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Content Warning: pedophilia, grooming, racism, outdated racial terms, death, violence.

Please note: This review contains discussion of pedophilia.

David Talbot is doing something he never thought he would do: making contact with Merrick Mayfair, the beautiful witch who came to the Talamasca as a child. Now a vampire, David is afraid of the temptation of turning her as well, but he has been asked by Louis de Pointe du Lac to approach Merrick and ask if she will summon Claudia, the child vampire killed so long ago. Merrick is up to the task, but first, David recounts the tale of Merrick's life to Louis, in the hopes that he will understand just how precious she is, and how important it is not to ruin her life with their vampirism. All three of them are drawn together by memories of the past, hopeful for answers and fearful of what remembrance might bring.

 Merrick is not very popular amongst the Vampire Chronicles fandom. Regardless, I was eager to give this a try, interested particularly in the character of Merrick Mayfair, who is a biracial witch related to the white Mayfairs who have their own book series. Unfortunately, though, as I got closer and closer to the end, I realized why this book remains so infamously disliked amongst fellow fans, and why I see so little discussion of it entirely. The deadliest crime here is that, simply put, Merrick is largely boring. As always, there are moments of truly beautiful writing, particularly when it comes to the sections that take place in the Guatemalan jungle, but as a whole, it suffers from a strange lack of magic when compared to the rest of the books in the series.

Although Merrick is an interesting character, she suffers from the same problem that challenges most of Rice's female characters: compared to their male counterparts, they are often underdeveloped, feeling like little more than springboards meant for the male cast to use in their own journeys. There are a few exceptions, of course; namely, Gabrielle, who commands each page she is on with little effort. But as a whole, it just feels as if Rice isn't as interested in female characters as she is in the male ones. Merrick acts as a sort of test of David's character, both when he is a mortal man and as a vampire. In fact, I want to discuss this in more detail.

Once again, as we see with Marius, David is an unrepentant creep. There's no other way to put it. He is canonically a pedophile; several other characters make mention of it in this book, and David essentially just states it as a fact. Though he usually likes boys (gag), he is obsessed and captivated by Merrick, whom he meets as a girl of fourteen, if I'm remembering correctly. He often says she is not a child, which is baffling. How is this little girl not a child? This plays into the weird racism that surrounds Merrick throughout the book. Not only is she called exotic again and again, but she's also cast as a "temptress," seductive even in her adolescence. Many young black girls are seen as more "mature" and are sexualized in ways that white girls are not. It's gross, and it leaves you feeling icky, like you need a bath. 

So, as you can imagine, it's pretty much impossible to like David. Louis, who I adore, is actually in this book very fleetingly. The relationship between Merrick and Louis is not particularly interesting, and though I am first and foremost a lover of Louis and Lestat together, I don't usually mind when they take on other lovers, as this is just part of vampiric nature -- nearly all of them are polyamorous in some form or another. But, Merrick and Louis just feel... boring. He forgives her for something quite awful, too, and all of it was just strange. And not in a good way.

With all of this being said, I'm sure you can tell that I was not a fan. Not recommended; honestly, if you're a fan of the books, I think you could skip this one without missing much. The scenes with Claudia also feel like an afterthought, so if that's your main motivation for reading this, I'd still skip it.

Book Review: Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail by Ashley Herring Blake

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and Berkley for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: cancer, cheating, emotional abuse (parental), verbal abuse (parental).

Astrid Parker has her life together. Although she's established herself as an ultra-successful interior designer, business hasn't exactly been booming lately, which is exactly why she needs all the exposure from Innside America that she can get. Filming an episode of the renovation of the local Everwood Inn, where Astrid is the lead designer, is just what she needs -- but what she doesn't expect is that she'll butt heads with the carpenter granddaughter of the inn's owner, Jordan Everwood. Jordan is dealing with her own personal issues and failure, and she's not in the best state of mind to deal with what she thinks of as Astrid's "uninspired" design for the inn. But against all odds, Jordan and Astrid find themselves growing closer, even as the showrunners encourage them to have on-camera conflict... and Astrid begins to realize that everything she thought she knew about herself might not be true after all.

I reviewed Delilah Green Doesn't Care on this blog previously, and if you've read that post, you'll know that I absolutely adore it. I'm not huge on contemporary romances, let alone romcoms, but it really struck a chord with me that no other romance has managed to before. Her characters were relatable, the romance was just the right amount of fluffy and serious, and the entire book was just plain fantastic. However, with all of that being said... I'm afraid to say that Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail simply didn't satisfy me in the way the first book did. 

Since this book is, first and foremost, a romance, I think the main issue is that Jordan and Astrid never feel quite as convincing, or as interesting, as Claire and Delilah were. Even when you don't compare the two books, many of the scenes between them are not that engaging. While I like both of them individually, the sparks between them feel sometimes lukewarm. Most of Blake's books have a lot of infodumping, and this one was no exception, but while typically I don't mind it, it felt as if it was doing most of the emotional footwork for the characters in this, never leaving any subtlety to their emotions or motivations. Instead of letting us (and Astrid and Jordan) figure it out for ourselves, we're told how they feel, why they feel it, and then they're immediately sent on the way to fix it.

The scene that sticks out most to me is when Astrid and Jordan go to the theater, and it's probably the best scene in the book, but I also wondered why they were divulging all of these secrets to one another, alcohol notwithstanding. It just felt... a little strange, and they hadn't quite had the development to make it seem believable. The narrative is punctuated by issues like these.

It's not that this book is awful (it's not), but none of it is really convincing. I also have to address how corny this book often is, and not in a cute way. Of course, it's kind of a given that when you read a cute romance (particularly one with comedic elements), there will be some corny moments, but it's usually the kind of corny that makes you smile. In this case, it made me cringe. 

One more thing: Blake's takes on race and gender in this one made me pause. She uses the term "women and nonbinary people" pretty much nonstop, and I hate this. I hate this so much. Why does she conflate women with nonbinary people? What about people who associate themselves with masculinity? What about transmac people, who still identify as nonbinary or genderfluid? I could just go on about this, and it just struck me as so odd. She also describes everyone race first in this book, which felt really weird.

So, would I recommend it? To Blake's fans, probably. If you're a big fan of the romance genre, I think you'll probably enjoy this one, even if it's not the best you've ever read. For me, it was a bit of a drag: not the best, not the worst. I'll leave it up to you wise people whether you decide to pick it up or not!

Book Review: The Vampire Armand by Anne Rice

 

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Content Warning: pedophilia, sexual abuse, rape, grooming, minor/adult relationship, death (including that of children), violence, murder, abduction, physical abuse, parental abuse, emotional/verbal abuse.

Please Note: This review contains discussion of sexual abuse, grooming, and pedophilia. 

Born in the Kievan Rus, Andrei is a peasant, a painter of ikons so beautiful they are otherworldly. When he is abducted by Tartars to be sold into sex slavery in Constantinople, he gives up on any hope of a promising future -- but when he is sold again into a Venetian brothel, he is taken to live with the mysterious, beautiful Marius. Wealthy beyond imagining, and a fellow painter himself, he keeps a household of orphan boys he has tutored, wishing to make them into future noblemen, lawyers and men of status. Enchanted by the new world he finds himself in, Andrei becomes Amadeo, and quickly falls beneath Marius' spell. But Marius, of course, has a secret: he is a vampire. Desperate to be blessed with the Dark Gift, Amadeo ends up cursed forever as a boy of only seventeen, and when a dangerous cult of vampires come to their doorstep, he will become Armand -- the ethereal, fascinating, sometimes manipulative vampire whom Louis falls in love with in Interview with the Vampire.

Armand is one of my all-time favorite characters (not just from the Vampire Chronicles series, but from any, ever), but I've never read his book. I stopped reading the series after Tale of the Body Thief, which I found off-putting in pretty much every sense. I did pick up Memnoch the Devil, the book that directly precedes this one, but only made it about halfway through -- enough, however, to understand what's going on in this one. I'm so happy I decided to start up with this series again, though, because The Vampire Armand is a beautiful, heartrending journey of pain, religion, and the aftermath of trauma.

Captivating, as he has been in every book he's featured in, Armand finally gets a chance to tell us his story in his own words. Though we learn some of his past in The Vampire Lestat, it doesn't really compare to this firsthand account, full of sumptuous detail and Armand's yearning to be wanted and loved, beyond his beauty or his sexuality. This isn't easy to read, by any means: although there are no graphic details about the abuse he experiences at the hands of his captors, those experiences nonetheless color his narrative and his character. Like many victims of sexual abuse, he is promiscuous, using it as a sort of self-harm, struggling to find a healthy way to express his sexuality. It's heartbreaking, especially when we see that, in the aftermath, he feels empty. 

Like all of Rice's books, the descriptions are florid and quite gorgeous. One of the main focuses in this novel is Armand's relationship with Marius, his "rescuer" and maker. I put "rescuer" in quotation marks because the truth of the matter is, Marius is no better than any of the other men who have bought and sold Armand before. I loved this book, but that's one of the big reasons why I simply couldn't give it five stars. Rice romanticizes his so-called "romance" with Marius, who not only continues to take advantage of him (when he is a child, by the way) but also physically, verbally, and emotionally abuses him. It's one of the problems with the series as a whole, this sort of brushing off of the breaking of boundaries and the idea that because they are not bound by usual rules, there's no use in moralizing. I, personally, disagree. It's too big of an issue to really delve into completely here, but please keep it in mind if you read this, and I just want to make it clear that I found their relationship disheartening and disgusting.

Difficult as it is to ignore those deeply unsavory aspects, I did enjoy the rest of the novel, particularly Armand's conflict with religion, his desire to understand and love his God, and what exactly that means for a creature of the night who drinks the blood of unsuspecting victims. It's impossible not to sympathize with him, this eternal boy who has spent his whole life at the mercy of others, even when he thinks he has found a way out. You want the best for him, regardless of the horrible things he's also done in the past. He's complex, layered, and if you love him, this is truly worth the read.

It's hard to recommend this, with all that I've mentioned above, but if you are a fan of the series, I think you'll enjoy it. Just speaking personally, I loved it, and if you are a longtime Armand fan, do yourself a favor and pick it up. 

Book Review: Idol, Burning by Rin Usami

 

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Thank you to NetGalley and HarperVia for allowing me to read this ARC!

Content Warning: physical abuse, domestic violence, ableism, parental abuse (emotional and verbal).

Akari thinks of nothing but her oshi, Masaki Ueno, an actor and member of the J-Pop band "Maza Maza." Her life revolves around him: when he eats, she eats; when he says goodnight on his livestream, she goes to sleep; the beat and rhythm of his songs determine her walking pace. Outside of her obsession, Akari struggles to make sense of her world -- and then there's a scandal. It turns out that Masaki has assaulted a female fan (rumored to actually be his girlfriend or fiancée), and as Akari tries to fight against the tide of hatred for him, she must also determine whether or not life goes on without her idol. 

Fandom spaces are intimately familiar to me; I've been an active member of various ones since I was around eleven years old. Although I'd never describe myself as having been a superfan of anything (at least, not to the extent that Akari is), it's easy for me to understand where she comes from, especially when the internet is now dominated by fans of boybands like BTS. There's a unique sense of both isolation and belonging that comes with speaking to fellow fans online, with the feeling of having a community that understands you in a way that those in your real life do not.

Our protagonist, Akari, is a sort of springboard for these sorts of questions and ideas. While she idolizes Masaki, she also isn't the sort of fan who wants to be close with him, at least not physically -- she prefers the safety of having a screen between them, or a screaming crowd. Still, she does her best to understand him, obsessed with the idea that she alone is able to "get him" on a level that everyone else simply doesn't. It's something relevant in her own life: in spite of the fact that she's been diagnosed with an undisclosed learning disability (or that's what I assumed it to be: although ADHD is not considered one, I personally saw myself in Akari's struggles with what other people see as "easy" or "simple" tasks), her family makes little to no effort to understand her -- and even verbally and emotionally abuses her as she struggles.

And that's really the entire point of fandom and stan culture, isn't it? An escape, a way outside of yourself. Usami's writing is clever, though I found myself often thinking that some of the sentences were strange, perhaps because it's just so hard to translate the essence of something into another language. This book is very short (not even 200 pages), and some of it felt rushed. I would've actually liked to spend more time with Akari, though reading this book was a bit painful for me, as it so intensely exposed elements of myself that I fight with (being perceived as lazy, difficult, struggling with little things, and how it sometimes feels as if there's a whole world separating you from people who are "normal," or at least neurotypical).

At the end of the day, her oshi is really not a man, not even really a human: he is a figure to project her desires and hopes onto. There's even a line I found very telling, that truly sums up why I think so many fans seem strangely upset when their idols marry or date or get caught smoking or drinking: "He was no longer an idol; he was a man."

Sometimes this book can be a bit heavy-handed, one of the reasons I chose three stars for its rating. There's an occasional lack of subtlety which I think this book needs. That being said, I recommend this and I think it will start many interesting conversations about the ways we invade celebrity lives. 

Book Review: Thérèse and Isabelle by Violette Leduc

 

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Content Warning: homophobia.

Thérèse and Isabelle are two schoolgirls, attending the same boarding school in France. Though Thérèse has convinced herself that she hates Isabelle, she is also fascinated by her, spending much of her time thinking of Isabelle's beautiful flaxen hair. After an encounter one night, the two girls fall hopelessly into a deep, erotic love, knowing that it can't last and yet holding onto each other with remarkable violence.

Originally published in 1966, Thérèse and Isabelle was heavily censored for its frank depictions of love between women, not to mention its explicit eroticism. I've wanted to read this for a long time; it's considered a bit of an obscure classic of lesbian literature, and Violette Leduc is such a fascinating person -- everything I read about her intrigues me more. While the content does include many sex scenes between the two girls, it's not explicit like we think of today. You can turn on HBO and see worse. At the time, in fact, there were actually far more graphic erotic novels, many of them also challenged (Miller's Topic of Cancer and Burroughs' Naked Lunch come to mind), but Leduc's is singular in the fact that it depicts female pleasure with no qualms.

For the reasons I've listed above, it's worth a read, but my main problem is simply that the language is so abstract that it takes away entirely from the purpose of the story. There's more of a focus on the emotional aspect of their sexual relationship than the actual physical action, which elevates the depth of feeling when you are reading about them. It's the kind of obsessive love that only young women can truly understand, a desire to consume and be consumed that leaves all else either nonexistent or simply unimportant.

But back to the language: this doesn't seem to be an error of translation, but rather simply Leduc's style, carving out such obtuse metaphors that it sometimes took me several rereadings of a sentence to truly grasp what it is that Leduc is trying to say. It isn't that I'm unused to obscure or unique styles of prose, but in my opinion, some passages are actually painful to get through because it feels as if they are saying so much without saying anything at all.

I enjoyed the concept of this story more than its actual content, but nonetheless, I do think it's worth a read if you are particularly interested in Leduc (as this is based off not only her own experience as a lesbian, but specifically her experience being in love with another schoolgirl during her adolescence), but the style certainly won't be for everyone.