Potatoman

Well, hello there, everyone!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I’ve missed this place. Life got in the way once again, but I’m glad to be back with another spork for you guys. The source of this spork is a book my sister picked up that she seemed relatively excited about, and wanted me to take a look at after she’d finished it. However, once she’d gotten to the ending she told me it was really disappointing, so I thought I’d take another look at it; this time in more detail. I read through a few pages, along with the blurb on the back. It wasn’t encouraging.

I have no issue with young adult as a genre of literature. It has every right to exist and the people who read it have every right to read it and enjoy it, and I will not try to take that away from them. My only issue with young adult literature is the pervasiveness of stories that use other genres such as fantasy, action or horror to mask a predictable plot, fill a story with bad dialogue or unlikeable characters that are two-dimensional and make stupid, terrible decisions. I’ve seen so many of those and they seem to be marketed at just one demographic, more of a product like soap or cheese than words that mean anything. And they invariably end up being turned into some Hollywood schlock that stars the same A-listers that starred in the previous hit YA movie adaptation, or maybe some new up-and-coming actors who have an uncanny physical resemblance to the same A-listers that starred in the previous hit YA movie adaption. Does this make me sound like I really hate YA lit and their subsequent constant movie adaptations? That’s okay, because I do. Well, the bad shit, at least.

Moving on.

Lockwood & Co. – The Screaming Staircase is a book by Jonathan Stroud. I’m familiar with his Bartimaeus trilogy, having enjoyed it when I was in middle school and also having read the prequel novel that came out when I was about thirteen or fourteen. He’s a decent writer, around the same level as Rick Riordan. If he’d been published in the 1990’s he probably would have joined the ranks of someone like R.L. Stine. As of yet, I’m unfamiliar with his newer stuff which is not really a bad thing, I think. Let’s take a look at the front cover of the book.

The first thing that’s immediately noticeable apart from the giant silver text that reads ‘Lockwood & Co.’ is the young man holding a sword and attempting to look threateningly at the reader. Or maybe he’s smoldering. Given the antics of previous YA heroes, I’m not sure. Anyway, it’s obvious that this guy here is the hero of the novel and the eponymous Lockwood. He’s a pretty generic looking tall white teenager with dark hair who’s rather smartly dressed (I like coats and he’s wearing quite a nice one). I have one issue, though. The hand that’s not holding the sword appears to only have three fingers, which is really bothering me. It may just be the way the cover art was made, which to me is kind of sloppy. There’s really nothing too special looking about him. I’m sure Stroud is going to tell me all through the book about how cool/attractive/smart he is, so we’ll wait until then. Hilariously enough, at the bottom right corner of the book is a glowing review of the book from none other than Rick Riordan – ‘Stroud is a genius’, he says. This may be nothing other than two authors writing in the same genre just being friendly with one another, but something about it just rubs me the wrong way. It feels foreboding, like a sign or a warning that the waters ahead will not be at all smooth sailing.

Before I have a heart attack, let’s turn to the back and read the blurb, shall we?

The dead are back to haunt the living.

Ooh. Sounds interesting. But familiar. You’ve managed to pique my attention with that.

Evil spirits crowd the streets after dark.

You mean to say that there are so many evil spirits around nowadays that they can fill the streets after the sun has gone down? That’s a lot of evil spirits! How has civilisation not collapsed through the sheer anarchy and madness that would undoubtedly follow such an insurgence?

With ghostly criminal cases on the rise, psychic investigations agents are in demand as never before.

I see. So this book takes place in a parallel universe where this kind of thing is normal. Ah. Well, that would explain why people are still sane and civilisation hasn’t collapsed.

The smallest, most ramshackle – but arguably the best – of these agencies is Lockwood & Co.

Oh dear God, is this going to be a mashup of a Speshul Snowflake story and an Underdog story? It better not be either of those things. Please. Don’t do it.

Meet the dashing,

FUCK.

scatty

Uh…

Anthony Lockwood; his loyal, book-loving deputy George Cubbins;

You know that Cubbins is comic relief. You just know it. And that’s what makes this blurb so insidious. Characterisation is just thrust into a dark corner and beaten with sticks because why make well-written characters that require development when you can just slap two adjectives on them and give them a funny name? What’s worse, he’s probably fat, too. Just to find more things for the audience to try and mentally laugh at him for. God.

and their newest agent, brave Lucy Carlyle.

Calling it now, this will be the shameless reader-insert/shipping setup female character. Fucking calling it now. This is what’s gonna happen.

Together they must use their Talents

FUCKING RANDOM CAPITALISATION TOO ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME

to keep you – and themselves – alive…

And let’s end with an ellipsis, because suspense, right? God, this book is gonna be another doozy. Urgh.

Okay, that was just the outside of the book. The next time, we will delve into the first chapter. Just like my last sporking, we’ll do one chapter per article. The book’s got around 420 pages worth of actual writing (let’s hope that’s true, for the love of God let’s hope that’s true) and they’re divided up into five parts.

• I – The Ghost
• II – Before
• III – The Necklace
• IV – The Hall
• V – And After

I don’t know how many chapters are in each part but I suppose we’ll have to find out. I’ll see you guys next time when we find out what the fuck Stroud’s talking about with his overly vague section titles.

Comment [13]

Hello everybody, and welcome to my sporking of Alyson Noël’s bestselling novel, Evermore. As far as I know, this book is the first in a series called The Immortals, which sounds pretty decent as far as urban fantasy goes. This is a YA novel though, and I’ve had bad experiences with YA prior to reading this book. So please excuse me if I rage a little. This is only going to be a spork of the excerpt since I am currently not in the possession of the actual novel yet (thank God for small miracles), but from the reviews I’ve read on Amazon and from what you guys have told me… this is not going to be pretty. Vapid romance, flat characters, teenage angst; the list goes on. The biggest offender for me in YA novels is the tone; they just sound so whiny and full of themselves and don’t give a shit about other people except for the shiny Love Interest. It makes for a boring read. Also, most of these books are written in a very annoying first-person viewpoint. There are very rare cases when it’s done well. Most YA novels are not.

I haven’t read this book before, and I’m putting my thoughts down on the paper while reading the excerpt. My rage will be freshly captured, so to speak. If it’s really as bad as everybody says it is, my holiday just got a hell of a lot more fun. Everybody ready? Hold on to your hats, ‘cause here we go!

***

The description from Amazon.com is fairly straightforward:

Don’t miss the first book in Alyson Noël’s #1 New York Times bestselling The Immortals series. Enter an enchanting new world where true love never dies…

I’m always wary when people say ‘true love’ nowadays. Especially with regards to YA paranormal romance novels. If there’s one phrase that teenagers should NEVER attempt to say and mean it at the same time, it’s ‘true love’. Unless you have common sense, of course. Then again, I’ve never been in love with either a human or a humanoid fictional creature, so don’t take my word for it.

After a horrible accident claimed the lives of her family, sixteen-year-old Ever Bloom can see people’s auras, hear their thoughts, and know someone’s entire life story by touching them. Going out of her way to avoid human contact and suppress her abilities, she has been branded a freak at her new high school—but everything changes when she meets Damen Auguste.

So her family died in a horrible accident and she gains psychic powers. Sweet. She dislikes human contact (she’ll do a complete 180 once the Love Interest shows up) and is called a freak at school. Even better. Good to know she isn’t fawned over by everybody in school like they did to Bella Swan.

Damen is gorgeous, exotic and wealthy. He’s the only one who can silence the noise and random energy in her head—wielding a magic so intense, it’s as though he can peer straight into her soul.

See, now that’s the thing. Here’s a laundry list of everything you should have in a YA male Love Interest. Make sure he’s SUPERULTRAMEGA handsome, wealthy (you can’t fall in love with a poor man, now can you?) and exotic. I really don’t know what the fuck exotic means in this context. Is he fair? Tanned? Amazonian? From Mars? Heaven help us, is he sparkly? Clarify the statement! Too many authors tell me that their characters are exotic without really proving it. To me, Damen’s just another shiny white guy in a badly written Twilight knock-off. Plus, he’s super-speshul since he’s the only one that can fix the heroine’s problems. facepalm Why don’t you fix your own goddamn problems instead of lying around the book like a doormat, Ever Bloom?!

As Ever is drawn deeper into his enticing world of secrets and mystery, she’s left with more questions than answers. And she has no idea just who he really is—or what he is. The only thing she knows to be true is that she’s falling deeply and helplessly in love with him.

Oh come on! For goodness’ sake, you’re only sixteen! You have no idea what love means right now! It’s just hormones, they’ll wear off eventually (not in these novels, though). This is another example of what I really hate. These girls are just there to be paired with some ridiculously good-looking guy and bam. That’s it. End of story. What I’m expecting here is for the plot to drunkenly stumble in within the last 40-50 pages or so and messily wrap everything up through infodumps or dialogue (monologuing might be more plausible, actually).

But enough about that. Let’s get going.

***

Before the actual novel begins, we’re presented with an ‘Aura Color Chart’. I don’t know what the hell this is supposed to mean, but it’s probably going to be mentioned in the story sometime. We have a bunch of colors, and what sound like personality descriptions next to them. I’ll show you a few.

Orange: Self-control, ambition, courage, thoughtfulness, lack of will, apathetic.
Yellow: Optimistic, happy, intellectual, friendly, indecisive, easily led
Green: Peaceful, healing, compassion, deceitfulness, jealous
Blue: Spiritual, loyal, creative, sensitive, kind, moody
Violet: Highly spiritual, wisdom, intuition.

Now you see the kind of schtick I’m working with here. It’s all pretty standard really, everything you’d expect a color’s connotation to be. But there is a contradicting pair of descriptions in one color… can you spot them?

Anyway, after the color chart comes the actual chapter. This is not going to be fun.

Comment [33]

Chapter One

“Guess who?”

Haven’s warm, clammy palms press hard against my cheeks as the tarnished edge of her silver skull ring leaves a smudge on my skin. And even though my eyes are covered and closed, I know that her dyed black hair is parted in the middle, her black vinyl corset is worn over a turtleneck (keeping in compliance with our school’s dress-code policy), her brand-new, floor sweeping, black satin skirt already has a hole near the hem where she caught it with the toe of her Doc Martens boots, and her eyes appear gold but that’s only because she’s wearing yellow contacts.

What to say about these sentences… apart from the fact that I dislike them already. Partly because all the adjectives make them sound like a high-schooler’s creative writing project, and the outfit descriptions remind me not-so-fondly of ‘My Immortal’. But really, this is like the first two sentences and already my gut’s telling me I’m in for a bad time.

Next, our main character (Ever Bloom) tells us that Haven’s father is not really away on a business trip like Haven thinks he is, her mom and her mom’s personal trainer are at it like rabbits, and her brother broke her ‘Evanescence’ CD. How the hell did she know all that stuff?

But I don’t know any of this from spying or peeking or even being told. I know because I’m psychic.

I read the last sentence to the tune of ‘I’m Sexy and I Know It’. I couldn’t help it.

Then Noël hits us with a killer line:

Touch is too revealing, too exhausting, so I try to avoid it at all costs.

Once Damen gets here, I’m calling bullshit on that one. The whole book will be rewritten because of Damen’s effect on Ever. Really, this is just sloppy writing. It’s almost like a Deus Ex Machina! Oh, the special Love Interest is here? Fuck everything I’ve written before this scene, now it’s just going to be pointless touching between Ever and Damen because as you know… they just have to touch each other. The relationship is built on physical contact and how hot Damen is, you just know it.

I reach inside the iPod pocket I’ve stitched into all of my hoodies, concealing those ubiquitous white cords from faculty view;

I’m not sure ubiquitous is supposed to be used like this. From the dictionary I’ve got on my Mac, it tells me that ubiquitous is basically another term for omnipresent. So her earbud cords are present everywhere at the same time, using a term characteristically used to refer to God? Methinks not. So that’s a mistake right there.

I just tell her I’ll see her at lunch and head toward class, making my way across campus and cringing when I sense these two guys sneaking up behind her, stepping on the hem of her skirt, and almost making her fall.

It may just be me, but did any of you sense an undercurrent of pity running through that sentence? I have a goth friend, oh she’s getting bullied, I better just act nice because there’s nothing much else I can do. Mind you, Ever doesn’t do shit to help the situation from what I just saw. I imagined her wrinkling her nose and hurrying off so people don’t think they’re actually friends. After all, who’d want to be friends with a goth? (/sarcasm)

I head toward my seat in the back, avoiding the purse Stacia Miller has purposely placed in my path, while ignoring her daily serenade of “Looo-ser” she croons under her breath.

The Scary Sue has been introduced good and early in this novel. Makes my job that much easier. By the way, Noël: you don’t need to beat us over the head with the dialogue of the minor antagonist. I’m not sure about kids in the U.S., but in all the schools I’ve been in only third graders announce their intentions to be mean to you like this.

I wasn’t always a freak. I used to be a normal teen. The kind who went to school dances, had celebrity crushes, and was so vain about my long blond hair I wouldn’t dream of scraping it back into a ponytail and hiding beneath a big hooded sweatshirt. I had a mom, a dad, a little sister named Riley, and a sweet yellow Lab named Buttercup. I lived in a nice house, in a good neighborhood, in Eugene, Oregon. I was popular, happy, and could hardly wait for junior year to begin since I’d just made varsity cheerleader.

Okay, let’s examine this. Popular, happy, cheerleader, nice house, family, cute dog. Everything seemed to be going right, I guess. But the line ‘I wasn’t always a freak’ kind of rubs me the wrong way. It just seems so… overdone. This scenario has been done before, so many times! Teenagers with special powers almost always think of themselves like this. Heck, I know a lot of teenager’s that think they’re freaks in real life (including me, sometimes). But there could be other ways of putting it, especially when you think that Noël could have been more subtle about it. Character interactions and all that. Show and not tell, and all that. But what do I know? I’m not a published author.

My life was complete, and the sky was the limit. And even though that last part is a total cliché, it’s also ironically true.

I hate this narrator. I really do. I really, really, really do. This book is a very good example of shitty first-person narration.

She then goes on to describe her near-death-experience-that-she-says-wasn’t-really-that-near.

It’s like, one moment my little sister Riley and I were sitting in the back of my dad’s SUV,

Why would you begin a sentence with ‘it’s like’?! Why the fuck would you do that? Is Ever, like, a Valley Girl? Is the rest of the book, like, going to be, like, written like this?

Wanting to wander through that vast fragrant field of pulsating trees and flowers that shivered, closing my eyes against the dazzling mist that reflected and glowed and made everything shimmer.

This narration is more purple than Barney the Dinosaur.

I panicked. I looked everywhere. Running this way and that, but it all looked the same- warm, white, glistening, shimmering, beautiful, stupid, eternal mist. And I fell to the ground, my skin pricked with cold, my whole body twitching, crying, screaming, cursing, begging, making promises I knew I could never ever keep.

I really hate this narrator. The last sentence doesn’t even make sense, it’s as if Noël just wrote it for the sake of writing random words! At least… you know what? Forget it. Moving on. I’ll see you in the next chapter, and bring some drinks if you want. I’m packing grape juice.

Comment [14]

We’re introduced to a new character here.

Damen is gorgeous. I know this without once looking up.

Fuck. Happy fun times are over, ladies and gentlemen. This author gets to work real quick. Already we have the goffick friend, the Scary Sue and the Shiny Gorgeous Love Interest. This is where everything goes downhill. Let me just ask… is there going to be a love triangle? Please no.

I nod, refusing to look any further than his sleek, black, motorcycle boots. The kind that are more GQ than Hells Angels.

I feel bad for this guy. His fate is to get shipped with Ever Bloom for God knows how many books, and his character will probably not even get expanded on that much. How depressing.

So nothing much happens, Damen moves closer to Ever and she scoots further away, thinking about how everybody else thinks it’s a damn shame such a hot guy is sitting with a freak like her, class ends, and everyone starts talking about Damen Auguste. Because you know, he’s just hot. And stuff. You know the drill.

“He’s like combustible!”
– Haven

What. The. Fuck. One example of brilliant dialogue in modern novels, ladies and gents. Do people really think this is good writing? What would authors of years gone by think of this standard of literature?

Oh yeah, other new character: Miles. Gay guy. Baby face. Totally into Damen from the second that he walked into class. I’ve kinda stopped being surprised, at this point. This is the first YA novel I’ve really sat down and examined, and I’m trying not to draw parallels with others I’ve read before. Also, is there always supposed to be a token gay guy? Just wondering. Because there is one in the House of Night series.

So Haven and Miles are gushing about how ridiculously good-looking Damen is because we don’t know much else about him so there’s not really anything else to gush about. Which is not necessarily a bad thing…

Also, they keep pestering Ever, asking her why she hasn’t looked at him yet; when this thought crosses her mind.

My only friends. And I feel like I am keeping enough secrets already.

This, to me, summarises the big relationship problem YA heroines have with their ‘friends’ (think Clary from City of Bones). Of course, their friends are also horribly characterised if at all, but the thing is they just don’t seem to matter when the Hot Guy shows up. They’re thrust to the side so we can read all about how inhumanly (pun intended) attractive and beautiful the Love Interest is. They don’t matter, which is a damn shame. What’s funny is that sometimes, the minor characters are better written than the main protagonists.

Anyway, she assuages their concerns by saying that she sat next to Damen in English class. Haven’s response?

“Oh that must have been awful for you that must’ve really sucked.”

This is one of the most ridiculous sentences I’ve ever read in my life. Isn’t it supposed to have a break in between? It sounds like two sentences written as one mutated monstrous sentence. Ew.

Oh yeah, famous classic literature must be mentioned somehow. The heroine is no dumbshit. Oh wait.

“Wuthering Heights.”

I love classic literature. I really do. But just mentioning it for the sake of having a classic in your own novel so that readers will think that the heroine/author insert is really awesomesmartsuperspecial is not going to work.

Aaand here come the compliments. Ever Bloom’s description, by Haven:

“Well thank you for that,” she mumbles, breaking her vanilla cupcake in half. “The last thing I need is competition from the blond goddess.”

I understand friends will compliment each other at times (my best friend calls me adorable almost everyday) but you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Blond goddess? Really? REALLY?! Tell me your thoughts on this in the comments, guys. I really want to know what you think of this. So far, it’s the most WTF line I’ve read in this book. Oh yeah, shoutout to Pryotra for cluing me into the whole drinking game thing. One shot of Qoo, down the hatch.

I cringe and gaze down at the table. I get embarrassed when people say things like that.

The Sue shows her true colors.

Modesty, check. Another shot, since she’s now a blatant Mary Sue. It doesn’t get that much more obvious. People call you beautiful and you look down and cringe. By the way, I don’t thing cringe means what Noël thinks it means.

Another WTF line rears its ugly head when Haven and Miles argue about Damen’s sexuality. Haven is sure that Damen is straight.

“Gaydar,” she says, tapping her forehead. “And trust me, this guy does not register.”

Yup, this calls for more Qoo. At this point, I’m praying for the chapter to be over.

random scene break

Uh, don’t know what just happened, but apparently we are now in the parking lot with Ever and Miles, who is now ranting at Ever to open her eyes and look at Damen. What follows is the most disgusting, predatory character description I’ve read since Twilight. I’ll include the whole paragraph for your viewing pain.

And what I see leaves me unable to speak, blink, or move. And even though Miles starts waving at me, glaring at me, and basically giving me every signal he can think of to abort the mission and return to headquarters, I can’t. I mean, I’d like to, because I know I’m acting like the freak everyone’s already convinced that I am, but it’s completely impossible. And it’s not just because Damen is undeniably beautiful, with his shiny dark hair that hits just shy of his shoulders and curves around his high sculpted cheekbones, but when he looks at me, when he lifts his dark sunglasses and meets my gaze, I see that his almond shaped eyes are deep, dark, and strangely familiar, framed by lashes so lush they almost seem fake. And his lips! His lips are ripe and inviting with a perfect Cupid’s bow. And the body that holds it all up is long, lean, tight, and clad in all black.

I’m sorry, I just turned away for a couple of moments with my face in my hands. Undeniably beautiful? Sounds more than odd. AND HIS LIPS! God, it sounds like Noël was in the middle of an orgasm when she wrote this shit. I’m praying harder guys, pray with me.

And after that, she notices that the guy has no aura (explained in the color chart I posted above)… when:

random scene break

We are now at the hospital. How did that happen? I don’t know. So let’s continue.

Ever asks the nurse why she’s all pink, the nurse thinks she’s cuckoo so she gets the doctor and then we get a description of eye exams and how Ever is visited by Riley (dead sister). But the thing that really pisses me off is how nonchalant she is about all this supernatural crap and then jizzes her pants when a hot guy shows up. FFS woman, think with your brain! Anywhere below the waist is not meant for cognitive function.

The part where Riley shows up could have been expanded on and become really really really interesting, so it becomes a matter of what the author was thinking when she decided to gloss over that in favour of writing paragraphs and paragraphs about how hot some aura-less guy is.

Long story short, Damen asks for Ever’s copy of Wuthering Heights, Ever gives it to him and then Damen drives away. Oh yes, before I end this, I’d like to say that the dialogue in this thing is really horrendous. For example:

“But when I said you’d freak out when you saw him, it wasn’t a suggestion, it wasn’t supposed to be taken literally. Seriously Ever, what happened back there? Because that was some mega tense awkwardness, a real Hello, my name is Ever and I’ll be your next stalker kind, of moment. I’m so serious, I thought we were gonna have to resuscitate you. And believe me, you are extremely lucky our good friend Haven was not here to see that, because I hate to remind you, but she did call dibs …”

I’m not sure who talks like this. Do you know anybody who talks like this? Because this sounds exactly like the dialogue that pops up every now and then in the ‘honorable mentions’ lists of sucky YA paranormal romance books. I swear, I’ll give up reading YA if the majority is written like this. But it won’t be too much of a big loss, since I didn’t read YA much before this anyway.

I mean, how can I explain how ever since the accident, the only people whose thoughts I can’t hear, whose lives I can’t know, and whose auras I can’t see, are already dead?

With that, the chapter ends. I’ll see you next time, guys. Thanks for reading!

Comment [21]

Because I’ve recently found out I have blood pressure problems, I’ll try to rage less in this chapter. That’s not to say I won’t rage, but instead of screaming to the heavens about literary injustice, I’ll try and make it witty and sarcastic and actually funny.

I let myself into the house, grab a bottle of water from the fridge, then head upstairs to my room, since I don’t have to poke around any further to know Sabine’s still at work. Sabine’s always at work, which means I get this whole huge house to myself, pretty much all the time, even though I usually just stay in my room.

Absent parental figure, check. One more shot of Qoo. Another example of lazy writing. Oh, the question of how on earth Ever is going to cope with the loss of her family has been raised? I don’t want to write about old characters when I can footle around writing pages upon pages about how hot Damen is. Foolproof plan. The readership won’t give a damn either.

I feel bad for Sabine. I feel bad that the life she worked so hard for was forever changed the day she got stuck with me. But since my mom was an only child and all of my grandparents had passed by the time I was two, it’s not like she had much of a choice.

I can understand where the Amazon reviewers are coming from when they say that this is a rip-off of ‘Twilight’, using an almost exact template. Girl moves from somewhere we don’t care about to somewhere else she doesn’t really know about to live with a distant parental figure that she’s not going to interact with that much in favor of someone who is more attractive. I mean, who needs parents when you have Adonis-like boyfriends? It’s not as if they really care. They probably just don’t want you to get hurt, but pshh… you know you can take care of yourself perfectly well. After all, you already know everything there is to know under the sun and above it. Classic literature FTW! And besides, you have Edward/Damen/Jace/Patch/Whatever to take care of you!

See, you don’t need parents.

And then, we get this boatload of description. It’s not even done well.

I mean, I have all the usual things like a bed, a dresser, and a desk. But I also have a flat screen TV, a massive walk-in closet, a huge bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub and separate shower stall, a balcony with an amazing ocean view, and my own private den/ game room, with yet another flat screen TV; a wet bar, microwave, mini fridge, dishwasher, stereo, couches, tables, beanbag chairs, the works.

I’m sorry honey, but I just don’t give a fuck. Also, why is the ‘J’ in ‘Jacuzzi’ capitalised? Is it supposed to be? I wonder what ‘the works’ are. Sounds mysterious. Sorry if I seem a little stupid, I’ve never seen it capitalised before.

I guess since Sabine spends most of her time around other lawyers and all those VIP executives her firm represents, she actually thought all of this stuff was necessary or something.

Well, she obviously didn’t expect to be landed with a brat like you, did she? Shut up and be thankful that you have a house to badly describe, you little twit.

After that weird descriptiondump (new word, yay me!) about her room, Ever starts telling us about her marvelous gift of psychicness. She gets things wrong sometimes, doesn’t always know what people are thinking, but then says this:

Anyway, I don’t think you have to be clairvoyant to know that when people dream of having kids they’re usually thinking in terms of a pastel-wrapped, tiny bundle of joy, and not some five-foot-four, blue-eyed, blond-haired teenager with psychic powers and a ton of emotional baggage. So because of that, I try to stay quiet, respectful, and out of Sabine’s way.

It may just be me, but that first sentence sounds like a rather imaginative way of letting me know what you look like. At least it’s not a mirror scene, thank God. But that last one… at least try and connect with your guardian, dudette. It’s not asking for much.

She’s stuck with you, she’s given you all that shit you told us about above, you might as well try and look thankful instead of telling us you don’t talk to her much. Jeez. Shut up and say thank you.

And I definitely don’t let on that I talk to my dead little sister almost every day.

Is this where things get interesting? Please? Pretty please? Please write this scene well and handle it tactfully, Noël.

So we’re told that Ever saw Riley for the first time (after her death) at the hospital, where she assumed she was hallucinating.
One problem I have with this book is that the settings are underdescribed, if that’s a word. There is no real detail in any of the settings, so the whole foundation holding the book up is stick-thin. She, like so many YA Paranormal Romance authors out there, has lost sight of what the readers actually care about. Not a hot Love Interest. A story. A good story. Is that too much to ask?. Forget what she said above about her room.

So then Ever’s in the hospital, and while she’s there, Riley shows her a painting of a beautiful landscape.

rude interruption by Potatoman

Hey, did you guys notice that her school and stuff weren’t really described that much? Is it your stereotypical, everyday high school? That, to me, forms a barrier in my mind and prevents me from imagining the settings in detail which seems like an important part when writing fiction. It just separates me from the characters and stops me from caring. But it’s not as if I cared much anyway.

Anyway, Sabine asks Ever to make a list of all the stuff that she’d like to bring with her to California.

I just couldn’t bear a single reminder of everything I’d lost, since it’s not like some stupid box full of crap would ever bring my family back.

You know, that box full of crap contains things that belonged to your family. In a way, you’re disrespecting their memory by calling their belongings ‘crap’. Just letting you know, dumbass.
Facepalm God, we’re actually supposed to like this girl? Cheese and rice.

The whole time I was cooped up in that sterile white room, I received regular visits from a psychologist, some overeager intern with a beige cardigan and clipboard, who always started our sessions with the same lame question about how I was handling my “profound loss” (his words, not mine).

Oh em gee, this guy wants to help me get over this huge loss and actually move on with my life and all I want to do is tell him to go fuck himself. What’s wrong with that? I REALLY HATE THIS BITCH.

So Ever goes to her new house in California and goes to her room, crying her eyes out. Then, Riley shows up, tells her to stiffen up her upper lip and appreciate the view. And whaddya know? The view outside is exactly the same as the painting that she showed Ever in the hospital. Whoooo… mystical. What a coinkydink.

With that, the chapter ends. If you guys found this more subdued side of me boring, let me know and I’ll try and be a little more on fire next time. Until then, goodbye and thanks for reading!

Comment [12]

I’ve been seriously reassessing the decision to spork this thing. I might be in way over my head.

But never mind my personal safety! This is about your enjoyment! So let’s do this. I got the book (don’t ask), so I’ll be sporking more of it if I can just keep my sanity. I mean, it’s really not badly written like Gloria Tesch’s ‘Maradonia’ series, but it’s just that this book doesn’t really require any thinking power. My eyes look through it and… done. No brainpower required. Plus, the characters so far aren’t all that likeable and are really just standard stereotypical ones. Does Noël think that all girls want to be cheerleaders and the only ones who don’t are goths and gays? Bitch please.

So anyway, here we go!

For the first few paragraphs, Ever’s just expositing about how Riley’s visits are super amazing and help her appreciate her new life a little more. Well I’d say it doesn’t really take your sister coming back from the dead to stop being so ungrateful. Goddamn.

But that may just be me, so never mind.

So Ever gets to school, and meets up with Haven. Haven wonders whether Damen’s dropped out, and Ever wonders why the hell that would be since he just started school. Haven’s answer, everybody?

“Uh, because we’re not worthy? Because he really is too good to be true?”

At this point, I just don’t know what to say anymore.

Haven thinks Ever is a threat to her dating Damen (get real, you’re only a minor character, Haven) and then this happens:

Besides, it’s not like I’m all that datable in my current voice-hearing, aura-seeing, baggy- sweatshirt-wearing condition. But I don’t say any of that. Instead I just say, “Yes, I’m a liability. I’m a huge uninsurable disaster waiting to happen. But I’m definitely not a threat. Mainly because I’m not interested. And I know that’s probably hard to believe, with him being so gorgeous and sexy and hot and smoldering and combustible or whatever it is that you call him, but the truth is, I don’t like Damen Auguste, and I don’t know how else to say it!”

Oh, that’s perfectly true. It’s true. From the way you salivated over him the first time you saw him I can completely agree that you don’t like him. And the plot won’t bring you two together either, don’t worry. It’s going to be twu wuv and Damen’s shininess that’ll fix things.

Unfortunately for Ever, Damen was standing right in front of her and heard the whole rant. Very contrived plot device, if you ask me. As demonstrated by the next paragraph, Ever doesn’t give a shit about that though. She has too much self-esteem to worry about some boy.

I toss my bag to the floor, slide onto my seat, lift my hood, and crank my iPod, hoping to drown out the noise and deflect what just happened, assuring myself that a guy like that, a guy so confident, so gorgeous, so completely amazing, is too cool to bother with the careless words of a girl like me.

Sigh. I don’t know where to start. I don’t. The prose is awful, but I seem to have gotten used to that. The fact that it seems okay to be all mopey and stuff over a guy, though, really demonstrates the level of thinking this author put into the book. Of course, Noël probably never intended this to be a bad remake of Bella’s first-person narration in ‘Twilight’ but the fact is that it does sound horribly similar. And the book suffers for it. To add to the misfortune, the issue of the pervasive ‘passive female character’ in modern YA paranormal fiction won’t be addressed, leading to a deluge of novels where the characters (even the heroines and heroes) are flat, paper-thin cutouts of popular, media-propagated stereotypes. But let’s leave Noël to her work and see where this book takes us, hm? I know you don’t want to go but I’m taking you anyway.

But just as I start to relax, just as I’ve convinced myself not to care, I’m jolted by an overwhelming shock, an electric charge infusing my skin, slamming my veins, and making my whole body tingle.

And it’s all because Damen placed his hand upon mine.

Well, as a guy who’s had a crush on somebody before, the words ‘overwhelming shock’ seems a little too much like overkill. Why can’t anyone just be whelmed nowadays? Also, the Electric Charge of True Love slammed through her veins? I don’t think slammed means what she thinks it means.

Oh, by the way… that little hand touch was only so that Damen could return Ever’s copy of ‘Wuthering Heights’.

Yet knowing how ridiculous that is, I shake my head and say, “Are you sure you don’t want to keep it? Because I really don’t need it, I already know how it ends.” And even though he removes his hand from mine, it’s a moment before all the tingling dies down.

“I know how it ends too,” he says, gazing at me in a way so intense, so insistent, so intimate, I quickly look away.

Replace intimate with creepy and now you’re in the ballpark of understanding how disturbed I am with that description. My God.

The guy’s seen you twice, and he’s looking at you intimately? Something is not right here, Ever. Get that through your thick skull. You barely know the guy and you’re fixated on his face like a deer in headlights.

After that, Damen puts his hand on Ever’s (again!) and asks what she’s listening to. I’m not sure if that’s really necessary. He could just freeze her with the power of his face and then ask, right? Knowing this girl right here, it’s not gonna take much. He could literally just glance at her hair or something and she’d wilt and write poems about how beautiful his eyelashes are. He doesn’t need to touch her. In fact, I’m pretty sure it would be more appropriate if he just stopped being near her, walked outside and then shot himself. That way, it would save him and the rest of us from having to read through this book.

Oops, I forgot to mention something; when Damen is near Ever, she can’t hear anything. No thoughts, feelings, nothing. He’d be useful in an exam hall.

“I asked what you’re listening to.” He smiles. A smile so private and intimate, I feel my face flush.

Since she didn’t answer the first time he asked, I imagined him trying to pin her arm behind her back and screaming ‘TELL ME WHAT YOU’RE LISTENING TO!’ Also, the way that he’s smiling at her creeps me out. Specifically, the way the smile is being described. Guys, go out and meet a girl. Meet her again, for the second time, and then try smiling at her ‘intimately’. I don’t give a flying fuck about how ‘gorgeous’ you may be, but if she hasn’t called the police on your ass by then I’m going to assume there’s something very wrong with our society.

“Oh, um, it’s just some goth mix my friend Haven made. It’s mostly old, eighties stuff, you know like the Cure, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Bauhaus.” I shrug, unable to avert my gaze as I stare into his eyes, trying to determine their exact color.

“You’re into goth?” he asks, brows raised, eyes skeptical, taking inventory of my long blond ponytail, dark blue sweatshirt, and makeup-free, clean scrubbed skin.

“No, not really. Haven’s all into it.” I laugh, a nervous, cackling, cringe worthy sound, that bounces off all four walls and right back at me.

I’m not sure what the prerequisite for being a goth is. Also, doesn’t Damen sound a little distasteful when he says goth? The whole eyes skeptical thing tipped me off. Also, he’s taking inventory of her? She isn’t a fucking storage closet.

So anyway, Damen asks what Ever’s into (hmm… I think it starts with a D. Just saying) and before she could answer the question, the teacher walks into class and the chapter ends with a cliff-hanger. Plus, there’s a horrific run-on sentence.

And then Damen leans back in his seat, and I take a deep breath and lower my hood, sinking back into the familiar sounds of adolescent angst, test stress, body image issues, Mr. Robin’s failed dreams, and Stacia, Honor, and Craig all wondering what the hot guy could possibly see in me.

This is a horrible sentence. And a horrible book.

Comment [31]

Another chapter. I’ve given up on the drinking thing, but you guys can continue if you want. I’ll put up a little label and everything.

Haven and Miles are already sitting down at a lunch table but GASP Damen is also sitting with them. Huzzah. An opportunity for badly written character interaction, hooray. By the way, this dialogue is so stupid I’ll just have to include it and show you.

I roll my eyes and slide onto the bench beside him, determined to show just how blasé I am about Damen’s presence. “I was raised by wolves, what can I say?” I shrug, busying myself with the zipper on my lunch pack.

“I was raised by a drag queen and a romance novelist,” Miles says, reaching over to steal a candy corn off the top of Haven’s pre-Halloween cupcake.

Umm… alrighty then. Noël, I am aware of the fact that he’s gay. Good lord. You do not need to bash me over the head with it. Mannerisms, showing-and-not-telling, have you ever heard of those? Have you ever heard of trying to write well?

Haven laughs. “I, on the other hand, was raised in a coven. I was a beautiful vampire princess, loved, worshiped, and admired by all. I lived in a luxurious, gothic castle, and I have no idea how I ended up at this hideous fiberglass table with you losers.” She nods at Damen. “And you?”

A coven is a group of witches, dumbshit. Not fucking vampires. We don’t need anymore than are currently in the world, thank you very much.

He takes a sip of his drink, some iridescent red liquid in a glass bottle, then he gazes at all three of us and says, “Italy, France, England, Spain, Belgium, New York, New Orleans, Oregon, India, New Mexico, Egypt, and a few other places in between.”

Why does he keep gazing at everyone? Does he have an eye disorder?

every time he speaks it’s the only sound I hear.

And every time our eyes meet I grow warm.

And when his foot just bumped against mine, my whole body tingled.

And when Noël wrote that last sentence, my palm moved at an accelerated rate towards my face.

“How’d you end up here?” He leans toward me, prompting Haven to scoot even closer to him.

Dude, this behaviour is fucking creepy. Come on, you’re willing to let a guy be creepy to you just because he’s easy on the eyes?

I can feel Damen’s gaze, heavy, warm, and inviting, and it makes me so nervous my palms start to sweat and my water bottle slips from my grip.

I don’t really need to do anything, at this point. It sporks itself.

Cue lunch bell.

They get up and leave, and the second that Ever’s sure that Damen can’t hear her, she asks Haven about why the hell he’s sitting there in the first place.

“He wanted to sit in the shade, so we offered him a spot.”
Miles shrugs, depositing his bottle in the recycling bin and leading us toward the building.

“Nothing sinister, no evil plot to embarrass you.”

Of course not. No evil plots here, no sirree.

I’m unwilling to express what I’m really thinking, not wanting to upset my friends with the very valid, yet unkind question: Why is a guy like Damen hanging with us?

They’re not even worthy to breathe the same air as him.

“Relax, he thought it was funny.” Miles shrugs. “Besides, he’s coming by your house tonight. I told him to stop by around eight.”

Does Miles live with her? If not, he has no right to ask other people to go to her house. What the fuck.

All I know is that I don’t want Damen coming over, not tonight, not ever.

How pitifully wrong you are, poorly characterized heroine in a bad paranormal romance novel. How wrong you are.

Haven is what you’d call an anonymous group addict. In the short time I’ve known her; she’s attended twelve-step meetings for alcoholics, narcotics, codependents, debtors, gamblers, cyber addicts, nicotine junkies, social phobics, pack rats, and vulgarity lovers.

This must say a lot about Haven then.

She’s just terminally ignored by her self-involved parents, which makes her seek love and approval from just about anywhere she can get it.

Why are the unimportant characters characterised better than the ones we have to care about? Surely it takes more effort to write a better character than this idiot we have at the moment.

Haven’s just learned that the quickest way to stand out in a town full of juicy clad blondes is to dress like the Princess of Darkness.

So every girl in the whole town EXCEPT for Haven is a blond? Really? By the way, I have no idea what ‘juicy clad’ is supposed to mean. I’m assuming that they wear juice. I don’t know how that works either.

But I happen to know that beneath all the skulls, and spikes, and death-rocker makeup is a girl who just wants to be seen, heard, loved, and paid attention to, something her earlier incarnations have failed to produce.

This is so stereotypical. You know, she could have just wanted to wear spikes, skulls and death-rocker makeup because she felt like it. No need for the fake ‘girl who just wants x and y’ crap.

In my old life I didn’t hang with people like Miles and Haven.

It’s so depressing that she’s been reduced to accompanying scum like them – wait, scum like them are accompanying her. So sad.

I was part of the popular crowd, where most of us were cute, athletic, talented, smart, wealthy, well liked, or all of the above.

This is such a high-school fantasy, it’s pathetic. Besides, why the focus on high school nowadays? It sucks! Hormones and homework and shit like that, you’d think adults would be glad to get out of it. But no, we’ve got people like Noël to remind us of what high-school should have been like. Well, from all of us who currently want to escape high school and forget about the whole ordeal, fuck you.

And even though I was never mean to anyone who wasn’t part of our group, it’s not like I really noticed them either. Those kids just didn’t have anything to do with me. And so I acted like they were invisible.

What. A. Bitch. I’m being serious here when I ask: is this all satire? Is this a very clever play on the horrible ‘Twilight’ clones we have as mass-market paperbacks that stock shelves nowadays? Please say yes. Please. This character is the one we root for. It’s just because she underwent a horrible tragedy that we find out she’s inherently ‘good’, but here’s evidence to refute it. If she hadn’t had her family die right before her, there’s no way she wouldn’t have ended up a completely shitty person. No fucking way. She would be cute, blond, and bitchy (not to mention a varsity cheerleader, whatever that means). The real character has been revealed here.

And that’s exactly why I need to stay away from Damen because his ability to charge my skin with his touch, and siIence the world with his voice is a dangerous temptation I cannot indulge.

I won’t risk hurting my friendship with Haven. And I can’t risk getting too close.

This sounds like it’s been ripped right out of ‘Twilight’ and then pasted messily into this novel. God, please make it stop.

Comment [19]

This book makes me want to choke myself with a dandelion.

Damen and Ever only have two classes together, and we join them just as Ever’s getting out of art class.

He runs up beside me, holding the door as I slink past, eyes glued to the ground, wondering how I can possibly uninvite him.

Noël seems to like runon sentences. Is this a staple of the genre? I hope not.

“Your friends asked me to stop by tonight,” he says, his stride matching mine. “But I won’t be able to make it.”

Ten bucks says he shows up anyway.

“Oh!” I say, caught completely off guard, regretting the way my voice just betrayed me by sounding so happy. “I mean, are you sure?” I try to sound softer, more accommodating, like I really do want him to visit, even though it’s too late.

You really do want him to visit. You really do. The quicker you accept that, the faster this book will progress.

So Ever’s reached her car, where Miles is waiting. He’s understandably pissed since Damen’s not coming (I doubt this), they get in the car and drive away, when Miles says:

“It’s just that I so don’t get you. It’s like, nothing about you makes any sense.”

I don’t get this book.

For one thing, you’re completely knock-down, drag-out gorgeous, at least I think you might be, because it’s really hard to tell when you’re always hiding under those ugly stretched-out hoodies. I mean, sorry to be the one to say it, Ever, but the whole ensemble is completely tragic, like camouflage for the homeless, and I don’t think we should have to pretend otherwise. Also; I hate to be the one to break it to you, but making a point to avoid the completely hot new guy, who is so obviously into you, is just weird.”

NO HE IS NOT COMPLETELY INTO HER STOP RUINING THE FUCKING STORY BY ACCELERATING THE ROMANCE OR WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT TO CALL IT NOËL BECAUSE YOUR BOOK IS BAD ENOUGH ALREADY AND-

Sorry, I think I snapped a little. But seriously… the Sue is drag-out gorgeous (whatever the hell that means) and the Stu is already into her even though we’re only at chapter six. What the fuck. This is sounding less and less like a published novel and more like a written fantasy by the minute. Wait, who am I kidding?! It never resembled a decent novel anyway.

“There’s a lot more to attraction than just looks, you know.”

Like warm tingling touch, deep smoldering eyes, and the seductive sound of a voice that can silence the world.

I’m thinking Noël assumes teenage lust is a synonym for love. Also… those are pretty aesthetic qualities and can be grouped into the “looks” category. Ever’s thought process just then made her sound like even more of a dumbass than usual, which seems pretty difficult given the circumstances.

As it turns out, Friday night was cancelled. Well, not the night, just our plans. Partly because Haven’s little brother, Austin, got sick and she was the only one around to take care of him, and partly because Miles’s sports-loving dad dragged him to a football game and forced him to wear the team colors and act like he cared. And as soon as Sabine learned I’d be home by myself, she left work early and offered to take me to dinner.

I’m pretty sure Damen will show up where Ever’s going to be heading off to.

So Ever gets ready to leave, but just before she does, Riley shows up and scares the shit out of her.

She jumps onto my bed and rearranges the pillows before she leans back.

I don’t understand… she can touch things? I thought she was supposed to be a ghost. I’ll just call her an invisible-person-seen-only-by-Ever for convenience.

So after an… embarrassing bit of dialogue from Riley, Ever has a rather clever riposte. Well, not really clever, but you get what I mean.

“So when are you scheduled for angel school? Or have they banned you because you’re so evil?”

This sounds like something a grade-schooler would say. Not a teenager.

But she just smiles sweetly and says, “Mom and Dad send their love,” seconds before disappearing.

That sounds more than a little bitchy. Haha, your parents are dead and only I can see them! Oh yeah, they send their love.

Which brings us to the end of this chapter. Thankfully, it was really short. I skipped a lot of dialogue which I felt wasn’t necessary (I would have skipped most of the chapter but there wouldn’t have been too much of a spork) so I’ll try and make the next chapter more enjoyable. Until then, goodbye!

Comment [16]

Hey everyone! Sorry about the last chapter being so suckish. It wasn’t particularly interesting (mostly serving as filler and more bad character interaction) so there wasn’t really anything worthwhile. Not that much else in this book is worthwhile either, so I suppose there’s not much else to say.

So let’s go!

We join Ever on her way to the restaurant, and all she can think about is what Riley said to her.

You’d think being dead would make a person act a little nicer, a little kinder. But not Riley. She’s just as bratty; spoiled, and awful as she was when she was alive.

It may just be me, but that seems like a little much. Don’t speak ill about the dead, and all that stuff. I’ll let Ever figure it out on her own, though. Surely she knows she’s trapped in a horribly written book and the plot will eventually decree that what Riley said will have some influence on what’s going to happen next? Well, if she doesn’t, she should.

And right after she said that, we’re here. This is how Ever describes the restaurant:

This place really is chi-chi. Big-time, major chi-chi.

I laughed when I read this because it just sounds so fucking stupid. I mean, really. The book can’t get much worse than this. Who says that to describe a fancy restaurant? Scratch that, who uses those words to describe anything?! I’m getting flashbacks to Zooey Redbird from the ‘House of Night’ fiasco.

So we get a bit of small talk between the two (Ever’s being a judgmental bitch and says that even though her aunt’s nice and all, she sucks at small talk) and after a few minutes she excuses herself to go to the bathroom and wangst. Goddamn I hate this part.

But the jolt I received when Sabine placed her hand on mine was filled with such overwhelming loneliness, such quiet sadness, it felt like a punch in the gut.

Especially when I realized I was to blame.

PLEASE TELL ME HOW THAT WORKS. Were you driving the other car? Were you the cause of the crash? Did you make the car swerve around wildly and then blow up into smithereens? Did you kill your parents?! No? THEN SHUT THE FUCK UP AND MOVE ON WITH YOUR LIFE. STOP BEING A BURDEN ON OTHER PEOPLE AND MAKE YOUR LIFE BETTER.

I’m all for mourning other people (a lot of people close to me have passed recently) but this is just… pointless angst. Pointless teenage angst. There’s really no reason for this, other than so that the readers think Ever is filled with emotion and shit, just to mask her bad characterisation. Think of what an intelligent modern teen would think in this situation. No, you’re not supposed to take characters from novels as examples.

But as much as I’d like to reach out, as much as I’d like to ease her pain, I just can’t. I’m too damaged, too weird. I’m a freak who hears thoughts and talks to the dead. And I can’t risk getting found out, can’t risk getting too close, to anyone, not even her.

STOP WITH THE WANGSTING IT’S ANNOYING AS FUCK WE’RE ONLY IN THE 7TH CHAPTER FOR CRYING OUT LOUD AND YOU’RE REMINDING ME OF EDWARD CULLEN.

I run my hands through my hair, reapply some lip gloss, and head back to the table, determined to try a little harder and make her feel better, all without risking my secrets.

See, that’s the attitude you should have! Except the part where you alienate your family members.

random scene break

I don’t know what happened, but we’re now in the parking lot, and…

“Oh, hey,” I say, my body flooding with heat and tingling the second my eyes meet his.

“You look amazing,” Damen says, his gaze traveling all the way down my dress to my shoes, before working their way back to mine.

What did I say. What. Did. I. Say. Somebody on the internet owes me ten bucks. Whoopee! More character development! But not really! By the way, the sneaky manner in which he looked at her didn’t get past me. What about you guys?

I gaze at him, wondering what he’s doing here, all alone, at this swanky hotel on a Friday night. Dressed in a dark wool blazer, a black open-neck shirt, designer jeans, and those boots, an outfit that seems far too slick for a guy his age, yet somehow looks just right.

Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupshutupwhydoeseverybodygazeisitbecausetheireyesdon’tworkproperlywhatthefuckisgoingon. Noël likes to use the word gaze too much, and it shows.

Damen’s the one who makes my palms sweat, my stomach spin, and he’s pretty much all I can think about!

Why the fuck was this published? This is as blatant as wish-fulfillment gets!

More stupid dialogue (we learn that Damen’s moved here from Santa Fe, but nobody really cares) and then we see that he’s brought a date! This will stir things up for sure!

He hooks his thumb over his shoulder, and my eyes follow in that direction, stopping on an incredibly gorgeous redhead, dressed in the slinkiest black dress and strappy high heels.

I’m confused as to which way Ever swings now.

She smiles at me, but it’s not at all kind. Just pink glossy lips slightly lifting and curving, while her eyes are too far, too distant to read. Though there’s something about her expression, the tilt of her chin, that’s so visibly mocking, as though the sight of us standing together could be nothing short of amusing.

That’s… kind of judgmental, I guess. But I’ll let you guys comment on what you think of it.

Though it’s not until later, when I’m alone in my room, that I realize the redhead was aura less too.

Well, that does move the plot along slightly. I think.

So she’s sleeping in her room and wakes up. There was a really jarring transition in between getting back home and then waking up:

Though it’s not until later, when I’m alone in my room, that I realize the redhead was aura less too.

I must’ve been in a really deep sleep because the moment I hear someone moving around in my room, my head feels so groggy and murky I don’t even open my eyes.

And one paragraph above that, she was knee-deep in describing a rose that Damen gave her. What happened in between the two events (the rose and waking up)? I guess it wasn’t really that important, otherwise Noël would have written it in. But then again, she did do a lot of really incoherent description of Damen a while back, so I don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Anyways…

“Riley?” I mumble. “Is that you?”

“You can see me?” she asks, pushing away from the desk. “Of course I can see.” Then I stop in midsentence when I realize the voice isn’t hers.

ZOMG THE SUSPENSE IS KILLING ME WHO COULD IT BE? Find out in the next chapter!

Comment [5]

Hello, and welcome back to my sporking of Evermore. I apologize for the delay between articles, my exams just finished and schoolwork’s been piling up on my table. But anyway, enough of my life. We’re supposed to be verbally eviscerating this book. So let’s go!

We are currently in Ever’s room, and she’s talking to someone who isn’t Riley! Who could this be? Hmm… I’ll need my thinking cap for this.

But the voice in my room definitely wasn’t a ghost. It also wasn’t Riley. The voice in my room belonged to Damen.

Oh jeez, this is creeping me out already. What’s funny is, she thinks this is a dream. I’m getting bad recollections to Edward’s confessions of watching Bella sleeping. Well, this bastard’s already in her room. Beat that, Cullen!

“Hey.” He smiles, slipping into his seat seconds after the bell rings, but since this is Mr. Robins’s class it’s the same as being early.

Wait, so she is dreaming? Huh. Who would’ve thought. But we’re in class? I thought this was her room! That transition was horribly written. Wait, there was no transition. By the way, is it supposed to be “Robins’s”? It doesn’t look quite right. Also, in this class, being late is the same as being early? What?

“I’m emancipated,” he adds.

This way, there’s no trouble from pesky parents on either side and they can stare doe-eyed at each other however long they want. This is fucking lazy writing at its best, everyone. I mean, I can understand getting rid of your protagonist’s parents for plot development and characterisation, but this doesn’t mean shit. But at this point in the book, we’re eight chapters and forty-five pages in and I don’t care at all. Seriously. Ever could turn into a hippo and this series could progress in a whole different direction, and I still wouldn’t bat an eyelash. That’s how much Noël has made me like her characters.

I’ve never met anyone who was emancipated, and I always thought it sounded so lonely and sad. Though from the looks of his car, his clothes, and his glamorous Friday nights at the St. Regis hotel, he doesn’t seem to be doing so badly.
Of course he has to be doing well.

Of course. The Love Interest in this kind of book can never be someone that’s actually realistic with real emotions and whatnot.

“So where’s your family?” he asks.

This is going to end well.

“They’re dead,” I say, as Mr. Robins walks in.

‘‘I’m sorry.”

Somehow, none of the emotions these characters express feel at all real. Why could that be?

Damen gazes at me from across the lunch table

Quit with the goddamn usage of ‘gaze’, it’s fucking irritating having to read that over and over and over. Eyes do other things besides meaninglessly gaze at people.

So he puts his hand on hers AGAIN, and:

infusing me with a feeling so good, so warm, so calm, and so safe, I close my eyes and allow it. Allow myself to enjoy the peace of it. Grateful to hear what he says and not what he thinks. Like an average girl with a much better than average boy.

Inferiority complex much? I know that when I was with the girl I had a crush on, I never thought myself to be below her. It’s a matter of actually having a backbone. Not that difficult, considering that most humans are born with one.

And for some excitement, Haven shows up! Woohoo.

Then gazing at Damen, she adds, “So, how was everyone’s weekend?”

STOP WITH THE GAZING OR I WILL RIP YOUR FUCKING EYEBALLS OUT AND SELL THEM ON THE BLACK MARKET.

Damen shrugs, and Haven brings on this big paragraph about how she spent her time cleaning up her brother’s vomit and all those little things that I don’t actually give a fuck about and aren’t important to the narrative of the story.

She nods, deigning to look at me again.

Why the hell is Haven so haughty this chapter? Totally out of character. But then hey, what do I know?

“People have vampire names?”

Nope nope nope nope nope. So much nope. Don’t you dare go there, Suethor. No way in hell. I will quit sporking if you dare bring vampires into this shit. Also, Miles shows up from out of nowhere. Seriously, he just randomly appears and the way we know this is from his dialogue, which is suddenly interjected into this extremely retarded conversation about how Haven’s in a club for ‘vampires’. Now, if this was a good author, a quick introduction of another character could have been done well. I’m not even going to start on how weird it was that Miles just suddenly appeared here. But it’s a dream, so I’m giving her some leeway.

Miles: “Is that like a stripper name? You know, like your first childhood pet plus your mom’s maiden name? Because that makes me Princess Slavin, thank you very much.” He smiles.

How much more gay do you want to make this guy, Noël? Really. WE GET IT.

“Uh, no. It’s nothing like that. You see, a vampire name is serious. And unlike most people, I don’t even have to change mine, because Haven is like an organic vamp name, one hundred percent natural, no additives or preservatives.” She laughs. “I told you I’m a dark princess!”

I don’t get the concept of ‘organic’ names. Maybe she meant original? I’m not sure. But the dark princess at the end sounds a little forced; meaning it sounds like she’s trying too hard to get her gothic persona across. In simpler terms, she sounds like a fucking poser.

“There was even a VIP coven room, which I totally snuck into and hung out at the blood bar.”

A coven is a group of WITCHES. Old ladies that have wild hair and keep black cats and live in creepy houses. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GET YOUR MONSTERS RIGHT YOU DUMB PRETENTIOUS BITCH.

So basically there’s a conversation going on between Haven and Damen about how Haven went to this ‘vampire’ club called the Nocturne. Irritated at being left out, Ever begins to talk to Miles about how his weekend went, to which he answers:

“I spent most of it in the bathroom text messaging this guy who’s apparently a big fat liar!”

Okay then. How is he a liar exactly? Ever wonders the same thing.

“I’ve been asking for a picture all weekend because no way am I meeting up without getting a solid visual. And this is what he sends. Stupid phony poseur!”

I squint at the thumbnail, not quite getting what he’s so angry about. “How do you know it’s not him?” I ask, glancing at Miles.

And then Damen says, “Because it’s me.”

Whoa. That totally came out of left-field. So Damen’s been talking to Miles about possibly being in a relationship? With the token gay guy? That would be an interesting plot twist.

And with that, we end the chapter for today. See you next time, folks!

Comment [14]

This book is pissing me off more than it should. I’m supposed to be a calm, cool and collected guy. This book is unraveling all of that carefully wrapped patience and control and turning them into spaghetti.

So we begin with Ever telling us that Damen was apparently a model.

What.

WHAT.

W. H. A. T.

What the hell would a model be doing in a school as supposedly sucky as Ever’s described? Damen’s been made out as a man-statue-work of art-hybrid thing, and I’m pretty sure those kinds of people don’t go to crummy schools like this one. But then again, Noël hasn’t been too gracious in her descriptions of settings. Seriously. All those adjectives are just lined up for Damen’s scenes. It’s ridiculous.

When I get to art, I beeline for the supply closet, grab all my stuff, and head for my easel, refusing to react when I notice how Damen is set up right next to mine.

Is she still dreaming? This is really confusing to read. Because in the last chapter, we somehow managed to go from her classroom to the lunchroom, and now we’re in art class. What the fuck is going on here? Shouldn’t there at least be a notice that we’re transitioning through different scenes? Noël just uses a paragraph break and begins writing. It’s hurting my brain to figure this shit out, guys.

trying not to gawk at his masterpiece in the making-a seriously perfect rendition of Picasso’s Woman with Yellow Hair.

My Stu-meter just broke. Anybody have a spare? I’m in need of one.

Then just to torture myself even further, I take another glance at his effortless, curving brushstrokes, and add it to the never-ending list of things he’s amazingly good at.

I want to curl up in a corner and cry, wondering why in the world a waste of time like this was published. ALL THOSE POOR TREES. CUT DOWN. FOR WHAT?! THIS SHIT?! REALLY?! If you don’t understand my frustration, let me lay it out for you:

>Writing a character in literature is not that difficult. All it requires is a basic knowledge of how a person is supposed to work, and some common sense. This book has neither.

>Your characters have to be flawed. They have to. Otherwise there’s no point writing a character, since it’s not a character anymore.

>NEVER-ENDING LIST OF THINGS HE’S AMAZINGLY GOOD AT?! NOËL, DID YOU EVEN FUCKING READ YOUR OWN WRITING?! WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHY THE HELL DID YOU THINK THAT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA GETTING THIS PUBLISHED?!

Seriously, like in English, he can answer all of Mr. Robins’s questions, which is kind of weird since he only had one night to skim all three hundred and some odd pages of Wuthering Heights.

Are we still dreaming? Seriously, Ever’s just rambling on about how amazing Damen is, something that I really couldn’t give a fuck about. I searched everywhere guys, even my laundry basket. I still couldn’t find a single fuck to give about what she’s saying. It’s so boring! Noël starts to write an interesting scene about how Ever hears Riley-except-not-Riley in her room and then hears Damen’s voice. But then she says that she’s dreaming and uses it as an excuse to write a couple hundred words of complete bullshit about this character that I despise. And it’s not even well written bullshit, which I can sometimes tolerate. It’s pseudo-teenagespeak bullshit, which is the most irritating form of writing to crop up in recent years.

He’s ambidextrous too,

Somebody better hand me a shotgun real quick, because I am taking this motherfucker down.

“Just like Pablo himself. Wonderful!” Ms. Machado says, smoothing her long glossy braid as she stares at his canvas, her aura vibrating a beautiful cobalt blue, as her mind performs cartwheels and somersaults, jumping in glee, racing through her mental roster of talented former students, realizing she’s never had one with such innate, natural ability-until now.

You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. You have got to be FUCKING KIDDING ME.

Let me cut this shit short, shall I? Ever drops her brush and then Damen reaches out to touch the scar on her forehead, the one that he should have no idea about but we know he does since this is a bad fucking book and every plot “twist” is more predictable than the next. The end. See, was it that difficult, Noël? No. It wasn’t.

THAT WAS LITERALLY ALL THAT HAPPENED IN THE FUCKING CHAPTER. NOTHING ELSE. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER, SUETHOR.

Comment [8]

Well, here we go again.

We begin the chapter with Ever choosing a sweatshirt to wear. You’d think she’d wear something else considering she has other stuff, but no. We have got to remember that she’s the traumatised speshul heroine that’s all delicate and moody and broody and totally not attractive.

I literally have no idea what the fuck happened in the last chapter, nor do I care. It was long-winded, it made no sense, I didn’t care about anything Noël said, the characters somehow became out-of-character (how does that even work? It’s her own novel!) and we didn’t really learn anything except for the fact that Damen is perfect in every concievable aspect of the word.

Fuck my life.

“I’m not wearing makeup,” I say, cringing as my voice nears a shout.

Good heavens no, we can’t have that now, can we? We can’t really expect her to actually try and… care about the way she looks! That’s ridiculous! We all know that the Sue won’t put makeup on, she won’t really wear anything but jeans and a raggedy sweatshirt and the whole world will still fall on its ass after taking one look at her. I know, I know, I’ve seen all this shit before.

It’s not surprising. These characters, the ones that appear in a lot of similar YA novels, seem to have been cloned. Or at least made from a mold so that they’re all the same. Maybe it’s the first-person narration.

Wondering if he liked you back, and bippidy-blah blah.

Are we going to get a bunch of chapters of Ever wangsting about how she’s hideous and that Damen will never ‘lurve’ her? But then she realizes that he does, and then he realizes that he does, which ends up with both of them spouting a whole bunch of bullshit about their supposed affection for each other, leaving me still attempting to find a single fuck to give. This is harder than it looks!

That last part of the sentence was a pure WTF moment as well.

an image of Damen flashes before me, looking so gorgeous, so sexy, so smoldering, so palpable,

She’s forgotten her meds again. NURSE WE NEED TO UP THE DOSAGE ON THIS ONE

But when I see Damen talking to Stacia, I add paranoid to the already long list.

If you’re as shitty as you keep telling us you are, you might as well give up now since there’s no fucking way he’s going to end up with you. That is, if this book was actually written well. We all know it’s not.

“Um, excuse me,” I say; blocked by Damen’s gloriously long legs, which are taking the place of her usual booby trap.

Something tells me I need coffee. Or a vacation.

Okay, so Damen’s at Stacia’s desk and then gives her a flower. Ever’s pissed. Damen’s a dick. HA! You didn’t think I’d see this coming, did you Noël?! Well I did!

“What the Jug?” Haven says,

“What the fuck?” I said, unable to believe this actually got through editing.

Miles shakes his head and gazes at Damen, watching him wow the A-list with his natural charm, magic pen, and stupid fugging rosebuds.

Why do you have to gaze? That’s it, I diagnose everybody in this book with an eye disorder. Stupid fugging book.

I don’t want to do this anymore. But I will, since it’s fun in a horrible, creepy way.

Because the truth is, that’s just Damen. He’s a player. And he does this all the time.

Why did it take you so long to figure this out?

I gaze across the lunch tables, just in time to see Damen compile an entire bouquet of white rosebuds from Stacia’s ear, sleeve, cleavage, and purse.

I dislike this sentence. Plus, he reaches into her cleavage? Goddamn. Oh, Ever thought that she was special? Haha nope. Glad she got shot down like this, but I hate the fact that she’ll end up with this dick anyway. She’s moody now, but you just wait.

So, let me just cut this short again, since Noël is unable to write a concise scene. It must always be drawn out pointlessly and accomplish nothing at the end. A pretty stupid way to write, if you ask me.

We learn that Ever is pissed about Damen messing around with Stacia (made evident by her internal monologue). She wants to get out of art, but goes anyway since:
it’s the right thing to do.

Okay then. She gets there and sees a note with ‘Stacia’ scrawled on it stuck on an easel, then gets all moody and throws her paintbrush onto the ground. Once art class finishes, she leaves and then checks the note again but now it says
‘Ever’. She opens it up and then sees that it’s a drawing of a tulip.

There. Was it that hard to write it concisely without all unnecessary adornments? No, it wasn’t.

Comment [11]

Hey guys. Today’s spork will be a little more laid-back, since I’m tired today. I’ll still mock everything mercilessly, so don’t worry about that. Also, I’ll add some gifs into the mix, just for some extra fun times.

Halloween is just a few days away and I’m still working on the final touches for my costume.

Haven’s going as a vampire (duh), Miles is going as a pirate, but that’s only after I talked him out of going as Madonna in her cone-breast phase, and I’m not telling what I’m going as.

I’ve just realised something; this book reads like a teenage (or tweenage) girl’s diary. Really. The whole overflowing descriptions of this supposedly hot guy and the stereotyped views on all her friends… it’s a typical, Hollywood-movie-based teen girl’s diary. IT ALL MAKES SO MUCH SENSE NOW. Why didn’t I realise this before? God, I’m an idiot. Hopefully, this will all end up very nicely and she’ll tell us that she had always meant to write that way and- sigh it won’t happen, will it? Also:

I talked him out of going as Madonna in her cone-breast phase,

WE GET IT. HE IS GAY. STOP IT. STOP REMINDING US. WE ARE NOT GOLDFISH.

Oh, and apparently the afterlife also has Tivo. I don’t know what that is. But it doesn’t seem like it should be there after you’re dead. Riley mentions it. Something tells me that the spin off series with Riley will be just as annoying.

As you’ve probably seen from the aforementioned excerpt of the book, Ever doesn’t want to tell us what she’s going as on Halloween. Which is perfectly fine with me. I don’t give a fuck. Do any of you? Didn’t think so. I can live without knowing what her costume is. No worries.

I roll my eyes and sigh. “You know I don’t have a boyfriend,”

I’ve got to be honest here. I rolled my eyes and sighed too. This girl is just too ignorant for her own good.

He-he was just some new kid, who at first I thought was kind of cute, but then, when I realized what a total player he is, well, let’s just say that I’m over it. In fact, I don’t even think he’s cute anymore. Seriously, it lasted like ten seconds, but only because I didn’t know any better.

Now if only all of this crap was actually meaningful. What I mean by that is this: none of this, nothing here, seems at all realistic at all. No emotional connection between the reader and the characters, reducing all dialogue and exposition into a bunch of empty words. All this angst that we see? Nothing special. Just your average, run-of-the-mill teenage moodiness. I’m like that everyday at about six in the evening. At least I’m consistent, which is more than I can say for this character.

We then get this big wall of text which badly describes how good the Halloween decorations made the house look. I’m not going to include it because it’s just so big, but it’s written really badly. A twelve-year-old’s English assignment-level badly. Everything she wrote makes sense, but the way it’s written just sounds amateurish:

And oh yeah, we placed a life-sized grim reaper out on the front lawn.

And oh yeah. I just don’t know anymore, guys. I just don’t.

Then we get another few paragraphs of outfit description which is rather jarring and annoying to read. We don’t need detail. Stuff like this:

the beautiful black gown with the low square neckline, the sheer three-quarter Iength sleeves, and the super tight bodice that swells into shiny, loose folds-just like the one Marie Antoinette wore to the masked ball (well, as portrayed by Kirsten Dunst in the movie).

It’s not necessary.

And when my costume’s complete I stand before my mirror twirling and spinning and smiling as my shiny black dress sways all around, and I’m thrilled with how good it turned out.

That’s a horrifically written sentence. Twirling and spinning and smiling. Has Noël never heard of a comma between adjectives? It’s not just between clauses of sentences

and bippidy-blah-blah.

Second time Riley’s said this, and it’s already pissing me off a bit. I don’t want to spork her series, because I know it’ll be more irritating than this one.

I start to reach for her, but my hands fumble at my sides. I guess I’m so used to having her around that I sometimes forget how she’s not really here, how she’s no longer part of this world, and how she’ll never grow any older, never get the chance to be thirteen. And then I remember how it’s all my fault to begin with, and I feel a million times worse.

You know, this book would be a lot more interesting if it turned out that she really did kill her family and that memory had just been repressed. I would read this book properly if that happened. But until then, or until somebody actually writes a halfway decent YA novel that I can find, this narrator is just wangsting for no reason because THERE IS NO FUCKING EVIDENCE THAT SHE KILLED HER FAMILY.

Haven describes Damen to her friend Evangeline, and Evangeline says the best line in the book so far:

Evangeline raises her brows. “Sounds like he is an illusion. No one’s that perfect.”

Evangeline, get the fuck out of this book right now. You are too good for them.

After a few sentences of nothing happening, the doorbell rings and:

when I open the door I forget to gloat, because Damen is there. Flowers in one hand, gold tipped hat in the other, with his hair gathered into a low ponytail, his usual sleek black clothes replaced with a frilly white shirt, a coat with gold buttons, and what can only be described as breeches, tights, and pointy black shoes.

Yeah. Even though he wasn’t invited, even though Ever didn’t want him there, the asshat showed up anyway. Good God. His explanation?

But he just smiles and hands me the flowers. “Then it must be a lucky coincidence.”

Shut the fuck up and walk right back out that door, you dick. She doesn’t want you here. Well, maybe she does, but that doesn’t mean you can waltz over and hijack the story. Get a move on.

Haven: “I mean, it’s not your fault you’re smart and pretty and guys are always going to like you better than me.”

The amount of fail in this sentence…

It’s a Sue, and we all know it.

She gazes across the room

Not after I pluck out her eyes, she won’t.

The doorbell rings again, and this time, we have a psychic! How interesting. She can see Riley.

The chapter ends, and I’m glad it did.

Comment [6]

And here I am again, back with another chapter of this drivel. You guys are enjoying this, aren’t you? You’re enjoying my pain and suffering! Come on, say something, guys! I feel like I’m all alone, trapped in this void of shitty writing.

So anyway, let’s continue with the book.

Ever’s really surprised at the sudden appearance of Ava, the psychic.

Was I so wrapped up in my own world that I forgot to poke around in Sabine’s?

Our heroine, ladies and gentlemen. She’ll read your mind faster than you can bitchslap her across the face to stop her from doing so.

“You should get in line before it gets any longer,” Sabine says, her shoulder pressed against Frankenstein, who, with or without the creepy mask, is not the cute guy who works in her building.

He’s also not the big, successful investment banker he pretends to be. In fact, he still lives with his mother.

Oh shut up, you pretentious little shit. There’s no use telling me things I don’t need to know and don’t want to know when Ava the Plot Point is giving a reading right in front of you. I mean, how is this in any way significant at all? I don’t give a fuck about Sabine’s friends, and I certainly couldn’t care less about what you tell me.

HOLD ON A SECOND.

I’ve just realized something. Right now, we’re seventy-two pages into the book and I have no idea what the plot is. We’ve gotten some wangsting, a lot of Sueness and a whole bunch of Hawt Hero Description. The actual story better get the fuck on with it soon.

Really. This is a bestseller? Really? Do people have absolutely nothing better to read?

I like him. I mean, I really like him. I can’t help it. I just do. And no matter how hard I try to pretend otherwise, it doesn’t make it any less true.

I know why you do. It’s because the plot says so. Is that the answer? Can I go home now?

I would give anything to get my old life back, to be as normal and clueless as every other girl.

She sounds so… condescending here. God. Why are we supposed to like this idiot? I’m not a teenage girl, but I know for a fact that the word ‘clueless’ will not describe the vast majority of you.

But that’s what’s so great about Damen. He’s like an off switch.

It’s like she’s describing a product she bought from an infomercial.

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

Shininess, overall lack of decent characterization and, with the new DLC, will now completely adore you for no fathomable reason! Buy now with only six-hundred and twenty-two easy payments of $19.95!

Badly Written Characters^TM are in no way responsible for financial ruin or mental disorders as a result of exposure to Damen the Hawt Psychic^TM. Available in stores near you!

.

..

…

That was certainly weird.

Back to the story.

And even though he makes me feel wonderful and warm and as close to normal as I’ll ever get to be, I can’t help but think that there’s nothing normal about it.

Believe it or not, this was one paragraph.

And when I glance at him, my whole body heats.

I think you mean: heats up. That heat’s gotta go somewhere, you know.

I kick my feet up and smile, thinking how nice it feels to finally let go, to act like a normal girl, with a normal crush, just like anyone else.

I can’t complain about this sentence. I felt like an idiot when I had a crush on a girl in sixth grade. I guess I can empathise with Ever, just this once.

He takes his finger, the very tip of his index finger, and slides it across the width of my neck, leaving a trail of warm wonderful sizzle as he lingers just under my ear.

For all you guys out there, I don’t recommend trying this unless you’re in the seediest places imaginable. Like Marzipan City. If you got that reference, I’ll give you a $1000 dollars someday. But really, this is starting to read like what
Noël wanted some guy to do to her in high school. It doesn’t read like a novel. It’s a diary now, and that is what I shall call it from here on in.

I shrug and press my lips, wishing he’d just shut up and kiss me already.

Press your lips… I give up. What’s really painful here is that the book has so much potential to actually be halfway decent reading material, but it’s not! The actual premise and story and narrative and the plot and characters are thrown to the side so that pointless fluff can be written in their place. Now, I can appreciate well-written fluff; I’m an avid reader of fluffy fanfics involving my favourite characters (there are some brilliantly written fics on FF.net) but actually publishing that is never recommended since there’s nothing of substance in your work. Which is why a lot of popular YA is panned by many critics (Goodreads pages are useful for these vague stats) since they’re not meaningful literature.

He laughs. “It’s not possible to read minds, or tell the future, right?”

A little bit heavy-handed on the foreshadowing, are we?

“Have I angered you?” he asks, his fingers cupping my chin, bringing my face back to his.

And that’s another thing. Sometimes he uses California surf speak as well as anyone else around here, and other times, he sounds like he just walked straight out of the pages of Wuthering Heights.

Well, we’ve only got this one example to go on with. If he’d, I don’t know… ACTUALLY TALKED LIKE THIS BEFORE MAYBE I WOULD BELIEVE YOU.

“I don’t want to talk,” I whisper, holding my breath as his lips meet mine.

This ending resembles those of bad fanfics I’ve come across sometimes. The characters just… get together! Yeah, that’s about it. There’ll be a lot of unrealistic dialogue, and horribly written description, and in the end they will just kiss and that’s it. Bam. The end.

There’s the ending of the chapter, people. I’ll see you in the next instalment of the spork. Until then, goodbye!

Comment [5]

Hello everyone! Sorry there hasn’t been an update in a while, I got distracted by other things. Like my guitar getting fixed. I’m not dead, don’t worry.

But let’s not worry about that! I’m here to entertain you guys! Let’s go!

So the last chapter ended like a bad fanfiction. Meaning, it sucked. But that’s a word I’d use to describe most of the book, so I’m not sure if it holds any power here. Get ready for purple prose though, because you know she’ll want to describe the entire thing in nauseating detail.

If I thought his voice was amazing with the way it envelopes me in silence, if I thought his touch was incredible with the way it awakens my skin, well, the way he kisses is otherworldly. And even though I’m no expert, having only kissed a few guys before, I’m still willing to bet that a kiss like this, a kiss this complete and transcendent, is a once-in- a-lifetime thing.

You know, guys, there’s been criticism of others sporking books like this since some people feel that fluffy, escapist books like these are normal and shouldn’t be bashed just because the authors are female and they think and feel differently to male authors. But the point has been missed here. It’s not that I dislike women authors; I dislike idiotic literature. Idiotic literature with unreasonably perfect characters and unnecessary ‘details’ that are not relevant to the plot of the book. We used to write because we had something meaningful to say. Nowadays, it seems like we write just because we have to say something (yes, I paraphrased Plato, sue me. No wait, don’t). It’s true! I don’t want to be seen here as painting the whole YA genre with the same brush, but a lot of it, from what I’ve seen, seems like bottom-of-the-barrel-, shallow, cheap reading.

But enough of my ranting.

And when he pulls away and gazes into my eyes, I close mine again, grab his lapels, and bring him back to me.

Until Haven says, ‘Jeez, I’ve been looking all over for you. I should’ve known you’d be hiding out here.”

The setting is really not described at all, so this whole sequence of events seems really dream-like. That’s probably not what the author was going for. You know how in dreams, things just seem to happen in a non-logical order and you’re not very sure what the fuck is going on? Yeah, that’s this book in a nutshell. Haven just appears. Out of absolutely nowhere. By the way, where the fuck is Ava the psychic? I thought she was supposed to be important.

Also, Haven says she’s leaving.

She raises her hand to stop me. “Please. Spare me the details. I just wanted you to know that Evangeline and I are taking off.”

Out of this book? That would make my day.

Yeah, my friend Drina stopped by, she’s taking us to another party.

At the mention of Drina, however…

“Drina?” Damen says, standing so fast his whole body blurs.

You know, there’s not much movement involved in standing up. Certainly not enough to warrant blurring. I recommend seeing a physician for this.

The search for Drina literally ends in less than two paragraphs. Really. They just rush dramatically ‘through the house’ while Ever stares at the back of Damen’s head and all of a sudden, Drina’s just there. Boom. Also, she’s dressed as Marie Antoinette. Coincidentally, Ever’s also dressed as Marie Antoinette. I sense some sort of a pissy confrontation coming.

‘And you must be … “ She lifts her chin as her eyes land on mine, two glowing spheres of deep emerald green.

Glowing spheres of emerald green? Really? Not eyes? Well, at least they’ll be useful when your car headlights break.

“Ever,” I mumble, taking in the pale blond wig, the creamy flawless skin, the tangle of pearls at her throat, watching as her perfect pink lips display teeth so white they hardly seem real.

This is the villain and everybody fucking knows it already. Way to foreshadow, Noël. Well done.

I turn to Damen, hoping he can explain, provide some logical explanation for how the redhead from the St. Regis ended up in my foyer. But he’s too busy gazing at her to even notice my existence.

Why does everybody in this book gaze? I am getting sick and tired of it. It’s like Noël’s afflicted with the antithesis of thesaurus abuse; she uses the same word every fucking time. THERE ARE OTHER WORDS. USE THEM.

“How do you know each other?” I ask, noting how Damen’s entire demeanor has changed, suddenly growing chilly, cold, and distant, a dark cloud where the sun used to be.

So there is now a cloud floating 93 million miles away where there should be an incredibly large sphere of burning gas. Right. Something tells me that this was not thought through. Also, the commas do nothing to endear me to this sentence.

It turns out that Drina was invited by Haven to Ever’s party. The mechanics of this social gathering make no sense to me. Why would you let other people invite other other people that you don’t even know to your own party? What kind of sense does that make?

I narrow my eyes, ignoring the twitch in my heart, the pang in my gut, as I struggle to get some kind of read. But her thoughts are inaccessible, sealed off completely, and her aura nonexistent.

Why was this not handled the same way as it was when Ever found out that Damen had no aura? Is it because she’s the antagonist? Is it because she’s of the same gender that Ever is? None of these are good reasons for focusing more on Drina’s lack of aura and then treating Damen like a pair of noise-cancelling headphones.

“Isn’t she the coolest?” Haven says, gazing at Drina with the sort of awe she usually reserves for vampires, Goth rockers, and Damen.

Haven is such a fucking poser.

“We really need to go if we’re going to make it to Nocturne by midnight,” Evangeline says.

Get the fuck out of here, all of you. The book will benefit, no doubt about that.

Damen’s a player. Pure and simple. Tonight just happened to be my turn.

You know, if Ever was characterised right (Damen would have been a dick anyhow so no need to worry about him) I would be totally sympathetic to this kind of betrayal. Except… through the course of reading this book I have never established an emotional connection with any character here. Not even once. And to add, this hardly seems like a betrayal anyway. I’ve read through the entire passage a few times and I saw no real reason for Ever to be so lucid and out of character here as it never sounded like Damen had any feelings for Drina whatsoever.

So she sits by the steps all depressed. Derp di derp.

Knowing I never should’ve allowed him to kiss me, never should’ve invited him in.

No worries. You’re a special kind of stupid, so all we can do is flip the pages and wait for this to magically resolve itself with the powers of bad writing.

“There you are!” Sabine says, grabbing hold of my arm and pulling me to my feet. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Ava agreed to stay just long enough to give you a reading.”

That is literally the next sentence. Sabine appears out of nowhere. This alone should give you an insight to how the rest of the book is written. But I am so happy that Ava is finally doing something.

You don’t have to hide under a hood, killing your eardrums with music you don’t even like. There are ways to handle it, and I’d be happy to show you because, Ever, you don’t have to live like that.

sigh Oh god, another pseudo-realistic character that doesn’t worship the ground Ever walks on and doesn’t seem to have her head stuck up her ass. You just know she won’t be handled well.

Ever refuses.

Why am I not fucking surprised.

The chapter ends here. Another disappointing result from Noël.

Comment [11]

So I am back with another chapter. I know it’s been a while, but my life has been incredibly busy since the last installment. Enough excuses though, let’s go! I’m really fired up for this chapter since it’s been a while since I sporked. I think this will be a rage-filled one, just to keep all my readers happy! That said, I hope you guys are enjoying this sporking as much as I enjoy ripping Noël’s book to shreds.

This chapter continues from the end of Ever’s encounter with Ava the Psychic. Once more, Ever demonstrated that she was an idiot of unimaginable proportions and Ava was just there to be introduced and shut down. I literally don’t know why Noël had kept writing here. This shit has made my brain go numb.

That night, long after the party had ended and all of our guests were gone, I was lying in bed, thinking about Ava, what she said about Riley being stuck, and how I was to blame.

I still don’t understand where this misplaced sense of self-pity seems to arise from. It makes no sense whatsoever. Ever’s parents died in a car crash and she survived. I’ve heard of ‘survivor guilt’ but this is fucking ridiculous! She did nothing to cause the accident (at least, nothing was mentioned in the book so I am just assuming that she didn’t sabotage the car in some way to make it crash and leave her alive which would make her a murderous psychopath), ergo: she should not feel that she caused this problem.

We all know why she’s rambling on like this. It’s a pity party and we’re all expected to feel bad for Ever. Aww, poor baby. NO. SHUT THE FUCK UP. SHUT UP. SHUT UP RIGHT THIS FUCKING MOMENT. I HAVE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH YOUR BULLSHIT AND I’VE STILL GOT 204 FUCKING PAGES LEFT SO JUST CUT THE SHIT, OKAY?!

This horrible gift is what I deserve for all the harm that I’ve caused, for the lives I cut short. And now I just have to live with it and try not to harm anyone else.

THAT’S THE EXACT OPPOSITE OF WHAT I WANTED. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU’RE AN IDIOT.

sigh

Moving on.

And even though I know Ava’s only trying to help, offering to stand in as some sort of psychic big sister, what she doesn’t realize is that I don’t want any help.

Why? Why on earth would you not want help? What kind of sense does that make? You’re psychologically traumatised and someone has offered their help for free, no charge, and you still don’t accept? Ava seems like a sensible adult who knows what she’s doing. She’s offering to help you get your shit together and like a dumbshit you refuse. Right. Because that’s logical.

When I finally did fall asleep, I dreamt of Damen. And everything about it felt so powerful, so intense, so urgent, I thought it was real.

Wake up, idiot. He’s not who you should be thinking about now. But at this point, who’s suprised. Who else would she dream about? This makes the paragraph of snivelling self-pity seem completely worthless. You’re just drooling over emotionless man-candy now.

Boring conversation between Ever and Riley. Ever refuses to accept that Damen is her boyfriend (WHO ELSE COULD HE POSSIBLY BE?!) while Riley continues with the steady stream of not-so-clever replies. I hate this piece of shit that tries to pass itself off as a book.

Riley describes someone called Heather Watson (someone who isn’t important and who we don’t need to know about) as:

She’s kind of a, well, you know, a B with an itch,

Well, you’re kind of an i with a pinch of diot.

One of the many things I hate about this book is that passages in the narrative where Ever goes places or when she sees something of actual importance are thrown to the side in favour of mindless chatter and gossip. The dialogue has started to resemble white noise. Huge walls of absolute bullshit speech just go by and there’s nothing of value in them at all. But when Heather Watson starts making out with Brandon Idon’tgiveafuck, Ever’s simply rapt with attention.

“Seriously?” I gape. “Heather Watson? You’re joking.” I try to picture it in my mind, but it doesn’t add up.

WHO THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HEATHER WATSON AND WHY DO WE CARE?!

WAIT, WE DON’T.

Ever drives to Miles’s place. She gets there and he asks her for every single detail.

Miles looks at me and shakes his head. “Hel-lo? Damen? I heard you guys were taking in the moonlight, making out by the pool, hooking up under the moon’s silvery.”

MOON’S SILVERY WHAT?! FINISH YOUR FUCKING SENTENCE!

“Listen, word’s out so don’t even try to deny it. And I would’ve called you yesterday but my dad confiscated my phone and dragged me to the batting cages, so he could watch me swing like a girl.”

I swear to God, it’s like Noël is beating me to within an inch of my life, screaming into my face: “DO YOU KNOW HE’S GAY?! WELL HE’S GAY, OKAY! JUST LETTING YOU KNOW!” I picture this scenario every single time that there’s an unnecessary mention of Miles’s sexuality. Each word is punctuated with a smack as she whacks me with the book. Not a fun situation to be in, guys.

So a bunch of unnecessary angsting by Ever, Miles is gay, and la-di-da.

Another random paragraph break and we’re at school. Damen’s not there, and Ever thinks:

Which, of course, makes me think about him even that much more, until I’m teetering on the edge of obsession.

This is horrifying. What has this person done to you to drive you to obsession? I’m sitting here shaking my head in wonderment. Damen has been a less-than-one-dimensional character throughout this book and has literally done nothing but stand around and look good. WHAT THE FUCK HAS HE DONE?! ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WORTH THINKING ABOUT, THAT’S FOR SURE!

So she keeps angsting about how she’s worthless and shit (this book would put an emo to shame) and then Damen bursts through the doors of the classroom with Stacia. They’re smiling and laughing and whatever, nothing of consequence.

Damen goes to Ever’s table, and Ever’s sitting there shaking like a leaf. She drops her pen on the ground, picks it up and by the time she does there’s a red tulip on the table. What does this mean? Ever doesn’t know and Hell if I know either.

Another random paragraph break and we’re now joining Ever, Miles and Haven at the cafeteria. This shit reads like the script to the world’s most boring teen soap opera.

So there’s some dialogue (nobody gives a fuck about it which is why I mostly skip over it now) when Ever notices:

But when I finally do look at her, I’m startled to see how her usual yellow contacts have been swapped for a brand-new green.

A green so familiar it robs me of breath.

Well. We find out that it’s exactly the same shade of green as Drina’s eyes. The description continues and we find out that almost every part of Haven has now started to resemble Drina. Is this significant? You betcha! Will it be handled in a well-written and appropriate manner? Haha. No. Likely not.

Haven and Ever make up as friends, since Haven has suddenly done a complete about-face and does not care whether Ever and Damen have ‘hooked up’ or not.

That’s strange. Something’s not right here, but I can’t put my finger on it…

Anyway, the chapter ends with Ever searching the cafeteria for Damen and finding out he’s not there. Wow. Am I supposed to feel something here?

Honestly, the book is so dull now it’s making me do this:

I don’t know, guys. I just don’t know. There’s no hope for the book to redeem itself and to top it all off THERE’S A WHOLE FUCKING SERIES BASED ON THESE ASSHOLES!

deep sigh of regret and misery

Take care, and I’ll see you in the next chapter.

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