bashsbooks's reviews
207 reviews

Spears has been through quite a lot that I cannot imagine. Listening to her describe the horrors of the conservatorship and the forced separations from her children made me furious and upset on her behalf. 

That said... I think she has vastly miscalculated the primary force behind her problems (soceitallly speaking, not individuallly). She harps on this current of feminism and seems to think misogyny is the main culprit behind her struggles. While it's a complex situation and I'm sure misogyny played a role, the consequence of this narrow focus is that Spears does not seem to realize the huge amounts of ableism involved in what was done to her and makes no mention of disability activism, even going so far as to throw "crackhead heroin addicts", "girls who hallucinate screaming", and "criminals" in a similar situation under the bus. I understand that her trauma probably makes her want to feel like she did not have a mental illness (and hell, maybe she didn't, but there is nothing wrong with having one) but her strong protests against this narrative have the unfortunate side-effect of suggesting Actually Disabled People might deserve this, but not healthy Her. 

I know this is an international and intergenerational classic, but I can't give 5 stars to Les Misérables. Not after those nineteen Waterloo chapters. I understand the position Hugo was put in politically (that was the useful aspect of the introduction, though I was not terribly impressed with its literary analysis), but holy hell were those chapters a slog. The worst slog of the book, I dare say. Talk to me about convents and sewers any day over Waterloo.

Other than that mind-numbling digression (and a couple others like it), I deeply enjoyed this book. The five narrators of this particular version are all very talented. The story itself is much funnier than any adaptations convey it. Les Amis de l'ABC are iconic, I have the tenderest sympathies for their plight. (Combeferre's 'to be free' mic-drop is incredible.) Marius and Cosette are endearing idiots. Jean Valjean and Javert have a surprising amount of tension. What kind of tension, I could probably write a whole book of essays on. It's well-worth the read. Oh, I also feel like I absorbed a lot about 19th century French politics. Which is information I didn't necessarily need, but it helped my reread of Ellie Valsin's Virago. Over all, I would say that it's worth the insane amount of time required to read it. And this Penguin audiobook version is especially good to listen to while you work.

I first read Ellie Valsin's Virago at age fifteen, right after it came out. I was new to Les Misérables as a piece of foundational media - I had just seen the musical for the first time a few months prior, and I was unclear about much of the storyline. In fact, the only reason Enjolras caught my eye is because he was played by an older boy who was in my choir class that I had a crush on in the local musical I'd seen.

Now, nearly nine years later, I revisited the book alongside reading Les Misérables. Naturally that gave me way more sociopolitical context for Virago, and I understood it much better. But to my surprise, I realized also the way what I did understand at fifteen greatly impacted my thinking, politically and personally.

Enjolras, a woman disguised as a man who feels she is genderless, was a fantastic role model for a teen who was just beginning to distangle his own gender and sexuality. Her fierce radically left politics, tempered by Combeferre's dogged insistence on the good of humanity and the power of kindness, were also revolutionary to me. Rereading one passage about Combeferre's morality, his desire to be a pacifist with his recognition that violence is sometimes the only opition - I felt seen by that now when I felt it alien and confusing at fifteen.

This is an intimately important book to me, and I will probably read it again in the future. It's easier to understand if you read the original source material, the book version of Les Misérables, but it can be understood without that context (I do recommend at least listening to the musical first, though). My greatest lament about it is that it's only available on Kindle.

Another great installment in the Thornchapel series! I enjoyed finally getting more information about Rebecca and Delphine's relationship, but it seemed like the Auden/Saint/Poe throuple was pushed aside to make room to share their story. That wouldn't normally bother me so much, except for the huge cliffhanger that relationship left off of in the last book. Still, I am very invested in all six of these disasters and their fucked up magical door, so I'm excited to read the final installment!

Becket my beloved priest please come baccccccccckkkkkkkkk!

What a sweet comic! I love the story (need more Cromwell as villain) - Robyn is understandably misguided and her growth arc is so good. The friendship between her and Mebh is incredibly heartwarming. The Wolfwalker concept is intriguing, I love the implications and potential in turning into a wolf in your sleep, and having that form separate from but linked to your body. Also, the art style is stunning! If only this had been the actual fate of the Irish wolves... 

Can't wait to watch the movie!

I've read 137 books this year, and this one stands out as the worst. It's not due to the sex, which is desperately trying to be edgy but is actually quite boring, nor is it due to the darker themes - I start my review by saying this because undoubtedly this author and fans of this work likely think that criticisms of it come from that angle.

My biggest issues with Haunting Adeline are as follows:

1) Its writing style is bad. This author cannot write for shit. This book is extremely vague and noncommittal in its descriptions, frustratingly unwilling to give much specific information about the world, and unbelievably cringe-worthy in its dialogue. 

2) It promotes a pretty fucked up view of gender - the world of Haunting Adeline implies that even the best of men are predators and even the most strong-willed of women are victims/prey. I could go on about this point with a few dozen examples, but I will boil it down to the most galling one: at one point, there are two victims of human trafficking being discussed - one an adult woman described as a "twenty-four year old girl" and one a child, a little boy. And there is more time and focus put on how this poor "girl" than the actual child. It goes without saying that it's normal to feel for any victims of trafficking, but I find it suspicious that in a book that pulls out pedophilia and child abuse as an excuse for every other crime committed, more focus is given to the female victim, who is an adult, than the literal child - and of course, she's infantilized.

3) Putting a warning that says "this isn't antisemitic" at the beginning of a book is not sufficient. You have to actually not perpetuate antisemitic propaganda in the book. Saying "oh I just like conspiracy theories and it's just my twisted mind" and then vomitting the contents of right-wing Facebook memes onto the page is an act of both idiocy and hubris. God, the ego on this Carlton.

There is a lot more I could gripe about - like how the male lead Z justifies his murders in the most annoying and unconvincing ways or how the titular Adeline just takes him at his word about everything despite him stalking and raping her or the super pervasive ableism or the absolutely weaksauce attempt at class analysis or how this is absolutely catnip for white women who believe they're going to be kidnapped at Target - but I'll just save us both some time and sanity and tell you not to bother with this dumpster fire of a book. If you're looking for a dark bit of smut, just pull up AO3. 

Book Two takes things up a notice by finally getting the beloved priest Becket physically involved with all the Catholic-pagan orgies (which as a priest enjoyer, I was really excited about). Interesting and compelling developments happening in the murder subplot and in the uncovering of the True Nature of Thornchapel. And the most shocking ending plot twist I've experienced in a long time -

I anticipated that Ralph Guest and Jennifer Martinez had an affair, but I DID NOT THINK THAT SAINT AND AUDEN WOULD TURN OUT TO BE BROTHERS! WHAT!

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How We Do Family is an important piece that illuminates the realities of adoptions and trans pregnancy. My favorite aspect of this book is Reese's unwavering honesty, even in the face of his and his partner's past missteps (such as his anger toward Biff's family, for example). It's written thoughtfully and compassionately for the most part, and it's really good for people who have never considered what a trans man's family would look like or what gay men's families can look like. 

That said, I feel like I know too much about the topics he's discussing (the queer ones, not the parenting ones) to fully enjoy this book. He mentions biphobia at one point... and then is (unintentionally, I believe) biphobic in the next line. He mentions several times throughout the book that he doesn't believe (or didn't in the past? it's unclear) that trans men experience transphobia nearly as much as trans women... and then describes his horrific personal experiences with transphobia, especially while pregnant. It seems like he is trying to flatten definitions and experiences to be easily digestible for a cishet audience, which is understandable to some degree, but just not something I love to read as a bi trans man. 

A Lesson in Thorns feels tailor-made for my kinks and proclivities - it's got an apparent love-triangle turned to a triad, a complex, messy, but ultimately loving relationship that blurs lines between a group of friends, a priest that probably would fuck, and weird Catholic-pagan rituals. And, if meeting my interests wasn't enough, it also contains some of the best prose and most compelling plot of any published erotica that I've read to date. I'm really excited to see read the next three books in the series; hopefully, they will be as tantalizing and intriguing as this one.  

Koltz's grief, questions for God, and complicated relationships (particularly with her ancestors) are palpable in every line of At the Devil's Banquets. Though her stanzas are brief, each one is packed with provocative verbs that alight the abstract concepts in the poems into concrete visions. Some of the most thought-provoking poetry I've read in awhile. Spectacular.