Carrie Fisher: General Badass

carr2Real talk: I was never a huge Star Wars fan. I know, right? I was just a little too young for it to mean anything to me as a kid, I never had anyone introduce me into the magical Lucas world when I was younger, and when I did start caring about movies, all I got were the prequels (one of which I saw without my contacts due to a colossal screw-up at my eye doctor’s, but even I could see how horrible it was, blurry vision and all). I know this is some kind of grievous nerd sin, but that’s just how it is. Now that the new ones have come out, I’ve changed my tune, but that’s neither here nor there. The point is that Carrie Fisher was never my princess. She was, though, a queen.

My first impression of Carrie came while watching Stephen Fry’s Secret Life of the Manic Depressive (which you can watch it here which I highly recommend) as she described to Stephen the moments she would spin and spiral off, losing all grip on reality and sense. I barely knew who she was, and she was mad as a hatter, but there was something about her that stuck with me. Maybe it was her humor, maybe it was her honesty at this really dark, grotesque part of her. Whatever it was, it was simply, purely her. It was love at first sight, really, this magnificent creature who embraced all of who she was, her mistakes, her illness, her bad luck, and she laughed. As she is often quoted: “If my life wasn’t funny it would just be true, and that is unacceptable.”

The thing about having the job I do is that I’ve seen so many people on the edge of death. I’ve somehow been given the privilege and misfortune of witnessing grief and suffering and all the stages of seeing a loved one transition from who they once were to nothing. Someone seeing their mother or father, someone whose existence they’ve always taken for granted, whom they may have seen as indestructible, someone they have loved and looked up to even into adulthood, at their weakest, at their most vulnerable. I know what Carrie’s hospital room may have looked at the last few days before the end, and there’s just something about seeing your hero like that.


I don’t like publicly talking about celebrity deaths much. I don’t really feel like it’s my place, and I try not to fault others who do. To be honest, I didn’t even realize how much Carrie Fisher meant to me over the years, despite having read almost all her books, watching countless interviews, defending her when someone I knew criticized her, but after yesterday’s announcement, I’m starting to really appreciate the influence she’d had. She was a force (groan) all on her own, never afraid to show the part of her that wasn’t perfect or afraid to embrace it, never afraid to see the absurdity in life, in sickness, in celebrity which she was more familiar with than most. There are people remembering her as that not-so-damsel-in-distress. There are men talking about how she was the star of their first masturbatory fantasies (which frankly was gross to hear about before she was alive—I’m looking at you, those who’d say this to her face—let alone now). More than anything, though, than the woman she was at the height of the original Star Wars trilogy’s fame, she’s the woman that taught us all what real strength, courage, and spirit was. It wasn’t always with a gun or resentment or blatant disagreement, but with intelligence, wit, and humor, with being who you are and learning how to stop apologizing for it.

Carrie Fisher, 60, died bathed in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.

So You Think You Can Sew

This isn’t how I meant to return to this blog. I was going to start it with something clever and fun! Instead, we’re starting here, at the beginning of what is hopefully a new hobby that will stick.


Isn’t she lovely? (Ignore that it’s “Brother”-branded. It’s a she. Even if I name it George. I don’t think I’ll name it George, but I might.) With the help from one of my lovely buddies Rebecca and armed with the most excellent Love at First Stitch, which has some truly lovely patterns for the clueless beginner like me who fancies herself with a hint of vintage fashion and some very nice, clear instructions with minimal instructions. (Check out the blog! It’s fantastic, and I’m obsessed.)

Now, I’m the sort who gets impatient and loves to jump into things, expecting to be a secret prodigy, ignoring basics and baby steps, and getting frustrated when I’m not perfect right off the bat. This is one really useful skill that I never bothered to learn when I was younger no matter how many times my mother tried to teach me, so I’ll do it the right way. It’s also one of those lovely hobbies that you can walk away with a physical result to help motivate me along the way to keep getting better. Plus, how could you not find this satisfying?ffzdbkwirhurag4

Today, I’ve achieved greatness and immortality in the form of a fun little headscarf (the Bridgette) which I haven’t taken a picture of because it’s all the way in another room, and I’m comfortable where I am, and in these slightly imperfect and over-sized but totally fun pajama bottoms


Yes, I found medical-related print because I’m a huge nerd and apparently can’t miss a chance to mention that I work in health care. (Also, whoever belongs to this EKG is pretty much dead or getting there, right? That is not normal sinus rhythm.) It needs some resizing and reinforcing, but the material is fantastic and the pattern simple and fun, so they’ll always have a special place in my heart.

You never forget your first, I guess, do you?

In Real Life by Cory Doctorow and Jen Wang

616Ubdqmn3L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_It’s hard to say anything about In Real Life that wasn’t already wonderfully articulated in this review, but gosh darn it, I read the damn thing, so I’ll try.

Anda is a girl who feels more comfortable exploring and socializing on the internet than off line. One day, she’s introduced to the world of the MMRPG, Coarsegold Online. Here, she’s tall, incredible, amazing, strong, talented, admired. People look up to her there, and other people pay her money to knock off gold farmers in the game, little nameless avatars that spend all their time collecting online gold to illegally sell for real money. The problem starts when she befriends one of these gold farmers, a boy in China who lives in circumstances she never could’ve imagined in her young, privileged life. Now Anda isn’t really sure what’s the right and wrong thing to do.

I’ll try to make this short (for me). First off, the art is absolutely exquisite. It was easy to be distracted from the story for the sake of the graphics, not just because the story is a little on the thin side. The aesthetic is just gorgeous and really appealed to my personal tastes. I really need more of Jen Wang’s work in my eyeballs. Second, a story about a cute internet girl that doesn’t disparage her or portray her as a sad loner who only got into gaming because she has no friends. Not only does she enjoy this thing, she thrives in this world. That’s just rad. Third, the story and message have a really good intention working for it, but… there was just so much more Doctorow could’ve dug into here. The politics behind Raymond, Anda’s gold farming friend, and his situation are far too complicated and widespread for one kid half the world away and completely detached from it to be able to understand, let alone solve. I know he didn’t mean for it to come across as so easy, but it does end up being a little (okay, more like a fuckton) White Saviory. That completely took me out of it.

This might’ve been more interesting as a serial story, diving into Anda’s world at school with the different factions of school cliques with the gamers and the popular achiever kids and everyone else in between, and then explore her many online adventures, giving us a great, varied array of female characters prowling through the game and generally Owning This Shit, and Anda and we readers could get to know Raymond and his world as a gamer, a student, and a kid surviving however he could in a world that seems like a game carefully coded for him to lose.

All in all, a great premise and a promising start with some gorgeous graphics that captured me in a way few do, and In Real Life really left me wanting more. Unfortunately, it’s in the bad way.

Reviewed for Canonball Read.

When Reason Breaks by Cindy L. Rodriguez

I was lucky enough to win a copy from The Debutante Ball, and when I received it in the mail, it was clear that Rodriguez was the one to take it to the post office herself (but not before signing it to me). That’s, like, a lot of pressure to like a book. I’m a woman of limited attention span. What captures my attention and can hold it is arbitrary and without reason. So it was pretty disappointing when I first started Cindy L. Rodriguez’s When Reason Breaks. The story starts off with an unsigned suicide note, but it was still hard for me to get into. Then I got past the 45th page, and something clicked.

Emily Delgado has friends, a successful father in politics, and teachers love her. Her boyfriend was her childhood crush, and nothing seems wrong with her life. Elizabeth Davis has an attitude and a problem with authority. Everything about her from the outside screams GOTH. Someone tells her she looks like the girl in NCIS. She writes poetry and doesn’t talk to anyone but her two best friends. Their lives are so disparate from each other and only come close to overlapping in class because their names always put them next to each other alphabetically. They only have one thing in common, and that’s English class where Ms. Diaz introduces to them the works of Emily Dickinson. One of these two girls is going to commit suicide by the end of this book. (And yes, it’s probably the one you’re thinking.) (Or is it?)

So, it seems that suicidal teenagers is a thing in YA this year? I’m not complaining—okay, I am a little. Feelings are hard. Depression is a difficult topic to broach. Reminders of my humanity are not often welcome. But here we are, having emotions. What Cindy Rodriguez did here was really pretty wonderful. There was no big AHA moment that suckered me in a few chapters in. I merely was allowed to slide into the story. These two girls have more in common than they’d admit, and the reader gets to know them throughout the book. I really enjoyed seeing them through each others’ eyes and then their own. In the Author’s Note, Rodriguez explains that the two girls represented the two sides of Emily Dickinson: the smart girl with the normal social life who pulls back from those she loves, and the angry reclusive poet.

Depression comes in many forms. Sometimes it’s the picture of sadness that just can’t be shaken. Sometimes it’s numb and deafeningly blank. Sometimes, it’s agitated, resentful and angry, quick to snap. Sometimes it creeps up on you, devious and quiet, destroying everything before you even know it’s there. I really loved the diversity in how Rodriguez brought this to life. I also loved the fact that one of the main characters isn’t white. There, I said it! I said it! But it’s true. You don’t get that viewpoint often, which is stupid, because depression doesn’t care where your ancestry hails from or if other people in your life are suffering too or if your dad is running for state legislature. These are all things that Rodriguez manages to address and demonstrate seamlessly into her story, as easily as she weaves in little Easter eggs for the Dickinson geeks out there who might notice all the fun details from ED’s life. (There were many more than I could’ve picked up on, and the Author’s Note helpfully points them out for you.)

It’s pretty clear that I really enjoyed this book. My only qualms with the writing didn’t matter after a while (the aforementioned slow start) or were small and petty, such as the number of times Emily “circled a piece of hair around her ear” (I counted five times, and it might’ve been intentional anyway). Rodriguez makes a pretty solid first impression with her debut novel here, and I hope to read more for her.

Reviewed for Canonball Read.

The Martian by Andy Weir

imagesI have to admit I don’t always get into hard sci fi. Not everyone has a talent for bringing facts in without it feeling like a laborious lecture, bogging down any story or character. The Martian, though, is a beautiful, fantastic, thrilling adventure story, despite its seemingly slow, quiet pace of a solitary man just trying to get back home. Backed up with humor and character, the ingenuity and determination to survive and to save made this a lively, wonderful read. The film that followed is one thing. That was enjoyable enough, but the book brings so much more than could be contained in a two-hour film. The insight of a man who uses everything in his mental and physical reach to make it is thrilling. The diverse cast of likable, funny, sometimes pig-headed, sometimes opportunistic background characters also add to it, but there is really just one star of this story, and I’m happy to know him.

Becoming Nursey by Kati Kleber

23575245This is not a book for everyone to read and enjoy. I mean, you can still pick it up and peruse even if you aren’t, were, or are going to become a nurse because you’re a grown-ass adult who can make his or her own decisions and who the fuck am I to tell you what to do? You might not really get as much out of it as someone who does have some investment in the nursing field, though. This book goes from time management to advice when interviewing for your first nursing job to calling the attending physician (which you never have to do when you’re a student) to maintaining a work-life balance to funny and all-too-relatable stories about severely obese patients farting on you and the really hard shit like a first code.

Becoming Nursey is the kind of book I wish someone would’ve given me any time from my second year in nursing school through to interviewing for my first clinical position. Nursing school doesn’t really train you how to be a nurse; it teaches you how to be safe to train to become a nurse. It’s a very exhausting, draining, exciting, tear-infused time, and you’re so focused on learning the basics and learning the book facts and stressing out about boards that you don’t always get the experience or the knowledge on how to actually be a person who is a nurse on an actual floor with actual patients. This book is meant to fill in the gaps in between and find the thread throughout all the chunks of information learned, and it does so in a more casual, often humorous tone that makes you feel like, hey, this shit is manageable, and I can do it!

Now, I’m in the OR, which is pretty specialized in nursing (we spent approximately 1 day in surgery out of my 24 months of schooling), and most of what is discussed in the book doesn’t really apply to me. Talking about checking lines and assessing patients regularly and morning reports mostly reminded me why I was so happy not to work in a unit because that shit is taxing and can be overwhelming. I spend most of my time interacting with surgeons, and my patients are sedated and almost completely covered in a drape. Anesthesia covers the medications and drips, and if they do their job right, the patient won’t even remember coming into the surgical suite after they wake, let alone meeting me. Still, I’m really glad I read this book. It was relatable and a nice reminder of all the stuff I worked so hard to becoming vaguely competent-ish at a just a few years ago. Kleber is clearly religious, but the book didn’t have a discernible lean in that direction, which I appreciated. She mostly struck me as the kind of preceptor or clinical instructor you’d want to have when you’re learning or new, someone who has enough experience to know what she’s doing but still close enough to being new she remembers what it’s like being green and scared and feeling constantly underprepared. Kati herself also seems like the nurse you’d want taking care of your mom—conscientious of the patient as a person as well as her rehabilitation and also very personable yet professional.

The book came from her blog, Nurse Eye Roll, which I think I’ll be checking out more often now. It’s a nice piece to have bound up to take wherever to read a relevant chapter whenever inspiration or clarity is needed. I’d definitely recommend it for anyone looking for a gift for a nursing student or someone just starting in the field.

Reviewed for Cannonball Read.

My Best Everything by Sarah Tomp

Tomp_MyBestEverything_HCFYI: I received an ARC from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. This book will be available March 3, 2015.

A Catholic good girl with a Spanish-y last name and a crazy mom while trying to escape Appalachia through college so she can help people but without actually talking to them? Well, that’s not a story I’ve heard often, you know, except in my own life. Lulu Mendez is too smart for middle-of-nowhere Dale, VA, and she has done her best to avoid any of the small-town traps that would keep her complacent in her tiny little town, including snubbing off the local hick boys with no interest in exploring the bigger, wider world out there. That is until her father breaks the news that they can’t afford to send her to college. That’s when Lulu gets the bright idea to brew and sell moonshine, nectar of the hillbilly gods, to pay for her education, and she’s going to get the help of her best friends and relative stranger Mason Malone, whose family is known to be pretty successful Shiners themselves on the not-so-DL. (That’s where Lulu’s story makes a severe departure from mine, one can safely assume.) Mason is everything she has tried to stay away from. His family is involved with illegal business, he dropped out of college, and he has a really bad haircut. There’s nothing close resembling a future with a boy like that, but when did love ever listen to logic?

As a general rule, I’m not a huge fan of second-person. The whole thing is told as if a letter to Mason, which is a little uncomfortable for me to slip into, but it does an interesting job of foreshadowing the end. Is she reminiscing with him or talking to a grave? Are they together in Dale or San Diego or god knows where else? It was a clever way to plant uncertainty in whether or not I knew where everything was heading. As far as the story goes, it’s not the most earth-shattering or surprising. Despite the slightly contrived circumstances that bring our protagonist and her love together in the first place, it’s a pretty simple, sweet without being too syrupy love story with minimal eye-rolling and, interestingly enough, some background character development for her background BFF, too. Most of what I loved was in the character of Lulu herself. Lulu is so hellbent on turning her back on the town of Dale to the point where it’s nearly off-putting but also learns to appreciate that it is a part of who she is. She’s a good girl without being too good.

For once, I don’t have gads and gads of words for my review. There isn’t much I have to say about this book other than the fact that I enjoyed reading it. The writing was solid, the main character wasn’t annoying, the love interest was a decent interesting person in his own right (but honestly, I kept picturing him as a cross between Eminem and every Ford-driving, football-loving hillbilly I grew up with), and it was a nice piece of something to disappear into for a few minutes of the day. On thing I really loved, which was a small, throwaway detail really, was that it turns out, is actually a reference to Roni, her best friend, and not to Lulu or her man. If you have some time and like a sweet YA romance, this one is definitely up your alley.

Reviewed for Cannonball Read.

My Heart and Other Black Holes by Jasmine Warga

18336965You know, I had a very lovely Tuesday planned that involved reading, possibly finishing, one of the four wonderful books I’m currently reading. And then the mail came with two books I pre-ordered, and those plans were shot to fuck. It seems that Jasmine Warga and her debut novel My Heart and Other Black Holes had vastly different ideas about how my day off would be spent. I can’t remember the last time I inhaled a book, cover to cover, within the span of an afternoon, but I honestly didn’t have the ability to do anything but finish this book with the inadvertently apropos soundtrack of classical piano music to keep me company. And now I’m crying, so, that’s where I am now as I try to consider this rather simple but rather beautiful book. (This review might be a jumbled mess #sorrynotsorry.)

Aysel Seran wants to die. This isn’t hyperbole. Everyone in her small town knows knows who she is and what her father did, and everyone looks at her as if she is nothing but than: her father’s daughter. Her mother ignores her or fears her, her sister is from another species from her, and her little brother—well, actually, he’s all right, but he’s better off without her really. She wants to die and can’t not plan how she’s going to go, but she fears fucking it up at the last minute and ending up an invalid of some kind, half-living, half-dead and generally not much better than the crushing numbness she’s living in now. Then she meets FrozenRobot on a message board called Suicide Partners, what is basically the worst dating site ever to exist. FrozenRobot is not some creeper in his 40s named Bubba but really a boy named Roman, just barely older than she, who can’t escape his own family tragedy. Together, they are going to kill themselves. Except things really don’t go according to plan, and as April 7th nears, things get confusing. Aysel starts to find more reasons to live, and one of them  is Roman.

By the first 100 pages, I couldn’t help but think of one of the books I was casually ignoring for this one, My Best Everything (review to come, yo) a sweet YA romance story about unlikely smart girls who fall for the unexpected boy over the course of the story with a potentially tragic ending. By the next 100 pages, I couldn’t help but find more in common with My Heart and YA darling The Fault in Our Stars. Here, we have two main characters falling in love as they face their own inevitable deaths, two smart, darkly funny girls prematurely philosophizing about oblivion, the sarcasm and bad jokes, the boys they never expected to meet, let alone fall for. Even their names are similar, but let me tell you this: Aysel (it rhymes with “gazelle”) is no Hazel Grace. Where Hazel dreads her own end and the effect it will have on her parents, Aysel feels the vast distance between her and her mother and hates how much she empathizes with her father. Hazel is weary of the constant pity she gets from those around her, but Aysel is a social leper. Even the grownups look at her with suspicion, possibly even fear, that she may snap one day, just like her dad. Hazel does not want to meet her end just yet, but Aysel welcomes it, encourages it, finds solace in the idea of it.

Warga demonstrates Aysel’s hopelessness with irreverent honesty. I’ve never been suicidal, but I’ve know the kind of depression that she describes well. I’m familiar with the black slug that eats up all good emotions and even some of the bad. She nailed that weird contradiction of needing people and pushing them away because of the inability to connect with them or sometimes even see them. And Roman, who is, yes, tall and attractive and popular and athletic, is no male manic pixie white knight either. He grieves the imagined future with his sister that can never be, and he blames himself. His guilt weighs heavy on him, and he is not looking to save or be saved. He just doesn’t want to be alone when he takes the plunge.

I know these guys. I grew to love these two characters. I love how I fell in love with the two of them the way they fell in love with each other, in a way I don’t see too often in YA, with gradual subtlety. It wasn’t a sudden jump into eye-hearts and chest palpitations at the merest brush of the fingers but a connection that grew somewhere along the lines from nothing. Love wasn’t the primary focus, and in this book, it isn’t really the cure either. Yes, it’s a huge component of the story, but more than anything, I really dig how Warga handled the topic of depression, as something serious and dark but not precious or delicate, and that it’s not something that can turn on a romance-dime. It was a spark of human connection that first cracked the dam. Anyone who’s ever felt this desperate knows that recovery doesn’t happen with a kiss and a dreamy sigh, that throwing a hot dude at a problem isn’t going to fix it (if only, you feel me?). I really respect this book for not taking the easy way out because salvation doesn’t happen in a moment or in a day when it comes to depression. It can take a lot of time and a lot of work and the hope of a maybe.

I want to take this book and hold it to my chest until it hugs me back. For such dark and heavy subjects, there is also charm, humor and somewhere in there, hope. My Heart and Other Black Holes is the first novel by Jasmine Warga, and for serious, we are all very lucky she quit her day job (a science teacher, which becomes evident when Aysel starts philosophizing in terms of Einstein’s theories of relativity). Her writing is beautiful, authentic, clear. This book is a bittersweet thing, the kind that you can’t help but speed through but simultaneously regret as you near the end.

Reviewed for Cannonball Read 7.

Thomas Sniegosky: Fallen & Leviathan, Books 1 & 2 of the Fallen series

the fallen and leviathanIt’s… fine? Yes, they’re fine. The books are fine. They were readable. I was able to get through both the first two novels in the series (published together in one binding for some reason) without wanting to stab the nearest person or my own eyes. Sometimes that’s the most you can ask for in a book, right?

Aaron Corbett is turning 18 years old and can understand everything. Not in that sense that teenagers think they understand the whole world because no one is smarter than they. No, Aaron literally understands everything, from the hot girl in school speaking Portuguese to his psychiatrist reading random Latin from a book to his slobbery rescue dog. His foster parents (oh, did I mention that he was an orphan who never knew his parents?) have a nonverbal autistic son who starts to communicate with him little by little one day. Then there’s this smelly old hobo dude who just won’t leave him alone. That’s when Aaron learns of his true nature: Nephilim, half-human and half-angel. It sounds pretty cool, but not everyone agrees. There is, for example, a really angry angel with a flaming sword who is very intent on ridding the world of every half-breed abomination he can find before the ~chosen one~ destined to reunite the fallen with their heavenly home can do so.

Then some stuff happens.

When the series was released a few years ago, the four books of the series were paired up into two Omnibus novels, so The Fallen 1 is actually two books, which is what I’m count it as because screw you, self-imposed CBR goal! In the first, Aaron struggles to accept his role in this old-as-shit prophesy and his angelic-bastard nature. Spoilers: He does, and there’s a second book that follows. The basic premise of book 2 is “one and a half angels and a dog go on a road trip.” Junky hijinks ensue.

Part of me wants to pick up the second half of this series, because I genuinely am interested in what happens, but that would require slogging through another 500 words of adequate prose for a story I can probably predict. Sniegosky’s writing is just… fine. There are times when it’s too expository, and he’s occasionally guilty of doing that thing of using the ~fancier word or phrase when a simple, straightforward one would do and it being so blatant. I even noticed an editing error two-thirds of the way. He keeps referring to his Aaron’s high school crush as “the pretty Brazilian girl” when he gets tired of using her name, and it made me uncomfortable every single time. Aaron Corbett himself is kind of flat and boring as a character, and his dog sidekick shows more personality than he does at times. Book 1 was understandably more of an origins story than anything, but it’s amazing how little actually happens in the span of those 300 pages. Book 2 was little improvement. Aaron kept noticing things and wondering, gee, I wonder if this is all related to my friend disappearing and the weird mutant animal hybrids, and EVERYTHING ELSE HAPPENING. (Aaron isn’t that smart a boy.) It reminded me of the TV movie and series adapted from the books in the days of Fox Family past. Each installment actually felt like it could fill an hour-long episode of TV and little more. Damn, that’s, like, hella slow.

I heartily wish this book was better—better-written, better-paced—because I love this kind of stuff. I have a thing for religiousy apocalypse stories and angels and Judeo-Christian mythology and free will and the good and evil of humanity. It’s not that often I come across something that speaks to this interest and is actually good, but hey, if you want to read it, go ahead. You’re a grown-ass adult (unless you’re not, in which case, sorry for all the swearing on my blog). Do what you want. It was an easy enough read to consume in little time. If you liked Maze Runner, this one might be right up your alley.

If you want something better than just okay with a reasonably interesting premise, though, I have a few alternate suggestions. As far as Chosen One stories go, the Harry Potter series is an obvious one. The Percy Jackson and the Olympians series is another one of my favorites, better written and just downright fun (but above all costs avoid the horribly narrated audiobook version). Crap Kingdom cheekily turns the trope on its head. And if you want a break from reading words on a page, just check out the first five seasons of “Supernatural.” I’m not kidding. Religious beings, prophecies and Chosen Ones, myths and monsters, and wise-cracking pretty boys who are both afraid of their feelings and talk more about them than anyone I know.

How to Build a Girl by Caitlin Moran

This review was written as a part of Cannonball Read 7. Click here to learn more about this most awesome thing. 

how-to-build-a-girl-caitlin-moranI, like many other 20-somethings with ADHD, a nostalgia for the teen years we didn’t have, and a full-time workload (school or work or both) that leaves us too exhausted for 500-page tomes surreptitiously about Life and Important Thoughts—love the shit out of YA novels. Caitlin Moran’s How to Build a Girl is YA  written for adults. It’s a YA book that dropped out of high school its junior year to pick up a smoking habit and eyeliner addiction while interning for Rolling Stone. This book is Go Ask Alice by way of Eddie Izzard and Stephen Fry with a happier ending and a much, much better soundtrack. And it is so funny. Dear fucking god is it funny. I don’t always agree with Moran’s beliefs on sex, living, and feminism, but I’ve always had a soft spot for her and her writing, feeling equal measurements of awe with her witty, absurd turns of phrase and dire depression at never being able to put words together in as pleasing a fashion as her. I devoured the first 50 pages sitting on ModernLove‘s couch and pretending not to notice her looking over at me every time I giggle-tripped my way through another paragraph. Imagine Almost Famous but in the early 90s, dirtier, raunchier, with a lot more cursing and horny virgin teenage girls.

For those of you in any way familiar with Caitlin Moran’s other writing, the story of a fat teenage girl named Johanna Morrigan living in public housing and who leaves school to become a music writer sounds familiar, but Moran states explicitly that this is not an autobiography. These aren’t her parents, those aren’t her siblings, and that’s not her life. Fair enough, but it’s hard not to see Moran in Morrigan. While trying to save her family from financial ruin through a poetry competition, Johanna embarasses her and them on local TV and decides that the person she was must die. In her place is Dolly Wilde, a smoking, drinking, snorting, shagging, foul-mouth, sharp-tongued music journalist.

You see, the life Johanna is trying to escape sucks. It really, really sucks. We come to know her, know her in a way we don’t even know our best friends. We know her from the inside out through her ridiculous fears to her very, very real ones. Her family is poor and hungry and desperate. Her father, who, after a bad accident at work, is about one-third made of metal, desperately clings to a hopeless dream of becoming a pop star and escaping from working-class Wolverhampton and poverty, and her mother is downtrodden, mostly absent, and a prisoner of post-partum depression after the birth of the unnamed Unexpected Twins. When she decides to destroy herself and become Dolly, Johanna writes herself as a Mary Sue in her own real life except Mary Sues can’t exist in real life and either become real people with real messed-up flaws or explode. The person she becomes is someone who doesn’t give a fuck what others think of her, but Johanna herself does give a fuck. She gives a lot of fucks. She gives so many fucks about being liked and fitting in that she forgets about things like what she wants and who she is. It is the path that many a teenager needs to take before striking out on their own, and I love that.

For all my love, though, it’s not a perfect book. It can meander sometimes, and a majority of the characters aren’t the most complex creations ever committed to the written word. The narrator’s voice jumps back and forth to the teenager who sometimes bordered on foolishly childish and the future, knowing adult Johanna who can’t help but comment on what silly teenage Johanna is experiencing or thinking, which threw me from time to time. Like much of Moran’s writing, it is (not totally unlike this review) very self-aware and tries to guard itself against criticism (“If you can’t save yourself from attack by being powerful—and I, palpably, have no power; my hands are empty—then perhaps you can save yourself from attack by being ruined, instead. Blow yourself up before the enemy gets to you.”). The sense of humor won’t appeal to some . It’s the kind of sarcastic, articulate, hyperbolic, absurd, rambly humor that you’ll find in a lot of British comedy and of which Moran wields like a superpower. The words jump off the page, grab you by the throat, spin you around seven times, shove you up against a wall, then tickle your brain until you wet yourself from laughter. It’s the same sense of humor that I both envy and find completely exhausting (I never finished Russell Brand’s My Booky Wook for this very reason.)

That said, I love this book. I want to be best friends with this book. It’s the kind of book I wish I could write myself. I nearly gave it just 4 stars, but just look at how much I’ve written about it. This book made me laugh and smile and excited to pick up another book, regardless of whom it’s written by. I’d happy loan this out to anyone who was unsure about it and offer endless quotes from it. If that’s not what I’m saving a five-star rating for, then what?

If you like this, you might also enjoy Angus, Thongs and Full-Front Snogging by Louise Rennison, Tina Fey’s Bossypants, Stephen Fry’s Moab Is My Washpot and, of course, Caitlin Moran’s other books like How to Be a Woman. (I haven’t read Lena Dunham’s book yet, but I suspect if and when I do, I’d add it to the list.)