So the dog is gonna die, right? I feel like the dog is about to die. I'm a little afraid to keep reading.
Maybe not quite as funny as it thinks it is, but a lot of fun nonetheless.
This book feels so familiar: A group of unfriendly friends stuck in an isolated cabin, an accidental death that might not be an accident, an emotionally damaged heroine who holds the key to the mystery. This evening it hit me. Ruth Ware almost certainly read a few mid-80s Christopher Pike novels as a teenager.
I was nervous about reading F451, having recently tried to reread 1984 and not being able to get through it. I was afraid this would be more of the same, so I was happy to find that Bradbury seems to genuinely love language. Whereas Orwell uses words in service of an ideology, Bradbury chooses his words at least as much for their beauty as their utility.