Sasha

Honestly, I don't know how to start this review: should I commend its absolutely harrowing nature, page after page, somehow even more unrelenting than Living Dead Girl or Child of God , both of which also present their own extremelly unsettling character studies, respectively; should I criticize its othewise surprisingly lackluster narrative (despite its impeccable portrayal of existentilism in the most grimmest and unabashed light it can)?

No matter where I start and where my focus would lie, I think I'd always arrive at the same conclusion: this book is capital ‘D' depressing―and yet the devoidness I was subjected to still wasn't too overwhelming for me nor any more influential on my own personal existential crises as they stand. Speaking of which, moreso than the story itself and the themes tackled therein, I found the most impactful detail (or rather details) is the frightening parallel I see between myself and Yozo, the main character, regarding the nihilistic outlook on life that he has, although the specifics is where I diverge from Yozo's views. Nonetheless, the deathly bleak landscape of this novel was still interesting thanks to both the personal connection I developed with the book as well as the already morbidly interesting themes depicts through Yozo, who, if not morbid enough, is a stand-in for Osamu Dazai himself. On top of all of this, I think this book is even more unrelentingly depressing in its themes than the previous disturbing books I've read this year (see my reviews). Still, absolutely amazing example of existential-horror literature. Highly recommned, but I'm preaching to the choir.

I went into this story not having seen its film adaptation, however I did know it was LGBTQ fiction. Nonetheless, I thought the characters and plot both responsibility portrayed the struggle with developing and accepting one's identity, using love as the brush to paint this heartbreaking but still insightful about the merits but also risks of human love. Stylistically, I thought the dialogue was genuine and realistic given the ages of these characters, and the art style also helped accentuate and underscore the themes and plotline. While not a huge fan of the art style visually, it was still utilized effectively in the aforementioned ways. For my read, I believe the themes realized via the characters is the strongest element of this piece, but this is by no means undermining the comic from an artistic perspective. Overall, a great, raw coming of age story for anyone who isn't opposed to sexual situations here and there.

My second of Stephen King's work of fiction (first of Joe Hill's), from the first minute to the last, this sinister, spine-tingling tale kept me engaged through my uninterrupted listen; King & Hill's writing in this was disorienting, paranoiac, and sharp. Of course, being hailed as the “king” of horror fiction for decades now, why would I be surprised? Add to this Stephen Lang's compelling characterizing interpretation of these characters, and In The Tall Grass seems to continue assuring me of the unsettling atmosphere I recall so masterfully painted in King's debut novel Carrrie, which I completed a couple years back for the first time. Speaking of characterization, I loved the stylistic dialect and word choices for these characters, helping grounding the story properly and realistically. The repetitive motif of limmericks was also and interesting touch that, from what I thought, acted as a sort of foreshadowing mechanic.

I don't really have any quarrels with the plot itself: again, it stayed gripping, had a satisfying pace given the genre, and wasn't eye-rollingly ridiculous considering the suspension of disbelief you'd grant from a story like this and an author like Stephen King―weird-ass stories are kinda his thing. This story's definitely compelled me to attempt King's own multi-story collections, namely Different Seasons and Graveyard Shift. Anyway, apparently there's a Netflix adaptation for this story, so I'm definitely gonna check this out and see how they compare, hoping its a fairly fateful adaption.

Overall, It was a decent read. After reading it, I'd say the horror elements aren't what you'd expect and are more centered around misfortune and characterizations. I'd say it's more a thrilling mystery, sprinkled with supernatural horror at times. But it lands the mystery/thriller aspects very well from what I think. Again, my favorite part of the story wasn't so much the plot itself―even if it did have thrilling moments―but rather the character-centered drama weaved into the plot. I'd say this story could be appropriately termed “gothic romance” alongside its gothic horror label, and I was more in tune with the former. In any case, the plot kept a steady pace, but the actual reading experience was otherwise often a drudgery because of its archaic language and verbosity, which isn't a fault of the story, but just not my cup of tea evidently. To each their own, though. So, to summarize: a cool thriller that's a slog to get through but still pulls itself through by its well-displayed themes and layered characters.

While not as explicitly graphic as Exquisite Corpse in its prose (as well as far more accessible), the topic at hand is still arguably just as―if not more―disturbing. Though, for me, it was also very bearable to digest and enjoy: the prose wasn't purple, the plotline was easy to follow, and our two main characters were interesting and engaging enough in my experience. However, despite impressively done first-person perspective of a toddler-turned-adolescent girl, certain literary motifs and and mechanics were done a little too much for my tastes, leading to some rather uninteresting moments of deja vu. Nonetheless, these technical choices did benefit the narrative and still seemed necessary given the context.

I wouldn't call this work unforgettable by any stretch, but I commend the author's boldness to create a teen-aimed contemporary horror that walks a daring line (for better or worse) between a technially accessible presentation that is yet potentially both too disturbing for its targeted readers to confront and/or perhaps too perplexing thematically to meaningfully comprehend and thus appreciate.

By far, this was the most disappointing read thus far this year. Between the rather boring and sometimes annoying reading style (for lack of a better phrase) from the narrator and the mostly uninteresting chapters—although there were a fair share of interesting history and moments—I wasn't really intrigue beyond a raised brow occasionally. Specifically, when Satan himself is being talked about—his origin and rise to infamy constitutes most of these moments. Also, I did find the origin of “devils” kind of interesting too. But for most of its two-hour run-time, I felt like I was scraping the bottom of the barrel for moments as interesting as these. Far as the actual writing style, it ran relatively bland compared to other historical nonfiction I've glimpsed at, but this wasn't the worst aspect of the book: boring but not poorly written.

For my first supernatural horror novel (and impressively presented gothic romance), the read was pretty pleasant all the way through. It wasn't the most gripping story I've read, but I still enjoyed the tension, graphic moments, and overall atmosphere; moreover, I enjoyed the prose themselves: balancing flowery language with a grim glaze. My favorite aspect of the story was probably the characters, though, but even this element wasn't particularly remarkable compared to the stuff I've read thus far this year. Nonetheless, the atmosphere and general tone of the story was successfully creepy―maybe even sinister―for my money; I didn't consider it “scary”, per se, but I still think the horror elements were pulled off effectively for what it is. And whether it affected me or not, this story was objectively weird (even for me) and appropriately engaging enough to lure its reader into the The Hellbound Heart series, however I don't feel compelled enough to check out the remaining two novels. This goes the same for Heart's film adaption series, Hellraiser from which I've only seen the first installment but, like its source material, was still fairly enjoyable. But I appreciate Heart pushing its graphic nature considerably further than the movie adapation already went, which I'm always excited about regarding the adaptations v. source material discussion.

I didn't think a book of this slimness, of this brevity, could be so densely mind-bending, depressing, and depraved of resolution. But I suppose that was the ultimate sentiment this book was trying to achieve, and I believe it succeeded. While not seemingly a biased indoctrination, Peck still manages to write in not only a thought-provoking philosophical style (makes sense since he's a philosophy scholar) but in a paranoiac (though not fear-mongering) and terrifyingly human way. The story seems to walk a fine line between being rather humorously dark and almost intentionally presumptuous or convictive in its approach to religion. But I realize he's not being intentionally manipulative in order to indoctrinate, but rather is very much intentionally tapping into (and creatively confronting) an almost universal fear humans have about what we believe is true and, perhaps more importantly, why it's important for humans to question everything—even what we think we're certain of.

> Despite certain reviews suggesting this book would be too much to handle or so detestable that saying you enjoyed it/liked it would inadvertently guarantee ostracization from most of society, I found this read to be rather disappointing for my taste (not to say I wanted to be destroyed as I was anticipating). Of course, your experience may vary. Save for a few nauseating passages, the narrative was far from unbearable and rather very engaging and tasteful thanks to its often purple (though not smothering) prose; additionally, the especially disturbing passages, I thought, were balanced out nicely by otherwise tamed and intellectual commentary, even if said commentary was bleak as black. Bold, vivid, and cautionary are just a few superlatives I'd award this project, and my morbid curiosity and interest in the macabre and nihilistic world of fiction Brite embraces unabashedly piqued and steadied throughout this exquisite experience, indeed. While not viscerally too much to stomach, Brite did successfully heighten a certain anxiety of mine to a paranoiac level of fear that I'd never felt (nor thought I'd ever feel) about everyday people around you. All I'm gonna say is: you never really know someone completely.

Yet another work of fiction that's inspired me with a craving for more from the author, McCarthy creates an almost unrelenting gauntlet of hopelessness, humanity (for better and worse), and tale. Londonian in spirit and transgressive in style, this work tells a beautifully constructed narrative that was unapologetically regressive but simultaneously characteristically revolutionary thanks to McCarthy's intimately bleak attention to character and experience. Although, the story seemed to revel in moments of metaphor or simile (those otherwise beautiful Londonian passages) almost superfluously, bringing it just a hair short of perfection.

Despite its only three-hour run-time, McCarthy doesn't waste a page telling this transgressive gem. Suffice to say, I'll be reading more McCarthy.

Being this fable is only ~100 pages, It's likely I'll read it more than once. Being a story-wide allegory what the various elements in the story (including the little prince himself) represent is not immediately obvious to me; perhaps this is one of those stories the reader must ponder and revisit multiple times before they understand the themes.

With the aforementioned considered, technically the novella didn't frustrate me in any meaningful way. It appears repetition as a literary device is present throughout the story as a character developing tool and functions somewhat poetically, presenting the narrative as similar to an Aesop fable of sorts through each chapter. Plot-wise, the linear story-line doesn't confuse the reader too much, but sometimes the reader may get lost during conversations between two characters because of the sometimes glaringly lacking dialogue tags showing who's speaking. Contributing to its world-building, the sufficient details of each location is provided, presented as a long journey the main character takes. In fact, through its digestible though surprisingly layered prose, they're many lessons it efforts to present to its targeted readers (which are likely adolescents). If read during this time in one's life, the rich commentary and allegory may, however, still be overlooked and interpreted under the guise of a lackluster, layer-less children's story.

Nonetheless, perhaps The Little Prince (or rather the lessons and commentary it presents) is better understood at different junctions or phases in one life. After all, the story itself nods at this, almost implying that an adult (or “grown-up”) may never understand the allegorical elements of the story—or at least not in the same way—as a child or tween might.