Hereafter

Hereafter (Shadowlands, #2)

I’m almost ready to give up on books.

Synopsis via Goodreads:

Rory Miller thought her life was over when a serial killer set his sights on her and forced her into witness protection. But a fresh start on Juniper Landing Island was exactly what she and her family needed. For the first time in years she and her sister hang out at the beach, gossip about boys, and party together. She’s also made friends with a local clique–including a magnetic and mysterious boy named Tristan.
But Rory’s world is about to change again. Picturesque Juniper Landing isn’t what it seems. The truth about the swirling fog that rolls in each morning, the bridge that leads to nowhere, and those beautiful locals who seem to watch Rory’s every move is more terrifying than being hunted by Steven Nell. And all Rory ever wanted was the truth. Even if it means learning that she can never go home again. From the best-selling author of the Private and Privilege series comes the second novel in a heart-stopping trilogy about a girl who must pick up the pieces after the only life she’s ever known ends.

Maybe I’m just tired of re-reading the same storyline again and again and again  . . . I don’t know. I love books, I do. But this is just getting ridiculous.

Okay, before you stop reading because it already sounds like this is going to be just pure ranting and hating, I want to assure you that this book is not that bad. It’s a solid story. And I loved the first book in the series, Shadowlands, because it brought something different to the YA genre. It didn’t sound gushy in the romance area, and it sounded like a real, good mystery about a serial killer and a teenage girl. I loved that. And the first book, in my opinion, gets four stars.

However, (there is always a however) I am so sick of the YA genre completely disappointing me in the writing area. Now, I’m no expert or professional critique in English, but I know enough – and I’ve read enough – to know that it’s seriously lacking.

Again, the first book in the series was great. Fantastic, even. I had very few complaints and the ones I did have weren’t huge and I could easily overlook them. It’s a story, right?

But what happened to the writers like Tahereh Mafi and Maggie Stiefvater and Jessica Shirvington and A.G. Howard and John Green and Rainbow Rowell? I can’t believe that they’re the only ones out there.

What happened to reading a book and literally feeling the emotions that author was feeling as they wrote each word and syllable? I miss that. I really do.

And I’m sorry that I’m basically ranting about writers in this post. In all honestly, this is not a bad book. It’s not. But I would have preferred Rory to still have issues with the serial killer – I was expecting that in all three books – instead, he’s just gone.

I finished the book, so there’s something to that. And I know I’ll read the last book. But I just felt like this was written quickly, without much feeling put into it. The words were dull and gray. The story was in black and white to me, and this most certainly isn’t the first or the last YA book I’ve read that feels like that. In fact, almost all of them do.

And I feel like raters sometimes feel obliged to give a book more stars than it deserves. I certainly do sometimes. It’s because we know how much blood, sweat, and tears were put into writing a book. I get it, I really do.

But what really got me in this book was the romance. It’s dead. Rory might as well have been kissing a corpse for all I felt for the guy. I’ve read kissing scenes so many times in YA books that it just doesn’t affect me anymore. Because they’re all the same. Unless it’s being written by an author like the ones I listed above or some other ones I didn’t say, I feel absolutely nothing. Because it seems like the author has written so many love scenes that they could do it in their sleep. They know what they need to say, because it’s the same in every story. The girl’s knees go weak, his lips feel like a story, ect, ect, . . .

I’ve read it all.

And so has everyone else.

What I want is the Levi from Fangirl. I want a love interest that isn’t just dark and mysterious – that’s fine – but I want some substance to them. I want to feel like I  know them. Like I can relate to them. Make the guys and, heck, even the side characters real! Make them my best friends and sorrows and bloody emotions, for crying out loud. Because we aren’t that different, we’re really not. Write a book that means something to you, because if you do, it will mean something to me.

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Filed under 2 star books

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