killercahill: (Reading)

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ – Witty, wistful, and a little sunburned in the best way

📚 Quick Take:

A fizzy friends-to-lovers romance told through snapshots of summer trips past and present—equal parts hilarious, heartfelt, and oh-so-human. Poppy and Alex are a study in chemistry, missed timing, and emotional slow burns.


✍️ My Thoughts:

You know that feeling when you’re sitting on a balcony at golden hour, sipping something cold, and laughing with someone who just gets you? That’s the energy of this book.

Emily Henry does such a brilliant job with voice—Poppy is funny and chaotic and deeply lovable, while Alex is her quiet, repressed, khaki-wearing match. Their banter snaps, but there’s so much underneath it: yearning, vulnerability, and the ache of not quite being ready for each other… until maybe, just maybe, they are.

The timeline structure—bouncing between past summer holidays and their current attempt to reconnect—works beautifully to build tension. You know something went wrong, but you’re not sure what, and you’re too invested in their goofy little adventures to stop reading.

Why not five stars? A few pacing dips and the will-they-won’t-they dragged just a touch too long for me. But emotionally? It lands. And I love that Henry doesn’t shy away from exploring the messy parts of relationships: the fear, the timing, the inner stuff we have to figure out before we can show up fully for someone else.


✨ Vibe Check:

  • 🧳 Friends to Lovers
  • ⏳ Slow Burn, Slow Yearning
  • 💬 Witty Banter Goals
  • 😬 Emotional Avoidance Experts
  • 🥲 Summer Nostalgia + Sadness
  • 🧠 Therapy But Make It Sexy
  • 🍕 Eating your feelings in different cities


💬 Favorite Quote:

“You couldn’t have held my hand. I was using it to hold yours.”
(Insert a little scream here.)


⭐️ Final Rating:

4 stars. Funny, messy, romantic, and real. It’s a beach read for people who cry under their sunglasses.


killercahill: (Reading)
 ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ – Loud, honest, and totally McEnroe

📚 Quick Take:

Reading You Cannot Be Serious is like sitting courtside while John McEnroe tells stories at full volume—unfiltered, intense, surprisingly funny, and often smarter than you expect. It’s not polished, but it is so him.


✍️ My Thoughts:

Let’s be real—I’ve loved John McEnroe since the first time he yelled at a chair umpire and refused to apologize for being passionate. So reading his memoir felt like catching up with an old friend who hasn’t changed a bit... and I mean that in the best and worst ways.

The book is full of stories from his rise through the tennis ranks, his fierce rivalries (hi, Björn Borg), his outbursts, and his complicated personal life. It’s raw in places and surprisingly reflective in others—he talks about pressure, perfectionism, and the need to be seen and understood. I expected the fire. I didn’t expect the vulnerability.

That said, it’s not always easy to love. He’s brutally honest, which means he sometimes comes off as arrogant, defensive, or just... a lot. But that’s part of the deal, isn’t it? He doesn’t rewrite his past to be more palatable. He owns his contradictions, and that makes it feel real.

The writing style is casual—more like an extended rant than polished prose—but it works. If you’ve ever watched him in the commentary booth, you know what to expect: fast-paced, sharp, emotional, sometimes hilariously petty, but always entertaining.


🎭 Vibe Check:
  • 🎾 Iconic throwback
  • 🧠 Candid self-reflection
  • 🎙️ Big voice energy
  • 📖 Tennis nerd heaven
  • 😬 Flawed but fascinating
  • 👟 80s nostalgia with a headband twist


💬 Favorite Quote:

“I was always trying to be perfect, and when I wasn’t, I couldn’t handle it. That’s when the yelling started.”


⭐️ Final Rating:

4 stars. Honest, messy, memorable—exactly what I hoped a John McEnroe memoir would be. If you love tennis history with a side of emotional chaos, don’t skip this one.


killercahill: (Default)
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ – A Lush, Lyrical Descent into Darkness

Anne Rice's Interview with the Vampire is the literary equivalent of a rich, red velvet curtain being pulled back on an eerie stage. Everything feels decadent, shadowy, and just a little bit doomed - and I was absolutely here for it.

Told through the confessional lens of Louis, a reluctant vampire with a poet’s soul, this novel is drenched in emotion. Guilt, longing, despair, rage… every feeling is dialled up to eleven. The structure is brilliant: an actual interview, unfolding in real time, with a human boy as the audience surrogate. It adds this eerie intimacy, like you’ve pulled up a chair too close to a fire that’s burning a little too hot.

Rice’s writing is gorgeous. Gothic and sensual, but never afraid to wallow in moral ambiguity. There are no easy answers here, especially when it comes to Louis and Lestat. Their dynamic is a toxic waltz - manipulation and dependence wrapped in elegance and horror. I kept wanting to throw things at Lestat, then turn around and quote him. He’s that kind of character. Infuriating and fascinating.

That said, this book is a bit of a slow burn. The plot sometimes drifts in dreamlike circles, which can either enchant or frustrate, depending on your mood. And while Claudia’s storyline is gripping and tragic, some of the pacing around it felt uneven to me. I kept waiting for a second wind that took a little too long to arrive.

But even when the story meanders, the atmosphere never lets up. Rice creates a world so vividly haunted, so steeped in its own mythology, that you can practically smell the candle wax and old books. It’s a vampire novel that feels eternal - aching and opulent and deeply weird in the best possible way.

If you're looking for a blood-soaked meditation on immortality, identity, and what it means to be truly alone in the world—this one’s a must. Just maybe light a candle and pour a glass of wine first. You’ll want to set the mood.
 

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