Rachel

I love this cookbook. I geeked out over all the behind-the-scenes stuff that Christina Tosi put into the introduction and on the recipes. I also appreciated the hell out of her emphasis on precision – from precise ingredient measurements to precise oven temperature. I love recipes that tell me exactly what I need to do, and Tosi delivers that here.

Having said that, there are a few ingredients that are difficult to get if you don't live in a city or just a place that has a diverse enough population to have things like glucose, passion fruit puree, freeze-dried corn, etc. She also recommends some kitchen supplies that not everyone will have readily available (like a chinoise). Luckily, we live in the age of Amazon, and I've been able to find most everything there.

I find the structure of this cookbook really helpful. She gives you master recipes, then ways to vary the recipes, and then even more recipes that use the master recipes as an ingredient. There's a lot of room for creativity, and everything I've made so far as been super delicious.

For some reason, it's taken me this long to be converted to a Smitten Kitchen follower, and I have no idea why. I think I had it in my head that Smitten Kitchen recipes were too fussy, complicated, and snooty for me, but I think I just wasn't mentally and emotionally ready for Deb Perelman yet. Every recipe is easy to follow, accompanied by beautiful photography, and preceded by a charming and hilarious paragraph or two written by Perelman. I absolutely love this cookbook and, to date, I haven't been let down by a single Smitten Kitchen recipe. This is one of my kitchen essentials.

Loved this! Nugent's voice is kind and hilarious, and doesn't shy away from the messiness of certain topics, like eating disorders and body image. This is a great book for those who aren't quite sure what feminism means for them or why they should give a damn. Even though I'm a seasoned feminist, I still loved reading these essays and being reminded of why it's so great and necessary to grow up, speak out and find feminism. I will say that, thanks to this book, I am so inspired to wear lipstick, skin tones and complementary hues be damned.

I do wish she had spoken a little more to the importance and necessity of intersectional feminism, and go more into detail in how race, class, gender identity, etc. affect a person, but maybe (hopefully) she's saving it for her next book.

I'm not in love with this book. This doesn't mean it's a bad book. Often, the books I end up loving the most are the ones that I have lukewarm feelings for at first. Six months down the road, we'll see if I love this book.

But let's talk about what I do love about I Was A Teenage Fairy. The prose is wonderful. I love the personifications of LA and the San Fernando Valley as her little sister, and New York as their cousin. I love the world that Block creates: it's not a magical world, but there is one magical element in this reality, and that is Mab, the fairy that Barbie can see. Mab is sort of an antithetical fairy; she's unpleasant, she's kind of mean, she has pointed teeth, she's obsessed with sex and men. She becomes a respite for both Barbie and Griffin in a world that feels so isolating and objectifying, that glosses over the bad stuff. She also serves as a sort of coping mechanism for these two children who have been molested – in some ways, she's the voice inside them that never lets them become complacent, never lets them slip into numbness. If you took Mab out of the story, we might have exactly the same story, except these characters would be all alone in their worlds and they might never move forward. Mab is the thing that connects them all, makes them feel less alone, moves them.

Something else that I really enjoyed about this particular book was the way that Barbie pushed back at being an object – she always wanted to be behind the camera, looking out, rather than in front of the camera, being looked at. I think that's a really important and subtle move that makes Barbie more than an acted upon character, and ultimately, gives her the power to become who she wants to be and face her past head-on. Griffin doesn't have that desire, and so remains a pretty unchanging character even as Mab takes him on adventures and sets him up with a soulmate of sorts. Barbie has an agency that Griffin doesn't.

What I love dearly about Francesca Lia Block's books in general is that she depicts children and humans as deeply flawed people who find that, despite everything, they are capable of love and that they are capable of being loved. The idea of the nuclear family isn't even considered in Block's worlds; whatever arrangement brings you comfort and love is what is right, and that is absolutely the reason to read any of Block's books (but especially Weetzie Bat). Though I can't put my finger on what makes me give this particular book 3 stars rather than 4, it's still wonderful and it's worth the afternoon it will take to read it through.

As a new mom, there is so much in here that I related to and so much that made me laugh out loud because it was so familiar. Though there are some universal truths here, there's a lot that's extremely privileged (employing night nurses for several months while also employing a day time nanny... I mean, seriously, in this economy??) that I had to really take with a grain of salt. While I really liked a lot of this book, I wish it had explored the hero's journey a bit deeper rather than turning away from  opportunities for more serious reflection. 

The first thing I remember reading by Roxane Gay was “What We Hunger For” on The Rumpus. What I so admire about that essay, and so much else that Gay writes, is the way she complicates a love and devotion for something like The Hunger Games and connects it to something very real and deeply personal. That essay exploded my idea of what a pop culture essay could do, and the rest of the essays in Bad Feminist follow suit. Another highlight in Bad Feminist for me included the essay on women's reproductive rights and access to abortion and contraception. I found myself throughout the essay thinking, “YES!” and then staring angrily into space, mentally ranting in agreement with whatever she was saying. Throughout this book, she says so many things I've thought but never thought to say out loud. She doesn't shy away from sorting through and acknowledging complexity that is so often glossed over and simplified for a lot of folks. I could go on and on about all the things I admire about this book, but I'll stop and just say: please read it all the way through. And then read it again. I know I will.

Unrelated note: I'm glad Goodreads is reminding me that it's taken me over a year to finish this book.

My review of this book is hovering at 2.5 stars. There is so much to like about this book, but, lord, the writing itself is garbage. Cliches, typos, mediocre writing, and imprecise phrasing abound throughout the book. I liked both main characters for the most part (Avery's stubborn silence and crippling insecurity were a little much for me, but completely and totally believable). And the story is one that I was so excited to see in a new adult book, and for the most part, I think it was developed and handled really well. But the writing. The writing. So disappointed in that. If the writing had been much, much better, this could easily have been one of my favorite books.

I am an English major through and through, and I've managed, somehow, to squeak by all these years without reading Pride and Prejudice. I know, I know – it's sacrilege. I wish I hadn't been so angsty and resistant in college (or even high school), because I would have found out that my sense of humor is extremely Victorian. Who would have thought? I wasn't expecting Pride and Prejudice to be such a delight. Elizabeth is perfectly and properly strong-minded and defiant; Mr. Darcy is so brooding and cranky. There was humor and social critique that I wasn't expecting, as well as unexpected twists and turns in the plot. It looks like I have some catching up to do where all Victorian novels are concerned.

I feel a little bit like...when you've been watching a matinee at the movie theater and you walk out into the sunshine after the credits have rolled, and realize how entirely you've been inhabiting some other world. I loved the characters and all their relationships and their banter — how real and likeable and flawed and human they were, even and especially when they became evidently unreliable and mysterious to each other and themselves. I loved the unfolding of every mystery. I loved the setting and the atmosphere, and how sometimes there felt like something else lurking around the corner. I don't want to spoil anything for anyone who might read it, so I guess I've just resolved to report back to you about this book very vaguely and sounding a little bit like Harry Styles at a press junket talking about “a movie, like a real movie type of movie.”

Another ‘meh' for me, unfortunately. I liked this one slightly more than the first of this series, but not much more. Again, I'm not buying the forced chemistry, or the ‘flaws' of the main characters that are supposed to be endearing. There are too many unbelievable plot holes, and there are still too many mysteries between the siblings that distract from the bigger story.

I'm giving this 2.5 stars. This was my first Tessa Bailey read, and I'm a little disappointed. This book is written well, and I can definitely see why Tessa Bailey is the queen of dirty talk. I like the idea of the premise and the characters have some real struggles. Despite all that, I wasn't invested in Jasper, Rita, or the siblings, and I didn't buy the chemistry between Jasper and Rita. There were a lot of complicated backstories in the relationships between the siblings, and there were too many mysteries that weren't addressed at all throughout. The characters and the story, for me, lacked a sweetness or a charm that felt really necessary in a book that centers on the journey of two people who grow to be each other's saving graces. Jasper felt a little overbearing, overprotective (especially when he barged into the family's trust building campfire exercise), and pretty over-reactive (like when he angrily threw his coffee cup after he thought Rita had left town for good after they'd only known each other maybe a day). The story went on about 50 pages too long, far past the happily-ever-after moment, which I think could have been fixed with moving some of the events around. All in all, this one was a ‘meh' for me.

This is the second Kathleen O'Reilly book I've read, and I'm definitely a fan. Her characters have very real flaws and insecurities that they work through together and on their own. There was one subplot that didn't seem to have anything to do with the main plot – I thought it was going to serve as conflict later on, but it never came up again. I'm glad that subplot didn't emerge again, but it seems puzzling to have it there.

I just...how is this SO GOOD. I think about Outlander all the time. I don't even know what I'm thinking about it. It's just there, an undercurrent in my consciousness. Maybe I'm just thinking about their love all the time. I DON'T KNOW. Jamie and Claire just make me SO HAPPY. I would love to write about the rich historical detail and textures, and the meta discussions about lengthy texts that go all in on detail, and I would love to write about the weird moments Claire has where she says things to her daughter like, “Try not to get fat” or her weird theory about short men versus tall men. However, this is the only “review” of Outlander I'm capable of writing right now, and I'm not sorry about it.

I'm pretty new to the romance novel game, and I'm having fun finding out what's out there. I picked this book up after reading an NPR article on romance novels; the author suggested books by Susan Elizabeth Phillips, so I chose this one randomly from the public library's selection. What I loved: this book made me laugh out loud all throughout. I loved that Gracie at times had the outward demeanor of a woman in a nursing home but was in no way a ‘prude.' Gracie and Bobby Tom's courtship was sweet at times. I loved many of the characters of the town itself.

There was a lot that intrigued me, mainly the fine line between fear and excitement and the ideas of power and control that were expressed through the men in the book. I wasn't entirely comfortable with the relationship between Suzy Denton and Way Sawyer. In the end, they were two consenting adults, but before that there was a lot of coercion and fear involved that I wasn't comfortable with. I was also intrigued by Bobby Tom's tendency to exert power and control over Gracie using sex; it seemed there were a few scenes where Bobby Tom initiated sex to shut Gracie up or demonstrate his power and control after she had “taken” it from him. Again, at the end of the day, they were two consenting adults, and it's great if that's your jam, but there were a few moments that gave me pause.

This book was a tough read for me. The writing was clean and lovely, and the characters were written with complexity and an unflinching eye. Many of the reviews and blurbs I've read about this book seem to take this book at its most simple and superficial: as a story about bullying, as a story of caution to anyone who has children. What I found most compelling about this novel was its exploration of the ways each one of us can be cruel to each other, regardless of age. The adult narrator of the story was the most unreliable character, and the narrative she created to explain what was happening to Callie was so frustratingly myopic and willfully naive, that I found myself saying aloud, “UGH. Are you serious?!” It was also believable and so very real, so hats off to Lauren Frankel for that. What I also found more striking than Callie's bullying experiences (as intense as they were), was the way that the adults in the story bullied and ostracized children who were already experiencing cruelty and isolation. It was unsettling, uncomfortable, infuriating, and all too real, I'm sure.

My main gripe with the book comes toward the end, when one of the narrators reflects on the events of the entire book and sums them up as if to say, “In case you didn't get it before, these are the themes of this book and what I'm trying to say is that we bully each other all the time.” I could have done without that.

Other than that, this novel was one that will stick with me for awhile.

I didn't read this book cover to cover, but I made it about 3/4 through. I don't intend to finish it. The essays are okay; a lot of them seem to just highlight pretty obvious (to me) themes in Mortal Instruments. There were a couple essays I enjoyed, particularly the one about New York City as its own character, and another one that breaks down the “appeal” of incest or taboo.

What I love about Rainbow Rowell's writing, whether she's writing adult or YA fiction, is how unadorned and engaging it is. She makes writing and storytelling look effortless, and her dialogue is fresh and real. Landline is the first of Rowell's adult fiction I've read, and I loved it. I love the mystery of the magic phone, and the layers it adds to the dynamic and development of the relationship and the main character. It's a way for us to be able to look back at how the relationship developed and how it got here; it's also a way for the main character to engage with the past and evolve. Its magic is never explained, which I'm okay with.

The other thing I adore about Rainbow Rowell is that she gets relationships. She captures the thrill and breathlessness and joy of teenage loves, first loves, and the beginnings of relationships. With Landline, she also captures the quiet fire that is a long-term relationship, and how that fire either gets maintained or smothered to embers. Her characters aren't always the most likeable (whatever that means), but they're complex and messy and trying to figure shit out – just like real people. I've read Eleanor and Park, Fangirl, and Landline, and I've seen myself in each of those books. That feels really difficult to do.

I finished Landline while flying across the country with a terrible cold. Maybe it was exhaustion, but the last third of Landline kept punching me in the heart and I finally broke out into an ugly-cry on the plane. I tried to hide it, because I was sitting close to the bathroom and people were constantly walking past my seat or standing in line next to my seat, but I finally thought, “Oh, fuck it. This book deserves an ugly cry at 10,000 feet.”

I am a Chrissy Teigen fan, through and through. I was skeptical about her cookbook, but when I came across some of her recipes in an issue of Cherry Bombe, I had to try them. I made every recipe that was previewed in Cherry Bombe - they were each insanely delicious and incredibly easy to make. I eventually went out and picked up the cookbook and was not disappointed. The recipes are all approachable and super simple, and Teigen's introductions to each are funny and informative. If you're looking for healthy recipes, take your search elsewhere. Her mac and cheese recipe is tasty and rich, and is also a 13” x 9” golden brick of dairy. I highly recommend her recipes for pork-stuffed cucumber soup, lettuce wraps, and sweet and salty coconut rice. An added bonus are all the glam photos of her and John Legend dressed for a red-carpet affair and eating things like chicken wings.

I actually want to give this 4.5 stars. I haven't followed music criticism too closely for quite awhile, so, shamefully, Jessica Hopper wasn't on my radar until Bust featured an article about her and this book. Hopper's writing is smart, funny, and real. What I love most are the essays/articles where she marks her position where she addresses gender and what it's like to be fan and/or musician who happens to be a woman; whether we like it or not, gender (and feminism) is important, and I love that she directly addresses it.

I enjoyed Alison Kent's first book in this series, but I didn't dig on this one too much. It was well-written, but I didn't connect to either main character very well, and I wasn't super compelled by the storyline. That might have more to do with me and my readerly sensibilities than with Kent's writing, but this just didn't live up to the first of this series.

Okay, yeah, so I read a book called “Sex, Straight Up.” Yes, the title is terrible, and the cover doesn't match the tone of the book either. This book was unexpectedly sweet and fulfilling. Each character was dealing with some heavy stuff: loss; grief; regret; unrealized potential; the need to be bolder and more vulnerable; the desire to take up more room and take a place at the table because it's not going to be given to you. Those struggles are real, and I enjoyed watching each character grow into the new versions of themselves.

:( No thank you. This book creeped me out from beginning to end, from Theron's paternalism that bordered on abuse to Isabella's single-minded scheming to the way that Theron reacted to “taking” Isabella's virginity. Not to mention that both of these characters have no character development, no past, no context. I appreciate solid character development, but this book didn't even have that. Nope, no thank you. Not for me.

I really enjoy Rebecca Solnit's writing style and essay structures. I started reading this book before the election, and the essays I read were fresh and inspiring. Because of life and work, I had to take a break, and then the election happened. Reading the rest of this book after the election was a much different experience for me. In this moment, it's harder for me to share Solnit's hope about the progress that we've made (especially in her essay “Worlds Collide in a Luxury Suite: Some Thoughts on the IMF, Global Injustice, and a Stranger on a Train,” about the head of IMF being accused of sexual assault) as a society. The essays that specifically explore how far feminism has come and how unsuccessful Republicans will be at chipping away at womens' rights were really difficult for me to read with any investment or hope right now. I kept thinking, “Would she still say all this, now that a misogynistic, racist, xenophobic, ableist sexual predator is our next president? What does she say/think now?” That's all my own shit though – all of her essays are well-written, engaging and approachable. The essays I found myself invested in were “Grandmother Spider” and “Woolf's Darkness: Embracing the Inexplicable.” “Grandmother Spider” encourages us (women) to take control of the narrative, to not be erased in the (hi)stories that are told about us. “Woolf's Darkness” was a salve for my post-election heart. Her words about despair and optimism as attitudes that are equally certain about the future and equally unproductive were particularly salient for me, especially now.