Wren

Evil can only be comprehended by evil.

I have pretty much no idea what I’ve just read, but my, it’s been a wild ride.

We’ve got that classic gothic set-up here: a young governess arrives to a dark old mansion that belongs to a rather unpleasant family: a husband whose main hobby is measuring people’s skulls, a wife who has no qualms with making servants sleep in the dog’s kennel, kids who are decidedly not alright. But it’s the governess who turns out to be the real monster in this one. (Though I must say, many of the unpleasant people we meet end up making a worse impression than Miss Notty does; she at least is sincere and fun in her unhinged glory).

I weirdly found myself completely uninvested in the overall plot and very invested in the various situations it’s comprised of. Like, I didn’t particularly care what all the weird, gory shenanigans were building up to, each of the episodes in the isolation was simultaneously gross compelling in that “can’t look away from a trainwreck” way.

I feel like Anna Burnett, the audiobook narrator, added a lot to this dark charm. Her irreverent, nonchalant, slightly dreamy delivery is spot-on, and she really sells Winifred Notty as a sociopath who doesn’t even really try to blend in, just stands there observing other humans as if they were a different species and shining a light on their flaws, remaining wrapped in her inner darkness herself.

A weird experience, truly, but also a deeply interesting one.

If fear is your only weapon, it’s useless here.

The blurb, the dedication, and the first chapter all suggested the story was going to be focused on healing, but I would call it more of a “painkiller” one. The difference, for me, is that healing can get messy and hurt sometimes, while painkillers simply make everything stop hurting and can put you in a pleasant haze where you get to ignore whatever is wrong. Which is exactly how this book feels. And don’t get me wrong, I definitely feel stories like this have their place and their purpose, but apparently, I happen to prefer the ones that don’t shy away from the messier parts of healing, even if there’s lots of coziness and gentleness around the characters. Stories like The Spellshop and Violet Thistlewaite Is Not a Villain Anymore, for example.

Regardless, there were a lot of nice moments here. I liked the overall vibe of the fairy tale village, the absolutely adorable baby griffon, all the fairy-like beings in the forest and the bog. The writing itself is pretty atmospheric, with the kind of descriptions that really pull you in, and the author really, really commits to creating something unapologetically and self-indulgently cozy. So while this wasn’t a particularly memorable experience for me personally, it was undeniably a pleasant one, and I can still recommend it to those who are after this kind of vibe.

I thought the balance to being in a constant state of anxiety was peace; but what if it’s chaos?

This felt less like a sequel and more like a… remix? The external plot with all the joy stealing and having to attend another holiday kingdom’s festivities etc was incredibly similar to the first book. The LI here basically has the same arc as the first book’s MC. Kris even tells Lach as much in that “you’re just like my brother Coal” scene. And then later Hex, Coal’s LI from the first book, approaches Kris with “I’ve been exactly where you are now,” so I guess at least the narrative is self-aware when it comes to these similarities. But still, reading this story felt like going around in circles.

For the good/better stuff: I think an effort was made to un-muddy the worldbuilding a bit—it still begs to not be looked at too closely, but I think I’ve got a better grasp on the whole joy economy, at least. There were some genuinely funny moments, though on the other hand Lach and Kris also managed to out-cringe Coal sometimes, which is no mean feat. Also, much like the first book, this one takes a sharp turn from a somewhat YA-flavored PG-13 romcom to pages upon pages of smut, but this time, I liked the smut and the feels that go with it more.

I won’t say I had a bad time reading it, but I liked it far less than the first book. And that one was already far from a five-star read for me, but at least it made me care for the characters and want to know what happens next once Coal is Santa. I still would like to know what happens next, but instead, sadly, I got this remix thing. So I don’t know if I want to pick up the third book at all, for fear of it just being another ride on the same merry-go-round.

Forever sorry for what they will do to each other. Forever bound to do it again.

Well, hello, main contender for my favorite book of 2026! Maybe it’s just all the fresh feels from finishing it, but right now I can’t see how anything can top it. I just want to get my hands on the second book ASAP. What do you mean I have to wait until freaking late April 2027?! Rude.

The characters and their relationships are definitely the main draw here. I initially got hooked by the promise of my favorite somewhat niche trope: friends to enemies to lovers. I love that shift in dynamics it provide, the history, the what-if’s, the might-have-been’s, the second chance vibes during the reconnection except the break-up never happened. Red City definitely delivers on that front, but there’s also an extra web of characters sand connections around Sam and Ari that are all extremely compelling in their own right.

My first introduction to Marie Lu as an author was her Young Elites YA series 10 years ago or so, and even then I greatly admired how she handled morally grey characters. Red City takes that to a whole new level. I love how she made me literally cry for utterly reprehensible fictional people, never absolving them from their guilt and responsibility, but showing me a glimpse of humanity hidden in the dark. That “what-if” and “might-have-been” vibe definitely spreads far beyond the limits of the central relationship.

I also love the POV work here, although technically, I don’t know if the POV switches can be called such, given that there’s definitely an omniscient narrator standing between the characters and the reader at all times. It’s just that they reveal their omniscience one character at a time. But anyway, I loved the chapters that focused on the secondary and tertiary characters, inserting tidbits of information that aren’t known to either Ari or Sam. That helps inject so much dramatic irony into the plot and often actually ramps up the tension. You know the protagonist would have made a different choice if they had all the information you had, but they don’t have it, and you can’t slip it to them from beyond the page.

My one semi-complaint is tangentially related to the POV switches, though. Sam and Ari get a roughly similar amount of “screentime” and are equally important to the plot, just as the plot is equally important to their development. However, most of the time this felt to me like Sam’s story, even when I was reading some of Ari’s chapters. Even though the book often tells us Ari is incredibly charismatic and has a strong soul, this doesn’t always come across on the page. I feel like the problem here is that outside of a few specific moments that are all connected to Sam, he doesn’t have much of an agenda. The story happens *to* him. Sam, on the other hand, retains an agenda even when her agency is taken away from her. She has a purpose, she makes decision, she’s always moving forward. Where Ari was plucked out of obscurity by another character, Sam seeks out the world of alchemy on her own.

I wouldn’t call it a flaw as such; it seems more like a deliberate contrast (it’s also interesting how Ari, with his tendency to go where the currents push him, is the shy but charismatic people magnet, and the special thing about Sam, the driven decision-maker, is how forgettable and easily overlooked she is). But it definitely made me sliiiiiiightly less invested in Ari’s chapters. I can’t help it, I like the characters with a purpose more.

I’d be, of course, remiss not to mention the awesomely dark setting. The whole thing with magic mafia syndicates and the underground wars they wage against each other for the sake of power? The noir vibes? The drug that makes everyone better and worse at the same time? How alchemy is depicted with an almost sci-fi vibe? The price people pay for wielding it? The way every fight between alchemists was so unbelievably badass and inventive? I loved it all.

Oh, and a random thing that absolutely broke me: the relationship between Sam and her mother. Just that entire arc. I didn’t give the book a permission to hurt me like that, damn it.

“Interesting choice of garden decor. I would’ve gone with a gnome or a flamingo maybe, but a corpse definitely has a vibe.”

A reasonably fun, feel-good cozy mystery that probably isn’t going to stick with me all that long, but I’ve sure enjoyed the process of reading it. Something about it reminded me subtly of The House in the Cerulean Sea. Probably the mix of irreverent humor and the supernatural beings used as a metaphor for queerness and general otherness.

It took me a hot second to connect with the characters (except for Lore who’s been my favorite throughout). Sal in particular was kind of a tough sell because of how completely over the top he is. But first I found myself strongly agreeing with his some of his opinions, and then I started laughing at some of his shenanigans, and eventually, I was hooked. With Arthur, there was less friction at the start, but a bit of a roller coaster in the middle. Overall, I had fun with both leads and ended up enjoying the more serious aspects of their relationship hidden behind the veneer of comedy.

My favorite parts were all the ones involving dangerous nocturnal animals (aka raccoons), the mix of investigation and matchmaking, and that one twist near the end. Maybe those will stick with me for a bit, after all!

My least favorite part: the one where they give milk to a cat. Please don’t. Most adult cats are lactose intolerant with all that entails. (Yes, I sometimes get worried even for fictional cats, lol)

A partnership shouldn't fill missing pieces, but instead enhance what was already present.

Here comes another attempt to fill the Big Bad Wolf-shaped hole! This one’s more successful than some previous ones, for sure. Especially when it comes to the “solving a mystery together” part. I genuinely adored how the mystery itself was constructed and how Larkin and Doyle played off each other during the investigation. The deeper they got into the mystery, the more engrossed I was, and I’ve gotta say my investment hinged in equal part on wanting to do who did it and to see how they solve it.

As for the romance part, I found it to be a curious mix of fast and slow burn. On one hand, the whole book happens over the course of a few days, and that’s somehow enough for Larkin to have a misunderstanding with Doyle, overcome it along with the initial wariness, feel very seen by Doyle, catch feelings, have an epiphany about his failing marriage, etc, etc. On one hand, I get it; when you haven’t felt seen and accepted in a very long time, entrenched in that “People don’t want to know feeling,” and then someone offers validation, acceptance, warmth, and everything you’ve been lacking, it’s hard not to latch onto that full-force. But still, things felt a little too rushed. On the plus side, between the specific way it was executed, with Larkin reflecting on every step, and the fact that by the end of the book the relationship itself has progressed very little, there are some good slow burn vibes.

I also have to say I absolutely adore Larkin as a protagonist. His memory condition and the way it affects his life and his personality is so interestingly portrayed, and there are a lot of aspects of his inner life I greatly relate to. His head is a fascinating place to spend time in.

I—the Dark Lord who had toppled three kingdoms by the time I was twenty-five—now had a new, far more daunting challenge than war. I had to woo my own wife.

This book helped me realize that even when it comes to lighthearted, humorous takes on the villain protagonist trope, I really need said villain to have reasons for doing villainous things with villainous magic from their villainous castle full of villainous underlings. Like, I had my issues with Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer, but I got the titular Villain’s motivations. Or in How I Stole the Princess’s White Knight... by A.J. Sherwood, Tan was mostly like, “well, the world’s going to designate me as a dark evil sorcerer anyway, so might as well own up to it,” and it worked well enough for the story. Here though, it’s like Kazimir is a villain because he wants to be a villain, and it’s all really circular, and I couldn’t help but get stuck on this every time I picked up the book, even though I realized the book was doing the opposite of asking me to take it seriously. Oops.

Another thing I’m now… not so much realizing as articulating: for me to agree to stop overthinking and just roll with the punches and not take anything too seriously in a humorous book, I need the humor to be on the same wavelength as my own. In other words, I need it to be kindly provided by India Holton 😂 Here, alas, there’s no such perfect match, and besides, while the beginning is quirky and humorous, the further you go, the more the book turns into just a regular romantasy with slightly snarkier characters than usual. (With the exception of chapter titles; those never stopped being quirky and funny.)

Also, I’m sorry to say it, but it also just plain drags. This book genuinely didn’t need to be over 500 pages. There was just too much fluff, too many repetitive scenes, and the external plot felt like an afterthought. Which is actually a pity, because whenever it peeked shyly out of all that fluff, I found myself quite hooked.

Despite all these complaints, the story’s definitely had its moments. I liked the scenes where Arabella asserted her desire to be her own person, and the ones where Kaz showed some vulnerability. Vex was a highlight among the secondary characters. The dragon was cute. The banter was occasionally snort-inducing. But overall, alas, not even that cliffhanger is going to lure me into book 2.

“Are you happy, Sophia?”

I went into this little book knowing almost nothing about it, except that I’ve seen a couple of my favorite authors praise it and that I tend to like Valente’s brand of surreal weirdness. The blurb made me think that this was essentially a mix of Bluebeard’s Bride and The Stepford Wives, and that’s quite true indeed, except there’s a third, even more important source/influence I’ve only guessed an embarrassingly small number of pages before the explicit reveal. There were so many clues, I should have known sooner! 😅 Though in my defense, the story does a really good job toying with the reader and hiding clues in plain sight. You kind of recognize what a detail’s alluding to, but you think it’s just an extra layer, not the whole point of the allegory, and then oops, you’re fooled.

In all honesty, I’m not sure I would have picked this book up if I knew where it led, so it’s a good thing I didn’t. I can’t say I 100% enjoyed the way the core themes are handled here, but it was interesting to study the way the story’s constructed, and the ending absolutely has a fantastic wham factor.

No matter what happens, I’m a stronger man now because of you.

A bit of a mixed bag for me, emotions/vibes-wise, but ultimately, such a good book. I really appreciated the portrayal of being hard of hearing. It was so immersive, really showcasing the day-to-day challenges and frustrations, but also the joys found in moments when accessibility needs are met. I also generally loved the approach to writing someone who’s disabled and has a history of depression. It’s just extremely believable, and I empathized with Ethan so hard. At times, I did feel he came too close to throwing a self-pity party (not an undeserved one, let’s be honest), but he remained so open to letting something good into his life, it really made me root for him. I was happy to see him get out of the dark place he started in.

Clay’s part of the story was perhaps even more compelling to me. He’s such a kind and brave person, and did I mention kind? We all need more Clays around. I’m not often a fan of late bloomer identity discovery narratives, but this one was so thoughtfully and tenderly done. It was great to see this character take a step into the unknown and be so willing to learn about himself and others. I really enjoyed his relationship with his daughter and, almost even more so, the bond he retained with his ex-wife. Also, he seems like a great dog dad (and what an adorable dog he has), that earns him extra points in my book!

Despite the fact that the two POVs switch up fairly consistently every 1-2 chapters throughout the story, I was left with the distinct feeling that roughly the first half of the book, the one where they were on their trip/tour around Australia, was Ethan’s part, and then after that, it was Clay’s part. Interestingly enough, the first half also felt practically like a slow burn, even though not much time has passed at all, and the second was where everything picked up the pace. Which again contributed to that “Ethan’s part, Clay part” feeling, because I think for Ethan, despite the tight timeframe, the whole thing was a gradual climb out of the pit the double betrayal in the beginning left him in. While for Clay, things were somewhat more whirlwind.

I did have some uncertainty around the fact that for Ethan, this romance was basically a rebound. But I feel like the author did a good job acknowledging the potential pitfalls and working with them instead of glossing them over. I also liked how the situation with his ex cheating was handled within the narrative: Michael and Todd weren’t portrayed as wrong for *what* they wanted, but they were held fully responsible for *how* they handled it.

All in all, this is a sensitively handled, well-researched story with lots of much needed kindness in it.

Monsters are more often than not one-hundred percent humans, and they don’t even have the excuse of following their nature.

Yay, it’s back to Widdershins! I was worried that this spin-off series won’t live up to its amazing predecessor for me, but fortunately, those fears didn’t come true. I absolutely adored this first installment. I love how it’s both clearly a sequel to the first series and its own thing. The connections between the OG books and this one are clear, but tentative. There are several characters we’re familiar with from the first series, but they never took center stage there. There’s a nicely done small nod at the core group from the first series that explains their absence in the plot and pushes the reader to focus on the new characters. The plot of the series is shaping up to be explicitly overarching, whereas the first one started off as a bunch of loosely connected individual adventures that only gradually began to form a big whole.

My absolute favorite part here is getting to properly hang out in the Ladysmith Museum’s library. The museum has always been something of a home base to the OG characters, with the library and its mysterious workers serving as an increasingly important resource, but all of it remained woefully underexplored. The spin-off fixes that with gusto, not only showing us the library’s inner workings, but also providing some nice forays into the history of the whole establishment. It’s honestly amazing. I can’t wait for more.

The new characters are really fun and promising, and I like all the new sets of dynamics and the big emphasis on kindness. Sebastian and Vesper are both adorable; Vesper’s definitely my favorite because of his backstory and arc; that whole “raised to be a weapon, chooses to be a human, still thinks of himself as a monster” thing he’s got going on is my catnip. Sebastian is the perfect self harbor for him, and the way Sebastian’s family embraces him as well made me tear up in the best way. I particularly adore Bonnie and hope to see lots of her in the following books. She’s the sweetest.

Back to the worldbuilding for a bit—I love all the small changes in how Widdershins functions now, with the increasing awareness of the occult (not that it was ever that well-hidden, but, you know) and how these open secrets are treated. It all makes so much sense after what transpired in the finale of the OG series. I also greatly enjoyed how the author included various real world conspiracy theories, superstitions, myths, etc into the narrative, from the Halley’s Comet as a potential harbinger of doom to things like the Beast of Gevaudan.

Really, genuinely, so glad to be back in this amazing setting and to have a new set of fictional besties to follow on their adventures. Can’t wait for more tentacles and murder books!

No matter how far you travel, you can always find a little piece of home inside a bookstore.

Such a sweet and comforting story, exactly what a cozy fantasy should be. It did take me a moment to warm up to Tandy, the MC, because at the very beginning she came across as a bit of a “woe is me” poor rich girl. But once I’ve got a clearer impression of what her royal lifestyle looked like, it became very easy to empathize. That amount of moving around, participating in ceremonies, and smiling at random strangers is truly no way to live for a bookish introvert. No wonder she was so happy to catch a break!

I loved Tandy’s stay in the bookshop and how it helped her progress, in small believable steps, from a people pleaser to someone willing to stand up for her boundaries. The sisterly bond she developed with Sasha was so sweet, easily my favorite part of the book. And then of course there was Bash the cleptomaniac cursed pirate. That romance was so cute. I kind of like how it started in this very on the nose, kinda stereotypical fashion, with Bash sauntering in like your bog-standard sexy, snarky bad boy, and Tandy being all appalled and attracted. But then they progressed from there into something much deeper and gentler, and the confession scene late in the book was made of feels. SO MANY FEELS. It’s my favorite. 🥰

The one thing I disliked about the book was how repetitive the storyline with the princes showing up to try and break Tandy’s curse got. There were seven of them, and they were certainly all unique characters. I actually liked a couple of the ones who showed up way later in the book the most. But because Tandy was confined to a single small bookstore, consistently interacted with a fairly small cast of characters, and her main storyline was rather introspective in nature, the further I got into the story the harder it was not to react to each prince appearing with an, “Oh great, another predictable disruption.” Especially given that it was pretty clear that none of their kisses would work to break the curse.

Oh, and one more gripe: the illusive cat! There wasn’t enough of the lovely illusive cat. You give me a magical cat with tentacles and you don’t have it actively present on at least every other page? SHAME. /hj

How could doing the right thing turn out so goddamn bad?

Another attempt to scratch the itch left by the Big Bad Wolf series by Charlie Adhara, and sadly a failed one despite some surface-level similarities. There’s far more action here than mystery, and the relationship progression between the MCs felt so rushed, except for those couple of moments where it randomly came to a halt. I did like the initial testosterone-fueled meet-not-quite-cute, and the initial animosity was interesting. But then I felt like Sloane began warming up to Dex too fast given his backstory. On one hand, it made for some fun moments because while he was warming up, he also so clearly didn’t want to, and I liked what it added to the dynamic. On the other hand, there was still that factor of things moving too fast for my tastes.

That factor affected other aspects of the book, too, not just the central relationship. Like the way Dex immediately psychoanalyzed everyone on the team after meeting them for the first time, or certain aspects of the external plot. At the same time, now and then the fast pacing got bogged down a bit by infodumps, especially in the first half of the story. The second half was a lot smoother, and I liked how the twists and reveals in it were set up. I also liked the villain, in the sense that their methods and goals were appropriately villainous, but at the same time I could empathize with their motivation.

Overall, this was a fun enough action flick with a cool cast of side characters, but I don’t know if I’ve been pulled in enough to want to continue the series.

She hadn’t realized how deep that shadowy place had been until she found herself slowly emerging from it.

This book, in many ways, is such a comfort read. I ended up liking both romantic leads, but Sophie is the one who captured my heart the fastest, and I rooted for her every step of the way. Her entire arc of climbing out of her sadness and giving herself and others a chance made me empathize with her so much, and I absolutely loved her connection to music and everything it meant to her. She’s such a strong and relatable character.

The setting here is one of those cozy towns where everyone knows each other, and most people are kind, decent, and content to let each other be themselves even where it goes against societal norms. Almost too idyllic at times, but hey, it’s a healing place for a story about healing, being lovely and idyllic is kind of its job. I loved the place and a lot of the characters who populate it, especially Mr. Frampton, his own relationship with music, and the way he helped Sophie rediscover her love for the art and her confidence in it.

And then of course there was the heist part of the plot!. I enjoyed the “eat the rich” vibe and the whole thing with protecting the weavers community. The execution of the big plan was appropriately exciting, but weirdly enough, I liked the scenes focused on coming up with it even more, like Maddie’s conversation with Mrs. Money—there were some really cool moments of subtle character growth there.

The weakest thing about the whole book for me sadly was the romance. The whole “one character has just had her entire life ruined by a swindler; the other character *is* a swindler, but for a good cause” premise made me expect a slow burn story with perhaps some cat-and-mouse elements, with Sophie being determined to get proof of Maddie’s plans and stop her before learning more about both Maddie and the circumstances around the heist and changing her mind. And the bones of it are there, but everything’s super rushed. There’s no slow earning of trust, not much real clashing; it feels like they barely started getting to know each other, and Sophie’s magically on board with all Maddie’s plans and they’re in love. It didn’t really ring true to me. I get it that the author wants to make Maddie part of Sophie’s healing, but I think that what with the whole swindling thing, Sophie actually needed to do some healing on her own in order to start letting Maddie in.

Still, for the most part this was really a lovely, heartwarming read. I should really check out Olivia Waite’s other works now that I’m done with this trilogy!

Because, my pretty, life is very long when you have so much sadness to slow it down.

First off, I want to give this book all possible kudos for how atmospheric it is. The atmosphere in question is not particularly pleasant to experience, being grey, oppressive, and perpetually laced with despair. But it’s so consistent throughout, and this misery is so well-conveyed. I felt like I was myself stuck in that little town with its secrets and lies, forever caught in a strange toxic fog.

The characters matched the overall vibe of the story: few were likable, but a lot were relatable in many ways, big and small. The protagonist, Frank, really made me feel for her. I didn’t always agree with her decisions, but I could always see where she was coming from. She’s exactly what I would expect a heavily parentified elder daughter to be under the circumstances.

Speaking of those circumstances: the thriller/mystery part of the book develops slowly and often plays second fiddle to the coming of age narratives. But when the twists and the reveal do come, they hit hard. Save for a couple of moments, I found the whole development fairly difficult to predict, and the resolution had me on the edge of my sit for sure.

Would recommend this to those in the mood for a dysfunctional family-focused angst fest with actual twisty plot.

“I’m not asking it to be easy. I’m asking it to be possible!”

I was warned by two different people the ending was going to upset me, so really, I only have myself to blame. It’s just, the cover is so precious. And I remember loving Sangu Mandanna’s other cozy fantasy, The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, so much. And her brand of humor always makes me smile, and I’m in a place where I could use some extra smiles, you know? So I let myself be lured in by all the shiny things about the book, telling myself whatever potential disappointment awaited ahead couldn’t be that bad, and now here I am, upset and angry and rolling my eyes. Go figure.

Really though, the ending isn’t even the only problem of this book, even though it felt kind of, dare I say, cruel to give the character a main goal, have her go through all the steps to successfully achieving it, and then snatching it away from her forever pages later—and all that in a feel-good genre. But there’s also the fact that the book kind of… didn’t know what it even wanted to be, for most of the way? Some parts read like a regular feel-good cozy fantasy. Others came across as almost a deconstruction of the common cozy fantasy tropes, because there Sera was, living in a magical inn surrounded by quirky lovable weirdos, and so often she was quite simply miserable. At times, the narrative tried to get all serious and reminisce about the mistakes our elders have made, and how maybe we can’t fix them all, but we can learn from them and make the world a better place for the next generation. Just a big overall lack of consistency.

I did like the actual cozy fantasy parts of it a lot. There were many sweet moments and turns of phrase that made me smile or laugh. I really enjoyed Matilda and Jasmine’s storyline. And the zombie chicken. And Clemmie’s shenanigans, too, for the most part. I also liked how kind and loyal Sera remained even through her most fed-up moments. I adored the way the overall feel of doing magic was described—it was really enchanting and wondrous. And I found the autism representation very thoughtful.

Sadly though, all these details that I enjoyed have only made the overall “not coming together” feel and the bad vibes from the ending more poignant. This could have been such an overall uplifting read for me, but alas.

There’s a choice, when you know your fate’s to be hunted and gobbled up and used. You can give in like it’s inevitable or you can turn the tables.

The thing that I found the most interesting about the book is definitely its structure. It starts off the way the summary promises: there are three teens caught up in both an awkward not-quite-love-triangle and in a bank robbery. But this situation, while high-stakes and exciting in its own right, acts mostly as a framing device for revealing the MC’s backstory in a very twisty, non-linear way. Weaving all the threads together felt like solving a puzzle, and I’m very here for it.

While the backstory parts fascinated me, though, both in how they were constructed and what they revealed, I feel like the present-day part of the story suffered a little. All the action and tension in those bank robbery parts would have probably sustained my attention better if I wasn’t so eager to get to the next reveal about Nora’s past. I almost feel like picking a less action-y framing device storyline with lower, more personal stakes would have helped the story, because then those present-day chapters would have served as breathers.

Also, I definitely expected more teenage messiness with complex feelings and all. But while Iris and Wes both had their moments, I never felt like I got to know them as their own people and not just parts of Nora’s life. Frankly, I feel like Nora’s the only character in the story who genuinely had a fully realized personality. Everyone else is fairly one-note. Okay, maybe two-note at times. I guess that is what I get for picking up a novel that’s far more plot-oriented than character-oriented, lol. I did overall enjoy the experience regardless!

“This is the most Skylar thing Skylar has ever done. She’s actually out Skylar-ed herself.”

I have really nothing bad to say about this book, but I also don’t expect to remember much about it a month from now. It’s a cute, mildly entertaining read with some nice characters. There are some nice romance moments. There are some even nicer moments focused around a fun, nerdy, queer group of friends. The writing flows smoothly, the romantic leads help each other grow, and there’s lots to smile about.

But I guess maybe I wasn’t in the 100% right headspace for this book, or maybe the whole thing is just a tad too… generic? I mean, I read romance for the vibes and the happy ending, and I don’t expect my feel-good books to wow me every time. But something about this just felt very paint-by-the-numbers. Though again, maybe it’s just my brain being weird these days.

Still would rec it to anyone who’s just looking to relax with a nice sapphic read and doesn’t mind plots that wouldn’t happen if a whole bunch of people just talked to each other like adults from the get-go.

Whenever she got particularly depressed Greta would remind herself how lucky she was to be able to do things like drastically improving a patient’s quality of life with a few hours of work and some extremely basic supplies, and the clouds would lift a bit.

Another mixed bag. I seem to be landing on quite a few of those lately. The cover style and some quotes I’ve seen from the book originally led me to believe this was a historical urban fantasy, something set in Victorian times, or possibly 1920s at the latest. But no, it’s your regular contemporary UF, just written in a more formal, almost old-timey language than is commonly associated with the subgenre. It actually suited the vibe of the story and the side characters around Greta, who are nearly all quite old-timey themselves. (And all male. Why couldn’t she have a single female friend for more varied dynamics / cast? Missed opportunity, sigh).

The story starts fairly low-key, with the protagonist paying a doctor’s visit to a long-time patient/friend’s place, and then progresses into an increasingly higher stakes mystery that gets infernal and celestial powers involved. I admit it lost me at some point of that progression. There was just less and less emphasis on the things that drew me in, and also the way the story was structured stood in the way of immersion for me personally. It was kind of TV/movie-like, with the metaphorical camera zooming out sometimes to show a detail the POV character was missing, or a scene getting injected into the narrative that showed something the bad guys were up to without giving away too much. There’s nothing objectively wrong with this approach to structuring a book, and it was actually executed technically really well here! I simply don’t prefer it.

I did very much enjoy the concept of a doctor for the supernaturals, a lot of the worldbuilding (especially the distinction between the vampires and the vampyres), and the found family vibes. The book got me thinking that in a lot of found families in fiction, the protagonist ends up forging a lot of sibling-type bonds and/or becoming a surrogate parent figure to someone younger, and sometimes they also get a single mentor figure who’s kind of way on the fringes. Here, the MC is very much the baby of the found family, and it’s a fine change in dynamic. Also, I really liked the kindness and compassion Greta was able to show others.

I don’t think I’ll be continuing with this series, given the amount of series in progress and other TBR books that already threaten to bury me. But this first novel surely had its moments and I don’t regret trying it out.

We can’t predict what’ll happen, or whether we’ll be alive tomorrow. We can’t even be sure what already happened. But we can hold onto a feeling, we can all share a feeling together, and that makes us stronger.

This was such a mixed bag for me! On one hand, this is exactly what the blurb promised; on the other hand, it’s an entirely different story than I expected. That’s definitely on me. When I hear “New England academia + witchcraft,” I just automatically assume Lovecraftian flavor. Sorcerers pouring over ancient library tomes, arcane and eldritch rules that lie just beyond the edge of human comprehension but one must aspire to learn them all the same, that kind of thing. Instead, the magic system is all vibes and feels, and generally sways toward a magical realism type of deal, with a rather beautiful emphasis on liminal places in every sense. And while there’s indeed a magical book at the heart of the story, just as advertised, it’s the farthest thing from Necronomicon.

Once I got over my expectations, I can say I greatly enjoyed the magic system for what it is. I also loved all the nerdiness and bookishness ingrained in the narrative, the way Jamie sometimes paused to think about the language we use for things or literary tropes. It felt a bit like Among Others by Jo Walton, but queerer—and I absolutely loved the queerness and the overall inclusiveness as well. I also appreciated the structure and the complexity of it, though I sometimes felt like the structural complexity was given aaaaaalmost more weight than the actual story beneath it, like the author was showing off a little. On the other hand, successfully braiding together two timelines (each with its own share of flashbacks and asides), a made-up book, and an extra story existing within the made-up book is a skill that’s worth showing off, if you ask me!

The thing that made it kind of hard for me to get through the story was the Jamie/Ro storyline and the way the narrative was strongly urging me to side with Ro and accept that Jamie fucked up. Because I guess to me, they both fucked up? And also, I’ve never felt like a partner (or literally anyone) is entitled to the 100% of another human being’s humans experience. Like, yeah, I do want to know my partner’s goals and values, to see if we can be aligned permanently in the important things, and I’d like to know if they’re maybe on some kind of international criminal list, or if their salary was just cut in two, etc, etc. But their inner life, the spiritual things, the stuff they can’t even fully articulate? I’d feel privileged to learn any of it, but it would never be an expectation for them to tell me—and by the same token, I’d be genuinely surprised to learn I’m supposed to share all the equivalent stuff with anyone. So every time the subject of Jamie not telling Ro about magic soon enough came up, I had to ask the book, “But is this really supposed to be THAT big of a deal?”

That discrepancy between my personal convictions and the narrative angle aside, I found this to be a beautiful, thoughtful exploration of grief, trauma, identity, connection, healing, and the messiness inherent to even the most loving relationships. At times, there was just a little too much therapy speak and handholding, but overall, it’s a beautiful and very humane story.

No crown sits so sure that a knife in the dark may not topple it.

This is a difficult novel for me to rate, tbh. I can say I've been entertained consistently throughout the fairly lengthy audiobook. But I don't know if I can say I've enjoyed it.

There are, as a lot of us nerds know, books that do a good job at capturing the unhinged vibes of a typical D&D/other such TTRPG campaign. I've always felt that a good job here should mean "captures the vibes, but also puts them into something that's actually book-shaped." As a weightier example of that job getting done successfully, I could name Kings of the Wyld by Nicholas Eames (third book when? 🥺); for a far sillier one, there's Red King by Lisa Henry and Sarah Honey. Those books are full of moments that send your mind right back to your favorite gaming table, but they're also stories that fit their medium. The plot and character arc beats happen roughly when you expect them to hit. There's structure and purpose to everything that's happening.

The Blacktongue Thief, by contrast, is much closer in structure to a TTRPG campaign, and not even a particularly story-heavy one. It's a journey narrative, not a destination narrative. The main character, for a huge part of the story, barely knows anything about the destination or purpose of the long, dangerous journey he's on. Sure, there's the general vibe of a grand quest, but we take it one session at the time, you know? Today, we're sailing on a ship and fighting a kraken. Next week, we'll be exploring a wizard's library. It's all part of the fun. We all hope to eventually resolve the grand quest, but we've also got busy lives and we're aware that real world can interfere at any time, so really, we just focus on what's in front of us and hope the dice don't fail us too badly.

Kinch's tone as a narrator definitely adds to that feel for me. He's witty, rambly, and has about as much common sense as my youngest cat, which is to say, he definitely has a little bit of it on his brightest days. His tale sounds/reads like a bunch of in-character session notes written by someone who's got a good grasp on language and a tendency to go on tangents. Which is where a lot of the entertainment came from, but also, now and then I kept thinking that maybe I should just listen to one of the many actual play podcasts in my bookmarks instead. Just to get more perspectives on each adventure at the time, you know? Including ones less steeped in dudebro humor and with a smaller propensity for focusing on gore, just for some variety.

What I really, unequivocally enjoyed here was the worldbuilding. It's incredibly inventive and immersive, and once again made it feel like a TTRPG—one that I wouldn't at all mind playing, actually, because there's so much cool stuff here that's just begging to be interacted with. It's got goblins, giants, giant corvids, living books that want to murder you, badass tattoo magic, other types of magic that are also badass, fucked-up social conventions, quantifiable luck, and so much more. Genuinely, when it comes to worldbuilding, this author's imagination is hard to beat. It's probably what kept me going with the book in the early chapters when I was still deciding whether the tone is something I'm going to enjoy for 12+ hours of listening, and also what kept me engaged whenever the structure and/or the character voice threatened to lose me.

When people treat you like a monster, you start to act like one.

I remember when I read the first installment, I felt so incredibly sad even though it was magical and enjoyable. Just because it reminded me that everyone who wants to break out of any box society places them in has to try at least twice as hard for their effort to be appreciated. It wasn’t enough for Aster to have magical gifts and want to be a witch, he had to go above and beyond anything that could be expected from a kid to be given the chance to learn. There was something so realistic and heartbreaking about it that I kept putting this next installment off, despite loving Ostertag’s work.

I’m really glad I did pick it up eventually, though, because not only is it just as magical and enjoyable, but it also explores what this approach can actually do to people. While it starts off with similar ideas, with Aster’s grandmother telling him that the best way to respond to people not wanting him to be a witch is by being a very, very good one, it soon shifts to poking at the responsibility of all those gatekeepers and naysayers. I don’t want to spoil anything, but I will say I was very satisfied with how some of the plot threads from the first book were tied up, in a bittersweet sort of way.

I also felt like this is just structurally such a good sequel, with a great overlap between the aftermath of the first book’s story and the introduction of something (and someone) new. It was great to learn more about this world’s magic and to see the magical family and the non-magical community shift closer. I loved the little friend group that formed over the course of the story. Also, the art is once again absolutely stunning, with such rich colors and with all the characters, even the background once, being so diverse and distinct.

Overall, this is a very nice story of kindness, redemption, responsibility, and second chances, and I’m looking forward to checking out book 3 as well.

“There’s a motherfucker walking around right now. He getting up in the morning and he eating him a big breakfast. Then he goes and does whatever the fuck he does during the day. Then he probably gets him a piece of ass at the end of the night. This motherfucker killed our children. He popped them full of holes like a piece of chicken wire. Then he stood over them and blew their fucking brains out. Now, I don’t know about you, but I can’t live with myself while that son of a bitch is on this side of the dirt.”

I probably wouldn’t have picked up this book if it wasn’t for the Pagebound Spring 2026 Readalong, and I would have been worse off for it, because really, I’ve enjoyed it a lot. There was an aspect of it that made me uneasy from the get-go: the fact that it looked like the book was using queer pain and tragedy as learning material for two homophobic straight dudes to help them become better people. And it would have been very easy to spin this idea that way, however, S.A. Cosby’s execution of it convinced me to look past this layer. In fact, I felt the narrative pretty explicitly went into the direction of, “the pain and tragedy was not necessary, the dude should have been able to become better people without all this.”

Also, I’m genuinely all for portrayal of characters becoming better people. Maybe these fictional dudes will become aspirational for some real life dudes. Though hopefully with less murders and violence along the way!

I truly didn’t expect to get so invested in these characters, but I did practically from the first chapter. For a big part of the story, I actually paid only cursory attention to the investigative plot, being so caught up in their inner turmoil and struggles. That came back to bite me closer to the middle when that plot took central stage for a while. However, the story kept coming back to the more character-focused scenes again and again, and balancing the personal arcs with all the action and crime well enough, especially once it crossed into the second half and Mya and Tangerine both became a prominent presence, breaking up the testosterone party. All in all, barring those few hiccups near the middle, the story remained very engrossing for me throughout.

I very much enjoyed Cosby’s writing style, with the way he singled out sensory and visual details to bring more texture to every beat. It felt almost cinematic. In fact, a lot of pivotal beats were constructed in a manner that kind of begs to be transferred to the screen. I’m not a visual person at all and generally strongly prefer books to movies, but a few times I caught myself imagining what some frames could look like, what sort of opening shot would work for the current segment, what kind of music might be playing in the background. All in all, the writing was pretty immersive.

The only thing that sometimes took me out of it was the overuse of dialogue tags (”he said,” “she said”) where an action beat without the “said” would work just fine, or where no clarification was needed at all because it was already evident from the context and the character voice who was speaking. I know those dialogue tags are supposed to be invisible, but apparently, when there are too many, I can’t stop spotting them.

Hoarders of knowledge, those uphillers in their walled fortress. Best thing you can do is steal as much of it as you can and run.

Whelp. It happened again. For the second time in a goddamn row, I was lured by a bright, beautiful, sunny cover into reading something sad. At least this time, I had a clue that there’d be reasons for tears: the main character’s parent getting seriously sick was right there in the summary. But I was like, well, how bad can it get, really? This is middle grade, and more importantly, look at that cover! Surely it will all work out at the end.

Well. Uh. Without spoiling it, some things do work out, and some don’t, and most of the tears I’ve shed have been good tears, but you really should mind the trigger warnings and brace yourself for heartbreak and bittersweetness going in.

That said, it’s actually an excellent book. Despite the sadness, I would very much call it life-affirming. It’s on the mature end of middle grade, and it touches very sensitively on all sorts of issues. It’s diverse in a way that includes same-sex parents, disability, being nonbinary/bigender, class inequality, and more, and never feels like a checklist. The setting is extremely low fantasy: an out-of-time alternate version of the Azores where plants are Very Important, to the point that there’s a hint of magic in all the gardening and potion making. We get to see several parts of it, from a remote island where only one family lives in an abandoned monastery to a bustling capital, and they’re all enchanting. I actually wish I could learn more about the setting, see it perhaps through a more adult lens. It feels so ripe with opportunity.

Ultimately, it’s a book about coming to terms with endings, and figuring out what beginnings can stem from them. It’s about exhausting every opportunity before saying goodbye. It’s about friendship born out of initial friction. It’s about learning about the others, and the world, and yourself in it. It’s about discovering that sometimes you can’t get exactly what you’ve been working so hard for, but that doesn’t mean the journey was all for nothing.

Really, it’s very much worth the tissues.

‘It’s a bookshop, it’s a coffee shop, and it’s a peddler of miracles.’

This book looked so cozy and life-affirming from the cover and blurb alone, I was completely blindsided and totally forgot to check trigger warnings. Which, btw, include grief (so much grief), death of a parent, dementia, and terminal illness. Come to think of it, looking back at my other experiences with Japanese fiction of this type, I should have expected something of that nature and come prepared. But look at that cover! So cozy! So life-affirming! Sigh.

Anyway, the book follows a pattern that’s fairly common for its ilk: it’s almost an anthology, in the sense that we get a collection of separate stories about people facing various hardships, and then they end up in a magical place where a magical being and her cat give them a magical healing experience, complete with some fairly simplistic wisdoms that are easy to understand in theory, but much harder to start applying to your life without years of therapy. The magic, however, helps everyone skip those years of therapy and embrace as much hope as they can get in their respective situations.

I hesitated a lot about the number of stars I wanted to give this book, because I actually liked the individual parts. The specific stories were fairly poignant and touching. The dementia one especially moved me. And the parts focused around the bookshop and its magic were, for the most part, really sweet and gentle, and they sort of soothed me after all the angst that came before them. But the stories about humans problems and the interludes with the supernatural solutions, while individually compelling, never quite meshed in a coherent, cohesive whole for me.

Might be a me problem, to be fair.

The lobster doesn’t realise it’s in a pot until it’s soft and tender for dinner.

Sadly, this was such an incredible disappointment.

As an avid fanfiction reader, I love time travel fix-its: stories where the characters go back in time, waking up as their far younger selves but armed with all the knowledge, skills, and experience from the awful future they left behind, and get to retrace their steps, letting hindsight guide them past all the pitfalls, wrong turns, and ambushes from the original story. So when I heard about this book—just that, except it’s original fiction—I wad immediately intrigued and curious, though I also immediately had my doubts. In fanfic, this set-up can work so well because you’re already invested in the characters, and because you’ve already experienced the actual story with all the conflicts and tension, and you just want to self-indulgently watch the beloved characters have a break. Like, I genuinely don’t think that Jon Snow single-handedly saving the Seven Kingdoms from all possible threats at fourteen makes for a better story than the actual ASOIAF! But I’ve enjoyed those kinds of fic for the characters and the feel-goodness.

Could that work as an original story, especially one where the time travel happens very early in the story and we don’t even get to know most of the cast until we’re back in time? That remains to be seen. Because this book definitely didn’t achieve that for me, but I also disliked it for so many other reasons that I can’t even say if that specific aspect was salvageable or not.

Let’s start with the worldbuilding. One good thing I have to say: I loved the magic system. It was a bit confusing at times, but generally robust and wondrous and it actually felt magical. This is absolutely my favorite aspect of the book and its main redeeming quality. Everything else, however, was painted in extremely broad strokes and felt like cardboard decorations.

I was also regularly taken out of the story when the characters in this seemingly secondary world setting used words like “Cheshire smile,” “Pierrot,” “Machiavel,” or “Abyssinian cat.” I don’t my anachronisms in my fantasy. I’m fine with the names being loosely tweaked versions of real world names. But when you present to me a fantasy world that apparently has Lewis Carroll, Italian commedia dell'arte, Niccolo Machiavelli, and Ethiopian Empire historically called Abyssinia, and I’m starting to have questions that distract me from everything else. And most of these concepts could have just been described in more lore-friendly terms to deepen the worldbuilding instead! Just describe a cat with large ears and ticked ruddy fur instead of explicitly calling it an Abyssinian. Describe a sad clown without calling them Pierrot. These could have been fun Easter egg type of things!

The characters and the plot. Ugh. There were good ideas here! There were opportunities for fun to be had! There were such interesting themes here, like Cyril’s complicity with Eufrates’s actions in the original timeline, how he basically let his husband destroy the world for love, the responsibility. The scene where he realizes Eufrates also time traveled back with him and isn’t his innocent younger self is pretty powerful! I was looking forward for the emotional complexity and the actual fixing of it all.

Instead, Cyril behaved as a dramatic teenager, orchestrated a situation where Eufrates actually got all the power way sooner than originally, and then ran away.

And the promised friends to lovers to enemies to lovers relationship turned into Eufrates being a cartoonish villain sending evil letters while Cyril blushingly flirted with someone else.

And then by the middle of the book the only really likable character turned out to be the true cartoonist villain and it was revealed than none of the evils Eufrates had committed in the original timeline were actually his fault! He’d been under a bad magical influence all along, and Cyril’s only fault was not noticing that influence despite being the most powerful mage of his generation. That was the point the book lost me, tbh, because way to ruin all the most interesting parts by making potentially complex characters with agency into poor little victims. I was debating DNFing, but I was so far along already, I thought I might as well continue and see if it gets better from there.

I… evidently should have DNFed.

Guess this is one of those situations where my disappointment is so acute because at the very beginning things looked so promising and I built my expectations up way too high.