Okay, so, first of all, as a recovering pedant, this book CAME FOR ME. (Note, please, the incorrect but also right use of commas in the previous sentence.)
I loved it. Obviously I loved it; it's basically a book entitled "My special interest is a single punctuation mark". The stories are delightful and the shift from history to critical analysis to soapbox is beautifully managed.
Because, and here's the thing, Watson is not merely arguing that the semicolon is cool and does not deserve to be maligned, she's making a larger argument about the relationship between rules (or even laws) and the messy everyday world where the rules don't cover the case or are just plain wrong.
עת לעשות לה׳; הפרו את הסמיקולון.
You know, let's just quote it.

I have this extensive essay that I keep poking at in my head on religion in fiction—both a critical analysis of exceptional texts and a personal essay on the books that shape my relationship with God—and Bujold's Five Gods are hanging out right in the middle.
She doesn't talk about grace, although it's in the background, but what she's doing here fits better (to my Jewish brain) with the idea of "chen", which is often translated as grace, but is also like the "find favor in your eyes" sense—the thing that happens when her gods SEE their devotees and...okay, NOT writing the essay here.
Either this one is godd-ier or this essay has been percolating for too long (Por qué no los dos), but the interplay between grace and responsibility, between god and human, and between the face of the divine and "no hands but ours" is just a lot. It's also just time to reread the rest of the Five Gods (I reread Chalion and Paladin last year...and I just noticed the name Paladin of Souls thinking about one of the other two authors who writes...sexy paladin romances but also about the divine with such richness).
Oh, also, the book was good. Enjoyed the mystery and the time spend with these characters. (Book good! Ale foamy.)

I did at some point finally have the "oh no, it's a trilogy" moment, but not in a bad way.
The story itself was fascinating, the romance was delightful, and my theory that good romance novels are novels that contend with the role that class, race, and gender play in relationships, challenges, and the way we move through the world.

I feel like I have nothing interesting to say about this book, which is weird because it's alien sex bookended by a conversation about how society destroys the souls (and thus the lives) of the marginalized when it forces them to conform.
But not, like, interestingly, if that makes sense. It's just a cute story and one that I read quickly, but I didn't feel invested in it, I suppose. 
I also just have very mixed feelings about Carriger as a writer. This is not the first book of hers that I've been extremely lukewarm on when the premise feels like something I would very much enjoy.

It's not that I don't like horror precisely; it's that I can't always express why some horror works for me and some doesn't. This...I mean, kind of? I think I need a certain mystery element - the *what is going ON* element needs to be strong and, in this, the what felt like it was less at the center of the story because not-knowing didn't matter that much for the narrative unfolding.
It was good and also it was written for a person who likes different books than I like.

Okay so I feel like I've been leaning into "nonfiction by women that strives for subjectivity" and this does not disappoint.
There's this weird thing where I am very much not the target audience (as, um, someone who knows Hebrew and spends a fair amount of time with Jewish texts) so it's what do I think of what she thinks non-Hebrew speakers see in Tanakh. Which is cool.
It's the memoir part that stands out to me, the texts in the contexts of growing up religious and the way they become part of one's life.
I also love a good literary analysis and this book does have a lot of those. You kind of have to love pilpul though.

Well that explains Across the Green Grass Fields.
I like these books. I hope Seanan keeps doing what she does and does so well. I feel like I have less to say about this one than usual, but okay.

I totally get why people who were expecting Emily Oster's "expecting better" had their expectations disappointed by this book. It feels like Oster and Garbes are doing something similar by mixing their experiences with their research. But Oster wrote a book about the science behind what women are told during pregnancy and what is verifiable. Garbes wrote a book about the frustrations found in lack of knowledge and the really cool research rabbit holes she fell down in the process of learning.

(This book resonated with my autistic soul in terms of how much infodumping Garbes does.)

What this basically means is that Garbes geeks out about everything she finds cool - the placenta, doulas, and—yes—breastmilk. If you had a hard time breastfeeding, can't breastfeed, or chose not to and still have a lot of very real and understandable feelings about that, you may want to skip this chapter because it can be hard to read about how cool breastmilk is. And, to be clear, it is really cool! It's just a question of how much better it actually is than formula (in measurable terms—not that much—and the minimal gains are nothing compared to the gains babies get from having a happier mother if it's breastfeeding that is hurting her.) But Garbes doesn't get into the stats because, unlike Oster, she focuses solely on the science that interests her. In this case, it's how fascinating breastmilk is. She's quite clear that fed is best and I also understand where the disappointment comes from for people who wanted more about the actual data.

I love lives + science as a genre and I really liked this book for what it is - a story about what she didn't know, what she learned, and how it changed her. And I don't think it needs to be more than that.

Okay, either Alexis Hall is obsessed with the chicken joke or somehow three separate authors have used it in romance novels and I cannot remember which. 
There was a point where I wasn’t so much reading this book as inhaling it as a form of dealing with a very stressful January. Which mostly worked, to be clear. 
I’m just not sure what I have to SAY about it.

 Ramirez’s book is a fascinating survey of the effect that technology has on the way we think and move through the world. 
Because I’m me, I can’t help but read it through a halachic lens - how does standardized time affect our perception of halachic spaces, how does each generation’s relationship with recorded noise affect our perception of its realness, how does our ethical obligation when it comes to lights impact Shabbat?
(The thing about cancer and lights is WILD, by the way)
Ramirez does fall into the difficult to avoid trap of framing things as a “what have we gained/what have we lost” with every piece of contemporary technology rather than thinking of it as, well, the definition of technology is gain and loss. The goal can’t be to progress without loss, but to…lose intentionally, I suppose. 
As a species, we don’t get to Peter Pan our way through the world. Growing up is always about growth and loss and technology is no different. And while she handles that gracefully with lights, she trips—like everyone—over making changes in memory moral.