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

To Be A Trans Man is a quick, but rewarding read, filled with thoughtful commentary on gender, masculinity, patriarchy, and more. Woodger is clearly a very competent invterviewer, and these interviews have a friendly, confessional tone. I appreciated that common threads between each interview emerged organically, and that Woodger didn’t impose excessive commentary onto these interviews– just the foreword and the afterword. This isn’t a piece of analysis, but as advertised, a collection of interviews, allowing for the reader to reflect themselves on each transmaculine individual’s experiences as told in their own words.

Because these interviews are so conversational, I couldn’t help wishing that I could hear each of them, and I couldn’t help but wonder if this book would have been more successful in a podcast format, or something like it. I also found my appetite wasn’t quite sated by the time I finished: I was eager to hear from a few more individuals, given how strong all these interviews were. However, I still greatly enjoyed this reading experience, and am looking forward to engaging further with Woodger’s work in the future.

Perusing other reviews, I’ve noticed a few things I wanted to touch on. The first of which is complaints regarding the fact that various influencers, activists, etc. were consulted in this book, rather than those of us with more “normal,” occupations. Personally, I enjoyed the interviewees chosen for a few key reasons: transmascs aren’t exactly spoiled for choice when it comes to public figures we can look up to and draw inspiration from, and I found it inspiring hearing from so many successful trans men who were public about their transition– I’m confident anyone grappling with the choice of whether to remain safely stealth or step out of the closet in the name of activism, community, and/or solidarity will feel similarly. (Besides, none of these transmascs are exactly Beyonce– I happen to know who Eza Michel is, for example, and listen to his music, but ~230,000 streams on his most popular song on Spotify does not exactly a superstar-make.) On the heels of that, so many of us that are out are involved in activism simply because our rights (and the rights of the wider trans community) are under such vicious attack, and simply existing is viewed as a political statement by the right. Activism and community outreach is a vital facet of trans culture, and it simply can’t be cleaved from the trans experience: it belongs in this book.

I’ve also noticed one or two cisgender readers commenting that they felt confused by this book, or left with further questions, having picked it up to learn about the transgender community. Good! This isn’t a thesis statement, it clearly invites readers to reflect for themselves. I’d argue that this book isn’t a starting point for those just beginning to educate themselves about the community– nor does it purport to be. This is a more nuanced conversation about the multifaceted experience of being transgender, and it was refreshing to read something that doesn’t grind to a halt to explain basic terminology every few paragraphs. It’s certainly not bogged down in terminology, or scientific- these are casual conversations after all, but if you don’t come to this book with at least a basic understanding of what it means to be trans, you might find yourself lost: if you are looking for a basic introduction, there are plenty of books that fill that niche, and I don’t think it’s fair to judge this book on that basis.

To summarise, I would recommend this book to anyone with a basic understanding of gender theory, looking to hear from more voices, and particularly to anyone particularly interested in exploring masculinity and masculine identity in the context of a patriarchal, cisheteronormative status-quo.

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

I find myself torn trying to review To Strip the Flesh. Anthologies are always challenging to form an opinion on by their very nature, and this collection is no exception. Oto Toda’s art was certainly extremely competent, but her style didn’t strike me as particularly memorable.

I do think that the longest of these stories, that following Chiaki Ogawa’s transition and its impact on his relationship with his father, is the strongest by a wide margin, and therefore, perhaps it was a mistake to place it at the very start. I was expecting to be squeamish about that gorey imagery in this opening chapter, but it doesn’t feel gratuitous and indeed, seems vital to themes of bodily autonomy and control presented here. Oto Toda has clearly drawn on personal experiences of dysphoria, as mentioned in the interview at the back of this volume, and an informed understanding of the LGBTQ+ community. As someone who’s read a lot of similar trans narratives about parental strife, it did strike me as a little formulaic, and didn’t personally wring any emotion out of me, but it is very exciting to see trans issues coming more to the forefront in the transphobic culture of Japan, and this tale of ultimate acceptance is probably quite a bit more groundbreaking in that context.

Being shorter, the other stories simply didn’t really give the reader a whole lot of time to get acquainted with the characters, and not a lot of them felt effectively executed to me. However, they were as a group, much more creative, filled with imaginative ideas, and I appreciated them as riskier pieces of more inventive storytelling, even if they didn’t all “work,” for me, I was definitely never bored. I eagerly anticipate more of Oto Toda’s work in the future as a result, even if this collection isn’t going to become a favourite of mine.

I received an Advance Review Copy from the publisher via Netgalley in exchange for an honest review.

I was excited about Issunboshi, being a fan of Japanese mythology, but unfortunately I found it to be a pretty underwhelming read. If you’re even slightly familiar with Japanese mythology, all the creatures featured will be familiar to you– but I couldn’t help wondering if it would be the best introduction for someone who wasn’t. The narrative moves so fast, we don’t really get to spend time with any of them, and they seem to be included just for the sake of it, which undermines their effectiveness.

It’s tricky to get readers invested in characters and a huge, world-ending threat in such a short space of time, and as far as I was concerned Lang didn’t achieve that goal here. The pacing felt extremely uneven and often rushed. The characters are ciphers- the women in the narrative suffer particularly from this, but it's a universal problem- with predictable, spouting overfamilliar dialogue, and mostly seemed to exist for exposition, which is copious. Issunboshi’s quips are just stock-phrases, and he himself feels pretty devoid of personality, which is always unfortunate when seeing a character from legend who has already been reimagined again- it’s difficult to put out of mind reinterpretations you’ve preferred when coming across a flavourless one.

Returning to the plot, Lang didn’t really sell me on this particular version of the story. Issunboshi being borne of the soul of a legendary spear is an extremely cool concept, but the magic in this story all feels very hand-wavey and the resolution was ultimately a bit of a Deus Ex Machina. Additionally, I know that Issunboshi usually ends his tale at a typical height, but it didn’t feel thematically appropriate in this instance. I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to represent, in the wake of the cliche of “even the smallest person can make a difference.” It’s a retelling, already straying pretty far from most versions of the folktale I’m familiar with, so I was pretty baffled by this choice. Apart from some bog-standard self-dobut, Issunboshi doesn’t really have an arc to be resolved, and the one he does have doesn’t parallel the plot: he’s pure of heart from the start, so the resolution isn’t really satisfying.

I’m not a huge fan of the art style either, unfortunately- it feels pretty generic and Disney-ish, unmemorable and inconsistent. Certain panels were impressive- for instance, many of the action panels, particularly those that got creative with perspective, but I couldn’t help but notice a few unintentionally goofy facial expressions that felt rushed in others. Whilst the Kappa was a stand-out, the rest of the character designs, including that of the main villain, were underwhelming. As other reviewers have observed, this graphic novel felt less like it was intended to be a graphic novel and more like a storyboard for an animated film, which follows, considering Lang’s background. I adore animation- it’s one of my favourite mediums- but this is an unhappy compromise. This story feels like it wants music, wants quick, funny cuts for comedic timing, wants dynamic movement that Lang just isn’t conveying in stills.

I come away from this read unsure who I’d recommend Issunboshi to– those interested in Japanese mythology retellings have countless stronger reimaginings to turn to, and there are countless stories that explore these very classic themes with more originality, eloquence, or entertainment.

I received an ARC from Netgalleyin exchange for an honest review.

Sims is on-form with Family Business, with his classic blend of supernatural horror and slow-building suspense. His characters are believable, diverse, and easy to get invested in, and in a departure from Thirteen Stories, it’s a pleasant change to have a little more time to get to know them, and really dig into the themes of grief, memory, and legacy at play. Sims’ prose is effective and often very eerie, and Sims demonstrates his gift of harnessing horror to deliver empathetic social commentary to great effect here. The sudden tonal shift at the end of the book felt a little too left-field for this to be a five from me, but it’s well worth reading, and definitely won’t disappoint fans of his work.

I discussed this book further on The Hidden Bookcase: this review will be updated with a link to that episode when it has aired.

I can understand that this book might be a particularly subjective reading experience, but I loved every moment of it. I adored the uniquely imaginative setting of Ora, the concept and execution of The Gleaming, the anthological feel of the stories nested within the narrative, each creative and absorbing in its own way. Lu touches on a wide breadth of themes here, and explores deeply philosophical questions, but with such skill and subtlety æ make it look almost effortless. Ær imagery and prose was incredibly gorgeous, with some truly memorable imagery. Despite the shortness of this novella, I was also surprised at how fond of all the characters, but particularly Anima and Vessel, I walked away feeling. I’m now relentlessly impatient for more of Lu’s work and am confident æ could become a new favourite author of mine. I’d particularly recommend it to anyone who enjoyed This Is How You Lose the Time War.

I was provided an ARC via NetGalley in exchange for an honest review.

Firstly, I must confess, I was actually slightly disapointed to recieve the audiobook and not the eBook of Babel to begin with: I sometimes find longer audiobooks a little difficult to get through, for one reason or another. In retrospect, I'm actually extremely grateful to have listened to it. Firstly, it's wonderful to hear how words from different languages are properly pronounced, particularly the tones in Chinese. Chris Lew Kum Hoi also has some stunningly emotional delivery, and truly acts each role. You can hear shades of one character's voice in another as they echo each other, or their influence on one another shines through: it's absolutely fantastic, with some beautiful accent work to top it all off. If you are dithering on whether to try the audiobook, I would strongly encourage you to give it a listen, even if you've already read the text.

With that out of the way... Babel. I find myself at a loss for words: it's been a sensation, and in my opinion, rightly so. I've read some truly fantastic books this year, and this book is certainly vying for first place. A lot has already been said about it, with regard to the representation it provides and the underexplored themes it faces fiercely and unflinchingly- all true. To lend my voice to the "babble" of positivity, I simply loved every aspect of it, from the rich alternate history setting, to the clever, creative magic system, to the poignant and very human characters, to the complex explorations of colonialism, culture, legacy, belonging, passing, racism, agency... I could go on and on. It also functions as an incredibly succesful bildungsroman- perhaps my favourite that I've stumbled onto, across genres. This is the kind of absorbing fiction that breathes such incredible life into the characters, you catch yourself obsessing over the storyline as if it's real, perhaps because it is so honest. Simulatenously, it's exquisitely wrought and deeply though provoking: Kuang has pulled off the magic trick of a story that feels so natural you can't see the artifice, but so beautiful you know it must be there, invoking some kind of literary teleological paradox.

If I like you, you're probably getting this book for Christmas. I am confident Babel has cemented itself as a fantasy classic that will be lauded for years to come, and if it doesn't win approxamitely a million awards, I'll be personally stung. If you read one book published this year, make it this one.

I recieved an ARC from NetGalley in exchange or an honest review.

I always love the inclusion of brujas in fiction, so I jumped at the chance to read this title. Unfortunately, Season of the Bruja was a little bit of a let-down for me..

I'll start with what I loved: the incoporation of South American cultures, and Aztec mythology, the themes of anti-colonialism and more. I loved the incoporation of Spanish- I love when multiple languages are included in a text, even if it means a bit more "work," for me as a reader (In this case, I got by with secondary-school Spanish, but you'd get by just fine with Google Translate if you don't speak a lick.) I was slightly intruiged by the possibility of a villain who could serve as a foil to the protagonist, but unfortunately there was little page-time for me to become truly curious about him. There are some interesting questions about cultural identity brewing here that it seems like the story will pose later down the line.

Graphic novels always have it harder than traditional novels simply because they have less page-time to establish characters and relationships: a quick exchange of dialogue that would take only a few lines of text in a novel might take about two pages to cover in a graphic novel. The first volume in a series usually has a lot of legwork to do, achieving all of this and often introducing the reader to a new world and a new plot. A really economical approach is neccesary, and I think SotB suffers from this. Launching straight into the action before the reader has a proper grasp on, or investment in, any of the characters leads to this frustrating feeling of playing "catch up," and for me, wondering why I should even care. A few other reviewers have also emphasised feeling a little bit lost regarding the lore- I can certainly empathise with that, but I'm happy to walk blind for a while (and in this case, draw on some of my own knowledge of the mythology, mostly from other books)- but the lack of character establishment was the much more glaring problem for me. Unfortunately, I didn't become particularly more invested in the characters as time drew on- they largely felt like ciphers and I don't get the feeling they'll stick in my head over time. I'd struggle to choose a favourite from the line-up.

I also felt that SotB has a little bit of a problem with establishing tone. The mood often changed very quickly, making for a jarring reading experience. The pacing was pretty all-over-the-place, and sometimes the dialogue didn't quite flow.

On the art side, SotB is often gorgeous, but also often... not. I found the art to be pretty inconsistent overall; there were some extremely cool elements, such as the designs of the alebrijes, and a couple of panels with some stunning composition, and some great uses of colour. However, a few panels featured slightly "off" anatomy or somewhat goofy facial expressions (often in serious moments) which undermined my appreciation for it. And although perhaps elsewhere it could've worked, I didn't really love the incoporation of manga-style "sweat drops," either- it contributed to a sort of "lack of identity," that suffused the work (see also those tonal problems I mentioned earlier.) This graphic novel is written and illustrated by two seperate people, and although many teams have created some extremely moving and cohesive work in this way, I definitley felt some level of disconnect, like perhaps they weren't quite on the same page about the mood they wanted to evoke and the story they wanted to tell.

Looking back on SotB, it essentially strikes me as "okay." In a world oversaturated with incredible comics, graphic novels, webcomics, manga, manwha, etc.... I sadly wouldn't be inclined to pick up the next volume, nor to recommend it, unless perhaps someone was very specifically after "brujas in graphic novels." And even then, there's a few traditional novels I would encourage them towards first.

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

Lately, I’ve had a few “misses,” reading in the young adult space, and I was starting to wonder if I should take a break– could I somehow be “outgrowing,” young adult whilst mantaining my affection for children’s fiction? Thieves categorically proved that I wasn’t, and that YA could still blow me away.

Everything about this graphic novel is outstanding. The art style is unique and super charming. I love the character's expressiveness- not just in expression, but in every ounce of their body language- and the intricate environments that feel so truly lived-in, the cute and memorable character designs, the clever use of limited colour palettes to create atmosphere. Even Bryon’s panelling is creative and serves to support the story. I adored her use of water to symbolise panic and the warped line quality to signify a character’s drunkenness– it was all so beautifully done, and made for a very visceral, emotional read.

Not to be undone, Bryon’s writing is also fantastic. Thieves has natural dialogue that flows smoothly, and is by turns touching or funny: I’m not sure if she translated herself, but whoever did the translation did an absolutely stellar job. Thieves has wonderful pacing– this was a short story, and Bryon still manages to depict characters that are not only likeable, but also that feel nuanced and believable. I was seized by a brief worry early on in the narrative that Madeline, Ella’s love interest, might end up being a total cipher, but this worry was so laughably unsubstantiated I look back on it with some measure of guilt for not putting more trust in the author. The story is certainly more slice-of-life than high-stakes or soap-opera, but it still has some surprising turns and I was definitley never bored- indeed, I stayed up much later than intended, because for the first time in a long while, I was unwilling to put my book down to go to sleep.

Bryon explores themes of blossoming relationships, social pressure, and coming-of-age with empathy and kindness, and a much-needed dose of levity. Thieves is a beautiful encapsulation of teenage woes with an inherent queer sensibility, despite not being mired in or focused on homophobia, coming out, etc. I think it will be well-loved widely both by current teens and ex-teens, and I can’t wait to get my hands on a physical copy after its publication- I definitely want this on my shelf. I’d especially highly recommend it to fans of Alice Oseman and Tillie Walden.

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

I’ll be up front from the outset here: I was dreading writing this review. It’s always an abysmal feeling writing a negative review knowing that the piece is deeply personal to the author, and especially when the piece is utterly well-intentioned, clearly hoping to be a guiding light for individuals with creative aspirations, mental health issues, and in this case, internalised ace/aphobia. My thoughts on this book are not intended to downplay these struggles and if I hadn’t agreed to review it, I would probably be holding my tongue on this one entirely. But here goes:

I was extremely intrigued by the premise of Kill Your Darlings, and especially the promise to explore mental health themes through a queer lens, but unfortunately, I found the execution to be extremely lacking. I would love to tell you what I enjoyed about Kill Your Darlings first, but it has little to recommend it. The prose is bog-standard, with overreliance on tired metaphors that, in my opinion, really cheapen the protagonist’s mental health struggles (we get that depression feels “dark,” and “hollow.”) I wasn’t fond of the protagonist’s voice: lampshading tropes is only funny when used sparingly, and coupled with swearing, it seems to be the only source of humour in her arsenal. The pacing of the narrative is all over the place, and the narrative itself is overstuffed with identical, cookie-cutter fight scenes with poorly established (or non-existent- we’ll get to that) stakes. The world of Solera feels dime-a-dozen, with very minor creative flourishes, such as reptilian elves, to try and differentiate itself: it was not believable for a second that this was a bestselling fantasy series (again: we’ll get to that). Most egregious for me were the characters, the emotional lynchpin of this book. The characters were utter ciphers with tired dialogue, who often lacked internal consistency. And that’s putting aside their dubious actual role in the narrative (I swear, we will get to that!) Whilst reading, I was merely bored by how predictable they felt, but upon reflection, I wonder if Kill Your Darlings doesn’t stray into a few unfortunate stereotype: the black gay best friend is fine on his own, but when a character has no depth beyond standing around and smiling encouragingly, he becomes less palatable.

Okay, we’re getting to it: Kill Your Darlings keeps returning to a central question: whether or not Solera is real, or just a figment of the protagonist’s imagination. It desperately wants to have it both ways, and comes up with several plausible-ish explanations about how it could exist and how the protagonist might be here. I’m 100% okay with this approach in theory, and I’d say I even prefer it: some of my favourite portal fantasy type stories leave the question of whether the adventure really took place hanging unanswered. In this case, however, I think the narrative itself simply isn’t strong enough to withstand it. Firstly, it’s introduced early enough that things sort of… Stop mattering. Character’s actions become insignificant as their consequences are thrown out the window in favour of hand-wavey wish fulfilment powers. The question of reality can be immaterial when the journey the character went on has changed them so significantly and tangibly that it no longer matters- because the change is real. Kill Your Darlings doesn’t convince me that the protagonist has changed, it just tells me she has. Perhaps its largest problem is that overreliance on “tell not show.” We’re told that the protagonist has found the will to fight her darkness, but there’s not really a meaningful difference between how she acts at the start of this narrative and the end. She just has a tendency to list pleasantries about Earth towards the end- hot chocolate and movie nights with her friends. At best, it’s shallow, at worst, it’s very NHS CAMHS rhetoric: “have a cup of tea and a bath and you’ll feel better.”

(I’ll briefly note here under a spoiler tag:

Spoiler

I hated the twist that the protagonist was not a bestselling author, but an unpublished nobody working retail. Not because I think that there’s anything wrong with that, or because I believed for a second that Solera felt like best-selling fantasy novel material (it doesn’t) but because it’s totally unnecessary. It would have been genuinely interesting to have a highly successful novelist still struggling with depression: unfortunately, depression doesn’t really give a fuck about whether you’re personally successful or not. It was also an interesting source of tension between the protagonist and her editors that her depression was affecting her work and had led her to make cynical choices and end her series in a grimdark murderfest which was going to tank her reputation- and that source of tension totally evaporated the minute this was revealed to be false. Why did the protagonist even believe this in the first place? This twist takes away more than it adds.)

Speaking of how the protagonist acts, because we know right away that Solera might not be “real,” it encourages the reader to be especially circumspect of the characters: how they act is one of our biggest clues here. And the characters simply don’t respond realistically to the protagonist’s presence in their life, and their professed outlooks don’t align with their actions. They profess a distrust of her, but go along with all of her ideas. They have very little time to bond with her, but they’re proclaiming themselves lifelong friends at the end of just a few days. You could excuse all of this with a simple “Well, they’re not real,”- but then why should the reader care about any of the goings-on of Solera, or any of the relationships in this book? It’s important to remember that from the Soleran characters’ perspective, the protagonist is a parasite infesting the body of one of their dearest friends, who just so happened to be the key to winning the years-long military campaign they’re waging against the BBEG. I’ve got to take a moment here to mention her love interest- the tension between them is extremely bizarre, and I personally found it really uncomfortable. Firstly, the protagonist writes YA fiction: this character is, if I’m remembering correctly, early 20s at the oldest, and the protagonist is both ten years older and also, arguably, kind of his mother, because she made him up? The protagonist even makes an Invasion of the Body Snatchers joke with regard to their relationship, yet within a few days, Mr. Right is proclaiming that she is not like other girls, because she can chat science with him. I have not personally had the experience of the love of my life being replaced by an alien consciousness inhabiting their body, but I think it would take me more than a few days to fall in love with them- much less look at them without feeling a mountain of grief and cosmic horror. At the start of the narrative, there is a question about where the character the protagonist usurped, Kyla, has gone, and whether she is okay and can be recovered. Kyla is entirely forgotten by everyone by the end of the narrative. Perhaps because the author wants us to have decided that Solera truly isn’t real by that point? The characters are really just props for the protagonist to learn about the magic of friendship here, but by their very nature as props, they undermine their own purpose. They have to be real people to impart the need for real human connection, and they’re not real people. It’s a catch-22.

I hate that I hated this book. Whilst I’m very fortunate to be healthier now, I spent a very, very long time struggling with treatment-resistant depression. I was fully expecting to connect to this character, but I really couldn’t whatsoever. I’ll also mention under a spoiler that while there is a content warning at the beginning of this book, there is an

Spoiler

extremely detailed and graphic scene of a suicide attempt that I don’t personally feel was necessary- especially details regarding how the protagonist sourced objects used in the attempt. I actually think this is potentially dangerous information to include and I don’t see what would be lost by scrapping at the very least that line.

I’m giving this two stars because I really respect what it’s trying to do, even if I feel like it failed. If you want a book with a similar focus on mental health, exploring the premise of a fantasy world and the argument of escapism vs. bleak reality through a queer lens, I would beg you to read Peter Darling by Austin Chant, which, whilst not a perfect read, is in my opinion a much stronger and more careful exploration of these themes.

I recieved an ARC in exchange for an honest review.

What an absolute treat it was to read Godkiller! I requested it essentially soley based on the great cover, and apparently I should always be judging books by their covers. I was beyond pleasantly surprised to find that Godkiller had fantastic queer, PoC, and disabled rep, loveable characters, inventive worldbuilding, a great narrative and delved into some of my favourite themes. There's just so much to adore about this book.

Much has been said of the worldbuilding, and the magic system the gods function on. I loved all of this, especially how Kaner's gorgeous prose depicted the gods. One thing I personally really enjoyed is how genuinely alive the world felt- recent historical effects had rammifications that impacted the characters on a concrete (or abstract) basis. Kaner masterfully delivers lore without ever veering into exposition dump territory by actually weaving the history into the fabric of the everyday.

Despite Godkiller's short length, it was easy to get invested in the lead characters, all of whom are compelling and nuanced. I'd struggle to pick a favourite from the four main PoVs, and I definitely don't have a least favourite: I enjoyed spending time with each and every one of them. Kissen does emerge as a little bit of a favourite though: it's extremely refreshing to see the lone, rough around the edges, monster-hunter archetype embodied by a queer, disabled woman. The character relationships were also very well-portrayed: I was entirely convinced by their dynamics and developments.

Though Godkiller has plenty of action and stakes, this is very much a character-driven story. The plot itself was fairly standard fantasy fare, but that's not to its detriment: each character's motivations were complex and urgent enough that it still felt fresh, and there are some incredible set-pieces that really take your breath away.

I wavered on whether to give this book five stars, and I think it only missed that mark by a hair's breadth for me. A few twists and turns in the plot were a little predictable for me- but then, I read a lot of books like this- and while I enjoyed every moment of reading it, I *could* put it down. Occasionally I had issues keep less intersting side-characters straight in my head, though our protagonists were very richly developed. I'm very conscious that this is a debut, however, and I think the series could easily get even better. This is still an exceptional read, however, and I would highly reccommend it to fantasy fans, or to those looking to get into fantasy- I think it could be a great starting point.