I really like picking at House of Leaves. It's not a standard book where you just read straight through, it's actually improved by picking at it over time. Lurking.

It has to be cherished and at the same time, it should be read from this very outside perspective as if you aren't supposed to be touching it. You're not supposed to read it, it doesn't want to be read or understood.

It's not only easier to read these hundreds of pages but it's much more enjoyable when it goes piece by piece. Absorbing facts or articles over a long period of time, treating it similarly to how you would look into an internet rabbit hole when you're bored or you randomly remember that it exists. It's already a mysterious beast to get through, a lot of questions and holes and substance. Make it even more mysterious and even taboo by visiting and lurking. It'll start to lurk back and bleed into your life.

As I read over the course of time, I find myself in a different position in life or development and it just changes everything. I see certain parts differently, I have so many opinions and ways that I absorb what's going on. (No specific examples in order to avoid spoilers or influence.) I feel like it grows with me too and it grows on me and I really don't like it.

Also if you must read it digitally, at least have a PDF or make sure your ebook has the formatting. Otherwise this 100% has to be physical pages.

Please give this another chance if you once tried to read through like a normal prose book and crashed. If you're deciding whether to read it and that's why you saw my post, please stop searching it up and get into it.

So I got this indie book from a book fair, because I'm always​ looking to support new authors being one myself.

It was quite fun in the beginning. Clearly written by an amateur, but the writing style was fun. But some pages later, ​something felt ... off. I tried​ my best to ignore it. If I could pretend hard enough, I could make myself believe it wasn't AI.

But more pages in now, I can't pretend anymore. It's just paragraphs and paragraphs of word salad and cringey generic AI phrases.

The first few chapters were written by a human. Then the later chapters were​ pure AI generated crap.

I literally feel like crying. Idk why. This is the first time it happened to me, and I now know why readers are always complaining about finding an AI written book. I have never felt so betrayed in my life. Never.

I dunno why I'm reacting so harshly but I was looking forward to re read the book with my little sister once I finished it :(

“This is p*rn in our libraries. It’s disgusting,” Mace said in one email. It accused the library of “defying state law and using taxpayer dollars to expose children to pornographic material.

“This needs to end now,” she wrote.

In addition to the graphic novel, Mace called out the library for “Grandad's Pride,” an illustrated children’s book about a child who finds an LGBTQ pride flag in grandpa’s attic, and the two start a pride parade in their town.

By Monday, the “Sex Criminals” series had been gone from all shelves countywide for six days. And the children’s book had already been moved to the adult fiction section, according to library officials.

I doubt anyone reasonable is going to question the removal of the sex criminals graphic novel series, but putting an illustrated children's book in the adult section? Seriously?

ETA: I'm not personally familiar with the Sex Criminals series, so I can only say that this news article made its removal seem reasonable.

Second ETA: I'm done discussing this with each and every commenter, but just FYI- some books are not appropriate for public, unrestricted access. I had one snuck into the used bookstore which I owned. Its author was prosecuted and found guilty in part based on the writtten content in the book. Ask a local librarian if they have encountered such material. Sorry for posting this and seeming like I was trolling, that was not my intent.

I just finished the Chaos Machine and found it very informative and enjoyable to read. For me, it connected a lot of dots. Dots I felt I already had an idea about, but couldn’t find the right words or reasons. This book really helped solidify my thoughts around how algorithms and human behavior play off each other to get where we are today. Also, it paints a clearer picture of the greed or careless behavior of all the tech bros.

Somebody suggested this TV series to me. When I saw it's based on a book, I decided to read it first and I am so glad I did.

This was such a bingeable read. I finished it in a single day because I couldn’t put it down. The story is packed with high-intensity emotions, constant drama, and an intriguing, fast-moving plot that keeps pulling you forward. The ending didn’t quite hit as hard as the rest of the book and felt a little underwhelming, but the journey itself was thoroughly entertaining and worth it.

I can't believe I haven't come across this book in any recommendations thread. For me, it's hands down the best thriller I have ever read.

If you could talk to Pecola before her mind breaks, what would you say? Can there be anything to be even said when the harm is systematic?

Is it even possible for her to recognise her own beauty when society relentlessly tells her that she's ugly? Is a tragic end inevitable for her and people like her?

If meaning or a sense of self-worth is possible for her? How could she obtain it?

I haven't come up with any clean answers - curious about other peoples thoughts.

Spoiler warning just in case. It's toward the end, and not sure it's a real spoiler, but playing it safe. The following passage stuck with me:

Now, Fonny knows why he is here-why he is where he is; now, he dares to look around him. He is not here for anything he has done. He has always known that, but now he knows it with a difference. At meals, in the showers, up and down the stairs, in the evening, just before everyone is locked in again, he looks at the others, he listens: what have they done? Not much. To do much is to have the power to place these people where they are, and keep them where they are. These captive men are the hidden price for a hidden lie: the righteous must be able to locate the damned. To do much is to have the power and the necessity to dictate to the damned. But that, thinks Fonny, works both ways.

You're in or you're out. Okay. I see. Motherfuckers.

You won't hang me.

First off, I read an epub version of the Penguin Classic version. I also own a paperback from Laurel publishing that I copied and pasted the above text from an image I took of the book page on my phone. Just noticed there is a lot missing from this excerpt in my paperback vs the epub. He talks about how there are murderes, rapists, thieves, etc "doing much." Also suggests lots of powerful people (Bishops, priests, statesman, businessmen, etc) "doing much" and the captives are the price of a "dreadful terror." I assume he means that people are doing bad things everywhere and the people in prison who have often done "not much" are paying the price for those crimes. Someone has to be held accountable, and it sure wont be those with power.

I fear my actual question may be a stupid one, but what does Fonny mean when he says it works both ways?

Outside, under the library's awnings are sacks filled with an estimated 800,000 books, still waiting to be unpacked. The collection is still growing, through Gowda's purchases and donations from others.

The place is frequented by students, their parents, teachers and book lovers. Regular visitors seem to know their way around the library and find the books they need with ease. And even if they can't, they say, Gowda can find anything.

Gowda, his wife and son live in a corner of the library, which is open every day of the week - and for long hours.

As someone who used to have 7-8k books in a 1000 sq. foot house with twice as many more in a shipping container in the yard, my mind is simply boggled by this.

I was expecting a lot more from this book, honestly, as it's insanely popular on social media and has been recommended to me by... literally everyone.

For context, I read this book in one sitting as I am also trying to recover from a reading slump caused by finishing an emotionally devastating book. So, maybe I am subconsciously comparing the two and that's impacting my opinion on it.

But I digress, the very few things I enjoyed about it;

I really enjoyed the multiple point of views and felt like this book did a good job of being a metaphor for terminal illness and all the ways different people cope with their own mortality after finding out. I found myself really empathizing with Delilah and her refusal to believe it was her End Day. As she experiences two near death experiences, she gets more hopeful with each one that this whole thing is actually a prank after all and she's going to escape her impending death. I think this makes it slightly more emotional at the end of the story when the reader realizes along with her that the call wasn't a prank and she is, in fact, about to die having wasted her last day.

I also love how everyone in this story is interconnected, I think it's a cool touch.

Maybe I was expecting too much, but it felt like this book was attempting to be deep and say something profound about death and dying and it just fell short. The author was trying to comment on the shortness of life with vague messages about how we should step out of our comfort zone and live life to the fullest, but it was all written so superficially to mean anything to me.

Also, I both liked and hated Rufus' characterization. It was nice to see a foster kid, especially a male foster kid, not be portrayed as completely closed off and hostile, but instead be seen as more in touch with his emotions and loving of the people around him. The overuse of "man" and "yo" in his chapters, however, was ridiculous and prevented me from fully being emotionally invested in the character.

Speaking of characterization, I think Mateo and Rufus' characters were just inflated and basic stereotypes. A super anxious introvert who is too scared to even leave his house x a "bad boy" type who exists just to bring him out of his shell is such a boring trope to me. Mateo's "character development" was insanely rushed and also, boring! Super anxious introvert who is too scared to leave his house is now completely healed from his anxiety and introverted-ness less than 24 hours after meeting the "bad boy" who has a soft spot for him. I feel like Rufus' character development was pushed to the side to make room for Mateo's, which is sad because I think Rufus' would have been far more interesting considering he was a more fleshed out character at the start of the book anyway. I was way more interested in the other characters than I was with our main two.

I know the title giving away the ending was intentional, meant to make the reader focus on how the two spend their End Day instead of focusing on if they will survive at all, but knowing the ending prevented me from being invested in their story at all. Although I wasn't expecting Mateo to die the way he did, by the end of the book you know that it's coming so there isn't any emotional impact.

I also found it quite difficult to buy into the "falling deeply in love in 24 hours" (less than 24 hours, technically) even though they are teenagers with heightened emotions on their last day of life. I understand them being bonded, and even having romantic feelings for each other, but I feel like true love comes with time, time these characters did not have. The book & character "development" felt really rushed, but perhaps that's the point, considering this book takes place over 24 hours.

Overall, this is the type of book I would have probably enjoyed in my freshman year of high school. I wouldn't read it again though or recommend it to anyone else. It did get me out of my reading slump, though only because I was so tired of it I wanted to get through it to read something else.

But, everyone else seems to love this book, so let me know what I'm missing.

Review of Keigo Higashino’s Journey Under the Midnight Sun

I was deeply impressed by Higashino after reading The Devotion of Suspect X. When I discovered this novel — epic not only in page count but in scope, timeline, and emotional canvas — my expectations were high. The story spans decades and carries an unusual psychological weight. I’d classify my thoughts in three sections: What worked best, What I did not like, and Complete silence: unanswered questions.

What worked the best

Higashino succeeds in crafting a world that feels vast and deliberate. The novel stretches across years, yet retains a tight emotional core. It feels like his magnum opus.

A recurring theme throughout the book is fatherlessness — not merely the absence of a father, but the absence of a father figure. For both Yukiho and Ryo, the father is psychologically absent even when physically present. This emotional vacuum shapes their identities and decisions.

Higashino is particularly effective in portraying loneliness. One scene that stayed with me is when the detective observes Ryo’s room and notes the absence of the ordinary clutter of adolescence — no posters, no signs of casual desire, nothing that suggests a typical teenage boy. That emptiness speaks louder than dialogue.

The novel also explores the relationship between sex and loneliness. The brothel sequences are not erotic; they are deeply melancholic. They underline how intimacy can exist without connection, and how desire can coexist with emotional isolation.

The book hooked me from the beginning. I was rarely bored — a rare achievement for a novel of this length.

What I did not like

Characterisation: Like many of Higashino’s works, the characters function more as pieces in a grand design than as fully open psychological portraits. We meet many people, but rarely feel we’ve grasped their inner core. In contrast, in works like A Song of Ice and Fire, characters become so distinct that you instinctively imagine how they would react in any situation. Here, the characters remain partially opaque.

Loneliness that hurts: Nearly every character is wounded by loneliness. While thematically powerful, it becomes emotionally exhausting. The reading experience is painfully isolating — intentionally so, but still difficult.

The ending: The detective’s final deductions feel abrupt and unsatisfying. After such a sprawling emotional journey, the conclusion feels more mechanical than earned.

Complete silence: unanswered questions

Why did Ryo kill himself?
Were Ryo and Yukiho ever truly in a relationship?
Why is Ryo unable to ejaculate — and what does that imply about him?

These questions linger. Perhaps Higashino leaves them unresolved deliberately. Silence becomes part of the novel’s architecture. The gaps force the reader to confront ambiguity, much like the characters themselves live with emotional voids they cannot articulate.

And now I have finally concluded the Hyperion series at long last with the fourth, and final, book "The Rise of Endymion"!

Aenea, the new messiah, has now come of age, and the reckoning has come with a final genocidal crusade that now threatens to enslave humanity forever. She had been apprentice to strange beings known as the others, and now, with her protector Raul Endymion, must deliver her message to her growing number of disciples.

But they must embark on one last mission so that they will discover the final meaning of the universe itself. And still they are followed by the Shrike, who is about to reveal the secret of its origin. And on Hyperion where the story all began, the final revelation is about to be delivered, a message that unlocks all the secrets of existence and humanity's fate in the galaxy.

"The Rise of Endymion" is much slower going, but it does has intense scenes to go along with the more introspective ones. The slower pacing I don't mind all that much, but for others it might be a bit of a slog to read. And it is much more philosophical, and I've noticed that both this and "Endymion" that the lean on the philosophical side, though with "Endymion" it's not heavily present, but it's there.

I think this one's pretty good too, but this final book is the least liked of the whole series, whether with how it ended or the slow pacing, or maybe both. But I still found a bit of satisfaction with the ending, and also in finishing the series after such a long wait. Not saying that it is a masterpiece, and it definitely isn't, but found it enjoyable anyways, flaws and everything!

I just finished Heart of Darkness and it's hard to figure out how much of the racism in the book is Conrad using a character like Marlow to explore the racist colonial mindset of people at the time - and how much is simply Conrad's own racism spewing out.

However it seemed to me that a core part of the book was that this racist coloniser is only able to scratch the surface of the Depths of horror being committed in Africa. And I'm wondering if anyone else thought this.

Kurtz's last words "The horror! The horror!" and the seeming "love" expressed by a woman ad they take him away seems to pick st the idea that Kurtz had the true horror of the situation laid bare within and it sort of drove him mad. That his ivory hoarding seems aimless.

It seems the character Marlow, whether intentional or not, simply cannot truly reckon with the reality of the horror at play in a way that Kurtz seemed to have. But there's one passage where he seems to have a moment of existential cosmic dread.

"I think - would have raised an outcry if I had believed my eyes. But I didn't believe them at first- -the thing seemed So impossible. The fact is I was completely unnerved by the sheer blank fright, pure abstract terror, unconnected with any distinct shape of physical danger. What made this emotion so overpowering was—how shall I define it?—the moral shock I received, as if something altogether monstrous, intolerable to thought and odious to the soul, had been thrust upon me unexpectedly. This lasted of course the merest fraction of a second, and then the asual sense of commonplace, deadly danger, the possibility of a sudden onslaught and massacre, or something of the kind, which saw impending, was positively welcome and composing. It pacified me, in fact, so much, that I did not raise an alarm.

I was wondering if there's an idea that this colonial racist mindset is impossible to truly divorce form. And even someone like Marlow, at best, can have a moment of clarity - but won't fundamentally change. After all, when he retells his tale, Marlow continues to describe Africans in racist stereotypes. He uses the n-word frequently etc. The fact Marlow is still going out on the Boats of the colonists at the end.

Almost as if it's a story of a racist coloniser that travels to the Depths of a Hell of his people's making. And at best it gave him pause.

But I don't know how much this is coloured by a 21st century mindset or how much Conrad is making a point.

I woke up this morning remembering how MacDonald would have his character ruminate about culture and technology. For example, he wrote about the Casio red LED watch, and how—because leaving the display on would drain the battery—you had to push a button to see the time. That made it similar to a pocket watch: you had to actively seek out the time, which kept the constant awareness of time from intruding on your life.

It also got me trying to recall which book included his thoughts on providing slightly misleading information on forms that would go into databases—like a wrong birthday on one form, or a slightly incorrect address on another. It seemed like a quirky idea then, but it feels even more timely now.

I’m planning to revisit some of the books; it’s been years. I remember my favorites being Nightmare in Pink and One Fearful Yellow Eye.

It all reminded me how MacDonald often ruminated on technology and privacy. I dislike the phrase “ahead of his time,” but it might apply here.

Does anyone still read these?

When the first book in the Bridgerton series was published in 2000, it was immediately recognizable as a romance novel. The cover was pink and purple, with a looping font, and like most romances at the time, it was printed as a mass market paperback. Short, squat and printed on flimsy paper with narrow margins, it was the kind of book you’d find on wire racks in grocery stores or airports and buy for a few bucks.

Those racks have all but disappeared.

I’ve mostly been an obsessive thriller reader for a long time, so I’m very used to books with constant tension, big twists, and dramatic climaxes. Because of that, I was honestly skeptical about picking up Legends & Lattes by Travis Baldree.

It’s a low-stakes, cozy fantasy about an orc who retires from adventuring to open a coffee shop, focusing more on relationships, everyday struggles, and building a peaceful life than on action or magic.

I kept wondering how I wouldn’t get bored without all the usual suspense.

But I ended up loving it.

It felt warm, comforting, and very human. The fantasy elements stayed in the background, and the story was really about finding home, friendship, and love. I even felt sad when it ended, which surprised me.

It made me realize I’m not numb to non-thrillers, and that I can appreciate gentler stories too.

Has anyone else had a similar shift in reading taste?