DNF at Chapter 12

I love the premise of this book, and am actually interested enough in the plot that I may pick this up again in the future, but the prose is, in a word, rough

If it were just a few moments of information dumps over descriptions, or perplexing dialogue tags or anachronistic language, I could let it go. Things like ‘bus’ and ‘tourist’ could be excused: there’s no definite time period listed so I suppose I could allow for this to be more 19th century in origin. 

I had to put the book down at calling God ‘Sky Daddy.’ It was just so beyond anachronistic, a nod to a contemporary audience that the book hadn’t set itself up to earn. I feel like this author was aiming for Tamsyn Muir or Margaret Owen, but unfortunately it doesn’t EARN those moments like those two authors do. The humour feels flat because the characters have traits, but not a ton of depth or heart. 

I really wanted to like this book. I was so excited for the premise. 

DNF after Part 1

Ok, I am in awe of Jamison Shea’s ability to craft a world. This book, and the one before it, are full of lush, dark prose and descriptions that bring the story to life in ways that floor me. This book series makes you feel things, rage, mostly, as it radiates off one of the most lovably intense protagonists I’ve ever read. 

I’d recommend this book to someone who had just read the first and was dying for more details about the characters, and wanted to see intimate portraits of their lives. 

However, I found this book lacking the same frantic, pushing, HIGH STAKES plot of the first book. There are, as the description says, fissures, hints of questions that may come to be big problems, but the first full third of the book is just that. Laure has this power now, and I hoped to see some like, big moves to justify the sequel existing, but I just don’t know if you can really top burning down Palais Garnier. I also felt that the lack of as much dance in this book was a detriment. I missed the pressure pot of that environment. 

I may pick this up again later, but overall I was just bummed after enjoying the first book so much that this one didn’t have the same punch to me. Ah well. I still recommend the first one to folks all the time and will continue to do so. 

This book is tap dancing on my last nerve. The prose is HILARIOUS, a pastiche of Douglas Adams that is so genuinely clever that I’m not even mad that it’s quantifiably too much. 

However, I am so frustrated with the book’s structure. Mainly, chapters that are 99% funny side information about the universe with 1% plot thrown in toward the end. It’s not enjoyable to read. It feels like slogging through a travel guide in the hopes that there’s a plot somewhere to be found between restaurant recommendations and hiking destinations. 

But I just kept going, because what plot exists is SO interesting. The characters are so loveable and unique. Catherine is truly a brilliant writer. If this were a collection of worldbuilding essays on the universe of Space Opera, I would have been SOLD. If it were a novella about the events mentioned in the novel, I also would have been sold. 

Instead I’m in a place where I don’t know if I can recommend one of the funniest, most heartfelt books I’ve read because the actual act of reading it makes it less impactful. This structure was clearly intentional, but I also am of the opinion it wasn’t the best idea. 

**read via e-arc on netgalley courtesy of Saga Press**

Sometimes I think the more important a book is to you, the harder it is to discuss it. That’s true in terms of attempting some form of objectivity, but it’s also true for me in terms of simply…finding words that are able to hold all of your thoughts and emotions. 

I knew I’d enjoy Compound Fracture because overwhelmingly I enjoy Andrew’s work. I didn’t expect it to be like this. 

What I can say: White knows how to craft a tale that runs on pure adrenaline, dread, and rage, and Compound Fracture has a tank full of all three. The characters are complex and real in their imperfections. This is not a clean-cut book where queer identity is parsed out and celebrated in a shiny glittery extravaganza. It’s gritty and punk and complex and raw. It’s truthful to the experiences of so many southern queers that can’t afford to care if target has a pride collection or not. The portrayal of a bevvy of undiagnosed or self-diagnosed autistic adults as well as Miles’ own autism on the page is a straight-up gift to autistic people. It shows us at our best and worst, in all the ways we adapt to survive, and teach others to do the same, even when it hurts. Compound fracture faces head-on the lived experiences of a region the rest of the US straight up craps on without any sense of shame, and the people who have always always deserve better. Andrew explores poverty, politics, addiction, medical scarcity, corruption, a strapped education system, and faces head on the systemic injustice at the heart of all of it. He’s created a teenage character we believe can see with a clear eye all of these things, a leftist to root for even while we scream at the page DONT DO IT MILES THATS NOT GONNA BE GOOD, and honestly I think that’s beautiful. 

This book is going to stay with me for a while, for a lot of reasons that mean more to me than any other reader. Even with that being the case, trust me when I say it’s worth reading. 

Listen, I am a Sarah Henning fan, and all of the magic that makes me love her is on full, luscious display in this book. She called this one ‘Knives Out with Magic’ for a while, and it lives up to the comp. A shocking murder, power struggle, magical inheritance, and a ticking clock to end all ticking clocks means the stakes for this one are HIGH. Our POV characters are Ruby—a girl who is hired along with her sister to accompany an elderly woman to a dinner party posing as her granddaughters—and Auden—the middle grandson of the HWIC of a secret coven of witches. When Auden’s grandmother is murdered presumably by the woman that hires Ruby, the house goes into magical lockdown until the culprit can be found. Problem? Nona appears to have left the building, and her fake granddaughters in it to take the heat. 

Ruby is a quietly compelling character, bookish and careful, with tons of heart and kindness that makes her easy to root for. Auden is perhaps a bit less immediately compelling, but his brand of quiet care matches Ruby’s in a way that makes you want to ship them like fedex from jump. The cast of young supporting characters are varied, rich, and interesting in unique ways that makes you legitimately want all of to thrive even in the hellish circumstances they find themselves in. 

As usual, Henning is a master of creating environments that feel lush and ideal and aspirational. Extra props to her here for also creating a world that is credible. I was literally at the renaissance faire mentioned two weeks ago, and could visualise the hills and mountains of the rockies in her words.  

My literal only beef with this one is in the copyedits. This book is a prime example of why human eyes are VITAL to the editing process. There were countless examples of missed homophones in the text (suggesting Sarah may use some speech-to-text software in her drafting— totally normal and a vital tool for accessibility that should not count against her EVER.) off the top of my head I noticed a welp that should have been whelp, a ring that should have been wring, a shutters that was supposed to be shudders, and strangely, a Columbine (proper noun) when it should have been columbine (plant). There were more examples of this, as well as sentences that felt like they meant nothing that clearly needed editing. I hope the team can catch and rectify this before the book hits shelves, because it’s legitimately a spectacular YA magical mystery offering that deserves all the success and sales it can get. This is the only reason I’m withholding a five star review.

A truly excellent addition to middle grade horror, this ghost story tells the tale of a Black Autistic girl being hanged by the many shades occupying her Mississippi boarding school. 

As an autistic person myself, I thought the characterisation and representation of Eva’s inner world was truly flawless. It’s hard to navigate all the things in your head when you’re autistic, and Eva is the whip-smart, witty, frustrated, anxious heroine we all needed to read as a kid. She’s deeply relatable even in her extraordinary circumstances. The stakes for her getting along and doing well at the school feel SO HIGH, and it makes for some lovely tension and motivation for dealing with the ghosts. 

Plot-wise, I was immediately intrigued and desperate to know more about the ghosts of Blythe, where they came from, and which of them was truly a threat to Eva and her friends. I kept trying to guess how it would all end, and I love that aspect of a good mysterious ghost story. 

I was also really impressed with how rooted in place this felt. I love a good southern story, and this hit all the right notes—vernacular, descriptions, themes—in all the right ways. 

G. Haron Davis is officially an insta-read author for me, and I can’t wait to see what they do next. 

This book was an anticipated release for me, so when I was granted access to the advanced copy, I was thrilled to get into it. Its marketing as an ethereal, ballet-focused Hades and Persephone meets Phantom of the Opera sounded right up my alley. Unfortunately, in my opinion the book ultimately did not succeed in what it aimed to do. 

Starting with what I thought was successful: It was clear from the start Krystle wanted to present a setting rooted firmly in the coquette aesthetic, and I think the descriptions of the island achieved that goal. I think there is something in this basic narrative that could appeal heartily to an early YA audience. It’s glamorous, it’s emotionally charged, it’s got romance and drama. The prose is flowery and descriptive and seeks to feel very decadent and lush 

I think though, the emphasis on these things took too much priority over things like plot, cohesion, characterization, and believability. What didn’t work in these cases really didn’t work. I felt that many of the characters were one-dimensional, and the reader was told how to feel about them rather than the book allowing for discovery. Lila’s deep wound was a totally reasonable thing to feel self-loathing for, but I struggled to understand why it even came to pass and how she was going to heal and address it. It was simultaneously the most important thing about her and the most neglected thing by the plot. The rest of the cast of characters weren’t given enough depth or action on the things that were their primary traits to really justify their existence. I was often confused and irritated by the lack of depth in terms of worldbuilding; this ethereal island is…off the coast of Virginia? But somehow totally lacks any connection with the contemporary world. There is an attempt at an explanation, but the pseudo-mythology the book hinges on also feels deeply underdeveloped and too simple to hang a plot on. The main protagonist is simply ‘the Devil’ but it’s unclear if it’s the same devil we are familiar with, as he is beefing with a moon goddess that is supposed to be incredibly powerful, but also has no tangible presence in the narration. The mystical angels of the island feel intriguing, yet their grandeur is undercut by their complete impotence. They have no true or tangible power in the narrative outside causing some drama in a pageant that is functionally a ritual sacrifice of a minor every seven years. When this is revealed to yes, in fact, be a very bad thing, the angels are never challenged for their complicity in this, either. 

I could go on for hours on this. I’m so deeply disappointed, and I hate, hate to give negative reviews on books when I know how many hours and how much work goes into them, but this one just didn’t work for me. 

There are few things I love more than a middle grade horror novel. Something about scary stories for this age group left a lasting impression on me as a young reader, and I am always excited to hunt out and recommend them for kids now. I am not sure, however, I would pick out Viktor Valentine as one of those recommendations. The book’s premise is solid and recalls the Bailey School Kids format of there being something suspicious in this Normal Town occupied by Normal People. Our hero is assigned Dracula in his seventh grade English class, and suddenly vampires are all he sees or can talk about: with his cool goth substitute teacher, with the pretty redhead that moved in across the street, with his dad. But is it possible for vampires to walk among us? Short answer: yes. This book delivered on mystery, an endearing protagonist, a compelling early romance, and a fun cast of minor characters.

Now on to what wasn’t as successful for me. Pacing-wise, I think the book struggled as a result of the dedication to a climactic reveal. Viktor’s uncertainty on whether or not his dad is a vampire meant that for much of the book, he lacked agency or any sort of involvement in the epic goings-on of his town. Leaving a protagonist in the dark for 3/4 of the book can have a huge payoff, but in this instance, it simply robbed Viktor of his power. Additionally, the choice to have all the adults in Viktor’s life not just be some vampires, but THOSE vampires stretched credulity a bit, likely past the threshold an upper middle grade reader would tolerate in a book of this (relatively light) tone. If this was playing to an early middle audience, it might have been more successful, but 7th grade feels a tad old for this arc. I hate to end on this note, as I really wanted to love this book, but I don’t think it’s a recommend for me.

*arc provided by netgalley