I really enjoyed reading The Light Eaters. Some parts of it led to a bit of existential panic. Having a body that relies on other organisms for energy can be horrifying when there's the possibility that every creature from elephants to algae may be sentient. It was interesting to see the author's interest in plants bloom into her career.

It feels odd to tag the mood for this book as both dark and lighthearted, but that's exactly what this book is. David Almond manages to encapsulate the horrors of war and the optimism of children on the home front of world war 1. Almond's depiction of the vilification of anti-war sentiment and the paranoia of the government accusing a small child of treason does a fantastic job of capturing the sense of hopelessness and the inability to stop the violence as experienced by someone so young. I think I'm a bit older than the intended audience, but it was an enjoyable read, nonetheless.

This book was a fine birds-eye view, as promised. I read it for work, though I'm very intentionally a librarian. The section offering advice on how to handle belligerent, upset, or problem patrons was the most useful.

What an odd book. Paul is a strange, yet often lovely character. His hedonism was off putting at first, and I initially had a hard time reconciling my enjoyment of the writing with my dislike of Paul, but the further the novel progressed, the more sympathetic of a character Paul became. Paul's experience of gender and the way Lawlor represents that on the page is something unique and special. It shows the ways in which we try and fail and try again to externally represent our interior experiences of selfhood, but made magical in its visibility. Similarly, Paul's struggles to maintain expression of exclusively male or female features at different points throughout the novel, in order to fulfil the desires of someone else felt so real and exemplary of the struggle between external expression and internal experience when trying to find an aesthetic that feels comfortable as someone who doesn't feel that either gender fits quite right. I think I liked the consistent use of "he" as Paul's pronouns despite his spending a large portion of the novel as a girl. I think it's an interesting comment, again, on the way selfhood is experienced, but also for the idea that gender expression doesn't necessarily equate to gender identity/experience. However, I can understand the critiques of the use of "he" exclusively as falling into the pitfalls of gender essentialism. It's a very narrow line.

Paul being made a more sympathetic character for me, comes to fruition as he finally flashes back to when and why he chose to leave New York for the Midwest after the boy he loved and left; and to whom he always assumed he'd return to at some point, dies of HIV/AIDS before Paul works up the courage to call him back. The slips of memories of the friends and lovers there one day and gone the next, blurry around the edges with grief and the rapidity of their deaths offer an alternative lens through which to view Paul's escape and the risks he's willing to take, thinking he's found a safe place where illness can't take those he cares for. While it's never quite clear whether or not he can get HIV/AIDS, the risks he takes after his love's death take on a nihilistic tone, ready and willing to put himself in danger for the thrill of it. Behind the hedonism, there's such raw and tender humanity.

At the start I almost DNF'd this book. After some post-reading contemplation, this is a 5 star read,

I received an ARC of the audiobook through NetGalley. Thank you for the opportunity to experience this audiobook before its official release!

A full-cast recording with the addition of atmospheric background noise was a really interesting way of turning a graphic novel into an audiobook. I found myself disliking Evan at points. However, I felt exactly the same about Emma in the Austen novel this is based on, so I would say that dislike of Evan is actually a credit to the author for their ability to hold true to the source materials while adding an interesting spin on the story. It was sometimes hard to keep track of which voice belongs to which character, and with how short the book was and without the aid of illustrations, some of the smaller characters felt left behind by the production. I think I would have preferred to read the physical graphic novel more, but this was an enjoyable listen!

A Study in Drowning is an alternate world folkloric story about misogyny in academia and the systemic penchant for not believing women and girls. It's beautifully written and hard to put down, blending fantastical elements into Effy not trusting her own mind, and dark academic suspicion and intrigue. 
Effy's anti-Argantian sentiments early on in the book are very off putting, but she's reformed her opinions by the end of the novel. Massive content warning for sexually abusive men in positions of power, and locker room mentalities as normalized behavior in the world in which the novel is set.

This was a fun read! Gerald's slow acceptance of his time and experiences in Slack and his befriending of  Slack Bot pushed this into the realm of plausibility for being an actual nightmare someone with a corporate job would have. The surrealist horror of it all, especially Leah and the howling and Slack Bot's burgeoning sentience made this book very hard to put down.

This was an interesting addition to the Singing Hills Cycle. It's very different from the first books in the series. There was a slow, dreamlike quality to much of the book, with a very quickly tied up ending. It was interesting to see Cleric Chih in situations where they're attracted to someone. The jealousy felt slightly out of character for them, despite the intentional sapphic undertones in much of series. The layers of revelations at the end of the novel were very fun, if a bit rushed-feeling, especially looking back at all the clues throughout the first 2/3 of the book. The weighing of morality and the goodness/badness of individuals against one another to argue the merit of violence was particularly interesting. Not my favorite of the series, but a good read nonetheless.

This was an interesting concept. I enjoyed some of the stories. Others, I wasn't really a fan of. There's a bit of an Oceans 11 vibe to this and I liked the trickster god sort of energy of the frame's narrator.
There was an unexpected focus on Christianity and the role Christianity and church community plays in the lives of teenagers.

Similar to her later book Girls Against God, Jenny Hval's Paradise Rot queers the human body through its association with decay, excrement, and bodily fluids. The whole book reads as a fever dream and ends with Jo having moved out, struggling to remember the details of Carral, rotting and sick from their shared apartment. Time moves slowly in the narrative, but the passing of time is denoted by the rotting of the apples that their relationship was predicated on. The thread of Carral's com-het, and the consistent creepiness of their writer neighbor managed to sustain the majority of the dread in the novel, whereas the anachronistic mushrooms and the motif of rot served as an addition of surrealism. Aspects of the novel are frustratingly relatable as a renter with landlords who don't take care of mold problems. As a librarian, Carral's desecration and theft of a library book are more frustrating than markers of the illicit.