Does listening to audiobooks count as reading? Here it does. Let’s discuss your favorite reads — or listens.
All tagged not worth the time
Earlier on, I felt like I had stumbled onto a hidden gem, one that was sharp in its observations about Reconstruction without being preachy or sentimental. Instead, the novel veers into revenge-thriller territory and loses much of its credibility. Had this been published after Percival Everett’s “James,” I might have assumed Fancher was trying to chase the same idea.
This isn’t an easy book, nor an unimportant one. Rashad has strong ideas, clear anger and real imagination. But too many concepts are crowded into too few pages, and the novel ultimately lacks the polish and focus needed to make its themes land with full force.
This book may be a pioneer, but I don’t think it’s essential gay reading – not unless you’re interested in a very specific, very dated form of self-loathing filtered through ornate language.
The rotating POVs – Núria, Bong, Collin, Lily, Omar and, of course, Cat – should’ve added texture, but instead it reads like a roll call of “these are the people in your neighborhood,” each with a conveniently tidy arc and a few prepackaged quirks.
If you’re curious, read the first book and stop there. You’ll get the warmth, the melancholy and the best of the concept without watching it grind itself down. And seriously — if you put a cat on the cover, give me a cat in the book.
A mass shooting ties three women together, but despite the emotional setup, “No Hiding in Boise” struggles to go beyond surface-level grief and melodrama. Well-structured, but not all that memorable.
A charming premise wears thin in this whimsical novel about a Kyoto clinic that prescribes cats for emotional healing. Sweet but repetitive, with a standout first story and a touching finale.
High-concept fiction always walks a fine line between bold and baffling, but “The Bees” topples into the latter. If you like your dystopias with a side of entomological fever dream, by all means. Otherwise, buzz past it.
In the end, “Everyone Dies Famous in a Small Town” is a missed opportunity. It gestures toward interconnected trauma and small-town claustrophobia but only occasionally brings those themes to life with the clarity and resonance they deserve.
“Somewhere Beyond the Sea” wants to be a beacon, but it ends up an echo of what made “The House in the Cerulean Sea” so beloved. It wants to offer the inclusive magic Rowling won’t, and for some readers, that alone may be enough. But intent doesn’t equal impact. The message may still shine through, but the journey is far less enchanting than before.
This novella has solidified my disinterest in Burroughs and, perhaps, in the Beat Generation as a whole. As for the film adaptation, I’ll take a pass – I’ve given this story enough of my time.
Though the prose remains lush, her reliance on symbolism and Shakespearean allusions requires a level of patience and literary devotion this novel didn’t earn. For those well-versed in “King Lear” and drawn to dense, slow-burn literary fiction, there may be more to appreciate.
“All the Colors of the Dark” is a sprawling novel that tries to do too much and ends up delivering very little. At best, it's aggressively mediocre, and at worst, it's a contrived and overly familiar story built on tropes.
The first half of the book had genuinely good moments, and I'll give the author credit for including a cursed black cat—one of the few charming touches. By the end, however, the story lost all coherence, and I was skimming the last few chapters. All-in-all, “Craven Manor” is simply a gothic misadventure.
Justin Torres’ “Blackouts” is a stylistic exercise that feels more concerned with its own cleverness than with engaging its readers. The novel's experimental structure, essentially a mixed media piece of art that blends past and present, is undeniably ambitious, but it frequently veers into pretentiousness masked as creativity.
Chuck Palahniuk's “Fight Club” has gained cult status for its literary transgression and societal critique, but the novel is nothing more than a sophomoric and misogynistic rant. It’s the type of book that someone reads in their twenties and finds edgy and dangerous, but that’s simply because it is effective at appealing to those with an underdeveloped world view.
My enjoyment of the novel fully hinged on Adina being a true alien. When Bertino made me question this fact, everything that preceded the reveal felt tawdry. While others seem to enjoy this, it ruined an already mediocre story for me.
Expectation: A unique journey into the mind of a Midwest housewife and baker.
Reality: A 1,000+ page run on sentence with no plot, or seemingly, purpose outside of threading random topics together.
Between the bloat, uneven pacing and self-absorption you’ll quickly find yourself tired of the lecture and wondering how a book that started promisingly can derail so quickly.
While Eliot Schrefer had admirable intent in addressing long held and incorrect theories about how we perceive sexual behavior in the natural world, the execution was a hodgepodge of personal anecdotes and pontifications that showed the author’s biases – even though he frequently maligned scientific bias.
