wardenred's reviews
842 reviews

For the first 25% or so, this was shaping to be close to a five-star read for me. I definitely took note of the writing being rough around the edges and how transparently beat after beat got lifted from the most prominent books in the genre. But there was so much soul here, so much emotion, and Zetian was so relatable in her all-consuming anger. For as long as she had that very specific first goal in front of her and pushed toward with all the force of that anger, I was absolutely hooked.

Unfortunately, past that mark the story steadily began to meander and loose its footing. I didn’t so much have problems with what was on the page as with what was missing. The worldbuilding was solid when it came to how the giant mechas and the fighters’ energies operate, but everything else? I definitely have more questions than answers. The central theme of the novel is the oppression of women, with all the attitudes around it largely lifted wholesale from history and dropped into a technologically advanced, futuristic setting with magic without changing shape much. And like, please don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I’m not buying extreme levels of misogyny in an advanced setting. I mean, we all literally live in one, and I’m pretty conscious of what’s going on around me. But the specific shapes oppression takes tend to change and shift through the ages. Between the technologies, the reasonably well-understood magic, the war history, etc, it is hard to imagine that nothing about the society’s attitudes would fluctuate.

Then there’s the war against the giant alien things that is supposedly at the heart of the story, except the way it is presented, it doesn’t feel like a battle for survival. It’s just something that happens so that the evil men in charge can, a) entertain the masses with endless violent livestreams a-la Hunger Games (except without the internally consistent underlying reasoning the actual Hunger Games had), and b) kill and oppress women. If this is an ongoing struggle for survival and safety, it is very strange of the people in charge to literally go, “Well, we need to fight it in a way that doesn’t damage the fragile male egos and doesn’t give a single woman a boost of confidence, even if it means not using our resources to the fullest potential. This is very important. More so than our actual continued existence.” This is… not how these things happen. These things, to be realistic, should be more complex, with a focus on the war commandment achieving maximum efficiency on the battlefield with the resources they have, including training women with high spirit pressure as pilots in their own right, and the political leaders figuring out the mental gymnastics they need to teach the masses for that to keep co-existing with the biases they’re interested in keeping—and to be ready for some things to change shape while keeping their toxic essence that’s very much worse raging against.

Of course, I do acknowledge that the MC is a teenager in highly specific circumstances, and she simply may not see how the larger world functions. But that’s where my other problem lies: while I have no problem with Zetian being an unreliable narrator who is caught up in her own experiences and emotions and the limited information she has, I don’t think the narrative does a good enough job of treating her as one. On the contrary, it often feels like the book is trying to present the protagonist’s truth as the One Actual Truth, and I think the book grows weaker for that. It would have been great to have more layers to the world and the characters surrounding Zetian, to have them all display traits, qualities, etc that don’t neatly tie into Zetian’s narrative. It’s a tricky thing to achieve for sure when you’re writing in first person POV and your protagonist is an angry teenager, and I empathize with the difficulty of the task, but the absence of these layers kind of made the story start falling apart for me at some point.

What still kept me reading, though, was that anger that I keep mentioning—so relatable and so well-portrayed. I’ve seen reviews that mentioned how it’s strange that Zetian is so angry at the patriarchy yet doesn’t bond with the women around her, instead looking down on them. And I absolutely get where this opinion is coming from, but also, the way I see it, she’s in this place where she’s just so terribly angry at the oppression. She explicitly recognizes that other women—like her grandmother who broke her feet in the name of disabling beauty standards, or her mother who’s been brought down by her marriage yet considers it a pinnacle of happiness to see her daughter also married of, or the girls who act content with their lot in life—are victims of the system she hates. But the ugly thing about systems of oppression is that they turn their victims into accomplices, and when you get infuriated enough at the system, you turn your rage on everyone who upholds it, whether they do it because they want to, because they can, or because the system itself makes them to do. You just rage and want to burn the entire system down. It’s not fair. It’s not just. It’s how it is. I’ve spent almost three years feeling that type of anger every waking moment, even if it’s aimed at a different sort of evil, and it’s been incredibly validating to read a book full of it. I feel seen. I also feel both sad and happy that I don’t have a magical mecha.

We are once again leaving Widdershins, this time to go across the globe, and I’m beginning to sense a pattern here: one book in the city, one book on an adventure elsewhere. I’m curious to see if it’s going to be upheld throughout the series. The change of scenery this time was pretty fun, reminding me of that Relic Hunter tv show I used to love as a kid, except make it lovecraftian. I admit I have some doubts about the level of research that went into the setting, but there are some fun details, and it’s internally consistent, and hey, we’re here on an adventure.

Whyborne continues to grow on me; I think it’s a combination of his character development and my getting used to certain peculiarities of his thinking. It’s been amusing to notice how off his perceptions are sometimes not just about what other people around him may be thinking and feeling, but about what’s going on in his own head, too. “This spell hasn’t been working out, but today I am feeling very calm and certain I can nail it. DAMN IT, HOW COULD CHRISTINE EXPECT THIS OF ME. I am feeling very calm and focused.” Lol, right.

Speaking of Christine, I really loved how much she got to shine in this book, and the overall shape of her arc so far. She steadfastly remembers my very favorite character, and I love how she never feels like a third wheel alongside the main couple. In fact, sometimes I get the feeling that in the long run, she’s the glue that is keeping this little found family together, because like… where would Whyborne be without someone to talk sense into him now and then? Or Griffin without someone to call him out at certain occasions? It’s also nice to be seeing her getting a dose of her own personal happiness—I hope it works out!

What I didn’t really love about this book was the villain. Or rather, I liked how parts of the deal were handled—I largely called what was happening super early on, but then let the author lull me into a false sense of security and was genuinely surprised by the reveal. But honestly,

Daphne

was done so dirty by the story.

I appreciate that there were some attempts at compassion re: the abuse she suffered and the situation it drove her into, but they were rather weak and unconvincing for me. She deserved better, and this whole topic deserve much better, and I wish half the care that this series channels into empathizing with the male character’s suffering went into this plotline.

This is really a big grip I have with this book.

Outside of that, though, all the adventuring and mystery-solving was fun, I liked that Whyborne got to geek out properly about languages, I love his friendship with Christine, and I wonder what’s going to happen to his arc, the plot, and his relationship with Griffin now that he’s made a certain decision at the end of the story. Also, there was that hint about a potential secret concerning him that is just so intriguing??? I immediately developed a theory once it was dropped, and then was like, “Hang on, if I turn out to be correct, I really wish this would’ve been foreshadowed since book 1,” and then I realized that the theory I’m having has in fact been foreshadowed since book 1, so now I can’t wait to know if I’m right or wrong!

I tried to persevere with this one, but when I asked myself why I wanted to continue, I couldn't really find an answer. The characters are fun enough, but over 100 pages in, I can't tell you what the book is really about. There are some murders going on, and some of the characters are vaguely interested in that, but how does it all tie together? It's like a bunch of different books loosely tied together, or maybe just a bunch of backstories/introductions that are going on and on and on. And if my impression from skimming forward to random points is correct, it looks like all the characters and storylines are going to come together only at around 70% (please note this is a 500-pages book). That's... kind of discouraging.

I did like what I've seen from the characters, in particular what I've seen of Vehan and Aurelian (I tend to like these prince and bodyguard dynamics, and they also both seem generally fun and compelling), and I'm generally very here for all-queer casts and faerie-focused urban fantasies. But the way it's structured just makes it really hard to focus on anything for me.

This is such a hard book for me to review, because I genuinely loved the ideas it contains. The big concepts, the mixture of sci-fi and magic, this whole innovative, engaging take on the magical girls trope—it’s chef’s kiss. And I loved, in that “fuck this hurts” sort of way, how some of the themes from Velveteen vs were further vivisected here, as well as some themes from the Wayward Children. I loved Yuina and Piper and wished I could really get to know them, with proper arcs and all.

But alas, I didn’t at all love how this story was told.

I think that it really suffers from being shoved into the slim novella format. Perhaps with some percolation, it could make an awesome novel, or even a series—or at least a collection of loosely interconnected shorts like Dying with Her Cheer Pants On. As it is, at the beginning there are whole long chapters that are basically just worldbuilding, to the point that getting through them didn’t feel like engaging with a story, it felt like listening to a friend excitedly ramble about this cool awesome new setting they invented. Yes, these chapters were smart and voicey, especially Piper’s parts, and yes, I mostly enjoyed reading them. Like I said, the setting is amazing! But as a result, the setting felt like something I was told of, not pulled into, and this was quite a lengthy set-up for such a short book. And then when the actual events started happening, stuff worth lingering on was rushed past, or sometimes all but skipped over, and there was that sudden POV switch that would have worked far better in a bigger work, and I got confused at least once because of how the narrative was just jumping from one thing to another.  Also, I really wish there could have been more flashbacks or something about the fallen teammates, because Paisley, Ashley, and Elena all sound awesome and deserved to be more fully realized, even if just as memories. But at the same time, I understand that no way was there room for that here, given the format.

If you like dark academia and gothic, explorations of misogyny, themes like the impact of stories, and romance subplots focus on healing, definitely pick this one up. Especially if you also value vibes over plot and get that special longing, anxious feeling in your chest whenever you so much as think about the sea.

This was a slow read for me, and I changed my opinion about it a bunch of times, but ultimately, I liked far more about it than I didn’t. The prose, in particular, is such a strong part of the book, doing so much to create a heavy, uncertain, gothic atmosphere and to support the themes of the book. This is indeed a study in drowning: because of the Drowning as an event important to the setting, because the sea creates a threat, because Effy spends almost the entirety of the story metaphorically drowning. And so the prose is pretty much full of water. There are water-themed metaphors and similes everywhere, water-related colors and qualities to the various scene settings, and every time there is a word choice that can be even remotely associated with water, you bet the author takes it. The watery themes just never let go, and it creates a beautiful effect.

The worldbuilding was occasionally confusing. The bigger concepts, like the politics, the folklore, the academic and literature culture, were really well-realized. On the smaller scale, though, while the vibes were impeccable, I struggled to actually feel grounded. It was kind of like listening to a “decrepit gothic mansion by the sea” soundtrack without getting a visual. The setting is a secondary world that has phones, cars, indoors plumbing, ceiling fans, etc—but for the love of the sea, I can’t tell you what era or mix of eras one should be envisioning with them all. 1920s? 1950s? 1980s? Might be a “me” problem, but I legit don’t know. Guess this isn’t particularly important; but it kept making me feeling shaky and uncertain. If the setting was farther divorced from the real world, I would be completely fine with the existing level of descriptions, I think. But here, it was like… hmmm… like when you’re learning a language that has a lot of common with your native one. You really need to explicitly understand the differences and the similarities.

The plotting was probably the weakest part of the story. The central mystery about the real authorship of the novel Angharad was rather predictable and kind of… oddly executed? The specific actions Effy and Preston took and their mindsets throughout the investigation felt less like “we’re solving a mystery” and more like “we’ve got this conspiracy theory we want to spread.” Also, the reveal is pretty much based on one glaring plot hole that I won’t comment on in detail to avoid spoilers, and I also kind of understand how you can squint and ignore the hole-ness of it in favor of focusing on the themes, but still, it felt pretty meh to me. In general, there were times when that central plot felt like it was just interfering with the vibes and the characters’ inner journeys rather than helping both.

Speaking of characters, I really loved Effy throughout the book, and I felt for her a lot: the pain she was in, the survival mechanisms she’s developed, her quiet strength mixed with anxiety, the way she gave herself the chance to heal. She’s really been dealt a shitty lot in life, but I feel like she’s going to be fine eventually. Preston was a cinnamon roll, and I appreciated how supportive he was of Effie and how focused on lifting her up. It’s worth noting that the book promises enemies to lovers and doesn’t deliver—they’re barely rivals, tbh, and even though there’s some light animosity at the start, it gives way quickly enough to seeking understanding. Which, I feel, really suits these characters and the story. They just aren’t the kind to get locked in a more typical enemies-to-lovers type of dynamic—good for them! Though i do feel there were some missed opportunities here, in particular with the impact the politics of the world might have on their relationship given that, even though his mother is Llyrian, Preston has Argantian origins and the tensions between the countries are considerable, to say the least. It felt like the book did try to explore that at first, with Effy’s preconceived notions about Preston, but that line of thinking was quickly dropped in favor of other themes.

Overall, I’m a big fan of the work the author does with the prose and the vibes, and when the next book comes out, I’m quite likely to pick it up. It will be interesting to see further character development from both leads, and I’m looking forward to once again feeling like my ereader now smells of the sea. 🌊

Such an interesting Sleeping Beauty retelling with a focus on fairies and changelings and a kinda ambiguous take on who is the princess and who is the fairy that cursed her—it kind of works both ways. It has as much heart as I’ve come to expect from T. Kingfisher’s novellas, and it’s everything a story about faeries should be: beautiful, slightly creepy, and fair in the most unfair of ways.

I really liked Toadling, the MC who was stolen as a kid and raised by scary bog fae who genuinely loved her and then was given a mission by a hare goddess, and Halim, the very nice knight who shows up to rescue a princess from a tower but is willing to listen and learn and genuinely figure out what’s up. What endeared me to them especially is how kind they both are. While I love digging into the psyche of flawed characters, I also sometimes just love reading about genuinely good people trying their best, and this book absolutely delivers on that front. 

The funny thing about the central plot element is, if I were to read this story a few years ago, I would have probably given it a far lower rating and grumbled at Fontaine being just evil because she’s evil and it’s her nature to be evil and she can’t be redeemed, only contained and destroyed. This would have felt so flat and simplistic—and yet now, looking at the political realities we live in, I find this to be such a good and meaningful part of the story. Sometimes, evil is just evil (though admittedly usually through choice and not because it’s inherent and inevitable), and the truly kind and good thing is to destroy it if you can.

The prose here is evocative and sometimes quirky, the fairy tale vibes are ever-thick, and the ending is hopeful with a subtle touch of bittersweet. There’s something so soothing and cozy about this book, despite the darker sides of fae lore woven into the narrative. Highly recommended.

Wow! This is my favorite in the series so far—and definitely the most unsettling. Because forget about twisted resurrected corpses, eldritch aliens, and gods from the deep. Forced institutionalization in a 19th century asylum is objectively much worse. I wish I had read the trigger warnings before pressing play on this one, tbh, because certain parts did make me feel scared (and also upset and angry and altogether murderous).

Speaking of gods from the deep, though—R'lyeh and the Deep Ones and the whole nautical eldritch horror theme have always been my favorite parts of the mythos, and I absolutely loved how this theme was handled in this book. All the nightmares Whyborne has, the vision slipping into the real world and crowding it out, the magic, the special mix of clarity and confusion—I’m just absolutely digging everything about this. And the deep sea god was so alien and so oddly relatable—can’t decide if I want to get possessed by him or be him (just kidding… probably).

The plot is a braid of many threads, and it’s a joy to see how they all twist and turn and come together. there are Whyborne’s dreams. There’s the central mystery that catches the characters unawares in the very first chapter and leads them to the Stormhaven asylum. There are Griffin’s visiting parents and cousin. There are smaller subplots, like Whyborne’s continued study of the Arcanorum and his own family. And as the book progresses, all of this really comes together in a super satisfying way. The final act in particular is such a wild stretch, I was on the edge of my sit throughout. Things just keep escalating while also coming together tighter and tighter. I also really liked how the narrative threads from previous books, especially the first one, were incorporated in just the right times and, in a couple of instances, how just enough new information was injected to make me look back at the earlier events and recontextualize them slightly.

If I had to search for flaws, I’d say the very beginning is a bit shaky: it’s too slow for in media res and too quickly moving for a gradual lead into the inciting incident, so it hovers in an awkward spot that only really works because this is a series installment and the reader is expected to already be invested. Also, the actual investigation part, before the horror action starts kicking in, is once again slightly meandering—the author continues to be much better at those action parts, although I think the other supernatural mystery aspects are improving, too, compared to the previous books. There are also definite improvements in the intimacy scenes (I mean both the smut and the moments when the leads get vulnerable with each other), though at a certain key point the dialogue did kind of go overboard with the dramatic cheesiness, I fear.

Speaking of the leads! Am I finally convinced that Whyborne and Griffin are actually good for each other and shipping-worthy? Yes and no. For a big part of the story I was really frustrated by their mutual mistrust. Whyborne keeps being jealous and insecure about the relationship, Griffin keeps explicitly not trusting him about the magic, and both of them have a point in some way, as in, I totally see where they’re coming from in the context of their own pain points and trauma. But it’s so frustrating and makes me so worried for them in the long run and makes me feel there’s more codependence here than love. Especially on Whyborne’s part, because he’s constantly proclaiming his deepest devotion to Griffin in his narration, “I would do anything for him,” and then practically in the same breath convinces himself that Griffin is going to ditch him any moment now, interprets everything Griffin says in the most “nope, yeah, he’s *definitely* gonna leave me” way possible, and self-flagellates about how boring and plain he is and how Griffin must suffer in this relationship… And damn, it reminds me of the unhealthiest relationship I’ve ever been in. Yes, definitely, it’s not so much Griffin who’s making Whyborne feel this way as it’s Whyborne’s previous baggage, and Griffin has plenty of his own baggage that he’s dealing with in the best ways he knows how, and the two of them are clearly trying so hard to help each other. But I just keep feeling that they’re moving through their respective healing processes in such different ways, at such different paces, that sometimes they hinder each other more than they help. The writing does make me feel, by this point, that they *could* be good for each other at some indeterminable point in the future when they’re better, so there’s that. And at least they have Christine to provide assessments, insights, and dry humorous commentary while they fumble their ways toward that possible future.

Speaking of Christine, she continues to be my absolute favorite, the one character who consistently made me laugh even when I was busy having assorted negative feelings, and such a badass still. I’m glad she got moments to shine and to be crucial to the plot, but I’m also glad she got to say no to participating in something she didn’t agree with and went off to live her own life for a bit at one point. I’m also so angry about her having to constantly run into men who dismiss and belittle her—like good grief, how was this ever seen as a normal way to treat women, why did humanity at one point decided to treat half of it self as lesser and how have we still not shaken it off??? People are the real eldritch horrors sometimes. Anyway, yeah, Christine is awesome and needs to get even more opportunities to be awesome down the line. And I loved that we got to meet ore great female characters in this installment. I actually really hope to see Ruth again at some point—hopefully she does figure out a way out of the cage of her family’s expectations.

By the way, to round this off: utterly loved how the themes of family were handled here, even if it was genuinely painful at times. Griffin’s situation is so relatable, it absolutely broke my heart. And I had to bitterly chuckle at that one moment Whyborne’s father acknowledges his bravery and Whyborne immediately decides it’s some vile manipulation, because yeahhhh, when you spend ages destroying your kid’s self-esteem, they *will* take everything you say as a trap or a wapon against them, that’s just how the bad cookie crumbles.

Definitely a high note to finish my reading year on! I’ve missed Murderbot’s special deadpan voice. It remains one of the most relatable sci-fi characters ever for me, and I was delighted to read about the complex emotional reactions it’s been having. Particularly toward Dr. Mensah (can a robot have friends? particularly when the friend is actually technically their owner? but doesn’t seem to want them to be a robot?). Who happens to be kidnapped and in need of rescue, so here we go.

The pacing here felt really fast—faster, perhaps, than it actually is in terms of events progression. Like, there’s definitely some build-up to the action parts, but I still felt like I was dropped right in the thick of it from the first pages. I think that’s because this is so explicitly a series installment, building up on the problems and plot threads of the story before this novella, bringing in old friends and enemies. It kind of feels like I’ve just turned a page and landed into the next chapter leading up to an exciting plot point. A good thing, to be clear! Especially since in reality it’s been months since the previous installment for me. Maybe one day when I’m finished with the series I’ll re-read it in binge mode and see how it feels without breaks between books.

All in all, this continues to be an excellent space opera with a strong cyberpunk vibe, combining action and adventure with some discussion on (not) being human. It’s snarky, smart, and so, so engrossing. I pretty much inhaled it in one go.

Second chance romance is among my favorite tropes/subgenres, and this time of the year calls for Christmas romcoms, so I was pretty excited for this book. Two exes stuck together in an adorable holiday home with potentially matchmaking friends, what’s not to love? The execution of the core trope, apparently, that’s what! You’re probably far more likely to enjoy it if you’re into second chance stories where the leads pretty much pick up where they left off, but after some drama. In that case, I actually recommend this book a lot! If, however, you’re like me and what you’re looking in second chance romance is more that “it was the right person in the wrong time” feel—seeing the characters meet again in different states of mind, having them internalized and processed past experiences to an extent, still the same people at their core but not likely to make the very same mistakes—then… Honestly, maybe sit this one out.

While I didn’t really like the main characters and can’t ever be convinced they can build a lasting relationship again, I want to say I did enjoy the writing. It flowed pretty smoothly, the Hallmark movie-style winter holiday vibes were thick and palpable, and all the romcom beats were hit just right, with some light twist now and then. Also, while the leads weren’t my kind of people, I really admire the character work here. Both Charlotte’s and Brighton’s flaws are internally consistent, solid, and understandable. They’re very fleshed-out characters who come alive on the page. I dislike them as fictional people, but I also feel the author did a great job with them both.

Speaking of that dislike… let’s start with Brighton, the runaway bride. She grated on my nerves so much with her… I guess the word here is immaturity? She’s the kind of person who may dramatically blame herself for her wrongdoings sitting around on her own, but when it comes to actually assuming responsibility, she doesn’t know how. She is mad that Charlotte doesn’t want to speak with her when they both end up in the same house for the holidays (because their friends who invite them over happen to be, unbeknownst to Brighton and Charlotte, sisters). That’s when she literally left Charlotte at the altar and when she knows that Charlotte has childhood trauma around abandonment, so it’s to be expected that event caused an extra amount of damage. Like… maybe give that girl a moment before getting upset with her?

There were also those slightly toxic moments when she kept calling Charlotte by her old nickname despite Charlotte asserting several times she’d prefer her full name now, or when she

tried to initiate a “let’s give this one more chance” talk when Charlotte was really drunk and clearly not thinking straight.

And while I definitely don’t think it’s wrong of her to rely on other people a lot—community and friendship are awesome!—the specific *way* she leaned on others, combined with the rest of it, left me feeling iffy. It’s kind of like she expected people to just read her and give her what she needs or even force her toward it—and then if that somehow happened, everything was awesome, but in the more likely event that the other person wasn’t telepathic, it was their fault.

But then there was also Charlotte, who admittedly took longer to piss me off (mostly because “emotionally constipated human-shaped icicles who are only like that because life hurt them so much” are kinda my type in fiction), but then managed to do so with gusto. See, she just. Never stopped running away. Her first instinct upon seeing Brighton was to pretend she doesn’t know her. She kept backing out of all important conversations, shutting out her friends, avoiding topics that hurt her, trying to ignore those topics out of existence, etc, etc. And apparently,

she used to display a milder version of all those same qualities back during her relationship with Brighton. So while I do think Brighton needed to be explicit and straightforward about her problems rather than hinting and being vague, Charlotte absolutely did her part in keeping things vague. In a way, she ran away first—from Brighton’s worries and from all the ways they were not quite compatible at that stage of life

.

Come to think of it, if there was no second chance element (or if it was a red herring and the real romance happened, say, between Charlotte and Wes, or between Brighton and some other character), I would have enjoyed exploring either character’s neuroses. But with the plot being as it is, I just kept looking at the two of them displaying all the same qualities that broke them apart in the first place, made *worse* by the years… and, like, nah. Please keep these two away from each other. Okay, maybe let them spend some time together and get closure, then put at least three major cities between them and may they never meet again.

I did really like how the author developed these characters by constantly contrasting them with each other. For example, early on she shows them in the very same situation: driving up to the house where they’ll be staying. They display completely opposite reactions to the coziness and the decorations—and both react that way because it reminds them of literally the same place. Or when they finally confess to someone about their history:

Charlotte chooses to take the opportunity to confess to Wes, no one pushes her to do it, whereas Brighton gets literally cornered by Adele. On one hand, it shows which one is more mature and proactive. On the other hand, it also shows how Charlotte builds up walls and would rather talk to a stranger than a friend/someone she shares part of her life with. While Brighton has built the kind of life where someone who cares about her can be there for her to push her to talk.

I also liked the side characters; they didn’t get many particularly deep moments, but they were all easy to distinguish and fun. Adele was my favorite with her awesome big sister vibes (also, yay for aro rep!), and I also really liked Wes—he was so kind and genuine. Nina was both awesome and intimidating, as far as mothers go; I wouldn’t want to be on the receiving side of her well-meaning meddling, but I appreciate how accepting and compassionate she was in many ways. I felt for Sloane’s attempts to get through to Charlotte. Manish often made me laugh.

Overall, the book *is* rather well-written, it just that it failed to sell me on the idea that the two MCs can in any way, shape, or form build a life together. Both because of their personalities and circumstances, but also, I think, because the weakest part of the book is the ending.

Allegedly, the MCs go through some growth and achieve some revelations that should make them more compatible, but all of it is basically summarized. Just like, incidentally, the resolutions of several side plots were super condensed, too, leaving me hungry for more pay-off.

I think that approach would have left me disappointed even if I was invested in the romance!

Hello, new fun source of mixed feelings! I liked parts of this book so much, but then there were entire chapters that made me struggle to stay focus—always an interesting combination. 

At its heart, this is the sort of enemies-to-lovers + arranged marriage story where the MC marries an alleged villain for the sake of her country and then discovers that her husband is in fact *not* the villain of the story. It’s also far more worldbuilding-heavy than an average romantasy, I feel, with a lot of politics that are handled in really cool, realistic ways. It is rare that I see the links between climate, trade, and warfare in the context of foreign relations explored so well outside of history- or politics-focused non-fiction. Alongside the evocative descriptions of jungles and snakes, this made the setting feel very real. I also generally liked the geography of this world, with the continents connected with a huge bridge and how control over this bridge is a mixed blessing for a specific country. 

Much as I’m happy to sing praises to the worldbuilding itself, however, I have problems with how it’s delivered and how it’s interwoven with the central relationship plot thread. The more world-focused bits are almost universally dense, infodump-y, and often involve stuff happening elsewhere and the characters talking/reminiscing about it later. Meanwhile, Lara and Aren’s interactions where they get to know each other and eventually catch feelings are all pretty action-y, emotional, full of banter and cool cinematic moments. Even though their relationship very much exists in the context of the world’s politics (and their marriage, in turn, directly affects the political plot/is a part of it), this duality of approaches kept creating that “am I actually reading two separate books?” feeling. It also sometimes just felt jarring—kind of like, imagine reading a contemporary romance, and you’re all invested in the relationship, and then suddenly there’s a transcript of the daily news the characters watch together to get caught up on the world’s affairs, followed by a summary of a New York Times or Reuters analytical piece about one of the ongoing conflicts around the globe. This felt like that, but fantasy.

As far as the romance is concerned, I really enjoyed the development of it. It’s a slow burn, and there’s all that extra tension around Lara concealing the fact that she’s a spy and Aren being pretty sure she’s probably a spy. The start was rocky, the subsequent developments grew on me fast, and I think they complement each other really well as people. I liked all the subtle comparing and contrasting between them, and how the secondary characters surrounding Aren all helped, with their reactions and interactions with him, show who he is as a person. His care for his desire to create a better future for his people even when he was told he’s being too idealistic really resonated with me. 

Lara, for her part, absolutely captured my heart at the beginning of the book, showing herself as badass, capable, courageous, and smart. That first scene immediately had me invested in her journey. Unfortunately, later on that perception kind of faltered, because at key points of the plot she kept stubbornly refusing to display those qualities to recognize what was actually happening. She started off openly showcasing a degree of defiance to her father and a complete willingness to accept that he’s capable of heinous things, but then as soon as she was away from him, she was constantly like, “No, he wouldn’t lie, he cares for his people, etc.” And I kind of get how this can co-exist with what she shows early on: indoctrination, trauma, etc would do that. But those scenes aren’t written as that specific brand of mental gymnastics at all, so this is my assumption of what might have been happening there, not anything the book explicitly told or showed me. Instead, Lara’s behavior felt like she suddenly lost half of her abilities and experience whenever that one specific subject came up, making the stalling for the reveal feel artificial. 

The ending in the book, in many ways, was a punch in the gut. I really liked how the final twist was handled, and the way it echoed the beginning of the book and made it so that the first choice the MC made in the book led very directly to the final problem.  I liked how it came right when things were settling down, too, making me feel like we’re in the “wrapping up the final threads” territory while wondering why there were a bit too many pages left—would the final part end up dragging? OH NO, THE OPPOSITE. With a cliffhanger like that, I’ll be definitely picking up the next book.