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I liked this book. The whole time I was reading it I thought "yeah, it's good... it's not great though". So probably 3 stars. The amount of suspension of disbelief asked of the reader was ALMOST more than I was willing to bear. I mean, come on, truthfully, it was VERY unbelievable that a little girl would be able to live alone in the marshland. It was unbelievable that the town folk, the CHURCHES, the STATE would turn a blind eye to this little girl's well being for year after year. I mean, at least they could have dropped off some food, some supplies, whatever. Then when she learned how to read, draw, paint, author books, boat motor never broke down, house never needed dire repairs etc... was almost laughable to the point of ruining the whole thing.

But

I love nature. When I first went to college I was a biology major because I wanted to work for the national park system as a park naturalist. I love birds and wildlife, the flora and fauna of different regions, ecology, taxonomy all that. I can fully believe, since she had nothing else in here life to draw away her attention, the girl Kya fixating on the natural world and studying it closely. I mean her life depended upon it. So I DID like that part of the book a lot and hence my wanting to rate it 3 stars instead of the 2 that all that suspension of disbelief warranted.

But then again, I really liked the ending. I love the thought of making a life apart from the mainstream, quiet contemplation surrounded by nature. and then the very ending, the poem that explains it all, took me by surprise and was just perfect really so I bumped my rating up to 4 stars.

Now some people who are local to that area in North Carolina have issues with the dialect, the nearby cities and towns, etc. and that IS a legitimate gripe to have. Nothing pulls me out of a story quicker than these kinds of flaws of a thing or place that I am well familiar with. Like, author, do your damn homework! But being that I've never been to North Carolina, I was able to just go with the story without being slammed with the inconsistancies or falsehoods of setting.

So, yeah, I enjoyed it because it appealed to my particular personality and obviously my ignorance too. I can see how people could have trouble with this, but for me it worked.

The Essex Serpent is a good book; I enjoyed it. It reminded me of a classic English novel like any of the Bronte sisters’ novels for example or Jane Austen. You have some of the common things going on that you run into in these kinds of books written/set in the (late) 19th century- someone with consumption wasting away, a pastor and family living out in the country, the “enlightened people” from London visiting the country folk, the superstitious villagers, a “forbidden” love interest. Often they have a mystery that kind of drives the story forwards. Or some kind of protagonist/antagonist conflict, something. In the Essex Serpent there are good, believable characters, even if we don’t get to examine them in too much detail (not enough backstory or character development really). You have people visiting other people, even complete strangers coming to dinner just because a common friend introduced you via correspondence. Which, to me, seems bizarre doesn’t it? People were much friendlier back in the day, that’s for sure. Nowadays we don’t even bother to answer a text message from family half the time or just give a yes or no or thumbs up. Anyway, it’s a good classic type of British novel and if that’s your thing you might dig this. If not, I’d skip it as it’s not exactly the most exciting thing you’ll ever read. Still, like I said, it’s well written and I liked it even if I can’t quite articulate why. ha

Oh rock (auto)biographies, I thought I broke it off with you. “I want to read more intellectually challenging material” I said to myself. ”I need to grow and change as a reader, as a person”. “All these rock (auto)biographies are the same, I’m done.” I asserted. But, rock (auto)biography, it seems I just can’t quit you. I saw this at the library and, I know, I know, I should have just walked on by. But no, I picked it up and read the inside flap and Dave Grohl said something like “I measure my life in musical increments” and I thought “So do I! I do that too!” so against my better judgment, not being a particular fan of Dave Grohl’s music, I took this book home with me.

The book is not bad. It’s just not the book I wanted to read. I thought Dave Grohl was going to tell us about the soundtrack to his life. And perhaps he did, but not in the way I wanted him to. I thought he would tell us about what song was popular the first time he kissed a girl. Or what song was playing the first time he got stoned off his ass on pot. I mean I’ll never forget that stuff. Playing spin the bottle in Patty H’s garage the summer I was 11 with Patty and Debbie and Donna and Christy and Joey and Timmy and Danny and Mike Z. Soundtrack, Live and Let Die by Paul McCartney and Wings or maybe Getting Stronger Every Day by Chicago. Or the time the older Johnny Tomzak invited Mary B and me to drive around in a raging snowstorm and smoke some “panama red”. I’ll never forget, we smoked it in a pipe. A pipe! Wasn’t that what old grandpa men smoked? What the hell? I don’t know how to smoke a pipe! But smoke it we did and I got so wasted I melted into the backseat. I’ll never forget, we were listening to Led Zeppelin’s first album and the windshield wipers were perfectly keeping time with the songs as the car fishtailed left and then right in the snow. Looking out the backseat passenger window at all the snow piled up and people scurrying around like ants diligently shoveling in front of their houses, moving piles of snow from here to there and stacking kitchen chairs and saw-horses in the street to save the parking space as is done in a Chicagoland winter and me, looking out at this scene thinking “Why does everything seem so weird? Is this how it always is?” Everything looked fake like it was in a cartoon or on a movie screen or the wrong size somehow. Then Dazed and Confused started and that diabolical descending riff sent me spiraling straight down below, where, I was just assured, the soul of a woman was created, into an obsession with Led Zeppelin and Jimmy Page that I never quite shook even to this day.

Or listening to Neil Young’s Heart of Gold album, driving around with my then boyfriend, future first husband stoned on too many valium and pot and him crashing his car, a harbinger, unfortunately ignored, of many future events in the next few years. Or the first summer with my now husband listening to records blasting out of a guitar amp. Songs like Robert Palmer’s “Sneaking thru the Alley with Sally” can take me right back to that time, how wonderous to be young and in love again after my disasterous first marriage. Or hearing, yes, “Smells like Teen Spirit” on Mtv when my new baby was about 1 years old and thinking “What is THAT?!” It immediately got my attention, that “Hello, hello how low?” and going out soon after to buy the record. Alternative music became the soundtrack to my youngest son’s formative years through the ‘90s and aughts. All the grunge bands out of Seattle and Allanis Morrisette and Smashing Pumpkins and on and on. My young son dancing in the living room, when he thought no one was watching, shaking his ass to “I Want to Fuck You Like an Animal” by NIN and me laughing my ass off. Or when he was in his early teens and getting into being in a band, they fashioned themselves after The Misfits and “Last Caress” was their anthem. Today, listening to Stoned Temple Pilot’s “Interstate Love Song” makes me think of summertime and just gives me a feeling of sunshine and comfort and everything being right in the world and I wasn’t even a particular fan of the band. Or Sublime’s “Summertime and the living’s easy.” You’re damn right. My son bought that record when he was 8 years old.

The time in my mid 40s, mid 40s! listening to the fever dream of Frances the Mute by The Mars Volta while in a real fever dream, being sick with the flu, and losing my mind for many years, falling down a rabbithole of The Mars Volta forums and record leaks and concerts. I mean, I was an old lady or at least older middle aged by then to go so absolutely gaga over a band. Standing in a line that snaked around to the alley at the Aragon Ballroom in Chicago waiting for the doors to open. Listening to The Mars Volta soundcheck “Day of the Baphomets” when the sky grew scary black and the ominous wail of tornado sirens started going off all around the city like the end of the world. Standing there with nowhere to go, we had taken the train into the city and a taxi to the venue, when a great gust of wind unleashed a sideways sheet of rain upon the crowd and I’ll never forget the screams of the girls as that deluge of rain soaked us to the bone. When they finally opened the doors, me, somehow losing my ticket, emptying my purse in the vestibule in a panic, soaking wet, hair dripping, searching, searching. Buying my son and his friend concert t-shirts so they had something dry to wear once we finally made it into the venue. That was the best concert EVER, epic even, and worth the soaking we all endured that day. They opened with Interstellar Overdrive by Pink Floyd and played a song never heard before “Rapidfire Tollbooth” off their upcoming new album, omg.

That is the soundtrack to (some of) my life, I can go on and on. That’s what I wanted Dave Grohl to write about; vignettes from his life and the accompanying musical soundtrack. And like I said, maybe he did in his own disjointed way, showcasing his own music, naturally. I don’t know, but it wasn’t the book I wanted to read. It was far too sanitized for my tastes; sort of how I think about The Foo Fighters music. Way too poppy and bubblegummy sweet. I need the bitterness of disonance and feedback freakouts and off the wall lyrics about worms crawling out your mouth and out your eyelids to thrill this jaded and stone encased heart.

Anyway, yeah, 3 stars. If you’re a fan, you’ll like it. Dave Grohl seems like a good guy, a real sweetheart. Maybe this will be my last rock biography. Then again, maybe not.

3 stars

I cannot rate Daisy Jones & the Six any higher than 3 stars for a number of reasons. Mostly though, because of my own biases, admittedly. First of all, the fact that this is written in an interview format is the initial problem. I don’t think it was done very well. Granted, it can be almost impossible, written as such, to see characters change and grow and be privy to their inner dialog and complex back stories. So the characters never became fleshed out to me; they never felt real, they were forever cardboard flat and stereotypes. Plus they were all terrible people in their own ways and it’s hard to garner any sympathy towards them and their plights. I kind of hated everybody. The drug usage was very generic seeming… like the author didn’t know what she was talking about. Dude. Been there and done that.

The interview format CAN be a device to tell a compelling story though! One of the books on my “favorites shelf” is [b:Please Kill Me: The Uncensored Oral History of Punk|14595|Please Kill Me The Uncensored Oral History of Punk|Legs McNeil|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1436668905l/14595.SY75.jpg|1820137]. It is a comprehensive telling of the New York City (and elsewhere tbh) punk movement in the 70s. All the major players are here, Iggy and the Stooges, the MC5, Patti Smith, various and sundry Ramones, Blondie and company, Richard Hell in various incarnations, Johnny Thunders and various bands, groupies, hangers on, transvestites, bar owners, managers, photographers etc… It is done so thoroughly and so well that even I, who had/has little interest in punk rock, was completely captivated and moved. It is a tour de force of rock music story-telling and you will spend many hours on the internet looking at old photographs and listening to the music. Once you read that book you will view Daisy Jones & the Six as a pale imitation. Truth.

At this point in my life I have read countless (countless!) rock biographies. To the point that I am sick of them, honestly. I started reading them as a teenage music lover back in the later 70s. The first of which were probably biographies of Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison who were, at that point, already dead. Through the years I’ve read SO MANY I have a hard time even recalling what-all and who-all I’ve read about. And not all of them are of people/music I am particularly drawn towards (see Please Kill Me). I would read anybody’s biography because, you know, gotta have my sex, drugs and rock and roll! I usually found them to be compelling reads back in the day.

Now some biographies and autobiographies are better than others, admittedly. The ones that are endorsed by the artist themselves are the worst because they are so sanitized of the juicy intrigues as to render them sterile. It just becomes a short childhood backstory and then album and concert recitations, marriages/divorces. Those are so boring to read and worthless to a real fan. So are the ones that are NOT endorsed because they draw their material from old magazine and tv interviews etc and it is just the same old, same old information you already knew anyway. See various biographies on Stevie Nicks, John Cougar Mellencamp, Pat Benetar, or [b:Girl in a Band|22693211|Girl in a Band|Kim Gordon|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1412840109l/22693211.SY75.jpg|42205774] I found Kim Gorden to be a kindred spirit but she was real stingy with letting people see into her heart, ironically, just exactly as I would be. Ha. It made for a disappointing read though.

The second worse, perversely, are the ones so filled with sex and drugs, rehabs, relapses, to render one stupified and overdosed. Like “get it together already”. Sadly some rock stars just can’t and don’t and die. See [b:Scar Tissue|96647|Scar Tissue|Anthony Kiedis|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1348688305l/96647.SY75.jpg|908343], [b:Slash|1970449|Slash|Slash|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1347554088l/1970449.SY75.jpg|2338187], [b:Not Dead and Not for Sale|10225109|Not Dead and Not for Sale|Scott Weiland|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1344401104l/10225109.SY75.jpg|15124898] (sadly, yes Scott, dead).

The best kind of rock biography to read are few and far between unfortunately. Those are the ones filled with juicy tidbits of sex and drugs, yes, an interesting backstory/childhood, ok, and that special “something” that allows the reader a glimpse into an artist’s heart and soul-some kind of reckoning or redemption or pivot to become a better person. The reader has to be able to see past the persona and ego, past the drugs, past the recording studios and concert venues. It’s almost like a magical alchemy to not only show the larger than life rock star, warts and all yes, but also the real humanity residing in a living breathing soul. Maybe not every rock star HAS this beautiful soul, I don’t know, but it CAN be done. See [b:Acid for the Children|39667068|Acid for the Children|Flea|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1575214520l/39667068.SY75.jpg|61247052], [b:It's So Easy: And Other Lies|11156963|It's So Easy And Other Lies|Duff McKagan|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1306787060l/11156963.SX50.jpg|16080834], [b:I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp|15819523|I Dreamed I Was a Very Clean Tramp|Richard Hell|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1353159963l/15819523.SX50.jpg|21548539], [b:Just Kids|341879|Just Kids|Patti Smith|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1259762407l/341879.SY75.jpg|332242]. And of course, also, Please Kill Me: the Uncensored Oral History of Punk by Legs O’Neil even though this book is about the punk rock movement as a whole told through interviews, not so much the individual stars themselves always, but it has a lot of heart and is a lot of fun.

And yes, I grew up in a different era when rock music was SO important to us to the point we identified ourselves by our choices. We bought magazines like Circus and Creem and Hit Parader and the ubiquitous Rolling Stone. We cut out pictures of our favorite rock stars and taped them to our bedroom walls. We read stories and expose’s written by personalities like Lester Bangs and Lisa Robinson and Cameron Crowe who had real access to the rock stars; flew on the Starship and hung out and partied with Led Zeppelin and the like. People like Annie Leibovitz and Mick Rock, rock photographers who photographed the album covers and went on tours with the bands to document it all. We watched The Midnight Special and Don Kirshner’s Rock Concert late-night on the weekends. We stood in line for concert tickets and album releases. We listened to FM radio and on air interviews with rock stars who were in town for that night’s concert and listened to them play whole album sides. When Mtv became a thing in the 80s we were charmed even though, maybe some of the music played wasn’t exactly to our tastes. Daisy Jones & the Six tries to draw on that energy and enthusiasm but falls short because…I was actually alive when it was all happening. We all read in Rolling Stone of the incestuous goings on in Fleetwood Mac in “real time”. This story pales in comparison, truthfully, and if this kind of thing floats your boat, you’d be much better off reading Mick Fleetwood’s, [b:Fleetwood: My Life and Adventures in Fleetwood Mac|226882|Fleetwood My Life and Adventures in Fleetwood Mac|Mick Fleetwood|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1387710854l/226882.SX50.jpg|219764].

I realize I’m not really giving you any real reasons why I liked/disliked this particular story. I just gave you my whole lifetime of rock and roll fan experience. But it is what shapes my reaction to this book ultimately. I guess, in my long-winded way I’m saying Daisy Jones & the Six is ok reading. It’s not bad. It’s another summer read type of book where you don’t have to burn too many brain cells keeping the characters and the plot straight. It doesn’t ask too much of you and is an enjoyable enough, light, gossipy type of book about a rock band from the 70s. But… the REAL thing is out there man! There are so many rock biographies to choose from. I just gave you a handful of what I personally consider some of the best in this huge genre. Go out there and read them. They’re interesting and they’re everywhere in any library or bookstore. Start with Mick Fleetwood’s if Daisy Jones & the Six intrigued you. Then move on to some of the other’s whose music interests you. The world is your oyster. Or rock band… or something.

Okay, so I am old and I am jaded, what can I say?

This is a (kind of) good book but it's not great. There is no depth of character even though you are given Evelyn Hugo's whole life story within the pages. Evelyn was a cardboard cutout (and unlikable) and all you really know about her can be summed up in a few sentences. Just somewhat above ok-ish truthfully.

I liked the old Hollywood setting though. I liked the period of time it brought back to life-when America worshipped movie stars, bought magazines to catch up on the latest gossip, went to theaters to watch their favorite stars perform. It really was a big deal back in the 40s to about the mid 70s. Movie studios controlled the artists' lives back in the earlier days and would manipulate and curate the artists' persona, love life, artistic choices, fashion. Cover up messes and hide scandals, too. I grew up at the tail end of that era and can somewhat remember what it was like to go see a movie like The Way We Were with Barbara Streisand and Robert Redford. Or Ali McGraw and Ryan O'Neal in Love Story. I recently watched Love Story again on tv after not even thinking about it for at least 45 years or so and thought "Oh, how hokey 'Love means never having to say you're sorry', yeah right, give me a break." And then crying at the melodramatic ending anyway, lol.

The great love affair of Evelyn with fellow actress Celia St. James was not belivable in the slightest and so bland and passionless and blah. And as the whole of the story pivots around that "great love" and it's not even interesting... it makes the rest of the story lackluster as well.

Easy enough reading if you want a sort of mindless book to read at the beach or beside the pool where you don't have to concentrate too hard to keep the plot straight but still be entertained enough until something better and more entertaining happens to pull your attention away. It'll be easy enough to pick up where you left off... blah blah blah Evelyn gets married AGAIN...

The reveal at the end was WEAK SAUCE and kind of ruined the book in my opinion. It was NOT needed.

2 1/2 stars

This book is hard to rate for a number of reasons. First off, it's not very good, so there's that. Secondly it does keep you reading to find out what fucked up things will happen next so there is that too. It's like a typical "pot boiler" type, easy enough reading, titillating sexual tidbits, which truth be told, I didn't care for, but I know a lot of women do, hense the popularity of books like 50 Shades of Gray etc... plot twists and a big "reveal" at the end which has you scratching your head going... ???!!! So that's kind of a positive because you end up thinking "wha...? What the hell?"

So, I guess I can understand why some people rate it so highly, because all that I mentioned is what they want from pleasure reading. And that's fine. We all have different tastes. I mean some people voted for Trump. But, I don't know. For me I expect a better more believable overall story, better character development, better characters in general. I'm not really interested in thrillers for the most part anyway and hate books like Girl on a Train or Gone Girl.

I don't really have a hard time suspending disbelief. I mean, I read a lot of Stephen King for god's sake and general horror books and dystopian stories and some science fiction. So I CAN suspend disbelief and just go with it pretty easily. But I cannot take gaping plot holes and inexplicable behavior and just straight up kookiness from characters. I can't suspend disbelief that someone can fake being in a vegetative state for months and even medical professional don't catch on I mean, come on.

This book asked way too much from it's readers and I just wasn't interested in the characters or even the plot to forgive it's many flaws. Mostly, the story was boring in between the fucked up parts. Every character was horrible. The sex scenes were cringey. It seemed written from the general formula... unreliable narrator protagonist, hunky studly male character as love interest for protagonist, but maybe he is untrustworthy?, some kind of crime or fucked up thing the protagonist observes usually involving hunky stud and an antagonist, plot twist, some creepy things happeneing, big reveal, the end. Maybe some sex scenes but, hopefully not, haha.

If you like plot twists and fucked up reveals and sex scenes that lack any sexiness whatsoever then maybe this book will be for you. For me, not so much. But that's cool. You probably wouldn't like the kinds of books I rate highly. And I would never, ever, under any circumstance whatsoever, vote for Trump.

ps Team manuscript for life.