Mabel's Reviews > Cricket

What a disappointment.

I truly enjoyed the author’s debut book, Smile Like You Mean It, so imagine my shock when Cricket ended up being not just a train wreck, but a trashy one. I really can’t imagine how else to describe a book that feels such a constant need to remind the reader how perfect its main character is, complete with her bra size. Because knowing she has huge, huge boobs is of the utmost importance for the reader to understand the character.

It goes beyond Cricket’s Mary Sue-levels of perfection (and those cannot be overstated, as it seems no one in the town has anything better to do besides gossip about her, be it either in jealousy or in awe), everything about this book feels so embarrassingly juvenile, right down to the fact that Paisley, the only girl in the book described as ‘heavy set’ is also described as both a ‘mean girl’ as well as ‘pathetic’ for her crush on one of Cricket’s guys. It’s a particularly unfortunate character choice given the book clearly aims to sell itself as diverse, what with the healthy amount of LGBTQ+ representation, the frankly tacky comment on J.K. Rowling, and Cricket’s proud history of promiscuity. All of that is fine, but the line of acceptable character traits stops at ‘fat’.

Then there’s the guys. Beyond the absurdly repetitive writing, which insists on hitting the reader over the head with their tics (did you notice Theo scrunches his nose when he laughs? That Hollis bites his lip and Cas runs his fingers through his head? That’s odd, as it is only repeated every couple of sentences) I enjoyed them, at least until Theo went ahead and gave away a girl’s phone number as a prize to a guy who did him a favor. How the hell did no one have a problem with this blatant breach of privacy?

That and the fact that Emerson and Killian enjoy dressing their younger, underage sister in, and I quote, ‘slutty’ clothes so guys hit on her at bars and they get to drink for free, firmly killed any interest I may have had on continuing this series. ‘Cricket’ could already be cut by at least half if a competent editor actually worked on it and told the author that characters don’t need to constantly giggle, laugh, smirk, grin or burst into laughter (screeching laughter in more than one worrisome occasion, too) to transmit a light atmosphere, as well as the fact that we don’t need to know the minutiae of these character’s every action. This book was already a slog of obnoxious writing and characters. I cannot expect the 516 pages of ‘Wildflower’ to be any different, and I need it in my life just as much as I need another hole in my head.

Gorgeous cover, though.