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‘I never realized how easily people could be trained to accept slavery.’

Kindred drew me in and refused to let me go, much like Dana is snatched from the comforts of her modern ‘home’ and taken back to the 1800s, serving as witness and savior to a white plantation owner who turns out to be quite important for her ancestry. I’ve read some of Butler’s Patternmaster series before this, but this book has a different style and a different vibe to it. The themes and philosophy are much stronger, the characters and plot mainly vehicles for the former. The characterization is decent though, and even though the plot remains slightly stagnant—we see the ending in the beginning, and then work from the beginning towards the dreaded conclusion—it was nevertheless quite enthralling. Read for a book club in December 2022—and to think I was almost afraid I wouldn’t finish it in time! I read nearly half the book in just one sitting.Our protagonist, Dana, is a modern black woman who aspires to be a writer while working at a temp agency. She is just about ready to start a new chapter in her life—moving together with her husband, Kevin, into a brand new home. Yet, on her 26th birthday, something unreal happens—she is transported suddenly to save the life of a certain white boy, and eventually realizes that not only is she transplanted in space, but also in time. Dana’s tenacity and strong sense of what is just were admirable qualities and I respected her, and admired her attempts to deal with the repressive nature of the time she was forced into. Her husband, Kevin, initially seems like a character of convenience to add context into Dana’s situation, but I was pleasantly surprised at how Butler weaves his actions and values into the narrative as well.The plot is not the focus of the story here, and yet the book manages to be a page-turner even so. That is partly due to the wildly unpredictable nature of how and when Dana is sent back in time, but even more to what she can’t control—the actions that happen when she is living out her days on the plantation. For Dana, the gaps in her modern life are small, but in the meanwhile she is spending perhaps months at a time living in the 1800s. It would be a challenge for anyone, but especially for a young black woman in the era of slavery. The book deals with a lot of heavy topics and cruel treatment and discrimination is not shied away from on the page. The ending did seem abrupt, but upon reflection, it makes sense—it mirrors the sense of abruptness and lack of closure that our characters find at the end themselves. At times, the plot could feel a bit sluggish, especially when we are given repeat encounters regarding the brutalities of slavery—it is tempting to want to look away, but like Dana, we must persevere through the nightmarish scenes.The themes are by far the best feature of this novel; it is a book of ideas, not just a ‘time travel adventure to preserve one’s genealogy’, but a question of family relationships, what the present owes to the past, how one’s identity is shaped by their ancestors, and whether knowing about one’s history can help one move forward. I enjoyed some commentary I read about Kindred, which discussed the notion of Dana being like a ghost—but contrary to popular convention, she is a ghost of the present haunting the past, rather than the inverse. Her modern sensibilities—and righteous indignation and rejection of the norms and attitudes concerning slavery of the 1800s—are what drive her actions and subtly influence the people she meets. I also appreciated the depth Butler provides to the relationship dynamic between Dana and Kevin. You can tell that they mutually support each other, and that their relationship is a strong one, forged by shared values and common understanding. Dana also has a complex relationship with her ancestors—a line that is founded by deceit and violence, yet one that Dana must nonetheless uphold if she is to secure her own personhood. Butler certainly does not make things easy for her characters, and we know from the start that Dana has a strong price to pay for her goal, even in spite of the suffering it takes to get there.I would recommend this book to all, but especially those who enjoy sci-fi/fantasy books that are really philosophical discussions in disguise, with the main concern being an in-depth examination into a particular idea or situation. In this case, I felt quite called out when the novel hints at the degree to which people can remain comfortably ignorant about contemporary issues, much as the people of the 1800s are to slavery—for instance, we refuse to acknowledge social ills to save face or to ease our own discomfort, like the ever-increasing tragedies of homelessness, human trafficking, etc. This is far from a perfect novel in the traditional realms of character and narration, but given that it is a novel that stays with you—and makes you think about it long after you’ve put it down—it is well worth it.

An exciting novella-length ‘prose poem’ by Srikanth Reddy, Underworld Lit is a delightful mix of ramblings adjacent to academia, underworld mythology, and the spaces between family and mortality. I was drawn to this book by the frequent interruptions of ‘quizzes’, which were presumably provided by the main character, a literary professor, to his students. The narrative is told as a mix of the professor’s story and that of the ‘weird or strange’ Chinese text that he is translating, a surreal adventure that happens to a certain time-and-space-traveling administrative functionary named Chen.

It is safe to say that this is unlike anything else I have read. And yet it managed to charm and hook me completely into finishing it over the course of two afternoons. The characters and the plot aren’t necessarily that strong; since it’s a poem, there is a lot more in the way of atmosphere and ambiance than there is in character development or narrative progression. At its core, its an examination of the feelings that surround you when something akin to the events in the book happen—that is to say, the nature of mortality, grief, and struggling to find your place, with a dash of cosmic justice in for good measure.

I am glad I was able to get this with interlibrary loan. I don’t think the experience of reading the ebook provides quite the same experience, because of the nature of the mixed materials involved. There were several images of an old French translation or the original Chinese text displayed alongside the standard English accompaniment (not necessarily its translation). I am impressed by how much I was able to get the sense of dread and reluctant acceptance that one finds so often in academia and those who are suffused with it. Moreover, the elements of underworld mythology were at the same time familiar and excitingly new—I did not know much about (indigenous) American underworld stories, for example. This is one of those books that is a rare mix of all the right things that appeal to me as an individual, so I can’t say if this will work for everyone—but if any of the aspects of the blurb call to you, give it a try.

Jane Harper is an author new to me, but The Survivors was a decent read to get me through a few rough days. The book revolves around Kieran, a new father coming back to his hometown with his girlfriend and their infant daughter. There is a great trauma and tragedy that haunts this town from Kieran’s past. Though the writing style could have used some finer editing and sharpening, the characters and narrative piqued my interest through the end of the novel. The mystery and suspense is gradually built up over the course of the book and while it isn’t a particularly twisty novel, it is one that kept me reading to find out the end.

The narrative is fairly simple, and not much happens other than the main mystery, which is inevitably tied to events that happened in the town’s and protagonist’s past. We get snippets from the past interweaved with the modern timeline, which was confusing and jerky at times. Harper’s style also tends to be a bit too… descriptive? I’m not sure how to describe it, but it is way too wordy and tends to meander on occasion. Something interesting might happen, and then there will be a few pages of something unrelated or a random thought Kieran has, which may or may not be related. Maybe that was a way to foreshadow, but I didn’t find it effective.

The characters manage to be interesting, even though they could have been developed a bit further. I don’t really get why there is a baby in the story—every now and then, we get the characters interacting with her and remembering that she exists, but I don’t really get ‘parent’ vibes from the main couple. Many of the locals also were one-dimensional, though they played important roles in the plot. I didn’t really get a sense of who Mia was, for example, aside from her being a sidelined careerist. Kieran is perhaps the most interesting since we got to see his inner thoughts and perspective the most. One aspect I enjoyed was the way that certain characters can be grey, and how the characters’ perceptions of each other might be colored by time or their closeness.

What I really enjoyed in this novel, and what made it so compelling, was its themes of trauma and how a community heals as well as keeps secrets. What may seem harmless on the surface might not be in reality, and a town might go to some crazy lengths to keep its reputation. Kieran repeatedly has to struggle with his conception of his deceased older brother, whom he and his family idolized. The book jacket calls this book ‘atmospheric’, and I think it is, at least in part. I have never been to Australia or stayed longterm in a tiny seaside town (with all those secrets), but I got a hint of what it must be like in this novel. The backbiting, neighborly concern, the newcomer disrupting the status quo… it’s all there.

The mystery is a slow buildup for sure. Try the first 50 pages or so, because it isn’t that gripping in the beginning—and the writing style makes it seem even more clunky than it needs to be. The ending isn’t a shocking twist, but it’s not really the surprise (or lack thereof) that made it enjoyable for me—rather, it was the satisfaction of seeing the various pieces of the puzzle come together and seeing the overall picture. For a quick mystery book, it fits the bill—but based on the writing style, I’m not sure I’ll give Harper another chance unless the blurb is especially intriguing.

I was rather surprised that more people aren’t talking about this book, but whether that’s on the publishers or the public, I cannot say. I only heard of this from stumbling on a publicity event where Chelsea Manning was promoting the book in conversation with another. It was really cool to see her in person and also get to hear her talk about some of the experiences from the book, which she said isn’t really a memoir as such. It’s more of an expose on the defining events from her early life and what led her to where she is today—and importantly the events she is most famous for. During the leaks of the war logs, I was too young and politically inept to really concern myself with the details, though her name was vaguely familiar. This book doesn’t presume you know anything about what happened, but it does give Manning a chance to defend her actions and explain her philosophy of transparency.

There are two major running themes here: that of abuse and poverty and what Manning has overcome to be in her current position, including having to fight for her identity, and the value and emphasis placed on government transparency above all (even such a highly noble cause as pacifism). Both may be preaching to the choir a bit, judging on some of the questions asked at the event’s Q&A session and some of the reviews on here. If you believe Manning leaked state secrets or caused irreparable harm to the country… then there isn’t a great compromise with Manning’s account, which categorically denies that this is the case. I’m much more sympathetic to her view, so it was easy for me to sympathize with her plight and confirm her philosophy.

The government should be more transparent, and Manning’s actions informed war policy for a lot of people in my generation and beyond in an invaluable way. That’s all I’ll say of my personal view on the matter. As for the book itself, it reads easily and captivated me. The start reads like a thriller, with Manning finding the single last Barnes & Noble cafe that is open and has wifi during an intense snowstorm on. The rest is perhaps less dramatized for effect but no less compelling. I was immediately drawn into her story of growing up in a rural, conservative town surrounded by family members who did not understand her or were downright violent towards her. Her zealousness for ensuring government transparency, and to make sure the truth prevails above all, was laudable. I’m not an activist and I don’t think it’s in my blood, but she even made me feel invigorated to try and participate in direct action.

Whether you agree with Manning’s decision or not, or even are skeptical, I think most people can agree that her conditions while imprisoned were condemnable. Before even having a chance to face trial, she was put in solitary confinement for almost a year, and then again later. Such a process is dehumanizing and, for Manning, almost fatal. Her experiences in the military also made it quite clear that its driven less by patriotism and more by a desire for upwards mobility by many of the downtrodden in the US who see no other recourse to improve their situation. It made me feel angry that the military’s legal processes were so horrific but also so incompetent in so many ways—especially when it came to matters of technological security. The security ‘measures’ on some of these things were truly laughable. I can only admire Manning for her curiosity and grit that served her well in being a great intelligence analyst as well as a great activist with the interests of the public at heart. This book is a great exploratory look at some of the ways even military and government officials can get basic things like computer security so wrong, and what needs fixing in this bureaucratic systems.

My only gripe with this book is mainly that the writing style felt a bit… repetitive at times. Manning’s style is succinct and to the point, perhaps a reflection of that military training. But it sometimes felt like I was reading her cover letter rather than her memoir: ‘my job consisted of…’ and similar. I would have also liked to see Manning engage more with the descriptions of her life—she does open up about her emotional responses in a few moments, but it would have been even better to see not only a description of her early life but more detail in her reflections on it.

I really hope more people hear about this book! There aren’t that many reviews on Goodreads, and I haven’t seen this in public book stands. Most people I’m acquainted with know who Chelsea Manning is, but their exposure to her was largely curated by the media. This book is not merely a memoir, but a chance for Manning to tell her story and provide greater context for her actions—as well as an introductory note in understanding who she is as a person. For that alone, I think all who are interested in security or politics or even just curious about her philosophy should read this. I doubt my review will reach that many people, but even if it nudges you towards this book a tiny bit, I think it’ll be worth it.

This is my first full-length Junji Ito read, as I’ve only looked at his short works before. As a standalone, this has a somewhat odd narrative, but the visuals and cosmic horror are top notch—creating a perfect atmosphere for that feeling of slightly unsettled in your own skin. The main downside is that the plot had a lot of conveniences and was overall a bit strange, with odd pacing throughout. There is also a rather large cast of characters that pulls the story in a few different directions, which can be jarring.

Still, the central concept of the ‘alien’ planet that comes to threaten earth raises a lot of interesting philosophical and more physical questions—like who gets to survive a catastrophic event, and what qualities are needed to survive in such circumstances. I wanted some more depth from this, but it was a relatively short work, so I wasn’t too surprised in that regard.

The visuals, in classic Junji Ito style, are the best part of this. Every perspective on the planet of Remina is stunning and terrifying at the same time. The cosmic scenes and faces of horror are spot on. It’s just a pity that the characters and plot drag behind, but given the quality of the art and the fact that it was a quick read, it was still enjoyable.

Read this in about 24 hours, so the descriptor ‘gripping’ is well-deserved. I was drawn to this by the voyeuristic promise of being presented with ‘case documents’, in the form of correspondence between our cast of characters, and trying to unearth the murder mystery. Much of the novel establishes what leads up to the murder rather than the event and its aftermath, so I wouldn’t call it a murder mystery in that sense. Nonetheless, it presents a curious cast of characters, members of an amateur theater group, and their inclinations and underhanded motivations that lead to the dreadful climax. I managed to pick this one up from the library, as it is definitely one to read in paper rather than ebook.

The premise of the novel is completely ridiculous—so don’t pay too much attention to it. All these characters send way more emails than I probably have in a given year, and for the most mundane things. That’s just not realistic in this day and age… not to mention, the concept of trainee lawyers being given a sheaf of documents, but purposefully not told the entire context behind it and what the case is about? I am skeptical. Still, the process of ‘sifting through the documents’ and trying to uncover what the issue at stake is was a fun and exciting one. It kind of reminded me of playing Danganronpa and trying to piece together the events that led up to the murder, who the suspect(s) is, and why it happens. As another review mentions, it is sort of like a game in that way—you are a participant as much as Femi and Charlotte are. Don’t take it too seriously and you’ll have a good time.

The characters were a bit overwhelming at first, especially keeping track of who is who and what their relationships are. Still, I find that Hallett did a good job of keeping them consistent to their roles—and though there were aspects of the ending that I didn’t find surprising, there were others that intrigued me, as far as the relationships go. Some of the drama involved in the ending was too much for me, and I had to roll my eyes at some events. While I saw some things coming, others just… didn’t make as much sense, as far as ‘motivations to kill someone’ go. But the way the author presents the events, through these documents and in pieces at a time, helps to build up the tension and leave the reader turning the pages for more.

There are some important discussions hinted at in the novel, but we don’t get the space to really breathe and go through them, which is a pity. The theme of outsiders entering a strict social hierarchy, in particular, was a fascinating one. Just like The Guest List, I found myself thinking that rich people really are intolerable at best, and that their petty dramas could do more to make me care. Still, that doesn’t reflect all of the characters, so there are still some reasons to want to keep reading to find out what happens. As a quick thriller, this one isn’t going to win any awards, but it does the job and the epistolary format made it a rather more fun experience than I would have received from a story of this caliber.

I wasn’t planning to read this after the disappointment with I Am Not Okay With This, but I got a notification that my library hold was ready, and so I decided to make the library’s hold retrieval worth it. This ended up being slightly less disappointing. Yes, the show is still much preferable to the comic, but the comic has its own… not exactly charm, but draw, maybe. For one, the hardcover edition is just nice. And it’s a short read, as I read it on two bus rides over the course of an hour. Like the other novel, this one is dark and grim and veers extremely towards the nihilistic side of being a teenager. The protagonists, James and Alyssa, are both extremely broken individuals with not much to live for, except each other—and even this relationship is built on a gossamer web of lies.

I am biased from the show, but the show version of the characters will always be superior to me. Still, the comic versions weren’t bad either—their feelings, or lack thereof, were displayed quite clearly on the page. As before, the art style is nothing to win awards, but its simplicity makes the dark and disturbing scenes that much harsher to behold. I wasn’t a huge fan of the alternating perspectives; here, it isn’t always clear whose perspective it is, and sometimes after reading the section through, I still wasn’t sure. Because of its length, we don’t get an extended time to see Alyssa and James grow into their relationship, so some of the resolution feels a bit accelerated.

I did enjoy that the comic gives a somewhat different focus than the show, which ends up taking a kind of mystery/chase route. The difference between setting in the US and in the UK was also interesting, as I feel the comic depicts more of that working class/“white trash” subsection of America, which the show obviously doesn’t have (though it involves the class angle from another lens). This also has that plot element, but the comic makes sure to keep the spotlight on Alyssa and James as characters, as well as their emotional struggles. Their relationship and understanding of it is key to the whole thing, and I was glad to see that come through strongly in the comic as well. My takeaway from this one is that being a teenager sucks (of course), but it sucks slightly less if you have someone who gets you… and even then, it could be a sociopath.

Interestingly, this comic was first serialized as a mini-comic—I wonder if the original formatting suits this style better than reading it once through as a collection in hardcover.

But he could feel compassion for them, as he did for the other victims, and it was that he sought more than anything else: to mourn their deaths rather than holding onto his anger at their lives.

This book has been on my TBR shelf for nearly 7 years. If you are at all considering reading this, don’t let that be you! I had always heard great things about The Goblin Emperor; and really, this amount of heaping praise does tend to make one suspicious. So I avoided it on principle, but also because I didn’t realize it is somewhat a standalone instead of a series. (Really, I need to do more due diligence to what I read.) This is a political, courts intrigue novel layered in the ambiance of high fantasy—Addison said she was inspired by her studies in the Byzantine era, which makes a lot of sense. It has a period feel, but not in the way that your average medieval England fantasy does, so it is quite a refreshing change of pace. Moreover, central to this novel are themes that are relevant to any conscientious modern—race, power, friendship, and identity, to name a few. Addison handles these complex subjects with aplomb.Don’t come into this novel expecting a steadfast plot, with guideposts to lead you through. It is much more of a ‘what would happen if…’ type of novel: namely, if the last-born, forgotten and neglected son of the emperor were to receive the throne? Except add in some fantasy elements and linguistic experimentation and you get this. There is a murder, but it isn’t really a murder mystery. There are projects overseen by the emperor, but these serve more as a vehicle of his character and relationships with others than to relate the consequences of the actions themselves. Despite this, I greatly enjoyed being in the world because of how animated it felt—with the characters’ thoughts and emotions, as well as their doubts and aspirations. This is rare for me in character-driven books, so I am all the more impressed by the writing. There are certainly pivotal moments in the narrative, so it isn’t entirely directionless, but the effect is rather more you are getting a chunk of the emperor’s biography, rather than following a concocted story from beginning to end. The political intrigue serves as an exciting backdrop to seeing how the emperor acclimates to his new role. I don’t want to say too much here, but suffice to say, they weren’t kidding about the 4D chess levels of court intrigue in the blurb.The characters are one of the strengths of this book, and particularly the protagonist, Maia. He is charming almost as soon as you get to know him—a naive ‘backwater’ forgotten royal son, he is almost naive in his kindness and generosity. Becoming emperor, he has to learn the ropes at a frantic pace, but his personality is not diminished for it, and despite the swirl of assassinations and conspiracies around him, he manages to maintain his benevolent attitude upon his world. Truly, Ethuveraz does not deserve him. Being half-goblin, Maia is also a well-written character in terms of being in-between worlds—of royal birth, but not accepted in court by his father; not a ‘full’ elf, nor a ‘full’ goblin and therefore fitting entirely among neither. The allusions to race are clear and reflect modern-day prejudices; I could not help but want to tear up when I read the scene where Maia is among a crowd people that look like him for the first time.Being the emperor is a lonely task, in spite of the many people Maia is constantly surrounded by. The secondary cast of characters is massive—I had to keep reminding myself of titles and names. Really though, push through the unfamiliarity of the names and invented nouns, because it is worth it. Even with minor characters, there was a sense of personality and consistency in their actions; not every writer can manage a large cast as Addison does here, so kudos. Certain characters—like Maia’s nohecharei, or bodyguards—do not actually get that much input, despite being ‘present’ for most of the novel, and yet you can still get a feeling for the sort of relationship they have with their emperor. It is magnificent. The political characters, ministers and courtiers and so on, are also deftly managed—each with their own particular agenda and attitude towards the emperor. Some only get a limited amount of time in the book, which felt like a wasted opportunity at times, but more or less they help to give the world a populated feel.The worldbuilding, as such, relies heavily on language. Addison clearly has a linguistically oriented mind here, as she invents elements of languages for both of the main population groups in the novel, elves and goblins, and makes consistent use of these throughout. (Though weirdly enough, sometimes she uses ‘English’ words for some things and makes up words for others—there doesn’t seem to be a strict guideline for what gets translated and what doesn’t.) The reader may feel inundated upon starting the novel to find so many unfamiliar words, but context clues and gradual exposure help to gain a comfortable grasp of them. I love getting to see language played around with and experimented to produce different nouns, writing systems (though we don’t get that here, aside from a few hints), etc., so this was great fun for me. If your idea of worldbuilding is more on the visual or conceptual side—think long, flowery descriptions of every garden or scene and an intricate history of goblins/elves—then this isn’t really that kind of book. Yes, there are mentions of history and certainly descriptions setting the scene, but they are appropriate and not overbearing (cough, Tolkien at times). The downside of this is that you don’t really get to learn much about the elves and goblins of this world, or of the cities and states involved, than what we hear from our narrative—and it gives only enough to get situated in Maia’s story. There are many seeds that could be germinated into a worldbuilding encyclopedia, but as such, the story favors giving us characters and court politics more than, say, diving deep into a history of Ethuveraz.This also impacts the thematic elements somewhat. As mentioned, there are significant allusions to race, hierarchical power, and finding one’s own identity (particularly as an outsider). These are hinted at through various thoughts that Maia has about himself as well as through his actions and responses to the environment at court. Nonetheless, Addison doesn’t dive as deeply into these issues as I was expecting. Yes—there is some dissatisfaction with goblin merchants in Ethuveraz about the elf-led elite class, but we don’t really see what that history is, or why the elves see themselves as superior to the goblins. Moreover, even with some of the ‘fantasy’ elements, a lot rests on the reader importing real world biases and discrimination—such as racism—to fill in the world of Ethuveraz, which felt a little too easy. This isn’t a novel where you see the end of prejudice as a definitive goal, because as I said, this isn’t that kind of novel—it’s a snippet of Maia’s life coming into his role as emperor, not a treatise on how race relations have developed during the reign of Edrehasivar VII. Perhaps that is my own petulant desire coming into play, but I would have liked to see more engagement with these core elements of Ethuveraz’s society.All in all, even with those downsides in mind, this novel blew my socks off. I had a lot going on, so it took me about two weeks to read, but each time I was excited to return to this world and see how Maia was faring along. It is a rare novel that gets me to care about its characters and their fates as much as this one does. The hype for this one is well-deserved, and I honestly can’t wait to read the other novels set in this world. Addison’s writing style works well for me, and even though it can be a bit wanting at times, it is nonetheless stellar compared to a lot of contemporary fantasy out there today. And goodness, we don’t necessarily need more fantasy based on the norms of Arthurian England.

This is a pretty strange book… and shorter than I was expecting. I watched the Netflix show and it was quite good, and I was sad when they discontinued it. I thought the source material would give me some answers, but it feels like almost another story. The graphic novel takes a snippet of Sydney’s life, which is a fairly bleak and dark snippet. Sydney’s attitude at times felt fairly realistic to being a teenager, but at other times, it didn’t feel like there was really a point to her ruminations and it didn’t encapsulate the ‘teenage ethos’ as well as the blurb anticipates. Her struggles and the plot were understandable, and the ending was to be expected in light of those, but I’m still not sure what the takeaway here is for the reader.

The use of supernatural powers could have been interesting, but its symbolic use feels quite heavy-handed. The art style is a bit juvenile and not eye-catching; it feels more like a newspaper strip than a graphic novel. Nothing wrong with that—this style might be great for some readers—but it doesn’t add anything to the story being told in a graphic format. The characters have a hint of promise; but due to the length, we don’t get enough backstory or emotional stakes in their lives. There also hints to the themes of trauma and control, but nothing so concrete that these are actually utilized well. This is one of those rare instances where I enjoyed the TV series adaptation more than the source material.

From the blurb, this book promises ‘cursed violins, Faustian bargains, and queer alien courtship over fresh-made donuts’. Ideally, you should be interested in some or most of those things in order to truly get the most out of this book. The premise and cover sealed the deal for me, and I was quite curious about how the bargain would play out. While I don’t think I quite matched the author’s ideal audience, I did like some parts of the novel. There is a lot here about found family, identity, and hope for a better future.

The first part of the novel was its most enticing, since it brings the setup and introduces our main characters. We’ve got one character involved in a rather brutal bargain with a demon and another who is a trans runaway just trying to make it through each day. How can one not find that interesting and compelling? On top of it all, we’ve got a single mother trying to raise her kids on an alien planet—the parallels are hardly subtle, but it works—all while managing a donut shop somewhere in California. (I’m not really familiar at all with where San Gabriel is supposed to be.) But then much of the novel is spent on dialogue between the characters or expanding on their relationships, which is engaging enough, but gets dry and dull after a while. I wanted to hear more about the mechanics of the bargain, or violin practice, or the struggles of being a small business owner. Instead, we get a lot of positive and upbeat mottoes and cute characters doing cute things while the plot is forced onwards through off-screen mechanisms. The ending felt rather convenient and not as clever as I was expecting.

I did enjoy meeting the characters, and especially Katrina Nguyen, our main character who happens to be a violin genius. Her meeting Shizuka is truly a game changer—for the first time, she has someone who respects her just as she is, and not only that, but provides her luxury and violin lessons. All of that—and for free. Of course, the stakes implied by the premise are the hellish bargain, but at no point do the stakes truly feel threatening; the atmosphere of the book is so saccharine that you sense no harm could come to the characters. Moreover, Shizuka Satomi seemed an interesting character from the premise, but the author doesn’t delve into her backstory until the final third or so of the book, and I could have used more reasons to care about her. Her relationship with Lan Tran is also one of those ‘aw, how sweet’ things in the book, but we get a lot of telling and not showing—so the relationship didn’t feel as genuine as it probably should have. There are also some minor characters who have a surprising amount of depth to them, but their narratives almost feel like an afterthought while the main plot trudges along as we know it must.

Some frustrations are unique to me as a reader. I have little love or understanding of California, so a lot of the California-specific nostalgia didn’t have an emotional attachment for me. In some ways, this book seems like a very specific work borne out of the author’s experiences—for it must be, to be so specific and express such longing for specific places and circumstances. Yet, if you aren’t overly familiar with these, for instance, playing the violin or the competitiveness of the classical music world, a lot of this might go over your head. At least it did mine. I didn’t get much of an excitement about the violin—I pushed past the terms that confused me or the implications about certain pieces, because looking everything up would take me away from the story even further. That said, Aoki does have some fantastic descriptions for some of the pieces.

The writing style and perspective was also rather experimental in style. There were a handful of sentences that I had to read over and over because they just didn’t make any sense, or were otherwise too purple in prose. For instance: ‘And here and now is not a bad place and time to be, especially when so much of the unknown is beautiful.’ Sounds lovely and deep, but lacks substance—kind of like a donut, I guess. There were constant shifts of perspective—kind of like a TV show, where you see the same event from the eyes of different characters, except this was in written form. There would be a few short paragraphs, and then a larger break, and then a brand new set of paragraphs from another character. It felt like a whirlwind, and not in a good way. At times the author also writes out the current character’s thoughts, or a flashback, or some kind of dream, and it is never clear what one should expect when that happens. I also noticed a few editing mistakes—the wrong character’s name mixed up with the correct one, or characters referencing things the narrative mentions earlier in the novel—but not within that character’s presence. (I remember one instance of Shizuka referencing a specific event that was brought up with two completely unrelated characters—how convenient of her to reference something she wasn’t even present for, just a few pages later!)

Although this book fell flat for me in some ways, I definitely had things I appreciated, too. For one, the found family vibes in this book are immaculate. References to the game Undertale also made me smile. Saccharine or not, it’s hard to resist a smile when you see Katrina blossom into herself as she finds true acceptance, respect, and encouragement from her found family. Ditto for Lan Tran and the other characters, without going too much into detail. This is perhaps the greatest strength of the book; it creates an atmosphere of such belonging, such raw acceptance, that any reader who can empathize with our characters’ struggles is sure to feel seen and heard, at least for a time. Even if they don’t know much about violins, classical music, or California, there is at least that. Finally, kudos to this book for making me hanker for a good donut—and thereby discovering that there is an amazing mom-and-pop donut shop near me owned by a friendly Asian family.

I managed to read this at a rather appropriate time, so the setting and atmosphere were right up my alley. This is a mystery set in Schongau, a small but well-connected town in Bavaria in the year A.D. 1659. It is a strange feeling reading about locations you are somewhat familiar with, or at the very least, looking at the locations on the map and imagining the characters and events that are mentioned in the novel. For historical fiction, this kind of setting is rather unusual, even more so in the English language world. There is no dearth of historical fiction mysteries, but not many of them—aside from our current work—can claim to be set in the cusp of medieval to early-modern Bavaria. The setting drew me into it, but the plot and characters kept me engaged and interested to find out what happens.

The plot is a straightforward mystery, not of the ‘whodunnit’ variety, but ‘why’ and ‘howdunnit’. There are hints here and there for the reader, as in any mystery, but I confess that I didn’t try too hard to put the pieces together and let myself be surprised by the turn of events. I really was curious about what was going on behind the alleged accusations of witchcraft and the weird secrets kept by the murdered children. The reader is not always aware of the fullest extent of the characters’ thoughts, so there are some frustrating moments where you just want to know what monumental revelation a character has had—but it does give you a chance to think over what you have seen so far and try to piece it together. I did guess some things correctly, which were not too surprising, but probably due to the writing.

The characters are rather fascinating, if only because of the fact that they are the author’s ancestors, and therefore were real people. Names and occupations have been borrowed to populate the novel. I can’t help but wonder if they could ever have imagined such a thing—or how they might feel about it. In any case, it easily gives the novel that ‘lived-in’ sense of atmosphere that many novels struggle to attain, with… I don’t want to say necessarily less effort, because there still needs to be some, but certainly the world of Schongau feels authentic in a way that even other historical fiction novels do not. The Kuisls and Simon both became endearing characters, and especially the latter; being similar in age made it easy to relate to him. I also loved the small details that the author used to pepper the novel—on the same page, you can have a character talking about bloodletting a patient and another extolling the wonders of this new drug called ‘coffee’. (Simon and his weirdly emphatic obsession with coffee was rather amusing.)

The translation was decently done and, though at times the choice of phrase seemed oddly modern, it did not take me out of the reading experience. Translating and writing historical fiction involves a difficult balance of having language modern enough to entice the reader but also realistic enough to be believable; this novel errs more on the side of the former, and though it does reference period occupations, buildings, locations, etc., it reads like a contemporary fiction book. This has its perks—readability, for one, and for me, it makes it easier to imagine yourself a contemporary of the characters. I’m writing this review rather late and am now reading a book that uses a lot of ‘thou’ and ‘wouldst’ and ‘an’, and I have to admit, as atmospheric as it is, it did take my brain a second to reconfigure to expect them. You can’t please everyone, I suppose. As for the title—its significance should be clear to anyone who has read the final act of the novel.

I greatly enjoyed this novel, and I am especially glad I got to read this kind of book when I did. I’m definitely looking forward to the rest in the series and coming back to these characters and historical Schongau once more.

It is their refusal to see any divine beings as perfect, whole and complete of themselves, whether Zeus, Moros or Prometheus, that makes the Greeks so satisfying.

Like most people, I’ve always been fascinated with mythology—and Greek mythology was one of my first forays into it (but certainly not the last). Having studied classics, I was well-versed with a lot of the Greek myths but not all of them, so I went into this book with a fairly open mind. Despite knowing some (and perhaps most) of the stories, it was still rather fun and entertaining to see Fry recount them. He does have a particularly conversational and jovial style of storytelling that made me laugh or smile at the gods’ actions on the page. I also got a chance to collect some finer details in the mythology that I previously hadn’t dived into. Fry also provided generous (but not overdone) footnotes on relevant context, background information, or ideas for further ruminating. To be honest, I could have done with more of his footnotes and random tangents, but the current amount is probably best for a work like this. Whether you are completely new to Greek myths or a seasoned expert, this book will certainly have something for you—even if it’s a random etymological tidbit. I also read it gradually, over the course of a week or two, and that helped to digest it a few ‘stories’ at a time.Fry’s attempt here is to create a somewhat chronological account—starting from Chaos and through the different ages; this book covers only the time period prior to the heroic age, so not quite demigods yet, but focusing mostly on divinities and divinely-entangled mortals. As the quote above illustrates, the most enjoyable aspect of the Greek gods is just how flawed and ‘human’ they are—they make mistakes, hold petty grudges, and aren’t shielded from the consequences of their actions. Even on Olympus, there is a hierarchy and a system for how things work. Every god has their own domain and abilities, and these may not blatantly conflict with another god’s will. (Though, as with anything, of course there are exceptions.)One of the most fascinating things about myths to me, from an anthropological standpoint, is what it reveals about the mindset of the people telling them. A lot of these myths are aetiological, explaining how some aspect of the world as we know it came to be—why bees die after using their sting, or why spiders weave, or why a flower is that particular shade. And you know what? A lot of these concerns relate to an awe and almost irreverent fear of nature, yes, which is perhaps less relevant in this current age than it ever has been (in spite of climate change). But they also reveal the clever ways that mortals and gods alike deal with extraordinary and ordinary problems; tricks and guile occasionally, but also just earning their daily bread and moving forward with what they can do. Fry’s take on Prometheus and Sisyphus, for instance, can be quite a pro-humanity reading.This is a great book, though at times overly simplified; and sometimes Fry updates or refreshes myth to suit his own interpretation, which at times was contrary to my own expectation. Yet, in doing so, he is hardly any different than most mythographers who came before him. I at least appreciated that his tellings of myths aren’t the incredibly bowdlerized versions we’ve received from the early twentieth century and prior. It was my first book written by Fry, and I’m quite happy to go on with reading the rest in this series. It’s nice to have an easy escapism into ancient Greece once in a while.

The premise is a bit dodgy, and some of the events that unfold are rather convenient, but this is a good thriller to breeze through when you want something uncomplicated and easy. I picked this up and finished it within a day, though not consecutively; but it fits well with this rather early autumn chill. There are curious twists and turns in the narrative, and even the characters—though sometimes formulaic—have some surprises up their sleeves. From my previous experience with contemporary thrillers, like Riley Sager, I knew not to examine or fret over details thoroughly and enjoy it like a movie. Given that this was adapted into a film pretty quickly, it makes sense—the fast-paced action and dialogue are appropriate for treating it as such.

This is more of a ‘survive the night’ thriller, as I guess they are called, and not really a ‘whodunnit’. The abduction and its course are revealed fairly early on, and our protagonist, Darby, is our sympathetic hero who must try and put a stop to the events. This premise is what initially compelled me to put this book on my TBR, and it is a fun one. Darby makes stupid decisions at times, but she also thinks of creative plans and is able to persevere and adapt to her situation—something I can’t exactly say for Sager’s protagonist. Though she was frustrating at times, I also had to concede that she thought some things through that I wouldn’t have. Adams certainly wants his readers to have a good time and keeps it fairly simple, but he also wants to challenge them a bit. I didn’t anticipate every single twist, though some aspects were predictable—and it was still an enjoyable experience.

The characters are more or less vehicles for the plot; there is some backstory that is relevant, but given the short breadth of the text, it is hard to offer an in-depth comparison between the characters’ histories and their motives, or anything of that sort. The themes are also a bit hard to pin down, since much of the story is focused on telling us about the actions and reactions of our protagonist in her attempts to rescue the kidnapped girl. There isn’t really an interesting explanation given for why our protagonist has a particularly odd hobby, for instance; it seemed like it might have some sort of subtextual meaning, but this isn’t the kind of book where I tried to think that much into it. So maybe it does have some interesting relevance or things to say and I just didn’t engage with it as fully as I could have. There were some interesting motifs that I noticed, and I appreciated that Adams kept those in mind; it helps to give the narrative some more cohesion.

Not a perfect book by any stretch of imagination, but for a quick thriller read, it was fun and a good one to cozy up with during this damn autumn chill. Summer just disappeared like it never happened… not that I miss the overbearing heat, but I also was not ready to deal with this chill so quickly—and given the energy crisis too… ah well.

This was not one I planned on reading due to the mixed reviews, but I found it for cheap at a secondhand shop and it was nice having a chance to read in paperback again. The Starless Sea is a novel that really delights in dragging the reader into the unknown; nothing is conventional about it, let alone structure or the genre. It isn’t exactly a straight fantasy, but there are definitely speculative elements and parts that seem like they would fit with fantasy—and yet, worldbuilding is not a terribly huge concern. This book reminded me of those fancy fondant cakes: they look incredible from afar, but cut it open and you’ve got yourself a fairly mediocre cake with terrible plastic-like junk on top. This book excelled at creating the right ambiance and atmosphere, and it was fun to go through the mystery of the Starless Sea, but it ultimately fell short of my expectations.

There isn’t really a plot to this. Sure, there is a loosely structured series of events that could technically be construed as a ‘plot’ but it really is not the mainstay of the novel. Events happen in various times and definitely not always in chronological order. I did find that aspect interesting, since the book gives you ‘snippets’ of various things that happen, perhaps in the past or the future, so it’s a bit like having puzzle pieces of a story and having to figure it out as you fit them together. However, by the end of ‘finishing’ the puzzle, so to speak, one finds that the picture isn’t that much more cohesive than the individual pieces themselves. There was also a complete lack of tension; there didn’t feel like there were any stakes involved, and even when there was a concrete ending to the story, it felt abrupt and unlike any other typical book ending. I do get that Morgenstern’s point is exactly to subvert our traditional expectations of the fantasy genre and play with the structure of what storytelling is and can be, but the effect was underwhelming from a reader’s perspective. The narrative also picks up the pace intensely with a lot of infodumping in the third act, which was unfortunate—it felt like it was the rushed ending to the first novel in a drawn out duology, rather than approaching the end of a single standalone book.

The characters are also somewhat static, though I did appreciate that the novel was transparent about the characters’ flaws—even calling some out openly. However, that doesn’t change the fact that the characters had those annoying flaws to begin with. For instance, our protagonist Zachary (who for some reason must be called by full name at the start of all of his chapters—why? That isn’t quirky, it’s just grating) is kind of a limp noodle. He flows with the tide and is generally lost in his life, a 25-year old graduate student uncertain about anything and everything. Somewhat relatable, but beyond that, I didn’t care that much for him. There is also a romance with a character he meets along his adventures, and it was just unconvincing for them to develop the attachments they did in such a short amount of time (and might I add, one person was unconscious for half that time). Like the plot, the characters play somewhat fluid roles, and everything comes around full circle, but at the same time, a lot of characters feel pointless.

Certainly the book’s themes are ambitious and lofty—chief among these, the nature of storytelling and what it means to tell a story. The use of symbolism, and the book is pretty meta about this too, is almost overwhelming—bees, hearts, and whatever else quickly lost their sense of individuality. By the end I wasn’t even sure what each meant, or if it even mattered. That might also speak to the author’s intent, though. It felt like the book had a lot to say on books, video games, stories, libraries, preserving old things, fate/determinism, regrets, but it sort of dipped into each of these like a sampler tray without really wading into the depths and asking the tough questions or probing why we should care. Again, I got the impression of a mysterious and cozy and book-nerd-paradise aesthetic, but there was little substance there to actually maintain the facade. Why do the acolytes dedicate their lives to this space? Who really has time to sit there and read all the dusty books? How does the Sea actually work? Nothing is really explained, no matter how ridiculous or confusing.

Although it wasn’t everything I was hoping for, it was still a somewhat entertaining book to read, and I applaud Morgenstern for being experimental with storytelling. Whether her experiment is a success or not probably depends heavily on the reader. I much more prefer some structure and a more well-defined world when it comes to fantasy/myth. This book is kind of like a myth, actually—the plot and characters may be irrelevant or merely loosely thought out, but it’s really the sentiment it leaves you with that matters. I will have to check out The Night Circus again, which I started once years ago but never quite finished. If you approach this book expecting a whimsical atmosphere, cozy bookish nooks to crawl into (with cats and candles and hot tea and knit sweaters), and little else, this will be just right.