So, Jellyfish are Loading Their Guns is basically me if I were a book.
Cute title, right? But then you open it and — surprise — it’s not sweet, it’s lethal. Alphabetical, but with attitude. Like eyeliner on an ops sheet.
Some entries sting like an ex texting “wyd.” Some glow like stage lights when you weren’t ready for your close-up. Some just hum in the background like, oh hi, I live in your head now.
The thing is: it doesn’t care if you “get it.” It’s not trying to be nice. Neither am I.
It’s random, it’s slippery, it’s a glossary that keeps changing outfits just to mess with you.
By the time I hit the “Why” section, I was like: wow, same. Why am I like this? Why are we like this? Why is the alphabet suddenly flirting with me?
Anyway, 10/10 recommend if you like your books like you like your pop songs: short, sharp, a little self-destructive, but secretly smarter than they let on.
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