The Little Woods

This book is about is about a girl, Cally Woods, who goes to a boarding school where her sister had gone missing ten years earlier. She meets people, she makes friends, stirs up some random love interests, and tries to figure out the mystery of her sister's dissapearence/death years before. Over all it wasn't that impressive.

First let's talk about Calista (Cally) the MC. She is boring, transparent, and really has no personality at all. She's what I like to call a blank slate character, one who is written in such a way that the reader can 'metaphorically' put themselves in their shoes. Half the time while reading I managed to be so annoyed with her that I couldn't concentrate. And then the rest of the characters, the massive group of the them, all fit into the cardboard cutout stereotypes. The only character at all, who had any sort of real personality at all was Chealsea. She was brilliant. But as for the rest of the characters, they were all dissapointing.

And for the writing itself. It wasn't very descriptive, it wasn't something that held some deeper meaning between the words. But it wasn't bad either, just your typical run of the mill YA that could have the opportunity to be so much more. And then there were the random expositions of vocabulary. Some 'big words' put in every now and then to perhaps sounds more well written, I suppose. But it breaks up the flow, it breaks the story. You know those aren't the thoughts of a seventeen year old girl.

The story wasn't rapidly interesting either, most of it was predictable. But it was at least interesting enough to keep my attention enough for me to read to the end. And I found that the final chapter was my favorite chapter, but not good enough to redeem the book. Overall it was okay, but probably not something I would suggest to anyone.

Fin.

-Keshia

(So I've been posting YT videos about the books I read. And in between goodreads and that I just don't have the effort anymore. So my brief efforts to put book reviews into my blog shall stop here. this will be the last one.)

The Shining

“Sometimes human places create inhuman monsters.”  I accept that Stephan King in one of the best and most influential writers of the 20th and 21st century. I do. I also accept that his style of writing is not the style that I enjoy. And yet he receives five stars, here's why. This is my third Stephan King book I am reading. The first being Misery and the second being his book about writing, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. And even through just these two works I could tell he was a talent beyond others. Misery was enticing and thrilling. And I consider On Writing as my second favorite book in the world about writing, which is, in fact, quite an accomplishment. And this story, The Shining, it is absolutely brilliant. His descriptions are so vivid, they grab hold of your by the neck and pull you into the story. There were so many times while reading this book that I had to catch myself. I would look up and gaze about, wondering why I wasn't with the ghosts of the Overlook Hotel. And then there was the characters, so finely detailed I felt like I had grew up with all of them. King has this brilliant gift of writing something so rich in word and plot and character, that I am baffled. But…there's always a but. I didn't thoroughly enjoy The Shining. Yes, the description was incredible. The delicate nature at which he approached the psychotic break down was absolutely amazing. And I read this story at break neck speed; it pulled me in so much. But it's also not my kind of story. I found most of it boring. Does that make any since? Something that bores you yet fascinates you at the same time? I loved this story, I loved this novel. And yet, I couldn't really get into it. Horror/thriller just really aren't my genre of book. Mystery is only a close second. And since those are the types that Mr. King specializes in I don't think I'll end of reading many of his works, but I will try. He kind of had this talent that's too hard to ignore. Overall, though, The Shining was brilliant and terrifying. I read most of it in the late hours of night and it had me peeking over my shoulder more than once. And even it's not necessarily the genre of book I normally go for, it is, in fact, a brilliant story. Fin. -Keshia

Everything I Needed to Know about Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume

"I wonder if Judy Blume really knows how many girls' lives she affected.""

Everything I Needed to Know about Being a Girl I Learned from Judy Blume is a fantastic collection of essays from multitudes of writers, talking about Judy Blume and her novels and how they affected her life. Growing up I was a huge Judy Blume fan (although I have yet to read what she's probably most well known for,'Are you there God, it's me Margaret') and reading through these essays only brought back all the wonderful memories I had of reading Blume's works for the first time. It really makes me wanna go find a copy of Forever or Tells of a Fourth Grade Nothing to dig into.

Overall this collection made my little English Major/writer heart swoon. Not only is it an examination of some of my favorite works, but it also tells how the writing changed people, helped them, and taught them a lesson in some way. And that's just the most wonderful thing, when someone takes something out of writing. I'm a huge fan of reader's response to writing, and so I loved reading through these essays. I felt like I was in some sort of book club dedicated to Judy Blume where we were all sitting around sipping tea and discussing how shocking it was for us to first read about Deenie masturbating or Katherine having sex.

Even though I'm a generation or two behind most of the women in here, and behind the Judy Blume empire itself, I still relate to most of the stories. Judy Blume was one of the names I most sought out in my elementary and middle school libraries, and when I couldn't find them (mostly because they were banned) I would look for her in the town library. And I really think this book felt like a big thank you note to here. A thank you note for being such a wonderful woman and writer.

Fin.

-Keshia

Just thoughts.

I have this theory that because I'm so upset now and have been off and on for several years now I'm not going to have a mid-life crisis. Because those are essentially people who go through life normally and finally have some kind of realization of how fucked up their life is when they reach a certain age. But for the people who are depressed a lot, for the kids who started hating themselves when they were young and who continued to into their young adult years, I think they can get better. I really think I can get better. I really do. I mean, I've been like this for 12+ years now but I think I'm growing out of it. It seems so horrible now because the emotions are so horrible and vivid and true and right now. It's really hard to go back to when I was eight years old and try to just feel the emotions I felt when I decided my whole family hated me and it wasn't worth living anymore. It's hard to think back to my middle school self on the Pride Night Dance sobbing my eyes out in the bathroom. I can't bring myself to think of what it was like in high school and my friends basically told me I was a piece of shit and I just didn't know what to do besides cry and beg for their forgiveness. It's hard to bring myself back to Washington, being so excluded that even talking on the phone was a big fucking deal. And then there's the beginning of the school year when one of my closest friends decided he wasn't going to talk to me anymore and when all my other friends suddenly made new friends and left me behind. Fuck, I can't even think back to a few months ago when I was so messed up I engaged in self harming again, something I hadn't done since I was that sobbing fourteen year old girl in the bathroom. But it feels so strong now. The presence is so much rougher and harsher than just memories. But it's odd, because I feel like after every time something happens I feel better. The relief I feel, the happiness that comes after these depressive stages is better. And I'm somehow stronger every time too. Like, I can make them last shorter amounts of time; I can talk myself out of self harming. I am getting stronger. And one day I hope, I can get fully better. Which is why I think this mid-life crisis thing won't happen to me. I've already had all this shit it my life, if I ever do get rid of it I see no fucking reason why I would ever even allow it to seep back.

And this is not saying that people who aren't depressed in this age are definitely going to have a mid life crisis. I'm just saying it's more likely. But there are some people, I know, who can go through life being perfectly content for most of it. I envy these people; no one should ever have to feel this.

And fuck, I'm not even really sad right now. It's just that I can smile and be happy and worry and be sad. Everything is good, nothing is too terrible. But I come home every night and listen to sad music, watch sad scenes, I cry almost every day for no particular reason at all. And I don't know much why.

Fin.

-Keshia

The Help

“Ever morning, until you dead in the ground, you gone have to make this decision. You gone have to ask yourself, "Am I gone believe what them fools say about me today?” 

The Help is a powerful book about one young white woman and a group of black maids working together to create something that has never been seen before. It's a study of how it feels to be black and a maid in 1963, at the height of the civil rights movement and in the heart of the southern United States. The story is told through the perspectives of Skeeter, a 23 year old fresh from college graduate who is strong but not confident in herself. She claims to have been 'raised' by her maid Constantine and through her wants to learn more from the other side. Then there is Minnie, the fiery mouthed black maid who creates a powerful voice for the story. And finally Aibaleen, the strong backbone of the story, I think she's really the main character, the one who brings the whole thing together, she's kind and endearing and yet strong. All together they create a story that is true and strong, one about strength and friendship that passes the boundaries of color.

I came into this book already a fan of the movie, having fallen in love with it. Of course I expected it to be better, as I always expect books to be better. But really it was around the same level for me. But that's not a bad thing, because you see, I absolutely adore the movie. The book only put things more in perspective for me, particularly from Skeeter's perspective. While Emma Stone did an amazing job in the movie, it really takes the inner dialogue you can only get with a book, to see how much Skeeter was really falling apart. But she didn't let herself fall apart, and I think that is key for her character.

What I admire Kathryn Stockett for more than anything in the help is making such strong characters. They are so admirable in the things they do, they are people to really up too. And the messages she puts in the book are just grand, it's not just a book about race but about feminism as well. Not only does Skeeter not fit into the 'standard' idea of the time because she sees blacks as her equal, but also because she isn't out to settle down and find a husband. She wants to be her own woman. And I think she is such an admirable character for that, particularly in the time that she lives in.

Stockett also did a great job in dialogue. As someone who grew up in the south myself, I pretty much admire any other southern writer. But one who can capture the south in such delicate little ways that it's almost scary it's so real, I really…really admire that. And while I didn't grow up in the south in the 1960's, I did feel like a lot of this book was something I can relate to. A lot of good and a lot of bad. Things have changed and things haven't.

Above all, I really enjoyed this book, and now I have to go back and watch the movie. The voice, the dialogue, the anticipation…everything was so brilliant and lovely, and I don't think Stockett could've done any better with a debut.

Fin.
-Keshia

I love a lot.

Most of the time I'd like to consider myself a non confrontational person. I mean, inwardly I'm probably one of the most confrontational people ever. Outwardly, though, I keep my mouth shut most of the time. I just have this thing where the anger of other people, whether justified or not (and now matter the level, scares the shit out of me. But there are a few things I will stand up for, and when I do so, I think I do it in a calm enough manner so that I'm respectable. I never want to be the person yelling at someone for what they believe in. But, I will, however, explain my opinion in a calm manner. Tonight I did this; tonight I was proud of myself.

Tonight one of my coworkers asked me some stuff about one of my books. This not only excited me because I'm always happy to hear anyone with the slightest bit of interesting my story, but also because this coworker has been grumpy for the past several days. He's one of those wishy-washy types, who you don't want to be around at all when they're not in a good mood but who are decent when they're happy. The only problem, though, is that he's kind of in a constant flux. And for the past week I'm been having to deal with him be a dick around work because he's been grumpy, and honestly I get that people have bad days, but constantly having to work with negative people is a bit upsetting.

Anyway, as the story goes of tonight. So I was telling him about one of my characters and how the character was gay but eventually gets married when gay marriage is legalized in certain states. It was at this point he said to me, "Um, yeah, can we not talk about that, I think its wrong?" To which, of course, I responded, "What?" He then goes on, in brief statements how it is wrong and he doesn't like it and doesn't support it. The 'it' being gay marriage. The thing is about me, is that I have so many liberal friends and go to such a great open-minded college like Montevallo that I forget I still live in the South, which if you don't know, is probably one of the close minded places you can be. And it just really upsets me when I do realize this.

So I ask him, very calmly, why he thinks this…to which he answers every time that it's just not right. Finally, I get some variation and he says, "Because they can't have kids, they have to adopt." And I'm just baffled, because "Why", I ask him, "is adopting such a bad thing?" I tell a little more, tell him there are hundreds of kids every year who have no families, kids who will never have families. And he somehow comes to the defense of all the kinds in orphanages and says some people can't afford to keep them. To which I answer "Then why can't gay families adopt him?" He tells me that it's wrong and they don't need to be raised in that kind of situation. This statement really gets me, how cruel he was being. But I kept my cool. And why I asked him raised what way, he can't answer, he just shakes his head. And then after a bit he says that it wouldn't really be their kid so it's not as important. And I tell him, "Being together and being in love isn't just about having kids, you know. And I'm to a kid that they adopt, it's pretty darn important that they actually have a family."

He's silent for a bit more and then says that all of earth was started by a man and woman, because it was natural and right, so that's why he believes it. If it was started by a guy and a guy and then he would believe that. I don't say much to that because I didn't feel like getting into the religious aspect of it. I think people being in love and religion are two completely different things, and that religion shouldn't determine who you love. But after a while I ask him something, "I don't mean this is an offensive way. But you know, not that long ago, people would've looked at your parents and said it was wrong." His parents are interracial and he says he knows. But I can tell he's made because he doesn’t say anything and only talks an hour or so later. He asks me if I'm mad that he doesn't believe in the same things as him, he says it with a joke in voice, like he's trying to lighten things up a bit. I told him no, I'm not. I'm just upset because it's 2013 and people still aren't letting people be with who they love.

And it is sad and it is upsetting. And while I'm not really mad at that coworker anymore I'm also not really going to look at him in the same way. I just don't see why people who love each other can't be together. I think love is probably more precious than anything in this world, so why can't we cherish all types of love. Why are there rules and guidelines to follow for an emotion that comes naturally, so instinctually to every single one of us? It's stupid, and it's hurts my feelings. I love so many people; I love all my friends not matter who they love. I'm just tired of so many people being oppressed for simply being who they are.

Fin.
-Keshia

Criss Cross

“I know I'm still young and there's a lot of time for things to happen, but sometimes I think there is something about me that's wrong, that I'm not the kind of person anyone can fall in love with, and that I'll always just be alone."

So let me tell you a story about this book. It currently sits at and has, since I first read it in 2006, in the position of my third favorite book in the world. And as someone who considers herself an avid books reader, being in third place is a big deal. Along with several of my other favorite books, Criss Cross is one of the books that I re-read each year. With Criss Cross it's at the first sighting of fireflies each year. Now sit down, are you sitting? Let me try to explain to you, as much as I can though I promise I won't be even touching on it, how much I love this book.

The most common complaint I have seen about Criss Cross is that is has no plot, that nothing really happens. But can't you see that is where the beauty if at? Lynne Rae Perkins did a fabulous job of capturing life for what it really is. And that is my favorite thing about this story, that it is life, and I think there's nothing more beautiful than reading about a human life. And for people who do point out how simple it is, they don't really see it, they don't really understand the true essence of this book. Criss Cross is such a wondrous piece of literature that is upset me so much that people can't see what's it's really about.

Every little moment in this book is a beautiful little kindling, a little spark, but together it's a fire-something great and wonderful and amazing. Hector's satori and Debbie's wishing, Lenny's brain overflowing with information, and Dan's donkey self, all the comparisons of people that ring so true to life. This books captures the very essence of adolescence, it captures the in between feelings of life. I read this book for the first time when I was thirteen years old and even now, seven years and twenty years old, I can say how much this book still resonates within me. It knew how it felt then and I can still feel it now. This novel is so deep in such a subtle way that it's easy to miss it, easy just like in life. People just don't see how so many seemingly insignificant moments can mean so much.

Now let's talk about the description. The description of this story is so wonderfully written that it melts my heart. It's simple, and not overcomplicated but yet so wonderful. But even it's simplicity you can see everything, you can feel it. And it's all so unique, unique in the way that you just want to take the scene in your head and gobble it up. It's beautiful.

Okay I'll stop rambling now, there's so much more I could say and never really enough. Never enough to show how much this book really means to me and how much it has helped me in life. It's incredible. It has my heart. 

Fin.

-Keshia

Bruises

"Bruises fascinate me, they way they are seem to exist in their own universe, streched somewhere between my vital organs and my top layer of skin.They're like their own dry, desolate purple brown continents in the sea of my skin. 

Sometimes bruises spring up like fresh daisies. I'm taking a shower and I see them there in their new glory, being rinsed under the streaming riveluts of water. These always surprise me, because I'd like to know where my pain comes from. But i suppose they aren't that painful, though, if I didn't feel them when they happened.

Other ones I remember, remember them from the early the early day of when they were newborns, pink packages just blooming. It's because of a mistake I made, a wrong word I said, or a disinterested look I showed. The sound always occured to me first, the dull smack that barely even left an echo. And then the pain, sharp and incessant at first and then the throbbing that seeps into my very bones. I looked down at my arms, at the purple blue mass above my elbow. He had asked about dinner as I reached into the cabinet. I didn't answer quick enough. The door of the cabinet was  wooden blur. And then there was the one on my cheek, alreayd aged and yellowing around the edges. This bruise was an old man, a remmant of a swift punch delivered with a heavy fist.

And then there are the ones I give myself, in the fits of rage, when hot tears are spilling down my chheks. I'll hit my head, my arms, anything. I just don't like the feel of it all. I just want to beat the me out of me. 

Just now, I had looked in the mirror. I saw the bruises, the young and old. My eyes seemed to bulge out of my head, outside of my sunken eyelids. And I couldn't stand, so I smashed my face into the mirror. It was different and more pleasing that being hit. Something peacefull in the echoing cracks of the shattered mirror. 

It's so easy to drown yourself in bruises and blood"

All the time I have these monologues, these little tidbits of scenes appearing in my head. I can never quite capture them and I can never quite tell them where they came from. A lot of times, I don't know what stories they're from, a lot of the times they become stories. I'd like to imagine my head like this, like this massive expanse of characters and stories begging and searching for a way out. They are squirming little things, some of them beautiful, some of them scary. And they are itching to escape. And so I write about them. I think they're really what it's like to be a writer. And if makes me seem insane, the way I describe it. But it's also the way I feel. 

Fin.

-Keshia

The Bell Jar

"If you expect nothing from anybody, you're never disappointed."

The Bell Jar surprised me in a lot ways. First, that I liked it so much, that no; I have come to adore the book so much. I feel like this invisible string of attachment to this novel and myself, and it's going to feel like my heart is ripping out when I return it too the library.

All I can really say about the novel is that it is beautiful; it captures the essence of Esther's depression right down to its very bones. And unlike many novels that embark upon this theme of depression, it doesn't sit there and whine and cry about how depressed it is. It's one of those beautiful works that has the magical trait or showing and not telling, a gift of a true writer. It's the thing, I'm telling you, that all writers need to have to be any good. And through The Bell Jar Sylvia Plath did a fantastic job of it, on more than one occasion I related to Esther. I felt her emotions, I felt her toiling, and pain. And sometimes even her utter lack of emotion. Everything is silent, everything is dead.

And Esther, she's this wonderful character that Plath created. Many say that Esther is based off her own self, and I'd have to believe it was true. The depth to which this character is explored is not something which any person could do, you have to be a person who really knows the character, who really understands her. And it's just brilliant.

The problem with me and stories that I really like is that I often have trouble expressing myself with them, but really, I can say this; The Bell Jar is a wonderful story. Not wonderful in the sense that amazing adventures happen and everyone gets a happy ending. But it's wonderful because it's a story that captures such intense, raw human emotion it's almost hard to believe. It's like reading from your own self or hearing your own thoughts. They aren't just words, but a gripping story that resonates in your very being. And I think above all, that is what makes it so beautiful. Is that Plath's ability to capture this, to capture the hills and rampages of human emotion is a wonderful thing. And it makes for a story worth reading.

Fin.
-Keshia

The Nanny Diaires

"If you're going to do something, darling, then do it all the way."

Sometimes I get in this mood where I want to read books that just aren't going to be really deep. Do you understand? Books that won't weigh on me and cause emotional turmoil, you know where I can't do anything for several hours after finishing but think about the book. I picked The Nanny Dairies looking for a good, light read.

In a way it was, and in another way, it wasn't.

I became a fan of The Nanny Diaries through the movie. Scarlett Johansson played this gorgeous yet down to earth character and I was aboslutly applauding during her speech to the teddy/nanny cam. And of course, when I like a movie based off a work of fiction I must go out and find that work of fiction.

Emma McLaughlin and Nicola Kraus do a very good job her of examining human behavior and putting it to play in a story. The characters range from witty to cold, and all seem homespun in such a way that they are some combination of believable and unbelievable. The story itself is great, there were so many times I was angry, and so many times I wished I could have jumped to Nanny's defense. But I understood her character. I understood why she saw it through. And I really think that's what was so wonderful about this, how it connect you to a character. And then, the closing monologue to the nanny cam is brilliant, wonderfully written. It takes all the things Nanny has learned and understood and puts it in this little neat package.

I will say however, this isn't a book for the detail hungry and description frenzied readers. It's not eloquently written, but still good. It's written simply, in a way that pulls you in and makes you want to read more without rattling your brain too much.

Fin.

-Keshia

Pathetic

Pathetic.

Do you know that's my favorite word to apply to myself? And it's because I really am. I have this ability to do nothing but bad. The hardest part about being positive is attempting to sort through the piles of negative shit I think about myself. And really, not just piles, but mountains. I know they are silly to have. But I can't help it. But I think of it like this. How can I be good when I feel bad about being good? I grew up in such a way that feeling confident with yourself was tagged along with words like narcissistic and selfish. It's playing the blame game, though, isn't it? Because by the time you're twenty shouldn't you have grown out of, or at least had the opportunities to grow out of, the senseless things from childhood that made you the way you are. It's about being tall enough, tall enough to see beyond the problems that keep me bound. And it's like I'm jumping with all my might but not even being strong enough to peek over the edge. And I'm so damn sore and tired. And the 'I can't do it' phrases are crushing me.

Fin.
-Keshia

The Postmortal

"Death is the only thing keeping us in line…"

PostMortal is a complex and unique read that takes a new spin on the 'apocalyptic' genre. Because Drew Margary created a world that isn't teemed with disasters and deprivation but instead one where everyone is young, no one ages, and hardly anyone can die. And it is that, the concept of forever and longevity, which ruins the human race.

PortMortal is a book set in the future, a very near future of 2019 where a 'cure' for aging has been created. It is not immortality; you can still die from murder or disease. What the cure assures is that no one will ever die of a ripe old age; the age that you get the cure at is the age at which you stay. The story follows John Farrell and the sixty years of his life after getting the cure, twenty-nine forever.

This book is brilliant in its deep understanding of what a cure for aging would essentially create. It seems like something fine and dandy but it is not, because as with anything in the world there is controversy, and the controversy around this is enough to tear the world apart. The books gives this away in style, in the several time skips that happens, because while more and more people clamp unto eternal youth the world only gets worse and worse. And it really questions the morale behind, how good is it to actually get the cure. One of my favorite things about this book is that is leaves me questioning, because hypothetically, if this cure was real, would I myself get it? And it's really hard to give a straight yes or no answer. And I think that's what Margary was trying to get at with this book, if you were given the chance to essentially be immortal, would you?

Magary also does a fantastic job in developing the character of John Farrell, because while he does in fact remain twenty-nine throughout the story he is not really twenty nine. Everything that happens in the world, every death that comes upon him, changes him and matures him in some way. And so at the end when he was eighty-nine years old, I really felt like he was eighty-nine years old. Character development in a specific art that can be done so eloquently sometimes that it just shocks you how well a person can write it, can really show it to you, can really make you feel it. To think of this, particularly when his character had the eternal age of twenty-nine, makes him brilliant.

Overall it is thought provoking read more than anything. The style and balance of the story, the way the character grows, it was all brilliantly done. 

Fin.

-Keshia