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We follow a familiar voice of a trans woman growing up in a working class estate in 1980s/90s Madrid. Her story is set against the heroine and AIDS epidemics, fascist and patriarchal violence, and class struggles; but through the vivid and intimate details, she paints a picture of hope, love, sisterhood and solidarity.

One incredibly strong element for me is how clearly non-linear the character's journey is; as for many of us our early forays are met with violence of one kind of another that set us back into hiding. We lean back into the social codes and camouflage of our culture to survive - a survival all the more painful when we've had a taste of living and are punished for it.

As a result, I found Alana's insight lent itself to a story particularly heartbreaking in his hopefulness; a tragedy born of the joys we get to so briefly taste. But a reoccurring element for me was how precious our solidarity and community is.

An adorable, horny and vengeful romance between a trans man indentured sailor on the run to track down his mother, and a merrow (merman) hungrily eating those who threaten the sailor. Together they delve into the messed up secret of a small seaside town in between rather hot mating sessions.

I enjoyed this a lot, even if the plot sometimes drifted into the background more often than I'd like. Though despite that, i wont pretend that I come for the spice, yet stayed for the rage. The ending is quite cathartic in the way queer fiction does best.

As someone who tends to prefer stand alone stories, it has been a long time since I have anticipated the conclusion to a trilogy like this and perhaps the first time I have reserved one in advance.

But Touraine is someone who has captivated me as a character grappling with their identity under colonialism. This reflects both in the realm of empires and on a personal level with Luca. And while that relationship on the surface is characterised by Luca's royal status, it is as true for any interpersonal relationship where you have differing colonial legacies.

This final book deftly brings to a head how Touraine has to choose who she defines herself by the future she builds. Notably, by changing her colonial culture "by making them reckon with her presence". I am also so happy with how it has been resolved. All too often historic fantasies based around monarchies end in a victory for the status quo or a benevolent dictator. Finally here we have a proper, messy, conversation around what real change looks like. Not just as far as the world goes, but how we've seen the monarchy impact Luca and Touraine really shows how there is no just exercise of imperialism.

As conclusions go, for both the individuals and the world, this is perhaps the most thoughtful understanding of power and corruption I've read.

Still here after the colonialism part? Good, so it's also hot. As much as narrative and the worldbuilding is all beautiful; Sabine holds a special place in my heart. I didn't get why people weren't talking about her more after the second book. That charming wine making fencer seducing every girl around her and eyeing up threesomes... she stole my heart. Chapter 15 was... mmmmmm long awaited. And as much as I expected the ending, I still cursed loudly when it came.

I was excited to read Andrew's first foray from YA into adult horror. It seemed like a natural jump as his tone had always erred more mature. It certainty doesn't disappoint with some heavy body horror around self mutilation and pregnancy. I've always found horror based around dysphoria - in this case trans masc pregnancy, to be so personal it is hits in such a violent way compared to other topics.

Crane works in a gas station, one of many fronts for a hive of worms and flies of unclear origin. Crane and the others working for the hive are all picked up, "saved", in moments of desperation and hopelessness. But in exchange the Hive demands loyalty, no matter the cost.

Certainly an thread of radicalisation and abuse combining with Crane's craving for abuse and abdication of control. That cult aspect is something that feels familiar from his other books, though each with its own distinct tone.

A private investigator and former academic gets an unusual mystery from an anonymous client: Find the secret horn of Alice B. Toklas, hidden from the world under her thick fringe and low brimmed hats.

Needing the money to support her kid and still looking for direction amidst the grief left by the death of her partner, she scours archives and interviews contacts from Paris to San Francisco hoping for a lead.

This book is perfect if you've ever been tempted to spice up your English Lit dissertation with high stakes tension, noir-esque monologues on the nature of grief and copious amounts of gay sex*. Indeed it seems every supporting character with a name is rapidly identified as queer and fucked (yet in a very unsatisfying, grief ridden private detective way); and I am here for that energy.

It strikes a wonderful balance of sincerity and absurdity that kept me laughing yet deeply invested. It's also a great way to pick up some queer and literary history!

*=Disclaimer: I don't care how subby you are, if your ACAB doesn't include fit lesbian policewomen who want to dominate you, it's not ACAB. Get some standards, girl.

This is a fascinating book exploring the interrelationships between women and the cities we inhabit. From gentrification, harassment, transit, pop culture, accessibility and design assumptions that focus on the white cis male, Kern shows how women survive and are failed by the policies that build the modern city.

While many points may feel obvious to anyone who has experienced them, the book does an excellent job tying together the experience and forces at play while reflecting on the intersectionality at play in these issues. However there would likely be more depth on that last point if it drew in more from other non-white authors instead of dwelling on Kern considering her privilege.

It is also a little frustrating in not offering much in the way of alternative models. It does give excellent action points throughout but it is better at raising questions than answering them. This of course may be unfair of me as such systemic problems do not come packaged with easy solutions, the lack of which does not make it any less pertinent to raise the issue so comprehensively.

It leaves a lot to consider and work on as we challenge our own assumptions and rebuild our cities to support those they fail.

Rosa delivers a strong critique of how the heterosexual, monogamous nuclear family unit was built to serve the needs of capitalist economics and woefully fails the individual and society at large in the midst of rising poverty and systemic discrimination.

Instead we're invited to look alternative perspectives on intimacy and community as well as challenging the primacy of monogamous romantic bonds drawing on queer, feminist and anti-colonial perspectives, especially those from the aro/ace & QPR community. Rosa covers aspects the hollowness of the wellness industry, state-sanctioned (and erased) relationships in housing, taxes and death, and the demotion of friendship bonds relative to marriage.

"For queers, trans people and other marginalised groups such as sex workers and rough sleepers, mutual, collective mothering in a broader support network has always been the norm. Amongst these communities, kinship networks are chosen and porous – or, as the writer Armistead Maupin has put it, ‘logical’ family. While this type of kinship may include communal living, it may also be diffuse, between people who share spaces and moments dedicated to care, connection and community. This could take infinite shapes: shared creative pursuits, childcare cooperatives, support groups, sex parties, festivals, co-authoring, political organising. As the comedian and historian Jules Joanne Gleeson argues: ‘for queers, the prospect of putting an end to the domination of private households can come to seem less extreme and more hopeful’ because it would mean ‘an end to the farce of most queers being raised by heterosexuals’."

The book sparked a lot of thoughts for me as it progressed through a broad array of alternative perspectives on bonds to others. This especially hit close to home with my own experiences with QPR, polyamory and intensity in how I naturally relate to everyone in my circle. It's well worth a read if you feel nuclear bonds as isolating and the capitalist dominion over social spheres disempowering.

Amélie was excited to move to Japan to take an entry level position at a large corporation. However despite starting at the bottom, Amélie's repeated well intentioned and often hilarious blunders send her spiralling ever further down the ladder. Between cultural missteps in the Japanese corporate culture and small but impactful blunders in the even more mundane work assigned to her, she earns the rigorous fury of her manager, one of only three women in the entire company, who sees Amélie's honest mistakes as a deliberate attempt to undermine her.

On the face of it, this book might be about Amélie or a broader contrast to Japanese culture. But at it's centre is the manager, Fubuki, and how her life as an isolated career woman in Japan has shaped her and her world view. The tragedy is how much Amélie worships Fubuki. Despite how much Fubuki starts to hate Amélie, torturing her with tasks and verbally humiliating her, Amélie is enchanted with Fubuki. Amélie even relishes the fury at times, and is envious of the men Fubuki tries to earn the attentions of.

Basically, she has a definite "step on me, mommy" vibe which I hope Amélie eventually talked to someone about for her own safety! I'm not sure how much was read into it by others, but I definitely read their relationship through a queer lens. Amélie would hardly be the first sapphic girl to process her feelings by crushing on her older, elegant and authoritative boss without truly acknowledging where those feelings and adoration may be coming from.

I do have reservations, which I think partly relate to that period of late-90s early-00s it was written. Amélie's definitely puts Japanese culture through an exotic lens and leans on cliches. Granted, it is a short book focused exclusively inside the walls of a single office, so it doesn't set out to be broadly representative. However that's not enough to give it a pass; especially when Amélie's adoring descriptions of Fubuki veer too close to the line and one particular long section which was a very blunt and dated view of Japan.

It also engages in the trademark 90s/00s fatphobia and seems disjointed on the topic of sexism. While the ableism largely portrayed as part of the abusive dynamic, the of slurs there may be needlessly triggering to some. I'd hope if written today it would carry all that with more nuance, but taking that into account I did still enjoy the core of the story.

I've been meaning to get some of these for a while and finally grabbed this and Succulent at a queer book fair. They're anthologies of short trans and trans-inclusive erotic comics. This host of explicit encounters is packed with a lot of fantasy but also some contemporary stories to which are really cute. All are full of queer joy and body positivity which can really make them as heart warming as they are hot. For these and a bunch more anthologies, check out the store on discordcomics.com to find them.

The monotony of Therese's soulless Christmas retail job at a 1950s department store is broken by the entrance of Carol, an older, elegant married woman who captivates young Therese. Carol herself is a commanding, maternal figure to Therese, and certainly not without a sharp edge to her character that is slowly softened by her vulnerability. Therese meanwhile is someone used to censoring herself and following the desires of others, only to find her own voice and path in spite of the world's paternalism toward her. It's been a while since I saw the film but I was surprised by how much the film had changed. While those changes served the film visually, I prefer the depth the book offers. Especially when it comes to Therese's internal struggles and voice, as well as her view of Carol.