Wuthering Heights - the movie

 

Wuthering Heights...the movie.

My coworker Alexis told me I had to watch the new movie, Wuthering Heights.  She loved it.  It is a daring reimagining of Emily Brontë’s classic novel. I’m fairly certain I read the book many years ago, although the details have long since vanished. From what I do recall, this adaptation goes beyond simply retelling the story, offering a fresh, darker interpretation of the familiar tale.

Right out of the gate, I felt like the film was trying a little too hard to grab me and shake me awake. It opens with heavy breathing and strong sexual undertones before abruptly cutting to a man being hanged. There’s no gentle introduction, it throws you directly into the deep end. Honestly, I think I would have preferred the violence to stand on its own rather than layering it with additional shock and mystery.

That feeling lingered throughout much of the film. I went in expecting more of a gothic romance or period drama, but it leans far darker and more graphic than I anticipated. There were also a few scenes, particularly those involving animal slaughter and its accompanying sounds and imagery, that I personally could have done without. I understand the intent was to emphasize the harsh realities of life on the moors, but for me it crossed the line from effective atmosphere into excess.

That said, there was a lot I genuinely loved. The atmosphere was immersive, the mood was haunting, and the overall aesthetic was beautifully realized. The costumes were stunning, richly detailed and perfectly suited to the world the filmmakers created. And I have to mention Isabella, played by Alison Oliver, who completely stood out to me. Her performance felt natural, grounded, and emotionally authentic, drawing my attention every time she appeared on screen.

The film centers on the dysfunctional love story between Catherine Earnshaw (Margot Robbie) and her brooding foster brother, Heathcliff (Jacob Elordi). They are introduced as children, and surprisingly, I found myself more invested in the younger versions of the characters than their adult counterparts. Their performances carried a rawness and emotional honesty that really resonated.

As the story unfolds, Catherine marries Edgar (Shazad Latif), prompting Heathcliff to leave in a rage. Years later, he returns with a fortune of his own and a burning desire to either reclaim Catherine or get revenge. He stokes Catherine’s jealousy by turning his attention to Edgar’s impressionable young ward, Isabella, who delivers what I found to be the film’s strongest performance.

Heathcliff and Catherine are deeply flawed, selfish people who leave destruction in their wake. Their relationship creates a toxic cycle of obsession, love, cruelty, and revenge that ultimately consumes not only themselves but nearly everyone around them.

Despite the heavier moments that didn’t sit well with me, I still enjoyed the film’s atmosphere, visuals, and emotional intensity. I would recommend watching it, with the caveat that some scenes are particularly graphic and may not be for everyone.

What stayed with me most is this: Wuthering Heights is a beautiful film that sometimes hurts to look at, but perhaps that’s exactly what it intended to be.

The Heiress

 

The Heiress 

By Rachel Hawkins

Angeline picked this one for book club, and I had been saving it for my trip to Mexico. I started it on the flight down and spent the next day stretched out in the sun, sipping piña coladas and turning page after page. Between the family drama, buried secrets, and shocking revelations, I was completely hooked, and more than a little grateful that none of it was part of my own family history.

"I had gotten away with murder, and I was glad for it."

Now that’s an opening line.

This novel is an addictive thriller packed with rumors, whispers, long-buried secrets, scheming relatives, and not one, not two, but four mysterious deaths. There is no shortage of drama, and every new revelation pulls you deeper into the story.

At the center of it all is Ruby McTavish Callahan Woodward Miller Kenmore, the richest and most notorious woman in North Carolina. A childhood kidnapping survivor, four-time widow, and matriarch of the powerful McTavish empire, Ruby leaves behind a fortune, an estate, and a legacy far more complicated than it appears.

When her adopted son, Camden, inherits everything, he wants nothing to do with it. Having built a quiet life far from Ashby House and the weight of the McTavish name, he is determined to keep his distance. But when a death in the family draws him and his wife, Jules, back to the sprawling estate, old wounds begin to reopen and long-buried secrets start to surface. The deeper Jules digs into the McTavish family history, the more determined she becomes to uncover the truth, and claim what she believes should be theirs.

And then there’s Ashby House itself. The fifteen-bedroom mansion perched in the Blue Ridge Mountains is practically a character in its own right. If those walls could talk, I would listen for hours. The stories hidden within them could easily fill a book of their own.

What I enjoyed most was Ruby’s story, which unfolds through a series of letters written to an unknown recipient. Those chapters added so much depth and intrigue, gradually peeling back the layers of her fascinating and complicated life. As the past collides with the present and the identity of her correspondent is finally revealed, the truth about Ruby, and the choices she made, comes into focus. My overwhelming thought was simply: what a wild life she lived.

Overall, I thoroughly enjoyed this book. If you love family sagas filled with secrets, lies, manipulation, inheritance battles, and unexpected twists, The Heiress is a very entertaining read.

In the end, the novel reminds us that wealth may buy power, influence, and even silence, but it can never bury the truth forever. Families inherit more than money; they inherit stories, secrets, and consequences. And sooner or later, every legacy demands to be reckoned with.

 

Evidence of the Affair

 

Evidence of the Affair 

By Taylor Jenkins Reid

Have you ever heard of Illicit Affairs by Taylor Swift? Have you read this book? If not, I officially nominate that song as the soundtrack to this story.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs
And clandestine meetings and stolen stares
They show their truth one single time
But they lie, and they lie, and they lie
A million little times

The book opens with a letter:

"Dear Mr. David Mayer,

My name is Carrie Allsop. Please accept my apologies for contacting you out of the blue. My heart goes out to you, David. Even though I do not know you... I am writing to ask a quite humbling favor. I recently found some love letters in my husband's briefcase that I believe to be from your wife, Janet..."

Can you imagine receiving a letter like that?

As I read, I couldn't decide whether Carrie was acting out of courage or heartbreak. Was she seeking answers, or was she driven by anger and betrayal? Maybe it was both. She goes on to ask David if he has found any letters from her husband and, if so, whether he would send them to her.

At just 80 pages, Evidence of the Affair is told entirely through letters. Through Carrie and David's correspondence, we slowly uncover the truth about two marriages, an affair, and the dreams and expectations that have quietly eroded beneath the weight of everyday life.

Over the course of a year and a half, Carrie and David become each other's confidants. They offer support, understanding, and companionship during one of the most painful periods of their lives. Eventually, they meet for lunch. Later, when they discover their spouses are spending a weekend together, they decide to do the same.

Carrie ultimately returns home, divorces her husband, and moves in with her parents while she rebuilds her life. David chooses to stay with his wife. What happens during that shared weekend between Carrie and David is left largely to interpretation.

Or is it?

The final letter from Carrie includes the line:

"You gave me hope and perspective and confidence. Right before you gave me my baby."

Suddenly, what began as one couple's affair appears to have sparked another. Life is strange that way. Messy. Complicated. Human.

The story raises uncomfortable questions. Can anyone live an entirely honest life when temptation appears? Are we all capable of crossing lines we once swore we'd never cross?

At this stage in my life, I know where I stand. If I discovered my partner was having an affair, I would leave. There would be no dramatic speeches, no prolonged negotiations. I want a peaceful life, and for me, trust is the foundation of that peace. Once it's broken, I don't believe I could rebuild it.

One quote from the book stayed with me:

"It is funny the crazy things our brains make up to save us from the truth."

How true is that?

We protect ourselves with stories. We see what we want to see, believe what we want to believe, and sometimes remain in situations that no longer serve us because facing reality feels far more frightening than living with illusion.

Overall, I found this to be a frank, compassionate look at human weakness and resilience. Carrie reaches rock bottom, but that collapse becomes the catalyst for change. Losing everything forces her to find herself again. In the end, she gains something far more valuable than the relationship she lost: the courage to let go.

One of the hardest lessons in life is realizing that love is not enough to save something that has lost its honesty. We teach people how to treat us by what we tolerate, and sometimes the greatest act of self-respect is walking away.

People may not understand your choices. They may judge them. Let them.

Your life is not meant to be built around other people's opinions. It is meant to be built around your own peace.

And perhaps that's the deepest truth hidden within this little book: sometimes the end of the life you imagined is the beginning of the life you were meant to have. The truth may break your heart, but a lie will slowly break your spirit. Given enough time, the truth is always the kinder choice.

 

Homesick Nomad: Settling into an Untethered Life

 

Homesick Nomad: Settling into an Untethered Life 

By Brianna Madia

After finishing The Road to Tender Hearts on my drive home to Florida, I started Homesick Nomad: Settling into an Untethered Life by Brianna Madia. A round trip to my mom’s is about 20 hours, which usually means I can fit in two audiobooks. Brianna narrates this one herself, and listening to it felt like catching up with a friend.

I’ve followed Brianna and her adventurous, dog-filled life online for years…maybe close to ten. Because of social media, I thought I knew a lot about her story, but this book reveals the deeper layers behind what people see on the surface.

Homesick Nomad explores love, loss, identity, and what it means to remain true to yourself even when the world, and the internet, tries to tear you apart.

There’s a heaviness throughout the book, especially as Brianna navigates grief and the devastating impact of online bullying. But woven through that pain is resilience, growth, and moments of clarity that linger long after the chapter ends. Watching her confront her fears and slowly reclaim herself was deeply inspiring.

Seeing her journey come full circle, from heartbreak and divorce to finding love again, I personally felt inspired by her resilience to opening herself up to finding love again after all she had been through.

The book is packed with lessons about choosing the life that feels right for you, even when it doesn’t look like anyone else’s. One chapter that especially stood out to me focused on the choice not to have children. Why is that still something people judge so harshly? And for some people, it’s not even a choice. That part felt honest, vulnerable, and important.

I have a keychain that says, “Don’t let the bastards get you down,” and honestly, that sentiment fits this book perfectly. We get one life. Not one life approved by strangers. Just one life

Choose wisely. Live freely. Just live.

The online bullying Brianna endured was unbelievable. I was especially happy to hear about Selena, a woman who stepped in to help Brianna uncover the people behind the anonymous harassment and hold them accountable. Hearing that brought such a sense of justice and relief.

One quote that really stayed with me was:

“When someone wants to help you, it doesn’t always mean that they think you’re incapable. It might just mean that they love you.”

And maybe that’s the thread running through this entire story: that surviving isn’t just about enduring pain alone. It’s about finding the courage to keep choosing yourself and letting yourself be loved anyway.

 

The Road to Tender Hearts

 

The Road to Tender Hearts 

By Annie Hartnett

I was heading to Florida this past weekend to celebrate Mother’s Day early and three big birthdays, and I needed something that would travel well with me…something light on the surface but with enough depth to sit with me in the in-between moments. I had seen this book on several reviewers’ lists and well…the cover caught my eye.  It felt like the right kind of company for a long drive.

The story follows PJ Halliday, an aimless, lottery-winning man in fragile health who somehow ends up responsible for his dead brother’s grandchildren after a tragic accident. From there, things spiral in the most unpredictable, chaotic, and strangely tender directions. PJ, still half-lost in his own life and dependent on his ex-wife for nearly everything, suddenly finds himself traveling across the country with two grieving pre-teens, his equally drifting adult daughter, and a stolen car. His goal? To reconnect with his high school crush, Michelle. Of course, that’s only one of several increasingly strange objectives that emerge along the way.

What unfolds is a road trip in the truest sense…equal parts hijinks and heartbreak. There are stolen wax hands, motel detours, questionable decisions, run-ins with the law, and more narrow escapes than seems statistically possible. And yet, beneath the absurdity, Hartnett is constantly circling something much quieter and more vulnerable: the ache of grief, the awkwardness of found family, and the strange ways people keep moving forward when they don’t quite know how to heal.

I’ll be honest…I didn’t just smile during this book; I actually laughed out loud. More than once. That alone felt like a small miracle since most books that promise laugh out loud humor don’t quite deliver, for me.

But what surprised me most was how effectively the humor coexists with something heavier. It’s how these characters survive what they’re carrying.

And then there’s Pancakes…the cat who may or may not be an agent of death. It sounds like something that shouldn’t quite work, but somehow it does. At first it felt a little strange, but I gradually found myself settling into it. In the end, I was more charmed by the cat than anything else, though maybe that’s not so surprising if you know me well enough: I do tend to like my cats more than most people.

There were moments when the quirkiness tipped into excess for me…bordering on too much, occasionally veering into the kind of stylized chaos that feels almost deliberately staged. At times, I could absolutely see this as a Wes Anderson movie, all symmetry and eccentric heartbreak.

By the end, I realized the journey wasn’t really about reaching Michelle, or solving any of the more improbable mysteries along the way. It was about the way broken people accidentally assemble into something like a family, not because they fix each other, but because they keep showing up anyway…messy, uncertain, and still moving forward.

And maybe that’s what the book is really trying to say…not whether we can untangle our pasts, but whether we can learn to sit beside one another. Even if nothing is resolved. Even if the road is ridiculous. Even if the only thing we end up carrying home is the faint, unexpected feeling that tenderness was there all along, waiting for us to notice it.

 

Malibu Rising

 

Malibu Rising

By Taylor Jenkins Reid

A couple of weeks ago, I wandered into Goodwill…the kind of casual stop that somehow always feels fated. I made my usual beeline for the book section and walked out with five. One of them is already set aside as a gift.

This year, Vee and I decided to do something different for our birthdays: thrifted bundles. We built a secret Pinterest board together, filling it with bits of who we are…ideas, aesthetics, little clues. The only rule is that everything must be found, collected, or handmade. Treasures, really. It’s been the most meaningful and surprisingly joyful way I’ve ever put together a gift. Spoiler Vee...I found you a book! 

Among the stack I found that day was Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid. As you know, I had finished Atmosphere, and I’d already loved The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo and Daisy Jones & The Six, so it felt like an easy yes.

“Our family histories are simply stories. They are myths we create about the people who came before us, in order to make sense of ourselves.”

Set along the Pacific Coast Highway, tucked between the mountain and the sea, Malibu Rising tells the story of the Riva family. On the surface, it’s all sunshine and salt air...beach houses, crashing waves, that golden Malibu glow. But underneath, there’s more going on: wealth gaps, the way Malibu’s identity has shifted over time, and the subtle impact of gentrification. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the homes themselves…from the original Riva house, full of memory and survival, to Nina’s stark, modern house on the coast. The contrast feels intentional. These spaces aren’t just settings; they’re reflections of history, of relationships, of what is built and what is lost.

The center of the novel belongs to the siblings: Nina, Jay, Hud, and Kit, whose loyalty to one another feels steady and earned. There’s something quietly striking in the way they’ve all had to grow up too fast, stepping into maturity while their parents remained suspended in their own immaturity. It’s a familiar kind of imbalance, and Reid captures it with clarity, if not always with subtlety.

That said, parts of the story do drift into slightly soap-opera territory. The backdrop of 1983 is vivid…Virginia Slims and Marlboros, Tab cans, Jeeps and Jaguars, Airstream caravans, Wayfarer sunglasses. Long sun-lightened hair, string bikinis, tanned skin. Crop tops and Daisy Dukes. Backyard parties that blur into excess…booze, cocaine, fleeting love affairs, and the kind of chaos that feels both glamorous and empty.  Rock stars, actors, athletes, models…it’s all there, orbiting Los Angeles in a way that feels true to the time, even if it’s a bit over the top at moments.

The story moves between two timelines: one that follows the hours leading up to Nina’s annual party, building tension as it goes, and another that traces the family’s past…particularly June Riva, a woman who loved deeply and paid for it. Her story, more than anything, carries the emotional weight of the book. She is the quiet center of it all: a young woman who believed in promises, endured abandonment, and still faced the world with resilience.

And then there’s Mick Riva…he showed up in Reid’s other books too. A famous singer, charming and careless, he moves through lives leaving damage in his wake. He’s less someone you try to understand and more someone you just must reckon with.

“Nina understood, maybe for the first time, that letting people love you and care for you is part of how you love and care for them.”

That line sticks. It’s one of the moments where the book sharpens into something more meaningful…where it moves beyond the spectacle and into truth.

Malibu Rising is good. But it certainly isn’t her best. It doesn’t quite reach the depth or emotional precision of her other work. And yet, there was something about it that stayed with me.

Maybe because it’s Malibu.

A place that has always felt like a dream just out of reach. My friend David and I used to talk about living there someday. I like to think he’s there now in some way…catching waves, laughing, exactly where he belongs. This book, for all its flaws, let me go back there for a bit. It gave me the coast, surfing, the light, the sense of possibility….and my memories of him.

For that, I really loved it.

The Answer is No

The Answer Is No 

By Fredrik Backman

It’s Friday, and the office feels unusually quiet with most of my coworkers out. I grabbed my earphones, thinking I’d listen to some music or maybe a short story to break up the silence. Without a second thought, I put on The Answer Is No...I mean, it’s Fredrik Backman, after all.

The book is supposed to be a hilarious short story, but I’ve kind of accepted that I’m just not the target audience for “laugh-out-loud” books. The ones everyone says are so funny usually don’t make me laugh at all. That said, even if the humor didn’t land for me, Backman’s observations about people definitely did.

The story follows Lucas, a guy in his early thirties who has built a very specific, very controlled life around three things: video games, Pad Thai with extra peanuts, and a glass of wine. He’s not just introverted…he’s intentionally designed his life to avoid people as much as possible. And honestly, he seems pretty content with that…until something small (like a frying pan) starts to throw everything off.

It’s a simple setup, but the story isn’t really about what happens…it’s more about who Lucas is. It feels less like a full narrative and more like a close-up look at a certain kind of personality. Someone who associates independence with safety. Someone who finds people exhausting instead of comforting. Someone who says “no” so often that it becomes a kind of identity.

At times, the story feels repetitive, but I actually think that’s on purpose. Lucas’s thoughts go in circles…constantly justifying, explaining, defending, and it starts to feel a little claustrophobic. But in a way that works. It captures that feeling of being stuck in your own head, where every thought just leads you back to the same place.

Because of that, the story might feel like it doesn’t go anywhere. There’s no big transformation, no dramatic shift…just a small disruption in a very controlled life. But that also makes it feel realistic. Not every story is about huge change. Sometimes it’s just about the tiniest crack forming in something you thought was solid.

It also made me think about my own “three things” …a really good book, my cats, and my Therasage heating pad. There’s something appealing about a quiet, contained life like that…for me. But I think Backman is gently nudging at the idea that maybe what feels like comfort can sometimes be a way of keeping everything (and everyone) at a distance.

I wouldn’t recommend starting with this if you’re new to Backman.  I’ve liked his other work a lot more...but this one does stick with you in a quieter way.

And maybe that’s what the book is really getting at...that it’s easy to build a life where nothing really disturbs you…but a little harder to know if that’s actually the same thing as being happy.