I think this book suffered a bit from being read right after LaValle's Lone Women; I found that this one was just a little less interesting in what it was playing with and doing with monstrosity.
It was a very enjoyable fantasy and horror mashup and also at times I felt it was skipping from genre to genre rather than combining them and the pieces didn't always fit. (I feel like I keep having the same experiences with Alix Harrow and I suspect some of it is that I keep expecting the horror and the romance to operate slightly differently than she does and then I get confused. I think that's probably on me, but also...I mean, that's my right as a reader with a keyboard.)
I did love the citations in the wikipedia article even if my suspension of disbelief took a minute to believe in a weird 19th century children's story with which I was unfamiliar. 

LaValle is absurdly good at writing stories that just hit me exactly where they are supposed to. I appreciate that he straddles the line between horror and fantasy (as all good horror ought to in my humble and entirely subjective opinion) while also letting the fantasy exceed the horror in some ways.
Horror--and romance--are the genres of morality. Fantasy is not in the same way. And by walking the bounds here, LaValle is equally interested in the moral arguments of who is the monster and the fantastic question of who wins. While also recognizing that it's not actually about goodness and badness but a story about "how do you respond when something is not like you?"
But set in Montana in the early 20th century and filled with super-interesting information about something I'd never had reason to think about.
Also, about halfway through the book, I was a bit surprised to see my name become relevant. But that was fun.

There's feel good romance and then there's books like this which are more feel A LOT romances. Helen Hoang writes in a similar vein. (I suspect that this is a book that, if one dialed down the level of spice, would be shelved in a totally different genre as a coming of age story or an exploration of pain and self in the art world. Fortunately, however, this book absolutely ranks on the scoville steaminess scale.)
On the heels of me complaining, loudly, about an absence of well-written Jews in romance novels, this was an absolute gift. First of all, this book does the important thing which is realizing that a Jewish character is an anomaly and you need a whole cast of us and, second of all, portraying the wide range of Jewishness and the ways that people relate differently and that no cultures are monolithic. (This book knows about the existence of Open Orthodoxy!) And also the way Lee uses photography and the description of the photos to frame the numinous - that Ely's spiritual experiences are captured and reflected on the film but also the moments she chooses to capture direct the reader's gaze towards Jews in particular having spiritual experiences.
Also shoutout to whoever was responsible for finding a narrator who could not only pronounce Hebrew, but also who did the range of New York Jewish voices so well.
All of which elides every other thing this book decided to talk about, including addiction and a nuanced portrayal of twelve step programs and power dynamics in relationships.

I also really appreciated the way that Lee had the characters talk about the different ways families fracture and that Ely's struggles impacted her family in a way that Wyatt's just didn't and that's part of what healing looks like.

This book was intense but in a good way. Just like its protagonist.

I have no idea who put this on their best of 2023 list, but thank you so much because it was a hard book that still meant a lot to hear.
Also, academics, PLEASE record audiobooks of your works! I know it's asking a lot, but it's such an amazing experience to get to hear people I probably would not get the chance to hear lecture and speak passionately about the things that matter to them.
The world needs more books about positive change and, while this book absolutely does not shy away from the problems, Benjamin is committed to also talking about the individuals who are making a difference by caring and showing that it's possible to make things better by spreading goodness and caring and flapping butterfly wings.
It cannot just be racism and injustice and cruelty that seeps and inches through the world and spreads through little acts. It must also be restoration and justice and kindness that can move in the same way. This is a book about believing in that and believing in a community's power to make that happen.
It's not a feel good book, but it is a book that makes you want to put more good into the world.

I love a surprise Bujold and penrics are always a delight, especially when we get more perspectives from the people stuck living with the nitwit. 
And I realize this is probably a fanfiction question, but the relationship between Des and Nikys is FASCINATING and I wish we got more of that. 
(Also the themes of parents and legacy is interesting here and the ongoing evolution of a theology that attempts to nuance the whole demon thing. AND I’m not sure what to make of demonic corruption. What makes things bad in this world? Because it’s not precisely the chaos and it’s not precisely the humans but there is something to unpack there. Needs more thinking.)

This book was very pretty and just a cool diversion into a bunch of people's lives and how they intersected with the books they collected.
Also it wasn't until the chapter on David Oppenheim that I realized that most of the collectors...weren't collecting to read and that threw me for a loop. It's not that I know a ton about manuscript culture, but I do have a rather different relationship to them than the average person and it took de Hamel pointing out that the rabbis were different for me to realize that I had completely wrong assumptions about everyone else (except Anselm, yes).
It was a really fun book and my major critique, unsurprisingly, is that he brings up neurodivergence and mental illness to explain problematic character traits when, I promise you, the guy who forgot to change out of his bright green slippers when putting on a tailcoat and hated traveling and fell asleep with the candle burning is not neurotypical, my dude. That could have been handled way better.

I think I was a bit sad that this book was not quite Jimenez's second novel, but that's only fair. This was also weird and sad but the good kind of sad and the story of the end of things and how they fall apart. It's not a story that immediately invites comparisons, but more one where, once you put it down, you start to see what it's doing.

The thing about Martha Wells is that Murderbot, as awesome as it is, is kind of a deviation from most of her work, which is extremely thoughtful fantasy with incredibly complicated worldbuilding and intricate puzzles for our heroes to solve. And the scifi setting of Murderbot hides a lot of the worldbuilding and Murderbot is a lot of fun in the way that, say, Khat or Moon or Tremaine or Kai aren't. 
But I also really like her other books and the way that the intricacy of the worldbuilding sneaks up on you until you suddenly care deeply about this grumpy person trying to stop the end of the world and also finally fit in.
Okay, maybe Murderbot is not exactly a deviation after all.

I love Frankenstein but I don't always like Frankenstein and it is somewhat unfair to this book that some of the places where I think it is least successful is in the places where it feels beholden to Frankenstein. The gender bending is deeply fascinating - both in the number of bad fathers that carries right on the legacy of Frankenstein - and in the shift from creation without a mother in the original to creation without a father.
And I appreciate that it does not, as a book, want easy answers to the messy question of the queer relationship with the monster. And there is still something very strange to me about characters familiar with Frankenstein and then making the same stupid mistakes. RIP Vic but I'm different indeed.

My biggest critique is the subplot with Ezra, which I suppose is necessary for the betrayal aspect of the story but adds so little other than to give a space for Ash to act out the very real murder monstrosity of the original and this book--like Shelley's, come to think of it--is ENTIRELY unprepared to grapple with the enormity of murder and what it means to go on.
I do, however, appreciate that this book and I appear to agree that the turning point in the text is when Frankenstein is asked to make the monster a partner. Community, people.

It always feels weird reviewing the books that everyone has already read. Yes, the memoir about loss and grief and food and retelling one's own story in a way that sort of makes sense out of it in a way that is both beautiful and honest.
Yes it was good and I also feel like I have so little to say about it.