A review of Joy Avon’s Sweet Tea and Secrets

Thank you NetGalley for the arc of this book I received in exchange for a fair and honest review!

Really cute cover, isn’t it? 

I was really excited when I saw Joy Avon had written the next book in her Book Tea Shop series. I really did enjoy In Peppermint Peril and I assumed Sweet Tea and Secrets would be no different. 

I’m going to sum up my experience with this book in a really concise way and it’s going to feel a little cold, but here it is: you won’t regret reading this book because it is enjoyable, but if you don’t read it, you will miss nothing you couldn’t get from a million other books (and honestly, done much more expertly).

 As much as I really did find this to be a quick, easy, light read, there were some things that just ruined the experience for me. 

I couldn’t stand to read Joy Avon’s attempts at dialogue. It was so awkward! She uses dialogue for things that could be shown in exposition, to over explain things to lead a reader, to do anything but develop character: all the characters talk exactly the same! They all constantly answer questions with the phrase “of course,” for example. They all deliver frequent monologues. I suspect they all talk like Joy Avon, to be honest. While the characters are charming and nice, their dialogue is uncomfortable and dull. The big reveal goes on for pages because the person who reveals the secret repeats what has already been said over and over. It’s really, really hard to read because it’s just bad writing.

There were two major reveals in this books. The first reveal was no shocker. I knew the answer at about 18% into the book. The first time I met the character who solves the whole thing (trying not to give spoilers), I was like, “yep.” The second was a little more surprising, especially because as a reader you kind of get the sense that the first reveal will make sense of the whole plot, but even with that going for it, Avon spoon-feeds the reader too much. There are too many blatant clues so that even though you’re surprised that there’s another twist, by the time you get the answer you are already prepared and it’s a pretty big let down (not to mention it comes with even more of that painful dialogue).

The last thing that really bugged me about this book was the dynamic between Falk and Callie. As I wrote about in my review of book one, Falk and Callie don’t seem to have much chemistry to start with and, once again, she seems to annoy the fire out of him about 90% of the time. I can kind of forgive that because if I’m being honest, I annoy my husband about that much out of every day and we’ve been married a decade. At the end of the first book, I was willing to buy that something happens between them even though it’s left open and we don’t see what.

The whole. Second. Book. Callie is pining over Falk and wondering why he’s ignoring her emails when we find out that nothing happens after their flirtation at Christmas and it been six freaking months since she saw him. Seriously, Callie? What did you think: that a forty something year old man is gonna just wait around for six months for a girl he flirted with for two weeks?

Yes. Apparently the answer is yes. This is a spoiler, but one that you are going to expect if you’ve, like, ever read a book. He is feeling insecure, but still likes her and they end the book together in a completely bizarre and sudden coupling that feels jarring and inauthentic, but somehow sweet. 

Honestly, that’s the whole book. It never feels like it could be real, it’s not well written, but I just kept reading it and actually found it super pleasant. I have no idea how to rate it, but like I said, if you read it, you’ll probably be glad you did, but you aren’t missing anything incredible if you don’t. 

The Art of Getting Back Time Spent on Mediocre Books: My Review or The Art of Losing

Thank you to NetGalley and the publishers for the ARC of Lizzy Mason’s The Art of Losing that I was given in exchange for a fair and honest review.

I’m just going to say it: it’s been a good book year. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the last dozen or so that I’ve read and I’ve been incredibly impressed by the willingness of the authors to build complicated, interesting characters and take on dark, innovative plot lines. I’ve read some books that I would call great and many, many that are solidly good.

So maybe The Art of Losing never had the same chance it would normally have. Maybe I’m comparing it to all those great books in my head. It’s not like I hated the book. It’s not even like I disliked it. It was easy to read and it entertained me all the way through. I felt like Harley was a decently well-developed character and there was something about her that compelled you forward in the text. Her voice was just engaging. 

To me, though, the rest of this book was just meh. I read a lot of other reviews that talked about the importance of this book and how it will stay with them and I couldn’t help but wonder... why? Is it just the subject matter? Yes, teenage alcoholism is real and relevant and a concern that we all should maybe talk about more. Yes, there are real risks and from a medical standpoint, those risks are handled well in The Art of Losing. Is that all it takes, though? A good topic that’s written about in a mediocre way? 

The only topic that is addressed in a way that felt valid and reflective was body image. I felt Harley’s self consciousness about what she perceived as her own imperfections. I felt every awkward lift of her shirt, the embarrassment about her legs, the pain in comparing herself to people thinner than her. That part resonated with me and I can see where it might be really nice for a young girl with similar insecurities to see how common her struggle really is.

The alcoholism..... SPOILERS.

What’s the message here? Harley can’t date one alcoholic, but she can date another? I get it, I get it. Raf is an appropriate partner because he has accepted he has a problem and wants to change. He is also kind. Mike is mean and doesn’t see her problem. Still, I really think what we have is a young girl who simultaneously has a savior complex and wants a savior and who is jumping from one codependent relationship to another. I don’t think it’s healthy and, while I don’t think a book needs to be a moral guideline (so it’s fine that the relationship is unhealthy as that’s reality sometimes) all the book really has going for it is its status as kind of a warning to the youths and it fails there. Ultimately, this is a meh book. There are a lot of books that address this same topic and do it much better. This one is fine and nothing more than fine.

3/5

Our Year of Reading This: a review of Rachel Lynn Solomon’s Our Year of Maybe

Thank you Net Galley for the ARC of what might be my new favorite book. I loved Rachel Lynn Solomon’s Our Year of Maybe.

I just want to dive right into the praising and say how impressed I am by how well this book accomplishes something really difficult: Our Year of Maybe features a protagonist with a chronic medical condition, but totally keeps that from being the central plot of the book. I know some will argue that it is a central part because without the illness, Peter’s indebted feelings towards Sophie wouldn’t exist. I get that, but I still argue that even then, the book isn’t about a kidney disorder or a transplant. Those things are mentioned, but this is not a sickness story. In fact, if a friend came up to me and said: “gee, Bib, what’s this book about?” I wouldn’t even mention Peter’s illness. My one sentence summary would be: a pair of teenagers who have spent much of their lives enmeshed with each other have to figure out whether their relationship can survive each one’s search for independence. 

And damn did this book deliver on showing that struggle. I have almost never read teenagers who were written so well. Peter and Sophie were neither giggly,  shallow, vapid vapors, nor were they the too smart for their own good, pretentious creatures that are so beloved these says (although Peter might be borderline). They’re real. They are immature and selfish while also shockingly insightful and complex. They are exasperating and exhilarating, frustrating and inspiring.  Sophie, to me, feels particularly real because teenage girls are so susceptible to defining themselves by their relationship to another person, whether that person is a significant other or best friend. I loved watching Sophie grow.

I’m not going to lie: Peter’s bisexuality was my favorite thing about him. I hate saying things like that because ideally sexuality is a meh type issue, but bisexuality is so often treated like the invisible step sister in young adult writing. A friend and I were talking about it recently and in all of fiction, we could only think of Callie from Grey’s Anatomy and Jack Harkness from Torchwood/Doctor Who we’re the only bi fictional characters we could think of (I know there are many more—like Leah—-but in that moment, that’s all we could come up with). To me, when there is such a huge absence, seeing more representation gives me all the feels. I won’t bore you with my “why representation matters” spiel, but it does.

All in all, read this. I can honestly say that I loved it. 5/5

Read This, Not That: Review of TJ Stimpson’s Picture of Innocence

As always, thank you to NetGalley for the ARC of this book, Picture of Innocence by TJ Stimson. 

I really liked this book, but there are some things that I think a reader should know even before they go forward in this review. In addition to the death of an infant, which is a main part of the plot, this book also deals with child abuse, both physical and sexual. It was very hard for me to read and I have never lost a child, so I can’t imagine how hard it would be for someone who has.

That being said, this was a great read. Don’t get me wrong, Maddie was sometimes hard to read and even after the ending, Lucas rubbed me the wrong way. I felt like Maddie was too quick to take the blame for everything and something about her inner weakness was very hard for me to vibe with. I wanted to shake her. Given everything she was dealing with, I’ll be the first person to say that’s probably an unfair reaction; if she was too resilient, it probably would’ve been unbelievable. Lucas seemed like a man’s version of what would be a woman’s ideal man versus what most women really want. Except for the couple times when Stimson was trying to mislead us about who Lucas was and what his character was (specific as I can be without giving spoilers), he just felt so flat, like a cardboard cut out of a man. 

Every other review I have read said that the reader was so shocked by the ending: I wasn’t. By the time I realized “Lydia” was a character who existed in both time streams, but under two different names, I guessed who she was. Ditto to the final twist. There were a LOT of clues and—no shade—it makes me wonder how closely people really read their books these days. Then again, I’ve been told repeatedly that I overthink, so maybe that’s my bad. 

The twist didn’t really matter to me, if I’m being honest. I guess this book ultimately has some elements that would categorize it as a thriller, but that’s not what the book is about. It’s about family, loss, grief, shame, the nature of evil and, ultimately, forgiveness. It’s a very human book that not only kept me turning pages, but kept me reading. This is another must read.

4/5

Review of Megan Abbott’s Give Me Your Hand

Big thanks to Net Galley and the publisher for my ARC of this book. It was absolutely awesome.



I have spent as much time as I can trying to formulate my thoughts on this book. I absolutely must talk about it now.

First, I’ll warn that it’s a bit of a slow burn and as someone who really really likes the action to start immediately, I get that that’s not everyone’s cup of tea. For me, I will say there was a lot of lag in the beginning where there wasn’t much happening and the main theme seemed to be jealousy. I was still here for it, because I could see it turning into commentary on internalized misogyny and women’s mistrust of other women, etc., but nah. It’s not about that.

It’s really about the connections women have to each other, even when they don’t know it. About how, even when you look at another chick and vehemently deny that you two could have anything in common, being women does connect us because there are some experiences that connect us.

I keep coming back to that word: connect.

Connections are a huge part of this book in basically every sense. Connections as in nepotism and favoritism style connections. Romantic connections. Family. Friendship. We get to see how incredibly complex all these relationships are but how, much like the human brain, each part is connected and works to make us function (or not).

Okay, I guess I’ve spent enough time on a kind of vague overview, so let me give you a more concrete look at the book: Give Me Your Hand (and I’m sorry it’s not italicized; for some strange reason my phone is not letting me select the title) is the story of two women, Kit and Diane, who share a strange kind of rivalry from childhood. It’s the kind of rivalry most people hope to  experience at some point in life: they are in competition with each other, but they initially bond over that competition and use it to make each other stronger rather than tearing each other apart. As the two girls grow closer, a Secret ultimately drives them apart while simultaneously connecting them in a way that will last for their lifetime.

Initially—actually for a lot of this book—I thought Kit was wrong not to trust Diane. I won’t go into more spoilers than that, but even after you read the “reveal” you won’t feel that differently about anything. It’s strange because the book is a thriller and there is a very tense, climactic scene... but somehow the climax isn’t the part that matters or sticks with you. It’s truly a book about how much women are cast aside and underestimated by others in their lives, even other women. There’s a constant devaluing that happens and it changes us, I think. Anti-feminist types, I can see your eyes glazing over, but pause: you’ll like it, too. Like I said, there’s a twist. There’s a climax. There are a dozen threads that all tie together at the end. But there’s also something deeper. There is an honest look at the complex lives of women. And, with the focus on the PPMD study, there is an honest look at the fear of female bodies, not just by men; but ourselves.

Last year, when teaching the movie Rosemary’s Baby, I was bringing in the reproductive element of the film when I found an article that argued that the central fear in Rosemary’s Baby is a fear of women’s bodies during pregnancy because of the mystery and power that comes from the changes required to create life. One of those changes is blood: “the blood is the life” as Dr. Severin would say. My husband has only told one joke through the years that made me cringe: “never trust something that bleeds for seven days and doesn’t die.” While this makes me literally want to vomit because of its misogyny, it holds a kind of truth that is constant in this book: men are terrified and angry when women are too powerful and the blood of menstruation.... it’s both an excuse and a reason to hate us.

Wow. I could really say a lot more about this, but you should do yourselves a favor and buy this book.
I loved this book. It’s definitely a must read. 5/5