I want to wish everyone who has stopped by HTFT, read my shit all year long, commented and interacted and made blogging such a fun experience for me in 2019, and stuck around even when I’m not posting as much, a Happy Whatever and Merry Everything!
I hope your winter holidays are filled with good times, good books and good food. You can tell Santa, if he isn’t good to you too, I’ll cut a bitch 🎅
I’ll be on a blogging hiatus until after the new year, but I plan to come back for the start of a new decade refreshed and ready to hit my reading goals for once in my damn life, exploring more twisted true crime and sharing it all with you fucking amazing people.
I will still be posting stories on Instagram while I’m off, so if you’re not following me, correct that fucking behaviour immediately. You can find me on #bookstagram under @thefuckingtwist, obviously.
I love you all and can’t wait to see what books you got under the tree! 🎄
“Where else was I fundamentally wrong about life and the universe and how everything worked? Is life a cycle of us realizing how stupid we are over and over again until we die?”
November 2019 | Turner
Opening Hook: Eric Andre screaming “let me in!”
Main Character: 100% that skeptic.
Plot Twisty-ness: A total three-way.
While I love horror as a genre in any form, I admit I don’t read as much of it as I would like. And when I do read it, I find I’m disappointed that things just weren’t as scary or twisted as I wanted them to be. Maybe my expectations are just too high. I’m 100% that bitch reader. But I am making an concerted effort to read more horror until I find my lane in the genre.
That said, for me, Twelve Nights at Rotter House is on the slow-burner end of the horror spectrum. For much of the middle of the book, I wondered if anything really scary was ever going to happen and I could feel my typical disappointment start to brew. There are some disembodied screams, unexplained noises, figures that disappear, and of course the quintessential dumbwaiter that never reveals anything good, but none of it was really getting my heart rate up.
The main character of Felix was a little overwrought in how skeptical he was of everything, and his extreme rationalizing aided in creating a slower atmosphere for me. Scary moments were consistently downplayed, sucking the spooky guts out of the story and lending itself to my question of if anything truly scary was going to happen because any time I thought something creepy was afoot, Felix came in and just Debbie Downer’ed all over the place.
Oh, shit, I’m so tired, you guys. This is going to be a chill post with lots of book recs, but just let me fucking complain for a hot minute.
I feel completely wiped out and I’m not sure why. I have no motivation when it comes to books lately. I think it’s because I’m so far behind in my reading. The more I look at the pile, the less I want to read, and the less I read the less I want.
The last quarter of the year has been a total wash for me in a lot of ways. I don’t know where the time went, or what I did or how I got to two weeks before Christmas and I’m not even done shopping yet.
I know a lot of people look at me like I’m crazy when I say that, in a “I haven’t even started yet!” kind of way, but I’m usually done shopping, with everything wrapped, by the first weekend of the month. I make it a point to push myself to get ‘er done because I’d much rather be home in the evenings watching movies, reading and enjoying the general holiday vibe, then stressing out with a sore back in a packed mall.
But honestly, I’m so off my game right now. I’m not sure I’ll even hit my reading goal (which I’ve already lowered once.)
In a bit of good news, I recently started fostering rescue dogs! I have my first foster right now. We’ve named him Jovi because he’s got 80’s hair band kind of fur. Check out my Instagram page (@thefuckingtwist) to see pictures of him in my highlights and stories.
Main Crazy Parent: Probably the dude with the bowl cut.
Cult Theology: Be the Duggars…but crazier.
I heard about the Turpins when they first made international breaking news headlines back in 2018 (which honestly feels like 100 years ago, at this point,) but I obviously didn’t pay enough attention to the whole story because the level of insanity is just jaw-dropping once all the details are laid out, as John Glatt does for you in this true-crime novel.
I mean honestly, this is some fucked up shit.
I must have brushed it off as just another set of weird religious parents doing weird shit to their kids in the name of their self-tailored beliefs – that is one way to chalk it up – but when we get into the real details, this is a banana-sandwich story turned up to eleven. Spinal Tap, amen.
If you’re looking for a story on how Louise and David Turpin went from falling in love to popping out 13 kids who they would regularly beat and chain up to their beds, only freeing them to brush their teeth or use the bathroom, then this is a book for you.