Little Rot lives up to its title – I could feel the glittering worms of New Lagos slither up my torso as I frantically turned the pages & tried my best to unravel the knots of corruption. 

There’s a list of content warnings at the bottom of my review. Please read them if you are at all sensitive to dark & disturbing topics, often graphically portrayed.

We follow 5 narrators whose lives are impossibly entwined, though only us readers get a chance to see the full picture. 

Aima has just left her longtime boyfriend, Kalu – she reconnected with her sense of religion and morality and only wants to stay with him if they marry. Kalu, who just wants to be with her and not feel that sort of pressure, releases his stress and anguish at his best friend Ahmed’s sex party. But there, he makes an impulsive decision that puts all of them in danger. And when sex workers Ola and Souraya are visiting home on a short trip, their paths cross with the trio and they, too, are plunged into the corrupt underworld. All five of them reveal secrets, make impossible decisions, and are pushed to their very limits.

There are different days and timelines shared, but I recommend letting things wash over you and living in each gut punch of a moment. It’s not a mystery – I think most folks will see where things are going – but let yourself exist in the narrators’ limited viewpoints and absorb their fear and lust and calculated movements. 

Each character is EXCEPTIONALLY written. I saw them in full, little rot and all. These are all deeply morally gray people, and they may repulse you or frighten you at times. But you might also lean in and quietly root for them, wondering how they’ll push through this weekend unscathed (though certainly not unscarred).

Aima is the outlier, and an interesting foil to the rest. She’s seeking (what she believes to be) a better way, and she’s trembling and earnest on her quest for purity and morality. She makes messy choices and definitely needs time to work through her self-hatred and disgust of deviance.

And on the other hand, Ahmed also initially has pure intentions around embracing deviance. His sex parties are meant to encourage openness and joy and acceptance of queerness and kink, but unfortunately they end up opening a portal to a deeper layer of the city; an underbelly filled with vileness and corruption.

Little Rot is a story about daring to be vulnerable, about the ways we shield ourselves, about sex and violence all wrapped up in each other in grabs for power, and how scarily close we all are to spiraling. 

Reality is a mess, and Emezi forces us to LOOK. To witness. And something I always find fascinating about their work is that they’re never dictating how we as readers are supposed to feel. So lean into your shock, horror, and disgust … and maybe you’ll recognize the darkness within your own life.

CW: murder, graphic sexual violence, rape, pedophilia, child abuse, guns, vomit, trafficking, kidnapping, homophobia, transphobia, religious bigotry, drug use, infidelity

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

Hollow Fires was an engaging, enraging, and innovative young adult thriller about racist ideology – and the power and hope of honest storytelling and journalism.

 

Safiya is a future journalist and the editor of her high school paper, and works hard to present facts to her readers. She tries not to let her emotions and biases get in the way, but when she learns about Jawad’s story, she can’t help but get personally involved.

14-year-old Jawad was arrested for possible terrorism after one of his teacher’s thought his homemade jetpack costume was a bomb. The media sunk their claws into him, racist bullies at school leaned into hate, and soon he winds up missing. And then dead. And Safiya finds his body.

With Jawad’s voice haunting her, Safiya pushes through dismissive cops and those assuming “Bomb Boy” got what he deserved and is determined to tell his whole story … and find out who killed him.

It’s a tough read at times, covering topics like silence & inaction, how media shapes us & how it can be used as a tool of systemic racism, and how easily young white men can become radicalized, with algorithms morphing to dig them into deeper holes and inflame prejudices they already held. There are threads of alt-right recruitment that are really compelling.

Safiya’s chapters mostly begin with a truth, a fact, a lie, and an alternative fact - or some combination of the above. I thought this was a super interesting throughline and delivery of how journalism can be biased and manipulative, even if you have honest intentions.

The story is loosely based on a real life murder (though the white supremacy elements - as well as some other modern additions - were fictional). There are also legitimate sources and quotes sprinkled throughout the text.

 

As an adult reader, the antagonist was very clear from the beginning. I’m not sure how many younger readers would pick up on it immediately as well (whether they’re an amateur detective :) or just someone who has experienced this kind of deceit), but that aspect of predictability didn’t take anything away from my reading experience. It might have even enhanced it, because I’m often frustrated when books have a twist just for the sake of a twist. This reveal - as nauseating as it was - made perfect sense.

Jawad’s ghostly chapters were heart-wrenching, but I did at times feel like the paranormal elements took away from the reality of the story. I think it would have been really interesting to do something like interspersed journal entries from when he was still alive, since we’re already hopping back and forth through time. But either way, I appreciated that his voice was highlighted. 

There were really lovely friendships and family relationships depicted here. And a hugely diverse range of Muslim experiences, which I really appreciated. 

At its heart, it’s a story about two Muslim teenagers trying to figure out how to navigate a dangerous world and be their full selves. It’s realistically depressing and heart-wrenching, but there’s fierce hope here and optimism for a future of media where more voices can be amplified. I was all in.

CW: murder (child), racism & slurs, islamophobia, hate crime, xenophobia, violence, gaslighting, kidnapping, grief, antisemitism, religious bigotry, classism, misogyny, toxic relationship, car accident

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The Enchanted Hacienda is a sweet contemporary romance with a touch of magic, but not a book I would widely recommend unless you’re just looking for something cutesy and simple. 

We follow Harlow, who has fled back to her enchanted family farm after a pretty tough day: she lost her dream job in publishing and broke it off with her mediocre boyfriend (his name is Chad, which tells you everything). Harlow has always felt like the odd one out in her family, since she’s the only one who doesn’t have magic. But when her mom entrusts her to run the Estrada estate for the weekend, she learns to embrace her own gifts (and maybe fall in love with a hometown stranger). 

I went into this expecting more magical realism, but I appreciated the thoughtful arc around self discovery and reframing success - as well as all the knowledge about flowers and nature. Flower metaphors and meanings come into play a lot. 

Harlow, however, was a tough main character to like. She’s very whiny and very juvenile, and we’re told over and over that she is an exceptional writer, but just hasn’t had that magical moment where her book clicks. Her love interest Ben is equally flat - he’s so very attractive and has lots of money, but wants to do good by his inherited hotel empire. I also didn't feel grounded in the setting (especially in Mexico).

Overall, it felt a bit surface level, and the insta-connections just didn’t engage me as much as I would have liked. It’s very predictable, which you may find either comforting or boring. I also felt a bit conflicted about the portrayal of dementia. 

It didn’t offer me anything new, which is what I enjoy when I pick up new books. This one won’t stick with me, but I enjoyed my time with it. 

CW: death (parent), dementia, grief, stalking, racism, sexual content

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(I received a free copy of this book; this is my honest review.)

Monstrilio is a piece of grotesque literary horror that’s all about grief and parent-child relationships.

When Magos and Joseph lose their 11 year old son Santiago, they don’t know how to grieve and move forward in a world without him. Instinctually, Magos cuts out a piece of his lung and puts it in a jar. And after she feeds it, it begins to grow … turning into little carnivorous Monstrilio.

There’s a lot to dig into here: the rollercoaster of grief, autonomy of children (and allowing children to make their own choices versus shutting them into idealized boxes), masking your differences in front of others when they are sometimes seen as monstrous (queerness, disability, the ‘crime’ of being misunderstood), the journey from attempting to know what’s best & therefore suffocating those you love to learning to let go & living side by side, and so on.

The book definitely leaves you with a fair bit of melancholy. We get four very direct & very limited POVs which gradually reveal more and more about the situation. All of the narrators are truthfully a bit unlikeable, but I do think they’re sympathetic.

I think there was a strong start with Magos’ narration and then lost some clarity and energy after the distance of the second narrator to the household and then a time jump before the third narrator. Ironically, Magos may be the most unlikeable of the bunch, but her story also really gripped me and highlighted a detached side of grief that you don’t often see. 

The writing is a bit distant and direct, but kept me engaged. I also really enjoyed some of the imagery and non-human metaphors, like the deteriorating house. 

Overall, Monstrilio was a peculiar & devastating piece that might tempt you to lean into the duality of holding onto your loved ones a little closer & ensuring you’re not suffocating them by doing so.

CW: child death, grief, gore, murder, body horror, cannibalism, animal cruelty/death, chronic illness, terminal illness, sexual violence, suicidal thoughts

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In The Space Between Worlds, multiverse travel is possible. The only thing is – you can’t traverse to another world unless your counterpart on that world is dead. 

Enter Cara, who has suddenly become incredibly valuable to her dystopian government because her doppelgangers tend to die young. Since she’s able to visit 372 of the 380 known parallel worlds, she’s taken out of the wastelands and given a job in wealthy Wiley City. And so long as Cara keeps her head down and works hard for the Eldridge Institute, she’ll be able to become a full citizen.

But she feels out of place in both the walled-off city and her old home, she pines for her stern handler Dell, and when another one of her counterparts suddenly dies, she’s thrust into old secrets on a new world.

This book took me on a fast-paced rollercoaster ride with no lap bar, and I was fully invested. Each twist was unveiled so cleverly and kept the adventure moving along. The Space Between Worlds deeply explores belonging and privilege - and how much of your identity is shaped by your circumstances. 

The friction and overlap between faith and science was highlighted throughout the whole book, and I especially enjoyed the segments at the start of many chapters where they challenged each other:

The world-building was incredibly rich, and again we saw the worlds of faith and science (and wealth and poverty) clash and merge. I was moved by the depth of the religious customs explored here, such as mourning rituals that involved shared prayers and candles containing locks of hair. And there’s a massive shared belief in the goddess between worlds, Nyame, who blesses or kills during each bout of multiverse travel. Wiley City was nauseatingly captivating too, with the power holders’ delicate yet coy ways of engaging with each other, older money residents and newer residents who try their best to belong, and the manipulation of scientific data.

There’s razor sharp commentary here on class and race – and human greed, capitalism, and exploitation. 

Cara has one foot in Wiley City and one foot still at home in Ashtown & the Ruralites. She has to balance the feeling of newfound security that was given to her because she is marginalized and frequently dead - sometimes abandoned right after birth - in parallel universes. She yearns for a safe place to land, but also yearns for touch and closeness that doesn’t seem to exist in the city.

There are so many different types of relationships here. Cara’s mother is often absent or dead (from overdosing) throughout the parallel worlds, and Cara sometimes has to mother her own mother. Cara has a sister, Esther, who she would sacrifice herself in a moment to protect. She finds a father-like figure in her mentor Jean, a fellow traverser. And she orbits Nik Nik, a man who sometimes runs an Ashtown empire, sometimes is her abuser, and always is unpredictable. 

And Cara has SO MUCH sapphic pining for her handler, Dell, and that manifests differently as she comes into contact with different Dells in different worlds. Sometimes she protects her. Sometimes she’s vulnerable with her. And sometimes she flirts by making immature jabs (it’s very Gideon the Ninth). 

I loved Cara. She sometimes frustrated me, but I was rooting for her survival and for her to continue to ground herself in her morals. She’s completely lost at times and struggling to find her own voice and purpose. And I was fully invested in her journey.

My one gripe with this story is the last 30 pages went wildly fast compared to the rest of the book. I would have been okay with a little more mystery, more of an open ending, and more left for us as the readers to puzzle through. But this is still 5 stars to me and I’ll be ruminating for a very long time. 

CW: murder, death (parent/child), domestic abuse, toxic relationship, classism, body horror, war, racism, suicide, sexism, addiction, homophobia, infidelity, panic attacks, vomit

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For lovers of Hadestown, of kids promising to do better than their parents, of embracing your shadows, of music, dance, photography … Death’s Country is for you.

We follow Andres, a teenager who has firmly reinvented himself after a brush with death and a move to Miami. His parents are drowning him in miserable battles, but he escapes into music with his beloved guitar. And when he meets shining dancer Liora and fierce photographer Renee, he falls deeply in love with them both.

But their polyamorous triad is shattered one night when a car hits Liora and sends her into a coma. Renee knows there’s only one thing for them to do: travel to the underworld and rescue her soul. Andres agrees, but he’s fearful of encountering Death once more. Especially since there’s a part of himself left with the dead, and a bargain that he has yet to fulfill.

Let me start off by doting on R. M. Romero’s verse. It’s beautiful, and the writing flows with such a lovely musicality. This is truly one for the theatre kids.

We get three different coming-of-age journeys where our main characters learn to embrace all facets of their identities - and stand up for themselves without turning to rage. It’s a lesson in letting yourself be vulnerable with those you trust, and the joy that releases.

Andres, Renee, and Liora are compassionate towards each other, thoughtful, and forgiving. Orpheus has a lack of faith; these three have absolute faith, both before and after revealing their vulnerabilities & darkest secrets. I would have actually loved more time spent building these relationships up - instead we sort of shift and jump through time from the start of their relationship to a very deeply emotionally caring polyamorous triad. 

Magic and metaphor entwine in the underworld, and we meet a fascinating roundup of characters and creatures. There are nods to many famous stories and myths, as well as real life figures. I was particularly touched by Virgil and his tragic & earnest plotline. 

Death’s Country is ultimately a story of faith, vulnerability, and love, and I think young readers will see themselves strongly represented in at least one member of our trio. 

Whether they have loving parents, parents who despise each other, parents who are obsessive or controlling, or something in between – and whether they’ve found romantic love or friends who they trust with their lives - AND whether they see their souls in art or something else – there’s something real and raw here for everyone.

The writing is transformative, and there are moments & phrases I will definitely carry with me.

CW: death (child), war, suicide, eating disorder, emotional abuse, infidelity, car accident, self harm

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

Between ghost dogs & wooly mammoths, rings that transport you across space and time, and mystical journeys to Below to save lost children – Sheine Lende is certainly an adventure. But beneath all its exciting magic, it’s ultimately an incredibly touching story of grief, community, and love. 

We follow seventeen-year-old Shane, who helps her mom on search-and-rescue missions for lost children in between her shifts at a pizza restaurant. By her side are three loveable dogs (two alive, one ghostly) and her little brother Marcos who she shields fiercely. 

Shane’s mother doesn’t accept any payment, and their whole family was devastated and displaced after a flood took away their home and Shane’s father and grandparents. And then - one rescue mission goes bizarrely wrong, and Shane’s mother and two kids go missing. Shane will do whatever it takes to find them, even if they’ve crossed boundaries of space, time, and realms. 

I love how Darcie Little Badger writes young voices. The characters feel very earnestly like teenagers, and it’s all so grounded and connected. It feels like she’s writing for a younger version of herself.

There are beautiful themes here: community and home and the act of fiercely protecting loved ones. Plus the process of grief and healing while keeping memories of those you’ve lost alive. Shane is Lipan Apache, and she wants to preserve and protect her people, her ancestors, and even her language. She’s also had to navigate diminishing herself for protection. There’s a heart-wrenching flashback where her little brother refers to their family as ‘extinct’, and they all grapple with preventing that extinction of life and culture.

It’s a whimsical world, and Shane is filled with bright optimism and spirit. She never, ever gives up, even though she’s lived through horrific trauma that would make anyone reasonably pessimistic & doubtful. It hits hard - it made me tear up for sure.

I wished that some of the cryptids and creatures were explored more - I felt left with a smattering of loose ends. I also think that conflicts could have been elevated. It didn’t feel like there were any true risks or true danger here, and I think it would have been more impactful to linger a bit closer to disaster, especially in the underworld. 

But this was a phenomenal read, and I want to put it in the hands of every young teenager! It’s filled with caring adults, thoughtful metaphors, wonderful friendships, fierce resilience, GHOSTLY MAMMOTHS, and so much heart.  

And I have to add SO much love for the cover. Just as beautiful as Elatsoe (if not more), and the illustrations at the top of each chapter were so lovely as well. 

CW: death (parent/child), grief, colonization, injury, abandonment, terminal illness, animal death, alcohol, car accident, racism

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(I received a free copy of this book; this is my honest review.)

The Devourers is a dark & slow burn, an ode to storytelling and legacy, and a reckoning with identity and who controls it.

When college professor Alok meets a mysterious stranger who claims to be a half werewolf, he can’t help but accept the stranger’s request to transcribe a bizarre collection of texts. Alok is cynical, but can’t look away. And the documents soon transport him back to seventeenth-century India, where a violent shapeshifting traveler is transfixed by a human woman. As the story deepens, so does Alok’s relationship with the stranger – especially as the tales creep closer and closer to the present and the stranger’s own heritage.

I can understand why many people might dislike this book. You have a choice to lean in or push it away. It’s a very stylized read - a bit slow and unusual. It almost feels like it wasn’t written by a modern writer.

It’s an uncomfortable book at times. It’s a visceral attack on the senses (urine, vomit, feces, gore, rape, eating flesh, and other violence). It’s very carnal, very animalistic, very rooted in the body. It leans into the dark side of humanity, illuminating a world of violence.

The Devourers is a queer (& specifically trans) allegory. Each character examines their own relationship to their identity and their body. They challenge what you were born to do and be, ‘how the world is’, predator and prey, and gender assumptions in all forms. 

It ponders storytelling as intimacy (especially when you are expected to distance yourself from all personal emotions), and how the stories told about you shape the footprints you leave in this world. It views myths and folklore not as separate cultural stories, but as different ways of shaping the same existence. 

And yeah, there’s a lot of hunger and cravings and devourings in all forms. It can be grotesque, but also quite beautiful. What does it mean to devour yourself - or to give yourself over to another form - or to devour another and take that ‘othered’ experience into your body and mind? 

I’m not sure every angle of this book came together to offer a completely even whole - and I think that it meandered too long in some moments - but it definitely got me thinking. The Devourers drained me a bit, and its view of the world is mostly unpleasant, but it’s also got some eloquent prose and striking metaphor.

CW: murder, death (parent/child), blood/gore, cannibalism, body horror, excrement, vomit, pregnancy, queerphobia, misogyny, animal death, stalking, sexual content

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Ocean’s Godori is a clever sci fi adventure with an eclectic cast and a whole lot of heart.

Ocean Yoon is a brilliant spaceship pilot, but she’s been demoted after a [redacted] mission that squandered her reputation and chances of rising up in Korea’s renowned space agency the Alliance. Luckily, she’s found support from her charming crewmates on her simpler but safer new assignment.

Haven is Mortemiam - a religious, thoughtful, and ostracized group that does death rituals. His dad has sent him off to work for Captain Song for a bit and immerse himself in the greater galaxy. He wants to bridge the gap between him and his father, has mixed feelings about his expected marriage to his fiance back home, and is quietly curious about his crewmates - especially Ocean.

And Teo is the outwardly cocky and charming second son of the Anand Tech empire. He never wants for anything, but secretly struggles with living up to his father’s expectations and being there for his family. He’s also got a lot to learn about the truth behind his empire, especially after he winds up at the center of a complicated & violent plot. 

Then there’s a whole swirl of chaos and escapades. It’s a story of navigating identity & figuring out your legacy, tackling complicated parental relationships and expectations, and finding family outside of blood. 

There are intense spaceship battles, terrifying body morphing technology, thrilling escapes, the SWEETEST misfit found family, and two smatterings of romance (once is queer and one is very will-they-won’t they). The technology is both interesting & fun, and I enjoyed learning some Korean words (and some imagined future Korean slang). The glossary, which was written in-character, was both helpful and a delightful addition to the journey. This was a really cool and creative world and vision of the future.

The events of the summary don’t happen until the book is more than halfway through - I actually flipped back a few times to make sure I had read it right, since it seemed like the inciting event. And then I was just anticipating it! I think that’s a bit of a marketing mishap. And then there’s a massive cliffhanger at the end. I don’t see this listed as the first in a series, but it HAS to be, right? If so, I think this story will absolutely shine now that the setup is done. 

I absolutely adored these characters. They’re a prickly but loveable group, and even though we only get deep glimpses into some of them (it’s a very large cast), I was thoroughly charmed. I particularly loved the raider Phoenix and his crew who came in at the end; I’m sure that their roles will be much bigger if there are future books.

There’s a start here to a galactic exploration of colonization & capitalism - mostly through Teo’s influential family - and Teo starts to unpack his own biases. There’s also condemnation from supporting characters from various planets who have been directly hurt by the Anand Tech exploits and innovations. I would love to see deeper conversation around these themes, going beyond just acknowledging them. How do our main characters envision a better world? What will they do to bring us closer to that?

If you love books featuring charming found families & characters puzzling out their relationships with their parents - AND books set in cool, futuristic worlds with action scenes galore - I think Ocean’s Godori will be a perfect match.

CW: death (family/parents), murder, war, colonization, classism, guns, panic attacks, fire, grief

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

The Spice Gate was a colorful & creative standalone epic fantasy – while the world building wasn’t quite integrated smoothly and the dialogue was a bit awkward at times, I really appreciated the vision and journey.

In a land of eight distant kingdoms, spices are both power and balance. Each kingdom cultivates one critical spice, and each kingdom is connected to the others only through the magical Spice Gates, a gift from an ancient and powerful god.

Amir is a Carrier – the spicemark on his shoulder distinguishes him as a person who can travel through the Gates and transport spices from kingdom to kingdom. Though Carriers are critical to every aspect of society, they are a terribly oppressed group, essentially treated as slaves. Amir experiences extreme pain, both from moving through space in moments and from the sacks on his back, and he fears for the day his kid brother will enter the trade. 

He dreams of escaping the kingdoms and their cruel royalty altogether, and all he needs is one vial of the Poison (which will help his spicemark-less pregnant mother travel through the gates alongside her sons to live among rebellious pirates). But as Amir searches for his freedom, he gets sucked into a deeper conspiracy – and perhaps a revolution against everything he thought was true about his world.

I think this book has a challenging start - there’s a lot of info & lore tossed at you all at once in a bit of a clumsy way - and I can see a lot of readers DNFing this one. However, if you’re comfortable diving into new fantasy worlds and open to being a bit confused throughout the first chunk, I think it’s worth it. 

It’s a story about fighting back against oppression & the costs of revolution and reshaping, what it means to re-evaluate ancient traditions through a more just lens, and about what it means to be a good parent, child, and sibling. 

The romance element here is between Amir and Harini, a young woman who is also a throne keeper. Harini very readily dismisses the way she has been raised to view the world (we see this briefly in a flashback) and is wholeheartedly there for Amir. In my opinion, the nature of Amir and Harini’s relationship is a little too fairytale-esque when paired with the more brutal elements of their hierarchical world. I just don’t buy that Harini is SUCH an inherently good soul that she is able to immediately see past everything she has been told.

As far as the writing goes, I generally found it quite compelling. The dialogue was the biggest issue (differentiating between character voices, leaning into cliches, mixing words so it felt partially fantastical and partially modern, and so on). But the descriptions of places and the inventiveness of the magic system really let the author’s creativity shine, and I thought the action scenes were well done. 

My favorite elements were most definitely the mythological ones. The description of the ancient god was visceral and chilling. And the beasts who prowled the outer forests were just as good. The sensory elements (how the spices smelled - how they brought up emotions & memories - the tastes of food) were really beautiful, too.

CW: death (parent), classism, murder, gore, animal death, grief, addiction, mental health, abandonment, vomit, excrement

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