The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey (The Fifth Wave, #1)

The 5th Wave - Rick Yancey

The 5th Wave is an alien invasion story, in which the aliens look like us; they look humans, and it is this aspect that I think the book could have played up to a greater degree – the creepy factor when you cannot tell who is human and who is not. But what there is of it is pretty good.

USA Today apparently said that “it should do for aliens what Twilight did for vampires”, which is not much of a compliment, if you ask me. I’d like to think the 5th Wave is better than that, considering what Twilight did to vampires (made them *sparkle*). But to be fair, the 5th Wave hasn’t really revealed much about the aliens yet, except to show us that they are intelligent - or at least knowledgeable, from observing us for thousands of earth years, apparently, learning the way we think - and thus they came prepared (did they really need that long, though?). It is a “survival of the fittest” thing, by sending out wave after wave of attacks to eradicate humans, each wave more devastating that the last.

SOMETIMES I THINK I might be the last human on Earth. Which means I’m the last human in the universe. I know that’s dumb. They can’t have killed everyone…yet. I see how it could happen, though, eventually. And then I think that’s exactly what the Others want me to see. Remember the dinosaurs? Well.

Cassie is the main narrator of the multi-POV story, and she is my favourite – mainly because I like her sense of humour.

“It’s not my fault,” I told Bear. “I don’t make the weather. You got a beef, take it up with God.”
That’s what I’ve been doing a lot lately: taking it up with God.
Like: God, WTF?

The romance was icky, really. I’m docking off one star because of the ickiness. Like: “Rick Yancey, WTF?” kind of bad, and you pretty much knew the direction it was heading when you reach 33% of the book and find yourself reading this:

…each night, creeping a little closer to the tent, inching his way over the woodland blanket of decaying leaves and moist loamy soil until his shadow rose in the narrow opening of the tent and fell over her, and the tent was filled with her smell, and there would be the sleeping girl clutching the teddy bear and the hunter holding his gun, one dreaming of the life that was taken from her, the other thinking of the life he’d take. The girl sleeping and the finisher, willing himself to finish her. Why didn’t he finish her? Why couldn’t he finish her? He told himself it was unwise. She couldn’t stay in these woods indefinitely.

And you know what happened next? He shot her and took her to his house. Gross. He’s a creepy stalker, and she falls for him, and … you know what? It’s the romance that should be compared to Twilight, not the other stuff. It hasn’t gotten to promises of forever yet, and there might be a love triangle in the next book or two… don’t read this for its romance. Unless if this sort of thing is your cup of tea.