Book Posts

Look, I know expectations can be killer. But I feel like expecting a given book to be a novel (here defined as a singular, coherent narrative) is a fair assumption?

Unfortunately, this time the ass turned out to be me.

Moon is a fun collection of related short stories about the moon turning into a block of cheese ("organic material" is the official NASA line, because cheese comes from cows and how can you tell if it's actually cheese, etc.) of exactly the same mass, and what ensues from that.

There are lots of cute little anecdotes and fun characters sprinkled throughout, but unfortunately given my initial expectations the whole thing ultimately felt narratively underwhelming. If you go into it with, dairy I say it, the right mindset, it should be an quick, enjoyable romp.

I sometimes say fiction (especially romances, regardless of your or their orientation) is about escapism - fleeing your life into someone else's. But I don't think that's quite right, either in the sense of flight from your own life or how we interact with – at least, the best – fiction.

Instead, it feels like ... not borrowing someone's life, exactly, but more akin to one of those sci-fi contrivances where you can relive the memories of others. The feelings, emotions and thoughts are still theirs to keep, but you can still slip into them and wear them like a suit (of armor?), feel them as they stretch over your limbs, always comporting to exactly the right size.

So I get why some people don't like YA. It can feel too tight, too restricted, not big enough to encompass the vastness of reality to the reader who feels older, more lived-in, more stretched-out.

And maybe it's just the case that some books fit us individually better than others. My feelings suit probably closely resembles the shape of Phoebe, the plus-sized teen who suffers from feeling simultaneously like everyone's laughing at her and also ignoring her because of her weight.

But I would argue that tailored fit is also a sign of good writing, because it's not a generic off-the-rack pantsuit that doesn't really fit anyone (but isn't so far off that you can't use it in a pinch). It means some care went into the measurements and the precise stitching that holds the whole thing together.

Time and Time Again was a delight to borrow, even if the story took the expected ups and downs of teen romance. It delivered with its light sci-fi time-loop that serves as the spine of the plot, but it really shone in the emotions and feelings from both characters. Blameless heroines and heroens (new portmanteau for "nonbinary hero") they are not, but there's a trueness that shines through their flaws. 

It's a) a romance and b) YA, so of course there's a happy ending. It's a little unsatisfying to me, and the resolution came about a touch too quickly, but those are minor nits amid a much larger, complex and utterly real story.

Even if you're not into YA much, I still say this book is worth your time.

I will admit that I only made it about a chapter into this book before I felt compelled to put it down for a couple days. It opens on a courtroom scene, and nothing is more exciting than boring court dialogue.

Except the witness, Charlotte Illes, isn't giving the normal boring court dialogue. She's being a little sassy, clearly desperate to do the right thing but not willing to compromise on her integrity (and, if we're being honest, isn't great at dealing with people in general. Her people know how she is, but in any other context, it's more an acquired taste). 

And one chapter was enough to make me realize, OK, I want to know more about this character. And I knew this was the second book in a series, and you only get one chance at a first impression. So I set this book down in order to read the first book and get introduced properly.

I was so glad I did.

The Charlotte Illes books are not romance, which is sort of a first on here. This site was never intended to be explicitly romance-centric, that just tends to be how non-straight books are marketed: How would we know they're queer if we didn't see them making out with queer people? Even in books where the relationship is sort of ancillary to the genre plot (Annie LeBlanc Is Not Dead Yet), it's still a major part.

Charlotte, by contrast, though she is queer, does not define herself (or her story) by that. Actually, she's more defined by her fame as a female Encyclopedia Brown meets Harriet the Spy, and she's constantly wrestling with whether to lean into it or pretend it never happened.

I cannot describe how much I enjoy the character of Lottie (Charlotte). She's written with at least a neurospicy overtone, if not explicit definition to her character, so many of her tribulations and conundrums seem 1000% real to me. But she's also got a sweetness and a protectiveness that I recognize in many of my favorite introverts, who would absolutely ride-or-die for you even if they're not particularly comfortable behind the wheel.

And yeah, the plot is a little zany, as most small-town mysteries tend to be (at least no one gets murdered for barely any reason; looking at you, every weird mystery thriller ever). But it's fun, well-paced, and splashes among the emotional palette with the deftness of a watercolor artist, feathering from humor to anxiety to dread to joy, all in a sensible wave. 

This is not, as the kids my age say, a kissing book. But it's got the love and intrigue that adults who are looking for something a little less smarmy (but no less heartfelt) will enjoy. Though I also highly recommend first reading Charlotte Illes Is Not A Detective – after all, a lady this fine deserves your time and effort.

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

Maybe this book came to me at just the right time. I can certainly identify with feeling slightly more than whelmed (though in my case, it was entirely self-inflicted). I set up this website at the tail end of an absolute torrent of romance novel reading, and once I got it ready I just sort of ... lost the ability to read for awhile. Burnout happens on any single or combination of topics, hobbies, or it can just slam into you generally.

Thus, it was nice to pick up a book where the two mains (Clover and Bee), for reasons of their own, needed a bit of a breather and just ... got it. Via a new app, Vacate (which sounds incredible in fiction but I would never trust in real life), the two essentially house-swap for a month (Clover to SF, Bee to Ohio) around the holidays, not realizing they're also a little bit Freaky Friday-ing into the other's life as well.

I loved all of the characters we actually got to meet in this book, even if the sheer number was at times slightly more than my tiny brain could handle (this is a known failing of mine, and again why I don't read high fantasy). Though I admit I first expected the two mains to wind up with each other, I actually more enjoyed following them on their separate paths. 

Even if Bee is depressingly straight, her whirlwind romance and general love blitzkrieg through the small Ohio town brought a gravitas without being too depressing, which can sometimes happen when a romance novelist tries to pile on the pathos.

I also want to especially note the active diversity of characters, which is still not super common even in gay fiction. I always love the feeling of effortless inclusion, and it comes through in the writing as well as the scene work (I desparately want to join the pack of SF queers that Clover falls in with).

And it's a Christmas(-adjacent) story to boot! I know it's the season, but I always like coming out of a Christmas book without feeling smothered by Santa's beard. 

A hearty highly recommended to anyone who could use a little break.

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

I really tried to come up with a good intro here. Something pulled from my life, that would seem authentic and genuine yet also relatable, generalizable perhaps, so that you, the reader, could see yourself in the anecdote. I tried but I failed. I couldn't come up with two things to jam together that might – on paper – seem good, but in reality just don't work for me and, if we're being honest, probably shouldn't be put together at all.

Ashley Herring Blake, by contrast, does not suffer from this problem.

I noted it in my perhaps slightly vitriolic review of Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail (my head-canon headline for which is "Astrid Parker is kind of a bitch"), where the titular character, Astrid, brings almost nothing positive to the relationship with the other main, Jordan, and is in fact actively detrimental in several ways. (I'm still so salty that Jordan settled I didn't even need to reread the review to remember her name.)

But then I picked up Make the Season Bright, got about halfway through (where we get the full, tragic backstory), and thought to myself, well, shit, she did it again.

It feels extremely weird for me to complain about happy endings. At this point in my senescence, I will barely tolerate any media that dares to end on any but an uplifting note. I am too old and too depressed on my own to need the issues of fictional people weighing me down, regardless of what screen size they dance into my life upon (movie, TV or phone).

And yet, here we are.

The book contains all the right bits. There's the improbable-verging-on-the-impossible reunion, the re-meet-cute that reminds them both of what they once had and what they're missing, and even a bordering-on-unbelievable number of queer side characters to round out the cast. But it just doesn't gel right, largely because the reason these two separated in the first place (and how) was ... correct? And nothing in the intervening years has changed their fundamental realities or the underpinnings of their issues.

So I was left just feeling off. I don't want to be rooting against the two romantic leads, but I also don't think any good can come of it, even if the book tries desperately to convince me otherwise. Sure, maybe one or both of the characters will have a total personality transplant and all their issues will be magically resolved, but that honestly just speaks even worse of the book?

To me, a good redemption romance arc marks itself not by the fact they wind up together at the end, but shows how they got there. Start with people with flaws (or flawed people), then show they grow and mature and overcome those flaws. Maybe I've just been ruined by On the Same Page, but that book shows how it can be done (and done very, very well). Bright, by contrast, settles for "well, they decided they'll be better about it so they are."

Is "reluctantly recommend" a thing? I'd definitely recommend it above Astrid, but only if you really need a Christmas story and don't have any other, better options.

The number one sign I liked a book is when, after finishing, I immediately go to Amazon/the author's site to see what else they have published. Considering this book itself came from a mad dash to the web after finishing Ophelia After All, it's safe to say I'm a fan of the author.

This is undoubtedly one of the best sapphic romances I've read with a central conceit of sports, bar none. Everything felt eminently believable - the at times over-the-top teenage emotions, the descriptions of soccer (shockingly well-done for a book with other considerations on its mind), even the straight-from-the-80s-movies rich vs. poor side of town divide seems apt to boil over deliciously. Do you know how hard it is to read while trying to cover your eyes in secondhand embarrassment?!

I hate to dig into the sports metaphor bag, but this book feels earned, in every sense of the word.

The burn is slow, though the groundwork is laid out from the beginning with every step pounding out character and plot beats true to both. You might have trouble getting past the first bit – not because of but despite the stellar writing, as Vale starts in a hole and tries to dig her way out for a while before figuring out which way is up.

But if you can stick through it, the unfolding narrative and character growth will make this book more than worth the read.

When I started writing reviews, I wanted to get away from star ratings and trying to prove the quality of the site through sheer mass of books. I strove to be more personalized, with my actual recommendations coming through. I thought this would lead to a smaller, more curated set of books that tended toward the high end of my rating scale. What I failed to realize is that there are lots of perfectly cromulent books out there, they're just not the best at their given niche or subject.

Take Her On is a perfectly fine sapphic romance about two soccer (we're going with soccer for clarity's sake) rivals in their last year of university who are suddenly teamed up against their will. It's even got the most milquetoast exoticness possible (Briish accents just not having the same effect on the page as they do on screen).

But ultimately, I think the better version of this book is You Don't Have A Shot. Again, not that this book is bad, but if you came to me asking for a book about soccer (or even sports in general), I would first push you there – with one exception. 

If you're someone looking for (I believe the euphemism we use now is) spice, I would recommend this mostly because the other is explicitly YA and thus far more tame. The sex spicy scenes get pleasingly graphic, and help up the intensity. But overall, the book doesn't hold together quite as well as an entire work as YDHAS, and thus falls to the "maybe" recommendation.

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.

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. 

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.

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.