The Unworthy is a strange read, yet one that feels like it's been done many timTender Is the Flesh was fantastic, but I did not like this book at all.
The Unworthy is a strange read, yet one that feels like it's been done many times before. Bazterrica drops us into the middle of a bizarre dystopian world, offering no immediate context and only slight tidbits throughout, and tries to propel the story with little more than increasingly horrific depictions of whippings and torture.
We find out that this is set in a convent, the House of the Sacred Sisterhood, after the climate crisis has brought about some vague devastation and infections in the outside world. Though short, the book is slow and repetitive, moving from prayer to punishment and back again. World-building, character development and an actual story are notably missing from the book.
I have said this before, but I really dislike being kept in the dark this much. I find it extremely boring when I don't understand what is happening or why I should care.
It felt like The Unworthy was an attempt to be mysterious and edgy. Almost nothing happens until the end of the book and even that was unsatisfying. If it was intended to provoke thought about women and religion, it missed the mark for me.
I Who Have Never Known Men is another short, mysterious dystopia about women and I would recommend it over this one in a heartbeat....more
I'm not sure if it's that I'm coming to this book six years after it was published-- and have lived through several developments that make this premisI'm not sure if it's that I'm coming to this book six years after it was published-- and have lived through several developments that make this premise seem not remotely far-fetched --but I have to say I'm surprised the average rating is so low.
If The Handmaid’s Tale was a propulsive thriller and not the literary book it is, it would probably be something like Vox. Short chapters and absolutely enraging situations made this near impossible to put down.
Coming to this in 2024 made the book feel eerily prescient. We've seen the attack on abortion rights in the U.S., followed by the ongoing attack on access to birth control and the attempts to imprison pregnant women within their home states with abortion "trafficking" laws. We've witnessed the horrific Fall of Kabul under the Taliban and the silencing of women. Even the women in this book who pander to the male ego and sell a fantasy of domestic womanhood bring to mind social media's so-called "tradwives."
For all those reasons, I think now was exactly the right time for Vox and I to find one another. I was primed to suspend disbelief for this nightmare scenario. And I enjoyed it in that special way that blinding fury can make me enjoy a book. I read it seething, eyes glued to the page.
It's set in America, but the religious right have taken over and sent women home from their jobs to fulfill their "natural role" as mothers and homemakers. Not only that, but they've been fitted with bracelets that give them a painful shock if they go over their daily quota of one hundred words. It is especially disturbing how quickly the young adapt to this new reality-- Jean's son, Steven, is quickly sold on the new ideology that it's a woman's job to do everything for him, just as her young daughter is delighted when she wins awards for speaking the fewest words in her class.
Dalcher is herself a theoretical linguist and her expertise has obviously influenced many parts of this book, from the rumination on what inhibiting language does to a person to Jean's job working on a cure for aphasia.
I read some negative reviews to get a feel for why the rating was so low on this book and one common recurring point is that it demonizes Christians. But, unless post-publication edits were made, I am really surprised by those comments. The book is not critical of all Christians, but of the religious far-right that would see women forced into their homes, into silence. We should be critical of these minority Christians who believe the Bible provides instruction on how we should actually live, including this:
1 Timothy 2:12 I do not permit a woman to teach or to assume authority over a man; she must be quiet.
I didn't find this book to be a critique of Christians or men. What I think this book is really about is the complicity of the bystander, the quiet enabler. The men who may not be misogynists but laugh along at the jokes. The women who roll their eyes and say they wouldn't actually take away our rights. The silent majority who let the extremists get away with it.
My biggest criticism is that the end of the book gets a little rushed and finishes (view spoiler)[perhaps too neatly (hide spoiler)]. I also found it difficult to believe that, despite there supposedly being cameras everywhere, the cameras were conveniently missing in a number of locations that it didn’t make sense for there to be no cameras. ...more
I was looking forward to this latest Hunger Games book (even though I didn't care for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes), mostly because I like HaymiI was looking forward to this latest Hunger Games book (even though I didn't care for The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes), mostly because I like Haymitch as a character, but I am now fully convinced that this series has no juice left in it. This is a fan book for fans. And, if you're a fan, it has entertaining moments, but nothing about Sunrise on the Reaping is new or necessary.
Look, I didn't hate it. The formula and themes of The Hunger Games books are all here-- dramatic reaping, infuriating parading of these kids in front of wealthy sponsors, the bloody action and danger of the games themselves --and it's a formula that has worked before. Obviously, there's less tension this time because you know how it ends. You know Haymitch's attempts to bring down the games cannot have been successful. And even the details we don't know are easy to guess.
If you want to read something very similar to The Hunger Games, this is your book. It goes reaping > dress-up > training > rating > games. The characters are different, but the plot is virtually the same.
And while I do enjoy Haymitch as a character (definitely partly thanks to Woody Harrelson), I thought there were very few new characters who were memorable. In fact, Maysilee was the only standout of the other candidates. I also could have done with a bit less of Haymitch's mooning over Lenore. She was off page for more than 90% of the book, we didn't know her very well, so it was boring hearing about her. And sorry, but I'm not enough of an Edgar Allan Poe fan for this book.
There were details about this arena that were different and cool, which I won't spoil. But overall this delivered more of the same thing we had *checks notes and dies of old age* seventeen years ago....more
All is fair in love and war, as the old saying goes, and our work is surely situated somewhere between the two.
Yeah, this is the book I wanted Hey, Zoey to be-- a thoughtful meditation on the ethics of sex robots as AI becomes increasingly intelligent. What does this mean for the robots? What does this mean for "real" women?
With the exception of, I think, a weak and odd ending, The Hierarchies gives a pretty good examination of the above questions. Sylv.ie is a robot created for her husband's pleasure. Impossibly beautiful, programmed to serve, unfailingly obedient... until she isn't. Until she starts to question the life she has and those who have control over her. Until she realises she is not ready to accept what she has been forced into without her consent.
Sylv.ie is seen as a sex toy by many men of the novel, but many "born" women also hate these new "created" women, for a variety of reasons. Some clear-- such as them leading their husbands astray and making a mockery of what they think it means to be a woman --and some more vague and tied into the politics of this strange dystopian world where the story is set.
"How hard it must be, to be a Born woman," Mais.ie says philosophically. "Imagine playing a game where the main rule was that you had to lose every time."
There is a very discomfiting part of this book when the naked robots are being tossed around and having new vaginas fitted by male workers who obviously see them as just pieces of plastic. Something about this particular scene called to mind Bazterrica's Tender is the Flesh and the way the characters there disassociated themselves from the humans they were farming.
While plenty of stuff does happen in this book, some of it dramatic and horrible (warning for sexual assault/rape), I would primarily describe it as a philosophical book that explores the nature of personhood, fear of technology, and exploitation.
“I was forced to acknowledge too late, much too late, that I too had loved, that I was capable of suffering, and that I was human after all.�
4 1/2
“I was forced to acknowledge too late, much too late, that I too had loved, that I was capable of suffering, and that I was human after all.�
4 1/2 stars. Wow. This tiny, disquieting book carries a sadness that the most popular tearjerkers could never hope to capture.
It sits outside of genre, outside of time, outside of the reality we know, introducing the reader to a world unfamiliar to both them and the unnamed protagonist. The result is a palpable feeling of wonder and loneliness.
I have decided to round up because this book made me feel so deeply, and because I have decided that my personal frustrations are perhaps misguided. There were things that I was hoping for from this book that I didn't get, but then I was never promised them, and, in fact, the past tense narration forewarned I would not get them. So that's my problem.
The story starts in an underground bunker where thirty-nine women and one young girl-- our narrator --are imprisoned in a cage. They don't remember how they got there and they have no idea why they are there. The women remember a life before the cage with families, friends and jobs, but the child remembers only their current existence. They are watched over and fed by male guards who tell them nothing. It seems they are doomed to live and die in this cage... until one day a combination of chance and ingenuity provide an opportunity for freedom.
It is part eerie pastoral dystopia, part a deeply introspective novel about hope, loneliness and the things that give life meaning. The novel swings between the invigorating feeling of hope and the numbing despair of hopelessness.
I found myself wondering at one point if it was supposed to be a metaphor. (view spoiler)[The relentless pursuit of answers, of meaning, in a world that ultimately makes no sense. (hide spoiler)] But perhaps I am overthinking things.
Either way, this short novel sat like a ball of anxiety in my throat from beginning to end. What a sad, evocative little story....more
I know things that don’t fit with their narrative of what the Community ‘stands for�. I know things that they have worked extremely hard to suppres
I know things that don’t fit with their narrative of what the Community ‘stands for�. I know things that they have worked extremely hard to suppress. I know where the skeletons are.
I think the story behind this book is incredibly powerful. While I've read a lot of books about cults, this one was quite unique in its approach and extremely convincing. Where it fell down, I felt, was in the decision to write the book as Emilia's biography of her mother. This format made the book dry at times, and dragged out parts of the story, especially in the middle.
The Silence Project tells the story of Rachel and how one day she set up a tent at the bottom of her garden and never spoke again. Over time, more women are drawn to the silent Rachel and inspired by her message to give up speaking in favour of listening. What starts as the musings of one woman becomes a multinational movement of good intentions warring with power abuses.
I think Hailey really captures the many different facets of how cults are formed: a combination of genuine do-gooders searching for a better world, vulnerable people in need of a community and, of course, opportunists taking advantage. Most books about cults leave me shaking my head in wonder at how this ideology was allowed to take hold and attract so many fervent believers, but Hailey explains it perfectly. I saw exactly how and why this happened. It felt true.
To come back to the biography aspect, though, this is what really prevented the book from receiving a higher rating from me. As Emilia is publishing a book explaining what happened, the tone is formal and sometimes academic leading to passages like this:
In their ground-breaking and controversial study Community, Cult, Culture (Global Press, 2018), Dr Sara Lenz and Professor Melanie Overbury explore how pre-Event symbolism came to assume a ritual significance to the post-Event Community.
Not all of the book is like this. The parts earlier on where Emilia shares her pain over her mother pulling away from her when she needed her most are gripping.
But far too much of the middle stretch is dry and boring. After the first third or so, Emilia rarely pulls us inside her head, instead narrating the sequence of events at an emotional distance....more
3 1/2 stars. For a while I thought this was going to be a solid five stars because the opening was so strong-- bloody, nasty and compelling. In fact, 3 1/2 stars. For a while I thought this was going to be a solid five stars because the opening was so strong-- bloody, nasty and compelling. In fact, parts of this book were awesome. The social commentary and criticism of the prison system were excellent and hard-hitting (though arguably the real world criticism got a little lost in this dystopian narrative). The fight scenes were horrific but impossible to look away from.
I think the book's main weakness was the choice to flit around between so many characters. Thurwar and Staxxx were interesting to me; not all the others were. It is not surprising to hear that Adjei-Brenyah is primarily a short story writer, as some of the chapters seemed like short stories themselves and often took me out of the flow of the main storyline.
I also wanted something more from the ending, though I agree a book like this is a tough one to wrap up. To be honest, I was confused as to what happened right there at the end. (view spoiler)[Did they both die? Was Thurwar still alive? (hide spoiler)] I found it difficult to follow....more
I can see why people compared the rise of Donald Trump to the rise of Buzz Windrip in It Can't Happen Here. The similarities, especially in the earlieI can see why people compared the rise of Donald Trump to the rise of Buzz Windrip in It Can't Happen Here. The similarities, especially in the earlier chapters, are almost comical. What isn't funny, is the very convincing way Lewis shows how fascism could easily grow in a country like America, with a demagogue slipping in and fanning the flames of bigotry amongst a poor people looking for answers to their problems.
Despite being anything but, Buzz Windrip positions himself as an everyman and gains favour by constantly preaching what he does not practice. For example, he earns votes from the Anti-Saloon League because:
“it was known that, though he drank a lot, Senator Windrip also praised teetotalism a lot, while his rival, Walt Trowbridge, though he drank but little, said nothing at all in support of the Messiahs of Prohibition.�
I only gave it three stars because, while I watched his rise intently and incredulously, I thought the endless exposition of Buzz's policies quickly grew tiresome. It explores an idea, but doesn't tell all that much of a tale, and Buzz himself is the single memorable character in the book (quite literally I have already forgotten the names of everyone else)....more
I can't do this one right now. I'm a big fan of the author's Kim Jiyoung but this wacky dystopia is not doing it for me. It reads like a seriDNF - 25%
I can't do this one right now. I'm a big fan of the author's Kim Jiyoung but this wacky dystopia is not doing it for me. It reads like a series of vignettes, snapshots of different characters and themes. And I think that last word there is key-- this is a story that focuses more on themes and ideas than on creating memorable characters and an engaging story.
I can see the capitalist critique emerging, which is not uninteresting, but I need something a bit more engaging and immersive at this moment....more
Rarely has a book given me so many mixed feelings as this one did. I'm still not 100% sure on my rating because I truly cannot decide how much I likedRarely has a book given me so many mixed feelings as this one did. I'm still not 100% sure on my rating because I truly cannot decide how much I liked this book.
My first impressions weren't great. You Could Be So Pretty felt dated and juvenile, calling to mind the kind of YA dystopias we saw everywhere in the early 2010s. The dystopian aspect featured the use of jarringly generic words like 'vanilla' to mean virgin, 'Invisibles' to mean older women supposedly past their prime and 'varnish' for Photoshop. Definitely not what I would have expected from Bourne.
It also gets very repetitive around the middle. A big chunk of the book is about Joni trying to convert Belle, and Belle questioning whether the Doctrine is really right, and this goes back and forth for a while, dragging the story out without going anywhere.
But, more than this, I had a massive question in my head for this entire book, one preventing me from fully accepting the premise and becoming immersed in it, and that question was finally answered by the last chapter... in a way I did not find wholly satisfying. I'll keep this vague to avoid spoilers, but my question was basically: pretty much everything that happens in this book happens in our world, so why stick in these new terms and pretend it's a dystopia?
Perhaps if you are a very young person or someone who has never really considered how unfair and stupid society is for women, that question won't be in your head this whole book and the last chapter will have the impact it's supposed to.
Looking back over the book I appreciate it a lot more than I did while reading it, which was a mostly confusing and frustrating experience. I think this book is very important for those who aren't well-versed in feminism and feminist-lit, and I'm sure there's a huge audience among young girls and-- one can dream --young boys. Still, I can't rate it any higher as that wouldn't reflect my experience with it....more
I blasted through this, just as I did with all the other Levin books I've read, but it is by far my least favourite (I am not reading Son of RosemaryI blasted through this, just as I did with all the other Levin books I've read, but it is by far my least favourite (I am not reading Son of Rosemary or Sliver so can't comment on those).
Rosemary's Baby, The Stepford Wives, The Boys from Brazil and A Kiss Before Dying were all great stories. Levin has this easy, informal way of spinning a yarn-- chapters that flow quickly into one another, good dialogue, and characters that capture your interest (both the protagonists and villains as horrendous as Josef Mengele.) I'd say this is the only one of the five that doesn't go down quite as easy.
It's partially the lack of a really great hero or villain to fear for or despise. This Perfect Day is set in a dystopian future where everyone is virtually the same-- looks similar, behaves in line with the society's rules, and doesn't do anything ludicrous like dream or imagine or make their own decisions. However, as with pretty much every dystopian ever, there is a secret resistance of those who have learned to avoid being dosed up with "treatments" and started to question the way things are.
It is the nature of this society for it to be cold, detached and uniform. No one stands out, including the protagonist, Chip. He spends a good portion of the book being a well-behaved zombie and the rest of the time being a touch of an arsehole. I'm not exaggerating. The guy's an actual (view spoiler)[rapist whose actions are excused by his victim because his behaviour is "natural". (hide spoiler)]
Then there's the fact that this kind of dystopia was a bit "been there, done that" back in the 70s when it published. Today? Seen it all before. ...more
I have always believed that in our capitalist, consumerist society, we devour each other. - Agustina Bazterrica
This story is really disturbing, and it
I have always believed that in our capitalist, consumerist society, we devour each other. - Agustina Bazterrica
This story is really disturbing, and it isn't until the very last page that it becomes clear just how deeply disturbing it is.
Tender Is the Flesh is an Argentinian import from an author who is apparently very popular in her own country. After reading this, dare I ask what other horrors she has created? This dystopian horror story is set in a world that feels so close to our own, except a zoonotic virus has made it so that all animals have had to be destroyed. To fill the gap in the meat market, people start to breed and farm humans for their meat.
It is as horrifying and gory as it sounds. Extra warning for those sensitive to scenes of sexual assault and animal cruelty. But while it is hard to stomach at times, I was morbidly fascinated by what Bazterrica had to say about the way humans take advantage of other humans because they can get away with it. The book is horribly convincing and believable. We only have to look to our own real world to recall the excuses humans have made to enslave other humans and to shuttle them off to extermination camps. It does not take a huge suspension of disbelief to imagine the events of this book could happen.
The book also focuses on the way language is used to make humans feel better about committing atrocities. No one is allowed to say "cannibalism" and the meat in the book is packaged as "special meat". There's some dark humour, too, with a few prods at the hypocrisy of humans being outraged by slavery at the same time as imprisoning and eating other humans.
It is told in third person limited and follows Marcos Tejo who works at a meat plant. He takes us through all the horrors involved with breeding, killing, flaying and packaging humans, whilst also dealing with the loss of his own infant son.
For such a bleak tale, it is surprisingly compelling. All the time while reading I was wondering what on earth the conclusion of this nightmare could leave us with, but I think it was even more effective than I could have imagined....more
“Does this look like a dystopia to you?� The answer, implicit in the man’s question, was that a dystopia doesn’t look like anything; indeed, that it
“Does this look like a dystopia to you?� The answer, implicit in the man’s question, was that a dystopia doesn’t look like anything; indeed, that it can look like anywhere else.
I foresee a lot of very different reviews for this book. Largely because it is really three books in one, with each book being very different in terms of style and genre. Their themes overlap-- colonialism, freedom, illness and disability, love, family, to name but a few --but it's unlikely most readers will enjoy each one equally.
In fact, each review I've read so far has had a different take on the book's strengths. Personally, I enjoyed books one and three a lot, and it was book two that dragged a bit.
I became deeply emotionally invested in the love story at the heart of the first book, as well as the exploration of feeling torn between one's duty to different people. This one is best described as historical fiction / alternate history. The protagonist is David and he lives in a 19th century New York City where being gay is accepted as completely normal. He is an odd, reserved, complex character whose only real companion is his beloved grandfather, who attempts to arrange a marriage for him with a wealthy older man called Charles. Despite David's efforts to like Charles, he instead falls madly in love with the poor, vibrant and enigmatic Edward.
The ending of this first story is left wondrously, infuriatingly ambiguous, which I know will annoy some readers. However, it hit just the right mysterious bittersweet spot for me.
The second book is set in 1993 against the backdrop of the AIDS epidemic and follows a different man named David who is married to a different older man named Charles (the same names and similar characters run through the whole of the novel). The first part of this book appealed to me more, when the author examined a relationship between two people from very different backgrounds. David is much poorer than Charles and this affects the relationship dynamic, sometimes causing problems between the two of them.
The second part of the second book is a letter from David's father in which he documents his life in Hawaii and the breakdown of his family. I'm not sure if it was the format, but I felt a bit removed from the events that occurred in this section of the book, which is why it was the slowest part for me to get through.
The last book is the longest and I didn't warm to it straight away, but, by the end, I came to really like it. One of the most interesting parts of To Paradise, for me, was the way we were introduced to characters (especially the first David, and Charlie in the last story) who really struggled socially. I felt for them so much and it hurt my heart when they longed for love, romance, whatever and either didn't know how to get it or feared they were being fooled. They felt intensely vulnerable and this made me care about them.
Book three is a dystopia, set in a future NYC where pandemic after pandemic rages, food and other goods are strictly rationed, and gay rights have once again been eroded. I enjoyed how this part moved back and forth between the present, told by Charlie, and the lead-up to it, unveiled by Charlie's grandfather.
Looking back over the whole book, I really enjoyed reading the majority of it. Yanagihara created a LOT of characters here and made me come to care for a good many of them. To be honest, I think this complex exploration of characters who were flawed, morally grey, trying their best,and socially awkward was what gave me the most satisfaction, not any overarching message that may or may not have been intended.
I'll be honest and say I do not fully understand what the author wanted to convey by having character names and similar situations repeated throughout these stories and I'm not convinced it was totally necessary.
Still, each day I reached eagerly for this 700+ page book, so that's an achievement in itself....more
Because I was such a big fan of The Hunger Games trilogy, I was determined to finish The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, but doing so took a LOT out of me. What a chore this book was! I now understand the disappointed and outraged reviews of others who read it first, but what I don't understand is how those people were still able to blast through this in a day or two. You guys are far tougher readers than I am.
I have to confess that I was initially enthusiastic about this book being told from Coriolanus Snow's perspective. I know it put some people off, but one of the few things I love more than a good villain is a good villain origin story. No, I didn't expect to sympathise with him, but could I understand how he'd gotten so messed up and evil? Well, maybe.
But... I don't think it works. For so many reasons, but a major one for me is that this book is so boring. So meandering, unfocused, dry. There's a lack of urgency and emotion. A lack of any connection with the characters outside of Snow, who is so self-serving and self-pitying that I couldn't even have fun hating him. I could not understand what we were reading for. I had no real questions that needed answering. This book added nothing to the Panem universe.
And the "romance" was just downright unpleasant.
The plot takes us back to the 10th Hunger Games, where Coriolanus Snow is assigned as the mentor to the district 12 candidate, Lucy Gray (whose songs are the one shining light in this novel). Coriolanus sees this as an opportunity to shake himself free of the hardships of the past and improve his social status. Lucy's potential victory becomes deeply-entwined with Coriolanus's own, and their relationship is a discomfiting mix of romantic feelings and him using her to achieve his own means.
But, still, while this is unpleasant, I don't think I am half as bothered by it as I am by how utterly dull the story is. I'm not so refined as to be above some trashy drama, but that's the thing: it's not dramatic. It's lifeless and cold. 90% of the plot exists inside Snow's head. He tells us about the supposed hardships he has had to endure, but we never really feel them. And something about his perspective makes every other character he encounters seem dull also.
A few others noted that this book picks up at the end, which is possibly the only thing that carried me through. It does, but I can also say it was far too little and far too late for me. I think the only good thing about my lack of connection with this book is that I can safely say I don't even consider this part of the same universe as the original trilogy. I can now go forget about it.
“Look around,� Kiersten says as she stares me dead in the eyes. “We are the only Gods here.�
4 1/2 stars. Wow. This book was hard to put down! And
“Look around,� Kiersten says as she stares me dead in the eyes. “We are the only Gods here.�
4 1/2 stars. Wow. This book was hard to put down! And the ending made me really emotional.
The Grace Year is such an exciting mix of horror, survival and the best of YA dystopias from 5-10 years back. It really is like a darker, more feminist version of The Hunger Games. I had a really busy week, but I looked for every opportunity possible to sit down with this book and get sucked back into this ugly patriarchal world. Nothing gets my blood pumping and the pages turning like a heavy dose of infuriating unfairness.
This is one of those rare novels where I think the fictional world actually benefits from some vague world-building. There is something very sinister and claustrophobic about the tiny oppressive world of Garner County, a feeling of wrongness about it, a feeling that you never know quite what is lurking beyond its edges.
In the county, girls are banished to the wilds during their sixteenth year - their "Grace Year" - in order to purge themselves of their dangerous "magic". This magic is said to be an ability to seduce men, lure them to sin and all manner of unsavory things. Once out in the wild, the girls need to survive the elements, evade the poachers who are looking to harvest their body parts, and just not kill each other. All are easier said than done, of course, and especially the latter.
“They can call it magic. I can call it madness. But one thing is certain. There is no grace here.�
You can compare this to many other works - The Hunger Games and Lord of the Flies being the most obvious - but it has a unique flavour that's all it's own.
It's dark and gory. It's very much a tale of survival against the odds. But what is so odd about The Grace Year is that it’s about women going wild, being jealous, viciously hurting each other, and yet it somehow manages to be a celebration of women and the ties between them. Mothers and daughters. Sisters. Friends. It's quite incredible how Liggett takes these women to their very worst so that we can eventually appreciate them at their best.
I loved the whole eating/cannibalism metaphor, too. How patriarchy works because it forces women into a position where they are enemies, and they have to devour one another to get ahead. Powerful, horrible, and all too true.
The only downside is how the characters all seem to default to white. The only girls whose physical appearances are described are pale and prone to blushing. It's a shame in a book which is otherwise so pro-woman and could easily have been remedied by describing characters with different skin colours.
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