The Fault in Our Stars by John Green

Just cut my heart out of my chest with a butter knife and put it in a blender. How John Green could have even managed to write this novel is beyond me. His heart must have broken anew when writing every chapter, every paragraph, every line, every word. I know mine did when reading it.

Despite the fact that I cried for a large portion of this book, Green shows his talent as an author once again; the content of this book is desperately sad, yet that sadness does not necessarily overshadow the characters and their experiences (it does, I suppose, in a subconscious way, but Green manages to make you almost forget, though not quite; and even if you can’t forget - that is certainly not his intention - he has managed to make it funny). This book was profoundly affecting and beautiful. I am getting choked up again just thinking of some of the words that Green has strung together to make a tale so tragic and glorious at the same time. I won’t say any more, other than that this is John Green’s finest book, and he really has outdone himself in creating Hazel Grace Lancaster and Augustus Waters.

Our Tragic Universe by Scarlett Thomas

I loved this novel. Meg is going through a bit of a crisis: she’s questioning her relationship with her boyfriend of seven years, she’s broke, she can’t seem to get a handle on finishing (or starting, really) the novel she was given a grant to write years ago, and she is in love with an older, unavailable man (who just may be interested in her, too). Interesting things begin to happen when she reviews a book that was not sent to her by the paper she writes for, and Meg starts to change her world.

This novel is beautifully written; Thomas knows her way around prose. Our Tragic Universe is filled with whimsy, mystery, and honest observations. It was easy for me to identify with Meg immediately, and I became invested in her story; this might have more to do with the fact that I was able to draw a lot of parallels between my life and Meg’s, at this particular time in my life. Even not for that, I would have been drawn to such a thoughtful character. Though at times the book was a bit cerebral for me - I know nothing about scientific theories - I found that my misunderstanding added to the mysticism and magic of the read.

I liked Thomas’ book so much that another novel, The End of Mr. Y, is on its way to me. Can’t wait!

Top Traitor (Modesty Blaise Graphic Novel Titan #3) by Peter O’Donnell

Modesty Blaise continues to be an awesome, kick-ass superhero. Despite the fact that these comic strips were first written and appeared in papers in the 1960s, Modesty feels almost as current as a modern-day spy film, minus the hi-tech gadgets. The villains are just as nefarious, Modesty’s moves are just as mind-blowing, and the plots are as good as anything you would see or read today. I have many, many years’ worth of reading to catch up on, and the prospect alone thrills me, though not as much as the actual read.

Incendiary by Chris Cleave

This book was not for me. It is deftly written (no punctuation except periods makes the reader feel just as crazed as the woman, and as frenetic), but the subject matter was too trying for my taste. In the wake of a devastating terrorist attack at a soccer match in England, a woman writes a letter to Osama bin Laden.

My problem with this story is that it is hard for me to read a story whose narrator is slowly losing her mind. The female lead loses her husband and four-year-old son in the attack; she sees her son everywhere after the attack, burning. It’s painful and frightening to read of her experiences, which she relays as though everything is normal. Having said that it was painful to see herself become more and more crazed, I disliked this woman. When the attack happens, she is cheating on her husband, which she states was a frequent occurrence during her marriage. Also, she can’t appreciate or acknowledge anyone else’s grief over the attack, and while it’s understandable, it is also really frustrating.

Perhaps Cleave wrote this book with the intention of keeping his audience from connecting with the main character, or perhaps I’m a cold person. Whatever the case, I couldn’t come to feel the woman’s pain, and spent the book wishing she would go to counseling; seeing her come to terms with her grief would have made this a more rewarding read for me. If you are thinking of reading a Cleave novel, Little Bee is the better bet; that is a phenomenal book.

Yoga Bitch: One Woman’s Quest to Conquer Skepticism, Cynicism, and Cigarettes on the Path to Enlightenment by Suzanne Morrison

I thoroughly enjoyed Yoga Bitch. Morrison perfectly captures what it is to be a modern yogi in a time of multitudinous New Age, feel good, woo woo philosophies. Her skepticism of certain practices and ideals espoused by the yoga community is comical to read, and her observations are honest. Unlike another popular memoir involving yoga (yes, I’m looking at you, Eat, Pray, Love), Morrison’s tale doesn’t feel condescending or wrapped up in a neat bow. She expresses doubt about the path she is on, and worries that she isn’t good enough for herself or for others. Her quest to find herself (or whatever else comes her way) rings true, and her experience is one that readers can identify with. I enjoyed the snarky humor in Morrison’s memoir, but I was able to draw inspiration from what she learned, as well.

City of Glass (The Mortal Instruments, #3) by Cassandra Clare

When I first started reading The Mortal Instruments series, it was a trilogy. I think that, were there no more books to come, this would have been a fine ending. I didn’t love the read, but it kept the momentum of the first two books going forward, and there was a lot of resolution. I have the fourth book, so I will read that, but I’m not sure I’ll be committed to reading the rest of this series, barring any cliffhangers in book #4.

Y: The Last Man, Vol. 8: Kimono Dragons by Brian K. Vaughan

Y: The Last Man continues to be excellent, eight installments later. This volume gives us a bit more of an insight into Dr. Mann’s background, and there is a revelation of how the Gendercide came about…I must know!

I hate to think that I only have two more volumes before the series is over. It’s a sad thought.

Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story (Love Story, #1) by Christopher Moore

This book just didn’t do it for me. Moore’s humor felt entirely too contrived for my taste, and I disliked the two main characters, Jody and Tommy. Every character had a snarky comment at the ready, and it grated on my nerves. As far as funny and surprising vampire stories go, I still prefer the Southern Vampire Mysteries series by Charlaine Harris because the humor is sincerely meant, and not every line is a mockery of the vampire genre. I won’t be reading the next two books in the trilogy.

The Night of the Gun by David Carr

When I first started David Carr’s memoir, I didn’t really like it. This might sound silly, but it seemed way too self-involved. I don’t mean that Carr talked to much about himself; I think he didn’t talk enough about himself during those early days of addiction. It bothered me that the first half of the book is about scrapes that Carr got into, but mostly those stories focused on the other person involved: his or her personality and background, and how Carr knew the person. However, these people floated in and out of Carr’s life, and many of them became anecdotes, no more than peripheral encounters on the page. Perhaps this was intentional; Carr’s life felt like a blur to me as the reader as much as it must have felt for him to live it (learning about one of his acquaintances in a paragraph and not seeing them again for the rest of the memoir). I couldn’t get a handle on Carr the man until the second half of the memoir, when he goes to rehab and then begins taking care of his two daughters.

Carr’s reflections in the second half of his memoir had more of an impact, as they were coming from someone who was looking back fondly on these times, even though they were difficult. His memories of raising his daughters were not as unreliable as his memories of when he was a drug addict; while he still interviews people to get their perspectives on that time, a lot of it is told from his own recollections (as opposed to the first part of the memoir, which is Carr recounting things that happened to him through the memories of others, as well as through old police reports). The second part of this memoir helped me to engage with Carr a bit more; his story is indeed a remarkable one. Anyone looking for a good memoir about addiction should check out this one.