The Book of Essie by Meghan MacLean Weir

I’m not in the business of writing “books reviews” so much as I’m in the business of writing “book reactions,” so my disclaimer is that I’m going to be talking about what I liked and didn’t like about whatever book I read most recently. That doesn’t mean things are necessarily good or bad, it just means they were either words in an order I appreciated, or words in an order that I didn’t.

Also, there probaby won’t be spoilers. I’m going to try and talk in circles so that I don’t reveal anything. I definitely don’t have that kind of talent, but I’ll do my best. Anyways, here goes: my review/reaction to The Book of Essie

I saw this book come up on Goodreads, and I have to say, it has one of the most captivating blurbs of all time. You’re hit with intrigue at all angles. Essie (you know, the titular character) is pregnant and needs to get married to save face for her family’s evangelical reality show. Her sister is missing. She’s trying to start a sham marriage with Roarke, who also has a secret. And guess who else has a secret? Conservative blogger turned liberal reporter, Liberty Bell.

Read that paragraph again and tell me you don’t want to go pick this book up from your local library immediately. I don’t think you can.

Now, I’m not going to sit here and say that it was high-brow literature. It read like an elevated version of a Lifetime movie. I’m not saying that to be mean, either–I love Lifetime movies. My mom and I record “Stalked By My Doctor” every time it comes on. What I’m saying is that many of the plot twists are overdramatized and it makes this one of the most captivating reads I’ve picked up in a while. And, unlike a Lifetime movie, it has a moral center! It deals with hard topics like conversion therapy and domestic abuse and not once does anyone in the narrative say those things are okay and get away with it. There’s a lot of forgiveness, but no lack of culpability, and that’s a win.

I’m a sucker for platonic relationships and we get the ultimate one between Roarke and Essie, which is nice. I don’t think I’m spoiling anything by revealing that he agrees to fake marry her (if he didn’t would there even be a book at all?), but that decision marks the start of a very beautiful friendship. Even though there are times when both Essie and Roarke talk about their friendship to each other (which no character would do in real life so we know it’s purely for the sake of the young adult reader that may not pick up on the emotion that’s shown and not told), they’re cute like all the time.

Roarke does not say anything, but he reaches out a finger to touch my hand. I wonder if he’s doing it just to shore up the story of our romance, but when his finger hooks around my pinky, I realize that he really means to comfort me. I smile shyly, grateful for his friendship at least, even though it can never be more than that.

See? It’s nice. Platonic hand holding and trustworthiness is good for young adult readers.

Beyond that, though, there are times that the characters feel flat. Just a little too perfect in their goodness or in their wickedness. But I don’t begrudge MacLean Weir her right to make certain characters all bad. I think she did her research on evangelical reality TV (and by “evangelical reality TV” I mean 19 Kids and Counting) and realized that the people who let that kind of stuff continue in order to preserve a television show are despicable.

Others, as well, some devout and others less so, watching with morbid fascination the seeming contradiction that we epitomized. Our family rejected materialism and popular culture, and yet we also produced it…

The show paid for everything. 

The book is very clear that this kind of show is hypocritical, and created for all the wrong reasons. This sentiment is helped along as the point of view switches from Essie to Roarke to Liberty, and so the reader wants to agree with them about all things.

There were times, though, when I was mad at them I wanted them to not be perfect. I wanted Liberty to mess up and say something stupid, I wanted Roarke to yell at someone, I wanted Essie to throw something. There was a lot of forgiveness, which makes for a nice message but doesn’t allow for the kind of anger that’s also acceptable in Essie, Roarke, or Liberty’s situation. The only person who throws a punch was Lissa, and it happens off screen and is distinctly unsatisfying.

But overall, this book’s strengths lie in the fact that it explores the kind of things that fascinate people but repulse them at the same time. Essie’s situation is the kind of horrible I wanted to pretend has never and could never happen in the real world, and yet I know it has, and I’m grateful for the happy ending both she and I were given.

The Raven Boys Reread: 1.16


This chapter is a nice break from the fraught conversations that took place when the Gangsey and the women of Fox Way were all in the same house. It also gives us gratuitous imagery of Gansey and Ronan in their pajamas (which is to say, their underwear). Thanks for that, Stiefvater. In exchange, I’ll try to talk about this chapter as a work of literature and not a teenage fantasy.

Everyone is asleep in Monmouth Maufacturing. Except, nobody is asleep, because Chainsaw is eating and it sounds goddamn disgusting. At first we don’t know it’s Chainsaw, and Gansey’s speculations as to what it could be are hilarious and also gross.

It sounded a little like one of his roommates was being killed by a possum, or possibly the final moments of a fatal cat fight. He wasn’t certain of the specifics, but he was sure death was involved.

Way to be dramatic, Gansey. It’s literally just a bird.

The sanctity of Ronan’s room is violated once again, and there he is in his boxers, feeding a baby bird. Gansey, and by extension me, spent some time admiring his tattoo before starting the argument about how Chainsaw is probably not an indoor bird and needs to shut up. Except that Gansey keeps calling her “Bird” and this is greatly upsetting to Ronan. The argument they have is hilarious, mostly because of Gansey’s polite bewilderedness after Ronan threatens Noah with a pair of tweezers.

The moment is also distinctly heartwarming, because although the noise has Noah close to tears, it’s showing a softer side of Ronan that Gansey has clearly been missing. Also, Chainsaw is a baby and Gansey is the kind of person who is good to babies because of his stern moral compass. Eventually the argument is solved, not because Gansey and Ronan reached an agreement but because they took so long that Chainsaw stopped being hungry. The boys seem unsure of what to do with themselves, so they start another argument. This time it’s about Gansey’s facial hair.

Ronan looked over his shoulder at him. He was sporting the five o’clock shadow that he was capable of growing at any time of the day. “Just stop. You look mangy.”

“It’s irrelevant. It’s not growing. I’m doomed to be a man-child.”

“If you keep saying things like ‘man-child,’ we’re done,” Ronan said. “Hey, man. Don’t let it get you down. Once your balls drop, that beard’ll come in great. Like a fucking rug. You eat soup, it’ll filter out the potatoes. Terrier style. Do you have hair on your legs? I’ve never noticed.”

Gansey didn’t dignify any of this with a response.


Gansey goes back to lie on his bed but he doesn’t fall asleep. He’s feeling some type of way: lonely, dark, yearning. Before he can get too in his feelings, though, a buzzing comes from the window and we learn all in one sentence that Gansey is the type of person who’s allergic to bees and wasps, but for some reason leaves his epi-pen in the glove compartment of his car. He grabs a shoe and goes to the window to confirm that, yeah, it is a wasp, and yeah, he’s screwed.

Two narratives coexisted in his head. One was the real image: the wasp climbing up the wood, oblivious to his presence. The other was a false image, a possibility: the wasp whirring into the air, finding Gansey’s skin, dipping the stinger into him, Gansey’s allergy making it a deadly weapon.

Ronan runs in and steals the shoe from Gansey, killing the wasp before anything bad can happen. He’s careful about picking the wasp up off the floor and putting it into the trash can, but he’s also pissed off, because Noah told him that if Gansey left, Adam was going with him. Of course Ronan’s invited, we think, but then again we don’t have Ronan’s abandonment issues and can think objectively on the subject.

The chapter ends with Ronan trying desperately to get Gansey to guess his secrets. The only common understanding we get is that “it’s starting.” Good. Let’s begin.

Thoughts and Feelings:

The only word I can use to describe this chapter is sweet. It’s just a couple of really sweet boys, being sweet with baby animals and each other (never with themselves, though, that would be too easy).

I like to think of this bit as Gansey and Ronan’s Big Romantic Chapter. Because this is a young adult series and needed to be marketed to teenagers, you have to set up every pairing as possibly romantic. This chapter shows what you would get with Gansey and Ronan: why it would work (Ronan kills wasps and Gansey allows birds in the apartment) and also, the many reasons why it wouldn’t (everything else thing they do or say).

Just think about the fact that Ronan ran into the room, and not only killed the wasp but picked it up off the floor “so that Gansey wouldn’t step on it.” He hit the wasp twice, once on the window (so hard that it almost broke, might I add) and then again on the floor. Think about that for a goddamn second and tell me they don’t love each other.

Especially since, at this point, we’re pretty starved for Ronan POV. There are a lot of instances where Gansey or Blue or Adam describe how very Ronan something is, but the wasp situation is really the first time that we see the depth of emotion Ronan feels. His anger, which is so often described as being dark and bloody and sharp, is directed at something that could hurt Gansey, and suddenly it becomes caring. And sweet. I can’t tell you enough how sweet it is.

Best character moment:

Gansey didn’t know how to describe how it felt, to see death crawling inches from him, to know that in a few seconds, he could have gone from “a promising student” to “beyond saving.” He turned to Ronan, who had painstakingly picked up the wasp by a broken wing, so that Gansey wouldn’t step on it.

Best turn of phrase:

The monochromatic lines of it were stark in the claustrophobic lamplight, more real than anything else in the room. It was a peculiar tattoo, both vicious and lovely, and every time Gansey saw it, he saw something different in the pattern. Tonight, nestled in an inked glen of wicked, beautiful flowers, was a beak where before he’d seen a scythe.

Action: Frankly? Not a lot going on except for some fighting and a whole lotta love. 5/10

Magic: Magic bird magic bugs magic friendship. It’s all around us. 9/10

Comic relief: It’s gonna be funnier when Gansey actually grows a beard to filter the potatoes out of his soup, but for now this will do. 11/10

The Raven Cycle Reread: 1.12


This summary won’t be very long, because the gist of this chapter is: ADAM ISN’T HERE and SCHOOL IS ANNOYING AND NOBODY WANTS TO GO. But I’m obligated to go into more detail than that, so here we go.

Gansey pulls up to the dirt road that leads into Adam’s neighborhood, and he’s not there. To accurately describe the place where Adam lives, we’re taken back to the first time Gansey ever carpooled with Adam. First, he thought Adam’s road was just a clean spot of grass for him to turn around and look for an actual driveway. Then he pulled up to Adam’s front door, and the piece of human garbage that calls himself Robert Parrish spotted the Aglionby merch Gansey was sporting and gave him our newest nickname: the S.R.F. (soft, rich, etc.). So that’s why Gansey stops at little grove of mailboxes instead of pulling up to Adam’s house. And the human garbage dump that lives at the end of the road is why we’re all worried when Adam doesn’t show.

So, here’s where we are with the whole carpool situation: Adam doesn’t have a phone. Nobody knows where he is. Gansey counts down the minutes until the 15 minute drive to school becomes too long to make it on time, wishing that he could just skip school and go run around in the woods looking for a sleeping Welsh king. But he can’t, because Aglionby is actually a pretty good school, and Gansey doesn’t plan on asking Glendower for a passing grade in pre-calc. This means that, to appease his father and keep his trust fund intact, Gansey has to be at school on time.

Dick Gansey II had let his son know that if he couldn’t hack it in a private school, Gansey was cut out of the will.

He’d said it nicely, though, over a plate of fettucine.

And so Richard Gansey III turns the Pig around and drives to Aglionby, thinking maybe Adam will already be there. Spoiler alert: he isn’t.

Gansey figures this out when he gets to Latin, and, surprise! Adam’s not there. Ronan informs him that Adam wasn’t in second period, either. So nobody knows where Adam is, and they can’t ask, because he doesn’t have a cell phone.

A few months earlier, Gansey had offered to buy Adam a cell phone, and by doing so had launched the longest fight they’d ever had, a week of silence that had resolved itself only when Ronan did something more offensive than either of them could accomplish.

Someone tells Ronan they’re going to “fuck him up” (it’s Kavinsky, but we won’t get into that until book two), and Gansey thinks about needing to hire a babysitter for Friday nights. He’s distracted, though, when he finds out that Ronan is carrying Chainsaw in his bag. Our boy literally smuggled a baby bird into class because Google said he had to feed it every two hours.

“If you get caught with that thing—“ But Gansey couldn’t think of a suitable threat. What was the punishment for smuggling a live bird into classes? He wasn’t certain there was precedent. He finished, instead, “If it dies in your bag, I forbid you to throw it out in a classroom.”

Tell me this kind of banter isn’t exactly what you needed today. And then, like he’s just here to ruin this moment, Whelk turns around and starts eavesdropping on their conversation. Ronan manages to say what we’re all thinking, calling Whelk a “socially awkward shitbird,” and even Gansey admits that he’s a tool. Once that’s established it’s back to Adam: where is he and why isn’t he in school? It’s time for Latin, do you know where your kids are?

Before they can get very far in the conversation, Whelk asks Ronan why his bag is so large. It’s because there’s a baby bird in it, but Ronan can’t say that so instead he asks Whelk if he knows what they say about men with large bags, and then a punchline in Latin. I put it in google translate and it means “you show me yours and I will show,” but I think we can remember that Google Translate is a robot and therefore imperfect, and reasonably assume it means “you show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” Which, um, Ronan said to his teacher.

Whelk doesn’t do anything because Ronan said it in Latin (so even Gansey didn’t know what it meant) and he really can’t complain. The only thing he can do is teach a class, which Adam never shows up to. We can only hope the rest of the day goes quickly.

Thoughts and Feelings:

The story of how Gansey learned where to pick Adam up is heartbreaking in the quiet way that Stiefvater approaches the whole issue of Adam and his father. All throughout the beginning of the novel we hear about it like it’s something everybody knows but doesn’t want to talk about, and because that’s the way the characters understand the situation, it works. I’m certainly not an expert on subjects like this, and so I don’t want to make wild claims or assumptions about domestic abuse or violence. But so far, it’s never been stated explicitly. We all know about it, we’re all miserable about it, and, as readers, there’s nothing we can do.

And then what we hear about Adam refusing to take a cell phone from Gansey, the way he has to earn his own money and buy his own things. The way this plays out over the rest of the series is one of those undeniably human problems. Like, if Adam would just be less stubborn there would be so many less issues to resolve. He could move into Monmouth, he could stop working and Gansey could give him a loan, but Adam wouldn’t be Adam if he did those things. We have to sacrifice the ease of having all our characters in one place, searching for their lost king, for a group of characters that are flawed and human. Except for Barrington Whelk, who is all flaw and no human.

I just think this chapter shows why these books do such a fabulous job of giving us people that live beyond the page, and that’s why as much as it really was just a lot of “Adam isn’t here” and “I don’t want to attend this prestigious boarding school because I have better things to do,” it was also full of important details and moments that should not be overlooked.

Best character moment:

Gansey contemplated if he could give Ronan a curfew. Or if she should quit rowing to spend more time with him on Fridays—he knew that was when Ronan got into trouble with the BMW.

Best turn of phrase:

Ronan kept staring at Whelk. He was good at staring. There was something about his stare that took something from the other person.

Action: Honestly? Not much. But Ronan did talk about his balls in Latin, so. A different kind of action? 4/10

Magic: The only magic mention comes when Gansey says he’s tired and sad and no longer thinks Chainsaw is Not A Coincidence. Boo that. -1/10

Comic relief: Every chapter where Gansey is trying to keep Ronan under any semblance of control is comedic gold. 12/10

The Raven Cycle Reread: 1.11


The first thing that happens in this chapter is that Blue wakes up exactly 1 hour and 23 minutes before her alarm. Now, when I was reading about Whelk and his time at Aglionby I absolutely could not relate to the high school experience. But waking up before your alarm and absolutely hating yourself for it? That’s a High School Mood if I’ve ever seen one.

The wake-up call is Maura and Neeve fighting over whether or not Neeve should “look at” Henrietta. Neeve’s argument is that she can’t help it; the town is loud and she’s just listening. Maura’s protective over Henrietta and inadvertently lets slip to Blue that she asked Neeve to come to Henrietta and look for Blue’s father. The only thing we know about him is that we don’t know anything.

In Blue’s head, he was a dashing heroic figure who’s had to vanish because of a tragic past. Possibly to a witness protection program. She liked to image him stealing a glimpse of her over the backyard fence, proudly watching his strange daughter daydream under the beech tree. 

Blue was awfully fond of her father, considering she’d never met him.

Blue falls asleep and then wakes up before her alarm again, which has got to be some kind of sick joke. But what wakes her up this time is realizing that today is the day she’s going to meet Gansey (or so she thinks). In order to comfort herself she looks through his journal, and I can’t decide if that’s cute or weird. Or maybe a little bit of both, since Blue’s reasoning for not having friends is that everyone else is too normal for her. It all sounds like that impassioned speech Jughead makes in Riverdale—have you ever seen Blue take off that stupid hat? That’s weird, she’s weird—because she doesn’t have any friends and isn’t learning anything important, high school is pointless and she doesn’t want to go. Does that sound like anyone to you? Maybe someone who drives an orange Camaro and looks for Welsh kings in his spare time?

Instead of leaving for school like Orla keeps telling her to do, Blue goes to talk to Persephone, one of her mother’s best friends. Persephone is our favorite manic pixie dream girl, except that she’s not a dream nor is she manic, and I wouldn’t call her a girl, either. She fits the trope for about three seconds and then she blows it wide open, making me wish that she was a side character in every book I’ve ever read.

“Good morning,” Blue said.

“Good morning,” Persephone echoed. “It’s too early. My words aren’t working, so I’ll just use as many of the ones that work for you as possible.”

I don’t know what that means, but I do know it’s delightful. Persephone is working on a project that turns out to be a piece of paper with the word three written on it 3 times, and a pie recipe (banana cream, if you’re wondering). Blue suggests this could mean that good things come in threes. Persephone says maybe they come in sevens, you never know.

The real reason Blue knocked on Persephone’s door was to get her opinion on the journal. Persephone then delivers one of the most badass line in the history of the series when Blue asks her how she knows the journal isn’t hers:

Persephone paged back and forth. Her dainty, child’s voice was soft enough that Blue had to hold her breath to hear it. “This is clearly a boy’s journal. Also, it’s taking him forever to find this thing. You’d have already found it.”

Blue wants to know what her next move is. Persephone’s advice is to find the owner of the journal, and then find out if its contents are true. I assume Blue then gets on her bike and goes to school, finally listening to the myriad of Sargent women who have been screaming up the stairs all morning.

Thoughts and Feelings:

The attachment Blue develops to this journal in such a short period of time is wild. This book focuses mostly on Blue’s relationship to Adam, and if anything her interactions with Gansey are focused on the two of them searching for any sort of common ground on which to meet. But I’m surprised that I didn’t notice, in my earlier reading, how hard Blue falls for the side of Gansey she sees in the journal. It’s the Gansey Adam sees outside of Aglionby. And the journal brings the same nesting doll syndrome out of Blue:

She closed the pages. It felt as if there were a larger, terribly curious Blue inside her that was about to bust out of the smaller, more sensible Blue that held her.

When I think about how the plot of the series was originally framed, especially in the first couple of chapters, as “Blue will have a forbidden love because her kiss is cursed” being the main conflict, it can feel like we don’t get enough of that as we’re promised in the first installment. But it is, if you just look for it!

As for Persephone, her and Calla are some of the greatest characters in Henrietta (I know I say that about a lot of people, because if you hadn’t already noticed Steifvater has a knack for creating beautiful and complicated characters). Our introduction to Persephone, as Steifvater takes us through the layers of Persephone that people really see: the hair, the outfits, the mirror-black eyes. And then she strips that all away by giving us a woman who’s a psychic who speaks in echoes and is writing a thesis for her PhD (the PhD bit really endears me to her future relationship with Adam). What a woman.

Best character moment:

When she touched the beech tree, she felt at once comforted and anxious: reassured and driven to action.

Best turn of phrase:

When pressed, people often remembered Persephone’s hair: a long, wavy white-blonde mane that fell to the back of her thighs. If they got past her hair, they sometimes remembered her dresses—elaborate, frothy creations or quizzical smocks. And if they made it past that, they were unsettled by her eyes, true mirror black pupils hidden in the darkness.

Action: Besides people constantly yelling at Blue to get a move on, she never actually got her move on. In the words of many early 2000s movies, come on barf breath, you’re gonna be late for school! 6/10

Magic: Blue is learning about Welsh magic and the magic of a really beautiful scrapbook. Also, Persephone definitely saw some stuff about that banana cream pie. 11/10

Comic relief: I’ll repeat myself: Persephone DEFINITELY saw some stuff about that banana cream pie. 9/10

The Raven Cycle Reread: 1.10


Unfortunately, it’s time for us to check back in with Barrington Whelk. I’ll try to pretend I’m creating an objective and unbiased summary, but I’m going to fail. Here goes nothing.

Barrington Whelk is an insomniac! I’m reminded of Gansey’s late-night model building habits, but, unlike Gansey, Whelk’s sleeping patterns are because of voices in his head acquired when he killed his best friend. And, even more unlike Gansey, Whelk takes the time spent awake not building houses but thinking about that time he, um, killed his best friend.

He seemed more wakeful at the full moon and after thunderstorms, but beyond that, it was difficult to predict. In his mind, he imagined that it was the magnetic pulse of the ley line itself, somehow invited into his body through Czerny’s death.

Thinking about the ley line gives Whelk an idea: why doesn’t he use the time spent not sleeping to do some nefarious plotting and try to fix his life by finding Glendower? He pulls out some maps he made with Czerny when they were teenagers and reexamines them. Their handwriting is all over them: they dowsed and took readings and toured the Virginia countryside. They came to the same conclusion as Malory and decided to do a ritual to wake the line up, but were chickenshit about it and kept pushing the date back.

Until, of course, the government seized his father’s fortune and left Whelk with nothing but $10 in his pocket and a leather couch.

The whole thing was all very public. The Virginia playboy, heir to the Whelk fortune, suddenly evicted from his Aglionby dorm, relieved of his social life, freed from any hope of his Ivy League future, watching his car being loaded onto a truck and his room emptied of speakers and furniture.

Apparently they’d been watching his family for years, and I really hope they pulled a Matilda and pretended to be speedboat salesmen parked outside the house. I have a feeling that’s not what happened, but I have no problem ignoring that feeling and believing in The Matilda Theory anyway.

Back to the story: Whelk finds himself with nothing and Czerny rolls up in a Mustang. That’s it for Whelk, who moves up the time of the ritual to as soon as possible because he simply cannot stand to be shown up by his best friend and future murder victim. The chapter ends, but we can fill in the blanks: Czerny dies, Whelk has nothing, and goes back home to become a bitter Latin teacher at the alma mater he never actually graduated from. 

Thoughts and Feelings:

I really appreciate the use of thunderstorms and full moons as a method for Whelk’s sleeplessness. It’s like the ley line knows that’s the dumbest way to come up with a pattern and is personally trying to mess with Whelk just because it knows just as well as I do that he’s literally the worst. But then again, the fact that Whelk’s map has so many more circles than Gansey’s is interesting to me. Does it mean that people have just been telling Gansey he’s good at finding stuff even though he sucks at it, or do I have to admit Whelk knows what he’s doing? It’s crazy to me that we can have this character who’s so beyond pathetic and yet competent enough to find multiple energy points on the ley line (using his “complicated” dowsing rod that’s just a bent clothing hanger and does not sound that hard to make).

I might be biased, but I’m a huge fan of Czerny and his red pen and red car (pick a color and stick to it, guys, it’s good for your branding). And then Whelk steals his girlfriend and murders him! High school was not like that for me. Not even a little bit. People didn’t really steal people’s significant others, and there was certainly no murder. Aglionby boys really are on some shit, and Blue’s rules are 100% warranted. I also can’t wait for her to break them and hang out with the Gangsey now that we’re done hearing from Barrington Whelk for a couple more chapters.

Best character moment:

Czerny had pulled up in his red Mustang. He hadn’t got out of the car. “Does this make you white trash now?” he’d asked. Czerny didn’t really have a sense of humor. He just sometimes said things that happened to be funny.

Best turn of phrase:

Back then, it had been a game, a treasure hunt. A play for glory. Was it true? It didn’t matter. It was an expensive exercise in strategy with the East Coast as the playing field.

Action: We did get an FBI investigation Danny DeVito would be proud of, so what is there to complain about? 8/10

Magic: The magic in this chapter spends its time torturing Whelk, and it does it outside of the constraints of temporal time. Hilarious. 11/10

Comic relief: It was mostly a downer. Czerny did have that one shining moment, but it was only funny because it was true, so. 3/10

The Raven Cycle Reread: 1.9


This chapter is an emotional rollercoaster. Please keep all your limbs attached and maybe grab a cupcake (gluten-free or otherwise) in case this gets too much for all of us.

Gansey’s phone rings in the middle of the night just so Stiefvater can give us the delicious detail that he’s basically blind and sometimes he wears glasses. Cue thirteen-year-old me picturing Gansey in wire-frames and losing my goddamn mind. Originally he’s pissed, but when he realizes it’s his ancient scholarly friend Dr. Roger Malory, he’s ready and eager to learn. Except it’s Malory, so he doesn’t learn anything. At least, not right away:

Malory launched into a one-sided conversation about the weather, the historical society’s past four meetings and how frustrating the neighbor with the collie was. Gansey understood about three-quarters of the monologue.

After I take a minute to fall in love with Roger Malory, we get to the good stuff: the theory is that the ley line is so hard to find because it’s sleeping, and the best course of action would be to wake it up. Although all it takes to wake Glendower is to find his tomb and shout “HEY OWEN GET UP,” the ley lines are underground and won’t be so easy to rouse. Malory’s found a ritual he’s going to try on his own UK version of the ley line, and says he’ll be in touch. After one more story about his mother’s death at the hands of the British healthcare system, he hangs up and leaves Gansey to stew in his own impatience.

He wanted nothing more than to start scouring books for further support for this new idea, school day be damned. He felt a rare stab of resentment at being a teen, being tied to Aglionby; maybe this was how Ronan felt all the time.

Gansey wants to talk to someone about this frustration and thinks Ronan might be his best bet, given the whole you-feel-how-I-feel-let’s-commiserate conversation they’d probably have. Unfortunately, Ronan’s room is empty and he’s not answering his phone. This is where the present has to stop for the past: we’re discovering both Adam and Ronan at the same time and Gansey’s panic makes perfect sense.

The first thing Gansey does is call Adam. All he has to say is “Ronan’s gone” and Adam agrees to go looking. The very act of calling Adam reveals how desperate the situation is, though:

It wasn’t an easy thing to leave the Parrish household in the middle of the night. The consequences of getting caught could leave physical evidence, and it was getting too warm for long sleeves. Gansey felt wretched for asking this of him.

And Noah reminds Gansey why he was so desperate in the first place just by emerging from his room.

Six months ago, the only time it mattered, Noah had found Ronan in an introspective pool of his own blood, and so he was exempt from ever having to look again.

Gansey isn’t the only one who feels wretched.

The BMW’s engine is cold and Noah had suggested Gansey try the church, so that’s where he goes. He finds Ronan lying in a pew and Steifvater gives us a page of suspense as she spins beautiful descriptions of Gansey’s terror. We’re relieved to hear Ronan is awake and drunk off his ass. And also, it seems, holding a baby bird. The bird is a raven, which excites and confuses Gansey. Glendower’s bird is the raven( but Ronan, who’s slurring his words and reeks of alcohol, is decidedly not Glendower). Eventually Gansey agrees to let the bird live in Monmouth anyways, and he does his best to drag Ronan home.

As Ronan unsteadily climbed to his feet, the raven hunched down in his hands, becoming all beak and body, no neck. He said, “Get used to some turbulence, you little bastard.”

“You can’t name it that.”

“Her name’s Chainsaw,” replied Ronan, without looking up.

Noah emerges from the shadows in the church, where his sole purpose seems to be allowing Ronan to insult him. The Gansey that was frantic over Ronan gives way to the one we knew at the beginning of the chapter, nerdy and eager and open. He’s happy Chainsaw joined their little crew, because she’s a raven and he’s hunting her king. And then, they all go home and get back to hunting. The end. 

Thoughts and Feelings:

This is the chapter where Ronan’s character bursts wide open. I may have taken issue with the overload of imagery describing Ronan as “sharp” and “dangerous” in previous chapters, and I stand by that statement. But if I could quote the entire chapter in the summary, I would—there’s really nothing I can say to do it justice or quote I can pull out to encapsulate it. Stiefvater weaves through this idea that the magic in Henrietta, the magic that Blue’s family is drawn to, the magic that Gansey has traced here, is not entirely benevolent. And neither is she.

These characters have such full experiences before we even get to them, and we’re able to understand the breadth of these experiences without pages and pages of flashbacks or character therapy. The line “Sometimes, Gansey felt like his life was made up of a dozen hours he could never forget” does it all right there. It’s an insane narrative feat that I’m still not over, and this book was published in 2012.

Also (I haven’t fully figured out how much I want to include spoilers yet, but know that this paragraph will contain a lot of them if you need to look away), the amount of foreshadowing in these ten pages alone is astounding. Noah is ghosty not once but twice, Ronan literally admits Chainsaw came from his mind, and Gansey thinks Ronan is dead and only waking up because he commands him to. That’s covering major plot twists from Dream Thieves and Raven King, not to mention really hammering home the fact that Noah does not look like a regular boy immediately before a Whelk-POV chapter. It’s hovering right on the border between subtle and obvious and I have to say if I was a first time reader I probably still wouldn’t get it.

What I do get is how utterly hilarious Gansey’s reaction is when Ronan accuses him of hypocrisy. “I drink,” he says, “I do not get drunk.” If there was anyone who was trying to argue that Gansey isn’t a 40-year-old man, they should stop right now. What kind of teenager gets home from school and pours themselves a scotch on the rocks to begin work on their cereal-box model of small-town Virginia? I would’ve said no kind, but honestly now I can’t imagine Gansey doing anything else.

All right, my brother is snoring in the room next to me and if I don’t stop typing and try to go to sleep I’m going to go crazy, so I’ll end it here. Just know I can’t stress enough how beautiful and haunting this chapter is and nothing I say can do it justice.

Best character moment:

“What if I implement a no-pets policy at the apartment?”

“Well, hell, man,” Ronan replied with a savage smile, “you can’t just throw out Noah like that.”

Best turn of phrase:

And there Ronan was, stretched out on one of the shadowed pews, an arm hanging off the edge, the other skewed above his head, his body a darker bit of black in an already black world. He wasn’t moving.

Action: The Gangsey goes on a wild goose chase but finds a raven instead. If that’s not action-packed what is? 10/10

Magic: It’s dark and spooky and malevolent until Gansey reunites with Ronan, and even then it’s not good or bad, just…lurking. That’s the kind of magic I signed up for! 12/10

Comic relief: In a dark chapter, Malory, Noah, and drunk Ronan are here to lift us up. 8/10

Books that Changed My Life: The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton

I have a very complicated relationship with the many English teachers in my life (see here for details). But I won’t deny that they’re the ones who started me on books that weren’t Percy Jackson and other series doing their best to bring fairy tales/various mythologies/anything they could into the modern era, with a snarky but lovable twelve-year-old as the protagonist.

6th Grade was the first year we read books and really discussed them, and The Outsiders was the first book on the list. I guess I’ll never know if my love for The Outsiders is because it’s a good book or if it’s tied up in my love of exhaustive character analysis, but whatever the reason, it’s up there with my favorite books of all time.

It’s not because of the classic lines. “Stay gold, Ponyboy” is nice, but it’s not the reason I have three separate copies of the book, and it’s definitely not the reason my birthday presents consisted of the movie’s Blu-Ray extended edition and a necklace with a piece of the book in it (I’m not crazy, I promise). It’s because I was able to look at a group of teenage hoodlums from 1960’s Tulsa and have a conversation with them. I knew about the poems Ponyboy liked to read, I knew how Soda took his eggs with grape jelly, I knew about the soft spot Dally had for Johnny.

In every other book I’d read, backstory was given in a neat little paragraph near the end of chapter one. Relatable Boy With Strange Yet Prophetic Name (Like Bartimus Crow Or Something) has a father who is presumed dead, but we all know he’s just missing. Now let’s start the quest to go get him back, and then Relatable Boy With Strange Yet Prophetic Name (Like Bartimus Crow Or Something) and Quirky Friends 1 and 2 can have a nice triumphant ending! Even Harry Potter had an air of predictability to it, a formula that let me know if Voldemort wasn’t there yet, he’d be there soon so Harry could defeat him.

The Outsiders let me come to my own conclusions: my opinions of characters evolved as I learned new things about them, there were no plot twists or switcheroos, no sarcastic fight scenes. Just a switchblade in the hand of a sixteen-year-old and a moral dilemma.

So this post is less of a review and more of a love letter to The Outsiders, explaining why I read it at least four times a year and have three different copies of it. From when I read (and annotated) it in 6th Grade, calling the Socs “Socks” in my head and thinking I was clever for picking up on the fire symbolism, to the 50th anniversary hardcover I got for Christmas last year, along with my very own DVD (so I could look at Rob Lowe and Patrick Swayze every day), The Outsiders has never been confined to its pages.

The return of Cherry Valance, as illustrated by a Sixth Grader

These characters spread out and get under your skin. They live beyond the story. They’ve burrowed their way into my head, as real as any of the other friends I made in middle school.

So a big thank you to Steve and Dally, for being mean guys but good people. Thanks to Two-Bit for being lazy and caring, Darry for being hard but kind, Soda for being shallow and sweet. Thanks to Johnny for being good. And the biggest thank you to Ponyboy (and S.E. Hinton) for showing me that you don’t have to be an adult to write literature for kids. In fact, sometimes it’s better if you’re not. There are countless word documents with mermaid and fairy stories that owe their existence to Ponyboy showing me I had the authority to be a writer. They’re terrible, yes, but they were a start.

Wise advice from eleven-year-old me (that was not listened to)

I’ll probably write another post the next time I reread The Outsiders. I’ll never be done talking about it. But for now, I just want to apologize for the sappiness and nostalgia I participated in just now. It’s been 8 years and I’m still not over it. That’s why this is called, you know. Books That Changed My Life.

Let me know if you’ve ever had experience with The Outsiders, in school or out of it. Did you like it a fraction of the amount I did? Did you hate the non-extended movie version as much as I did? Or have you read it and thought it was just an okay kid’s book? When you stepped out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house, were there only two things on your mind? I’ll bet they were Paul Newman, and a ride home.

5 Books My English Teacher Almost Ruined

It’s a pretty common thing for me to be talking to someone about books and for me to say, “oh, I really hated that book,” and when they ask me why, I say that my teacher ruined it. Sometimes it wasn’t my teacher’s fault and the book just wasn’t my cup of tea, but there are times when I felt like, yeah, if I’d read that book on my own, I probably wouldn’t have wanted to throw it against a wall.

Disclaimer: I love English teachers, I promise, and I’ve had plenty of good ones. I’m not trying to throw any educators under the bus because they’re under appreciated, deserve the world, etc. But at the same time, anyone who’s been to any school anywhere knows that some of the teachers are just not good at their job. It sucks, but that’s the American education system for you.

So, here are 5 books my English teachers almost ruined:

1. Macbeth by William Shakespeare

I think every high schooler is forced to read Shakespeare, and, in my case, that meant performing scenes from the play in front of the entire class. There’s nothing like pretending to be a scary witch in front of fifteen teenagers who already thought I was a huge nerd to turn you against a book.

Luckily, for my final exam I had to write a character analysis on Macbeth, Banquo, or Lady Macbeth. I made one of the wisest decisions of my young life and chose to spend 2 hours of quality time with a certain badass woman, learning about how my body is not vessel. To my ninth grade English teacher: you failed!

2. Watership Down by Richard Adams

This is a book about rabbits, but also about tyranny, communism, and human (I’m sorry, animal) nature. It also contains some great fight scenes, if you’re willing to look past the fact that rabbits can’t organize mafias, and, even if they could, they probably wouldn’t be fighting a group of rabbit bros who are just looking for a place to practice democratic socialism.

Also, on a more practical note, I was in seventh grade and therefore LITERALLY twelve years old and could not possibly understand the complexities of this rabbit book and its political ramifications. And this is another example of a time that a teacher forced me to act out a scene from a book we were reading, except this time it was even worse than before because Macbeth was created to be acted out and Watership Down is, if I haven’t told you already, about rabbits. No twelve year old should be forced to crawl around on the classroom floor screaming about how everyone should believe that a bunny has a sixth sense.

But, I’d like to say, to my seventh grade English teacher: you failed! Standardized testing may have said my reading level was above average, but I was emotionally a child and I loved rabbits, and I especially loved when they had names like Blackberry, Bluebell, and Dandelion.

3. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

My teacher actively said “I do not like this book and I only teach it because the administration makes me.” We spent two months writing every single time a color was mentioned on the whiteboard. Did I learn a lot about tracking symbols? Yeah. Did I really need to know that the color green was mentioned on pretty much every page to understand that Gatsby was obsessed with money? No, I did not.

But I was blessed by another English teacher, who came in as a substitute one day and was like “hey, what if Jay Gatsby wasn’t white? Nobody ever tells you he is” and it was like the book exploded. Who knew if anything was true? I could go back on every page and question everything. I love questioning everything! So, to my English teacher during junior year: you were a great teacher for every other book, but for this one, you tried really hard to make me hate it but it didn’t work. You failed!

4. Flowers for Algernon by Daniel Keyes

This one is a rare case, because this wasn’t my teacher’s fault. My sixth grade English teacher was fabulous and understanding and a lovely person, but having this book on the curriculum was not the move.

If you haven’t read Flowers for Algernon, just know that it’s about a man with a very low IQ who gets surgery and becomes very, very smart. The consequence of this is that a 32 year old man is going through emotional adolescence. The book is heartwarming, and well written, and I consider it among the ranks of Books That Changed My Life. Of course, I can say that now. At eleven, not so much.

My teacher gave Flowers For Algernon to her classroom of sixth graders, just after we’d read The Outsiders, and I was like, cool! It’s gonna be another fun book about familial love and teenagers with hardships. And then it was, um, not like that. The main character, Charlie, talks about sex a lot, and I’m just going to paraphrase the interaction and say that I had a couple of really awkward questions for my teachers about why it was such a big deal that Charlie had sticky sheets.

Granted, Charlie and I both had about the same amount of experience with sex, which they maybe thought made it relatable, or something? That is, until he had sex with his teacher, and then with his neighbor, and I had yet to take sex ed of any kind. It was just all around poor timing. The saving grace is that I went back and reread it in high school, and realized how fabulous a book it really is. And that it’s not actually all about sex, which I had thought because before I read this book sex had been in exactly 0% of every other book I’d read, so to have it shoot up to 5% was a huge increase and really threw eleven-year-old me for a loop.

So, to my sixth grade English teacher, I say: you did your best.

5. To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Here it is: THE BIG ONE! The book that every kid reads in school and that every bad English teacher has done their best to ruin. This book is the champion of staying alive. Atticus Finch went to court for the affection of every 14-year-old in America and actually won this time.

I love Scout’s stupid ham costume. I love how the big scary guy is their neighbor, but everyone calls him “Boo.” Get a scarier name, Boo. Most of all, though, I love how inexplicably hot everyone find Atticus Finch. And then, at the end of the unit, when the teacher shows the movie and Gregory Peck comes onscreen… a pivotal moment for all of us.

It’s also a well written novel with a strong message and relatable characters, but I digress. This was middle school, and none of us cared about that. It came down to the fact that the book was fun, and easy to discuss in class, and practically impossible to ruin. So, to my eighth grade English teacher, I say: YOU FAILED!

For closure, here are some books that my English teachers actually did ruin:

  1. The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho (the inspiration for this post)
  2. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare (the minute my teacher picked the non-Leonardo DiCaprio movie to show us, it was all over)
  3. A good amount of Emily Dickinson poems
  4. The Art of Fielding by Chad Harbach
  5. The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd (I’m excusing the movie from this judgement, because Queen Latifah makes anything better)
  6. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

And here are some books they did justice:

  1. The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton
  2. The Merchant of Venice and Hamlet by William Shakespeare (just because of Portia and Horatio, no one else matters)
  3. Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf and then, right after, The Hours by Michael Cunningham
  4. A Visit From the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan
  5. Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
  6. One English teacher had us watch Apocalypse Now which was cool, because Martin Sheen was in it and I kept calling him President Bartlett. The teacher also did a really good job forcing us to analyze the movie, but then we had to read Heart of Darkness and that really put a damper on the whole endeavor.

So that’s it. Again, I’ll remind you that I loved many of my English teachers despite their ability to ruin books, and many of them did exactly the opposite of that. No hate to anyone who’s out there working hard to make ungrateful children read classic works of literature!!

It’s just nice to tell my teachers that they failed for a change. If you made it this far (against all odds) I’d love to hear what books your English teachers ruined for you. Or, on a nicer note, which books they tried really hard to ruin but you resisted! That makes for a good, resilient book, and I love that for us.

The Raven Cycle Reread: 1.8


Strap in, folks, this is a cute one! So sweet it’s borderline sickly. Please make the appropriate appointments with your dentists for cavity fillings, as you will be needing them.

So the first thing that happens is that Blue leaves Nino’s feeling like most people do when leaving their minimum wage job, because they don’t get paid enough and never get treated with the respect they deserve. Honestly if you’re not nice to people in the service industry what are you even doing? But that’s beside the point. Blue looks up at the stars and she feels a grand something that makes her life seem a little less futile, and then Steifvater blesses us with some beautiful space poetry:

One day, she would live some place where she could stand outside her house and see only stars, no streetlights, where she could feel as close as she ever got to sharing her mother’s gift. When she looked at the stars, something tugged at her, something that urged her to see more than stars, to make sense of the chaotic firmament, to pull an image from it.

Blue hears someone behind her and it’s Adam, who saw her unlocking her bike just as he was unlocking his. Blue catalogues all the things about Adam that make him less Raven boy and thus an exception to her firmly held belief that they’re all bastards: his Henrietta accent, the worn seam on his sweater, the fact that he owns a bike and not a car. He also calls her Miss, which had me melting. What kind of boy starts a conversation with “excuse me, um miss—hi”? A keeper, that’s who.

It turns out Adam came over to apologize for Gansey, and Blue decides she wants to flirt with him and does an okay job at it, for someone who’s never flirted before. Until, of course, her conscience ruins everything by adopting Maura’s voice and reminding her that she has the kiss of death and must remain forever chaste. But she resists just enough to leave Adam with a smile and a phone number and there is nothing else to do but rejoice!!!!

She asked, “Are you coming back to Nino’s?”

“Am I invited?”

She smiled in reply. It felt like a very dangerous thing, that smile, like something Maura wouldn’t be pleased with.


Adam bikes away. Blue freaks out. But before we get the inner monologue we deserve, stupid manager Donny comes up and shows Blue Gansey’s journal, which he left at the restaurant. He thinks it’s psychic-y, and even though Blue knows it’s not she takes it because she’s curious about President Cell Phone’s inner musings. As she peruses, it gets kind of obvious that she finds the journal kinda hot.

More than anything the journal wanted. It wanted more than it could hold, more than words could describe, more than diagrams could illustrate. Longing burst from the pages, in every frantic line and every hectic sketch and every dark-printed definition.

Like I said. Steamy. Until Blue sees a shape drawn over and over again, one she recognizes from both Maura and Neeve’s absentminded doodles. This brings her to the conclusion that the journal couldn’t possibly belong to President Cell Phone, because he’s an asshole. She wants it to be Adam’s because, as discussed, she finds both Adam and the journal very attractive. Until the muderkiss rears its ugly head and she remembers that Adam isn’t Gansey, and she’s most likely screwed.

Thoughts and Feelings:

I know I’m probably too excited for this interaction between Adam and Blue because, duh, Blue and Gansey have this whole TRUE LOVE thing going on that can’t be beat. But I’m a sucker for free will and it’s okay for me to recognize some top-notch romance when I see it. And while I previously remarked on how cool I find the parallels between Gansey and Blue, it would be stupid of me to pretend they don’t exist between Adam and Blue as well.

Money is a huge issue in these books, and Blue and Adam come from the same amount (that is to say, not much). It stands to reason that they would find common ground in a town overpopulated with damaged rich boys, and it’s refreshing to see the two of them forced into the spotlight by the fact that none of those damaged rich boys are there to take it from them. It seems like Blue and Adam are always taking in details about other people and it’s refreshing to watch them scrutinize each other, if only because I know it’ll give me the most accurate picture.

This is just a nice moment between two characters who deserve a nice moment every once in a while. I’m gonna let them have it.

Best character moment:

“Talk,” he said. In his local accent, it was a long word, and it seemed less of a synonym for speak than it was for confess.

Best turn of phrase:

It was all Henrietta sunset: hot front-porch swings and cold iced-tea glasses, cicadas louder than your thoughts.

Action: not a lot happened by my heart is still pounding. High intensity flirting and the journey of the journal are two nice hefty plot points done right. 9/10

Magic: Blue sees magic in the stars, in Adam’s quiet charms, and in Gansey’s journal (which is so special she wishes it belonged to someone else). It’s like a variety pack of magical moments and I love that for me. 13/10

Comic relief: :-* 10/10

The Raven Cycle Reread: 1.7


The pizzas are gone. The boys are discussing next moves for the ley line search when Ronan is too much of a bother and Gansey sends him to the parking lot for a time out (they make him take Noah because nobody trusts Ronan alone outside). Adam is looking for Blue, but of course Gansey doesn’t know her name and calls her either evil not-a-prostitute waitress or devil waitress, depending on his mood. He also spends about two pages alternating between talking about how mad he is that he offended Blue and trying to think of ways to talk to Adam about working less without offending him. It’s a very narrow line that he clearly has trouble walking.

Speaking of narrow lines, Adam thinks the psychics could know something about the position of the ley line, since they have no idea where it is, and drawing pencil on a map can only get you so close. He also comes up with the brilliant idea that they should amplify the ley line’s energy so it’s easier to read. Gansey is excited about the idea, until Noah returns with the news that Declan is outside, and Ronan is probably about to punch him in the face.

From the looks of it, it was the opening act. In the sickly green light of a buzzing streetlamp, Ronan had an unbreakable stance and an expression hard as granite. There was no wavering in the line of the blow; he had accepted the consequences of wherever his fist landed long before he began the punch.

Ronan punches Declan. Then Declan punches Ronan. Then they punch each other for a while, until Ronan throws Declan into his car and Declan gets mad because it’s a very expensive car. We then learn why Declan is rich enough to have this very expensive car:

Niall Lynch was handsome and charismatic and rich and mysterious, and one day, he was dragged from his charcoal-gray BMW and beaten to death with a tire iron. It was a Wednesday. On Thursday, his son Ronan found his body in the driveway. On Friday, their mother stopped speaking and never spoke again. On Saturday, the Lynch brothers found that their father’s will left them rich and homeless.

The short version is that Ronan’s father was murdered, and his will kicked his sons out of the house and gave Declan power over the family fortune. This left Ronan with nothing but money and Gansey. Ronan then stole his father’s car and began to hate his brother, which is why they’re still punching each other in the Nino’s parking lot in front of Ashley (and everyone else who went to get some pizza).

Gansey intervenes and the description of violence that comes next is well written but kind of gross and I’d rather not summarize it. It ends up with Gansey getting punched in the face, Declan’s face smashing into his car door, and Ronan on the ground wanting nothing more than to commit a murder.

With a jerk of his chin, Declan spit blood at the pavement. His lip was bleeding, but his teeth were still good. “Fine. He’s your dog, Gansey. You leash him. Keep him from getting kicked out of Aglionby. I wash my hands of him.”

Declan insults his brother for a little while longer until Gansey tells him to leave. Meanwhile, Ashley is watching the whole thing from the window of the Volvo, and Gansey notices that she doesn’t look like an idiot at all. I’m proud of you, Ashely, you show them!

The argument ramps up a notch when Gansey mentions Niall (“you are not Niall Lynch, and you won’t ever be. And you’d get ahead a lot faster if you stopped trying”). These seem to be the magic words for the brothers, who stop trying to kick each other’s asses and use their words, instead. We get the most insight through Gansey’s eyes, though:

Ronan’s hands hung open at his sides. Sometimes, after Adam had been hit, there was something remote and absent in his eyes, like his body belonged to someone else. When Ronan was hit, it was the opposite: he became so urgently present that is was as if he’d been sleeping before.

We learn that if Ronan doesn’t keep his grades up, he can’t live at Monmouth Manufacturing anymore. Gansey reminds Ronan of a promise he’d made. When Ronan replies “I know what I did,” it doesn’t sound like he intends to keep it, but I have faith. If anyone can pass a class out of pure spite, it’s Ronan Lynch.

Cut to Adam, standing in a dark corner of the parking lot bouncing a rubber SpongeBob ball. He spent the fight convincing the manager not to call the cops, because he is practical and we would be nothing without him. While they wait for Noah to finish tipping the waitress, they discuss Ashley and her prior knowledge of Welsh kings. Adam admits that he feels watched, and Gansey’s response is simple: why would somebody be watching unless they were looking in the right places?

Thoughts and Feelings:

This chapter will devastate you, if you let it. To her credit, Stiefvater gives us a couple of pages at the beginning to enjoy ourselves. She has this incredible ability to make her descriptions hilarious in the simple truths they tell. For example:

Gansey and Adam stood in line while a woman argued about mushroom topping with the cashier.

That’s funny, when you catch it as a standalone line in the middle of a serious narrative. It shouldn’t be, but it is.

Then we get some Adam insight, which is always hard. He looks tired and he won’t accept help—this is fine now, because it’s the first time it’s come up, but wait until I complain about it later, after the 59th fight Adam gets into with Gansey (because of good intentions from all parties, but still frustrating). But this is when the mood in the chapter starts to come down, until it crashes when Declan fights Ronan in the Nino’s parking lot.

I have to say this is one of the better fights I’ve ever read in young adult literature. It’s physically charged, it carries emotional weight and consequence, and at one point Ronan has his fingers hooked in Declan’s mouth—that is to say, it’s scrappy and realistic. But those emotional consequences come back to bite you when you realize everything Ronan’s gone through that made him this way, and he’s still going through it every day at Aglionby.

And, after all that, we don’t get any closure! We just get Ronan in the car, waiting to go to Monmouth because he can’t go home. It’s sad and I’m sad and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.

Best character moment:

“I wish,” snarled Ronan. His entire body was rigid underneath Gansey’s hand. He wore his hatred like a cruel second skin.

Best turn of phrase:

Scrambling around the side of the building, he skidded into the parking lot just in time to see Ronan throw a punch. The swing was infinite.

Action: The minute someone got punched in the face meant this chapter got full marks, and then when Ronan uttered the words “I will never forgive you” the score went through the roof. 16/10

Magic: Nothing magical except the particularly cool tricks Adam performs with his bouncy ball, which Gansey seems to enjoy immensely. 4/10

Comic relief: Well, at least the beginning of the chapter was fun. Sort of. 5/10