Tag: 2021 books

My Heart Is A Chainsaw

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Last year I read certain horror novels and wondered if I didn’t have a place as a modern horror reader. I could still easily dive into classic horror like Stoker, Machen, Le Fanu, Lovecraft and his literary godchildren but modern horror? Was I too old and cranky? Especially after my disappointment with Grady Hendrix and The Final Girl Support Group. Don’t get me wrong, Grady Hendrix is an interesting voice for modern horror, but he’s been moving closer to almost too precious for words, too all-knowing voice, veering into Horror’s Patton Oswalt for my tastes.

I can’t even with Patton Oswalt. Between this and knowing I don’t do Anne of Green Gables, if this is the final straw and you’ve decided I’m a complete monster and will never read another thing I write, it’s okay, I understand.

Also, it’s been how many months and I still can’t eat pasta or noodles. Damn you, Grady Hendrix.

Excuse me, you might interrupt, but are you going to babble about a book or your stupid food aversions and I’m too different thing?

Hold your horses, I am going to babble about a book, that of course, I found at my local library. Today’s book, My Heart Is A Chainsaw by one Stephen Graham Jones. Now I might be on the fringes of modern horror but even I recognize that name even if I never read one of his books until this month. I read A LOT and it’s possible I’ve read one of his short stories in the past.

My Heart Is A Chainsaw, which does this sound like a long-lost Nirvana album or is my age showing, is the story of one Jennifer “Jade” Daniels, an outsider in the tiny Idaho community of Proofrock. Jade looks like she should be best friends with Nancy from The Craft with her wild dyed hair, more black eyeliner than peek Siouxsie Sioux and battered clothes. She’s smart and obsessed to with horror movies to the point even I’m all “girl please”. Proofrock could be the ideal setting for a 1980s low budget horror movie with a spooky haunted lake legend and an abandoned summer camp with a tragic past. If My Heart Is A Chainsaw was a 1980s horror movie, Jade’s seen it all history teacher Mr. Holmes aka Sherlock or Bear, could only be played by David Warner or Donald Sutherland. But it’s not the 1980s and the modern world is creeping into Proofrock along with a new housing development called Terra Nova catering to the rich and famous.

Of course, being a horror novel, things…happen. Or do they? Jade has a history of instability and has spent time hospitalized after a suicide attempt. Is Jade an unreliable narrator, keeping secrets from herself or are the things happening just occurrences that might happen in any town undergoing a transformation after a tragic past.

Now if you’re curious and want me to spoil the rest of the plot, no. Get your hands on My Heart Is A Chainsaw and read it yourself.

I will say My Heart Is A Chainsaw kept me guessing and reading one handed while making dinner. I don’t suggest this unless you have the spare cash to replace a library book if it falls into the oven or a simmering pot. Note: I did not drop or damage my library copy but hey, it could happen especially when REDACTED SERIOUSLY REDACTED OH MY TULU REDACTED.

Long story short? My Heart Is A Chainsaw is what I hoped The Final Girl Support Group would be. I might not vibe with modern horror as I did years ago but there are still books out there for readers like me.

An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Let’s set the stage.

Let’s set the stage.

It’s Saturday and the Plainville Public Library has just opened. And I’m murmuring “good morning” to the librarians as I’m making a beeline for the New Mystery books. My mission is snapping up Helene Tursten’s An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed, because Maud is back! At first, I thought someone else had checked it out because the online catalog might not have up to the second information but nope, it was there, a wee volume just a bit bigger than my hand tucked between two larger books.

Mission accomplished.

Fast forward and here I am, writing my thoughts on Maud’s return. I missed Maud. Yes, I know after a glance at the copyright page An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed was first published in 2020 but I’m a very dim American who doesn’t understand Swedish, so I had to wait for the lovely folks at Soho Press to release the English translation earlier this month. Once again, I’m very glad Maud isn’t my neighbor, but she is a very interesting lady indeed. When we meet Maud in An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed, it’s a few months after her An Elderly Lady Is Up To No Good adventures. The police are still hovering around in the background asking too many questions, but Maud is setting off on her African adventure. Do you think Maud is going to let the police get in the way of her plans? Please…

Now I’m not going to give away to the plot because the whole book is just over 250 pages. Be assured Maud gets involved in situations past and present but continues to find a way out that benefits her above all things. Anyone who thinks she is just a doddering old thing needing a stick to get about deserves a solid smack from that stick.

I can tell you there are two recipes included I would love to try if my stupid blood sugar wasn’t an issue. Genetics suck. And I can also tell you if you have an hour or so to spare, pick up An Elderly Lady Must Not Be Crossed.

And make the cookies! They sound so good.

Band of Sisters

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Ahhhh historical fiction. Not my favorite genre but I shove historical fiction titles in the library book bag on occasion. Now you think a person who studied history at university, has a BA in History, is a Phi Alpha Theta member and briefly considered graduate school, would love her some historical fiction. And also have a grasp of English grammar but I never claimed to be an English major now did I?

But back to historical fiction. A person would think I would be cramming all the historical fiction like setting a new world record for eating Lindt truffles. That person would be wrong.

I prefer actual history books and biographies and when I do read historical fiction it tends to be modern person finds documents/diaries of historical figure and then we get alternating chapters of modern person, historical person, modern person. And I end up getting bored to pieces by modern person and just wanting to read only the historical person unless it’s very well written.

And if your historical fiction is the secret life of very famous historical person, for example you’re the poor but gorgeous gal who has Prince Edward (later the Duke of Windsor)’s love child? Or you’re the noble but poor mistress of Henry VIII? I. AM. OUT.

I have opinions. Strong opinions. And my bar for historical fiction is set pretty damn high. Especially now as the vast age of fifty looms not too far in the horizon. Not even the brilliant Fay Weldon gets a pass. And Fay Weldon is a goddess who wrote the pilot episode of Upstairs, Downstairs.

Let’s jump to yesterday morning around 3 am. Normally I’m in a half-awake state, knowing I need to crawl from my warm bed and summon the strength to be functional enough to start my work day at 6 am. My life is most glamorous.

But it is a Saturday morning and I’ve just put Lauren Willig’s Band of Sisters down. Not to shove in the library return bag unfinished. And not to read after running errands. Down as in done and dusted. Finished. With thoughts. Perhaps barely literate but thoughts.

In a nutshell, Band of Sisters is the tale of gentle reared rich ladies going off to provide support and comfort in World War I France. Well, not everyone is rich (hi there working class Irish/Bohemian Kate) and they all attended Smith College.

Now for those unfamiliar, Smith College is one of the Seven Sisters, historically women’s colleges which are considered equivalent to the Ivy League. I was not clever enough for Smith College but that is a tale for another time.

Our heroines have left Smith College and are whipped into a fervor by a former professor who wants to send a unit of Smith women over to France to serve the French citizens. The plan is to provide aid, restoring villages and the inhabitants spirit without the burden of charity. Very lofty goals.

After all, anyone can join the Red Cross efforts, handing out donuts and cigarettes to Our Brave Boys. But it takes a strong person, A Smith College Girl, to be boots on the ground, down in the trenches, getting things done. Not afraid to muss her hair or get dirty. Nails will be broken.

Hmm…I’m sounding very gung ho and like I’ve meet that professor. Interesting.

Will the Smith College alumnae respond to the former professor’s siren call and find themselves in France? Yes because that’s the plot of the book.

Of course, there are tensions, secrets and deprivation galore. It’s World War I France once the Americans joined. Unlike many historical fiction books, Band of Sisters isn’t all dances with Our Brave Boys, Finding True Love While The Battle Rages Off Screen.

Frankly? I loathe those historical fiction books. If you like those books. Glad you found something to read that brings you joy but I prefer a much heartier fare.

Band of Sisters is that heartier fare. There is some romance, but you never forget the trenches are mere miles away and the treat of Germans/the Boche is very nearby. The French countryside is both beautiful and destroyed right down to the people. Still alive but shells of themselves. And the Smith Girls aren’t immune. They are so very innocent in their mostly privileged bubbles it hurts yet shells of themselves. One character has such an obsidian hard shell you think she is just a snotty bitch but nope. Oh golly nope. Another character needs to have the very concept of a “Boche baby” explained.

At that point, yes, I gave a deep sigh, because honestly how did she think a very young French girl was impregnated with said baby. Thank heavens she learns a thing or two before the book ends because the last quarter of the book is brutal and merciless. The devastation, terror and exhaustion are so truthfully and beautifully written you are in the horde, barely awake and still pressing on because you can’t succumb.

After devouring Band of Sisters, I can say it’s a gripping read and even if you want to shake perhaps Maud until her teeth rattle (I will help you with that! Maud does my head in something awful), have one character teach a class on self-defense before sitting Emmie down for a reality check, it’s hard to put down. And read everything. Don’t skip the stuff everyone does.

 Seriously, READ THE ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS! Lauren Willig based her book on real Smith College women who were in the Somme. How could I not love a book by an author who stumbles and gobbles books like myself? Her fictional band of sisters Smith College alumnae are just as real and a force of nature as the Smith College alumnae I encountered as in my youth.

Would I recommend Band of Sisters? Most certainly!

Your Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

So I’m putting away my library books and while the spouse putters around drinking an iced coffee.

“Boobs!”

“What?”

“Boobs!” the spouse repeats, gesturing at a book with his iced coffee.

And I give a deep sigh, the sort of deep sigh that goes straight down to your toes because if you’re a publisher with a memoir of Cassandra “Elvira” Peterson of course the cover is going to be stark black with an expanse of creamy white cleavage so deep the Mariana Trench looks like a shallow puddle. I’m in possession of a generous bosom myself but honestly feel flat chested compared to Ms. Peterson. However, this is not a review of Cassandra Peterson’s impressive physique but her brand spanking new memoir, Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark.

I’m of several minds about Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark. It’s such a slender volume for someone who has lived her Most Interesting Life. The greedy part of me wants more details about events but the reasonable part of me says that is rude and Cassandra Peterson can share exactly what and how much she wants about her life. She could have easily hidden many painful and surprising things and just presented the best bits of her journey. How many people who aren’t huge fans even know she has a child? She does and protects that child’s right for privacy and not to be thrust into a spotlight they might not want. I respect the hell out of her for that.

A caveat, Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark is not focused solely on the Elvira character. Sure, there is the creation of Elvira and of course the Elvira vs Vampira lawsuit plus some behind the scenes details of the TV show and movies. And boy does Cassandra Peterson have rotten luck when it comes to really getting full credit or value from her creation. Granted Elvira isn’t the most original character concept, anyone can inch into a plunging cut to Nebraska gown and rock a big flowing black wig a la the Charles Addams cartoon character but Cassandra Peterson gave her the twists and quirks that made her stand out from the pack.

But ultimately Yours Cruelly, Elvira: Memoirs of the Mistress of the Dark is the story of survival. It doesn’t matter if survival is a literally life changing accident, an abusive loved ones, the Hollywood grinder or being able to do what you love and receive love. And that is impressive.

The Final Girl Support Group

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Contrary to what the spouse and my Tubi recommendations might claim, I’m not addicted to horror movies. I do enjoy a good cosmic horror movie but a slasher film? I’ve read more about slasher films then watching them. I’m An Old (Generation X) and we only had one TV. Sure, I might have peered through the stair rails in the late 1970s while my dad was watching the Rock Hudson classic Embryo and been scared out of my tiny wits, but I didn’t have a TV in my room or an older sibling with a TV. And because we had a VCR of our own, I missed out of the classic 1980s experience of renting a VCR and a stack of scary movies for a weekend. I did see some scary movies back in the day, but it was rare, usually involving a sleepover at a friend’s house who had older siblings.

I’m darn near AARP age and I still haven’t seen The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Friday the 13th and the like. Which put me at slight disadvantage when I made the genius decision to “just read a chapter or two” of Grady Hendrix’s The Final Girl Support Group. And no prize if you guessed I just kept reading until I finished the book just before 11:30pm. My work shift starts at 6 am.

Like I said, I truly make genius decisions.

You could pick up The Final Girl Support Group without ever seeing a slasher film or even knowing what a final girl is. In my big book of Whiskey Tango that’s a waste of time, energy and resources but you know what the legendary children say, “you do you boo, you do you”. If you don’t have a horror background yet somehow decide oh yes, The Final Girl Support Group is for you. You are not going to get the full experience.

I’m not saying you need be to a horror superfan, listing the different Texas Chainsaw Massacres, Child’s Play, Friday the 13th, Prom Night, Amityville Horrors like it’s the British line of succession. If you can? Impressive and is Brad Dourif as sweet as he seems in real life because I met Tony “Candyman” Todd and He. Is. A. Total. Sweetheart. I am curious about Brad Dourif. And I might <cue the spouse rolling his eyes> have the tiniest crush on Brad Dourif. Okay I do have a crush on Brad Dourif. Have you seen him in One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest?

<sips on her now stone-cold Lady Grey tea to focus the mind, it is by the mug of tea that thoughts acquire speed and the teeth acquire stains>

And yes, the review!

The casual fan/reader might not figure out the titular final girls are named after actresses from the real-life movie franchises lovingly paid homage to. Tiny details like the naming matter. It took longer than I’d like to admit for me to realize Heather, tormented by the Dream King is a reference to the actress Heather Langenkamp from the Nightmare on Elm Street movies. And this is after I kept turning back to the mock “The Slash Franchises Ranked” magazine excerpt before the start of The Final Girl Support Group VI: The Next Generation chapter.

Go ahead, please feel free to laugh at me.

I never said I was a particular smart person.

And another tiny detail that matters are those stark black pages before each chapter. They range from a snippet of a magazine article, a review or even a battered VHS cover. Like my all-time favorite Grady Hendrix novel Horrorstör, these pages really help place you right in the book universe. Without them? I would have had a much harder time staying focused and motivated to keep reading. Would the book live up to the promise in those media snippets?

And here is where I guess I should touch on the plot. How do they say it on TV Tropes? Ah yes, Exactly What It Says On The Tin. In a church basement, the real-life final girls, whose worst tragedies inspired movies, meet in a support group for years until someone starts targeting them again. And stuff goes down. Like a good slasher flick there are several twists and turns. I didn’t regret staying up late to finish the book. The Final Girl Support Group didn’t drag on and on, a visit to a shunned Final Girl is very creepy and honestly the part I felt the most disturbed/scared. Your mileage may vary.

The Final Girl Support Group is a solid book, lots of interesting bits even if I couldn’t warm to our narrator/final girl Lynnette. Sorry Lynnette. It’s not my favorite Grady Hendrix book ever, hello there Horrorstör and Paperbacks from Hell, but unlike other Grady Hendrix novels I read this year, I haven’t developed any more food aversions. Seriously, I am still having issues with noodles and ice cream. Which might be a good thing according to my doctor. Such meanness. So, if you love horror give The Final Girl Support Group a read while I try to sit through Mortuary for more than five minutes without rolling my eyes at Erin Walton as the heroine.

Several People Are Typing

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

One day I will learn to NOT try writing reviews while the spouse is on the couch watching videos.

But today isn’t the day.

Today is give commentaries on a let’s play video day.

Which in a way actually works for Calvin Kasulke’s Several People Are Typing. Between the let’s play gamer and the spouse it’s like being trapped in a Slack channel or chat or whatever it’s called (the actual job uses MS Team vs Slack so I’m not exact hip to the lingo). For those even less hip/out of the loop than me, Several People Are Typing is written as various Slack channels at a NYC public relations firm. It works. There are difficult accounts, a PR disaster, interoffice fun and games, a love affair complete with messaging the wrong person and one particular coworker who claims he is stuck in the Slack channels.

If you’ve worked in an office you’ve heard all sorts of reasons why people are calling out/unable to come into the office but stuck in the Slack channels isn’t one I’ve ever heard in all my years as an cube dweller. But Gerald claims he got stuck while browsing his winter coat spreadsheet. The dude made spreadsheet for picking out the perfect winter coat?!?!?! says the person who had a near meltdown trying to find the perfect matchy-matchy athletics leggings and top last month.

Back to Gerald. His coworkers, very skeptical…at first. Honestly, as an essential worker who has to go into the office everyday? I’m quite envious of the remote/hybrid workers. But when you work in an office with a coworker who claims to hear howling everywhere, another coworker is auctioning off a prime desk, and your boss is convinced the custodial staff are messing with his adjustable desk, is saying you’re sucked into the Slack channels really that odd?

I could go on and on about the meaning of technology and how we are losing ourselves to said technology. Are we becoming one with our tech? Can we exist without tech? But I’m not that sort of reviewer.

I’m the sort of reviewer who is going to enjoy peeking into people’s messages, wants to see Gerald’s spreadsheet and I imagine the public relations firm’s NYC office as a cross between a BBC sitcom and the really weird episode of Black Mirror when the game designer gets stuck in his game. I’m the reviewer who counts the pages and wonders how/if Gerald is ever going back into his own body. I’m the reviewer who is going to recommend you hunt down (actually it’s very easily found at Target and major bookstores/a Good Morning America book club selection) Calvin Kasulke’s Several People Are Typing and once you’re done? Order some takeout and watch that episode of Black Mirror.

The Missing Treasures of Amy Ashton

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

Sometimes you finish a book and wonder what the same plot would be in another author’s hands. This can be very interesting but not the most productive thing when midnight isn’t far off, and you have to be at work the next morning at 6 am.

Enter Eleanor Ray’s The Missing Treasures of Amy Ashton. The cover looked interesting, and the inner jacket copy had me tucking it into the library bag. If the first 20 pages didn’t captivate, I could always just not finish it and get a good night’s sleep for once. Imagine that.

Unfortunately for my sleep app, a good solid seven hours of sleep wasn’t in the cards. You meet Amy Ashton at a leaving-do (or if you are an American like me, drinks to celebrate a coworker’s departure). Amy isn’t psyched to be out or knocking back the drinks and within a few paragraphs I’m really liking Amy. I might not tuck an empty green wine bottle into my bag and then have a train full of people thinking I’m a raging drunk but the level of uncomfortable is familiar.

Then the story takes a turn. Amy is broken by something in her past. And her coping/survival mechanism is to retreat into things. She has a house but it’s literally falling apart and trying to get to the upstairs would honestly be excellent training for an Everest expedition. Sure, one neighbor is super annoying, but lady has a point. Someone needs to step in and stop things before someone gets severely injured.

And here is where Eleanor Ray’s genius lies. You could take this same plot, thirtysomething lady with a mystery past and deep personal issues and put in the hands of another author. Let’s say Marian Keyes because yup, I’ve devoured so many Marian Keyes books both good and bad. Marian Keyes isn’t a bad author; she has her strengths and can write a solid book.  

But Marian Keyes’ Amy Ashton? The book would have been at least twice as long, we would know exactly who Amy and Chantel would be listening to while doing their makeup and watering down Toyah’s liquor cabinet. Also, I have the suspicion the Marian Keys’ Amy would have boinked the baddie and hoarded fancy handbags too.

Laurie Notaro could have done a lovely job, but her Amy would also have a crippling eBay/vintage collection to tuck into any corners not crammed with the local newspapers/bottles/broken pots/cups plus a few adorable elder dogs.

Never ever let me be the Plot Fairy doling out plots to authors.

My point is Eleanor Ray keeps the plot lean. That leanness helps disguise who the baddie is. He seemed to be engaged and wanting to help. And I like that Amy doesn’t magically get better once the main mystery is solved. She is still a hot mess, and she has a hard road ahead even if you can now see the floor of her front hall. And we leave her at the start of her journey. Anything can happen now. Any wonder why I didn’t stop reading even when the spouse wandered into the bedroom for his nasal spray and asked why I was still awake. Sometimes you must finish that book.

Crying in H Mart: A Memoir

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Some of the best emails are the ones from the library letting you know a hold is in. You give a tiny squeal of glee and once the workday is over you are free to zip to the library, march up to the circulation desk and claim your quarry. The hard part is finding the time/a quiet place to actually read the chosen book. This can also be a bit hard when you’re on a budget and that particular book is just ready to leap off the shelf at Target and come home with you, even if you’ve just spent the bulk of your bank account on prescriptions. And other people are posting about it on Goodreads and Instagram.

Crying in H Mart was certainly on my list. Confession I have never been to a H Mart. K-mart yes. A few local Japanese and pan-Asian markets to get my Japanese Green Tea Kit Kat fix and a crack at the full Lee Kum Kee range for my pitiful attempts at amazing recipes online. I saw H Mart, memoir and was in.

Last week I got the happy email and finally had Crying in H Mart in my little undead racoon paws. Now I’m An Old who spent an entire day playing the newest Duran Duran and New Order singles back-to-back on Spotify. I recently figured out Nicki Minaj sings the song with the “twinkle twinkle little star” refrain. Insert my brother laughing himself into a choking fit over my LIKED SONGS Spotify playlist. Pitbull’s Hotel Room Service is perfect escape music no matter what Andy says. So safe to say I’ve never heard a single Japanese Breakfast song or even read Michelle Zauner’s New Yorker essay which spawned Crying in H Mart.

I’m a genius like that.

Book looks good put it in the library bag/wish list.

Trader Joes frozen food item looks good? Stick in it the cart.

Brain cells and sodium levels be damned.

I do wish I had probed a bit deeper into Crying in H Mart before reading. I spent more time trying to track down soup soy sauce this summer before my blood pressure hit GIRL YOU ARE GOING TO HAVE A DAMN STROKE LEVELS. I think TRIGGER WARNING is what people use on places like Reddit. Yeah, I’m a Redditor. Because certain material hit me in a deep, still unhealed corner of my soul after over twenty years.

I lost my mother to cancer and while the time between her final diagnosis to her death was very brief it was still searing. She died at home. I can tell you when her death rattles first started, what I was reading and what it felt like to wake up hours later to learn she was gone. I know what it’s like to frantically try and find something anything your loved one can choke down, the almost unicorn hunt and making something to have it rejected barely touched. Michelle Zauner had a much more prolonged road to travel.

Crying in H Mart is good solid memoir of growing up between two cultures and the struggles of mothers and daughters. The scenes in Korea are my favorites and I would love a Lisa See level deeper dive into the family past. Michelle’s father is a character and could have a whole book devoted just to him but the tiny details of her maternal family are the real draw. I want to know more about the older generations, especially her aunts.

Would I recommend Crying at H Mart? Yes, with a big trigger warning. Her mother’s death is brutal and if I had not had a similar experience at about the same age I would have stopped reading right then and there.

You might be stronger.

But it’s something to consider.

Crying in H Mart isn’t all sadness and death. There is joy and strong family ties even if an ocean separates people. Give it a read.

Klara and the Sun

~ Wendy-Marie ~ Leave a comment

“I think I’m too dumb to understand this book. I like it but I’m not sure what even happened.”

Yesterday I read Kazuo Ishiguro’s Klara and the Sun. Yes, Klara and the Sun was released several months ago but I don’t lurk the New Fiction section at Barnes & Noble and watch the morning shows so the whole “Good Morning America” Book Club selection wasn’t on my radar.

I read it, even more confused and unsure of the world than the titular Klara and I’m convinced it is just too literary for me to grasp.

 I didn’t even realize the story takes place in the United States until I had finished the darn book and was looking at proper reviews.

I’ve only read one other Ishiguro novel (Never Let Me Go) and just assumed Klara and the Sun was in some hazy other place, maybe Canada, maybe the UK, maybe Japan almost like a latter-day Atwood novel. Please tell me I’m not the only person this dim to read Klara and the Sun.

From last night’s review binge (and the darn jacket copy) I’ve learned Klara and the Sun is about the nature of the human heart. Okay…and here I am, who has the “Happy Birthday David” Prometheus promo video saved on her YouTube account and can sing Gary Numan’s “Are Friends Electric?” at the drop of a hat, getting excited to learn the Never Let Me Go guy who wrote a book about Artificial Friends (AF) in a hazy future with possibly modified humans.

Now I have questions about this hazy future America. These questions aren’t answered fully because Klara and the Sun is beautifully crafted literary fiction not a multi-part science fiction epic. Kazuo Ishiguro isn’t that kind of writer. And the main character is an Artificial Friend and unlike David 8 from Prometheus she’s not seeking answers to why she was created/messing with the humans. Klara the AF is curious and retains almost every small detail, constantly learning even when she is for sale in a shop. After Klara is purchased to be a companion, she has adventures and experiences which are the exploration of the human heart for smarter folks and for me clues to trying to figure out the world.

And the world! There is a lingering post war feeling. The older generation apparently had to make difficult choices for the future generations and people are now “lifted” and “unlifted”. Is the lifting process done at conception or later? Rank determines everything from your house, vehicle, career and it feels like even healthcare. At one point, I stopped reading, turned the spouse and started talking about Gattaca and Elysium before returning to Klara and the Sun and now I’m seeing threads between Klara and her idol (the actual Sun in the sky) and A.I.’s David and the Blue Fairy.

Okay.

Perhaps I need to add more romantic comedies and such like to my personal DVD/Blu-ray collection.

<sighs>

Even if I don’t grasp the underlying explorations of the human heart, grief, motherhood and more? Klara and the Sun is an interesting novel and I’m glad I read it even though I’ll never get answers to the things that consumed me the most.