Warning: this post contains spoilers for the Grisha trilogy, including the ending of Ruin and Rising. Read at your own peril.

I wanted Alina to be queen. 

I suppose I planned to write a review after I finished the last of Leigh Bardugo's trilogy. I was so excited to read Ruin and Rising because there is a certain addictive quality to Bardugo's work. Something in the magic and the themes of her writing are so appealing to me. But I was disappointed.  I can't write a review either, because my disappointment is in the story, and to explain it, I have to spoil what happens. 

I wanted Alina to be queen, and she didn't. Instead, she is set to live out the rest of her life peacefully with Mal, without magic. Even if we disregard my historic disparagement of Mal, I'm more sad for Alina and I'm mourning the story I wanted her to have. I understand this is ridiculous and it's hard for me to review a book like Ruin and Rising because my sadness centres around the plot, and not because the plot is all that weak (I would say it was) but because it is not what I wanted. 

It feels like an invalid complaint, but I will try to make it slightly more valid in explaining why I loved this trilogy and why I'm disappointed. 

The Grisha trilogy explored corruption and power. Now, I love reading about power. I study it and question it and philosophize over it. It's just one of my interests (and maybe some people that have read Ruin and Rising realize, precisely at this point, why I'm not happy with the ending). 

My interpretation of the Grisha trilogy came from the basis that the story was about power and its effects. The Darkling had unmatched power and it had corrupted him. He was alone, and hungry for more. He sought the companionship of Alina, when she, in a different exploration of power, came to gain immense power suddenly. 

Alina's storyline explored what this sudden influx of power to someone who had previously felt extremely ordinary meant. Alina was scared of her power, scared of being different, but eventually, she started to relish her power. This was something she always repressed. Alina was scared of becoming the Darkling and as she amassed more of the amplifiers and felt a burning desire to complete the cycle and get the third amplifier, through the death of the Firebird. 

This was the most compelling conflict of the Grisha trilogy. Could Alina, the innocent, pure heroine one day become the Darkling? Could she fight the corruption of power? Did she even truly want to? This was accentuated with Bardugo's own descriptions of the Darkling, an infinite being that Alina always saw as a sad, beautiful boy. The Darkling was written sympathetically, and his connection with Alina was dynamic.

Think Harry and Voldemort, except what if Harry has to make his own horcruxes too? 

Alina was on her way there. During the last battle, she took her knife and stabbed Mal, who was revealed to be the last amplifier. She killed her love, and there was a fair bit of tragedy. I wondered what would happen to her; how would this shape her? 

Alina would have made a great queen. She was commanding, and resolute. This seemed to be what the entire series was building up to. Other characters constantly obeyed her because of this seeming inevitability, and Alina was a major player. She wanted to get rid of the fold. She wanted to stop the Darkling. She was reluctant to be queen, but that was probably because of her fear for what power would do to her. She killed Mal, and it seemed like something extremely fascinating would happen next, because Baghra always said that the kind of power Alina was drawing on had a cost. 

Except, in this case, it was a cost Alina would likely have been extremely willing to pay because this cost, the loss of her powers, was a relief. Alina did not have to ever worry about powerlust again because her power was gone. She would never have to make hard decisions because she would never again be in such a position. Alina would be normal, and live a peaceful life without too much responsibility. 

I never learned if Alina could become like the Darkling and she never learned what to do with immense power because the 'sacrifice' was that her power was gone, and she didn't have to deal with any of this conflict. This storyline was effectively killed through a sacrifice that made it so that Alina could get what she wanted-- Mal-- and live happily ever after, except that she missed her power. 

And what of the repercussions of enjoying immense power and having it ripped away? Alina seems to spend her life missing the sun, and being sad she can't summon any more, but that's all it is; a lingering sadness. Alina, without her power, decides to leave politics, and leaves any sort of power she could have ever had with Nikolai, or as a public figure within the court, and goes off to live remotely with Mal, deciding she does not want to actively shape the world and instead trusting it to Nikolai and her Grisha friends. 

There's nothing wrong with any of this, except for the way-too-convenient way that Mal and Alina end up together, because she stabbed him and he should have died, and the explanation seems weak. I'm just a little sad I never saw Alina grow into the person she was becoming; strong, fierce, ruthless. 

There were other problems I had with Ruin and Rising, and I still loved some parts of it. But this broken storyline is what remains in my head. Especially because Alina's story is very common. Alina isn't the first or last heroine to reject power. I'm just incredibly disappointed that this is the resolution. 

Now, I swear, if Celaena does the same thing *curses indescribably* Please Ms. Maas...

-P.E.

I wonder if I'm ageist.

It's quite possible I am, because I have absolutely no interest in books featuring characters too far in age or circumstance unrelated to my own. My friends at university will talk about a brilliant story about a lady that does blah blah blah and all I can think is that I really don't care.

Maybe I'm some kind of hybrid live-in-the-moment type, because for as far as I can remember, I read books about people in my age range. I always read a little higher, because the arrogant 'mature' asshole that I am, but not too far. So far, it has worked for me. I read about middle school while in elementary school, high school while in middle school, and yet this chain broke when it came to college because I struggled to find any book about the college experience that contained the same enchantment of YA.

This could explain my recent obsession with fantasy. In fantasy worlds, people are my age, and yet they do not live in my system. I don't need to read about high school, a period of my life that I actually enjoyed, but that I'm over. I don't know how to find books about college that are about magic and fun and saving the world, not about sex and romance.

I suppose the latter are important parts of this age, but I would like to see that they exist along with a whole new variety of books.

Maybe these books exist, and I don't know about them. I would like that to be true.

College has been an experience that, for the most part, I have lived rather than read about. It is awesome and scary, and yet the personal growth college demands has been so extraordinary and above anything else. It also means that to read about college, beyond some Gossip Girl type stories of debauchery (which I have nothing against, btw), I have to brave the adult section.

Fun fact: I have never braved the adult section. I've walked into the adult section and picked up a book I heard about in the YA world, but I've never actually looked at adult books and felt like I belong.

It's weird, this concept of an adult section. There are picture books, and MG, and YA, and all of these ideally cover less than a decade of life with the stories about these age ranges, or the themes prevalent in them. And then there's the adult section, which covers everyone else.

That is terrifying. It is utterly terrifying. How am I supposed to know where to look for the books I want to read?

This could plausibly call for an emergency phone call to Mari. Credit to acklesdean from Tumblr!

The teen section at my library is about three or four large bookcases. It is one of the better selection of books in the city, and I love it. And the adult section is probably larger than ten times this amount of books, and it is so incredibly daunting for someone simply trying to read more fantasies and urban stuff about people in their late teens or early twenties.

It's probably part of the reconciliation process of growing up to realize that there are people that will inevitably begin to have children and that's an important part of their lives, but as it stands, I can't imagine reading a book about having a child. I know those books exist in YA too, and I have avoided them. I also can't imagine reading about marriage as the major plot, because I'm jaded, and because that, again, feels so far away.

It was at this moment, staring at the shelves upon shelves of books designated for adults that I realized how much I need new adult. And by that, I mean that I need new adult to be about new adults. I want fantasies with new adults (Oh my god, thank you Sarah J. Maas), and I want paranormals. I want us to go to space. I want to read about internships, and oh my god a magical university, can you imagine it?

This is not me leaving YA. I am as addicted as ever to stories of magic and intrigue, and I still read about older teens. Like, I'm 18. I'm not a dinosaur.

I'm just enchanted with the excitement of being 18, and knowing that anything can happen, and getting a real taste of independence, and the fear and excitement all this brings. I think the sense of possibility, of coming into your own when you are 18, of the world expanding and contracting depending on your mood that day, when you realize your decisions have consequences, and you start to realize that you can actually make it, when you stop dreaming about who you will be and start deciding who you are, well, the romantic in me loves this.

I want these stories, and I don't know how to find them. Please help me and recommend books you recommend for eighteen year olds, or about college-aged people.

Merci.

-P.E. 

I know everyone hates it.

The story is almost over, and it's wrapped up, but nope, the author is not a decent human being.

The author is some cruel, scary person that drinks the tears of their readers, and in the last few chapters of their book, they decide not to wrap up the story like every sane individual would say they should. Instead, they choose a far more nefarious path. They decide to include a cliffhanger.

And the reader goes through the book, expecting a slow decrescendo of action, only to get slapped in the face- no, punched in the gut- by the author's cliffhanger.

Authors be like..

Everyone hates cliffhangers. Stories should be self contained. They should end. And, come on, what the hell is up for leaving readers in suspense for a whole year as they wait for the new book to come out? It's one year. Something so sudden can't just be sprung up on a reader.

I see why people don't like cliffhangers, but I've always liked them.

First, I don't understand this book obsession with completing a story. Why do people desire such perfectly self-contained reads? I'm not one to seek out standalones, and this is because I like the longer, complex story that usually has the character going through a larger journey. The more details and plot twists, the better, as long as they're done well.

Thanks Funny or Die!

The second part to cliffhangers is that I review books right after I read them. This evidently means my review is very well measured. In reality, the way I feel about the ending is weighted extremely heavily. So, if the ending is shocking and leaves me craving for more, my review will be gushy and all "Nooooo whyyy is there no morreeee". In fact, wanting more is often viewed as a positive, so if an author can achieve that, I'll often review their stories more favourably.

The last part of it is that I like having some time to imagine what the next story is like. There's a whole year to build up anticipation and wonder what will happen to the characters. What better way to end an essay with a punch line? Well, cliffhangers are the same. They're punches. They're memorable, and show that the author knows where they're going. To me, they say, "Well if you liked this one, you won't believe what happpens in the sequel!" And this excites me. It's what makes me write in my reviews that a story has promise. Because a cliffhanger is a promise that something exciting will be happening.

Cliffhangers often occur in high action or drama stories, and provided I enjoyed the book, I always enjoy the cliffhanger. Rick Riordan is especially famous for this, and his "rickhangers" are horrible, amazing, maddening masterpieces. I love them because they allude to a bigger and better story.

Cliffhangers are not just awesome, they're the shit.

-P.E.

There I am, browsing shelves pouring with all sorts of books. Hardcover, paperback, loved, new, all with their own appeal, all humming with energy. "Pick me, pick me", I seem to hear as I explore the shelf, reading the author and the title of the book silently to myself.

It's my normal process for determining what book to read. I look, and consider, and drink it all in. 

Sometimes, there's a tug. It's like my mind focuses not on the whole, but on that one book that is being highlighted. Call it intuition, call it kismet, whatever you call it, I pick this book that somehow is not begging for me to read it, it is demanding my attention. I don't know how, but I know I am meant to read this book, and I will enjoy it. 

I suppose I could read the synopsis, but often it just reaffirms what I already knew: this is a big that's part of a special company: books that are MINE. They appeal to me. They are what I look for in literature. They will enthrall, and enchant. They will break hearts, and make me believe that I am capable of anything. 

I just know somehow, when holding certain books, that they are something special. And holding the book, then reading it, savouring every word, it's right to me. Sometimes, the world is all wrong, but books, like these, make it completely right. 

I can't know if anyone else feels like this. I am one of the most analytic people you shall meet, but there are some things where it's just about feeling and trusting what you feel. I do have and express my more impulsive, spontaneous desires. I can't recall ever having been lead wrong by this, whatever you want to call it, but I'll call it siren's call. Because when you know, you just know. 

Here's some of the books that called to me. 

I can't make this a fairy tale: it's possible I've felt the call and I could have been disappointed by the book. I can't remember that situation. It's something I'm not going to analyze, I'm just going to be thankful that it's possible to find incredible books when you least expect it. 

Have you felt the siren's call?

-P.E.

I never told anyone when I started my first blog. I had the news inside of me. I was bursting to tell it, but I kept it on the down low for the early stages. Eventually, I told one friend. And a while later, another. But it wasn't something I publicized. I didn't want to be P.E., the blogger.

I was active on forums long before I even learned of blogging. It was there that I learned the art of creating an internet persona, who was me, but the me I wanted to present. I loved it. I am a private person, and the idea of controlling my image so completely was incredibly appealing. And so, as teenagers often do these days, I found a place in the world, or at least the internet, that I wanted to be part of. The wonderful forum, and later the blogging community.

What's cool about the internet is that you can live by two lives. On the forum, I was known as Ashes (which sounds a little depressing, until I explain that the main character in the book series the forum was about was Ash, and every other variation was taken). On my blog, after learning so much in schools and by parents about the dangers of sharing internet information, I kept my initials, P.E.. It's something I still have.

I didn't realize how weird it was until a teacher said, a little shocked, "You have a blog? Why don't I know about this!" (She's a great teacher, BTW). She was friendly and we often had conversations. She said this so loud and the entire class looked over. And I felt so upset, because maybe some people don't understand, but it was like I was in two worlds.

There was the me in real life, who had a decent life and there was online me, and I was always me no matter what I did, but it was different parts of me. If I had a bad day blogging, well, who cares, go hang out with a friend. If I had a bad day in real life, who cares, I was someone on the internet.

One of the questions I hated most of all was being asked for my blog URL. I think I point blank refused a lot of people. This was partly to ensure my separation between online me and real person me, but also because I wanted to be a successful blogger. I wanted to be productive, and have an impact. In some ways I'm a trusting person, but in others, I'm not. I wanted my blog to be successful because of my hard work and talent (if it indeed existed). I wanted to make a name for myself. Every bit of success that I had was something I wanted to have not because of who I was, but what I could do.

So in general, I hid blogging for a long time, and then I transitioned into "not really going to talk about it". Seriously, do you realize how stressed out I was over making a twitter account? I was terrified. Twitter would mean joining real person me and online me. Of course, I didn't really tell too many people about my Twitter either.

I don't know how it happened, or what happened, and maybe it's a part of growing up, but eventually I become more comfortable with sharing online me and real me. And this is what I believe has made my writing stronger: I can write emotionally and have confidence in my place in the world. This confidence came from seeing Tantalizing Illusions do reasonably well. It also came from people I trusted, who told me they thought I could write well, and somehow they made me believe it a little.

I'm a perfectionist. I'm always in competition with myself to be better. I generally have extremely high expectations of myself and my life, and I'm still reconciling them. Even now, when I'm so very open about being a blogger, which I'm sure has a lot to do with Mari telling me my writing doesn't suck, and helping manage TSC to look good, I still am uncomfortable with the idea of the real people I know seeing my blog.

I'm trying not to be. It's just that writing is so personal to me. I wrote so emotionally, and I don't know how much of that I'm comfortable sharing.

I don't know if this is the case for everyone. I had a twitter conversation the other day with someone, and she told me she never saw blogging the way I did, and that's completely possible. Not everyone feels the compulsive need to be good at everything. I guess the way I see it is if I'm going to do something, I need to do it well. I either do it or don't. There's no middle ground.

I'm even uncomfortable sharing this post because it's again, incredibly personal, and I don't know if I want people to see it. But at the same time, this isn't something people talk about a lot.

Often, to get people interested in Twitter, I describe tweets as talking in a room of shouting people. Maybe someone will hear you, maybe no one will. There is that sense of anonymity on the internet that seems to be shamed, or despised, and I don't see why that needs to be the case.

When I needed it, I was in my anonymous bubble, watching, learning, and it made me feel safe. And now I'm starting to exit that bubble and explore the person that is me on the internet, and off the internet. And maybe I think she has some potential.

Have you ever enjoyed anonymity on the internet? How comfortable are you to say that you're a blogger?

-P.E.

This story, about the Associated Press creating word limits caught my eye a few weeks ago. It was at that time that I found a piece that I currently can't find about the emergence of video as the new text. The article explained that newer generations (mine, my sister's) have grown up with so much immediate access to information that we don't want to read it anymore, we want the instant gratification and something that won't let us get distracted; the future is video.

As a blogger, this concerned me because every week, I produce many written works and I have been wondering so much about the future of blogging. 

When I first joined blogging some years ago, it was different. The blogs were bubbly and new; the ARCs were flowing; everything was original because it had never happened before. I remember there was almost an unwritten code for how to act; bubbly and sweet, and I also remember many more blogs of lower quality. Review requests by publishers were a lot more free flowing, and I remember getting some right away. 

Now, I believe the blogging community has matured, and is more focused on creating better content. Most blogs look good; most bloggers know the basic rules. Publishers have also become more restrictive with their ARCs. For example, Mari and I don't receive near as many review requests as I did at Tantalizing Illusions, even if our work here is better written, and we have about double to triple the page views. 

These are my impressions, and I very well could be wrong. It's clear that the blogging community is constantly evolving, and in no way is that a bad thing. What I can't help but wonder though is when will the community reach its peak?

Or has it already done so? 

I never knew about BookTube until this year when I saw some tweets by Giselle. I'm not a video person in the slightest, and yet this new medium for bookish fandom intrigues me. I've looked at a few videos since then and they seem to do what we do as writers, but they make videos. And it was then that I remembered the theory that in the future, it will be video that is the most digested medium for information. 

Obviously, as a blogger, I'm curious about this. 

Furthermore, with the controversy at BEA about the panel with the BookTuber, I can't help thinking about the future of book blogging.

Will be all become super high tech? Every blog is always searching for new ways to attract readers. Will we be seeing more multimedia news resources? And, as blog readers, do you tire of reading long, written pieces? 

I don't know the answers to any of these questions, and I'd love to read your thoughts in the comments!

-P.E.

Your eyes are deceiving you. That's totally an octagon.

I was reading a post about reading slumps when I started to wonder about the opposite of a reading slump, and something I'm currently experiencing: when you want to devour every book. When you want life to just STAHP so you can go and read your book.

I think this always happens to some extent, but to me, I'm starting to notice some trends. When I read in the mornings on my commute to school, it makes me quiet and pensive. I'm a little foggy because my mind is still in the book. I tend to read in class too, which my teachers tend to um, discourage.

When I don't read, it's because I'm listening to music. When I listen to music, I become energetic. If I hear a song, I have to move. It's a compulsion within me to move. While reading makes me retreat into a world of me, listening to music means my eyes are free to explore the world around me, and I'm usually in a great mood.

I'm not saying that reading is bad. But I do wonder if sometimes, it's important to step back.

When I'm in a reading obsession (that's what I'll call it), I have a "Go away, I'm reading!" vibe and I find it supremely irritating when someone or something interrupts my reading time. I hate every moment I'm away from my book, and at the end of the day, everything will fade away except for my book. I won't be able to recall anything of significance that occurred to me that day because I was reading.

Some wouldn't say this is a bad thing, but then, there is some context to me.

First, I was brought up with my parents both telling me I read too much. I guess I retreated too often to my room to read, and I guess at some point I kind of developed a terrible fear of missing out on life. I don't want to grow old and not have any amazing stories to tell. I don't want to be known for reading: I want to be known for doing.

There's nothing wrong with reading. I think I love it too much, and one fundamental part of my personality is that I lean towards idealism in that I will always try to have it all: I will want the grades, the social life, the books, the healthy food, the physical fitness, everything.

Reading genuinely brings me pleasure, but there's also a part of me that has grown from when I was a kid and that is terrified when I tell people to go away, I'm reading. This part of me demands that I broaden my interests. Because when you love something too much, it can also hurt you too much.

When I was a kid, going on a reading slump sucked majorly. I didn't want to read and I suddenly didn't know what to do with myself. For aforementioned reasons, doing nothing terrified me. So, the biggest thing I've done since then is diversify myself. Nothing is ever going to be my everything. I'm always trying to explore different parts of me and life, so if some part of it is bad, I have something else to look forward to.


I know that not everyone commits like me. When I love something, I throw myself at it 100% and that has a tendency not to work out. It's perfectly reasonable that this post won't make sense to some people. But for me, sometimes, I stop myself from reading too much because as much as I love being a bookworm, I try to remember that I'm human, not some book devouring machine, and I need to explore other areas of my life as well.

-P.E.

This song is called Animals and it's by Martin Garrix. Martin Garrix is an extremely young artist (I think he's 17 now) and as you can see by the over 15 million plays, this song is huge. He was relatively unknown until Animals exploded into a huge hit and now he's one of the rising stars of electro.

The song is well known for the drop, but when I first heard it, I didn't really care about the drop. Instead, the part I adored was the melody. There are these sounds that to me, feel like an animal is running right past you and when you look at it, it runs away. The animals are entirely wide and chaotic, and nowhere in the song do I really feel the idea of animals is explored too well except for those gorgeous sounds.

When I listen to Animals, it is that sound that I crave. It's not a very loud sound; it is subtle, and to me it is almost auditory perfection. It's not the popular part of the song, but I believe it is the strongest part.

In fact, that is one of the most identifiable features to most songs I like these days. The chorus' are all supposed to be epic- I don't have much of a care for them. It is the quiet moments of anticipation as the atmosphere builds that I absolutely adore.

Now, what does this have to do with writing?

As my tastes have developed, getting a high rating from me for a book is becoming increasingly difficult. I'm looking for overall quality of story, I'm looking for something that pleases me, I'm expecting a lot. One way for me to detect how good a book is, is through a very simple test.

Good writing.

I can't tell you about similes and metaphors and cadence because I'm not a very skilled literary reader. For me, good writing means making every single word count. That's the true mark of beauty. It's not just about the crescendos, the action scenes, or the plot twists. It's about making every sentence something worth reading.

I believe the most talented writers- the
Melina Marchettas, the Rainbow Rowells, the John Greens of the world- are the among the highest skilled in their position at creating beauty. This is what I enjoy most about their work. When every word carries a purpose, when every sentence furthers the story. Every word can bring something to a story. Every word can create an atmosphere.

If a writer is able to do this- to milk every sentence for what it's worth, then I think they will have achieved as high a level as any writer can. It's something I see here and there.

Cruel Beauty for one was a beautiful example of this. Rosamund Hodge's prose was luxurious and I was captivated by every word. This is something I strive to do in my writing. This is how I measure my success in a written piece.

It is not within the climax that beauty is discovered. I think the climax can enhance beauty, but I've always thought that true beauty is more quiet; even when the big events come and go, reading a simple scene can make my heart melt and my eyes tear up. That is the true mark of beauty.

But then again, there is also something so beautiful in being thrilled by a so called "guilty pleasure", so beauty is assuredly in the eye of the beholder.

-P.E.

I am a dreamer.

I like to think of the future and what could be. I like to imagine different scenarios and possibilities.

I've also been called an optimist.

I disagree with that. I consider myself a realist. I think it's much easier to believe the worst in the world than to hold on to the possibility that maybe, something special can happen.

I always dream about that something special. I imagine the moment and the words that would describe it.

One of the most fundamental parts of my personality is that I always believe that the best is yet to come. As good as one moment is, it won't be as good as what could come. I seek out those moments of perfection, and I guess I'm lucky but I have experienced them. They only come for me when I believe in something despite all logic. Sometimes, they are moments in sports, sometimes climaxes in a song, and other times, just moments where I look up at the sky during a sunset and the colours just blow me away.


I'm the same when it comes to books. A good book can give off the best high. The easiest example for me is Quintana of Charyn, which is by now a legendary book on this blog. (Well, if I've created enough hype for it.) I read that entire book savouring every second, and being weirdly emotional just because it was one of the most perfect reads I have ever experienced.

I seek that out from every book I read. I know it exists, and now it's all about finding that euphoria. I think I would be quite happy if all I spent in life was searching for perfect moments.

I was writing a blog post that you might see later, or earlier depending on when it is posted. It was inspired by a stroll through Coles where I discovered several books that called to me. I don't know how to explain seeing them there and just wanting them so badly. It's like a pull in my stomach and a little like I forgot to breathe. I want that book so badly because I believe it could be one of those books that gives me my perfect moment.

I am a dreamer and the reality is that the moments are rare. Not every book will give me that taste of the world being aligned just perfectly for that one second. In fact, the vast majority of books won't. That doesn't mean I don't want the moment: I just cherish it even more when it comes by.

This is my explanation for a weird behaviour I'm starting to notice with myself: the possibility is almost as riveting as the realty. I can fall in love with my dreams and give myself a pretty high as I imagine how perfect something can be.

Finding a book I could read, a book I want to read, and looking at it is almost as exhilarating as reading the book. It sounds weird, but I think this attitude is incredibly prevalent in the YA blogosphere.

I know so many bloggers speak of vast collection of books they have acquired, and that they haven't read. It's completely impractical and one perspective someone could have is that it's a waste of money. But maybe it isn't. Sometimes, the dream is worth a lot more than the reality.

Some people would say that the dream is better than the reality. It's more fun to look at TBR lists and imagine falling in love with a book. It's more fun to imagine the first time you get a box full of beautifully decorated ARCs.

I concede that sometimes, that can be true. As a book blogger, I adore books, and I adore perfect moments. I want it both, and drooling over that pretty, shiny new book is almost a ritual.

But the best part about being a book blogger with such dreams in when they're not dreams. It is entirely possible that there is a book that you desperately crave and imagine its perfection, and you read it, and then..

It is exactly what you wanted. It satisfied every craving you've had. The stars have aligned, and somehow it IS perfect. Against all reason and logic, perfection does exist and you've lived with it. That has happened to me before, and maybe I won't think it's so perfect later, but in the moment, it is. And that's why I love to dream. Because there is a chance that the book that is hyped so much, that I desperately want, lives up to all the hype.

And by caring so much, somehow it's even better. By dreaming, I can have that moment twice: once in my head, and then my dream can be obliterated when the reality proves to be so much better.

-P.E.

Without a doubt, one of the best services offered by the government is the library.

When my parents immigrated to Canada, we were not that well off. I was almost four, and I remember being very shy and totally a mommy's girl just. I wasn't very good at trusting strangers, and I was a pretty cautious, quiet child. My parents gave me everything I needed, but they didn't splurge on items like books and it was futile to ask for them. 

But, there was the library. I wish I could remember the first time I walked into a library, but I can't. I suppose it's when my parents were in college. There was a massive library nearby and my mom would visit to read books. I think she hoped it would improve her English. I can't tell you the first time I checked a book out from the library either. My memory of the library begins with bringing tens of books home after I scoured the shelves. 

I can't remember reading many picture books. I think at some point my mom tried to force them on me because I wasn't a very good reader. (I have a distinct memory of struggling with the words cat and bat.) I guess I thought books were boring. But the beautiful thing about the library is that it isn't always about books.

The library had an extensive selection of VCR's, and I devoured them. I adored Disney (my favourite was Beauty and the Beast), and my mom laughs when she recounts how I cried when I watched The Land Before Time (in fairness, when the mommy dinosaur died, it was devastating). I even acted out some of the Lion King and The Land Before Time movies by transforming our living room into an elaborate obstacle course so when the dinosaurs jumped about on their journeys, I would climb around the couch (my parents LOVED that part). 

I read Dear Dumb Diary; I read Junie. B Jones. Then I met my next passion: Harry Potter. Reading Harry Potter was special because my mom read it too. I remember struggling through the words and asking her what they meant. It was one of the first chapter books I read, and I don't know how but somehow, I became a big reader soon after. 

I would visit the library with my mom and we would check out a good twenty books. I read up to six chapter books a day (granted, they were small ones). I couldn't buy any of the books I wanted, but I could take them from the library and that was literally the next best thing. Whenever I was in a bad place, I would retreat to my room and read. They kind of taught me a lot about the world, and my childhood is a huge reason why I'm a reader today. 

The other thing the library offered were programs. I remember my mom signing me up to a few and I was super shy, but I had fun. I think I went to a Lord of the Rings program, which was really funny because I never read the books. Either way, the library proved all throughout my childhood to be a safe place. 

When I was a pre-teen, and um, stuff wasn't going so well at home, I would compose myself and go to the library where I would forget about everything else and just focus on books. The library is a pleasant space, and it was also my safe space. I brought my sister with me sometimes and even if I was uncomfortable in other places, the library always meant a lot to me.

To put it really simply, books are a huge part of my life and I wouldn't be able to have them without the library. We're better off now, but I still visit the library monthly and I volunteer there because I know what a safe haven it is. I used the library to entertain myself, and my mom used it to educate herself. My dad used it to stay connected with his home country by reading the news. It has meant a lot to my family, and I can't say enough about the facilities and the people there. 

I think I wrote this post just because libraries need to be appreciated more. They do so much for people and they don't get enough credit. I would like to thank every single library and librarian throughout the years because their work is appreciated. 

The true test to the strength of a civilization is in the libraries, and I'm lucky to live in a city with first class service.

-P.E.

Sometimes, I think I'm certifiably insane.

I have a wonderful life and I really haven't dealt with anything too awful. I've always had the bare necessities of life, and then some. Death hasn't touched my life very much. Neither has sickness. I guess I don't believe I've ever suffered, and it's not like I believe I'm on the path to suffering. I'm generally a good girl. I get good grades, get a long with people, and I believe I'm sensible. I may be too cocky, but there's nothing wrong with that.

The books I read however are often really weird and dark. I've read about diseases, people dying in elaborate tragedies, drugs, prostitution. I noticed when I was reading a review of The Lure that the first thing that come to my head was, "Hey, I totally want to read about this." (Later, now that I've read more reviews, I'm not so sure.)

Anyway, it got me wondering: why?

I obviously have some sort of attraction to darker stories, which makes no sense at all because I'm constantly referred to as an optimist. It's not just me either. Think about The Fault in Our Stars. (Don't worry, I won't spoil anything.) That book doesn't even pretend it's not going to hurt you. I read the book because people said it would tear me to pieces, and ohmygawd it did.

Yet somehow, this gets categorized as a good book.

After I finished The Fault in Our Stars, I hated it. I wrote a review saying I thought it was an incredibly stupid book because it's sick (no pun intended). It uses cancer as a drawing point for a love story. So many people are suffering from cancer, and this book uses cancer to attract readers?

It's the fundamental issue I have with all books about diseases. The draw to them is the disease, and I guess it feels wrong to me because I will read the book, and I will get emotionally invested, and I will be in pain and cry and then I'll close the book, and maybe for a few days, everything will be better. But in reality, for many people it's not better. They just can't close a book.

As a reader, I get to understand what their lives are like, but that sense of understanding is false. That's what happens with a lot of dark stories. In some ways, it just feels so unnatural to want to read a book about pain and suffering. At the same time, tragedies have been around for ages and that's what they do.

Aristotle had this idea of catharsis. When you read something bad, it makes you feel bad and thus expels all the bad feelings you have inside of you. To some extent, it makes sense. It's the reason you feel better after crying. But I don't feel like I read dark stories for catharsis.

I don't have a concrete answer for how I reconcile reading tragedies, but the way I see it is that they reveal a new world to me. They make me feel bigger than I am because they make me aware of another type of world. They also are some of the best books at promoting some type of life truth.

I've read before that some people believe that truth comes from suffering. Suffering, and getting better, gives some sort of insight. I'm not suffering, nor do I want to suffer, but sometimes I do look around the world and wonder if there's anything more.

It's not all about grades and clothes and sporting events and tv shows. It feels like it is, and it's so easy to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of every day life. The biggest thing I get from dark stories is just this feeling that there's more to my life than "pleasant". It's awful, but they make me realize how lucky I am and help me appreciate what I do have.

What I wonder sometimes is that if I feel awful for reading books like this, how do the authors writing them feel? Their books are obviously heavy and serious. Do they ever wonder why there's something so dangerous in their heads? Do they write it with the intent to spark awareness in the reader? Are they sending out a message?

This seems like an awfully long post just to say that at the end of the day, I don't know how I reconcile reading books about awful things happening to people. I don't have an answer, so I'll leave the floor to you guys in the comments. What do you think?

-P.E.

I've always thought that everybody wants to be special. Everyone wants to matter and have some sort of significance in the grand scheme of things. Everyone wants a purpose, a goal, and we all want to know that although there are seven billion people on the planet, yes, I matter.

Books are an escape, and one of the most common escapes pertains to being special. Being "the chosen one". That's pretty much the setup for most fantasies- a prophecy, or some seemingly ordinary person who ends up being absolutely remarkable. Heroes are brave, they have special powers, and they are different from other people. They save people- they don't need saving. They are the people with some special secret, some knowledge of a whole other world. 

Look at Harry Potter, who was some dorky orphan until he learned that not only was he a wizard, he was "the boy who lived" and he was famous. 

Look at Percy Jackson, a guy bouncing from boarding school to boarding school, who learns that he's actually the son of Poseidon, the god of the Sea and he's one of the most powerful demigods in existence. 

Look at Bella Swan, who moves into a new town, and is the only person whom Edward Cullen can't read the thoughts of. 

Now that I think about it, all of my favourite books are about this: ordinary people with crappy lives realizing that they aren't just ordinary, there's something more to them. We can analyze that later. The part I want to talk about is the not ordinary people. The Muggles. 

:(

One of the most fascinating parts of these mythologies is that normal humans, often the vast majority, are often ignorant of the world around them. They are blind to the magic and mayhem surrounding them. That isn't a big problem, except that they're often considered to be lesser.

It's like anyone who isn't special isn't really worth it, and it has kind of gotten me thinking. The special groups always seem to be the minority, and one on one, they are definitely more powerful than a human. Maybe it's my optimism, but I totally believe that in groups, humans can achieve wondrous things. People without some God-given talent can join together and use technology to be a force in the world. I've read two books with people like this.

In The Coldest Girl in Coldtown, vampires are revealed to the world and humanity reacts. Humanity puts them in cities, labelled Coldtowns, that the vampires can be part of, and humanity fights for existence and supremacy. There are obvious issues, like the commercialization of vampires, but it's still fascinating to see the power of a knowledgeable humanity. 

Partials by Dan Wells is another example that comes to mind. Society was destroyed in a war between humans and Partials, and since then, no baby has survived. Humanity is dying, but it won't break. People make laws, defend themselves, commit themselves to research. People don't give up. 

I'd like to see more stories about people who aren't special because of a super anything, but special because they work together with other people to enact significant social change.

I'd also like to see less of minimization for anyone who doesn't possess a god-given power. It's a little bit snobby to fault people for not seeing the truth only because you hide it from them.

While I think I will always love stories about "specials", I think I will also try to be more conscious of the amazing abilities of normals like the people around me.

What do you think of the focus on 'special' in books?
-P.E.

I've never found it surprising that many book people end up studying literature or English in university. I'm currently in the application process, so this was even something I considered, but after finishing an English essay on Hamlet, I had an epiphany.

I hate essays. That's nothing new. What I realized is that I don't care much about the literary aspect of a story.

Good writing is nice, but it's not a requirement for me. I appreciate words, but I've never been the most eloquent writer. My style is factual and I think a little choppy. I know people with the skill to write intricate, weaving sentences. They're the people excelling at purple prose, and reading a well written passage is always a breath of fresh air. However, to this point I still don't feel like good writing draws me to a book.

Melina Marchetta, one of my favourite authors.

I mean, what is good writing anyway? I consider any story that interests me good writing. I don't look at it with more depth, except to gush about Maggie Stiefvater, Melina Marchetta, and Holly Black. All I really care about most are the characters, the plot, and the overall execution of the premise.

During a Lauren Oliver event, one of the most interesting things she said was that taking English at NYU taught her about writing, but she never learned of plot. She would write hundreds of pages of beautiful words but she couldn't connect them in a good story until Before I Fall.

This came as a surprise to me because the story is what I love.

Lurking in the world is a bit of snobbery when it comes to reading. Book worms haven't always had the best reputation because in our extroverted society, people don't understand the merits of staying home to read rather than going out to a party. Maybe I'm the only person to have dealt with this, but reading isn't always something people respect, especially the people that consider it "boring".

I was partaking in the daily struggle of walking upstairs to my locker when I heard someone say, "Why read the book when you can watch the movie?" Frankly, this attitude of misunderstanding the brilliance of our quiet hobby can get to bookworms, so I do notice some arrogance. It's where the "reading is sexy" campaigns come from.

Who does this? This does not look comfortable.

I may be mis-characterizing this, but it has gotten to the point where there is a certain pride in reading books, and a disdain for those that don't. We're the smart ones that actually partake in an art worth doing. We're the deep ones full of potential and complexities.

This isn't a prevalent attitude. Most bookworms I've met are superb, intelligent people. I can't pretend though that my hobby makes me any more intelligent than if I were a movie junkee or a video game junkee. I don't feel like I enjoy books because they're intelligent and make me look at the world differently every day. Some do, but I generally read for enjoyment, not enlightenment.

I love stories.

It shouldn't have surprised me when I realized I was a fan of watching hockey. It did though, and it was such a sudden thing: one week I didn't watch hockey, the next I did. Maybe it was a phase, but it has lasted two years. I used to characterize myself as a bookworm and so it felt wrong to like watching a sport. Like, wasn't that what brain dead jocks did?

After some reflection though, I've realized that as someone who loves stories, sports are another story. They're a story of goals and shots and win and losses. There are narratives everywhere with suspect reliability. Having a team I'm a diehard fan for is absolutely ridiculous, because it's just a game, but that's the same way people belittle books; they're just words. They're not. They are stories.

My last major interest is once again new. I've always loved to sing. I grew up watching American Idol with my parents, and I remember trying to sing with the contestants as a kid. Whenever I was given a music creativity assignment like composition, I always loved it. However, I never felt like a music person. I couldn't relate to lyrics and voices: music never changed my life, and I didn't need it like some other people do.

Even now, I'm not overly passionate about it, but music makes me happy. I listen to house, electric, techno, all those styles and I read somewhere that music is the only thing that can make you use all parts of your brain at once. I think that's especially true for me. Songs can awaken feelings that matter. They can be emotional and most importantly, they are a story in themselves. The best songs are the ones that make a history for themselves within my consciousness, so when I hear the song, I'm also feeling the story. "Don't You Worry Child" by Swedish House Mafia is one of my favourites for this.



The song makes me nostalgic, and it's like a balm telling me whenever I'm not sure of myself or my life that everything can work out. It reminds me to move on, and so through the beats and melodies and lyrics, it's another story: mine.

Stories can be found everywhere through different mediums. Different mediums speak to people. Ultimately though, I've found that I don't really care about words: I care about plot and characters. I don't care about hockey: I care about my team. I don't care about music: I care about complex melodies. I care about stories more than the art form itself. How about you?

-P.E.

There once was a time when my primary concern going into a novel was being entertained. My life has never been excessively shitty, but there are some days where I need that escape and for the longest time, books were just that. They were my escape. My only escape.

Times have changed. I read less now, but I don't feel like my love for books has diminished; only my dependence has, and diversifying my interests may not be a bad thing. It has certainly resulted in more experiences and better writings. But, I digress.

It used to be that for me to be satisfied with a book, I needed to be entertained and that was it. I never wanted my life to change; I never fretted over other things to do. I could read and if the book did its job correctly, I would forget. I figured blogging would open new doors; I could be even closer to this hobby that I adore so dearly.

I am now. I understand publishing and what goes on behind a book much better than the average person. I've been contacted by publishers and authors and publicists. I know industry trends and many worries. I've swam beneath the waters to take a closer look than the proverbial iceberg (and *brr* it's freezing!) and now everything has changed.

Refining a critical and analytical eye means that I look for something more in books than "Did I like it?" There is a sense of responsibility because I'm not just looking at books for me, but I'm also looking at books for other readers, bloggers, and authors.

This change came into view after I reviewed Mystic City. The book earned 1 star from me, although at the end I explained how the story entertained me. If you read a book for entertainment, that book deserves a much higher rating.

I don't read books for entertainment anymore. I wan
t a book to transcend pure entertainment and become something meaningful to me. I want it to be a part of me; something that touches me and reawakens some emotion I have.

This doesn't mean I'm looking for emotional, deep books. A book with a plot or fantastical setting that transports me into a different world is enough. The most important element I look for now is a connection.

It is something I desperately crave when I read. A connection to plot, setting, characters... anything. I don't need to have fun; fun isn't necessary. The Fault in Our Stars by John Green was not fun. I hate that book even though and because it made me cry and I remember whining to my mom about how unfair the world was. Not fun. Not even likable- I don't want to feel so desperate for something substantially constant. There was a connection though. A very powerful connection that made me angry because I didn't like having my emotions turned around because of a cancer book and there was anger at myself too (Why the hell would I put myself through this?) and it was one of the most powerful reading experiences I had because of the negativity and the positivity.

Fun is great; I'm over fun. Gone are the days where I used to read Gossip Girl and The A-List. Maybe one day I will go back to wanting a book to entertain me and nothing more. Right now, I want connections and possible impacts. Books like Insigina by S.J. Kincaid are ideal because they can both entertain and engross; there are deeper aspects to the plot and world building that resonate.

I don't begrudge anyone that looks for a simple escape when they read. I'm not a person of absolutes; sometimes I will accept a book just for fun. But right now, the books I enjoy are those that can form a connection.

-P.E.

When I was younger, I was a very different reader than I am today. Today, I look for depth and read darker stories as well as fantasies. When I was younger though, I didn't want to read about problems. I wanted to dream about somewhere happy, where I could have a place.

I read a lot of books that are labelled "guilty pleasures". This can include so called "trashy" books like the cliched paranormals, and a lot of chick lit. You know, the type of books where everybody was rich and everybody was loved. The stories weren't about life changing things. Usually, they were very petty- it was about competition, jealousy, and there were often tonnes of designer brands.

Slowly, I evolved from those books. At some point, I had read every single Poppy book in existence, from Gossip Girl to the A-List, to Secrets of My Hollywood Life. I don't know what happened, but somehow I did a complete 180 and grew tired of those books.

Now, years later, when I look back at what I read as a tween, for some reason I feel a little embarrassed. These books were by no means classic. They weren't impactful or with exceptional writing. They were frankly, entertainment. And in some way, I feel a little embarrassed when I think of having read them, and other books like Twilight. Why was I so taken with something that was obviously unhealthy for me?

It was unhealthy. No, really. As if I'm not already an extremely competitive person. The books themselves were completely blameless, but I had these images of perfect and what life should be like and they were completely unrealistic. It wasn't like I needed a real book to show me reality; I needed a fantasy. Somewhere to escape to, sometimes. They were exactly what I needed, and I think they helped me a lot too. I learned pretty fast about the popularity/rumours scam, and my life has been very drama free maybe because I saw all the mistakes being made in those books and vowed never to make them myself.

The biggest issue I still have is why do I feel embarrassed for that? Why should I ever feel embarrassed for reading a book?

When I was younger, I used to read Warriors, this epic series about tribes of cats. It sounds a little out there, but I swear, it was brilliant. These books were both thrilling and heartbreaking. At some point, the quality of the series dropped a little and so my biggest memory of them is a conversation I had with my older cousin.

She was a teenager at that time and probably resented having to always entertain her younger cousin instead of hanging out with her older sisters. I was reading my book and she told me that one day, I would feel embarrassed for reading a book about warring cats. I told her I wouldn't- it was a legitimately good series.

To this day, I have never felt embarrassed about the cats, but again, why should anyone ever be embarrassed for reading?

There's a lot of snobbery that exists. I've heard stories of twenty-somethings being looked badly upon for reading YA. Hell, one of my friends even thinks YA is nothing but shallow romances. And these people are totally misinformed, but in a way it's hard to ignore them. I don't read classics, and I feel in some way I will be judged for that. Like, I'm supposed to be a bookworm so doesn't it make sense that I'd read the 'best' writing?

When I really think about it, I realize how wrong it is to be embarrassed for having read any book. Who gets to judge what book is classy and what isn't? Shouldn't I just read books based on what I like? At the end of the day, I read books based on my tastes for my own reasons, not so and so's reasons. So screw feeling guilty.

Don't. I know this problem also stems with me, because I can be an arrogant person, but I swear I'll try to stop it. We're allowed to have our own tastes, and I can't control if I don't like something, but I think the fact that someone is reading a book they enjoy should be encouraged, regardless of what it is.

Like people always say, insult the content, not the reader.

-P.E.

I went on a bit of a mini vacation this week and the one thing I made sure to do before leaving was to download some books onto my Kobo. I went to Toronto by bus and it's a five to six hour bus ride so I needed to keep myself occupied or else I'd go insane.

Being the absolutely broke student that I am, I usually check out books from the library's e-catalogue and that day, I struck gold. Oh my gosh I got a bunch of super awesome books, headlined by a book I've been dying to read for the longest time, Quintana of Charyn. You know, the finale in that incredible series I rave about to whomever listens, by that author who's writing I enjoy so much that I wrote a whole post about it.

I was in heaven. I did a happy dance and hugged my little Kobo and I couldn't wait to get on that bus. And on the bus, I was in the best mood. I had Doritos (regular nacho and Inferno), Hershey's Dark Chocolate, a blueberry muffin from a rest stop, and some water. Those are all among my favourite foods, but the only time I desired any single one of them was when I forced myself to take a break from reading.

I was so emotionally invested to this book, this freakin' amazing book, that sometimes I had to stop or I'd cry on the bus (even at happy scenes!) or laugh too hard, or I'd read something so chilling I'd need something real and substantial to remind me that, even though I felt so many emotions while reading, incomprehensibly this wasn't real. The emotions felt real, and I had to control them.

I finished reading Quintana of Charyn on the way back home. Another drive, this time in a car. I didn't have much left to read, but I was fully engrossed in Quintana of Charyn while I had it. That ending was spectacular. I was in the middle seat of a car getting punched by my sister because that's what we do when we see yellow cars and my mom and aunt were gossiping away in Farsi with my uncle making the occasional comment here and there, and this was a fantastic reading experience despite the noise or being cramped with no room to put my feet. This was awesome. I was reading an awesome book.

Finding an awesome book is like a reader's Christmas. The special ones are rare and they are works of art; stuff I worship as a blogger and a reader. Reading the book is incredible, and the ending is always the best part. It's what comes after that reminds me that like everything in life, there is a give and take.

After I read this book, I closed it and realized there were four more hours to go on the car ride back home. I first closed the book and thought about it. The ending was satisfying and you know the feeling you get when you encounter something great? One of those totally inspired moments like, DAMN, people are amazing for being able to create something like this. After savouring the ending, I immediately started the review because I want all of you people to realize how amazing Quintana of Charyn is. (Stay tuned over the next few weeks.)

Writing a review is cathartic, especially after reading an emotionally demanding book. It helps you sort out your thoughts and sometimes you realize there is no possible way you can write a review that will serve the book justice, but you try anyway because you're a blogger and this book deserves a great review. It took me an hour and a half to write the review because I had to stop and think about how to frame it. Not too gushy (I probably failed), not too long.

After finishing the review, that's when I felt awful. It's done. The story is over. This amazing story that has given me such joy for countless hours is over and it feels awful. I opened my Kobo. I had downloaded seven books from the library and they were all titles with lots of acclaim and hype. I chose one and I flicked to the first page. I spent what felt like a long time staring at the page, unable to absorb any word until I realized that I couldn't read another book.

You see, great books don't come around very often and enjoying them is one of life's best pleasures. The after though, after reading the book and writing the review, is hard. You don't want to forget this book. You feel like while the next book may possibly be good, it's not the culmination of one of your favourite fantastical trilogies by one of the best YA authors out there. I always wonder, will I ever find a book I'll enjoy as much as this great one? Sometimes it's a long time in between these books and reading them is like seeing colours in a black and white world.

Every single first "after book" I've ever read has disappointed me. Sometimes I wonder if it's because I'm comparing the two. If so, it's not fair. My heart is probably still with the first book. Days after reading Quintana of Charyn, I couldn't read anything else. Nothing could compare. I was a bit in withdrawal.

This isn't something that is known only to books. It's the same after watching your favourite sports team get eliminated in the playoffs. It hurts. It's over. I personally have to step back afterwards, usually missing much of the rest of the playoffs, before it's bearable to watch the sport again.

So upon reflection, this isn't something new to me. I do it all the time, because with all things great, there is a cost. I can't read a great book and then go on to read another book. I need a few days to calm my mind and organize my thoughts. It especially sucks when you have to do that stuck inside a car for four hours with a seven year old. It's the cost of awesomeness, and it's worth it.

-P.E.

(and why, no matter how much you disagree or don't like them, it remains imperative that they be given the right to exist)

The internet is one of my favourite places in the world, but it's also one of the most deceiving places. There is no real need to be honest on the Internet. People don't need to know your name, how you look, where you live, or your family status. You can be whoever you want to be and with that comes amazing potential; with that comes dangerous lies. We all know stories of people lying on the internet and the dangers they pose from illicit photographs to fraud. 

I'm not talking about that. 

The most wondrous thing about the internet is that it's a place that doesn't exist at all. It's a beautiful world of ideas, sometimes with no substance. A land of mixed thoughts, concepts, opinions. Anyone can have an opinion on the Internet. You can even have an idea without even existing. Anonymous commentators, or people like me with aliases are very common. 

The Internet is built on this foundation of ideas. Blogs such as this one don't exist unless someone designs the beautiful template; until some person decides, "I'm going to have a blog that I will post on about this particular subject."

The ideas presented are often insubstantial. I don't pretend that the entire world cares about my opinion about one book. I don't expect to change anyone's life with my posts. The biggest thing I can provide, as someone sharing an idea, is influence. Maybe I can influence you to buy a certain book. Pick up something from the library. Like a cover.

At the end of the day, I don't expect to have a strong influence because as much as I blog to be heard, I mostly blog to figure out the thoughts in my head. Nobody should ever take any post of mine without a grain of salt. Opinions are fluid and ever changing. 3 stars one day is 2 another. People strive for consistency and objectivity but we're subjective people. 

As a blogger, I deal with opinions. I write my opinions on books. I often wonder why I do this; does it really matter in life how I feel about a certain book? Or does it matter to anyone else but me? If you truly want to read a book, you'll go out and read it no matter what I say because you know we have different preferences. My opinion has some value, but not too much. 

So why is this different for authority figures? Why is it that amateur bloggers build a foundation and following on opinions but it's unheard of for authors to do the same?

I've read many posts about how authors should keep their thoughts to themselves. In a way, it makes sense. Authors should be wary of doing reviews or writing negative opinions on other authors' books because of the burned bridges it may cause within their profession. They're too close to it and so it may hurt them. 

On the other hand, an author's trade is their way with words. Their stories. If they feel a certain way about a controversial issue and they end up insulting some people in the process... well, that was rude. But who really cares? It's just an opinion. It's important to note that I'm talking about opinions; true, personal beliefs. I'm not talking about random or intentional personal attacks. 

Having a larger following doesn't always lend validity to someone's opinion. I don't like the saying either that more should be expected from people with larger followings. Most Internet followings can be undone rather quickly, with the click of a mouse. The only obligation I believe anyone has, especially in a world of ideas and opinions, is to stay true to themselves. There are ways to phrase these harsh opinions better, but is that necessary? 

It's common courtesy to remain euphemistic, but that doesn't always make the world better. I was born in one culture and I moved away and currently live in another. I know of two different standards. One culture focuses much more on wordplay; on appearances. In the culture I live in, there's much more honesty. Maybe people aren't as civil towards one another, but at the end of the day you don't have as many suspicions in the honesty of a person's words and actions. 

Why do people try to police the Internet into becoming somewhere where only accepted, 'nice' opinions matter? I don't understand the double standard between someone like me being able to post what I like and someone well known being able to post whatever they like. In the end, people are people and everyone is allowed to have an opinion. You can hate their opinion and have a negative opinion about their negative opinion, but having an opinion is nothing wrong. Posting this opinion on a public area isn't wrong too. 

I feel like, if you were to read an opinion you disagree with by someone of authority, maybe an author if we were to take this in a bookish context, rather than talk about why this person isn't supposed to or allowed to write about their opinion, why not discuss it?

The internet is a highway of discussions between posters, individuals, etc. You're not going to always like what you find but you can't get mad at it for existing. Why don't you try to understand it? Why not open a discussion about this controversy instead of attacking the fact that someone posted something stupid. 

The most important freedom people have is their freedom to think. In section 2b of the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms, it says:

(b) freedom of thought, belief, opinion and expression, including freedom of the press and other media of communication;

This is the most essential freedom, in my opinion. We've all read those creepy dystopias where no one is allowed to think differently; we've all participated in the debates on YA censorship (#yasaves). Nothing is ever going to work out ideally. I don't think it's reasonable to expect the entire internet to diverge their opinions in the kindest, least offensive way. So either we try to stop people from posting what we consider rude, or we accept that we'll find crap everywhere we look. If it's going to bother us, don't look at it. There's a lot of awesome stuff on the Internet so why focus on this idiot giving a stupid opinion. 

Let them have their opinions. Expect the best from yourself, and the people you have an influence on; your friends and family. If you find an opinion you don't like, maybe the best way to act is to ignore it, or discuss it. Don't focus on its existence, focus on its meaning and if it's offensive, maybe you can help the person realize why you think what they said was wrong. 

tl;dr?

If you don't like something, explain it. Talk about why you think it's wrong. Don't just attack or condemn. Reason. It's something I want to work on too. If we can talk about the hard issues, we get closer to solving them.

-P.E.