As the title suggests, I didn't finish this book. In order to approach this DNF review objectively, this review is divided between the reasons why I kept reading the book and why I lost interest.

What do I like about this book?

1. Characters - I really like how the characters had distinct voices in my head—curious, grumpy, tired father of twenty. I found it easy to emotionally invest and root for the characters, even the unlikeable ones (Corbin). The diverse co-living-in-the-ship situation among humans, aliens, and in-between beings was a nice touch.

2. Worldbuilding - There were festivals, food, and some space tech jargons were quirky and fun (i.e. globulb). The world felt lived in.

Why I DNF-ed this book?

1. Writing Style - The writing style is not as polished as I expected it to be, like Martha Wells. Yes, Wells is my standard. The first science fiction book I read was written by her. I thought the warmth from the characters was enough for me to read through the entire book.

2. Worldbuilding - I know I said I loved the worldbuilding, but not entirely. Some settings were just thrown in the mix without much explanation, and the author just expected me to just roll with it. Some space tech jargon sometimes sounded awkward (i.e., genetweaks)

3. Plot - Rosemary was the main character, but I'd only read about her during the first few pages. I was already 68 pages in, and I was still unsure what she wanted. What was she hiding? Why was it taking so long to tell me? Whenever I think about why I stop reading a book, I always ask myself, 'Is it because it's too slow?' But then I always go back to Legends and Lattes by Travis Baldree. That book was glacial (with a capital G), and I loved it!
   
   However, this book meandered for the sake of being quirky and didn't really pose any questions. Also, since the news report from page 64 to page 67 was more of an exposition, I think it was supposed to spark curiosity, but it just gave me too many foreign terms. I didn't even want to read about it.

I really wanted to like this book! The first few pages were promising and the characters were likeable. Unfortunately, the worldbuilding did not move the plot along with it. I got bored.

Before I begin enumerating the reasons why I review the way I do, I want to state the purpose of my reviews: to capture my reading experience to the best of my abilities. Recalling the feelings and insights I had is essential for me to contemplate whether or not I should re-read a book. Here are the different approaches I've taken to book reviews since I restarted my list this year.

1. Plot Summary
   
   Ha! This is a minor mistake because I was being lazy. I thought I could rely on book blurbs and skip writing my own summary. However, leaving out plot summaries in my own words ended up having a big impact on how useful my reviews were to me.

2. Structure
   
   My freestyle reviews from the past don’t work for me anymore. I need to be able to find what I want when I reread my reviews. So, I created my own rating system to ensure I’ve considered the things that matter to me.

3. Reflection
   
   I aim to carefully catalogue and articulate my reflections—did the book challenge my views on social and/or political issues, my morals, my sense of self, or something else? I find writing an incoherent review to be a waste of time because "future me" won’t understand what I meant, and that’s been the case with many of my past reviews. The worst part was some of those reviews were lengthy. I also take time to reflect on why I feel the way I do about a particular scene, as it helps me better understand my views and preferences as well. I think this is why I take longer to read—there’s a lot of pondering in between.

4. Women Representation
   
   During my teenage years, I used to read a lot of romcom books by Sophie Kinsella. At some point of my early adulthood, I decided I had hit my quota of romcoms in this lifetime. Now that I am older, I realized I had neglected this part of my reviews for decades. There are pros and cons to it. On one hand, I didn’t miss out on beautifully written lyrical prose. If it captured my attention, I’d read it regardless of how women were portrayed in the book. Oh, the clutches of patriarchy on me were clear! On the other hand, I couldn't name many strong female main characters from my list of books. I intend to change that.

As the title suggests, I didn't finish this book. In order to approach this DNF review objectively, this review is divided between the reasons why this book captured my attention and why I lost interest.

Why did I pick this book?

1. Writing Style - Proust’s impeccable prose and writing style have captured my attention. I am but a mortal who finds it difficult to resist a beautifully written book. Hence, here we are.

2. Classic Literature - I haven’t read that many classic books, but I’ve always been curious about them. I accidentally came across this one on a library shelf. Proust is a famous classic author, and that made me curious as to why. Hence, the decision to give this book a try.

Why did I DNF this book?

1. Plot - I struggle with the narrator's endless, meandering recollections of memories, jumping across nonlinear timelines. Thirty pages in, and I find myself hate-reading. With this hollow block of a book, I can only summon the patience of a saint to hate-read it all the way through. Frustrating is an understatement.

2. Depressing Tone - As a recurring pattern, I’ve once again become a willing victim of yet another dead author’s writings. This is The Bell Jar all over again! The plot? An isolated narrator reflecting on the events around him. And honestly? It just made me sad. And you know what? No, thank you. What do I gain from this—vocabulary enrichment exercises? Lyrical prose appreciation? A desperate attempt to sound like an intellectual, prying for deeper meaning amidst a swirling vortex of ambiguity? Maybe.

I really wanted to like this book! Unfortunately, I knew the book was too boring for me when even beautiful writing couldn’t sustain my interest.

For centuries, civilizations have evolved, yet gender injustice has persisted and even been normalized. Feminism stems from the desire to be treated equally as men: politically, socially and economically. Yet, many people still view it as a threat, equating it with misandry. This raises the question: Why does modern society continue to resist true equality? Would treating women with the same respect as men threaten masculinity? Or is it an act of subconsciously protecting its fragility?

Adichie proceeds to shove masculinity in the front-row seat. Why is male ego so fragile in the first place? Men are burdened with societal expectations to provide, to be stable and to exert dominance. If these traits are truly in their nature, the need to control and oppress women wouldn't be necessary. Yet, society continues to subject women to cater their fragile ego and reinforce patriarchal values. In an economy where all genders are expected to contribute to the household income, should we really be concerned if women are more successful than men?

Marriage is another topic Adichie tackles. The pressure for women to marry by a certain age is a universal problem. Failing to do so is often seen as a personal failure, turning women into objects of ridicule and criticism. Why is a woman’s worth still measured by her marital status, rather than her accomplishments or happiness?

The resistance to implementing true equality is both barbaric and regressive—clinging to outdated hierarchies instead of progressing as a society.

OVERALL REVIEW

Everyone should read this book. I have been to some of these situations and conversations myself. I'm sure a lot of women have. We Should All Be Feminists validates and reiterates the inequality women face on a regular basis. Several anecdotes hits close to home. Adichie delivers a brief yet powerful narrative that highlights deep-seated inequalities, particularly how internalized misogyny is ingrained among all genders.

That said, while this book offers a thought-provoking introduction to feminism, it is largely anecdotal. For those already familiar with feminist discourse, it may not provide entirely new insights. Rather than offering an in-depth analysis, it serves as a concise and engaging reflection on gender inequality.

The story follows Tobias Finch, a quiet, ancient man who lives in the woods, and Henry Silver, a young and curious lord who takes an interest in both Tobias and the strange magic surrounding his home. The plot unfolds gently. There’s an underlying conflict tied to old myths, curses, and Tobias’s past, but much of the tension comes from the interactions between characters rather than external threats.

Tobias is an intriguing character—stoic, deeply tied to the forest, and reluctant to engage with the world beyond it. Silver, on the other hand, is bright, eager, and full of curiosity. Their dynamic is compelling, but I found myself pausing when I realized Silver is only 23 while Tobias is over 400 years old. The age gap, while common within the folklore-inspired narrative, in a modern reading context, it feels a bit unsettling.

Tobias Finch is a gentle giant in the middle of the forest minding his business for centuries. While his character is intriguing in the sense that he's deeply connected to the forest and has lived a solitary existence, there's not really much of an arc to him. He remains a stoic, quiet figure throughout the book, and while that is realistic given his long life and detachment from the world, it’s also quite disappointing as a reader.

We see him react to Henry Silver’s curiosity and the unfolding events, but we don’t get a deeper sense of his growth or change. He feels almost like a static force of nature, and for a character who’s been alive for hundreds of years, I expected some personal evolution or inner conflict. His lack of an arc leaves him somewhat distant, even at the face of danger (i.e. Silver getting kidnapped right before his eyes) and I found it harder to connect with him, especially in contrast to Silver, whose curiosity and development make him feel more dynamic and relatable.

Henry Silver, on the other hand, is an eager young lord whose actions drive much of the plot. From the moment he encounters Tobias Finch in the woods, Henry is proactive—he approaches him, tells him the villagers' gossip, flirts with him, and even cares for him after Tobias is shot. Throughout the story, it’s Henry’s initiative that moves things forward, while Tobias mostly allows Henry to do as he pleases.

While this dynamic creates an interesting contrast between the characters, I found myself wondering what exactly motivated Henry to be so persistent in his interactions with Tobias. Was it genuine attraction? He certainly flirts with Tobias from their very first meeting, but his motivations don’t feel entirely clear. His eagerness seems to stem from more than just curiosity or attraction, but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly what that "more" is—there’s a sense of mystery about his motivations that the book doesn’t fully unpack.

As a character, I find Silver to be more engaging. I think the book will be more interesting if it was written from his perspective. He may have unclear motivations but at least, his actions propels the plot forward.

I remember around almost 70% of the first book and wondering if Henry getting kidnapped was all there is to it. Honestly, the story just lacks any "real" arc. It feels more like a fairytale that kind of meanders around the mansion and the cottage with no real direction. It’s slow-paced, and while that works for some fairytales, here it just felt like things were happening without much purpose. There’s no major character growth, no real conflict, and nothing that pushes the plot forward in any meaningful way. It’s more like a snapshot of moments than a story with an actual beginning, middle, and end. I was hoping for something with a bit more depth or development, but instead, it just kind of floats along without building to anything. It wasn’t bad, just... aimless.

Was the conflict enough to challenge Tobias? On paper, yes, it certainly presents challenges, but in practice, it feels more like an inconvenience rather than a deeply engaging conflict. Despite the supernatural elements surrounding him, Tobias remains largely unmoved, and there’s a notable lack of emotional depth as he faces these challenges. The story’s stakes don’t seem to push him to confront anything deeply personal or transformative. It’s not that Tobias doesn’t face difficulties, but more that they don’t evoke a strong reaction from him. That sense of passivity is understandable given his long life—he’s been around for centuries, and at a certain point, it's almost as though nothing fazes him anymore. It’s realistic, in a way, but it makes his emotional arc feel flat and underdeveloped. His character, for all his history and mystery, doesn’t evolve much throughout the story, which makes the conflict feel less compelling.

This lack of emotional engagement got me thinking about classic fairytales like "Little Red Riding Hood" or "The Three Little Pigs." Despite being short and simple, those stories still have a palpable sense of danger. The characters are forced to confront something threatening, and there's real tension in their actions. There’s a clear risk, a challenge that feels immediate, and a resolution that feels earned. In contrast, Silver in the Wood doesn’t build that same level of tension or urgency. The resolution of the story, when it comes, is rather anticlimactic. Tobias doesn’t undergo any major transformation, nor does he really confront anything that would lead to substantial personal growth. It feels as though the story simply winds down rather than building to a climax, and that lack of a powerful emotional payoff made the conclusion feel lacking.

In the end, while Silver in the Wood has its moments of charm and atmospheric beauty, it lacks the urgency and emotional depth that could have made the conflict feel truly challenging for Tobias. The stakes never quite feel high enough, and that’s a bit of a letdown, considering the mystical elements at play.

Ah, whimsical prose—my weakness! Emily Tesh's writing style is a strong point in this book. The pacing was just right, and her lyrical prose kept me engaged, even when the plot wasn’t moving at a fast pace. However, with the conflict and character arcs not gripping me as much as I’d hoped, I’m still on the fence about whether I should pick up the second book.

Overall, my experience with Silver in the Wood was a bit of a mixed bag. On one hand, Emily Tesh’s whimsical writing style is undeniably beautiful and atmospheric, which kept me engaged even when the plot felt slow or lacking in momentum. The pacing was just right, and I found myself absorbed in the world she created, despite not much happening on the surface. However, on the other hand, the character arcs and the conflict didn’t pull me in as much as I’d hoped. I really wanted to like this! However, Tobias, in particular, felt passive, and the resolution felt anticlimactic. The lack of a compelling character journey or a high-stakes plot made it hard for me to fully invest in the story. So, while I appreciated the writing and the atmosphere, I’m left torn about whether to continue with the series.

Silver in the Wood is a beautifully written, slow-burn story with a strong fairytale essence. The prose is lovely, and the atmosphere is enchanting, but I wanted a richer sense of place and history. The relationship dynamics may not work for everyone, but if you enjoy quiet, folklore-inspired tales with a touch of magic and you don't mind the age gap (between a 23-year-old and 400-year-old), you might want to give this one a try.