Steph

I have to confess straight away that I am far from a comic book aficionado. I've only gotten into comics in the last couple of years; traditional comic books are usually too intimidating for me (so. much. material.), and often focus on stories that don't interest me or include me (so. many. superhero. dudes). I am also definitely not an art critic. The closest I get to artistic critique is I like the drawings. But stories — good, striking, irreverent, stories? Those I know.

And that's what this comic offers: a damn good, irreverent story, told through solid characters and striking illustrations.

Noelle Stevenson presents a world that is basically a cross between a renaissance faire with magic and, like, the MythBusters (if half of the MythBusters were evil monsters and the other half morally ambiguous types just trying to do their best, and you don't know who's who until it's time to save the faire from fiery destruction).

Nimona, the title character, shows up at villain Ballister Blackheart's lair unexpectedly and declares herself his sidekick in his campaign to fight the power (or more accurately, the Institution of Law Enforcement and Heroics, led by the mysterious Director). Hilarious hijinks ensue, and thus begins a surprisingly sweet and moving commentary on found families, power, who gets labeled a monster and who doesn't, and—to a lesser extent than I'd like—forgiveness. (More on that later.)

Aside from a somewhat abrupt-feeling beginning, the story is well-paced and the balance between action and character development is nearly perfect. We get steady (and enticingly unreliable) peeks into Nimona's origin story, and although Ballister's backstory is more straightforward, it's no less heart-wrenching. 

All the characters (save perhaps the Director) are fully-fleshed out, written with nuance and obvious care for their strengths and their weaknesses. Ballister's a bad guy, but he's not particularly good at being a bad guy. His devotion to science and rules and a sincere (if selective) moral code keeps him from committing the truly evil deeds required to overthrow a corrupt king and the shady Institution, even when violently overthrowing them might be better for everyone in the long-term.

Ambrosius Goldenloin (which, hats off to Stevenson for that inspired name) is a good guy, but he's pretty bad at being a good guy. For one, it's established early on that he has a deep capacity for self-deception, which is worrying in someone who's supposedly a hero. He's also too quick to trust orders when they come from people in positions of power, and much too slow to question even when those orders challenge his limited, privileged morality. 

But I was especially drawn (heh) to Nimona, to whom I could devote pages and pages of analysis but will limit myself to a few paragraphs out of respect for all of you. 

The beauty of Nimona's story is that it's very onion-like. You can peel away layers of meaning and still find more waiting for you. For me, there were obvious allusions to the experience of queerness, of not knowing what you are; of knowing exactly what you are and not being able to share it with anyone; of being more than can be fit into the tiny steel trap of other people's understanding; and of just wanting the acceptance and love of a family but having to make a mother and father out of rejection.

But Nimona also called to mind the consequences of abuse and trauma, of what can happen when the people who should be helpers commit harm instead, and that surviving horror sometimes means embracing the monstrous parts of ourselves.

There's so much substance packed into Stevenson's depiction of Nimona and her relationship with Blackheart. Both narratively and visually, Stevenson conveys complex emotions, from the hilarious to the heartfelt to the heartbreaking. 

There's a lovely, familial affection between Blackheart and Nimona as they become a team: Nimona draping herself casually over Blackheart's shoulder as they plot against the Institution, Blackheart literally cradling and carrying Nimona during her moment of greatest vulnerability. The depth of concern they have for each other is clear, allowed to build naturally, and illustrated beautifully.

Stevenson's gift for balance becomes especially apparent during the book's climax and resolution, during which she does a brilliant job of intertwining dialogue and art to incredibly poignant effect. Blackheart and Nimona's story left me feeling many, many things, all of which felt earned, and that's exactly what I want out of storytelling.

...but.

I'm guessing you saw the rating above, and were waiting for that but. I can practically hear you asking: if I loved the book so much, why am I giving it 3.5 stars? Reader, I am very conflicted about this, I'm not afraid to admit.

Here's the thing: the relationship between Blackheart and Goldenloin is a prominent part of the book, and it's heavily implied to be romantic. There are aspects of this relationship that I find...difficult.

I'm putting this part of the review behind a cut, because it requires a pretty heavy discussion of spoilers to explain fully.

When Blackheart was still a member of the Institution, he won a joust against Goldenloin (the first time they'd ever competed against each other), and Goldenloin was apparently so upset by this that he fired his lance at Blackheart as Blackheart was riding away. Blackheart lost his arm and was kicked out of the Institution because of the injury.I'm given the impression that Goldenloin's denial of this event as it happened is long-standing, but that's not the only problem; it's also that his denial verges on gaslighting. Blackheart gives Goldenloin a chance (and as their conversation implies, probably multiple chances since the incident) to confess to his real intent behind what happened, but Goldenloin not only refuses to concede the truth, he claims that everyone understood the incident was an accident and Blackheart is the only one who's being unreasonable about it.And worse, Goldenloin actually complains that Ballister is still upset about, you know, this totally minor thing of having violently lost a limb to someone who supposedly loved him. It's not until Goldenloin himself loses the favor of the Institution that he's willing to admit to the truth — or a version of a truth, because even then he doesn't fully cop to it.

For those who skipped the spoiler: essentially, Goldenloin made a very bad choice with severe consequences for Blackheart when he and Blackheart were both still at the Institution, and it's something Goldenloin refuses to acknowledge for most of the book but he has to account for toward the end of the story.

Honestly, though, by the time I got to Goldenloin's revelation, it felt heavily reduced by the fact he's only able to come to it because he finds himself as powerless as he once made Blackheart. It's hard to root for that in a love story.

But on the other hand, I like Goldenloin. Yes, he's milquetoasty. Yes, he's much too willing to go along with the Director's orders even in the face of increasingly overwhelming evidence that she's not the force of good she claims to be. 

Given the Institution is all he's ever known, however, those things are understandable. In fact, he's a pretty solid example the kind of person any of us could be when forced to question and confront the people we've built our lives around (and who know just how to manipulate us into forgetting what concerns us). That he's able to eventually rally himself to rebel against the Institution, even late in the game, is something I count in his favor. 

Goldenloin has faults, sure, that's because he's a layered character. I recognize that there's quite a bit of emotional nuance here that can't be ignored.

See? Conflicted.

However. I just can't forget in all the talk of layered characters and emotional nuance that if this was a mixed-gender relationship and Blackheart was a woman who had been seriously injured by a jealous man who couldn't even admit that he'd hurt her until he'd lost his privilege and power and had nowhere else to go? I'd be wanting Blackheart to get the hell out of there. I would not be finding their relationship layered or nuanced. I'd just be rooting for it to be over.

If I get right down to it, I wouldn't find this dynamic romantic if it were between a man and a woman, and so I just can't excuse it because it's between two men instead. 

If Blackheart and Goldenloin's relationship were a smaller part of Nimona, if the nature of it were less troubling to me, if Goldenloin had worked toward making real amends for the harm he caused, if they had actually had a conversation in which Blackheart explicitly forgave Goldenloin at the end, then I think my rating would be much different. Alas, those things aren't true, and my rating has to stay at 3.5 stars.

Open Questions:

- What is the Agency? “Evil” equivalent of the Institution? Nimona pretends she was sent by the Agency when she first appears in Blackheart's lair and then it's never mentioned again. Do I smell a sequel?

- Why does Blackheart agree to take Nimona on as a sidekick so quickly? They obviously bond fast, and I can accept that he was just lonely or he's a sucker for hard cases, but there's very little to support that or any other hint at his motivations for letting a random person who shows up without warning essentially move in with him.

- How old is Nimona really? Does she age herself up, or is she the little girl we see in the flashbacks and at the end of the story?

This review was originally posted on book(ish) humans

I need to admit something that is possibly terrible: this is my first Courtney Milan book.

I have no excuse for this! I follow Milan on Twitter, and thus have a big crush on her brain. I also have The Brothers Sinister Series boxset, which I've been told by every Romance enthusiast is phenomenal, so my neglect of Milan's work feels particularly egregious.

(Side note: Amazon tells me that I purchased the boxset in February 2018 (!!!), along with Sarah Maclean's A Rogue by Any Other Name. Which I also haven't read. This is very embarrassing, and my only defense is that between my book-hoarding tendencies and my ADHD, it's a miracle that I finish anything before I'm crushed under the weight of my TBR pile. I beg your forgiveness, readers.)

At any rate, I've meant to get started on her books, and having read The Duke That Didn't, I understand now how much I've been depriving myself by not acting on that intention. At the risk of gushing: this is a wonderful book.

At the center of The Duke That Didn't are Chloe Fong and Jeremy Wentworth, childhood sweethearts who team up every year for a few days for the centuries-old Wedgeford Trials, a day-long game hosted by their village that attracts crowds from all over Britain. That is, until two years prior to the beginning of the story, when Jeremy just stops showing up.

That first year he had not come to the Trials, she had waited eagerly—anxiously, even. She'd put him on her list, and the item had remained stubbornly undone, unable to be completed in his absence. Rationality had set in after that first disappointment. Think about him only once today had been on her list for months before she accomplished it even once, and she found herself consistently, illogically, backsliding. At this point, he'd skipped two years of Trials; this would make year three. He wasn't coming back.

He'd told her how he felt, but somehow, whenever he looked at her, his thoughts never came out as something sober and intellectual like I respect the things that matter to you. No. Instead, everything he felt got tied up and turned around into I genuflect to the sovereignty of your list.

The Duke That Didn't

The Duke That Didn't

“I'm sorry,” she started to say, “I shouldn't have said—I didn't mean to ruin—”

He cut her off with a kiss. “You should have said,” he whispered into her mouth. “You must say; I can have it no other way. You see, I have been imagining this with you every day of my life, and you must give me the opportunity to make you desire me as much as I want you.”

He pulled back. She had a smile on her face, but her eyes glistened.

“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you for trusting me to be good to you.”

The Duke That Didn't

The Duke That Didn't

I received this book for free from Haver Street Press in exchange for an honest review. This does not affect my opinion of the book or the content of my review.

A while back, I was fortunate enough to guest review Susannah Nix‘s Remedial Rocket Science at Smart Bitches, Trashy Books:

Remedial Rocket Science is Susannah Nix's first full length book, following the release of a short story collection I and Love and You. I'd read the latter and kept a lookout for Remedial Rocket Science, and when the chance to get an advanced reader's copy in exchange for my honest review popped up, I took it.

And really, this book is like my own personal catnip, if I'm being honest. There's a geeky cover! The heroine's working in a STEM field! It's a romantic comedy! Did I mention the cover's pretty?

The book opens with socially-stunted Melody Gage taking a night off from her studies at MIT to make an attempt at interacting with fellow humans. Her date's a no-show, and circumstances contrive to send her (literally) into the arms of Jeremy Sauer, a hot, rich college dropout with whom she has nothing in common except lust. They have a pleasant but short-lived interlude, and part as friends, promising to get in touch if they're ever in the same place again.

Fast forward three years, and Melody finds her herself in Los Angeles, Jeremy's hometown, preparing for a major interview with an aerospace giant (which, hey, just happens to partly owned by his family). Keeping her promise, she calls on Jeremy to help her get the lay of the land and decide if LA's actually somewhere she wants to live. Of course, it's just the beginning of a longer journey together neither Melody nor Jeremy is quite prepared for.

Head over to SBTB to read the full review!