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booksamongstfriends's reviews
738 reviews
Graveyard Shift by M.L. Rio
3.0
2.75 I honestly think I would’ve enjoyed this more as a full novel. It would’ve provided more time to push the limits of the story and explore more genre bending elements.
The Blonde Dies First by Joelle Wellington
4.0
3.5 Rounded up I picked up The Blonde Dies First by Joelle Wellington was such a pleasant surprise! I picked it up mostly because of the eye-catching cover and an interesting premise, but I wasn’t expecting much—it’s a young adult horror, and those can be hit or miss. By the time I finished, though, I was genuinely impressed with how much I enjoyed it.
The story centers on a group of kids growing up on the same block, navigating that awkward but fascinating space between adolescence and adulthood. It’s not just about “coming of age” but stepping into young adulthood, where lifelong friendships are tested and deepened. The twin dynamic between the sisters was a standout for me: one feeling overshadowed by her “genius” sibling and the other quietly struggling with the pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations. It felt real and relatable, and this kind of complexity carried through the entire friend group.
Yes, the book was predictable—you can figure out who the villain is pretty quickly. But instead of being a flaw, it felt intentional. It’s satisfying to have your instincts validated while still being intrigued by the “how” and “why.” The friend group dynamics were so strong, and I especially loved the inclusion of the film-obsessed character with a horror mentor. The conversations with the mentor were hilarious and self-aware, adding a layer of humor to the tension.
One thing I really appreciated was how the kids weren’t written to be overly naïve or reckless. They made plans, thought critically, and when things went off the rails, it was because of genuine reaction or accident rather than lazy writing chalked up to “kids being kids.” That’s rare in YA horror, and it made the story so much stronger.
The villain? Just right! They were petty, vindictive, and so fun to hate. Everyone has that one “hater” in their neighborhood growing up, and it was deeply satisfying to see that person taken down. The author balanced this really well, too—capturing that fine line between trying to give someone the benefit of the doubt and recognizing when they’re a danger to you.
The supernatural elements were simple but effective. The demon figure haunting them was creepy and easy to visualize—a dark, lurking presence with an eerie history. While it could have been scarier, it worked perfectly within the YA space, maintaining that creepy factor without overwhelming the story’s other layers.
What really stood out to me was how much this book packed in: LGBTQIA+ romance, identity, facing fears, and so much more. It balanced all of this without losing the core of its story. Overall, The Blonde Dies First was an enjoyable ride. I’d recommend it to anyone looking for a fun, satisfying YA horror novel with a mix of scares, heart, and meaningful themes. It’s well worth picking up and giving a shot.
The story centers on a group of kids growing up on the same block, navigating that awkward but fascinating space between adolescence and adulthood. It’s not just about “coming of age” but stepping into young adulthood, where lifelong friendships are tested and deepened. The twin dynamic between the sisters was a standout for me: one feeling overshadowed by her “genius” sibling and the other quietly struggling with the pressure to live up to everyone’s expectations. It felt real and relatable, and this kind of complexity carried through the entire friend group.
Yes, the book was predictable—you can figure out who the villain is pretty quickly. But instead of being a flaw, it felt intentional. It’s satisfying to have your instincts validated while still being intrigued by the “how” and “why.” The friend group dynamics were so strong, and I especially loved the inclusion of the film-obsessed character with a horror mentor. The conversations with the mentor were hilarious and self-aware, adding a layer of humor to the tension.
One thing I really appreciated was how the kids weren’t written to be overly naïve or reckless. They made plans, thought critically, and when things went off the rails, it was because of genuine reaction or accident rather than lazy writing chalked up to “kids being kids.” That’s rare in YA horror, and it made the story so much stronger.
The villain? Just right! They were petty, vindictive, and so fun to hate. Everyone has that one “hater” in their neighborhood growing up, and it was deeply satisfying to see that person taken down. The author balanced this really well, too—capturing that fine line between trying to give someone the benefit of the doubt and recognizing when they’re a danger to you.
The supernatural elements were simple but effective. The demon figure haunting them was creepy and easy to visualize—a dark, lurking presence with an eerie history. While it could have been scarier, it worked perfectly within the YA space, maintaining that creepy factor without overwhelming the story’s other layers.
What really stood out to me was how much this book packed in: LGBTQIA+ romance, identity, facing fears, and so much more. It balanced all of this without losing the core of its story. Overall, The Blonde Dies First was an enjoyable ride. I’d recommend it to anyone looking for a fun, satisfying YA horror novel with a mix of scares, heart, and meaningful themes. It’s well worth picking up and giving a shot.
Any Person Is the Only Self: Essays by Elisa Gabbert
3.0
Elisa Gabbert's "Any Person is the Only Self" is both what I expected and not what I expected at the same time, but ultimately, it is not for me. The book feels reminiscent of sitting on an online forum, reading various perspectives and feedback, filled with quotes and inserts. While some may find this approach engaging, I felt like I was reading a collection of thoughts that had already been articulated by other authors, compiled by Gabbert.
Before reaching the halfway point, I found myself bored and questioning if this is what every essay would be like. However, I must acknowledge that some essays do spark interesting discussions and introduce potentially new information from classics, as well as obscure authors or films that many may not be familiar with. Despite this, I ultimately desired to see and hear more of Gabbert's own voice.
There's no doubt that this book will receive a variety of reviews. It is definitely meant for a specific audience. It appeals not just to those who love to read and enjoy literature, but more so to those who revel in continuously discussing it. As someone who enjoys reading and has a passion for classics, I value conversations about literature—what we learn from it and how it shapes our discourse. However, I did not enjoy the heavily quoted conversation style presented in this book.
There is no denying that these essays are interesting and explore topics related to writing, journaling, reading, and literature. Gabbert's passion for these subjects is evident, and other readers will undoubtedly connect with her love for literature. Nevertheless, I wanted to see more of her personal connection, which unfortunately was often overshadowed by the numerous references.
I would still recommend "Any Person is the Only Self" to some friends who I believe would appreciate it. These are friends who are less focused on hearing the author's voice and more interested in the diverse voices she brings to the forefront.
Before reaching the halfway point, I found myself bored and questioning if this is what every essay would be like. However, I must acknowledge that some essays do spark interesting discussions and introduce potentially new information from classics, as well as obscure authors or films that many may not be familiar with. Despite this, I ultimately desired to see and hear more of Gabbert's own voice.
There's no doubt that this book will receive a variety of reviews. It is definitely meant for a specific audience. It appeals not just to those who love to read and enjoy literature, but more so to those who revel in continuously discussing it. As someone who enjoys reading and has a passion for classics, I value conversations about literature—what we learn from it and how it shapes our discourse. However, I did not enjoy the heavily quoted conversation style presented in this book.
There is no denying that these essays are interesting and explore topics related to writing, journaling, reading, and literature. Gabbert's passion for these subjects is evident, and other readers will undoubtedly connect with her love for literature. Nevertheless, I wanted to see more of her personal connection, which unfortunately was often overshadowed by the numerous references.
I would still recommend "Any Person is the Only Self" to some friends who I believe would appreciate it. These are friends who are less focused on hearing the author's voice and more interested in the diverse voices she brings to the forefront.
Where They Last Saw Her by Marcie R. Rendon
4.0
3.5 Rounded Up. Where They Last Saw Her is a book where the message undeniably outweighs the delivery. While I felt the story itself was just okay, the subject matter is vital and deserves every ounce of attention it can get.
The book focuses on a community rising up to address the disappearances of Indigenous women and children as the system continues to fail them. This is such an important topic, and I truly appreciate that the author chose to tell this story in a fictional format. For many readers who might shy away from heavy nonfiction on these issues, a thriller or mystery like this could serve as a powerful entry point. Stories like this amplify awareness about the dangers faced by Indigenous women and the systemic negligence that exacerbates these tragedies.
That said, the execution fell short for me. The central character is introduced well—we get a sense of her place in the community, her relationship with her family, and her determination to fight back against these crimes. But the narrative never fully explores the ripple effects these disappearances have on the wider community. The fear, the heartbreak, the daily struggles of living with this danger—it felt like the author only skimmed the surface. I kept wanting more depth, more layers, and more emotional resonance.
There were moments of suspense that pulled me in completely—I could feel the tension and the fear of what might happen next. But at the same time, the plot felt a bit predictable, and I could often see where the story was going. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I think with a topic this heavy, there was room to push the narrative further and make it even more impactful.
Ultimately, I’d recommend this book for the message alone. It’s an essential conversation, and I’m glad it exists. However, I gave it three stars because I had higher hopes for how the story itself would unfold. With more character development and a deeper exploration of the community’s experiences, this could’ve been a standout read for me.
The book focuses on a community rising up to address the disappearances of Indigenous women and children as the system continues to fail them. This is such an important topic, and I truly appreciate that the author chose to tell this story in a fictional format. For many readers who might shy away from heavy nonfiction on these issues, a thriller or mystery like this could serve as a powerful entry point. Stories like this amplify awareness about the dangers faced by Indigenous women and the systemic negligence that exacerbates these tragedies.
That said, the execution fell short for me. The central character is introduced well—we get a sense of her place in the community, her relationship with her family, and her determination to fight back against these crimes. But the narrative never fully explores the ripple effects these disappearances have on the wider community. The fear, the heartbreak, the daily struggles of living with this danger—it felt like the author only skimmed the surface. I kept wanting more depth, more layers, and more emotional resonance.
There were moments of suspense that pulled me in completely—I could feel the tension and the fear of what might happen next. But at the same time, the plot felt a bit predictable, and I could often see where the story was going. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but I think with a topic this heavy, there was room to push the narrative further and make it even more impactful.
Ultimately, I’d recommend this book for the message alone. It’s an essential conversation, and I’m glad it exists. However, I gave it three stars because I had higher hopes for how the story itself would unfold. With more character development and a deeper exploration of the community’s experiences, this could’ve been a standout read for me.
First in the Family: A Story of Survival, Recovery, and the American Dream by Jessica Hoppe
4.0
First In The Family is a memoir that truly held my attention with its deeply personal and resonant moments. Reading it felt like sitting down with a friend who’s catching you up on everything, offering both updates and backstory, and leaving you captivated by every detail. Having the audiobook narrated by the author added to that feeling; there are moments when you can hear the pain and ache in her voice, something only she could capture.
This memoir dives into family ties, addiction, grief, sacrifice, racism, and so much more. Hoppe’s ability to revisit these raw moments, not just those that affected her but also her family, shows a level of vulnerability I deeply appreciate. Some memoirs walk a fine line between sharing too much and too little, but Hoppe finds a balance that kept me engaged. We see different versions of Hoppe, each layered in a way that holds your interest.
I could understand if some readers found the narrative structure a bit out of order, but for me, it worked well. It felt more like a conversation, which made it easier to connect with Hoppe on both the bright and dark experiences of her life. I especially enjoyed the specifics of her experiences growing up as a Central American woman and dealing with a condition rarely acknowledged or discussed. She highlights the cultural disbelief that often surrounds mental health struggles in communities of color, sharing her story with an honesty and transparency that draws you in.
After finishing it, I felt even more grateful to have a signed copy of this memoir. Huge thanks to Flatiron Books & Jessica for this giveaway copy.
This memoir dives into family ties, addiction, grief, sacrifice, racism, and so much more. Hoppe’s ability to revisit these raw moments, not just those that affected her but also her family, shows a level of vulnerability I deeply appreciate. Some memoirs walk a fine line between sharing too much and too little, but Hoppe finds a balance that kept me engaged. We see different versions of Hoppe, each layered in a way that holds your interest.
I could understand if some readers found the narrative structure a bit out of order, but for me, it worked well. It felt more like a conversation, which made it easier to connect with Hoppe on both the bright and dark experiences of her life. I especially enjoyed the specifics of her experiences growing up as a Central American woman and dealing with a condition rarely acknowledged or discussed. She highlights the cultural disbelief that often surrounds mental health struggles in communities of color, sharing her story with an honesty and transparency that draws you in.
After finishing it, I felt even more grateful to have a signed copy of this memoir. Huge thanks to Flatiron Books & Jessica for this giveaway copy.