A side-effect of writing a werewolf romance novel is one becomes addicted to the concept and craves more. Zahabi's Never Date Werewolves scratched that itch well and good. Contrary to the title, I can and will date all the werewolves.

The player character in Never Date Werewolves is a single mother with a "litter" of six children. There are three possible love interests: your next-door neighbor (he/him cishet), your children's summer school teacher (gender variable), or your boss in the dress shop (she/her cis queer). Romance is the easiest part of the game, however, because children's school projects, choosing & preparing an alpha for the pack's first hunt, and getting to work on time are much harder to balance.

Never Date Werewolves was at its weakest when it strayed from the happy, low-stakes path suggested in the blurb. A dark undercurrent of the game is an ongoing prejudice against werewolves in the world. Think homophobia or racism today, where werewolves are "naturally" violent predators. A tertiary thread of the game is navigating discrimination, and one of the love interests is against werewolf rights. It was a bit bizarre, in a game otherwise about completing art projects and enjoying spaghetti bologna ice cream, to be given the option to wish your children weren't werewolves, ban the inner Beast of a character, and condemn werewolves as shameful blights on society. The real-world parallels were uncomfortably easy to connect. At least you can also tell the bigots to buzz off.

Overall, however, the game was like the reading equivalent of being burrito-ed in comfiest blanket after a hot shower and a cup of hot chocolate. The kiddos were adorable and distinct, and the adorbz was well-balanced by the real struggles of being a parent. The descriptions of Lyon, France were gorgeous. It was refreshing to read a story where Masquerade was already broken. I've played three times now (once for beta; twice for free with adverts), and each time has been a sweet joy. Alix all the way!

If you're in the mood for a sweet summer romance with a wolfish twist, check out Never Date Werewolves!

The bizarre events of 2020 have ground my Kindle reading to a halt. Usually, I read my Kindle books at the gym, but working out is a risky proposition for myself and others nowadays. And so, a short story that I started in March has now been finished in July, since it's taken that long to change my habits. Because of the long gap, this review might be a little bare bones.

Eis is the caretaker for an Arctic Waystation for travelers. This solar-powered resting spot is the only safe haven for miles and miles of tundra. One would think many travelers would stop and enjoy the hot springs, but Eis has no memory of any humans except zir parents, who died years ago. So it is an entire surprise (and not entirely bad) when a handsome man named Ignis crash-lands into one of Eis's essential solar panels. Through him, Eis learns more of the broader world, and confirms long-held suspicions about the loneliness of zir post.

Overall, Tundras, Travelers, and Other Travesties was the reading equivalent of coming in from the storm. The line between peaceful solitude and lonely desolation is a thin one, and Eis has spent zir whole life straddling it. When Ignis arrives, Eis buzzes with questions just below the skin, from the practicalities of "Wait, you live in space?" to the more cerebral "What is romance?" It's exciting, and reminiscent of stories like 1980's Blue Lagoon or Lynn's other novel Into the Deep. There was also some discussion of Eis's gender, which I found semi-unrealistic. I found it hard to believe that Eis's parents never referred to Eis with a pronoun. In addition, Eis suffers from chronic pain, and I remember a few hiccups in the text concerning how that works.

However, these are small blips in an otherwise heartwarming story about finding solace at the end of the world. Though it be short, it is all about sucking the sweet marrow out of the bone of life. If you've liked Lynn's other works, treat yourself to Tundras, Travelers, and Other Travesties.

It's over, and I am, indeed, a crying wreck.

Rose, Kara, and company are back for the final war between vampires and humans. Though it's not so much humanity as the Assassins of Light hate group, who have infiltrated governments and militaries worldwide. But after the first battle, Kara, Rose, Erik, and Elise are whisked away by a mysterious ancient princess to an even more mysterious island kingdom of vampires. Our heroes have have many questions, but answers come at a hefty price.

My friends, I devoured this book. Everything I liked about the series culminates in this final volume. I ate if for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Kara and Rose have many, many smooches, snarky comments, and steps to healing. The plot twists, the secondary characters delight, and the writing shines. It was a temptation to not highlight every fourth paragraph. As with book 3, Jackson holds a dark mirror up to our current political travails against the loud yam. The fact that there is a happy ending gave me much-needed hope.

I love this series. You've got to read it. Simple as that.

For Christmas 2019, my partner's family gifted us an Owl Crate subscription, and The Guinevere Deception was the first book to arrive. I've been writing so much vampire fanfiction that I'm only getting to it now whoops

The first in the Camelot Rising trilogy, The Guinevere Deception is an interesting, feminist reblending of TH White's Once and Future King, Geoffrey of Monmouth's Merlin writings, and Sir Thomas Mallory's Le Morte d'Arthur. Rest assured, the Arthurian nerd within me was very pleased. In this story, Guinevere is not a Roman princess, but Merlin's mage daughter. The wizard sends her to protect Arthur. The how's and why's of this decision is a major question of the book, since Merlin's idea of answers is less than helpful.

When "Guinevere" arrives in Camelot, she is confronted with the bizarre culture of civilization and humans for the first time. Magic as well as her father have been banished, and she's got her work cut out of her. It seems the price of Camelot's existence was to conquer and quell various magical ladies, including the Dark Queen of the Forest, and Guinevere has to keep these nature deities from devouring her husband's legacy.

The thematic and literal tug-of-war between wild nature and ordered civilization was very confusing to my feral bisexual heart, lemme tell ya. What do you mean it's bad that the trees swallow misogynists whole? Are we--are we not supposed to want to date the Dark Queen? This confusion was intensified by the current environmental crisis. The civilization Arthur is building will eventually hit the Industrial Revolution corporations, which will decimate the planet. Britain in specific perpetuated a metric ton of colonizer harm across the globe. Is it worth beginning that process? Surely there's a better way, one that will keep magical nature and human technology in balance? One that will build a better future than the one we currently inhabit? Why do humans have such an ordained right to conquer and tame? These questions nagged and distracted while reading.

My other quibble with the book came to the characters. As I've discussed in other reviews, it's a personal flaw of mine that I get frustrated with teen characters for making bad decisions. Partly because teen!Natalie would made mistakes of a different sort and partly because the mistakes seem sudden and inauthentic to an otherwise rational character. The Guinevere Deception, unfortunately, had this phenomenon in spades.

This is YA, so everyone is 16 to 18 and ruling a kingdom. Which is fine, whatever, but the high intelligence and low wisdom aspect of that age was maddeningly intense. In her narration, Guinevere was mature, thoughtful, and cautious. An old soul sorrow haunted her. She can do incredible feats of magic, play a crowd, adapt to Camelot culture with grace, and gain allies with ease. But put a boy in front of her, and she loses her head because she's a teenager I guess? Even if I didn't know Arthurian myth, having a man watch you all the time is not romantic and makes Mordred a f*cking creep. Towards the end of the novel, Guinevere honest-to-God pouts that Arthur isn't paying enough attention to her, and girl!!! Your bedrooms are connected! I realize the novel is coaxing Guinevere into realizing she can't just live for a man, but God, it frustrated me.

So besides wanting to date the villain and getting frustrated that the allosexuals are at it again, The Guinevere Deception was great! I loved White's mist-soaked imagery of Camelot and the forest. Her take on Arthur and Camelot's politics is excellent. The pacing is solid. I can't wait for The Camelot Betrayal in November.

When It's Not Like It's a Secret first came out in 2017, YA twitter was all titter. Featuring frank discussions of class, race, privilege, and homophobia AND a Mexican American and Japanese American interracial lesbian couple AND fully fleshed out parents AND characters who are allowed to make mistakes, Misa Sugiura's book is a rarity. Three years later, I'm finally catching up.

Living in the Midwest with her Japanese immigrant parents, Sana Kiyohara lives an incredibly lonely life, full of heavy burdens she must endure. All her friends are white, and the well-meaning micro-aggressions are abundant. She suspects her father is having an affair. She's not out as a lesbian to anyone, much less her straight best friend (and crush). When her parents announce that they're moving to San Jose, California, with its nearby Japanese grocery and diverse student body, Sana feels like it's the first chance she's had to be herself. She doesn't have to endure. She can be honest and live. But best laid plans go horribly awry because truth is a lot tougher and more complicated than she thought.

As other reviewers have noted, part of what makes Sugiura's work remarkable is how authentic the characters are. When I read in the author bio that Sugiura works in a high school, I wasn't surprised. Usually I become frustrated with teen characters and their mistakes. I prefer heroes who, despite doing their best, fail because the antagonist is too powerful. A major part of this preference is I don't think teen!me would make a lot of the mistakes teen characters make. This is a fault of mine, I know, and why I don't write YA. Teen!Natalie was, uh, an odd one. However, when Sana makes mistakes, the (mis)action seems organic to her and her journey. It's Not Like It's a Secret seems very real to the current high school life and experience.

This verisimilitude came through especially in the discussions (and missteps) about race, class, and queerness. No one had all the answers. I was struck by how the teens wanted not to harm one another, but struggled with how to do that. Even though Sana is Japanese, she hasn't encountered many other peers of color and/or LGBTQ folks. The warmth and acceptance she finds with other Asian friends are fantastic, but at the same time they don't get her queerness. Her love interest, Jamie, understands queerness, but Sana is woefully out of touch with the struggles black and brown people face in America. The general motto of "don't be racist" is good and all, but what does that mean, exactly? Sana can't live on generalities; she has to learn the nuances. It reminded me a lot of young people on tumblr, who are very passionate about combating harm, but lack the experience/knowledge/insight/nuance on how to do that most effectively.

I learned a lot reading this stellar gem of a book. We all want to do better, and Sugiura is ruthless in forcing her characters to do better. Sometimes I wished for a break from the heavy discussions and paused to read some fluffy fanfic. Overall, though, I liked Sugiura's message that the pain of growth has its sweetness and the struggle for honesty and good relation is worth it. It's Not Like It's a Secret is a needed read.

Everyone's a Aliebn When Ur a Aliebn Too was recommended by a friend, who knows I like comfort reading. With the library closing its local branch for a year of renovations, I knew I had to grab a copy while I could. What I found inside didn't quite live up to the personal hype.

Jomny is an adorable alien who has never fit in with his fellows. When he is tasked to investigate Earth, Jomny eagerly engages with and befriends various Earthlings--tree, corpse, birds, egg, frog, beaver, otter, hedgehog, turtle, bear, owl, the grass, and others. The plot is various conversations Jomny has over his investigation. He talks out his own and everyone else's anxieties.

The drawing style both compliments the simple messages and nicely counterpoints the heavy tone of the conversations. The fat, soft lines remind of hugs and pillows. The general philosophy is that of positive nihilism: the idea that everything sucks and everyone dies, so one might as well be kind and enjoy the beauty of life. It's a needed message in this dark time, but for some reason a lot of the conversations didn't stick around in my mind. Maybe it's because I've encountered the philosophy before, or because the story struggled between being strict allegory and strictly literal. The biggest impact was Jomny's insistence that there is happiness in sadness. Sadness connects us with others, because they, too, feel it. Sadness makes us human. That's a lovely thought.

Overall, I wouldn't say Everyone's a Aliebn When Ur a Aliebn Too is for everyone, but many people might enjoy it. If you can't convince yourself that there's hope, this book may remind you that there's beauty and peace in hopelessness, as well as an opportunity to spread love.

I've been meaning to read this book for awhile and, since I've decided to read more nonfiction this year, it seemed like the perfect time. Sarah Prager's Queer, There and Everywhere: 23 People Who Changed the World was a well-written collection of queer people profiles, but, as other reviewers have noted, it could have gone farther.

After a very nice introduction, Prager profiles and recounts the lives of twenty-three queer people in history. As an adult who has been around for a bit, some entries were unsurprising (Eleanor Roosevelt, Sylvia Rivera, Frida Kahlo, Queen Kristina of Sweden, George Takei) and some definitely were (Abraham Lincoln! Glenn Burke! Lili Elbe!). Prager's language was very soft and empathetic throughout. Even though some difficult topics are discussed, I came away feeling comforted and affirmed. The historian in me delighted that she acknowledged that historical meanings of gender may differ, but it's not inaccurate/bad scholarship/whatever to apply modern identities to past people, if due reverence is given.

My one quibble, which other reviewers have noted, is that the contents do not live up to the title. The subjects are overwhelmingly from the 20th century, North American/Western European, very white, and binary/cis. Given the title and introduction that we are worldwide and forever, I was expecting people from a lot of centuries, every continent, more trans folk, and many ethnicities. Maybe something went funky in the publication process, maybe it's a very large oversight of the author: who knows. It's disappointing all the same.

Overall, however, I think Queer, There and Everywhere is a good book for queer teens in search for a sense of history. It's a good jumping off point if they want to research these individuals further. We have always been here, existing, loving, and carving space for ourselves.