Whilst I grew up consuming mahou shoujo content, I never read or watched Cardcaptor Sakura (CcS), so I was approaching this read with only a teaspoonful of the nostalgia I’m sure the series harbors for many, and I wondered if it would fall flat for me as a result. I was also a little concerned that Sakura being in elementary school, rather than a teenager, could make for a story that wouldn’t engage me. I couldn’t have been more thoroughly wrong.

CcS boasts a cute, lively art style with intricate costumes and a distinctive 90s-feel. I found the art to be incredibly charming, and that charm certainly extended to the cast of colourful and compelling characters. Besides for Sakura herself, I finished this read with a great fondness for several of the supporting cast, and although I’m writing this review a few months after finishing the first volume of the omnibus, they’ve remained in my mind with surprising vividity.

I was also very pleasantly surprised to see the inclusion of queer characters amongst the main cast! From Touya and Yukito’s dynamic, to Tomoyo’s crush on Sakura, to Syaoran Li’s attraction to Yukito (although I believe that there’s a supernatural “explanation,” for this later down the line, it’s still interesting that CLAMP chooses to portray this as a romantic infatuation.) Whilst by modern standards, it’s far from perfect, I was still able to genuinely enjoy the queer rep, and I’m a little sorry it wasn’t one of the manga I managed to pick up as a kid- although who knows how censored it might’ve been.

The characters and their relationships were certainly the major draw for me- whilst the plot felt like pretty typical magical girl fare, I’m conscious CcS was a genre-defining piece, sending waves through the whole shoujo landscape. The magic-system is unique and well utilitsed, and all the magic accompanied with gorgeous visuals. The introduction of Syaroan Li as Sakura’s rival helps to up the tension as Sakura struggles to hunt down all the Clow cards. Rather than a mere cipher, Sakura feels like a fully realised character, with her grief over her mother complicating her mission to capture the cards. Sakura’s relationships with her friends and family are themselves the core of the story,in fact, and are written to great effect.

One trope that was definitely of its time, and unfortunately has not aged well at all, is a heavily implied teacher/student relationship playing out in the background of the story. This subplot is particularly objectionable taking into account that the student is one of Sakura’s classmates, and that Sakura is all of nine years old. This relationship certainly isn’t treated as predatory, and I was extremely uncomfortable to see it romanticised. Sakura’s parents also began a relationship when he was her teacher, and although some of the characters object, the narrative very much takes their side.

Despite that, CcS has certainly captured my heart, and I most certainly intend to continue with the series as soon as I have time. If you’re a returning fan wondering if it’s as good as you remember, I’d bet that you’re not viewing it through rose-tinted glasses, and if you enjoy mahou shoujo but just haven’t got round to CcS- it’s worth the hype.

On paper, I should’ve adored this book. Small Favors is replete with tropes I adore, and I was incredibly excited to read a book that intertwined horror elements with fae. Unfortunately, Small Favors struck me as generally unremarkable.

The horror elements felt too generic to be truly unsettling, and the villain(s) simply didn’t have the discomforting vibe I believe Craig was aiming for. If I had to boil everything down into one word, it would probably be “unsubtle”. Craig ended up overapplying the metaphorical charcoal when foreshadowing, and every narrative twist was easily predictable.

Neither were the characters particularly compelling: I found it extremely difficult to be emotionally invested in any of them or their relationships. Our protagonist Ellerie’s tension with her twin was a particular source of frustration for me- as the audience was never given the chance to see their relationship in a positive place, seeing them slip further away from one another doesn’t have the emotional impact it should. Neither did Ellerie’s romance inspire any particular emotion in me, and she seems to have no particular character arc. Since the characters are just that bit too generic, the “grand,” finale falls extremely flat. It’s certainly not a scene I should’ve felt impatient reading, since the novel was clearly building to that point, but impatience was the end result.

I did appreciate the historical setting, which was clearly well-researched and often pretty absorbing. The way the plot revolved around the protagonist’s livelihood, beekeeping, did much to help the storyline feel grounded. Bringing the fae into the context of an American pioneer town was an imaginative concept, but I can’t help but feel that it could have been better utilitsed. Craig is an obviously competent writer, and I can’t find fault with her dialogue, prose, or pacing, which is why I’ve rated it as highly as I have. But frankly, Small Favours inspired no feeling at all in me, and I wouldn’t be able to recommend it as a result.

Firstly, I picked this book up without any prior knowledge on the author. I believe that art and artist can be separated- to a certain extent. I also believe that there are plenty of authors who haven’t behaved extremely questionably- The Literary Phoenix has a good breakdown, for anyone who’s curious. Finally, I believe that there’s a lot of better fantasy out there than Nevernight, but I’ll review this book without further mentioning Kristoff’s real-life conduct from this point onwards.

The opening of Nevernight grabbed me with both hands. Though I can easily see how it wouldn’t be for everyone, I personally loved the narrative voice- with the tangents exploring different aspects of the world: historical anecdotes, zoology, the occasional direct address of the audience. It gave the impression of listening to a talented bard relate a tale by the fire- I listened to the audiobook, which only made this approach more effective. While the edginess occasionally overtipped the scales as far as I was concerned, I was content to revel in the overabundance of it, initially thinking that it was being done in a self-aware manner.

The world itself was also pretty compelling: the triple-suns, the protagonist’s talking shadow-cat, the shadow magic. Framing the whole narrative after the fall of the Republic was also a nice, simple trick to keep the reader curious. This was a world I was actively excited to learn more about, and at first glance, it certainly gives the impression of depth.

Unfortunately, the further I plunged into Nevernight, the more problems seemed to emerge. Firstly, the characterisation was surprisingly weak. Kristoff doesn’t seem to understand whether he wants Mia to be a cold-hearted, vengeful killer or the sweetest girl on the playground. Is she suspicious or gullible? Calculating or temperamental? You could argue he was trying to deliberately write her as contradictory- a traumatised girl trying to quash her natural kind-hearted instincts to survive, but she simply isn’t written consistently, swinging like a metronome between extremes. Characterisation isn’t only problematic when it comes to Mia- the rest of the cast are frustratingly one-note. The tension between Mia and her love interest is eye-rollingly boring and seems to blossom and wither at the convenience of the plot.

There is also clearly not much thought put into the character’s identities. I was uncomfortable with the only two albino characters in the book being emphasised as extremely creepy, with one flirting with teenagers and drinking blood, whilst the other is characterised as sadistic and vengeful. Whilst I know that Mia is also attracted to women, Ash is the only character who is demonstrably queer in this first book, and very much falls into “predatory lesbian,” stereotypes. You could make the argument that most of the characters are cold-blooded killers, but Kristoff stresses their marginalised identities in conjunction with presenting them as threats-

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Ash kissing Mia right before betraying her, for instance.

However, perhaps the most egregiously mistreated character is Tric, the only character of colour amongst the protagonists.Tric essentially exists to further Mia’s character development, and is

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unceremoniously killed off towards the end of the book. Killing off your only prominent non-white character to further the development of a white character…

I’ll be charitable, and call it thoughtless.

Speaking of Tric brings me onto the subject of the Dweymeri. Personally, I appreciated the reveal that

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the nonconsensual union that brought about Tric’s conception involved a white man forcing himself on a woman of colour, as opposed to the other way around, as stereotypes influenced the characters to assume.

I’ve struggled to find a source by a Maori individual regarding Kristoff’s use of their culture to characterise the Dweymeri- but they referred to, consistently, as savages throughout the book. I was sincerely hoping that this was a prejudice Mia would learn to be baseless as the book drew on, but unfortunately Tric seemed to be presented as an exception to the rule. Once again, I won’t ascribe malice to Kristoff here- but at the minimum, this is certainly a harmful carelessness.

Mia’s revenge quest is a compelling, if a little generic, setup to kickstart the plot. The idea of a school for assassins, whilst a little ridiculous, is entertaining enough to suspend one’s disbelief. Unfortunately, there were a ridiculous amount of elements that simply didn’t seem to stand up to scrutiny, which made it more and more problematic to sustain my immersion. For instance, Kristoff doesn’t seem to have a clear idea of why the Red Church exists- how it was founded, how it sustains itself, why all the trainees are teenagers, how it prevents the highly-trained would-be assassins relegated to position of Hands from turning on the Blades who treat them as servants… Or why these people think they’re the “good,” guys. Everyone is the protagonist of their own story, and the explanation that they’re all cultish fanatics loyal to Naia that Mia should walk away from is all well and good (if shallow)… until Kristoff suddenly decides it’s not, and Mia is turning right back around to rescue them, muttering their murder-prayers under her breath all the while.

Characters appear in convenient places at convenient times so that Kristoff can wrap up Mia’s revenge quest in a neat little bow by the end of the book. For a book that is positioning itself as being gritty, this kind of convenience is extremely bizarre, and it reoccurs over and over. Nevernight’s narrative insists that this story will not go like most stories, and that things will not work out in the most symmetrical, satisfying manner- and yet coincidences which save the characters seem to be around every corner. From Mia’s absence at the very end of the novel which feels shoehorned and totally extraneous to her arc, but turns out to be so key to the finale, to her reclaiming her mother’s knife when in any other gritty fantasy she would’ve simply had it wrenched away- the narrative tells us one thing, but shows us quite another.

Kristoff doesn’t seem confident in foreshadowing his twists, and yet his twists still feel worn-out: perhaps as most of the characters are ciphers, it’s easy to guess how they’ll behave. Especially towards the end of the book, I tended to find myself glazing over during action sequences, which were predictably choreographed. The closing chapter frantically crams in setup for the next novel in the trilogy, which I believe is a symptom of the overly-ironed resolution.

Frankly, I’m left with an impression of mistrust- mistrusting Kristoff as an author. I don’t trust him to handle sensitive themes with the nuance they deserve, I don’t trust him to write consistent, compelling characters- I don’t even trust him to give the plot a logical, satisfactory conclusion. I’m left with absolutely no desire to continue this series.