ambershelf's reviews
1295 reviews

As a romance writer, January Cole channels her parents' great love story to write happily ever afters. Until one unpredictable event snowballs into larger ones; January finds herself stuck in writer's block, unable to meet her deadline, and broke. When she moves into a beach house in Michigan, hoping to churn out her next novel in the summer, she runs into Gus Everett, her neighbor, critically-acclaimed author, and her polar opposite. January and Gus strike a deal to help each other: Gus will write a happy ending, and January will compose a gritty novel. By the end of the three months, they will both write something different, win accolades, and nobody will fall in love.

Beach Read is my second Emily Henry book after Book Lovers and I. STILL. LOVE. IT. Especially for romance, when the third act breakups and happy endings are a given, to write with such diverse back story and character development is a fantastic talent. I adore Gus' character; his background and personality strike an outstanding balance with January's. And for a guy who claims not to believe in happily ever afters, he has surprisingly romantic lines that have me bursting into pink bubbles. Often romance novels focus too much on the female protagonist's POV and end up with a guy that seems one-dimensional (except for their career success LOL). The Soulmate Equation and The STEMinist Novellas suffer from this boring man syndrome. I was pleasantly surprised by how much detail Henry put into creating Gus and how lovable but real his character is.

It's tough to decide if I like Book Lovers or Beach Read more (I haven't read People We Meet on Vacation yet). I like Nora's (Book Lovers) personality more than January's, but I love Gus more than Charlie haha. In the end, both books are incredible, and if you're on the hunt for a great romance, definitely check them out!

Our narrator is on the path to what most Chinese immigrant parents call a B+/A- life: pursuing her PhD in chemistry and being proposed to her academically successful boyfriend. But when push comes to shove, our protagonist is cracking under the pressure of experiments and publishing, and she's unsure if marriage is what she seeks. Ultimately, she must decide on her next steps; to continue on the old path or discover something entirely new.

Chemistry is written uniquely and likely won't be for everyone. The sentences are choppy and very character-driven; there's not much plot, and the narrator jumps between the present and the past. The protagonist's voice is also very peculiar and references STEM subjects frequently. Simply put, I love the quirkiness! I can relate so much to the pain and the pressure of getting a PhD, the frequent failures and neglect from thesis advisors, etc. There are enough academic horror stories to compete with Stephen King's work. The writing might turn some away, but if you've been frustrated with grad school, would like to get a glimpse, or are considering pursuing a PhD (gasp!), Chemistry is a great place to start.

When Ky Tran finally returns home, it's for the funeral of her younger brother Danny, an awkward and straight-A student. In the Sydney suburb of Cabramatta, where refugees face political indifference, violent crimes, and a heroin epidemic, Danny was brutally murdered the night of his high school graduation celebration. Everyone at the scene claims to have seen nothing. But as a young journalist, grieving sister, and rule follower, Ky is determined to discover the truth of what transpired on that tragic night.

All That's Left Unsaid is a heart-breaking debut encompassing much more than a murder mystery but examines refugee diasporas, especially those affected by the Vietnam War. The book alternates between Ky's narration and the witnesses' POV; it is a slower-paced suspense that gives way to exploring the lives of poor immigrants and first-generation Vietnamese Australians. I love how Tracey Lien alternates between the POVs to paint a diverse picture of everyone in the community, from the parents' narration, the white teacher's perspective, to the first-generations' voices.

In particular, the paragraph about Ky's parents discussing what it means to give up everything in search of "a better future" when that future often means diminishing opportunities and poverty had me sobbing. Another passage that stands out to me is how these first-gen children are scared to talk about their experience of racism with their parents to validate that their parents' sacrifice "is worth it." Because if not, what was it all for?

All That's Left Unsaid is a fantastic debut about an area that seems to be crime-infested and drug-laced from an outsider's perspective, but encourages the readers to dig deeper to unearth the strength and love within the community.

Thank you to NetgGlley for the eARC.

The day 35-year-old Mika Suzuki got fired again, she received a phone call from her daughter Penny, whom she placed for adoption 16 years ago. In a desperate move to impress Penny, Mika makes up a glamorous life with a successful career and a loving boyfriend. When Penny and her adoptive father plan a trip to Portland, Mika must now do everything she can to keep up the appearance and determine what she truly craves — her passion for painting, yearning for familial bonding, and want for love.

Mika in Real Life is a book marketed as romance but delivers much more. I especially love the relationship between Mika and Penny, and the juxtaposition between their upbringing. Mika, brought up by her Japanese immigrant parents, who never felt close to her family or culture; and Penny, adopted by white midwesterners in a loving and supportive household, who craves to learn more about her roots. I also appreciate how realistic Emiko Jean depicts Penny's teenage personality. I often find the teenagers in romance books overly precocious (sometimes even insufferable) and would 1000% want their single parent to date someone else.

I wish there were more development in Mika's love life, just because the synopsis made it sound like a romance book when it only constitutes a small portion of the plot. And I was also craving a lighter read at the time. Regardless, Mika in Real Life is an astonishing read that digs deep into the relationships between mothers and adoptees.

As a 17-year-old high school dropout, Kiara is scraping by in East Oakland to support her older brother, chasing his dream of rap stardom, and the 9-year-old boy next door, abandoned by his mother. One night, Kiara stumbles into nightcrawling, a temporary job she takes to ease the financial pressure. Her life is further upended when her name surfaces in an internal investigation of a massive scandal involving the Oakland Police Department.

Nightcrawling is longlisted in The Booker Prize 2022 and is inspired by true events. It is an extremely heavy read, and I had to take several breaks throughout the book. As a debut author, Leila Mottley expertly demonstrates the experiences of being a poor black girl/woman with beautiful prose. It is heartbreaking to see a child like Kiara forced to carry the burden of an adult. The neglect, abuse, and injustice depicted in the book are tremendously disturbing but essential for readers to put into context the choices Kiara makes.

I thought the author's notes at the end of the book are especially beneficial in understanding why Kiara lets her brother pursue his rapper dreams while giving up her ambition and why Kiara takes care of her neighbor when she's already spread thin. Mottley writes, "Like many black girls, I was often told growing up to tend to and shield my brother, my dad, the black men around me: their safety, their bodies, their dreams. In this, I learned that my own safety, body, and dreams were secondary, that there was no one and nothing that could or would protect me." — such a powerful statement and one that will stay with me forever. Mottley's notes alone are essential, even if you don't read the book.

Nightcrawling is a gripping story that reflects the violence black women face regularly and the often unseens and neglected black children forced into adulthood; a heart-wrenching but poignant debut everyone should read.

After robots of Panga gained consciousness, decided to stop working for humans, and wandered into the wilderness, no humans have come into contact with them. For centuries, humans have lived harmoniously with the environment, adopted a community-based society, and provided all that is needed for survival for each other. Until Dex (they/them), the best tea monk in Panga, goes off the beaten path and runs into Mosscap (it/its), a robot on a mission to understand humans. Together, Dex and Mosscap embark on a journey to ask the question, "what do people need?".

The Monk and Robot Series are novellas, each about ~150 pages, where books 1 and 2 can be considered as one. I adore the world-building in the book and would LOVE to live in a community like that, where we are environmentally conscious, inclusive and supportive of everyone, and nobody suffers from material scarcity. The Monk and Robot series explores our purpose and identity in these settings; when you have everything you need to survive, what more is there to want?

I feel like being wrapped in a cozy blanket after reading both books. It's a nice blend between character- and plot-driven, and what blew my mind is just how awesome this distant world is. How we as humans can learn from our mistakes and reverse the environmental damage, how we have the empathy to let robots leave and stop laboring for humans, how we have the compassion to disband currency and adopt a new system that facilitates exchange to benefit the whole community, and most importantly, how it's enough to just be.

The Monk and Robot Series is my first time reading Becky Chambers and apparently she is known for writing comfort sci-fi. I can't wait to read more of her work, especially the Wayfarers Series! The series is unlike most sci-fi books grappling with AI-gone-rogue and climate disasters. Instead, Chambers brilliantly examines the core of humanity with heartwarming storytelling through the unlikely lenses of a monk and a robot.

Since Benny walked out on her family Thanksgiving dinner, she hasn't seen her brother Byron for eight years. Until now. When her mother Eleanor passed, she left a voice recording for both kids and a black cake, instructing them to "share when the time is right". As Benny and Byron listen, Eleanor reveals the long-hidden family history: her tumultuous past, the tragics she endured, and the difficult choices she had to make. As Byron and Benny struggle to accept these truths, can they reclaim their once-close relationships and come back together as a family to fulfil Eleanor's wishes?

Black Cake is an intricate debut about family, how those who come before us could shape us, and how we can break free from the curse to reclaim our agency. I love the short chapters between Eleanor's childhood and the present day. The generous use of foreshadowing could be bothersome for some readers. But as someone who gets too attached to characters and will get too sad to continue reading a book, the foreshadowing helped tremendously in keeping me focused on the plot. Black Cake is a phenomenal debut and an un-put-down-able book I recommend for those who love a good story about families.

The Family is an old clan of book eaters whose dwindling population is preserved by carefully-arranged marriages and strictly-enforced contracts. As one of the few girls in The Family, Devon grows up as a princess, eating only fairytales curated by her family. Devon dutifully fulfils her child-bearing responsibilities as required by The Family, believing that this will promise a comfortable life. Until the arrival of her son, who sustains not on books but the human mind. Devon must now choose between book eater traditions and her family while doing everything she can to protect her son.

Book Eaters is an imaginative dark fantasy unlike anything I’ve read before; it examines heavy topics like patriarchy, tradition, and motherhood through brilliant storytelling. The book also jumps between the early days of Devon’s childhood until her late twenties and the present day when she’s struggling to provide for her son. I deeply appreciate the moral ambiguity underneath all the characters, especially the sacrifices Devon makes in the name of protecting her son. As heavy as the topics, I absolutely devoured this book (

In the late 21st century, rising waters displace millions while a growing police state raids climate refugees. As Laisve learns to survive in this dystopia by avoiding Raids, she also has to master the skills of a carrier, someone who can connect with old objects and travel through time. Laisve's power will allow her to communicate with people in the past two centuries, a French sculptor and his cousin, a dictator's daughter, an accused murderer, and laborers who built America. Laisve must tread through dangerous waters to save their lives and help these past figures shape the country.

I was drawn to the premise of Thrust, and who doesn't love a time-travel-to-the-past-to-save-your-country adventure? Yuknavitch brilliantly leverages different storylines to weave a beautiful epic about America's history, its erasure of indigenous populations and immigrants, and examines the meaning of freedom in the early days. Thrust is an ambitious story requiring more character development to realize its potential fully. At times, I feel that the protagonists' motivations are unclear and verge more on telling rather than showing.

In Thrust, Yuknavitch also aims to discuss how women's sexuality and sexual freedom have been restricted by childbirth and the Bible. I applaud the discussion and think it's an essential topic. Unfortunately, the highly explicit sexual content used in Thrust to make her points is a bit much for me. Most of the time, I was left bothered, but that could be Yuknavitch's goal. Overall, Thrust is an imaginative fantasy that urges the readers to examine our history to imagine a better future.

In this brilliant and chilling book, Cho Nam-Joo depicts the struggles of South Korean women through the story of Kim Jiyoung. Jiyoung recently quit her job to care for a newborn daughter, as expected of all Korean women, and starts to show strange symptoms impersonating the voices of other women, as if they possess her. The narrator then recounts Jiyoung's life, from early childhood to her thirties, and portrays chillingly how men around her have policed her behavior and limited her choices. Jiyoung's story is a painful reflection of all Korean women; In an era when the country passes legislation against gender discrimination, is that enough to protect women against harassment and bigotry?

Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 is a short and quick read that left me a bit depressed. As someone who also grew up in an Asian country, there are a lot of similarities between the Korean traditions mentioned in the book and Taiwanese practices. Like how the wife must live with and take care of the in-laws, how a woman is expected to give up her job after having a baby, and women should have a boy and must keep trying until they do. These are just a couple of painful examples from the book. I particularly like how the narration is very removed and somewhat dry; there's a purpose to it, and all will become clear in the end. But I also appreciate this writing style because I don't get too riled up on all the sexism and end up angry-punching my pillows or accidentally breaking my Kindle in half