Thank you to the publisher for sending an ARC of this book! 


The Dark Maestro had me completely locked in for the first half. Brendan Slocumb’s writing was gripping, the pacing was fantastic, and the focus on Curtis’s childhood music talent was compelling. I was fully on board even when the narrative took a creative turn into the world of comic books, I anticipated the shift as the blurb on the back of this book perhaps gave too much away in terms of plotting, so when Curtis’s young self conceived of the Dark Maestro, I knew it somehow would become a comic (I did not anticipate the video portion). Regardless, while the turn was expected, it still had some fun twists. 

But once Curtis himself started stepping into the role of a “superhero,” things started to unravel for me. The story, which had been grounded in emotional realism and cultural weight, suddenly felt implausible and wobbly. The tone shift didn’t land, and what had been a nuanced character journey turned into something that felt more like a stretch than a transformation. The end itself left more questions than answers and was not overly satisfying. 

That said, Larissa was a standout. She was a fully realized, vivid character who brought energy and authenticity to every scene she was in. Honestly, she kept me turning pages even when the plot went off-key. She was the shining part of the book and deserved even more time in the spotlight.

There’s a lot to admire in The Dark Maestro, but for me, the second half lost the resonance that made the first so powerful. Still, Slocumb’s ambition is clear, and I’ll keep reading what he writes next. 

What a fully unoriginal story. It’s like this author saw Race to Space Mountain as a child and decided it was their own idea.

The two male leads had zero chemistry which made their love story simply uncomfortable. 

After Gillig’s explosive first series, I was ready to pick up anything she wrote. I jumped at the chance to read this ARC, and now that I’ve finished it… I have thoughts.

First off, the religious and magical systems in this world are incredibly intriguing. I rarely say this about a book, but I actually think it needed to be longer. Some extra worldbuilding at the beginning would’ve helped immerse us more fully in Traum. We spend such little time with the other diviners that when they start vanishing, it’s hard to care. We’re told they love and are loyal to each other, but we’re not really shown those bonds, which made the emotional weight fall flat.

The middle of the book is also a bit of a slog. We get thrown into King Benji’s mission without any context, and the details only come afterward. I really wish that had been flipped—it would’ve made that section feel more grounded and less disorienting.

That said, there are bright spots. The gargoyle? Honestly, a delight. Funny, sweet, and a much-needed balance to some of the heavier (and sometimes cringier) moments. (“Haul ass”… really? That yanked me right out of the mood, lol.)

For most of the book, I was sitting around a solid 3 stars. But then came the ending—unexpected, satisfying, and enough to get me excited for the next installment. I genuinely believe book two has the potential to soar. Let’s see where Gillig takes us from here.

Post note: the gargoyle remains me deeply of Olaf from Frozen lol

Chang presents a relentless and unflinching narrative of suffering that exposes both the horrifying scale of human cruelty and the chilling apathy of the international community.

What makes The Rape of Nanking so disturbing isn’t just the raw descriptions of murder, rape, and torture…though those are brutal, but the deliberate effort by many parties to erase or downplay the event entirely. Chang devotes a significant portion of the book to examining the historical revisionism and political suppression that followed, as Japan sought to sanitize its legacy and the world largely looked the other way. 

That aspect, the suppression of truth, is what resonates most deeply in today’s world. Reading Chang’s work, it’s impossible not to draw parallels to modern-day attempts by governments, corporations, and social media sites to control narratives, rewrite history, or silence dissenting voices. Whether it’s through censorship, propaganda, or sheer information overload, the tools of suppression have evolved, but the intent remains chillingly familiar.

It’s particularly concerning to see how elements of media suppression are creeping into democratic societies, including our own. The slow erosion of journalistic freedom, the manipulation of facts, and the framing of inconvenient truths as “misinformation” all echo the disturbing patterns Chang exposed. Her book serves not only as a memorial to the victims of Nanking but also as a warning to all of us about the cost of silence and complicity.

Post note: I found the discussion of John Rabe to be particularly interesting. I think it is a firm reminder to me that beliefs that feel unshakable are not. Rabe was a staunch socialist which led to his conviction and rise in the Nazi party. His time in Nanking saved lives and he attempted to convince Germany to no longer support Japan because of what he’d seen. Those actions led to his downfall and arrest. I think this is a glaring reminder to everyone that sometimes a single issue or ideal is why people support certain groups or parties, and that it takes dramatic (and often tragic) actions for them to be convinced that their support was ill fated from the beginning. 

As Long as the Lemon Trees Grow by Zoulfa Katouh is a hauntingly beautiful and heartbreaking novel that follows Salama, a young woman navigating life in war-torn Syria. Inspired by the real-life Syrian revolution and Katouh’s desire to give a voice to the silenced, the novel reveals the harsh reality of a young girl’s life in Syria. Salama’s story conveys the trauma, resilience, and unwavering hope of many real life Syrians.

This debut novel is not only a gripping narrative but also a powerful testament to the humanity in times of war, it urges readers to bear witness to both pain, beauty, love, and tragedy