this may very well be the only book I don't leave a rating for. this memoir is an honest, raw, and vulnerable glimpse into the life of someone whose addiction has disrupted his entire life. Matthew Perry pulled no punches. in the wake of his death, this is particularly painful to read, given that he appears to have made peace with his sobriety at the end of the memoir. but addictions are not linear, nor is recovery from addiction, and Perry was honest about that. this was messy and disjointed, more a series of vignettes that are loosely told in chronological order, but flipping back and forth with his more recent brushes with death. there are clear consequences to his addiction: broken relationships, interferences with his career, and god, the physical ramifications from years of abusing drugs and alcohol made my stomach churn. you may find Perry to be insufferable, selfish, and needy in these pages, and he certainly painted a brutal picture of himself. but he also portrayed his insecurities, his fears, and his flaws so well that you cannot help but want to listen to him, just a little more. one thing that struck me was the warmth with which he recalls shooting his first movie alongside River Phoenix—who also passed away too young due to drug use—and the time he spent filming Friends. despite his addiction, Perry genuinely loved acting. he seems to have poured his whole heart into writing those parts. acting wasn't just a job or a calling; it was a lifeline. the tie between his addiction to drugs and his addiction to attention (see also: acting) is very clearly depicted. whether or not his addiction to acting/attention/drawing laughs was healthy, Perry doesn't shy away from how much he clung to it. this read less like a memoir and more like I was reading a long confessional letter from a friend. which, I suppose, Matt Perry was to anyone who watched Friends.

Move aside romantasy, it’s time for a new genre…dysromance. I’ve been sitting here trying to put together words that can adequately describe my qualms about this book. There are many, and they are all over the place. I’ve decided the best way to do this is to break it down into elements of craft (aka: my thesis on why this is a bad book). 1. Worldbuilding The worldbuilding is so lazy. The magic system is really vague. There’s a mention of biotoxin but NO further explanation. And—listen—you don’t need to come up with an origin story of magic every single time you have a magic system in the story. But if it’s known to be a biotoxin, then there’s bound to be far more repercussions in a society than just “we will oppress anyone and everyone who exhibits symptoms.” Like, y’know, a culling. Or quarantine zones. Or mandatory medical screenings to analyze the biotoxin titer in your blood. Origins may not be explored (especially since this is the first of a series, ugh), but there must be CONSEQUENCES beyond just “we will kill them or put them in labor camps.” I mean, come ON. These consequences could have filled out the sketches of the world that DF gives us. Instead, we have ramblings about how hot the MMC is. You have a country called “Continent.” You have an underground rebel movement called “Uprising.” There are rich business people who work hand-in-hand with political leaders called “capitalists.” There’s an elite training program called “Program.” And then there’s the political structure in power called the “Company.” It felt like placeholder names that people working on this novel—writers, editors, proofreaders—could have EASILY suggested a replacement for. At least call it, like, New America or some shit. I’d choose gimmick-y over lazy any day. Like, seriously. This is so embarrassing. You have alternate-worldly character names like Cross, Roe, Kess, Lash. Then you have other names like Lydia, Tyler, Adrienne, Bryce. Like what? Are we in 2225 Continent or in 2025 America? Then there’s the depiction of the oppressive regime. There’s very clearly an oppressed group of people and an oppressor group. Wren is part of the oppressed group of people. For what it’s worth, she does grapple a little bit with her identity as a “Mod” while fraternizing with the sexy enemy (Cross). But the key here is…fraternizing. But that’s discussed in point four. 2. Plot Not much to say here. It was very cookie cutter. Kinda boring tbh. The elite academy-esque vibe is a pretty common plotline. The pacing is a bit off—you have jam packed sequences followed by blabbering about how hot Cross is, and the plot twists feel contrived. The thing that drives me nuts is that we are told that the Uprising (I feel ridiculous even typing that) is making big moves against the Company but there is NOTHING TO CONVINCE US THAT THEY ARE. They’re the most passive rebellion movement that only kicks into gear far deep into the novel. Which would be fine if we knew what exactly they’re even DOING, which we don’t. You can chalk it up to Wren not being on the “in,” but even civilians experience the ramifications of a rebellion movement—protests, mass arrests, public executions, trade routes being barricaded. No rescue ops, no hostage negotiations, no targeted assassinations. For being a fierce underground movement, y’all sure like to emphasize the word “underground.” This is almost certainly a contributing factor to point 1, world building. And I think what bothers me the most about this narrative is that it frames the biggest crime of the Command is their treatment of Mods. Yes, it is terrible, and yes, they mirror Nazi practices (tattooing, executions, labor camps, experimentation, slaves). However, when one group is oppressed, even those that are not part of the oppressed group feel the consequences of it. NOT IN THIS CASE! This was a weird world where anyone who wasn’t oppressed faced absolutely zero effects from it. I just know this writer is a white woman. 3. Characters Wren is a Mary Sue. Cross is a quintessential broody, strong, authoritative male figure that Wren can’t help but be attracted to. I would like to summarize their “chemistry” by a singular choice quote: (Cross speaking) “Did I give you permission to speak?” The shamefaced boy ducks his head. “No, sir.” “Then shut the fuck up.” It’s annoying how turned on I am, hearing him cut the guy down. Never mind the fact that all the supporting cast are two-dimensional archetypes—we have the “mean girl” (Kess), the “unsure if she’s a mean girl but she doesn’t seem to like me so she’s a mean girl” (Ivy), the “nice girl” (Lydia), the “fuck boy” (Kaine), and the “creepy boy” (Roe), and the “creepy fuck boy” (Anson). Oh, also, “the hot stoic guy that I really shouldn’t like but I still find him sexy anyway” (Cross). Did I mention he’s SEXY? WE GET IT. CROSS IS HOT. YOU DON’T NEED TO BASH ME OVER THE HEAD WITH IT. My GOD. I’ve read romance novels where the protagonist doesn’t try that hard to convince me Cross is sexy. AND THIS ISN’T EVEN ENTIRELY A ROMANCE NOVEL. Sorry. Lost control of myself. Anyway, these characters are not intriguing in the slightest. I felt like I was watching a bad CW show. They act like high school-ers. You remember the Gallagher Girls series, where the teenage girls are training to become spies? Yeah, they were far more mature than these adults. But the adults have sex, or something, so they’re adults. 4. Thinly veiled propaganda I will not be elaborating because I DID write an entire mini essay about this but I'm been a lot more careful about what I post online. All I will say is this: In the dystopian genre, writers and readers alike know one fundamental truth: to be complicit with the enemy is to be the enemy. This story attempts to convince you otherwise.

i am very clearly in the minority here. i have been and always will be a massive fan of the original trilogy, which i read in middle school as they were being released. i opted out of reading the ballad of songbird and snakes because it felt like an unnecessary addition to the universe, and i didn't feel like reading about president snow at all. however, i adored haymitch as a character and found him so incredibly compelling that i picked this one up even though i still feel like it's unnecessary. as it is, the character work in this book left a lot to be desired. the most interesting character is maysilee, the other tribute from district 12, but (not a spoiler since we already know this) she dies. the other cameos of the folks from the original trilogy fell flat to me. i understand that katniss's story was the tinder box to the growing dissent in the districts, but to me. however, haymitch's perspective ("i want to break and end the games once as for all") is very clearly part of katniss's story, which occurs decades later. yet this book does little to actually add anything. this story ended up not even being about him being radicalized (in Capitol-speak) into a rebel. which is fine, i expected this to be about haymitch's descent into alcoholism and depression. but after reading this, it's clear to me that haymitch's alcoholism/depression is due to the AFTERMATH of the games, not the games themselves. even then, these events are largely told, and the scenes fell emotionally flat to me. i felt like this book did little than to say "look at all the suffering haymitch endured". if i wanted trauma p*rn i'd just open the book of job in the bible. to ms. collins's credit, there were a couple moments that i thought were executed very well (no pun intended), particularly maysilee's death. all this to say, this book did little to add to the original trilogy and quite frankly i don't think it added much to haymitch's character, either. there was a lot of potential there about what tributes had to deal with post hunger games victory, especially given what we know from finnick's voice back in mockingjay. i partially believe suzanne collins sold out and wrote this in order to cash in her check and partially believe a ghostwriter wrote this.