I've always had a hard time trying to break into the sci-fi genre. I don't know if it has to do with the common settings, tropes, or themes typically associated with it, but there's always been something that keeps me from seeking out these stories and really enjoying them. Whatever the case, The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet easily became one of the outliers of this issue, right alongside The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, to which it feels like its distant, more emotional cousin.

At first, I was surprised at the more character-driven nature of the story. It focuses more on the journey to the titular small, angry planet, where the crew takes various pit stops and detours, whether to gather supplies or visit old friends and family. Surprisingly, the main conflicts come more from the interpersonal relationships of the characters rather than the world at large, though there are greater threats that appear in the book's third act to introduce more dire stakes. From what science fiction I have read, there is a greater emphasis on story driven content, where conflicts are typically more physical and the characters develop through that rather than their connections with each other. This quality of the story definitely gives a breath of fresh air to the genre, or to me at least.

While the tone is fairly laid back, the characters are what truly keep the book moving. Following a cast of ragtag, lovable weirdos, this book exudes the oh so wonderful found family trope, where no matter how many disagreements they have or what trouble they find themselves in, they're in it together. Chambers gives a chance for each member of the crew to shine, making the most out of the ensemble cast. I think I liked the Wayfarer's pilot, Sissix, the most, as it was so interesting to see a nonhuman character try to navigate situations through human terms. Her species is highly affectionate, having no qualms about intimate displays of touch in public settings, which naturally isn't going to fly well with those who are more influenced by human social standards. As a result, she has to hold back what comes so naturally to her, which, in turn, gives her a bit of discomfort. 

What Chambers does so well in this story is depict cultural differences not as a way to keep people apart or deem them "inhuman," but as a way to better understand others. There are moments when the differing perspectives of the crew clash, but ultimately, they remain respectful. No one is in the right or the wrong simply because to judge a species' custom or belief through the lens of their outsider's views that come from their own, differing culture is a tad unfair. To accept these differences is to better know and connect with those that come from different walks of life and to share them is for them to better know us in return. The inclusion of aliens that actually feel like beings distinct from humans leads to an engaging diversity that prompts discussion about our own values and why we may possibly think the way we do.

If I had one criticism, it would be that there were some scenes that seemed a bit disconnected, that there were events that were mentioned, but mostly glossed over or were told rather than shown. But really  it wasn't enough to bring the book down as a whole. This was an excellent feel good session in space and I really can't wait to see what other worlds Chambers has in store.

I've been a longtime fan of the Mercy Thompson series and, despite having it for almost a good decade now, I finally picked up the first book in this spinoff series. I will say, I think introducing the main characters in a short story separate from this book wasn't exactly the best decision, as there's a lot of confusion around who these characters are and what the basis of their story is. I'm not a fan of authors introducing important plot or character developments in short stories apart from the main series, as it's a pain to track them down in these obscure anthologies and makes the full length book seem incomplete. 

Coming into this new series, I couldn't help but do some comparing to Mercy's. A little unfair, I know, but sometimes it can't be help. Anna doesn't really come off as an interesting, strong protagonist and, to an extent, neither does Charles, far cries from Mercy, who always gives a good range of personality. From the first page, Anna and Charles are in instalove, so their relationship doesn't go through any worthwhile developments other than "Hey, we're in wolfy love now, guess we dont' need to do any more emotional work on our behalf." It's just....how do you make a relationship interesting when they're automatically together? What hurdles do they face? What doubts? What hesitation? Hell, Anna has gone through trauma from sexual assault and being passed around her previous pack like a broodmare and that's not even expanded upon or how it may effect her relationship with Charles. It just ends up feeling so hollow.

The only reason I stayed with the book is because of Bran. I was always so excited to see him pop up in Mercy's stories was glad to see more of his past told in this one. He's got a couple of layers to him, making him much more investing. If anything, all the stars that I give these book go straight to him.

I believe I deserve a medal for finishing this book as quickly as I did, i.e. nearly two weeks. Now, I have to say that this is not a bad book by any means. It's intricately plotted, well told, and filled with memorable characters. It also happens to be excruciatingly, painfully, and utterly slow. There are times when I would read what I believed to be a good chunk, only to see that I had only moved about 2% further into the story. This book is a black hole where time and progression is only a relative theory and you're at the mercy of the author as to how long things are doing to drag on and on. All of the action happens out of view from our main character, Chant, who spends the majority of the plot in some sort of captivity, the only thing that changes is the location. For me, someone who is used to more fast-paced works, it became a little frustrating on more than one occasion.

That negative aside, everything else about A Conspiracy of Truths is pretty fantastic. I'm always a sucker for a curmudgeongly old man who knows he's the smartest one in the room, which is an apt description for Chant. This man, all from within a jail cell, brings a society to its knees through ingenuity, cleverness, and sheer dumb luck. There's no finer recipe for revolution. His voice carries the slow pace fairly well and it was a main reason of why I kept reading. He is a man that is devoted to the meaning of his profession, telling stories to just the right people at the right time. His humor comes from reacting to the oddness of the society containing him, one that thrives off bureaucracy and superstition. I saw another reviewer comparing it to Soviet-era Russia and, you know, the parallel isn't too far off. 

The world, though we see little of it, somehow seems enormous as we sit alongside Chant in captivity. This is mainly achieved through the stories of this realm, coming from different places and carrying the views and lessons tied to that culture. There were tragedies, epics, trickster tales, creation myths, all told to either entertain, impart a message, or simply just to pass the time. I really like how this story incorporated its myths/legends/folktales into the overall plot, as well as how the reactions of certain people give a good indication of their true character. Not to give spoilers, but this ultimately reveals a theme of how the stories we choose to give meaning to might not always be the truest ones and that may come back to bite you in the end.

I'm not sure I will continue with the next book in this series. This one was certainly enough for me and I was satisfied with it in the end, even though it concluded with more of a fizzle than a bang. I'm willing to give Chant and the others a rest for now.

This book was given to me by a friend about 10 years ago and I only got around to reading it since I wanted to declutter my shelves a bit. I'm not real big on stories where romance is the main element, but I wanted to give it a fair shot.

Ultimately, I decided to put it down because I'm a little tired of the straight white male with thinly veiled misogyny representation of autism, especially when the understanding and conversation around neurodivergence has changed so much since this was written. Autism is a very wide spectrum, but apparently media is focused on only showcasing this particular manifestation, coming from writers that are not autistic, nor do they cite any research done in the autistic community to make their characters more authentic. And, judging from reviews I've seen of later installments of this series, it only gets worse.

Also, very much not interested in male writers that cannot write women to save their life. Got no time for that.

There is a severe lack of green men in the current fantasy landscape, so I'm glad Tesh gave us at least some crumbs to nosh on in this novella. It's a type of being that can have widely different depictions, such as literal men in green with a tie to nature like Robin Hood or or something with a more supernatural, fae-like twist like The Green Knight. Tesh places Tobias somewhere in the middle, a seemingly immortal man living in the woods among the dryads and serves as its caretaker. 

I particularly enjoyed the romance between Tobias and Henry, as there is something constantly endearing about the flirty, excitable youth being paired with the more world-weary, stoic type. It allows for a growth on both parts, with Tobias learning how to open himself up and reconnect to others, while also introducing Henry to the very real dangers of his folklore fascination. For a novella, their relationship was paced very well, allowing for a more steady buildup of mutual feelings as Tobias finds difficulty in sharing his emotions to, well, anyone. 

The setting of the book is absolutely one that surrounds you as you read. The woods of Greenhollow exudes all the vibes one could want in an old forest: a stalwart quality that comes from living so long, a hidden magic that comes from its otherwordly denizens and history, and a danger that routinely lurks among the trees, preying on any innocent that it happens to cross. It paints the woods as a respectable, ancient force that carries peace, yet also a sense of loneliness from time to time. 

Being a novella, there were thing that I wished had a little bit more focus or depth in its short page length. I didn't really get a good sense of what had happened to Tobias to be put in his Green Man position, nor exactly what was going on with the antagonist, but that's most likely due to Tesh's more cryptic storytelling that falls in line with the book's tone and atmosphere. It could very well just be a personal thing for me, so I won't knock it too hard. I would, however, have liked to see an entire series dedicated to Tobias fighting off paranormal threats with Mrs. Silver, Henry's mother, who is a force in of herself. But that's only a reader's simple wish. 

Definitely going to be checking out the sequel in this duology to see where the characters go from here.

For a book inspired by The Count of Monte Cristo, the story itself was incredibly simple and told fairly straight-forwardly, but I think that works in its favor. I'm at the point where I'm starting to tire of long-winded society dramas so I appreciated it for having a bit of focus. Everyone's motivation is clear, with a natural twist or two popping up along the way, plus a great amount of casual queerness. Though the worldbuilding wasn't exactly intricate, there is a good sense of aesthetic and personality in the setting of Moray from its high status venues to the seedy gambling dens. I'm interested to see where the story goes in the sequel!

Me, I'm always down for a great werewolf story, especially ones that give a new, interesting interpretation of them. Such Sharp Teeth proved to be that and more, with its metaphor being less about the innate toxic aggression of mankind and more about the violence and the lack of agency regarding women's bodies. Harrison's werewolf almost feels like a trauma response to bodily assault, the transformation itself being a moment of tremendous fear and pain, with the end result being an intense anger and need to somehow pass that violence onward. It's certainly not the only way trauma can surface, but it is one out of many outcomes. Throughout the novel we see Rory try to process and control her trauma, even when piled on top of an assault she already experienced as a child, and while on the surface it's a distinctly paranormal situation, it's a depiction that still feels all too real.

The parallel between Rory becoming a werewolf and her sister's pregnancy was also a neat facet to consider. Both changes are transformative in nature, ones that can hardly be controlled and bring about intense emotions of discomfort, pain, and fear. The descriptions of Rory's shifting fall right under the disturbing body horror category, and, really, what isn't also a little bit terrifying than a whole other person growing inside of you? 

I think the book managing to have these undertones while also balancing a banter-filled sense of humor and a more conversational, stream of consciousness writing style is what really made me admire it. It didn't take itself so seriously, but also delivered its messages and theming in an accessible way. Sure, it's sort of like a dark, Hallmark-esque setup with our female lead going back to her small town from living in the city to take care of her pregnant sister, only what's keeping her there isn't a sudden snowstorm or a hunky Christmas beau, but instead turning into a literal monster. Yes, there is the childhood sweetheart that comes along, but that only lands as maybe a second or third reason to stay. He gets a pass though because he and Rory have great chemistry and he's respectful of her at every moment, so keeper material there. 

Ultimately, the family drama takes more precedence than Rory's werewolf situation, as she tries to navigate her past and present trauma while also reconnecting with her sister and mother. It's not like the paranormal aspect takes a backseat or anything, it just feels more like a secondary conflict that muddies up an already tense situation. This isn't meant to disparage the book in any way, only to say that it helps to know what the focus is going to be before developing expectations. Harrison manages both parts of the plot very well, where they felt evenly executed and developed as they feed into each other. 

Definitely give it a try if you're in the mood for something emotional and domestic with a paranormal coating.

Though it takes a while to get going, The Ivory Key does have a great readability to it as the action finally kicks in about maybe halfway through. Up until then, the book spends a great deal laying the foundation of this world: tensions between cities, the role and history of magic in this society, the dynamics of the main characters. I will say, being introduced to at least seven different important characters in the span of 30 pages is a tad overwhelming at first, but it levels out the more you keep reading.

While I did enjoy it, there was nothing particularly exemplary about the story that wowed me. The Indian inspired setting and mythology makes it stand out, but everything else used the same tropes, beats, and twists that I've seen time and time over with little to add to them. I liked it enough to read the second book coming out later this year, but probably not enough to keep it on my personal shelf.