I’m a little torn in two over Chivalry. Having read the illustrator’s note, I know that Doran originally intended to create the whole thing in imitation of an illuminated medieval manuscript, before realising the impracticality of the venture, and relegating that style to a few key pages. I adored those pages, but I wasn’t personally a fan of the more cartoonish style and pale colour palette employed for the rest of the book– or perhaps it’s more accurate to say, I wasn’t a fan of how they seemed to clash. Additionally, while I adored the premise of an old woman stumbling upon the Holy Grail in a junk shop, and found Gaiman’s voice humorous and confident as ever, I felt that Chivalry lacked the “heart,” and emotional core of some of his other tales. Perhaps it was that the protagonist felt a little like a cipher- difficult to avoid, in a short story, but then, this is Gaiman. Still, this is a work of great technical skill on both a narrative and illustrative front, and is well worth your time.

I love the palette and aesthetics of Paper Girls, and the first volume is certainly an intriguing start. There’s some inventive, well-executed visuals, and the 80s science-fiction/horror vibes were great fun, but it’s difficult to say how much substance lies within that pretty package in just the first edition. However, I did feel keenly aware while reading this that these girls were written by, well… a man- which obviously isn't a problem in and of itself, but if I'm reading dialogue coming out of a pre-teen girls' mouth, and picturing an adult man writing those words, that's obviously not ideal. A huge helping of edginess contributed to their feeling pretty flat and one-note, which was disappointing. It felt almost like an effort to justify having an all-female cast: the girls collectively came across as very “not-like-other-girls,” which entirely broke my immersion, and personally, my desire to continue with the series.

I picked this up in need of something light-hearted and cute, and it definitely delivered. This is a really sweet start to the series, and both Sawako and Kazehaya are believable and likeable. Some romantic-oriented shoujo falls into the trap of insta-love, or telling us a protagonist is in love with the love interest without explaining why- but Kimi ni Todoke really demonstrates how Sawako and Kazehaya both gel, and connect slowly, their appreciation for one another stemming from non-superficial reasons, which makes them easy to root for. I think Sawako’s shyness is also well-portrayed- it reminded me of my own early teens, struggling with similar tendencies, and would probably be even more relatable to those still in school. In terms of the art style, I'm a big fan of this particular era of shoujo, since it’s what was in vogue when I was growing up with manga, so it holds nostalgic appeal to me: but it really is a wonderful style, and often used to great humorous effect. I’m excited to continue with this series!

This was a fairly strong follow-up to the first volume. Personally, I found the heavy use of the miscommunication trope a little irritating– more specifically, the conflict that stemmed from it was dragged out to the point of tedium, which did frustrate me. However, I did appreciate that the focus was on Sadako’s platonic relationships, with romance being relegated to the sidelines for the time being as she develops confidence socially. Whilst the reconciliation towards the end of the volume felt a bit too long coming, it was still touching, and overall it didn’t sour the series for me: I’ll certainly be reading on.

Having picked up Cardcaptor Sakura for the first time earlier this year, I was excited to see what CLAMP had done with Clover.

I was extremely intrigued by the baroque, retro-tech setting and loved the environments and aesthetics of these volumes. There are certainly some great ideas in Clover. Unfortunately, that’s where my appreciation ends.

I noticed some panels with odd anatomy on the very first page, a problem that continued to plague Clover throughout all four volumes, which surprised me, given CLAMP’s skills.

Whilst I am often one for vaguer plotlines in softer settings, I found there was nothing in Clover to anchor to- I didn’t connect to the characters or care about their goals. Clover also features a song, sung by the protagonist, the lyrics of which are repeated throughout the story, again, and again, and again… Perhaps some of their beauty was lost in translation, but nevertheless, I found myself growing irritated with the repetition quickly. I knew Clover was unfinished, and wasn’t expecting a satisfying ending, but I didn’t even leave feeling like I’d read part of a story.

In the midst of all this, there are also some characters in relationships with extremely objectionable age-gaps, a problem also present with Cardcaptor. Whilst the strengths of Cardcaptor made it something I would consider recommending despite that issue, albeit with a warning, I can’t say the same for Clover.

I have to admit that I went into Lonely Castle […] with very high hopes, since it seemed to tick a lot of boxes for me, as a portal fantasy exploring themes of mental health. So perhaps some level of disappointment was inevitable, but Lonely Castle [...] didn't impress me on a single front.

The prose in this book wasn’t for me: I was disappointed by the environment of the castle itself, which didn’t strike me as particularly imaginative, and which I found very difficult to picture.

I really couldn’t get a grip on any of the characters either: none of them are particularly endearing, or relatable. The bond between them feels flimsy at best, until arbitrarily, they decide they’re willing to stand up for one another: but this rings hollow due to a lack of groundwork between them. The characters in this book also all seemed to behave extremely abnormally, being uniquely unwilling to explore their surroundings, engage with the fantastical environment they’ve been given access to, or even ask basic, obvious questions about it– for no reason that I could fathom, other than that it isn’t convenient for them to do so too early in the plotline, which isn’t fantastic for immersion.

Lonely Castle [...] attempts to confront mental health issues, but does so clumsily. Each characters feels like a very one-note embodiment of their particular issues, rather than a fully-realised person confronting said issues, which cheapens the impact of their struggles. Others have observed that there’s also a didactic quality tone to this book, which I’m inclined to agree with.

Finally, there were two major twists in the novel, one which was very overly signposted, the other which wasn’t foreshadowed whatsoever, but which was so formulaic, it also fell completely flat. I closed Lonely Castle [...] feeling deeply unsatisfied, and slightly condescended to.

I adored The Starless Sea, and after hearing rave reviews for The Night Circus for years, I was confident I would love it. However, I was surprised to find it slightly missed the mark for me.

There were many things about this book I did enjoy: Morgenstern’s prose is richly beautiful, and her occasional incorporation of second person was very effective.

I struggled, however, with the characters in The Night Circus. Celia and Marco’s relationship, so central to the plot, simply didn’t compel me, which is a shame, because I feel with a few more moments between them it could’ve been something truly special. They spend so much of the narrative separate, however, they’re not convincing. Additionally, with such a large cast to follow, a few were bound to fade into the background, and it was often frustrating to be shunted to a chapter with a character I didn’t connect with whatsoever– many were extremely forgettable. I don’t feel like the main players really had much in the way of development or arcs: which can be fine, when there are enough other factors at play– but that brings me onto my next point.

There’s a lack of stakes that permeates this book. For a while, that didn’t matter for me, I was contentedly enjoying the aesthetics and the feel of the book enough to continue, despite a lack of investment in the characters. However, as the book wore on, my patience wore thin, and by the final act, I grew incredibly eager to finish. The climax didn’t have any emotional impact on me whatsoever.

I was surprised to discover that the “thesis statement,” of The Night Circus, emphasising the importance of stories and storytelling, was extremely similar to that of The Starless Sea, and I found it to be much more successfully communicated, thematically, in the latter. For all Morgenstern’s beautiful prose, there’s a lot of “tell,” in The Night Circus- most important twists and developments are spelled out by characters through dialogue, and even the message Morgenstern wishes to impart on the reader is communicated explicitly- all the more frustrating, knowing that Morgenstern can fold this information into her prose more naturally: she just doesn’t. I know I’m in the slight minority here, but I would recommend The Starless Sea over The Night Circus to anyone interested in Morgenstern’s work. These two books are trying to say the same thing, but while this books tell you, the former shows you.

This was a delightful read from start to finish. Kit and Percy were both so endearing, and I adored seeing their relationship unfold and develop. The initial tension between them was fantastic, and their care of and mutual respect between them was palpable as the story wore on.

There were so many little things about Queer Principles I deeply appreciated— the fact that Sebastian chose not to skim over or shy away from the massive wealth disparity between her two protagonists, for one, with Kit soundly condemning Percy for his part and participation in a corrupt system. Secondly, Kit’s disability was handled with care and skill: it was far from the only I thing about him, but neither was it something the reader forgot about, because it consistently impacted him throughout the narrative. His struggles with consolidating his disability with his previous self-image were particularly resonant for me personally.

Whilst the heist itself was nothing groundbreaking, the plotline still drew me in and had some twists and turns which managed to surprise me, in spite of foreshadowing. In my estimation, the plot was definitley secondary to the romance, but I entered into this novel with the expectation that the latter would be the main draw, and wasn’t disappointed.

To segue briefly into potentially spoiler-adjacent territory, though I’ll keep it as vague as possible: I’ve seen a few people complain that a character with a relationship to one of the protagonists was fridged. I’d personally disagree with that assessment for two reasons: firstly, the character in question was not killed, in-universe, to hurt the protagonist, but as punishment for her own actions. Her killer had no idea that the protagonist even existed. Secondly, fridged characters often have no personality, goals, or potential and are merely written as a motivation for the protagonist: often they fail the “sexy lamp,” test- i.e. you could replace them with a sexy lamp, and the narrative wouldn’t change. This character doesn’t strike me as falling under this umbrella, and I’d argue her actions echo through the plot and tie into the books themes and overarching message.

This book is so suffused with warmth— it really is just a lovely read. If you’re in need a dash of entertaining escapism this is certainly a wonderful choice.

I made it only ⅕ of the way through A Curse of Illusions before reluctantly having to DNF it. I thought the concept of this book was strong, and had a lot of potential, but I could never envision myself recommending this title to anyone in its current state.

It honestly felt like I was reading an early draft, with various awkwardly structured sentences, unnecessary repetition in the prose (for instance, a character hands another a note explaining that it’s marked “urgent,” and then the prose informs us that it’s marked urgent, as if for the first time.) At one point, a chapter begins in the middle of a sentence- starting “and for too long,”- it’s not even mistakenly capitalised. There’s also a habit of words being used not quite incorrectly, but in very strange grammatical contexts: “I didn’t expect you to arrive this timely,” rather than “I didn’t expect your arrival to be this timely,” or “Dozens of tables line in front of Sara,” rather than “There are dozens of tables lined in front of Sara.”

Besides being unpolished, the prose was also incredibly rote and difficult to engage with, with an incredible amount of “telling,” rather than “showing”. There’s a lack of emotion that permeates everything in this book, especially the dialogue, which was particularly stilted and unnatural. Sader seems to struggle greatly with establishing tone. For instance, one character describes the memories of the murders she’s commited as an assasin, in a scene where she is becoming overwhelmed with guilt “pop[ping],” into her head. This casual, cutesy word just doesn’t belong in a scene like this: “crowding,” or even “rushing,” would have preserved the emotional tone more succesfully.

I wasn’t attached to any of the characters, nor did I feel like the world was thought out, but I would caution anyone to take those comments with a pinch of salt, as I didn’t progress very far through the novel, and there was time for these elements to improve. The exposition I did get on the magic system was confusing, and the insights into characters also had an extremely unnatural feel to them– the reveal that one of them has severe amnesia, for instance, comes as a casual diversion dropped in the middle of a sentence. I had hoped these elements would be strong enough to buoy me along, despite the technical issues with A Curse of Illusions, but unfortunately, that simply wasn’t the case.

I don't think this book is a lost cause, but I think it's a very long way from being a strong story.

I received an ARC from NetGalley in return for an honest review.

It's a bit of a cliche to call a book "important," but that's the first word that comes to mind to describe this book. Horne tackles the thorny subject of sexual harassment with such grace, care and empathy. Without talking condescendingly to her readers, or minimizing how awful it can be to deal with, the book remains appropriate reading for its target audience, but never becomes a miserable reading experience, thanks to plenty of fun and touching moments as the girls become friends. Horne struck a fantastic balance in demonstrating that adults won't always listen or be sympathetic, and will often even victim-blame, but reinforcing that it is their responsibility to do something about harassment and that the girls were in the right by continuing to speak until someone heard them out. That Horne did this without condemning or assigning guilt or blame to those too afraid to speak out was incredibly impressive. Reflecting on this book, it's obvious how much careful thinking went into every aspect, but the book itself is so full of heart that the scaffolding vanishes when you dive in, and even divorced from all that, it's a really successful story.

One of the huge strengths of this novel is the characters- all so memorable and true to life that I found a wealth of memories from my own experiences at this age rushing back to me. Hazel in particular was such a fantastic protagonist, with some really witty narration but also realistic flaws and insecurities. I also really appreciated that Hazel's being gay was something that contributed to those worries, but by no means her whole struggle, and that this book didn't also try to be a love story (the beginnings of romantic development between Hazel and a friend was adorable and perfect, as far as I was concerned) or a coming-out narrative. Hazel's own confidence in her identity will no doubt be comforting to young queer readers, yet her (not unfounded) worries about being outed or treated differently by her peers as a result, make this a realistic, relatable depiction of what it's like to know you're queer at such a young age. Horne also really grasps the nuances of how tweens interact with one another- some of the bullying is really insidiously subtle, and some of is more overt, but at no point did this feel like the "bad health class videos," this book (rightly) mocks.

This is probably going to end up being one of my favourite books of the year: it was so compelling, and I raced through it. I will absolutely be rushing to grab a copy for my little cousin who's Hazel's age, the moment that this book is out, and couldn't recommend it enough. I want this book in every school and local library.