If you love found family, charming characters, spooky monsters, shapeshifters, and Caribbean legends … get ready for King of Dead Things. 

I have once again picked up a book that I didn’t know was a duology - that ending! I need to know SO MUCH MORE.

We’re following Eli, a teenager with magical healing abilities and no memory of his past. Luckily, he’s got a great support system in his two best friends, Sunny and Max. When they’re sent to track down the fang of Osebo, a weapon that can take magic, their paths collide with Malcolm.

Malcolm is the son of the duppy king, desperate to wipe away their connection. But he needs his dad in order to help his mom, so he’ll use his death magic to do anything he needs to.

The full group soon finds themselves racing through London in search of the fang - before someone very evil and very powerful gets her hands on it. But they’ve all got secrets of their own, and they have to learn to trust each other in order to survive.

I really loved all of the main and side characters here. They were well-developed, and the different forms of friendship and found family were lovely. The main group of young people have found home in each other  - and with the blunt but caring Pam, who owns the Caribbean restaurant where they live.

The Afro-Caribbean folklore was compelling, and I thought the magical rules (how magic is used and stored in this world) were really interesting.

It was very fast-paced, which mostly worked, but I did think the ending scenes were a bit rushed - especially the final battle. I also would have loved a little bit more resolution in this first arc. The ending felt a bit frustrating, and I didn’t feel like we got really any answers at all. 

This was a lot of fun, and I’m super intrigued to see how the story concludes.

CW: murder, death, vomit, toxic relationship, dementia, blood, gore, body horror, abandonment, animal death

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(I received an advance reader copy of this book; this is my honest review.)

OH! Oh.

The Spear Cuts Through Water was an absolutely mesmerizing joy. It’s a love story between two young men, but it’s also a love letter to oral storytelling and myth-making.

It’s a beautifully constructed story that pushed boundaries & made me delight in fantasy and imagination once again. I needed this book at this time. 

The plot - in broad strokes - is about two warriors, both with complicated, dark pasts. Jun is a royal guard who is weighed down by the guilt of his past violence, and Keema is an outcast looking for a community to belong to. Their country is under a brutal rule, thanks to a ruthless emperor and his sons, the Three Terrors. These violent sons control the land with powers extracted from an old Moon god … who also happens to be their mother.

But when that god is freed? She ends up on an fantastical and dangerous five-day journey with the two young warriors, hoping to change the country forever and submit herself to freedom.

And watching this all unfold are a group of mortal souls in the Inverted Theater. They’re each brought here (from across space and time) through a dream to witness one performance. It’s a performance that is meant for them exactly in that moment, but also one that they’ll never remember again once they wake.

The Spear Cuts Through Water is a love story about two souls forging their way through violence and finding each other. It’s an exploration of legacy, fate, dedication, and how stories connect us all.

The writing is communal. It swirls between narrative perspectives - sometimes even switching from sentence to sentence - and it WORKED. Brilliantly. You are challenged to hold multiple planes of space and time in your hands at once. It may require a bit of patience, but once you submit to the rhythm, you can almost hear the voices aloud, piping in to share their emotions, desires, and last breaths. 

It really is a performance - we as readers are IN the Inverted Theater. It’s folkloric and captivating, lush and haunting, and gory and sad. It’s a lyrical tapestry and it is raw collective storytelling. It’s not exactly a charming view of humanity, but it shows how love (in all forms) and connection make life worthwhile. 

I cared so deeply about these characters. I cared so deeply about these SINGLE SENTENCE ASIDES. I was in this book and on this journey with my entire being. 

A quick note to expand upon the below content warnings: this book involves ritualistic cannibalism and a lot of gore. 

CW: murder, death (parent/child), body horror, cannibalism, gore, decapitation, war, animal cruelty/death, ableism, torture, slavery, suicide, vomit, excrement

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Her Body and Other Parties is a bold & bloody mix of horror, fantasy, and wry humor. 

It explores the darkness & violence of womanhood, complicated relationships with bodies, and the ways women warp themselves to please others.

The first story - The Husband Stitch - was my favorite by far. It was a twist on The Green Ribbon and (like many of the following stories) weaves in folklore and urban legends. It addresses the reader directly, encouraging us to read the story out loud and follow some staging directions. 

I was compelled by most of the rest of the collection, but they honestly didn’t compare to the brilliance of the first. This book is a little gross (complimentary), very queer, and filled with darkly relatable daily pain. 

I will add that the delightfully, deliriously long and surreal Law & Order: SVU story has my whole heart. 

It’s a great book to read on an eerie, rainy night. Just be sure to ground yourself in this reality. And not question that shape outside the window … or that sudden intrusive memory from your childhood … and is that music flowing up from the floorboards? 

CW: body horror, rape & sexual violence, murder, death, eating disorder, fatphobia, misogyny, domestic abuse, mental illness, animal cruelty & death, vomit, gore, pregnancy, dysphoria , infidelity, pandemic, homophobia, suicidal thoughts/attempt, psychosis, sexual content

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The Necessity of Rain is quietly, curiously beautiful. 

We step into the minds of three characters in a world where the Divine are slowly becoming mortal - losing their Divinity after giving so much to Creation.

Isra is a butterfly woman who was ripped from her war-torn world by a brother who hoped to save her life and a ferrier who couldn’t leave her behind. She’s just arrived in Meadowsweet.

Belladonna is that ferrier - she traveled through Chaos and away from her controlling mother, but time moves differently outside of Meadowsweet, and when she returns with her young daughter she is surprised by how much things have changed … and how much they haven’t. She has sensory sensitivities.

Rosemary grew up in Meadowsweet, and is supporting both of her parents (one Divine and one mortal) as they age. We jump back and forth through time during her narration and witness her journey from poverty & fear to living with an abundance of love, both from parents and mentors and with Belladonna. Rosemary uses a cane as a child and sometimes a wheelchair as she ages, and she grapples with internalized ableism while finding shining acceptance from everyone else in her life.

All of these characters engage with mortality and question what it means to live on after death. There’s this thread of quiet strength – of living through the loss of a loved one, but also appreciating where you are without clinging to the past or future.

There’s also representation of love in all forms. Rosemary discovers beautiful parental love. And Belladonna ponders how to be the best mother to her daughter while stepping away from the toxicity and manipulativeness of her own home.

There is romantic polyamorous love between Rosemary, Belladonna, and Isra, but I didn’t quite buy this. I think the biggest issue here was that there were gaps in the narration – we are with Belladonna while Isra and Rosemary meet, and suddenly they adore each other. It’s unclear how that clicked into place, and while I was delighted that all three of them had each other, I wished we witnessed that development. The narrative voices were also a wee bit too similar.

The writing feels deeply, deeply authentic. This is a collection of internal journeys (not much at all actually happens), and each narrator was exquisitely vulnerable. The language was mostly lovely, but sometimes felt ornamental in a way that took away from the message. I think the prose shined in its moments of simplicity. I did absolutely adore the flower imagery and symbolism, though! 

This is the slowest reading experience I’ve had in a long time, and I do feel as though the writing pushed me in that direction. I needed time to process each chapter and let my own emotions simmer. And this is also one of the longest stretches of time I’ve waited before writing and posting my review – I just had to sit with my own feelings about death, loss, and love.

It is profoundly devastating. You’ll cry. But it’s not a tragedy; there’s strength and hope and love and all the things that happen when every cell in your body changes and reshapes itself after loss.

CW: death of loved ones, anxiety, panic attacks, loss of home due to war/bombings, war, emotionally abusive parent, fantasy dementia, homophobia

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Tender Beasts is another chilling, brilliant tale from Liselle Sambury, grappling with public perception, complicated family dynamics, and gruesome, folkloric haunts. 

Sunny Behre is the perfect child. And after the death of her mother – the matriarch of the wealthy Behres – she’s supposed to be the one to lead the family. But all she got in the will was a post-it nate, saying “Take care of Dom.”

Dom is the youngest of the five Behre siblings … and he’s been charged with murdering his girlfriend. Sunny’s not sure whether he’s innocent or dangerous, but when one of their classmates is brutally killed and she finds Dom at the scene of the crime, things get a lot trickier. Dom swears he’s innocent, and the two of them start to work to track down the real murderer. But the bodies start piling up, and the family Sunny was so ready to lead is at risk.

Sunny is a complicated main character, but it’s fascinating to live inside her head. She’s hyper-focused on how she is perceived and how she treats others – she needs to be liked by everyone, because she thinks that’s how a leader needs to behave. But in the process, Sunny shuts off her real self. She doesn’t allow herself to express any sort of negative emotion, she doesn’t know how to authentically make friends, and she keeps everyone at a saccharine distance.

I thought each member of the Behre family was well-developed and interesting, and my heart was touched by many of the supporting characters. Jeremy (Dom’s best friend)  and Shyanne (in Sunny’s circle)  in particular both showed what authentic friendships could look like. They’re funny, they’re real, and they stood up for themselves while making sure Sunny got some needed-but-loving feedback.

This book is really a reflection on the things we pass down. It’s about generational trauma, but it also highlights cycle breakers – you can be the one to stop the toxicity. You don’t have to keep the cycle going.

It’s also about complicated family dynamics. Sunny’s mom did not value all of her children equally, and each child felt a different pressure to contribute or be left behind. And Dom in particular was intentionally brushed to the side.

And it navigates the intersections of wealth and race and class with nuance (while still staying clear enough for young readers). It covers racism, and the maneuvers that different Black characters had to do to preserve their image and their safety. There’s so much pressure, and wealth is a bonus that only the Behre family characters had access to.

I loved the folk horror vibes - loved, loved, loved them. I will say that by the ending, I still didn’t completely understand the Milk Man as a reader, and the initial spark and background felt a little fuzzy. It felt like we were missing some information, and I was overflowing with questions about the opening scene that were never addressed. That was a bit unsatisfying, and the mystery aspect of the plot was also sometimes a tad too convenient for my taste. 

But overall, this was another extraordinary read from Liselle Sambury. 

CW: murder, death (parent/child), gore, animal cruelty/death, child abuse, infidelity, racism, mental illness, self harm, torture, body horror, grief, fire, cultural appropriation, classism, suicide, stalking, gaslighting, vomit

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(I received an advance reader copy of this book; this is my honest review.)

A curious blend of biography and memoir. Why Fish Don’t Exist questioned our desire to label and compartmentalize to make order out of chaos, showed us how this finite & hierarchical way of thinking could feed dangerous viewpoints, and also treated us to a bit of a coming-of-age story with some prompters on how to think about life.

I truly enjoyed the final message - though I’m sure it would be more impactful for others depending on your stage of life and comfort with your place in the universe.

I didn’t love the treatment of David Starr Jordan’s place in the eugenics movement (and his abuse of power, racism, ableism, and so on) as a sort of twist or ‘gotcha’. I think the throughline (that forcing chaos into order is both scientifically inaccurate and deeply harmful & that Jordan’s obsession with hierarchy encouraged his bigoted ideals) worked without Miller romanticizing Jordan for most of the book, and Miller could have easily hinted that her feelings for Jordan had shifted far earlier. 

That was definitely a stumble for me (I’m decidedly less interested in stories of white women saddened by new knowledge about their heroes), and could also be very triggering for readers who have no idea that it is coming.

Otherwise, I enjoyed the storytelling & Miller’s journey with her queerness. I loved the energy of embracing the chaos around you. I liked the invitation to question everything that I categorize, and what it would feel like to release that.

CW: death, eugenics, forced sterilization, ableism, racism, genocide, suicidal thoughts/attempt, forced institutionalization, medical trauma, mental illness, murder, self harm, rape, child abuse, infertility, xenophobia, animal cruelty/death, infidelity

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Vagabonds! is a story of abundance - a gathering and celebration of those who exist outside the boundaries. It joyously hops from home to home, raising up souls and bringing them together to challenge or support or love each other. It was both a tender and glorious adventure.

Our story begins with an omniscient narrator: enter Tatafo, a clever spirit who serves Lagos’ embodiment, Èkó. Tatafo works diligently for Èkó, focusing only on efficiency and purpose, and doing his job above & beyond. He lives up to his name (“gossip”).

Eventually, his heart is stretched as he becomes curious about the outcasts of the city - the vagabonds. He is tossed out of the spirit class in disgrace and finds himself among them, capturing their stories, rebellions, and acts of fearless love. 

Each story is vivid, authentic, and a little bit dangerous. And the scope involves the undead, a healthy sprinkling of magic, and even some fairygodgirls. These stories were distinctive at first, but over the course of the book they weave together more and more, ending in a beautiful final chapter.

The chapters were each full, rich, mini-worlds that tugged me right in. I found this structure a bit challenging at times, because just as I sunk into the experience and let a character into my soul, they were snatched away. It felt like a bit of loss and grief again and again as I had to open up to a new story. 

But these stories were so, so rich. They offered openings into secondary worlds filled with freedom, they sparked new identities, and they encouraged defiance. They played with who has power and who does not, and how vagabonds navigated the different levels of class they had access to. It also has fascinating takes on spirituality and religion - who it excludes and how those on the outskirts of society find solace or connection to a higher power.

For all the pain & loss & suffering that its characters felt – this book was filled with joy and celebration. It was creative. It was absurdly chaotic. It was magical. It was, as I said at the start of the review, truly abundant.

 

CW: murder, death (child/parent), queerphobia, abuse (child/domestic), assault, misogyny, sexism, religious bigotry, grief, body horror, drug use, torture, infidelity, pedophilia, suicide, fire, classism, cancer, sexual content

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The Prey of Gods was an afrofuturistic & chaotic & bloody adventure with an enchanting cast of characters and overarching themes of identity, love, and the messy combination of technology and humanity. 

Also, so many dik-diks. Like, way more dik-diks than you would think. 

In South Africa, a demigoddess is desperate to rise back up to her former glory. She has the perfect opportunity to feed on humanity once a new hallucinogenic drug begins unlocking hidden powers and causing curious animal transformations. We follow a 10-year old girl with immense, unchecked power, a queer teen boy navigating his grandfather’s approval and his love for his best friend, a politician with a controlling mom and a secret double life, and a mega pop star with a hidden chronic illness and some complicated family history. 

If you think all that sounds like a storm, throw in an emerging AI uprising, too. This book is overflowing with seemingly overwhelming narratives … that click together in wild ways.

There’s a lot of humor infused into the writing, and it feels almost playful at times – like Drayden is just having fun and maybe toying with us a bit. It feels like many short stories fused into one, with overflowing creativity that eventually brings our narrators together.

Every character is on their own journey with their identity – they’re all withholding parts of themselves and they all have secrets. Most of their secrets involve shielding their hearts and true selves from their familial mentors. And most of these characters did have really heartwarming and satisfying arcs. 

I felt the worldbuilding was quite atmospheric, but also a bit inconsistent. The rules of the magic changed in hard-to-follow ways, and the characters also had massive shifts that sometimes felt unearned. There was just SO much going on. 

There was an upsetting incident in the beginning that was never truly resolved, with an instant redemption arc that left a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. I couldn't figure out why we were just letting it go. There’s also a trans character who is repeatedly misgendered in her ending scene where she has finally embraced her identity, which saddened me. 

And - this doesn’t impact my rating - but I am a bit confused by the cover, because there are no human-sized robots in this book like the one depicted. 

Overall, I had a lot of fun with this futuristic fantasy. I thought the mythology was fascinating and the identity arcs were charming, but it definitely had its stumbles, too. 

 

CW: murder, death (child/parent), blood, child abuse, drug use/addiction, rape, deadnaming, transphobia, animal cruelty/death, body horror, grief, chronic illness, confinement, vomit, pedophilia, self harm, torture, kidnapping, fire, fatphobia

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The Skin and Its Girl is a striking tapestry of lineage, exile, love, and families that are connected through story and myth. 

We follow Betty, a young, queer Palestinian woman who is at a precipice: should she follow her lover to another country and start over? She heads to her Aunt Nuha’s grave to ponder her history. What follows is a swirling tale that connects her bright blue skin to the Rummani family tree, and her love to one of her aunt’s deepest secrets.

Most of the story is told in second person – Betty is speaking directly to Nuha. We unveil each branch of the family tree in order, but the narration flashes back and forth through time and Betty hints about future connections.

It’s got some beautiful, delicate, shining moments. There’s this thread of united mythology: families are connected by the stories they tell and share. The Rummani family is also linked through cycles of exile, and making the choice to head into exile once more for safety or for love. There are themes of motherhood and responsibility, too – and so much incredible and chilling imagery (just wait until you get to the red chandelier). 

However, while the language is beautiful, it can also be quite slow. Since the story begins at (and before) Betty’s birth, there’s a bit of disconnect during the opening chapters, before she adds in her own feelings and memories as she grows up. 

The middle segment was my favorite. The characters each appeared in my mind’s eye so clearly, Betty’s first friend (and crush) were deeply relatable, and the way Nuha’s stories about Palestine and the Rummanis  blended reality and myth were transfixing. Seriously, Nuha has my whole heart. Her flashbacks were easily the best parts. 

But just as we seemed to reach a climax, it disappeared in a wisp of smoke. I was anticipating some sort of reconciliation, and a bit more of a dive into Betty’s current situation. The ending sentences were carefully crafted, but I felt as though they were missing the emotional weight that the earlier segments incorporated effortlessly.

CW: death (child/parent), suicidal thoughts & attempts, mental illness, colonization, fire, bullying, genocide, homophobia, racism, panic attacks, xenophobia, islamophobia, police brutality, classism, war, abandonment, pregnancy

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All I See Is Violence lives up to its title – this is a heart-wrenching piece of historical fiction that tracks the ripple effects of evil and ongoing cycles of violence that Indigenous Americans have faced.

We follow three connected perspectives 100 years apart, all filled with pain and loss. Two of the narrators are women, and they both are fighters in their own way - they explore their feelings of justice and righteousness, and also motherhood.

Little Wolf is a Cheyenne hunter, and she grapples with the morality of becoming a warrior and taking lives to protect her people. Nancy Swiftfox is her descendant and a history professor, navigating her legacy and bearing the burden of violence on her family.

The third perspective is General Custer, who is ruthlessly leading the charge to wipe out Native Americans and feels certain of his victory. This narration is definitely the most laborious to read – I had to push through my disgust.

Little Wolf and Nancy witness the violence of all the men in their lives, and how folks with the best intentions are forced to attack to protect those they love. Nancy in particular witnesses the ongoing impact of hatred, and her storyline and the attitudes of people she encounters don’t always feel so far from 1876. 

There’s a beautiful throughline of determination to remember all that would be lost and carrying it with you. To know that you are your people and you are in charge of your own legacy.

I did wish for a bit more distinctness within the narrative voices. They all had vastly different wants and needs and thought processes, but their narration felt very similar - to the point where it wouldn’t have been obvious who was speaking without the context.

There was also a bit of an abrupt ending – I felt like there was more to say here, but I drifted away from this read a little shell-shocked by grief.

CW: war, genocide, racism, colonization, death (parent/child), gun violence, suicide, rape, animal death, hate crime, body horror, grief, misogyny, pregnancy, infidelity, infertility, vomit

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(I received an advance reader copy of this book; this is my honest review.)