I love found family—it’s one of the things I look for in fantasy. But this book proved to me that found family on its own isn’t enough. 

The Teller of Small Fortunes had all the right ingredients: a group of misfits brought together by fate, a road trip-style journey, and a cozy, low-stakes tone. But the characters never felt fully formed, and the plot... well, it kind of drifted. There were several points where it felt like the story could’ve ended, and at just over 300 pages, that’s not a great sign. 

Each shift in the story felt more like a detour than a step forward, and while I don’t need constant action, I do need purpose—and that was missing here. If the characters had been a bit sharper or more distinct, I probably would’ve been more forgiving of the meandering plot. But as it stands, it didn’t fully deliver on either front. 

It wasn’t a bad read. It was fine. I’ve read worse. But I’ve also read better, and this isn’t one I’d personally recommend or revisit. Sometimes a book just doesn’t hit, and that’s okay.