innamorare's Reviews (71)

Where do I even start with this deliciously creepy, folk-horror gem? It’s like stumbling into a haunted forest with a gorgeous guide who whispers, “Don’t worry, it’s only mostly terrifying.” It had me hooked, spooked, and swooning, though it didn’t quite rip my heart out and carve it into a ritualistic bone totem. But, like, it came close.

First off, let’s talk about the vibes. Picture yourself in a misty, isolated village where the trees loom like they’re plotting your demise, and the air smells of damp earth, woodsmoke, rot, and secrets so old they’ve fossilized. Russell’s prose is like a velvet glove wrapped around a dagger: lush, poetic, and sharp enough to make you flinch. The story follows Hyacinth Turning, a heroine who’s a defiant spitfire while also being a vulnerable lost soul. She’s not your cookie-cutter “strong female lead” (ugh, that phrase makes my eyes roll). Hyacinth is messy, raw, and so relatable I wanted to hug her through the pages. When she’s shipped off to a creepy seaside settlement after a last minute arranged marriage and her father hanged, you feel her dread, like that time I moved into a sketchy apartment and swore the walls had eyes.

Russell crafts a folk-horror tapestry that’s both nostalgic and nightmarish, like a Grimm fairy tale got a gritty reboot. The Teeth and the Deep are both monstrous entities lurking beyond the village. The rituals, with their bone carving chants (“One for the gate, one for the door…”), gave me actual chills. I mean, I was reading this at 2 a.m., wrapped in a blanket burrito, and I still felt exposed. The Elders in their hare-skin masks? Nope. Hard pass from that culty nonsense. They’re the kind of creepy authority figures who’d make you confess to stealing cookies you didn’t even eat and will hang you or burn you if you look at them wrong. 

Hyacinth’s journey is a wild ride. She’s stuck in this oppressive, witch hunt obsessed community, and her only ally is Morgan, the outcast who’s got that brooding, “I’m trouble but also maybe your soulmate” energy. I dig the bisexual vibes when Hyacinth loves Abelia who haunts her dreams after she disappeared into the Teeth, and now Morgan. (We can always use more bisexuals in fiction!) Russell knows how to tease a slow-burn romance without making it feel like a slog. 

The snark comes in with the villains. Hyacinth’s husband and the Elders are so insufferably sanctimonious, I wanted to yeet them into the Deep myself. They’re the kind of people who’d scold you for wearing mismatched socks while ignoring the literal monsters at their doorstep. Russell nails the hypocrisy of rigid, fear-driven societies, and it’s so satisfying watching Hyacinth flip them the metaphorical bird.

So why not five stars? Okay, confession: the pacing tripped a bit in the middle. There’s a stretch where Hyacinth’s inner turmoil feels like it’s on a loop, and I was like, “Girl, I get it, you’re stressed, let’s move!” Also, while the lore is haunting, I craved a smidge more clarity about the Teeth and the Deep. Are they gods? Demons? Really cranky squid? I’m nosy, and I wanted answers. Still, these are tiny gripes in a book that had me so immersed I skipped sleep to keep reading. Sleep, people. That’s love.

In short, this story is perfect for anyone who loves their fantasy with a side of gothic gloom and a sprinkle of rebellious girl power. L.V. Russell, you’ve got me under your spell, and I’m already counting down to your next book.

Teague House is a creepy family estate that’s giving major "skeletons in the closet" vibes… except, you know, they’re actual skeletons in the backyard. Let’s dive in, shall we?

The Rawlins siblings—Jon, Sandra, and Robby—reunite at their gloomy Oregon childhood home, Teague House, after their aloof mother, Val, kicks the bucket. I was so here for the gothic vibes: creaky floors, foggy woods, and a family so dysfunctional they make my holiday dinners look like a Hallmark movie. Then, bam! They find a fresh grave in the backyard, followed by a whole cemetery of older ones. Cue Whoopi Goldberg, “You in danger, girl!” 

Johns paints Teague House like it’s auditioning for a horror flick. The woods feel alive, whispering secrets, and every room in that house is stuffed with grief and old grudges. I could practically smell the musty curtains and hear the wind rattling the windows. The multiple POVs—siblings, their aunt Phil, and a PI named Maddie Reed—kept me on my toes, like I was piecing together a juicy puzzle. Maddie, oh my gosh, she’s my kind of girl: tough, haunted, and chasing a killer who might tie to her own past. I was rooting for her. 

But, okay, let’s get real for a sec. The pacing? It’s like Johns invited me to a fabulous party but forgot to serve snacks for the first hour. The start drags, with too much family bickering before the bodies pop up. I was ready to yell, “Get to the good stuff!” And when the reveals finally hit, they’re juicy, but some felt like they were pulled out of a hat. I wanted more breadcrumbs, more “aha!” moments that made me feel clever, not just shocked. The ending, bless its heart, tries to tie every loose end into a bow, but it’s more like a hasty knot. 

Still, I enjoyed reading about Sandra’s repressed memories or Robby’s shady vibe that had me side-eyeing him from page one. Johns nails the messy, human side of family trauma—like, I texted my sister after reading to make sure we don’t have any buried secrets (jury’s still out, even though we already found out about the killer uncle—true story). The characters are flawed and gray, and I was living for it. Aunt Phil’s flashbacks? Chef’s kiss for adding spice to the past.

So, What Remains of Teague House is a moody, twisty debut that’s perfect for anyone who loves a thriller with a side of family drama. I’m already daydreaming about Johns’ next book, because if this is her first swing, I’m obsessed with what’s coming.

Alright, y’all best buckle up for Our Vicious Oaths come October, because this dark romantasy is a wild ride. Picture me, curled up with my fuzzy blanket, squealing like a teenager at a K-pop concert, because this book had me hooked. It’s got fae politics, a warrior-princess who’d rather stab than swoon, and a vengeful king who is serving looks AND chaos. Fuckbuddies-to-enemy-fuckbuddy-to-lovers done so right. 

Kadeesha, our badass princess, is out here leading winged serpent flyers (More pterodactyl than dragon) and dodging a betrothal to some crusty High King. Then there’s Malachi, the brooding Apollyon king with a vendetta and abs that probably have their own fan club. Their chemistry? Sizzling. I was giggling like a fool when Kadeesha’s “one last night of freedom” turned into a spicy trap with Malachi. Davenport writes tension so thick you could cut it with a dagger.

The plot’s a whirlwind… there’s political intrigue that meets fae Hunger Games. Malachi’s attack on Kadeesha’s wedding day? Their uneasy alliance to take down the High King? Chef’s kiss. I loved how Kadeesha grows into her queenly vibes, even if she’d rather punch politics in the face. My only gripe and why it’s not five stars is the pacing. Sometimes it’s like Davenport floored the gas, and I’m like, “Girl, slow your roll!” A few threads got a lil tangled. 

Still, I’m obsessed. This book’s a glitter (ather?) bomb of magic, betrayal, and steam. If you love fae with bite and romance that slaps, you’ve found your Halloween read, cause this comes out right before.

This had me hooked like a moth to a spooky, werewolf-scented flame. This book is a delicious paranormal romance with a side of small-town secrets, and it’s giving New Moon. Mira Owens is our girl, stumbling through Timber Plains, Kansas, where legends of werewolves and vampires aren’t just campfire tales: they’re the real deal. And when a mysterious golden eyed boy named Julian swoops in to save her from a cliff dive, the plot thickens faster than my grandma’s gravy.

The snark in Mira’s inner monologue? Chef’s kiss.

While the pacing wobbles like a toddler in heels, and I wanted more meat on the supernatural war bones. But the romance? Oh, it’s a forbidden, fated-mates slow burn. 

And can we talk about Britney S. Lewis giving us a Black heroine who’s fierce and flawed? It’s like she looked at Bonnie Bennett, who, let’s be real, deserved SO much better, and said, “Hold my coffee, I’ve got you.” Mira’s no sidekick; she’s the star, and I’m here for it.

This book is a wild, messy ride that I both enjoyed and side-eyed in equal measure. First off, the spice? Oh, honey, it’s a five-alarm fire. The chemistry between Cate and the crowned prince had me fanning myself like a Victorian lady with the vapors—those steamy scenes were the glue holding this chaotic little gem together. I mean, when they weren’t plotting regicide or batting lashes at each other, they were tangled up in sheets.

But—and it’s a big but—the world-building? Yikes, it’s flimsier than my resolve to skip dessert. The nobility and monarchy are just... cool with losing their titles to this “Uprising” that’s hyped up but suspiciously MIA the entire book. I kept waiting for these rebels to storm the castle, but nope—they’re offstage, sending chill letters like, “Sure,  let the princey run for president, just win the vote, k?” What even is this vibe? And the government for this experiment? Nonexistent. No one’s rebuilding a nation here; it’s all “kill the king, strip the titles, someone’s president now, yay!” Lady M’s scheming to be president just so she can pass laws to crown herself queen was peak drama—loved her unhinged energy—but it only highlighted how little sense the politics made.

Plot-wise, it’s mostly sex and longing glances until the villain showdown, where things get wonky fast. The prince, who spent a week getting sex lessons to hype himself up for patricide if a dad he actually loves, just shrugs and lets this Lady M go because Cate’s like, “This isn’t you, babe.” Cue my eye-roll—dude, wasn’t that the whole plan? Two seconds later, Lady M tries to shank him and bolts. Oh, and poor Dom, the princess? Murdered by Lady M and her Gifted goon squad, and it’s treated like a footnote. I gasped, then pouted—give my girl a proper send-off, Falon!

So, three stars: swoony, snarky fun with behemoth a side of “huh?” It’s a glittery hot mess I couldn’t put down, but I need more than bedroom acrobatics and a shrug of a revolution next time.

Buckle up for a ride with dragons, romance, and a dash of “meh.”

First off, can we talk about the premise? Dragons ruling Ancient Rome? I was sold faster than a tween at a boyband concert. Julianus or “Julian”, our broody dragon-shifter general, spots Malina, a fierce Dacian dancer, and his inner lizard goes full-on heart-eyes emoji. Years later, he snags her from a battlefield like she’s the last slice of pizza at a party before she’s assaulted by one of his centurions. The setup screams epic, and I was ready to swoon harder than I did when I first saw Theo James. 

The spice? Oh, it’s there—simmering like a pot of gumbo on a Louisiana stove (shoutout to Cross’s roots). Julianus is all “touch her and die,” and I’m over here giggling and kicking my feet, because protective winged boys are my kryptonite. 

Of course there’s a big ol’ <b>but</b> coming because it’s me… it didn’t fully ignite for me. The romance prospect had potential even though it was insta-love on Julian’s side (not a insta-love fan ever), but the plot? It’s like when your GPS says “recalculating” mid-trip…. And then it veers off into a cul-de-sac, or tries to take you off a bridge (that happened to me in Mobile!). I wanted more political intrigue, more dragon-on-dragon smackdowns, not just longing stares and vibes. And the ending? Abrupt as the movie cutting off right before something happens. 

So. I’m not sure if I’ll read book two, the end was a lot to be desired, though I do want my girl Camilla to get her lick in on Igniculis.

This Book Will Bury Me is a gripping true crime thriller... But also, did she really just go there?

While it’s a wild ride that kept me up past midnight, it’s also a book that occasionally stumbles over its own ambition, like a drunk friend trying to explain a conspiracy theory after several drinks.  It’s compelling, messy, and oh so addictive, but it’s not without its baggage.

Let’s start with the elephant in the room: this book is basically the Idaho 4 murders with the serial numbers filed off. We’ve got three college girls (minus the bonus boyfriend) stabbed to death in a sleepy Idaho town called Delphine, their last night spent partying before the grim reaper—or rather, a knife-wielding psycho—shows up. Sound familiar? It’s so close to the real-life tragedy of Kaylee Goncalves, Madison Mogen, Xana Kernodle, and Ethan Chapin that I half-expected to see a white Hyundai Elantra parked in the plot. There’s even a Bryan Kohberger doppelgänger—a brooding, criminology-obsessed grad student who’s just a little too good at lurking. Winstead’s not subtle about it, and while she slaps a “this is fiction, y’all” disclaimer at the front, it’s hard not to feel like you’re reading a fanfic of a still-open wound. The trial’s not even happened yet (it’s set for June 2025, folks), and here we are, fictionalizing it like it’s a Netflix docuseries ready for binging.

The main character, Jane Sharp, is an obvious self-insert—Winstead’s practically admitted as much, tying Jane’s grief over her dad’s death to her own loss. Jane’s a college kid who spirals into the dark web of true crime forums after her father shufflds off the mortal coil. Jane’s obsession with cracking cases feels real, raw, and a little unhinged in the best way. She hooks up with a ragtag crew of online sleuths. It's Only Murders in the Building but with less Steve Martin and more Reddit vibes, and they dive headfirst into the Delphine murders. The pacing is relentless; I tore through the 400+ pages in two days, fueled by soda and a nagging need to know whodunit. (I'll admit, I was close to DNFing it as I already know what happened in real life Idaho, but Ashley piled up more bodies). 

Winstead’s writing is a highlight. She’s got a knack for making you feel Jane’s desperation, like when she’s hunched over her laptop, chasing ghosts in chatrooms while the real world fades away. The twisty plot delivers too. (I won’t spoil it). 

But here’s where the snark creeps in: the book’s a little too pleased with itself. The Idaho parallels are so blatant it’s almost tacky—like, Ashley, we get it, you watched the news. And Jane? She’s a compelling mess, but her self-righteous tangents about truth and justice made me roll my eyes so hard I saw my brain. Plus, the sleuth crew’s antics sometimes feel like a true crime podcast gone rogue—entertaining, sure, but I couldn’t shake the sense that Winstead was winking at me through the pages, daring me to call her out.

Still, I can’t deny the pull. I devoured this thing (once it deviated from reality) like it was a bag of sour gummies, even if I winced at the aftertaste. It’s a love letter to true crime junkies, a middle finger to armchair ethics, and a therapy session for Winstead’s grief all rolled into one.

Alright, here’s my two-star take. Don't come for me, this is the first and only book I've read by this author and I am very underwhelmed. 

I dove into with the kind of enthusiasm I usually reserve for a late-night taco run, only to find myself picking at the literary equivalent of a soggy tortilla. Night ruiner. Let’s get into it.

Enigma promised dark academia, secret societies, and a rivals-to-lovers arc, I was ready to read the hell out of it and call it my personality for a week. Instead, I got a slow burn that felt more like a candle someone that's been run down to the bottom of the jar, flickering weakly when you light it before giving up entirely seconds later. 

Salem Salazar is a death-obsessed legacy student (as a mortician, this should've been my bread and butter), rolls into Mortimer University to unravel her sister’s mysterious disappearance. Enter Cazimir van der Waal, a tattooed grump with secrets thicker than your grandma's gravy. Sounds delicious, right? Except the execution left me hungry. The pacing drags like a Monday morning, and the “mystery” unfolds so methodically I had time to put on a new set of press-on's. I kept waiting for that RuNyx magic I keep hearing about—the atmospheric prose that makes you feel like you’re creeping through a foggy castle—but it was more like a community college campus tour with a bored guide who lost the script.

Salem and Caz’s chemistry? Eh, it’s there, I guess, like a sparkler that fizzles before you can write your name in the air. I wanted banter sharp enough to cut glass, but their rivalry felt more like petty bickering over the last library book than the steamy tension I’d been promised. And don’t get me started on the secret society... it’s teased like a big reveal at a party, but when the curtain drops, it's less Skulls and Bone and more  your cousin Steve in a faded bedsheet going, “Boo!” I’ve had more suspense during commercials for diarrhea drugs. 

I once stayed up all night reading a book that let me down so hard I threw it across the room (sorry, neighbor who heard the thud at 3 a.m.). While Enigma didn’t get yeeted, but it did make me sigh dramatically enough that my dog woke up to give me a sleepy, albeit judgy side-eye. The tropes—slow burn, grumpy MMC, “she can only sleep when he’s there”—should’ve been catnip, but they landed flat, like a joke you have to explain.

If you’re new to her, you should probably start with Gothikana as I should have done. This one’s for the diehards who’ll forgive a misstep because they’re already in too deep.