Category: monthly collage

This is very late, because as I told K, I can’t stop reading to write. I’m already nine books into June, but at least I finally finished the rundown for May.

For some reason I read a lot of detective fiction this month. The embassy book club book (Dead Cat Bounce) really suffered as a result, since it was a really unexceptional potboiler whereas the others were all pretty darn incredible, each mixing solid character growth with riveting shenanigans and truly exciting plot twists, with extra social commentary to spice things up. Sorry Peter Cotton, better luck next time.

Traveller’s Joy, by Victoria Goddard: Novella, fantasy, prequel to the Greenwing and Dart series. The traumatic university experience that shaped Jemis Greenwing’s character is often referenced but never directly depicted in the series; this novella comes closest, from his friend Hal’s viewpoint as he helps Jemis recover from the unexpected assault. Nice exploration of their characters, and how trauma can both break relationships and strengthen them; also sets things up nicely for events in later books.

The Archive Undying, by Emma Mieko Candon: Science fiction, dystopia/AI. The world is made of warring city-states, some ruled by AIs, others by human conglomerations that seize and keep power using ENGINEs created from scavenged AI parts. Such machines require the incorporation of “relics,” humans interfaced with dying AIs. Sunai, once a resident of the city-state run by the AI Iterate Fractal, became an unwilling relic during Iterate Fractal’s death; he now does his best to avoid the attentions of human conglomerations such as the Harbor, who would love nothing more than to leash him into a mech as their tool. The world is undeniably cool as we follow sensitive, self-destructive Sunil and his secretive sometimes-lover Veyadi through a landscape of destroyed civlizations, half-sane AIs, and humans who just want to make a life out of the chaos. Themes include trauma, both personal and societal; consciousness, self-determination, and responsibility. The narration is compelling but also confusing, as Sunil’s and Veyadi’s viewpoints are often interspersed with AIs which may or may not have taken up residence in one or another of their skulls, and the characters are so opaque to one another that you’re never quite sure of anyone’s motivation at any given point. Apparently there’s going to be a sequel.

Well of Lost Plots, by Jasper Fforde: Third in the Thursday Next series of… I guess you can call it lit fic, it’s just an excuse for Fforde to nerd out over literary characters and conventions. While she waits for her child to be born, Thursday and her pet dodo Pickwick are sheltering inside a never-published detective novel within the Well of Lost Plots. Of course life is not quiet; she is continuing her apprenticeship under Miss Havisham of Great Expectations, dancing in and out of book universes in pursuit of literary crimes and the advancing threat of UltraWord, an advancement that promises greater readership and readability but in reality, reduces writing quality and locks down a book after it’s read more than three times. She is also fighting a battle inside her own mind, as villainness Aornis Hades threatens her very memories. You never really worry for Thursday but it’s fun to follow her adventures through various literary universes.

Rage the Night, by Donna Morrissey: Historical fiction, 1914 Newfoundland. Orphan Roan learns, in a woman’s deathbed confession, that he actually does have a family; his search for them takes him away from the people who have raised and cared for him in the Northern Peninsula of Newfoundland to the town of St John’s, where he signs onto a rickety vessel joining that season’s seal hunt. Morrissey’s portrait of Roan’s journey, both through wintry Newfoundland and through his own understanding of his past, is brilliantly done: Roan starts out the journey caring nothing for anyone or anything but his own need to understand his past, and gradually comes to a point where human connection becomes vital to survival. Riveting and beautiful, and a really searing look at the sealing disaster in 1914 that left hundreds of men exposed to killing snowstorms while stranded on ice floes.

Ink and Bone, by Rachel Caine: Now this is dark academia done well. The Great Library rules the flow of knowledge and ideas in every city, through alchemy enabling access to any book anywhere but in reality controlling what people are and aren’t allowed to read (unsubtle commentary on digital rights management). Jess Brightwell is from a family of book smugglers, stealing and selling forbidden tomes; however, his dream is to be a scholar for the Great Library, leveraging his love of words and knowledge for the greater good. Of course things go very dark, as Jess’s scholar class is harshly tested by the Library’s requirements and dark secrets are uncovered that demonstrate the Library values their control over human lives. First in a series.

Dead Cat Bounce, by Peter Cotton: Potboiler mystery, read for embassy book club. The “dead cat bounce” theory describes a brief recovery in a declining stock or political trajectory; in this book, it’s taken quite literally as a killer strews corpses around Canberra, each accompanied by a dead cat. Detective Darren Glass teams up with an attractive lady reporter to track down the killer as stakes rise. The book is… not terribly well written; the characters are puppeted through the motions of interviews and fact-finding without being given much in the way of personalities to flavor the plot. Honestly, the news articles and op-eds interspersed throughout the story were more enjoyable to read than the actual story. The only fun bits for me were recognizing places around Canberra, which at least kept me amused while waiting for the story to plummet towards its increasingly unlikely end.

The Tainted Cup, by Robert Jackson Bennett: Mystery/fantasy, Holmes and Watson style characters in a land haunted by creeping contagions and Cthulhu-esque monsters. Eccentric, brilliant investigator Ana Dolabra, who blindfolds herself in order to block out the world’s incessant input, sends her assistant Dinios Kol to investigate a murder in which a tree has torn its way out of an unfortunate officer. Din, an “engraver,” is able to engrave a perfect copy of what he sees and hears into his mind; Ana utilizes his abilities (while scandalizing his sense of propriety) to draw brilliant conclusions, leading them towards an even greater threat than they had dreamed. Quirky, demanding Ana is the perfect Holmes to Din’s low-key, determined Watson, and I’m already on the waiting list for the next book in the series.

The Starless Sea, by Erin Morganstern, read by Dominic Hoffman, with Dion Graham, Bahni Turpin, Fiona Hardingham, Allan Corduner, and Jorjeana Marie: Fantasy / magical realism, the sort of story that nests other stories within itself and takes its time unfolding. Grad student Zachary stumbles upon an unlisted book in the library and is startled to find within it a story recording his own childhood experience. As he feels his way towards the mysteries within the book, he’s drawn gradually into the world that the book describes, along with a cast of mysterious characters that seem interested in either helping or hindering him. The writing (or narration, in this case, by a cast of talented readers) is achingly beautiful, suffused with the love of words and storytelling; Zachary’s quest for meaning and belonging strikes a universal chord in anyone who’s felt a bit like the world is just too tedious and normal for them. That said, the book did have a few weaknesses; Zachary’s journey was less of a focused quest and more a disoriented stumble, which made the accompanying stories actually much more interesting than his main plotline, and towards the end it felt like Morgenstern worked so hard to create a universe of alternate stories and endings that the “real” ending seemed obscured. Still, a really gorgeous and satisfying experience.

Lonely Castle in the Mirror, by Mizuki Tsujimura: Magical realism / coming of age. Kokoro can’t make herself go to school, so she stays at home; one day, she looks up and sees her mirror glowing. It turns out the mirror is a portal to another dimension, a castle where she can be herself, but bound by its own rules: she can only visit during a certain window, and she and the other children visiting the castle have a year to find the key that unlocks the Wishing Room. Kokoro immediately guesses that there must be reasons why the other children are also out of school and able to visit the castle during the day, but the story takes its time allowing the children time to trust one another enough to let their personal traumas out, to find within one another kindred spirits. This closeness allows them to help one another out in various ways as the story progresses. Really well done treatment of loneliness, mental health, and human connection, wrapped up in a really neat magical package.

Paladin’s Faith, by T. Kingfisher: Fourth in the fantasy sword-and-sorcery Saint of Steel series, and full of typical Kingfisher snark. By this point in the series, anyone who’s read them knows that the paladin is going to end up with whatever other character is being featured; in this case, the Paladin is honorable warrior Shane, his love interest is practical spy Marguerite, and the plot device bringing them together is an artificer (inventor) who has come up with a way to upend the world’s economies by making resources cheaper. Also there’s a cult around a demon unlike any other in the series. I enjoyed this book, as I enjoy all the books in this series, but I really think Kingfisher was more interested in exploring different aspects of her world than in bringing her two main characters together. Very rewarding ending that drops tantalizing hints towards the next book.

All the Sinners Bleed, by S.A. Cosby: Mystery/thriller/race relations. Charon County, Virginia, has a Black sheriff named Titus Crown, and many highly-placed members of Charon society are not happy about it. Titus, who ran out of a sincere desire to improve the town, does not have patience to deal with them; a young Black man shot a teacher at the local school and was then shot by police as he exited the school, and the town is tearing itself apart over whether or not they think justice was served. As Titus digs into the shooting, while concealing secrets from his own past, he uncovers unpleasant evidence of a serial killer having been at work in his very town; when the killer starts targeting Titus and the people around him, things get nasty fast. Gripping, dark, and very layered with the messy racial history and politics of the South.

The Murder of Mr. Ma, by John Shen Yen Nee and SJ Rozan: Mystery, a Sherlock Holmes dynamic overlaid onto traditional gong’an fiction (a Chinese crime genre in which magistrates are the detectives and heroes). Lao She, a rule-abiding academic, finds himself playing Watson to Judge Dee Ren Jie, a sardonically brilliant veteran for whom justice is more important than following the rules of a 1920s London that still has very colonialist views of the Chinese race. As body after body turns up dead, all Chinese individuals that the local constabulary can’t be bothered to investigate closely, Dee digs deeper into the situation while dragging along a clueless Lao. Very classic London detective story with the culture conflicts providing a fresh, enjoyable spin.

Mislaid in Parts Half-Known, by Seanan McGuire: Fantasy / magical realism, ninth in the Wayward Children series. Follows very closely on the events of the previous book, which is not usual for this series, but good because Antsy’s story didn’t have a solid conclusion. This book takes Antsy and a few familiar characters into Antsy’s world of portals, tying up some loose ends from the series along the way. It had been long enough that I only vaguely recognized some of the characters, so the emotional impact of their resolutions didn’t hit the way it could have if McGuire had spent longer re-introducing them. It’s weird; plot-wise, I think this story was needed, but the major strength of the Wayward Children series was that each book was self-contained and independently magical, and McGuire’s recent turn towards making them more interconnected actually struck me as a bit of a downgrade.

Taste: My Life Through Food, by Stanley Tucci: This food-centric memoir was recommended to me specifically in audiobook version, and I found it super enjoyable. Tucci does not lose sight of his brief, which is to come at everything through the angle of food: he begins with the large family meals and home-packed lunches of his Italian-American childhood, takes you through his favorite cheap eats during his years auditioning everywhere, and gives you great behind-the-scenes insight into the food provided during movie shoots in different countries. Recipes are interspersed with each chapter (one reason I regretted getting the audiobook! will have to track down a print version) and Tucci manages to make even those sound interesting, with occasional dry commentary and persnickety asides. His affection for his family and friends are evident in his joy in cooking for them and sharing meals with them. His love of food, and how it reflects into his love of life, is so all-encompassing that it’s incredibly jarring in the penultimate chapters when he shares his experience with battling oral cancer; you truly get a sense of how much was taken away from him during that time, and it’s a huge relief when he talks you through his eventual gradual recovery. Great listen, like the audiobook equivalent of comfort food.

Standouts from this month: The Thursday Murder Club, Demon Copperhead, Savage Harvest, Godkiller. Cannot stop thinking of all of them, for extremely different reasons. How lucky I am to have access to so many good books! Thanks for the recommendations, keep them coming, and I do intend to get to them all someday.

The Innocent Sleep, by Seanan McGuire: urban fantasy, 18th in McGuire’s October Daye series, and extremely dependent on your knowing what’s going on already. This is a complete retelling of Sleep No More, except from Tybalt’s perspective, so you get to go through the special hell he experienced as King of Cats in a universe rewritten to make his species extinct, as well as getting even more examples of how Titania really screwed over the people and species she had no use for. It really helps you understand exactly why he’s such a sourpuss (pun completely intended) towards October in the previous book. This has more of the feel of a “deleted scenes” extra to the previous book than a standalone novel. I’m glad I read them back to back; this one would not have stood well on its own.

The State of the Onion, by Julie Hyzy: Cozy mystery / culinary thriller. In the first scene of the book, assistant White House chef Ollie (Olivia) Paras sees a man fleeing from Secret Service agents and manages to take him out with a frying pan. It’s a perfect representative moment for the book: Ollie is in danger, but gathers all her spunk and rescues herself in an unlikely manner. I went back and forth between being annoyed and entertained while reading this; Ollie’s Secret Service boyfriend does a terrible job treating her like an adult and Ollie respondes by acting… even more like a betrayed teenager; meanwhile, Ollie’s main rival for the job of executive chef is such a ridiculous parody that you’re never really worried for her chances. The book was entertaining enough for me to finish it, but I doubt I’ll get to the rest of the series (even though the titles are fantastic). Oh and the recipes in the back … do not seem chef quality. (Volumetric baking measurements instead of weight? Start with 3 cups of flour but you may have to add up to 4 more cups before the batter comes together? Color me skeptical.)

The Thursday Murder Club, by Richard Osman: In a peaceful retirement community in the idyllic English countryside, a quartet of septuagenarians meets weekly to talk over cold cases. Elizabeth was once a secret agent, Joyce a nurse, Ibrahim a psychologist, and Ron a firebrand socialist; between the four of them they have a grand old time looking over grisly folders while enjoying a spot of tea. When a real-life murder happens practically on their doorstep, they are more than ready to offer their assistance to the local constabulary. The unfolding mystery becomes more and more layered, as each investigation uncovers more secrets within the community, and situations arise where the law and the characters’ morals differ. The personalities are beautifully handled and the narration is witty and enjoyable, but for me, the love stories among the elderly characters are the most poignant; sometimes bringing a lump to my throat at certain scenes. I enjoyed the complex mystery, but the emotions will stay with me for a long time.

Making it So, by Patrick Stewart: Things I enjoyed learning about included: Stewart’s British country childhood, which sounds almost Victorian; the occasional nerding out over the technicalities of staging scenes from Shakespeare and Beckett; glimpses into the Hollywood backstage craziness; and his complete ignorance of things like pop music, science fiction, and comic books (until he is exposed to them). I knew he’d been a Shakespearean actor before his turn as Captain Picard, but I had no idea how much he’d struggled to break into the theater scene; as a TNG fan, I also found his account of those years particularly fascinating. I’m glad I waited until the audiobook was available, as of course he does a phenomenal job telling his own story. That deliberate Patrick Stewart pronunciation and phrasing meant that I listened to it at 1.25x speed, though. I’m not made of time.

Our Missing Hearts, by Celeste Ng: So in the days right after Trump was elected, and racists felt emboldened to trumpet their racism out loud: as a member of a visible minority, I felt a heightened awareness and vulnerability in a place that should have felt like my home. This book, I feel, was written out of that same terrible, uprooted, targeted feeling. Main character Bird lives with his father, and has a child’s awareness that the world is awry: his mother has disappeared, his father is on edge, his best friend is furious that she was removed from her parents’ care, and his teachers spout propaganda. Through Bird the reader gains a slow awareness that the America he lives in is one of government-backed racism, particularly against Asians, and that Bird’s absent mother, a Chinese-American poet, is a dissident symbol of the resistance. The novel’s pacing is rather uneven, as Ng seems more interested in painting the world than in giving Bird a story arc; the ending also feels rather hurried and weak, and I have huge issues with Bird’s mother’s life choices. Nevertheless, the writing is strong and the picture is bleak, and for me it captures a certain emotion quite perfectly.

Demon Copperhead, by Barbara Kingsolver: I am still not over this book. It sounds like poverty porn from the cover: a retelling of David Copperfield but with a focus on Appalachia and all its societal problems. A friend described it to me as “like Hillbilly Elegy, but if the author wasn’t an ass,” which honestly is pretty on the nose. Damon, or Demon to his friends and family, loses his mom to drugs and is booted into an uncaring foster system, within which he experiences child hunger, abuse, and neglect; he also forms friendships, occasionally finds mentors, and falls in with friends both good and bad. It’s a long chain of unfortunate experiences but despite everything Demon has heart and hope, and those carry the story surprisingly well.

Lirael, by Garth Nix: Following behind Sabriel, Lirael is another self-sufficient Nix protagonist: she is frequently in over her head and unsure of what she ought to be doing, but possessed of sound instincts and an instinctive practicality. This book centers the future-seeing Clayr, which is a nice change from the necromancer Abhorsens (although of course we spend time with them as well, through the characters of Sabriel’s children). Lirael is the sort of character I most enjoy, the type that does what she feels is right, even if she may not have all the resources, because, well, someone has to. Quite a few things left unresolved into the next book, but a decent ending nonetheless.

The Phoenix Crown, by Janie Chang and Kate Quinn: I’m a big fan of both Quinn and Chang, who both write period history novels packed with strong-willed, self-sufficient women; this is definitely another along those lines. Down-on-her-luck soprano Gemma arrives in San Francisco in 1906, and although she can’t find her artist friend Nellie, she does meet mysterious magnate Thornton, who makes her an offer of patronage she can’t refuse. She also meets Suling, who chafes under the restrictions placed on her life by her uncle and by Chinatown culture; and Alice, a botanist who values plants over people. As the days count down towards the earthquake we know is coming, the women find themselves drawn into mysterious events around Thornton. Both authors are great at painting detailed pictures of historical eras and pre-fire San Francisco is beautifully described; the characters also do an excellent job showing the reader where society places rules around the behavior of women, and how each try to subvert them in her own way. The book is perfectly decent read but the plot does make some pretty sketchy jumps to keep the story moving.

A Fragile Enchantment, by Alison Saft: This book deserved a better reader than me. I was in the mood for action, and this is not it: it’s a slow burn fantasy romance with inter-kingdom politicking and deeply fraught class politics. The characters snark and smolder at one another like Austen stereotypes, while their poorly-explained magical powers betray their true feelings through uncontrolled plant growth or embroidery that brings literal tears to people’s eyes. Loved the imagery; unfortunately, the intrigue, class conflict, and politicking failed to bring any interest to the otherwise predictable plot.

The Ten Percent Thief, by Lavanya Lakshminarayan: When the book started with the titular Ten Percent Thief stealing precious live plants from the exclusive enclaves of the top twenty percent, to plant illegally in the slums of the excluded bottom percentile, I was excited for a cyberpunk Robin Hood story. Sadly, that was the last I saw of the Ten Percent Thief until I was about ten percent from the end of the book. Instead I got a mosaic of many different characters, each struggling towards the top ranks of the wealthy and privileged, their status hanging by a thread in a world where every action and opinion is weighed and judged for suitability. It’s a tense, depressing world, improved only slightly by brief hints of a conspiracy to take it all down, and by the time the Ten Percent Thief finally reappears near the end, it only served to remind me how much better I would have liked the book had it focused on specific, compelling characters instead of telling many unrelated stories. Good worldbuilding, but the depressing dystopia, combined with the near-nonexistent plot, made the book a struggle to plod through.

Savage Harvest: A Tale of Cannibals, Colonialism, and Michael Rockefeller’s Tragic Quest, by Carl Hoffman: In 1961, 23-year-old Michael Rockefeller disappeared in remote Indonesian Papua. Hoffman begins the book with a riveting account of Rockefeller’s murder by headhunters, then rewinds back to follow Rockefeller’s budding interest in indigenous artwork and his building determination to collect it, himself, from the most remote places. Hoffman brings us along as he sketches out the history of the area, the tribes, and how their interaction with Dutch colonists may have led to a spiritual imperative of reciprocal violence that eventually resulted Rockefeller’s death. Hoffman backs up his claims with research into fascinating accounts by Dutch missionaries embedded with the local tribes. Hoffman’s first efforts to get the story directly from the Asmat people turn up nothing; realizing that he is too alien to them to be trusted, he learns the language, lives among them at their pace, and talks with them about everything but Michael Rockefeller until he learns enough about their culture and beliefs that their actions begin to make sense to him. I was a bit squicked initially by how Hoffman’s pursuit of savage exoticism seemed to mirror Rockefeller’s, but unlike his subject, Hoffman is very aware of the problems that colonialism has caused for the Asmat and other tribes of the region. It’s a very immersive book, and Hoffman’s experience among the Papuans gave me a new perspective on the news coming out of PNG.

Godkiller, by Hannah Kaner: Oh man this was stunning, from the worldbuilding to the character interaction to the pacing. Years after the great war which ended in the King’s decision to kill off all the gods, some people still persist in praying to gods and resurrecting them. The cast is incredible: godkiller Kissen stalks around the countryside as a sort of grim, homicidal mercenary; baker Elogast turns out to be a retired knight whose devotion to the King has gotten him in a bad spot; noble-born Inara is fleeing danger and her illegal bond with Skedi, the god of white lies. Each character’s backstory unfolds as the plot thickens and tension and danger mount, and little details come back to play major roles near the end of the novel. The ending is not quite a cliffhanger, but when the sequel comes off my hold list, I’m ditching everything else to read it immediately.

Abhorsen, by Garth Nix: Very much a sequel to Lirael; does not stand alone. Even though events in this book are much more climactic than in the one before, I actually like it less; the characters are already fully-formed and don’t do much changing, and Nix is mostly concerned with navigating the pieces into place so that the final showdown can take place. I still enjoyed it though, because the characters were already awesome.

What you are looking for is in the library, by Michiko Aoyama, translated by Alison Watts: Pure comfort read. Interconnected short stories of Tokyo residents dissatisfied with their lives. Each finds their way to the library, where librarian Sayuri Komachi looks them over, makes a few terse pronouncements, and hands them not only the books they were asking for, but a seemingly unrelated book that helps guide them towards a new fulfilment or purpose. The characters are all very different from one another but are all warmly and sympathetically depicted, and although you know each of them will have a happy ending, they all get there in their own way. Predictable but still heartwarming.

A Spark of White Fire, by Sangu Mandanna: Space opera, inspired by the Mahabharata. Although the writing was perfectly good and I’m a fan of the genre, I think Mandanna’s efforts to follow the general lines of her source material made the choices of her characters seem more bound by the necessities of plot than by their own established personalities. The characters seemed to do things for no reason, or for poor reasons, which then prompted other characters to do things against their natures, all plummeting towards inevitable interstellar conflict. It felt a bit like they were puppets resisting their strings. Although I enjoyed reading it, I don’t think I’ll bother with the rest of the series.

Lost in a Good Book, by Jasper Fforde: Second in the Thursday Next series and with plenty of the literary in-jokes and really awful puns that characterized the first book. Thursday only gets to enjoy a relatively brief span of happy marriage with Landon before he is cruelly rewritten out of history by Goliath, the evil corporation; it turns out Goliath wants to hold Landon hostage to force Thursday to cooperate with them. Thursday, beset by job difficulties and threatened by a mysterious assassin, dives further into books to find allies and build new skills. I particularly enjoyed the chapter where she goes to Kafka’s court and dodges and weaves her way to victory (or at least postponement) with the help of her lawyer, who primarily communicates with her via footnote. As madcap and ridiculously nerdy as the first book, but with an extra poignancy due to Landon’s absence.

A bit late but here’s the book review dump for March. It’s a miscellaneous collection of (1) things people have recommended to me, (2) Australian authors, and stuff that came off my library holds. (See comment section for footnotes.)

Witches Abroad, by Terry Pratchett: I’ve set the kid loose on the witches arc of the Discworld novels and it’s great to experience them anew with him; he is constantly delighted by Pratchett’s witty turns of phrase and insists on reading me sections out loud. To my surprise I’d somehow missed Witches Abroad back when I went through the series, so I got to enjoy it for the first time as well. This one is a delightful mashup of fairy tales, in which the witches abruptly find themselves in the position of fairy godmothers to Emberella, who is not at all interested in marrying the prince (who happens to be a frog). Granny Weatherwax’s past is also involved, which of course she does not want to discuss in the slightest. Pratchett does his usual excellent job marrying snarky parody with surprisingly poignant character development.

The Dictionary of Lost Words, by Pip Williams: Historical fiction, read for the embassy book club. Esme is the daughter of one of the lexicographers working on the first edition of the Oxford English Dictionary; as a child playing under the table, she begins to collect scraps of words deemed ineligible for the dictionary. She slowly begins to realize that the dictionary, a work edited by upper-class educated men, elides many words spoken by women, particularly those of the lower classes. As she grows and fights for a place at the lexicographers’ table, she also builds a collection of women’s words, her Dictionary of Lost Words. Esme never loses her love of words, and her dogged collection of them exposes her (and the reader) to many different parts of pre-WWI England. Great read, especially for history and word nerds.

Democracy Awakening: Notes on the State of America, by Heather Cox Richardson: Richardson’s book takes the reader at a rapid pace through American political history from the Founding Fathers to the Civil War to the Trump administration, at which point she slows right down and walks the reader through events in excruciating detail. Richardson’s connecting thread through time is the use of specific and repeating propaganda, used to create a disaffected minority longing for an imagined past; she cites instances of this exact tactic used throughout American history, wielded by a wealthy minority to incite racial tension, promote authoritarian rule, and devalue American ideals. This phenomenon rises once more in Trump, who repeats those concepts relentlessly in campaigns and in political word and deed. Far from being an anomaly, Richardson places Trump’s MAGA legacy squarely in line with an ugly thread running through American history — one which, she points out, Americans must rise up to defeat over and over again.

City of Bones, by Martha Wells: This is actually one of Wells’ earlier fantasy works, but having read the Murderbot and Raksura books, I can see the roots of her outsider protagonists beginning to form. Khat is an outcast in the desert city of Charisat, valued for his skill at interpreting artifacts, but disdained and forever inferior due to the fact that he is a “kris,” a member of a genetically-engineered species designed to survive in the desert apocalypse outside the city. He pretends not to care, affecting an insouciant loner personality; however, protecting his chosen family is clearly one of his priorities, right alongside his overhelming curiousity about the artifacts of the Ancients, and an inconvenient desire to do right by a powerful Warder who may be befriending him for her own interests. Wells packs a lot of worldbuilding into this book while also managing to keep the tension high with political maneuverings, wary friendships, and occasional mortal danger.

Empire of Silence, by Christopher Ruocchio: Epic sci-fi. You know it’s going to be an epic when it starts out with “sure I’m in prison now, and you all know I’m infamous on a galactic level, but since you want to hear my story, let’s start from childhood…” and then the story unfolds with such intense attention to detail that the guy is still barely a teenager and you’re 90% done with the book and you think, oh, there’s no way we’re going to get to his infamous deeds or why he’s in prison until well into book 2. The narrator is Hadrian Marlowe. Born to rule a planet but denied his birthright, he flees the fate decided by his father and finds himself barely surviving on the streets of a foreign world. Through grit, arrogance, and sheer luck (both good and bad), he finds himself fighting a war he did not ask for, against an enemy he would rather deal with diplomatically but is given no choice but to kill. If you like emo space opera (and I definitely do), this is the book for you!

Dark Heir, by C.S. Pacat: This month I went from emo space opera to emo fantasy. Dark Heir is the sequel to Pacat’s Dark Rise, in which Will and his heroic comrades barely survived an assault by the Dark against the Light, and twist ending that I hesitate to spoil? But it informs the entire plot of this book, so it’s hard to discuss. Suffice it to say that like the prequel, this book is a slow build to an explosive ending, where the payoff is so good that you want to go read the entire thing over again. Pacat’s characters like to think they’re uncomplicated but it turns out that even the most righteous ones take their powers from morally problematic sources. I’m not always a fan of characters reborn from ancient times being trapped into the cycle of their past lives but in this case it is absolutely deliciously done. Well played, Pacat; I’m only annoyed that the third book has yet to be written.

Daisy Jones & The Six, by Taylor Jenkins Reid: I started out reading this, took out the audiobook to enjoy further, then finished off in text because I just needed to get to the end faster. This entire book is written in interview transcript form, and while I was reading I could almost see the TV documentary: each speaker in a featureless room, staring just to one side of the camera, speaking in a conversational tone. Billy Dunne is the lead singer and songwriter in The Six, an up-and-coming band, and most of his songs revolve around how amazing his wife is; Daisy Jones is a solo singer-songwriter in LA with a devil-may-care attitude and a hell of a voice. One day Daisy is invited to record a duet with Billy and the smash success sees Daisy Jones and the Six thrown together for a joint album and tour. Through the voices of Daisy, the members of the Six, and miscellaneous other characters, we get to witness how Billy and Daisy’s talents combine for an explosive, emotional experience, firmly grounded in the 1970s music industry. The format choice worked right from the beginning and the voices were all solid and distinct; it was an adventurous choice that worked really, really well. Now I really need to see the miniseries they made from this book.

The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, by Sangu Mandanna: This cozy fantasy is really just the best warm hug. Mika Moon has made her peace with the fact that being a witch means she has to keep herself apart from other witches forever, even though she finds it lonely; however, when she is unexpectedly asked to help raise three young witches who are living together, she can’t help but dive in, even though it breaks all the rules she was taught. Such a soothing and delightful tale of found family and learning to open oneself up to love and trust in others.

Sleep No More, by Seanan McGuire: Seventeenth book in McGuire’s urban fantasy featuring October Daye, the grumpiest half-fae knight of the realm, sees Titania rewriting history and dumping October into the life of a servant, dutifully devoted to her fullblood sister and mother. It’s such a total turnaround for October’s character that it’s amazing to see how well it works; McGuire takes October’s established character trait of fierce, total love for family, and brings that to the forefront of her personality, tamping back the snark and rebelliousness. Eventually though, with the help of other characters, October’s essential chaos-engine righteousness pushes through and she wises up to Titania’s tricks. There are a lot of callbacks to her situation at the very beginning of the series and it’s really neat to see how far she’s come.

Tress of the Emerald Sea, by Brandon Sanderson: Sanderson said he was inspired by the Princess Bride in the writing of this book, which follows practical, determined heroine Tress as she sets out to rescue her love Charlie, a prince unwanted by his family and sent on an impossible mission. It helps to have some knowledge of Sanderson’s overall Cosmere universe, if only to know that the narrator is a universe-jaunting storyteller who is plainly not native to the world, but it’s not necessary to enjoy the story. Tress is an extremely likeable heroine, the cast of characters is wonderful and varied, and Sanderson throws just enough obstacles in Tress’s way to make life interesting. Perfectly enjoyable read.

After the Forest, by Kell Woods: Neat take on an old fairy tale. Now a young woman, Gretel is struggling both with Hansel’s growing gambling debts as well as her reputation as a murderess and a witch. She had stolen a recipe book from the gingerbread house as they were leaving, and although her baked goods help pay their bills, the villagers are suspicious of how magically addictive they are. When a new force of dark magic enters the woods, hand-in-hand with an escalation of war and crippling taxes, Gretel must decide where her loyalties lie. The character building is a little shallow but I love the dark fairytale vibe, and the descriptions of woods in winter are just gorgeous.

The Eyre Affair, by Jasper Fforde: Perfect for fans of literature and sci-fi time travel shenanigans. Thursday Next is a SpecOps LiteraTec whose work ethic is widely respected, despite the fact that her father is a renegade from the Time Travel division and her uncle Mycroft is a crazy genius inventor with odd ideas. Thanks to Mycroft’s Prose Portal, Thursday finds herself trying to rescue Jane Eyre from the clutches of the evil assassin Archeron Hades, who doesn’t hesitate to literally rewrite great works of literature; Thursday also needs to outmaneuver the Goliath Corporation in the form of its agent Jack Schitt, who seems interested only in lining the company’s pockets while sending young soldiers to die in the never-ending Crimean War. Fforde rains down literary references while never letting go of the madcap pace of the book; it’s super nerdy and fun reading.

Everyone in My Family Has Killed Someone, by Benjamin Stevenson: A hilarious meta murder mystery. Narrator Ern (Ernest) Cunningham is well aware of murder mystery tropes and will not hesitate to talk about them to the reader (for instance, even though there’s a murder, his family remains at the ski resort where they were holding their Aussie family reunion, not because they’re snowed in – what a tired trope! – but because they’re too cheap to leave early). Stevenson pulls off the trick of burying hints and clues in plain sight; even as Ern pretends to show the reader everything, some facts are deliberately disguised or elided (which Ern cops to later in the narration). You’d think the very consciously self-referential tone would push you out of the narrative, but I found it funny and compelling. Already have the sequel on hold.

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport, by Samit Basu: Cyberpunk treatment of the Aladdin story, told from the viewpoint of a storybot who finds himself following around a pair of siblings with a mysterious past. Lina, the Aladdin figure, is an aspiring revolutionary who wants to rescue the sinking city of Shantiport from its corrupt colonist masters; her brother Bador is a monkey-bot with big mecha fighting dreams and an even bigger attitude, who loves his family but thinks they take him for granted. Lina attracts the attention of Not-Prince Juiful, as well as the less welcome attentions of politicians and crime lords; Bador picks fights and idolizes space heroes, and when they finally encounter a lamp with a wish-granting jinn-bot, they try their best to balance their own desires against the needs of the people. Very cool take on the classic.

Johannes Cabal the Necromancer, by Jonathan L. Howard: Johannes Cabal is a prickly, unlikeable antihero who thinks he’s more important than anyone else and doesn’t care who he hurts to get what he wants. In this case, he wants his soul back from the devil – for science! – and accepts a wager from Satan that results in his running a carnival of the damned. Cabal doesn’t get any more likeable as the book goes on, but you end up reluctantly rooting for him anyway. Brisk, clever, and enjoyable writing style; unexpectedly emotional ending.

book collage for January! The standout read was really a listen: The Bird Way by Jennifer Ackerman, which kept us all riveted during our NZ road trip. The other books were good too.

Starter Villain, by John Scalzi: This is a typical Scalzi book, so all the good guys are extremely witty and snarky, and talk circles around the clueless, blustering bad guys. Down-on-his-luck teacher Charlie suddenly inherits a vast fortune from his uncle, except he also inherits his uncle’s problems: his uncle was a supervillain, and has made enemies of an entire cadre of other supervillains. Fortunately, Charlie has his uncle’s capable assistant as well as his team of extremely intelligent cats (and a pod of sarcastic dolphins) to help him out. Scalzi’s constantly lighthearted tone means that Charlie’s eventual victory is never in doubt, which ruins the tension somewhat; no worries, it’s an entertaining journey to get there.

The Bird Way, by Jennifer Ackerman: We listened to this nonfiction book about birds as we drove around NZ and the entire family* absolutely loved it. Ackerman talks about bird behavior in an incredibly intriguing and entertaining way, leaving you awed and full of wonder. The book began with birds close to home, comparing the behavior of noisy miners and fairy wrens in different parts of Canberra; Ackerman then talks about fascinating bird behavior observed all around the world, including the incredible lyrebird which mixes and matches the songs of other birds in its calls, and the incredibly intelligent and playful kea, alpine parrots of New Zealand. We learned so many fascinating facts about birds and we were all sad when the book was over.

• when listening with the kids, we skipped over the chapter about mating, and listened to it on our own. Mallards are… not gentle with one another.

Thornhedge, by T. Kingfisher: Fantasy, but because it’s T. Kingfisher, it’s fantasy with a twist: we open on Toadling, a little fairy who has encouraged a thorny hedge to grow around a castle. Within the castle sleeps someone or something so dangerous that Toadling fears anything ever waking it. However, one day a knight comes along, someone both dangerously curious and disarmingly kind. As he and Toadling open up to one another, both he and the reader learn about Toadling’s past and what brought her to these desperate straits. Sad, sweet, and a great story about chosen family.

The Garden of the Gods, by Gerald Durrell: Third in Durrell’s autobiographical series of his childhood in Corfu, this volume is probably lightest on the natural history and heaviest on the funny anecdotes. One chapter in particular was so perfectly hilarious that I read the entire thing out loud to the family. Durrell has plenty of stories to mine and interesting facts to share, but on top of that his writing is also excellent; the denizens and landscapes of Corfu are described beautifully and lovingly, and the funny bits have perfect punchlines. Sad to finish this series.

The Night Eaters 2: Her Little Reapers, by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda: Graphic novel, sequel to The Night Eaters. Liu and Takeda mix creepy storytelling with incredibly lush and beautiful artwork as always. In the previous book, twins Milly and Billy have learned a family secret from their Chinese immigrant parents Ipo and Keon, and all four are trying to navigate the new dynamic between them. The kids find themselves at odds with their parents on how much they should be allowed to know and do, and this very human and relatable conflict gives the story heart even through the demons, monsters, murders, and evil magic. I also love the relationship between good-natured Keon and scowling, taciturn Ipo. Sad to have to wait for the next installment.

The Secret of Cooking, by Bee Wilson: This cookbook is the reassuring hug you want in the kitchen. Wilson acknowledges that people are busy, that cooking is hard when you’re tired, and that meal planning is impossible when you have a million other things on your mind. She gently reassures you that cooking is what works for you, not what works for recipe developers with unlimited ingredients and sous chefs and people who wash their dishes; she suggests adaptations, shortcuts, and make-aheads. Recipes are interspersed with just enough personal stories to make this a nice book to read, not just a listing of recipes. The grouping of recipes is a little odd, but that’s my only quibble with this otherwise lovely cookbook.

The Game of Courts, by Victoria Goddard: Novella, high fantasy, prequel to The Hands of the Emperor. This is the Fall of Astandalas from the viewpoint of Conju, nobleman and artist, who finds his way from useless court decoration to the role of valued advisor to the Emperor. For fans of the series, it’s a treat to see familiar characters from Conju’s eyes; for new readers… do not start here.

The Water Outlaws, by S.L. Huang: This is a genderbent wuxia-filled retelling of Water Margin, a Chinese martial arts classic about a band of outlaws who unite in rebellion against a corrupt government. Huang’s heroines are Lin Chong, a dutiful soldier turned reluctant rebel fighter, and Lu Junyi, a defiant socialite who finds herself in tricky situations; neither of them start out wanting to take down the government, but eventually they must choose a side. There’s very little subtlety in the plot or characters: the bad guys are overtly evil and the good guys (almost all women) have extremely pure motives. Huang embraces the wuxia aesthetic and delivers a gloriously violent and increasingly unlikely storyline. I liked Lin Chong’s half of the story better than Lu Junyi’s, which got… super weird and depressing. Very entertaining overall.

Lone Women, by Victor Lavalle: This is a… historical fantasy thriller, set in the frontier American West just before Prohibition. The book opens with Adelaide Henry setting fire to her parents’ house, then lugging a mysterious and heavy trunk onto a truck as she sets out towards Montana. Adelaide, a Black farmer from California, is joining a small but determined group: the “lone women,” without the support of men, who have resolved to make a homestead for themselves in an unforgiving landscape. Adelaide is aware of the problems that her gender and race pose for herself, but her major worry is reserved for the contents of the trunk, for good reason. Great balance of plot tension, social commentary, and compelling characters.

Why Fish Don’t Exist, by Lulu Miller: When an earthquake struck Stanford University in 1906, separating samples from labels and destroying years of careful taxonomic organization, icthyologist and Stanford president David Starr Jordan did not despair; defiantly, he plunged a pin into the body of a fish and secured the label directly onto its scales. Author Miller was so impressed by Jordan’s unstoppable drive, especially in contrast to her own insecurity and depression, that she delves into his life looking for inspiration. What follows is a mixture of biography (Jordan) and memoir (Miller) that works fairly well, especially if you have a high tolerance for navel-gazing (Miller’s reflections on mental health are interesting, but she also spends a lot of time anguishing about the fallout of cheating on her partner). As Miller uncovers more and more disturbing facts about Jordan, she becomes more unmoored, until finally she finds solace in unexpected realizations. I enjoyed her journey through learning about Jordan’s life, but felt Miller’s half of the story was much less interesting.

Oh and Guards! Guards! by Pratchett, which should have been a reread, but it turns out I remembered very little of it so it was almost fresh. I’m starting the kid on the Night Watch section of Discworld now, because Vimes is my favorite. The kid is really enjoying it, thank goodness.

Book collage for October! Ended up having a pretty good spooky month: shipwreck, witches, vampire zombie thingies, and occult film Nazi spirits.

Tell the Wind and Fire, by Sarah Rees Brennan: Inspired by A Tale of Two Cities, Brennan creates two opposite cities, one imprisoned within the other: the Light, where inhabitants move in freedom and luxury; and the Dark, a desperate, resentful ghetto bounded by the Light’s iron rule. Lucie Manette was raised in the Dark but has managed to escape it, her comfortable position in the Light bought by careful PR and her relationship with Ethan, a scion of a powerful family. However, one day Ethan’s doppelganger Carwyn appears, and sets off a chain of events that upends Lucie’s carefully-crafted stability. I liked the inventiveness of the Light and Dark worlds and how their magic systems were entangled with one another, as well as the lack of a pure right and wrong; however, I think because Brennan felt the need to stay true to her source material, some of the plot elements seemed to come out of nowhere and a lot of Lucie’s actions felt unexplained. As for the magic system, usually I’m a fan of “show don’t tell” but in this case I think a little more explaining would have been welcome. Overall, even though the pacing was inconsistent, it was a good read; the ending was strong.

Threads that Bind, by Kika Hatzopoulou: Love this universe, which felt like a mashup of Percy Jackson demigods and Fonda Lee’s superpowered mobsters. In the half-sunken city of Alante, godly powers are carried recessively through family lines, expressing themselves once per generation. Io Ora is of the Moirae and the youngest of her sisters, able to see the threads of fate that people carry and (if she chooses) cut them; she elects to use her powers passively, scraping out a living as a PI. Greek mythology informs the powers of the main characters, but other mythologies are referenced as well. One day Io’s stakeout leads her into a murder case, and she finds herself reluctantly allying with mob queen Bianca and her second-in-command Edei, who (although he doesn’t know it) is Io’s soulmate. The pacing in this book is excellent, with Io and Edei slowly uncovering more and more aspects of the murder and getting further into danger, while around them magic and intrigue build higher. Bit of a cliffhanger ending into the next book.

Amazing Grace Adams, by Fran Littlewood: For Oz book club. I actually enjoyed this more than I thought I would at the beginning. Grace Adams is just trying to get a birthday cake to her daughter, and gets so fed up that she just abandons her car in the middle of a traffic jam, grabs the cake box, and sets off on foot. As the narration jumps back and forth in time, we get an increasingly clearer picture of the big and little tragedies that have driven Grace to where she is now. Her physical symptoms of menopause mingle with her accumulated traumas until she lashes out at every slight, even as she clings to her daughter’s cake as if it provides the answer to all her misfortunes. It sounds heavy but Grace’s narrative voice is biting, ironic, and hilarious; it is incredibly readable and lightens the overall tone.

Much Ado About Nada, by Uzma Jalaluddin: Uncomplicated rom-com, with extra Muslim family drama. Nada Syed claims to be perfectly happy with her life as a single engineer, but her parents and friends keep reminding her that she’s not getting any younger. Her best friend Haleema drags her to a Muslim convention on the pretext of meeting Haleema’s fiancee Zayn… but it turns out that Zayn’s brother Baz shares an emotional past with Nada. The story of Nada and Baz, both past and present, proceeds to unfold simultaneously for the reader; will Nada eventually find happiness? (This is a rom-com; make your own guesses.) This was a fun, light read; I also liked how the story was firmly rooted in the characters’ Muslim faith and set against the background of South Asian culture in Toronto.

The Wager: A Tale of Shipwreck, Mutiny, and Murder, by David Grann: In 1740, HMS Wager left England on an ambitious mission: to chase down a Spanish galleon filled with treasure. Unfortunately, they were unable to navigate the unforgiving storms near Cape Horn and the survivors found themselves shipwrecked in a desolate area of southern Chile. Two years later, thirty emaciated men piloting a ramshackle craft landed on the coast of Brazil; they turned out to be survivors from the the Wager and were welcomed home with open arms. Six months after that, another trio of unlikely survivors arrived and upended everything by declaring that the first group had been mutineers, and thus deserving of hanging. Grann uses the sailors’ own accounts, as well as other contemporaneous writings, to paint a vivid picture of the time, from detailed descriptions of life at sea, to their harsh, forbidding existence on the Chilean coast, to the competing PR blitz that took over London when both groups reunited at home. Really riveting read. Initially recommended for Peril Book Club.

Immaculate, by Anna McGahan: At first when I began this book, I wasn’t sure I could continue; the situation was just so sad and so beautifully depicted. After her young daughter was diagnosed with cancer, narrator Frances separated from both her Pentacostal faith and her religious husband, and is trying to figure out who she is now, while still fighting for time with her daughter. Meanwhile, teenage Mary, who is pregnant and homeless, seems to know more about Frances than she should, and when they meet, events entangle them until they must work together to rescue one another. Given Frances’ bone-deep rejection of her evangelical past, this book was still intensely spiritual, though grounded in the firm stance that there are no right answers, no easy path. From a mundane beginning, things get slowly weird, becoming more like a fairy tale for adults. I liked the setting, very firmly planted in Brisbane, as well as the characters, who spanned many social classes and backgrounds. The audiobook was amazing: McGahan is an actress and her narration in this audiobook was phenomenal; her voice roughens to inhabit the sulky, knowing Mary and then switches seamlessly to tired, indignant middle-aged Frances.

Immortality: A Love Story, by Dana Schwartz: Sequel to Anatomy, this book returns to Hazel Sinnett, determined woman doctor in an age where medicine is a profession for men. This story takes Hazel on a convoluted path that eventually brings her to the bedside of Princess Charlotte, granddaughter of King George III, and also draws her into a wary association with a collection of secretive luminaries that call themselves Companions to the Death. I found much of this book hard to swallow; apparently I can suspend disbelief when it comes to magical immortality elixirs, but throwing in Byron, Voltaire, and Lavoisier just felt a little like overkill. The characterization for Jack felt really off-kilter as well. That said, I really enjoyed Hazel’s defiant independence, and how she didn’t need either of the men in her love triangle to help her out of messes. Fun read, with extra fun little medical mysteries.

The Red Scholar’s Wake, by Aliette de Bodard: I keep thinking I’m going to love de Bodard’s books, but they always fall a little short for me. This should have been amazing: scavenger and bot whisperer Xich Si is taken captive by pirates, but in a twist, Rice Fish (sentient ship, leader of the Red Banner pirate fleet, and recent widow) is in need of a wife. She offers Xich Si protection in the form of marriage, in exchange for Xich Si’s engineering capabilities and analytical mind. Xich Si, having little choice, accepts, and is drawn into Rice Fish’s world of interstellar intrigue and pirate politics. The worldbuilding is awesome but the book falls apart in the execution of its characters: for a pirate queen, Rice Fish is oddly insecure and uncertain, whereas Xich Si vacillates between trembling timidity and technical/tactical genius with annoying frequency, and their instant physical and emotional attraction for one another was… not well supported. I love de Bodard’s chinoiserie space aesthetic; I just want better stories and characters.

The Passage, by Justin Cronin: I had no idea what this was going in, but apparently it’s Stephen King’s The Stand, complete with Road Trip Through Post-Apocalyptic America, with relatable, uncomplicatedly good Chosen Ones, and dark, scary Big Bads. Except where King’s bad guy was obviously the devil incarnate, Cronin’s bad guys are… kind of virus-made vampire zombies? I rolled my eyes a bit at the Chosen One bits, in which Cronin’s protagonists are drawn mysteriously by instinct and dream towards the necessary plot points, but I put up with it because the writing was great: tense and detailed and super creepy, especially as the monsters invade the other characters’ dreams and twist their perception of reality. The occasional news clipping or diary entry gave it a nice found-footage feeling, kind of a World War Z vibe. Massive book, first of a series (I think a trilogy). Recommended by KK.

The Witch’s Heart, by Genevieve Gornichec: Gornichec weaves together fragments of Norse myth to tell the story of Angrboda: giantess, witch, and mother of Loki’s children. Angrboda, burned (literally) by her experience with the gods of Asgard, flees as far as she can and makes a solitary life for herself at the edge of a forest. She is visited occasionally by the huntress Skaldi and Skaldi’s sister Gerd, and later on by Loki, with whom she builds a wary but close relationship. The structure of Norse myth determines the path of Angrboda’s story, but Gornichec does an amazing job guiding her characters through it, with Angrboda’s fierce independence and motherly love providing depth and heart to the story, and her power of foresight providing a drumbeat of increasing urgency to the plot. Really beautifully done.

Silver Nitrate, by Silvia Moreno-Garcia: I don’t often say this about books, but I wish this had been creepier. Audio mixer Montserrat is good at her work, but doesn’t play well with others and is often passed over for jobs; her best (and only) friend Tristan is an actor past his prime and haunted by tragedy. One day they cross paths with cult horror film director Abel, who talks them into helping finish a magic film that he had been working on with a Nazi occultist. Through him, Tristan and Montserrat are drawn into a world of ghosts, creepy homicidal sorcerors, and cultists who want to resurrect their fallen Nazi leader. Moreno-Garcia makes token gestures at racism and skin tone, but it never becomes a central point as it did in her brilliant Mexican Gothic; Tristan and Montserrat are often threatened by mystical elements but it never feels like they’re in serious trouble. I liked that they were both flawed characters but the relationship between them is… problematic. Bottom line, this book had all the right elements for a spooky read, but honestly it felt like Moreno-Garcia just wanted to nerd out about Mexican horror films and decided to sketch the plot of a suspense novel over top. With Nazis. Perfectly fine workmanship, but it felt like the novel lacked heart.

I am super late with the September roundup but here we are, finally! Last weekend AFK had two concerts, and then we spent a few days on the coast for a lovely and relaxing spring break, all of which meant I was late getting the final couple of reviews written. Thanks Indigenous People’s Day, for allowing me one more day off from work to rest while the kids go back to school.

An Enchantment of Ravens, by Margaret Rogerson: In the town of Whimsy, elves exchange magic for items of human craft; often, the magic has a dark side. Painter Isobel has learned to be very precise with her dealings with elves, but one day makes a mistake by painting a mortal emotion that she sees in the eyes of Rook, the autumn prince. He demands that she appear in his court to answer for her crime; however, during their journey they find that things have gone very wrong in the elven lands. I really loved Rogerson’s elves, who are prickly, vain, and superficial but in their hearts crave the touching, transient beauty of mortality; I also loved Isobel’s defiant embrace of her own humanity. I rolled my eyes a bit at the relationship between Isobel and Rook, but by the end of the book could not imagine them any other way. Surprisingly good; the book just got better as it went along.

We Were Liars, by E. Lockhart: Points to Lockhart for making you feel sorry for the narrator right off the bat. She’s a poor little rich girl, but her inner pain is vividly portrayed as physical: imaginary knives sink into her skin, objects cleave open her brain, and as blood and viscera pour over her clothes her mother tells her to stand straight and look calm… so she pulls herself together, and does as she is told. As the book goes on, it’s hard to distinguish reality from internal metaphor, but as the clues pile up you begin to understand the origins of her mental disturbance, as well as the ghosts that haunt her wealthy family. The writing style was full of sentence fragments and occasional mid-sentence line breaks; it could have been awkward, but settled quite nicely into the rhythm of stream-of-consciousness narration. Pretty bravely experimental for YA, all things considered.

Untethered Sky, by Fonda Lee: I enjoyed this novella, but I think Lee was so taken by her concept that she neglected character building in favor of worldbuilding coolness. Narrator Ester narrowly escaped a manticore attack that took half her family; her life became laser-focused towards joining the king’s mews, where rukhers tame and fly the giant rocs that are the kingdom’s only defense against the manticores. The core of the book is the dynamic between Ester’s complete devotion to her roc, and the knowledge that the roc is utterly unmoved by her affection or loyalty. The story makes occasional halfhearted forays into politics and propaganda, but Ester’s unwavering dedication to manticore murder gives her character very little room to grow. Pleasant read with very cool giant bird details, but does not feel like a complete story.

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, by Ocean Vuong: This is an autobiographical piece written like poetry, which Vuong frames as a letter to his illiterate mother. The writing is gorgeous and heartbreaking; Vuong’s mother is shown lashing out at her young son in one moment, and then her own generational trauma as a war refugee is explored in the next. It’s not an excuse, but an exploration of root causes. Nothing needs to be explained if it’s all out there for you to see. Vuong peppers his experiences with those of his mother’s and grandmother’s, letting us see the impact of racism, class tension, and trauma across generations. He approaches his own experience with love similarly, letting us see his boyfriend in moments of both sweetness and toxic masculinity, showing us just enough of his background to help us recognize him as a product of his surroundings. Vuong has a beautiful deftness with words, and uses them to show how the people in his story manage to communicate love without using words at all.

Gathering Moss, by Robin Wall Kimmerer: I will happily read anything Kimmerer writes; she brings magic to the mundane. She brings two different philosophies to her study of nature: the detail-oriented rigor of her scientific university education, and the reverence and respect toward the world taught by her Potawatomi heritage. When the two approaches are combined, magic happens: tiny mosses and microscopic creatures are described in detail but also given life and spirit: “urgency for departure pulses through [a colony of moss under threat] with remarkable speed” while putting on “a gaudy display of unbridled reproduction.” Science gives her the means to quantify the changes being undergone by the mosses; her Native heritage imbues them with spirit, promoting even greater understanding. Given her voice, mosses under her microscope become rainforests of activity, with rotifers and tardigrades trundling busily among the stems, desiccating impossibly to specks of dust, only to rehydrate to full functionality once their environment contains enough water once more. (The Three Body Problem aliens do exist!) This is a beautiful collection of personal essays about mosses, but it’s also a celebration of nature, and a plea to let it thrive.

Bitter Medicine, by Mia Tsai: This book had all the elements of a story that would hook me: a centuries-old heroine with powers from Chinese mythology, a broodingly handsome French elf secret agent, danger and family drama … but the writing felt so juvenile, it was really hard to get into it. The main characters giggled and bantered like awkward teenagers, not immensely powerful immortal beings, and the tell-don’t-show storytelling constantly spent paragraphs on the background and relationships between characters before falling flat on a meaningless and stilted exchange. The entire first two chapters kept making me wonder if I’d missed a much better prequel, since it has to do so much explaining. Other magical characters seemed thrown in as token representation, and the villains never got any dimension at all. I did finish the book and it did eventually get better, but the characters and their conversation were never as cool as they should have been, given their powers and their supposed lifespans.

Mammoths at the Gates, by Nghi Vo: I teed this book up because I knew I would want to read better writing, and Vo did not disappoint. The fourth book in the Singing Hills Cycle follows cleric Chih back to their home abbey, where they find that things have changed dramatically, tensions are extremely high, and Chih’s normal brand of diplomacy does not have quite the effect they intend. As in the prequels, the real conflict inside the characters’ hearts is what needs to be addressed, and storytelling – and listening – is the way towards truth and healing. Vo’s beautiful writing and loaded conversations let the characters’ emotions shine through.

Anatomy: a Love Story, by Dana Schwartz: This fantasy opens on a couple of 1800s kids who call themselves “resurrection men,” in the act of taking a body from a grave to sell to doctors and other rich folk interested in anatomy… but before they can complete the act, they are targeted by mysterious assailants wielding a strange silvery substance. From that promising start, we transition to the rather more mundane story of Hazel, a woman who wants to be a doctor but needs to be married in order to survive, and Jack, the resurrection man who is just trying to make ends meet. Hazel’s quest to be a doctor, and her serendipitous encounter with Jack who can provide her corpses to study, lead eventually back to the scene that opens the book, but the plot takes its time getting there and the ending feels like it happens rather abruptly. The “love story” in the title is probably supposed to be about Hazel and Jack, but Hazel’s feelings for Jack pale in comparison to how intensely she longs for medical training. Well-written Gothic creepiness throughout, but the characters feel very shallowly sketched, and the pacing could use some work. Still very enjoyable though and I will definitely pick up the sequel.

This Woven Kingdom, by Tahereh Mafi: Alizeh is a lost Jinn princess basically living the life of a little match girl, trying to hide her Jinn features in a world where Jinn are reviled and abused. Kamran is a prince trying to live up to his grandfather’s expectations, worried for the security of his kingdom. Persian myth mixes with court romance to produce an entirely enjoyable fantasy novel, if flowery language and angst-filled forbidden romance is your thing. I found the characters to be a little eye-rolling: Alizeh’s cringing humility did not sit well with her crazy strong magical powers and physical prowess, and Kamran’s epic emo mood swings between self-doubt and tragic duty seemed a bit ridiculous for a prince who was born and raised to power… but it was undeniably a fun ride. Cliffhanger ending into the next book.

A Far Wilder Magic, by Alison Saft: This was so much fun. Margaret Welty is surviving on her own while holding onto the pieces of a private family tragedy; Weston Winters is a dashing alchemist with private dreams, looking desperately for respectability. When he comes to town seeking mentorship from Margaret’s missing mother, the two find themselves unlikely allies in a quest that might benefit them both: they enter the contest to hunt down the mythical hala, a creature out of legend. Margaret and Weston are beautifully drawn characters, and watching them open up to each other throughout the book is a pleasure; the bit characters are lovely too, with their side comments adding more depth to the main plot. The alchemy aspect is interesting but not overexplained, adding just enough magic to give the book a sparkle. I will definitely be looking for more from Saft in future.

Spells for Forgetting, by Adrienne Young: My lack of attention to chapter headings really confused me at the start of this book, because the first person narration switched from August (out-of-place, uncomfortable with attention, full of dark secrets) to Emery (out-of-place, uncomfortable with attention, full of dark secrets) without any more fanfare than a chapter break, so I thought the first couple of chapters were about the same person and had to go back. The writing is very atmospheric, with much attention paid to dramatic whispers of wind through branches and outsize focus on small ominous details. I found the characters very eye-rolling in their emo drama, but it all made sense when I found out that Adrienne Young wrote a lot of YA; I put up with a lot of emo from teenagers, but it’s a bit jarring to read about in (theoretically) grown adults. The characters outside the main couple also seem very shallowly sketched, more YA villain/extra than fully-formed personality. Still a fun read though, especially if you’re in the mood for a slow-burn creepy mystery going into spooky month.

Mooncakes, by Suzanne Walker and Wendy Xu: An entirely adorable graphic novel about Nova Huang, a teenage witch apprenticing at her grandmothers’ New England occult bookshop. One day she finds Tam Lang, an old crush from childhood, battling a horse demon in wolf form. Her grandmothers take Tam in, and together they uncover a dark conspiracy to raise evil magic. The titular mooncakes are only a brief moment in the book but highlight one of its main strengths, which is a very positive image of family support (even if they might have different expectations re: teenager behavior). The relationships between Tam and Nova, and between Nova and her grandparents, are strong and warm and beautiful; the magical aspects are cutely drawn and fun to read. Great book for (Northern Hemisphere) October.

Humble Pi: When Math Goes Wrong in the Real World, by Matt Parker: “The real world is underlain by numbers and software, look at all the situations that can result” is kind of my jam, so I tore through this book despite the fact that Parker’s narrative voice was often jarring for me (it felt very snide and eye-rolling, but I get that sometimes people need entertainment to help wash down their math). Each chapter is a collection of real-world illustrations of why math is important, from bridge and building construction to divide-by-zero errors, insufficiently random randomizers that allowed people to game lotteries, and poorly-done software reuse that brought down entire satellites. I had a great time reading it, and would absolutely read more of the same even with the authorial asides.

I finally wrote the last book review and can post the collage for August! It’s been a busy couple of weeks. My recent habit of reading yet more books to escape from the self-inflicted pressure of writing book reviews has… not helped.

A Molecule Away from Madness: Tales of the Hijacked Brain, by Sara Manning Peskin: Through a selection of case studies written like medical mysteries, neurologist Peskin illustrates the terrifying effects of the tiniest changes: from the gene-directed protein synthesis that results in Huntington’s chorea, to a woman whose own immune system flooded her brain with hallucinogens, to a patient whose grip on reality was threatened by what turned out to be a simple vitamin deficiency, this book left me amazed at the delicate balance our bodies must tread to maintain our brains.

The Storyteller, by Dave Grohl: Came for the rock’n’roll stories from an artist whose music I enjoy; stayed for the self-deprecating humor, unashamed fanboying, and poignant, heartfelt stories from a man who never stopped being grateful for the improbable delights in his life. Grohl grew up in northern Virginia, so I was able to identify both with his childhood memories of the DC area as well as his feelings of recognition and homecoming every time he returned. I particularly liked listening to him narrate the audiobook; his enjoyment of storytelling was palpable and a delight to the listener.

Disorientation, by Elaine Hsieh Chou: Oh man if you thought Yellowface was a vicious takedown of racism in publishing, wait until you read Disorientation, which does the same thing to academics but multiplies it by ten. The main character, Ingrid Yang, is in the middle of a dissertation she hates, a deep dive into the works of famous poet Xiao-Wen Chou. One day, a chance find in the archives sends her into a deep dive into Chou’s history and a bombshell of a discovery that upends everything Ingrid thinks she knows, expanding to include her own conception of herself, her race, and her relationships. Neurotic, self-doubting Ingrid is contrasted against her confident best friend Eunice Kim, as well as her rage-filled rival Vivian Vo; the way the three women choose to conceive of, and express, their Asian-Americanness provides an undercurrent of identity exploration to the race-related ripples caused in the larger society around them by Ingrid’s discovery. The satire in this book is incredibly heavy-handed but the zingers keep landing, so you keep reading.

How Decent Folk Behave, by Maxine Beneba Clarke: An incredibly powerful collection of poetry from Clarke, an Australian poet of Afro-Caribbean descent. The poems center the reader in Clarke’s world and viewpoint, a place where women and people of color have it hard; even as she paints that world in heartbreaking detail, she colors it with her fierce resolve to fight back, to stand together, to grow strong. The title is actually a line from the poem “something sure,” in which a Black mother sits her son down and tells him to pay attention: she is raising him to be a good man, one who knows “how decent folk behave,” but he needs to know: there are times when other men can be a danger to women, and when those times arise, she needs her son to be the kind of man who will step in, to intervene as only a fellow man can. It’s chilling, poignant, and beautiful.

A Girl and Five Brave Horses, by Sonora Carver: In 1923, then-teenage Sonora answered an ad by William Carver looking for a “diving girl” to ride a horse as it plunged 11 feet from a tall platform into a pool of water. She ended up joining Carver’s traveling entertainment act, performing around the country, and eventually marrying Carver’s son. In 1931, she hit the water wrong during a dive and suffered retinal detachment, eventually going blind; despite that, she continued to dive horses until their show ended when war broke out in 1942. The writing style of the book is straightforward and simplistic, with Carver demonstrating classic 1920s “spunky girl” attitude – unafraid to speak her mind, but always acknowledging that the men around her had the power and she had to persuade them before she could have her way. I was particularly interested by her detailed description of how both girls and horses were trained to dive (only a few actually took to the training; she makes it clear that in her time with the show, no girl or horse was ever pushed beyond their comfort zone), and the construction of the diving platform and pool. Her account of her blindness and how she dealt with it (and how she preferred others to treat her) is actually a great section on dealing with disability from someone who never had to consider the issue before.

Goodbye, Vitamin, by Rachel Khong: I honestly wasn’t grabbed by the book at first, but as I read, I slowly became invested. Ruth, escaping from a failed engagement and tepid career, returns home for the holidays and finds herself sticking around to help her mother care for her father, whose dementia is worse than Ruth had realized. Ruth finds herself settling into the mundanity of basing her father’s diet off of online nutrition research, slowly mending fences with her mother, and colluding with a pack of her father’s former university students to create for him the illusion of a normal life. Interspersed with the story are her father’s journal entries from when he was besotted with her as a child; I like how they reflected the role reversal now taking place between them.

Paul takes the form of a mortal girl, by Andrea Lawlor: Paul Polydoris is a queer teenage bartender in a college town in 1993; he can change the shape of his body at will and frequently does, assuming whatever shape and gender that will get him laid (which is depicted quite graphically). After romping his way through various parts of the queer scene, Paul takes on the form of “Polly” and accompanies his friend to a lesbian retreat, where he falls in love with a girl named Diane and eventually follows her to San Francisco. Paul is filled with an intense longing to belong to someone and to give them his whole heart; at the same time; he chafes at being restricted to just one form and one role, restlessly changeable both outside and in. With such a mutable character it’s hard to have any kind of growth arc, and indeed, the lack of any kind of arc was one of the worst things about this story. Without any particular self-reflection on Paul’s part, his endless sexual escapades began to feel like just another part of the character he was performing, each encounter yet another experience he wasn’t learning from. I can’t tell if this book is a love letter to the queer scene of the early 90s, or a condemnation of the fact that the scene seemed to force people into rigid gender roles. Maybe, like the protagonist, the author also wants to have it both ways.

Lords of Uncreation, by Adrian Tchaikovsky: I was so excited to read this conclusion to Tchaikovsky’s Final Archtecture trilogy and it absolutely did not disappoint (except when I reached the end and realized that I wouldn’t be spending any more time with these characters). It’s classic space opera with an extremely existential threat to humanity (and humanity’s various alien sometime-allies), with plenty of facets looking out only for themselves. As usual with Tchaikovsky’s novels, no matter how weird things get, it’s the beautiful character work that pulls the reader along; most of the arcs end well, and some end excellently.

The Wee Free Men, by Terry Pratchett: For some reason I never read the Tiffany Aching subset of the Discworld books, so when I saw this volume at the used book store, I picked it up for the kid. He absolutely loved it and demanded more (dear Libraries ACT, you need to stock up). Tiffany is an excellent version of the practical Pratchett heroine; she pushes back aginst dogma, does her own research, and forges ahead with determination. The Wee Free Men are excellent supporting characters, as are Tiffany’s fellow countrymen. Fine middle-grade reading material, entertaining without being dogmatic.

Hotline, by Dimitri Nasrallah: This book was tearing up the review scene in Canada so I gave it a shot. The pace is slow and patient, mostly moving through mundane details and only hinting at the broader picture, but builds on itself until the smallest actions carry huge emotional weight. Muna is a Lebanese immigrant teacher whose French skills are not as useful as she had hoped they would be in Montreal; to support herself and her son Omar, she takes a job at a call center selling a weight loss program. It’s hard scrabbling out a living as a single mom in the Montreal winter, but in Muna’s life, the small victories and occasional moments of grace balance out the casual racism and institutional disregard. The gradual unfolding of the events in Lebanon that drove her to Montreal are illuminating as well. Really well done storytelling.

A Gift of Dragons, by Anne McCaffrey: The kid read Dragonsong and liked it, so I went looking for more Pern material that might be suitable for young adults. This short story collection isn’t it; the stories cover bullying (The Smallest Dragonboy), reinforcing traditional gender roles (Ever the Twain), and deep dives into the series and society of Pern which I don’t feel like dragging the kid into (The Girl who Heard Dragons, Runner of Pern). Pern was a huge part of my adolescence but I feel like it might not be aging well; certainly there’s better stuff out there these days.

In Other Lands, by Sarah Rees Brennan: Excellent book, I want to push it at all misfit teenagers (and the adults they grow up to be). It’s a self-aware portal fantasy, done super well. 13 year old Elliot, upon discovering that he can enter a magical world, immediately tries to improve it: he smuggles in ballpoint pens to use instead of quills, calls out cross-species racism, and promotes diplomacy over war. His changing relationships with his warrior peers, elf Serene and awkward scion Luke, work as a beautiful heart to the story. (Fans of the relationship dynamic in Naomi Novik’s Scholomance series will enjoy this one too.) I couldn’t wait to finish this book and also never wanted it to end.

VenCo, by Cherie Dimaline: I wanted to like this more than I actually did; the concept was great but the execution was heavy-handed and the plot essentially went nowhere. Six out of seven witches in a coven have come together, and a two-dimensional evil witchhunter (thinly veiled symbol of the patriarchy) has ramped up his efforts to hunt down the last witch before she can join them and bring about some nebulous prophesied change. The witches, who have all escaped some form or other of sexist sadness, don’t seem to have gained any particular magic from their having done so; the ones with magic seem to have had it already. Basically this was super girls-against-the-man! women have ancient and mysterious powers! which I would ordinarily be down with but there should really have been a lot more thinking going into plotting, worldbuilding, and character arcs. I stubbornly made it to the end and the payoff was… less than worth it.

Fablehaven, by Brandon Mull: Delightfully creepy but not too scary at any given time, which is a great balance to strike. Cautious, law-abiding Kendra and her impulsive brother Seth are dropped off at their grandparents’ for the summer; their grandfather Stan seems less than happy with this arrangement, and the children soon find out why, setting themselves up for a summer of magic, adventure, and plenty of opportunities for desperate bravery. I liked how both child and adult characters were given space to both make mistakes and learn from them, in a way that felt organic to the story and not forced. No particularly new ideas here, but very smoothly executed. Ties up the biggest conflicts at the end, but leaves lots of nice open ends for sequels.

Ink Blood Sister Scribe, by Emma Törzs: Kudos to this book for not only being well-plotted and well-executed, but also having one of the best as-needed reveals of magic systems I’ve read in a while. The main characters are estranged sisters Esther, who left home at age 18 and never returned; and Joanna, who remained a faithful protector of their family’s library of magical books. Across the ocean, there’s also Nicholas, a Scribe whose inborn magic allows him to write more of those books, though at a severe cost to his health. Eventually, all three of them stumble together into the realization that there is way more to their separate situations than they were ever allowed to understand. Great pacing and smooth writing made this a very satisfying read.

You’re That Bitch, by Bretman Rock: I’ll be honest, my decision process for picking up this book consisted solely of “hey! That gorgeous genderfluid model on the cover of Vogue Philippines also wrote a book?” I expected to put this down after no more than thirty seconds, but instead I got sucked into a fascinating story of a life spent first in the Philippines, then in Hawaii, in the care of a large, rambunctious family that was sometimes problematic but always fully supportive. I loved the depictions of his family, particularly his grandmother, mother, and sister, and their Filipino customs; it was also really interesting to read about his journey from baby influencer to self-made star. The tone of the book is light, jammed with interjections like “girl” and “yenno,” feels like he narrated it voice-to-text, and generally made me feel very old; it’s easy to skim (and I did in fact skim past most of the encouraging self-help bits at the end of each chapter) and quick to read.

The Bone Witch, by Rin Chupeco: This book begins with a woman raising demons from skeletons, as a timid bard creeps up and begins gently drawing her story out of her; in turn, she divulges details about him that she should not know. By all rights it should have ended with their stories meeting together at the present, then proceeding together into a satisfying climax… but as her story dragged on and on, crammed with irrelevant detail and bloated with extraneous characters, I reached page 668 of 714 and realized that there was no way in this book we were going to reach the end of her story. Epic battles and inter-kingdom wars had been hinted at, and she’d barely graduated school. I felt extremely cheated and in no mood to read any further in the series. I was also not a fan of her culture, in which women with magic powers were required to train as warrior-geishas who could sing, dance, kick butt, and still simper and giggle around powerful men while entertaining them. Seriously. Meanwhile male magic-users have to join a killing squad with a high death rate. I was briefly interested when a male magic-using character showed up and wanted to train as a geisha, but we never learn where his story goes because 700 pages later we’re only a fraction done with the story. Definitely not continuing on. (Unless someone tells me it gets more worthwhile.)

July was a relatively light reading month because family visited and we went on vacation! (Funny enough, I get less reading done on vacation than when I’m at home. Mark of a good vacation.)

The Scapegracers, by H.A. Clarke: The narrator of the Scapegracers, a teenage lesbian witch named Sideways Pike, has never been cool; however, when a trinity of confident, popular girls hires her to perform a showy spell for their Halloween party, she finds in them both a coven for her magic and an unexpected gift of friendship. The other girls are the opposite of insecure: they are brimming with righteousness and rage, ready to rain down curses on anyone who mistreats them or makes them feel lesser (mostly self-centered teenage boys). There are some threats from scary witchfinders and some weird gatekeeping from the occult establishment going on in the background, but mostly this book is a ferocious celebration of loyalty and magic. I love the defiant rejection of the “mean girls clique” trope, and also the diverse cast. First in a series.

The Impossible Us, by Sarah Lotz: Epistolary alternate-universe romp. After struggling author Nick and sassy dressmaker Bee make accidental contact through a misdirected email, they continue to correspond, finding in each other kindred spirits. They eventually make plans to meet… which is when they figure out that they actually live in different universes. Their respective actions after this discovery really do take this book into a new level. Even though things get super weird, the chemistry between Nick and Bee, and their snappy email conversations, keep the book going. Enjoyable plot and shenanigans, though if you start thinking too hard about the ramifications there are some iffy consent issues.

Still Life, by Sarah Winman: A slow, patient journey following Ulysses Temper through four decades (with occasional interludes with Evelyn Skinner, art historian). In 1944 Florence, British soldier Ulysses makes unexpected connections with the people that follow him back to his home in London, and eventually draw him back to Italy. Though Ulysses is the main character, the excellent ensemble cast around him, and their connections to one another, provide the warm heart that centers the story. I love how each of them is allowed space to grow, learn, and change, and how they each do their best to support one another. The writing is just gorgeous and both London and Florence are beautifully and wistfully rendered.

Moon of the Crusted Snow, by Waubgeshig Rice: Post-apocalyptic (though you don’t know it at the beginning) thriller, documenting the experience of a small Anishinaabe community in a reservation in northern Ontario. As the community is already pretty isolated, even more so as winter approaches, their awareness that civilization is collapsing comes slowly; first the power is cut off, then their fuel shipment never arrives. As the tribe attempts to maintain order and community safety, intruders escaping the crumbling south arrive and throw things into disarray. The narrator, a quiet, solid hunter named Evan Whitesky, quietly maintains family and community ties even as he begins to suspect the new arrivals of more sinister intentions. Well-paced, smoothly written.

Yellowface, by R.F. Kuang: When star author Athena Liu dies suddenly, June Hayward pockets her latest manuscript, about Chinese laborers, and then rewrites it and releases it under the name “Juniper Song” (her first and middle names). When the book becomes a smash success, June is accused of misleading people into thinking she might have Chinese ancestry, and finds herself haunted by Athena’s ghost wherever she turns. The book raises questions about racism in the publishing industry, diversity as performance, and ownership in art, but immerses it all in June’s inescapable trainwreck of an unreliable first-person narrative. There is barely a single likeable character in this book but it moves along incredibly well.

City of Last Chances, by Adrian Tchaikovsky: Ilmar is a city at the edge of the Palleseen empire, and one conquered in name but perhaps not in spirit; it is full of restless natives, bitter refugees, starry-eyed students, and ruthless criminals, and also sits on the edge of a haunted magical forest, last resort for the desperate. Tchaikovsky assembles a cast of archetypes and then proceeds to make them into whole characters that grate on one another’s edges and force one another into growth, and sets it against a background of cultural repression and inevitable rebellion. Fascinating read.

Trailer Park Trickster, by David R. Slayton: Book #2 featuring Adam Binder, the queer warlock from a trailer park who just can’t stop saving people (even those who might not deserve saving). This one has him returning to his roots and investigating the increasingly creepy foundations of his family life; meanwhile, his love interest Vicente finds himself navigating dangerous elven politics. I liked the book in general but didn’t like the ongoing trope of “lovers are too busy with mortal peril to discuss their relationship, therefore the angst will continue” which looks like it’ll continue into the third book. Sit down and talk to one another, gentlemen, it’s healthier in the long run.

Translation State, by Ann Leckie: Set in Leckie’s Radch universe, this starts out as a missing-persons mystery and ends with an impassioned argument over one’s right to determine one’s own destiny. I love how Leckie uses truly inventive alien biologies and philosophies to investigate very human questions of identity, self-determination, and found family. Slow start, tense finish, great read.

The Devourers, by Indra Das: South Asian speculative fiction, though it also touches on Nordic and other shapeshifter myths. Narrator Alok Mukherjee is a history professor who meets a mysterious figure who claims to be a half-werewolf; fascinated, Alok agrees to record the stranger’s stories, some oral and some written on human skin. As the stranger’s tale unfolds and Alok is drawn further into the fantastically violent and turbulent history, the relationship between the two of them deepens as well. I liked how the story wove together the mythologies of different cultures, and I also enjoyed how Das took time to develop Alok’s character instead of having him be a passive listener to a story far more interesting than his own life.

Equal Partners, by Kate Mangino: Full disclosure: I’ve met Kate Mangino, and found her book to be every bit as thoughtful, forthright, and considerate as she is. The subtitle for this book is “Improving Gender Equality at Home,” and addresses the imbalance in household gender roles created by harmful social norms. The book doesn’t just lay out examples and statistics, but gently points out familiar social behaviors that can actually perpetuate the problem. Each chapter also offers guided discussion topics and thought exercises to help readers become aware of their own stances and provide avenues for improvement, if it is desired. The book is carefully written to address as wide a spectrum of the modern family as possible, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, generation, and family structure. Even though I consider myself fairly educated and aware of these issues, I still found myself taking many notes on how to be a more equal parent and a more equality-focused person in conversation. Gender norms are deep-seated and addressing them is difficult, but this book provides an informative and understanding base from which to make a start.

Witch King, by Martha Wells: The best thing about Martha Wells’ narrators is that their general exasperation with everything makes them immediately relatable, no matter how weird their selves and circumstances… which is good, because the reader is otherwise thrown straight into a fantasy culture and magic system with absolutely no explanations. This book’s viewpoint character, Kai, is a demon who possesses the bodies of dying humans, and whose closest friends are powerful witches and warriors — useful because they seem to have some very terrifying enemies as well. Through adventure and flashback, Wells builds a portrait of how Kai and his friends were brought together, and how they became instrumental in the formation of the empire’s current political balance. Most of the plot threads are tied together neatly at the end, but it also feels like Wells might be doing some worldbuilding in preparation for future adventures.

The Midnight Lie, by Marie Rutkoski
White Trash Warlock, by David R. Slayton
Hollowpox: The Hunt for Morrigan Crow, by Jessica Townsend
Follow the Rabbit-Proof Fence, by Doris Pilkington / Nugi Garimara
To Each This World, by Julie E. Czerneda
The Golden State, by Lydia Kiesling
What Fresh Hell is This? Perimenopause, Menopause, Other Indignities, and You, by Heather Corinna
Fence: Striking Distance, by Sarah Rees Brennan
On the Merits of Unnaturalness, by Samantha Shannon
The Language of Flowers, by Vanessa Diffenbaugh
Ledge, by Stacey McEwan
Junior High, by Tegan and Sara
Children of Memory, by Adrian Tchaikovsky
Heartstopper, by Alice Osman
A Day of Fallen Night, by Samantha Shannon
The Good Immigrants, by Madeline Y. Hsu
The Lesbiana’s Guide to Catholic School, by Sonora Reyes
Fourth Wing, by Rebecca Yarros

Paladin’s Hope, by T. Kingfisher
Nevermoor: The Trials of Morrigan Crow, by Jessica Townsend
Girl in Translation, by Jean Kwok
The Fallen, by Ada Hoffman
The Hanged Man, by K.D. Edwards
The Immortal Heights, by Sherry Thomas
The Cartographers, by Peng Shepherd
Last Call, by Tim Powers
The Hourglass Throne, by K.D. Edwards
Clary Sage, by Victoria Goddard
Wundersmith: The Calling of Morrigan Crow, by Jessica Townsend
Gay Bar: Why We Went Out, by Jeremy Atherton Lin
Six Crimson Cranes, by Elizabeth Lim
No Man of Woman Born, by Ana Mardoll
Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men, by Caroline Criado Perez
Arca, by G.R. Macallister
The Sunken Mall, by K.D. Edwards
Nyxia, by Scott Reintgen
Swordheart, by T. Kingfisher
The Porcelain Moon, by Janie Chang
The Seep, by Chana Porter
On Rotation, by Shirlene Obuobi