Starts really eerie. Spooky ghouls and atmospheric prose build the mystery and setting.

Gallant is haunted. That much is certain. The reason for the haunting is what slowly unfolds over the course of this mini-novel. It’s a fast read and flows.

I recommend the audiobook as actor Julian Rhind-Tutt has just the voice for this tale—despite being a male reader for a female lead. It works.

There is no romance, no love story, not for the main character—but there are several love stories for other characters throughout, which might tickle the fancy of romance readers. There’s not a lot though, f you don’t have a sweet tooth for that sort of thing you won’t feel inundated.

The ending unravels a bit for me. It gets predictable. It turns a touch meh. Hate to say so, cos it started so well, but this becomes…nothing special in the end. I can see how it would have been difficult to wrap up, so I can accept this ending as is (if I think of a better ending I’ll let the author know).

Really great start though…

I did not like the way this started at all. Nope. I nearly went ‘baaahhh, poop on it‘ at 3%, literally a dozen pages. That’s how much I hated how this started. But I was encouraged (by a semi-reliable source, ;) not to throw it down too fast. So, I didn’t, and it improved.

The storytelling shifts rapidly and ties together the lives of three women by one common man—all broken and burned people still willing enough to make themselves vulnerable in love. And it is a love story, though not entirely a modern romance. The love is more holistic. 

The supporting cast has some gems in Aggie and Colin and Mortimer where the Main Catch lacks in personality. So much time spent developing the women as they make horrific assumptions and baseless judgements, and the man remains wordless. I mean, he doesn’t even send his best mate in to explain things and put out fires—even a guilty man does that. But if he did, there’d be no story—or there would, but it would lack the deception necessary to tell this story in this way—taunting readers to eat up the rumours hinted at, and maybe many readers all too easily believe the worst of a man. Well, we’re right in part: there are a couple nasty men in these pages. Just maybe not the ones we think. She gives us a few options, a few asses to choose from in the crowd…

Then there are the romances—a few of them—enough to satisfy a romance novel seeker. Non-romantic love is the real story in the long run—as all good relationships really are beneath the surface. That was nice for a change.

I found certain characters simply used as foils lacking any further purpose, while others were all too obviously placed red herrings, and that seemed like cheap tricks.

Overall, not a waste of time if you have the time.

This book was well-planned. I feel like each chapter opened the pages of the six main characters’ diaries a sliver more, revealing another insight about their history, fitting a piece of their story into the overall puzzle.

The plot weaves like a tapestry, dances carefully along each wire of each story and binds them together irrevocably and forever.

Great wee YA adventure. 

And I enjoyed it also. 

This was YA wasn’t it? Oh. It wasn’t? Right. Silvia Moreno-García explains why in her own (goodreads) review of the book…anyway, I’d have liked this when I was fifteen.

If you go into this reading it for what it is and not comparing it to The Beautiful Ones (which I loved and will likely be one of my faves on the year), you might enjoy the double-whammy historical context (ancient Mayan clashes with the Jazz Age of 1920s Mexico City) and all the brilliant colours and new lights and fashion once we get away from the small patriarchal mountain village where the story begins.

I was expecting a lot more insight into Mayan mythology and culture, but it got a bit tripped up in a pseudo-teenage romance (with a 1000 year teenager) and the straight line of an uncomplicated journey from Yucatán to Tijuana. We get glimpses of fascinating setting along the way, and maybe this might call itself an adventure, but I was never on the edge of my seat. The premise was good and even the storyline was interesting as it progressed, but the execution lacked the connection needed to truly enthral. There were no insurmountable tests for these characters, they were never in any real danger, and you don’t get a sense of risk in any of the risks taken. (Also, without context, I feel like the snakes were weird and incongruent to the turning of this story, even if they are relevant to the mythology in a greater sense.)

Overall it was rather void of emotion, and I didn’t believe the love story—at least not for Casiopeia. Hun-Kume was wooden, but at least he was leaning on culture of 1000 years and being stuck in his teenage body—so ‘wooden’ was true to character. He was kinda adorable in that way, and some of the dialogue, while truly wooden and awkward, was cute, charming.

I didn’t dislike Casiopeia. She had qualities and depth that made her interesting—no I mean it, I would for sure be this girl’s friend—and you wanted to know what would happen to her, but she was almost a bit disconnected from her own tumultuous emotion—or what should have been turmoil. She took it on the chin, which was cool, but even when she got ‘concussed’ (figuratively) she didn’t care enough, it didn’t hurt enough. It made her hard to empathise with as the story continued.

The potential was there for a great mythology story (Persephone and Hades-like with an old Mayan-gods twist) but even in the churning of oceans and hurling of boulders and the agony of a death-sacrifice, this was…tame.

I would have preferred to break a sweat and lose some fingernails while I writhed with a breaking heart on the floor in the reading...

Maybe that’s just me.

This is good YA.

An exciting adventurous story that parallels a real world battle to liberate, educate, and empower oppressed girls everywhere. The setting is generic—in a good way—spanning several landscapes that could be middle anywhere. And the people are as diverse as our own world provides, forging allegiances between unexpected characters, all beautifully relatable. There’s even a bit of predictable (but no less welcome) romance.

Though not full of complex vocabulary and quite void of any poetic phrasing, it’s a girl-powered fantasy-style adventure, super easy to read (with lots of discussion-worthy social undertones), and a great hoorah for the universal sisterhood. This will be especially enjoyed by readers in the young adult age group of 13+, but might be a bit ‘young’ feeling for anyone in their 20s.

Bad science aside (cos not everyone can be an expert in the exhaustive minutiae of the area of fiction they tamper with, and also: it’s fiction, so we allow for some fuddling of fact) this thriller about a plague that kills over 90% of men in the world is—contagious, an emotionally charged page turner.

The main characters we follow bring unique voices to cultural (and some very individually anti-cultural) approaches to this disaster, each one a beacon of hope for a possible future despite the hopelessness of the situation.

The supporting cast are a flurry of voices at the far reaches of the web, fraught with panic, torn by loss, pressed to desperation—and these voices give us insight to the plethora of human reactions that have become all too familiar. (Apparently, this plot was crafted prior to our own pandemic, but some of these scenes, especially for those who have lost loved ones in these recent 2.5 years, will be hard to take as they resonate with reality.)

The underlying highlight of immune men feeling objectified, oppressed, and sidelined by the majority female population were fun little bits of turning the current state of sexism on its head. Throughout, the author drops bits of irony into this social narrative as brief eye-openers, not thumping these issues too much, but generally sticking to the overall thrill of the story and the unfolding of what a world without men (almost) might look like. She’s by no means idealistic; it’s not all sweet scented harmony. We still encounter a money-greedy narcissistic woman bent on wielding power with even the hint of a wicked laugh in her throat (the funny part is that she’s a Canadian, and who doesn’t find irony in that? Or have I missed something and is it Americans who are known for their selfless benevolence and Canadians known for making millions off sharing basic resources with the world….? Maybe things have changed…) 

The scenarios she paints raise important questions about current accepted social constructs, hierarchies, accessibility, dispersion of resources, international relations and divisions, wars, male-dominated governing offices, and our sea of morphing values among a global community of blended religion and culture. The fiction suggests some interesting hypotheticals.

At the end of the day, it’s fiction—a good fast paced bit of emotionally engaging fiction. But this kind of fiction is precisely the stuff that draws us into the discussion about truth and reality, to reassess systems needing evaluated, structures and hierarchies begging reconsideration, and possibly urging some long-overdue change.

A forbidden YA romance (Romeo & Juliet style) set in a Michigan touched by the heavy hand of ancestral ghosts who carry regrets and revenge into the lives of the present inhabitants of a small town. Full of family tragedy and the power of truth and reconciliation, this piece of magical realism has threads of charming humour running through to keep it light despite the dark subject matter.

The last quarter plunged deeply into magic, leaving the realist portions aside in order to drive towards possible resolution for all parties. It was only during this portion that things felt unplanned and a bit reckless, a floundering for explanation and conclusion. Not seeing the ‘real’ side of the story (though summarised later) created doubt and didn’t quite satisfy.

The main love story was reluctant, tender, and respectful—a lovely story in itself—but the other love stories and histories woven throughout and revealed from the past are what bring depth and weight to this novel, making it something more than a simple YA romance. In fact, I wouldn’t call it that exactly, though there are strong elements. This is a Love Story reaching into all kinds of love we experience in families, friendships and even professional relationships within the human race.

One hugely positive thing I can say about this story is you’ve probably never read anything quite like it before.

The characters in this novel (save one) come across as immature and inexperienced ingrates, full of the kind of half-informed bitterness that rends communities, and uneducated about the sacrifices their parents and grandparents have made to give them a life of increased opportunities and options.

I think, after finishing the novel, and being somewhat appeased by the conclusion, that highlighting this ‘entitled’ attitude is partly the point—the antithesis to a climactic moral. But the brief flash of conversation permitted with one of these fathers, right at the tail end of the non-heisty heist novel (cos this sells as a heist, but then we get very little heisting going on), is all we get of the ‘other side’ of the argument. I wanted to hear so much more from the father as he had wise words for his son. But his short speech was just not enough to balance the voices of complaint, the misinformed grousing, the blind ‘grass is greener’ ranting of this group of young adults who have no clue what it is to truly make life-sacrifices, what it is to truly suffer as their parents and grandparents have done coming from China to America to give them a life with opportunities.

The most glaring opportunity, of course, is life itself. In the novel, three of the characters are daughters. There are complaints about their plight in the family hierarchy, disgruntled mumblings of comparison with an older brother, feelings of upset by the pressures of financial strain of younger siblings. Two of these daughters begin a relationship with each other. I mean, sure, all of this seems normal to a young adult raised in the West; no big deal in America, right? But then one of these young women even goes so far as to say she wished she’d been born and raised in China, cos she feels she’s been denied her own heritage. I mean, I can understand the sentiment to a degree. But… Well… likely none of these women would even exist (I know they don’t anyway, they’re fictional characters, but for the sake of the argument being presented) had they been conceived/born in China—having all been born between 1984-2016 during which the one child policy was in place and monitored in the nation—families preferring sons over daughters, often terminating early the female embryo, sometimes putting baby girls ‘out for adoption’ or simply discarding them. That is reality. But the way these three (especially Irene) talk, you’d think China was her saviour and America had been the worst decision her parents could have ever made (her poor parents). Irene, with a Duke University education, the option to choose her lifestyle and relationship preferences, and with abounding opportunities for her future career… they’re just uninformed and this sort of narrative strips validity from the real problematic issue that should be the highlight of the story: the mistreatment and maligning of Asians in America. That, of course, is the real problem—one that the author briefly addresses, but unfortunately compares like-for-like with the plight of Blacks in America, and while there are some similarities, it’s not at all the same thing. Who am I to say this? No one I suppose, but there is a problem, and it’s a multilayered issue of racism that needs attention in all its intersectional streams of discrimination. Unfortunately, the sense here in this novel is that this massive spiderweb issue is divided simply into two halves, reduced to something ‘black and white’ which does no justice for anyone involved.

As for the “imperialism” discussion presented, there is legitimacy in the accusations against France, Britain, and even the USA, but there is zero mention of the imperialist acts of China across Asia (and beyond) which were (in some cases are) equally as harrowing. In fact, China is painted as an innocent victim on these pages. Um... One might wonder what certain current residents of Hong Kong and Taiwan might say to these entitled second-generation American-born sentiments. But the stones only fly in one direction in this novel, and China comes out shiningly innocent. No matter how we need to take a harder look at history (and she’s right, we do need to take a longer look, a reconciliatory trip down all these historical avenues—a very important topic), the idea that China has bloodless hands and is bathed in an angelic robe is still fantasy. Yes. I know, this is fiction. It’s just not coming off as fiction —except when it comes to presenting China as the hard-done-by innocent never-imperialist nation of the modern world.

We get some democratic resolution at the end, and there was a certain sort of pleasant surprise (more realistic I suppose) in that, but I would have really loved more heist action, and then some real “stick it to them” retribution with these heists getting pulled off and artefacts restored and returned to original owners and nations.

That’s just not this novel.

That said, the characters are the absolute highlight of the novel. They are complex, despite being so often naively shallow, and they dare to dream, discover, drive to the edge and even jump—cautiously, mind you, with a safety harness and after having intricately calculated the personal risks and social repercussions. But they are what make this novel interesting—they and their unique multidimensional struggles are what make this novel so worth reading.

I really liked this story. It was like dissecting complex origami, like deconstructing a puzzle of what we thought was one image, and discovering the importance of each piece as we begin to see a completely different image, as all our perspectives are altered.

We start off thinking we don’t like Nan. No, in fact, we strongly dislike her. And we don’t like the author’s depiction of Agatha Christie—well, Nan’s depiction. We don’t like it at all. It doesn’t sit right. It shows a petty and self-absorbed Agatha—one who has nothing but pity for herself and is wallowing in shame, clinging to what cannot be restored. That’s not who we’ve always pictured. But as told by Nan, Agatha’s husband’s mistress—what else were we expecting?

As history unravels and present events are revealed, everything gets turned on its head.  We see. Oh yes, and by halfway through we are beginning to see…we are coming to understand…and there are some really horrible parts to this story, bits we’d rather not know, but we know that these sorts of things really did happen, and there’s a social commentary in here with these true-to-life issues. But as these events of the past are revealed and intertwined, we shift our allegiances: now we want justice for Nan, and we develop a new hope for Agatha…

Of course, this is fiction, speculative fiction at that—but it had to be approved by the Agatha Christie Estate, so it makes me wonder that even they were okay with the suggested fictional outcome… It plays out like a very dark, emotionally hefty Agatha Christie mystery, down to the secondary characters with sinister connections and the mystery unravelled at the end, including secrets never to be revealed—to anyone other than the reader, that is. 

This was uniquely written from a first person omniscient perspective. You don’t see that much. If ever. It was different, and I can’t imagine it was easy to manage, but Nan tells us this story, from her perspective, managing to recount all the bits she’s gathered from others and put them down too as best possible, as they might have happened. It makes her an unreliable narrator, one we don’t quite trust, and especially at the start, as how she’s portrayed Agatha. But we want to see how the truth is revealed after all and we stick with her, growing to pick out things she’s embellished and the truths therein.

We’ll never know what happened to Agatha Christie during those days of her disappearance, but this story certainly piques the imagination.

I’m being generous here with this rating. I’ll tell you why: I laughed out loud at this novel so many times it deserved *something* for that in the long run. I do love a good laugh. 2 stars for this laughable claptrap rambling—being funny is it’s highlight, and I think that even sometimes it meant to be funny.

I am not going to go on about the importance of accuracy, only to say make up your mind if we use pounds or euros in Ireland (euros since 2002, punts before then), or pants (giggle, *pants*) for trousers. The other Americanisms throughout the book might not be so glaringly obvious to the non-Irish readers, so I’ll just put it down to editing as no one else seems to have noticed. I understand how tricky editing for consistency can be…

The little scattered inaccuracies weren’t the only thing laughably stripping the credibility from this story; the writing was … well, have you ever read a Nancy Drew book? They’re written for young readers: short, easy to digest sentences, not a whole lot of academic vocabulary, perfect for children under 10. This novel used that same halting simple sentence style, breaking up the flow of any complex thought (not much, to be fair), with not a compound nor complex (nor run-on, on the positive) sentence for kilometres of paper, until I wondered a few times about the actual marketed target age. (No. It’s written for adults.)

The main character, whom we follow throughout, is represented as with all characters in the novel in third person omniscient voice and POV. Siobhán spends pages speaking in paragraphs of questions, which do nothing to help her solve the mystery. She does the opposite of detective work (at least, I hope): she suspects everyone, ignores the evidence, and runs around accusing the whole town. Burns bridges like a pyro, offends everyone who’s cared for her all her life, derails higher education as pretentious, alienates allies, and still manages to get the two youngest most beautiful men in town going after her. Yes. I know. It’s fiction. Charming. (Giggle). Author injects a fair amount of language (nothing too offensive) for ratings—to raise the age bar of readership, sure—and smatters the story with Irish stereotypes to generate authenticity of setting, but it all comes across as very amateurish writing.

Can’t criticise too much though, cos—well done: It’s published, circulating, receiving decent ratings from the gen-pop, and we’ll, I bought it (it was worth the €4 I paid). The author must have done something right.