innamorare's Reviews (71)

I’d been counting down the months like a kid waiting for Christmas, dreaming of a magical romp along the Amalfi Coast, courtesy of Sarah Penner. But when I finally cracked it open, it was less “mind blown” and more “mind mildly ruffled.” It feels like you’re sold a ticket to paradise, but when you arrive, the hotel’s half-built, and the pool’s a puddle. It’s not a disaster, but it’s not the grand escape I’d hyped up in my head either.

Let’s start with the shiny bits. Penner’s got a gift for painting a scene, and the Amalfi Coast in this book is a freaking postcard come to life. We’re talking cliffs kissed by golden sun, waters so blue you’d swear they were photoshopped, and Positano lookinglike a Windows wallpaper that you're not entirely sure it's real and bit some artists rendering. I was ready to ditch my couch for a vespa and a gelato, pronto. The setting’s so lush and vivid it’s practically flirting with you, and I’m here for it. Big props to Penner for making me smell the lemons and feel the sea breeze through words alone.

Now, the plot? It wanders like a drunk Nonna. We’ve got two timelines: a coven of sea witches in the 1800s and a modern-day archaeologist digging up trouble. Sounds cool, right? It could’ve been a wild ride, but instead, it’s like following a GPS that keeps rerouting mid-sentence. The jumps between past and present gave me whiplash, and not the fun kind. I wanted a tight, twisty tale, but this felt more like a scenic detour that forgot where it parked the main point.

Characters are where it gets dicey. Mari, the 1800s sea witch, is a total badass. She’s slinging spells, wrestling with love versus duty, and making me root for her like she’s my long-lost sister. Her story’s got grit and heart, and I’d read a whole book just about her. Then there’s Haven, our modern archaeologist, who’s… fine, I guess? She’s chasing treasure and smooching some dude named Enzo, but it’s about as thrilling as watching paint dry on a yacht. Haven’s got all the potential of a sparkler but ends up fizzling out like a damp match. I wanted fireworks, not a flicker.

The magic system, stregheria (aka oceanic witchcraft), had me intrigued. I mean, witches channeling the sea? Sign me up! But it’s like Penner handed me a shiny new toy and then forgot to include the batteries. It’s there, it’s cool in theory, but it never really pops. Same goes for the titular curse’s mystery: it feels like a cheap sweater from Shein and not the cozy knit one it sold you. I was hoping for a spellbinding gut-punch, but I got a gentle tap instead.

All in all, it's just.... Okay. It’s got a killer setting and a few shining moments (shoutout to Mari), but the plot’s a bit of a stumble, and the magic doesn’t quite enchant. It’s like a weekend getaway that’s fun but forgettable, not the epic odyssey I’d been daydreaming about for months. If you’re into historical fiction with a sprinkle of magic and a killer backdrop, give it a whirl. Just don’t expect it to be the literary equivalent of Nonna’s secret sauce. Pack light, enjoy the view, and call it a day.

Listen, if you’ve ever thought, “Gee, I’d love to spend my summer on an island where the locals have a creepy pact with invisible nightmare creatures,” then this is just your kind of unhinged beach read.

Where do I even start? This book isn’t just a gothic horror: it’s a gut-punching tale of grief that’ll have you sobbing into your floral throw pillow at 3 a.m. 

Soojin Han is a 17-year-old Korean American girl with a secret gift: she can resurrect the dead, but only critters smaller than her palm. More like pet rats, not people. But when her older sister Mirae drowns in the Black Pine River under shady circumstances, Soojin says, “Rules? What rules?” and brings her back.  

The sisterhood in this book is everything. Soojin and Mirae’s bond is so raw and real, it reminded me of those late-night giggle fests with my own sister, sneaking snacks and whispering secrets under the covers. Yun captures that messy, beautiful love where you’d do anything for each other... even, you know, defy the laws of nature with some light necromancy. But here’s the thing: resurrected Mirae isn’t quite the same. She’s restless, hungry, and maybe a smidge vengeful. When the town starts drowning in freakish rains and bizarre deaths, I was clutching my pearls (okay, my thrifted choker). The slow-burn horror had me checking my windows for creepy river spirits. But let’s get real: this isn’t just spooky vibes. It’s a story about grief, and just like Mirae drowned for real, Soojin is drowning in her sorrow. Every page aches with her loss, like she’s carrying a boulder in her chest. Her desperation to hold onto her sister felt so raw, it reminded me of the time I clung to my grandma’s old scarf after she passed, hoping to keep her close. Yun makes Soojin’s pain palpable, and it’s both heartbreaking and beautiful.

Yun’s world-building is perfection. The small coastal town feels like it could be your sleepy hometown, but with this eerie undercurrent that makes you side-eye every puddle. The Korean folklore woven in—ghost stories and ancestral magic—gave me chills and made my inner history nerd squeal. It’s like Yun took my love for The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea and cranked the spooky dial to eleven. And can we talk about the imagery? The silt-soaked atmosphere, the crimson ringlets of blood in water, the way Soojin’s grief feels like a physical ache that she's drowning in—I was living for it. I swear I could smell the damp earth and hear the river’s whisper.

Now, let’s get a tad snarky. If you’re expecting a neat little bow on this story, keep dreaming. Yun doesn’t spoon-feed you answers, and I respect the audacity. Some might whine about the ambiguity, but I’m over here clapping for a book that trusts me to think. The pacing? Divine. It’s a slow simmer that builds to a boil, and by the end, I was a wreck—in the best way. 

Soojin as a protagonist is my new bestie. She’s flawed, grieving, and stubborn as hell, but so relatable. I saw myself in her impulsive choices (like trying to cut my own bangs the midnight before picture day). Her journey through loss and love is so poignant, it’s like Yun reached into my chest and squeezed. 

And Mirae? Oh, she’s a force. I won’t spoil the twists, but let’s just say she’s the chaotic sister I’d both hug and hide from.

In And the River Drags Her Down is a masterpiece that’ll make you laugh, cry, and sleep with the lights on. Jihyun Yun, you’ve stolen my heart and probably a piece of my sanity. If you love dark, atmospheric YA with sisterly love and a side of revenge, pre-order this book. It’s a five-star stunner that’ll drag you under and leave you gasping for more. I’m already planning my reread later this year with a cozy sweater and a caramel frappe. 

If you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to be the daughter of a notorious serial killer, only to reinvent yourself as a snarky office worker with a penchant for dark humor and a deep-seated fear of being discovered, then Haven’t Killed in Years is certainly the book for you. 

This psychological thriller is a total vibe, blending dark humor, twisty suspense, and a protagonist so snarky I want to be her bestie. Grab your latte, babes.

Gwen Tanner, formerly Marin Haggerty, is the daughter of a notorious serial killer, now living her best (or, like, moderately okay) life as a sarcastic office worker who’s 🤏 this close to starring in her own true-crime podcast. She’s spent twenty years dodging her dad’s creepy legacy, perfecting her “I’m just a normal everyday girl” facade, complete with a carefully curated Insta that screams “nothing to see here!” But then... plot twist! someone starts leaving her severed arms outside her apartment. Yes, actual human bits. Talk about a Monday from hell. Suddenly, Gwen’s past is crashing her party, and I was living for every chaotic second.

Green’s writing? Sharper than my favorite butterfly knife and twice as fun. Gwen’s voice is like if your wittiest friend started hosting a true-crime TikTok, dropping one-liners that had me snorting into my coffee.

What’s got me fangirling? The way Green dives into true-crime fandom. It’s half satire, half love letter, roasting the obsession (guilty!) while making you feel seen. Gwen’s journey through this world, chasing a killer and her own demons, is equal parts thrilling and introspective. The vibes and shady side characters feel so real I could’ve sworn I met them at a family reunion. 

The pacing drags in a few spots, like when you’re waiting for your Uber Eats and it’s stuck in traffic. I was like, “Come on, Amy, let’s move this along!” And some plot points? A tad predictable, like spotting the red flags in your friend’s new situationship. But these gripes are small potatoes—the story’s so juicy I forgave it, like when your bestie flakes but shows up with iced coffee.

If you’re obsessed with Gillian Flynn’s snark or binged Your Favorite Murder, this is your next bookish crush. It’s got suspense, it’s got sass, and it’s got twists that’ll leave you shook.

"What do we say to the God of Death? Not today." -Syrio Forel, A Game of Thrones

Where do I even start with this deliciously dark romantasy? It’s like someone took a medieval zombie apocalypse, tossed in a scorned princess, and sprinkled it with a trickster god who’s equal parts swoon-worthy and suspicious. I dove into this book with the enthusiasm of a kid raiding a candy store, and while it didn’t quite give me the full sugar rush I craved, it still left me giggling, blushing, and occasionally rolling my eyes in the best way. Let’s unpack this, shall we?

First off, the premise hooked me faster than a TikTok video about Goldie’s. Princess Jessamine, our fierce leading lady, gets brutally murdered at her own wedding altar by her slimy new husband. Rude, right? But death isn’t the end for our girl. She strikes a deal with the Deathless One, a god named Elric who’s basically a walking red flag with a devilish smirk. He offers her life and her kingdom back in exchange for his resurrection. Sounds like a fair trade until you remember he’s a notorious trickster, and deals with him are signed in blood. Cue the tension, the banter, and the *slow burn* that had me fanning myself like I was at a Regency ball.

Jessamine’s journey from betrayed royal to vengeful witch had me cheering, especially when she starts embracing her inner dark sorceress. I mean, who doesn’t love a woman who rises from the grave and says, “Hold my crown, I’ve got revenge to serve”?

Now, let’s talk about Elric, because *swoon*. He’s the kind of morally gray bad boy who’d steal your heart and your soul, then offer you a cheeky wink as he saunters off. Their chemistry is electric, and Hamm nails the slow-burn romance. 

So why 3.5 stars instead of a full-on five? Well, the pacing tripped over its own feet a bit. The first couple of chapters is a galloping stallion, but somewhere in the middle, it slows to a leisurely trot. I found myself skimming a few pages, muttering, “Come on, let’s get to the good stuff!” The plot gets a little tangled, like my earbuds after a day in my purse, and I wished for tighter focus on Jessamine and Elric’s dynamic instead of some of the side quests. Also, the final battle felt rushed, like Hamm realized she was running out of pages and decided to wrap it up faster than I fold laundry (which is to say, not very fast).

Overall, it’s is a wickedly fun ride for anyone who loves dark romantasy with a side of snark and a whole lot of heart. If you’re into stories that blend revenge, romance, and a touch of the macabre, grab this book and prepare to lose a few hours to its spell.

It’s like someone tossed The Handmaid’s Tale into a blender with a pinch of Cormac McCarthy’s bleakness and a whole lot of nun-flavored nightmares. I wanted to love it, I really did. But I don't. 

I dove into this pulse-pounding thriller with the kind of enthusiasm I reserve for an iced tea on a sweltering summer day, and let me tell you, it was a ride… bumpy in spots, but gosh, did it have me clutching my imaginary pearls! This book is like a Lowcountry breeze: sultry, mysterious, and just a tad unsettling. It’s not a perfect bloom, but it’s got enough twists to keep you flipping pages past bedtime.

We follow Claire Campbell, an investigative journalist who’s been running from her past faster than I flee from a spider in the bathtub. Twenty-two years ago, her older sister, Natalie, vanished, leaving behind a trail of blood in a car and a closed case that haunts Claire like a ghost in a Gothic novel. When a call from her dad drags her back to her childhood home in South Carolina, Claire’s forced to face the trauma she’s buried deeper than my attempts to hide my snack stash. With a summer looming in her estranged mother’s house (yikes), Claire impulsively takes a seasonal gig at Galloway Farm, a muscadine vineyard that sounds like it should come with a charcuterie board and a sunset view. But this ain’t no Hallmark movie. Galloway’s idyllic vibes hide dark secrets, and Claire’s digging unearths truths that make her question everything. It’s a slow-burn mystery with shocks that hit like a plot twist in a soap opera.

 

The coastal South Carolina backdrop is so vivid I could practically smell the marsh and hear the cicadas. It’s the kind of place I’d love to visit with a glass of sweet tea, minus the creepy secrets. The twists? Juicier than a Georgia peach in July! One reveal had me gasping louder than when I found out my favorite coffee shop discontinued my go-to latte. Willingham knows how to keep you guessing, and I was living for it. Claire’s inner monologue is sharp and relatable, with just enough wit to make me chuckle—like when she muses about her life falling apart faster than a cheap beach chair.

Here’s where I get a smidge snarky. The pacing drags in the middle, like waiting for my ancient laptop to load a webpage. I get it—slow burns need time to simmer—but I was ready for the pot to boil sooner. Some plot points felt predictable, like spotting a rom-com’s happy ending from a mile away.

Willingham’s ability to blend psychological suspense with Southern charm is like pairing a bold red wine with a spicy gumbo—it shouldn’t work, but it does. This book isn’t as shiny as A Flicker in the Dark (still her crown jewel, in my opinion), but it’s a solid addition to her thriller lineup. It’s readable, human, and perfect for anyone who loves a mystery with a side of sass.

If you’re a thriller fan with a soft spot for Southern vibes and jaw-dropping twists, grab this book, a cozy blanket, and maybe a glass of muscadine wine.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the advance copy in exchange for my honest review. All opinions are mine, served with a wink and a smile.

This kind of book that sweeps you into a misty, salt-soaked fever dream, then leaves you blinking at the real world like you just stumbled out of a gothic painting. I dove into this expecting a lush, monstrous romantasy, and oh, did it deliver… mostly. It’s a haunting swirl of beauty and yearning, but it’s not without its stumbles. Buckle up, because I’m about to gush, gripe, and get a little snarky about this flower-threaded horror show.

First, let’s talk about the vibes. This book is *dripping* with atmosphere. Clipstone paints a coastal village so vivid I could practically taste the sea spray and feel the chill of the salt mines. The world building, with its chthonic gods and ritualistic weirdness, is straight up intoxicating. I’m a sucker for gothic anything, and this delivered in spades: crumbling manors, misty shores, and a swan god.

Lacrimosa (Lark, bless her) is our leading lady, and such a soft, tender soul. Not a “stab first, ask questions later” heroine, but a girl wrestling with betrayal, family duty, and a past that’s messier than my high school diary. Her journey from broken to brave had me cheering, especially when she’s navigating her tangled feelings for Alastair and Camille Felimath. Alastair, the arrogant ex-heartbreak, is all sharp edges and tortured devotion… catnip for my hopeless romantic side. Camille, his alluring older sister, is a warm, grounding force who made me want to curl up in her lap with a cup of tea. The polyamorous dynamic here is refreshing, never dipping into love triangle clichés. It’s messy, human, and so beautifully written I was giggling and kicking my feet at their chemistry. Like, can I join this trio? Please?

But here’s where I get a bit snarky. The pacing? Oof. The first 60% of the book moves slower than my mom in Wal-Mart. I kept waiting for the plot to kick into gear, and when it finally did, I was hooked… but that lag had me checking my phone more than I’d like to admit. Also, while the prose is gorgeous, it can feel repetitive. Clipstone loves her floral metaphors, and by the third “petal-strewn” description, I was like, “Okay, we get it, it’s pretty!” The world-building, while stunning, left me craving more meat on the bones of the chthonic gods’ lore. Therion’s Zeus-like swan-god shtick is cool, but I wanted to know *why* he’s such a big deal beyond being hot and ominous.

It felt a tad rushed, like when you’re late to a party and speed-run the goodbyes. I wanted more time to linger in the fallout.

Anyway, all in all, this is a dark, dreamy treat for anyone who loves gothic romance with a side of folk horror. While the pacing issues and a few overused phrases keep it from five-star glory—but it’s got heart, soul, and enough yearning to make you clutch your chest. I’m still swooning over Lark, Alastair, and Camille, and I’ll always be front and center for a good poly relationship. 

Here is somethin' you can't understand 
(How I could just kill a man)
Here is somethin' you can't understand 
(How I could just kill a man)
Here is somethin' you can't understand 
(How I could just kill a man)
Here is somethin' you can't understand 
(How I could just kill a man)
Here is somethin' you can't understand

- Cyprus Hill

House of Hearts snatched me up and tossed me into a gothic wonderland I didn’t want to leave. This dark academia gem, dripping with Alice in Wonderland whimsy and a haunted boarding school vibe, deserves a solid 4 stars for making my heart race and my suspicions spiral.

Let’s start with the good stuff. Violet Harper, our tough-as-nails heroine, is out to solve her best friend’s murder, and she’s not here for anyone’s nonsense. She stormed into Hart Academy, ready to infiltrate a secret society like she’s auditioning for a Nancy Drew reboot. 

The setting? Love. Picture gothic towers, a haunted hedge maze, and a masquerade ball with a ghostly visitor. Arndt’s prose is lush, painting every creepy corridor and forbidden glance so vividly I felt like I was sneaking through the school myself. The mystery kept me guessing.

Now, the romance. Oh, Calvin Lockwell, you brooding, handsome descendant of the school’s founder, why must you be so dreamy? The dislike-to-lovers tension with Violet is delicious, with banter that had me smiling. Their chemistry crackles in moments. But here’s my beef: the soulmate angle. Meh. It felt like a shortcut, as if Arndt didn’t trust her own (very capable!) hands to build that slow-burn spark naturally. I’m not here for fated love when I could’ve had 100-200 more pages of Violet and Calvin snarking and circling each other until they combust. Gimme that organic chemistry, not a magical shortcut that’s been done to death.

The pacing is brisk, which I loved, but it also left me wanting. The book’s under 300 pages, and while it’s packed with twists, I craved more room to linger in the eerie world and let the characters breathe. Violet’s grief over her friend could’ve hit harder with a few extra scenes, and the secret society’s history deserved a deeper dive. It’s like getting a killer dessert but only a tiny slice—girl, I wanted the whole cake!

Still, I dug this book’s vibe. It’s creepy, romantic, and just the right amount of unhinged.