I thought I was fed up with dead-sibling-stories. But this one had been different. It focuses mainly on the relationship between Alex and his parents,I thought I was fed up with dead-sibling-stories. But this one had been different. It focuses mainly on the relationship between Alex and his parents, who are as crappy as fictional patents can get. I loved the novel almost as much as Pan's Whisper and it made me a fan of Sue Lawson. I need to read more of her books. Two isn't sufficient - by far....more
So far, eighteen wasn't feeling too different from seventeen: my clothes were a little more stained, boy dramas were a little more complicated and mySo far, eighteen wasn't feeling too different from seventeen: my clothes were a little more stained, boy dramas were a little more complicated and my mind was just that little bit fuzzier. At present - right after reading - I grant Gabrielle Tozer's "The Intern" four stars although the heroine, journalism student and magazine intern Josie Browning, had a painful chunk of growing up to do (in the beginning she is insecure, depends on the advice and decisions of her unpredictability moody, bossy younger sister and her crappily vapid and selfish best friend and is so sympathetic (view spoiler)[ to the point of being a nuisance (hide spoiler)] that she forgets her own problems and goals the second somebody else - even her mean adversary - faces an obstacle) and although the story wraps up so damned nicely that nobody would dare to pull at the big, fast bow on top. Don't misunderstand: Hopeful endings are an non-negotiable requirement for me. Endings that clip every uneven fringe in one grand gesture and even do away with the pesty, annoying friend without killing her off... a bit too much. But... What did I expect? This is humorous YA ChickLit, this is Fashion Business Craze Light, this is... a novel that made me look forward with pleasure to the next slot of spare time to read. Maybe because of the funny style ("Josie - you came!" She walked over and pulled me into a hug. She was spongy and warm; a human-sized got water bottle that squished in all the right places. ), maybe because Josie mattered to me more that I had anticipated, maybe because I loved to see her triumph inspite of her tendency to botch things up. I cannot say, but that alone elevates the solid-three-stars-plot-and-character-mix to a four-star-reading-experience. "I said I'm crazy about you." "But I'm so -" "It doesn't matter." "And what about my -" "I don't care." "But I like eating Nutella straight from the jar while watching musicals." He laughed....more
His curls are a dark jungle, bis black jeans (extra-extra-longs) are grubby, which is perfectly normal, but now he's wearing a khaki T-Shirt two sizesHis curls are a dark jungle, bis black jeans (extra-extra-longs) are grubby, which is perfectly normal, but now he's wearing a khaki T-Shirt two sizes too small. The front of it reads Jesus loves you - Everybody else thinks you're a wanker.
Although I don't exactly know what I had expected - apart from great chemistry, extra-ordinary writing and mystery, because no other than brilliant Cath Crawley! blurbed the young adult Aussie Sherlock Holmes retelling, I can safely say it wasn't this.
My main problems consists of the two main characters. I don't get them, I don't get their relationship, I don't like them. James Mycroft (I know the original Holmes isn't particularly endearing either) even repulses me somehow. His slobbery, pig-style method to eat with his hands, his dirty clothes, his chain-smoking habit, his conviction that if you small-talk to the bus drivers (view spoiler)[ or any people in the service providing industry (hide spoiler)] often enough, they gratefully feel your friendship and let you hop on for free, his aloofness that borders on stupidity. When I entered his room, Christmas twinkle lights and all, together with slightly childish, neighbor-besotted heroine Rachel Watts (Watson), I had the strong nasal impression that it must smell unbearably rancid and sweaty-socked. That multi-sensual picture firmly settled itself in my mind before the teenage hobby detectives stuff the rest of the dinner Mycroft had dragged his greedy fingers through into a container or bag to offer their homeless friend in front of the zoo. It turned out to be so off-putting that I have a faint reminder on my palate a day later.
Strangely the ripped jugular of the victim and the consequent gut-spilling did not effect me at all. I repeat: The problem is the characters. Relatable characters are the most important thing for me in any book, chicklit, crime story or dystopia.
There is no way I am going to fall for the duo in the course of this story. Thus I stopped reading at the 17% mark and deleted the sequel from my electronic TBR pile....more
I stayed up very long, because laying "Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil" aside with still 50 - 100 pages to go was simply out of the question.
The EuropI stayed up very long, because laying "Tell the Truth, Shame the Devil" aside with still 50 - 100 pages to go was simply out of the question.
The Europe-based crime story revolving around a divorced chief inspector with a drinking problem at first seemed such a step into unknown territorry from the viewpoint of Marchetta's previous work, but after reading it it isn't. There is the theme of people getting their culture and their lives and their identities in tune with the country they or their ancestors had imigrated to, there are deeply buried family secrets and sores, there are gaps and bridges between generations, there is love and loyalty and human frailty, there is falling down and standing up, there are beautiful, beautiful conversations, there is hope and there are human relationships explored from so many different angles. I unexpectedly encountered a book filled 100% with Melina Marchetta's trademark content, which made me very, very happy. The mysteries - apart from the main whodunit question - did not turn out to be that unguessably mysterious, but I did not mind at all. Oh, how I love Marchetta's characters and relationship dynamics!
Because I distinctly remember that "Jellicoe Road", as much as it stunned and impressed me, had been such a weight in the stomach, I haven't found enough courage to repeat the experience. I am too scared. "Shame the Devil" has been sad, too. But it did not affect my breathing or my swallowing apparatus so severely. Thus, I think, I should re-read it soon, to pick up pieces I missed in my nightly rush against time, but I think I'll return to "The Piper's Son" first. ...more