Wren

I wish you cared for anything as much as I care for you.

This was, in many ways, such a delight to read, and a great breather between heavier books, although I wouldn’t exactly call this one light either. It definitely deals with trauma a lot, but there’s a strong overall focus on Hartley’s healing journey. Even when he goes to some dark places and tries to drag others down with him, the narrative retains a sense of optimism and hopefulness that absolutely pays off in the long run.

Random things I especially enjoyed, in no particular order:

- the black cat/golden retriever dynamic between the leads - the found family Hartley built with Alf and Sadie, and how it evolved - all the sibling relationships - the way the narrative strongly distinguished between the validity of sex work as a conscious choice and the sheer wrongness of exploitation - the adorable three-legged doggo - the way the characters constantly had miscommunications that were completely logical given the differences in their lived experiences, and then after each miscommunication actually gave it some thought, wondered if there might be something there they hadn’t considered, and talked about it at the next opportunity - how it’s acknowledged that the hormon-fueled desire to do and risk absolutely anything for your new crush is actually something to be inspected and tempered, not something to be romanticized, and borders are the opposite of bad for a relationship - The visit from Ben

What I didn’t like all that much was the ending, or rather, how it was structured. The romance arc came to a really nice conclusion, of which I wholeheartedly approve, but then the story went on for a couple more chapters past that, in a way that felt like the author methodically knotting all the remaining plot threads. Which, in itself, cool! Much better than leaving them hanging! But it felt like such a checklist, and some of the solutions/answers felt so very contrived. (The attic? Seriously? IYKYK).

Can history disappear if it’s written in blood?

This is such a hard book for me to review, mostly because it left me with way too many feelings and all of them hurt. I’ll be probably sitting with these feelings for a while.

I cannot say that I liked or enjoyed it, because that’s not how I’m inclined to feel about human misery, especially knowing it’s based heavily on real events and whatever the characters in the book go through, actual people have gone through that and worse. I did find it effective and important. The book truly shows the variety of costs regular civilians pay during wars, and it does it with a sense of detachment that makes everything all the more horrifying. You can really tell that it takes place in 1945, after so many years of destruction and desolation, and everyone is incredibly desensitized to it, because that’s how you stay alive. But also pain and empathy keep breaking through that ice now and again, because that’s how you stay human.

The characters all have very distinct voices, even though the author sometimes deliberately gives them similar word choices and metaphors to draw attention to their different truths. The premise and the bleak reality of the narrative sort of made me feel they were all doomed from the start. I was actually surprised there were survivors in the main cast. But being prepared for them to die didn’t make me any less attached to everyone, except for Albert who is consistently terrible. I did appreciate his chapters though, because his attempts to romanticize everyone in his inner monologues/unwritten letters to Hannelore underscored the terror of what was really happening, and his entire character is just such a sad portrayal of what propaganda and indoctrination does to a young person. Also, the path toward the reveal about Hannelore was breadcrumbed really well.

Anyway. This book hurts, war sucks, and humanity is a doomed species that is nevertheless capable of kindness and beauty.

I’ll be… sorting out all those feelings over there.

and my friends

know nothing

about me

and neither do I.

I should really read novels in verse more often. The combination of story and poetry hits in the feels so hard, when done right, and this book definitely does it right. I appreciated how the types of verse the author uses change now and then to draw extra attention to specific points in the character arcs, and how the lyricism is always there, always poignant, but never too flowery to distract from the actual story.

Speaking of the story, some parts of it definitely surprised me and made me double-check that this wasn’t YA, because I usually don’t expect drugs, alcohol, and the word “slut” to feature in MG books heavily. When I look back at my memories from when I was 13, I’m pretty convinced that for my classmates these were all things that happened on TV, or maybe possibly to way older, wilder kids who were like 15. I don’t know if it’s a generational or cultural thing, or maybe just a specific bubble I lived in. Regardless, I do hope that the kids whose reality is reflected in this book manage to get their hands on it and can see their experiences through this lens and feel seen and supported.

In a lot of other ways though, the way the thirteen-ness of the main characters was portrayed, this suspension between childhood and teenage years, resonated with me deeply. Like the way the Crash were partaking in fairly childish pranks and then sneaking out to parties, or the girls’ first kisses happening on a playground. I was really affected by the depictions of Olivia’s and Eden’s relationships (or lack thereof) with their respective parents, these different brands of distance and gloom. (Olivia’s mother is way easier to empathize with than Eden’s dad, by the way; I could see she was trying her best despite her own suffering. Poor Eden got the far shorter end of the stick.)

Overall, I feel like this is a beautiful snapshot of a complicated, liminal time, of strong feelings that are meant to become a memory and an inspiration, of steps toward discovering yourself. I will say it maybe added a little abruptly for me—I would have appreciated just a few more pages to pull all the stitches together, especially for Eden. But it was a beautiful experience regardless.

I should *definitely* read more novels in verse.

She didn’t need an easy life. She didn’t need a safe life. Like she had told Cenric, she wanted a life of freedom.

Like many, I’ve come to know Elizabeth Wheatley from her amazingly fun YouTube shorts. I relate to both Book Goblin and the unhinged romance writer so hard, and all those “romance subgenre” videos are my jam. So it was only a matter of time before I decided I had to check out her books.

I guess this was… fine? I definitely enjoyed the overall idea of the book, but every individual aspect of it was a little on the “but not enough” side. The prose was straightforward, to the point, and flowed smoothly most of the time, but there was nothing memorable about it, and the book definitely needed another round of copyediting, what with the number of missed words and typos. I appreciated the research that went into constructing this low fantasy version of the Saxon kingdom, but I felt like the historical details and the fantasy aspects didn’t fully mesh.

And then, of course, there was the romance. I liked the characters’ dynamic in the first couple of chapters and looked forward to a slow burn development where Brynn slowly thawed from her grief and trauma. And for the most part, I did get that! I liked the portrayal of grief and healing here. But there was a small part early on, while the characters were traveling to Cernic’s land after the wedding, when suddenly they were getting all flirty and mutually interested and looking forward to consummating their marriage, which was only postponed because Cernic had to urgently leave upon arrival. Then after he came back, the slow burn returned, but that odd little foray into practically insta love territory really confused me. And afterward, the characters also spent so much of the plot apart. Presumably, they had that extended period of taking long walks together nightly and getting to know each other. But all of those walks save for the first one were summarized in a couple of paragraphs, while their times apart were full scenes with actual plot and character development. So basically, the bones of a nice slow burn story focused on healing from trauma were there, but that skeleton needed a lot more flesh.

Then there was the characterization. Brynn had a bunch of interesting moments, particularly early on, and like I’ve said already, I appreciate the depiction of trauma and healing in her arc. But there were also a lot of moments where her entire personality turned into “absolutely perfect at doing her duty.” At those times she kind of reminded me of the way Sansa Stark is often depicted in Sansa-centric fan fiction: flawlessly great at everything a lady should be great at and then some, from running a household to negotiating with hostile neighbors, very concerned with doing her duty, somehow fully prepared to be underappreciated for her efforts. As for Cenric, he just often seemed kind of… young? Like, a good person, but still figuring himself out in many ways.

I did really, really love the telepathic dogs and the way the communication with them went. I liked the way the narrative discussed the subject of revenge. I enjoyed the whole political tangle behind the marriage and Brynn’s mother’s plans, although I wish the mother herself was a less obviously villainous villain. Like, seriously, this whole thing would have been even more compelling if she was morally grey rather than abjectly terrible. I intend to continue the series to see if it grows beyond all these “almost but not quite” moments for me!

“In order to keep those you love safe, you need to become what they fear most. Are you prepared to do that?”

Well, this was an interesting experience, in a way. I went into the book mostly blind; someone on Pagebound asked for arranged marriage recs, someone recced this, and the one-line description of the arranged marriage situation hooked me. I really liked the beginning, despite the density all the Gaelic names for every little thing added to it. It was fun to see an unapologetically queer heroine in a f/m romantasy, the religious conflict was promising, and the magic system even more so, what with the magic gifts being amplified by entering bonds with magical creatures. The presence of dragons and dragon riders gave it a bit of a Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon vibe, but at this point those books/shows are such a huge cultural phenomenon that virtually everything with dragons and royalty feels like a nod in that direction.

But then I read on, and Aemyra’s father appeared, and I was like… hang on, why does this guy remind me so much of Daemon Targaryen? And then there were some scenes with the royal family, and the next thing I knew, I turned into that Leonardo DiCaprio pointing his finger meme. Oh, this is so obviously Aegon! And this is Alicent! And the MMC is clearly a slightly OOC Aemond with serial numbers not so much filed off as papered over, how was I so stupid that I didn’t notice at once?

So then I pulled up Google, and yup, this started life as an Aemond/OC HotD fanfic.

The further I read, the harder those origins were to unsee. I do appreciate how much thought was put into constructing the non-Westeros setting, but the problem is, a lot of what was seen of it in the early chapters remained in the early chapters. The characters often felt kind of divorced of the whole magical and religious context they’d supposedly grew up with, outside of the key points of the plot when that context was brought to the front of the events. The readers’ informed that the bonds with the magical beasts go both ways, the dragons are just one type of such beasts, there are specifics to the whole thing that are pretty unique and definitely not Martin-esque. But the book only gives us one creature that isn’t a dragon, and for the most part just shows us the fairly typical dragon/rider interactions that are just very HotD. The original setting shines brightest in the earliest couple of chapters + at a few choice moments throughout the book, but otherwise, it feels separate from the very HotD characters and the very HotD plot.

Also, there are just so many small details that weren’t reconstructed so much as reskinned. Like the royal family having a special hair color shared by no one else. Or even some figures of speech / names of things. Like, there was a point when Aemyra swore to take what’s hers “with fire and fury,” and my brain immediately corrected it to “fire and blood.” Or there was that part about the river lairds declaring for her, and it was hard not to go mentally, “surely you mean the River Lords.”

I’m not opposed to fanfic getting turned into original books in general, but after reading this I’m convinced that it works best when the fanfic is initially written as an AU, keeping the characters’ vibes and dynamics, but transporting them from the get-go into a different world, different set of circumstances, and letting them develop in those circumstances. That way, it’s easier for the writer to file off those serial numbers and also way easier for the reader to just enjoy the ride that may remind them of another fictional pairing, but still be its own thing. But when the entire story is mired in the canon circumstances, even with some twists put on them (or maybe especially with twists, because the “what if x, but y?” premises in fanfic work so well precisely because we’re very familiar with x)… Well, let’s just say, right now I can’t even decide if I want to buy the second book, because on one hand, I kind of want to know how the conflict resolves, but on the other hand, it literally feels like I’m asked to pay for something that belongs on AO3.

To try to focus more on the actual story… well, honestly, it’s very hard to focus on in without the HotD context 😅 I do wonder what I would think of it without being familiar with the source material, but alas, that ship has sailed. I’ll say that I liked Aemyra for the most part, although I cringed at some of her “not like other girls” moments, like when she was declaring in one chapter how she wanted to save all women from oppression and patriarchy, and then in the very next one rolling her eyes at some of the oppressed women and calling them pitiful and spineless. I also felt like she was acting younger and more naive than would make sense with her backstory.

The romance had some fun moments and some good banter, but I think I would have liked the burn to be slower. Some of the developments felt very sudden to me. Like, seriously, you’re having a tense conversation with someone over their involvement in the murder of your family, and the next thing you do is… surrender to the chemistry between you? Are the allosexuals okay? I wonder if it was the same in the original fanfic where there was no need to stick to the industry-dictated word counts and…

*throws hands up* Gah. No, see, I’m incapable of discussing it without thinking of the fanfic origins. Sorry. For all the early-chapter promise the new setting held, it just isn’t far enough divorced from the source material for me.

“I know it’s scary, Nat, but people change. They’re allowed to change. They’re allowed to try and be better than what they were before. And when we care about them, then we need to support them.”

This is a book I didn’t know I needed. I feel like I’ve become a really angry and unapologetic person lately, what with, you know. *gestures at the state of the world, the news, the geopolitics* Everything. It’s easy to look at people who choose to participate in hurting others and wish them away. But sometimes, people can choose to change, to build a different future without losing accountability of that past, and this book was a good reminder of that. Perhaps the approach it took to the subject was a bit too saccharine at times, what with it being a feel-good cozy fantasy romance first and foremost, but there was a certain depth to it, too, and a good reminder that we are never locked in our choices forever. As long as life goes on, so do the choices.

I have to say one thing that interfered with my enjoyment of the story was lack of clarity about the protagonist’s motivations. It’s over 60% into the book that we finally learn *why* she choose to stop being a villain. I actually think the reveal was done pretty well; when it happens, you instantly see all the breadcrumbs leading up to it, and so much begins to make sense. But at the same time, while I appreciate how it was handled on a technical level, I’m not sure it was the right choice to withhold this specific bit of information like that. Especially since there was another secret/twist tied to it, so that one could have been concealed for just as long and have the same impact when revealed. But the protagonist’s motivation, especially when the protagonist is on a redemption arc, is something that I feel should be made clearer from the start. Because for a long time it felt like Violet mostly decided to switch from evil to good “just because,” or maybe like the author expected the reader to fill in that gap on their own, and it really messed with my immersion.

Outside of that, though, I really enjoyed most aspects of the book, particularly the romance. From the blurb I expected the MC and the LI to slowly change their opinions of each other as they work together to save the town from the blight. But the truth is, they start working on understanding each other before they even know there’s a blight, and that’s what enables them to work together to combat it, which is an approach I loved even more. I also appreciated that each of them has their own redemption arc with a distinct flavor.

Also, I generally enjoyed getting to know the town of Dragon’s Rest and the supporting characters. Pru especially is my favorite, I love what a great bard she makes, and her relationship with Nathaniel, and how determined she was to befriend Violet in the start. If the author decides to turn this into a series, I hope Pru gets her own book. Or at least gets an even more prominent role, if the potential sequel still follows Violet mainly.

Other random things that stuck with me:

• The small flashbacks about Violet’s past relationship with Guy Shadowfade. There was a bit of a Silco and Jinx vibe there, and really, the whole thing hurt in just the right way.
• While the plant magic Violet wielded was too vague and whatever-the-plot-demands for me, I liked the descriptions of alchemy and how invested Nathaniel was in his alchemical work.
• The rock goblins! THE CUTEST.

I’m really excited to read whatever Emily Krempholtz writes next, and I do hope she revisits this setting, because there’s a lot of series potential here. The story feels even a little incomplete, come to think of it. Not in a glaring sort of way, but there’s definitely stuff that could be explored further!

Other Arab women have been mutilated by knives, shrapnel, acid, bombs, and I was shaken because my mother told me I was average? Is narcissism an inherited trait?

For a book that left me with a profound “what did I just read and why?” impression, it was a pretty quick read, so there's that. To focus on the positives, there were some interesting insights about the ways our parents fuck us up, about the Middle East experience, about internalized homophobia and addiction. The MC offers a highly realistic depiction of someone living with a huge hole inside and constantly, unsuccessfully seeking ways to fill it. I also liked the author's decision to not give the MC a name. Strangely enough, it created a more intimate experience, like I was reading someone's anonymous diary.

That same “personal diary,” however, was also a big part of the reason I didn't enjoy the book. For the entirety of the novel, we're very deep in the MC's head, and she's such an unlikable person. The fact that she's got her reasons for being that way doesn't make it easier to read about all her bad decisions, cheating, strange relationships with other awful people, etc. All the side characters are filtered heavily through her skewed perspective, so while some of them potentially could be interesting and sympathetic, there were never enough of them to latch on. They were barely characters in their own right, more like extensions, subjects, and objects of her experience.

But then there was another thing. See, sometimes I do very much enjoy reading about shitty unhinged fictional people doing bad things for bad reasons. One of my favorite books is Yellowface by R.F. Kuang, and if I had to interact with someone like its protagonist in real life, I'd grind my teeth until no dentist could save them. But following her story was so compelling, even if I was actively rooting for her to fail. So what makes a difference between a compelling unlikable character and a tiresome one? For me, as this book helped me understand, it's the presence of goals. Here, the MC is just drifting for most of the story. I struggled all the while to understand what she even wants. To genuinely solve her love addiction problem? To sort out her relationship with her mother? To figure out her goals? Who knows. That kind of approach could be hard for me to handle even with a more likable and relatable character tbh, but at least then I'd be able to enjoy the process of getting to know them.

On the other hand, I know that this brand of slice-of-life litfic has a lot of fans, and I can understand the appeal even if I don't share it. Such books definitely help expand empathy. Fiction is a great space for exploring how the types of people we dislike might actually work. It may not get us to like them more, but it helps understand them better, and perhaps ourselves, too, as we ponder what exactly makes certain traits, outlooks, and behaviors so unpleasant for us.

So, yeah. Not really the book for me, but I did find value in reading it.

“I don’t want to be funny”—Audrey’s mum was wearing an unmistakably parental expression—“but have you ever considered trying to get with a girl who isn’t completely horrible?”

This concludes the trilogy of loosely interlinked contemporary fiction books marketed for some incomprehensible reason as romcoms. Actually, compared to the first two this one is the most romance-like, though it still doesn’t hit the right beats for a romcoms, but it still leans “chick lit” (much as I’m meh on that term) with the romantic plot line being there to support the character study. I’m wondering if it would have landed differently if this was a dual POV. Especially since in the previous books Jennifer was the antagonist/as close to a villain as a story focused around the fictional equivalent of The Great British Bake Off. So when a character like that is moved into the LI position, you kind of want to get into their head to properly see them from a new angle, you know?

Though the funny thing is, by the end of the book even without getting Jennifer’s POV I kind of warmed up to her. She never stopped being horrible to people, but she did reveal some interesting depths. So while I never got truly sold on the romance, it was more because of Audrey, whom I greatly enjoyed as her own character! But she was just *so* hung up on her ex the entire time, to the point of having conversations with her in her head. Early in the book, it was somewhat tolerable, but the further in we got, the more I felt like any kind of relationship this character was currently capable of would be a rebound. Like, she was still having to actively swat away thoughts of her ex while intimate with Jennifer 94% into the book. So yeah, maybe dual POV actually wouldn’t have fixed anything here.

I did really enjoy the individual character arcs. Audrey grew so much over the course of the story, from someone entirely too polite for her own good to someone with a much more confident approach to life. I also really enjoyed all the budding intergenerational friendships: Audrey and Alanis, Audrey and Doris, Jennifer and Grace (though that last one can’t be called budding, I suppose). The parallel storyline with Doris’s past was an interesting addition, though also one it took me a bit to get into. I guess I was making the mistake of trying to appreciate it for its own sake and balking at how awful Emily was, but once I started treating it as a narrative device meant to explore *Audrey’s* approach to relationships, it got a lot easier to bear.

Tangentially, I was a big fan of all the pokes at how life becomes a narrative, the differences between what happened and how it was framed, etc. That was an interesting angle, and I think pursuing it made the book structurally stronger. Alexis Hall can be very all-over-the-place with constructing his plots at times—I think our minds work quite similarly in that way, so I fully empathize. I’ve noticed there’s a lot more clarity in the novels he writes with a specific theme/lens that is “on” all the time.

Overall, I had a much better time than I expected, which is always a good feeling to have when you finish a book, if you ask me. I’d say I’m excited to see what the author does next, but you know what, while I totally am, maybe I shouldn’t look up his new releases just yet. Maybe I should first work through the parts of his backlog that are still on my TBR.

It’s really not my fault I was raised by supervillains.

This is the first book I’ve read by Alice Winters, but she’s been recommended to me a lot, usually as an author you need when you’re after a mindless fun time, and so that time has come. This was indeed a fun read, though it’s not the kind of humor I often vibe with—it’s just so silly. Today I vibed with it enough to finish the book in practically a single sitting, though. The deeply unserious banter and ridiculous events piling up is a great combo for when you just want to unwind.

I will say that alongside all the silliness, there were some practically poignant moments related to family and identity, and in the second half of the book, all the fun nonsense somehow crystallized into a pretty decent superhero comic-style plot with actual stakes and consequences. All of that happened without losing the general silly comedy vibe for more than a minute, which is, come to think of it, a pretty cool accomplishment.

I just wish Balzac the adorable ugly cat had an easier time here. The poor thing was introduced nearly suffocating and then kept getting grabbed, carried to loud places, and otherwise stressed. It was all played for laughs and the cat was always saved and cuddled at the end, but I’m a cat person. I was worried for the kitty.

I’m not sure if I want to continue with this series in particular, but I’ll keep the author on my radar for sure. This is great stuff for bad brain days.

I have no interest in being a man. What I want is to be a knight.

I think we need a new subgenre called “faux historical romance.” This book would fit there seamlessly, right alongside Emma R. Alban's works—because it's a medieval story exactly to the same extent as Alban's queer romances are Regencies. These books deliberately, knowingly sacrifice historical accuracy in favor of the pop culture understanding of the time period, keeping the bits that would help tell a fun story and forgetting the rest. As for the characters, the dialogue, or the way the conflicts get resolved, all of those is kept pointedly modern. Some readers find this approach grating, and I can totally understand that, although I personally see it as a refreshing change of pace. You just have to know what you're getting into.

My favorite part of the story without a doubt was the omniscient narrator. For the most part, this warm yet snarky all-knowing voice faded politely into the background, leaving the spotlight on whichever girl the given chapter was focusing on. However, during the interludes (or, as they're called here, the interstitials) it shined openly on its own, rife with that irreverent tongue-in-cheek quality I often seek to bring into my GM narration when I run tabletop games. It was just a very familiar type of humor that delighted me to no end.

And then of course there's the story itself, with it's slightly nonsensical premise and fun, earnest characters who are both looking for the keys to their respective cages and eventually find a way out together. I suppose I could poke at how strange it was for Gwen to be so successful in the tournament with her minimal training compared to all the actual seasoned knights, or how piling up a second fake identity on top of the ruse she already had going was just asking for trouble. I could also prod at the detours and budding subplots that went nowhere, and how they may have added to the vibes, but at the expense of muddling the main story. But you know what, the book made me smile so often, I can forgive it its little blunders. After all, it so explicitly doesn't take itself seriously—why shouldn't I follow suit?

Reccing this to everyone who just wants some good mindless fun with a feminist and sapphic bend; who sees the word “medieval” and immediately thinks about castles, jousts, and dragons; who enjoys movies like the 2022 Rosaline and would love something in that vein but queer. If you want something with a more genuinely historical feel and sapphic characters though, perhaps look at Tessa Gratton or Nicola Griffith.

I'm always the center of attention. And they think if I screw up or freak out, it's because y I'm a trans girl... Not because I'm just not perfect.

Such a sweet and wholesome story about identity, teamwork, rekindled friendship, and the general teenage experience of being a work in progress. I love the art here: so bright, engaging, and full of realistic, diverse body types. The characters are all so genuine, and by the end of the comic I felt like I've known them forever.

All the messages here are really transparent, to the point of being a bit in your face, but also so important and needed that I can't possibly complain about that. I particularly liked the depiction of well-meaning actions and microaggressions not being mutually exclusive, and that search for the line between genuine support and virtue signalling. I think that while first and foremost this can be a great relatable read for trans teens, it's also a good book for educating allies on how to do better.

I did feel it was a little rushed—the pace would probably benefit from having up to another 20 pages or so spread throughout the book, showing some day-to-day situations during squad training, school, etc. I would also love to see a bit more of Annie's mom. She's the coolest.

A white knight of the realm isn't supposed to be vacationing in the black sorcerer's castle.

For at least half of the book, probably even closer to 3/4 of the book, this was honestly such good fun. Sure, the prose was sometimes clunky, with everyone’s body parts acting independently way too often (you can’t convince me “her eyes bounced between them” isn’t a terrifying mental image, lol) and other assorted small troubles. But the fun and funny banter made up for it. The characters were entertaining, and I liked how they alternated between leaning into the tropes they were built around and slightly subverting them. The world, while clearly a deliberately generic D&D-ish fare, presented some fun monsters to fight and challenges to overcome. The audiobook narrator did a great job conveying the tongue-in-cheek irreverence of it all. Genuinely, it was an excellent bedtime story.

I also really appreciated the progression of the romance, how it was sorta insta-love on Tan’s side, but also slow-burn because Devan needed time to start considering the idea (and then there’s that later plot development that explains how the “insta” part was actually less “insta” than one might think, I enjoyed that one too). I was glad to see Devan presented as demisexual as explicitly as possible without mentioning the word—yay for repping the identities from under the ace umbrella! In general, I think these two guys complimented each other so well, at least for the huge part of the book while Tan remained less evil and more chaotically neutral with such a staunch commitment to chaos that everyone couldn’t help but call him a villain, and Devan was gradually progressing from lawful good to neutral good as he leaned into the spirit of the law versus the letter.

What changed for me late in the book, I think, was when they stopped focusing on having adventures and relationship developments and switched to organizing a revolution against the titular princess. On one hand, I’m all for dismounting the system instead of putting out small fires constantly. On the other hand, I didn’t like how flat the princess’s character was, or rather, how she was more prop than character. Everyone was already fed up with her and couldn’t wait to switch to a different side, and so it wasn’t clear how she’d maintained power and influence for so long. Especially given that there was a king, too, and now and then he acted like he was the actual ruler, so why was it the princess who made all the decisions, terrorized the citizens, etc? How was this Kingdom even working? This story in general is too humor-focused to be very nuanced, true, but something about how this entire part was handled grated me a lot. Perhaps it would’ve been easier to stomach without the pages and pages of justification about how Devan murdering the princess actually made him a good character, or without Tan fully turning from the kind of evil sorcerer people feel safe siccing beginner adventurers on because he’d never really hurt them to someone who’s like “Yay! Murder spree!”

Because the past is like the moon, isn’t it? It’s always there, but it shifts, it’s never the same when you revisit it.

I was intrigued by the premise as soon as I spotted this book on someone’s TBR: a middle-aged main protagonist, someone normally quiet and meek becoming the monster, horror plot centered around the menopause experience. I did feel like maybe that last part could be better developed by someone who actually lived through menopause, or faced the prospect of living through it and was intimately acquainted with all the other ways AFAB bodies fuck up our lives. But hey, authors can totally do their research and have sensitivity readers. If we all only wrote what we have personally lived, it would be immensely boring.

The book started strong enough, with the protagonist immediately placed in a set of frustrating circumstances you can’t help but empathize with. She’s just trying to be a good person, but doctors don’t take her seriously, rent is going up, her long-time employer is letting her go, and something she never thought she’d do—going back to a tiny desert town to take care of her aunt—is legit her only option at this point. Oh, also, whenever she looks at herself in the mirror, she sees her reflection turn into a decaying corpse. Fun times.

I was having fun throughout the entire first half or so. The author kept adding new elements and raising new questions, but they all fit together reasonably well and escalated the tension nicely. All the gore was creepy and well-written. Aunt Nadine was quite the character, the kind you love to hate. The budding intergenerational friendship between Mary and Eleanor was really interesting to follow.

And then all those additions just continued and continued. By the last quarter of the book, I genuinely wasn’t sure what kind of story I was reading. The menopause angle got pretty much lost somewhere along the way. The plot turned into a maze of serial killers, cults, reincarnation, ghosts, furies, and something else I feel like I’m forgetting. The author tells us in the afterword that he first came up with the plot bunny for this book in his early teens and spent most of his life coming back to poke at it, and I guess that shows—probably every time he attempted to draft it, it was a slightly different story, and then the book we eventually got has turned into a hodgepodge of all those previous variations. Or at least that’s my theory that would explain why I eventually felt like I read 3-4 books rolled into one.

There are some really standout scenes here, and a bunch of good ideas for sure. It’s the kind of horror that makes you viscerally recoil from the page sometimes. I’m sad that the initial thematic concept wasn’t kept front and center throughout the story, and I wish the author added more layers to Mary as a person than to the plot, because she’s pretty much a vessel for what’s happening to her most of the time. But the parts that did work for me worked pretty well.

Oh, and I really liked the poetry bits. And all the descriptions of the desert. How is it that whenever I pick up a horror book lately, it turns out to be set in a desert? Are the sands calling me home?

At this point I'm only reading on because of sunk cost fallacy + lingering desire to find the story I was recced behind the story I'm actually seeing on the page. It's time to do myself a kindness and let go.

To be fair, there were some parts I enjoyed, like the scene where the characters talked about the books they had both read as kids, or all the political discussions/conundrums. But the characterization and tone are both so odd, and that sexual dynamic is so incongruous with all prior interactions these two had. I'm just not vibing.

Despite my best efforts, I am loved. 

Such a beautiful and painful read. It's a sequel to The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School, a book that I genuinely enjoy, except for several notable “but...” moments. Well, this book addresses all of those and continues the themes from the original novel so well, even though it's very firmly its own story, with Cesar as a protagonist and Yami making a rather small number of appearances filtered through Cesar's unreliable narrator lens. It has as much heart and authenticity as the Lesbiana's Guide, but where that first novel was a bit sloppy when it came to structure, with the narrative stumbling or going all over the place more than once, the Golden Boy's Guide is really focused. The whole thing is a constant escalation from “trying to heal” to “unraveling” to “getting worse and worse” to “rock bottom” before it goes to “actually healing.” Every chapter builds on the ones before, never losing momentum. That made the whole thing basically unputdownable because I was just so worried for Cesar and everyone in his life at all times. 

Another small problem I had with the Lesbiana's Guide was how at the end, everything seemed too sugar-coated, too easy. Sure, Cesar ended up suicidal and Yami believed she wasn't loved at home and needed to be ready to kicked out, but their mother apologized and baked a rainbow cake, so it was all going to be fine, right? Wrong. The Golden Boy's Guide explores all the consequences of what was getting swept under the rug there, and digs deeper to point out other things that were happening back then and that now too have consequences. Even though the focus is very firmly on Cesar and his experience, and Yami is on the fringes of the story, we can see her deal with those consequences, too, and we generally learn a lot more about this family (I welcomed the additions of Moni and Abuela to the cast, by the way, they're both awesome). 

Finally, with the first book I felt that a novel with “Catholic” in the title should have focused more on the faith aspect, reconciling religious teachings with personal understanding of self, etc. This is another thing where this book delivered, going really deep into that uniquely painful experience of trying to find comfort in something that tells you you're wrong for being who you are. Big parts actually hurt to read because of how raw and sincere they were, especially combined with the equally raw depiction of Cesar's mental health crisis. Honestly, basically every facet of Cesar's experience was so well-researched and relatable. The entire big, fragile, beautiful mess of him. It's generally one of those books that feel less like reading a story and more like witnessing a friend go through hell. 

I'm so glad he got better. 

"And that's always been your problem, Percival," Niles snapped back. "You want to save people when what you need to want is to win.”

Strictly speaking, there are some flaws here on the self-contained book level, but it's such an excellent series conclusion I can't help but give it the full five stars. The large-scale series plotting is truly Jordan L. Hawk's biggest strength. Individual installments may stumble sometimes when it comes to balancing investigation, action, and personal stakes, or correctly timing the resolution of the most recent crisis. But as a while, how this entire stories unravels from something deeply rooted in personal stakes and family to a truly grand, epic scale is a thing of beauty.

Deosil made me gasp, bite my nails, stay up past my designated ~hour of audiobook listening before bed, refuse to believe what I was hearing at a few choice tense times, and tear up when it hit me this was really goodbye. That central plot twist hit hard, especially because of how much it hurt. I appreciated that the enemies actually took full advantage of the gang's absence turning all expectations and plans upside down, even though it did lead to some imbalance in how the story escalated (I did say there were problems on book level). I absolutely loved how there was a callback to absolutely every previous novel.

Overall, I'm incredibly sad to say goodbye but really satisfied with how it concluded. I hope to see some of the familiar faces in the spin-off series, though even more so I hope it retains the same vibe as OG Widdershins. This has been an amazing ride, heartwarming and horrifying, and I'm absolutely leaving a part of my heart in this fictional city where a vast eldritch power just wants to be a part of a found family.

Whyborne deserves some peace after all that happens. Persephone deserves all the waffles. Niles deserves to continue his personal growth. And Christine deserves the world because she is the bestest.

Excuse me, I'll be out back, processing.

What are you doing? the rational part of his mind screeched. You can't let a criminal escape because he's fit!
Of course we're not going to let him escape, Wesley's  starved and reprehensible libido answered. We're going to lock him up. In our bedroom.

I have to admit the beginning was a bit of a drag. For some reason I just never got properly invested in the external plot here, even though I enjoyed all the paranormal lore and adventures in the original series, Magic in Manhattan. However, Wesley absolutely carried this draggy part, and then when he and Sebastian finally meant and started interacting, I was utterly sold on their dynamic. I love me two damaged people coming together to bring out the best in each other. I do wish their feelings developed over a slightly longer period of time—the progression just seemed too fast, especially considering how much they're willing to change about their lives to be together. Still, every single scene they shared brought a smile to my face.

If I have to pick a favorite, it's definitely Wesley. Even back when he was introduced as the low-key evil ex in Starcrossed, I suspected he had a fun head to dig into, and my, as a POV character he really delivered. The self-proclaimed worst person most people ever meet, he charmed me with just the right balance of cynicism, wit, self-deprecation, and open-mindedness. He also kind of sold me on Sebastian, because in Sebastian's own chapters in the first half of the book, the dude was so fully in penitent sinner mode, it was hard to seeing anything else behind that. But Wesley, from his POV, showed me Sebastian's kindness, loneliness, vulnerability, stubbornness, and resilience, and really made me care for both sides of the story.

I felt like the historical setting was less immersive here, compared to the original series. There were a bunch of small inaccuracies scattered throughout that took me out of the story now and then, and now I'm actually left wondering if it could have been a problem in Magic in Manhattan, too. But maybe my grasp on what Prohibition era New York was like is a lot weaker than my grasp on post-WWI Europe, and so I found the former more immersive simply because I didn't notice problems, not because they weren't there. (Note to self: research Prohibition era New York more, just for fun).

But anyway, I had a good time, I loved the chemistry between the leads, I enjoyed the banter a lot, and I loved the contrast and comparisons between the ways Sebastian and Wesley were broken and what they needed to heal. Might as well continue with this trilogy!

“It's hard work pretending to be the person they think I am.” 

This was honestly so soothing, despite both characters having complicated backgrounds and the initial class-based tension between them. I think it's my favorite by Cat Sebastian at this point, or at the very least, one of my two favorites, fully on par with We Could Be So Good. It just hit me in all the right feels and turned out to be exactly the comfort read I was craving. 

The romance kind of belongs under the enemies to lovers label, but only very mildly; at the beginning the two guys only vaguely know each other and one of them dislikes the other on principle, simply because of the other's wealth and family name. They end up on a cross-country road trip together, because one needs a ride and the other needs an excuse to not be around his family. From there on, we basically have two intertwining character studies with just enough plot to hold it together, and those studies are really well done. 

I really liked how much nuance went into each arc. Caleb's relationship with money and how it's clearly affected by both his background and his time rubbing shoulders with well-off people at the university. Peter's innate goodness overlapping with major people pleasing tendencies. I also loved how they both helped each other figure out what they wanted in life and find the strength to pursue it, but at the same time, they don't completely owe it to each other, you know? They'd clearly get there eventually, one way or another, but getting there together turned out to be a kinder, happier journey, and I'm very here for it. 

Also, I loved seeing Pat again, and seeing a little more of Harry, and that phone conversation Peter had with Tommy. This book totally can be read as a standalone, but for those who've read Tommy Cabot Was Here, these parts definitely add some extra joy. 

“We stand on the threshold of the twentieth century, and people are turning down jobs because they're afraid of a ... a...”

“Hag that sits on your chest and steals your breath,” said Angus helpfully. “And maybe the rest of the world is on the threshold of the twentieth century, but we're in Gallacia, if you hadn't noticed.”

On one hand, this was such a quick read—I literally got through it in one sitting without wanting to pause once. But at the same time, it's one of the slowest paced stories I've read lately. A huge part of it's just build-up, to the point that when I realized there was actual horror action finally happening, it took me by surprise. Like, what do you mean we're in the middle of actual folk horror, not just exploring all the ways in which this area is a perfect place for encountering supernatural horrors?

In case the above sounds like a complaint, it's really just an observation. The build-up here is long, true, but it's still immensely entertaining, offering insight into the main character and setting as well as creating a palpable folk gothic atmosphere. (I'm not sure folk gothic is an actual term, but that's the best way I know how to describe the vibe here.)

The only complaint I have about the book is the constant grumbling about Gallacia, the fictional Balkan country where the book takes place. A really cool place, by the way, with a distinct, original culture and language that is at once at odds with real life Eastern European cultures and deeply mired in them, depending on which aspects you choose to focus on. Definitely not worse this amount of grumbling. I mean, I kind of understand the protagonist's reasons, and we Eastern Europeans do love to get grumpy about our places of origin. But we typically do it with a grain of self-deprecation and without that air of judging from the outside that the book has? Idk. The vibes are just very off here, and very “this was most definitely NOT written by anyone from this part of the world,” which kind of took me out of the story a few times. 

But, yeah. That was literally the only gripe I had with the book. Otherwise, I enjoyed getting immersed in the delicious atmosphere and following the thread of slowly increasing tension toward a pretty satisfying resolution. The characters were all charming in their own odd ways. Alex, the protagonist, in particular was just as endearing as I remember kan from the first book. I once again appreciated the very accurate depiction of living with tinnitus. Also, I feel like Alex's PTSD was very well handled.

People think children's lives are simple, easy, but it's the opposite. Everything that happens around them affects them, and they don't have the power to affect any of it back.

From the blurb, I expected something with a faux true crime feel gradually sliding into supernatural territory. That's not how I would describe the book I've actually read. In fact, I'm not sure how to describe it at all. I guess the best I can do is “a brand of weird vaguely similar to We Used to Live Here, except less carefully constructed, but also with better characterization.” 

I definitely missed a gradual transition from “kinda weird but plausible” to “getting weirder” to “wait, we've left plain old ‘weird' behind a chapter ago and need a whole new set of adjectives.” These stages kind of overlapped too much, too awkwardly, with the plot and the characters seldom being on the same page, so to speak. There were a lot of details that felt like they were added for the vibes and then the narrative never followed through with them, such as, for instance, Gloria's cryptic warnings. 

On the other hand, the vibes ARE pretty great, and the hazy, confusing feel of the story matches the theme of twisted childhood memories. And then there's also some great character work, which is almost, almost enough for me to forgive all the structural sloppiness. (If you told me while I was in the first half of the book that Jenny would become my favorite, I would have laughed incredulously, and yet.) And while the build up to the resolution didn't always land for me, the choice Val made hit me hard.

Random things I really, really liked:

- The desert descriptions. Every time one sprung up, I felt like I was standing right there between the sand and the wind.
- The fake Reddit etc threads. They were fun, realistic, and full of relatable pop culture references.
- That one scene with the itching hand in the dark and the thread Val pulled. IYKYK.
- The door symbolism and how it was used throughout the story.

Overall, there's a lot about the narrative I wish could be tightened up or rearranged a bit, but the vibes are strong, the characters grew on me, and the ending made me tear up a little. It probably won't go on any of my favorites lists, but it was an engrossing experience regardless.

HOW TO GET ANOTHER DATE WITH KAT
1. Figure out interdimensional travel

This was a less cozy story than the cover and the blurb led me to believe, but nevertheless a sweet one. Actually, I think the least cozy parts were among my favorites, such as Kat's grief and the way the whole Chosen One thing affected her. Though I also enjoyed some of the lighter parts, like all the magic theory, constructing spells, etc. Also, the robust inclusion of D&D melted my nerdy heart, same as the small acknowledgement that other tabletop roleplaying games exist, too.

My main grip with the book is that I expected a young adult novel, but this read more like middle grade. The only times Brenda and Kat felt like teens was during the romance-focused scenes, but even then I felt like they acted... 15-ish, maybe? Definitely younger than 18. Brenda's friends group and Kat's classmates continuously felt younger than that.

And it wasn't just the characters' behaviour, it was the whole vibe. On one hand, the stakes were so high—a conspiracy involving two separate worlds. On the other hand, it was toppled rather easily with the power of friendship. Everyone took magic, dragons, giant enchanted cats, and dimension travel completely in stride. Most of the tension between the girls and their respective parents got resolved as soon as they actually talked about it. Perhaps this ease was where the coziness was supposed to be found. Instead, it felt like the kind of childlike wonder that can be so nice to find in MG fantasy, not YA which I usually expect to be a bit messier and more dramatic, even if the story os overall a feel-good one. That omnipresent MG vibe was nice in itself, actually! But at odds with both my expectations and the romance parts.

To tell a story is in some part to tell a lie, isn't it? 

I've been looking forward to this book so much, but now that I'm done with it, I'm mainly just confused. There were definitely some interesting moments here, and I think as a whole I would have enjoyed it a little bit more if my expectations weren't so high. I definitely enjoyed the first couple of chapters with the medieval/gothic atmosphere and the contrast between all the religious mysticism and the Diviners being just girls. I was intrigued and wanted to know what was next, but I don't think anything in this book ever lived up to the first chapters. 

I've seen The Knight and the Moth praised for its worldbuilding. There were a bunch of aspects of it I found intriguing, such as the sprites and the whole concept of Omens (though the logistics of how that concept was executed in practice low-key boggled my mind). Each location had some cool evocative descriptions that drew me in, especially the Fervent Peaks and Bellidine. But I never felt truly immersed, because at every step of the way I just had so many questions about how this was supposed to actually work. The geography of it, the economy, the politics, it never came together. It felt like a rough sketch of a setting, a bunch of cool ideas to be explored, interrogated, and pulled together for real. 

I've seen it praised for its prose, to which I say, eh. There were definitely some great descriptions, some fun moments of banter, some good turns of phrase. But the overall effect was clunky and all over the place, because the prose kept swinging back and forth between pseudo-medieval style with all the proper names for various parts of the cathedral or pieces of armor and quippy, snappy modern dialogue. Also, if I see one paragraph ending on an em dash or ellipsis with the conclusion placed on a separate line, I'm going to scream, I swear. It's a cool stylistic device! It can be used to great effect at appropriate times! I love it when it's used in moderation! But multiple times per page? Come on. You've got to be kidding me. Same with all the sentence fragments separated by full stops and a bunch of other small things that are supposed to be the spice, not the bulk of the metaphorical meal. 

I've seen people gush about the gargoyle character, saying how precious he was and what a great comic relief he made. I don't disagree per se, but I also never became a fan. I do agree this character was among the better parts of the book. I called that big reveal about him back in the first half of the novel, but the way it was handled was satisfying enough, and he's got some of my favorite bits of dialogue.  I've seen people mention that the plot felt like a video game with a set of locations to visit and bosses to fight, and with that, I agree wholeheartedly. This shouldn't be a bad thing in itself; there are books that do great things with novelizing game-like narratives like that. The key, I feel, is to be self-aware about this aspect of the plot and to deliberately play with the related tropes. Which is something I feel The Knight and the Moth attempted at the beginning, what with the MC essentially joining the party mid-quest, but then it was just a straightforward drag of “visit place, fight a boss, get a McGuffin,” and the repetitiveness made it harder and harder for me to actually focus on the events. Like, what did it matter what happened in each hamlet if at the end clearly they'd get the McGuffin and move on to the next one. Also I felt like the structure only made the shaky parts of the worldbuilding stand out more. 

I did enjoy the romance quite a bit. The progression from enemies to lovers was fairly quick, but there was a nice overlap between those two states of relationship, and I liked how the two characters challenged each other's assumptions and made each other grow. Also, while I didn't think the final twist was, let us say, elegantly handled, mostly once again due to the worldbuilding it's mired in being so half-baked, I liked how it slightly recontextualized the entire story that came before it. There are definitely a lot of aspects to this story that make me feel it could have been an awesome book after a few more rounds of in-depth editing, from developmental to structural to line editing. As it is now though, idk, it just confuses me. I think Rachel Gillig is not an author for me. 

We expected to see accounts of diligent, noble-minded scientists using research libraries and crouching in rain-soaked hides. But what do I read instead in the newspapers? Romance.

I can't put into words how much I adored this book 🤩💖💖💖 I wouldn't call it perfect, but if the worldbuilding and the plot emerged with just a little more clarity from behind the witty prose and wild tropey shenanigans, it damn well would be. The writing is simply brilliant, the exact kind of humor I vibe with. Not a single 5-minutes chunk of the audiobook passed without me snorting or giggling into my pillow. I can't remember the last time a book made me quite so giddy. Definitely getting the author's entire backlog at first opportunity!

What we've got here is a peculiar version of Victorian England where ornithologists from top universities regularly commit adventurous feats of derring-do in the name of studying, observing, and preserving magical birds. This particular mixture of adventure and academia is something I didn't know I was absolutely craving. In some ways the book reminded me of that old TV show I used to love, The Lost World. Except instead of dinosaurs hidden away on a secret island here we've got ubiquitous magical birds, instead of a tight-knit bickering found family there's a dynamic duo of rivals quickly becoming lovers, and instead of an expedition into the unknown we've got a totally rigged Birder of the Year competition that is designed to resemble reality TV as closely as possible in a world that doesn't yet have television (but does have parasols with propellers). So. Yeah. The two pieces of media have next to nothing in common actually, but somehow scratch the same itch.

The romance here was recced to me as slow-burn, which has raised a lot of questions in me since the characters fall for each other almost immediately, the whole story takes place over a single week or so, and by the end of it they're completely certain they're the loves each other's lives. Seems more like insta love to me, which is usually not my cup of tea. But apparently, wrap it in a trope-savvy, self-aware, not at all taking itself seriously narrative, and I'll absolutely lap it up. So what if they've only known each other for a week? It was a week of wild adventure, excitement, cool birds, dastardly villains, appalled fishermen, and too many beds. And Beth and Devon also genuinely help sach other heal and grow! I approve.

I will also never tire of singing praises to the prose here. I know I've mentioned it already, but seriously, the writing here is awesome. So witty! So quirky! So set on intentionally breaking so many regular writing rules in the cleverest ways! This novel is an absolute delight.

PS. I really liked Daniel and I'm so intrigued with his relationship with his wife. Can't wait to get my hands on the next book!

Sweet-talk the heir, solve a murder, host a wedding. Sounds like a walk in the park.

There were a lot of individual aspects of this book that I enjoyed a whole lot, but the story itself never quite came together for me. I'm still going to pick up the series conclusion because I'm attached enough to the characters to care. But this one overall was, sadly, on the meh side for me.

Let's start with the positives! The character cast is consistently adorable, and we get some excellent new additions. I particularly adore James. Matild continues to be a national treasure. Feo and Wylan have my entire heart with their awesome slow burn progression from enemies to allies to friends to idiots to lovers. I love this duo so much, sometimes I almost wish they were the main characters.

The cozy moments were all fantastically well-done. Everything in the tea shop, especially that night of playing Cocoa & Capitalism. The incredibly sweet baby dragons. And I think I'll count the whole getting to know Kianthe's family too, despite the stressful beginning. It resolved very nicely after all. 

I also kind of enjoyed Kianthe and Reyna not just taking a more active stance against the evil queen, but also openly acknowledging they were irresponsible to run away from everything. They don't really frame it as a non-good thing, but they do call it what it is, and that's somehow gratifying. This has been my biggest gripe with the series from the beginning: yes, the characters ate cute, the romance is wholesome, and the wintry fantasy small time is cozy af. But. There's a tyrant doing tyrant things, and one of you is the most powerful mage in the land while the other is intimately familiar with the inner workings of the tyrant's court, and y'all just... run away and open a tea shop? Good for you, but what about all the people left to suffer under the tyrant's rule just so you can chill?

Kianthe and Reyna are both very likable and nice, don't get me wrong. But I, an ordinary person without a fraction of their abilities, have struggled with shame daily for the last four years because the best I can do against a real-life tyrant is hide away and donate all I can to those on the actual frontlines. I hate I can't do more. If I did any less, it would kill me. I genuinely don't understand how you can look at human suffering, know that you could help ease it, and just turn away—and then somehow have self-respect afterward. So yeah, that's been making it hard to enjoy the coziness, thinking constantly of it's price. The slight acknowledgement of that in the book made things a tiny bit better, because hey, at least that's a step away of normalizing the irresponsibility / framing it as self-care no matter the cost of it to others.

That said, the whole political intrigue thing was kind of clunky, both on its own and in how it merged (or attempted to merge) with the cozy aspects. I don't think taking an inherently dark, complex, high-stakes situation and trying to slap on a wholesome feel-good uwu solution could ever work out perfectly tbh. It requires a lot of suspension of disbelief and willful ignorance to buy into this, and the way the book handled the whole thing didn't help me. I just kept thinking, “Yes, but how” in endless variations.

What made it even harder to just relax and lean into the escapism was the prose. I think previous installments had the same problem but not to this extent. Here though, there's simply an outrageous amount of telling—not instead of showing but piled on top for some reason. In a chapter narrated by Kianthe Reyna would do something and Kianthe would then spend a paragraph explaining what Reyna's angle is here and why it is smart, when that's already obvious from the text. Then in her own chapter Reyna would react to something in a transparent and understandable manner, then pause to spell out the reaction and where it came from. That happened again and again, as if the author expected the readers to be able to grasp anything at all without extensive handholding. Needless to say, it added so many unnecessary words and bogged down pacing. Not to mention it's just kinda frustrating, like trying to focus on watching a movie while someone constantly pokes at you narrating what you're already seeing on the screen.

Sometimes what you have to give is enough. Even if it's a rock instead of a diamond. 

I read this book in I think three sittings and could barely tear myself away from it ever time, so obviously it did a bunch of stuff right. At the same time I'm left with some rather conflicted feelings. Alexis is an incredibly interesting if not always likable FMC, and Daniel is the absolute precious cinnamon roll to end all cinnamon rolls. Each of them had an excellent personal arc. But despite all their neverending inner monologues about their love for each other and all the sweet moments they shares, I remain unconvinced about their romance. And it's not because of the actual huge obstacles they had to face. It's more how they are never on the same page. 

From the beginning, Daniel opens his entire life to Alexis, and she spends most of their time together being super cagey and keeping him her dirty little secret. It's understandable given what she's going through with the ongoing breakup from an abusive ex, her parents putting pressure on her, and her demanding job. But it's also kind of rough to see the contrast between her treatment of Daniel and his going all out for her. At the same time, to Alexis's credit, she does outline her boundaries early on, spelling it out she's not looking for a real relationship and isn't emotionally available at the moment. And Daniel, well, doesn't explicitly disrespect those boundaries, but basically just keeps treating her as his girlfriend and hoping to win her over.

I dunno, I feel there's some uncomfortable disconnect here for most of the story. I think I'd be more likely to get sold on them as a couple if they reflected it more concretely, not just in that self-flagellating “I guess (s)he wanted x and I only had y to give” way they did after the third act break-up, and even more importantly, actually spoke about it on the page. Also if Alexis, in her ruminations about her parents' and her own abusive relationships, admitted to herself that while she was no doubt the victim in those, she also absorbed some toxic patterns that put her at risk of hurting someone else in a similar way.

Other than finding it hard to buy into the actual romance part though, I was really engrossed. I enjoyed the balance of serious subjects and romcomminess. The light magical realism touches were fun. The side characters were a mixed bag: some were nice but pretty one note, others displayed some interesting complexity, such as Alexis's friends being super toxic but at the same time offering her the support she needed at a certain time. There were some lovely scene with the Wakan community, and some small poignant moments like Alexis trying to one-sidedly get to know her brother's wife by listening and relating to her songs. 

The part I liked least was the final act where the author suddenly completely forgot how to show anything with words and committed to practice every possible form of telling. Seriously. Spelling it out for the reader how abuse is bad in a PSA very thinly disguised as fiction? Check. Entire chapters of nothing but the characters' inner turmoil being explained in great detail without anything actually happening? Check. Summarizing big pivotal moments instead of letting the reader live through them with the characters? Check.

And yet despite all of that I was grinning like a loon reading the happy ending 🤷🏼‍♂️ So I guess I'll have to puck up another book or two by Abby Jimenez, just to figure out this addictiveness factor.  PS: Speaking of telling over showing, for a romance that starts with a one night stand and has characters ceaselessly gush about how amazing the sex is, there was sooooooo little spice. Like, come on, I promise I'm here for the feels, not for the smut, but if this is the cornerstone of their initial connection? Maybe help me understand what all the fuss is about, lol.