BLUE LILY, LILY BLUE finds Blue with her world in turmoil after her mother's disappearance. The closer she and the Raven Boys become, the more they realize they don't know each other at all.

This is a point of inflection. As the teenagers finally pause a little to process the changes and revelations from the first two books they start to understand the assumptions they've been making until now, and even question them. It feels like they've grown so much since the first book, in a bunch of ways, but they're also a bit scattered as they needed to do things more on their own for a while. Large portions of the book feel like the calm before a storm, and the leading edge of it finally hits at the end of the book in some pretty devastating ways. I feel strange about it because I'm excited more for how this moves various pieces and plot points into place rather than being happy about anything in particular that happened. There's a lot of little moments I loved (Adam shines especially here, this portion of his arc is so good), but it's definitely getting ready for big things rather than actually doing many of them. 

The best part of the book for me is definitely the moments when the characters pause to reflect on their inner worlds and their relationships with each other. This book is filled with those moments, sometimes because they're stressed and sometimes because they have a moment of calm, but they make their character growth evident in a bunch of little ways. I love how each of them keep thinking of themselves in relation to each other, and how their perceptions of each other have changed so much since the start of the series. I'm so happy for Adam, in particular, that he's figuring out when and whether he wants help rather than constantly refusing it or feeling like it's giving up to accept it. 

The ableist language surrounding a particular new character was disappointing. Yes, the circumstances in which they found her would be hell on anyone’s mental health, but having her most frequent descriptor be variations on the same derogatory language about mental health over and over was very frustrating to read. Additionally, one of the antagonists seemed as though her main trait was finding ways to casually drop ableist slurs into every conversation. I do recommend this as part of the quartet, but it was frustrating enough that I don't know if I would recommend it if it were stand-alone.

This moves the plot forward on some things from the second book, but I can't think of anything that it wraps up completely. It doesn't really have its own storyline, there's a pair of antagonists who weren't physically present previously but at least one of whom was introduced in the second book. The biggest plot point in this book began in the last one and plays out here, but there is a pretty major thing which has its biggest moments in this book (even then it was technically teased in the first book, looked for in the second, then found here). This left a bunch of things to be resolved in the final book, some of which have been hanging since the start of the series. There's a mix of new and returning narrators, and all of their voices are distinct. This is very much a step on the way to the final volume, so it's not a problem that it couldn't stand on its own very well as its book three of a quartet. There's too much history needed for someone to understand most of the plot and its importance, and I don't think it would make sense if someone picked it up at random. That being said, it's good enough about naturally recapping important stuff that if it had been a while since reading the first two books it would probably be pretty easy to follow.

Overall it works as the third entry in the quartet but it has some frustrating ableism that makes me like it less than the first two books. 

LOST IN THE NEVER WOODS retells Peter Pan to create a story of trauma, repression, and helplessness. Five years after Wendy's temporary absence and her brothers' ongoing disappearance, kids start going missing. 

As a Peter Pan retelling, this fits into a sweet spot between “the story you remember happened a long time ago” and “the story you’ve been told was wrong”. Wendy doesn’t remember what happened when, five years ago, she was missing for six months, then suddenly reappeared without her brothers. There’s a sense of frustration running throughout the story as it becomes more and more apparent that Wendy’s missing memories are important, but she doesn’t know if she’ll ever get them back. It meant that when the book finally gives some answers almost at the very end there’s an enormous catharsis. I wasn’t frustrated at the book, I was frustrated for the characters, and so watching them (particularly Wendy) get answers and closure was immensely satisfying. I spent the first 80% liking it but not sure what the twist was going to be... and then the twist/reveal happened and I loved it. It's a take on Neverland that I haven't seen before and it works extremely well. 

I wish Wendy’s friend Jordan had more of a positive presence, it seemed like she mostly existed as part of the crowd of well-meaning but currently unhelpful figures in Wendy’s life (though the epilogue makes up for a lot of the earlier lack). On the other hand, the feeling of being surrounded by a crowd of people who mean well but literally can't help worked really well to support the themes of trauma, repression, and helplessness which are integral to the story.

I liked this and it showed a new side of Wendy, Peter, and Neverland, which is the best part of any retelling. I'm very glad I read it.

I don't like the main character and I vehemently disagree with her choices early in the book. At this point I can't help feeling like she brought this mess on herself and it makes it hard for me to sympathize with her. Since that's not a great feeling for me, I'm stopping. I can tell from the description that part of the point is that this is a mess and a lot of it is her fault, but this just isn't the book for me. 

STONE AND STEEL is the rare book that I feel perfectly neutral about. It's a story of sisterhood, romance, power, corruption, and betrayal as a returning general finds out that her queen sits on a golden throne of broken promises while her people starve.

The story was clunky in some places because it felt like it was trying to fit a lot of detail into a low page count, some parts of the emotional core were really well conveyed and genuinely moving, others were rushed and didn't have time to properly build. It's like it was trying to be more book than it had room to be, and so the whole story suffers for it. I almost didn't finish it, but pushed through because it would feel a bit silly to not finishing something that was going to take me under an hour to read. In the end I'm totally neutral about it. It's not bad enough to warn anyone away from, but it also didn't compel me as a whole and I don't know if any circumstances could prompt me to recommend it.

I enjoyed the beginning a lot, the framing is compelling and the setup is pretty good. It's canonically diverse in gender, sexuality, and race, putting explicit representation on the page and making the story better in the process. I like the main character and I really got to know and like a lot of the secondary characters, moreso than I would have expected for this large of a cast in this short of a book. One specific downside is that the ending feels rushed, and on the way to the finale it piles on a few more characters and one big reveal, but I hadn't had time to anticipate or wonder it so it felt like the answer to a question I hadn't yet asked. These problems would likely be easily solvable in a longer version of this same story, and that is something I'd be interested in reading.

OTHERBOUND is a story of class, consent, disability, torture, and power, as told by two kids whose minds and worlds are entwined. Nolan never meant to watch Amara's life, but now they must work together if they both want to be safe.

The world-building is excellent though it was a bit confusing at first because it involves characters lying about what's happening (and sometimes just being wrong about how things work). This means the early explanations don't quite fit what's going on and made it a little harder to initially understand the nuances.  That aside, what's there is complex and internally consistent in a way that feels brilliant. It has so many little details I want to gush over (but also don't want to spoil). Given that the other world has nothing to do with Earth, there are linguistic differences, time differences, and some good technological world-building. I love how it's all put together. The characters are great, I like the way the text makes it clear that all Amara's (and also Maart's) external dialogue is signed but it doesn't treat them as secondary when their conversation partners are vocalizing. I'm impressed by how class and disability are interwoven, and how a bunch of little worldbuilding things are informed by that intersection. Everything from the way Servants are marked by being rendered mute to Nolan's casual discussion of his prosthetic leg and management of seizure medication. I will note that he doesn't actually have seizures, his mental travel to wherever Amara is looks like seizures to anyone back on Earth, so he's managing both the actual effects of losing muscular control when he closes his eyes and the mental/emotional drain of knowing that everyone else's understanding of the problem is missing crucial information. 

There's a power-imbalance romance which has a lot of discussions about the inherent inequality in any potential relationship, so much so that it's actually mostly discussions about power and very little on-page romance. I would have been very uncomfortable if that balance had been flipped, and I'm glad that the book addresses (and then characters make choices after discussing) the inherent inability to consent under such a massive power imbalance. It was self-aware in a way that I appreciate and wish happened more. Power differentials can be sexy if done right, but anything where one party can literally have the other tortured or killed with a word is too large of a gap for consent. The theme of consent goes beyond the potential romance, Nolan's invasion of Amara's body and their relative abilities (or, more frequently, inability) to consent to this entanglement is a major point in the story. Review the content warnings for more detail, but please be aware that the treatment of consent and negotiation of boundaries over the course of the book involves a whole lot of consent not being respected, including but not limited to graphic scenes of torture. 

I loved this and I especially liked the ending. This was a new (to me, at least) way of telling a story of entangled/parallel worlds and I'm so glad I read it.

*I received a free review copy in exchange for an honest review of this book. 

THIS POISON HEART is about a Black girl coming into her own in a place made for her, and taking on the strange power and responsibility of her birth family's history in the process.

I like the world building and backstory in terms of place and history, but where this really thrives is in its characters. Bri's relationship with her moms is complex and nuanced, conveying years of personal history between the three of them without crowding the page with in-jokes.  Her lapsed friendships have enough detail to feel like they matter to her, and maybe mattered a great deal more previously, but they don’t take up too much space with characters who will barely appear in this story. The cast of named townspeople is numerous enough to feel full, but it’s a manageable number of characters (something that felt especially important as the various lies and half-truths start to become evident). Bri herself is glorious, thriving in a strange and unexpected place. The focus is on her as she explores the house and town, starting to make a space for herself where she isn’t constantly hiding.

Given that this is the first book in the series, I think the pacing is great. For the first 75% of the book the felt like it could maybe be standalone in the sense that plot flows really well, I understood why characters were where they were and were doing what they were doing, and the bits that I didn’t understand were obviously part of the mystery at the core of the story. There’s a reveal that happens late in the book that turns the first part of it from good to brilliant. It takes choices by various characters which seemed to Bri to be illogical or contrived in some way and gives them a new weight and context. The text handles that transformation smoothly, making the whole book better without invalidating the first impression. 

I liked this and I'm excited to see where the rest of the series goes!

THE BALLAD OF BLACK TOM is a Lovecraftian retelling which transforms the original story from a litany of racism to a story of a 1920's Brooklyn Black man's existence in that racist miasma, and bloody revenge after a murder by the police. 

The world-building dances a delicate line of conveying the racism of the 1920's while using only as much explicit racism as is needed to show the attitudes of the various characters. There's a scene which is all the more stark and impactful for using phrases still wielded today against Black people who have been murdered by police. I don't know if those exact phrases are anachronist or not, but if they are then the "authentic" 1920's version would involve a lot more slurs, and I have no quibbles with the author's choice of language here. 

I love the first half where Tom is narrator, and at the end when he reprises the role. It's evocative and emotionally powerful, and to me it's the heart of the story. The section with the detective was good, I didn't like it as much because I don't like the detective, but it's really well written, and it shows how racism and xenophobia skews his impression of what's happening around him. 

This is amazing on its own and I wish I'd just left it there. In order to review this in its full context as a retelling of THE HORROR AT RED HOOK by H.P. Lovecraft I read the source material. That was a terrible decision, I have regrets, it's so bad that it doesn't get a separate review, it's just bad. Almost all of the text is a litany of racial slurs and xenophobia with the barest thread of a plot. THE BALLAD OF BLACK TOM is amazing and deserves to stand on its own, just forget about the original. 

I read this because I was reading a retelling of this story and wanted to know what the original was like. That was a terrible decision, don't do it. This is a litany of racism and xenophobia where the main terror is thinking foreigners and/or people of color are doing demonic things. There's so much racism that even the fact that in the story some of the terrible things are actually being done isn't enough to justify it. It's just bad.

THE DISASTERS by M.K. England is a heist story with frustratingly persistent copaganda and unexamined colonialism, with a ragtag ensemble who carry off the heist so smoothly that it leaves the story without satisfying tension.

I have two levels of complaints about this book: first there’s the couple of big things which completely tanked my enjoyment of it, and there’s the stuff that exasperated my dislike once I was already irritated but I might have otherwise just mildly disliked as stylistic choices I disagree with. The big things that broke my immersion and were complete deal-breakers: copaganda from the protagonists in a fugitive/heist book, and a starkly pro-colonization story with anti-colonialists as the villains without exploring what that actually means. The things that made me more irritated but I might have otherwise excused were the lack of on-page relationship and emotional development with the characters, stylistic quibbles over what a heist story needs, and the way that all their actual obstacles were solved by talking to authority figures rather than being sneaky or cool. The rest of this review will contain mild spoilers.

The thing that initially broke my immersion an jolted me out of the book was when the protagonist first talks about how his mother is a cop back on Earth. The inclusion of an off-screen sympathetic cop character who is repeatedly brought up during the frameup/heist story... that is a choice that, to me, undermines the book. The most egregious instance of this was when his thoughts about how doing the right thing doesn't always go well uses his ammi's frustration when guilty criminals go free as example of life's unfairness. 

He's on the run, framed for a mass murder he didn't commit, and his way of processing his own situation is to think about guilty criminals who get away and then how his situation is the opposite of that. This attitude becomes especially dissonant and strange when the big reveal of his tension with his brother is that he had the equivalent of a new-driver accident with his brother in the vehicle (except with a spaceship) and was banned from flying so he started breaking into a facility that had flight simulators, eventually he got caught, and his mother (the cop) made the charges go away. On the one hand, it's a consistent lack of self-awareness that makes him feel like a real person. On the other hand, it makes him a terrible protagonist for a heist novel because he's literally one the run and sympathizing with the cops. He convinces one of the characters who's deeply uncomfortable with guns to carry one, and then, when someone in their group gets shot (not by that person) he has an on-page realization that guns can actually hurt people.

 A little while later: 

The attitude that someone who is uncomfortable with guns, has never fired one, and has no training should carry one just in case... that makes me deeply uncomfortable and it doesn't seem like anything bad happens from that decision. I'm all for characters making bad decisions and then dealing with the consequences, but the story is weirdly consequence free. I'm not saying I want characters punished. Narrative consequences aren't punishment, narrative consequences are what make the world feel real because when the protagonists push at the world of a story and press at its seams some things are going to push back, and that interplay of boundary breaking, tension, and release is, to me, essential for certain kinds of stories, and a heist story definitely needs it. Breaking boundaries and having interesting things happen because of those cracks is one of the best parts of heist stories.

The second big thing is that it's a story about space colonialization that treats the goodness of colonialization as unquestionable and has anti-colonialists as the villains. The backstory for the anti-colonialists is no deeper than "people were against colonialism from the beginning a hundred years ago and they're still against it except now they're killing people". The colonized planets are terraformed, canonically, and a major thing in the book is that if anyone goes far enough from Earth they can't go back ever because they might have space pathogens that are bad for Earth, so I was expecting some awareness of how their terraforming has changed and devastated the colonial worlds (replacing space plants with Earth plants is not inherently better and I'd argue it's definitely worse), or how Earth bacteria might be bad for the other worlds. Nope, it doesn't touch that at all. It's just taken as read that colonialism is good and so the villains don't need any more complicated motive than being against it.

They're literally on the run from law enforcement for most of the book (I'm not sure whether the cops, military, or some third option are their actual pursuers), and yet everything is framed so that if they just can save the day from the anti-colonialist terrorists then explain things well enough to the authority figures then everything will be fine. I was expecting there to be some twist, something undermining this unquestioning confidence in the goodness of authority figures (IN THE GODDAMN HEIST BOOK) and then... nope. That's how it works out. They save the day for most of the threatened colonial worlds (one planetary genocide does happen, no the story doesn't touch the emotional weight and grief of that devastation at all), explain things to the people in charge, then get to take their stolen spaceship (with newly forged registration) and go be in space together. I was frustrated and underwhelmed. 

Overall, making the falsely-accused fugitives in a heist book be pro-cop is a rot at the heart of the story which poisoned the whole experience for me. When paired with unquestioned colonialism and the other smaller problems I discussed, my reading experience alternated between angry and bored. I don't remember any of the secondary characters well enough to discuss them individually even though I just finished this book, and the romance was simultaneously rushed and empty. 

THE BLACK FLAMINGO is a celebration of complex layered identity (specifically gay, Greek-Cypriot, and Jamaican) as Michael grows up, comes of age and, through drag, finally finds a place that fits all of him.

It leaves room for messiness, mistakes, and the strange meandering coincidences of life as we watch Michael grow up, exploring the facets of his identity and celebrating the intersections between them. It handles a lot of topics and nuance in a way that keeps the underlying messiness while reaching for something healthier and more whole with every page. There's a lot of growth in the secondary characters as well, even minor characters learn and change in meaningful and obvious ways by the time the story is over. 

I loved reading this and highly recommend it.