A fabulous and heartfelt novel in verse about a young girl navigating the changes in her life and family, following her mother’s brush with death and A fabulous and heartfelt novel in verse about a young girl navigating the changes in her life and family, following her mother’s brush with death and recovery from a brain aneurysm.
"Lighthouses warn ships away from rocks, away from danger in a storm. Their beacons shine through thick fog and light up the darkness. I love the meaning. Light equals hope, the hope that Mom could live."
What I loved: It’s always incredibly powerful for me to see medically accurate and relatable representation for (chronic) illness and disability in children’s fiction. As a girl who grew up in the generation where those were topics not talked about in children’s books, as “kids wouldn’t understand anyways”, I desperately missed it, as it was such an important part of my real life. Ruptured is a perfect example of the kind of representation of parental illness I would’ve loved to see. It’s heartfelt, accessible, not melodramatic, but doesn’t shy away from the “difficult” parts of coping with a sick parent either. It’s beautiful prose strikes a great balance of emotion, covering fear and sorrow, but also those highlights of joy, love and deep connection. Claire herself encounters that same search for recognition and representation in books on page. Here she states another gap within the genre: “I need a book about a mother who survives” “Sicklit”, especially catered to kids or teens, tends to end either one of two ways: a full recovery, or a heroic death. There’s no room for the more realistic version of events: the chronic state, the long recovery, the ups and downs, and the change it brings to your life no matter what. Ruptured covers that piece well, a little in the line of This Appearing House, although from a different perspective. Considering that was one of my favourite reads of last year, that’s comparison is a huge compliment. I highly recommend this book to readers aged about 11 and up. Yes, grown-ups/parents who are interested in the topic: that includes you. This comes with a stamp of approval from both the medical accuracy side, as well as the personal one.
Many thanks to Holiday House Publishing for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review.
Merged review:
A fabulous and heartfelt novel in verse about a young girl navigating the changes in her life and family, following her mother’s brush with death and recovery from a brain aneurysm.
"Lighthouses warn ships away from rocks, away from danger in a storm. Their beacons shine through thick fog and light up the darkness. I love the meaning. Light equals hope, the hope that Mom could live."
What I loved: It’s always incredibly powerful for me to see medically accurate and relatable representation for (chronic) illness and disability in children’s fiction. As a girl who grew up in the generation where those were topics not talked about in children’s books, as “kids wouldn’t understand anyways”, I desperately missed it, as it was such an important part of my real life. Ruptured is a perfect example of the kind of representation of parental illness I would’ve loved to see. It’s heartfelt, accessible, not melodramatic, but doesn’t shy away from the “difficult” parts of coping with a sick parent either. It’s beautiful prose strikes a great balance of emotion, covering fear and sorrow, but also those highlights of joy, love and deep connection. Claire herself encounters that same search for recognition and representation in books on page. Here she states another gap within the genre: “I need a book about a mother who survives” “Sicklit”, especially catered to kids or teens, tends to end either one of two ways: a full recovery, or a heroic death. There’s no room for the more realistic version of events: the chronic state, the long recovery, the ups and downs, and the change it brings to your life no matter what. Ruptured covers that piece well, a little in the line of This Appearing House, although from a different perspective. Considering that was one of my favourite reads of last year, that’s comparison is a huge compliment. I highly recommend this book to readers aged about 11 and up. Yes, grown-ups/parents who are interested in the topic: that includes you. This comes with a stamp of approval from both the medical accuracy side, as well as the personal one.
Many thanks to Holiday House Publishing for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review....more
Sleeping Giants meets a Blake-Crouch-style mystery in this gripping blend of science fiction and murder-mystery.
Years ago, Actual Rating: 4.5/5 stars
Sleeping Giants meets a Blake-Crouch-style mystery in this gripping blend of science fiction and murder-mystery.
Years ago, a mysterious, unpredicted asteroid crash-lands on the outskirts of a remote Nebraskan town. Except once the smoke clears, it reveals itself not to be an asteroid at all, but a strange crystalline spire, containing the remains of what appears to be a three-mile-tall dead alien. This event soon turns Little Springs into a hotbed for scientists, government-workers, military and alien-enthusiasts an ritualistic conspiracy-theorists, upending life for the isolated townsfolks for good. Some time later, we follow David Blunt, seasoned sheriff of Little Springs as he’s confronted with a series of gruesome murders, seemingly linked to The Alien Giant’s appearance. He soon finds himself in a cat-and-mouse-game with a killer, except the mice are the family, friends and town-folk he grew up with all his life.
What I liked: Jensen knocked it out of the park with this indie novel-debut! Suspenseful, original and tightly paced: Godfall had my eyes glued to the page from start to finish. It nails it sense of setting with regards to the small-town dynamics happening in the background and the existential strangeness of the giant alien construction in the forefront. Somehow, it manages to balance these two different genres perfectly in a gradual reveal of intertwining plotlines with a well-earned solution in the end. What truly exceeded my expectations were the characters. Despite featuring quite a big cast of townsfolks, each of them felt memorable and fleshed out. Special mentions to David, the archetypical police-detective, but with a slight twist, and Charlotte, whom complexity as a character added a deeper layer to the story. As far as murder-mysteries with a sci-fi twist go: this was a 5-star for me.
Notes on diversity: This book had a lot more diversity and representation than I was expecting. It makes for simultaneously some of its best and worst moments. As mentioned: I loved Charlottes character and the way her transgender identity was handled. She grew up in Little Springs in the body of a boy, and has since transitioned into a woman, which colours many of her interactions with the townsfolks she knew in her previous life and is now forced to reconnect with. Many of the conversations surrounding the topic of transgender identity were quite powerful, without being preachy or heavy-handed, and I applaud the author for how they handled this. When it comes to disability/illness; there is some representation I was less thrilled about. Although it didn’t detract from my personal enjoyment of the book too much, I know these tropes are dealbreakers for some. HEAVY SPOILERS BELOW, so proceed with caution. - There is a form of the magical healing-trope (view spoiler)[ in which a character with dementia is suddenly “cured” of their affliction by the alien influence for 2 minutes each night. Just enough to provide essential plot-information and heartwarming closure to our characters. (hide spoiler)] - There is also a part that could be considered vilification of a character with disability (view spoiler)[ the killer turns out to be an amputee, who’s “convinced to do the aliens bidding” at the promise of the restoration of his lost arm. There’s quite a powerful parallel made between the loss of this characters arm, and Charlottes transition into a woman; both being traumatic but necessary for survival. It’s sad to see that this character isn’t given the same chance to overcome his trauma in the same way Charlotte has, and is shown as “ruined by his disability/trauma”. (hide spoiler)]
Many thanks to the author and Brilliance Audio for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own....more
"Was this how some families grieved? By tearing into each other?"
Cosmic horror with a heartfelt coming-of-age/grief narrative at its core? Sign me up "Was this how some families grieved? By tearing into each other?"
Cosmic horror with a heartfelt coming-of-age/grief narrative at its core? Sign me up anytime please! By the light of Dead Stars delivered just that. With its cast of developed characters to root for, it gave me chills both of emotion, fright and actual excitement all contained in a 400 page narrative.
The story: 13-year old Zelda Ruiz’s life is turned upside down overnight. A family vacation ends in tragedy when a devastating car-crash kills both her parents and leaves her an orphan at the center of a custody-battle between her grandparents and slightly estranged uncle Mark. With the verdict pending, she temporarily moves into the remote and rural town of Greywood Bay with her uncle. She soon learns she isn’t the only one haunted by darkness here; there’s an ancient evil buried deep within the town of Greywood. One that infests the foundations of the homes and seeps into the inhabitants, leading to stranger and disturbing behaviours. It begins with a sculptures strange statues, a passerby’s vacant look in their eyes… It soon turns to disappearances and more. Can Mark, Zelda and her new-found friends escape before it’s too late?
What I loved: By the Light of Dead Stars is a combination of coming of age, grief and cosmic horror, and if you know me; that’s a recipe for my personal catnip. Thinks Steven King’s It, Craig Davidson's Saturday Night Ghost Club or Black Mouth by Ronald Malfi. It’s the existential dread and feeling of being unmoored and out of control that blends those elements so perfectly. It works in those, and it worked in this book. Highlights include the setting, the character development and the slow-burning dread at the center of it all. Over the course of the story, I truly came to love Zelda and Mark, and their slowly building trust. Both carry deep wounds from past events that make them reluctant to trust, but they grow and learn from interacting with each other, and develop a beautifully wholesome dynamic over time. Zelda’s friendships with Mara and Ali, although lacking that same depth, also added to a lot of that “feel-good-vibe” that perfectly balances out the horror-elements. Van Wey did a great job of bringing the town of Greywood Bay, and the greater Lost Coast Area to life through his words. The tension and feeling of “off-ness” is present from the start, and the slowburn dread and intrigue of what’s truly behind this veil of mystery kept me hooked from start to finish.
What I didn’t love: Firstly, this is a slowburn of a novel, which didn’t bother me, but I know will turn-off some people. Secondly, and this one is all me: I didn’t realize this was the start of a series when I started it, and to be fair, I’m not certain it needed to be. One of the hallmarks of cosmic horror is that not all questions need to be answered, and I was fine with the way the story was wrapped up here. Lastly, and this one is petty: the overabundance of videogame references got on my nerves at some point. It was giving me “how you do, fellow kids?”-vibes…
1/5 stars one of the worst disability-representations I've read in a long time
I don’t like to hate on independently published works, but when they ar1/5 stars one of the worst disability-representations I've read in a long time
I don’t like to hate on independently published works, but when they are this horrifyingly bad and include harmful depictions of disability: I feel the need to actively warn people away from it. What was supposed to be an uplifting and potentially empowering story of a girl with a chronic heart condition entering a wizarding school, ended up as (yes I’m calling it!) my worst read of 2023.
On a story-level: I struggled to find a single redeeming quality in this book. The plot is barely existent and focusses solely on the insta-love relationship between Helen and her love-interest Philip, who “lovingly and heroically” steps up to help our feeble protagonist. (more on this dynamic later) The magic-school seems more of an after-thought and barely plays into the story. There is no other conflict in the plot to be resolved, other than the protagonists illness (again, more on this later). The characters are flatter than cardboard: Helen is a fragile, damaged little girl and Philip is her loving helper. Their relationship is weak at the best of times, but far more often boarders on creepy and problematic. They are never portrayed as equal, Helen being dependent on Philip due to her disability, and their relationship is presented as far deeper than it has any right to be. From calling each other “my angel” after barely any page time together to an ACTUAL TEENAGE MARRIAGE; it all gave me the creeps, especially knowing this is penned by an older man. (view spoiler)[the part where he feeds her like a baby and its depicted as romantic/caring elicited a physical anger-response in me (hide spoiler)] Speaking of penning; I can’t tell if it’s the author fault or the translator, but the writing isn’t good. The prologue reads like every line was run through thesaurus.com, giving it a strange pretentious feel given its target audience. After that, the character development (absent), pacing and overall ability to tell a compelling story just aren’t up to par.
On a representation level: Worse than all of the above; this book could serve as the poster-child for everything you can do wrong in disability-representation in (childrens-)fiction. I will try to keep it short and succinct, but honestly: it’s worse than I can convey here. Helen, our protagonist is portrayed as a completely passive victim to her life and body the entire time. Words like “weak” and “fragile” are constantly used for her, as well as all other characters referring to her as “girl”, and even “cripple” at one point. Note: that word isn’t challenged on page. This goes beyond characters being ableist; it’s fundamentally built within the story. Allow me to quote a literal passage of the book to show you just how little the author thinks of her (and subsequently disabled people as a whole…?)
“I have no future, I will never be able to give birth to a child, to be a mother, just because I can’t handle the strain. So there will be no family. And what is the point of living if there is no happiness anyway.” Again: not challenged on page!
Conversely, Philip is praised for the heroism of his caretakers role, perpetuating the idea that disabled people are nothing but a burden to their friends and family. Is it any surprise then, that the author pulls out the oldest and most-hated trope in disability-fiction as well? That’s right: we have a magical healing to achieve a happy ending… I saw it coming form miles away, and it still burned me. I cannot stress how inappropriate, hurtful and disheartening it is to still see stuff like this being written in 2023. Twisting the knife even deeper: this book is written by a medical doctor. A pediatrician at that… As a medical doctor ánd disabled person; this unfortunately made a lot of sense… The glorification of the caregiver, the objectification of the patient, the “must-cure-the-broken” mentality. It’s telling of a self-glorifying, pitying worldview within the profession that needs to go the way of the dodo.
If you want some recommendations for better and more positive disability-representation, you can find a full list on my blog, which I attempt to keep as up-to-date as possible. Safe to say: this book won’t be joining it.
Thanks to Netgalley and the author for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own....more
To be fair, I was not expecting to fall in love with this book the way I did, yet here we are… I knew two things about Death Valley stepping 5/5 stars
To be fair, I was not expecting to fall in love with this book the way I did, yet here we are… I knew two things about Death Valley stepping into it; it’s by Melissa Broder, so it’s going to be filled with messy characters and quite a bit of weirdness. It’s going to use that weirdness to frame some themes that I deeply relate to and care about. That combination seems to be a winner for me…
Similar to some other recent examples that fit that description (think: Ghost Music, All's Well, Our Wives Under the Sea and Swim Home to the Vanished), this book caught me by surprise. I was drawn in by a strong sense of setting and a messy but intriguing main character, only to find myself neck-deep-invested before I had time to blink. A few chapters in, I had that victorious feeling of realization that I was reading a potential new favourite, and that didn’t change throughout the rest of this mesmerizing character-journey, complete with desert-wanderings, luminous entourages and What-the-Freudean-Fuck-Moments.
Full review in the making, but if you’re in the market for a chaotic and hallucinatory, but brilliantly executed and stylized novel with themes of family, father-daughter-relations, caregiving/hospice care and love in all its forms: don’t wait for me. Just read it. ...more
Although marketed as a novel, Orbital reads more like an extended essay: a sort of existential musing on life, our planet, space-travel and o4/5 stars
Although marketed as a novel, Orbital reads more like an extended essay: a sort of existential musing on life, our planet, space-travel and our humbling smallness in the scope of things. When approached as such, it’s an incredibly successful work. It’s eloquent, stunningly worded and insightful, and manages the “largeness” of its themes without outstaying its welcome. It’s the sign of a brilliant author who understands their craft ánd subjectmatter, to be able to condense so much down into an under-200-page novella. Had Orbital been marketed as a literary essay, or piece of non-fiction writing, this would’ve been the end of my review: 5/5 stars, succeeded in everything it set out to do. Unfortunately, it’s marketed to be a novel, and as as a novel it falls flat in some requirements. A successful novel requires a few key elements: a setting, themes/message, characters and some form of plot/progression. Orbital delivers the former two, but not the latter. Our six cosmonauts never get enough page-time to develop into full characters, and simply exist as vessels for the authors ideas. There’s no development or arc to any of them, making all of them incredibly forgettable. Thematically, this might actually be the authors point: a commentary on how small and brief we all are. If I view the book through the lens of a non-fiction essay, that makes perfect sense. But if you go in expecting a novel with an actual storyline, character-interactions and development, I fear you’ll come away disappointed.
Some notes on the audiobook: the narrator does a great job and she has a wonderful calming voice to listen to. Had I known beforehand the type of book this would be, I would’ve preferred a physical read. With literary essays, where the focus is so strongly on the language and writing, this is just my personal preference. Again: more of a critique towards the marketing than the actual book itself.
Overall: if you’re in the market for a philosophical, literary essay on space, humanity and the environment, this one is for you! If you expect a space-novella with a plot and deep characters: you might want to reconsider.
Thanks to RB-Media and Netgalley for providing me with an Audio-ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own....more
“Planting a seed is an act of hope” said Brightly’s voice in her ear. “It means you have faith in the future. Think of that hope, and don’t l5/5 stars
“Planting a seed is an act of hope” said Brightly’s voice in her ear. “It means you have faith in the future. Think of that hope, and don’t let go.”
Magical school, botanical magic, found family and a cast of delightful characters, including a cute animal companion. Has Pari Thomson penned my perfect middle-grade comfort-read...? I think so!...more
On The Isle of Antioch is an ambitious literary fable, taking inspiration and elements from multiple different mythos in its pondering of interpersonaOn The Isle of Antioch is an ambitious literary fable, taking inspiration and elements from multiple different mythos in its pondering of interpersonal and societal issues. On top, all of that is placed in against a futuristic dystopian background with quite a bit of sci-fi elements… Sound chaotic? Unfortunately, it read that way too…
We follow our protagonist Alec, a lawyer turned cartoonist, working from the remote island off the Canadian shore he owns half off. His sole regular contact is his equally solitary neighbor Eve, who owns the other half of the isle, and the ferryman trafficking goods and people from the mainland and back. When one day, a massive power-outage, followed by the second-hand accounts of a societal collapse and imminent nuclear war reach their shores, Eve and Alec are forced to rely on each other, not only to survive, but to solve the mystery of a secretive society inspired by Ancient Greek philosophies that claims to have a hand in recent events.
I’m all in favour of clever novels that dare to take a risk, and mix-and-match elements we don’t usually see together. Unfortunately the risk that Amin Maalouf took here, didn’t quite pay off for me. With its incredibly wide spectrum of influences, references, genres and themes it attempts to address, the sum of these parts feels incoherent and mismatched. A scope this wide in a novel this short, leads to an exploration of each individual topic that feels too surface level to be of use. With a name like Maaloufs attached to it, I can see this novel finding a small but strong fanbase in the “higher literary circles”, praising the deeper connections between references that obviously flew over my head. I can see some of these connections, digging into my own interest in Greek mythology and looking into the authors professional background, yet still they are a reach if you ask me. That being said, I’m growing increasingly impatient of “smart” literary novels that require a PhD in its source mythology, or a vast pre-existing knowledge of its subject matter. It’s not a sign of a “clever” novel to me, but a failure of writing a text that can exist as its own thing, without relying on elitist pre-existing knowledge from the reader.
To stay on theme with the Greek references: this book was Icarus. Taking on too many separate things in its ambition, flying too high and eventually nosediving with a disappointing splash into the Atlantic Ocean for its own coasts…
Many thanks to World Editions Publishing for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own....more
"Death is the one thing secret keepers can't plan for, or at least, most of them don't. Maybe like many of us they feel immortal until they'r3/5 stars
"Death is the one thing secret keepers can't plan for, or at least, most of them don't. Maybe like many of us they feel immortal until they're not. Or maybe since they now they won't be there to face the consequences, they don't bother to put the effort in."
A young mother finds herself tangled in a web of grief and supernatural mysteries in this detective-horror-hybrid novel by Laurel Hightower.
Synopsis: After the loss of her husband under mysterious circumstances, former Detective Cam Ambrose learns how little she truly knew him. Reeling with the grief of her loss and the realization that the man she loved was a stranger, she must learn how to keep her young daughter safe from a world of the supernatural she never knew existed. With the help of her best friend Dimi and reclusive neighbor Eric Morgan, she sets out to solve a decades-old mystery entangling the machinations of an obsessed killer, her husband’s mistress, and a series of deadly hauntings. Review: I had admittedly high expectations for this novel based off the author’s previous work. Last year, I read Crossroads by her, a novella that blew me away with its visceral depiction of a mothers grief over her son, and the desperate lengths she would go through to be reunited with him against all costs. It’s one of the best examples of “the true horror of grief” captured on page in a novel, and for me stands toe-to-toe with the likes of Pet Sematary. I was hoping to find that same level of emotional connection and depth of character in Cam, especially since she gets quite a bit more page-time for development than her novella-counterpart in Crossroads. Unfortunately, I never clicked- or became truly invested in Cam. Where Crossroads felt like a more intimate character-piece, Silent Key focusses more on the plot and mystery, which for me took away from the authors true strength. The mystery itself was intriguing enough to keep me going, but due to the more detached and distant writing-style, I was never completely immersed or invested.
A minor gripe that bothered me more than I’d like to admit has to do with the books cover. The combination of the cover, title and some of the marketing (comparisons to The Deep!) had me believe this would have a strong element of underwater-horror. Through my reading-experience I kept excitedly waiting for it to show up and was disappointed to see it only happening in the very final chapters. Literally around the 90% mark is when the cover-scene becomes relevant. If, like me, the underwater-horror-element was a big selling point for you: know it only comes into play at the very end....more
As a general rule, i do not review books I haven’t personally read, except for when very problematic stuff is happening. This feels a bit like that, fAs a general rule, i do not review books I haven’t personally read, except for when very problematic stuff is happening. This feels a bit like that, from a marketing perspective.
For years I’ve been a supporter of Patrick Rothfuss and his works. I’ve been in the camp of “let the man take his time with The Doors of Stone”. Unless you’ve already paid for it in advance somehow, no author owes their audience a book. That freedom comes at a price, though. As an author, you do not get to tease, make false promises, and lead your audience on for years, whilst profiting of them. That is what’s happening here. I’m not sure if this is Rothfuss’ doing, or purely a marketing/publishers choice, but it feels a little predatory.
Despite what the deliberately ambiguous marketing leading up to this release might have you believe, The Narrow Road Between Desires is not the new entry into the series that was promised. It’s a rerelease of The Lightning Tree, slightly edited and with additional illustrations to bump the page-count. I like The Lightning Tree… I don’t like false promises, especially when money has changed hands, regardless of charity-causes etc. I don’t like publishers rereleasing content at a marketed up price over and over again. And I don’t like relying on a loyal fanbase to excuse the aforementioned discretions.
Pat, with all the respect and understanding for your process and struggles, from a former fan; this has become an honesty-thing. Either continue to work on something new for as long as you need, and keep quiet about it (people will be plenty excited once you do announce a releasedate for The Doors of Stone, trust me!). Or admit that you’re done writing, and it is never coming. Either is fine by me. What’s not fine is lying, making misleading claims, or promises you know you won’t be able to keep....more
Although YA-horror isn’t my typical genre, every once in a while a synopsis intrigues me enough to step outside my comfort zone and give it a try regaAlthough YA-horror isn’t my typical genre, every once in a while a synopsis intrigues me enough to step outside my comfort zone and give it a try regardless. Sometimes that leads to new favourites, sometimes it leads to disappointment. Unfortunately, this was the latter. Allow me to pull out the good-old Good-Bad-and-Ugly-format again for this one, as I somehow feel it applies.
Synopsis: Two teenagers find themselves trapped in a corn-maze without an end. They cannot remember how long they’ve been here, or how they’ve ended up in this situation in the first place. Soon however, they discover they aren’t alone in the maze as bodies begin to appear amongst the cornstalks. Bodies that look identical to them, killed in various violent ways… Are they body-doubles? Previous iterations of themselves, who’s wrong turns cost them dearly? And more importantly: who else is with them in the maze, dealing these deadly blows?
The Good: What Stalks Among Us wastes absolutely no time to hook you into an tense mystery from page one. The narrative plunges you in in medias res, trusting the reader to get their feet under them in time to follow along with the story. I truly appreciate when an author trusts its audience enough to do this, in favour of overexplaining a back-story and detailing out the “rules of a world” in long exposition. Many important themes are addressed, including friendship, mental health, bodily difference and the various lesser-known ways an abusive relationship can manifest. Although I think the author does so with varying degrees of success (see the Ugly section), I appreciate them taking on these topics. One of my favourite aspects to the story though, has to be the friendship between Logan and Sadie; they're supportive, positive and have great banter together. Their friendship reads like one that has had time to form over time before we meet them, which is difficult to write, but the author nails this dynamic between them.
The Bad: Many of the novels problems are the logical flipside to its strengths. For one: it’s lack of explanations can be quite confusing, and the start of the novel feels incredibly abrupt, without any proper build-up. As a result, the pacing throughout the middle feels uneven in comparison, especially once the plot becomes inevitably (view spoiler)[ considering the element of time-loops and redo’s (hide spoiler)] repetitive. Second, the novel requires a lot of suspension of disbelieve, and “trusting the author” from its readers. I’m not talking about the supernatural elements of the maze, but more so the lack of internal logic that seems at play here. Throughout the story, we see Sadie and Logan slowly solve pieces of the maze’s puzzle, using logic and what they call their “maze-intuition”. I’m not completely sure what the author was aiming for with this, but it often became a device to move the plot along in ways that didn’t feel completely earned. I love when characters solve clues and mysteries using their intelligence, but the conclusions that Logan and Sadie draw based off their “maze-intuition” do not follow logically from what came before. As such, this intuition often feels like the author whispering the right answer in the characters ears, just to move the plot along. Speaking of the plots; apart from these non-sequesters, there are quite a few plotholes and questions unanswered. (view spoiler)[ How do Logan and Sadie relate to Helena, and how did they end up in her mind-maze in the first place? What’s different about them compared to the others that came before them? Who/what is the sheep-skull that keeps appearing and whispering Sadies name? That thing is mentioned so often that I was 100% expecting it to somehow tie into the plot, yet it doesn’t. (hide spoiler)]
The Ugly: I’m likely voicing the unpopular opinion here, but representation has always been is such a vital element of my reviews that I have to mention it. Representation has become “trendy” in recent years, and although that’s done a lot of good, there’s a shadow-side to it too. This book falls into two pitfalls I see often, and want to point out. 1. Minority-baiting. This book is marketed heavily as having LGBTQ and BIPOC representation. Although yes, Logan is East-Asian and Sadie is described as bisexual, neither are every shown to page, or have any bearing on the plot. Sadie’s only shown relationship is a heterosexual one, and if the paragraph where she declares herself bisexual had been cut, nothing about the story would’ve been different. The same goes for Logans ethnicity, which is never brought up, other than in aesthetic descriptors. This isn’t good representation; it’s doing the bare minimum to appeal to a trend, and doesn’t benefit the affected minorities. 2. The one form of representation that the author truly does seem to care about, is the fat-representation, and to me, it was very grating. Hear me out here: There’s a difference between representation and activism. In my opinion; that distinction was lost here, and it took away from the power of the message. Sadie isn’t allowed to be a fat girl, just existing on page. She is made into a vessel for fat-activism, monologuing in extremely forced ways about systemic fat-phobia and the world not being adapted to “people of size”. Yes, she also hits all the keywords that are only actually used in the fat-activism movement in each and every conversation. Making these conversations so rehearsed, so SJW-correct and so abrasively in-your-face, takes away from relatability the power that recognizing yourself on page. The novel is guilty of using “quasi-intelligent wording popularized by social media” in order to sound more profound than it is. It’s in the fat-activism-talk, but also in the very blatant presence of “therapy-speak”. When discussing relationships (view spoiler)[mainly Sadie and her ex, and Helena and Anthony (hide spoiler)] words like “emotional abuse”, “sociopath”, “narcissist” and “gaslighting” are used, often not in their proper context. Two of those are actual psychiatric diagnoses, and we shouldn’t normalize teen-characters throwing around terms like this, or diagnosing their peers without a medical background. Abuse and mental illness are very important themes to discuss, but we shouldn’t harm the discussion by using loaded terms like this outside of their proper context.
Please note that all opinions here are mine, and you’re completely entitled to yours. if this was your favourite book of the year: I’m happy you loved it, and would love to peacefully agree to disagree with you....more
“A family is a group of strangers with a destructive desire for common nostalgia.”
Spanning from the vastness of space and the abyssal deep-s4/5 stars
“A family is a group of strangers with a destructive desire for common nostalgia.”
Spanning from the vastness of space and the abyssal deep-sea, to the claustrophobia of a tormented childhood in a small home in the Netherlands; In Ascension may be the most ambitious novel I’ve read all year. Paralleling the macro with the micro, MacInnes takes on the classic central sci-fi questions of “where did we come from and where do we go from here?”, and answers them on a human-level as well as a personal one for our protagonist. Our story begins in Rotterdam, the Netherlands, where we meet young marine biologists Leigh Hasenbosch. Fascinated by the deep oceans and its ancient organisms, Leigh aspires to travel far away from the Dutch lowlands, and far away from the memory-haunted grounds of her complicated childhood. When a trench is discovered in the Atlantic ocean, Leigh joins the exploration team, hoping to find evidence of the earth's first life forms. What she finds instead calls into question everything we know about our own beginnings, and sets her up on a lifechanging journey even further up.
Every now and then you come across a novel that just leaves you in awe at the person who managed to birth such a complex idea, and translate it to pages. In Ascension is one of those books, and is a testament of mastery for the author. The thematic consistency in the parallel of aforementioned personal storyline with the larger sci-fi questions is incredible. Scientific elements are well researched and the character-work is overall good, although the author sometimes falls in the trap of “arm-chair-psychologizing” his characters. The most impressive element of the novel is its structure; its literal “arc”. Through 5 parts, named after their settings, we slowly ascend from the depth of the deep-sea towards the sky, ever moving, reaching, flying away from our roots, only to curve back round again.
Although I admire the ambitious message the author puts forward, he admittedly needs a lot of big words to get said message across. That’s a nice way of saying; I found this book very verbose and overwritten. On multiple occasions, an excessively wordy paragraph or one too many repetition took away from the power of an otherwise great passage. Sometimes less is more, and In Ascension could’ve benefitted from an extra trimming of the bulk off the edges.
In Ascension was one of the few books I allowed myself to pre-order in hardcover this year, solely based off anticipation and trust in the author. I’m happy to say: I have absolutely no regrets and can highly recommend this to anyone looking for a though-provoking, ambitious speculative read that I feel will stand the test of time for me personally....more
August 2nd 2023: I may have been living under a rock, but I had never heard of this book before its Booker Nomination. I'm intrigued...
August 20th 2023August 2nd 2023: I may have been living under a rock, but I had never heard of this book before its Booker Nomination. I'm intrigued...
August 20th 2023 Update: I’m so happy they put this on the list, so I got to experience it. What an absolutely beautiful, deeply melancholic and resonant story. With its strong sense of place (both geographically with its portrayal of rural England, as well as its place in the literary canon) and poignant character observations, this truly feels like it belongs on a literary-prize-list. Well done Siân Hughes! ...more
“Father was wrong, he tells him. Sometimes, being related is all it takes.”
As I do for any coming of age novel that includes a dog, I tried 5/5 stars
“Father was wrong, he tells him. Sometimes, being related is all it takes.”
As I do for any coming of age novel that includes a dog, I tried to steel myself for heartbreak. Yet Wild Spaces still managed to hit me on so many emotional levels that I was absolutely powerless to the aching sense of loneliness it left me with. Succinct, intimate and yet (dare I say it) cyclopean in scope, this debut novella combines the supernatural horror of Lovecraftian beasts, with the true monsters that live within the ones closest to us.
Wild Spaces tells the story of an eleven-year-old boy living an idyllic childhood exploring the remote coastal plains and wetlands of South Carolina alongside his parents and his dog Teach. That all changes one day when his estranged grandfather, mums dad, shows up and wrenches himself forcefully back into their lives. The longer grandpa outstays his welcome and the greater the tension between the adults grows, the more the boy realizes his granddad hides a monstrous nature beneath his human appearance. Something abyssal from the depth, that threatens to spill through the façade of normalcy and devour the family whole.
Full discretion: I have a strong soft-spot for this highly specific subgenre of coming-of-age-horror, where our child/teen protagonist uses monstrous-imagery and/or paracosm to make sense of an event that is otherwise too traumatic for a child to grasp. It’s a delicate balance to strike, portraying this in a way that is heartfelt and compassionate ánd strikes terror in the reader. Not many authors nail it on the first try, but Coney absolutely did so. Her character work is perfectly weighed too. At first I struggled with the fact that our protagonist is never called by name, and only referred to as “boy”. It created a sense of distance, that had me worried I wouldn’t be able to feel attached to him. Instead, Coney’s short but striking descriptions of every-day domestic life, perfectly establishes not only “boy”, but his family and their bonds too. In the end, his lack of a name only added to my deep sense of sadness and loneliness when the ending comes around…
Needless to repeat: I highly recommend this novella, especially to fans of Laurel Hightower, Neil Gaiman’s The Ocean at the End of the Lane, and maybe even Strange Creatures by Phoebe North. As far as debuts go, this is close to perfection, and I cannot wait to see what this author has in store for us in the future.
Many thanks to Netgalley, Tor and Dreamscape Media for providing me with an (audio)ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own....more
With a seasoned name like Jeanette Winterson attached to it, I have to admit I went into this collection with high expectations2.5/5 stars, rounded up
With a seasoned name like Jeanette Winterson attached to it, I have to admit I went into this collection with high expectations. Winterson’s beautiful prose and keen eye for detail, combined with a take on one of my favourite tropes (literary ghost-stories!) was bound to be a hit. Unfortunately, this didn’t quite live up to my self-imposed hype. A scatter-brained introduction set the tone for what felt like somewhat of an inconsistent collection that lacked coherence beyond the theme of “ghosts”.
The collection opens with an opening word, in which Winterson explains her inspiration for this collection, and mentions many classics of the genre, without going into depth on any of it. To me, the introduction read like a first draft, namedropping some of its influences as if to make sure the reader will pick up on the references later, without adding any real new insight to them. What follows are 13 ghoststories (in the loose sense of the word), clustered into 4 categories. Devices features Black-Mirror-esque stories about “ghosts in the machine” and the way technology has changed the meaning in which we can interact with a person after their passing. In Places, we visit the classic Haunted Houses and locations harbouring memories and restless souls, whereas in People it’s the people inside the walls carrying their hauntings, rather than the walls themselves. Finally in Visitations we follow journeys to significant places and events, mostly from the authors own life, where she came close to “haunting” encounters. In between each section, there’s another personal essay or anecdote from Winterson life, the addition of which I probably liked the most. My biggest problem is that, outside these personal anecdotes, everything about this collection felt very familiar and “done before”. The many references to classics only emphasized that there was nothing new to be gained here for veterans of the gerne. I also missed the strong narrative voice that carried Winterson’s previous novels for me. The two most memorable stories of the collection for me were No Ghost Ghost Story and The Undiscovered Country. Otherwise, this felt very middle-of-the-road. For a debut author, this would’ve been a promising start, but for a literary veteran like Winterson, I have to say that it was less than I expected.
Many thanks to Netgalley and Altantic Grove for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own. ...more
Sensitivity warnings at the bottom, behind the spoiler-tag.
With They Lurk, Titan Press have rebound and rereleased 4 of Ronald Malfi’s out-o3/5 stars
Sensitivity warnings at the bottom, behind the spoiler-tag.
With They Lurk, Titan Press have rebound and rereleased 4 of Ronald Malfi’s out-of-print novella’s, together with a brand-new tale in this new collection of short-horrors. Being a more recent fan of Malfi, after only first discovering his work back in 2021, I was all too happy to be offered a second chance at checking out some of his older work. Overall, I wasn’t disappointed. While I generally prefer his longer novels, each of these novella’s had his signature sense of ominous atmosphere combined with memorable characters, and a perfect balance between supernatural- and psychological threads.
In Skullbelly, a weathered detective investigates the disappearance of three teenagers in a nearby forest, and the urban legend on what happened to them that haunts the town.
In The Separation, a psychotherapist chases down his friend/client; a washed up boxer who’s moved to rural Germany, and is exhibiting increasingly odd behaviour. Is this a simple case of depression, or is something more malicious at play…?
In The Stranger we follow the cuttingly tense situation that arises when a man returns to his car in the parking lot, only to find a stranger at the wheel. A stranger with a gun…
In After the Fade, we witness the start of an apocalyptic event from the point of view of the regulars of a bar, after a young woman stumbles in with something strange protruding from the back of her head.
Finally, in Fierce, a mother and daughter narrowly survive a carcrash in the snow, only to end up in an even more intense survival situation that strangely mirrors one from their past.
I’ve compared Malfi’s novels, stylistically and thematically, to some of the works of Stephen King. Most recently Black Mouth, which reminded me a lot of It, without some of the big problems I had with that book. This collection too was reminiscent of Kings style, in both strengths and weaknesses. The latter is most apparent in their endings. Although I know Malfi has proven he can stick an ending (e.g. Come with Me and the aforementioned Black Mouth), he seems to struggle with this in his older works. Where the final and most recent novella Fierce goes out with a bang, the first four go out with various levels of whimpers.
My final issue that brought me to round my initial 3.5 star rating down instead of up, was the lack of cohesion in the collection. This might be a matter of personal taste, but when a publisher releases something as a joined collection, I like there to be an overarching theme/style or other factor to bind the individual stories together. That isn’t the case here, as these stories were never written to be released together. This is made worse by the fact that the final story was obviously written years later, by a more experienced Malfi, which makes it stand out a bit from the rest. Overall, I’m a big fan of Malfi’s work, and I’m happy to add this book to my list of reads by him. I’d recommend it if you’re in the market for a good collection of horror novella’s, although I think I personally preferred the authors previously collection Ghostwritten over this one.
Sensitivity warning: (view spoiler)[ this book contains depictions of violence against animals. The final story also contains the depiction of children with physical deformity in a way I didn’t personally agree with. Depicting those with physical disabilities or deformities as savage or villainous is a trope I personally very much dislike, so do with that information what you will. (hide spoiler)]
Many thanks to Titan Books for providing me with an in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own....more
Edit 6-8-2023: Yes, I did go straight back in and reread it... Yes, it did completely changed my feelings. Below is my review reflecting my feelings rEdit 6-8-2023: Yes, I did go straight back in and reread it... Yes, it did completely changed my feelings. Below is my review reflecting my feelings right now.
Actual Rating: 4.5/5 stars
"When you lose someone close, you travel to the place of the dead. You enter the river, you swim in it, it takes you out to the sea. The fish seem to know."
It’s no secret that the sub-genre of books about grief, explored through a magical-realism lens has produced some of my personal favourite reading experiences ever. For that reason alone, Swim Home to the Vanished was one of my most anticipated releases of the year, that I picked up immediately upon release. This story with strong roots in Native American lore (specifically creation mythology), proved one of the more challenging, but simultaneously fascinating reads of my year so far. A story that I deeply resonated with at times, was left completely puzzled by at others, and am still not sure if I fully grasped the depth of its significance by the end. Our story opens with Damien contemplating the right words to speak a eulogy for his brother. When Kai went into the river that faithful day, he didn’t so much die as vanish from Damiens life. With this loss heavy in his bones, Damien feels an outcast in his old life and decides to walk away from it all. After a long walk (note the significance) through the desert, he finds himself in a remote fishing village, hoping to escape his grief. He soon discovers his journey has only brought him deeper into the land of the grieving… As he’s taken in by a family of Pescadores, he soon discovers that each of the villages inhabitants carries their own grief, and is slowly being transformed by it. The more he learns about the loss this village has recently suffered, the more he is ensnared in a net of familial bonds and trauma, that threaten to drag him into the very depths that claimed his brother.
Basham is nothing if not ambitious with this multi-layered debut novel. Almost every small event in this book has a parallel in Native American mythology. From the Long Walk-like journey Damien embarks on, to the animal(spirits) the grieving characters take a liking to, to various water-connections throughout. This layering is both the novels greatest selling point, as at times its downfall. Whenever it hits, it really hits, but at other times the various element don’t fully come together and make the narrative very disjointed. It’s a challenging novel that requires some effort from the reader. In my case, that included having to look up some of the source-myths to understand the deeper connections and references made. It’s for that reason that I say that I might still not completely grasp the depth of this book, and might never as I’m not a part of the culture. That being said, Swim Home to the Vanished is so deeply intriguing and resonant on a human-level, that I was happy to dig deeper into the sources. That to me, is the sign of a fantastic novel with incredible cultural representation: the burden of informing myself was on me as the “outsider”, but I felt invited and welcome to do so, based off the shared and very human experience of grief.
From a technical point, apart from the sometimes disjointed structure, Basham’s debut is a feat as well. His writing is lyrical, poetic and resonant, but his characters interact and speak like believable humans. The novel has a strong sense of place, thanks to the environmental descriptions and vivid descriptions of the local food and smells (all of which have significance to the story). The use of magical realism is far from subtle, as each of the characters make a literal transformation towards animal characteristics, as a result of their grief. Yet in the context of the story and its mythological roots, the choice of each of these animals forms a perfect fit, and links the multiple layers of the story. For full disclosure, I feel the need to add that this review was based off me reading the book 2x back to back, under very specific circumstances. Recent events in my personal life dragged up a grief that has settled deep within my bones, and made it so I didn’t fully appreciate my first read. Going back in, it intensified my immersion and positive feelings towards it, and made it into one of the more memorable reading experiences of this year....more
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