innamorare's Reviews (71)

Blood on Her Tongue by Johanna van Veen is an absolute gothic masterpiece that had me clutching my imaginary pearls. 

Set in the eerie, misty Netherlands of 1887, this book follows Lucy racing to her twin sister Sarah’s side as something dark and deliciously twisted takes hold of her. It’s all bog bodies, bloodlust, and sisterly devotion wrapped in haunting, lyrical prose I was eager to devour. 

I’ll admit, I picked this up because I’m a sucker for anything gothic and/or sapphic and ESPECIALLY sapphic gothic horror (although the sapphic romance is between Sarah and her husbands cousin, so it’s kinda secondary), but I stayed for the way van Veen made me feel like I was creeping through Zwartwater’s shadowy halls myself. There’s this one scene where Lucy realizes she’s got a bit of Sarah’s flesh under her nail and, in a move that’s both kinda unhinged and tender, slips it under her tongue for safekeeping. It’s so grotesque yet weirdly sweet, like a twisted love note between sisters. The tension between Lucy and Sarah is so raw and real, it’s like watching your best friend fight with her sibling at a sleepover, except, you know, with weird parasites that are reminiscent of vampires and feminist fury thrown in.

If you love a bloody good tale that’s creepy and captivating, this is your next read. 

A 3.5 star Recipe for Intrigue with a Pinch of Overcooked Drama

Let me start with a confession: I picked up The Dead Husband Cookbook expecting a quirky blend of culinary chaos and dark humor... something akin to a Sweeney Todd pie with a side of sass. What I got instead was a simmering pot of mystery, seasoned with a celebrity chef’s flair and a dash of “did she or didn’t she?” intrigue. Danielle Valentine’s latest dish, set to hit shelves soon (I snagged an early copy through netgalley—thanks!), is a curious concoction that left me both satisfied and slightly peckish for something more.

The book centers on Maria Capello, a celebrity chef who’s less Gordon Ramsay or Martha Stewart and more Hannibal Lector and Shauna Shipman. She’s built an empire of cookbooks, TV shows, and supermarket sauces, all while keeping mum about the mysterious disappearance of her famous chef husband, Damien, thirty years ago. Now, Maria’s ready to spill the beans—or so she claims—by penning her memoirs. But here’s the twist: she snubs the big publishers and their seven-figure offers, opting instead for a small press with a disgraced editor on the verve of being fired. Why? That’s the question that hooked me, like the smell of garlic sizzling in a pan.

The narrative unfolds like a well-plated dish: visually appealing, with layers of flavor that reveal themselves bite by bite. We get scenes of Maria in her Italian-style kitchen, whipping up recipes that sound delectable and made me hungry at nine in the morning for creamy risottos and herb-crusted lamb—while flashbacks hint at darker times with Damien.

So why only 3.5 stars? Well, the mystery, while tasty, sometimes feels overcooked. And the big reveal—without spoiling it—left me thinking, “Huh, I saw that coming from the appetizer course.” It’s not a dealbreaker, but I wanted a twist that’d make me drop my fork, not just nod politely.

Still, there’s charm here. I could picture Maria in my kitchen, rolling her eyes at my sad knife skills while regaling me with tales of Damien’s ego. It’s a book for those who love a good whodunit with a side of cannibalism.

Would I recommend it? Sure, especially if you’re the type who’d binge Hannibal and think his dishes look tasty. The Dead Husband Cookbook isn’t a five-star feast, but it’s a solid 3.5... tasty, entertaining, and worth a nibble. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a tart to bake.

I’m curled up with my tea, ready to escape into a cursed Italian palace with a deadly game of hide-and-seek and a shadow daddy named Rowin Silver who’s basically a walking “touch her and die” trope. Kaylie Smith knows how to hook a girl—give me a feisty heroine like Genevieve Grimm, a labyrinth of marble and thorns, and a fake marriage trope, and I’m SOLD. Hook, line, and sinker. I mean, the tension when Rowin and Vivi have to pretend they’re in love? Chef’s kiss. I giggled when he grumbled his way into detangling her hair... grumpy shadow boy secretly soft? Yes, please!

The vibes are lush with masquerades, piranhas (yes, really!), and a dysfunctional family I’d RSVP a “disrespectfully, f-k no” to for Thanksgiving. The romance had me fanning myself; it’s spicier than my last attempt at cooking Cajun jambalaya, and I’m here for it. Rowin’s tattoos and piercings? I'd risk it all for that wraith. And Vivi’s not just a damsel: she’s got sass and curves, and willing to LITERALLY bite someone in the ass (and yes, I DO mean LITERALLY).

The hide and seek trials started strong, but by round three, I was like, “Another chase? Okay, cool, I guess.” The pacing felt like a hospitals wifi: zippy, then buffering. And while I adored the Silver siblings’ chaos and birthday shenanigans that involved stabbing their father (again, literally)—in the back. I wanted more depth to their backstories. Give me the juicy drama! It’s not a flop by any means, just a little unpolished.

Overall, I enjoyed it. Enchantra is a flirty, gothic romp that’ll make your heart race and your inner fangirl squeal for a new shadow daddy book boyfriend.

How do I even describe this book? It feels like that friend we all have who promises a wild night out but then spends half the evening texting someone else instead of fully committing to the party. 

The story follows Erin Harper, a freelance writer on a mission to unravel the mystery of her brother’s disappearance in the shadowy Mt. Hood National Forest. Wagner sets the stage beautifully with the description’s of damp moss, glowing fungi, and a creeping sense that the trees might just swallow you whole. 

Erin’s quest takes a turn when she finds a body in a creek, only for it to vanish from the morgue like a magician’s assistant, leaving behind fingerprints at a murder scene. Is it a serial killer? Alien spores? The forest itself? 

And while the mystery keeps you guessing, the resolution left me scratching my head, wondering if I’d missed a trail marker. I won’t spoil, but sometimes I was like, “what?” and also “who is this again?” Because it felt like there were 20 characters that are just Count Olaf in a different costume. 

Suzanne Collins deserves all the stars in the Panem sky. Five out of five, no question! I devoured this book like it was a Capitol feast, and let me tell you, it’s a heart-pounding, tear-jerking masterpiece. 

Haymitch Abernathy, our grumpy, whiskey-soaked hero, FINALLY gets his moment in the spotlight, and I am loving it. Young Haymitch is everything: witty, scrappy, and a rapscallion, even when he’s knee-deep in Quarter Quell chaos.

This book is a love letter to Haymitch stans (hi, me!) and a brutal reminder of why we fell for this dystopia in the first place. It’s sharp, it’s emotional, and it’s got that spark of rebellion that makes me want to dye my hair red and storm something. Collin’s also doesn’t let you rest for A MOMENT. Bam, death. Bam, next death. Everyone you rooting for inevitably dies horribly. You knew it’d happen, of course, but damn if it doesn’t hurt. If you’re not screaming obscenities at Snow by the end, check your pulse. I need the movie, like, yesterday!

*pokes Suzanne* Johanna Mason next, please. 

First off, the premise is *chef’s kiss*: two sisters, both accused of murdering their dad, and only one can be guilty. The catch? They’re pointing fingers at each other like it’s a dramatic Thanksgiving showdown. 

Eddie Flynn is our slick lawyer hero who’s got more charm than a high school crush (you know, the one with the motorcycle and the bad decisions). Cavanagh hooks you right in with this twisted “she did it—no, SHE did it” vibe.

Sometimes the plot twists felt like Cavanagh was trying to juggle too many knives, and one or two clattered to the floor. I adore a good shock, but a couple left me squinting like, “Wait, what now?” And the sisters? Fierce, yes, but I wanted to crawl inside their heads a teensy bit more. 

Still, I’d recommend Fifty Fifty to anyone who loves a thriller with brains and a dash of pizzazz.

Crown of Serpents is an exciting retelling of the Perseus and Medusa myth, with a twist that focuses on female rage and adventure, and focuses on Medusa as a person rather than another boring hero who slays the evil Gorgon (lets admit it, Greek mythology loves to recycle the same plots where a woman can only be a victim in need of saving or a monster in need of slaying). 

Medusa’s character shines with complexity, her motivations layered with a depth that makes her both formidable and sympathetic. 

Reed’s retelling is engaging, especially for fans of Greek mythology who enjoy alternate perspectives. 
While some parts felt a bit rushed and predictable, it was a compelling read that will keep me hooked until the end. If you like mythology with strong female leads and action-packed plots, this book is definitely worth checking out.

Two brilliantly written stories, seemingly unrelated timelines, until the two worlds collide. 

Each time the book went to the different narrative, I was almost frustrated because it was left on such a cliffhanger. I HAD to know more!! The perfect combination of love, hate, empathy, and disdain for the characters. Audible gasps many times throughout the stories. 

The twists were twisty, there was dark, there was light, there was suspense, and everything you’d hope to see in a thriller. Just when I began to ask myself how the stories lined up, *boom* in my face.

Nearly thirty and right back in the same town and teaching at the same high school, Ren Taylor comes head to head with the trauma of her sisters untimely death. When she observes another young girl ABC an all-too open teacher, she knows history is doomed to repeat itself. Not on her watch. Ren refuses to stand by and let another young life be cut short.

The book promised me a haunting ride through a small town dripping with secrets, and I’ll give it this: it delivered on the eerie vibes. Ren’s paranoia is palpable, and I found myself nodding along as she spiraled, because who hasn’t had a moment of thinking the shadows are out to get them? The small-town setting, where everyone knows your tragedy and still brings it up at the grocery store, felt all too real.

But here’s where the wheels wobble. The pacing is like a car with a shaky transmission… sometimes it cruises, sometimes it stalls. I was invested in Ren’s quest to protect a student from the charming-but-suspicious physics teacher, but the plot took detours that left me tapping my foot. There’s a lot of brooding and reminiscing, which I get, trauma’s messy, but it felt like Ren was stuck in a loop of “woe is me” 

The supporting cast didn’t quite stick with me; they flitted in and out like guests at a party I wasn’t cool enough to join. I wanted more meat on their bones, something to make me care beyond Ren’s orbit.

And the ending… THE ENDING. Without spoiling it, let’s just say it’s like when your GPS says “you’ve arrived” but you’re staring at a barren field instead of the garage sale you were promised. It tied up some threads, but left others dangling in a way that felt less intentional and more “oops, out of pages.” I flipped back, wondering if I’d missed something. 

So, three stars. Didn’t love it, didn’t hate it. 

The Bewitching weaves together three stories spanning a century, all connected. In 1908, young Alba is living on a struggling farm with her nugget and siblings in rural Mexico after the death of her father; Beatrice Tremblay is a young queer woman in 1934 recounting the story of her vanished friend and unrequited first love Virginia from their small college in Massachusetts; and lastly Minvera, the great-granddaughter of Alba in 1998, attending at the same college as Beatrice. As Minerva researches the life and works of horror novelist Beatrice, three timelines divulge as each of the women encounter strange occurrences and experience supernatural horrors... Witchcraft.

Moreno-Garcia has this magical way of blending the eerie and the enchanting that makes you feel like you’re sipping tea with a witchy aunt who’s spilling all the best family secrets. I rooted for her as she unraveled the mystery of her family’s past, all while dodging danger. 

I could practically smell the damp earth and hear the rustle of leaves in the creepy, gorgeous Mexican countryside she paints so vividly. Moreno-Garcia sneaks in these clever little nods to folklore and history. I enjoyed all the timelines and how they weaved together.