u/Odd-Pride-3173

It's been a few days since I finished We Used to Live Here by Marcus Kliewer, and I'm not even kidding, every time I forget something, a tiny part of me starts wondering if I'm somehow slipping into another reality. That's just my overactive imagination, but if a book can make you question your own memory days later, I'd say it did its job.

This book is an absolute page-turner. Once l started reading, I couldn't stop. I ended up finishing it in one sitting because I just had to know what was going on. It's creepy in a way that slowly gets under your skin.

One thing I really loved is that the book doesn't explain everything. It leaves enough unanswered that you're still thinking about it long after you've finished. For example, early on, when Jenny refers to Eve as “Emma” I start thinking that what if Jenny was aware of the alternate reality and that is why she runs into the basement trying to find a way out?

Then there's Thomas. The more I thought about him, the more suspicious he became. Paige mentions that she used to be more carefree before Thomas led her toward religion, and that little detail made me wonder if he is the one moulding everyone’s reality around him.

Also, this story actually started as a Reddit post (on r/NoSleep) before Marcus Kliewer turned it into a novel.

It's been a few days since I finished We Used to Live Here by Marcus Kliewer, and I'm not even kidding, every time I forget something, a tiny part of me starts wondering if I'm somehow slipping into another reality. That's just my overactive imagination, but if a book can make you question your own memory days later, I'd say it did its job.

This book is an absolute page-turner. Once l started reading, I couldn't stop. I ended up finishing it in one sitting because I just had to know what was going on. It's creepy in a way that slowly gets under your skin.

One thing I really loved is that the book doesn't explain everything. It leaves enough unanswered that you're still thinking about it long after you've finished. For example, early on, when Jenny refers to Eve as “Emma” I start thinking that what if Jenny was aware of the alternate reality and that is why she runs into the basement trying to find a way out?

Then there's Thomas. The more I thought about him, the more suspicious he became. Paige mentions that she used to be more carefree before Thomas led her toward religion, and that little detail made me wonder if he is the one moulding everyone’s reality around him.

Also, this story actually started as a Reddit post (on r/NoSleep) before Marcus Kliewer turned it into a novel.

Rating: 1.5/5 ⭐️

Kawakami’s Ten Loves of Mr. Nishino left me confused. Even after finishing it, I'm still trying to understand what exactly I was supposed to take away from it.

The novel follows Mr.Nishino through the eyes of ten different women who, at various points in their lives, fall in love with him. The problem is that I do not understood why because Nishino is presented as charming but to me the protagonist was surprisingly unremarkable. Because the story is built around the idea that he has this magnetic effect on women, I kept waiting for some deeper layer of his character to emerge, something that would justify the obsession he inspires(that moment doesn’t arrive).

Perhaps Nishino is meant to be a mirror that reflects the desires of the women around him. If that's the case, I can appreciate the idea, but it didn't make him any more interesting to follow.

The scenes from his childhood, including the nursing episode between the siblings left me feeling deeply uncomfortable. I understand that Kawakami was pointing toward some kind of emotional fixation that later causes sister-issues, but I never felt like I fully grasped what she wanted us readers to do with it.

Then the novel circles back to this idea near the end. One of the women Nishino becomes involved with resembles his sister, and during a conversation he admits that he has spent years wondering whether he actually wanted his sister.

I can see why some readers might find Nishino fascinating. For me, though, he remained frustratingly strange. By the end, I was just happy about completing it.

Maybe there was more depth here than I was able to connect with. Still, when I finished the final page, my strongest reaction was a puzzling question: what exactly did all these women see in Nishino and what was the point of this?

Kawakami’s Ten Loves of Mr. Nishino left me confused. Even after finishing it, I'm still trying to understand what exactly I was supposed to take away from it.

The novel follows Mr.Nishino through the eyes of ten different women who, at various points in their lives, fall in love with him. The problem is that I do not understood why because Nishino is presented as charming but to me the protagonist was surprisingly unremarkable. Because the story is built around the idea that he has this magnetic effect on women, I kept waiting for some deeper layer of his character to emerge, something that would justify the obsession he inspires(that moment doesn’t arrive).

Perhaps Nishino is meant to be a mirror that reflects the desires of the women around him. If that's the case, I can appreciate the idea, but it didn't make him any more interesting to follow.

The scenes from his childhood, including the nursing episode between the siblings left me feeling deeply uncomfortable. I understand that Kawakami was pointing toward some kind of emotional fixation that later causes sister-issues, but I never felt like I fully grasped what she wanted us readers to do with it.

Then the novel circles back to this idea near the end. One of the women Nishino becomes involved with resembles his sister, and during a conversation he admits that he has spent years wondering whether he actually wanted his sister.

I can see why some readers might find Nishino fascinating. For me, though, he remained frustratingly strange. By the end, I was just happy about completing it.

Maybe there was more depth here than I was able to connect with. Still, when I finished the final page, my strongest reaction was a puzzling question: what exactly did all these women see in Nishino and what was the point of this?

Rating: 2.5/5 ⭐️

I finished Hooked, and for one of the most hyped books of 2026, it was a major disappointment.

The entire story felt like 400 pages of two lonely women endlessly dwelling on their loneliness. The same points were repeated so often that it became exhausting rather than impactful. What was meant to feel emotional and complex quickly turned repetitive.

The side characters also seemed largely pointless. They were introduced with enough presence to make you expect they would influence the plot or character development, but in the end, they added very little to the story.

My biggest issue, however, was the theme of obsession. It was marketed as dark, intense, and consuming, but the execution never lived up to that promise. The obsession lacked the depth, tension, and unsettling edge that I was expecting, making the central premise feel surprisingly underwhelming.

Overall, Hooked had an intriguing concept, but the repetitive character dynamics, underutilized supporting cast, and tame portrayal of obsession left me frustrated and disappointed.

Rating: 2.5/5 ⭐️

I finished Hooked, and for one of the most hyped books of 2026, it was a major disappointment.

The entire story felt like 400 pages of two lonely women endlessly dwelling on their loneliness. The same points were repeated so often that it became exhausting rather than impactful. What was meant to feel emotional and complex quickly turned repetitive.

The side characters also seemed largely pointless. They were introduced with enough presence to make you expect they would influence the plot or character development, but in the end, they added very little to the story.

My biggest issue, however, was the theme of obsession. It was marketed as dark, intense, and consuming, but the execution never lived up to that promise. The obsession lacked the depth, tension, and unsettling edge that I was expecting, making the central premise feel surprisingly underwhelming.

Overall, Hooked had an intriguing concept, but the repetitive character dynamics, underutilized supporting cast, and tame portrayal of obsession left me frustrated and disappointed.

Rating: 2.5/5 ⭐️

I finished Hooked, and for one of the most hyped books of 2026, it was a major disappointment.

The entire story felt like 400 pages of two lonely women endlessly dwelling on their loneliness. The same points were repeated so often that it became exhausting rather than impactful. What was meant to feel emotional and complex quickly turned repetitive.

The side characters also seemed largely pointless. They were introduced with enough presence to make you expect they would influence the plot or character development, but in the end, they added very little to the story.

My biggest issue, however, was the theme of obsession. It was marketed as dark, intense, and consuming, but the execution never lived up to that promise. The obsession lacked the depth, tension, and unsettling edge that I was expecting, making the central premise feel surprisingly underwhelming.

Overall, Hooked had an intriguing concept, but the repetitive character dynamics, underutilized supporting cast, and tame portrayal of obsession left me frustrated and disappointed.

I finished Hooked, and for one of the most hyped books of 2026, it was a major disappointment.

The entire story felt like 400 pages of two lonely women endlessly dwelling on their loneliness. The same points were repeated so often that it became exhausting rather than impactful. What was meant to feel emotional and complex quickly turned repetitive.

The side characters also seemed largely pointless. They were introduced with enough presence to make you expect they would influence the plot or character development, but in the end, they added very little to the story.

My biggest issue, however, was the theme of obsession. It was marketed as dark, intense, and consuming, but the execution never lived up to that promise. The obsession lacked the depth, tension, and unsettling edge that I was expecting, making the central premise feel surprisingly underwhelming.

Overall, Hooked had an intriguing concept, but the repetitive character dynamics, underutilized supporting cast, and tame portrayal of obsession left me frustrated and disappointed.

Rating 3.5/5 ⭐️

Almond by Won-Pyung Sohn is a book that stayed with me long after I finished reading it. The novel follows Yunjae, a boy with alexithymia, a condition that makes it difficult for him to identify and express emotions. Through his experiences, the story explores friendship, grief, love, and what it truly means to connect with other people.

What I loved most about this book was how engaging it was. From the very beginning, it kept me hooked, ironically, a story centered around someone who struggles with emotions manages to evoke so many of them in the reader.

Sohn Won-pyung has mentioned that she grew up in a very emotionally stable household, and I think that perspective is reflected beautifully in the story. The novel approaches emotions with sensitivity and understanding, making even the most complex feelings seem relatable. There is a warmth and sincerity in the writing that makes the characters feel real and memorable.

Overall, Almond is a thoughtful and moving novel that offers a unique perspective on human emotions and relationships. It is one of those books that lingers in your mind long after the final page. I genuinely enjoyed it and would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a meaningful and unforgettable read.

Rating 3.5/5 ⭐️

Almond by Won-Pyung Sohn is a book that stayed with me long after I finished reading it. The novel follows Yunjae, a boy with alexithymia, a condition that makes it difficult for him to identify and express emotions. Through his experiences, the story explores friendship, grief, love, and what it truly means to connect with other people.

What I loved most about this book was how engaging it was. From the very beginning, it kept me hooked, ironically, a story centered around someone who struggles with emotions manages to evoke so many of them in the reader.

Sohn Won-pyung has mentioned that she grew up in a very emotionally stable household, and I think that perspective is reflected beautifully in the story. The novel approaches emotions with sensitivity and understanding, making even the most complex feelings seem relatable. There is a warmth and sincerity in the writing that makes the characters feel real and memorable.

Overall, Almond is a thoughtful and moving novel that offers a unique perspective on human emotions and relationships. It is one of those books that lingers in your mind long after the final page. I genuinely enjoyed it and would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a meaningful and unforgettable read.

Rating 3.5/5 ⭐️

Almond by Won-Pyung Sohn is a book that stayed with me long after I finished reading it. The novel follows Yunjae, a boy with alexithymia, a condition that makes it difficult for him to identify and express emotions. Through his experiences, the story explores friendship, grief, love, and what it truly means to connect with other people.

What I loved most about this book was how engaging it was. From the very beginning, it kept me hooked, ironically, a story centered around someone who struggles with emotions manages to evoke so many of them in the reader.

Sohn Won-pyung has mentioned that she grew up in a very emotionally stable household, and I think that perspective is reflected beautifully in the story. The novel approaches emotions with sensitivity and understanding, making even the most complex feelings seem relatable. There is a warmth and sincerity in the writing that makes the characters feel real and memorable.

Overall, Almond is a thoughtful and moving novel that offers a unique perspective on human emotions and relationships. It is one of those books that lingers in your mind long after the final page. I genuinely enjoyed it and would highly recommend it to anyone looking for a meaningful and unforgettable read.

Rating: 4/5 ⭐️

I just finished reading The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom, and honestly, it made me feel so differently about life. It’s not the kind of book I would usually pick up, but it was written so beautifully that it stayed with me long after I finished it. The way the story unfolds is just absurd because it makes you realize how connected people really are(whether they know it or not)

The story follows Eddie, an old maintenance worker at an amusement park, who dies while trying to save a little girl and then in heaven, he meets five people whose lives somehow connected with his, and each of them teaches him something important about his own life.

The first person he meets is the Blue Man, who teaches him that no life is random and that even the smallest actions can affect someone else completely without us realizing it.

The second is his Captain from the war, who shows him the meaning of sacrifice and how sometimes people do painful things to protect others.

Then he meets Ruby, after whom the amusement park was named. She teaches him about anger and forgiveness, and how holding onto pain only keeps you stuck.

The fourth person is Marguerite, his wife, and honestly, her part was one of the saddest and most beautiful. Through her, he learns that love doesn’t really end, even after death.

The final person is Tala, a little girl connected to Eddie’s past in a way he never understood. She helps him realize that his life actually had purpose, even if he thought he was ordinary the whole time.

What really stayed with me about this book is how it shows that you can affect people’s lives without even actively being present in them. Someone could be doing something completely unrelated to you, and yet it changes your life in a positive way. It makes you think about all the invisible connections between people and how every action carries meaning.

I also think the book teaches you to let go of things and emotions like anger, regret, guilt, all of it. Because sometimes we carry emotions for so long without realizing how heavy they’ve become. The book somehow makes life feel both bigger and simpler at the same time.

It’s emotional, comforting, and honestly really eye-opening. It reminds you that no life is insignificant, even when it feels ordinary. And I think that’s what made it so special to me.

Reading The Vegetarian felt less like reading a novel and more like surviving an emotional experience. When I first picked it up and saw that it was barely 190 pages long, I thought I would finish it in a couple of hours. Instead, the book demanded pauses. Every thirty or forty pages, I had to stop and process what I was feeling. It is not a book you consume quickly; it consumes you back.

And I think the only way to truly read this novel is to allow it to disturb you. I sat with this book and let it unsettle me instead of trying to immediately “understand” it.

The novel is divided into three parts, and each one feels emotionally distinct while still being tied together by repression, psychological unraveling, and the unbearable weight of silence.

The first section, narrated through the husband’s perspective, immediately unsettles you. The opening line, “ Before my wife turned vegetarian, i’d always thought of her as completely unremarkable in every way.” carries such coldness and dismissal that it instantly pulls you in. You keep reading almost out of disbelief, waiting for the moment this quiet rebellion fully erupts.

This part strongly reminded me of The Metamorphosis. Like Kafka’s work, there is this sense that something incomprehensible is happening inside a person while society responds not with compassion, but with pressure, shame, and control. Yeong-hye’s refusal to eat meat is treated not as a personal decision, but as an attack on the social order itself.

What struck me most was the way the novel exposes family structures and the entitlement parents feel over their children’s bodies and identities, even into adulthood. And through all of this, silence becomes its own character. Nobody truly listens to Yeong-hye. Nobody tries to understand her pain. Instead of helping her, they isolate her further, so much as the silence itself becomes a character.

The second part carries an entirely different emotional texture. It is probably the most misunderstood section of the novel, but to me, it has a haunting emotional depth of its own. The imagery of flowers is written so vividly that you can almost see them blooming across her body.

Yeong-hye’s desire to become more plant than person suddenly begins to make emotional sense, even if it cannot be rationally explained. The flowers seem to represent escape, transformation, and perhaps a longing to exist outside human violence altogether.

What her brother-in-law does is undeniably disturbing, but I also found myself seeing him as someone psychologically fractured in his own way. His obsession with her Mongolian mark and with turning bodies into art feels less like desire and more like collapse. Everyone in this novel seems trapped inside their own private madness, unable to truly reach one another.

And then comes the third part, which I think emotionally recontextualizes the entire novel. This section devastated me in a completely different way because it shifts the focus toward the elder sister, who may actually be one of the saddest characters in the book.

Unlike Yeong-hye, she has learned how to survive. She functions, she works, she fulfills responsibilities, and because of that, she appears “normal.” But internally, she is just as trapped. The difference is that she suppresses herself so deeply that she has convinced herself survival is the same thing as stability.

There is this heartbreaking realization that Yeong-hye took the full force of their father’s violence while the elder sister escaped some of it by becoming dependable, obedient, and responsible. Yeong-hye, became the one who absorbed the punishment, the fear, and the rebellion that the family refused to acknowledge.

What makes the elder sister so tragic is that you begin to sense she understands this. Deep down, she recognizes that she and Yeong-hye are not entirely different. The only reason she has managed to “hold herself together” is because she never allowed herself to fall apart. She is terrified of what would happen if she surrendered to her own buried thoughts and desires the way Yeong-hye did.

That realization transforms the ending into something even more painful. The novel stops being just about one woman’s psychological collapse and becomes about the different ways women survive trauma within patriarchal structures one by resisting openly, the other by internalizing everything until she becomes emotionally hollow.

This final section reminded me a lot of A Little Life in the sense that you spend the entire time internally begging the story not to go where it is clearly heading. You keep hoping someone will intervene, understand, or save her, but the tragedy unfolds anyway.

What makes the ending so powerful is that it refuses to give complete answers. The novel leaves you with questions rather than conclusions. The Vegetarian is one of those rare books that leaves you disturbed not because of what happens, but because of what it reveals about people.

Reading The Vegetarian felt less like reading a novel and more like surviving an emotional experience. When I first picked it up and saw that it was barely 190 pages long, I thought I would finish it in a couple of hours. Instead, the book demanded pauses. Every thirty or forty pages, I had to stop and process what I was feeling. It is not a book you consume quickly; it consumes you back.

And I think the only way to truly read this novel is to allow it to disturb you. I sat with this book and let it unsettle me instead of trying to immediately “understand” it.

The novel is divided into three parts, and each one feels emotionally distinct while still being tied together by repression, psychological unraveling, and the unbearable weight of silence.

The first section, narrated through the husband’s perspective, immediately unsettles you. The opening line, “ Before my wife turned vegetarian, i’d always thought of her as completely unremarkable in every way.” carries such coldness and dismissal that it instantly pulls you in. You keep reading almost out of disbelief, waiting for the moment this quiet rebellion fully erupts.

This part strongly reminded me of The Metamorphosis. Like Kafka’s work, there is this sense that something incomprehensible is happening inside a person while society responds not with compassion, but with pressure, shame, and control. Yeong-hye’s refusal to eat meat is treated not as a personal decision, but as an attack on the social order itself.

What struck me most was the way the novel exposes family structures and the entitlement parents feel over their children’s bodies and identities, even into adulthood. And through all of this, silence becomes its own character. Nobody truly listens to Yeong-hye. Nobody tries to understand her pain. Instead of helping her, they isolate her further, so much as the silence itself becomes a character.

The second part carries an entirely different emotional texture. It is probably the most misunderstood section of the novel, but to me, it has a haunting emotional depth of its own. The imagery of flowers is written so vividly that you can almost see them blooming across her body.

Yeong-hye’s desire to become more plant than person suddenly begins to make emotional sense, even if it cannot be rationally explained. The flowers seem to represent escape, transformation, and perhaps a longing to exist outside human violence altogether.

What her brother-in-law does is undeniably disturbing, but I also found myself seeing him as someone psychologically fractured in his own way. His obsession with her Mongolian mark and with turning bodies into art feels less like desire and more like collapse. Everyone in this novel seems trapped inside their own private madness, unable to truly reach one another.

And then comes the third part, which I think emotionally recontextualizes the entire novel. This section devastated me in a completely different way because it shifts the focus toward the elder sister, who may actually be one of the saddest characters in the book.

Unlike Yeong-hye, she has learned how to survive. She functions, she works, she fulfills responsibilities, and because of that, she appears “normal.” But internally, she is just as trapped. The difference is that she suppresses herself so deeply that she has convinced herself survival is the same thing as stability.

There is this heartbreaking realization that Yeong-hye took the full force of their father’s violence while the elder sister escaped some of it by becoming dependable, obedient, and responsible. Yeong-hye, became the one who absorbed the punishment, the fear, and the rebellion that the family refused to acknowledge.

What makes the elder sister so tragic is that you begin to sense she understands this. Deep down, she recognizes that she and Yeong-hye are not entirely different. The only reason she has managed to “hold herself together” is because she never allowed herself to fall apart. She is terrified of what would happen if she surrendered to her own buried thoughts and desires the way Yeong-hye did.

That realization transforms the ending into something even more painful. The novel stops being just about one woman’s psychological collapse and becomes about the different ways women survive trauma within patriarchal structures one by resisting openly, the other by internalizing everything until she becomes emotionally hollow.

This final section reminded me a lot of A Little Life in the sense that you spend the entire time internally begging the story not to go where it is clearly heading. You keep hoping someone will intervene, understand, or save her, but the tragedy unfolds anyway.

What makes the ending so powerful is that it refuses to give complete answers. The novel leaves you with questions rather than conclusions. The Vegetarian is one of those rare books that leaves you disturbed not because of what happens, but because of what it reveals about people.