The Last True Poets of the Sea is evidently a retelling of Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, which means nothing to me, because I’ve never read Twelfth Night. Luckily, it was still enjoyable! Drake modernizes the tale so thoroughly that previous knowledge is not required. That alone is impressive; even better is that she somehow does this while also maintaining an appreciation for the stage. Performance of all kinds - theatrical, the ways we pretend to be who we’re not in our everyday lives - lies, along with shipwrecks, at the thematic heart of the book. It fits perfectly with the story’s origins.

Some more good: The writing is lovely. It deals frankly with mental illness. The climax - no spoilers - is breathtaking. The love interest is the first character named Liv I’ve ever read - finally, the representation I’ve been waiting for. I love a good book about healing, one where everything isn’t “fixed” but that suggests a path forward, the beginning of a difficult but achievable process. Everyone in this book is at least a little bit hurt, and their stumbling toward the light is rendered both compassionately and, for the most part, realistically. I do think it’s a bit too long, that it occasionally over-explains - for example, it takes a long time to wrap up after the climactic scene, and even doubles back to unpack it. I wish Drake would’ve had the confidence to let the climax - weird, dreamlike, powerful - stand on its own. I also don’t quite buy that no one in Lyric would have tried to find the shipwreck before Liv and Violet came around. Drake is clearly trying to work in a theme there: Liv says that the town is obsessed with a romantic misrepresentation of its founders, so much so that they refuse to actually research them in fear of finding uncomfortable truths. Okay, fair enough, that’s why no one has bothered to delve too deeply into Violet’s ancestors’ marriage. But what does the ship itself have to do with that? I don’t believe that people wouldn’t seek it out because seeing it would remind them of tragedy. We as a species both romanticized and yearned to see the Titanic up close. People used to get married there, on submarines. The physical fact of a shipwreck doesn’t stop us from ignoring the tragedy behind it - we often rob historical suffering of its horror by gawking uncritically at the empty shells it leaves behind (see: plantation tours). I get the theme, but it doesn’t really line up with how people actually act, which I think weakens it.

Anyway. This book was quite good! A little overlong, a little shaky, but overall a nice, moving read, clearly lovingly crafted. Obviously I have some quibbles, and sometimes quibbles can turn into tangents, and also at two points in this book a character calls Liv “Livi” only it’s spelled “Livvy,” what’s up with that?

Erin Entrada Kelly wrote one of the best works of middle grade realism I’ve ever read - her Newbery-winning Hello, Universe is simply sublime. Lalani of the Distant Sea is her first fantasy book, so I was curious to see if she could write speculative fiction nearly as well as she does realistic. I was delighted to find that the answer is, unequivocally, yes.

Lalani, inspired by Filipino folklore, combines the sweeping lyrical voice of a fable with strong characterization. As in Kelly’s previous work, there is a strong emphasis on the human duty to be kind to one another, but that doesn’t mean this book is all puppies and rainbows. In fact, it’s sometimes surprisingly gruesome. Kelly doesn’t pull any punches. Hard decisions are made, and there are hard consequences, bloody deaths. One thing I liked so much about Hello, Universe was that the bully did not magically unlearn all his toxic, racist, ableist behavior and become friends with the protagonists over the course of a day (the book’s timeline) - he lost. Lalani takes that even further by having an adult abuser get his comeuppance in a major way. It’s very satisfying to read a kids’ book that doesn’t shy away from that kind of thing, that values love and kindness and that recognizes that sometimes, in order to be loving and kind, you need to reject abusers and prioritize their victims. This book tackles misogyny and toxic masculinity without ever becoming preachy - the narrative speaks for itself. And Lalani herself, a somewhat insecure girl who learns just how strong she can be when it means fighting for for the people she loves, is a terrific protagonist.

This is an exciting, tender, compassionate book about the courage it takes to stand up for the vulnerable. One of a kind.

Boy, there’s a lot to like about this book. First of all, the protagonist, Jam, is a selectively mute trans girl who does not suffer for her gender. She’s loved! Her parents love her, her friends love her. That was so refreshing to read. Second, Akwaeke Emezi has a mind like no one else’s. I recently read their adult debut, Freshwater, and it was a wholly unique, memorable book. Pet is, too - you won’t find anything else like it on the YA landscape right now. I’m glad new authors with interesting stories to tell are breaking into this age group, because teens need to read about trans girls making friends with monsters to hunt down child abusers. That’s cool as hell. Pet itself is also very neat, and the way its true nature is revealed at the end of the book, tying together themes woven throughout the book... that was my favorite part, personally. It probably helps that I’m a huge sucker both for religious imagery used in unexpected ways and for bonds between kids and frightening fantasy creatures. The social commentary, too, is excellent. It’s something that isn’t often addressed in YA fiction: the importance of weeding out abusers even in “enlightened” circles, the way even good people can accidentally turn a blind eye in favor of peace of mind, the idea that having the right politics does not mean you can’t hurt the people around you.

The one problem I have - and unfortunately it’s a pretty big one - is that in between all this excellent stuff, the great protagonist and the message and the giant feathery beast and the effective ending, is... filler. The actual plot doesn’t amount to much, which isn’t necessarily a problem - I don’t mind a more cerebral, introspective book. It’s just that in the place of moving the plot forward is a lot of explaining and re-explaining. It was as if Emezi was worried that the reader wouldn’t understand why Jam was doing what she was doing or feeling what she was feeling, and often outlined things that just didn’t need to be outlined again: for example, they repeatedly, explicitly explained that other people could not see Pet unless it wanted them to. I did not need reminding of that; it was easy to understand in the first place, context made it easy to remember, and I just wanted to get on with the story. The narrative was also often less intense than it could have been. At one point Jam wonders to herself, “Had the plan worked already--so quickly?” The answer, we find out mere sentences later, is yes, it has. Her plan has gone off without a hitch. No hurdles. She even predicts the eventual blowup long before it happens - “She knew it would come back and blow up and be worse” - effectively ruining any tension the situation could have rendered. Stuff like that made the book less enjoyable than it could have been.

I still think the good makes up for the less-than-good, though, and I think people should read this one. It’s an interesting, unique fantasy read with a truly memorable protagonist, and it has some great things to say.

Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the review copy.

ETA Okay so I originally read a digital copy of this book but today I got my hands on a physical galley and um?? It’s the nicest galley I’ve ever seen??? The title is EMBOSSED????? Lord god how much money did y’all spend on these

This was a good book.

And that’s my review, folks! Just kidding. But I am struggling to figure out exactly what else to say. Bone Gap, Ruby’s last foray into YA magical realism, absolutely blew me away. This didn’t. I never felt bored reading it, I could tell how much love and effort Ruby put into it, there were parts where the writing was positively beautiful, it used ghosts in new and interesting ways (which is something I personally love). It uses fantasy to tackle issues of misogyny, but without falling into the trap that keeps many books about sexism from being great - by which I mean it did not pretend that all women struggle equally, it did not ignore the way classism and racism and homophobia play into and amplify misogyny. It both focuses intimately on Frankie’s day-to-day and connects that day-to-day with a larger, even supernatural struggle. It’s a good book! It’s fresh, it’s unusual, it has things to say.

And yet. I just don’t know what it is that keeps me from loving it. There’s some sort of spark missing. Maybe it wasn’t quite weird enough, didn’t commit quite as fully to its own strangeness as Bone Gap did. Maybe the “romance,” such as it was, wasn’t developed enough. While I was reading, I didn’t really mind - this book is not a love story, it’s about Frankie and her journey - but looking back, it does feel like this short-lived relationship existed solely for Frankie’s character development. It’s unclear why, exactly, they feel so strongly about each other. Hormones? I guess that’s what I chalked it up to as I read. Maybe it’s me, maybe I’m just never going to fall in love with a World War II story no matter how many cool ghosts are in it.

Maybe I should just delete this whole godforsaken review save for the first sentence.

This was a good book.

Rebecca Stead blurbed this book, and I understand why. There’s a distinct When You Reach Me flavor to All the Greys on Greene Street - to its benefit, I think. WYRM is, at the end of the day, a fantasy book, and ATGOGS is not, but there is something magical about Ollie’s story and the way Tucker writes it. And boy, can Tucker write. She conveys the feeling of looking at art, at creating it. She plays with tense. She creates characters so believable they threaten to leap off the page. Her style is pitch-perfect and clear, conveying complicated ideas with seeming ease.

From the publisher’s description, I was expecting a mystery, a sort of Chasing Vermeer-style romp, but this book is much more about character than it is about adventure. In fact, there’s not much sleuthing at all. Instead, there’s Ollie, who remains sympathetic even when she’s being unreasonable, and the friends who surround her. My favorite thing about this book was how kind everyone was, and how kindly the narrative treated them. Everyone around Ollie is passionate about something. Alex loves stunts; Richard loves monsters. Tucker treats both of these interests with respect, painting the boys as people with complex inner lives. Similarly, Ollie is a true artist who sees the world in fascinating ways. Her art is real art; Tucker doesn’t patronize her or diminish her passion just because she’s a child, and neither does anyone else in the book. This book is fairly dripping with compassion. Ollie cares for these people, and they care for her, even if they don’t always see eye to eye. In one especially lovely scene, Alex and Ollie wordlessly reconcile while running through a forest on a beach. It’s a joy to read.

Finally, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that this book is largely about living with a parent who has depression. Tucker handles this issue with nuance. Ollie is, rightfully, hurt and confused when her mother goes to bed and refuses to get up. Those feelings are real, and as with everything else in the book, Tucker does not shy away from or diminish them just because her protagonist - and her audience - is young. At the same time, she does not demonize Ollie’s mother. The ending is not neat; it would not make sense if it were, because mental illness can’t just be solved over the course of one book. But this is, by the end, a positive book, one about the complicated joy of creating and of loving.