This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

Well, after reading and LOVING The Kiss Quotient last year, it was basically a no brainer that I was going to pick up The Bride Test. I don’t really have anything else to say in this little intro, except that for sure Hoang is an auto-buy romance author for me!

This novel focuses on Khai, a side-character from The Kiss Quotient that we meet very much in passing, but is the cousin of the male protagonist, Michael. Anyways, Khai is on the Autism spectrum, but that’s not really a diagnosis recognized by his Vietnamese family. Plus, since he’s been successful in his work life and always “toed the line,” if you will, everyone just assumes he’s fine and just…distant? But his mother thinks it’s time he found a wife and started a family, and since his routines are set and he’s comfortable and unlikely to find one himself, she steps in. Traveling to Vietnam to interview potential candidates, she brings back Esme, a mixed-race girl living in the slums and raising her daughter as a single-parent by cleaning bathrooms in a fancy hotel. Khai’s mother offers to pay her way to the US for a few months to give Esme a chance to meet and make her son fall in love with her. With her daughter’s future and the opportunity to perhaps find her birth father in mind, Esme decides to take a chance and go for it. But even though she immediately recognizes Khai’s good heart, and starts to fall for her, she must fight to help him recognize that despite what he’s always believed, he does have feelings and he can fall in love with her too.

Well, Hoang does it again, writing a sexy and heartfelt and tender romance. Again, she writes a main character on the spectrum, this time the male protagonist, with such genuine insight. Based at least in part on her own experience on the spectrum, is something unique and too rare in publishing, both in general and, especially, in the romance genre. Hoang makes it so easy to connect with an emotional experience that is so different from my own and I appreciate that expanding of my…understanding…more than I can say. In this case too, I loved the authenticity of Esme’s character as well. I read the afterward she wrote, about basically rewriting Esme after a first draft, to make her feelings, efforts, struggles, and goals to align with her own mothers’ after she immigrated to America. Honestly, you can feel that truth in every action and thought Esme has, in both her feelings of inadequacy and her inner integrity that allow her to persevere despite that. I don’t know what Emse was like before the rewrite, but I love what she ended up being. Showing her inner insecurities juxtaposed against her outer conduct was gorgeous in its quiet strength.

Regarding the plot, I really enjoyed the general story-line, as well as many of the side-plots. Where in the first novel, Michael struggles with his mother’s illness and the many costs of that, in this case, our side-plot is focused on Esme’s academic goals and her efforts to create a life that she can be proud of, to become a person that can make a difference. In both cases, I love what those storylines show us about the types of people the main characters are, and they add great depth to the basic “romance” piece. However, I would be remiss in overlooking the steamy side of things that was great as well. A little bit less than there was in the first one, for sure, but still quite hot, and with its own set of funny challenges and character-building moments. It was great to see Michael and Stella have a little cameo; I love those little touches in spin-off romance series like this. And all the little details that were so perfectly interwoven into the rest of the story really got me, like Khai explaining to Esme how to cut his hair and Esme’s water glasses and fish sauce cooking smells. Honestly, those small things are the parts the really make the story feel real, for me. And they’re also the pieces that really illustrate Hoang’s understanding of her characters, their personalities and backgrounds. Plus, the way she uses their cultural and experiential differences both to bring them together and push them apart is done so smoothly, adorably, and frustratingly (in a good way, when the plot calls for it).

The biggest issue I had with this novel, is the amount of manipulation Khai experiences. Now, I understand the original premise fine, and am ok with the idea of his mother trying to find him a wife, especially when viewed through a lens cultural appropriateness. However, I struggled a bit with some of the details, like the “expiration date” on Esme’s time in the country. I get that the original deal was made so that Khai was happy, knowing that Esme would leave if he wasn’t happy. But once that changed, and they clearly had an emotional connection, I didn’t get why the timeline couldn’t be extended to give them more time to grow in a natural and reasonable way. Along the same lines, Quan (Khai’s brother), but for the most part a fantastic ally, but I wonder at the way he handled the ending. And I’m not totally sure that rushing into things with Esme the way he did, to “help” Khai realize his own feelings for Esme were genuine, was entirely warranted on such a dramatic level. It seemed like he took things a step too far. For someone on the spectrum, Khai was dealing with a lot of emotional and routine changes in a short period of time and I felt like he was doing great, would probably have gotten there on his own at a more comfortable speed, and maybe didn’t need quite that exaggerated of a push. I don’t know, I felt a little uncomfortable about it. But maybe that’s just me…

Overall though, I thought this set-up was a really fun one to read and I was definitely rooting for Khai and Esme – they were truly adorable with/for each other. Hoang has proven to be an adept and compassionate writer of romance, with a skill for sex scenes that adds the extra pop I love in a contemporary romance. I totally recommend this as a quick (I literally read it in less than 24 hours – couldn’t put it down) and satisfying romance.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

Alright, you know how sometimes your brain does weird things and gets you all confused? Well, that happened to me with this book so hard. When I first read a description of it, I was like, “Yes! This sounds amazing and I want to read it!” And then, somehow, I got this book and The Marsh King’s Daughter mixed up. So I knew I wanted to read the book, or I thought I did, but every time I considered it, I looked up The Marsh King’s Daughter, which I’m sure is a wonderful book, but thriller/suspense is not really my genre, and I could not for the life of me figure out why I wanted to read it in the first place! This book-brain-scramble has been going on for at least 2 years now and I actively can think of 3 different instances where I made this mistake! Haha. Anyways, I finallyyyyyy got this figured out when I was browsing what audiobook to listen to next on my Hoopla app and this (correct) title popped up and I was like “Wait? What? OMG I AM KINDA DUMB!” And immediately checked it out and downloaded it, because I felt like I owed it to this poor overlooked book to read it as soon as possible.

This is an historical fiction piece about the beginning of Norway. Young Harald is a Norse warrior whose to unite mother has had a vision that he will be the first King to unite all of Norway’s fighting factions and lesser kings/jarls (lords) into a single country. (Crazy cool side note, the author can trace her own family’s lineage back to this Harald – how awesome is that?!) Anyways, our main characters are brother and sister Ragnvald and Svanhild, everyday “players” in this greater story, but holding positions with enough connections to make them fascinating narrators of the events, as seen from both the inside and from an observer’s perspective. Ragnvald is a Norse warrior who has dueling goals of retaking his family’s land from his stepfather, Olaf, while Svanhild wants to be able to make her own choices as far as husband and lifestyle, which is not common for women of the time period. When Ragnvald has a vision that changes his life’s course by making him one of Harald’s followers, while Svanhild makes a difficult decision to “escape” her life into the arms of Solvi, Ragnvald’s sworn enemy, their stories and fates intertwine with the important events that shape the course of Norway’s history and formation.

Wow. This is historical fiction at it’s best, in my opinion. I was immediately drawn into the story by the depth of historical detail Hartsuyker infuses onto every page. It’s so very clear that she’s done her research on the time period, because the day to day action, from trade to war to farming to family matters, the belief systems and celebrations, the importance of honor/role and the way that affects interpersonal interactions, the system of seasonal raiding, the system of swearing loyalty to the small kings/jarls, and all the rest of highlighted traditions and occurrences was so thorough. I was fascinated by the dynamics between and among all the players in this tale, the subtle shifts of power and the politics of every interaction. It was intricate and intense and rendered in such a comprehensible way, which I’m sure was a challenge for the author, who had to take many years of history, many more historical figures, and myriad sources and compile it all into an understandable and incredibly palatable tale for public consumption. A challenge she met squarely, at least in my opinion.

I know one of the biggest complaints that I’ve seen in reviews is in regards to the pacing of the story. And I get that. The description of the novel makes it sound like it’s all big battles and high drama. And there is that, at times…but I also can see how people might be expecting more of it than there actually was. (Thanks, Game of Thrones, for making every actual historical tale seem “boring” in the wake of your never-ending and slightly ridiculous levels of drama.) So be prepared for this novel to not be a roller coaster of violence and incest and back-stabbing and rape (though do be prepared for at least a little bit of all of that). But overall, no, this is more of a (dare I say?) period piece. The setting and the culture share center stage. While of course Harald’s rise to power, and the excitement of Ragnvald and Svanhild’s lives, are focal and vividly realistic and shape the story-telling of the book, it’s more than just a pedal-to-the-metal novel of plot. And personally, I loved that. I felt like I truly learned about the beauty and richness and history of Norway, while also being entertained. (instead of only being entertained). That’s a case of individual preference, which is why I’m “warning” about it here, but for me, it really worked.*As a small side-note, the audiobook narrator does a great job, though his voice is very soothing, so don’t listen to this one when you’re tired because he’ll lull you right to sleep.

Character-wise, I felt like they were all written true to the time period, which is all one could ask for, truly. But their greater goals and honor sort of obscure the people they are underneath. As time went by, I started to get a feeling for each of the main players a little, but they are still very much pawns to the greater story/time/place than anything else. I felt like it was ok, given the context, but if you are in great characters development/arcs, be aware that this book may not be that. Relatedly, I'd like to say that I did love Svanhild, even though she was more of an archtype than anything else (again, reasonable in the context, this is and reads like a long version of an old-school spoken epic, so that fits), because I can always get behind a strong-willed, action-based female character, especially one that still shows signs of humanity, like crying or being unsure. Get it, Svanhild!

I just found out that this novel is the first in a longer series, the most recent of which was just published, and I’m now very excited. For one, this one ended in a very wonderful way (no heart-stopping cliff-hangers, thank goodness), but there is definitely more to the story! Not-really-spoiler-alert, Harald is not yet king of all Norway by the end, haha, so we know there has to be more. I’m content with where it was left for now, and I’m going to read some other books in the meantime, but I also know that I’ll be back to read the rest of the series in time. I really enjoyed this chance to learn about a place and time that I had known little about (other than a few random pieces of information from my partner, who is very into Viking culture) and want more.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

So, this is is a little bit of a slant, but this was the book I chose to read for the September Just One More Pa(i)ge Reading Challenge. The prompt was to read a book by an immigrant or refugee, in recognition of Constitution and Citizenship day on Sept 17th. Now technically Mirza herself is not an immigrant or refugee, but one of her parents is, and the book is about a family in which the parents are immigrants and the children are first generation American. So, since it’s my own challenge, I’m going to rule to allow it. Haha. But seriously, I’ve been wanting to read this since it got tons of positive reviews as a debut last year. And I took this chance to finally pick it up.

As I already alluded to, this is the story of a family. It opens at Hadia’s wedding, the oldest child, who, though she has always done everything to meet her parents’ expectations, is celebrating a love match marriage with a man who is not of the same Islamic sect. Hadia invited her younger brother, Amar, to the wedding…and he came, despite years of estrangement, because he’d been close to Hadia in their youth. Also present is Huda, the middle child, attempting to move everything forward smoothly amongst the family members. And last, we have Layla and Rafiq, trying to hold onto this one night with all their children finally back in one place together. As the night progresses, Mirza moves back and forth in time to show us the way the family’s paths unfolded over the years, the actions and interactions that lead to this evening, this moment in time, and how it has and will affect their lives for years to come.

This was a phenomenally deep, emotional and profound exploration of a family – the juxtaposition of cultural and familial expectations with being exposed to different cultures and expectations of a new country and the way that affects each child, each member, of the family differently was done with such genuineness and rawness. To take this a slight step further, the specific way that religion affects each is developed with both an impartial perception and a tender understanding, and it’s woven smoothly into every part of the narrative in a way that is both omnipresent and yet not overstated. I feel like I really learned a lot about the role of religion in this context, an immigrant/first generation Muslim family, and the insight is something that I really appreciate. And just…the way that religion and the religious and cultural expectations differently affected each family member, in ways that are so unique to themselves and foreign to each other, yet all stemming from the same source. Really fascinating and so well written.

Another aspect of this novel that I just loved, actually perhaps the part I loved the most, was the way the relationships amongst the siblings was written. It felt so truthful and authentic in the ways they both support and minimize each other, and, as the oldest daughter of three kids, I felt like I recognized so much. So much about Hadia’s motivations and actions and personality is an exact match for mine. And her relationship with the youngest, her brother Amar, is one that spoke deeply to my heart (taking into account their closeness, what she would do for/forgive in him and, very on point to the main “drama” of the novel, the mental health and substance use issues he faces and the role she plays for her family there). Seriously, there were a few moments while reading this novel that I had to take a short break and do some breathing exercises – I cannot think of another book I’ve read that was this familiar to me. And I think that speaks so strongly to the universality of humanity and the human experience, as opposed to the self-imposed divisions we place on ourselves from race and religion and sexuality and whatever else we can think of to separate ourselves out. And this carried over into the experiences and feelings of the parents, which is obviously not my personal experience, but in reading the last section, from Rafiq’s POV, I really found myself opening up in understanding to his perspective, much more than I expected I would. And truly, I ended this book in tears. It was Just. That. Affecting.

At base, this book is a portrait, a heart-rending portrayal of a family, of faith, of miscommunicated beliefs and expectations and the moments lost that are unrecognized until its too late. And it’s a profound look at how, no matter the situation, there are so many sides/factors that there is never one moment that could have changed the outcome, yet despite the shared grief at the outcome(s), the blame is always silently personally felt/borne. There was so much emotion in me throughout this novel. My feelings around the opportunities and relationships lost and broken beyond repair, even with shared regret and wish to overcome, were just so heavy. I completely agree with all the amazing reviews this debut garnered. It was full of grace, compassion and gorgeous sorrow - truly wonderful.

“To know you is to want to let you in.”

“…there was no real way to quantify the goodness of a person – that religion gave templates and guidelines but there were ways it missed the mark entirely.”

“What was it about an apology that was so difficult? It always felt like it cost something personal and precious. Only now that she was a mother was she so aware of this: the stubbornness and pride that came with being human, the desire to be loyal and generous that came too, each impulse at odds with the other.”

“Back then, Layla remembered thinking that humiliation was a deeper wound than heartache. She had wanted to protect them all from it. Now, […] she knew better. Knew that it did not matter what anyone thought if her own heart was not at peace. Only after her worst fears were confirmed did she realize there had been no use in letting her fears determine her decisions. She was finally free of them.”

“But I did fight. I tried to leave every human I have interacted with better than or the same as when I encountered them....It was the way I wanted to move through the world....That was my fight: to continue to do little things for people around me, so no one would find fault in my demeanor and misattribute it to my religion.”

“Her reflection. Her tired face. She touches her dry bottom lip and thinks of how odd it is to experience a secret loss. A loss without a name. The loss of a potential version of her life. Of what she never had, and now never will.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

“Don’t be patient. Don’t ever be. This is the way a new world begins.”

Here we are, the finale of this absolutely stunning, award-winning, post-apocalyptic trilogy. I started it over a year ago now, with The Fifth Season. And then read the second book, The Obelisk Gate just a month or two ago. This story is so wonderfully profound and evocative, it’s one that I wanted to speed through to see how it all unfolded, but I held back. I just knew that, to fully appreciate it, I needed to give it time…to read it slowly so that I could fully absorb everything. And that was totally the right way to read this series, at least for me. And now that it’s over, I’m both super satisfied and also wishing the series was twice as long.

In this final installment of The Broken Earth trilogy, Essun is coming to terms with her new existence, as part of a homeless comm (after her actions to save the lives of Castrima’s people at the end of book two) and as the heir to Alabaster’s great power and, thus, his mission to save the world by rescuing the moon. At the other end of the world, we have Nassun, Essun’s daughter, who is struggling in her own right to come to terms with what she did to her father and how to move forward and live in a world that has shown her only cruelty. Both mother and daughter have the power to control the Obelisk Gate, but with one whose goal is to bring back the moon and save the world, while the other’s goal is to destroy humanity and bring the world back to “equal” with a fresh start, the Earth’s fate rests in the hands of these two women.

Well, yet again Jemisin’s perfectly deliberate and measured pacing takes center stage in her story-telling. It’s just so impressive that, though the fate of the entirety of humanity, of stone-eaters and of the Earth, are all balanced on the knife’s edge between Essun and Nassun, she is able to keep the development of events both personal in scope and cosmically large in effect. The tension is palpable on every page, and yet I never felt rushed towards the end, as I have with so many finales. The transition of this novel to focus in on mother and daughter, the way that their past and current relationships, with each other and otherwise, are what will decide the ending, is masterfully handled. The transition from macro to micro, and how the micro can affect the macro, could have been too jarring, but Jemisin executes is so smoothly. It’s such an intense pressure to put on just two characters, to put on a single relationship, not just as far as how the they individually handle things (especially since Nassun is only about 11 years old), but also to shift the entire story in a way that never makes the gravity of the situation feel minimized by it coming down to, in this last piece, the actions/decisions of just two women. In fact, it’s a beautiful testament to the power of love, the power of showing (and acting on) your true feelings, and the power of how just one person’s actions can, truly, make a difference on a scale large enough to affect the whole world. Finally, and let me try to do this without spoilers, I love the way this ended. The way Jemisin was able to provide a path to legitimate redemption for both Essun and Nassun, and for the Earth as well, was just…gut-wrenchingly right. Like I said, I could not be more satisfied with the ending. I just…I just want more because this world is so real for me now and I’m not ready to say goodbye. As a side-note to the ending, we also find out whose “voice” is telling this story, and why, which helped clarify for me the POVs used (as there were many, and ones like second person that aren’t often used, and sometimes it got confusing). I found that particularly helpful as I looked back on the story as a whole and saw everything shift into place. It was a gratifying feeling.

In addition to the story-telling greatness, I have found that each book has had one greater message/theme that stood out to me. I mean, there are many all throughout, as Jemisin is a master of combining the magical with our own reality in a way that provides insight into the dark sides of humanity in a uniquely horrible way (though, not to alarm any potential readers, she does this for the good parts of life too). But there’s always on particular piece that stands out. For me, in this final installment, I really picked up on the focus she put on how those who are “necessary” for building and protecting society are not revered, as they should be, but used and mistreated. In these books, it’s the orogenes, and their ancestors the Niess and those who became what we now know as stone eaters (i.e. Hoa). And as Jemisin dives into the history of these people, the way their usefulness was abused, the corruptive affect of power/magic, and the way the Seasons began when the Moon was first stolen from the Earth (side note here: I loved learning all this background!), it’s impossible not to see the messages about the way people have taken advantage of each other to get ahead. There are the ways conquerors exert control over their conquests, and the ways the powerful use those with less power, and a call-out of all the ways unsung peoples have built and protected grand worlds that they’ve never been allowed access to all across actual history. The lessons are clear, profound and important. I especially love the themes of the “notes” at the end of each chapter – there as they have been in all previous books – yet with a new/single-minded focus: to point out the myriad examples of how orgenes (and the wronged peoples of the real word that they represent) are not the danger to society that they’ve been misjudged/mislabeled as forever. And yet…and yet…when given the chance to save or destroy it all, what do these oppressed and ill-treated peoples do (eventually)? Despite everything, Jemisin’s writing exemplifies, as I’ve mentioned, the power of love, and the hope it fuels for a better future. This trilogy ends with such a magnificently engineered chance at a new beginning, a chance to reset with decency and equality. And that, too, is a message of hope to all readers.

Ugh, it’s impossible to write short reviews for these books. There’s just so much to them and I want to mention all the things I love and dissect everything I just experienced and convince everyone else of Jemisin’s genius so you go read them yourself! So yea, if you stuck through this review all the way until the end, my bottom line is: go read this trilogy – it’s mind-blowing!

“No need for guards when you can convince people to collaborate in their own imprisonment.”

“When a comm builds atop a fault line, do you blame its walls when they inevitably crush the people inside? No; you blame whoever was stupid enough to think they could defy the law of nature forever. Well, some worlds are built on a fault line of pain, held up by nightmares. Don’t lament when those worlds fall. Rage that they were built doomed in the first place.”

“…you speak as though it’s an easy thing to ask people to overcome their fears, little one.”

“…because you are essential, you cannot be permitted to have a choice....”

“You must understand that fear is at the root of such things. […] but every group is different from others. Differences alone are never enough to cause problems. […] But there are none so frightened, or so strange in their fear, as conquerors. They conjure phantoms endlessly, terrified that their victims will someday do back what was done to them – even if, in truth, their victims couldn’t care less about such pettiness and have moved on. Conquerors live in dread of the day when they are shown to be, not superior, but simply lucky.”

“This […] made them not the same kind of human as everyone else. Eventually: not as human as everyone else. Finally: not human at all.”

“How can we prepare for the future if we won’t acknowledge the past?”

“…that does not mean…that something is impossible just because it is very, very hard.”

“But that’s no different than what mothers have had to do since the dawn of time: sacrifice the present, in hopes of a better future.”

“‘I think […] that if you love someone, you don’t get to choose how they love you back.’”

“But sometimes, when the world is hard, love must be harder still.”

“‘Because that is how one survives eternity […] or even a few years. Friends. Family. Moving with them. Moving forward.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I read this more years ago than I’d like to admit, in a Spanish class at some point. Having taken Spanish from middle school all the way through majoring in it in college, I cannot remember exactly when. I any case, many years have passed and, since I first read it in Spanish (not my first language), it was really interesting for my reread to be in English. And I appreciate the chance this book club choice (chosen in honor of Hispanic Heritage Month here in the US) has allowed me to revisit a classic.

Like Water for Chocolate tells the story of Tita, a woman living in Mexico at the turn of the century. As a young girl she spends most of her time in the kitchen and develops into quite a skillful cook. When she first meets Pedro, they know from the first look that they have a love unlike any other, a passion that time cannot dampen. Which turns out to be very good, because between Tita’s mother not allowing her to get married and many years of intervening drama and separation, it is many, many years before Pedro and Tita finally have a chance at truly being together.

Told through a journal-like format, each entry with its own recipe that guides us through Tita’s life and experiences, as well as many other home remedies and quite a bit of romance, this is an incredibly mystical love story. I have to say, and to be fair I don’t remember well enough to know if the original is like this as well, the flow of the story was quite choppy. The language was simple and straightforward, which is fine, but there were jumps in time (sometimes days, sometimes years) with no notes of indications to help the reader navigate that, which was a bit confusing at times. Also, just in general, I felt that the writing itself could be smoother. I read that the author began as a screenwriter and that totally makes sense to me. This novel has the feel of a screenplay, jumping from important bit to important bit, without a lot of explanation or elaboration – just the bare minimum. It was definitely a stylistic choice, and not an issue with the editing, or even the translation, I wouldn’t think. And that’s fine, but I am not sure it was my favorite style. The only exception to that was with the recipes. Throughout each “chapter,” the recipe in focus, and very specific instructions for it, was described in depth. It was a unique and charming story-telling technique.

As for the plot and characters, this was a very fairy-tale like novel, meaning that action sort of took center stage and character development was a bit secondary. However, that worked out alright because the magical realism the story was told with was really the highlight anyways. Tita’s skill in the kitchen turns into a much greater power after her emotions take on such great strength after her first meeting with, and subsequent dramatic separations from and reunions with, Pedro. It was so fun and endearing to read how her sadness while cooking one meal made everyone sick, while her passion during another cooking session drove her sister to run around naked and basically go on a sex-binge. In fact, here might also be a great place to note that there is a lot of sex in this book. Both as far as how much it happens to how openly it’s discussed and how central a role it takes in the stories of these characters. Overall, the drama and the romance of this novel were really a fascinating mix of telenovela and traditional magical realism. I was definitely into that vibe. Yet with the straightforward writing style and language Esquivel uses, nothing seems abnormal; the good and the bad, however phenomenal, are just taken in stride by all characters. The casualness of this magical realism really leant to the “fairy tale” feel of the novel and was also something I really enjoyed. And the recipes all sounded so good that I’m definitely planning to look up some (easier) versions of them to try at home!

Altogether, this was truly a delightful read. Even the difficult, violent or emotional parts are swept in with the rest and told in a way that isn’t overly affecting (think like the original Grimm’s fairy tales – kind of horrible, really, and enlightening about the issues of the time and place, yet the “reality” of the story is too compromise by magic to be able to be taken too seriously). Entertaining and fast, this was a great reread for me.

“Those huge stars have lasted for millions of years by taking care never to absorb any of the fiery rays lovers send up at them night after night. To avoid that, the star generates so much inside itself that it shatters the rays into a thousand pieces. Any look it receives is immediately repulsed, reflected back onto the earth, like a trick done with mirrors. That is the reason the stars shine so brightly at night.”

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves; we need oxygen and a candle to help. In this case, the oxygen for example, would come from the breath of the person you love; the candle would be any kind of food, music, caress, word, or sound that engenders the explosion that lights one of the matches. For a moment we are dazzled by an intense emotion. A pleasant warmth grows within us, fading slowly as time goes by, until a new explosion comes along to revive it. Each person has to discover what will set off those explosions in order to live, since the combustion that occurs when one of them is ignited is what nourishes the soul. That fire, in short, is its food. If one doesn't find out in time what will set off these explosions, the box of matches dampens, and not a single match will ever be lighted.”

“Life has taught her that it was not that easy; there are few prepared to fulfill their desires whatever the cost, and the right to determine the course of one’s own life would take more effort that she had imagined.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I’ve wanted to read something by Anna-Marie McLemore for awhile now. I love magical realism and all her stories sound so wonderful. Over the years, the book I wanted to start with changed, but the wanting never did. And this Hispanic Heritage Month seemed like the perfect time to finally pick one up. Why this one? I can’t give you a reason, to be honest, but I guess the description called out to my current feels enough to make it the one.

Miel and Sam are best friends, and, as they’re getting older, perhaps more than that. But they’re both a bit…odd…too. Roses grow out of Miel’s wrist and Sam has his own secrets. There are many other magical things about their lives as well, like Miel’s sister, who can cure lovesickness, and Sam’s hobby of painting and hanging moons all over town. And then there are the Bonner sisters, four sisters who have the run of the town, get everything they want, are known as witches. When the sisters decide they want Miel’s roses, they use all their power, prying into the secrets Miel and Sam keep, to get them. But Miel is stronger than they know and will not give up that part of her easily, nor will she stand down in protecting those she loves, no matter what it costs her.

Wow – the language in this novel is simply breathtaking. It’s the perfect magical fairy tale language, sweeping and lyrical and everything you want from a story of magical realism. The literal and figureative color throughout is just lovely. With that in mind, this is also not a fast book, but rather one in which every line is written to be savored, and must be read with the appropriate deliberateness. So, just make sure that’s the type of mood you’re in before you pick it up. I wasn’t quite there, so I objectively recognize the beauty, but didn’t quite feel it 100% of the time.

The story itself is just a gorgeous as the writing. There are so many beautiful and important messages woven into the meat of this story. McLemore does a wonderful job showing how you don’t have to deal with everything on your own, the value in letting people in, even if they cannot do anything but be there for/with you, lessons in how exactly to do that, and the comfort that comes from knowing love and acceptance. Past that, the exploration of the difficulties and wonders of coming of age, coming of identity, and coming of…love (I guess that’s a way to say it), are all so smoothly interlaced. It’s clear that there is so much feeling on every page and, after reading the afterward, I totally understand now – the experiences on the page are such personal ones for McLemore and her husband and it shines through powerfully and poignantly. And in a way unique to fairy tales, even ones that have some dark, haunted edges like this one, heavy and difficult themes are addressed in a way that is softened by the whimsy and magic and metaphor of the telling. Though the pain is clear and real, it’s somehow…lessened; you get the full understanding without the need to fully carry it. Topics like gender transitioning, traumatic childhood events and extreme bullying (for lack of a better term), are expressed through fear of pumpkins, being trapped in a glass box in the woods, having wrist-roses stolen from you without your consent, and more. It allows fantasy to take the edge off the reality of the experiences.

Altogether, this was just a wonderfully fanciful, though never light/fluffy, tale; magical realism in top form. And the vulnerability and emotional realities of the characters shine through so strongly, as the author writes them from her personal experiences. I really enjoyed the enchanted, yet recognizable, journey McLemore took me on.

As I said, the language was exquisite – it was a struggle to narrow my pull quotes down even to this many. Enjoy them:

“He wanted to give her every light that had ever hung in the night sky.”

“Yes, they were words. They were all just words. But each of them was wrong, and they stuck to him. Each one was a golden fire ant, and they were biting his arms and his neck and his bound-flat chest, leaving him bleeding and burning.”

“The unsaid words clung to her like foil stars. She felt the light from his moons tracing them, the shadows of lunar seas leaving their outlines on her skin. She would wear this night – those words, said and unsaid – on her body. Whether the points of those stars would cut into her hinged on whether she answered what he could not say.”

“He had the gravity of the moon in the sky. He could pull on oceans and rivers. He could drag lakes across deserts. There was enough force in him to turn the river that held her to light.”

“There were apologies too heavy for their tongues. Even too heavy for any one set of their hands. So this one, they shared. They carried it together. They interlaced their fingers, her against his, and held it in their palms. They wore it on their skin. They guarded it in the breath of space between their bodies.”

“The truth slid over her skin, that if she loved him, sometimes it would mean doing nothing. It would mean being still. It would mean saying nothing, but standing close enough so he would know she was there, that she was staying.”

“She was the wild blossoms and dark sugar that spoke of what the world could be. She was the pale stars on her brown skin. She was the whole sky. …she was the girl who gave his moons somewhere to go. She was the dark amber of beechwood honey, the caramel of sourwood, and the bitter aftertaste of heather and pine. She was every shade of blue between two midnights.”

“…they would both become what they could not yet imagine, and [that] they would still be what they once were.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I’m not sure where I got this book actually, but I do know that it has been on my shelf for years. And over that time, I have seen reviews for multiple of Waters’ books and it’s generally seemed that people enjoy her writing. But I don’t know, I was just never in the mood for it. And I’m a huge mood reader, so… Anyways, I was looking for my next audiobook and this one popped up as a suggestion and the time finally seemed right.

It's the early 1920s in London, right after the end of WWI, and many families are mourning the losses they experienced during the war. In particular, the elderly-ish Mrs. Wray, lost both sons and her husband and now she and her spinster daughter, Frances, are facing a loss of financial fortune that causes them to have to take on lodgers in order to afford the upkeep of their home. The arrival of the young Lilian and Leonard Barbar shakes up the routines of Mrs. Wray and Frances in ways both small and large, expected and unexpected, and, eventually, quite devastatingly.

Let me start with the writing, because it was spectacular. Wow – can Waters create a space, a mood, an ambiance. This was such an atmospheric, slow roll, setting-heavy historical fiction, with a line of tension running through it from the very first page that, even though everything seems normal, still fills you with a sense of impending doom that’s hard to shrug off. It was a bit like reading a slow unravelling, even if that wasn’t what actually happened (though, mini spoiler, it for sure actually happened). Another thing I really enjoyed was the way Waters wrote and described the realities of female/female relationships within the socioeconomic classes represented and within the time period. I was really into both how familiar it is (because love is and always has been love), yet at the same time, how the sensibilities of the time period are infused into the everyday experiences and interactions of the women. It was a really fascinating juxtaposition - something totally new to me and completely interesting.

As far as the plot, I am not totally sure how into it I was. I loved the way the novel started – the atmosphere and build of the heat between Frances and Lilian – was tone and interpersonal melodrama at its best. However, it got a little weirdly tiresome and bogged down in the middle, at least for me. And what’s strange is that I cannot figure out what I would suggest cutting to “fix” that. I think all the characters acted and developed in realistic and necessary ways. And in fact, I liked the way that Frances and Lilian’s relationship suffered/changed under the stressors that the “tragedy” they experienced together brought them. And OMG there were so many stressors. But anyways, I don’t want to get too into that because, you know, actual spoilers. Long story short, I thought the way Waters wrote them was spot on. And the slower(ish) development of the plot, written to allow that focus on character growth to happen, was necessary. But something about it was just off, a little disappointing maybe, for me. Perhaps it was just the fact that the “event” seemed almost too contrived, it changed the feel of the story too abruptly, and not really in a way I had been looking for/needing. And it evaporated the atmospheric tension a bit too much for me. Or well, just shifted its direction really, because there was a ton of tension afterwards too. But like I said, I wasn’t really looking for a change, so it felt too hasty. However, in fairness to Waters, after that shift, she really did a great job deconstructing Frances’ mental state with all the strain she was under. And I got back into things for the most part, if not to the extent I was invested at the beginning, after that. Finally, the ending…it was kinda of…deflating. I don’t know. It was realistic, completely so, and I liked the way Frances and Lilian left off, despite/because of everything. Yet, it also almost seemed anticlimactic. Weird vibes to end on.

Overall, I think this was a really great historical fiction. I really felt the time period come alive. This novel was the most interesting combination of settings/styles that alternately recalled Rebecca, The Secret History and Downton Abbey. I’d definitely say that if you have read/watched and enjoyed any of those, you should try this book. And I also for sure will be trying something else by Waters, because the plot was my biggest gripe with this one, and that, of course, will be completely different in another of her works, but the amazing writing and ambience-building should carry over!

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I have had The Simple Wild by Tucker on my TBR for a long time now and I haven’t gotten to it. But I’ve heard so many good things about it. So, when I saw this new release by her on the library’s new book shelf, I figured that it would probably be pretty good too. (Not always sure/safe bet, but I went with it anyways.) Plus, I was really in the mood for some romance.

Piper is the heir to her father’s real estate development dynasty. And not just in the way that makes her financially secure for life, but also in that she’s poised to step into a lead position with the company after her father steps down. And she loves the work and high-power position, even though she has to deal with a whole bunch of her dad’s old cronies who don’t think she’s up to the job. But then things get super complicated when an old camp crush, in fact, her first love, suddenly shows up as a security guard at the building she works in. Piper’s never really gotten over Kyle, but she figured he had moved on. Now though, even though he’s ignoring her and pretends he doesn’t remember her, she’s convinced that it’s not just coincidence that he turned up. And perhaps he remembers (and feels) more than he’s letting on…

This was a dual-timeline story, alternating between present day (Piper and Kyle as adults) and the past (Piper and Kyle the summer they met as camp counselors), and the pacing of both timelines was spectacular. There was your typical “young love at first sight” in the camp sections, but even with that, the development of Piper and Kyle getting to know each other better was written really well – the perfect mix of fast-moving teen/summer love and connection on a deeper level. Sweet and nostalgic in perfect equal measure. And even though I never went to camp, and was a bit leery about those parts of a number of reasons (I can’t lie, I was afraid of clichés), I feel like Tucker handled it all really nicely and actually had me remembering and feeling all nostalgic about my own first loves (something that I definitely haven’t revisited in years). She also did a great job writing all about the teens risk-taking and invincibility complexes in a very realistic way, one where they acted like real “kids,” pushing boundaries but not intentionally causing harm/danger. And though it all built to some fairly major tragedy by the end, it still never went past a point of believability, which I appreciated. In the present, I was so into the maturity with which Piper and Kyle, and really most of the other adults, handled their issues and interactions. I mean yes, there was drama (and some secrets) there too – it’s not really a contemporary romance without it – but it developed naturally and without ever being over-the-top or histrionic. That was kind of refreshing, I thought, and I truly enjoyed the drama sans melodrama. Last, and always important, both past and present Kyle were respectful and healthy the way they treated Piper and there’s not much sexier than that (well, and his full sleeve tattoos – OMG swoon), if you ask me.

In general, I thought the writing was nice and smooth. And the dialogue, always a deal-maker/breaker for me, was fantastic. There were also some cute quirks, like two truths and a lie and Fun Dip bets, that were used well in both timelines and just really got me in the feels the way Tucker used them as devices. Speaking of feels, I was definitely invested in Piper and Kyle. I loved both the physical heat (there were some nice steamy sections, but nothing too crazy) and the emotional connection they had, and loved this story of their second-chance romance. There were also some other side themes, especially regarding the socioeconomic differences between Piper and Kyle, that were explored in a way that added some nice depth to the story. Of particular note here, I thought Piper’s growth in regards to her father’s expectations and protective tendencies was genuine and well-developed. He absolutely crossed some lines that should not have been crossed, but, as I mentioned earlier, the adults relationships were handled maturely enough that, though emotions were high and real, there was also legit insight into his decisions and objective-ish consideration of his “good intentions” and, in the end, a very human balance of positive and negative outcomes for all involved. No one is perfect, particularly not with the ability to see clearly in parent-child relationships, and that was shown in such an honest way here.

This was a really satisfying and engaging contemporary romance. Nothing ground-breaking, but the escapism while reading is absolutely what I was looking for. If you like any combination of second-chance romances, “good girl”/”wrong side of the tracks” nice guy relationships, and dual timeline narration, this is a for sure recommendation from me. And I’ll definitely be checking out more books by Tucker!

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I read Emezi’s debut novel, Freshwater, last year and was completely enthralled. It was unique and fascinating and like nothing I had ever read before. So I was pretty sure this was a novel I was going to read eventually no matter what the circumstances, but it moved up my TBR pretty quickly after it was on the shortlist for the 2019 National Book Award.

The city of Lucille is a utopian place, one where there are no more monsters to be found, after the revolution found them all out and sent them all for rehabilitation. At least, that’s what Jam and her friend Redemption had always been taught. But all their knowledge is challenged when one night a creature, a terrifying looking creature named Pet, emerges from one of Jam’s mother’s paintings and announces that it’s come to hunt a monster in their midst…a monster that it says lurks in Redemption’s house. Jam doesn’t want to believe what Pet is saying, but can she ignore the potential threat to her best friend’s well-being?

First, wow. Just wow. This is so completely different from their first novel that I cannot in any way compare the two books, but what I can say is that this one affected me in a way their first did not. Pet confronts, head first, not only the things that we want to pretend don’t exist, but the very fact that we want to pretend that. Lucille is a place where monsters don’t exist anymore, everyone knows that the revolution cleared them out. So, for every day that the people there live “safe” in that knowledge, it is one more day that they forget what monsters look like. And that is dangerous, since just because you forget what to look out for, just because you act as though something doesn’t exist anymore, that doesn’t change the truth that it could still be there, could return at any time. And you are left more vulnerable than before. This is such an incredibly important message to everyone who would rather (and is able to) ignore the dark undercurrents (and overt currents) in the world today – because that denial is causing pain, trauma, death and myriad other horrific side-effects. As Pet says, just because you don’t want to acknowledge the truth, doesn’t make it any less the truth. I honestly cannot say that I have ever read anything that so clearly and smoothly addresses this topic. Emezi impresses the importance of remembering, and teaching openly, about the difficult things (because ignoring doesn’t make them exist any less) in such a demonstrative and distinct way, so that’s it’s impossible to miss, but not didactically off-putting. What a skill, oh my gosh.

In addition to that, as with their last book, Emezi does a phenomenal job addressing complex topics in an accessible and accepting way. Jam, our MC, is trans and it’s presented in such a straightforward way. I just loved that it was not the focal point but just basic background about her, just the same as how old she is or what her favorite hobbies are. Relatedly, Jam chooses to use sign language as her main form of communication, “voicing” only under certain circumstances. This too was introduced in an everyday sort of way, and completely taken in stride by her friends and family, which I also loved. This is the first time I’ve read a character like that and it was really interesting to me – one of my favorite parts of reading is learning and experiencing new things like that, and the related terminology, etc. (i.e. using “voice” to indicate vocalization). Along these lines, Redemption’s family is non-traditional, as he has three parent partners, one of whom is nonbinary, and the normalization of that, in the way Emezi presents it, along with the positive way its presented (families can and do look so different in so many places/cultures, so why is that not just as much of a legitimate look as any other), was just so heart-warming to read. In yet another example, the librarian, Ube, is physically disabled and uses a wheelchair. All in all, I love that these aspects of the characters and their families are included, to give them visibility and spread understanding and insight and show how these pieces of themselves affect them, but I also appreciate that it’s not all there is to their lives or identities. There is just so much fantastic and diverse representation is this novel!

The one thing that I do want to note is that this book seemed to me to lean more middle grade than young adult, as far as plot development and, really, the writing in general. I mean, I understand the concepts are heavy and emotional, but the way they are presented seems to me to be one that would appeal to and work for MG-level readers at least as much as a YA crowd. Not least because the main characters read, to me, as MG-age. But also because of the point Emezi is making with the story as a whole – there is no age too young to learn about the types of monsters that one may encounter in life, because knowing what to look for can protect you and your loved ones, because ignoring the possibility of monsters leaves you more vulnerable to being hurt by one, and because this kind of “education” can always be done in age-appropriate ways (as they demonstrate here). However, regardless of the “proper” target age for this novel, I (a solidly adult-aged person) enjoyed and learned from it. Especially, it’s worth noting, because it is (as it often is) the adult-aged characters who refuse to see the signs for what is happening right under their noses. And while of course no one ever wants to believe something like this is happening in their home or within their family (no actual spoilers, but TW for child abuse), ignoring those signs doesn’t make it not happen, or stop happening. So from that perspective, I absolutely recommend this novel widely, as far as reader age goes.

For a little more on the writing itself, it’s honestly written so well. Each characters’ voice and personality is distinct and alive, in a way that is vibrant, but never overdone. And it’s all presented in a way that it appropriate for a younger age audience, but isn’t “below,” if you will, a more adult audience. This is particularly true for our MC, Jam. I felt like her thought processes were authentic and relatable, but never crossed the line into gratuitous, which is impressive, because a lot of this book happened in her own head, as she worked through how to handle the complex situations she faced with her family, with Pet and, especially, with Redemption. Speaking of which, Jam’s relationship with Redemption was gorgeous. It was full of mutual trust and respect and, even when they fought, a willingness to understand and accept the other’s POV and reasons for the actions they took. Definitely had me thinking that we could all use more friendships like that, no matter how old we are - #goals.

Overall, I really thought this was spectacular in so many ways. And even the simplicity of the plot itself wasn’t enough to outweigh the overall greatness of the messages and the inclusionary-ness of the characters. Plus, it’s such a short, fast read that it’s more that worth the time it took to experience it. Really, just a wonderful addressing of some of the hardest aspects of reality, and the importance of recognizing them, even when it seems easier not to.

“…it’s hard to build a new world without making people angry.”

“The problem is, when you think you’ve been without monsters for so long, sometimes you forget what they look like, what they sound like, no matter how much remembering your education urges you to do. It’s not the same when the monsters are gone. You’re only remembering shadows of them, stories that seem to be limited to the pages or screens you read them from. Flat and dull things. So, yes, people forget. But forgetting is dangerous. Forgetting is how the monsters come back.”

“Could you really make something stop existing just by shoving it away somewhere else?”

“Adults were like that so much of the time, inflexible when they thought they had something to protect.”

“The truth does not change whether it is seen or unseen, it whispered in her mind. A thing that is happening happens whether you look at it or not. And yes, maybe it is easier not to look. Maybe it is easier to say because you do not see it, it is not happening.”

“‘Am I a terrible person?’ she asked Pet. ‘There is no such thing,’ it replied. ‘There’s only what you do.’”

“Truth does not care if it feels true or not. It is true nonetheless.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I don’t have a big or exciting intro about this one – it’s been on my TBR since I first read about its publication last year. The combination of it being available at the library as an audiobook just when I was looking for my next listen meant the time was right.

Years ago, Moss Jeffries’ father was killed by the Oakland PD. And now, as a sophomore in high school, he’s still struggling with anxiety and PTSD about the event – a fact that he is very embarrassed about, especially when it causes him to have a panic attack in front of a cute boy he just met. But that boy, Javier, seems to be totally accepting of it, and Moss exciting and nervously embarks into his first dating experiences. At the same time that his relationship with Javier is heating up, things elsewhere start to fall apart. His school is decrepit and, after an SRO attacks one of his friends, the school installs metal detectors to “avoid” future similar events. But the student body is not having it; the school cannot blame them for the violence on its campus. So, they plan a peaceful protest…that turns deadly when details are leaked to the police. And things go from bad to worse for Moss, who must face his fears in order to, for good, get justice for himself and his friends. Though things continue to get worse before they, hopefully, take a final turn for the better.

This is the most difficult review I’ve had to write in quite a while. I want to give it two categorically different ratings at the same time and I don’t know how to compromise that. Let me start with the things that bothered me, that made me want to give it a bad rating, because then I can end on a positive note. The biggest, most pervasive issue I had, and one that affected a lot of my interactions with the plot, was that the writing was simply…not good. It was basic and choppy and the dialogue was incredibly stilted and awkward. And that, for me, is a deal breaker. Realistic (or not) dialogue is one of the biggest aspects of a book that can make or break a read for me. I really appreciated the fact that I was listening to it so I could speed up the playback and hurry through that discomfort. Also, I felt like the characters were all really naïve for their age. Now, I work with high schoolers, and I absolutely admit that some are much more socially “aware” and politically active than others. However, as throughout the novel we get more and more background on the characters’ lives, it does not make sense that, after their myriad (difficult) experiences, that they would be so unaware and misunderstanding of the reality of their school administration, law enforcement, etc. It doesn’t excuse the lack of [social] justice in their lives, and they should never have to deal with these issues in the first place, but seriously I feel like they wouldn’t be so guileless in real life. And on another general note in regards to the characters, I felt like they were all really one-dimensional and underdeveloped. They all just seemed like placeholders or sketches.

Then there are two plot points that I want to mention specifically. I really really disliked the way Moss treated his “best friend” Esperanza at the end of the book. Yes, she stuck herself into some situations that she should have been more of a support person for, but what her parents did was not any more her fault than it was Moss’ own fault for “letting them be involved” in the first place. And ok, I get that he’s emotional and first reactions, etc., so I’d forgive that, but what really got me upset was the message the author sends at the end – when only after getting roughed up at a rally could she “really understand” the issue. The rest of the messages in the book, about fighting the police brutality and social injustices by the law enforcement system in the city, were so good. But that “lesson,” that a person cannot be a true ally without experiencing violence firsthand, is alienating and dangerous. Suffering state violence is not a club one should have to join in order to fight it, especially since eradication of that exact violence is the goal of all these protests in the first place. It also discourages anyone from outside these communities from helping protest and fight on their behalf. And I understand Esperanza did overstep a time or two, and addressing that (the correct “role” to be in as an ally) is important and necessary, but the way it was handled at the end was definitely not productive or healthy.

Finally…the ending. Ugh. Things were going ok until the last like, page or so, and I was super frustrated with the officer’s actions/speech. I don’t want to give spoilers, and I want to not be this cynical, but OMG it just wouldn’t happen like that. And even if there were proper inquests, etc., it still wouldn’t happen that way. And it was so brutally realistic until then in a way that I appreciated. And that ending just…felt so wrong. Bad not to end on.

As for the things that I did like. I alluded to it already, but I felt like the author did a great job portraying the horrifically fearful reality that so many of America’s minority youth live today. It’s unbearably hard to read and can only be even worse to live. It does a great job showing how circumstances and “media spin” conspire to create situations that are literally the exact opposite of conducive to success. We are literally grooming entire communities of youth for failure that is completely out of their control. And the fact that this is so present even (especially) when they are at school, a place that should provide a haven and a focus on education, not distraction from it…I know that’s real, but dammit how have we let that happen?! Also, just the general issue of police brutality – it’s dystopian in its unreality, but it’s freaking real. The title is explained in the book in a way that suggests the anger that the youth feel about these circumstances is a gift that can help fuel their fight out of it, but I feel like there’s another meaning there, because honestly the gift this book gave me was anger, literal mountains of it. SO. MUCH. ANGER. (I just wish it was written better, because the overall plights of the specific characters in this novel didn’t feel as compelling as they should have, since the writing separated me from feeling as invested as I wanted to have been.)

Another thing I liked was the natural diversity in race, sexuality, gender and ability of the characters. It was just as cursory/surface-level as the characters themselves, but since the rest of the plot/writing was like that, looking at it through than lens made it seem unforced. A weird way to look at it, but I want to appreciate the breadth of representation. Oshiro also did a fantastic job representing both general teenage anxiety and the more diagnostic level that Moss has as a result of his PTSD. It sometimes got frustratingly repetitive to “listen” to Moss’ inner monologues on everything from his worries about Javier’s interest in him to the issues at his school to, later on, the complications of some of his friendships and the new tragedy he’s facing/his fight with the police, etc. But that repetition is realistic and understandable and provides legitimate into insecurity and dealing with anxiety as a teenager.

Overall, I’m just so split in my feelings about this novel. It’s such an important story that needs to be told – widely and often – because we need awareness and anger in the fight against it all. But Oshiro’s writing just didn’t do it the justice it deserved, and that was so frustrating. The promise was there, but the execution just…wasn’t. I think books like THUG and American Street do a much better job at telling these stories (state violence and media bias against minority youth), but neither quite show the same side that this one does, and that’s a huge part of the reason I was so disappointed about it falling through. If you’ve read this, I’d love to know your thoughts. Do you agree with me or not? And what other similar books would you recommend that address this topic (perhaps with better writing)?

“He’d been cursed by violence and loss. He’d been blessed with love and support. He couldn’t separate them, and he had to learn to live with both.”

“It’s a lot easier to pretend the world will go on spinnin’.”