It was pure joy to pick up Volume 3 right after finishing Volume 2! Here we finish the story proper.

After finally realizing that Luo Binghe is his own person (and not a book character), Shen Qingqiu flails. Both living in Huan Hua Palace, the pair tip toe around each other, unsure of dynamics and standing. The strain is exacerbated by Xin Mo’s increasingly ominous glow. Shen Qingqiu barely gets his footing when he’s suddenly whisked away to the Holy Mausoleum, a demonic resting ground riddled with traps…and Luo Binghe’s dad??? For reference, the remainder of the arcs are Tianlang-Jun kidnapping, the hilarious “three-in-a-bed” scene, LBH & LQG inn stay, Zhao Hua Monastery reveal, Shen Jiu’s backstory, defeating TLJ, VERY unfortunate sex, and HEA.

Volume 3 completes MXTX’s elegant reversal of the stallion novel genre. Shen Qingqiu unwinds the internalized homophobia part of the genre’s toxic masculinity. Thank God. The remainder of the review is spoiler-heavy.

My memory of this section has a hazy quality; punctuated with scenes I remember in surreal detail. For example, I completely forgot ZZL died, but I sure as hell remember that coffin scene. As a writer, the Holy Mausoleum felt like a fascinating cross-stitch, with MXTX showing both the final product and the backside stitching. When a reader begins a politics-heavy novel, they are presented with a neat, tidy picture, each stitch in place. Rarely are we privileged with such extensive backstory: to learn how such conspiratorial knots were formed; how and why the needlework is the way it is. I haven’t read Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation yet, but if The Untamed is anything to go by, MXTX is very interested in this theme. What is often the widely-accepted story is not the true one.

In Scum Villain, this theme dovetails nicely with MXTX’s critique of transmigration and stallion novels. All with a flair of good humor too. In one stroke, MXTX has Shen Qingqiu perform the classic transmigrator/stallion protag trick of pre-knowledge, ties it into making Proud Immortal Demon Way better, makes it hilarious, and lampshades it. Then, Shen Qingqiu’s flush of victory pales as the Old Palace Master dumps years of unexpected backstory. Puzzle-solving is clever, but Shang Qinghua thought deeper, into human nature and motivation. As stated above, long knots of conspiracy inform a finished character—threads barely fondled in the novel proper. Readers don’t often get to see (or sometimes refuse to see) the intricacies woven into a novel and its characters. Transmigrators and stallion protagonist may think they know everything because they’ve read the book—but they often fail to input humanity into the equation. As a writer myself, the Holy Mausoleum sequence is probably my favorite.

And the coolness doesn’t end there! Through the Holy Mausoleum sequence and the Mai Gu Ridge battle, MXTX nimbly pivots to a cliché battle with the Big Bad. Fantasy novels often end with a big battle against the revealed evil-doer. The martial arts world and Tianlang-Jun are sucked up in this “good vs evil” cliché. The fight happens, but it feels far from epic. Shen Qingqiu notes it’s like fighting the elderly and the infirm. The real danger is actually Xin Mo. The “gold finger” on Luo Binghe’s back, the ultimate weapon and hallmark of a Chūnibyō—that’s what’s destroying the world and Luo Binghe’s (mental) health and relationships. This is your brain on toxic masculinity, kids.

The next scene is of course, the worst sex scene I’ve ever read with my own two eyes. Okay’s maybe that’s not true. I’m sure I’ve read worse. Intellectually, I know sex scenes are very difficult to write, and no author is good at every skill. Please don’t ask me to tell a story in 3rd person omniscient—it will suck. Intellectually, I also know that MXTX wrote this scene as a rebuttal to the “magic dick” trope. Yanno, that one where a guy offers sex as a cure-all when his partner is angry, upset, and generally at their most vulnerable. Scum Villain’s sex scene more than accomplishes this goal and presents the true horror of such a scenario. The act ties with Shen Qingqiu’s character growth. He finally admits his feelings for Luo Binghe, and he stops making decisions for him. Shen Qingqiu listens to what his partner wants.

However, these thematic and character perks don’t compensate for how the scene makes Scum Villain fail as a kissing book. It’s like MXTX drilled so hard on the stallion genre reversal that she forsook the other half of the equation: to make it a gay romance. Yes, Scum Villain has the requisite happy ending, but the ending is unsatisfying to the romance reader. Shen Qinqiu spends a huge page count thinking of Luo Binghe as a not-a-person, and he undergoes tremendous character growth on the subject. The novel ends before we reap the fruits of his labors. We’re left wondering what Luo Binghe and Shen Qingqiu’s romantic relationship will be like. Where will they live? What’s their dynamic in public and private? What about their responsibilities to the Cang Qiong Mountain sect and the demonic realm? Will they figure out their intimacy issues? Without the Extras, we wouldn’t know. Near the end of Volume 4, Shen Qingqiu mentions that “this is the beginning of you and I.” While a nice sentiment, it barely papers over what I consider the most glaring flaw of the book.

The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System is a fantastic novel. I don’t think it should be tossed out because of one scene. I enjoy the series immensely, both as a fan and fellow writer. If you have a chance to read it, seize that chance.

Review of Scum Villain Vol 1: https://app.thestorygraph.com/reviews/f797e4a5-9dc6-4810-bedd-0b2704a871b0

Review of Scum Villain Vol 2: https://app.thestorygraph.com/reviews/64a2b986-fd86-4f98-9d8e-b680ad6e9e5a

Review of Scum Villain Vol 4: https://app.thestorygraph.com/reviews/4426ae1a-2105-4c8e-b4ce-94e2793b5501

We’re back with the second volume of The Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System! The boys are fightinnnnngggggggggggggg, hahahahaha.

After Luo Binghe’s fall into the abyss, Shen Qingqiu thinks he has five years to prepare for the worst. He sets his scholarly affairs in order, tends to his mushroom, and grieves at Luo Binghe’s grave. The other sect leaders worry about their colleague and friend, and eventually hit upon something he likes: weird ass monsters! A plague has hit Jin Lan City, and it’s a demon’s doing. Off they go on an adventure, not knowing that Luo Binghe eagerly awaits his reunion with his shizun. Miscommunication and disaster dog the footsteps of our heroes at every step. For reference, this volume also contains the water prison “first date,” the plant!zun rebirth, playing with Sha Hualing in the borderlands, being captured as a vessel for Binghe’s monthy qi release at Huan Hua Palace, witnessing Binghe’s Bedroom Battle with Liu-shidi (featuring SQQ’s corpse), dream kiss.

Like I noted in my Volume 1 review, re-reading Scum Villain provides an all-new experience. I really felt bad that everyone had to constantly adapt to such a willful SQQ-shaped ping pong. The remainder of the review will be full of spoilers while I gush.

I was breathless when Liu-shidi held out his hand:

Goddamn, he’s in LOVE love. Deeper into the angst meter, Luo Binghe brought tears to my eyes when he asked Shen Qingqiu if he was strong enough—a moment I totally missed the ramifications of previously. The deepest heartbreak was Shen Qinqiu’s suicide. My first reading experience was utterly absorbed in Shen Qingqiu: his disassociation with his body, his confidence that committing suicide was unavoidable and the best option, and his assurance that he would survive. On re-read, I much better understood the gravity of what was happening. Shen Qingqiu literally chose to kill himself instead of have a conversation. From an outsider’s perspective, Shen Qingqiu’s antics are contradictory, cruel, and devastating.

Towards the end of the volume, Shen Qingqiu finally, finally realizes that the people surrounding him are flesh and blood. On a thematic level, Shen Qingqiu’s growth here digs into a major criticism of the stallion and transmigration genres. Authors and fans don’t treat characters remotely like people, just as Shen Qingqiu refuses to treat Luo Binghe as his own person. Instead, characters are objects—often sex objects—for the overpowered protagonist to manipulate and consume as he wishes. Fandom even refers to love interests as “capture targets.” This tendency comes down hard on female characters, though we don’t see it in Scum Villain. Smarter people than me have written essays on how novels can reinforce real-life harmful cultural narratives and systems, so I won’t get into here. More relevant to Scum Villain and MXTX’s point, objectification makes boring storytelling. Proud Immortal Demon Way may have been popular in its moment, but not all of Shen Qingqiu’s fanboy critiques seem unjustified. From what tidbits we get, PIDW sounds like an erotic pulp that’s dime a dozen online, with stale plots and forgettable characters. It failed to add anything noteworthy to greater cultural conversation. It was created to put food on Shen Qinghua’s plate and that’s what it did. Because of all this genre baggage, Shen Qingqiu’s recognition of Luo Binghe’s personhood was incredibly cathartic. We love character growth in this house!

Speaking of serotonin, I got a huge dollop picking up Volume 3 immediately off my bookshelf. See you there!

Review of Scum Villain Vol 1: https://app.thestorygraph.com/reviews/f797e4a5-9dc6-4810-bedd-0b2704a871b0

Review of Scum Villain Vol 3: https://app.thestorygraph.com/reviews/a3156dc1-eaa9-45ef-8a33-96febcee9cf2

Review of Scum Villain Vol 4: https://app.thestorygraph.com/reviews/4426ae1a-2105-4c8e-b4ce-94e2793b5501

After finishing The Bone Witch, I borrowed The Heart Forger audiobook ASAP.

WE KNOW WHO LIES IN THE GRAVE.

Hahaha, that reveal was incredibly satisfying way to end The Bone Witch, and the identity of the dead kickstarts The Heart Forger just right. I expected Chupeco to stop using the parallel timeline technique and was surprised when the format continued. That’s not a criticism—Chupeco uses it to great effect. In lesser hands, knowing the destination would decrease narrative tension, but Chupeco layers it on thicker than ever. The plot holes from the last book are addressed, and it turns out that’s what Tea wants to fix about her world. Nice.

Everything I adored about The Bone Witch is repeated and taken a step further in The Heart Forger. The themes, motifs, and characters are meticulously plotted, taking one logical step after another to achieve their goals. Certain characters come out as queer, and I love them. Chupeco again created a book that contains everything I admire about Young Adult high fantasy, and I urge you to read this series if you’re a YA high fantasy fan! 

Rin Chupeco has been on my radar for several years, and I was happy to finally pick up The Bone Witch! The audiobook is quite popular on my libraries’ Libby apps. Whenever I search “Chupeco,” it’s a coin toss whether any entries in the series are available.

In a fantasy continent divided into eight kingdoms, Tea lives in a remote village and minds her twelve-year-old business. That is, until her brother Fox dies. The heartbreak triggers her latent necromancy abilities, and Fox rises from the dead. A fellow necromancer senses the disturbance and whisks the pair off to the glittering capital. Like all mages above a certain level of talent, Tea must undergo magical training and become an “asha,” who serves the kingdoms. Necromancers, often called Bone Witches, are feared and revered for their rare abilities. Someone has an eye on Tea’s power—and will do anything to get it.

While my experience with The Bone Witch is 99% positive praise, I have my quibbles with the world—mainly, the place of the asha in it. I’m putting it behind a spoiler for those who don’t want to wade in the thickets.

 

My immersion broke from how easy it is to poke a certain hole in the world-building. Asha are the top magic users on the continent. Succeeding them, dark asha have mind control so OP that they can order the monstrous daeva to die. With mind-control on that level, a dark asha could take over a country with one conversation. While the later two books address this issue, The Bone Witch offers a meek defense. Mykaela is too polite to take over the world. The male mages don’t think about conquering their own governments, because they’re too busy being child soldiers fed to the daeva-shaped meat grinders. The remaining asha prefer to be party entertainers. This choice threw me through several loops. With a magical beginning like Tea’s, I went in expecting wizard battles between god-kings. Instead, the asha are like pre-WWII Shanghai courtesans, who parents hire for birthday parties. Again, Heart Forger and Shadowglass address this plot hole. As much as it distracted me in the first book, maybe I should admit not all readers play as much politics-heavy tabletop games as me. 

I’ve read more than my fair share of Young Adult high fantasy, so I can say with confidence that Chupeco’s Bone Witch represents much of the best of the genre. Ignoring the one glaring hole, the world-building and magic system are solid and expansive, with tempting depths. The coming-of-age themes are at once incredibly specific to a bookish necromancer and universal in the struggle for understanding. The characters and their relationships develop slowly, at a pace organic to them. The majority of them are brown! Familial, platonic, and romantic love are equally valued. “Good” and “evil” are messy, complicated concepts. These are messy and complicated people, who are allowed to re-direct thwarted love into fear, rage, and grief. As Tea grows, she becomes more aware of the centuries-long court intrigues, which are compelling to those new and old to “fantasy court intrigue” tropes. The audiobook narrators put on a wonderful show. Chupeco’s use of parallel timelines is a fascinating, brilliant performed experiment. There’s a constant tension between the present and past Tea—how did a young girl with such good intentions end up on a hill of bones?

At the time of writing, I’ve finished The Bone Witch trilogy. It’s safe to say I enjoyed Chupeco’s work immensely. If you like YA high fantasy, treat yourself to a copy.

My friend recommended Brown Girls for our sapphic book club. A different book club of theirs discussed it, and my friend wanted more. After reading Palsai Andreades’ debut work, I see what my friend meant. There’s so much to unpack!

Brown Girls is at once the story of a specific friend group and the cyclical story of female immigrant American generations. Though it has paragraphs, chapters, and other novel structures, it reads like a very long prose poem, as told by a Greek chorus of brown women from Queens, New York City. Over the course of the novel, Palasi Andreades creates a wide-eyed memoir of a collective life experience, following her characters through childhood, adolescence, young adulthood, and their mid-30s.

For all the joy found in their friendship, the overall tone of Brown Girls was quite bleak. The crosshairs of sexism, racism, and classism weigh heavy on the narrative and are inescapable. Homophobia raises its ugly head to a lesser extent, and I appreciated the note that some people don’t remain women. The seemingly inescapable class miscommunication devastated my heart. Our book club discussed a lot how fraught relationships between working class and middle/wealthy class friends can be. Overall, Brown Girls was very eye-opening for me, as a white person more than two generations within America. Though I hesitant to call it “plot” or “story beats,” I recognized threads of (Q)PoC’s common experiences I’d seen elsewhere, but Palsai Andreades compiles them in one linear narrative.

My biggest critique with the book is the abrupt ending. After having children, the characters immediately age into senility and death. We miss out on the rich years of middle age—that invigorating span when a person figures out what they like and do it on purpose. Heck, none of them get to retire, much less flop on a beach with a margarita. I pointed this out to my book club, and they suggested that perhaps Palsai Andreades didn’t want to discuss middle age because she’s not middle aged yet. Outside the story, capitalism may not let these women retire, and there’s the sad truth that many women of color die younger than their white counterparts. Minority stress is killer. Another point is that, after the original cast have children, the cycle of “brown girls” begins again. In other words, the daughters are the new generation of brown girls. While these are valid points, the text presents and packages itself as the full brown girl experience. I maintain that there could be more in the text that indicated Brown Girls covers less than half a life.

My critique doesn’t erase that Brown Girls is an important, meaningful mirror up to reality. It’s a beautiful, poignant book, which will have you giggling and crying in turn. Everyone should read it. 

Middle grade books are outside of my milieu, but Alex Gino’s work caught my attention. When Banned Book Week rolled around, Melissa was very proudly displayed. Book Riot’s censorship correspondent Kelly Jensen encourages readers to borrow controversial books from the library, as a show of support. As I’d already followed her other suggestion to contact my government representatives, Melissa found its way into my bag.

Melissa is a young girl who’s fresh from figuring out she’s transgender. She knows she wants to tell her friends and family, but struggles with how to articulate herself. When her teacher announces a class production of Melissa’s favorite book Charlotte’s Web, Melissa realizes that playing Charlotte will be fun, rewarding, and may help articulate her girlhood to others. Her best friend Kelly is so down with this plan.

Melissa is an incredibly wholesome, cute story. The coming out arc has some realistic struggles, but nothing too intense for a young middle schooler to read. I think people who struggle to understand gender euphoria (feeling supreme joy about one’s gender) will especially find Melissa helpful. Though contentious gender journeys are often the focus of big-budget narratives, being trans is also about the joy. This book made me point-blank happy, and all the happier because of Melissa’s bright future ahead. Good times! 

My life goes through bursts of hauntings by Dead Dead Girls. When it first released in 2021, a flurry of reviews celebrated the publication, Black History Month brought a second summoning, and Book Riot toted the novel during Halloween and the sequel’s release. Then my library got in on it, with multiple displays featuring Dead Dead Girls as a centerpiece. Afia’s novel has been coming for me.

After a turbulent childhood, Louise Lloyd worked tooth and nail to establish a steady, enjoyable adulthood. She waitresses during the day, dances the night away with her girlfriend, and enjoys lazy weekends at their all women boarding house. Her precious, hard-won world is shattered one night when the police raid her favorite speakeasy, and she’s hauled in. The head detective presents her with a choice: go to jail; or help him investigate a serial killer who targets black women like Louise. As she interviews, snoops, and sneaks, Louise slowly realizes that justice is only going to come if she confronts her thorny past.

Afia’s novel is not for the faint of heart. I don’t mean in the traditional sense that there’s lots of gore or violence. No, no, the real weight comes from Afia’s unflinching realism in her depiction of racism, sexism, and homophobia. I’ve lived through intense violence in my neighborhoods, and it was hard to witness Louise’s people grieve. Fiction is usually reality’s fun house mirror, but Harlem’s experience became overwhelmingly real for me. I took breaks. Though the story is set in 1926, too little has changed. At one point, Louise ponders if she likes detective work and I laughed because literally every part of the process makes her (and me, by extension) miserable.

My heartache is a testament to Afia’s strong writing. Using simple language, Afia sucked me into Louise’s world so easily and smoothly it became my own.  At times bleak, at times hopeful, Dead Dead Girls is a great book. Gear up for some anguish 

Picking up Territory of Light was an outgrowth of my interest in Japanese literature, and interest in the author Dazai Osamu-san in particular. Dazai-san is Tsushima-san’s father, though she didn’t get to spend much time with him. After reading this novel, I learned his daughter more than stands on her own.

Territory of Light’s twelve segments do have a plot, but overall the plot takes a backseat to the unnamed narrator’s emotional journey. Exasperated by her husband’s infidelity, drinking, and lack of financial literacy, the narrator decides to embark on a new life with their three-year-old daughter. She moves into an apartment bursting with light—there are windows in every room, a rooftop balcony, and no taller buildings around to block the sun. Poignantly alone (yet never truly alone with a toddler in tow), she does her best to carry on, survive, and thrive as a single parent and a single adult who has just undergone a harrowing experience.

Tsushima-san’s prose is beautiful and delicate. The tender story has lots of laughter, which relieves the tension of such a stressful situation. While I haven’t been a single mother or new divorcée, the story felt like a realistic depiction of the stressors from living alone, acting as breadwinner, and raising a very young child. Sprinkle in some classic 1978 sexism and I’m surprised she’s not Mc-losing it. The husband was an interesting character so far as how similar he is to Dazai-san’s typical pathetic wet cat of a protagonist. I’m sure someone smarter than me has written an essay on this topic. Territory of Light is gorgeously written, and I keenly felt my lack of tools to unpack it fully. Tsushima-san’s symbolism is like sensing the shifting shadows in deep water. Other reviewers pointed out interesting elements, and I’ve linked them below. The closest ripple I touched is first the narrator wants to be in the light in the same way a monk wants to live on a mountain. From a clear-sighted vista, she can take a clean breath of air and take stock of herself and her life. Towards the end of the novel, the spotlight becomes too hot—true horror is absolute reality, after all—and she retreats into the soft, shadowy comfort of a darker apartment, which is tailored more to her and her daughter’s needs.

Territory of Light won’t blow your mind in a loud way—it’s too quiet for that. Instead, readers will feel the glowing presence of true art. I definitely want to read more of Tsushima-san’s work.

GoodReads Review I like: https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/2458966590

StoryGraph Review I like: https://app.thestorygraph.com/reviews/7acda1be-c73a-42d3-b403-a9c232a97065 

The book reviewer blogs I follow have wildly different stances on Lakelore. Some loved it; some thought it was trite and overwrought. Both admitted the book to be earnest in its depiction of minority identities. What finally made me hit download was Rainbow Crate shipping us a Bastián and Lore fridge magnet.

The Storygraph summary doesn’t represent the novel well. Bastián’s siblings are only supportive. In the small town of Lore, Bastián has few friends, but he’s always had the lake. Its quixotic, evocative magic flickers between realities and fills his bedroom with playful sea creatures and colorful seaweed. One other person has seen its magic: a lost, strange student on a field trip from a long ago. That student was Lore, who was so changed by the experience that they took their name from the town’s. In a bid to outrun transphobia and a patchy school record, Lore and their family move near Bastián, and the pair re-connect. Not a moment too soon—something is wrong with the lake’s magic, making it unwieldy, vicious, and drowning dangerous.

McLemore is much lauded in the queer YA scene, and Lakelore is my first book by them. Lakelore was also my first time reading an enby/enby romance, and I really loved Bastián’s and Lore’s different experiences of being nonbinary. The gorgeous cover art isn’t lying to you either–they’re both Latine too. Much of the novel concerns Bastián’s ADHD and Lore’s dyslexia. I have relatives and friends with ADHD, but this book was the first time I felt in my gut how the neurodivergence means your head is full of bees and the concept of time is so different. That being said, some sections feel like a listing of symptoms rather than actual narrative. The fantastical elements are muted, which is a shame since the lake magic is very cool as a concept and as a metaphor for miscommunication.

After reading Lakelore myself, I can see how the other reviewers were so divided. While the representation is obviously needed and good, the low fantasy story is middling. Four stars from me. 

After adoring Mexican Gothic, I needed to read more Moreno-Garcia right now immediately. Along with my burgeoning favoritism towards the Gothic genre, noir/mafia stories have been making my heart go pitter patter, so picking up Velvet Was the Night was an easy choice.

Set in 1970s Mexico City, Velvet Was the Night runs on parallel plot lines and switches between two POVs. First, we have Maite, a respectable secretary/typist and closet romantic, who hoards records, Secret Romance comics, and her neighbors’ knick-knacks. Burrowing her head in the sand of art, she can stave off the hopelessness of the political turmoil surrounding her. Elvis, meanwhile, has no choice but to be in the thick of it. Kicked out of multiple homes, he poses as a budding communist student and snitches on leftist political activities for the government-backed mafia. After Matie’s neighbor Leonora disappears during a political uprising, Elvis and Maite’s separate worlds clash in the most unexpected ways. The characters launch separate investigations into Leonora disappearance, careening closer and closer to easy liars and horrible truths.

At first the nature of Elvis’ work repulsed me, but I grew to love him as his limited choices became clearer. Plus, it’s hard to dislike a guy who learns a new word every day and can beat up cops, haha. Both of Moreno-Garcia’s protagonists are precious, beautiful, and flawed. The interplay of their investigations made the mystery all the more tantalizing. Because the two heroes don’t meet until very late in the book, scenes gain an additional, gasping tension. How will Maite react when she finds out such-and-such about Elvis? How will Elvis feel about Maite’s decision here? The pair’s idiosyncrasies match up so nicely that my heart about burst with the swooning romance. I’ve seen these sort of techniques in movies, where the viewer waits the whole film for an explosive meeting of two characters, but never witnessed it before in fiction. Exciting!

Moreno-Garcia’s character work is far from the only captivating element. I knew approximately zilch about 1970s Mexican politics, but I never felt lost. The atmosphere is smoky, gritty perfection, and I felt I learned emotional truths about the era, if not solid facts. For that, Moreno-Garcia offers a helpful note on the novel’s historical details in the back matter. The pace is fairly quick, which suits the genre, but the story doesn’t feel rushed at all. The audiobook performance is stellar, making it easy to gobble up the book.

Overall, Velvet Was the Night is a highly enjoyable noir adventure, with intriguing story, literary techniques, and characters. Do recommend!