Fever at Dawn by Péter Gárdos

Title: Fever at Dawn
Author: Péter Gárdos, Elizabeth Szász (translation)
Publisher: Anansi International
Publication date: April 30, 2016
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

Twenty-five-year-old Holocaust survivor Miklós is being shipped from the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp to Gotland, Sweden, to receive treatment at the Larbro Hospital. Here he is sentenced to death again: he is diagnosed with tuberculosis and his doctors inform him that he has six months to live. But Miklós decides to wage war on his own fate: he writes 117 letters to 117 Hungarian girls, all of whom are being treated in the Swedish camps, with the aim of eventually choosing a wife from among them.

Two hundred kilometres away, in another Swedish rehabilitation camp, nineteen-year-old Lili receives Miklós’s letter. Since she is bedridden for three weeks due to a serious kidney problem, out of boredom — and curiosity — she decides to write back.

The slightly formal exchange of letters becomes increasingly intimate. When the two finally manage to meet, they fall in love and are determined to marry, despite the odds that are against them.

Based on the original letters written by Miklós and Lili (ninety-six altogether), Fever at Dawn is a tale of passion, striving, and betrayal; true and false friendships; doubt and faith; and the redeeming power of love.

Many thanks to the publisher for sending me this electronic copy via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.

The synopsis of Fever at Dawn is far more compelling than the book itself. My problem is this: the storyline meanders on and on, with far too many loose ends left behind. By the time you reach the end of the book, you're left wondering why you even bothered to read the thing you just read.

Fever at Dawn is based on the real life story of the Jewish-Hungarian author/director Péter Gárdos's parents, which perhaps makes the story more interesting than it would be otherwise, but it also makes me wonder if the author just took bits and pieces of real life, added in a weak backstory, and called it a day. There were moments that stood out to me, but there was not enough "plot" or momentum to really hold everything together. In some ways, it felt like I was reading a fictionalized account of someone's daily journal - some things were interesting, but on the whole, it was missing a roadmap. If you were to ask me, I don't think I could even tell you what the real point of the story was - the plot structure was unclear and really lacking.

Like I said, the description of Fever at Dawn oversells the book for me - the themes mentioned (betrayal, friendship, striving, love...) are all there, but they feel like afterthoughts - somehow disjointed from the essence of the story. But I do have to say that the writing is lovely and well-translated by Eliabeth Szász. The characters are also interesting - particularly Miklós, the optimistic and quirky and ever-hopeful protagonist. I only wish the storyline itself had been more carefully thought through.

Review: The Start of Me and You by Emery Lord

Title: The Start of Me and You
Author: Emery Lord
Publisher: Bloomsbury
Publication date: March 31, 2015
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

Following her pitch-perfect debut Open Road Summer, Emery Lord pens another gorgeous story of best friends, new love, & second chances.

Brimming with heartfelt relationships and authentic high-school dynamics The Start of Me and You proves that it's never too late for second chances.

It's been a year since it happened—when Paige Hancock's first boyfriend died in an accident. After shutting out the world for two years, Paige is finally ready for a second chance at high school . . . and she has a plan. First: Get her old crush, Ryan Chase, to date her—the perfect way to convince everyone she's back to normal. Next: Join a club—simple, it's high school after all. But when Ryan's sweet, nerdy cousin, Max, moves to town and recruits Paige for the Quiz Bowl team (of all things!) her perfect plan is thrown for a serious loop. Will Paige be able to face her fears and finally open herself up to the life she was meant to live?

I'm sad to say that Emery Lord's books are perhaps just not for me.

I had heard great things about The Start of Me and You and was hoping I'd enjoy this one as much as others seem to have (or that I'd at least like it more than I did Open Road Summer) – but unfortunately I just thought it was really boring. The storyline was predictable and stale. It felt like every stereotypical teen flick – or the plot of every Sarah Dessen novel, minus pregnancy and jail time – rolled into one.

The characters never really came alive for me, either. I could visualize them all but I didn't connect with any of them or find them compelling enough to really feel invested in their lives. Even now I'm still forgetting the main character's name. (Is it Lucy? Sara? Megan? No. I just checked – it's Paige.)

All that being said, there are two things I really did like about The Start of Me and You. The first is Emery Lord's portrayal of a really strong, loyal group of friends – Tessa, Morgan, and Kayleigh, and eventually Ryan and Max. I didn't have friends like Paige's when I was in high school so I was happy to see (and fascinated by) that solidarity and support. And SLIGHTLY SPOILERY? BUT I was really glad she didn't throw in any unnecessary best friend drama with Tessa – no girl hate, no love triangle (not in the obvious, expected way, at least) – she kept this one thing pure and untainted, thank the (Emery) Lord.

The other thing I loved is the PostSecret scene toward the end of the book. Aside from the fact that I don't love name-dropping of contemporary works (it pulls me out of the story and back into real life – and she does this a lot throughout the book, calling out John Green, Gilmore Girls, Firefly, among others), I loved the way it made everything come together. It made the story feel a little tighter, less slapdash. And it was just a sweet, romantic moment. Special, in a way that the rest of the story wasn't.

The Start of Me and You is a light, easy read. I love contemporary novels but I don't usually go for light, easy reads so this is probably why it didn't gel with me – however, there are some passages and moments and lines in the book that are lovely to read and think about, so for that reason alone I'd say it's worth checking out.

For me, this book feels like the equivalent of eating ice cream on the boardwalk in the summer, or drinking pumpkin spice lattes and wearing chunky knit scarves in the fall: a little bit expected, but enjoyable enough.

Tonight the Streets Are Ours But I'd Rather Netflix and Chill

Title: Tonight the Streets Are Ours
Author: Leila Sales
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux
Publication date: September 15, 2015
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

That's how seventeen-year-old Arden Huntley has always thought of herself. Caring for her loved ones is what gives Arden purpose in her life and makes her feel like she matters. But lately she's grown resentful of everyone – including her needy best friend and her absent mom – taking her loyalty for granted.

Then Arden stumbles upon a website called Tonight the Streets Are Ours, the musings of a young New York City writer named Peter, who gives voice to feelings that Arden has never known how to express. He seems to get her in a way that no one else does, and he hasn't even met her.

Until Arden sets out on a road trip to find him.

During one crazy night out in New York City filled with parties, dancing, and music – the type of night when anything can happen, and nearly everything does – Arden discovers that Peter isn't exactly who she thought he was. And maybe she isn't exactly who she thought she was, either.

Pancakes, Nebraska, Tonight the Streets Are Ours. What do these three things have in common? They're all FLAT. In a nutshell, Leila Sales' latest book did not meet my expectations.

What doesn't work for me:

There's not a character in this book that I care about, from "recklessly loyal" Arden to her actually-terrible best friend Lindsey to Peter the Internet sensation (who, in my opinion, is 1000% overrated from the start).

Our narrator Arden is especially frustrating to read. She seems to see herself as a saint, which is the strangest thing because we're seeing the world through her eyes, and even then it's pretty clear that what Arden considers to be her strength is really her biggest flaw. I mean, sure, sometimes it's hard for us to recognize our own shortcomings... but it's still exhausting to read a character who continually paints herself as a victim and refuses to acknowledge her part in things.

But I'm biased in that respect. I like stories with women who take responsibility for their lives, never mind if they're "likable" or whether or not they make good decisions – at least they're owning those decisions. I don't take well to characters who complain about their circumstances but don't take steps to change them... and for me, Arden fits smack dab in the middle of that category.

Sadly, the story development is lacking, too. The plot line itself is intriguing, but there are a lot of throwaway details – scenes, events, moments, characters – that make the story feel unfinished. Plot points are revealed much too conveniently, with lots of telling and not enough showing. Resolution comes easy ("I was wrong," "no, I was wrong," "no, trust me, it was my fault," "it was both our faults, now let's kiss and make up"), and key themes are written in a way that feels a little bit preachy and forced ("love isn't this simple thing that I always thought it was, it's actually this other simple thing!").

Leila Sales' writing style in this book is also just too clunky for my taste. It's told in the third person perspective, but shifts from past to present. Interesting stylistic techniques resonate much more with me when the story and characters are equally compelling, but since I didn't care for either, the writing style felt out of place and mismatched.

I just wasn't into this book. That being said, there are a few things I did appreciate about it.

What works for me:

The cover is beautiful. And when it comes to giving books a chance, that's half the battle, isn't it? The colors are gorgeous, the photo is classic (though it doesn't really represent the story), and the typography is so lovely. It's just a really pretty cover.

Leila Sales writes New York City perfectly. According to this map, I am a Real New Yorker, so you can trust me on this. It's fun to read and recognize and imagine these places and moments in New York City – the Cube at Astor Place and the homeless people and anarchopunks that do indeed sleep under and around it... the wild imaginative loft parties... the incredible window displays along 5th Avenue... the rambling late night walks on streets that are empty enough to feel like they're really yours... Leila Sales captures the city vibe extremely well and makes it feel as awful and as magical as it is in real life.

Tonight the Streets Are Ours is a contemporary read with some strong elements and an interesting premise, and I like that there are some unexpected twists in the story, but the plot is poorly developed, the writing is awkward, and the characters fall flat. Tonight the streets may be ours, but I think I'd rather Netflix and chill.

Review: The Seventh Most Important Thing by Shelley Pearsall

Title: The Seventh Most Important Thing
Author: Shelley Pearsall
Publisher: Random House Children's
Publication date: September 8, 2015
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

It was a bitterly cold day when Arthur T. Owens grabbed a brick and hurled it at the trash picker. Arthur had his reasons, and the brick hit the Junk Man in the arm, not the head. But none of that matters to the judge—he is ready to send Arthur to juvie for the foreseeable future. Amazingly, it’s the Junk Man himself who offers an alternative: 120 hours of community service . . . working for him.

Arthur is given a rickety shopping cart and a list of the Seven Most Important Things: glass bottles, foil, cardboard, pieces of wood, lightbulbs, coffee cans, and mirrors. He can’t believe it—is he really supposed to rummage through people’s trash? But it isn’t long before Arthur realizes there’s more to the Junk Man than meets the eye, and the “trash” he’s collecting is being transformed into something more precious than anyone could imagine. . . .

Inspired by the work of American folk artist James Hampton, award-winning author Shelley Pearsall has crafted an affecting and redemptive novel about discovering what shines within us all, even when life seems full of darkness.

Many thanks to Random House Children's for sending me this electronic copy via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.

The Seventh Most Important Thing caught my attention as soon as I read the description. A middle-grade story about a kid who befriends a guy known as the Junk Man who has a secret project that involves garbage? Sign me up. Seriously. I'm all about trash-to-treasure transformations. (And alliteration, apparently. Say that ten times fast.)

Inspired by the real life story of real life artist James Hampton, the concept of the book was fascinating (I mean, look up the guy on Google – he is inscrutable, and his work is completely mesmerizing!), but unfortunately, I found the execution to be lacking.

Sadly, the character development in The Seventh Most Important Thing is disappointingly weak. Shelley Pearsall really only teases at each character's story, and it seems as though there are a lot of blanket statements that are used to describe a character and that we are supposed to somehow take at face value. For example: the carpenter boyfriend who is a little too nice all the time; the alcoholic father who is loved but not a great dad; James Hampton who is an enigma at the beginning of the novel, and an enigma at the end. It feels like a sketch of a novel, and you're sort of left asking yourself, "…And?" It's like a thread on a sweater – you want to keep pulling and pulling, except there's nothing left to grab.

The one other thing that really stands out to me in a negative way is the voice. The Seventh Most Important Thing is written in the third person perspective but from what sounds like a child's voice. The language feels very juvenile, as though the author has made a point to be particularly accessible to younger audiences. It's a bit of an odd place to be, given that the main character himself is a 14-year-old boy whose childhood and family life are less rosy than the childhood and family lives of most other 14-year-old boys represented in fiction. I feel like the author maybe deliberately dumbed down the writing specifically to accommodate a younger crowd – it felt a little bit disingenuous and unnecessary to me, like she was self-consciously trying to write children's fiction and shielding her readers in the process.

On the flip side, there are definitely some very abstract, sophisticated themes in the book – like the seven most important things that Shelley Pearsall loosely and subtly explores throughout the course of the story – so I can understand why she might have wanted to take on a younger voice here. It's a very conceptual story, and at times the seven most important things get shrouded in too much symbolism, so in that sense, the language choice does make it a little bit easier to follow. And as much as I'm harping on the way the story was told, I found that the voice did grow on me a bit – the juxtaposition of concept art and youthful narrative was interesting and charming and kind of precious at times. It kept the book from feeling too heavy or philosophical or academic.

It's hard for me to come up with a really solid opinion of this book. The idea of it is fresh and interesting and unexpected, but between the way it is written and the story the author decided to tell, I have to say that it's just not my cup of tea. I actually think The Seventh Most Important Thing could've been a stronger book had it been written as an adult novel. The quirkiness of the story would have been more successful, and the narrative jump from Arthur's teen years to adulthood would have felt perhaps less jarring. I'm interested to see what others think though – maybe I'm too idealistic about what middle-grade books should be!

Review: Fragile Bones by Lorna Schultz Nicholson

Title: Fragile Bones
Author: Lorna Schultz Nicholson
Publisher: Clockwise Press
Publication date: March 15, 2015
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

Meet Harrison and Anna.

One is a fifteen-year-old boy with an uncanny ability to recite every bone in the skeletal system whenever he gets anxious – and that happens a lot. The meaning of "appropriate behavior" mystifies him: he doesn’t understand most people and they certainly don’t understand him.

The other is a graduating senior with the world at her feet. Joining the Best Buddies club at her school and pairing up with a boy with high-functioning autism is the perfect addition to her med school applications. Plus, the president of the club is a rather attractive, if mysterious, added attraction.

Told in the alternating voices of Harrison and Anna, Fragile Bones is the story of two teens whose lives intertwine in unexpected ways.

Many thanks to Clockwise Press for sending me this electronic copy via NetGalley in exchange for my honest review.

I've been sitting here for a while now, just staring blankly at my computer screen. I'll start typing words and then DELETE DELETE DELETE. And then I'll stare some more and try to start again. I'm just not sure how to approach this book.

Fragile Bones, by Lorna Schultz Nicholson, is the first in a conceptual series of books that revolve around the Best Buddies program, which exists to provide opportunities for people with intellectual and developmental disorders and to help them foster relationships. This book follows the journey of Harrison, who has high-functioning autism, and Anna, a high school student and overachiever whose goal in life is to get into med school (I guess?).

Fragile Bones was confusing. It was confusing because, as a character, Harrison was so captivating while everyone else in the story was just… not.

Whether the story was being told from his own perspective or from Anna's, I had such a clear picture in my mind of who Harrison was. It's clear that the author did her research on how a high-functioning autistic person might interact with the world. His speech patterns, his coping mechanisms, his behaviors – and how all of these things are construed to other people – felt very well-written.

Although it happened at a slow pace, you could see Harrison adjusting to new experiences and developing the ability to relate to other people. His growth was incremental, for sure, but it felt realistic, and I was glad (and relieved) that Schultz Nicholson didn't press the "easy" button and turn Anna into a magical cure-all for Harrison. She created a realistic representation of what it's like to interact with someone like Harrison, and she showed us a picture of what it's like to be on the other side of autism, managing all of these thought processes and coping mechanisms and rituals.

I loved Harrison's voice, which is why I was so disappointed that Anna's did not seem to be written at the same standard. She felt like a Mary Sue – empty, a shell of a person, with no real interests or flaws or meaningful struggles. I loved how aware, respectful, and patient she was with Harrison, but it just seemed like there was nothing else to her. And I felt the same way about all of the others characters in the book: Harrison's brother Joel, Harrison's parents, Anna's mother. Even Justin, the leader of the Best Buddies program, was completely flat on the page, despite his rocky family history and pseudo-mysterious background. They all just felt like one-dimensional people with canned dialogue and shallow character and plot development.

Still… although Fragile Bones may have had its share of weaknesses, I do think these kinds of books are really important in the world of YA fiction. They help us develop empathy for people who are unlike us, and if we're lucky, they teach us something important about these otherwise typically underrepresented groups.

Review: This Shattered World by Amie Kaufman & Meagan Spooner

Title: This Shattered World
Author: Amie Kaufman & Meagan Spooner
Publisher: Disney Hyperion
Publication date: December 23, 2014
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

Jubilee Chase and Flynn Cormac should never have met.

Lee is captain of the forces sent to Avon to crush the terraformed planet's rebellious colonists, but she has her own reasons for hating the insurgents.

Rebellion is in Flynn's blood. Terraforming corporations make their fortune by recruiting colonists to make the inhospitable planets livable, with the promise of a better life for their children. But they never fulfilled their promise on Avon, and decades later, Flynn is leading the rebellion.

Desperate for any advantage in a bloody and unrelentingly war, Flynn does the only thing that makes sense when he and Lee cross paths: he returns to base with her as prisoner. But as his fellow rebels prepare to execute this tough-talking girl with nerves of steel, Flynn makes another choice that will change him forever. He and Lee escape the rebel base together, caught between two sides of a senseless war.

Straight up, I expected This Shattered World to be better than it actually was. I loved the first book in the series, These Broken Stars – loved the slow build of Lilac and Tarver's relationship and how there was more than meets the eye to them both. And there's definitely a lot of that in TSW. But for some reason, it didn't resonate quite as strongly with me this time around.

At first, I was so excited to meet Jubilee Chase and Flynn Cormac, not just because Jubilee is a non-white protagonist(!) but also because, like Lilac and Tarver, they both had very strong personalities and interesting pasts which usually makes for good tension. However, just halfway through the book, I found myself completely tired of them both.

Jubilee turned into a highly emotional human being – not a bad thing in and of itself, but still such a departure from the stoic, "stone-faced Chase" we met at the beginning of the story. Flynn lost his clever wit and sarcasm, becoming depressed and despondent and a little bit melodramatic for a good chunk of the book. I understand that people help us change and spark different reactions and emotions and behaviors in us – but here, it felt forced. They both lost the things that made them strong and compelling. I just wish the transition had been slower and more subtle because their character changes did seem out of the blue and made their interactions feel staged.

Unfortunately I don't have a lot of great things to say about the plot in This Shattered World either. The science fiction "logic" went straight over my head, just as it did in These Broken Stars. I know that as a reader I'm supposed to give the benefit of the doubt and suspend my disbelief but even so, some of the events that occurred felt random and disconnected and didn't make sense with other established information. The plot itself was just not all that compelling to me – but that could also be because I'm generally just much more interested in relationships, and I wasn't getting a great deal of satisfaction from reading about Jubilee and Flynn. (I did, however, like seeing Tarver and Lilac together again – even if it was just for a minute and through a webcam and completely awkward and maybe just a little unnecessary. Oh well. At least we got something, right?)

That being said, I do LOVE that there was some cultural diversity in this book without ever feeling like a college diversity pamphlet. (A lot to ask, I know.) There were definitely a lot of characters to keep track of in This Shattered World, especially compared to These Broken Stars, where it was really just Tarver and Lilac. All of the "minor" characters in This Shattered World still felt significant, like their stories would matter more than they actually did in this book, so my guess is that Book Three will be written from a new character's perspective, and I have a theory as to who that new character will be...

In summary: I didn't love This Shattered World, didn't think it was as compelling as These Broken Stars, didn't think the characters were as cohesive or well-developed, but loved that there were diverse characters, and still love Amie and Meagan because they are awesome. And if my theory about Book Three is right, I'll probably read it anyway.

Review: Trouble by Non Pratt

Title: Trouble
Author: Non Pratt
Publisher: Walker Books
Publication date: March 6, 2014
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

When the entire high school finds out that Hannah Shepard is pregnant via her ex-best friend, she has a full-on meltdown in her backyard. The one witness (besides the rest of the world): Aaron Tyler, a transfer student and the only boy who doesn’t seem to want to get into Hannah’s pants. Confused and scared, Hannah needs someone to be on her side. Wishing to make up for his own past mistakes, Aaron does the unthinkable and offers to pretend to be the father of Hannah’s unborn baby. Even more unbelievable, Hannah hears herself saying “yes.”

Can we just talk about this book cover for a second? I somehow completely missed all the little sperm swimming around at first but, um, GENIUS.

Okay. Moving on now.

I had such conflicting feelings about Trouble. I saw it on the shelf at the library and picked it up, read the summary on the back cover, and put it back on the shelf... continued browsing... then circled back, picked it back up again, and brought it to the checkout. Books about teen pregnancy are not really my thing. I get all squeamish and my throat constricts and my arms get kind of itchy... but I've seen this book all over the book blogosphere so I decided to give it a chance. When I finished Trouble, I gave it 4 stars, then I changed it to a 3.5, and then decided this was a solidly 3 star book.

Almost all of the characters were intriguing – Katie, Marcy, Tyrone, Rex, Aaron, Jay, and of course Hannah – which is promising, given my obsession with character development. But it seemed like many of them were explored and then dropped out of nowhere. One of my biggest literary frustrations is when an author introduces really compelling and complex characters and writes about them and makes them feel significant, but then lets them taper off and disappear completely. I also hate when characters start out as complex individuals with both flaws and redeeming qualities, but become very black/white over the course of the book.

I just expected the story to be more (especially with the amount of focus on specific characters) and was kind of disappointed that they turned out only to be a means to an end. Tyrone was the reason for Marcy to hate Hannah. Marcy was the reason for Katie to ditch Hannah. Rex was the reason for Marcy to hang out with Katie, who was the reason for Hannah to make new friends.

Based on what we saw of Jay, it was difficult for me to understand why he mattered so much to Hannah – quite frankly, he seemed like a terrible human being. I was also kind of surprised that nothing really ever happened with him – he was such a big talking point in the second half of the book that I expected something to come out of it. For all the conflict and struggle that Non Pratt built up throughout the story, the ending of Trouble felt like a cop-out, almost as though we were missing 40 pages from the book.

I did love the way teen pregnancy was illustrated. Nothing was glorified a la Teen Mom, but it didn't feel like a public service announcement either. I liked the way Hannah came to terms with pregnancy but she still remained fifteen years old. She still had exams and wanted to look good and had friend drama, and that was a nice realistic detail.

In general, I also liked the way Non Pratt discussed sex – she wasn't overly preachy (if anything, she may have been a bit overly encouraging...) and clearly Hannah was comfortable with her own sexuality. Mostly I'm glad that there was no sex-shaming (or if there was, that it rolled right off Hannah's back).

However, none of these things were enough to really make me enjoy this book. It just felt like too much stuff going on and not enough space to really tie up all the loose ends.

Review: Obsidian (Lux #1) by Jennifer L. Armentrout

Title: Obsidian (Lux #1)
Author: Jennifer L. Armentrout
Publisher: Entangled Teen
Publication date: May 8, 2012
Rating: ★★★

Summary (via Goodreads):

Starting over sucks.

When we moved to West Virginia right before my senior year, I’d pretty much resigned myself to thick accents, dodgy internet access, and a whole lot of boring… until I spotted my hot neighbor, with his looming height and eerie green eyes. Things were looking up.

And then he opened his mouth.

Daemon is infuriating. Arrogant. Stab-worthy. We do not get along. At all. But when a stranger attacks me and Daemon literally freezes time with a wave of his hand, well, something… unexpected happens.

The hot alien living next door marks me.

You heard me. Alien. Turns out Daemon and his sister have a galaxy of enemies wanting to steal their abilities, and Daemon’s touch has me lit up like the Vegas Strip. The only way I’m getting out of this alive is by sticking close to Daemon until my alien mojo fades.

If I don’t kill him first, that is.

Obsidian reads like your typical YA novel – the narrator, Katy Swartz, is a teenage girl who loves books and even has her own book blog (and a shirt that says, "My blog is better than your vlog"). Basically, she's your average girl. Realistic. Accessible. Down-to-earth. Socially awkward at times, with a wicked sense of humor, to boot.

"I sort of felt sorry for her, being that she was related to such a tool."

Then there's Daemon, who is something of an enigma. Aside from his unfortunate name, Daemon is flawless – aren't they all? – with long dark eyelashes and brilliant green eyes. He's essentially Ian Smolderhotter Somerholder… Minus 17 years. (Geez, is Ian Somerholder 35 already?! I feel like it was just yesterday that I was watching Season 1 of Lost.)

What's compelling about Daemon is that he constantly seems charged, in more ways than one. There's the obvious – a physical tension between him and Katy that weaves its way throughout the book and makes you chew on your fingernails and think things like, "nOW KISS!!!1!!" even though you know the guy's just a jerk and will probably screw it all up as soon as you turn the page.

But beyond that, there's also something else, something more emotional and much more subtle, as Daemon seems to battle between what he's really thinking and what he's at liberty to say – who he wants to be and what he thinks the circumstances demand. I think Katy sees this, too. It's in his eyes, his posture... And this quality redeems him, ever so slightly.

At times, Daemon gives me Edward Cullen vibes. (I'm sorry, but it had to be said. And by the way... does Dee remind anyone else of Alice Cullen?) His protectiveness can feel stifling. He can be controlling and manipulative. And he has a smug know-it-allness that makes me rage. Fortunately, Katy seems to be capable of taking care of herself, at least where he is concerned. Sure, she swoons a little. But never does she chalk it up to love. In fact, she makes it clear that lust and like are very different things.

"My palms itched to have a close encounter of the bitch-slap kind with his face."

That's one thing that really works in Obsidian: Katy is a strong, realistic female protagonist. Yes, of course she still has weaknesses – she is, after all, only human. But I am intrigued by her reactions and responses to the situations she faces. It's a mix of loyalty to her friends; fear and bravery; intensity and even a little bit of unexpected snark. She is very much her own person.

I liked Steph's review on Goodreads because it sums up my thoughts quite well:

Another reviewer said, "It was as if the author felt obligated to fix Twilight catastrophe and tried make it right again" and I completely agree with her. I'll even take it a step further and say it was like Armentrout woke up one day and said, "I'm going to write a book using all the tropes and clichés people usually hate and they're still gonna love the shit out of this book."

Obsidian is kind of a funny thing. It doesn't read as a particularly sophisticated book – certainly not something I'd come back to again and again. But truth be told, I don't think it's meant to be. Obsidian is compelling and exciting and dreamy and infuriating. All of the characters are empathetic and flawed. And they don't resign themselves to being just the tropes that you recognize from other books you've read and TV shows you've watched. They come alive and take charge of their fate and don't let the hackneyed literary gods have their way. And that makes all the difference.