really interesting if the stories (or the rest of the book) were written with any kind of spark or depth. An actual sentence that was written is "Dean's orgasm landed on his brain like an atom bomb." The formatting looks like the publisher shrunk the amount of text on each page to make it look like a full-length novel. The cover, admittedly, is killer.
If these were my only friends I would probably be tempted to kill them and/or myself too.

I Am Not Who You Think I Am by Eric Rickstead: Synopsis from Goodreads: One secret. Eight cryptic words. Lifetimes of ruin.

Wayland Maynard is just eight years old when he sees his father kill himself, finds a note that reads I am not who you think I am, and is left reeling with grief and shock. Who was his father if not the loving man Wayland knew? Terrified, Wayland keeps the note a secret, but his reasons for being afraid are just beginning.

Eight years later, Wayland makes a shocking discovery and becomes certain the note is the key to unlocking a past his mother and others in his town want to keep buried.

With the help of two friends, Wayland searches for the truth. Together they uncover strange messages scribbled in his father's old books, a sinister history behind the town's most powerful family, and a bizarre tragedy possibly linked to Wayland's birth. Each revelation raises more questions and deepens Wayland's suspicions of everyone around him. Soon, he'll regret he ever found the note, trusted his friends, or believed in such a thing as the truth.

I Am Not Who You Think I Am is an ingenious, addictive, and shattering tale of grief, obsession, and fate as eight words lead to lifetimes of ruin.

Well this certainly ruined my lifetime for the time that I was reading it. Note: one star means I didn't like it. Not that it was bad. Not badly written, anyway. Sort of. I mean, it's probably the best "book that made me want to throw myself under a truck" that I read this year. It's a little overly gothic, and stretches credulity beyond even what I, who can suspend my disbelief with the strength of a neodymium magnet, could manage. Any hint of redemption given was immediately pulverized ruthlessly - not even just for the central "tragic thing", but for two or three corollary events also. Like the author went "oh hang on, I might have slept a sliver of hopefulness or humanity in here, just let me put on my steel-toed boots and drop-kick that right out the door." Reminds me of when I said "season 3 of Ozark is coming out" and my husband replied "oh good, I was just thinking I'd been feeling way too happy lately."

This Will Be Fun (This Will Be #1) by E.B. Asher: Synopsis from Goodreads: The Princess Bride meets People We Meet on Vacation in this cozy quest romantasy about a group of friends who once defended their magical land together but haven’t spoken since, reuniting to attend a royal wedding, and ending up on a new adventure to save the realm—and hopefully themselves.

Ten years ago, they saved the realm. It ruined their lives.

Everyone in Mythria knows the story of how best friends Beatrice and Elowen, handsome ex-bandit Clare, and valiant leader Galwell the Great defended the land from darkness. It’s a tale beloved by all—except the former heroes. They haven’t spoken in a decade, devastated by what their quest cost them.

I enjoy how the series title reflects my feelings: "This Will be....." And my enjoyment of anything here ends there. Why? Whyyyyy? Why is this billed as fantasy and not straight romance? I will put up with romance happening incidentally during a fantasy, but I will run a mile from a straight romance with a couple of magic spells thrown in (if romance is your thing, all good, it is not mine and I don't want to be tricked into it). The misunderstandings. The frosty glances concealing smoldering desire. The cutting comments and secret heartaches. I was SO interested to read a story about heroes that save the realm and how it is not all glory and goodness afterwards - I can imagine the problems that would result from having to settle down to normal life after the most intense and rewarding experience you are ever likely to have. This was not that book. I am vexed. I am irked. I am peeved mightily, friends.

Death Takes Me by Cristina Rivera Garza, Robin Myers Translator: Synopsis from Goodreads:From the Pulitzer Prize-winning author of Liliana's Invincible Summer, a dreamlike, genre-defying novel about a professor and detective seeking justice in a world suffused with gendered violence.

A city is always a cemetery.

When a professor named Cristina Rivera Garza stumbles upon the corpse of a man in a dark alley, she finds a stark warning scrawled on the brick wall beside the body, written in coral nail “Beware of me, my love / beware of the silent woman in the desert.”

After reporting the crime to the police, the professor becomes the lead informant of the case, led by a detective with a newfound obsession with poetry and a long list of failures on her back. But what has the professor really seen? As more bodies of men are found across the city, the detective tries to decipher the meaning of the poems, and if they are facing a darker stream of violence spreading throughout the city.

Death Takes Me is a thrilling masterpiece of literary fiction that flips the traditional crime narrative on its head, in a world where death is rampant and violence is gendered. Written in sentences as sharp as the cuts on the bodies of the victims—a word which, in Spanish, is always feminine—Death Takes Me unfolds with the charged logic of a dream, moving from the professor’s classroom into the slippery worlds of Latin American poetry and art, as it explores with masterful imagination the unstable terrains of desire and sexuality.

-”Everything would have stayed on track, which is often a track toward oblivion, if it hadn’t been for the messages under the door. In the beginning of the era I called the era of the Castrated Men, there was nothing but a generalized apprehension that made me suspect everyone, especially lovers of contemporary art.”

”Lynn is wearing a felt hat. Lynn is wearing a wool coat with two pearl buttons on its fitted waist. Lynn is wearing white cashmere gloves. Lynn is walking slowly, swaying her hips. …. A photo. Lynn pretends she’s being followed and makes a face of alarm. A photo. Lynn lifts the back of her skirt and leans her breasts over a bench. Lynn looks up towards the tall, tall ogival window as she spreads her buttocks.” (aaand I'm done)

”The penis penne-trates. Pen-’n-traits.” (sigh)

The good news: I'd finally read a book on numerous Best Books of the Year lists. The bad news: it was this one and I loathed it. I'm not saying it's a bad book. I just didn't like it. I don't love when authors play with the whole fiction/non-fiction thing, making themselves a character in the book, it comes across as cutesy to me.  I'm sometimes okay with an experimental format. I probably would have been more into this when I was younger and in graduate school and more willing to be charmed by non-traditional literature that took work and even then left me confused. This just ended up in a whirl of detached penises and shrinking women and detectives who did psychology or maybe psychologists who investigated crimes. I was determined to finish it, but it was a mighty struggle.