Happy Boxing Day, Nerds! And for everyone in the U.S., hey suckers! Sorry, you all had to go back to work today while we get a second stat holiday!
But truly, I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season, no matter what you celebrate.
I’m probably still in my PJs, hopefully playing a new game I got as a gift from my husband after dropping heavy hints since my birthday about what I wanted next. *cough Hellblade cough*
My in-laws are probably about to hit the road to get home to NY, taking my stepkid with them so he can reluctantly spend some time with his mom who makes him feel, quote “trapped.” Aw yes, the pitfalls of having a shitty parent who you still have forced visitation with. The true meaning of Christmas… wait…
On a happier note, come Friday I will have officially started my three weeks of vacation that I’ve been saving all year. And Omigod, I need this break so bad. I’m going to be reading and reading and playing games and reading and rotating a nearly endless supply of jogging pants for the next 19 days.
You can expect a lot of scheduled posts that I wrote the week before Christmas. But I’ll come in fresh for any reviews I have. To be honest, using the schedule feature is probably what I should be doing since starting this blog. Maybe then you’d have more of my salty AF reviews and ranty writings to read.
With that in mind, this post is dedicated to all my bookish resolutions for 2019.
The New Year is literally just around the corner and with that comes a lot of “new year, new me” bullshit posts about health and diet and being a better person. But not this one. Nope, not me. It’s going to be “new year, same me” for real. I just want to make a few tweaks to the bookish side of my life, but I promise to stay the same girl you grew to know in 2018.
I’ll be honest, I enjoy YA fiction, even though, I am no longer included in the targeted demographic and haven’t been for almost two decades a while. You know what…let’s not get into specifics about ages and dates. Those are all technicalities.
Sometimes I can feel a little bit weird when I have some interest in a YA books. A feeling of “I know I’m 32, but please don’t judge me for reading this” can wash over me from time to time.
I try to let myself like what I like, but there is a sense that YA is my “guilty pleasure” because it’s really not intended for me. And sometimes it’s painfully obvious that I am not intended for it.
I can also feel a little bit weird in reviewing YA books, because usually if the book didn’t work for me it’s because the 16-year-old main character says/thinks something along the lines of, “I’m not child!” And I immediately think, “oh, yes you are young lady!“
Or the 18-year-old who works at a grocery store part time is decorating her warehouse style loft apartment and it’s total bullshit because I didn’t buy my first piece of new furniture until I was 30 years old. That sense of utter and complete bullshit about how teenager on their own would truly live annoys me because no one ever plays within the boundaries of real life, at least not of what I’ve read so far.
Nevertheless, I remain dedicated to my search for an amazing YA mystery-thriller that I actually like, that feels honest and genuine and manages to pull some punches on someone who is hard to please. (Me. That’s me who’s hard to please.)
In honour of #YAWeek, I’m going to be taking a look at what’s floating around my YA TBR pile; what books I’ve come across and thought, “yes, you could be THE ONE.”
Most of us ladies who are obsessed with crime fiction likely got our start reading Nancy Drew when we were young girls in pigtails; young girls who didn’t really want to play the games our friends were playing. We liked puzzles and being observant and maybe kids thought we were weird or awkward. We watched Goonies and Ghost Writer and read The Babysitters Club. We wanted to go on a mystery adventure and solve a crime! So we played at being Nancy Drew with our Sailor Moon “casebooks”, watching from our windows and writing down the neighbours’ activities as if we were going to catch them doing something sinister, like rolling a body into a carpet.
And as we got older, we moved on to more adult crime fiction mysteries, but always gravitated towards Nancy like characters – Veronica Mars, Olivia Benson, Clarice Starling. Because Nancy had taught us it was okay to be into what we were into. We’ve never forgotten Nancy even though we have grown up. She’s frequently cited as an inspiration by writers and readers alike. Her name is mentioned in my “about” page for this blog, and I have been working on a collection of her books for a few years, picking them up from antique markets and used books store. (Only the old yellow paper covers, none of that plastic reprint crap.)
But let’s be real for a moment – in hindsight, Nancy was kind of boring, tame. A true basic bitch. She was rich and white and polite, doing her sleuthing in sweet collared dresses and Mary-Jane pumps with a perfectly coiffed flipped bob. Of course, the series started in the 1930s, so what do you expect? There wasn’t really any room for Nancy to change societal norms drastically, nor was there a market for it. Really, if you go back to those original books, you’ll find them to be shockingly racist and anti-feminist in a lot of their elements. Again, what do you expect from the time?