I freaking love Irby's writing. I read we are never meeting in real life. a couple years ago (and have recommended it so many times since then). And I listened to wow, no thank you. right after it came out. I loved both so much and when I saw that she had a new collection of essays coming out, I saved the date. And I'm pretty sure I made it to my local bookstore the week it was released to buy myself a copy. Of note, I also got an ALC from Libro.fm, so I was able to listen as well, which was spectacular, as Irby narrates it and her tone/inflection are perfect. 

 

In this most recent collection, Irby addresses topics including middle of the night ED visits for allergic reactions, becoming obsessed with QVC (and other COVID related responses and coping), porn, the ways she would have (if given the chance) "ruined" original Sex and the City episodes and storylines (in response to getting death threats while writing for the current reboot), food (of course), her advice on how to hold your own with teenagers, her (now classic) self-deprecating explorations of how her body is failing her complete with myriad gross and funny bodily function experiences, owning the things you like no matter how "low brow," what kind of party guest she would be, and why she plans to never have a kid.  

 

First of all, I love this title. Being quietly hostile is a whole vibe...one that makes for great essays...and the hilarious pairing with the skunk is the kind of quality cover art and marketing that I can get behind. But really, as I've now come to expect from Irby, the real star of her essays is the way that she can simultaneously make me laugh-snort out loud (both expectedly and unexpectedly) *and* provide legitimate, brilliant really, insight and observation into human characteristics and interactions. 

 

There were a couple essays that I just, overall, loved. The opener "i like it!" was freaking fantastic; what a start. I really identified with "my firstborn dog," as an I-don't-want-kids person myself. And, as someone who had to take a middle of the night trip to the ED for a swollen face style allergic reaction, albeit not one that quite reached the level of anaphylaxis, “what if i died like elvis” was a humorous take on an otherwise not-at-all funny experience. I unexpectedly enjoyed the QVC essay - what a creative format it had. And I thought the shorter essays, like “i like to get high at night and think about whales”  and "food fight" were nice breaks from the longer ones. But also, they had some of the best lightening insights into humans and being human. Like, "food fight" felt so real, as a person in a long term relationship: the big stuff is fine and the stupid little stuff like different styles of fridge stocking, is absolutely where the breaking points are. Finally, I thought  “how to look cool in front of teens”  was so good. I've worked with adolescents of varying ages for over 10 years now and...it is spot on, hilarious, touching, and a beautiful owning of that fact that generations are different and aging happens and you get to own yours just like they get to own theirs. Loved it.  

 

I think I've reached the point where I would read anything Irby writes, which is clear because even the essays is this collection that I have absolutely no reference points for, like Dave Matthews (don't really listen to him) and Sex in the City (never seen a single episode) somehow still kept me invested. I just really love Irby's essays and writing. It's perfectly irreverent - oh so much phenomenal snark and sarcasm - with great energy (like, the writing moves) and perception and so much humor. Also, idk exactly what age she is, but the voice and vibes hit just right for my older-edge millennial self. I could read endless essays from Irby. 

 

This is outside my normal genre, as I'm not really a mystery/thriller reader, but sometimes it's nice to mix things up. Plus, as has been pretty clear with my recent reading choices, I'm in a "keep it light and quick" reading space right now, to balance out a more stressful IRL work situation right now.  and I am not sure where I heard this but it somehow came across my radar, that this is written by a local (to me) author. I mean, all within the state of NC, even though our actual homes are almost two hours apart. Close enough. I do enjoy reading things where I recognize some of the locations and references and that doesn't happen too often. And apparently, I am not alone in that, because the waitlists for this audiobook at all my libraries were loooooong. But I finally got it! 

 

Despite the fact that no one else in his family understands (and in fact they're mostly downright unsupportive), Ray McMillian loves, more than anything, playing the violin. As the only family member who's ever expressed any interest in the instrument, his grandmother gives him a family heirloom for Christmas one year, his great-grandfather's fiddle. Ray treasures it, his connection to his family history and his grandmother and the chance to really pursue a career as a professional musician. When he discovers that it's actually a priceless Stradivarius, everything changes: his family comes for the violin, other families' claiming to be the rightful owners bring lawsuits, and Ray's musical star rises quickly. On the eve of the international musical competition, that he is set to travel to Russia to compete in, the violin is stolen. This novel traces the path Ray's life took to get him to this point, the history of his family in America (and how his great-grandfather came to be this priceless instrument's owner), and the search for the stolen fiddle in conjunction with Ray's preparation for the Tchaikovsky Competition. 

 

Alright, I know literally nothing about music or instruments, and especially not classical music. I have read one other book that had violin and classical music as a primary theme (Light From Uncommon Stars) and I loved it, even without any musical background/context. So I was pretty sure I'd be fine with it here. And, while I'm betting that knowing more about the techniques and pieces being referenced throughout would have made it an even more robust reading experience, I can also say that not knowing more didn't impede my enjoyment of the story. In fact, that framework for the overall plot felt really interesting. And really, one of the highlights of the entire book was the clear and profound love that the author has for the violin and classical music. It was so clear in the way he writes playing the instrument and the stories each piece tells in sound. It's not something I can directly relate to, but the emotion and connection were so real, and I loved that for him and loved reading it for me.        

 

Obviously racism is an inescapable part of the reality of the United States, but the combined/alternate widely recognizable and very specific ways it shows up in the world of classical music was    something I can't say I'd ever considered before. The general structural threads are, of course, common, but there were some ways they played out that were unique. Parts of reading this filled me with dread because I could guess what was coming (like the Marks family "claim" on the violin) and knew it was going to be hard to read and feel terrible. But it needs to be seen and addressed regardless. The way that  the history of slavery and intergenerational family heirlooms and racism were interwoven in this way was well done. Also, seeing Ray's internal reactions feelings about the conspicuousness of being Black in this arena, the constant questioning of why you’re there (talent and being “good enough” or as a PR thing/media stunt), was similarly important and also quite (unfortunately) salient what with the recent Supreme Court rulings. Ugh. 

 

Some final thoughts. My biggest issue was that the dialogue was sometimes pretty clunky and not super natural. If I had to guess, that's due in part to it being a debut novel. But dialogue is a major thing for me and a few times I got pulled out by it here. The emotional yo-yoing made sense, but was exhausting to read in a way that felt more repetitive than profound here. Perhaps again related to it being a debut. There was definitely more backstory development than mystery solving aspects for the majority of the book, which isn't necessarily a bad thing (I was invested throughout), but I want to mention it to help set accurate expectations. I think I had guessed the thief (kidnapper?) by about two thirds in, but it was still worth reading all the way. The ending itself was clean, but satisfying. I loved the relationship between Ray and his grandmother Nora; it was *all* the full-hearted feels. I also loved the Author's Note at the end (I do really enjoy when those are good and add something to the overall experience of the book). And, since I read the audiobook, I have to mention the music interludes between sections. I have no idea what pieces/artists they were, but they were a great addition to the ambiance. 

 

This was a really original and fascinating read. It had some aspects that could have been better, but more in a technical sense, something that may grow and come with more experience and publications (and I do believe he has a second book out already so I'm sure it's smoother there!). As far as a well-plotted story, original aspects and fascinating details, and a lighter reading experience (though still well-grounded in reality), it delivered. 

 

 “Second, he learned that doing what you loved may not be enough, that all the passion and perseverance that roared like blood within you could be trumped by factors that you could never control – factors like the color of your skin, or the shape of your eyes, or the sound of your voice.” 

 

 

Wrapping up my back-to-back reading of this (King) Arthur in space duology and living my best queer YA literature life. Like, just give me all the queer Arthur retellings. Please and thank you. 

 

Sword in the Sky picks up exactly where Once & Future leaves us, with Merlin and Ari et al jumping into the past, to the original King Arthur's time, to find and steal the chalice (yes, they do mean that grail) gifted to Arthur by Avalon, with the hopes that it will help them bring down Mercer for good. Of course, as with all time travel, it's important not to mess with the timeline and change the course of history. Except the group is separated during their journey through time and things take some dramatic and *very* interfering turns. Plus, there's still the ever-present meddling from Nin, all the misogyny and social challenges of living in the past, and the fact that Merlin's (older) past self is more of an impediment than a help...at every turn. Can the group not mess up the past too much, stop the cycle of Arthur's deaths and Merlin's backwards aging, and make it back to the future all together to save their own time/world? 

 

So, I want to get the big elephant in the room out of the way first (or at least, what I felt like the big elephant was). I was really hesitant about this second book because of the going back in time thing. Like, so many things could go wrong (as far as how the story unfolded, and how much I would "believe" and/or like it) and I was pretty invested in the sci-fi future world we had started with, so I wasn't sure the sudden shift wouldn't feel too jarring for me. Plus, time travel itself is a tough nut to crack, as a story-teller, doing it well and "right" and without too many holes or cheesy stuff or squiggly parts. And I am thrilled to report that, while the jury remained out for the first third, or so, of the book, I ended up totally buying into it. The weaving together of the "future" with the "past" and the crossover of some of the characters (and the shake-up in some of their roles), along with the way it all played into and built the cycle that Nin had created and Merlin continuously looping through it, was honestly really well done. Now, were there perhaps some question marks and weirdness and corny things and perhaps one too many deus ex machina moments? Yes. But by the end, they were very much outweighed by the overall story developing, for me. And there was at least one self-aware moment that was really cheeky and I enjoyed it being there. Ha!  

 

I was also a bit creeped out by the Merlin aging backwards thing. It felt weird and I was nervous about how it would play out too. Honestly, it turned out better than I'd expected too. (Overall really, the writing in this second book was a step up from the first. I think the joint authorship grew a lot between the two installations. But back to Merlin, it was cool to see him get a second chance to go back to his "old" self's decisions with his current self's growth and try to be better. It did take a really weird turn, relationally (no spoilers, promise!), but I'll allow it, I suppose. And I did really like the turn that the social commentary made in this one. It was still very present, but felt less spelled out, like the authors trusted the readers more, in this second book, and I was glad for that. Plus it was more dynamically interesting to see the present and future interpretations of the past (like from Gwen's Middle Ages planet, Lionel) coming face-to-face with the (sometimes deeply hypocritical and definitely not idealistic variations of) the history that actually inspired them. It's an important lesson, to learn that the things we honor and celebrate from the past were, in all likelihood, not as perfect as we'd like them to believe (or as they've been repurposed in the present). Relatedly, the very clear calling out of the whitewashing of history, the way that even Merlin, who lived it, remembered it incorrectly due to racist revisioning, was both a great point (about queer and BIPOC people having always been there) and unexpectedly (as in, I wasn't expecting it to be addressed in the way it was) joyful to read. Thank you to the authors, for gifting readers with that. 

 

Finally...ugh, that was a deeply satisfying ending. It was sweet and bittersweet and a really positive wrap-up of righting past wrongs to create a better future (loved the way Nin's story was presented and given closure, plus all the found family love remained central and a major highlight). It was very clean, very, but the general parable about how cycles of pain/loss/loneliness that one can get trapped it can be broken out of, with help, and are worth the effort to do so, in pursuit of that shining, happy ending. It was the right way for this fantastical folklore-y retelling to finish.          

 

“People have used many hateful weapons over time. Forced forgetting is a powerful one.” 

 

“That’s what men do. That’s what men have always done. They kill and burn and take, and they stuff their ears against the screams, but at the end of the day the want to be remembered as good. So they write stories about their shining deeds and all are made to watch and listen and love them.” 

 

“Her heroic moment would never be met with parades or universe-wise celebration, but most heroic moments weren’t. Each was a single drop in the great flow of time, but every drop mattered. And the right one, at the right moment, could change the water’s direction entirely.” 

 

“He’d heard the arguments. That they were just stories. But he knew, from deep personal experience playing a role in one of the most enduring legends in Western history, that stories were never just a string of pretty words on a page or attractive strangers on a screen. They climbed inside your head, reordered things. Tore up parts of you by the roots and planted new ideas. Magic, really. And not always the sparkly kind.” 

 

“…time was fleeting. A river that could only ever sweep them away. They’d have this night and then their lives would keep moving, changing. But wherever they went – wherever hope went – new legends would draw mighty swords and fight for better futures.” 

 

 

I hadn’t heard of this until a few months ago when I randomly came across it on NetGalley. It was the title and cover combination that really caught my attention. Then I read it was about a pirate queen?! And there was no going back. (Also, note: Libro.fm offered it as an ALC a month or so ago and honestly, I loved having both the ebook and audiobook while reading.) 

 

When Shek Yeung’s husband is killed in a battle, she takes immediate action, marrying his second in command (with the promise of bearing him a child, a son, to be his heir, despite having thought herself past the time in her life), in order to maintain her power and position within the fleet. But even with that quick thinking, the fleet remains on the edge of disaster in the face of myriad outside threats. Shek Yeung must navigate through a Chinese Emperor who seeks to eradicate all piracy in the most brutal manner, European powers who are tired of losing resources to the pirates, and an inter-fleet alliance that is shaky at best. Plus, as she faces the vastly different challenges of new motherhood, she begins to question what price she is actually willing to pay to retain control and leadership. 

 

I am not sure why, but I thought there was going to be magic in this story…and there is not. I want to set that out to start, as, since I didn’t know where that impression came form personally, maybe other people are thinking that too. That has no bearing on my enjoyment of the overall reading experience whatsoever, I just felt it necessary to clarify. I will say though, there is a definite vibe that supernatural forces *could* be in play, through fate and fortune-telling and the influence of gods (similar to books like The Fortunes of Jaded Women, The Last Tale of the Flower Bride, The Cloisters, Plain Bad Heroines, etc.). So, it kind of reads like a magical historical fiction in vibe, if not in actuality. And that’s a style I can get behind. 

 

Plot-wise, this was spectacularly written and paced. There was, absolutely, all the ruthlessness and violence one would expect from a novel about pirates, but as it was sprinkled in with stories about Ma Zhou and mythology and beliefs around her godhood, that was balanced out in a way that made it feel less intense or overwhelming. This was aided by the background on Shek Yeung’s life that was developed as the story went, giving us context not only about her own journey to piracy, but for the greater world within which her story takes place. It was tragic, as I believe all “I didn’t set out to become a pirate, but ended up here anyways” tales must be, compounded by her role as a female during this historical time period in Chinese history (but also, as a female in any time period ever, if we’re being honest). Getting to experience the story from her perspective, her own decisions, and with insight into her own thought processes and feelings, was exactly what I wanted. Finally, in regards to the plot, I would be remiss if I didn’t’ acknowledge how wonderful the complexity of the political machinations and power maneuvering were. I always love when those aspects are done with the kind of deftness that Chang-Eppig had here. 

 

A few final thoughts. First, I was thrilled to hear that Emily Woo Zeller was narrating – I enjoy her voice talents and this was no exception. I thought it was great, the way Chang-Eppig showed how mythology and folklore take on a life of their own depending on the teller, and how every story is just that because all tales grow and change in the telling. This was demonstrated both though the tales of Ma Zhou and in the ways Shek Yeung chose portray herself and her life. 

 

Overall, what atmospheric and original historical fiction. It was swashbuckling and violent, but also culturally and politically nuanced. Perhaps a slightly slower read than the blurb might suggest, but once I adjusted, it was such a good reading/listening experience.
 

"Piracy was, more often than not, a matter of convincing the target of the futility of fighting back." 

 

"Women's life stories were written by their men, messily, elegantly, or in the case of violent men, tersely. Now that Cheng Yat was dead, Shek Yeung finally had a turn at dictating the course of things. She might have been born thirty-one years ago, but her story was only now hers." 

 

"But villains waited for no god..." 

 

"There were many gods in Heaven, one for whatever a person lacked (after all, wasn't lack the foundation of being human?)..." 

 

"'Why do you need all this power?' Wo-Yuet had asked her. So that I can have complete control, she should have answered. Because the moment a powerful woman loosened her grip on the reins, even a little, someone immediately tried to wrest those reins from her. This "someone" was usually a man who believed she should never have had them in the first place." 

 

"...acts of disobedience quickly led to unrest, which led to violence, which had to be met in kind. There was no stability without violence, nor was there peace in instability. Where was the line between stability and tyranny?" 

 

"They'd come together to stay alive, which was different from staying together to live." 

 

"In the end, stories were not reality, could not be reality. The storyteller decided where to start the story and where to end it, which parts to sink into and which to skin over." 

 

 

This third installation finally made it back to the library after being long overdue. And I sped through it in about an hour, as I have the rest of the series…collection?... I’m not actually sure what to call this, as it’s a compilation of episodes from a previously published web-comic. Huh. Anyways, the point is, I finally got it, and read through it fast AF. 

 

The story picks up exactly where we left it, with the pull between Hades and Persephone being strong enough to pretty much be noticed by everyone around them (and poor attempts to ignore it themselves are central). Plus, they each have a pretty intensely distracting personal/mental health concern, as Persephone struggles with the expectations on her and the emotional repercussions of that mixed with Apollo’s assault and Hades falls back into some old bad habits in his toxic relationship with Minthe. Of course, we get some bonus side story content as well, this time with a focus on how Persephone came to stay with Artemis in the first place and Eros’ complicated (and questionably handled) secret relationship with Psyche. 

 

So far, I have been entertained by, but not totally sold on, this series. As I have mentioned, it might have been the style of the storytelling or the fact that the retelling space is overly saturated right now and perhaps my standards are skewed. But I have to say, this third section of the story was much better, for me. I thought the development of Persephone and Hades together and separately was really much stronger here. Maybe the first two had to take too much time in set up (stories of the gods are very complicated, with lots of faces/characters) and didn’t have the chance to give character depth until this point. But I really enjoyed what we got in these chapters; the story is really starting to settle in and form more strongly. 

 

I also liked the more nuanced emotions we’re getting from Persephone here. I was not a huge fan of her one-dimensional bubbly-sweet naivete. Maybe I’m cynical, but after her formative years being so strict/isolated, and then this “coming out” into a space of such drama as the gods have, and her sexual assault, I feel like her more intense emotions, and some darker ones for sure, should have come sooner. Now, there was a long break between when I read the first two and now, reading this third book, so there’s a chance my perspective on timing is skewed. Regardless, I liked seeing her be vulnerable (the episode where she opens up to Eros and the way he validates and supports her was the absolute highlight), a little angry, and overtly protective of herself. She still has the soft, people-pleasing qualities of before, but now with more depth. And how that’s allowing her to start to be more independent in her thought, and even come into her own powers a bit, lines up nicely. 

 

Hades…well, he is who he is after how long he’s been around. We’ll see how Persephone can soften and heal him with more time spent together. I assume that’s on the horizon and I’m here for it. And with time, we are also starting to get more from others, like Artemis and Hermes and Minthe and Thetis, and that is all great side character development. One last point on development, it was cool to see more of the Underworld and its sections and workings in this collection. I hope we get more of that moving forwards too, the world-building around the inter-character dramatics. 

 

I was going to stop here, if I didn’t feel into this series any more after this third installation. I figured it was only fair to give it this long, since they are *so* fast to read. And I’m glad I made that call, because this one was definitely better enough, imo, to make me want to pick up the next one and see how the story unfolds further, in this iteration of the telling. 

 

Bellefleur’s debut romance trilogy (Written in the Stars, Hang the Moon, and Count Your Lucky Stars) was one of the most bubbly, uplifting set of romances I have ever read. Plus, the most all-encompassing bi rep I’ve ever read, which I honestly cannot love more. And so, she’s cemented herself as an auto-read romance author for me. 

 

Tansy Adams has dedicated her whole life to her beloved bookstore, which has been in her family for generations and is the only piece of her parents that she has left now. Over the years, she has retreated further into herself, even making up fake girlfriends to keep her step-family off her case. Gemma West is the proverbial red-headed stepchild of the affluent van Dalen family, who is being pulled back into the family orbit when an unexpected stipulation in her grandfather’s will leaves the family company to her, but only if she gets married. When Tansy and Gemma “run into” each other at a (now-intermingled-family) event, a spur-of-the-moment choice catapults them into a fake engagement that, while it would be beneficial for both of them objectively, may also be the best that’s ever happened to either of them for real. As long as they can survive the van Dalen family’s backhandedness and scheming. 

 

This most recent novel is a standalone, though still set in Seattle – Bellefleur’s home base and sweet spot for settings – and while it’s basically completely new/separate characters, there is still a tiny name-drop cameo or two that were very satisfying for readers familiar with her earlier books. And past that, it has all the same hallmarks sweet, fun, lightheartedness (and spectacular dialogue…goodness Bellefleur does banter so well) of the rest of her books, while still staying big on the feels and addressing some real-life insecurities and issues (content warning for cyber-bullying/sexual harassment and general rich-family douchebaggery). I know I mentioned in the intro, but I just love that all of Bellefleur’s books highly feature bisexual characters, with the variety of romantic interests and entanglements that being bi brings…fighting erasure like a queen. And in general, I always appreciate that the drama in her romances are “regular” drama, the kind you may find no matter who the couple is, and not specifically tied to the sexuality of the characters. It’s well done, as far as casual queerness on page goes.  

 

Let’s see…. I do want to say that there are a *lot* of characters in this book. And many of their names are dropped quickly in the first chapter or two. It was kind of a lot to be dropped into. The important ones come up enough afterwards that they sort themselves out, but seriously, there was a moment there where I felt a little overwhelmed. That’s really the only criticism. Otherwise, once I settled in to all the names, I enjoyed them all. There was definitely some “extra side character” thinness to some of them, but they all filled their roles alright. I especially enjoyed Gemma’s friends (obvs, and also because that glitter prank was *everything*) and the relationships between Gemma and her Uncle Brooks. And while if I were Tansy, I would have dropped her step-mother long ago, I did like the arc of the relationship, considering the “heart-filling” vibes this book leaned into. Speaking of, while the ending was maybe too good to be true, I also couldn’t help but love the poetic justice of it. Plus, it was deeply sweet and very entertaining full-dramatics as a finale. A moment of hope where love conquers all, even capitalism. 

 

Finally, and I’m ending with this, even though maybe it’s not a highlight for everyone, but: I LOVE the communication. All throughout, Gemma and Tansy are completely open and honest with each other. And even though they have their “third act break-up moment,” its about real insecurity and not necessarily knowing it, as opposed to miscommunication or an unwillingness to say what they’re feeling. And that’s just f*cking refreshing. 

 

So overall, Bellefleur delivers, yet again and as always. I loved very second reading this. It was a page-turning, butterflies-in-your-belly, fully emotional love story, with a few very gratifying sex scenes. Yes, please. And when do we get more?! 

 

Mostly just thanks to Libro.fm for the ALC that put this on my radar in the first place. Magical humanistic creatures are a soft spot of mine in fantasy literature; vampires being the primary obviously, but sometimes I am in the mood for a more water-based situation. 

 

Ren Yu is a swimmer, a fact about her that dictates her life more than any other aspect of her personality, family, interests, etc. Her every moment revolves around swimming: her coach, her team, her times, her competition, her goals for a scholarship and how being the best at swimming will bring her the success in life she and her parents crave for her. But throughout the years of her adolescence, this daily intensity in reality mixes with the magical stories of mermaids that she was raised on and loves, and when her mental stability takes a dive (pun sort of intended), she mixes those aspects in a painful and bloody way to create, for herself, the life of freedom in the water that is all she's ever wanted. 

 

Having read both The Pisces and The Vegetarian, which were comp titles in the blurb about this book, I maybe should have suspected that this would be as...weird...as it was.But for some reason, it still took me by surprise. It started from the very beginning, with a feeling, masterfully imparted by the writing itself, of an off-ness that one can't quite put one's finger on. And it continues, without letting up, in a super weird and uncomfortable head-on addressing of coming-of-age, exploring sexuality, the focus on teen years, the intensity of athletics (and playing up the creepy factor of coaches of young high-talent athletes), and more. Specifically, there is an unflinching addressing of maturing for anyone with a uterus - from periods to tampons to sex to pregnancy scares to IUD insertion - in a way that might come off as vulgar, but only within the accepted, but arbitrary, societal standards with which simple bodily functions and fluids that anyone [who menstruates] experiences. As a person working in the field of adolescent health and puberty/sex ed, I loved that aspect. Yes, those topics are visceral, particularly in the body-horror-style way that they are described here. *But* it's also accurate, and in many ways universal, so this private (real) experience, versus the sanitized public awareness we usually get, really hit home for me, as a reader. 

 

Past that, the way Song pinpoints and puts into words the hazards of growing up in the “normal” sense - unwanted sexual contact that isn’t violent but is traumatic in that one doesn't want it but also doesn’t say no to it, the high standards of familial expectation, the coach that has a creepily watchful eye and toes a line of making one uncomfortable but never crosses into something fully acusable, the experimentation with substances that never hits a point of overdose or addiction - are the star of this novel. These "everyday traumas" are usually written off with a "it happens to everyone" or a "it's not that bad" or a "you'll move past and forget it" and those dismissals can be almost as much of a trauma as the experience itself. Recognizing that here, and how that all can have devastating effects on a teen's mental health, is spectacular. There is, perhaps, a satire here, in the way that Song takes the story and Ren's mermaid transformation plotline. And yet, the message in that metaphor, the extreme lengths to which a person might go (in this case, turning to the mythical) to find sources of power and purpose in a world that provides none, or at least not proper support for one's journey there, is strong and clear and important.   

 

There is a literal and figurative crampy, bloody, creepy vibe to this sapphic, magical realism coming of age story. This is an intense and somewhat disturbing parable for the fight to make yourself who you truly are, and how far you’d go to make that happen. Super unnerving. And while it's definitely the kind of weird I don’t necessarily enjoy as a reader, I can still recognize what the author did (and where I really recognized parts of myself in the story), and appreciate it for what it is. 

 

“I never said yes, but I never said no, and the indefinite limbo of maybe is where regret and doubt and confusion reside as neighbors, forever reduced to the monotony of a clouded memory, the mind traveling in never-ending cul-de-sac circles.” 

 

“Because human lives are situational. Humans think they have free will, free agency, but really, they follow the push and pull of whatever happens.” 

Well…this was exactly as bad as I expected the sequel to be. So, two stars for meeting expectations. Too much John Hughes, not enough Middle Earth, a half baked attempt to address the unhealthy aspects of Halliday’s character (which is most of them, if we’re being honest) and no attempt to address the same unhealthy aspects of Wade’s, a way-too-drawn-out intro, entirely too many forced 80s references (yea, I get that’s the point of these books, but that still doesn’t mean you need to hit us with them like a sledgehammer), the literal worst AI storyline, and OMG like they didn’t learn anything about too much technological power *at all* with that ending!! Blargh. 

 

Look y'all. It's looking like 2023 is the year of King Arthur retellings for me. Specifically, awesomely queer YA retellings. I loved The Other Merlin a few weeks ago and, while I'm waiting for my library to *hopefully* get the second book in that duology, I decided to go ahead and pick up this duology as well. Thankfully, both of these books are already at the library, so I can binge the entire thing without a waitt. 

 

This is a queer YA retelling of King Arthur...in space. In the future, after Old Earth has long been broken and abandoned, Ari and her brother, Kay, find themselves on the surface of the old planet after making an escape from the tyrannical corporation, Mercer, that runs their post-post-capitalist world. While there, Ari pulls a sword from an old tree and restarts the most recent cycle of "the one true king to take down the great evil and unite the world." But this is the first time the sword has ever chosen a girl, and it's also one of Merlin's last chances to successfully complete his mission of guiding Arthur to success, so everything about this iteration of the story is different and the stakes have never been higher. Ari and Merlin must bring together the "knights" and navigate the complicated interpersonal dramas that keep replaying amongst them (this time with added teen hormones), while also saving Ari and Kay's parents from an planet-prison, expose the evils of the Mercer corporation, face down ancient magical beings like the Lady of the Lake, and contend with a myriad other magical and political threats.  

 

Alright, this was great fun. But also, if I'm being honest, definitely not as good as The Other Merlin. There are a couple reasons for this. And I'm going to start with those, so you know what they are, and then close with the good things. Because there were quite enough of those that I am totally planning to pick up book two as soon as possible. First, the writing itself had a choppiness to it. In both the dialogue and the unfolding of events (sequence and plot development), there was just a lack of smoothness and connectivity. Now, this is something that I moved past more or less without issue, because this was a fast and entertaining read and I chose not to get bogged down in the holes between details and to just enjoy the ride. But if that would be a bigger turn-off for you, just be aware. The second issue I had is mostly related, actually, but felt worth a separate mention to me. Some of the capitalism references and euphemisms and critiques are a bit too on the nose, like manhandled into the text. I mean, I agree with them. But it was clunkily done. However, again, I'm choosing to give leeway because this is for a YA audience. And I chose to read quickly and move past these flow issues. 

 

I did enjoy the mix of more serious issues and lighter entertainment vibes that this retelling had. I always love a future world where issues of discrimination based on sex/gender/sexuality are a thing of the past, and this novel had that in spades. Almost all the characters were queer in some way and it was bittersweet in all the best ways to see how Merlin, the only one of them to have lived through myriad generations of Old Earth's murderous prejudice on this front, was able to find his own freedom in this more accepting future. Loved that. So basically, all the sex positivity (in an ace inclusive way) and queer love was *chef's kiss.* 

 

Though it is very in your face, I am team "take down capitalist overreach" so that facade for the "big evil" is one I can get behind taking down. There was always some action going on as well, whether it was the fighting kind or the prisonbreak kind or the relationship kind, that kept things moving at a good clip throughout. And I appreciated, as always, the ways this both lined up and diverged from the "original" story. That's the reason I come back to retellings: the creative ways the author's put new spins on these stories, keeping things fresh but familiar. There was also some very sweet and very snort-level funny sprinkled throughout this book, that are lovely in their different ways and keep the entertainment level high. Of note, let me just say lolz, I see you with Ari being Arthur 42. 

 

Anyways, reading this was totally diverting. The fun escapist ride I was looking for. With where the story left off, I am invested in seeing where the second book takes us (and by "where it takes us," I mean the plot and the characters' developments, because it's very clear where in space/time we're going!). I'm hoping for a fun and fulfilling conclusion, with all the same complicated young romance, King Arthur Easter eggs, corny jokes and throwbacks to "old" Earth, and taking-down-the-bad-guys action as this first one. 

 

“Because too many people believe that difference is the enemy of unity.” 

 

“The path humans took through time was less the mythical arrow of progress, and more of a squiggle that doubled back on itself, curling and looping. A roller coaster designed by a drunkard.” 

 

“The greatest power is a hand on your shoulder, a whisper in your head, gentle but insistent. These people don’t want to see what’s happening, so they don’t see it.” 

 

“That’s what resistance looks like, Merlin. It’s not one glorious, shining victory. It’s a torch that you keep burning, no matter what.” 

 

“It’s exposure. How do kids think out of the box if they’ve never seen out of the box?” 

 

This is one of those books that just felt like a necessary read. I know that winning the Pulitzer moved it up my TBR list quite a lot. But even without that, this just felt like one of those age-defining works of nonfiction and I knew I'd pick it up at some point. 

 

We meet Dasani at age 11, living in a homeless shelter in NYC with her close-knit family (parents and seven siblings). Over the next eight years, we follow Dasani as she moves throughout the city, surviving both for herself and in a leadership role for her siblings, as he family deals with poverty, hunger, housing instability, racism, (parental) addiction, violence, underfunded and segregated schools, and the ever-present "monitoring" of child protection services. When academic champions for Dasani help her get into a boarding school in  Pennsylvania, she leaves the city and life she's always known, for an entirely different challenge in rural America, separate from her family and having to learn to be someone totally different (or at least act like it). As time goes by, Dasani must answer an impossible conundrum: is leaving poverty behind worth the price of losing her connections to her family?   

 

Look. This was *thorough.* I can see why it won the Pulitzer. The depth of Elliot's time with the family, research into their ancestry, the tying in of American history and culture and socio-political landscape, and just the general detail with which she communicated both their daily lives and interactions, as well as the larger picture realities of their lives, was incredible. I mean, the audiobook was 21 hours, but after finishing, I see why that much time and space was needed. And I honestly even would have been ok with more. For most of this reading/listening experience, I actually didn't make any notes about my thoughts or reactions, which is pretty rare for me. I was that swept up in Dasani, and her family's, life. I will say that there were a couple times where perhaps the overall pacing, or however these aspects were all woven together, didn't happen with quite the ideal flow. I really can't put my finger on why, or what the issue was, but perhaps that's just the reality of following a family of this size, with this many scattered pieces and diverse storylines, plus all the other contextual aspects that also needed page-time. It's a lot to fit together. 

 

This is a "go read the whole thing yourself" kind of review. Like, there isn't a great way to distill down this entire experience, and it deserves to be experienced in its entirety anyways. But there were a few key takeaways or particularly affecting things I'll go ahead and point out here. First, this was an interesting look at a life governed by extremes: getting out of extreme poverty means getting an extreme break, like becoming extremely rich and successful, or taking an extreme step, like moving to another state for boarding school and limiting all contact with family (or removing children from a family and separating them among foster homes). It's an outlook and approach that seems doomed to failure or something where only the special few succeed, as opposed to smaller (and more accessible) steps. Like, I teach students about setting SMART goals and I feel like those concepts are nowhere here, from any perspective, including (especially) CPS. Plus, it would often be, as Elliot analyzes, cheaper to take some of those steps, versus the costs (short and long term, emotional and financial) of the extreme ones. 

 

On that note, what a searing indictment (as if we needed more proof though, honestly) of the way our support systems - welfare, child protection - fail those who need them, at best monitoring without actually helping and at worst deliberately overlooking untenable situations. I hate that, at one point, Elliot says she wanted to tell the story of poverty from a child's perspective, to garner the sympathy only kids can get...but no one wants to remember that many of the adults in this story were those kids too. And we just stop caring (or pretending to care), once they get to adulthood. But how are they supposed to suddenly be responsible and successful adults without being given tools to do so? It's infuriating. It's the same as the entire "pro-life" debate, where politicians and people care until the kid is born, then there is no support for a kid born into an untenable/unwanted situation. UGH. 

 

Ok, off my soapbox and back to this review. Let me also mention the unbelievable and deplorable housing crisis situation. Like, we see here that it's an issue even affecting people with typically “professional” jobs like teaching. They're also being evicted and living in shelters. That's absurd and, also, what kind of reason does that give anyone to "try harder," because poverty and housing instability follow even past the steps that should reasonably take you past it! Related, as always, I love the highlighting of how just a single champion (a teacher and a principal, in this case) can make such a difference in the entire trajectory in a life…and yet we see how even people who play those roles are often overlooked and/or in dire straits themselves. It’s so much to conceptualize and understand. And there is no justification for this in a country as wealthy as ours. And yet here we are. 

 

Structurally, I like that this leads up to, includes, and follows after, the actual series published in the New York Times, expanding on the limited scope of that story to address what led to it and what came after. Because, as we all know, that was not the end of this "story," and for that matter neither is this book. These are real people and lives that continue, regardless of popular attention. I appreciated the inclusion (in this case, primarily in the Afterward, similar to that way it's addressed in both Evicted) of the way the author both "found" this story, became trusted enough by them to make this story/book possible, and the moral concerns related to her involvement and reporting on this family's life. Obviously this information is important, and shedding light on the conditions of poverty is necessary to force a political agenda (and the grassroots power of public opinion) towards understanding and addressing it. And yet, there is also an aspect of concern about a journalist taking advantage of a family like this to "get the expose" and then move on from it, while the family remains in the same deplorable situation. Where are the lines and what is the best way to handle this? I'm not the person with the answers, but it's an important question to ask. And if you are curious, I think Elliot herself discusses it on an episode of @thestackspod. 

 

Anyways, overall, I was so impressed by this piece of literature. Elliot maintains a very objective writing voice, which made things a bit dry at times, but never not emotionally investing. She gave space to all perspectives (with obvious focus on Dasani and her family as a representation of the poverty and CPS experiences central to the nonfiction) in a way that allowed the reader to draw conclusions and opinions of their own. And she does a commendable job in acknowledging and presenting the complex intersections of race and poverty and healthcare and housing and childcare and the justice system and education and governmental (child protective and other) systems that Dasani and her family face. I definitely recommend this one.