I'm not sure what I expected from this book, going in. What I got was one half a villain's rise to power, one half the story of the Hunger Games becoming the cynical entertainment-based phenomenon they have turned into by the time of the main trilogy. That second part was a lot more engaging to read than the first. It's not that I expected the future President Snow to be sympathetic, exactly, but I guess I would have appreciated it if he was a bit less annoying. Honestly, as an aging tyrant he became far more charismatic than his teenage self was.

The war-ravaged Capitol and the gradual integration of the Hunger Games, still seen as the bloody legacy of war they were intended be, however, were quite interesting to read about, as was the character of Lucy Gray.

For the most part, though, this book was considerably less engrossing than the original trilogy. Something about it just felt like a fanfic—and not in a good way. I have, in fact, read my share of Hunger Games fanfiction that left a considerably more lasting impression. Also, as many other reviewers have noticed, the pacing was just all over the place. It dragged for the bigger part of the book—there were entire chapters where nothing much seemed to be happening; then in the final 10-20% everything suddenly moved so fast, things were getting hard to keep track of. 

 This was a thoroughly enjoyable and surprisingly sweet romance against the backdrop of historical organized crime, with a dash of music hall. I loved every component of this short love story. Predictably perhaps, I especially enjoyed the fact that this is an ace romance—I always, always want more of those, and I loved how it was handled here. The conversation Stan and Christiana had about the subject felt really authentic and put a smile on my face. I was also really intrigued by the Lilywhite Boys, and I'm looking forward to reading more about these characters. 

I love Peter Pan retellings, especially when they delve into the darker side of the Neverland. Because let's face it, you hardly need to change anything about the original story to read it as a horror tale; you just need to look at it through adult eyes. Which is pretty much exactly what this book does. There's maybe one part changed about the original experience Wendy had in Neverland, and it blends so seamlessly in with everything else that I keep wondering if maybe that detail has been there all along. Maybe, when I was reading Peter Pan as a kid, I simply overlooked it.

I absolutely enjoyed the way the story is constructed, with the events from several timelines being explored out of order: Wendy's journey to bring her daughter Jane home, her life between her own original Neverland adventure and Peter's return to her life, snippets of her childhood memories about that original adventure. I think that the part about Wendy's life "in-between" was my favorite: in any grand adventure, I'm always most fascinated by the aftermath. Reading about Wendy's experiences in St. Bernadette's asylum was sometimes a difficult experience (things like forced institutionalization and abuse from medical workers, especially in the mental health field, are always difficult for me, especially when I know that what I'm reading is based on actual things that happened to actual people). But her inner journey, her focus on rebuilding herself and learning to look forward through all the hardships, the way she gradually changed her perception of Neverland without ever letting go of its realness—every part of it was haunting. I loved the conclusion she got, the somewhat unconventional, half-hidden-in-plain-sight family she built for herself. 

Another part of the story that I know is going to stick with me for a while are the Jane interludes. Even though Jane got only a small part of each lengthy chapter, she was a fully realized character throughout, firmly her own person, no matter how much Peter tried to twist her into a copy of who Wendy used to be—or rather, of who he used to want Wendy to be, back when her life was his to rule.

The writing itself was beautiful and flowed well, although at times it was somewhat repetitive. There were numerous turns of phrase that felt lovely and clever the first time I saw them, then got old less than a quarter into the book. For me, that's a pretty minor flaw, but there were moments when it did grate on my nerves a bit, so I thought I'd mention it. That's the main part of the reason why I gave 4.75 stars to an otherwise 5-star read. A smaller, highly subjective part of the reason: I think the story might have benefited from a tad of a bigger focus on what happened to the pirates and Hook in particular. 

 

This is a book I've been really looking forward to. Now that I've read it, my impressions, I have to admit, are mixed at best.

The first quarter of the story was exactly what the reviews and recs I've seen promised: the quiet horror of being a mostly useless gear in a family machine, told in a way that simultaneously never shied away from how terrible the abuse and dehumanization is and made it mundane, everyday, bearable to read. I loved it. I mean, it was bone-chilling, it made me grit my teeth, it made me hate nearly everyone on the Harland who wasn't Pendt, and I couldn't stop reading because I couldn't wait for Pendt to figure out a way out. To delve into a different world and start figuring out who she was as a person, building herself up from what she endured.

Then she did escape, and something about the story changed that made me feel almost cheated. Two more important characters were introduced: Ned and Fisher. I liked them both, on a surface level. On a deeper level, I feel like I never got to learn enough about them. I just saw snapshots and some condensed histories. Pendt's journey, now that her story was intertwined with Ned's and Fisher's, quickly took the same shapes: snapshots of important moments, sort-of-summaries of what went on in-between. The further into the book I got, the more rushed and jagged the pacing got. 

It was a jarring contrast to the slower paced, moderately detailed, consistent unfolding of Pendt's coming of age on board of the Harland generation ship in the first part. Yes, of course, that first part also contained its share of "summaries between snapshots," but it was different. More ordered somehow. Far better flowing.

There's also the fact that the story itself is sort of this small, intimate, slice-of-life-ish tale of several people's daily lives on the fringe of some really big events in a vast spacefaring world. There were enough hints and explanations at this big story, but they were kind of hard for me to pull together into a coherent picture. It's like I lost my grip on them whenever I focused on the small, intimate story like the book supposedly wanted me to. But then certain intricacies of that story relied on understanding the bigger picture. I tried to figure out the details of that bigger picture and keep them in mind. I lost my grip on the characters and their personal arcs. Reading became frustrating. To be honest, outside of the magic system (which, granted, is quite inventive and unique, I feel horribly lost on about every aspect of worldbuilding after finishing the book. 

All in all, in spite of the several things I really loved—the first 1/4 of the story, the main characters, the magic, the thoughtful discussion of body autonomy and outdated gender norms and duty vs freedom—I'm sad to say this book was a disappointing experience. As a matter of fact, all the things listed above made it even more disappointing: the beginning of the story held such promise, and then it dissolved into a mess of confusing pacing and such. It felt like there were several potential books crammed into quite a few pages here. 

I've always been fascinated with theater. Mostly musical theater and ballet, for some reason—probably because both involve a lot of music, and I can never get enough of music. But "regular" plays, too. So sometimes I find myself drown to books that are set in theaters. Books that show the blurry lines between the glitter of the stage performance, the hard work that goes into making it true, and the feelings that color both sides of the coin.

Echo After Echo is one such book. So recently, after I found myself thinking about theater a little too much after my player's shuffle decided to feed me every Broadway song in my playlist, I couldn't resist the urge to re-read it.

I remember it as a web of beautiful words and growing suspense, and as I cracked the book open, I realized I barely remembered how the central mystery got resolved. All I could recall about the ending were the emotions there, and the images that accompanied them: snow, city lights, water, blood, keys. Of course, as I actually started reading, the memories of the plot gradually returned, but that didn't make the re-read experience any less enjoyable. The story is told with even more beauty and feeling than I remembered, and also with even more flawed, complicated people who, with precisely one exception, keep showing flashes of raw humanity that makes them immensely sympathetic.

In other words, this is exactly the sort of book I never can help falling in love with, even when I'm already familiar with it.

Despite being marketed as a YA thriller/romance, it reads very much like a NA book for me. Probably because Zara, despite being a senior missing her last year of high school to star in Echo and Ariston, is plunged in an adult situation and surrounded mostly by adult people. The setting leaves little room for the usual YA tropes. Even the romance (which, on the second read, somehow seemed more prominent than I remembered it), despite being very much a story of first love and self-discovery and getting told largely in a deceptively innocent fashion, doesn't really feel like a first love. Probably because the way Zara approaches her relationship with Eli is very much the same way she sees her heroine, Echo, approach her tragic romance: she has already carved the space for this love within her, and now the actual person she's with is filling it up. I promise the result is healthier than it sounds. Or at least, it's as healthy as you can expect from a romance that involves someone who is deeply involved in arts and creativity and telling story. It's real and raw and important for its own sake, but it's also a set of real world keys for the imaginary locks. It's a set of experiences to be used on stage. It's a way to tell a different story.

And this is another thing I really enjoyed about this book: how it handles the intersection between the story it tells, and the story the characters are telling inside the book, the play they're staging, the parts they're making sense of. This is something I always enjoy reading about, because stories have always been such a formative part of my life. The recursive experience of reading about fictional people interacting with their own fictional people helps me make sense of my own relationships with the stories I tell and the stories I consume. And stories are for sure my favorite way to make sense of real life. That "keys and locks" thing works both ways—just like this book shows.

This was exactly what I expect from a T. Kingfisher book: something equal parts creepy and cozy, with a mix of really nice people doing their best in a world that is pretty dark when you look at it. I really liked the magic system here (although now I'm a bit afraid of that sourdough starter in my kitchen). The plot was fun and engrossing. A lot of the characters here are fun and memorable—my favorites are probably Spindle and Aunt Tabitha.

Funnily enough, the one character I had trouble connecting to was Mona, the MC/narrator of the story. Or rather, it's not that I had trouble connecting to her; it's that I kept thinking she'd be better off far away from all this main character business. I don't mind reluctant protagonists, and the combination of her age, personality and the magnitude of the events she was facing, it made sense that she remained pretty timid throughout the book. But I guess for some reason I expected an MC who grows a bit more assertive and bold for this kind of story? I don't know. It's just me.

Overall, I liked this book less than some other middle grade novels by the same author, such as Castle Hangnail or Minor Mage, but it was still really enjoyable and interesting.

I think I fell in love with this book before I was even 20% in, and it never disappointed me. There's a lot going on here. Murders! Cults! Mysteries! Spies! Political intrigue! Legal drama! Also, perfumery, sock-knitting, and a domestic civet cat! Seriously, there's so much going on, but it also never gets too much, and all the plot threads and setting details get tied together wonderfully.

First and foremost, though, this is a story about healing,. The romance between Grace and Stephen was super enjoyable to read as they both grappled with the trauma from their pasts and got more and more prepared to go forward. Their love story didn't feel like a magic cure for the PTSD they're both obviously dealing with, but rather as a reason for both of them to recognize that, despite the events of their pasts, they can still work toward a happy future; that they deserve happiness, and it isn't inaccessible. 

I was deeply intrigued by the setting with all of its many gods and the concept of paladins as divine berserks—I'd love to know more about all these deities and their relationships to their paladins and priests and the world in general. I loved everything about the Rat's priests who devote their lives to helping others and fixing everything that can be fixed in the most optimistic manner possible. Every scene with the Bishop was a delight, and Zale is my favorite lawyer (also, it was really cool to see a nonbinary character just casually being themself and no one ever misgendering or questioning anything about them). In general, this book is full of loveable and interesting supporting characters: Margeurite, Grace's spy friend; all the other Saint's paladins around Stephen (Istvhan especially, because he got the most screen time, but there was also that really poignant scene with Marcus, and Shane is definitely someone I'd love to see more of, too); the more minor characters like healer Francis and that one prison guard much further into the story. Really, an amazing cast.

All in all, this book offers a wonderful mix of horror and coziness with lots of twists, turns, and genuinely funny moments that never diminish the seriousness of the issues the main characters have to contend with. 

I'll be honest: most of the stars I've given this graphic novel are for the artwork. It's truly gorgeous: somewhat dreamlike, with distinct medieval vibes, with some expressive and original use of color. The story itself is so-so; it's not that I find it bad in any way, it's just... pretty predictable for me? This first volume, at least, makes it seem pretty straightforward: a kind princess is about to inherit the kingdom and genuinely wants to care for her subjects; a coup by evil nobles with her younger brother as a figurehead sends her into an exile; rescued by a handful of allies, she sets out to travel the troubled lands and learn much about herself and her Kingdom in the process. The structure so far seems to adhere closely to the classic Hero's Journey. 

Still, the story isn't without its appeal. I like how the medieval society is painted from all angles, showing its specifics through the eyes of nobles and peasants alike. There are hints at bigger mysteries and powers at play: I'm intrigued by the secluded female community with their Golden Age book. The fantasy elements so far are pretty subtle and I'm interested in seeing how that storyline unfolds. And the volume ends on a weird twist that sure makes me want to get my hands on future installments. 

Overall, a good story with interesting worldbuilding, and the art alone makes it really worth it.

I'm pretty sure The Sandman was the first comic book I've ever read, and I can't count the number of times I've re-read it since. Especially the first volume. I think I know most of it by heart at this point, but sometimes I still want to experience it all over again and I never find myself disappointed.

It's a dark, hopeful, trippy story, and reading it is at times like being stuck in a really weird dream—a really fitting effect for this type of narrative. It's my favorite inspiration for running World of Darkness tabletop games. It's beautifully written, richly illustrated, and full of compelling characters who truly come alive on the page. 10/10, would re-read again. 

About 10 chapters in, and the pacing manages to be both incredibly slow and choppy, making it hard for me to maintain focus. Also, I just can't connect with the main character.