What makes a well-rounded character? The answers to that question are as varied as any character you can come up with. Ignatius P. Reilly, despite being a round person who's not particularly well, is still to my mind a well-rounded character.

If I'm speaking to generics, I would say "having a sense that this person existed before the book started and will continue to exist after it ends" is pretty important, though in romance the latter half tends to be a bit forsaken for the "happily ever after" sort of squashing everything together in a warm little biscuit for you to eat and sit with.

The other part tends to be a character who's more than a stereotype or an archetype; one who can surprise you without it seeming it going entirely against already established motives or ways of being. An adverbial phrase I use a lot is "fully fleshed-out" (weirdly also commenting on body size, somehow? English is weird) – typically this means getting inside the head of the characters (for first-person perspectives), or getting enough of their background and ways of interacting with others and themselves (third-person) that we have an understanding of what makes them tick.

I hesitate to make Grand, Sweeping Generalizations about any genre, for the (to my mind) good reasons that a) I have not read every book and b) one always has to wonder how much of any observation about a trend is at least affected by both frequency illusion and/or confirmation bias. 

And so while I'll caveat it thusly, I do want to call out what seems to me a bit of a tendency to over-commit to nigh-crippling anxiety disorders, or a heavily reliance on neurodivergence as a primary if not (in some cases, though to be clear not in this book) sole defining characteristic.

I'm not slagging this book, mind! It's a perfectly cromulent YA romance, with some nice / funny / sweet moments around date ideas and milestone moments. I do think the characters are for the most part well-drawn, and Rose has a way of teasing out and exploring small flaws in her characters to both cathartic and interesting plot ends.

But if I'm being 100% honest, I felt like I've read the main character (Naomi) before. Part of that is absolutely on me and the number of similar books I've read. But coming somewhat close on the heels of having read Love is for Losers, Naomi just felt like a flatter version of Phoebe from that book.

That being said, I will call out the love interest main, Andrea, as being particularly well-written, with a slowly-teased out backstory that absolutely informs and drives all the decisions that came before we understood it, and closes the loop rather perfectly.

Maybe that's why Naomi stuck out for me so much? Andrea felt so vibrant and original that Naomi (who we're introduced to first and takes up more room in the book, if not by word count than certainly by presence) just sort of seems washed-out.

Nevertheless! The Summer List is still a solid YA romance novel that'll keep you warm in the coldest of those Canadian winters.

This review is for an advanced reader copy of the book, provided by the author.

Ugh, maybe there’s a reason “don’t judge a book by its cover” exists as a concept. But I don’t think that’s the issue. Maybe it should be, “don’t judge art by its marketing.”

Anymore, though, marketing is given, if not equal weight with the work itself, at the very least a huge impact on a given piece of media. And while I’ve defended movies, books, plays, etc., that have gotten a bad reputation on the back of crappy promotional efforts, I also don’t really judge or blame people who don’t want to take the effort to go beyond what they’re presented. It’s not like it’s the consumer’s fault the very people tasked with presenting a piece of art’s best facets to the world failed miserably.

All of which is to say, you should go into this book with your eyes open. This is not a happy-go-lucky romance, with a quick meet-cute and maybe a little tension and probably a dog or a cat for some antics, but ultimately it’s a straight shot with but a speed bump or two along a defined path to Love.

There’s romance involved, to an extent, but more accurately this a book about coming to terms with one’s queer identity, and how to navigate that alongside others.

Trigger warnings for parental issues, some intense self-loathing and depression.

I don’t think it’s a spoiler alert (the titular “epic construct” turns out to have been gender all along, presumably with the candlestick in the conservatory) to say that I can’t even give you a straight (or not-straight) gender pairing in the tags.

But I will say that the book seems an honest recounting of people who are having all sorts of gender feels. It painstakingly earns its twist (though tbh much like an M. Night movie, if you’re even slightly paying attention it’s not much of a reveal), and there’s a surprisingly broad spectrum of queer identities plumbed.

I had trouble trying to figure out who I’d recommend this book to. Maybe baby gays (and bis-es, and trans-es, etc.), for the solidarity note that you are not alone in figuring this out and gender is hard? 

I’d almost wish to be able to give it to every cis person who doesn’t understand that figuring out what gender box to tick (or pics to swipe on, for relationships) isn’t easy for everyone, but it is the case that the Venn diagram people who would most benefit from reading the book and those who never would is devastatingly close to a circle.

So if you’re looking for a gender exploration / queer awakening narrative, this might be up your alley. If you’re looking more for a straightforward romance, well, there’s the whole rest of the website to explore.

This book is not going to speak to everyone. I can guarantee you that right off the bat. It’s gritty, it’s got rough edges. It’s downright raw. Like walking the entire length of a gravel driveway barefoot, it’ll jab you in unexpected places every time you think you’ve finally figured out the rhythm. 

But it’s also tender, warm-hearted, and so suffused with love it’s running off the pages. 

The titular Kat loves to watch the Mouse (real name: Dot) at play from afar, refereeing roller derby bouts while daydreaming about the beefy blocker. Mouse, by contrast, can’t stand Kat’s calling of penalties … until they get to know each other better, and Mouse is ensnared in her trap. 

As an avowed aficionado of roller derby (and a one-time aspirant who made it a whopping five practices before breaking her leg and deciding it was safer in the bleachers), this book was a given as soon as I saw it. 

But I was hardly expecting, much less ready for the avalanche of emotions and heavy moods this book foisted on me. I’ll pause here for content warnings regarding lengthy depictions of mental illness, substance abuse and religious quackery in the book, and discussions of same below. 

Rather than skirting around or shying away, we go deep into these characters’ psyches. Dot’s struggles with mental illness are both structurally important as well as extremely emotional. I sometimes struggle on re-reads of this book because Dot’s heart is so raw and tender, I can barely stand to read the torture she goes through. 

I do not pretend to understand the realities of her illness, but I empathize deeply about seemingly uncontrollable feelings rising up in an attempt to drown out all other emotions and thoughts. 

This book may not wind up at the top of everyone’s favorites list, but I consider a must-read nonetheless. 

It’s important from an intersectional standpoint, for sure (mental illness and queer and happy ending), but it’s also just a damn good piece of writing filled with believable characters in realistic situations. I only wish I could head down to the track to catch a bout.

There’s sometimes a rhythm to subjects that get portrayed in popular media. Movies famously get released in pairs (The Prestige and The Illusionist, Finding Nemo and A Shark’s Tale), and books are no different (in 2023 the “professional bridesmaid” / “paid fake date” trope swept through the fields of lesbians fiction like a horde of locusts). 

Maybe it’s intentional, but more often it’s just that an idea is out there in the culture, and multiple people run with it. 

On the one hand, I’m psyched, because this is the second queer reality show book I’ve read and I loved both of them. But it can be a bit irksome, as a freak who inhales romance novels, to find plots hinging on the exact same contrivances. 

So a few points off of Hot Summer for (unintentionally) rhyming its plot with an absolute gem of a book, but there are so many already on the board it really doesn’t matter. 

Our protagonist, Cas, has closed herself off to love owing to some bad experiences in her life. She’s just in this for the job she’s been promised afterward. Ada, by contrast, is all about the love. She longs to find someone to connect with … and the eye-banging that starts the minutes these two see each other bodes well for that. 

Honestly, sometimes I feel like I’m on a reality show when I read fictionalized versions of them. All the emotions feel heightened, like the added layer of seeing behind the artifice of television shrinks the remove from the characters provided by the framing of a novel. I’m trapped with the book just as they are on location, and I found myself unable to stop until I’ve finished - just my little commitment to honoring their (voluntary) predicament. 

Cas feels so real, probably because I identified with her a lot (not sure I’m supposed to, to be clear!). I think I doubly identified with how she did - guarded, but wishing she were more like Ada, open and free. Ada, of course, was an absolute delight - everything a girl could want or want to be. 

I also thoroughly enjoyed all the other contestants as well - whether they were important plot-important friends or throwaway villains, each rise to the occasion perfectly and left me with an impression. I’d even be willing to read the Rashomon-esque take on Femi and Sienna, they were so well-written. 

Hot Summer is a perfect Sapphic beach read, sure, but it’ll also keep you warm the rest of year, too. 

I’m a fickle science fiction reader. I have a horrible time with complicated names (which is why I read almost zero high fantasy), and hard sci-fi usually just leaves me bored. 

But I really dig a good concept, a delightful twist on the norm, and that can carry a book a long way for me. All the better when (like the first and third Andy Weir books) it’s well-written, to boot. 

Annie LeBlanc caught my attention because of the hook - every 10 years, someone in the town of Lennon, CA, gets to come back from the dead. For 30 days.

That’s a solid idea! Everyone’s always looking for new takes on zombies (aren’t they?). While much can go wrong in the translation from notion to novel (especially those that would have been better staying as short stories), thankfully, that’s not the case here. And it’s queer, to boot??

I want to center this review on the main character, Wilson, because (to her) it seems so little else does. I loved Wilson, even though she’s a tragically flawed narrator, because her misperceptions are deeply rooted in her reality. 

She travels through life with self-esteem and self-worth issues all but literally running her down in monster trucks. Wilson has difficulty reframing any narrative in such a light where she is not bathed in an accusatory, self-recriminating glow. 

As we learn more about her world and the people in it, I think it’s not a spoiler to say she lives a wish-fulfilled life any in her unworthy-feeling shoes would dream of. It’s wonderful to see someone brought back up from such depths. 

This is not a romance novel; it’s honestly not even really sci-fi, though it takes elements from both. At heart, it’s a tale of friendship and love, of connections lost and found again. 

Its genre-ness leads me to shy away from classing it a must-read, but I do think it’d be a lovely pickup for anyone looking for something just a touch outside the norm. Even though the primary conceit may be a little out there, the central tenets touch at universal fears and needs we all share an understanding – and longing – for. 

It's so refreshing to have a book sneak up on me! Especially from a publisher I adore (First Second, which has a large number of fantastic graphic novels). There I was, just minding my own business in the bookstore, when I saw a particularly pink graphic novel sitting amongst the pride display. I grabbed it, looked at the back, and was instantly drawn in!

Critiquing graphic work in general is difficult for me, because I feel I lack both the knowledge and the terminology to do so intelligently. So take it on faith that my thoughts on this book are how it fares to a general reader, not an expert of the form.

I loved the art in Belle of the Ball. For me, graphic novel art works best when it's interesting enough to catch my eye but not so detailed or thorough to pull me too far from the plot. The nontraditional body builds and styles complement each character perfectly, enhancing our insight into them without resorting to relying on stereotypes. The dialog felt realistic and, at times, hilarious (I actually laughed at loud a couple times, a rare feat when reading). And I appreciated the narrowness of the story, keeping to the plot without wandering off on tangents or getting too far afield at any point, while still keeping the flow interesting.

I know there are people who aren't particularly into YA, which is the only reason I'm leaving this as Highly Recommended instead of a Must Read. Some believe that YA is lesser than adult literature, and I simply don't have time or energy for that argument. But I do recognize that books aimed at YA audiences tend to be more streamlined, glossing over or omitting complications for the sake of providing a cleaner narrative or moral. 

This book does take some plot shortcuts, especially at the end, in how things resolve. But the journey to get there is so good (and the ending so wonderful) that I'm more than OK with overlooking some rough bits. Belle of the Ball had me rooting for the princess the whole way through, and cheering when she finally got her storybook ending.

I try not to be a vacation snob. I’ve done the regular touristy type things, like taking a cruise to a foreign country and trying some of the day trips. 

But I find it’s much more enjoyable to just go somewhere and explore. For example, on a trip to Australia we just rented a car and drove around for a couple weeks. We stumbled upon some of the most delightful places and experiences (a county fair; an island only accessible by passenger boat) that I have no idea how to find if I even thought to seek them out. 

Poppy Jenkins provided me exactly that wander-y, exploratory feeling for the small country of Wales. Even though the writing felt a bit choppy at times, the experience of living within the lives of the titular Poppy and Rosalyn, made this book irresistible.

I want to walk down to the local shop for some sweets.

I want to roll down the hill atop the long grass, splash my feet in the river. And of course, I want to taste some of the delectable delights from Poppy’s café. It’s hard not to see the landscape, the town, the whole country, really, as a character in its own right. 

But as far as humans go, Poppy is one of the better main character heroines I’ve read in a while. An endless source of happiness and optimism for seemingly the entire village, her experiences in dating probably resonate with anyone who lives in a small town with no larger ones nearby. Rosalyn, by contrast, never really fit into the countryside as well as she might’ve liked. 

The friction between the two served to sand off their respective rough edges. Both complement each other in a way that only a perfectly matched pair can. 

That’s not to say there’s no conflict, because basically three-quarters of the book deals with issues that swirl around, but are not directly related to them. I thought they were entertainingly presented, though I might’ve done with a bit less village gossip and descriptions of chamber of commerce meetings. 

But overall, Poppy Jenkins’ story is so delightful and uplifting it’s got me trying (and failing) to learn Welsh. I guess I’ll have to just suffice with making a return trip every now and then on rereads of this delightful little romance.

Sometimes it’s hard to articulate why you like something. This can seem obvious when it’s a B movie (“it’s so bad it’s good!”), but I even struggle sometimes to describe specifically why I like, say, apples. 

“Because it’s crisp.” “Because it’s sweet.” “Whatever the hell ‘mouthfeel’ means.”

And those things are true, but they feel inadequate. Because there are plenty of crisp, sweet things with cromulent mouthfeel I don’t like, so logically it seems like there should be something else, something more that I’m not conveying. 

As a reviewer, this can be, as you might imagine, frustrating. It’s even worse when I can specifically articulate things I dislike, because it winds up looking like a pro/cons list of ask the reasons to say “no.”

Foreshadowing aside, Heartstrings is the story of Mira, the no-nonsense financial planner, and Shelby, the free-spirited violin teacher. Mira’s nephew, Ben, gets unexpectedly dropped in her lap for a few months, and the boy needs to violin! Hence, the meet-cute.

I’ll be blunt: There’s a bunch about Heartstrings I just straight-up don’t like. The way the kid gets treated, the relationship between Mira and her sister. The names of the main characters (Shelby and Mira). I don’t even particularly like the manner of attraction between Shelby and Mira. 

And yet. 

There’s something about this story! Shelby’s family (and family dynamics) are a delight. Their joint focus on Ben is heartwarming in a non-cheesy way, and their complementary natures really do shine through in a way that you can see how being together is better for the both of them. 

I even like the way they deal with their (quasi-joint, part-separate) baggage about how they live their lives, which is rare in a book like this. 

So unfortunately, I can’t give you a laundry list of reasons why you should read this book. You’re just gonna have to trust me on this one, Heartstrings will leave yours plucked in just the right way. 

**This book was an awakening. **

Chasing Stars marks a third and, sadly, final trip to the Three Rivers Campground, an idyllic slice of queerness set in the already gorgeous backdrop of Vancouver Island, BC. 

Littlest sister Clover Rivers, last but not least of her name, is back in town during the summer gap between undergrad and starting her master’s program. Unfortunately for her, the past has found its way back to the present in the form of Neavh, the one that got (fled, really) away. 

It’s … it’s everything, y’all. The revelation I alluded to up top is that apparently people finding someone else who just gets them is my jam. Apparently I need an “emotional intimacy is my kink” bumper sticker?

The way Clover and Neavh fit together, even when there’s friction! It’s delicious, the warmth and camaraderie and (not really a spoiler) love that flows between them like a … flowing body of water. 

Gah, it’s a river, sorry, couldn’t help myself. 

Don’t get me wrong, the they’re still plenty realistic enough to make choices that annoy the hell out of me. Silly young people, never befitting from the wisdom of my experience!

**But sometimes we must forgive others the sin of being 22, and in this case it’s easy to do. **

Chasing Stars is the perfect wrap-up to the Rivers sisters’ stories, a literal bow on a wonderful present from the author. Though I’m sorry we won’t get more stories about them, it’s easy as a reader (and fan) to take comfort that the ones we got were so lovingly crafted. 

Give the whole series a read; it’s time very well spent. 

This review is for an advanced reader copy of the book, provided by the publisher.

I want to be annoyed by it. There’s something about setting a book in a bookstore, or about a writer, that feels … lazy? A little cheap? Like, of course I like bookstores, I’m reading an actual book. Shooting water in the proverbial barrel, as it were.

As may be evident from the title Pages from the Book of Broken Dreams, we have both a bookstore and a writer featured prominently. Main character Emma is interested in neither of those things, a non-reader, non-coffee drinker who looks for work in a bookstore cafe. Our object of interest, Aubrey, however, ticks both of our boxes and we’re off to the (wind-assisted) races.

This is not an easy book. There’s no meet-cute where the two immediately fall in love, traumas and hardships aren’t resolved with a kiss and some heavy petting. The novel feels like it deals with real people with real issues, trying to figure things out.

Pages doesn’t take shortcuts. It’s actually much more reliant on 90s music for its references than literary (or popular canon) knowledge. It seems to take care to earn every new plot progression, every lingering glance, every stolen kiss. It’s so slow-burning it might as well be called incremental smoldering, but it works. The tension between Aubrey and Emma ratchets up slowly, but there’s enough chemistry and repartee to sustain through.

I know we’re supposed to suspend disbelief for fiction, but I do want to call out what I like to refer to as “fixing yourself on someone else’s dime.” Both of these ladies have issues that they should definitely be seeing counselors or therapists about. While I’m happy they got together and can support each other, it’s not healthy to rely on one other person for everything. (Incidentally, this note directly ties into Aubrey’s backstory, making it all the more perplexing.)

Also, I know this is a college town for a liberal arts school, but is literally everyone in town a lesbian?

(I just re-read that sentence, and I withdraw my objection. Mea culpa.)

Pages from the Book of Broken Dreams is a deeply felt journey through two women’s attempts to heal themselves and find strength in one another. For that, I’d say it’s worth cracking the spine.

This review is for an advanced reader copy of the book, provided by the publisher.

Whenever you encounter episodic storytelling, be it on a TV show or a Cinematic Universe or even a series of a books, the work often needs to justify itself while it catches you up. Yes, it's often subtly side-eyeing you for walking in during the middle of its performance, but it acknowledges that not everyone necessarily has seen the beginning of the story (or, if they have, don't have perfect recall).

Sometimes, you can mix in the exposition with the entertainment – think the recaps of Luis in the Ant-Man movies – or even woven into the story as a narrative structure, a la Zombieland's rules. But other times you get the literal "Previously, on The West Wing" where a voiceover recaps everything relevant to ongoing storylines. 

Much like this review, I implore you to slog through the information dump at the top of the book, because it eventually gets to where it's going. Admittedly, I initially did not know that this book is a shared universe – though I did read the first one – so maybe it's understandable. I want to advise not to judge too early.

A lot of the narrative of this book revolves around queer cinema, and as a card-carrying queer, I know firsthand the value of representation and feeling seen and validated in media. In the same way, Val's generalized anxiety feels like a breath of fresh air, even if it is incredibly difficult on a personal level to read through the insecurities and self-sabotaging.

Nobody's perfect in the real life or fiction, and Val and Maeve are no different. Val doesn't handle herself with the most grace and care, Maeve doesn't react perfectly ... but they're both people, and they're both trying. You know I'm a sucker for real characters having real emotions and real reactions. 

A passing familiarity with musicals is probably pretty important if you don't want to zone out completely for the teaching scenes, but I thought the technical movie discussions were approachable while still intelligent. 

This book gets a little dense at times, but honestly I like that too. Life isn't always quips and back-and-forth repartee, and it's nice to let thoughts and emotions breath a bit. All in all, it's a lovely time well-spent, and I look forward to meeting some of these characters again.

This review is for an advanced reader copy of the book, provided by the publisher.

I don’t even like going to the gym, so why do all the fitness romances keep pulling me in? I mean, it helps when the fit main is all about health and body positivity, but we have that at home (gestures to TikTok).

Maybe it’s the (mostly) universal trepidation of walking into a place where you know you don’t live up to the standard. Where, even if they’re nice, you see countless examples of people objectively Doing It Better than you. 

And sure, putting an (eventually) friendly face on the big scary thing doesn’t hurt, either. 

Shape is kind of two different stories wrapped around a romance. Spencer, our gym newbie, learns how to value herself in a relationship (and everywhere else, honestly). Meanwhile, gym rat Rebecca has to get over her own judgment issues. 

This is … not a simple book, is the best way I can think to describe it. It’s not straightforward, it’s got plenty of chill-de-sacs and loop-de-loops along the way. The tension of Spencer learning to stand up for herself, to both realize and then attempt to achieve what she wants, is both inspiring and the tiniest bit depressing. 

But it’s also got some great banter, a fascinatingly smoldering slow burn, and some pretty good character development. I don’t super love sprinkling in people with mental challenges as virtue signals, but at least they’re always treated with kindness and respect in the book. 

I would be remiss if I didn’t … caution? warn? nudge? you by noting that, if you have areas of your life (or the entirety of it) where you’re just coasting and you engage with this story, this book might just kick your ass a bit. 

It’s an enjoyable romance with some deep character work. That’s not condemnation by omission, but rather an acknowledgement that the book does what it sets out to. A worthwhile read. 

I love watching people who get true enjoyment out of their hobbies. You can tell their dedication, their passion for skills or efforts that the rest of might not bother with, but are very important to them. Think renaissance fairs, improv groups, cosplayers at comic book conventions. It might not be my thing, but I have no problem with your thing.

And, well, sometimes I might have a hard time not cracking a smile when I see them get intensely interested or defensive about a particular point. Two Captains America arguing over  whether you need the carbon fiber-y look of modern or the classic cotton costume of the 40s is fine; a group of old people bickering about a pickleball line call. Technically, yes, I am laughing at them, but more in a "oh it's cute how much you care about a thing that does not matter at all to me" rather than mockery.

All of which is to say, it's a little hard to take seriously the tribulations of the June the Girl Baseball Player and Ivy the Girl Who Legitimately Wants To Be A Professional Umpire. (And before anybody steps, let the record show that I like both sports books AND quirky sports books. I will be writing up a recommendation for the curling book soon). 

It's not a fault of the writing! The diamond dustups are cute and the chemistry sort of sparkles between the two. There are a lot of emotions and expectations batted around, which in terms of the adults are eventually satisfactorily resolved. 

I do feel compelled to call out that June seems like she needs legitimate counseling, and it should not fall to Ivy to be the de-facto therapist. I'm all for supporting your partner, but you also have to be able to take care of yourself, and June needs the assistance of a professional.

Overall, though, the scenes are enjoyable with no small amount of humor, and the characters (despite their motivations seeming a bit silly) are fun to be on the team with.

Have you ever gone to take a drink of something, only to realize it's not what you were expecting? Dr. Pepper instead of Coke, iced tea instead of soda, or grain alcohol instead of water? (Was that last one just me in college?)

Even if you genuinely like the thing you wound up with, usually your brain throws up an error. If we attribute it to evolution, your brain likely has some wiring that's always on-guard for suspicious food. It thus sets a baseline, and will alert you via your tastebuds when things don't align. It's almost like you're not tasting the drink at all, you're instead tasting your body's chemical alert system.

I've encountered similar issues when consuming media, especially books. Sometimes it's as simple as I'm not in the right mood to enjoy a serious movie or a silly TV show, even though I normally would be. Other time it's more specific to the media in question, where I go in expecting one thing and get something else completely different. If I was expecting something bad (or not expecting much at all), it's not really an issue. 

If I'm honest, I thought about just omitting this book entirely. I bought it on my own, so I didn't have any obligation to put it up. When I first spied the book, the style in my head was a Ned Vizzini-esque "depressing overall situation from the outside but with light-hearted moments and a unique perspective that, from the inside, isn't so bad."

What I got was more of diary through the depths of grieving your own death (for sake of argument, just trust me that the five stages of grief also apply even when you're grieving yourself). It was a slog (in terms of "spending lots of time exploring," not "boring and drawn-out") through depression, admittedly with some comic relief and tender, lighthearted moments. 

I guess you could technically classify this as a romance, but I don't think doing so benefited the book. It sets a hurdle the book isn't capable of but also is actively uninterested in clearing. It's more than that, richer and admittedly a bit crasser. I moved myself to recommend it after rereading it and realizing the problem wasn't with the book itself so much as my expectations of it. 

Don't bother to explore it if you want for a typical teen romance. Do dive in if you're looking for an emotional read about the breaking and mending (in the same a broken bone heals back stronger) of a family, of a life, of a heart. It's worth braving the depths.

At this point, we can call the "insert the character's full name into the title" thing a trend, yeah? I think it's supposed personalize the story - maybe personify it? Delilah Green Doesn't Care tells us of the main character's disaffection, The Love Curse of Melody McIntyre confirms that the book about drama is going be chock full of melodrama, Astrid Parker is A Huge Bitch Who Should Have Done Some Introspection and Worked On Herself Before Inflicting Herself On Someone Else pretty much nails it.

Whatever the reason, this book is so much better than its cover, title or description. Here's the blurb I would have written (even using their cute little callback cadence game):

10 years after her own marriage ended before it began with her fiance Cody leaving her at the altar, who finds herself picking out dresses to get ready for not one, but five of her friends' weddings scheduled this summer? Aubrey McFadden, that's who. And who's she going to studiously ignore at every single one of them, the "friend" who convinced her fiance that Aubrey wasn't what he really wanted just minutes before they started their forever together? Monica Wallace, that's who. Aubrey hasn't forgiven Monica or Cody, and certainly has no intention of forgetting. Who cares that all her friends say Monica had a thing for Aubrey back when they were all in college? And who's furious that the Life Ruiner always manages to smell like sunshine and warmth? Monica hasn't seen Aubrey since that day she both destroyed destroyed and saved her life, while only trying to help her best friend. But who's trying (and failing) to avoid the person who puts an inexplicable lump in her throat whenever their gazes lock and seem impossible to break? Who doesn't actually want to be avoiding her at all?  Aubrey and Monica, that's who.

I thoroughly enjoyed this journey. It starts off awkward af (is there ever a wedding breakup that isn't?), and I have to state unequivocally for the record that calling someone a "bitch" in anything other than drunken anger actually undercuts the vehemence for me (Molly Weasley to Belllatrix Lestrange, Aubrey to Monica). 

But the sincere and genuine warmth suffused with tension during the gradual of the rapproachment are toes-squeezing-in-your-shoes delightful. The five different weddings provide a nice cadence with sufficient variety to keep things moving and interesting while maintaining a natural connection. Aubrey's coming to terms with her attraction is confusing and delicious, and Monica seems like basically the best. Just an overall lovely book.

In Ten Things I Hate About You, Patrick (Heath Ledger) tries to impress the girl (Julia Stiles) by bribing the marching band to play while he sings "Can't Take My Eyes Off You" over the stadium loudspeaker as he saunters down the truly massive stadium seats during a combined (?) track/soccer practice.

In Netflix's The Prom, Emma "brings attention" to her cause "her own way" by singing an original song on YouTube that racks up 7 million hits overnight.

Now, both of those are movies, so some over-the-top-ness (and visual interest) is required to keep things interesting. But there's a reason I cry every single time I hit that scene in The Prom (on my literal dozens of rewatches) and the scene in Ten Things I Hate About You elicits a chuckle (mostly at Julia Stiles' absolute waterfall of tears), and it's not just my gay little heart empathizing with her plight. It's because I can absolutely see a heartbroken teen pouring herself out in song on the internet much more than I can the detached cool loner type slipping the AV kids money to sing a Frankie Valli song.

Girlfriend for the Summer, a YA book about teens (you've been warned) feels like an experience teens might actually have. (Despite the cover art making the main characters look like they're 30. In the 1970s.) The "big public outpouring of love" is simple, brave and absolutely keeping in line with the character going out on a limb.

I know many of my reviews have a throughline of "groundedness" and "reality," but to me escapism requires verisimilitude. A suspension of disbelief is all well and good, but the characters have to be internally coherent and jibe with the rest of the universe, or it all feels a little pointless. 

It's why you'll likely never see a recommendation for those "billionaire orders bacon at diner and falls in love with waitress" books on here - everyone knows all billionaires are ovo-vegetarian.

Girlfriend for the Summer starts with two comphet straight girls meeting and discovering how much they enjoy each other's company without even realizing why. I can't even rightly call it a slow build, but it's a slow realization and rationalization process (for one of them, at least). Reading this book feels like slowly slipping yourself into a warm pool on a hot summer's day - it shifts from pleasant to wonderful so seamlessly you don't even realize it till you're already in.

If you're not into YA, you may want to give it a pass. There's definitely teen angst (not an inordinate amount for me, but I know some people don't like reading about it). I don't lo-o-o-ve the social power dynamics that come into play between the two at times, but band geek Colby does show backbone and realize her worth at several points, while Mia is appropriately cognizant and honest about her more problematic behavior and actions. I also think the struggles and how they're overcome are beneficial especially to YA readers (but also us older folk as well).

The title, Girlfriend for the Summer, holds a promise with an explicit restriction (it's over in August). I think books tagged as romance, specifically YA books, tend to carry with them similar baggage. It's about teens, romance is all well and good but there's no guarantee of forever. Often we're left at the end with the promise of finality but with the knowledge the characters still have their lives left to live.

But in the same way (this really doesn't count as a spoiler alert) Colby and Mia decide they don't want to be girlfriends just "for the summer," so too do romance books in general (and this one in particular) go beyond that limitation. Because while it is about the story, it's also about the feelings the story inculcates in the reader, how it impacts us. In that way, this book still resonates beyond the last page.

I had terrible taste in literature as a child. Growing up, I absolutely devoured Clive Cussler (thanks to his Raise the Titanic novel in my Titanic period, which came before the movie, thank you very much!), Lee Child and, most of all, Tom Clancy. This, despite the fact that it was increasingly obvious to me how formulaic all of these books were. My favorite recurring theme was in Clancy's Net Force series, a series set slightly in the future about an FBI-equivalent of Net Feds.

In each book, the assistant director of said agency would pick up a new martial arts style. Clancy (or, more accurately, the ghost writer) would spend dozens of pages describing this martial art from a clinical, almost Wikpedia-like overview perspective (please note that I'm not accusing anyone of plagiarism, just "being a hack"). Even as a 13-year-old, I found these hours devoted to a constant succession of new martial arts by the deputy director of a national intelligence agency "unlikely."

All of this is to say, as I picked up another Rachel Spangler book to find out this time we were traveling up the mountain with in-depth looks at both alpine skiing and snowboarding, my warning lights went off. After all, the previous books from Spangler I had read were about curling (yes, really, and expect that recommendation up soon!) baseball and the violin. Though they hadn't twigged my "formulaic and inauthentic" alarm, the sheer diversity of topics had me wary.

But let me tell you, I never knew how badly I wanted a lesbian snowboarder/skiing story. She even managed to draw me in despite using the ice queen trope, which marks an absolute first time that's ever happened for me. So often the "haughty and closed-off meets gung-ho wild child" pairing tries to rely on some combination of "actually Ms. Prim and Proper is a big ol' softy" and "the loosey-goosey one has a Thing for authority." But Spangler actually leans into Elise's frostiness to provide a logical attractant for the surfer-vibe snowboarder Corey, and Corey can match her intensity without betraying her character.

Though this book is a bit emotionally rough, with all of the characters sporting plenty of unfinished edges to snag your heartsleeve on, it's tough love in a good way. Everyone changes, most of them grow, and they all stay true to themselves while providing plenty of wit and charm. Though this is the first Spangler book I'm posting, it certainly won't be the last.

I would watch the hell out of the fictional reality show this set of novels is based on. Marry Me, Juliet is shooting in Australia right as the COVID lockdown hits, and suddenly an already tempestuous situation grows exponentially worse. Author Jodi McAlister has already wrung two books of out of Rashomoning these 6 weeks (with a third about the aftershocks), though sadly this is the only queer entrant in the bunch.

It's weirdly like a queer fantasy reality TV show, despite the fact the in-universe show is actually (and specifically) reinforcing cishet norms, but two lady contestants discover they just can't live without one another. McAlister does a fantastic job with both the main and supporting characters, drawing them really fake enough that they're believable as both people and reality TV characters. Even the characters I disliked on a personal level were narrative positives. And the usual trope-y contrivances are upstaged by literal contrivances courtesy of the producers, making all of it seem completely realistic.

Since I usually go out of my to pick nits, I'll also specifically call out the flaws and hard times faced by both Dylan G. and Mandie as grounded depictions of real struggles that neither go away nor flare up into ridiculousness.

Seriously, I cannot get enough of this book. I've gone back and re-read it twice already, and even picked up the first in the series to get more glimpses of this world. I only wish McAlister would dip back into the queer inkwell again.

Review of the Love Curse of Melody McIntyre Stored on Queer Bookshelf server Created by: Reviewer Viewable to: All visitors and readers Editable by: Reviewer Only

Just because you have a neat idea for verisimilitude doesn't mean you need to beat the reader over the head with it.

I enjoy performance. Really, I do. I love theater, specifically musical theater, and I've even been known to jump on stage myself a time or two. So I get that committing to your role is an important part of crafting the experience for the viewer/reader, and the suspension of disbelief.

On the flipside, I also know that committing to use a Scottish accent for Mcbeth* despite the fact that you sound like a Southerner gargling several fidget spinners is more about the actor feeling good about themselves, rather than putting the performance (and the audience) first.

Love Curse is a traditional story broken up in modern epistolary format by Google Drive entries. It's a neat idea that gets wayyy too overused. Seriously, in 2004 they just created the concept of Gmail, no way the class of 2007 was using a school-issued GDrive account to copy and paste the contents of newspaper articles from 1906. Just not happening. Plus the headers (example at the top of this hilarious review) got annoying and introduced far more names than were necessary.

Looking past all that though, Melody is a disaster bi of the highest order, which makes for an entertaining story. After being ostentatiously dumped in the theater control room during the trickiest part of a live performance, the rest of the crew decides that Melody's felicitations will have to be kept under wraps. So of course she meets the Girl of Her Dreams straight (not-so-straight?) away.

There's plenty of YA angst to be found throughout the book, including some nice friend rifts over cliques and stereotypes. There are a weirdly large number of LGBT adults around, but honestly, who's complaining? Love Curse is an thoroughly enjoyable nostalgic paean to high school drama and high school Drama. Theater kids, rejoice and revel. 

After I finish a really a good book, a funk can set in. In the majority of cases, that's the end of the story. We're not getting any more, and frankly even if we did it wouldn't be as enjoyable as the story we got (unless you start dropping the character in increasingly outlandish scenarios until you finally run out of ideas and have to jump a sports car across the gap between two high-rises in Dubai and it's still not interesting enough). But there's always that feeling of wanting more. Book gluttony?

This is the rare case where I feel like I actually might have liked a little less? It's a good book, not bad by any means, but the dueling narrative approach (where we switch between main characters Blake and Jenny) actually feels a little oversaturated in this case. I enjoy getting both sides of the story, but neither character's dilemmas felt particularly fraught, daunting or even like they concerned them too much.

Legitimately I think the biggest crisis is that Jenny thinks she might run out of money but then doesn't actually even get that far?

This feels a little hypocritical for me to say, given how one of my more frequent nitpicks is when character flaws or drama just pop up out of nowhere, but I didn't really feel a lot of conflict in this book. That's not bad per se, but it means that switching perspectives between the characters mostly just reinforced the fact that there's not really any question they're going to end up together.

Am I seriously complaining about a happy ending? No, of course not! I do enjoy both characters, and the different set pieces (ribald Jane Austen bachelorette party, anyone?) are charming and funny. The pace never really slacks, and I'm interested to pick up the second book in the series. I just hope there's a little more there there, you know?