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Drawn to the strange, captivating world she finds—and the mysterious man who rules it—she soon faces an impossible decision. With time and the old laws working against her, Liesl must discover who she truly is before her fate is sealed. Feyre, Rhys, and their close-knit circle of friends are still busy rebuilding the Night Court and the vastly-changed world beyond. But Winter Solstice is finally near, and with it, a hard-earned reprieve. As Feyre navigates her first Winter Solstice as High Lady, she finds that those dearest to her have more wounds than she anticipated—scars that will have far-reaching impact on the future of their Court.

Of course I want to be like them.

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They will live forever. And Cardan is even more beautiful than the rest. I hate him more than all the others. I hate him so much that sometimes when I look at him, I can hardly breathe. Jude was seven when her parents were murdered and she and her two sisters were stolen away to live in the treacherous High Court of Faerie. Ten years later, Jude wants nothing more than to belong there, despite her mortality.

But many of the fey despise humans. Especially Prince Cardan, the youngest and wickedest son of the High King.

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As Jude becomes more deeply embroiled in palace intrigues and deceptions, she discovers her own capacity for trickery and bloodshed. But as betrayal threatens to drown the Courts of Faerie in violence, Jude will need to risk her life in a dangerous alliance to save her sisters, and Faerie itself. This story messed with my head. Out of the entire Lunar Chronicles, this book probably comes second to Cress. She is a young girl desperate for love, for someone to care about her the way her family never has, so in order to make people love her she uses her glamour to make herself the most beautiful woman on Luna.

I hate to say it, but I really did sympathize with her in the beginning. Levana is a smart, ambitious, young girl with tons of potential, but soon she becomes cruel, manipulative, and controlling. The book takes you on a dark, horrifying journey where Levana gradually becomes the hateful villain she is now. Reviewer: Grace. Long before she was the terror of Wonderland—the infamous Queen of Hearts—she was just a girl who wanted to fall in love.

Catherine may be one of the most desired girls in Wonderland, and a favorite of the unmarried King of Hearts, but her interests lie elsewhere. A talented baker, all she wants is to open a shop with her best friend.

But according to her mother, such a goal is unthinkable for the young woman who could be the next queen. Then Cath meets Jest, the handsome and mysterious court joker. For the first time, she feels the pull of true attraction.

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At the risk of offending the king and infuriating her parents, she and Jest enter into an intense, secret courtship. Cath is determined to define her own destiny and fall in love on her terms. Or something else? Losing control. Then trying to wrench it back. Like in car racing video games. You get exhilarated when you are right on course, but the fear of veering off road is always present, depending on how close the next sharp curve is. Philosophy is the foundation of my higher education in the United States. It is still part of my intellectual and poetic lineage.

It grapples with other parts of me who speak other languages, who never had much of a formal literary education, who still fear unintelligibility among Americans. For example, reading philosophy translated from the German was an act of wrestling long sentences down to their granular ideas. Multiple compounded sentences, unclear subject-predicate, elevated syntax — all acted as a protective barrier between my personhood and my ideas.

A disidentification. Some space to breathe. Tell it slant.

It allowed me to write what I previously felt unwritable. It allowed me to garble up the English language itself, make it nonsensical, and rearrange it into a truth. I am not advocating for it, but in hindsight, verbosity was my entry point into difficult subject matter. On this note: I am forever grateful for and sorry to my editors.

Commentaries on the Laws of England, by William Blackstone

The end result is very much a convergence of my multiple selves. Formally, Careen is a book of sequences, marked by chapters. The poems are not titled. The pages spill from one to another without a clear contiguous border. It wants to be translated, but also resists so. If a reader were to ride the digital motorcycle of one of your poems, should they feel nauseated or exhilarated? Or neither? How in control do you want your reader to be when Careen invites the opposite?

Readers choose. They can shut themselves into the book and ride it from the start to the end, or pick and choose sections, like a playlist on shuffle.

The former would be, in a sense, surrendering control to me. Some people never want to ride motorcycles. Flip through. On a larger scale, I want readers to feel just on the brink of something unbearable. Why do you want your readers to be on the brink of something unbearable? What do you hope to achieve with that?

And then, pleasure begins. I used to think resistance has to be loud, has to be direct intervention. I worried people might mistake my quietude as compliance unless I was shouting back all the time. Eventually I realized we are always fighting for and against something, even when quiet, or sad, or accepting, or sitting under a heavy desk.

And now? What can be loud? I want pleasure to be the loudest. And joy. For fear of being subsumed into the fetishized gaze. It obsessed and upset me that people might see me as a projection of sexual fantasies. I was well aware of intellectual critiques of racism and fetishization, and armed myself with psychological therapeutic discussions of sexual trauma, but those were still just two divergent sites of critique. At the end of the day, beneath the armor and the gaze, what was I to do with my physical body?

Who could tell me? I wanted to be attractive, but deeply distrusted anyone who was attracted to me. I wanted to please and be pleased, but was horrified about being a site of pleasure.