The fact that it took me a month to read The Red Scrolls of Magic has nothing to do with the novel itself and everything to do with me. The last month was a bit complicated for me, and I found myself turning to The Sims 4 rather than my current read. That aside, though, Clare and Chu wrote a brilliant novel, full of romance, humor, suspense, and adventure. Personally, I thought there were moments in which their writing styles didn’t blend well, and it felt a bit clumsy or cheesy. But all in all, I did enjoy this first installment in The Eldest Curses trilogy, and I’m looking forward to another book of Malec shenanigans, especially after that cliffhanger.

Representation:
• Alec is gay.
• Magnus is Indonesian and bisexual.
• Shinyun is Korean.
• Raphael, a minor side character, is aromantic and asexual.
• Helen and Aline, two more prominent side characters later in the novel, develop a sapphic relationship.

CW: homophobia, racism, violence, blood

(Apparently my recent lack of interest in reading has led to an inability to write decent reviews. Yikes.)

I’m not sure if I waited too long to read Glass Sword, or if I’m simply no longer impressed by YA dystopian fantasy.

The only element I think I truly liked was the relationship between Mare and Cal. Despite how frequently they exasperated me throughout the novel, I appreciated the connection they shared and the tentative way Aveyard wrote their private moments. They did disagree, they did argue, but there was still a bit of tenderness between them that convinced me of romantic potential.

Unfortunately, the positives stop there. There were many elements that I found off-putting individually that, when combined, didn’t do the story any favors. From Mare’s insufferable attitude and self-centering tendencies, to repetition and predictability in the story and an unclear timeline, Glass Sword was as much of a hot mess as Cal himself.

I do appreciate the raw, realistic way Aveyard wrote Mare. She was doubtful and insecure, trying to assist with a rebellion while juggling the complexities of her personal life, but it didn’t take long for me to get sick of her narrative. It was appalling to me how often she forgot about her own family, and annoying how frequently she thought of her abilities. If someone took a shot every time the phrase “lightning girl” appeared...let’s just say it wouldn’t be a good idea for anyone that values life, even a little bit. Honestly, Mare, we get it; you’re a vengeful, humanoid Pikachu. Let’s move on, please.

I firmly believe that Aveyard missed an opportunity to explore moral ambiguity in Mare, to shape her into a character reminiscent of Adelina from Marie Lu’s The Young Elites. Maybe that happens in future installments. I don’t know. What I do know is that, not only did Aveyard focus on all the wrong parts of her protagonist, she also woefully neglected the numerous side characters introduced as the story progressed. Several names and unique abilities were thrown around, but I can’t recall more than the approximate half-dozen with the “best” powers. I’m not even sure I could necessarily match person to ability.

I’ve got a few more points I could discuss, but because I’m running out of energy, I’ll limit myself to one more significant thing that caught my attention. The first half of this book was quite repetitive. After an escape, a brief reprieve, and one more escape, Mare and company go on a lengthy mission to find and recruit more “newbloods” like her - the given term for those born Red that somehow possess abilities beyond any Silver knowledge or experience. While only a few of these recruitments are explained in detail, I feel that some of the page time spent on this would’ve been better used on other events.

And lastly, hand-in-hand with the repetition is the outright predictability of this sequel. After a few new recruits, every mission to find another felt systematic. Training, planning, and relationship drama were about all the middle chunk of the story had to offer. Only in the last third did Aveyard spice things up a bit and throw in a couple of decent surprises. That might’ve been enough to redeem the plot somewhat, if I hadn’t managed to guess the big end twist a mile away. I didn’t figure out all of the minor details, but I wasn’t even a little bit shocked while reading the final chapters. And that...is a problem.

Alright, I think I’ve said everything I have to say about Glass Sword. Aveyard’s second installment wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t anything special, either. I would ultimately say that it was a mediocre novel that offered some romantic potential, but suffered from second book slump. There’s a sliver of curiosity within me regarding King’s Cage, though not enough to persuade me to read it. I just can’t see myself spending money on a copy, or waiting weeks for one from the library, when there are so many unread books on my own shelf I’m much more interested in.

Even though I read Shiny Broken Pieces two years after Tiny Pretty Things, I enjoyed this sequel. It was surprisingly easy to recall the major events of the first book and immerse myself in this elegant, cutthroat world once more.

Charaipotra and Clayton did very well balancing the development of the three protagonists, Gigi, June, and Bette. Gigi struggles through the aftermath of her horrific accident while trying to be the best ballerina she can be. Bette is determined to clear her name, but her success is soon tainted when a vengeful rival returns. June wants to succeed in the industry and keep her boyfriend, though everything is up in the air when her eating disorder spirals. All three of them felt deeply flawed, and realistic because of that. Some especially prominent side characters could be described the same way.

If I had to describe this novel in one word, it would be intense. There’s never a dull moment with these ballerinas. It’s impressive enough to me that people actually have the stamina for such a strenuous activity, as I’m not much more than a gay potato myself. And then here are these girls, eager to fit in some sabotage before their warmup stretches. I’m not sure if I should be alarmed or impressed, or maybe some combination of the two.

My primary issue — my only issue, really — is that so much of the story felt pointless. There’s so much drama and pettiness, so many instances of sabotage gone too far, and for what? I understand that the stakes are high, that these girls will do anything to achieve their dreams, but there’s no need to get the police or EMTs involved. That’s taking it too far, and sometimes I felt that the scheming overshadowed the dancing. The performance they trained, auditioned, and trained more for lasted just a few pages toward the very end of the book.

To be quite honest, I nearly rated this two stars, but I bumped it up to three purely because it was fun. Now, I don’t support any of the antics in this story, but I do, without a doubt, support stories that I can devour half of in a matter of hours. I support stories that rile me the way this one did — I was so salty about the way I thought the book was going to end, and then the authors pulled the rug from under my feet. It isn’t the emotional reaction I usually have when reading, but in most cases, causing an emotional reaction in readers is a good thing, an indication of skill.

I might not remember much about Shiny Broken Pieces in six months, and overall, it wasn’t my favorite. But Charaipotra and Clayton wrote an intense, intriguing conclusion to their duology, and it did have a few redeeming qualities. I look forward to reading more from them in the future, individually and together.

Representation:
• Gigi is black.
• June is Korean and has an eating disorder.
• There are a couple of queer side characters, though no labels are mentioned that I can recall.
• There are many side characters of color — some Korean girls and a Japanese girl immediately come to mind.

CW: racism, disordered eating/purging, bullying and harassment, attempted suicide, teacher/student relationship

Sometimes you read a book that grips you from the start, that slowly captivates you more and more as you read, until you read the final page and realize how completely, utterly in love you are with every part of it. It’s become less common for me to have such an experience while reading, but that’s what This Is What It Feels Like was for me.

I picked this up randomly because it was the title I pulled from my new TBR jar, though — while I was eager to check another book off of my owned TBR pile — my expectations weren’t high. I figured this would be a fun, moderately quick read, and I was pretty sure it was at least a little bit queer.

To my surprise and pleasure, this was so much more. Barrow crafted a brilliant, complex story following three brilliant, flawed girls as they navigate life after high school graduation. The three protagonists are Dia, Jules, and Hanna — the first is a grieving teen mom, the second an out and proud lesbian recovering from a prior toxic relationship, and the third a former alcoholic trying to put her life back together. They’re also former band mates that, after two years, must overcome their differences in order to enter the local music contest, as the prize is bigger than ever.

I have nothing but praise for this novel.

The whirlwind of freedom and confusion, excitement and nervousness, that comes with graduating felt so authentic. It’s been eight months since my own graduation and I could still strongly relate to this.

Dia and Jules had such a great platonic dynamic, and it was interesting to see the slow, steady way Hanna returned their duo back into a trio. There were undeniable obstacles, but seeing them come together was inexplicably wonderful.

Other relationships were treated with just as much care. Dia’s parents were so supportive, and her daughter Alexa was the cutest freaking bean ever. I’m so glad she got a decent amount of page time. Hanna’s home life was a bit rougher due to her past choices, but her younger sister Molly was definitely a highlight, snarky yet sincere in that sibling way. As for Jules, her family wasn’t really present on page, though what her chapters focused on instead was just as good, in my opinion — an absolutely precious sapphic romance with her new coworker. They were shy and unsure at times but still passionate, and I loved them so much.

Barrow’s story is one full of heavier topics, but each one felt like it had a place in the plot. There are some instances in which such things feel out of place, or as if too much was crammed into a single book, but not this time. Everything fit together and flowed well.

Lastly, I want to talk about the music. I tend to love stories about songwriters, bands, performers, or any combination of the three, but I read so few of them. When I realized music was a major element in this novel’s plot, I was excited, and Barrow didn’t let me down. The lyrics, the practices, the performances, the emotions surrounding it all...for a girl with stage fright and minimal musical skills, it was fascinating, exhilarating even, to read about.

I’m running out of both words and energy, but the point I hope I’ve made is that I love this book so much more than I ever expected to. This Is What It Feels Like is a hidden gem, and I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone that can handle the content.

Representation:
• Dia and Jules are girls of color. (I can’t remember if anything more specific is mentioned, sorry.)
• Jules is a lesbian.
• Autumn, a side character, is fat and sapphic.
• There are a few side characters of color and at least one queer side character.

CW: death of a side character, grief, alcoholism/alcohol addiction, smoking, mention of prior hospitalization

Grace and Fury is an unexpectedly intense story of oppression, sisterhood, intrigue, betrayal, and rebellion, nicely packaged in an unassuming hardcover. While not a favorite, I’m quite impressed by the way Banghart handled the development of her characters and the intricacies of her plot.

Serina and Nomi are sisters and polar opposites. Serina trained her entire life to be a perfect, docile young woman and compete for one of the favored positions as a Grace — basically a mistress to the king figure of the country. Her younger sister Nomi was intended to be Serina’s handmaiden, but had a much more fiery personality and wasn’t satisfied with the life laid out for her. When one takes the fall for the other’s crime, they find their roles switched, and their lives spiral into something unpredictable, unknown.

I’ll admit, I found Nomi annoying almost instantaneously. But as the story progressed, despite her facepalm-worthy inability to react appropriately to situations, she grew on me.

Serina, though, I liked from the start. Her realism was refreshing, her emotions raw beneath her graceful mask, and her character arc? Incredible. Iconic.

What I do feel requires critique is the world-building. There isn’t much of it. All readers are told about the country of Viridia is that men make up the government, that they control everything, while women are limited to menial work or motherhood; they’re forbidden even from learning to read and write. The only history given is in one chapter about halfway through, in the form of an old textbook mysteriously smuggled to Nomi. I know nothing about their customs or culture, about the surrounding countries, if there are any. Granted, none of that is truly relevant, but a sprinkle of additional world-building can make or break a book, in my opinion. You shouldn’t just eat ice cream, you should add whipped cream and chocolate sauce and sprinkles.

Something else that bothered me, upon a bit of reflection, is the romance. Sure, I enjoy some kissing as much as the next hopeless romantic — even if, sadly, the couples in question are heterosexual — but to me, the connections didn’t seem genuine. It felt like Banghart was just checking off a “to include” list. Love interest for one sister, check, and, oh, let’s have the other sister kiss this guy, why not? The book’s length was detrimental to these relationships; neither had enough page time to actually develop, nor get me attached.

One thing Banghart absolutely nailed was her plot twists. I figured out a few of the smaller surprises early, but as I got closer to the end, my suspicion barely came in time for the reveal. Everything fit together in ways I didn’t imagine, and for nearly the entire book, I misjudged the real antagonist. Very clever. Much applause.

All in all, Grace and Fury was a very quick, enjoyable read. It was fierce and fascinating in most of the right ways, and the positive definitely outweighed the negative. I’d recommend this to those looking for a lesser-known fantasy and/or a story centering sisterhood and feminism. I’m not sure when I’ll read the sequel, but I absolutely plan to.

Representation:
• Maris, one of the more prominent side characters, is sapphic. Note that she isn’t in a relationship, and that that part of her identity is a secret to all but one due to country laws.

CW: sexism, blood, some gore, violence/fighting, murder, death

~no rating~

My situation with this novel is an odd one. I read up to page 250 and considered DNFing it for the first time, but persevered. The thought returned shortly after page 300, and again a bit before 400. At page 438 I stopped; I told myself that I didn’t need to force myself to keep reading even if it was a Cassandra Clare book. However, I was curious about the ending, so I flipped to the epilogue. While interesting, it didn’t tell me much. Then I flipped toward the end — I’m not sure of the page but I had roughly 150 pages left — and skimmed most of what remained. I read most of the final battle, though I don’t know exactly what caused it, and the very end. So no, I didn’t DNF it, but I skipped a good portion of the middle. I’m not sure what to call this.

Find out why and other thoughts in the full review on my blog!

3.5 stars

While I did undeniably enjoy this novel, I’m not sure that it lived up to its predecessor. Both books in the duology are quick, captivating, fiercely feminist reads, but Grace and Fury was inexplicably more intriguing to me than Queen of Ruin.

I loved seeing Serina, Nomi, and all of the women from Mount Ruin fight societal expectations and people alike. The sisters were comfortable in their new roles despite hardships and nightmares, despite only being sure of their love for each other and the need to incite change in their country. However, on the other hand, every single named male character felt two-dimensional. Whether good or bad, family or love interest, they had one main personality trait each and I just...didn’t care about any of them.

Another issue I had was mentioned in my review of the first book as well: the romance. How am I supposed to care about romantic relationships when one half of each couple is plainer than vanilla ice cream? A fair amount of emphasis is put on Serina and Val as a pairing, as well as the possibility of Malachi and Nomi having feelings for each other. I was hoping my doubts from the previous novel would be erased here, with such bonds getting more page time and, therefore, development. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

The one exception to this complaint is the sapphic couple, Maris and Helena. They’re reunited early on in the novel after unfair separation prior to Grave and Fury, and I love them with my entire heart.

My biggest problem was the length of the book. Although I don’t mind shorter fantasies — in fact, I wouldn’t mind it if there were more of them — sometimes a lower page count can be detrimental. In this case, the world-building suffered once again, as did the plot itself. I still know next to nothing about Viridia or the surrounding lands, aside from the tidbits about a nearby country called Azura treating its women significantly better.

This story centers around rising up against a vicious ruler, against oppression and sexism and societal norms. There’s some training and planning, and plenty of fighting. But because it’s shorter, there wasn’t much time for the novel to explore the ups and downs of rebellion, the scheming and love, lies and tension. It was simply overcoming obstacle after obstacle, and after a while, it felt formulaic, without many surprises or much shock value.

The ending was mostly satisfying, and thus, a redeemable quality for the book as a whole. Banghart didn’t take it in the direction I expected, but I’m okay with that. The gays stayed together — I might not be straight, but my priorities are — and everything was wrapped up nicely. If anything, I would’ve liked an epilogue, another short chapter set a few months or maybe a year in the future, describing how the promised changes were received and if they were effective. (I also wouldn’t have minded more about Maris and Helena, and maybe a bit of the protagonists as well.)

All in all, despite my criticisms, Queen of Ruin was a good, well-written conclusion to a very underrated duology. I’d recommend these books to anyone looking for more feminism in their YA fantasy, and/or a fun — albeit bloody and emotional — quick story.

Representation:
• Maris and Helena, two side characters, are openly sapphic and in a relationship.

CW: sexism, blood/gore, violence, war, murder, death

Whereas I’ve had clear feelings on the previous installments in the Wayward Children series immediately after finishing, I truly don’t know what to make of Come Tumbling Down. I went in with minimal knowledge — as I tend to do with these novellas — but expected to love it. Surely, my less-than-stellar experience with In an Absent Dream was a fluke. This latest novella wouldn’t disappoint me.

Unfortunately, it did.

Don’t get me wrong, I did enjoy it. Returning to the idiosyncratic characters I knew and loved was great; the various dynamics and plentiful banter brought a smile to my face more than once. Even on their own, the protagonists were well-rounded and fun to read. We’ve got Jack, the girl that’s tough around everyone except her girlfriend; Sumi, the overly optimistic friend ready for adventure of any sort; and Kade, one of my personal favorites, who’s not really in the mood for your crap but wants to make sure you don’t die. I didn’t feel much of a connection to any of the other characters — not Christopher, or Cora, or Alexis.

On a similar note, I just didn’t really feel connected to anything. The plot was interesting enough, but I wasn’t invested. In the last third of the book, I increased the audiobook speed and didn’t care if I missed minor details. Pretty sure that’s not how one is intended to use audiobooks, but... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

There are exactly two reasons I didn’t give this novella a lower rating: the sapphic romance and the audiobook narration. The former is an established relationship between Jack and Alexis, a girl with a perfect balance of tenderness and fierceness. They were SO CUTE and of course I loved them. It would take a lot of crap for me to even remotely dislike a sapphic couple. Now, as for the latter, I liked that the author read the story. McGuire did an impressive job narrating, switching voices for various characters and not sounding cringeworthy. I’m not sure if this will make sense, but they’ve just got a good voice for this sort of thing.

All in all, Come Tumbling Down wasn’t my favorite novella in the series — that would be Beneath the Sugar Sky — but it did have a few redeemable elements. If we were lucky enough to get more Wayward Children stories, I would probably read them. For now, though, I might peruse some of McGuire’s other work.

Representation:
• Jack is sapphic and in a relationship with Alexis. She has OCD.
• Alexis is fat and sapphic. She sometimes communicates using sign language, though she can speak in most situations.
• Kade is a trans boy.
• Sumi is Japanese, if I remember correctly.
• Christopher is Latinx, if memory serves.
• Cora is fat and only has one hand. I don’t remember if she uses a prosthetic or not.

CW: blood, murder, death, mutilation, gore (A man is killed and beheaded. This doesn’t occur on page, but there is a description of the body when the protagonists discover it.)

4.5 stars

Finishing this book left me with a lot of emotions. I’m impressed, devastated, terrified, and fascinated. Amanda Foody is a brilliant author and, although it took me two weeks to read, King of Fools is nothing less than a masterpiece.

In my experience, giving a novel a high rating means one of two things: it was amazing and I can write an essay on all of the things I loved, or it was amazing but I’ve been rendered speechless and just. Words are hard. King of Fools falls into the second category.

I love Enne Salta and Levi Glaisyer with every fiber of my being. I fell in love with Lola, Grace, Tock, Jac, and Sophia along the way. Every one of Foody’s protagonists is complex and lovable. These characters might have questionable morals, and a couple of them were insufferable on more than one occasion. But they’re also determined, strong, and ambitious in their own right. They’re raw, they’re real, and I just really love my disaster gangsters.

There’s so much Foody did right with this novel — an epic girl gang, complicated friendships, a divided city slowly descending into chaos, political intrigue, gang rivalries and uneasy alliances. A focal point of the story is old legends, making new ones, and writing your own story. Although my thoughts are quite scattered, Foody tied everything together perfectly.

Oh, and did I mention the romantic tension? There’s so much of it! All the good stuff, like miscommunication and pining and repressed desires, as well as the occasional kissing scene. I promise you, though, it’s not cheesy; if anything, it’s painstakingly good.

My only issue with this sequel is the pacing. At the start, the story felt fast-paced and I was enjoying every second of it. Around the halfway point, I felt that the plot slowed down drastically, dragging until the last hundred pages or so. Don’t get me wrong, I did enjoy the entire book, but I think cutting down the length a bit would’ve been beneficial.

But no matter my criticism, that ending rocked my world. Holy crap. I’m relieved but heartbroken, concerned but extremely curious. I need Queen of Volts!!! If you need me, I’ll be here, playing The Sims and eagerly/impatiently waiting for September to come. And if you enjoyed the first book, you definitely should read this one as soon as humanly possible!

Representation:
• Levi is black and bisexual.
• Narinder and Tock, two side characters, are people of color. The former is gay and the latter is a lesbian.
• Lola, another side character, is also a lesbian.
• In the first half of the book, there’s a m/m relationship. Note that it’s temporary.
• Toward the end of the book, a side f/f relationship develops.

CW: addiction to a fictional drug, smoking, violence, arson, gun use, death, murder, torture