Rating: 1 Star
Synopsis via Goodreads:
Thirty-five girls came to the palace to compete in the Selection. All but six have been sent home. And only one will get to marry Prince Maxon and be crowned princess of Illea.
America still isn’t sure where her heart lies. When she’s with Maxon, she’s swept up in their new and breathless romance, and can’t dream of being with anyone else. But whenever she sees Aspen standing guard around the palace, and is overcome with memories of the life they planned to share. With the group narrowed down to the Elite, the other girls are even more determined to win Maxon over—and time is running out for America to decide.
Just when America is sure she’s made her choice, a devastating loss makes her question everything again. And while she’s struggling to imagine her future, the violent rebels that are determined to overthrow the monarchy are growing stronger and their plans could destroy her chance at any kind of happy ending.
“Little did I know that when she’d asked for piano lessons, my ears would be in for such painful – but hilarious – torture.”
Little did I know that when I picked up this book, my mind would be in for such painful – and no longer funny – torture.
I think there should be a reward for making a reader throw a book. I really do. And not throwing a book in a semi-good way. Not in a way where something really devastating happens and the feels are just overwhelming. But, instead, throwing a book because my eyes are bleeding sorry excuses for words strung together to (attempt) to form a coherent sentence. Also, throwing a book because the protagonist is the sorriest excuse for a character forever-and-ever-more.
America. Freakin’. Singer. Must. Die.
First of all, that name is enough to make a person want to barf. But there’s so much in this novel that makes me want to barf, that my body is so indecisive I can’t tell you what’s worse. There is nothing redeemable in this novel. Not. One. Thing.
The first book was funny. I was thinking this one was going to be the same, but – lo and behold – nope!! Not in this century!
America actually gets worse. I know, I know . . . I didn’t think it was possible either. But it is. A nightmare, I know.
In the first book, I was somehow able to look past the horrible person that is America Singer and laugh at the poor attempts at writing, but I wasn’t able to do either here.
“Love is beautiful fear.”
. . .
“It wasn’t like I made his world better. It was like I was his world. It wasn’t some explosion; it wasn’t fireworks. It was a fire, burning slowly from the inside out.”
Hold it. Hold it right there.
Can we discuss what fireworks and explosions are?
They include fire. You realize that, right? They’re kind of hot and dangerous . . . You’re drawing a very thin line between the difference of fireworks and fire, not to mention that my first thought when reading this was:
Sounds like a great romance.