Before receiving a review copy of The Call, I hadn’t heard of it. Reviews on Goodreads were few and vague. The synopsis didn’t give much away either. All I knew was that this would be a book of horror — a genre I generally avoid. In any case, with Halloween around the bend, I thought I should at least read one creepy book this month.
One of the books I most looked forward to in 2014 was Belzhar. When I first saw the US cover, I was taken in and when I read the short description, I was sold. I wanted to read the book. It didn’t matter to me that I had never read a word of Sylvia Plath because I had every intention to. (For the record, I read The Bell Jar before Belzhar to preempt spoilers. Hah.) The hook for me was the exploration of mental stability.
I finally decided to join the party and read Anna and the French Kiss. It’s one of those books I read because I wanted to know what the book was about. It keeps popping up everywhere online—in the blogosphere, on Instagram, as well as Twitter—and all the online bookstores seem to have it under their recommendations right now. At first I did mostly enjoy the book. For the most part, I liked Stephanie Perkins’ writing style, which was well-suited towards a sweet romance. Sadly, towards the last third, prominent cracks started appearing for me.
When I was younger, I used to read a lot of murder mysteries with female protagonists. I read one book after the other. Sadly, I don’t remember the authors or the titles but I do know where they used to reside on the library shelves. As it is, most of the books published in the late 1990s and early 2000s have mostly been taken from those shelves, so I’ll probably never know again which books I read. But there is one thing I do remember: all those clichés! It’s no wonder that after two or three dozen, I was done with them.