Topherlytle
OK, not trying to be argumentative, but Red Rising just wasn’t as good as people told me it would be. That’s not to say it wasn’t enjoyable. It mostly was. On its own, though, Red Rising was… fine. A good read, but not the sci-fi masterpiece I was led to expect.
I went in hoping for a complex, exciting space opera, but instead it felt like I was reading a new Hunger Games book. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. I love a hero’s journey, revenge arcs, and “from the bottom to the top” stories, but here, the beats felt really predictable from chapter to chapter.
It’s kind of like a Marvel movie: some are genuinely incredible, others are just decent, but even the weaker ones are still a fun time. Red Rising landed in that “pretty fun” category for me.
I liked a lot of the characters and I’m planning to complete the trilogy as most have told me that the second and third books are much better than the first.
All that being said, I don’t regret reading it and I can see why some people love it, but overall I was a bit let down.
3 maybe 3.5
Look, when you pick up a Douglas Preston novel, you know what you’re in for: a dose of science, a dash of mystery, brisk pacing, decent character development, and an engaging plot. Extinction delivers on all counts. It carries echoes of Jurassic Park, but is still its own thing, rooted in real, cutting-edge science that, if I’m honest, is a little unsettling.
If you’re after deep, thought-provoking prose or literary flourishes, this isn’t that book. Extinction is the reading equivalent of a summer blockbuster or an armchair adventure. Go in with your expectations set accordingly, and you’re in for a good time.
Douglas Preston, and his frequent co-writer, Lincoln Child, are among my most read authors. Their novels don’t demand a lot of mental heavy lifting, but they always deliver a great story. Whether you’re trying to climb out of a reading slump or simply want a dose of pure escapism, their books are a good option.
Small Things Like These is proof that a story doesn’t need many pages to be both thought-provoking and deeply engaging. The author writes with a deft hand, inviting the reader to dwell on the idea of kindness and the power of one person to make a difference, even when the systems in place seem designed to prevent it.
I found myself wishing the book were longer, as there’s so much more to explore in the lives of the characters we meet only briefly. Still, I understand that with a spare, quiet tale such as this, part of its strength lies in what is left unsaid. The brevity allows readers to linger, to imagine the fuller backstory for themselves, and to wrestle with how we might respond when confronted with clear injustice.
The Book of Doors was not what I expected, and that’s not a bad thing. It is more than simply an adventurous story; it’s a narrative laced with wonder, mystery, grief, fear, consequences, and even time travel. Gareth Brown blends the fantastical with the deeply human, inviting readers into a world where every turn of the page could lead to something beautiful, terrifying, or both.
There’s a darkness to this book, and at times the scenes are far more brutal than one might anticipate from such a whimsical title. Yet those moments serve their purpose, underscoring the stark contrast between good and evil in a way that feels both grounded and, at times, grotesque.
Brown should be proud. Writing a book is no small feat; getting it published and received well is an even greater challenge. He has managed all of that, delivering a debut that is unexpected, engaging, and memorable.
While there are moments I wish had been expanded upon, or that I’m still a bit confused about, I still had a great time. And, I so very wish, I could live in The Fox Library with my friends.
Please read this book. Jonathan Rosen has done something remarkable with The Best Minds. It is a grounded, well-researched, vulnerable, compassionate, and deeply uncomfortable investigation into the various threads that led his childhood best friend to a devastating tragedy.
This book is part memoir, part quest for understanding, and part compassionate indictment of good intentions gone wrong, and of the deeply broken systems surrounding mental health in America.
As heavy and complex as the subject matter is, Rosen has written something remarkably readable. Readers will find natural connecting points while also being invited to examine their own assumptions about mental health, privilege, personal freedom, academia, exploitation, grief, and a host of other complicated realities.
I believe this is the kind of book that lays bare our biases, especially in the black-and-white, win-or-lose ideological framework that seems to dominate U.S. discourse today. The Best Minds should challenge you, encourage you, and make you think more deeply. Perhaps most powerfully, Rosen gently invites readers to recognize their own complicity.
It’s easy to blame government, philosophy, religion, pop culture, opposing political party, or the media for the tragic realities surrounding mental health. But we often forget: we, as individuals, make up those institutions. The problem isn’t just “out there.” It’s also in us.
While the book specifically traces the path of one man’s descent into paranoid schizophrenia, the broader reality is one we all live with. Most of us know someone who struggles with mental illness. Many of us are navigating the tension, fear, and unknowns of it ourselves and as such know the burden that it can, at times, bring.
I’ll end with this: one of the most profound tensions Rosen explores, though never explicitly, is the razor-thin line between empowerment and enabling. The outcomes of the two are drastically different, yet they are often rooted in the same good intentions. At some point, if we care at all, we must be brave enough to examine where we’ve gone wrong and be willing to face the uncomfortable questions and realities we often try and shield ourselves from.
Home Before Dark is haunted house comfort food. If Stephen King’s The Shining is a multi-course meal paired with fine wine, Home Before Dark is a 10-piece nugget meal with an ice-cold Coke from McDonald’s. And let’s be honest, sometimes, that’s exactly what you want.
The story offers enough twists and turns to keep your attention and is always barreling forward. If you're looking for complex characters with rich inner lives, you won’t find them here but that’s not necessarily a flaw. This book knows what it is and leans into it.
Are there eye roll moments, yes. A few plot mechanics, tropes, and some unnecessary TMI from father to daughter come to mind. However, it’s a solid haunted house romp with decent creepiness, a central mystery (that you’ll probably see coming), straightforward prose, and easy-to-digest escapism.
Read this if you're in the mood for something spooky that won't demand much from you as a reader. It’s fun, engaging enough, and a perfect pick as the nights start getting longer in the fall.
Hell Bent was a slog for me. I really enjoyed the first book and typically love Dark Academia, but this one nearly became a DNF, and I don’t DNF books. I know reading is subjective, but very little worked for me here. It felt less like Dark Academia and more like an adult version of Twilight.
The story isn’t without its standout moments, but I couldn’t connect with the central motivation for the journey to hell—I simply didn’t care. If there’s a third book, I doubt I’ll pick it up. Ninth House is still a fun read, but this sequel just didn’t do it for me.
I guess if you liked Twilight, this might be your thing. The author is clearly talented, but this story just wasn’t my bag.
If I had read World War Z before 2020, I probably would’ve enjoyed it and moved on. But reading it post-2020? It feels downright prescient.
Told through a series of interviews conducted after the zombie apocalypse, the book pieces together a haunting oral history of how the world responded, and failed to respond, to the crisis. The format keeps things fresh, with each voice offering a distinct perspective, making it nearly impossible to get bored.
What surprised me most was how deeply unsettling it was, not because of the zombies, but because of how accurately it portrays global breakdown: conspiracies, misinformation, governmental posturing, denial, division… It all hits a little too close to home.
A compelling and eerily relevant read. Definitely worth your time.
Murder at Spindle Manor is, at its core, a classic murder mystery in the vein of Agatha Christie or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle—if those authors had written in a world steeped in Victorian spiritualism, steampunk fantasy, and horror.
The central mystery is well-crafted, the characters are fully realized, and the setting is dripping with eerie, atmospheric charm. The strange, supernatural elements only add to the fun, layering intrigue on top of an already engaging whodunnit.
This book is pretty unique in all the best ways. It felt like I was playing a video game in my mind, solving puzzles, exploring creepy halls, and uncovering secrets. I continue to enjoy books that are bold enough mash up genres, and this one leans all the way in. It’s a bonkers combination that somehow works for me.
Where the Deer and the Antelope Play is an interesting, albeit unbalanced, work. I'm a big fan of Nick Offerman. Generally, I appreciate his humor, observations, thoughts, and desire for nuance. This book is at its best when his passion comes through with humor and humility rather than biting cynicism. I don't disagree with much of what Offerman asserts, and I certainly found myself chortling many times throughout.
However, he often falls into the same trap he critiques, speaking unkindly about people or groups as he groups them together as a monolith. Some portions of the book, particularly the last section, already haven't aged well. That doesn't mean it isn't filled with incredible nuggets and thoughtful challenges, it absolutely is, but the imbalance is most clearly seen in those later chapters. I wouldn't call it hypocritical, but when one of the book's core themes is nuance and a desire to understand, that gets a bit lost as frustration and anger begin to take the lead.
Overall, I appreciate this book. It brings up hard realities and challenging questions with humor and aplomb, even if it's clear who Offerman believes the villains are. I disagreed with several things and would genuinely love to have a real-life conversation with him about it.
If you're politically homeless, a Christian, a keyboard warrior, someone with little work ethic, a whiner, or a conservative, you'll probably feel uncomfortable at times—and I think that's okay. If you're a Trumpian conservative, a Christian nationalist, or a far-right Republican, you're likely going to hate this book. You should read it anyway.
3.5 stars.
I Who Have Never Known Men was an interesting and thought provoking read.This single-perspective novel is well written, well paced, bleak, and yet oddly beautiful. It follows a young girl as she grows up in the aftermath of an unnamed catastrophe.
It's a fascinating character study, one that explores themes of nature and nurture, the human instinct to keep going, to learn, and to experience life, even when hope wanes. Though undeniably melancholy, it is not without some brightness, and it is a book that lingers. I suspect I'll be thinking about it for weeks to come.
The Will of the Many has everything a reader could want in an epic fantasy. James Islington has crafted a 650+ page novel that you never want to put down. The story is masterfully plotted, balancing mystery and revelation at a perfect pace while weaving in political intrigue, a fascinating magic system, and well-developed, complex characters. Yes, there are familiar tropes, but they're executed in ways that feel fresh and exciting.
What I appreciate most about this book is that while it doesn't shy away from the darkness of humanity or the many hypocrisies we carry, it still manages to give us a protagonist who strives to be his best. There is strength, honor, and courage here in ways that are often absent in modern fantasy.
The novel explores big ideas and philosophical questions about complicity, leadership, government, classism, humanity, trust, peace, loss - but it never feels heavy-handed. These themes quietly support the story rather than overshadow it.
This is a book I'll be talking about for a long time. I'm already eagerly anticipating the next installment, but for now, I can confidently say: the hype is real. If you're a fan of fantasy, you should absolutely read this...if you haven't already.
I've wanted to read The Library Book ever since I first heard about its publication several years ago. Growing up in Southern California, I have vague childhood memories of the Los Angeles Central Library fire and the massive recovery effort that followed. Pair that with a lifelong love of reading, and this book seemed like a natural fit.
Which makes my disappointment all the more palpable.
It's not a bad book by any means, it's well-researched and well-written. But the execution didn't fully resonate with me. The narrative often felt unwieldy, as if the author tried to include too much, pulling the story in several directions at once.
The book is at its best when focused on the fire itself, the history of the Los Angeles Central Library, and the ensuing trial. Where it faltered, for me, was in its constant broadening of scope, covering general information about libraries, library struggles, and librarians. While those are interesting topics in their own right, here they felt shoehorned in, more like pontification than support for any form of central narrative. As a result, some moments that deserved deeper exploration were only briefly touched upon before the story moved on while others dragged on or completely stopped any form of narrative momentum.
I don't regret reading The Library Book. It simply wasn't what I thought, or hoped, it would be. 3.5
Much like Strange Pictures, Strange Houses is, indeed, strange. These books are bizarre, unique, and oddly readable, but I continue to find that the deeper I go, the more I feel a knot forming in my stomach. There's a constant sense of unease, never knowing where things are headed or how they'll end.
The author seems to trade in ambiguity and a deeply unsettling sense of foreboding, creating a reading experience that is as compelling as it is disorienting.
A must-read for any Tolkien or Lewis fan, The Mythmakers beautifully weaves together quotes, letters, historical details, and a bit of storyteller's license to bring to life the extraordinary friendship between these two literary giants. Their friendship, their fellowship, is something I deeply admire, especially when I look at the world today and see how rare such close, encouraging, and intellectually challenging friendships have become. It makes me wistful.
At first, I worried that the graphic novel format might feel distracting or overly juvenile, but it surprised me in the best way. The format not only works, it elevates the story. By the end, I found my eyes welling.
This would make a perfect gift for the Tolkien or Lewis fan in your life, but I truly believe The Mythmakers offers something meaningful to anyone, regardless of how familiar they are with these men. It's a moving tribute to friendship, faith, creativity, and the enduring power of story.
Orbital is not a book for those seeking the usual tenants of a novel. There's no action, mystery, dragons, murder, or sex, none of the conventional hooks that tend to drive popular fiction, and honestly, I think it's better for it.
The book follows a small group of astronauts as they orbit the Earth, offering observations, lists, musings, and a few brief but meaningful interactions. It's more meditative than narrative. This is a slim book, but it's not one to rush through. The author writes poetically, inviting the reader to slow down and contemplate on the idea of perspective, on how things are, how they might have been, how they could possibly be.
Some readers will likely hate this book. For some, it may be because they expected something different, or simply don't care for the writing. Others might reject it because they've turned it into a political statement in their own minds. Still others may dislike it because it dwells in ambiguity, or because they've never experienced the quiet joy of sitting alone, wrapped in wonder, thinking deeply about what they've just read. If I'm honest, there are plenty of reasons not to like this book, but I suspect most of them have more to do with what we, as readers, bring to it than with the book itself.
To those readers, I say: reread it. Give it another chance. Read one orbit at a time and let yourself dwell in it. Maybe read it outdoors. Read it slowly, one orbit a week even, and allow yourself space to look at the world a little differently.
I truly believe that most readers, if they allow themselves to slow down with this book and engage with its themes, even in disagreement, will find much more to like than to dislike.
5 Stars
Vera Wong's Unsolicited Advice for Murderers has no business being as good as it is. This is a comical whodunnit with heart and charisma, but it also manages to thoughtfully explore deeper themes like loneliness, aging, the consequences of our mistakes, found family, and rediscovering one's passion.
Sutanto wastes no time in firmly establishing Vera's character, and every secondary character has their own meaningful arc. After the inevitable murder occurs in her tea shop, the story unfolds with near-perfect pacing, full of twists, turns, and relationship building that draw the reader in even further. I laughed way more than I expected and found myself constantly hungry thanks to the way Sutanto writes all of the mouthwatering cooking descriptions.
Is this the pinnacle of literature? No. Sure, I could nitpick on some things, but honestly, I wouldn't want to. This book knows what it is and it is a breath of fresh air. Read it if you have breath in your lungs and a beating heart. Skip it if you're lame.
Big thanks to my friend Kat, who recommended this to me in December 24.
3.5 When the Wolf Comes Home is a fast-paced, bonkers horror story that constantly defies expectations. Just when I thought I had a sense of where it was going, it would veer sharply in a new direction. At its core, the book offers a compelling allegory about fear. It also teases deeper themes, familial trauma, inherited anxiety, and the murky question of what we can and cannot control.
One of the cleverest aspects of the book is the way the author weaves principles of improv throughout the narrative. Sometimes it's overt, other times more subtle, but either way, it's effective. These elements play a key role in the story's constant forward motion and unpredictability, adding to the sense that anything can happen at any moment. I believe this improvisational framework is part of why the book kept surprising me, it mirrors the chaos and adaptability of both horror and human fear.
That said, it was more graphically violent than I was prepared for. The author clearly had a vision for what he wanted this book to be, and I think he probably achieved most of it. Where the novel falters for me is in its undercurrent of fatherhood and father issues. There's a thread of something redemptive there, an exploration of flawed fathers, the weight they carry, and the possibility of growth or change, but it never quite lands.
Ironically, the afterword articulates several of the book's themes beautifully, and reading it made me appreciate the novel more in hindsight. Still, I can't help but feel that if you need the afterword to redeem some of the themes not fully developed, then something may be missing from the narrative itself, especially when it comes to the idea that not all dads are irredeemable.
If you enjoy horror that's unpredictable, a bit unhinged, rich with subtext, and not shy about gore, you will enjoy this book. But if you're sensitive to graphic violence or have a mountain of unresolved daddy issues, this one might be a tougher read.
3.5. While the story itself didn't fully capture my attention, I have to confess, the lyrical nature of the prose and the atmosphere of modern folklore gave the book a quiet charm. This is a brief read, but the language is beautiful and evocative. It feels less like reading a novel and more like listening to someone tell a tale while sitting on a porch near a forested riverbank. There's a warmth and simplicity to it that lingers, even if I didn't fully connect with the plot and characters.
Read this book!
The Raven Scholar had everything, and then some. It's an epic fantasy that somehow feels shorter than its 600+ pages. While it's not perfect and could probably have been trimmed a bit, it has easily landed in my top five reads of the year.
This book is packed: a cast of richly drawn and complex characters, fully realized worldbuilding, palace intrigue, a slightly narcissistic raven, a murder mystery, an ongoing competition, real stakes, and best of all, humor. It's honestly so refreshing to read high fantasy that isn't afraid to weave in perfectly timed quips and ridiculous (yet entirely in-character) moments of levity.
Antonia Hodgson deftly uses each character's personality to drive the story forward, while keeping us grounded in the journey of the primary protagonist. Impressively, even the secondary characters are given meaningful arcs, making every thread feel vital to the larger narrative. It deepens your emotional investment in ways that feel organic and earned.
I hadn't even heard of this book until a visit to Blackwell's while I was in Oxford. A bookseller there told me it was his favorite recent fantasy release, describing it as something that hit all the right notes without being preachy, overly grim, or mind-numbingly slow. Now that I've read it, I couldn't agree more.
This book is a journey, one absolutely worth taking. I alternated between reading the physical book and listening to the audiobook, and I have to say: the narrator is phenomenal. She brings each character to life with distinct voices and emotional nuance.
No matter how you read it, if you're a fan of fantasy, The Raven Scholar is one to put on your shelf. 4.5 almost a 5.
4.5 - The Bewitching confirms that Silvia Moreno-Garcia is quickly becoming one of my favorite authors. Her latest novel is a wonderfully atmospheric and gothic read. Set across three distinct timelines, the story weaves an intriguing mystery grounded in both Mexican and American folklore.
The novel unfolds like a snowball rolling downhill, steadily building momentum, tension, and weight until it finally comes to a stop. While many of the reveals may be easy for readers to predict, I suspect that's intentional. The real strength of the book lies in the journey itself, the way the three storylines intertwine and evolve is what makes it so engaging.
That's not to say the mysteries are unimportant; they simply serve the story, rather than being the only thing you remember.
For those who haven't read Moreno-Garcia before, her writing is accessible, efficient, and visually compelling. Her command of gothic literature and horror feels fresh, grounded, and deeply immersive, never veering into camp or hopelessness..
If you like your stories a little gothic and a little spooky, you're going to enjoy this one.
Do I think the author is a gifted storyteller? Absolutely.
Is this sci-fi? No. This is Lit Fic that flirts with sci-fi.
Do I know how to rate this thing? Not really.
Do I recommend this book? I think so.
When I write reviews, I don't aim for objectivity, I respond subjectively. On an objective level, prose, plot, character development, Death of the Author is a solid. Okorafor's craftsmanship is clear. The structure is creative, the writing is (mostly) sharp, and the central narrative is compelling.
But subjectively? I struggled.
Okorafor has created a fully realized protagonist, but one so deeply selfish and self-serving that I found myself frequently frustrated. And yet, to her credit, I kept reading. That speaks volumes about Okorafor's talent. She pulls you in, even when you're mad at the protagonist. Honestly, the book-within-a-book (Rusted Robots) is something I'd read on its own.
Beyond the character's selfishness and the bordering-on-nihilistic tone, I also wrestled with some of the “interview” chapters. Very few added depth and complexity; most felt shoehorned in and disrupted the flow for me.
And then there's the ending. Oof. I really did not care for the ending. I respect the author's choices, but it didn't feel as satisfying or complete as the rest of the novel. It left me all kinds of meh.
So, where does that leave me?
I'd give Death of the Author a 3.5 for now. I plan to reread it next year and may adjust that rating. Regardless, Nnedi Okorafor is an immensely gifted writer, unafraid to explore the complexity of human nature, family ties, and personal ambition. The novel reflects the messiness of life. And while I personally wished for a bit more hope, humility, or gratitude in its pages, I recognize, some will simply continue to choose self over anything else.
