There are middle-grade books that I really enjoy, and then there are ones that make me feel like I'm probably too far away from the target audience and why don't I read something else instead. For the first 5 chapters or so, I thought Midsummer's Mayhem was an example of the latter. I almost DNFed it once, to be honest. To get a bit ahead of myself for a moment: I'm glad I didn't! But the beginning was sort of... chaotic. Too many things kicked off all at once. Songs from the woods! New neighbors! Tension between sisters! Baking contest! MC's Dad behaving weirdly! Stage play! My, what do I even focus on? It felt like trying to unravel a spool of thread, except there are multiple threads there, each of them bright and alluring, but they all tangle together.

However, about 1/3 into the book things started tying together more and more, and the plot became quite easy to keep track of—and pretty compelling at that. The story turned out to be whimsical and fun, with a strong focus on family, friendship, and, of course, baking. So much baking. Every cookie and cupcake description was amazing and made me crave something sweet. The entire fae plot was pretty exciting at times, and the faeries themselves were just the way I like them: beautiful and weird and toying with humans. Good thing their tricks come with clauses that make it possible to win.

Oh, and without spoiling anything: I just really, really liked the ending. 

This was a pleasant, snow-paced fantasy story focused on journeying and self-growth. I'd call it a bildungsroman, but from a mentor's perspective. The plot is pretty simple and straightforward: a retired soldier finds a boy in the snow. The boy is a sheltered prince, the son of a recently deceased king and a victim of a planned coup. The soldier takes him under his wing and helps him develop the skills and qualities the boy is lacking to reclaim his rightful place on the throne and become a good ruler.

Despite the slow pace, it was quite a quick read. The prose flowed smoothly. I haven't noticed anything particularly inventive or gripping about the worldbuilding, but it was vivid enough, with nice descriptions of nature, towns, and food in particular. I found the two main characters nicely fleshed out and compelling enough, but I can't say the same about the other people they met. The plot held no real surprises; I could envision the ending well before I reached the middle, and I wasn't wrong about it. Still, sometimes predictable books like that work really well as comfort reads. Besides, I imagine someone less genre-savvy could find the entire adventure far more exciting. I've been reading fantasy since my mid-teens, as well as playing a lot of fantasy games, writing my own stories, and otherwise partaking in the genre. It's no wonder that it's harder to surprise me!

I feel I also should explain the "It's complicated" response I chose in the "Would you say the cast of characters is diverse?" field above. On one hand, there's definitely diversity here. The main character is a dark-skinned man in a country where it isn't usual, and the way people react to his skin color is shown and discussed in detail. There are other points where the plot tackles the questions of racism in what I felt was a pretty decent way. Also, the main character is severely dyslexic and the impact that has on his life is discussed, as well. That was actually my favorite part of the book; I usually see dyslexia rep in books set in modern times, more or less. It was somehow refreshing to see this subject discussed in a medieval-ish low fantasy setting and to see how it may impact a soldier's career in the army.

On the other hand, there was a striking absence of female characters that I found quite jarring. There were very few female characters who had more than a couple of lines, and they never really impacted the plot. You can argue that's period-specific, but we're not talking about a historical novel, and even in actual history, women have often played far more prominent parts than mainstream history readily shows. LGBTQ+ rep was non-existent as well, in case you're wondering.

All in all, not a bad read, and definitely well-written, but there are many fantasy books out there that are far more inventive.

This memoir was completely engrossing and unputdownable—more than once, I felt compelled to put aside everything else in favor of reading it. It left me with a lot of emotion and a lot of puzzlement and honestly, the author's parents are just bizarre. 

This is very firmly a family story. It can even be said that it's a story of endless optimism and unconditional love and free-spirited parents teaching their kids to see every problem or trouble life throws at them as an adventure. Except it's not the abstract, esoteric life that subjects these kids to problems and troubles. Pretty much every bit of pain they face—from a beloved pet thrown out of the car window, to being stuck for 14+ hours in the darkness forbidden to talk, to sinking repeatedly during impromptu swimming lessons, to being put on the verge of getting sexually assaulted, to all the problems that come with living in extreme poverty—all of it is of their parents' making.

Reading about this dysfunctional dynamic was fascinating, the same way particularly inventive horror movies can be fascinating. I guess I... have a lot of inspiration for creating lovable villains now?

For the most part, this was a really cute book with a lot of heart. It's not the kind of read that's going to stick with me for a long time, but it's a nice gay romcom that has a lot of cute moments, a diverse cast, and a very likable and relatable main character. Some parts of the book were downright cheesy, but, you know, in a good way.

A lot of conflicts here are simplified: now and then, especially in the second half of the book, the author builds up something big and dramatic: forced outing via a school newspaper, a religious parent refusing to accept their gay child because it goes against their world view, etc. But then those conflicts quickly rushed toward happy resolution, skipping most to all of the painful in-between development. That's something that can even be expected from the lighthearted genre, I suppose, but I admit I think that perhaps, if you're writing a lighthearted romcom and don't want to truly delve into exploring the possible painful aspects of the situation... then maybe there's no point in even introducing them. I do get why the author made these decisions, though.

Overall, not anywhere near my favorite reads of the year, but a nice one, and I'm glad books like that exist.

This is one of those books that everyone had read long before I finally bought it. (Do you sometimes feel bad that you're physically unable to stay on top of all the awesome bookish releases, to always manage to read the next big hotness right as it's becoming hot? Or is it just me?). I heard it was great. I had a basic idea of the plot. I expected this to be a pretty fast and enjoyable read. I expected the time-traveling aspect to boggle my mind the way it always does.

I was right on most accounts, and wrong on some. This wasn't a fast read for me at all, even though this is quite a short book, being a novella. Oh, it did pull me in from the first few pages and kept me completely engrossed throughout. But it was the kind of story I wanted to savour rather than devour. A big part of it was the writing: incredibly lyrical and poetical, at times carefully crossing the line into purple prose for a few lines before dancing away from it. An even bigger part was the setting and the plot—I confess I still have so little idea what was going on, beyond the general "two grand mysterious powers are locked in an endless battle for control over time and space, sending agents to create butterfly effects throughout history, splitting time into strands and weaving them into braids." What are these powers? How have they come to be? What are their end goals, and how are they in conflict? For each of these questions, I have such a vague notion instead of an answer, and it's all right, because this isn't really the story of those two powers. It's the story of two rival agents, the snapshots of their various engagements, and the endless coded correspondence between them that grows into something bigger than life.

When I look back at this book, I know that most of all I'm going to recall it as a beautiful enemies-to-lovers story—perhaps one of the best renditions of the trope I've ever encountered. It has it all: the thrill of having a worthy foe of the beginning, the quiet progression into mutual understanding, the dawning realization that this is something you want to meet in every place you ever loved, the painful (really painful) separation in the face of adversary, the hope. But also, I will recall those snapshots of moments across history, lonely and filled with people—the longer, more detailed ones in the beginning, and the smaller ones later on, and the one visible only through emotional blueprints in the letters between Red and Blue. I will recall the wonderful prose—I've written down so many quotes. I will recall all the paradoxes and moebius strips this story is composed of, and they will keep boggling my mind.

I loved this. May I have some more?

This is the kind of book I qualify as a "quick read with a lasting impression." The two main strengths here are the characterization and the worldbuilding. The two main characters, both transgender in their sixties, are journeying through a desert, searching for past and future alike. The story unfolds slowly at first, then picks up the pace slightly in the latter half when more secrets are brought to light and the external stakes rise higher. Even in the external conflict, the focus remains staunchly on self-change, self-discovery, personal truth, and the courage it sometimes takes to not let go of yourself.

Both the way the story is structured and the way the setting unfolds in front of the reader's eyes, reminded me of the weaving that's so important to this tale and this world. At first, there's a collection of individual threads, each of them bright and intriguing, but you have no idea how they fit together. As the novella progresses, they do begin to fit together, forming a rich, unique tapestry that is seriously hard to talk about without giving too much away. It's a word that both a lot more inclusive than what a lot of us are used to and just as strictly gender-roled, even if the roles are different. It's a world of imaginative divine magic. It's a desert with ghost snakes and assassins. It's scary and strange and beautiful all at once.

The writing remains smooth and lyrical throughout, and the characters really, really shine on every page with all the experience they'd amassed way before this story began, the positive and the negative and the in-between. The Four Profound Weaves reminded me of some of my favorite books, taking the most interesting parts of them and mashing them together: it's not unlike The Balance Academy series by S.E. Robertson in how the characters undertake a physical journey that's really all about the inner change, and the focus on the older protagonists who are still in the thick of things, leaving through complex internal arcs and taking active part in external events, reminded me of Ravenwood by Nathan Lowell.

I think I'll end my ramblings here, because there are so many details I want to talk about, but the story is so intricate and thus so easy to spoil: some of the details may seem simple if you just know about them going in, but the way they unfold, the way you learn about them as you read, is a huge part of the magic. Very highly recommended, especially to my fellow queer/trans readers.

I absolutely loved Witchmark, the first installment in this series. I loved it so much that at one point I almost flung it across the room because it made me that emotional. So the moment I knew there was going to be a sequel, I cleared an honorary position on my TBR for it, then proceeded to delay actually reading it for months because I was scared it wouldn't live up to the sky-high expectations.

In some parts, it didn't. In some parts, it totally did. Everything the first book mostly hinted it, the second book delivered in spades. The first book ended in a pretty conventional space, by fantasy standards: "The system is rotten and awful, so we're gonna destroy it." Stormsong delves deep in the nitty-gritty of the aftermath. Okay, the old system is destroyed; what now? How exactly are we going to build something new? Which parts of the old do we preserve? Who is the one paying the price for this big noble change we've wrought? There's also a lot of political intrigue here, deliciously compiled and well-thought-out. The political aspects of this magic-driven society were really interesting for me as I read Witchmark, and I'm happy with this chance to learn so much more about how it functions.

Why wasn't this a 5-star read for me, then? Weeeeell... I really had trouble connecting with Grace, the narrator, until about mid-book. To tell the truth, she was one of my least favorite characters back in Witchmark, and getting to see the world through her eyes didn't really help me like her that much. However, gradually she became if not likeable than compelling enough to me, and by the second part of the book I got invested in following her journey. I still rejoiced every time I saw Miles, the MC of the first book, on the page. There was too little Miles for my liking! I mean, I get it, it's right there in the summary: his protagonist days are over, and he's now firmly in the secondary character part. These transitions are always hard to pull off. Maybe it wasn't pulled off just right, or maybe it's just because I didn't click with Grace. I'm actually inclined to think it was the latter.

Otherwise, the political intrigue, once again, was *chef's kiss*, the writing was beautiful and poetic, and the romance was well-done, if a little rushed at parts. A good read, and I hope I'll get more chances to visit this complex world!