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
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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 M*cbeth 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?

I want to burrow up inside of this book and live there.

Is that a strong enough recommendation?

Serious Haley Cass fans (guilty) will recognize Riley and Gianna from the short story Down to a Science, but it's here in On The Same Page that we learn about the truth and depth of their friendship. The story of how their relationship blossoms and grows is amazing in its own right. You know how sometimes you get jealous of fictional characters? Just me? At any rate, the friendship between these two is absolute goals, and the delightful mix-up that leads to it becoming something more just makes it all the more delightful.

I almost wanted to tag this as enemies-to-lovers, but it's not quite there. Though Gianna is anything but friendly when we first meet her. I don't often feel like the turn from heel character into likeable one is earned in romance novels, but Gianna's transition from damaged/spoiled rich brat to genuinely likeable person is slow and emotionally cogent enough to feel completely honest. And Riley's just a damn delight throughout, though she manages to grow, too.

The only sour note for me in the whole book is Riley's reaction to the Big Revelation, which feels weirdly out of place. Luckily, it's a momentary blip that is entirely ignorable. I mostly just wanted to mention so y'all would know I'm not completely in the tank for this book/author.

If you like queer fiction, especially sapphic, especially especially romance, this one's for you. Read it.

What does your hometown mean to you? I struck out for college at age 18 and have only returned to my (not-so-quaint anymore) little town maybe 3 or 4 times in the succeeding two decades. It's grown and prospered to the point where it's barely recognizable anymore - sure, I know some of the landmarks, but even those seem to have sprouted the generic "apartments on the top, commercial underneath brick facade" block-length buildings that have come to define 21st century architecture.

But, if asked, I'd still say it's where I'm from. 

That seems odd to me. Your hometown shapes you, in ways good and bad. It provides the backdrop for your early life yes, but it also dictates what types of people and experiences you're exposed to, the values you're inculcated with, and the cast of characters populating your life definitely makes huge impacts on who you turn out to be as a person.

The title of In the Long Run sort presupposes that our hometowns are responsible for the desire paths in our lives, whether we choose to follow the freshly poured sidewalk (main character Brooke) or venture off on our own (love interest Taylor). Brooke is a no-nonsense town manager who gets (adorably) flustered when confronted with things outside her control. She's lived in Faircombe all her life, and has no desire to reach beyond it; wanting to contribute back to the positive feedback loop she feels the town has given her.

Taylor, by contrast, is a free spirit, a travel blogger (this book being released in the depths of Covid is either hugely fortunate or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it) who feels restless whenever it feels like anything resembling roots have started to take hold. Given her upbringing and experience with the town, this diametrically opposed view seems entirely justified.

The same general circumstances, even interactions among the same family, can produce drastically different people. We are not who our history forces us to be, but our history does influence who we decide to become. 

I will admit this story took me a second re-read to really appreciate some of the depth and layering that goes into the character and town. I'm not sure if it's for everybody - there's an awwwwful lot of town business in these pages, and not usually in the fun Pawnee way. But the way these characters interact with one another, grow and change, provides a pleasant perk of perusal. 

Honestly, I would support buying this book just based on how it came to be, alone. For Pride Month 2022, IHeartSapphFic (best name ever) got 8 authors to contribute novel/las and released them as part of a set. I expected to get some middling short stories the authors had been toying with but weren't good enough to publish on their own.

Instead, they blew me away in their own right. 

Though I will always be grateful to Down to a Science for setting up the characters for On the Same Page, I find myself fiercely protective of both Mia and Ellie, in different ways. Mia's got a somewhat predictably tragic backstory (in the same way no Disney princesses have mothers, most lesbian romance interests have on average 1.4 dead parents), but it feels true to her character both in how it shaped her life in the broad view as well as how it impacts her in the moment-to-moment. 

Ellie, on the other hand, is another neurospicy character who feels authentic, rather than cheaply staged or exploited, which is both helped and made harder by the fact that (as the book is written from her perspective) we get the full breadth of her thoughts and feelings. Having her whirling emotions helps ground the character in reality, but is an authorially bold move given that too often attempts to write neurodivergent characters wind up missing the mark. However, much like Love is for Losers, Ellie felt real to me in a way that's mildly unnerving, given how much I identify with or at least understand her reactions to different situations.

I promise, this is not intended to be a neurospicy queer book website! But it's nice to see the genre widening out to include more diverse perspectives into the lives of queer people, and I want to celebrate when that's done well. Whether it's neurological differences, race, gender, aro/allo, it's a legitimate cause for joy when media is created that allows people to feel seen. And this book has that, well, down to a science. 😉

I so did not expect to like this book! As someone with a definitely not made up allergy to gym equipment and exercise, I was not expecting to like the strong ladies book. But oh my gosh, did you know that the strongest muscle is the heart (it's actually your jaw, or your uterus, or your butt, or your eye, or your tongue, or the heart, depending on your definition of "strongest") and this one's working overtime.

This doesn't really count as a spoiler because it's in the description, but Lizzie's drunken bathroom pep talk is so inspiring, funny and touching I almost went and broke up some weddings myself. It's just that good.

Lizzie comes across as a real person, with lots of insecurities owing to how she grew up that she mostly manages to shove away. Both James and Cara are absolute wankers at times (James early and often, Cara once or twice but at exactly the wrong times), but in Cara's case it's easy to see her redeeming values as to why Lizzie would fall in love with her (and vice versa).

I don't know, y'all, I just love Lizzie's energy. She's a disaster gay, through and through, but because her heart's in the right place (and it's so strong) she always manages to rack 'em after pounding out that last set. You'd have to be a dumb belle not to like this book. Do not weight to pick it up. Alright, much like Lizzie I might be too tipsy for this (despite drinking squat) and need to bail before I (bench) press my luck. It's definitely worth curl-ing up with.

I think I have abandonment issues with really good books. Think about it! Every book you've ever loved, ever craved to wedge yourself between the lines and live among the fictional world, is finite. Even as part of an ever-sprawling series, inevitably you get to the last page of the last chapter of the last page ... and it's over. 

Both the titular Delilah Green and her love interest, Claire, seem to have (justifiable) abandonment issues of their own. Delilah (dead parent alert!) hasn't had any family to rely on since she was young, so she books it to NYC as soon as she can and stays there. She's only brought back by the lure of much-needed cash from wicked stepsister Astrid Parker, but she's coming and going just as fast as she does in any relationship - quickly, and without remorse.

That is, until she meets one of Astrid's BFFs, Claire. Suddenly she's consumed by the thoughts of this girl and her manic pixie dream daughter, and just mayyybe it's enough to keep her sticking around ...  

Isn't it useful how the Lothario, only-in-it-for-themselves types always turn out to have secret mushy hearts that just need the right queer person unlock them?

I jest! Things can be tropes simply because they happen often, not because they were written to follow said trope. Delilah is a wonderfully fleshed-out character, and the progression in all the relationships feels justified and well-earned. And hey, who can blame Delilah? I'd stick around and shack up with Claire if only I knew she wouldn't leave me before the acknowledgments.

Oh, Claire. We could have been so good together. Instead, I'll just have recommend others spend their time with you and hope that can satisfy your insatiable craving.

Y'all, I struggled with this one a bit. There are so many conflicting emotions going on in my brain right now.

Looking at it holistically, it's the third in a series. Delilah Green was excellent, Astrid Parker didn't really do it for me. Iris Kelly is sort of inbetween, leaning toward Delilah, a bit?

I'll say this, Blake can write characters. I loved Iris Kelly, the bold and brassy lass of Irish descent whose temper is as fiery as her passion. Her family is ... verging on unbelievable? I don't know that there's a likable older parent in this series, but Iris' mom is almost worse than Astrid's and Delilah's. This all actually would cohere a lot better if I believed that we were supposed to be filtering our perceptions through Iris' slanted, tempestuously-colored eyes, but I don't get that sense. I think we're supposed to take literally that her mom is condescending to the point of seeming like a negging pick-up artist, and her family is just a ball of uncontrollable.

And Stevie is wonderful, too, in her own way. But also just this side of realistic? I truly don't know how one could exist as a successful actor being that much of a doormat to everyone around them. Flaws are fine, but enough cracks in the mirror and it's a bit hard to actual understand what's being reflected back.

But they make sense together. Maybe the trick is to not assume this is set in our universe, but in one slightly removed. If you can put aside the absurdity of nearly every situation our fierce females face, their story and connection is one that can make your heart sing (or get up on stage and prance around in a donkey's head, as required). I think most people can suspend their disbelief to get to the goodness at the core of the novel, but I won't pretend it comes without effort.

Astrid Parker is kind of a bitch.

I'm sorry, she is? I'm understanding about people growing up in bad situations (truly, the overall family dynamic as well as how specifically her mother treats her was and is pretty bad), and needing to grow, but Astrid just ... doesn't?

I mean, we literally spent an entire book blowing up her wedding because she was marrying some (presumably) MAGA chump (forced it into it by her mother) who thought he should buy a house several hours away without telling his fiancee and ... didn't see it? Didn't care? Hard to tell, really.

But that wasn't enough! Even though Astrid Parker has already Failed, she's determined to make her interior design business (forced into by her mother) succeed by renovating a historic old B&B on some home renovation show. But the carpenter/contractor, Jordan, has her own ideas. Better ideas. They're just straight-up better. It took Jordan almost no time to come up with them. Astrid Parker is almost entirely superfluous. But we can't say that because .... reasons?

Look, I know contrivances are part and parcel for genre novels, especially romance. But that on top of Astrid just being a straight-up dick most of the time really made me struggle to finish this book. I have absolutely no idea what Jordan saw in her other than 🔥, and that doesn't always come through in books, y'know?

It's not bad writing! It's just an annoying character. I can recommend this book out of completeness' sake for the Bright Falls series, but otherwise there are plenty of other, better options for your time. And Jordan, you can do so. Much. Better.

It sounds like the cheapest of plot devices - divorce attorney meets latebian with asshole ex-husband. And wouldn't you know it, the ex-hubby used to work at the same firm! 

But oh my gosh, it goes beyond the tropes and the clichés. It's a slow-burn love story where, yeah, you can tell that Caroline (the main character) has a crush on Hannah. She admits it to herself at first, but then they build an honest friendship and (slight spoilers) even a little family, as Caroline met and charmed Abby (Hannah's little girl) when she was stuck at the office on weekends.

It's just so charming and endearing I want to melt every time I read it.

Legitimately the best way to impart how much I thoroughly enjoy the book is to admit that I own on Kindle, in paperback and audiobook - and I've read/listened to all of them more than once. Per year.

It's the best of what romance has to offer, whether in literary or real-world form. Deep, abiding friendship; mutual respect; an all-encompassing love that suffuses both of their lives. I promise you'll find yourself striving to reach the warmth you'll find in this book.

Look, "disaster queer" is a real-life trope we all know and probably embody to some extent, but it exists for a reason. And boy, "hot mess" does not even begin to describe what goes down in this book. Every character has more issues than your average grandparent's National Geographic collection ("it'll be worth something someday!"), to the point of you might find yourself wishing for appendices to keep everything straight.

If I'm being honest, I felt more than a little personally attacked by some of the problems plaguing Molly McDaniel. Her biggest issue, as the book memorably puts it, is that Molly "makes someone else her IPA" - that is, she transforms herself in order to fit neatly into the life of whomever she's dating at the time (in the case of the IPA, Shoni, the love interest, bought a home-brewing kit to impress her IPA-loving lady friend). 

So I can't really fault the realism there! The sheer depth of the characters drew me in certainly, but I will say at times it left me flailing my arms trying to stay afloat. Like, it's mildly difficult to keep track of everyone's issues? If every wall is an accent wall, you're actually lacking a primary color. Similarly, if every character is presented as a prickly patch of insecurities, it makes it more difficult to savor or even appreciate the juicy, fruity parts. And with so many unresolved issues just hanging off everyone's shoulders, the book's ending feels a bit rushed and left far too many burdens on my poor little brain and heart.

All that being said, it's a very emotional, complex novel that demands you sit with it for a bit. You can rush through it, of course, but I think you'll feel better afterwards if you pace and give it the time it deserves. I don't know that I'd recommend it for those looking for lighthearted romantic fare, but it's a solid work that should manage to hit you in the feels.

There are so many expectations bound up in this book. 

From a plot standpoint, our author heroine (Lyra, a name I absolutely love) flees sunny California for the rundown mid-Atlantic foothills of Pennsylvania when her sister falls victim to a stroke. Lyra tries to meet the expectations of being a devoted sister as best she can, while also trying to stave off what's expected of a multiple-time best-selling author after a flop (namely: Write more, better).

This, of course, is complicated when she runs into her childhood best friend/love, Alex. Alex has not only felt the weight of the expectations of others, she has flat-out surrendered to them. Her mother expected her to marry a man and live the life of a stay-at-home mom, and only upon reacquainting herself with the force that is Lyra does she start to realize the crushing burdens of those expectations. 

This book felt challenging - In a good way, mind you! But by no means an easy or breezy read.

Part of that, I think, lay in the expectations on my part. Expectations affect everything we do, from consuming media to consuming food to how we relate to other people. If we have an expectation, even if we don't realize it ourselves, failing to have that expectation met can leave you feeling off-kilter, or disappointed.

To put it bluntly, I expected a simple sapphic romance. It's more than that! Better in many ways, with lyrical prose and extremely vivid depictions of emotions and connection. And certainly much deeper in terms of the difficult subject matter it deals with.

But in its (successful, in my eyes) aspirations to literary fiction, the novel's insistence on hitting some of the simplistic romance tropes felt forced. I think the book would have worked much better had it simply shed its romance-constrained plot points and just kept exploring and exposing its beating heart, which was otherwise mesmerizing.

Expectations are a double-edged sword. I've no doubt "sapphic romance" has some advantages for marketing purposes, and with that designation comes certain expectations. I just think this book is better than that, and I'm only sorry it seems to try shape itself to a form it has clearly outgrown. 

All that said, this book is a lovely, wonderful piece of work. And I truly can't wait to see what the author will do next.

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