"History Is All You Left Me" | Adam Silvera

**Disclaimer: This is my first spoiler-free review. After reading this book, I think that what needs to be talked about can be without specific details from the plot.**

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For my first Adam Silvera novel, I have to say, History Is All You Left Me impressed me. For one, this book isn't written in purple prose, with flowery language the only thing composing this story.

Despite the inherent sadness woven into a plot founded upon the death of a dear ex-boyfriend, Silvera adds spunk to the novel. He makes it lively, and unique to Griffin, our main character.

In the unique structure of History, Silvera meshes the storylines of both the past—when Griffin and Theo met and their relationship developed—and the present—where Theo is dead and Griffin is left with nothing but their history.

Between his dorky quirks when he was younger and found love and safety in another, and his deep sadness now that he lost someone so close to him, Griffin is what drives the story. Silvera perfectly embodies what it is to lose someone you love, through all of the denial, the anger, the sadness, the strife, Silvera somehow includes it all.

This intense, raw, and realistic emotion instilled in all of the characters in the novel is exactly what makes it such an enjoyable read. 

The storyline is absolutely interesting in that I think I'll always have an attraction to the darker facets of humanity, but it's not particularly unique in the hands of the wrong writer. My hesitation to read contemporary novels is stemmed from this—they often follow clichéd plots, and are an amalgamation of sappy lines.

Silvera's failure to fall into this trap is another thing that makes this novel so wonderful—you can read about things that aren't typically mixed with the story of a dead boyfriend.

The thing I appreciated most in this was Griffin's case of OCD. The portrayal of mental illness in a realistic, yet not condescending way was absolutely refreshing, and I liked that it didn't necessarily come along because of Theo's death—it was just another factor he had to deal with, much like in real life.

Lastly, I appreciate whole-heartedly Silvera's work bringing therapy into the plot. Now, I know this is a weird thing to like, but in the majority of tragic contemporaries I've read, therapy is never a way the character deals with their problems. And granted, there are plenty of people suffering and not in therapy, for a variety of reasons, but it is still a realistic and acceptable step in learning to live with mental illness, and I appreciated Adam not shying away from it—particularly when it can still be stigmatized.

I know my thoughts were a bit of mess, but that's because this book left me in the mess. From the depth of emotion and realism, to the interesting characters and stylistic choices, History Is All You Left Me has been my favorite contemporary book in a while.

Characters: 95%

Plot: 95%

Depth: 100%

Style: 100%

Intrigue: 95%

Overall Rating: A+

A Court of Mist and Fury | Book Review

**Includes Spoilers**

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To start, this was my second read of A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas, and full disclosure, I LOVED it the first time.

And I'm very, very delighted to say that in my 2017 re-read, I found myself just enamored with this novel all over again.

A Court of Mist and Fury is the second novel in a planned trilogy by Sarah J. Maas, the first book being A Court of Thorns and Roses. To be honest, I found myself disappointed before the release of ACOMAF when I decided to read ACOTAR—I didn't love it the way I did the first time.

When I first read ACOTAR, I definitely enjoyed it, but this second re-read fell flat for me. I was thinking it would hype me up for ACOMAF, but instead it made me worried. Then, I read ACOMAF and fell in absolute love. I was worried I would go through the same process in my re-read, but that wasn't the case. If anything else, I like it even more now.

ACOMAF follows our hunter-turned-High-Fae in her life after the horrors Under the Mountain. We begin with Feyre in a dark place mentally, vomiting up her guts with flashbacks to all that she'd endured.

This was where my enjoyment began. Yes, dark, yes, twisted, but most importantly, this was real. The way that Feyre struggles with PTSD from the trauma and the pain, both mental and physical, that she felt is so raw and beautiful and real. Very rarely in novels (particularly YA, though I don't know that I'd classify ACOMAF as YA), do we get such a graphic yet genuine portrayal of dealing with so much tribulation.

When Maas gives readers that, it allows us to connect much deeper to the story than if she'd glossed over it, as if killing other Fae, nearly being killed herself, and watching those she loved being tortured wasn't something that was emotionally traumatic.

From here, we move into Feyre and Tamlin's awaited wedding—the union that was supposed to be a symbol of solidarity and strength. I think the first time Feyre truly shocked me in this novel was when she internally questioned whether or not she was ready for the wedding. She explains to the reader how she wasn't sure if it was something she could do with so many demons still haunting her every move.

And in retrospect, it made sense. It made sense that while struggling with such trauma, a wedding isn't something one would want to rush into. Again, Maas' realistic portrayal of Feyre's emotions and inner turmoil won me over.

From here, Feyre slowly begins to divulge the way that Tamlin has reacted to what he struggled with Under the Mountain. And this, this is where I was truly impressed at Maas' consideration for how something like that would affect everybody involved. Where normally only the main character would be affected, Maas shows that Tamlin has become incredibly protective because of the pain it caused him to watch Feyre in danger and ripped from any protection he could have provided.

It was in this tangled new relationship that was presented in the first 40 pages that I found myself more intrigued than I ever was in the first book.

From there we move to Rhys' first appearance after three months to claim the bargain Feyre made with him (I'm not going to go into details about how I felt about the wedding scene with the red roses, because it is the same love as above). Now, I'll admit to you, I had suspicions at the end of the last book that something wasn't quite right. The shock that Rhys exhibits before disappearing struck me as odd. I'd predicted it was the mating bond (more on that later), but I wasn't sure when we were going to find out for sure, and I also wasn't sure how this would translate to his actions during their bargain.

And you can imagine my shock when, out of all the scenarios that played out in my head, what he required of Feyre was to learn to read, and to learn to shield herself mentally. Idea after idea for terrible or wonderful things that Rhys could have done to Feyre had brewed since the ending of the last novel, but learning to read or use power to shield her mind had NEVER crossed my mind.

Plot wise, rather than character wise, this was the moment I felt like I could latch onto the story. Yes, none of the main action was even close to happening, but I was hooked because it was so unexpected.

Skip forward to Tamlin refusing to teach Feyre about the powers Rhys divulged existed, and Tamlin locking Feyre in the house, we now find our neonate High-Fae at Rhys' house, having been saved by Mor and Rhys themselves.

This kindness was a shock to me, but I was still waiting for more. I couldn't see where it would go from here. And then when Rhys begins to leave, and allows Feyre come with him to Velaris, I found that "more."

I found what I felt like I was waiting to find in such a story. A hidden gem—a hidden city with untold stories, inaccessible to the rest of Prythian. And the culture that thrived here, the magic that was preserved in the streets was a masterpiece in and of itself.

Maas introducing the city in the way she did, and then subsequently introducing Rhys' inner circle was the moment I would consider I "loved" this book. The intricacies of these details were what made this book; getting to watch the banter between such well developed and accurately flawed characters made any periods lulling in action still quite enjoyable as they were all interesting or funny.

Now, the rest of the plot was epic, of course—the mortal queens, and seeing their betrayal was heart-wrenching, and of course the final scenes with the King, Feyre's sisters being turned into Fae (the very thing they hate the most), and, of course, those final moments when Feyre goes undercover—these rounded out the book beautifully. This explosion of an ending kept my heart pounding and my fingers turning the pages until there were none left to turn (you read that right—I read through the acknowledgements directly afterward because I couldn't just stop!).

Before wrapping this up, though, I'd like to address the one thing that I saw to be largely criticized when the novel first came out. I was particularly conscious of this the second read to test whether or not I'd missed something that others had caught onto. This criticism was, of course, Rhys and Feyre's relationship, and Rhys' good side, as well as Tamlin's bad side. There were many complaints that Tamlin wasn't accurately portrayed, or that it was unrealistic for Rhys to be a good guy, but even in my second read, I couldn't find any evidence to back up those opinions.

First and foremost, Tamlin—he wasn't mis-portrayed at all. He did not go out of character in the interest of Feyre falling in love with Rhys. In fact, he was perfectly in character. After going through the trauma of watching someone he loved fiercely (and you can't deny that: he loved her fiercely, even if it resulted in negative actions) put through trials and tribulation, he was created to be the type of male who would be inclined to be overprotective. And how could you not? The constant fear of losing a loved one may very well overcome you. That is why while his actions weren't good, they weren't misplaced or out of character.

Next, the whole Feyre–Rhys thing: This was foreshadowed. The entire first book honestly now just feels like Sarah J. Maas weaving threads together for this relationship; for Velaris; for them being mates. If you re-read the first book, you will see the small cracks in Rhys' dark facade; you will see the moment he noticed the mating bond snap into place, and realize that this was all bound to happen. No one went out of character for this because everything that happened was leading up to that.

And . . . end rant.

My final ratings are:

Characters: 100%
Plot: 100%
Depth: 100%
Style: 90%
Intrigue: 95%
Overall Rating: A+

Show Don't Tell!

I know, I know, reading this post, many of you are rolling your eyes. This is the main rule of creative writing—the one that you will hear over and over again in doing any research on how to effectively write in a creative domain.

So why am I writing this? Two reasons. One, I didn't know this rule when I first started—new writers still need to learn this too. I'm hoping this may be the place a few people do. Second, no matter how many times you may have heard this, not everyone can flawlessly implement it. Hell, I struggle hard with implementing it.

In our first, skeletal drafts, it is much easier and cleaner to write "she was happy" or "he was scared" rather than showing what was stated.

Let me back up. Show don't tell is essentially describing using actions, words, senses, or feelings instead of just declaring this in short sentences that lack a story-telling feel. That is the concept behind showing what you're writing about instead of telling.

It allows for readers to experience your story in a more cinematic sense; to understand the plot, the world, and the characters on a deeper level.

So what are some examples?

Telling: "She was backed against the pole. She could see nothing. She was scared."

Showing: "Her breath caught in her throat as her back slammed into the concrete behind her. Her sweaty palms were clutching the extra fabric of her sweatshirt as she stared into the darkness before her. With her heart pounding, she slowly turned to the sounds behind her."

Now, this is clearly oversimplified. Very rarely would people write like the first line, and even in my example of showing instead of telling, there were remnants of telling. This is the main reason I write this post.

The concept of showing instead of telling isn't difficult to grasp—it's highly logical and after researching a few examples, it's very easy to understand.

The problem is, writing a novel isn't always so clear cut. And books are long. They aren't a few short sentences to expand on as done above. There are times when using showing instead of telling is illogical, or unnecessarily verbose. In every professionally published books, there are times when the authors use showing, and many times when they tell the reader instead.

So here's what I'd recommend for deciphering: Use showing instead of telling in the highly emotional scenes, and any slower scenes/lulls in the plot.

In terms of highly emotional scenes, or ones that build character, I think that showing is necessary to help the reader form attachments and feel the true weight of the scene. I think that's where the use of showing is most valuable.

For the slower scenes, on the other hand, the use of showing keeps the reader engaged, invested, and interested. It's definitely more fluid and cinematic to show during action scenes, but at least there, the plot and the action occurring is your main focus.

In a slower scene, being verbose, or showing is what will keep the reader engaged and invested because there is less action to distract from the prose.

Of course, ideally you would show in all parts of writing, but to balance it when first starting out, I'd recommend to focus most of your showing in scenes where there is less action and info-dumps more commonly occur, as well as highly emotional scenes.

The more you write, the easier it will be to decide when to show, and to implement it more fluidly in your writing, but these are the tips I have when first doing it.

"Gemina" | Book Review

*Includes Minor Spoilers*

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Damn, this book was a roller coaster.

Coming out of Illuminae, Kristoff and Kaufman had made me ready for Gemina. I could barely wait to get my hands on it. The explosive ending to it prepared me for a rocket-quick and mind-bogglingly large story in Gemina.

I think it was these high expectations that made the beginning a let-down. In fact, for the first 300 pages, I was a bit upset at the plot we were getting. Yes, the invasion was exciting, but even that comes so late in the book it wasn't the speed I was expecting.

And that's fine. There was nothing wrong with that. In fact, that slow-burn build up was part of what I loved about Illuminae. It just wasn't what I was expecting for Gemina.

Now, this didn't ruin the book. While I didn't love our new cast of characters, Nik, Hanna, Ella, and co. slowly won my heart. The way they were developed in this epistolary novel makes it much more interesting to read about.

Also, I LOVED the drawings by Marie Lu in this novel. The journal and the almost light tone the drawings added to this book where it was lacking in Illuminae.

And yes, by the time the plot amped up, and my nerd side was TOTALLY satisfied by the idea of gemina particles and alternate realities, I fell in love with this series again.

The unique style, the intense plot, and the awesome ending where Nik and Hanna save their world by returning the ship to the correct universe at exactly the same point is what ultimately left me just as excited as the last one did.

Oh yeah, and that ending was badass.

Characters: 85%

Plot: 90%

Depth: 80%

Style: 100%

Intrigue: 80%

Overall Rating: B+

"Heartless" | Book Review

*Includes Spoilers*

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"'But hoping,' he said, 'is how the possible can be possible after all.'"

I have to admit this was good. Shockingly good.

Heartless by Marissa Meyer is the YA origin story of Catherine—a.k.a. the Queen of Hearts before she was Queen.

Now, before I begin, I have two confessions: I've never read the Lunar Chronicles (I know, I know, I need to get on that) so I have no previous judgement on Meyer, and I know very little about Wonderland and the stories of that world.

So, to say I was going into this book blind would be an understatement. I had no expectations and no knowledge on what was being written. Maybe that enhanced my experience, or maybe it didn't. That's for you to decide.

Now, to start, I took an instant liking to Cath, our main character. I loved that despite her social status and the expectations society had for her to focus on marriage, she decided to follow her dreams of being a baker. This allowed me to immediately connect to her. No, I don't bake, but yes, I can relate to being someone trying to follow their dreams in a world where that isn't seen as logical.

I think that this was where my intrigue in the story began. It was from the first page, where Meyer wrote in Cath's distinct voice, and showed us her love for the art of baking. It was enthralling to read something so personalized in a voice that felt very much the character's.

From there, the characters only got better. We meet Cath's parents, the Marquess and Marchioness, who are perfectly cruel, putting on warm veneers but fighting tooth and nail to keep Cath on the path of marriage. We meet the Jest, the brooding, "swoon" character who we now find out later in the book has a dark mission in Hearts, the reason for being here. We meet the King, in all his blundering glory, who is determined to court Cath. We meet Mary Ann, whom I felt a soft spot for, hearing her talk about why opening the bakery with Catherine is important to her.

From the main characters to the supporting characters; Cath and the King to Jest to the Raven to Sir Peter, every character felt fleshed out, interesting, motivated, and idiosyncratic.

Now, on to the plot. I'll admit, I was wondering where it was going at the beginning. Like I said, I have little knowledge of wonderland, and I knew we ended ultimately with "Off with his head," but I was getting worried that there would be nothing other than Cath fighting to be with Jest instead of the King. Toward the end, the other plot-lines and darkness that feels like it has been ruminating throughout the novel. But what held it up before me was the Jabberwock. I found myself growing more and more intrigued in how this beast was somehow intertwined with Peter, and how the pumpkins played into it.

It was this mystery, and this evident dark well of the book that kept me intrigued even while most of what Cath was dealing with was her love life.

In terms of depth, I also have to admit I was blown away. As I said, I loved the way Meyer understood her characters, but I also think she did a fantastic job with the world, understanding the history of it, the way the kingdoms interacted, and I loved seeing how she pulled a few strings.

The style was beautiful in this book, her writing beautiful, haunting, but fast paced where it needed to be.

In total, I feel like it was the mix of golden threads of character, plot, and style that made this book what it was. It didn't feel as much a retelling as it did Meyer being inspired the ropes of the world, making it her own while still being true to what I know of the original Wonderland.

Ratings:
Characters: 100%
Plot: 90%
Depth: 100%
Style: 90%
Intrigue: 80%
Overall: A-

Chekhov's Gun

This post deals more with the technicalities of writing, and I would consider it to describe a strategy for analyzing descriptions in the story, and truly looking at whether or not you are being superfluous in description.

Chekhov's Gun is essentially the principle that the details and memorable elements to the story must be purposeful, or have a role later in the story. In his words, "Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there."

The reason I think this is worth talking about, and a genuinely good rule to follow is it enhances your story in that it is more engaging.

If every detail or element to the story ultimately has a purpose, your readers will forever be guessing at how everything will tie together, and it will cause them to scour the book's details and mentions for clues at what will happen next.

This is huge to keep people not just flipping from one page to the next, but genuinely captured by the story.

In practice, I think this is also a really fantastic way to cut down your word count in editing should you find yourself with one that's too large. It will force you to weed out that which you don't need, and leave you a story that is tight and interactive, and would likely help to clean up some of the writing or even bits of the plot.

Now, this isn't to say you shouldn't describe anything unless every word in the description has a meaning later, but it is a good way to look at symbols or objects and what role they could play. Again, describing someone's features, or building the word is vital to the story, so you can't take it out solely on the principle it's not coming back as part of the plot, but it is a cool device to use with objects or concepts that you know will be part of your plot later in the novel.

"Where Things Come Back" | Book Review

**Includes spoilers**

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I finished "Where Things Come Back" by John Whaley, and I have to say I didn't have many expectations coming into this book. And I have to admit, I was pretty satisfied with the end of the book.

We begin our story in Lily, Arkansas, following seventeen-year-old, Cullen Witter. I have to admit, at the beginning, I was worried I would only find this book average, because Cullen is just that: average. Yes, I related to him because his sort of outside qualities in a mainstream world, and his love for writing, but he just seemed to be your average, slightly whiny teenager. As the plot progresses, Gabriel, Cullen's brother mysteriously disappears.

This is the point where I grew more interested. Personally, I've read my share of love and loss stories, but his close relationship with his brother enhanced this one particularly. The reader begins to feel for Cullen because his ties with his brother are so strong—in other words, Whaley has made the reader fully understand why Cullen feels the way he does, and we begin to feel it ourselves. It was here when his character got interesting to me. It was here that I began to read more closely, and found myself with a strong desire to continue the story. The plot, from here on, is actually fairly little—mostly, we cover the emotional ramifications of a loss, and the way people must deal with that—but to be honest, this was the most interesting part. Where Cullen was normal, we begin to see the weird intricacies of his brain, and understand the underlying and undying strange in him that makes him so much more real.

It is because of this fascinating character development and fresh take on dealing with the loss of a loved one that kept the intrigue up, because when Gabriel finally did get back, I'd been expecting it the whole time (I mean, hello, the title is, "Where Things Come Back"), but at that point I was no longer invested in the plot, but more in the emotional arcs.

This brings me to my next point on characters: our theology story. I found it interesting in the beginning because it was so different, but I have to admit, I found it tiring after so long to read about the crazed sacerdotal lust both characters in the third person narrative fell into. And to be honest, their role in the story was predictable at best. No, he wouldn't include a second storyline just to spice things up—I could easily anticipate they played some role in Gabriel's disappearance, and I'd had that bit figured out from the moment I started it.

But was it still rewarding when the estranged plots finally wove together into one nice bow? Yes. It was. Despite being able to predict it, it added the bit of action needed to finish off this purely emotional, semi-depressing story (as Whaley calls it).

Now, onto the other characters. I liked them, but I didn't love them. I sort of felt the same way as I did with Cullen at the beginning, except I didn't feel like they developed and progressed into the introspective and inherently peculiar character Cullen did. Sure, they were enjoyable to read about, with Lucas and Mena's love affair, and their friendship for Cullen being a nice addition, but could I have read the story without them and not felt the lack? It's possible.

This was the reason I wasn't fully against the characters—despite a few flaws, Lucas, Mena, Cullen, and Gabriel pulled together to make an overall interesting story, which is good for such a character-driven book.

I think my ultimate thoughts, though, revolve around that which I'd already touched on. The interesting style and beautiful portrayal of emotion in a way that isn't as washed out as many other books are is what made this worth it for me. The depth of analysis of his emotion, and the rawness of that emotion is the main reason I would recommend this book—it's not a thriller, it's not plot-driven, and it's not particularly intellectual (though it's not dumb in any way); it's a character book; it's an emotional book.

And don't worry—it's not an overwhelmingly negative book: "I can't seem to be a pessimist long enough to overlook the possibility of things being overwhelmingly good."

That bout sums up the book for me; both poignant and warm; both dark and light; both sad and happy.

Ratings:
Characters: 80%
Plot: 70%
Depth: 100%
Style: 100%
Intrigue: 80%

Overall Grade: B