Let the Right Book In

Unfortunately Mexican Gothic was a mixed bag for me, which I’m really sad about because I am OBSESSED with this cover, I love gothic horror and this just sounded so damn good! But alas, it happens! “The world might indeed be a cursed circle; the snake swallowed its tail and there could be no end, only an eternal ruination and endless devouring.” The basic premise is this - Noemí Taboada receives a frantic letter from her newlywed cousin, begging for someone to save her from a mysterious doom as she currently resides in a distant house in the Mexican countryside with her new husband’s family. I’ll focus on the positives first - this novel is quite atmospheric, the Doyle family are unusual and unsettling, as is the house itself. Who doesn’t love a creepy house where darkness lures in the corners?! And I do believe that the bare bones of this story is GOOD. Moreno-Garcia really went for it towards the end, it was bizarre and messed-up, and I really did appreciate that she pushed it to the

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race is a must-read if you are of the opinion that racism is not as much of an issue in the UK as it is in America and further afield. Because it is. The British just prefer to sweep it away under the rug, pretending it doesn’t exist, avoiding conversations about it. “If you are disgusted by what you see, and if you feel the fire coursing through your veins, then it's up to you. You don't have to be the leader of a global movement or a household name. It can be as small scale as chipping away at the warped power relations in your workplace. It can be passing on knowledge and skills to those who wouldn't access them otherwise. It can be creative. It can be informal. It can be your job. It doesn't matter what it is, as long as you're doing something.” In this book, Eddo-Lodge covers a range of topics, beginning with the history of Black people in the UK, before moving onto systemic racism and white privilege, followed by

Purple Hibiscus is a story weighed down with oppression. The oppression of religion. An oppressive father. Oppressive heat. A country under an oppressive regime. But there is also the slightest hint of freedom. “We did that often, asking each other questions whose answers we already knew.” Fifteen-year-old Kambili and her older brother Jaja lead a privileged life in Enugu, Nigeria. But all is not as perfect as it seems in their household. As Nigeria begins to crumble under a military coup, Kambili and Jaja are sent to stay with their aunt and cousins, where laughter freely rings throughout the house. This is my second Adichie novel and although I didn’t love it as much as Americanah, I was still enthralled and moved by this relatively straight forward story. It’s a beautifully touching coming-of-age story told from the perspective of Kambili. Kambili’s father is a man with two very different sides to his personality. He does so much for his community, is looked upon with respect and ad

How is it even possible for me to condense my thoughts on The Stand into one review. I don’t know. But I’ll try! “The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there...and still on your feet.” Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed my reread of The Stand. Revisiting these characters reminded me of reconnecting me with old friends you haven’t seen in a while - you don’t realise how much you’ve missed them until you see them again. And the characters are what make The Stand so epic, for me personally. But... I’ll get this out of the way early - it didn’t break into my top 10 King books. Yes, I love it, but some parts are bloody painful. That first section is mostly fantastic, I love reading about the outbreak of Captain Trips, a deadly flu that kills 99.4% of the population, but some chapters are a real drag. The Trashcan Man, for example. Yes, he is a crucial character, but good god, reading about him in the first section is like pulling teeth. But truly, what would The

In April 1989, a white woman was brutally raped and severely beaten while jogging in Central Park. Five teenagers were quickly apprehended - four Black and one Hispanic. All five confessed, were tried and convicted even though there was no evidence linking them to the victim. Over a decade later, DNA tests linked serial rapist Matias Reyes to the crime, finally exposing the deep-seated race and class divisions in NYC that led to these young boys being accused back in 1989. Having watched When They See Us on Netflix (which is excellent, by the way - if you haven’t seen it, please check it out) and listened to numerous podcasts on the case, I already knew what I was getting into when I picked up this book. And yet my anger and overwhelming empathy and sadness for these boys was as heightened as ever. They were failed on so many levels - they were failed by law enforcement, by the media, by the judicial system. My phone is full of notes that I made while reading. I don’t have the space to