Ann (Inky Labyrinth) > Recent Status Updates

Love a title drop at the eleventh hour. Can't wait to finish this.

So, clearly she has two options: call it quits--admit that murdering people is perhaps trickier than it looks and not the way to do academia. Or, double down.

’Fuck yeah, what a movie.’

The audiobook, which is British, says “film”. The US print edition says “movie”.

Do American editors think we are so fucking dumb that we don’t know what a film is?! I see this shit ALL THE TIME in books from the UK and all it does is distract me.

What is the point of this?! This is not rhetorical. I want to know why. Please. I beg. Stop this.

Well, if nothing else, she could give him a sting.
She knocks the bee into his lemonade.

Okay, love this so far.

The woman smiled at her and asked, ‘How do you justify calling for the freeing of rapists and murderers?’ And wasn’t that what it always came down to? Fear.

Anti-abolitionists just repeating the same question over and over and refusing the listen to the answer. Too real!

What she’d learned was that life, any life, was death and rebirth, death and rebirth. Everything always changed.

Death becomes laundry. Death becomes food. Death the currency of everything if you let it. And they let it.

She hated what she was, but she loved what she could do.

This is so intense but also addictive.

It was hard to forget the things that hurt you. You didn’t often forget the shape of your cage.

I soft DNFed this 3 years ago & have always wanted to come back to it, but I was nervous.

The audiobook so far has made all the difference. Really great narration. I am finding I often prefer Black narrators because they aren't afraid to put some damn emotion into it!

I believe it is the role of women to cover up the truth of mortality.
Wow.
And that's a lot of work, says Justine. A lot. Think about it.

Still laughing & liking this but it already feels too long.

What disturbed me the most—what did the most damage to my sense of self—is probably the fact that Angelique found me murderable at all; that there was something murderable about me. I hate that there's some.
thing murderable about me.

That I'd probably help you plan the disposal of my body in advance if you asked nicely. I'd run to the shops.

This book got me LOLing for real.

I have measured out my life in coffees I cannot technically afford.

Aha, clever. This is gonna be funny, I hope.

Sometimes she did not mind the dark, because it was easier to imagine herself somewhere else and the image of the house, the shtetl, the city, could not interrupt her daydream.

Loveee this so far.

Everything good must die. That's why I keep living.

I thought this was going to be much more unconventional. It is very straight forward. I am so bored.

Youth is the first thing violence takes from you.

Writing is not like talking, it’s being close to God.

They say that feeling a lot is risky, but being safe isn’t living. Being safe is being dead.

Everyone here listens to thunder from the earth and roars from the mountain; they keep their balance on a ground that rolls, gasps, and chews bones. The hive mouth, they call it, the place of landslides.

🔥

’I’ve seen fucking Aladdin, Anji! Do you think you’re the only cultured person in this room?’ 💀 This man…

’ Leave it, Kannan. There’s no place on earth you can’t get shot and die. We’re here now, and we’re happy.’

Actually there is no better feeling than receiving a finished copy of one of your most anticipated reads of the year. Thank you Doubleday!!!

According to Marcel Proust, the writer's job is to place the reader in a world so terrible, such an unhappy hellscape of overall chaos, that going back to the real world will feel like escaping to a paradise.

Again, another example of cognitive reframing.

In a single afternoon, a dead boy had taken Sam to Paris and brought her back. Anything was possible. Samantha Deel had been awakened to every miracle of the world.

Can’t really be summer without some Palahniuk madness!

Funnily, being alive made her want to stay alive.

He had to be dreaming. He slapped one cheek and then the other as hard as he could, but he did not wake up, let alone feel any pain.

Was he seriously a stuffed animal? What happened to his own body?

This is SO CAMP and way more gory than I thought. Having a good time.

Like the ocean and sky knew something was about to be offered and were waiting in calm anticipation. Like, if you listened carefully, you could hear the god breathe.

His mother is no different. She is rotting, too, and everything trapped in that house rots with her.

This is actually excellent so far. More people should be reading this!

She had been afraid of him then, she remembered. Always afraid, while still loving him.