I saw a photograph, and it was vaguely creepy. OOooooOO, how fun will this be? I wanted to read this book because of the photographs.
Not perhaps the best reason to want to read a book, in fact probably the worst reason to want to read a book. But there it was, photos looked fantastic, I was hooked into at least checking out the idea of the book.
I proceed to be dragged along on something that I wanted to enjoy, or at least be frightened by – as the story is first introduced there is the promise of something really very frightening.
There are people that are different; there are things that want to get rid of the people that are different, a story and concept is born. But every time we turn around the introduction of the idea keeps falling short.
The main character doesn’t seem to grow very much; the story that he is following along has such potential to be scary and moody, but honestly just comes off as sort of touristy. Jacob never comes off as anything more than slightly bothersome to read about, and everywhere I turned I kept finding myself wishing I knew more about his grandfather, more about the other orphans, more about anyone except Jacob.
The story ends in a way that there is definitely room for more books to come, there is definitely more space for all of that to happen, but I’m not sure I care. I kind of want to make up my own stories about these characters – these fantastic photographs and leave Jacob behind.
That isn’t to say that there aren’t moments in the story worth reading. Miss Peregrine herself is a great characterization, and the little lost island is wonderful, and I wouldn’t have cared at all to finish the book if I didn’t care so much about the grandfather. There is a lot that I enjoyed, but the book seemed flat, more flat than any of the photos that it uses to help liven up the characters and places it takes us to in the story.