just_one_more_paige's reviews
1494 reviews

 

Well, this one has been chillin' on my TBR shelf for years now, waiting for its moment. I was really feeling a sort of narrative nonfiction, a la Patrick Radden Keefe (Empire of Pain, Rogues), and during a month in which I led quite a few Mental Health First Aid trainings with work, this felt like exactly the right mix of my current professional vibes and my reading mood. As always, I listened to the audiobook - my absolute preferred way to intake nonfiction works. 

 

From 1945 to 1965, Mimi and Don Galvin had no less than 12 children. By the mid 70s, six of them had been diagnosed with schizophrenia. In this book, Robert Kolker weaves together the story of the Galvin family, the history of mental health and mental illness care, and specifically the evolution of thought surrounding schizophrenia (causes, treatment, etc.) through the eyes of this family's experiences and their contributions to the National Institute of Mental Health's studies. 

 

This was truly a fascinating read. The research, both into the greater world of mental illness and into the Galvin family directly, through access to medical records and in conversation with members of the Galvin family and (close) friends, was clearly well detailed and thorough. It truly was in line with the works by Radden Keefe that I mentioned above, if slightly more narratively dense. Kolker really delved deeply into this family, and we got to see in so much detail and clarity the way that each child dealt with and responded to and came to terms with (or not) this childhood environment. And for each, we watched as questions of nature vs nurture were asked and played out, affecting not just their mental health as far as schizophrenia is concerned, but also more generally, with how they made choices for the rest of their lives too (both those diagnosed and those who were caregivers). As far as the industry aspects, the discourse around that same question of nature vs nurture in an academic/medical setting was so interesting to read, and felt more immediate when communicated alongside the Galvins' stories. I learned so much, and also had my heart broken over and over watching "money-making capacity" be the largest influence in the pharma (and sometimes overall medical) industry, as opposed to the benefit and betterment and care of patients as people. And even when the person, the patient, was centered, the best knowledge/efforts were often still not enough. 

 

On the whole, the one dynamic that I felt like was missing was a little more reflection on socioeconomic and racial aspects. How these same choices and situations faced by the Galvins might have/did look differently for those living with less privilege, *especially* considering how many laws and rules these boys broke growing up (and not just “basic” ones). I mean, I understand how much the diagnoses played a role in that behavior, but there is no way that interactions with law enforcement would have looked the same for BIPOC, queer or less socially connected people. With how deeply the rest of the medical knowledge and time period environment was considered, not having (really any) acknowledgement of privilege was noticeable. At the same time, I do want to say: what a necessary general indictment of mental health services, that even with all those intangible privileges, these sick people came into contact with law enforcement so often as their only contact with state “assistance” and response, when they really needed medical care (and don’t even get me started on what that “medical care” looked like when they finally got it). 

 

A final thought... I really appreciated the sensitive and understanding look at the human costs of all this on each family member - acknowledging that their choices were all the best ones they knew how to or were empowered to make - under the circumstances - for their own survival. There is a beautiful and equally necessary kindness and compassion and humane-ness in that method of "telling" this story, that not all (not even most) people dealing with or caring for those with mental illness get. What an engaging reading experience. 

 

“Life is merely the permanent roots your family knots around you.” 

 

I would never have heard of, nor picked this up, without Libro.fm; so, shoutout to them for the ALC. Because this is also the kind of book that I do really need an audio for - really good, but also really philosophical - so it was the perfect book to listen to. Plus, for real I mean that shoutout, because it seriously was very good. 

 

So, according to Goodreads: "When Eli leaves the cramped Bulgarian apartment he shares with Elizabeth, his more organized and successful wife, he discovers that he now inhabits her body. Not only have he and his wife traded bodies but Elizabeth, living as Eli, has disappeared without a trace. What follows is Eli’s search across Europe to America for his missing wife—and a roving, no-holds-barred exploration of gender and embodied experience. ...This novel is a gender-bending, body-switching novel that explores marriage, identity, and sex, and raises profound questions about the nature of true partnership." 

 

And that is exactly what we got. But also, it's more and less than that. This is one of those novels where, other than the big obvious thing (the body-switching), nothing really happens. And honestly, even that is...mundane...for what it is. And yet, the depth of what we discover about humanity and personhood and being is so much. The observations in these pages about what makes a person - their body and/or all the thoughts and mannerisms that come with it - as well as the differences in how each person relates with those around them, even those with, externally/perception-wise, so much else in common (being US expats, being married to each other, etc.) and how that changes for acquaintances versus closer relations versus oneself and the body one resides in...it was incredible. Similarly, the many different looks at being foreign/an outsider: in a body, as a family member/child, in another country as an expat or a tourist, were woven together with literary finesse. How hard you have to think to act/be someone you aren’t was a fascinating exploration. Like, how you can know a person better than anyone else knows them and still not have any idea what their life experience is or how to *be* them. I had never considered anything like it before, and what a wild thought journey it was. Honestly, this entire read was a remarkable philosophical exercise and theoretical exploration. 

 

And then it was all flipped on its head a bit, in the end, as it closed with a switch to a parental perspective. A super interesting comparative move - an external examination of what, until then, had been internal. I don't know if I liked it, but I don't know if this is even a book I can label as "liked" or "disliked," as it was all so unique and original. 

 

Eli, as the primary narrator, had a strange level of acceptance of other people’s negative opinions of him - how he acted, spoke, dressed, etc. - even and especially the bad ones, without any kind of argument or explanation in his own behalf (like: "they were right to be nervous around my disheveled appearance" or "she was right that I had less ambition/skill than her"). And isn’t that a sad level of influence from others and what society says is “better” or “right” on our own self worth, that we accept what we think we deserve without a fight. I found those pieces really heartbreaking to read. On this same topic, in addition to all the other out of body experiences in these pages, what a truly savage one, to hear someone talk about you unguarded, to hear their unfiltered opinions about you, because you aren't there to hear them. Phew. Intense. 

 

The writing style, a described-in-sweeping-generalizations (with details but not always individually detailed...that's not quite right, but I don't even know how else to describe this observational literary style) account of these characters, of lifestyle/parenting/love, is satirical language in all aspects. And I enjoyed the bit of tongue in cheek it brought. It's smart and observational and honestly a bit, surprisingly, funny (but in a literary way, reminiscent of Big Swiss or The Pisces). 

 

Overall, just a fascinating juxtaposition of how we see ourselves and what we actually are, the type of exploration that is our self-perception and the way others perceive us, and how those so rarely line up. What an unbelievable writing accomplishment. It’s gorgeous, insightful, and so smart. Not my usual fare, and I’m not switching to this genre (whatever it is) as a new favorite or anything, but dang, I’m glad I read this. Impressive. 

 

"People collide. They bounce away after collisions, or veer away to avoid those collisions, creating lives accidentally. Circumstances pinball people together. This is called fate because chance is too scary a word. People collide. People collide." 

 

“Perhaps neither of us was equipped to see themself.” 

 

“Being at the center of something enormous often means you’re the last person to make sense of what happened. Understanding is for outsiders.” 

 

“...and I had, naively, considered these tragedies proof of America's uniquely wicked society. What an insidious form of exceptionalism. Terror was universal. Trigger-happy men existed all over the world, ready to sublimate fear into murder.” (the exceptionalism of us being the only violent/fear based western nation is ridiculous, and I don't want that to be as comforting as it feels, because that's definitely the wrong takeaway message) 

 

“But grief never proceeds how anyone expects. Grief stutters and ruptures and upturns and stomps.” 

 

“Stability is the cost of stability.” 

 

“How empty ambition renders a person.” 

 “It’s a lot easier to kill people than it is to keep them alive.”

I'll be honest - this one wasn't my favorite of the series. Actually, so far, it might be my least favorite. Not to say that it was bad, necessarily. But after the last few, which I personally thought were so much better, possibly due to my preference for the poly situations, this one maybe fell a little extra flat. Also, over the last few books, the Minotaur was set up as *so* cruel and inhuman, that I’m struggling to come around to him as a real “person” here; it's making it harder to buy in. Worth noting though, once we get a little more of the backstory on how/when Ariadne and Asterion met, and how long this little flame was just barely alive and they way they are actually so many of each others firsts (literally and in spirit), is actually sweet and tender AF (even if there is some questionable consent early on). And the spicy here was as strong as ever, as anticipated and expected at this point, though it too wasn't my favorite flavor. Overall, this felt much more like a "move the story arc forward, with a romance that is just convenient to that" novel. And that's ok, because it *did* move the plot forward really well; it moved the bigger story arc into the next steps, which has really needed to happen.

Finale note: I enjoyed the setup for it that we got here for the next one, which I am *much more* hype for. Ready for it! 

 

 “You don’t have to be completely healed to be everything I want.” 

 

I was looking for an easy listen for a long road trip and this seemed to fit the bill. Shoutout to Libro.fm for the ALC. And to my partner who picked it off a shelf at a bookstore and joked "How to end a love story? Murrrdeerrrrrrr." (said a la Gus from Psych, iykyk) ...and then consented to stand and pose with the book when I told him I was planning to read it and would need a photo for the review. 

 

Quick synopsis for this one: Helen and Grant haven't seen each other once since the accident over ten years before that changed both their lives forever. But now, Grant is one of the lead screenwriters for the tv series adaptation of Helen's best-selling YA series. Their coworking starts (unstandable) rocky, but over time, the two grow close - supporting each other in ways they have rarely found from anyone else, through their shared (or at least tangential) experiences of trauma and grief and maybe even a little (finally) processing of it all. But there's no way, with a past like theirs, and no chance of Helen's parents ever forgiving Grant, that it can ever turn into anything permanent. It'll just hurt them more to force it, right? Or, can helping each other make peace with that past and move on only happen together? 

 

Well, I enjoyed this one. I didn't know what the accident was prior to starting reading, and it ended up being a much more intense (in general and emotionally, for me) situation than I'd been anticipating. Maybe you already know what it is, but if not, I don't want to spoil it. Though, I will say, please read content warnings for this, because there are a number of aspects of said accident and the aftermath that could be difficult to read, depending on your own life experiences. Anyways, as a romance novel, I was assuming it would be something reasonably minor, that could be "gotten over" quickly and then the focus would shift fully to the romance. But no: this accident was a huge deal, legitimately life-changing (really, potentially shattering) for both Helen and Grant. And it was woven in fully and completely throughout every part of this novel. As such, it was, I felt, incredibly nuanced. And made for a much more profound read. My emotional swings were all over the place while reading, as Grant and Helen's clearly were while living it, and that made for a really impactful literary experience. I am really impressed with the way Kuang balanced such breadth, while maintaining the quick, smooth pacing of a romance novel. And spice! Because while the slow tension build is genuine and sooooo good, when we finally get to them, the spicy scenes delivereddddd. 

 

One of the highlights of this book, for me, was the character development. Every aspect of Grant and Helen, individually and together, was thorough and felt real. There was so much low self-esteem and second-guessing and social self-consciousness and (absolutely opposite, but not particularly healthy) coping mechanisms... It did get to be a lot to read at a few points, but it also always made sense within the greater story. And its presence was also part of, and necessary for, the overall wonderful and complex emotional development. I know there is a chance that a relationship that grows out of shared trauma can be unhealthy, but also, I love the hope in the way that Kuang chose to write/see it. Maybe Grant and Helen found the one and single person with whom they could fully process their trauma alongside, but only within the framing of the distance of time....of course, none of this would have been possible in the same way when they were teens, in the immediate aftermath. And they did each get some space to heal separately as well - especially Helen. Deciding that the other was worth working through their own challenges, making the effort to finally process and come to terms (to forgive and/or be forgiven), was spurred specifically by the realization that wanting to be with the other, free from that shadow of that shared past, was worth it. They each may have continued to coast through life - fine and successful, but never a "best life" - but they gave each other a reason to want/grow towards more. And I wish that for everyone, however and with whoever they can find it. So yea, this was a more emotionally difficult romance than normal, but the finale meant more as a result. 

 

Helen's complicated relationship with her parents was also written spectacularly. Kuang layered generational differences, cultural pieces, overbearing presences (and the resulting passive aggressive distancing that results), immigrant/first gen narratives, and loss/grief together with a deft touch. It walked the same line as the rest of the story, as far as being genuine and affecting, but also straightforward/easy enough to fit the romance genre (similar to how The Verifiers walked that line as a mystery novel). 

 

I also really liked the framework of the YA novel adaptation and screenwriting storyline. It felt very salient to IRL books and tv right now. And, while I know nothing about this process, so it could be inaccurate AF, it gave some timelines and ultimatum dates and reasons for this "reunion" to be possible that felt absolutely natural and unforced (a sort of miracle, IMO, for romance novels). Plus, as a reader, I always have a soft spot for when readers/writers get to be MCs in ways that feel authentic. The multiple ways that writing and screen-writing made it into the style and storytelling was smooth and fun. 

 

 So yea, I felt like this novel was the perfect mix of hot and sweet, sexy and homey/comforting, and emotional ups and downs. On the more intense end of the romance spectrum, but still solidly in that genre. I would definitely recommend it. 

 

I read, and LOVED Sebastian's first novel in this "series," We Could Be So Good, last year. It was one of my favs of the year. So, while I thought I was done with baseball romances for a while after The Prospects (which was amazing, but just, baseball is not my preferred sport/pastime), the publication of this one said otherwise. And I'm glad I overcame my baseball hesitancy because Sebastian hit this one out of the park (see what I did there? *elbow, elbow*). 

 

It's 1960 and it's setting up to be a terrible baseball season for Eddie O’Leary. He's offended his new teammates and coaches, he can't settle in NYC because he's homesick for the midwest, and he's (maybe, probably) in a hitting slump. When the owner orders him to give a bunch of interviews to some snobby reporter, he’d rather do anything else, but it doesn't seem like he has much of a choice. Mark Bailey is not a sports reporter. In fact, these days, he's barely a writer at all. He’s had a difficult and lonely year, mourning the death of his partner (privately, since they were able to be public about their love). But maybe writing about the (terrible) New York Robin’s obnoxious new shortstop can both get the struggling newspaper more readers and distract him somewhat? Finding themselves mostly alone, but now together in that, Eddie and Mark slowly realize, and give in to, the attraction and connection growing between them. But with laws and society against them, can they find a way to be together - open enough for Mark and subtle enough for Eddie - that works for them both? 

 

Yes. Just, yes. I don't really have a lot of interest in this time period nor in the primary topics (probability/slumps, baseball as a metaphor for life), but Sebastian made me care.  First, it's the fantastic historical fiction setting development; NYC in the 60s comes alive in her hands. Second, it's the characters; at only like 40 pages in, I already had soft spots for both Mark and Eddie. How is it possible that Sebastian can do that? I didn’t even really know them yet! Then, as I got to know them better, their development was just as good as the setting. They were full and nuanced, sweet and spiky, wholesome and flawed, each in their own ways. And those ways, in particular Mark’s prickly fearful love and Eddie’s earnest openness, were the literal perfect match for each other. The push and pull between them was so good. Delicious, really. The growing care is tender AF and I could not get enough of it (this was a highlight of We Could Be So Good too, so that's apparently a vibe that Sebastian has on lock). And the fact that they have to be so careful to hide something so tender is heartbreaking. The bittersweetness of that tears me upppppp. And the fact that it's all so unnecessarily heartbreaking - like, just let people love! - makes it all that much more emotionally devastating. 

 

A few other aspects that stood out to me included a really nice acknowledgement of the ways that the queer community received support from allies in the time period. Things were different, yet the importance of those allies, how they communicated and made themselves known and offered what assistance/cover/misdirection they could, was touching. This was explored in conjunction/comparison with racial discrimination, the ways each population was oppressed similarly and differently, and how allyship looked similar and different between them. And while I obviously have no direct experience, nor done my own research, I felt like the picture Sebastian painted conveyed the frustrating and enraging aspects of each, while also highlighting the ways that the human spirit still found ways to rise past/around that. On the other hand,  oooof most of these teammates are so dang petty and dramatic...and people think that’s what (only) women are like. Please. Ugh. No wonder unaddressed mental health challenges and unhealthy coping mechanisms abounded. 

 

Against my expectations, I also did find the reflection on luck, and how sometimes bad things happen with no reason or not "within a bigger picture" - they just...are - but you can also still get past it, to be fascinating. Often, a higher power is used to explain these unexplainable bad things, but that has never worked for me (if someone could stop these bad things from happening, why wouldn't they just do that? Why do we have to learn resilience and recovery if we could ensure not needing it?) This consideration of it, using the most superstitious and statistical sport as a backdrop story for the discussion on the inevitability of failure (and coming to terms and being ok with that), was really high quality literary juxtaposition that appealed to my atheist self. 

 

Overall, another banger of a recent historical queer romance from Sebastian. I loved the pacing, the dialogue (oh goodness was the dialogue great), the setting, the cameos from Nick and Andy (my heart smiled big during those), the story development, and, especially, Eddie and Mark. Their ending got me, in all my feels. The heart-filling hope and warmth and affection. I could not love them more. 

“Sometimes when bad things happen to you, it’s just because the dice get rolled a certain way. He finds that almost impossible to believe about himself, but would fight anyone who even suggested that [other people] were anything but blameless.” (but for real tho…) 

 

“But maybe it was just a bad thing that happened […] But […] even after a disaster, there’s still tomorrow.” 

 

“I’m not saying things happen for a reason – I hate that. I’m saying that things happen. And it doesn’t have to mean anything except what it means to you. Nobody else gets to decide.” 

 

“He wants to believe in the possibility of a second act.” 

 

“He feels like every part of him is wrapped around Eddie, like they’re tangled up in something dangerous and lovely and terribly, terribly precious.” (anddddd there goes my heart, a puddle) 

 

“They both know you can be happy and afraid all at once; maybe that’s easier to do when you aren’t alone.” 

 

González's first book, Olga Dies Dreaming, was so good - I read it right after it came out a couple years ago and loved it. So I was really excited for this sophomore novel.
Goodreads does a great job with this blurb, so I'm just gonna copy it over here and save myself some effort: In 1985, Anita de Monte, a rising star in the art world, is found dead in New York City; her tragic death is the talk of the town. Until it isn’t. By 1998 Anita’s name has been all but forgotten—certainly by the time Raquel, a third-year art history student is preparing her final thesis. On College Hill, surrounded by privileged students whose futures are already paved out for them, Raquel feels like an outsider. Students of color, like her, are the minority there, and the pressure to work twice as hard for the same opportunities is no secret. But when Raquel becomes romantically involved with a well-connected older art student, she finds herself unexpectedly rising up the social ranks. As she attempts to straddle both worlds, she stumbles upon Anita’s story, raising questions about the dynamics of her own relationship, which eerily mirrors that of the forgotten artist.

First, I listened to the audiobook for this and it was one of the most dramatically narrated audiobooks I have ever experienced. These narrators gave it all their effort and acting, which was such an immersive experience (though did involve a lot of volume adjustments, as things got heated and voices raised...which happened quite often).
 
 As to the story as a whole, I am partial to Olga, if I'm being honest. However, this was still *really* good. I honestly think the primary reason is that the very real, as in emotionally intense, aspects of this one were harder hitting to me personally. Both novels do a fantastic job of creating an entertaining and enjoyable story, balanced with diverse and interesting plot, great  - and varied - character development (of note here: I love how some characters were exactly as bad as expected, and some were able to surprise you with their willingness to consider a challenged POV...that is a large part of what made this story and these characters more than just caricatures, what made it truly compelling), and a heavy dose of salient social (justice) commentary. This one though, had me mired in dread for about two thirds of the total reading experience. The train wrecks of these relationships, the patterns of manipulation and abuse and gaslighting are hard to read. Raquel’s sections were especially difficult, claustrophobic, to read. So, shout out to González for writing that was that palpable. But also, warning to other potential readers if that is content that is tough for you.

One of the major themes of this novel was the straddling of worlds, as it were: the parallel of being caught between the US and Cuba, for Anita, and between socioeconomic statuses, for Raquel. (Of particular note, Raquel’s difficulties with the social lines of respect and casual-ness with her professor, lines that seemed to come so easily to those from a different social background, was a quietly done but spectacular example of the intangibles of privilege. And in the end, as she finds that comfort for herself, we see that it's born out of self-confidence, with a strong and important commentary about how that self-confidence is harder to come by/maintain based on social messages about your worth that you receive as the norm.) Both were struggling to figure out how to follow their own passions and live their own lives, even when their past says that makes them traitors/“changed,” and the current day questions whether they deserve to be there or if following their interests/heart makes them “taking advantage of” the partner’s wealth/access. There is no winning, really. And if you aren’t steadfast in who you are/what you want, it’s so easy to lose yourself in that push-pull. Watching both Anita and Raquel live through this, even with a generation of change between them, is so frustrating and heartbreaking. Especially in light of another major theme of the novel: the power of visibility for art and artists - who is allowed to have access to that audience and who controls it and creates barriers to it. Perhaps, if Anita's name and work had been given space and allowed to stand in the public eye, then Raquel wouldn't have had to feel as alone as she did.

To start, I felt like these parallel women and stories as a stylistic device seemed obvious. But as the story unfolded, the depth of the women and their stories, the emotional intensity of their narratives, separately and in juxtaposition with each other, had me invested. So, obvious it may have been, but it was skillfully enough done that I was riveted. And there were elements that weren't anticipated, and they were enough for me to keep this story unique. In particular, the way González conveyed the power of loneliness and thinking/hoping things would be different next time, the need to matter to someone, thoroughly touched my heart. I also really enjoyed the messaging about the way our identity and culture and upbringing can influence both our art and the way we see others’ art. It's so important that we not dismiss or ignore or not consider that, for ourselves or others. Art and the artist - and the viewer - cannot be separated or considered in silos, not if we're being honest.   
 

Finally, I liked the little bonus of unexpected elements of the mystical. That was, as I said, not something I'd anticipated, but it was one of the unique aspects of this novel that gave it a little something extra. I'm very much now hoping to be able to come back as a bat and antagonize any haters. Lol. But seriously, this was a great read. Some relationship drama, some social commentary, some mystery/thriller, a lot of art and music, and a splash of the paranormal and well-deserved comeuppance (Anita really did get the last laugh). Page-turning all the way through. 

 

“…and remind herself that she was not the first to walk this path, nor would she be the last. Nor would either of them be forgotten.” 

 

As you may have noticed, I don't reward a lot of middle grade/chapter books. Every once in awhile I'll pick one up, and I'm usually impressed (see Other Words for Home), but it's just not a primary reading type for me. However, a few weeks ago, Erin Becker (who I met while at undergrad at UNC) reached out about her debut novel coming out shortly, this novel, and asked if I'd be willing to review it. Well, if you follow me at all, you'll know I just recently posted about Cleat Cute, which I picked up because it was sapphic and soccer-themed, two things very close to my heart. Well, this book had those same primary themes (plus a few others), so, naturally, I decided I had to give it a try. 

 

*An early e-version of this book was provided to me in exchange for a review. The thoughts/comments in this review are entirely my own honest opinions.* 

 

Quick synopsis: Mel and Tory used to be best friends, but a falling out last year changed that. Nw, even though they still play together on the same soccer team, and are in the same classes at school, things just aren't the same. And they could really use the support, with everything they're dealing with. Mel isn't sure she's cut out to be captain, is struggling with nerves over a class presentation, and isn't sure she has anyone she can tell (other than her anonymous text-friend) about the poetry she's been working on. Tory may be outwardly put together, but inside, she's falling apart, as her mother's focus on crafts and her new husband doesn't seem to leave any time for Tory, and she doesn't feel like she has anyone she can confide in (other than her secret text-friend) about liking girls. As the end of the school year looms, with soccer championships and school president elections on the line, Mel and Tory have to figure out how to deal with everything from family problems to friendship changes to soccer field dynamics to their feelings in a real life way, beyond their online conversations. 

 

To start, I was a little worried because, while the issues and internal understanding of themselves and social-emotional puberty changes are spot on for Mel and Tory's 8th grade selves, the narrative voice felt a bit young/childish for that. It was solid, but I wanted them to be in like, 6th grade, not 8th, based on the writing (and, though my own health education work with middle schoolers, how they usually sound to me). However, as I got farther into the novel, the writing got better and more mature. I think perhaps it was just the intro chapters, the "getting to know the characters" basics, that came across more childish. And once I settled into the writing and age, my reading experience smoothed out considerably. 

 

The story itself was tender and delightful. So many very real youth situations found their way into these pages - school and family and friends and sport and extracurricular pressure and expectation and sometimes forgetfulness/leaving behind - and I found it so easy to remember and empathize with Tory and Mel. Middle school is a time of so many changes, and trying to figure them all out, while also discovering yourself, is such a unique and complex journey for everyone. We saw two very different, individual realities for Tory and Mel as they went through this for themselves, but the universality of change was displayed so well. 

 

I particularly loved these relationship situations between/amongst friends (and maybe more than friends?): the complications of things getting more nuanced as one gets older, working to “hold two opposing ideas” at the same time (in their feelings for other people and in their understanding of themselves and the passions/interests they can have), is such a gorgeous message/lesson that all young people have to learn. It's explained in such a clear and relatable way for young readers here. Another highlight for me was the sibling relationships for both Mel and Tory. They both have that mix of exasperation and annoyance and support and mutual jealousy/sadness that comes out as meanness, but also the pure excitement when the other one does something brave. I am always a softie for great, realistic sibling relationships and Becker delivered that here. And of course, the relationship between Tori and Mel - both of them realizing how they actually feel about each other and taking a chance with honesty about it - is so brave and heartwarming. Their little ice cream date to close the book was simply adorbs. 

 

While the closing was, potentially, a bit overly sweet, the happy ending fits the vibe of the storytelling. Plus, it's middle grade, so, I'd want to leave my readers with hopes for a happy ending and positive future for themselves too. Overall, I really enjoyed this young coming of age story. And I think my own middle school self might really have benefitted, might have learned some things for/about myself, from something like it. I may not be a convert to this age-range of books, but I liked and would definitely recommend this one. 

 

“…sometimes I’m lonely and I don’t know why.” 

 

"Here's the thing. When you're little, you can be friends with anyone. And then when you're older, everything changes. One day you turn around and your friends feel like aliens to you, and you feel like an alien to them. Even worse, you're like an alien to yourself, too." 

 

"Messing up / and still trying again, / I'd say finally, That's / the most human thing I know" 

 

"I kind of can't believe this. I've never heard my mom say she did something wrong. I think her way of being the strong one also meant always being right." 

 

"Maybe being magic isn't about being perfect [ ...] Maybe it's taking all the imperfect moments and still making something great. And when things are tough, when something goes wrong, I don't want to choke or run away or give up, or pretend it's okay when it's not, or pretend that I'm someone I'm not, or shove all the stars into a jar. Instead, I want to say, I am who I am. it is what it is. And I get to decide what I'm gonna do next." 

 

"It's scary, letting people in. Maybe the scariest thing on the planet. But you know what? I want this goofy, messy girl to feel the way she makes me feel. And that's worth doing something scary." 

 

"I think I like being more questions than answers. I think I find the mystery delicious." 

 

Look. I’m sorry. Well, I’m not. But. I have alwaysssss had a soft spot for this romance fantasy stuff, even before it had a cool “romantasy” moniker and #booktok “discovered” it. Call me hipster emo about it. I accept. Anyhoo, pluses and minuses there. The popularity has made it easier to find lots of books in the genre, so there’s always a new one when I’m in the mood. Buttttt, the quality is definitely always a grab-bag situation. And this one definitely fell into the “pushed out too fast and not enough editing” category. Altogether too bad, both because I wanted something better, but also, I read another series from Armentrout years ago (the Lux series) and I remember it being much better written, so my hopes were higher. 

 

Basically, this couldn’t find the line of originality versus proven classics. It was halfway familiar names (people and places), paranormal creatures (werewolves and vampires), and the general chosen one bringing down an oppressive governmental situation. But it did it poorly. It was not nearly different enough, but wouldn’t just accept that it’s the same as everything else (and go with it because that’s what the people want). Plus, literally nothing was explained. I’m here for not starting with an info dump but like halfway through I still didn’t feel like I understood anything that was going on/building (even stuff that Poppy does know, tbh, as I realize she’s in the dark on some things so it makes sense that those are unclear to the reader too). 

 

Ok and then there is Poppy and Hawke. That main couple build is usually something I love, but it’s SO uneven. Their interactions seem anachronistic to the rest of the story unfolding around them. And I wanted to fall into them, but the way Hawke acts is just…too far bad, not respecting Poppy like at all (other than her “violence” being so “intriguing” to him), and it just never got to a point where I was comfortable enough with the “dark hero” figure he cut to get past it and actually fall. It’s an unhealthy trope to begin with, so I always feel a little bad liking it, but this just…was so bad that I never really could. 

 

And the plot development and Poppy’s story are just similarly, under-development, with no nuance, and just, also bad? Yikes. Some of the most confusing, uneven, poorly edited writing I’ve ever read. 

 

 

This book came at me from all sides - an early physical copy from the library and an audiobook ALC from Libro.fm - and honestly this summer has been so much busier than normal (which is to say, way busier than I have wanted it to be), so, a quirky queer zombie novel felt just right. The vibes from the cover and description had me in mind of a B-level horror flick and with that in mind, this novel delivered. 

 

A bit estranged from her family, recently broken up with her ex-girlfriend, and trying to find a new path and community in life after moving to San Lazaro, AZ, Wendy's life is a bit messy. When Pride events that should have been fun, celebratory escapes turn deadly as an infection that is turning people into mindless, violent husks seems to be spreading, Wendy's life gets even messier. What to do? Well, try to stop the zombie outbreak, I suppose. Together with a small group of other queers - "drag queen Logan, silver fox Beau, sword lesbian Aurelia and her wife Sam, mysterious pizza delivery stoner Sunshine, and, oh yeah, Wendy’s ex-girlfriend Leah" - she jumps into tracking the outbreak to its source and trying to save Pride, the community, and their lives.  

 

Oh this was messssssyyyyyyy, in all the ways: relationships, sex, life choices, blood and violence, drama. Big yes. That's what I was looking for. It was absurdist, but in a good way. There was so much gore and body horror and death, and all the apocalypse staples of homemade weapons and souped up cars and chaotic fight scenes. And the pizza van situation gave me real horror-humor s4 Stranger Things vibes and I didn't hate that at all. I also enjoyed, and got similar vibes from, the everyday things that still happened/needed to happen during a zombie apocalypse (like getting Plan B and making coffee). It was just wild the way that things ended up so out of control, and fairly quickly, and like, not a single single character acted more surprised by the descent into chaos and violence from regular people/people they know, definitely played into those absurdist vibes. I feel like IRL, I (or just people in general) would step back and be like, "this is abnormal and wtf is going on?!" much sooner. Then again, the world is kind of falling to pieces, so maybe not... 

 

Outside of the spot on horror-humor vibes, the plot was simple but held up. I guessed pretty early what the source of the outbreak was, but even with that it was entertaining to read through the "how" and "why" of it. Really, a solid, if ridiculous, commentary on capitalism and corporate greed and the blinders that those who have high ambitions can have. There were some basic, convenient aspects to the wrap up, but it was smooth, so it felt alright. And I actually did really appreciate the open-endedness of the ending (there is no way something this messy gets wrapped up quick and easy). That, and the fact that the author honestly acknowledged on-page that there wasn’t time to process the trauma, because it kept happening, were both well done and necessary for me to swallow the story (even bizarre as it was). I also want to mention the interesting, kind of off-the-wall, but also weirdly serious, moral questions about killing zombies, especially knowing there’s an antidote (while killing zombies). It presented a sort of ludicrous morality that really fit the vibe and also actually felt like it carried a real message. An unexpected and pleasant surprise.  

 

Overall, the dramatics of this novel were perfect. It was such a funny, weird, entertaining, offbeat, queer, character-driven, zombie-horror story.  

 

Alright, I read The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen a few months ago and had so much fun with it: the adventure, the romance, the smart dialogue. It was great. So when I was looking for a summer relaxing read for a beach weekend recently, this sequel felt like just the right thing. 

 

A Nobleman's Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel is set some years after Country Gentleman and follows a favorite young character from that story: Luke. When Major Rufus d'Aumesty becomes the Earl of Oxney, now in charge of deeply mismanaged manor on the edge of the infamous Romney Marsh, a position hotly contested by his greedy uncle/extended family. Enter Luke Doomsday, a trained secretary and expert schemer (having grown up as part of the infamous Doomsday smuggling clan). While the two should be natural enemies, Luke is cocksure and engagingly competent, which is exactly what Rufus needs right now. And Rufus turns out to be the exact personality and support that Luke cannot resist...though that isn't quite enough to dissuade him from his private goals, the ulterior motive that drove him to work at Stone Manor to begin with. As the lies and family secrets grow, they threaten to destroy the budding relationship between Rufus and Luke, and the two must decide once and for all what is most important to them. 

 

This sequel had so many of the things (the adventure, the romance, the smart dialogue) that I loved about the first, but managed to present them in a completely separate and unique way. Let's see. First and foremost, I loved the writing, the banter especially. It's this short and choppy back and forth that is so smoooooooth and perfect for these characters. The bluster of the two, each in their own way, mixed with the smooth wordplay, is honestly a mix I’ve never experienced and maybe wouldn’t expect to like (Rufus’ vibe isn’t quite my personal romantic-interest style) but honestly I really enjoyed it. And on a more serious relationship note, this connection between Rufus and Luke, the similarity of family abandonment (but then being taken in by other/better family) and physical/educational disability, as it were, is making for some quite touching bonding before they even realize that’s what’s happening. My heart was so soft for it. 

 

Just in general, I was happy to see more from Luke, as he grew into his own and did the difficult work of coming to terms with his complicated and traumatic family history. While it was a really heartbreaking situation, it was also truly compelling character development. Luke’s plans to "show" everyone, and how it ended up being so convoluted and bound up in youthful trauma and conflicting and nigh on impossible to explain his motivations, is so very REAL...and a very good argument for why mental health care is so important and necessary and that it’s been that way forever only people didn’t recognize it as such (still don’t, in many cases). Watching the way Rufus handles Luke, helps him open up and figure a way to move on that works for him individually, and opens up his own self in vulnerability to let Luke in…I mean, oh my heart.  

 

As to other aspects of the novel, by just two chapters in, I had guffawed like four times (I would say giggled, as that’s likely more accurate to the sound I made, but guffaw fits the vibe of the book better) because Charles just has that way with her writing. And the setup and interactions lend themselves to hilarity; I always love when the stuffy gentry get shown up by their own rules/propriety and bullshit, so satisfying. (As the story went, and we saw Rufus' family get worse and worse in their actions, my satisfaction in their "losses" just got stronger and stronger.) Speaking of them, they were sooooo bad. Charles writes a fantastic IRL villain, a regular old person that just has no redeeming qualities, and that makes them worse than an overexaggerated-style "big bad." There were also some other great side characters, like Rufus' cousins(?) Odo and Berry, who had some of their own nuanced personalities and development throughout the novel. And it was lovely to revisit Gareth, too. Oh, and I can't forget to mention: the spice was verrrry nice. 

 

The greater plot around Luke's secret/ulterior motives, the drama of who actually is the Lord of Stone Manor, and the culminating treasure hunts and reveals and dramatic life-saving rescue of the finale, all just made for a truly entertaining story. And I loved the way it wrapped up! The difference between ethics and morals, the lawful right versus what’s right in reality, is a thing I love about the "outside the law characters" (the Doomsday’s in this case, and as seen in some other quality historical romance, like The Queer Principles of Kitt Webb and/or fantasy with a grey hero, like The Mask of Mirrors or the Six of Crows duology.) 

 

I just had so much fun reading this, just like I did with the first, and will absolutely be picking up more from K.J. Charles. 

 

“But even if you weren’t fully aware of what was happening at the time, it will have been there - the fear of power, and hostility. Knowing you have been abandoned and could be again. Feeling you should be a part of something but you aren't. [...] When people are frightening, you want to please them. [...] Certainly, it's harder to oppose them.” 

 

“It’s very hard to be out of your accustomed place.” 

 

“Tell me you’ve thought of oil. / In my pocket. / Absolutely engagingly competent.” (Idk, for some reason this exchange encapsulated Rufus and Luke and it got me, I loved it.) 

 

“He’s that way, Luke. Aunt Sybil says he's hard to love but it's not true. What's hard is making him see it when you do, because he's already decided you don’t.”