I grew up in an evangelical church, but I have the tendency of downplaying how much religious trauma I carry. I mean, we stopped going to services when I was 12, and by the time I was in my early 20s, I had more or less become comfortable saying that I was not a Christian, right? Which of course downplays the literal years that I spent unable to sleep without first saying a perfunctory prayer, and the time I was threatened with Christian school and conversion therapy for being queer...

So I was a bit surprised to listen to Heretic and find myself really knowing where Kadlec was coming from, and to recognize how much anxiety I carried when I was younger, and how undoubtedly that anxiety influenced my life long after I no longer spent every Sunday morning and Wednesday evening in a Baptist church pew. There wasn't much of an "aha!" moment for me, because the information was just very, very familiar. It might be a more revelatory text to someone who did not grow up evangelical, but the fact that I wasn't shocked did not mean that I didn't find this to be an interesting and empowering read.

Also, because this was a recommendation from Lucy Dacus, when she was mentioned in the text I became the living embodiment of that Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme.

One of my biggest frustrations with my undergrad experience is that we only got one class that focused on literary theory, for one semester, right at the end of our degree. It's been 10+ years since I graduated with my BA, so it's about time that I addressed this and began reading like I'm in grad school for absolutely no reason, right? (Well, for no externally motivated reason, at least.)

This is an accessible overview of what literary theory itself is--an expansive, boundless, multi-disciplinary questioning of common sense (affectionate)--with even shorter introductions to specific approaches. My plan is to use this as a jumping off point for A Reader's Guide to Contemporary Literary Theory by Raman Selden, and then more specific readings.

Wow, people on this site will really read noir and then complain that bad things happen to the characters, huh?

Scorched Grace came to me via a recommendation from someone in my book club, who had me at “this gay nun book made me think of you.” It’s a character-driven, voicey, stylized whodunnit set against the sweltering backdrop of New Orleans. All of that sounds great, right?

Unfortunately, I feel that the potential here outstrips the execution. The mystery doesn’t hold together that well, the reveal seemed to drop out of nowhere, and there’s not much sleuthing. Some important elements, especially the setting, feel superficial. I kept reading because it’s not bad, but it also wasn’t as good as I expected.

It kept me reading during some stressful hours in the hospital, though, so points for an engaging first hundred pages!

Chose this to read for the "book about a book, library, or bookstore" prompt in this year's Reading Glasses (Glasses Glasses) Challenge, and with a cover like that, can you blame me?

This is tense, dual-narrative suspense, very character-driven, with characters who are kind of unlikable for different reasons in the driver's seat. It follows Roach, a bookseller obsessed with true crime, as she fosters an additional obsession with Laura, a new bookseller at her store. Laura is everything Roach isn't--stylish, popular, and connected to a true crime case in a highly personal way--and her reproaches of Roach's attempts to get close to her only make Roach more desperate to learn about her.

At times this book struck me as deeply sad because Roach reads like one of those characters who are probably autistic but not explicitly described as such, and her attempts at getting close to Laura seemed to me misguided in the way of someone who does not understand social norms and whose life is organized around their special interest. This is exaggerated for creepiness, and goes beyond the pale in service of the story, but there were still moments where I felt genuinely sorry for Roach and wanted her to get a therapist and break up with her horrendous boyfriend.

Sadness and moments of sympathetic cringe aside, this was exactly the addictive read that I needed to start my July after a lackluster June. Recommended for readers who like uncomfortable books you can't look away from.

I'm excited to read Discipline and Punish now.

Image-rich, elegiac poems that are the very definition of "sense of place."

Most relatable book I’ve read all year.

Well, well, well, it seems that I've picked quite the dramatic time to read this book...

I haven't been in the mood to read much romance recently, but when a brand new, sapphic Alexis Hall book came in for me at the library, who would I be to resist?

Although Mortal Follies is for the most part a bit frothy for my inclinations right now, it absolutely nails a combination of Shakespeare, mythology, faerie folklore, and Regency romance that I think only Hall could pull off with this much panache. Sparklingly intelligent fun.

And of course I want to see more of Tabitha and her fellow priestesses of Cybele.