I don't know what it was that made me request this book from NetGalley originally. I'd say it was the cover (I mean, look at how gorgeous it is - so striking), but I usually at least skim the blurb...and as I started reading this, I realized that nothing about it seemed familiar. However, sometimes that's for the best. It was in this case, because I was taken completely in by the story and how much of a "surprise" everything about it was. And here we are, with me thanking whatever past self requested this book, and thanking NetGalley and the publisher (Ballantine Books) for granting it. 

 

On a random morning in the Spring, Sam finds that his wife, Efe, has bought a one way ticket to Ghana and left him (and their 4 year old daughter), with "no warning" and no indication of when she'll be back. And we are immediately taken back in time to years before, when Efe moved from Ghana to the UK with her sister to finish her education. Struggling to adjust, and live up to her parents' expectations, Efe meets and finds comfort in Sam's steadiness and clear plans for his future. And we follow Sam and Efe throughout the years as they draft apart and are brought back together, until they eventually get married. But when they face an unplanned pregnancy, they find themselves on opposite sides of what to do next: Sam is thrilled and Efe…is not. Their choices from there lead, inexorably, to Efe fleeing her family and life back to her home country, the support of her sister, and a chance to re-find herself and ground her future in an identity that truly feels right...a future that may or may not include Sam and their child. 

 

First and foremost, this is a *heavy* read. I am going to list all content warnings here at the beginning so that I can include them all, but hopefully without any specific plot spoilers: self-harm (cutting), pregnancy, postpartum depression, extreme bullying (including physical harm/abuse), abortion, death, car accident, stroke/recovery. I think that's the major ones? Anyways, just be aware, going in.  

 

Into the primary review now. Most importantly, I was blown away by this debut novel. Efe is one of the most gorgeously, authentically complex female characters I have read in a long time. She is torn between so many needs and expectations, wanting to maintain relationships with those who are important to her, and facing down the burden of what society expects as well, that she just...loses herself. And even after being supported (like, with some really legitimately solid support) back into a better space, she still finds herself disappearing into that same loss of self and just cannot figure out what she needs to do or say to make her actual, personal, human, needs clear. It's heartbreaking, but so real. And when she finally makes the drastic call to leave it all, because it's that or lose it all (for real, permanently), I just was cheering for her so hard. Watching her entire journey to that juncture, she's just so recognizable (I'm projecting a bit here, but I imagine fairly universally, for women - if not in the exact details/choices she makes, in the way that external pressure to conform to expectations squeezes so much of what makes you an individual, makes you care to keep going/trying). And I loved her for that. But also, it hit me particularly hard, as her specific outlook and feelings about motherhood are very similar to my own. Seeing what happens, as the power in the pull of the tide of societal and cultural expectations, the slow slide into those expectations even if it’s not what you want (because it is overwhelming to fight against alone), leads to motherhood (and everything that happens bearing and raising a child)...it's almost exactly what I don't want, what I fear, and even though I have more clear/outspoken partner support on my behalf, reading it was still emotionally devastating. 

 

Interestingly, I was emotionally responsive, a lot, while reading this. As a person who teaches sex ed, I was so disheartened to see how little awareness there was for pregnancy as a risk of sex, even when prevention steps are taken. I was angry at the doctor for misleading how protective birth control could be. And I was angry when Sam never really considered Efe's position after they found out, even though she had been pretty clear about her feelings. Even more angry because miscommunication is one of my least favorite romance tropes and really, these two entered a relationship while skirting around this very central issue (having kids) and just hoping and assuming the other would come around to their side...when has that ever worked? And OMG I was angry when Sam was pissed off and offended and unforgiving when Efe ended up taking decisions into her own hands because even knowing, for years, how she felt, he refused to consider any options that she needed/asked for. Like, that's not betrayal, she told you and you never even entertained it with a conversation! Get out of here with that shit. It was almost worse that he was written in so many other ways like a "perfect" guy, written as such purposefully and accurately (hats off to Appiah), yet still gave no true space to let Efe speak and act on her motherhood and mental health (and bodily and life) needs. Yikes - I got going there and it just spiraled. See? Told you I was emotionally invested. Phew! 

 

Back to a more even-keeled area. I thought Appiah did a great job tracing the rise and fall, the ebbs and flows, of mental health challenges over the course of a lifetime with a variety of supportive styles showcased alongside. I also loved the many ways that creative outlets are highlighted as helpful in working through mental health challenges. There was a really wonderfully written literary parallel between Efe and Sam's mother, Rebecca, which did great things for the narrative development and the nuance of Sam as a character in his own right, and not just in relation to Efe. And in general, I felt like the family members for both Efe and Sam, the primary side characters in this novel, were all solid in their own rights. I also enjoyed the multicultural setting, the UK and Ghana, and how they were intertwined and both provided refuge and pressure and reinforcement in different ways, positive and not, in turn, throughout.  

 

The sense of dread that built in me with the chapters bringing us closer to "the event" was palpable, y'all. That is quality writing. And when it happens...it's my only criticism with the book. I just. It was so good, so nuanced, so well written and developed, and I could gush for a while longer, but you get it. And then. I don't know. I'm not a writer and I assume finding the right ending is tough. But this, this was so hard for me to swallow. Like, it's not not possible. Honestly, it's believable. Things like that happen all the time, everywhere. And yet. I was so bought in to Efe and Sam and felt like I was cheated out of a real resolution. I'm trying so hard not to give spoilers (it's hard). But it just crushed the story arc for me. And I hate that that happened. Don't get me wrong though, I sure did cry. Especially at the photo scene. Ooooof. So, I guess I was still at least partially emotionally invested.                     

 

Overall, this was a surprisingly tragic, but in a very genuine real-life way, star-crossed childhood sweethearts novel. And like I said, one of the best-written female characters I have read in a long time. I can't believe this is a debut and I will be keeping my eye out for more for Appiah. If you've been considering this one, or even if you've never heard of it before but it sounds interesting, you should definitely give it a go.  

 

 

"She was charmed by the notion that beauty could not be isolated from its culture or history." 

 

"Love and regret aren't mutually exclusive." 

 

"People - even the ones who love you - can be a weight around your neck. You just have to choose which weights you want to carry." 

 

"I wonder why we [...] measure a woman's strength by the amount she is able to endure?" 

 

"He is learning to throw away his plans, to let himself get swept up in all the unexpected parts of this life." 

 

"But raw and bleeding things are still alive." 

 

 

I read Nettle & Bone last year and loved it. I think it made my favorite books of 2022 list actually. And I have been meaning to read more from Kingfisher since then. There just isn't enough time for all the books I want to read! Though I will say, once I sat down with this one, it took less than 24 hours for me to speed through it. 

 

You think you know this story: there is a princess in a magical sleep, trapped in a tower. But perhaps there's a good reason for that. In this Sleeping Beauty retelling, we meet our narrator Toadling, stolen as a child and raised by long-toothed, water dwelling fairies until the day she's tasked with offering a blessing to a newborn child. But her mission does go as planned, as centuries later, she is still guarding that same child...or guarding the rest of the world from that child. When a soft-hearted knight arrives to break a curse now relegated to stories, Toadling knows she must prevent that at all costs. And yet, she has spent so long alone, and the knight is so gentle and sweet with her and she can't seem to make herself force him away. 

 

Well, maybe it's because it was the first I read by Kingfisher so it'll always hold a special spot in my reading-heart, but this wasn't quite at the same level as Nettle & Bone, for me. That being said, I was absolutely charmed and delighted by this story. It was such a surprisingly sweet and gentle story, for all that is leans into horror elements like reanimated corpses (or well, just the one corpse), terrible children with torturous inclinations (well, just the one child), and a slew of chaotic neutral-ish fae creatures living their natures even if it seems "ugly" to humans. There is always something so heart-warming about the reclaiming of the less "desirable" qualities that a person can have, like those tasked with terrible jobs being too kind-hearted to carry them out or knights that are too tender to be considered "good" at that profession, and showcasing how they can be (and should be considered) strengths instead. 

 

Speaking of, this whole novella is a study in the turning-on-its-head of a traditional fairy tale. Kingfisher questions why a person might need to be put to sleep and hidden in the first place. And in that exploration is a profound interrogation of why (societally traditional external) beauty is easier to believe than (societally traditional external) ugliness. Even after a full connection is developed (between Toadling and Halim), the traditional "ugly" character is still convinced that their partner will believe the traditional "beauty" (Halim and the sleeping princess), even though they have no preexisting relationship and no baseline of trust in the same way. It's a heartbreaking concept, when you realize how true that observational insight into humanity is, and yet the inherent gentleness in the story-telling style softens it to the point where the point is still made, but the reader feels comforted by the way Toadling and Halim subvert it. 

 

The one thing that felt a little strange to me was the way that real life historical events were referred to, in a way that was familiar enough that I knew they were based in actual history, but not with enough clarity for me to place them or settle myself/this story and setting into them. I sort of wish Kingfisher had gone one way or the other with it - more clarity in the references, to better ground the reader, or a full-on fantastic/unreal setting.  

 

This story is just endearing AF. It's the style of fairy tale that I can just never get enough of (the tone, the changeling trope, the flipped-villain retelling, the fantasy creature elements, in addition to everything else I've mentioned so far). A style Kingfisher seems to revel in that style of retelling, and delivers on it spectacularly.   

 

“The world rarely leaves anyone alone.” 

 

“Surrounded by child-eating swamp spirits, Toadling felt intensely loved.” (these are the kinds of fairy tale lines I live for) 

 

“But we are not always given the choices that we want.” 

 

“She did not know how to fight a story.” 

 

“The love of monsters was uncomplicated.” 

 

I read Dial A for Aunties a few years ago and it was just...the most fun. So, I was hoping that Sutanto would provide more of that fun here. And she did! 

 

Vera Wong's life is in perfect order, as it should be, until the morning that she comes downstairs to ready her tea house for the day and finds a dead body on the floor. Upon realizing that the police are incompetent (she should have expected that, of course), Vera decides to investigate - what is surely a murder - herself. As she gathers her suspects though, Vera starts to realize she likes them all, and will be sad to see whoever the murderer ends up being taken away to jail. There is Julia, the dead man's wife. Oliver, his twin brother. Sana and Riki, who supposedly are researching the death for their podcast and Buzzfeed article (but are clearly hiding something). And, there is, naturally, the chance that there wasn't any foul play at all, and the man died of natural causes. But Vera won't rest until she rules out every possibility and discovers the truth, even at the potential cost of ruining some of these budding, but promising, new relationships. 

 

Well, Sutanto clearly has a style, and she is so good at it. This is the perfect mix of humorous and heartstrings. Like, despite the fact that all these characters are coming together as a result of a death, a clearly tragic event, so much of this novel is sweet and funny. And it definitely helps the balance of emotions that, as we learn more about the dead guy (Marshal), we realize he was pretty terrible and smarmy and, really, abusive. I mean, not that that means a person deserves to die, but it does make me feel less bad about laughing at all the funny parts and rooting for these lonely characters to find new refuges with each other as my primary emotional engagement with the story. The way Vera becomes a surrogate mother/grandmother figure to so many of these characters, in a way that they need (and that she was overbearing in her attempts to provide to her own son), and facilitates them in recovering from a variety of traumas and confidence-losses, sparking new romances, and rekindling old friendships, is just heartwarming. And Vera herself is hilarious. From her internal monologues to her dialogue with others to her notebook entries about the case, Sutanto does a phenomenal job calling out and (lightly) making fun of many Asian-parent stereotypes, while also highlighting all the ways they are supportive and uplifting in their own way. It's a smoothly crafted juxtaposition. 

 

The highlight of this reading experience is primarily the characters, developing together and creating new relationships. But, of course, the murder mystery is central to the reading experience as well. It's fun, easy and quick; like a cozy mass market winter mystery novel style. Also, props to Sutanto for the meaning of the title. I thought it meant (or would mean) one thing, as I started reading. But as the story developed, the meaning took on a whole other meaning that really emphasized the truly unique and sort of irreverent take on the silver linings that sometimes come with tragic events. It's quite clever. 

 

If you are looking for a low key, entertaining read, let me highly recommend this. It was perfect for my "I hate the colder/dark weather and the Holidays are always so stressful" vibes; so if that sounds like you, give it a go! 

 

“Destiny [...] is something to be hunted down and grabbed tightly with both hands and shaken until it gives her exactly what she wants.” 

 

“This is the problem with creative people; their self-image is divided in two parts - one thinks that they're a genius who will one day create a masterpiece of such breathtaking brilliance that it will still be discussed with reverence hundreds of years later; the other part thinks they are trash racoons rotting around in the dark and coming up with nothing but more trash. THere is no in-between. It's either 'super genius' or 'trash racoon,' and somehow these parts coexist within the head of one very tortured artist.” 

 

“Unrealized dreams are one of the saddest things in life.” 

 

“I agree, we are all more than just one idea.” 

 

I bought this as soon as it was released, of course. Because Samantha Shannon is an absolute star of [epic, feminine, sapphic] fantasy and one of my favorite authors. I really couldn’t wait to dive into this prequel to Priory of the Orange Tree, which was one of my top ten (though if we are being honest, probably my number one favorite) read from 2020. It took me a few months to be ready for it (almost 1000-page novels are not something to enter into unless fully ready), but this seasonal turn into winter was the sign I needed and the time was finally right to sink into this cozy (as in fantasy a comfort genre, not because it has a particularly comforting plot) chonker of a novel. 

 

I’m not even sue how to give a summary of this book, as it really embodies the vibes of “epic.” We are in the same world as Priory, but half a century earlier. The story is told from four primary perspectives. Tunuva is a member of the Priory, blessed with the magic of the Orange Tree, and trained from birth for the task of defending the true history and legacy of Cleolind (the real defeater of the Nameless One), and the world at large, in the case of its return. Dumai, raised in a temple to the sleeping gods high in the mountains by her mother, finds out that her parentage is far different from, and greater than, she’d ever known…and she must take up a mantel within the court and ruling family of Seiiki. Glorian is the young heir to the Queendom of Inys (yes, the same one the Sabran leads in Priory), happily growing up in the shadow of her imposing parents. Wulf is a young karl in the service of Glorian’s father, whose unknown past and childhood friendship with Glorian sets him up to play a central role in the interconnectedness of the separate nations and storylines. When the Dreadmount erupts, it ushers in an age of violence, sickness, and fear that threatens the existence of humankind and these narrators must fight with everything they have to maintain hope and help their peoples survive. 

 

Look, I can sum this entire review up with just one line: Shannon is the queen of fantasy. And she just keeps getting better. I mean, I loved Priory. And I have long loved The Bone Season and cannot wait for more of Paige’s saga there. But this? This was a whole other level. I loved every single narrator. I loved their perspectives and their complexities (strengths and flaws). I loved how deeply developed they were internally and in all their other relationships and the climates within which they lived. I am really not sure that I can put into words how much the variety of female realities represented in this novel affected me. There were older women at the forefront, with direct addressing not just of menstruation, but also menopause and related sexual urge changes. There was pregnancy and childbirth and postpartum bodies and depression, all of which was not just not glossed over, but major aspects of the storyline and the experience of the women involved in how living that alongside a world-ending crisis of this magnitude feels. There was early motherhood and mothering of adult children, with the variety of different challenges each presents. There was motherhood as it lives on even after the loss of a child. There was motherhood as a requirement and as sacrifice and in defiance and to right previous mothering wrongs. There were incredibly soft and comfortable queer vibes (sapphic and asexual, with passion and connection that are meaningful, but still so light, ohhhhhh it’s lovely). There were women that didn’t want to bear a child or have sex, and while their choices on how to respond to the social structures that expect and require that were different, that representation too felt full and real, as sometimes that pressure is fought and sometimes its given in to. It was all just…right. I felt seen in so many ways and even in the choices I haven’t made myself, the breadth of exploration of womanhood and motherhood was stunning. That all is a major reason why, for me, Shannon is queen of fantasy: the strength and diversity of women are central and there’s not a single one-dimensional female character in the bunch. 

 

I also loved the world-building. It’s just magnificent. Shannon has created something so massive and real here. And while this builds in together with what she began in Priory in physicality, this prequel also adds further context, in a way that both complements and expands. The tone of the writing is expansive and familiar all at once and the stories weave together in ways that are so smooth and well-paced. The scoops large. And while I could see an argument for some editing down, a bit, I can’t way I’d have wanted that. This is the kind of unfolding tale that you get lost in, that you allow to soak into yourself, and so you want every bit of that slower (but evenly) paced development, because it gives you more time in this world, with these characters. And for what it’s worth, though it’s long, it’s never dull. There is always something happening, whether it be interpersonal relationship growth, political maneuvering, discoveries of evils growing and betrayals occurring, or battles against dragons and the malformed animals they twisted to their service. And when the narratives do start to converge, it’s so good. Because you know it’s coming, in some form, and are waiting for it. And yet, every time there’s a crossover, it never hits that point of formulaic; there always remains some aspect of the unexpected. And as they drift apart again, and then spin back together, sometimes with just the barest touches, it’s just achingly well done. 

 

SPOILER IN THIS PARAGRAPH. SKIP TO THE NEXT IF YOU WANT TO AVOID IT! Finally, I appreciated, so much, the ending. The fact that what truly “saved the day” was not a chosen one/person or an act or a perfect deus ex machina, but a foretold celestial event that no one could prevent or make come faster…I was completely here for that. The message that these characters were all fighting, with everything they had, with the barest hope, against a seemingly unbeatable foe - and even for those that had an inkling of the foretold event that would hopefully end things, that’s still a fight for survival until something greater, promised only by a legend/dream, arrives to stop it… That is a totally “other” kind of strength. And it’s a style of denouement that is very uncommon in fantasy. I really appreciated the way it was used here. Plus, the way it explains the small riddle that is the title – loved that.          

 

I feel like, when I usually write reviews, I add in details about which characters I liked most, which plot points were best, what the language was like…and with specifics. And as I’m looking back over this so far, I have none of those specifics here (except for the part about the way the plot “ends”). It’s all more general impressions and overarching reactions and themes. I’m not sure then, if this is a good review or not. But, it’s the truth that I have. I loved it all. And it contains so much that details that minute really become impossible to include, because there’s no time, no space, for it all. 

 

The many ways this book, this series, is an ode to the myriad and (generally) unheralded strength and power of women is unmatched. Plus, it was very cool to see how the threads of this story set the groundwork (and became the legends of yore) for Priory. I wasn’t sure how I’d feel reading a prequel after what it comes before, but it turns out, I liked the experience. To repeat myself, because she deserves it…this novel is epic and Shannon is a queen.

 

“All women can be sisters. We will be yours.” 

 

“…but a house that crushes its own daughters beneath its foundations, that is no house at all. Better it burns with the rest.” 

 

“A flower in a world of ash is proof that life endures.” 

 

A library friend/coworker has recommended this to me a couple times now and, I was ready to try another graphic novel (and maybe a light first foray into a more comic style situation). So... 

 

Two soldiers, Marko and Alana, from opposite sides of a never-ending galactic war, meet and fall in love. They make the risky, but incredibly hope-filled, decision to start a family. And this first volume opens during the birth of their child, following them as they fight to find a safe space to settle this new family into. Simultaneously, mercenaries are hired by both sides of the conflict to hunt down and remove this symbol of change and resistance (in particular, we begin to follow The Will, in his journey to find this young family). 

 

Well, I was sold on a couple things. First, the storyline. When I'm in the mood for something this timeless, there's nothing else like it. It's a classic for a reason. Like, I love This is How You Lose the Time War way before it got all random-secret-review famous on Twitter. (Yes, I will always be a bit snooty about "hidden gem" books that I found first - it's a cornerstone of the petty side of my personality.) So this fits right into my preferred style, plot-wise. And it delivered as I'd hoped it would on that front. We get a bit of violence, a bit of drama, a bit of social commentary, a bit of cute interpersonal/romantic relationship insight, some solid sarcastic humor, and a whole bunch of world-building details (which is a lot here at the start, but I assume will steady out with time, over the development of the series). The illustrations are also phenomenal: active and bright and really in touch with the vibes the story is creating. 

 

I also really liked seeing the commentary on colonialism and indigenous peoples and dehumanization/justification and who controls the narrative during wartime, in this space setting. Deeply horribly, it’s always timely to our lived, non-space, reality.  And the move to promote pacifism, as violence always begets further violence, is a very important message to spread. I also was here for the very normal couple arguments and parenting debates and family drama wrapped in an intergalactic war story. A fantastic story-telling balance. And speaking over story-telling, I am so far liking the "voiceover" interjections from Marko and Alana's child. It's allowing me, as a reader to sink into the entertainment of the story, knowing that she survives at least long enough to be able to tell her own origin story. I'll take that comfort. 

 

As I mentioned, this is my first step from a more graphic novel style illustrated read to a more comic style read. So, I get that there will be some adjustment and I'm working on keeping an open mind for that. But I do want to say, there were a few points where the women's voices/inclusion were a bit cringe-y. Like, a little sexist, a little too much like a man’s version of what a woman's perspective/experience should be. Plus, there was a very unexpected child sex slave situation (openly referred to, but nothing happens on page) and like, ugh. It feels so horrible to read that and, just, I know it's a thing that happens IRL - and not infrequently - and SciFi is always here to make commentary on horrible things in a setting where you can easily get away with it (and applause for that, really). But, ooooof I wasn't expecting it and it was tough. 

 

So, here we are, as I try to wrap up my reactions. I don't know. The messaging is generally great, I'm loving the graphics, the story is starting solidly and I’m invested enough to see what’s next...but I’m still hesitant. I know it’s a typical thing in the genre/medium related, but the masculinization of the tone/violence and sexualization of the women and graphics just felt extra (very much in the slang usage of the term). However, I'm interested and I see the beginnings of what could be subversion and reclamation, so I’m giving it the benefit of the doubt for now and I'm going to grab the next volume. 

 

“My reluctance to use force isn’t ideological, it’s practical. Violence is stupid. Even as a last resort, it only ever begets more of the same. Conflict always has consequences. Always.” 

 

“Once upon a time, each of us was somebody’s kid. […] No matter how we’re eventually raised, all of our stories begin the exact same way. They all end the same, too.” 

 

“When a man carries an instrument of violence, he’ll always find the justification to use it.” 

 

I've been waiting to read this one for awhile, because I *knew* I would love it. (Spoiler alert: I was right.) And I was so afraid that any cliffhangers (it's the first in a planned trilogy) would be the death of me. (I was less right on this front, thank goodness, though it's not really an issue anymore since the full series is now published. In other news, I feel bound to transparently admit that the marketing campaign for these books, the "be gay, do magic" and "be gay, do heists" vibes, worked hardcore on me. 

 

After the recent death of his parents, Robin Blyth finds himself solely responsible for his title, family holdings, and younger sister. Having been left very little, financially, to support them, Robin takes an obscure posting within the government...only to find out that it's not just a position of the paper-pushing variety, but rather as a liaison between parliament and a secret magical society. And thus he is introduced to an entire world of magic that has always existed, quietly, within the Edwardian England world that he thought he knew so well. After being attacked and cursed after his first day on the job, he is forced to work very closely with his magical-society counterpart, Edwin Courcey (a outwardly cold and studious/bookish type of person), to both break the curse and figure out why he was attacked in the first place. As the two spend time together, they realize that not only is the mystery they're investigating a threat to the entire magical community, they also might be developing deeper feelings for each other.    

 

Well, I already gave a spoiler earlier, so let me just start by saying, full-throatedly, how much I loved this book. The magic, the mystery, the world-building, the drama, the dry British humor, the delicious romance - it was all just wonderful. I'm going to give lots more details on all of it, as per usual, but I just really needed to set that tone to start. 

 

Now, let's jump in... Marske throws the reader right into the story from the very first lines. It takes some real reader effort on the front end to catch hold of the thread of it, and to hang on as more details are given, so if that's a struggle for you, be aware. However, it nicely avoids the potential info-dump pitfall, and, as one of our MCs (Robin) is also dunked head first into this new world, it fits with the narrative to be discovering and learning alongside him. And it didn't take me too long to sink enough into the character and plot development that the effort of paying that much attention didn't seem like effort at all. Because let me tell you, I sunk all the way in. And as everything unfolded, Marske did a phenomenal job balancing classic, well-loved for a reason, romance and fantasy tropes that made the story feel familiar and comfortable, with creativity and originality that kept the entertainment levels and compellingness high. I loved the hints that Edwin's magic and abilities are somehow more than he thought, and Robin's accustomization into magical reality would be somehow bigger than he thought, and was so excited to watch them each grow into that potential. And grow they did, as the plot thickened, as it were, and they dove deeper and deeper into the mystery and (life-threatening) research into the theoretical possibilities of magic based on the legends and lore of its origins (and the, of course, nefarious secret group trying to bend that knowledge to its own power/benefit). As this all developed, I particularly enjoyed seeing the coming together/connections of all these little vision snippets Robin started getting - what was concluded here in this novel and what we have to look forward to getting clarity on moving forwards. And as everything came to its denouement, I have to give a slow clap to Markse for the way she pulled it all off. There was a lovely little "be careful what bargians you make" situation, a sort of sentient house (I do always love magical devices like that), some very smart weaving together of the language/contracts/consent that had been a theme throughout. Just, what an ending! A perfect closing but also the perfect setup for more: this is a masterclass in non-cliffhanger, but still open-ended in preparation for the next installment, finale.    

 

I was also completely charmed by the slow dawning of shared romantic interests between Robin and Edwin. They're such a well-written opposites-attract couple, with some bonus grumpy-sunshine vibes. The dual-longing slowish burn was so subtle and just, good. And the steam, when it hit, was spectacular. It was similarly soft, parallel to the growing of it, but still quite hot. And as we got more and more of those steamy scenes, they got hotter and hotter. And oh! What a creative and fun use of experimental sexual magic: nerves! How has no one thought of that before (at least not in anything I've read)? So original. Anyways, basically, Edwin and his sharp edges of self protection and Robin with his earnest and willing softness and love have my whole-ass heart.    

 

A few final unique bits I'd like to highlight. First, the magic really was cool. The idea of cradling - using hands to create spells is always a thing I'm into, as a dramatic-gesture-while-talking type person - was super cool. And the way it was used a few times was unlike anything I've read before. I already mentioned the nerve-based magic in the one sexy scene, but also the games played by Edwin's family and their set were so imaginative. I mean, they sucked as people but, the magic was fun! I thought the exploration of Robin’s parents, well known philanthropists, but with the cunning decision making and motivations that made it clear to their children that their priority was being known for their philanthropy as opposed to the actual effect/help of it, was a fascinating and unique character study. Not a perspective seen overly much, and executed with great depth here. Finally, the tone was spot on throughout. This isn't necessarily unique in its own right, as it had a very dry British vibe, but it is one that I love and, so, must needs point out. On this note, I very literally snort-laughed out loud at the sarcastic “we are but feeble women, woe” that Miss Morrissey and her sister used as excuses at the end (taking advantage of the ridiculous assumptions men tend to make about women's abilities and constitutions). I loved all of that and, really, loved Miss Morrissey and her sister period. I'm really hoping for more of them in book two.  

 

So, to recap, this novel delivered, absolutely, on all promises. I highly recommend it. 

 

“Books are at least somewhat less likely to hurl insults at one […] It is one of their major appeals.” 

 

“For the most part, people didn’t see the unfamiliar unless it threw itself in their face.” 

 

“How many frights made a pattern? How many coincidences made a plot?” 

 

“Those were not things ones blurted out to a friend. Those were their own cradles of magic, an expression of the desire to transform one thing into another. And what if the magic went awry?” (this moment in the awakening of their relationship – oh my heart) 

 

“It didn’t take long to become so accustomed to something that you could describe the exact shape of its absence.” 

 

This was my other "creepy and vampire" themed Halloween season read for the year (please see Vampires of El Norte) as the other. I think it was pure coincidence that these two complementary reads happened to come home with me from the library together, but I wasn't against the very seasonal reading vibes they gave me. Though, they were also quite a bit more full-horror than I usually go with my reading, even considering my deep soft spot for vampire stories, so I'm leaning towards lighter reads for the next little bit to counterbalance.   

 

"WANTED - Bloodmaid of exceptional taste. Must have a keen proclivity for life's finer pleasures. Girls of weak will need not apply." 

 

I'm (mostly) borrowing this one last review from Goodreads to get me all caught up (being behind by five full reviews has seemed like an unclimbable mountain, tbh). Here we go: Despite longing to leave the city and its miseries of want and deprivation, Marion Shaw has no real hope of escape until the day she spots a peculiar listing in the newspaper, seeking a bloodmaid. Though she knows little about the far north - where wealthy nobles live in luxury and drink the blood of those in their service - Marion applies to the position. In a matter of days, she finds herself the newest bloodmaid at the notorious House of Hunger. There, Marion is swept into a world of dark debauchery. Countess Lisavet, who presides over this hedonistic court, and loved and feared in equal measure, takes a special interest in Marion. Lisavet is magnetic, and Marion is eager to please her new mistress. But when her fellow bloodmaids begin to go missing in the night, Marion is thrust into a vicious game of cat and mouse. And she'll need to learn the rules of her new home quickly, before its halls will soon become her grave. 

 

Phew. This was dark. I mean, I don't read a lot of horror, as you know, but this might actually be the creepiest thing I've ever read (or, at least, that I can remember reading). Mostly, my horror is light, like The Ninth House or A Dowry of Blood or Sorrowland. Even The Only Good Indians, written by a well-known and loved horror author, wasn't as creepy as this (IMO). First, the vibes were *strong* and well-developed. This novel had it all: the stormy nights, the dim/dark lighting, the marsh/moor-like landscape, the huge and kind of sinister castle/mansion, obsession, the bloodmaids wearing black/white/red, the secretiveness of how everything works with the blood-letting (and really, the presence of all the blood itself, really), the taxidermy, the teeth (why are the always loose teeth in horror hovels and can I get a content warning for that specifically please?!), the excess of opulence and lack of inhibition around food and drink and drug and sex. There is really not a single potentially horrific trope that isn't touched on or included in some way. 

 

Thematically, I was mostly bought in. I felt like the weaving together of debauchery and blood and toxic infatuous love was really well done. The concept of bloodmaids in this setting and sense was very cool and very well-written (even if the need for all their blood was never *quite* explained to my satisfaction - I mean it was for Lisavet, but not necessarily for the rest of the people of the North). And the obsession aspect fit that, contextually and for the vibes, especially for the bloodmaids that had been there longer. But for Marion, I was honestly not sold on how fast it happened. Like I still don't know if I believe how fast Marion fell under her influence, considering the survival; instincts and past experiences she seemed to have. I gave it the benefit of the doubt though, to see where the story went as it continued to develop. And I think, within the situation, I can maybe see how the connection to Lisavet, the reliance on her favor (etc.), makes all these girls obsessively in love with her even as she literally drains them to death. But also, I still ended with a few questions about why it took such a dramatic reveal to convince the bloodmaids that running away was their best option. Like, it's a lot to believe with all the caginess in the House of Hunger that no bloodmaids really questioned the likelihood of their survival/future until Marion arrived. But you know, people often do find it easier to look away from hard truths than face them, so maybe the believability is legit. *shrug* 

 

I have a few other comments that are mostly unrelated to each other, so I'm mashing them all together here. I was excited to see where these prostitution parallels (depravity and opulence) take us and what social messages are made on the topic, but unfortunately, the answer was "not really anywhere." A bit of an opportunity lost, in my opinion. On the other hand, the messaging about how you can become so full - bloated - on extravagance that you miss how drained and empty you actually are, was not lost on me. And that was well done. I don't know how many people out there know about Elizabeth Báthory, a "famous" Hungarian noblewoman serial killer from the late 1500s and early 1600s. I read about her in Rejected Princesses and the name sounded so familiar here - a quick Google search reminded me and I loved that little nod to bloodthirsty IRL historical women. *hat tip* And my last random thought: here’s a thing about horror...knowing that the worst is definitely going to happen (gore and death and creepy and dark corners and terror and torture instruments and the “hunt”) *almost* takes the intensity out of it when it finally hits. Like the tension in the build is great, but then when the "worst" happens, it's like, I knew it was going to, so the impact is lessened. Is this just a me thing? Anyone else? 

 

All in all, this book hits the spot as far as themes and vibes, if you're looking for a horror-style vampire novel. And the sapphic aspects were SO GOOD. I can't believe I haven't mentioned those yet. I got caught up in the rest of this review and it completely slipped my mind! But Henderson nails the obsessive, toxic sapphic vibes as well. Though some of the world-building and plot details were lacking in robustness, if this sounds like a book you'd be interested in on the surface/based on the blurb, then I'd say to give it a try.    

 

“But begrudging contentment was not the same as happiness. At best it was familiarity, and at worst defeat. It certainly wasn't the same as true fondness.” 

 

“To love is to devour.” 

 

I went "full-vampire" for the Halloween season reading this year, and this is the first of the books I chose. I don't usually lean horror with my reading, but reviews said it was a lighter horror, and I got the ALC from Libro.fm, so I was able to listen. And really, I have a soft spot for vampires and apparently can't help but read about them, even if there's a chance I terrify myself. Solid self-preservation... 

 

I'm still very behind on reviews, so I'm borrowing most of this summary from Goodreads: As the daughter of a rancher in 1840s Mexico, Nena knows a thing or two about monsters—her home has long been threatened by tensions with Anglo settlers from the north. But something more sinister lurks near the ranch at night, something that drains men of their blood and leaves them for dead. Something that once attacked Nena nine years ago. Believing Nena dead, Néstor has been on the run from his grief ever since, moving from ranch to ranch working as a vaquero. But no amount of drink can dispel the night terrors of sharp teeth; no woman can erase his childhood sweetheart from his mind. When the United States attacks Mexico in 1846, the two are brought abruptly back together on the road to war: Nena as a curandera, a healer striving to prove her worth to her father so that he does not marry her off to a stranger, and Néstor as a member of the auxiliary cavalry of ranchers and vaqueros. But the shock of their reunion—and Nena’s rage at Néstor for seemingly abandoning her long ago—is quickly overshadowed by the appearance of a nightmare made flesh. And unless Nena and Néstor work through their past and face the future together, neither will survive to see the dawn. 

 

I really enjoyed this book. And yes, the vampire aspect was part of it. But there was so much here that I was impressed by. It's a slower read, horror in vibes and the slow build of knowing that something is out there, more than in direct interaction with the "evil." And yet, there were absolutely steadily-paced moments of violence and contact with the myriad types of vampires that appeared within these pages that hit with intensity and a more immediate style of terror. This pacing, the heaviness and creepiness of the entire aura of the storytelling, was matched by the the longing between Néstor and Nena (oooooooh the pining) with spaced out explosively emotional confrontations as they each dealt with, and tried to sort out, their feelings. It was a fantastic literary balance of plot and character development. 

 

Thematically, the classism central to what tore Nena and Néstor apart is strong and deeply explored. And the interweaving of monsters (vampires, the land, class structures, “yanquis” and more) is high quality overlapping metaphors that are examined throughout the entirety of the novel.  

Cañas takes on the age-old question of what makes a monster, its nature/look or its choices/character, and her take on it, while not groundbreaking, is incredibly well-delivered. Similarly not groundbreaking, but well-delivered, was her take on the classic "what makes a home, a person or a place?" question. 

 

Lastly, I was really happy with the ending. It wasn't fully closed, as a book that takes on themes of class and colonialism can never be and remain honest. And the way the vampire aspect was similarly present but less immediate, as threats go, paralleled nicely with that. So, it subverted the “too easy” happily ever after just enough to make it solid, in my opinion. And really, the literary full circle to the drama of the ending was *chef’s kiss* - star crossed lovers are a classic for a reason. 

 

Oh, random, but...the two audiobook narrators, voicing Nena and Néstor, were great! 

 

This was just a really solid, entertaining read. A critique of colonialism and a gorgeous romance and a paranormal thriller all in one quality package…It was maybe a little slower overall than one might prefer, but for me, the thrill came from vibes in this case and it delivered on that, for me. Like I said earlier, “supernatural gothic thriller” is not really a blurb that usually jumps at me, but my difficulty in saying "no" to anything vampire worked in my favor, in this case. 

 

Despite having received this audiobook as an ALC from Libro.fm a few months ago, I haven't picked it up yet because I have wanted to have a physical copy as well (it's my preferred "listening" method). My library doesn't have a copy. And if I'm being honest, this sounded so much like a book I would love that I kind of wanted to own a copy anyways. I finally got my hands on one during a quick (extended to involve an extra day of fun) work visit to Asheville, NC a few weeks ago. If you haven't been there, you should definitely go. Asheville is such a cool place - so much nature and great food (and drink!) and overall awesome vibes. Anyways, I stopped in at a local bookstore while there (Malaprop's) and picked it up there. 

 

As I am still woefully behind on reviews, I'll be borrowing from Goodreads again for this summary... Hart is a marshal, tasked with patrolling the strange and magical wilds of Tanria. It’s an unforgiving job, and Hart’s got nothing but time to ponder his loneliness. Mercy never has a moment to herself. She’s been single-handedly keeping Birdsall & Son Undertakers afloat in defiance of sullen jerks like Hart, who seems to have a gift for showing up right when her patience is thinnest. After yet another exasperating run-in with Mercy, Hart finds himself penning a letter addressed simply to “A Friend”. Much to his surprise, an anonymous letter comes back in return, and a tentative friendship is born. If only Hart knew he’s been baring his soul to the person who infuriates him most: Mercy. As the dangers from Tanria grow closer, so do the unlikely correspondents. But can their blossoming romance survive the fated discovery that their pen pals are their worst nightmares – each other? 

 

I don't think I have ever used the following phrase to describe anything before, but it turns out, it's perfect for this book (and, not really a surprise, but a new aesthetic I'm going to be leaning into personally): this book was wonderfully, whimsically macabre. There were many notes of the paranormal and supernatural throughout: low key zombies, floating souls, ancient magical creatures (that talk, and deliver mail!), gods that still exist and can walk the earth, and other small magical touches. And central to the character development and the plot is the Birdsall family business of, essentially, running a funeral home, and Mercy's burgeoning role at the primary undertaker. All of which could have led this to being a really dark read. And yet. It was surprisingly sweetly morbid, if you're willing to believe that can be done. I mean yes, beware, there is quite a bit of death and violence and resurrection (and mostly not in a "good" way). But at the same time, the way Mercy sees, and puts effort into, caring for the dead and their families and the comfort she can give in her position is simply beautiful. It's exactly the kind of hopeful and fulfilling perspective that I could imagine wanting for myself or a close loved one during such a grief-filled time. 

 

There are other aspects of the book that help balance out the more grim pieces, to create that more offbeat and fanciful vibe, as well. First, the little things, like cafes and libraries and letter writing, that are reminiscent of our “real world,” were grounding touches. Also, the relationships, across the board, really took the edge off. Mercy's entire family (and especially her brother who'd rather become a baker than run the family business) were so recognizable. The care they all had for each other, even while arguing or at odds, was touching. And despite Hart's work-focus and intensity and gruff exterior, what he builds with his new apprentice, Pen, and how that relationship pulls him even farther into Mercy's family (and their drama), was so well developed. I also want to mention that there was a mystery subplot that called for some amateur sleuthing that was just plain fun! 

 

Plus, of course, there is Hart and Mercy themselves. Let me take a minute to focus on them, as they are central to the novel overall (obviously). Look. What an unbelievably sweet enemies-to-lovers secret pen pals romance. Ugh. I cannot even. They were both so stubbornly sure they hated each other, when everything (and everyone around them) knew and pointed to the opposite. But it never reached the point of annoyance that could have happened, when miscommunication takes over as a plot device. This was just good old "human" stubbornness and, in that "can't see what's under my own nose," was so relatable. I'm always a softie for a grumpy and sunshine romance trope too, especially when said grump falls first and harder - oh my heart! Oh! And the narrators for the audiobook that voiced Hart and Mercy were fantastic.   

 

I have to be honest here, and say that there were a few things that I wish could have been better or gone differently. The biggest thing is that some of the dialogue felt slightly clunky. I hate that that happened, because for me, it's such a deal breaker when the dialogue rings awkward, but it is what it is. The other thing is, whoa beware of a very upsetting death situation (emotionally, my goodness, the wreckage). Slight spoiler alert in this additional comment: "coming back from the dead" is one of my least favorite fantasy romance (or any genre, really) and I wish that hadn’t been the choice here. I would rather have a grave injury or, better, a conversation through the tough topics (even a fight). It's just...death allows each to "figure out" feelings too easily or with too much grief clouding the picture, which sounds terrible cause it’s a horrible situation but for a writer/plot, it just feels like too easy a solution. 

 

So, here's the thing, other than those two critiques, I absolutely loved this quirky and high-chemistry romance and its sides of magic and mystery. It was everything I wanted it to be and I'm going to rate and recommend it as such. It's one of those books that has all the same comfort read vibes like The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, McGuire's Every Heart a Doorway series, On a Sunbeam, or Heartstopper. At least for me. And that feels more important than anything else, in this case. 

 

“…but an arrogant man apologized to obtain absolution. A good man admitted his errors and expected nothing in return.” 

 

 

 

And so continues my read everything by Alexis Hall quest. This is his most recent publication, and one that I received an ALC of from Libro.fm, though I ended reading this one with my eyes, as it was (as Hall's books have consistently proven to be) fast and fun and sweet and funny and a great choice for travel reading (which are, in fact, the circumstances under which I picked it up). 

 

Sam Becker isn't living a dream life, sure, but he has settled comfortably into his role managing quirky and mildly inept staff at a branch of a bed and bath retailer. The only real problem is that the owner is a git. Said owner, Jonathan Forest, is an unsentimental workaholic, not good with people in the way that Sam is, and definitely doesn't have time for anything other than keeping his businesses running at highest quality. Since Sam's store is underperforming, Jonathan invites him to London to have a tough discussion about next steps, but during the conversation, Sam trips, hitting his head. When Jonathan misinterprets his fuzziness due to concussion as amnesia, Sam takes advantage to try and save his bumbling staff from being fired. But while faking amnesia originally seemed like a great idea, the more time Sam spends with Jonathan (and Jonathan's family...and sees how much his grumpy cat likes Jonathan), the more Sam realizes there is a softer side to him that he keeps deeply hidden away. And maybe Sam is falling for that softer side? So, this "second shot at a first impression" has backed Sam into an uncomfortable corner that he now has to figure out how to get out of without ruining what's turning out to be an actually really great relationship. 

 

 As I said in my little intro, this was fast and fun and sweet and funny. Like, for real, I have never come across a writer whose consistency in style reaches this level before. There is something quintessentially Hall that is present in each of his books I've read. It's that writing that is laugh-snort out loud hilarity of the dialogue and narration (he does not miss on that), mixed with a sort of softness of an impending HEA that you know you'll get because that's what Hall does. It's a perfect balance for entertainment and heartwarming-ness, and really no one does it like he does. 

 

Now, that being said, the amnesia situation is not a favorite of mine, as tropes go, so this just was never going to be a favorite of his books, for me. And I knew that going in, so I adjusted expectations accordingly. And after reading, I remember why. There's just a suspension of disbelief that you have to have, in order to buy into a story where a character can remember some things and not others, and yes, I know the brain is complex, but it's just a lot to ask of this reader. Now, some of that (like why Sam's family, or anyone in his life, doesn't reach out about his well-being for weeks, even in Holiday times) does get more well explained in the end. And when it does, it is heartbreaking and it does fit. But that doesn't change the fact that, for the majority of my time reading this book, it was a question sitting in my mind that affected my overall reading experience. 

 

On the other hand, I am not usually a Holiday romance lover either, and in that case...this book was giving. Like, the absolutely adorable hamster ornament interaction/theme had my heart straight up melting. And the giant Christmas tree through all the floors of Jonathan's house was, honestly, spirit-restoring. Related to this, a bit, but also standing on its own, if you have a  big loud nosy family, this book will feel familiar in all the good and annoying ways. Those vibes were on point and hit the spot. 

 

Tbh, all in all, I'm coming out of this book with the feeling of vibes that were on point and hit the spot. And, though this isn't a new favorite Alexis Hall for me (of note, I'm hard pressed to believe that anything will ever beat A Lady for a Duke), it delivered what I was hoping for and left me quite satisfied.            

“You’ve come into my life like a beam of very annoying sunshine. You talk so much that I miss it when you’re not. You try to fix things I didn’t even realize were broken. You have a dreadful sense of humor to which I’ve somehow become habituated. You care about people so effortlessly it makes me able to put up with them. And then you kissed me and now I…” He lets his head slip further down into his hands. “…I don’t know how I’m supposed to go the rest of my life without being kissed by you again.” 

 

“So I kiss him again. I kiss him the way he’s maybe scared to be kissed and the way I think he deserves to be kissed.” 

 

“And that’s—well it’s jobs, at the end of the day. They’re bigger than you and that’s nice when you’re there. But every connection you make is based on cash and convenience. It’s not a substitute for— For anything.” 

 

“It’s kind of the worst thing someone can say to you. Because you can’t hurt someone unless they care. And you shouldn’t if they do.”