I absolutely loved the first part of the book: Justin and Wes meeting in Paris and falling for each other, the mixture of insta-love and mutual pining, the anxieties, the tenderness, the opening up. That part was an absolute five-star for me; something about the author’s style, slightly on the verbose side but also so poignant and hitting right where the feels are, really worked for me. That first part perfectly conveys that special vibe of first love while also sneaking in foreshadowing of future angst that’s bound to come when they eventually have to leave this fragile temporary personal paradise.

As the story progressed past that early part, I still felt engrossed in the story and the characters, but my impressions dimmed a little. The angst came in earlier than I expected, though the choices these guys made did make sense. It still felt, at times… excessive somehow? Everything was so dramatic all the time, and sometimes it felt appropriate to the overall situation and all the feels these characters had… but other times, I felt it crossed into the “over the top“ territory. I also kind of disliked how everything in their lives was so much about each other all the time. Yes, Wes had football, but his entire relationship with the sport quickly boiled down to “how can I have both this and Justin.“ All his interactions with his best friend were focused on whatever emotional turmoil he was going through. Justin’s reconnection with his father also felt like it was all about Wes's presence in his life, as did his dancing. 

That’s another thing I liked more about the beginning, I think: the characters were initially built up to be separate individuals with their own habits, flaws, and pre-existing inner conflicts, and it was very well done. I would have enjoyed seeing that continue with the love story adding to their lives, not consuming everything for the entire book. I would have liked seeing Wes bond with his teammates over things that are about them, not just about his feelings—I feel like that would make their reaction to him getting outted feel more personalized than just a solid wave of angst. And perhaps taking some time to get to know those guys and the relationships on the team would even provide for more nuanced reactions instead of

them just acting like a hivemind: “You owed us to come out on our terms! Because reasons!“

I would have also liked seeing Justin have to deal with his mother’s

prejudice and opinions and to confront the fact that while she’s very clearly in the wrong, there are also ways he may have contributed to reaffirming her beliefs in the past with the specific way he chose to come out—both things can be true. Instead, we just had his dad shield him from all of that and then tell him about it

.

Still a solid four-star read because of all the feels, and I’m definitely getting that sequel. The pairing in the blurb isn’t what I expected, I want to see how it plays out.

So this graphic novel is basically Mean Girls, but with werewolves and murder. Which sounds really cool as a concept, but unfortunately, I found the overall execution sort of lacking. I did like a good number of things about the book, such as how the story was constructed with the gradual build-up of suspense to every reveal, and—most notably—the art. The art was really nice to look at and conveyed all the right emotions. Also, the werewolf mythos here definitely has some cool touches.

The characters were rather hard to connect to, though. I would have appreciated some more focus on all the individual relationships in the titular squad, as well as some focus on what each of the girls were getting out of following Arianna that wasn’t connected directly to the whole werewolf thing. There were some passing mentions of her getting Becca a boyfriend for prom and such, but that was more telling than showing. 

The story includes some themes and messages that are really important, but it kind of tries to do too much at the same time. There are all those instances of racism, and while I felt like those were meant to give the reader a bit of a pause every time, the way they get shrugged off every time by the very victims of those microaggressions might send the wrong message to someone who isn’t already very consciously aware of the damage this kind of thing does. I feel like maybe the author was trying to be subtle and overplayed the angle too much. There’s also that entire tangle of peer pressure, wanting to belong, female rage, toxic masculinity, how the more privileged of the oppressed can be complicit in the oppression even when they claim to be fighting it, perhaps even allegories for eating disorders. And each of these threads definitely deserved more attention than it got.

All in all, I feel like this was supposed to be a poignant coming of age story wrapped into a campy werewolf tale, but the fun gory campiness overshadowed all that substance.

There’s always something so cozy about T. Kingfisher’s books, even when it’s a horror story. I really loved the protagonist here and the culture ka comes from. The whole deal with sworn soldiers who have their own pronouns is so different, but at the same time baked seamlessly into the fabric of 19th century Europe by including references to actual historical events and places. It was refreshing and interesting for me to see a protagonist who struggles with tinnitus (oh that bane of my existence, what would I give to hear silence again… ahem, sorry). I liked Easton’s observations about war and how people deal with its aftermath, and I liked seeing the bond ka developed with Denton over their wartime and post-wartime experiences. Also, Easton’s horse Kob was a character of his own, and what a lovely, opinionated character he makes. 

The fungi-based horror escalated gradually throughout the novella, and I really enjoyed this build-up. Early on, the weird hares and the spooky lake and the creepy mushrooms were already firmly established as parts of the narrative, and Easton was already disturbed by the state ka found the Usher siblings in, and yet all of it was like a weird eldritch frame for a cozier, more human story: people bonding, and finding ways to have fun even while they’re anxious and worried, and opening up to each other. But the further the plot moved along, the thicker that frame became, creating moments of genuine horror. I loved how T. Kingfisher alternated between focusing on the horrors themselves and the characters’ reactions to them to deepen the effect.

My one small complaint is that the ending / resolution felt a little too rushed and abrupt. I think I would have enjoyed lingering there for another short chapter to see the characters start to process, maybe. That aside, this story is definitely going to end up on my list of 2024 favorites.

So far, this series starter isn’t gripping me the way Perilous Court did, but it’s still a solid fantasy romance with some really nice moments. Where Tavia Lark’s series is focused on court intrigue, this one’s more “romance tropes meet D&D,“ which is very much my jam. I liked this new setting with all of its magic a lot. There’s a very interesting take on necromancy, and I appreciated that

while early on it seemed almost like Shae was going to give it up once his purpose was done, instead he learned to live with it in a way that no longer hurt him and that actually brought good to the world

. The Radiance Order itself is a structure I’d love to see poked at more, and I have a hope that’s exactly what’s going to happen in the next book, judging by its blurb. And while I enjoyed the dynamics between the two leads while they were mostly traveling alone and getting to know each other, I really, really liked the introduction of the Riverswords and the dose of community they provided. Also, horses! I really, really liked Duchess and everything she added to the dynamics between the main characters.

Speaking of the romantic relationship, Shae and Arthur were definitely fun to follow. I liked how they kind of grew on each other gradually. The way Arthur’s Paladin magic played into their relationship was very nicely done, and I liked how Shae’s touch starvation was handled. There were moments that beautifully merged the external plot, their personal arcs, and their romance together, like that point where Arthur makes a definite choice between his past and his future, or when Shae gets very far on the brink of darkness. There’s lots of hurt/comfort here, which is my favorite trope, and also kind of a low-key, subdued version of grumpy/sunshine, which I also adore. So while I didn’t fell completely head over heels for their romance, it was very nice and heartwarming to read about.

I also really like their happy ending, not just in terms of the feels, but plot-wise, too. They end up in a place where

they’re settling down from all the stress and excitement but still have specific opportunities for some adventuring

, which I hope will make for a cameo or two in the rest of the series.

I got a rec for this book when I was searching for something to fill the hole left by Charlie Adhara’s amazign Big Bad Wolf series, and it definitely scratched the same itch. The vibes are different, but it’s also a great mix of romance and paranormal mystery. 

I absolutely loved Rain as the protagonist and narrator: his self-deprecating snarkiness, his struggle to coming to terms with the whole ghosts thing, even his cowardice about feelings—because of the way he overcomes it over the course of the story. Danny took longer to grow on me, mainly because of how trigger-happy he was when it came to the detective work and the mixed signals he sent at the start. But I came to understand him and find him a fascinating character as I read. Funny thing, normally I prefer dual POV in my romance, but in this case, I feel like sticking to Rain's viewpoint and showing Danny through his eyes really added to the story rather than detracting from it in any way.

The romance itself is second chance done exactly right, or at least exactly how I like it. Something that really calls to me. The reasons why these two didn't work out the first time around were made clear early on, just like the fact that they still mattered to each other and that each of them had his own narrative of how it all went wrong. At the same time, practically from the first reunion scene, it was easy to see how good they could be for each other if they figured out a way to merge those two narratives and move forward in sync. The "one step forward, two steps back" dance was awesomely done, the chemistry was through the roof, and the confusion of slipping back into the life that used to be home to find it subtly different but no less appealing was beautifully conveyed. I loved how the snark of it all co-existed with moments of rough introspection on Rain's part.

The mystery plot was pretty well done, too: it kept me guessing for long enough, and damn, that final extended interaction with the villain was tense. If inclined, I could nitpick a few parts about the last third of the book or so: there was definitely a moment where the mystery plot slogged a little, as well as a couple of points where the different plot threads—the romance, the mystery, the ghosts, Rain's relationship with his family—got fanned out a bit too much. It all came together again really well in the end, though, so those small bumps in the road did absolutely nothing to lessen my overall enjoyment. Honestly, I barely thought of them in the moment, thoroughly distracted by all the cool snarky dialogue and the feels.

The ghost lore seems super interesting, but it's also very clearly just being set up for the future books, with plenty yet to reveal. The ending suggests that the very next installment might dive way deeper into those esoteric things, and so I'm really excited to pick it up soon.

This was such a trip! Not a book I would normally pick up or even perhaps know about, honestly. But it was assigned to me as part of a book swap event in one of my discord servers, and it was such a nice opportunity to broaden my horizons a little. From the very start, there’s so much going on here. On the surface, there’s this simple story of a naive small-town girl trying to make it in NYC: wanting to be a writer, being happy and overwhelmed about her internship at a fashion magazine, and not knowing how to tell her family that she let her college grades drop too low and now can’t afford to register for classes. But all around the journal entries that tell this story, there are all those e-mails and transcripts and mentions of FBI investigations. So you immediately find yourself questioning everything. What is this book *actually* about? International spies? Con artists? Something even darker?

This is one of those rare cases when I didn’t vibe with any of the characters but was still majorly invested in the plot, latching onto every small new detail to try and solve the puzzle. Which is why I actually find it hard to talk about the book without dissolving into spoilers. All the things that impressed me the most are the kind that you really should experience for yourself for best effect. Like the ending. OMG, that ending! I was reading the last few chapters with this impending sense of wrongness: like, sure, things are getting wrapped up more of less nicely, but something is off, something is so off… And then, BOOM, that final twist, and suddenly so many things from earlier in the book gained a brand-new context and I realized that I’ve just read a whole different story from what I thought I was reading??? Like. Wow. So cleverly done. And to make it even better, there were all those things that I mentally filed as “small flaws,“ but looking back from the vantage point of that final revelation, the flaws are more like features.

It’s probably not going on my list of 2024 favorites because I prefer to be more engaged when it comes to the characters, but I’m definitely very happy I’ve read it and I can tell I’ll be thinking about the book’s plot a lot, mentally going through all the twists and bends!

Well, I wanted a gay arranged marriage romance in modern setting, and I guess that’s exactly what I got? To quote my favorite tv-show, this was… not great, not terrible. Basically a classic bodice ripper made queer and self-aware enough about it; the kind of story that would make you call the police if it was happening in real life, but fiction makes it safe to explore the fantasies.

I would have appreciated a bit more depth when it came to characterization. Most of the time it felt like the leads were just rushing from one emotionally charged plot point to another, and it wasn’t always clear how and why their attitudes, opinions, and feelings changed. There were quit a few scenes where at least one of them made several face-heels turns over a couple of pages. The side characters, on the other hand, really shined. I particularly loved Antoine and would love my own Antoine to hang out with. Alton’s family was really cool, too. I think that part about the Texas trip was my favorite. 

Also, my reasons for reading high-heat romances often include getting inspired to write my own, and in that sense, this was definitely a time well spent. 

This was a dark, uncomfortable, and deeply engrossing read that reminded me of all the things I love about the series, partly addressed the problems I had with the previous book, and generally made me feel LOTS of feels. It was awesome to see all the monster-human couples from previous novels gathered in one place and interacting, and I just wish there was a way to smash this book and the previous one together, adjust the order of events, and have both stories be more… like this. I feel like Lily Mayne is at her strongest when she writes romance that happens in the middle of a community, amidst a web of other interactions. Looking back at the series, I have to admit that I’ve been having this feeling that all the couples feel same-y, but seeing them all next to each other really drove it home that no, in fact, they’re not. They often have similar dynamics at the starts of their relationships, but their personalities, motivations, and approaches to life are so different.

I’ve been curious about Lilac from the moment I first met him in *The Rycke*, and he didn’t disappoint me one bit as the MC. His head isn’t exactly a comfortable place to be in, but he really cares so much, even when he trains himself to act like he doesn’t. Seraph’s backstory absolutely broke my heart and made me hope that at some point later in the series, all the scariest monsters of this settings will get to do all the worst things they’re capable of to the military. The relationship development, especially the intimacy part, didn’t always sit right with me, but the thing is, I didn’t really expect it to. This entire situation, through no fault of the characters, was completely fucked-up, with how to give Seraph the best possible chance to get better they had to keep him in confinement closely associated with his trauma. Everything about it was deeply uncomfortable, and yet somehow, somewhere between Lilac’s determination and Seraph’s increasing lucidity and everyone else pitching in, it all worked out.

I was often frustrated with Gloam for how overcautious he was and how he seemed to downplay/underestimate Seraph’s speed of recovery. But at the same time, I empathized with him a lot because I could see he was acting that way because he felt responsible for his part in Seraph’s suffering and wanting to make things better so badly. Auri was as much of a sweetheart as ever, and I smiled every time he showed up on the page, even when things were dark. Wyn was an absolute highlight of the story, especially when Danny wasn’t around (don’t get me wrong, I love him with Danny! But I also love him when he’s not even making the barest effort to tone down his monstrousness. He’s everything I want in a monster, really, can we get more Wyn?). And even though the parts of the book that had me the most emotionally invested were the ones with Lilac and Seraph, I also loved the other monsters’ interactions with Seraph in the later part of the book. Especially that moment for which they all just had to get Edin.

My one regret was that Moth and Charlie were busy being away doing their thing from the previous book (which runs in parallel to this one) instead of being part of all this web of connections, too. Because I really feel like all these characters are helping each other shine.

Well, this was… a source of lots of mixed feelings. I absolutely adored Daisy Jones & the Six earlier this year, so I expected a lot from my next book by Taylor Jenkins Reid, especially since I’ve heard so many good things about this one. But where with Daisy Jones, the “written mockumentary“ format added a lot to the story, here, the “writing Evelyn’s memoir“ framing device fell flat for me. I feel like I see where the author was going with it; it offers that extra smoke screen, a level of separation between the reader and the larger-than-life movie star. Unfortunately, it ended up feeling more like a gimmick and, more often than not, a distraction. 

It didn’t help that Monique was one of the most uninteresting characters I’ve “met“ lately and did absolutely nothing interesting as a journalist. It was also cringy how from the start, given this unique opportunity to write Evelyn’s tell-all, she immediately jumped to the husbands angle and the “Who was the true love of your life?“ question, especially since that question was asked before she had any hint of Evelyn being queer. Here you sit in front of a woman who’s been a cultural phenomenon for decades, her creative work influencing generations, and the main thing you want to know about her life is… which man in her life defined her? Meh. Honestly, even with the fact that Evelyn’s actual true love was a woman, I find this approach cringy, because while love is important, we all exist outside of our relationships, too, romantic or otherwise. Or rather, we exist in many relationships at once, and outside them, and between them, and to define one person solely through one specific romantic relationship is odd. Not to mention that I generally tend to roll my eyes at that “one true love“ concept, because it’s possible to love more than one person in a lifetime, and no one love should diminish or erase others.

I do feel that the story itself eventually did a good job of addressing these things. Evelyn does make a point of reaffirming that while Celia was the love of her life, she had genuine feelings for some of her husbands, too, and she also loved other people in a non-romantic way: Harry, Louisa, her daughter, her mother’s memory. So in retrospect, that heavy-handed pushing of the “so which husband was the most important, hmm?“ question as the central thread for the memoir was a very smart choice: create a faulty premise, contradict it with a follow-up. But something about the way it was presented at the beginning grated on my nerves.

I mostly enjoyed the character development here, even though, with the exception of Harry, there was hardly a single character that I liked. Evelyn was quite interesting; I liked how she didn’t shy away from admitting her flaws, and how while she didn’t hide that there were pretty awful things in her life that shaped her into the person she is, she refuses to paint herself as the victim and makes it clear that she made her own choices with what happened to her. She’s not a particularly likable character, but definitely a strong and compelling one. Harry was both interesting and likable; I admired how he toed the line between Hollywood cynicism and personal kindness, and how he was always there for Evelyn but also pushed her when she needed to be pushed, and pushed against her when he didn’t agree with the choices she tried to make for everyone. Celia, frankly, often annoyed me, but I did like how she was presented in the narrative: how Evelyn always spoke of her with so much love, but also showed enough of her flaws for the reader to be able to see them way before they got acknowledged. There were a few other characters who got to show up multiple times and grow and change over the decades in way that inspired no real sympathy in me but made me want to know what happens to them next. On the other hand, there were others who were barely more than slightly fleshed-out stereotypes.

What strikes me as odd was how little acting and film-making there was here, for a book about an actress. Evelyn talks a lot about the consequences of being a Hollywood star: the fame, the money, the recognition, the Oscars. But it’s only rather late in the book, and only for the sake of one specific plot point, that the actual *art* of it all gets some real attention. It was a stark contrast to Daisy Jones where songwriting and performing music took up a huge part of the narrative. Perhaps that’s because as a writer—also a creative artist—Reid had more to draw from as she wrote about people creating art, but a character’s who’s a performance artist was harder to tackle.

Overall, I liked it more than I didn’t, but I also felt like this was a queer story written very much with a straight eye, and in the last part of the book, it was all getting kind of… repetitive and needlessly dramatic for my tastes. I also wasn’t a big fan of the many rather obvious life wisdoms / truisms being presented as these life-shattering revelations. And I maintain that a lot more could be done with that framing device.

This book was an odd experience for me. On one hand, there were a lot of things about it that I liked. On the other hand, the way they were presented/put together kept me… detached? disengaged? throughout the story. I just couldn’t connect properly with anyone, even though the character have exactly the archetypes I often fall for and a really cool web of relationships. Another member of the book club I read this for suggested that perhaps it was hard to connect with the characters because they spent so much observing each other and commenting on each other. You read a chapter in Jun’s POV, he’s reflecting on Arthie’s or Flick’s recent actions. The next one is in Flick’s POV, and she’s focused on Jun. This kind of thing. It didn’t happen all of the time, and each of the three POV characters did have some introspective moments or personal confrontations where they were focused on their own goals. But I feel like this approach contributed to the overall sense of being outside looking in instead of getting pulled into the story.

I did like the setting a lot. It’s a Victorian-inspired world with some low-key 1920s vibes; a city filled with complex agendas, glittering mansions, and dark slums; constant nods at a larger world that has magic and elves and who knows what else. Somehow, I kept thinking of this world in terms of tabletop rpgs. Vampire: Victorian Age meets Blades in the Dark. I also enjoyed the prose, but also kind of had an ambiguous relationship with it. There are so many snappy one-liners, both in the interactions and in the characters’ inner monologues. Multiple paragraphs that are very cool and memorable in isolation, but all together they almost distract from the story. 

Speaking of things that I found distracting: what was the deal with those vague nods at the Arthurian myths? When we have an MC named Arthie who wields a mystical weapon called Calibur and that weapon is an object of a “whoever manages to wield this will save the country,“ I instinctively start searching for more allusions and connections. But I don’t think I’ve really found any? Was it just for flavor? If the aim was to create a vague association between the MC and King Arthur, maybe it was enough just to have the plot with the weapon without making the names similar.

I think in general, the book suffers often from a sort of heavy-handed, on-the-nose approach. All the contrasts are very stark. All the important points are as good as highlighted. This character is keeping a secret about X. That character needs to achieve Y to find inner peace. There’s going to be a plot twist right about now. Here are characters who are clearly struggling against imperialism and racism, but let’s not trust the reader to get it, let’s make them have a conversation where everything is spelled out. Perhaps it was this lack of subtlety that kept preventing me from getting truly engrossed.  When I read a book that’s all about secrets and lies, I expect the style to reflect it. I expect not only the plot, but the narrative in general to keep secrets and lie to me and make me guess and figure things out. Unfortunately, I didn’t get that kind of immersion here.