Khanh the Killjoy

It's been awhile. It's rather amusing. He resorts to insulting my looks. 

That's just sad. I know I'm pretty ^_^

Bailiff: Hear ye, hear ye! Court will now come to order! Please stand for your judge, the Honorable...

*Khanh beckons, whispers into Bailiff's ears*

Bailiff: ...make that the Dishonorable Khanh. All rise! Your Dishonor...where's your gavel?



Khanh: Lost it. I'm using this hammer instead. I think it's appropriate. Close enough.

Bailiff: ...

Khanh: We are here in The Reader's Court for the pre-trial of Readers vs. Liva, the 17-year old main character of Out of Control. She stands here accused of being a dumbass. What are the detailed charges?

Bailiff: There are 19 charges, your dishonor. She stands accused of racial profiling, slut-shaming, girl-on-girl hate...

Khanh: Ain't nobody got time for that. Make it brief. Keep it to 4.

Bailiff: She stands accused of:
1. Showing all signs of being a Mary fucking Sue
2. Falling in love with complete fucking douchebag full of...

*pauses* Your Dishonor, do I really have to read this?

Khanh: YES

Bailiff: ...full of...UNF...CUBAN MACHEESMO.

Khanh: Attaboy.

Bailiff:
3. Having the wrong fucking priorities all the fucking time
4. Having dumb fucking trains of thoughts. *hesitates* CHOO CHOO.

*pauses* Your Dishonor, are these charges correct? I don't recall so much profanity being used in any of the pleadings that I've...

Khanh: YES THEY ARE. Wait a minute. Did you say racial profiling?

Bailiff: Yes, your Dishonor.

Khanh: Ok, I'm curious now. Go on, man. What's up with that, yo? Let me read through this briefing.

*pauses* You gotta be fucking kidding me, girl. Did you really think the guy's a gang member because he's Latin-American looking and carries a fucking bandana?

Liva: Um...

Khanh: YEAH, DUDE, NO. LOOK HERE. And I quote:

It’s then that I notice the bandana hanging out the back pocket of his jeans. I know what that little scrap of material signifies. He’s a gang member. I shake my head to myself.

See? What the fuck is that? Racist much?! Guuuuuuuurl.

And look here again. A Latin-American woman, of course you think she's fat and speaks with an accent. Of course every Latino and Latina in the book is horribly stereotypically portrayed. Look here, did you really think a fucking Latin American woman would talk like this?

‘She’ll stand out like a habanero chilli in an ice-cream store if she goes dressed like that,’ Marissa snaps back.

Seriously? SERIOUSLY?

Liva: I swear I'm not racist, your honor! I mean, I went to an international school! I was born and raised abroad. I lived most of my life in Oman and Nigeria! I've had a great education! I'm really, really smart!

But um, your Dishonor...where's the jury? Aren't I entitled to a fair jury trial here?

Khanh: This is 'Murica. Our fair trial is by name only. I am your judge, jury, and executioner.

Liva: THIS ISN'T FAI---

Khanh: *loudly interrupts* SO HERE ARE THE CONTEXT OF YOUR CHARGES. You are a 17 year old beauty who are being pursued by people wanting to kill you. Naturally, you run away with a guy you thought might be a potential murderer, since the first time you saw him, he was in handcuffs in the Homicide Department. Is that correct?

Liva: *gulps* Yes, your Dishonor...but---

Khanh: NO BUTS. See Exhibit 1. You thought he was a killer. And you ran away with him anyway.

I contemplate for the first time the fact that I’m sitting in a stolen unmarked police car with a murderer who I just helped escape from custody.

Where's your fucking fancy international education now? Did it serve you well? I WENT TO A PUBLIC SCHOOL WITH 2000 STUDENTS.

Liva: You're sounding rather angry. I can't help it if my parents are rich.

Khanh: I'm not angry because you're rich. I'm angry because you're a Mary Sue.

Live: *splutters* Your Dishonor, please! I am not!

Khanh: You're not, eh? *leans off her podium and glares* ARE YOU DENYING THE FACT THAT YOU'RE AS GOOD AS AN ORPHAN, WITH BOTH PARENTS IN DIFFERENT COUNTRIES?

Liva: No, your Dishonor...

Khanh: ARE YOU DENYING THE FACT THAT YOU'VE ALWAYS FELT DIFFERENT, THAT NOBODY CAN EVER UNDERSTAND YOUR HEART AND SOUL?

Liva: No, your Dishonor...

Khanh: ARE YOU DENYING THE FACT THAT YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL, WITH A BALLET DANCER'S FIGURE THAT'S FUCKING FLAWED. FLAWED!!!!!!!!!!!!! BECAUSE IT'S TOO THIN, YET TOO CURVY? LOOK AT FUCKING EXHIBIT 2!!!!!!!

'You got what my mum would call good posture. And your legs. You have a dancer’s legs.’
I don’t naturally have a ballet dancer’s build. I’ve got boobs and hips for a start, long legs but also a long torso.

Liva: I really am not beautiful, I mean I have all these freakish red hair and stupid slanted, exotic eyes inherited from my Slavic mother.

Khanh: SAVE IT, BITCH. ONTO THE NEXT CHARGE. You fell in love with an asshole. Is that correct?

Live: No, your Dishonor! I would never!!!!

Khanh: LIAR! LIAR!!!!! LOOK AT THIS!!!! Throughout the entire fucking book, he ogles you like a fucking douche. Not once. Not twice, a million times over. Exhibit 3!!!!!!!

I feel his eyes skimming the top of my breasts.

And Exhibits 3A-3ZZZZZZZ. All examples of him ogling you like a fucking jailbird who hasn't seen a woman in 30 years of solitary confinement. Then there are examples of him acting like a fucking asshat and commenting about other women's weight. EXHIBIT 4.

‘You got no worries there. You should see my cousin Maria. She’s one Krispy Kreme away from having her own zip code.’

Liva: But your honor! He's in love with me! He respects me!

Khanh: WRONG AGAIN! SEE EXHIBIT 5!

‘You don’t drink coffee, don’t take sugar, don’t eat cream. What are you,’ he asks through his mouthful, ‘anorexic?’

RESPECTING YOU DOESN'T MEAN HE SIMULTANEOUSLY ACCUSES YOU OF BEING ANOREXIC WHILE CALLING ANOTHER GIRL FAT.

Speaking of which...your fucking priorities. Where the fuck are they? You are being chased by god knows how many people. All of whom want to murder you or kidnap you. Where the fuck is your head concentrated?

I'll tell you where. Jaime's muscles. Pronounced HIIIIIIIII-MEEEEEEEE. HI! ME! LOOK AT ME! LOOK AT HIM! THAT'S ALL YOU FUCKING DO.

Right after you just witnessed a multiple homicide. You notice his fucking good looks. Exhibit 6.

I could easily imagine him gracing a billboard advertising some hipster fashion brand. Instead, I think to myself, he’s posing for mug shots.

Right after you almost got murdered again. Exhibit 7.

I note the strips of muscle running the length of his arms and the fact that they are trembling ever so slightly.

As you're about to break and enter. Exhibit 8.

He headed on around to the front modelling the NYPD sweater and a swagger straight out of Miami Vice.

Wondering what to do and where to go next. Exhibit 9.

I notice the beads of water still clinging to his hair and the fact that his T-shirt is sticking to him like a second layer of skin, revealing every line of muscle.

FINDING OUT THAT JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIME IS IN DEEP DEEP SHIT. Exhibit 10.

I put a hand on his forearm, feeling the hardness of muscle, rigid with anger.

It's like every single fucking action you made has to emphasize his hard fucking muscles. He has muscles! I GET IT! I DO, TOO. WE ALL DO. GET THE FUCK OVER IT. PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO KILL YOU!!!!!!!

*hyperventilates*

Liva: Your dishonor! I swear it wasn't my fault. I didn't mean to fall in love with him! Look at Exhibit 11!

I don’t fall for guys. I don’t fall. Period.

Khanh: BUT THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU FUCKING DID. FOR THE ENTIRE FUCKING NOVEL YOU FALL INTO INSTA-LOVE WITH A DOUCHEBAG/CRIMINAL WITH A HEART OF GOLD. CAN YOU BE ANY MORE FUCKING CLICHéD?!

Liva: I'm a teenager, your Dishonor! I can't help it if my hormones get the better of me!

Khanh: Fine, you can't be blamed for your emotions, BUT HOW DO YOU EXPLAIN YOUR TERRIBLE WAY OF THINKING? My god, girl, your metaphors and similes are straight out of bullshit university. EXHIBIT 12 AND 13!!!!

He’s watching me with a mixture of wariness and worry, as though I’m an unexploded landmine.

He’s staring at me fiercely, his jaw clenching and unclenching as though he’s trying to dislodge a tooth.

Khanh: ENOUGH! ENOUGH! BURN HER! BURN HER!!!!!

*Khanh jumps off her podium and begins to chase Liva*

Liva: Your Dishonor! This is really quite uncalled---

*Khanh smashes Liva into oblivion*

Khanh: Hmm. Interesting. She survived countless murderers, but not one lonely book reviewer. Whatever. I did you all a favor anyway.

Bailiff: *splattered with blood* C...c...court a--adjourned.

“I say it is an onryuu, yet I feel no hate from her."

“An onryuu with a conscience, kami help us."

Shimatta! (That means shit in Japanese). God help us, this is supposed to be our terrifying heroine? Kuso yaro! Sou desu ne?! Ramen! *insert random-ass Japanese word here for authenticity* Sukiyaki! Hentai! Bukkakke! Hello Kitty!

This book will be scary, they said. A cross between Dexter and The Ring, they said. Not fucking likely.

This was how scary the book was for me.



Trust me, I'm just as disappointed as anyone. This book was incredibly dull. Sure, it features a scary girl with long hair ripped straight out of The Ring and The Grudge. Doesn't matter. It doesn't change the fact that this was a boring ass book with a main character who is completely unnecessary because she doesn't do a single fucking thing but obseeeeeeeeeeeerve. Whooooooooo. I'm gonna shit my pants. Not.

The book is dull, the plot is convenient, and ever so contrived. Ever so convenient. You're in Japan (sometimes). All the Japanese characters speak English, hoo-fucking-ray. Even the fucking temple miko, or shrine maiden, are college-educated and English-speaking. The main character is boring as fuck. The narrative style drove me nuts. The other main characters are dull as hell. Casper, the Friendly Ghost probably scared me more.

For a far superior YA horror novel, go read the most excellent Anna Dressed in Blood. Hell, take 2 hours of your time, go watch Ringu. Go watch the American version of The Ring. It will be two hours better spent than reading this book.

There is a ghost. Her name is Okiku. She is 300 years old. Okiku is supposed to haunt people. She is supposed to be a ghostly version of Dexter, wreaking vengeance upon wrongdoers. She does that roughly twice in the entire fucking book.
You know what she does most in this book? She watches.

- The dead children watch me as I watch him drive away.

- I watch him.

- I watch as the bully pushes him against a bathroom door.

- Some days I watch Callie. I follow her as she attends lectures, plays, tours.

- I watch the miko. There is great strength in her.

She follows.

- I follow them into the car, where there is very little conversation.

- I follow him as he wanders the busy streets, leafing through magazines in quiet cafés, peering into store windows.

There is a damaged, tattooed young man named Tark who is damaged. Have I mentioned that he is damaged? He is damaged. He is hurt. Deeply wounded inside, of course.

;_;

And then there's his lovely 18-year old cousin, Callie. The most ponderous, caring, nondescript side character in the entire world. She shows that she's motherly. She is caring. She is gentle. Did I mention that she's caring? She cares a lot, maaaaaan. It's because her poor little cousin Tark is so damaged.

For some inexplicable fucking reason, Okiku chooses to (very benevolently haunt Tark and Callie. Did I say haunt? I mean observe. And watch. And smile. Cause Okiku doesn't do much more than that.

They go to Japan. They do Japanese things like eat ramen and visit Shinto shrines and learn about local ghost stories! They get scared. I fell asleep. The end.

This book didn't do a damn thing for me. Here is why.

1. The prose and the switching of narrative POVs. First person switch to 3rd person omniscient in one paragraph?! Without warning? Sure, why not. Why the fuck not. This book is supposed to scare me. I don't want none of your attempts of poetic prose and experimental writing.

There is a time and a place for strange, experimental stream-of-consciousness prose, more specifically, in the 7th level of hell and in Tahereh Mafi's novels. I don't fucking want it in my horror novel. I want to be scared. I don't fucking want your e.e. cummings shit when you're trying to fucking frighten me.

No.

Some examples. Direct screenshots, because you can't get the full terrible effects unless you see it for yourself.







And in homage of the writing, here's my little ode to it.

Please. Please godpleaseplease please.

Make.

It stop.

Why won't you make it stopstopstopstopstopSTOPSTOP.

Motherfucker.

And as for the switching of POVs, my god. We alternately read things narrated by the main character as "I." I this. I that.
And then for no fucking warning, it switches to omniscient. "The girl." "The woman." "The boy."

Pick one POV. Stick to it, for fuck's sakes.

2. The main character is about as frightening as my bunny statue. And she is roughly just as active. I'm seriously. The fucking scary LADY IN WHITE WITH HAIR ALL OVER HER FACE does nothing more than observe.
And point.
And...watch.

And smile.

And be shy.

Fuck me.

She's supposed to be a cross "between Dexter and The Ring. No. She is not Sadako. Not even close. The book could have been narrated from one omniscient point of view, because the main character in this book is that useless. She is a narrator, not a ghost.

She does nothing.

Her narration is part internal monologue, part impartial observation, and completely annoying because this batshit girl has a tendency to obsess with numbers. She counts everything.

(Four girls, five, six.)
They are blondes and redheads and brunettes. They are blue-eyed and dark-eyed and brown-eyed and green-eyed. They are pale and freckled, and dark and brown. They are six years old and eight years old and twelve years old and fifteen years old.
(Seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.)

I'm sure that's meant to portray her insanity. It doesn't work. It feels forced. It gives off a sense of pretension. It annoys more than it is effective.

Again, an homage to the style of the book.

Ten. Seventy one. Ninety four. FIVE FIVE FIVE FIVE FIVE.

Six.

Hundred instances.

Of me HATINGTHEBOOK.

3. The boy.

“I’m from Texas,” the boy lies. “Home to beloved exports like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, mad cow disease, and bullets. I collect mannequin legs and spider bites. A race of super-ferrets live inside my hair. They hate water so I shower with an umbrella. I eat bugs because I’m allergic to fruit. I wash my hands in the toilet because sinks are too mainstream. Anything else you want to know about me?”

Tarquin, "Tark." I'm supposed to like this pretentious little piece of shit?

He's 15. He's annnnnnnnnnngsty. He is so different, wah wah wah. He makes damned sure that everyone knows it too. Sure, I'm supposed to feel sorry for him. After all, his mom tried to kill him. But you know what, the fact is that he's so fucking annoying that I want to kill him myself. So there goes the whole sympathy bit. Nope. Do not want.

4. The characters

Sure, Okiku has an excuse for being fucking dull, she's dead. But what about the rest of the living? They're cardboard. A mannequin has more personality than Carly and Tark. They do things. That's it. They never grow. They get frightened, but not too much. They suffer sometimes, but one feels nothing for them. They go through a ghost story, without ever feeling like they are any more alive than the ghost which they see.

Dull. Dry. The humans in this book have as much personality as a desiccated corpse, and that corpse is probably more interesting to observe as it rots.

She didn’t look like an assassin. She looked like a young girl—a pretty one at that, with her small stature and delicate features.

Why hello there, generic special snowflake Mary Sue heroine who's a dumb, weak, pussy-ass delicate little flower with every guy desiring her and powers that she never earned.

“You’re beautiful to watch, you know...Your grace—it’s impossible to ignore. Did you notice the way my men looked at you? And it wasn’t just them.”

Oh, and there's a sad attempt at love triangle.



Whoop dee doo!

If a good high fantasy is a sumptuous feast for the imagination, this book would be the equivalent of a few carrot sticks, with half a teaspoon of fat-free ranch dressing.



This is one of the most poorly crafted "high fantasy" books I have ever read. I used quotation marks for high fantasy, because within an actual high fantasy, there is some semblance of world building. Explanations. Context. There was none of the above within this book.

I'm going to forgo one of my long-winded metaphors and simply say that this book was "incredibly bad." Like the equivalent of Defy bad. So why a 1.5 instead of a 1? No breeding houses. But that's not really saying much.

This book is incredibly fucking dull. There is no world building. It moves at the pace of a snail with a broken leg, if snails had legs, that is...

The writing is completely unremarkable in every way. There is little to no character development.

To top it off, the main character is one of the worst high fantasy heroines I have ever had the misfortune of meeting. There's usually a method to my madness, I have a separate section where I analyze the main character. Fuck it, I'm having my little character rant first, it's been a long day and I'm feeling rebellious.

The main character is Kyra, a 17-year old thief. She so suffers from a serious condition that has been spreading around many book heroines known as too-stupid-to-live syndrome.

She scrambled back as the demon cat launched itself off a tree, landing softly on padded feet right where Kyra had been standing.
She should have remembered that cats could climb trees.

She has been a thief and a street urchin for most of her life. Cool, right? Well, no. No, because she is the most unwise, least street-savvy thief in the whole damn world. Kyra is a thief who won't carry around a weapon to defend herself.

“Rand says you don’t carry a knife.”
“I don’t need to. I can usually get away,” she said.

And consequently, she is completely fucking useless at self-defense. Kyra is not a fighter. She needs saving. She is saved by the act of god, or deus ex fucking machina almost every single time because she is incapable of defending herself. Like this time.

Someone pulled him off her, and Kyra dragged herself onto her elbow, breath coming in painful gasps. Both her attackers lay on the ground, unconscious. Above them stood a man who looked vaguely familiar.

And again, and again, and again.

She screamed, only to cut off as she choked on her own blood. The pain was unbearable, growing unimaginably worse when he twisted his knife.
“We would like to take her with us,” a man said.

AND BOOM, SAVED FROM INSTA-DEATH.

She constantly flushes and blushes.

- She flushed and drew her arm away.

- She flushed red, unsure as to whether she imagined his mocking tone.

- She looked away, taken aback at the flush rising in her cheeks.

She is the worst liar in the world.

“You’re not telling me everything,” he said.
“There’s nothing to tell,” she said too quickly.

She has no sense of loyalty. She will betray a group who takes her in at the drop of a hat. She betrays just about every group that takes her in. From a group of Robin Hood wannabes...

“It didn’t take long for you to switch your allegiance, did it?”

...To the "barbarians" who rescued her.

Could she betray them after they had saved her life?

The answer is yes. Always fucking yes. To the one new friend who saved her life.

It was true. [She] had saved her life, fought for her, and taught her the ways of the clan. And Kyra had betrayed her.

She will reveal her greatest weakness, her love for her friends, to the enemy to be used against her without a thought.

She likes small children. Cute. But when I read a book with a high fantasy heroine, I want less cuddly maternal type and more kick-ass. I didn't get much ass-kicking at all.

Because, as I said, she FAINTS AND FLUSHES ALL THE FUCKING TIME.

And naturally, everyone falls in love with her. She is so bloody special. Rebel bad boy assassin sees something special in her.

James pushed back from the table, studying her again with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Kyra.” His voice was soft, lacking its usual edge.

Knightly nobleman adores her for no bloody reason.

He didn’t let her go, though his gaze softened in a way that bruised her pride. “You’re a puzzle, Kyra.”

And she's speshul. SPESHUL.

How did he really feel about Kyra? She was like no one he’d ever met before, and he couldn’t deny that she was beautiful when she worked.

The Summary:

“You’ve noticed that you’re different, have you not?

We're in a high fantasy world, the most generic one in the entire fucking universe. Want explanations for something? Good bloody luck, you get none. I mean, things are easy enough to figure out, like if someone has a vampire in a book, you don't need to be told that they're fucking bloodsuckers, but SOMETIMES I WANT AN EXPLANATION. Who knows, the vampire in that particular book could suck the juices from oranges, instead of humans.

So yeah, back to Generic High Fantasy World. Is there magic in this world? Don't fucking know. For some reason, a felbeast will appear. What the fuck is a felbeast? A...demon...thing...obvi, but STILL, SOME FUCKING EXPLANATIONS WOULD BE NICE.
Boom, there are barbarians. OMG THE POOR ARE BEING OPPRESSED BY THE WEALTHY WITHOUT ANY CONTEXT AT ALL YAY.

Oh, and there are demon cats. Whooooooo! And felbeasts. What the fuck are they? Where the hell did they come from? ENJOY HAVING NO EXPLANATIONS AT ALL.

Into this mess of a fucking setting, enter our fucking idiot delicate flower of a heroine. Kyra is 17, a beautiful thief (well, she doesn't think she's beautiful, but OBVIOUSLY WE FIND OUT LATER THAT SHE IS, HYUK HYUK HYUK. She is a competent thief who fucks up a job, and for some reason after that, the Robin Hood-like Assassin's Guild who steal from the rich to give to the poor, only they want, nay, NEED the irrepressible Kyra's help. And then there's darkly handsome, deadly leader James who makes her heart flutter. Who makes her blush.

She was a professional, not some giddy farm girl.
“It’s what I do.”

Riiiiiiiiiiight.But no, it's not just James, there's handsome nobleman, knightly SER TRISTAM who makes her heart pound like the beating of a very small mallet.

And there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Had it only been a few weeks ago when they’d been enemies?

Much excitement. So love. Grand passion. Wow.

WHAT IS HER SECRET? WHY IS KYRA SO SPESHUL?

He was scrutinizing her, eyes wary.
“You’re different….”

And more importantly, WILL KYRA EVER STOP CRYING?

She clutched her blanket tighter and blinked back tears.

Kyra looked at him, and the forgiveness in his eyes made her want to burst into tears again.

Kyra could no longer hold her tears back.

Kyra squeezed her eyes tight against the tears that threatened to spill.

To her horror, she felt tears prickle behind her eyes.

Her body gave way to racking sobs. She lay there, curled in a ball, hugging her legs through the convulsions.

Kyra let it all out then, clutching the girls as she sobbed.

And will she ever be able to NOT fight like a kitten with its leg in a splint?

With a ragged cry, she launched herself at James, slashing wildly. There was a brief flicker of triumph on James’s face as he stepped aside, wrenching her knife arm behind her and twisting her down. She landed face-first on the ground. Two sharp kicks to the ribs knocked any remaining breath out of her.

By the way, there is also has a completely pathetic attempt at copying the premise of one of my favorite books...Poison Study. No. Don't even *snaps fingers*

“We’ve anticipated that and have instructed the healer Ilona to withhold the last few doses of antidote.”
Tristam tensed. “Sir?” he asked.
“The small amount of poison left in her body shouldn’t interfere overly much with her health,” said Willem. “We believe that the need for her final dose should motivate her to return to the Palace.”

Needless to say, just say no.

I realized, as I read to the end of the book, that the author has some seriously impressive credentials. A Ph.D from MIT, one of the best institutions of higher ed in the US. Wow. Bravo to her. I can never hope to rival her intelligence.

With that said, the education and the intelligence of the author does not necessarily make for a great book, and this is living proof. No matter how much I respect the author's smarts, this was an absolutely terrible book for me.

"We must not let the other family have such power over the future. We must make those children ours.” “And failing that?” “And failing that …” Lucia suddenly looked sad and tired. “Failing that, I will kill them myself

This book is epic in every sense of the word. I am pleased that upon a second reading, it was just as good as I had remembered. It's got:

Terrifyingly intelligent, yet spectacularly dorky and awkward 15-year old main characters

An awesome, complex relationship between twin siblings

Terrifyingly dangerous familial relationships where your beloved cousin might be plotting to kill you and eat your siblings

A battle between good slightly good not very bad kind of evil vs. evil

An interesting spin on demonic mythology 

A series of tests, in the form of trials and temptations

And the cherry on the cupcake...refreshingly little romance Sometimes a book just clicks. This book was just what I needed to refresh my mind in between the terrible books that seem to enjoy bombarding itself at me.

The Summary:

Eliot Post and his sister, Fiona, would be fifteen tomorrow and nothing interesting had ever happened to them.

Eliot and Fiona are the most socially stunted 15-year old twins in the entire world. And it's all thanks to their grandmother. They are orphans, parents mysteriously dead, oh, somewhere, somehow. The only family they've got now is a terrifying grandmother who is more military commander than cuddly old cookie-baking grandma.

It was Grandmother always. It was never Audrey or Gram, or any other pet name like they used with Cecilia. Not that it was forbidden, but Grandmother was the only thing they ever thought to call her. It was the only title that carried the authority her presence demanded.

And a cookie-baking great-grandma who seriously can't cook anything for shit. They've been home-schooled their entire lives. Their lives are dominated by rules, ranging from NO LISTENING TO MUSIC to NO READING BOOKS DEALING WITH MAGIC.

Seriously, their grandmother has a fucking list of rules for them. They've been forced to work hard their entire lives, there's no easy ride for them. From cleaning the apartment unit when they were young, to working their asses off doing menial labor in a horrible pizza shop, Eliot and Fiona's life can only be described as miserable. They can't even have candy. Even a half-eaten piece of chocolate, found in the trash, is considered a special treat. They wear homemade clothes (ugly ones). They never, ever go out. They have no friends but each other.

He and Fiona might as well have been corked inside a bottle, sailing nowhere on a tiny balsa-wood ship.

But all is not as it seems. Eliot and Fiona...surprisingly...caught someone's attention. Someone who recognizes their potential, through the altogether normal appearance.

Yes, the boy’s eyes, the slender but strong bridge of the girl’s nose, the high cheekbones and arching brows on both. How could she have missed it? Whoever had camouflaged them had done a masterful job: they had transformed divine into dull.

And with that, the dam bursts. No shit, they're not who they seem. Neither is their grandmother. They have a newfound extended family they know nothing about. A family that's all sort of magical, but not altogether friendly. Eliot and Fiona might get killed just for being born. Unless they pass The Test.

“Let the record show,” Aunt Lucia declared, “that we shall test the children’s potentials with three heroic trials. This will illuminate their characters and determine their lineage. It will prove their possible worth to remain alive.”

But that's not the only family they have to be concerned about. As bad as these relatives seem...there's the other side of the family...a side that may be even worse.

Meanwhile she had to prepare for the gathering of the Board. There were weapons to sharpen and armor to mend. Indeed, one did not face one’s brothers and sisters without taking careful precautions against carnage and bloodshed.

Eliot and Fiona will fight for their lives. They will face tests, temptations. Crocodiles and chocolates. Yes, you read that correctly. They will face attempts at seduction, they will discover powers they never knew they had. Challenges abound. They will learn that there is so much more to them and their families than they ever knew. Will they conquer their challenges? Will they fall? Will they succumb to the light? Ok, the slightly shadowy...or will they fall to the darkness? Above all else...they have to trust each other. They have to stick together.

She gently pushed them away. Tears were in her old eyes. “Be brave,” she whispered. “Do no let them separate you. You are stronger together.”

Together, they are strong. May the best side win.

The Families:

Eliot stared into the darkness and wondered about his father’s side of the family. Why was no one talking about them? Uncle Henry, Aunt Lucia, and possibly Grandmother had murdered. Could the other family be somehow … worse?

This book takes a number of mythologies and gave it an exceedingly interesting spin. There are demonic creatures from Christian mythology and other legends who come to life...and who become other characters here. It is half the fun guessing who the characters are. From the "dark" side, we have characters like the seductress Seeliah, the deadly beauty with a secret soft side, a fighter and a queen in her own rights. On the "good" side, we have characters like the beautiful, deadly Lucia. The charming and conniving Henry Mimes. Good and bad are all relative here, no pun intended, because good or bad, each side is out for their own best interest, and no game is too dirty to play. With families like these...who needs enemies?

Familial love: I absolutely love the portrayal of complex family relationships in this book. It is a battlefield, but above all else, there is loyalty. One may want to kill one's sister at times...but blood ties stand above all. It is a rather "Mafia"-like relationship. You wouldn't ever want to turn your back on a relative...but when it counts, you know they've got your back.

Sibling Love:

Fiona might have tried to drive him crazy, dreamed up the worst insults in the world to throw at him, but she’d never in a million years have snitched on him.

...Slash hate. I absolutely love Eliot and Fiona's relationships. They have only ever had each other. They have never had friends. They don't always get along...in fact, they hardly ever get along...but they're fiercely loyal to each other because of that fact. When you have lived your entire life a step up from abject misery, forbidden to have friends, forbidden to go to school, to be with your peers...you feel closest to the one who knows what you're going through. They have an...interesting relationship. There is a considerable and constant amount of rivalry with each other, academically. There's seriously NOTHING else they can do to keep themselves entertained but to fight with each other. They compete by playing word games...seeing who can best insult each other using the most obscure words. Hey, we all have to get our fun somewhere. As much as they claim to hate each other, Eliot and Fiona know they can rely on each other. Fiona is fiercely protective of her brother.

An image of Eliot, beaten and bloodied, flashed through her imagination—and her only thought was to protect him. She yanked the rope.

Eliot, in turn, knows to be there for his sister when she needs him most, even if she seemingly doesn't want him there. They have an unspoken YOU ARE SO GROSS I HATE YOU DON'T EVER TOUCH ME pact. A pact that is broken when they need each other most.

She grabbed Eliot’s hand. Normally this would have violated their brother-sister-never-touch-me agreement, which had been in place since they had been toilet trained. But tonight, Eliot let her.

I absolutely adore a good sibling relationship, and they don't come any better than this book, but that's not to say the twins themselves aren't excellent characters, alone.

Fiona:

She wanted to be Fiona Post … whatever that was … shy and awkward … scared … but herself.

The older twin, the wiser, more cynical twin. The warrior to her brother's poetic soul. Fiona is awkward, unsure of herself, wishing, like most teenaged girls often do, that she could be stronger, more confident, more beautiful.

Fiona would have given anything to be as confident. Every time she had to talk to strangers, her heart pounded so hard she could barely hear her own mouse voice as it tried to squeak out something clever. If shyness were a disease, Fiona would have been rushed to intensive care and put on a social respirator.

Throughout the book, we see her bloom. From a shy, stammering girl afraid of everything to a warrior goddess who stands up to challenges, who is capable of killing when she needs to, who finds strength to stand up against the most powerful of temptations. What I love about Fiona is that she is not perfect. That she is bitchy on occasion, but she has a tremendous amount of loyalty and love for her brother and her family. That is a main character I can stand behind.

Eliot:

“I’m here,” he whispered. “I’ll always be here for you.” Behind the door, Fiona quietly started to sob again. Eliot didn’t let go.

The gentle, soft poet. The musician who doesn't know what he's capable of. He is more compassionate than Fiona, weaker than Fiona, but at the same time, stubborn and strong in his own way. He, too, grows from a spineless boy who's all-too-conscious of being smaller, weaker than his twin, into someone who finds strength and power in a skill he never knew he had. This is one of my all-time favorite book. It is a long book, but I assure you, it's so worth the time investment.

“You mean I could have lost everything I ever cared about? Bad news, that’s already happened. Or do you mean worse like I could have died? Because that would actually have been better. I should have died with them. I wish I had died with them.”

This book is absolutely gut-wrenching. It has one of the best portrayals of a teenager in a book I've ever come across. There's just no getting around the fact that it was damned depressing, kind of in a "well, my day WAS a ray of sunshine until I read this book and now I want to dive into a pint of Rocky Road ice cream" and not so much in a ugly-sobbing-into-a-pillow (cough* Forbidden *) kind of sadness. On a Goldilocks scale, this would probably be Baby Bear, in the term that it's just right.

And going with the theme, of course Baby Bear would die.

This book has a fantastically realistic portrayal of grief and a main character who is absolutely believable as a teenager. She is not perfect, she's kind of a brat at times, but she's so human and I relate to her so well that I felt that she was absolutely perfectly-written. I absolutely loved her complex relationship with her mother and sister. More so because I, like her, have a sister of my own.



Feel the sisterly love.

Her sister is 10 years younger, like mine is. She hated her sister when she was born, as I did.

I didn’t think ten years was that much difference, really. I thought Marin would look up to me and I could teach her all kinds of things and be like her hero or something. But what I hadn’t banked on was that there would be a lot of years where she would be a baby. The baby. The center of everything.

I felt that resentment. For years and years, I hated and resented my sister for beingn the baby. More than anything, I regret being such a stupid little shit to my sister when she was growing up. In that way, I knew perfectly what the main character was going through.

More than anything, I felt the portrayal of adults in this book was absolutely brilliant. Adults are people, too. They fuck up. They make mistakes. They lie. They try. They're not perfect. I should know, I'm one. Parents aren't perfect. Neither are friends. In the end, all you can do, really, is try.

And life sucks. Things aren't a fairy tale. Sometimes---oftentimes, things don't turn out as planned. All you can do it adjust as best you can. The main character in this book, while not perfect, tries. She is resilient. I can't ask for more from a character.

And to top it off, there's almost no romance at all. Because there's such a thing as priority, y'all. When your life is in pieces, the last thing you want to think about it luuuuuuuuuurve.

Really, this book is so perfect.

The Summary:

I realized that the worst part of someone you love dying suddenly isn’t the saying good-bye part. It’s the part where you wonder if they knew how much you loved them.

17-year old Jersey had a pretty decent life. Good friends, a nice family. A mom, a stepfather, Ronnie, a baby half-sister Marin. Sure, Jersey's a brat sometimes, but aren't all teenagers? It was a normal life, with a normal nightly argument over doing the chores.

“Don’t forget the laundry,” Mom said on her way out.
“I know,” I singsonged back sarcastically, rolling my eyes.

But what Jersey didn't know is that it would be the last time she saw her mother and sister. This is the Midwest, and there's a tornado on the way.

Being a tough Midwesterner, Jersey doesn't really think about the tornado...it's practically an annual tradition. She's just chilling in the storm shelter for shits and giggles until the tornado hits. And it is serious fucking business. Even in terms of tornadoes, it's a bad one.

I was confused, and my arms, legs, back, and head stung. I coiled into myself, gripping my head and crying and crying, half-sobbing, half-shrieking. I don’t know how long I stayed that way before I realized it was over.

The aftermath is bad. People dead. The town razed to the ground. It gets worse, because as the days go by, it becomes evident that Marin and her mother aren't coming back. Jersey is as good as an orphan.

Her stepfather is a broken man, unable to deal with his grief, unable to deal with a young woman who looks too much like his wife.

“Jersey, I’m sorry,” he said, and that was pretty much all he needed to say.
“But why?”
“I can’t do it. I can’t raise you alone. I never meant to...”

Jersey has no choice but to live with her grandparents...and the father she never knew. The one who abandoned her.

It's not what she expected. These are far from the cuddly, kind grandparents who would hug you and spoil you and love you. These people are harsh. Cold. Unflinching and unloving, without an ounce of sympathy.

“It’s a shame what happened to your mom,” Grandmother Billie said between bites. “But there’s nothing to be done about it. Terrible things happen every day. To everybody, not just you.”

Her half-sisters (whom she didn't even know exist!) are terrors. Their entire extended family can best be described as white trash, complete with the broken-down home. Her biological dad is a drunk. Her stepmother is no better.

Standing in the doorway, swaying crookedly, balanced on a pair of beat-up cowboy boots, was my father, Clay Cameron.
“...always said you wanted the bitch dead,” she said, and I heard them both giggle.

It is a hell of a life, and Jersey can hardly bear to live.

I pulled the blanket over my head and bawled into the dirty couch, the sobs reaching so far down into me, they came out dry.

But it's not like she has much of a choice. She's almost as good as an orphan. Will Jersey to go down with her grief?, or will she be a survivor?

Nobody was coming to rescue me. Nobody was going to keep me safe. It was all up to me now.

Jersey: I found Jersey to be an amazing character, one of the most sympathetic and believable heroines I've ever come across. She's not perfect. She's a snot to her mom, she ignores her little sister because Marin was annoying, and she feels that regret like nothing else.

What I wouldn’t have given to listen to Marin’s chatter, to have her stand in front of my face begging me to dance with her. Life with Marin was never quiet. Life without her seemed so still it was maddening.

I am a quiet person. I have always been. I can sit quietly for hours. Having a noisy baby sister in the house was all sorts of maddening, and I understood perfectly the way it pissed Jersey off.

And I understood perfectly how much she missed that noise now that her sister is gone. I would not trade my sister for all the silence in the world.

Jersey may be a brat, but she's not a bitch. She knows when to tune it down. She knows how to behave. She can keep her bratty side under control, especially in the aftermath of her mother and sister's death. This book perfectly portrays her stages of grief, as she goes from denial to sorrow to anger, to madness.

I was feeling a too-familiar anger welling up inside me. I’d never been an angry kind of person, and it didn’t make sense why it kept coming back. I was sad, not angry. I was scared and lonely, but I didn’t understand why I felt so mad. Being mad all the time did sort of make me feel like I was losing it.

It's the kind of grief that's internalized. An observer wouldn't see it, but we do. We feel her sorrow and her defense so keenly.

She didn’t know how broken I was on the inside, that I couldn’t have let her in even if I’d wanted to, because the part of me that had once loved was now gone.

Jersey's personality skated that fine line between maturity and teenaged rebellion, and I loved her for it.

The Adults: There are so few YA books that portray adults well. This is one of them.

“I don’t hate you,” he said. “But I can’t take care of you. Every time I look at you, I see her. Every time I hear you talk, I think about how I let everyone down. I think about how I couldn’t save any of you. Not one.”

I loved the adults in this book. They are human, they are weak. They succumb to sorrow, to a coma-like state of grief. They make poor decisions that they regret. They're not perfect. They don't become perfect.

For example, the quote above is from Ronnie, Jersey's stepfather. He is suffering from the death of his wife and daughter. He can't bring himself to take care of Jersey, no matter how much she begs. He hates himself for his weakness, but he just can't do it. Ronnie doesn't have the strength. He doesn't have the willpower. He feels terrible for it, he hates himself, but there's just no way he can take care of a young woman in his state, and he knows it.

Other adults in the book are imperfect as well, from the aged grandparents, who are more like the scary old people shaking sticks at you on the corner than anything that could be remotely warm and loving.

I was reminded of Mom’s theory that Billie and Harold were unhappy people because of the pain life had dealt them. I wondered what terrible things had happened in their lives, and if Mom was right, and they’d simply shut down to shut out the hurt.

Friends' parents aren't loving and awesome. They're people who need to take care of their own family first.

Nobody is perfect. Parents lie. Friends dodge uncomfortable questions. We avoid seeing the truth as long as we can.

This book is damned realistic, and damned depressing.

And I'll be damned if I didn't love it.

Usually, I'm the one person who hates a book that everyone else has loved. For once, that's not the case. I seem to be the only person who loved this book, and I can't understand why. This book is awesome. And for some reason, the reviews have been like 1-1-1-1-2-1-1 across the board. Huh.

One of my friends who have read this book described it as watching a train wreck. Yep, that's exactly it. It's watching a psychological train wreck as it unfolds, and I love every moment of it.

The main character in this book is a psycho bitch. She really, truly is. There's no kind way to put it. She's insane, she should be on medication, but surprise, surprise, like so many mentally ill people, she refuses to take her meds. The result is a psychological wreck from which you cannot look away.

I've worked in a mental hospital before. I've worked in an emergency room in downtown LA before, and so trust me when I tell you that the craziest people I know are neither hospitalized nor institutionalized. They live and walk among us. They're the sociopaths. Manipulative lovers, friends, those who will simply take things too far. Those who will take advantage of us. Those who will wring every ounce of sympathy out of a situation. Those who I like to call "emotional vampires" because they will suck the life out of you.

This is a book about one such person.

It has:

1. An amazing, realistic portrayal of mental illness. The emotional manipulation. The lies. The self-hate. The sense of knowing that one is sick, but not being able to control yourself or your thoughts. The sense of wrongness.

2. An excellent depiction of cheating. It deals with cheating in a manner that I felt was sensitive, that made me, who hates the matter, supportive of the people involved.

3. A nice guy. Seriously. I felt like the love interest within this book was awesome. He struggles a lot, dealing with a girlfriend who is mentally ill, and I supported him despite everything.

4. No slut shaming. The teens in this book sleep with each other. They cheat. I never got the sense of shame, of self-hate, of recrimination by others that there is something shameful in sexuality.

If you like psycho characters, if you revel in other people's suffering, this is the book for you.

The Summary:

“You haven’t gone off your meds or whatever, have you?” he asked quietly.
Lilah’s face fell in disbelief. “Are you really asking me that?”
“Like I said, I’m worried about you,” Carter said.
Lilah didn’t answer.

Once upon a time, Carter and Lilah were a fairytale. They have been dating since 9th grade, one of those rare couples who have stayed together throughout high school, supporting each other through thick and thin. Once upon a time, Lilah was a bright, sparkling young woman, filled with joy and life.

“You’ve got a spark in you. Like a drive, you know what I mean? I’m always so worried about doing the right thing that I wouldn’t have dared do that without you.”

Once upon a time, Lilah was normal.

It is now their senior year of high school, and the fairy tale looks more like a fever dream.

you haven’t gone off your meds or whatever, have you?” he asked quietly.
Lilah’s face fell in disbelief. “Are you really asking me that?”
It occurred to Carter that she hadn’t answered his question.

Lilah is sick. She is mentally ill. She needs to take her medications. She is self-destructive, she is paranoid. She has few friends, because slowly, she has driven them away through harassment and paranoia. A once-promising swimmer, Lilah has since been kicked off the team.

In her manic exhaustion, she searched down the phone numbers not only of Melissa, but also of the Coral Gables coach and the principal of the school. She’d called them so many times that they’d reported her to Coach Randolph and Lilah had been kicked off the team.

Carter still loves her, he still cares about her, but it seems like he's staying together more out of duty than love.

She quickly covered her cuts with her hand. “I thought you were going to leave me. After what I did,” she said.
The thought of what she might do if he broke up with her sent a cold spike plunging through his heart.

Lilah has slowly withdrawn into herself, but Carter manages to gently talk her into attending a party thrown by one of his best friends.

The party was a disaster. Lilah has a tendency to blow up minor events, and this party was no different.

She knew he wasn’t criticizing her—he was just trying to be funny, or cute or something. But she couldn’t help but feel like he should have just said thank you.

Small things add up, and before she knows it, Lilah has gone down on one of her downward spirals.

So she took another swig of rum and Coke. She couldn’t get drunk fast enough. It was the only way she knew how to escape the feeling that everyone here was laughing at her behind her back.

Before long, Lilah ends up on a roof, drunk, almost fallen to her death before she is rescued by Carter. Lilah's friends volunteer to take her home, leaving Carter there, wondering what the hell just happened. Exhausted and frightened as fuck, but finally able to relax.

Whether or not he wanted to admit it to himself, it was the first time he breathed all night.

But he's not alone in his contemplation. A girl is there, Jules. They start talking, and before they know it, Carter realizes that this girl is funny, she's smart, she's beautiful. She is normal. And despite himself, Carter can't help feeling the attraction.

He relaxed a tick. He couldn’t help it. She was so comfortable with herself—you could see it in her posture, in her easy conversation, in the way she was able to look at the things outside herself without worrying about how they related to her—that she put him at ease.

Then he gets a text from Lilah.

“WHYD U MAKE ME GO TO THAT PARTY?” it said.

Really, was it any contest?

This story is about Lilah, and Carter, and Jules. It is about a young man struggling to do the right thing, a young woman who just wants to be with him, knowing the challenges.

“It’s okay. I don’t expect you to all of a sudden be my boyfriend. I understand. You’ve been with her forever. I don’t want to be the girl who broke up the class couple.”

And the trouble girl standing in between them.

What she felt was fear. And rage. And a despair so huge and heavy she felt like it might smother her, weigh her down, pull her into the ground, where she’d be buried forever.

Lilah:

She struggled with all her might to stop the tears from falling down her cheeks. She understood that he felt he had been wronged. But didn’t he understand that she’d been wronged, too? She ached all over from how badly she’d been wronged.

Lilah is the mentally ill, emotionally manipulative main character, and I thought her character was brilliantly portrayed. She is not without sympathy. Lilah is seriously sick, she needs her medication, but she cannot be relied upon to take them. Lilah knows that there's something wrong with her. She is completely understanding of the fact that she is not right. She has reason, she sees reason, it's just that often, her brain overrides common sense.

She regretted every single thing she’d done, and her regret made her hate herself and her self-hatred filled her with an uncontrollable need to hear Carter tell her that everything was okay.

She has been with Carter for so long that he has become her life. He has become her identity, and she will stop at nothing to get him back. I thought her hurt and anger and lack of self-control was well-written.

“No. You don’t get to decide when I calm down.” Another surge of rage and she went at him with all the strength she contained. When he held her off with a stiff arm, she clamped her fingers into his arm and dug into his skin with her nails. He’d hurt her; why shouldn’t she hurt him back?

Carter:

She’s so anxious, though. She needs me so much.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “And she holds on so tightly that she doesn’t realize she’s...killing us.”
Jules felt for him. She understood his fear. Walking away from love was hard—even if the love was bad.
“I don’t want to hurt her,” he said.

I bloody loved Carter. Yes, he cheats on Lilah, but there is so much guilt within him.

I know it's a stupid thing to say about a guy who cheats on his girlfriend, but I felt like Carter has so much integrity. I don't think it's a stretch to say that a lot of guys would just dump a troublesome girlfriend, particularly one during the volatile years of high school. Carter doesn't do that. He remains with Lilah. He feels a responsibility for her. He watches over her. He is more of a babysitter than a boyfriend at times, and he bears his tasks with such earnestness. I truly felt bad for him.

The thing with cheating is that you have to make the cheaters to be likeable, deeply sympathetic people and I felt like this book did that exceptionally well.

“So, look. Things with Lilah are—I don’t even know what they are. We’re going to talk later this afternoon. So, we’ll see. I need to figure things out in my head . . . and . . .” He blushed. “I mean, I should get my shit together before I start messing with yours. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to you and it’s not fair to Lilah. You know what I mean? I shouldn’t be starting new things with new people when I’m in the middle of a great big confusing thing already.”

There are a lot of insecurities, a lot of moral struggles, a lot of guilt. and I was wholly in support of Carter the entire time.

Jules: Oh, sure, she's a drama hipster, but I liked her a lot despite the fact. Maybe it's because she, in her own way, is damaged. She, too, is insecure. She is so refreshingly normal in contrast. Jules knows that Carter and Delilah are complicated. She didn't want to get caught up in the middle, but her attraction for Carter overreaches that common sense. Still, Jules is not clingy. She is reasonable. She gives Carter space to deal. She is not desperate to be loved.

“I get it. Hey, I don’t want to get involved in some crazy cheating thing, either.”
“So,” he said. “Friends?”
She wanted to take his hand in hers and tell him to let her know if he changed his mind. But she knew better than to do that.
Instead, she smirked. “Friends,” she said.

And have I mentioned that she has an awesome, awesome mother?

“Did you hear me?” she said. “It’s not your fault. You don’t have to own problems he’s created for himself. Okay?”
Jules nodded.
“But,” her mom said, arching her eyebrows, “be careful. Guys with girlfriends...they have no idea what they want. And they’ll charm you into thinking that it doesn’t matter. You should know that by now, given the example I’ve set for you.”
“I know,” Jules said. “You’re right. It’s just...”
Jules’s mom patted her hand, and then gave it a playful squeeze. “It’s just that they’re so hard to resist,” she said.
They smiled at each other, almost but not quite ashamed of this truth.

Aren’t ghosts supposed to have some sort of agenda? I really hope mine isn’t to haunt my boyfriend’s bedroom. That is way too clichéd.

“Why didn’t you stay with your body?” he finally asks.
I meet his eyes and the only thing I want to say is I came back to be with you, I stayed for you.

Sure, you could compare this to The Lovely Bones, in the same way that you could compare Twilight to Bram Stoker's Dracula. It's pretty much the same thing, really, with a few minor differences. The "few minor differences" being:

1. Red tunas. Ok, fine, the technical term for a misleading clue ia a "red herring" but the clues in this book are so fucking obvious and dumb and loud that I've coined a new term for it. Hence, red tuna

2. This ghost is even more of a vapid idiot than the one in The Lovely Bones

3. This ghost gets into one bloody painful mess of a love triangle between the most wonderfulest boyfriend ever who just doesn't geeeeeeeeeet her, maaaaaan and a pothead stoner with a heart of gold

4. Family? Lol. Family? Screw family, it's all about friends, y'all. She has a sister? A brother? A family. Oh, yeah, yeah, she does. She mentions them sometimes. Mostly the fact that her mom is a huge, raging psychotic bitch

5. The dumbest friends ever, in fact, the most vapid group of high schoolers who ever existed

6. There is not a single truly likeable character in the book. I'm dead fucking serious. Her classmates are morons without sympathy. Her family pretty much ignore one another when, if, they're mentioned at all

Really, there's not much introspection. There's no literary value. There is an idiot of a girl who gets to spend time with her boyfriend, while fighting off the feelings for another guy...while she's a ghost. Don't. Just don't.

The Summary:

I think I’m supposed to do something while I’m here. It doesn’t make any sense that I’d be given a free pass to haunt about and chill with my boyfriend.

17-year old Cassidy is dead. How does everyone think she died?

“Well, I heard some guys saying she tried to go skinny-dipping in the river and froze, which is downright ignorant to suggest. Then Kristy London started telling everyone she saw Cassidy throw up at dance once because she was bulimic and that’s why she committed suicide.”

Cassidy was found dead under a bridge, after a night of inebriation. Everyone seems to think her death was a suicide, even her own family. Even the police, since they seem to think she killed herself after, oh, roughyl 5 seconds of investigations. So realistic.

So nobody knows how Cassidy died, since nobody was there. Hell, not even Cassidy knows how she died, because she was drunk as fuck.

I was definitely drinking at the party, but was I drunk enough to forget everything that happened?

But all hope is not lost! Cassidy may be dead, but she's not yet "moved on." She is still here, on earth, as a ghost. Nobody can see her, until, miraculously, her boyfriend, Ethan could! She's been left here on earth with a purpose! How shall Cassidy spent this one wondrous chance?!

I cast away that dangerously hopeful thought and look up at Ethan, deciding to take advantage of what time I have left with him.

Will she use that time to discover how she died? Not exactly.

I’m momentarily distracted by Ethan’s navy blue boxer-briefs. They’re the only thing he’s wearing.

Is she going to spend her remaining time on earth observing her family extensively, seeing that they're her family, who have raised her and loved her for 17 years? Um...

He exhales, long and loud. I lean forward, hoping for a whiff of his breath even if it’s sour, morning scented, but there’s nothing. I frown.

Is she going to spend that time going back to the scene of her death, seeing if there are any clues to be picked up, any memories she can glean from going back to such a pivotal place? Weeeeell...

I’m sure my afterlife mission isn’t to hook up with my boyfriend—especially after what I just remembered about Caleb—but I can’t ignore the allure of his touches.

Ok, fine. This is a teenaged girl, after all. It's only fair that she spends a quarter of the book, or half the book thinking about her boyfriend. But what about the remaining half? How will she spend the rest of her time on earth?! Clearly, she has been put here for a purpose. Ghosts don't just wander around after death pointlessly. Surely there is a bigger picture here.

Yeah, there is. His name is Caleb, andOH BOY, CASSIDY IS GOING TO INVESTIGATE THE ROLE THAT HE PLAYED IN HER DEATH.

I bend down right in front of him, meaning to study his face for some proof of guilt, maybe attempt a ghostly trick to will a writing sample out of his obnoxious orange backpack, but the only thing I can think about is his mouth closed around mine. My eyes wander to his lips.

Or, you know, just think about kissing him. Investigation. Kissing. Same thing, if you think about it.

Cassi-die now plz:

I squared my shoulders and inched up my chin as if I was above his affection. I wasn’t, but I was so mad I wanted him to think I was, to feel bad about it.

The word vapid is actually spelled "C-A-S-S-I-D-Y." The definition of her name is Captain Obvious since she has the uncommon knack for stating the fucking obvious.

She sets a pad of monogrammed stationery on top of her notes from last week and adds Mica’s name to a short list of classmates, all of whom attended the party.
“This is your list of people you think might know something about my death, isn’t it?” I ask her.

Her grief is of the woe-is-me everything is about me me me. OK, she's dead. I know that. I should be able to empathize with that, but her sadness...the way it is written, so very much self-centered, just makes me laugh.

Sadness rolls over me, knowing that I’ll never again be the person she turns to for comfort.

She is the equivalent of a mentally-challenged ghost. She knows she can't be heard, yet she insists on talking VERY LOUDLY and ENUNCIATING VERY CLEARLY in the hopes that someone will be able to hear her.

“Aimée,” I say very slowly as if overenunciating will allow her to hear me, “look under that binder.”

It is the equivalent of talking VERY LOUDLY INTO THE EARS OF A DEAF PERSON. It just makes you look like a motherfucking moron.

Her investigation into her death can be best summed up in one hyphenated word: "half-assed". She withholds clues, she ignores clues, she ignores uncomfortable flashbacks, like her memories of flirting and kissing another boy who is not her boyfriend. She lies. She omits information that would help the one person who is able to see her investigate her death.

If I tell him I think I was with Caleb he’ll definitely ask why. I’m not ready to go there with him. It’ll ruin the small piece of us we’ve recaptured, and I can’t bear losing that again.

Almost all her memories are of emotional conflicts between her love triangle. They are frustrating, they are foolish, they give me no respect for Cassidy whatsoever.

The Side Characters:

After he leaves, the cafeteria clears out, but conversations still echo off the walls. She was totally drunk … I heard she froze to death … Who kills herself over a breakup? I mean, really?

Seriously, there is not one single likeable character in the entire fucking book. Her family are portrayed as idiots. Her father is a doormat. Her mother is a psycho with a midlife crisis who pretty much has no reaction over her daughter's death besides for the fact that it might give her something to do. Cassidy has a tremendous amount of contempt for her mom, and her entire family is portrayed so briefly, so poorly, that there is absolutely no sense of familial love whatsoever.

Instead, we are focused on her friends, and man, they are motherfucking idiots. Cassidy may be vapid, but she appears to be a product of her school, because her entire fucking school is filled with brainless teenagers without an ounce of sympathy. Literally nobody gives a fuck about her death but her friend, Aimée. The entire student body doesn't need counseling, they use her death as an opportunity to gossip, to make small-talk, to talk shit about Cassidy now that she's dead. It would have appeared like Cassidy had no friends at all after her death, and it is so strange, considering we don't get a sense of that at all from the flashbacks of her life before death.

Truly, the side characters in this book, the entire fucking cast, doesn't seem realistic at all. There is no emotional connection to anyone, anything.

The Motherfucking Love Triangle:

Aimée rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe he was high at eight-thirty in the morning. I’ll never get what Cassidy saw in him.”

DING DING DING. We have a love triangle here. And it's not an obvious type. It's the I-will-keep-you-guessing-until-the-bitter-fucking-end type.

Ethan is the nicest boy in the world. He was her first kiss. He was her first love. They have been dating for three years.

He took my hand, and I was certain, in that moment, that I would never kiss anyone else for as long as I lived.

Until, inexplicably, she falls for Caleb, a stoner who pops pills under the guise of Tic-Tacs.

Caleb, who is never NOT stoned.

Caleb opens his eyes in a lazy, delayed reaction that tips me off that he’s high. Again.

Caleb, who is a bad boy with a Tragic Past who totally deserves our sympathy, right

"...you had changed when your parents split up and you started getting high all the time..."

Caleb, who gives her a special Brownie laced with marijuana. Such a fucking gentleman. How could a girl ever resist?

“Speaking of, I made you a little somethin’ somethin’.” He reached into his bright orange backpack and pulled out a brownie wrapped in pink cellophane and about ten different colors of ribbon.
“Caleb, you didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to give you something special to celebrate your birth.”

And she cheated on Ethan with THIS loser? No, thank you. Sure, Ethan is so fucking effeminate that he barely even counts as a boyfriend, but he's still a far better catch than Caleb. And we're left wondering until the very end who she will choose.

I do not tolerate cheating. There are books in which cheating is really, really well done, in which I feel a tremendous amount of sympathy for the cheaters.

This is not one of those books.

A line pops into my head, one I repeated dozens of times to get the right balance of hope and desperation that the Zombie Killer is known for. All that stands between me and the end of the world...is a bobby pin.

I have two, motherfuckers.

Vaya con dios, mi amigo.

No, that's not a quote from the book. It's my advice to you, it means "go with god, my friend," and you're going to need that advice should you insist upon reading this book.

It's one of those so-bad-it's-almost-good books.

It's insta-love, and that's pretty much it. We have omg HE'S SUCH AN ASSHOLE and YOU ARE A FUCKING MORONIC PRINCESS and then 5 seconds later I LOVE HIM. What the fuck.

Ok, so here's kind of a spoiler, but not really. The book is entitled Vivian Divine is Dead. I know that this is huge news. Shocking. Absolutely flabbergasting, jaw-dropping, and all of that good shit but Vivian Divine doesn't die.

I wish she had. The book might have been more interesting otherwise.

The Summary:

I try not to think about the day Pierre and I first fell in love. It was a year ago, when we were wrapping up Zombie Killer, my blockbuster about an orphan who saves the human race.

Sure, Vivian Divine may be a famous Hollywood movie star, Oscar-nominated by age 16, with a famous director father and the 3rd most beautiful (and very dead) mother (as chosen by Time magazine), but as far as she's concerned, everything in her life has been about the movie Zombie Killer.

But no really, her life kind of sucks right now because:

1. Mommy is dead, from MYSTERIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES

2. Daddy tried to kill himself from ZE PAIN

3. Her boyfriend, Pierre, just cheated on her with her much skinner best friend, Sparrow (not much of a best friend anymore!). Her heart is totally, irretrievably broken.

Pierre was the only one who could make me feel better, and the only boy who ever whispered, This is forever.

Oh yeah, and um.

4. Someone's sending her death threats. Hence the title of the book. Vivian Divine really, really thinks she's going to die.

And apparently, shit, it's true! People are trying to kill her! What's the poor Vivian Divine to do? She's never attended school, she's never done a single fucking thing for herself.

I hate asking for help. Luckily, I never have to. A team of specialists is paid to take care of my every need, to anticipate what I might want and have it prepared ahead of time. If they don’t have the right brand of mango lip balm ready for me after a shoot, they’re done.

So Vivian Divine is totally fucked when her only way of escaping CERTAIN DOOM is to escape to Mexico!

Ay, caramba! (I know there's supposed to be another exclamation mark before the Ay, but I'm too tired to look it up in Character Map, ok?)

So with a mysterious, awesome new disguise---you know how when you go incognito, you're supposed to look plain and all that good shit so that you don't attract attention?

I’m normally cute: big blue eyes, pouty lips, long copper curls. But this is gorgeous. My short black hair falls straight and glossy as a waterfall; my eyes are melting chocolate.

Someone forgot to tell Vivian Divine.

But it's ok, because the instant she meets trouble...Vivian Divine falls into insta-love.

Standing in front of me is the sexiest guy I’ve ever seen. His eyes are a rugged green, his black hair shaggy on his shoulders. His cargo pants hang off his slim hips, and a white undershirt clings to his chest. My personal trainer would kill for his body.

“Hola.” I’m completely tongue-tied.

Nick is instantly contemptuous of her. This spoiled little princess who is clearly out of her league in the wilds of México. Such a fool. What could this toughened, experienced, battle-weary boy ever see in Hollywood Royalty Vivian Divine?

“You’re a spoiled brat. You have no problems,” Nick says. “You think your life’s so tough, but your rich mommy and daddy take care of everything for you.” He snatches my orange soda from my hand, takes the last sip, and tosses it into the trash. “You don’t know what real pain is.”

Uh huh! YOU TELL HER, NICK! Don't let that prissy little princess worm her way into her heart. And true to his words, Nick holds steady for all of 5 seconds.

“When I met you on the bus, I thought you were just another rich American,” he continues. “But you’re not. You’re...different.”

OH, NO, NOT THE D WORD!!!!!!!!

But the romance aside, THERE'S STILL PEOPLE TRYING TO KILL VIVIAN DIVINE. Even in Mexico! But it's all good, Vivian Divine was in Zombie Killer, remember? Her experience from Zombie Killer not only helps her endure wearing contacts when she's donning her disguise...

[She] finds me a pair of brown contacts, which I’m used to wearing, thanks to my months of demon-red contacts in Zombie Killer.

And helps her tolerate hunger during her days on the run in Mexico.

I’ve never been this hungry before (except for all-night shoots for Zombie Killer.

But it helps Vivian to prove herself to Nick when he's being an asshat to her.

Anger races through me, and I remember the judo move I learned for the all-night shoot of Zombie Killer. I’ll show you petty problems.

And it helps her to protect herself against the BAD BAD GUYS. Vivian is trapped in a moving car? It's all good. She can jump out of the car if she needs to, thanks to her experience with Zombie Killer.

I’ve done it before. I jumped out of a moving car for a stunt in Zombie Killer.

If someone tries to attack her, it's all good, because she's learned judo on the set of Zombie Killer.

What if someone jumps out and attacks me? What do I do? I try to recall the judo moves I learned for Zombie Killer.

If she needs encouragement...Vivian can just remember her mother's words of advice...for acting in Zombie Killer.

I remember my mom telling me the day before she disappeared, when I was filming the fight scene for Zombie Killer. In that scene, when the zombies had me almost beaten, the Zombie Killer realized that sometimes not fighting is as powerful as fighting.

MEXICO JA JA JA: The Mexico portrayed in this book can best be described in one word: stupid. People can eat rodents if they need to. There are fucking mariachi bands everywhere. They eat tacos every meal of the day. They eat cricket tacos. They speak in complete English sentences...but certain words have to constantly be in Spanish. A guy can speak for an entire paragraph in fluent English, but when he refers to his mother, it's always mi madre . Come on, now.

Divinely Insipid:

Hiding from a killer with an armed stranger in Mexico? Am I crazy?

Yes, yes you are.

Vivian Divine is Hollywood Royalty, which is the synonym for I have no common sense whatsoever outside of what I learned in movies. She has spent her entire life as an actor. She has never been to school. Her parents are famous and wealthy. She has always been waited on hand and foot. She doesn't know what it's like to be in the real world, so when she gets immersed into it, into the wilds of Mexico, of all things, she drowns. It takes a big, strong man to protect her, because Vivian Divine can't do jack shit.

All her experience is gleaned from movies. She sees a fucking house. It looks like a house in [insert movie here] that she's been in. It happens repeatedly. To Vivian, Mexico looks like a movie set.

I’ve seen this church before, I realize, on the studio’s back lot. It’s the “Traditional Mafia Church” set.

To Vivian, everything that happens is the equivalent of a movie scene.

It feels like my story’s ending. It’s a story with a tragic ending, one where the heroine starves to death on the side of a mountain, all alone, with only a lamb to keep her company.

And I must be frank, there's no other way to put it. Vivian Divine, by rights, should have died because she is a fucking moron who wouldn't last 1.5 seconds in downtown LA, much less Mexico.

The Romance: For someone who falls into insta-love so quickly, Vivian Divine can't forget about her ex-boyfriend, Pierre.

His eyes seem to breathe me in, all of me, not just little useful pieces like Pierre’s used to do. But maybe I’m just imagining it.

I expect Nick to look confused, like Pierre did when I told him, but he’s nodding like he understands.

If Pierre was here, he’d pretend he knew how to do it, burn himself, and then make me start the fire.

It’s the complete opposite of Pierre’s bathroom, which is stuffed with expensive colognes and hair gel, but then again, Pierre has more beauty products than I do.

I know all about sleeping pills. Pierre takes them to get a few hours of sleep before his shoots so that he won’t have bags under his eyes.

All this happens throughout the book. She is constantly thinking about Pierre and comparing/contrasting them. Enough already. And then not a few days passes before Vivian Divine realizes...

I see your soul, I want to say, but I bite my tongue, and hope he sees mine.

The insta-love is terrible. Nick hated her in the beginning, and then for no reason at all, they start to fall in love right after she tells him the equivalent of I'M NOT AS SHALLOW AS YOU THINK I AM, without any proof, without any character development whatsoever. And before you know it, this happens.

“Nobody knows,” Nick says. “But when the locals look at them, they see angels.”
“What do you see?”
“Something even better,” Nick says, looking right at me.

God won't help you. Watch a telenovela instead.