Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs – 5/10/26

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles, and Happy Mother’s Day! 💐 My mom has done an immeasurable amount for me—introducing me to a good portion of the songs you see here is just the tip of the iceberg. I truly don’t know where I’d be without her support. 🩵

Since I’ve been gone for a few weeks, here are the graphics and songs from when I was taking a break:

4/19/26:

4/26/26:

5/3/26:

This week: In honor of Mother’s Day, the mothers are mothering. (Yes, I’m counting J Spaceman, I feel like if you make something as astounding as Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space, he gets to be called “mother” this once.)

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 5/10/26

“Planting Tomatoes” – Lucy Dacus

Hot take of the day: Forever Is a Feeling would’ve been better if it had this track—and maybe “Losing”—on it. I get that “Losing” doesn’t exactly fit thematically, but sonically, it fits enough with the other tracks that it could’ve broken some of the monotony. Nobody asked, but my move would be to replace “Modigliani” with “Planting Tomatoes.” (But seriously, why was “Modigliani” the song that got the coveted Phoebe Bridgers feature?)

That’s the end of the hot take, but this might be another one: I feel like “Planting Tomatoes” might be one of Dacus’s best songs since Home Video. Forever Is a Feeling had some stunners, but composition and lyric-wise, “Planting Tomatoes” is truly something special. It takes her usual formula of stringing together perfectly-placed vignettes into something emotional. It’s more pop-forward, but in a way that feels natural to Dacus, and not trying to fit into a mold like some of Forever Is a Feeling‘s more forgettable tracks did. With reverb-drenched guitars that call back to her more indie rock days and tastefully echoing of her vocals, “Planting Tomatoes” is a breathless sprint through the realization that you’re living the life you once dreamed of—and everything that comes with it. There’s the starry-eyed ecstasy of being amongst friends and seeing the simple beauty in everything (tomatoes, holding hands with your friends, the view through a window screen).

Of course, it wouldn’t be Lucy Dacus without a trademark knife in the gut; that comes in the sparse bridge, but I think it captures something that comes along with trying to be more present: being present, but being distinctly aware of what you’ve lost while trying to be present. (“Livin’ in the moment/I can feel the moment passing.”) For Dacus, it’s the grief of losing someone that she wished she could experience the moment with; but her conclusion loops back to the chorus—the solution for all of these emotions, positive and negative, is this: “You’ve gotta live the life you’re fighting for/You’ve gotta live a life you would die for/But before then, I’ve got some ideas…” That hopeful ellipses of the chorus is where the joy of “Planting Tomatoes” lies: life is short, and yet, there is so much possibility in it.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

A Bánh Mì for Two – Trinity Nguyen – “Hearing my friends laughing in the distance/I can’t help but laugh along without knowing what the joke is/Can’t help thinking that I am gonna miss this/Living in the moment, I can feel the moment passing…”

“Desired Constellation” – Björk

I’ve been toying with the idea that Medúlla might be my favorite Björk album. I’m not 100% sure. With some of my favorite artists (Bowie, St. Vincent, etc.), it’s easy to pick a favorite. The thing about Björk is that her albums, as varying as they are in sound, are almost all at the same level of being consistently excellent. I like some more than others, but other than the two I haven’t listened to (Vulnicura and Utopia), I really can’t say if there’s a bad Björk album. Medúlla has some slight weaknesses, but after two more re-listens, I feel like even the songs that didn’t hook me as much on the first go around (see: “Submarine”) are still excellent in the ecosystem of the album as a whole. I’m firm in the belief that emotional attachment should never be ignored in choosing your favorite albums, and if that was the only criteria, Medúlla would easily slide up there—I’ve spoken about it a fair amount, but knowing the background and goal of this album was to evoke a sense of prehistoric, primal kinship connection of family and feminine lineages and storytelling as a whole makes every listen so powerful. It makes me feel in tune with that sense of being everything that your ancestors—especially the women in your family—dreamed of, but also a sort of nonlinear sense of connection across time and space. Something about it is innately human—the acapella format makes you hear every hiccup and falter in the vocals. You do feel like you’re around the fire, nestling for warmth in the presence of your kin.

But I think the best endorsement of Medúlla now is that, after a while spent dithering at the record store, I bought it on vinyl even though it was $43, but I immediately started crying after hearing “Pleasure Is All Mine,” so it was worth every penny. (Jeez, is that saying obsolete now? Wow. “Worth every dollar” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.)

When I first listened to Medúlla about a year ago, “Desired Constellation” was nearly one of the songs I talked about initially; it’s still one of the standouts from the album for me. At first, it sounds like it has some of the only non-vocal instrumentals, but I was fooled—the electronic backdrop was created by sampling Björk’s vocals from Vespertine, and adding layers of effects, giving it the delicate, sparkling effect that you hear; more relevant to the song’s subject matter, it’s specifically of this line from “Hidden Place”: “I’m not sure what to do with it.” It has some of my favorite Björk lyrics, hands down: “With a palm full of stars/I throw them like dice (Repeatedly)/On the table (Repeat, repeatedly)/I shake them like dice/And throw them on the table/Repeatedly (Repeatedly)/Until the desired constellation appears.” It’s an intimate, hard-hitting exploration of trying to make order out of chaos, of picking up the pieces until they resemble something you can make sense of.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Saltcrop – Yume Kitasei – “It’s slippery when/Your sense of justice/Murmurs underneath/And is asking you: ‘How am I going to make it right?'”

“Candelabra” – mary in the junkyard

We’re now two singles into Role Model Hermit, and I don’t want to jinx it, but it’s shaping up to be promising. “Candelabra” leans more towards their earlier acoustic work, but it fits just as snugly with the sweeping “Crash Landing.” As it turns out, it’s a holdover from frontwoman Clari Freeman-Taylor’s solo career, all the way back in 2021; it’s clear she’s gained so much more confidence since then, and despite “Candelabra” being a soft and wistful song, you can hear the leaps and bounds Freeman-Taylor and co. have made in the 5 years since. Whether acoustic or with a full band, this higher-quality production has done wonders for their sound, making it sound cleaner without sacrificing any of their eerie, vulnerable atmosphere. And vulnerability is something that “Candelabra” is ripe with, a meta, half-whispered confession about the confusion of songwriting and intimacy: “I want you to know me through my songs/They’re so much cleaner than anything I could say” is bookended with “Frantically I wrote you a letter/One I knew I never would send/Write fast, write deep, write better/Nothing I ever write will be enough.” This self-deprecation keeps this understated tune afloat.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

I Am the Ghost In Your House – Mar Romasco-Moore – “Don’t let me into your life baby/I hurt you enough as it is/Don’t let me under your skin baby/I’m full of false promises…”

“I Think I’m In Love” – Spiritualized

Musically, I might be reverting to a pandemic-era state. Normally, that’d be a cry for help, but by some miracle, the memories I have of listening to Spiritualized during the pandemic are actually very positive. They said it couldn’t be done…but also, I listened to Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space for the first time during the very early days of the pandemic, so that’s why the memories never soured. This was the part of the pandemic where I’d finished my highly modified AP tests and was waiting for my preordered copy of Aurora Burning to arrive in the mail. I hadn’t gotten burnt out and depressed…yet.

But I think Ladies and Gentlemen is one of those albums that no bad situation could sour. It’s just a masterpiece, through and through, a masterclass in creating and maintaining an atmosphere, of slow-burn tales that unfurl like you’re adrift in space, held to your spaceship by the thinnest tether, but never lost completely. The amount of layers in each song, whether 3 or 17 minutes, makes each one feel like an entire expanse of space that J. Spaceman has personally mapped out and condensed into sound waves. And if we’re talking about slow burns, then “I Think I’m In Love” is one of the key studies of it on Ladies and Gentlemen. Of course, the sun-blinded haze of this song comes from the monotony of heroin—something that comes up repeatedly on this album—but the way that it unfolds from this dissociative state back into a colder reality once the high wears off is one of J. Spaceman’s most memorable compositions on this album. For the first two minutes, his airy self-harmonization makes you feel like you’re waking up from a dream, still bleary-eyed, unsure of where you are. Every effect from the guitar pedals makes the song glimmer, but once the song gets curb-stomped back to Earth, the bleating saxophones and steady percussion only add to the atmosphere, as densely-packed with sound as a rainforest is with flora. And cynical as it is, the lyrics in the last 2/3rds of the song are so painfully self-effacing, but sardonically clever:

“I think I can hit the mark/Probably just aimin’/I think my name is on your lips/Probably complainin’/I think I have caught it bad/Probably contagious/I think that I’m a winner, baby/Probably Las Vegas.”

I mean…oof. And he’s got a whole four minutes full of these self-aimed barbs up his sleeve. But it really demonstrates the state he was in, musically and lyrically; the transition to drugged-out, blissful ignorance to astronomical levels of self-deprecation is just where he was at the time of the album, and honestly, with the rock bottom that he hit multiple times, it just makes me all the more grateful that we live in the timeline that he survived both of his near-death experiences, mostly due to complications with the drugs he was abusing throughout his life. And sure, we’ve got those debates about whether you need drugs to make an album as masterful as this, to which I say…dude, have you listened to Everything Was Beautiful lately? Sure, nothing can touch Ladies and Gentlemen, but it’s basically Ladies and Gentlemen with J Spaceman being clean and happy. Either way you look at it, “I Think I’m In Love” is a pitch-perfect study in Spaceman’s ability to make a song feel like an entire dimension in and of itself, a push-pull of dissociation and reality, like a slingshot firing in slow motion.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Embassytown – China Miéville – “I think I’m in love/Probably just hungry/I think I’m your friend/Probably just lonely…”

“Down” – St. Vincent

Daddy’s Home is approaching its 5 year anniversary, and…I feel so old. I know that’s dramatic. But it has such a specific, comfortingly nostalgic place in my heart; I specifically remembering finishing my AP exams after slogging through the mire of online school, and walking out of the building knowing that I had a new St. Vincent album as a reward. Especially coming off of the heels of the deeply disappointing MASSEDUCTION, it was like being bathed in rays of sunlight. Nearly 5 years later, it holds up as a sonically consistent and pure fun album, despite its subject matter. It’s a sly concentration of “if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” especially when looking back at circumstances more messed up than you could’ve predicted. (For Clark, it was her father getting arrested and finishing out his sentence around the time of the album’s release.) It’s difficult to think of an artist who’s channeled an aesthetic so clearly—this is straight up early ’70s, and nothing but; the only pitfall is that, past this era, it almost feels wrong to hear her play tracks from this album live without the intricately crafted aesthetic and campy blonde wig. But I guess that’s what you get for committing to a bit this hard.

Daddy’s Home was anchored on a slew of excellent singles, and “Down” hasn’t lost its sheen nearly 5 years on. It’s got bite. Acerbic but righteous in its condemnation of a good-for-nothing abuser, every lyric is spit with triumphant venom. We’ve been inundated with vaguely feminist revenge stories in the past decade or so; It’s a real shame that a lot of stories about getting the upper hand on your abuser have become cliche, but I feel like it’s more the shallow idea of these revenge fantasies being labeled feminism by default that’s made a lot of mainstream stories ring hollow. Even Clark herself has said that “Down” is a revenge fantasy. However, I think the reason “Down” sets itself apart is the camp of it all—it realizes it’s playing into a cliche and a somewhat universal experience of wanting to get back at someone who’s wronged you, and Clark puts every ounce of performance into this character. Daddy’s Home is honestly a masterclass in tragic camp—it rarely takes itself entirely seriously, and that’s what gives it the edge. Plus, who could deny that guitar solo, delectable ’70s tone and all?

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Camp Zero – Michelle Min Sterling – “Tell me who hurt you/No wait, I don’t care to/Hear an excuse why you think you can be cruel…”

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (5/5/26) – Saltcrop

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

GUESS WHO’S BACK…WITH A BACHELOR’S DEGREE! 🎓 YIPPEE!! Either way, I’ll be back to my normal posting schedule for the foreseeable future, as I’m now done with finals and all of my graduation festivities.

I’ve been a fan of Yume Kitasei since her debut, The Deep Sky. Her second novel, The Stardust Grail, was a 5-star read for me—it’s truly a gem, if you haven’t read it already. (After re-reading it last month, I’m firmly convinced that we need another book set in that universe. Her worldbuilding was so expansive!! It needs a companion novel!! Please!!) So I was ecstatic to hear that she was writing another sci-fi novel. It seems she’s been jumping between all kinds of sci-fi subgenres: a literary thriller with The Deep Sky, space opera with The Stardust Grail, and now dystopia with Saltcrop. And though it didn’t blow me away like The Stardust Grail did, Saltcrop is still a worthy, timely testament to Kitasei’s talents.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Saltcrop – Yume Kitasei

In a world ravaged by climate change, the three Shimizu sisters–Nora, Carmen, and Skipper—eke out a living with their aging grandmother. But Nora has been missing for months without an explanation. Carmen has faith that Nora will turn up soon, but Skipper suspects foul play. The sisters voyage out into uncertain waters to find Nora, but when they stumble into an intricate conspiracy that’s more than they bargained for, they must decide whether the journey was worth it at all—and if Nora is even out there in the first place.

TW/CW: medical content, body horror, death of parents, abuse, violence, murder, illness, animal death, chronic illness themes

One of the coolest things about watching Yume Kitasei’s career expand, from a reader’s perspective, is her willingness to try almost anything within the sci-fi genre. Her first novel was a more literary, sci-fi thriller; her second, a daring space opera with influences from Star Wars and Indiana Jones. Saltcrop is wholly different than both of them, and perhaps the greatest thing about it is that Kitasei never seems to run out of ideas, and that she’s unafraid to chase them.

Saltcrop is full of heart, and to me, that was its main strength. What formed this heart was the central relationship between Skipper, Carmen, and Nora. Even though 1/3 sisters was notably missing for 2/3rds of the novel, her presence was palpable; all that was possible due to the subtle interactions that Kitasei wove through Skipper and Carmen, both past and present. Their clashing but united dynamic as sisters propelled the novel in such a poignant way. Though you know from the start that Skipper and Carmen would cross the ocean for their sister (and they do), Kitasei never falters in giving you the sense of the complex but steadfast love that they have for each other. It feels like a middle finger to all of the dystopian media that posits that the apocalypse will somehow deteriorate our inherently human urge to love and help each other. Siblings will be siblings, even when climate change floods the world—Kitasei means that in every sense possible.

The setting of Saltcrop is familiar: a flooded dystopian world rendered unrecognizable by climate change, where the poor eke out a hardened existence while the rich continue to get richer. It’s a plot we’ve heard many times before, but Kitasei’s touch made it much more human. Aside from the exploration of the sisters’s relationships, I think what made Saltcrop’s plot and worldbuilding so memorable were the vignettes that made it human. Kitasei’s flooded world was peppered with stories of ordinary people, dead and alive, who made a living in spite of nearly inhospitable circumstances. It doesn’t shy away from the dark and ugly parts of this world (namely the spread of illness and corporate greed) Combine that with the clearly exhaustive research she did about agriculture, epidemiology, and genetic modification that got especially relevant in the last half of the novel, and Saltcrop was one of the most lived-in dystopias that I’ve read in quite some time.

I said earlier that Saltcrop is fairly different from her previous two novels, but in terms of writing, I think it trends closer to The Deep Sky, which is to say that it leans more into the literary side of her prose. And if there’s anybody I trust with more literary prose, it’s Kitasei. Her eye for poignant, needle-sharp descriptions that lodge themselves into your heart is stronger than ever—there are casual gut-punches laid about everywhere. Even in the heart of a climate-ravaged dystopia, there were almost Fargo-like interludes where reality and memory warp, which was all the more potent considering the themes of remembrance in Saltcrop. (The bear scene in the middle especially comes to mind.) Like the plot, Kitasei’s prose turned an environment that we’ve seen many times before into something wholly fresh and enlivened.

I’ll admit, I have some mixed feelings about the ending. On the one hand, I loved how the sisters rallied together to try and bring down the antagonist corporation, which routinely swallowed all of their attempts at resisting; the gradual, quiet victory was hopeful, and felt realistic to the long and rocky road to justice that we see with these kinds of issues. However, I feel like there were so many unanswered questions at the end; without spoiling anything, it felt like the setup to another novel, but there was so much left unsolved and unsaid, and yet Kitasei gave it the tone of a bittersweet ending, but a concrete ending all the same. It only felt wrapped up in the sense of the corporation plot, but beyond that, it felt unfinished. I’m all for an ambiguous ending, but with such a key piece of the puzzle missing, it didn’t feel satisfying in the slightest.

All in all, a startlingly human post-apocalyptic story of sisterhood and survival. 4 stars!

Saltcrop is a standalone, but Yume Kitasei is also the author of The Deep Sky and The Stardust Grail.

Today’s song:

genuinely criminal that this isn’t available on streaming, but this is, hands down, one of the best Wilco covers out there

That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Books

The Bookish Mutant’s Books for AAPI Heritage Month (2026 Edition)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Monday, bibliophiles! This is the last of my scheduled posts, so you can expect that I’ll be slowly getting back to my normal posting routine soon.

Here in the U.S., May is Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month! As with all of the heritage and pride months, it has always been difficult to ignore how complicated of a moment it is. In particular, I think of the unspeakable violence that ICE has been inflicting on AAPI immigrants, and Asian people at large, no matter their status; combine that with the blatant racism that this administration has allowed, and it has made this time in American history exceedingly dangerous. But we have to remember that it has always been this way, in some way, shape or form—our historical treatment of AAPI people in America has been nothing short of shameful, from the conception of this country to now.

Yet as with every year, the best way to combat the government wanting to silence AAPI voices—and all marginalized voices—is having pride in one’s heritage and educating oneself. Pride and education are the two things that the government deems most dangerous in any marginalized community, and fostering them is the ultimate antidote to the continual erasure of AAPI voices from our history and literature. So I hope with this list, which draws from fiction and nonfiction and from many different backgrounds and genres, helps this effort.

For my past lists, click below: 

Let’s begin, shall we?

THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR AAPI HERITAGE MONTH (2026 EDITION)

FANTASY AND MAGICAL REALISM:

SCIENCE FICTION:

REALISTIC AND HISTORICAL FICTION:

NONFICTION:

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and if so, what did you think of them? What are some of your favorite books by AAPI authors? Let me know in the comments!

Today’s song:

That’s it for this recommendations post! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Monthly Wrap-Ups

March/April 2026 Wrap-Up 🏫

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Thursday, bibliophiles!

This is a scheduled post, so I’ll be going back into my gopher hole for at least another week (or thereabouts), but one thing about me is that I love to categorize and wrap things up, in spite of it all…

Let’s begin, shall we?

GENERAL THOUGHTS:

I’ve been in the weeds of finals for the past few weeks, and I only just submitted my last final. Which also happened to be my last final…and the last assignment I’ll ever submit for undergrad. Jesus. I graduate college tomorrow (!!!), and I’ll continue to be busy, so expect that I’ll be radio silent for at least another week, with the exception of one other scheduled post aside from this one.

As you could probably gather from the amount of times I randomly dropped off the face of the Earth this blog, March and April have been very busy for me. It’s been a time. In late March, I defended my honors thesis, which was nothing short of nerve-wracking. But it was worth it—guess who’s graduating summa cum laude?? After that, I barely even considered that there would even be a semester after my honors thesis, since working on it swallowed up most of my semester. Of course, I only had a week or two before finals swallowed everything, but such is life. And college.

And now I’m about to graduate. What people don’t tell you about college is that, aside from graduation, there’s no real fanfare for the end of college. I just had a single, completely uneventful class on Thursday afternoon, and then I was just…done. With undergrad. Four years, all culminating in some random class I only took for the upper-division elective credit. You expect it to end with firecrackers and confetti and not just shuffling out of class and taking the bus home, but that’s the way things go sometimes. Sometimes things just end. And that’s okay. But maybe it’s fitting, in a way. I spent so much of my life being petrified at even the thought of going to college and being away from my parents. There was so much catastrophizing in the years and months leading up to college. But it ended so quietly, so ordinarily. In the end, it was uneventful, and it was all fine. Well, more than fine, I’d say. I came away with a GPA that wasn’t too shabby, so many wonderful friends, a ton of new experiences that I’ve braved…not to mention that summa cum laude I mentioned!! Come on!

So maybe it’s for the best that things end quietly. I can look back and be at peace, knowing that everything I struggled through was worth it, and hardly anything turns out as badly as your anxieties make it out to be. About a month back, one of my best friends introduced me to Rilo Kiley’s song “A Better Son/Daughter,” which…first off, you know who you are, and that was diabolical to do that to me right before graduation. Dastardly, even. OW. But I find myself drawn to it again and again, knowing some of the lows I’ve experienced recently in college (and in life), and that I came out the other side a more independent, self-assured, and hopefully more whole person. I sure feel better, knowing that I’ve made it to this point in spite of it all. So thank you, said friend, for bringing that song into my life.

MARCH READING WRAP-UP:

I read 13 books in March! Unfortunately, I had my first DNF of the year (I gave it an extra star because there were a few good ideas in it, but overall, Pleasure Activism got on my nerves and life is short), but aside from that, I had an excellent reading month! I focused on books by women for Women’s History Month, and I had a blast with new-to-me authors, longtime favorites, and treasured re-reads.

2 – 2.75 stars:

The Lightest Object in the Universe

3 – 3.75 stars:

The Actual Star

4 – 4.75 stars:

Black Disability Politics

5 stars:

The Stardust Grail

FAVORITE BOOK OF THE MONTH (not counting re-reads): Five Ways to Forgiveness – 4.5 stars

Five Ways to Forgiveness

REVIEWS:

SUNDAY SONGS:

BONUS:

APRIL READING WRAP-UP:

I read 13 books in April! Ratings-wise, this month was a rollercoaster—I had a 5 star read and my first DNF of the year one after the other (I kid you not), so there have been lots of ups and downs. But most of the books I read came out somewhere above average, so I can’t complain. The ones that were excellent made up for the bad and the mediocre.

1 – 1.75 stars:

Escape Velocity

3 – 3.75 stars:

The Serpent Called Mercy

4 – 4.75 stars:

Slow Gods

5 stars:

Tune It Out

FAVORITE BOOK OF THE MONTH: Tune It Out – 5 stars

Tune It Out

REVIEWS:

SUNDAY SONGS:

BONUS:

Today’s song:

holy fuck, Earthling is phenomenal…I’ve really been feeling that “music meant to be listened to on drugs at the club/me listening to it sober doing the dishes” meme while listening to it while knitting on the bed though 💀

That’s it for this wrap-up! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (4/14/26) – Tune It Out

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Alright, let’s do this one last time.

My name is Madeline. I was diagnosed with SPD at age three, and I’ve talked about it fairly extensively on this blog, often in relation to what I usually talk about on here: books and music. Current research gives the estimate that around 1 in 20 people has some form of SPD, but it’s rarely talked about—much less depicted in pop culture. The representation of it in literature (and every other kind of media) is almost nonexistent. I’ve had the privilege of meeting more people with SPD in college, and that’s made me much less isolated and more confident. Nonetheless, the conversation around SPD tends to amount to crickets. Thankfully, progress in representation has inched forward. Last year, we got the documentary Sensory Overload, which was an excellent and intersectional window into all kinds of people with sensory issues, including SPD—I highly recommend it.

But until I read this novel, I’d only heard of one other fiction book on the subject (Carolyn Mackler’s Not If I Can Help It, which I also highly recommend), and that book only came out in 2019. So you can see why I grew up feeling more than a little alienated.

I rarely get excited to hear about books from authors I’ve never even heard of. But the minute that I found out that Tune It Out had SPD representation, I was itching to read it. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find it at the library or any bookstores for six years. So I had a little celebration when my library got a copy of it on Libby! I don’t even care that I’ve aged well past the middle grade target audience, because Tune It Out provided something for me that I’ve been searching for all my life.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Tune It Out – Jamie Sumner

As far as Lou Montgomery is concerned, she’s getting along just fine. Sure, she and her mother may be unhoused, but despite Lou’s intense aversion to crowds and loud noises, she’s been able to function, trying to get noticed by a talent scout so that her mother can finally get the big break they’ve always dreamed of. But when an incident leads to Lou being separated from her mom by CPS, she’s forced into an entirely new life—one with school, new people, and all sorts of sounds that she doesn’t like. What’s more, she finally has a name for her feelings—SPD. Lou isn’t sure if she likes it. But as Lou comes to face the facts about herself, her mother, and her new life, she realizes that finding her voice may not be as hard as she thought.

TW/CW: child neglect/abuse, ableism, panic attacks/sensory overload, car accident

Here’s the thing. I’ve gotten emotional over representation of all kinds. Seeing my experiences of being bisexual, mixed-race, and/or the general experience of being a woman have all touched me in ways that most books don’t. For SPD, it’s different. I was full on sobbing in my bed reading Tune It Out, because so few books—and any other kind of media—have addressed this part of me. I am so beyond glad that Tune It Out exists.

First, the obvious: the SPD representation! That was the entire reason I picked up Tune It Out, and I saw so much of myself in Lou. SPD is a varied diagnosis, but a lot of Lou’s symptoms were similar to mine, particularly her heightened sensitivity to sound. Her experience going to the airport for the first time, as well as the fire drill scene, really hammered home how harrowing sensory sensitivity is—every sound feels like an attack on you, and you feel that attack become pain in your body. Her aversion to touch and certain textures hit home too, especially with unwanted physical contact. Sumner’s prose made these sensations so embodied. Also, the scene where she gets an iPod for the first time and is able to use music to self-soothe truly struck me. I’ve still got my beat-up iPod nano from when I was about Lou’s age, and it serves the same purpose to this day. It’s a part of having SPD that’s always been a reliable way to help me calm down from sensory overload, and I loved that Sumner explored this in Tune It Out. I saw so much of my younger self in Lou. Sumner clearly did her homework in that regard, and I can’t thank her enough for that.

Another aspect of SPD representation that Tune It Out touches on is occupational therapy. Lou was diagnosed at an older age than I was, but the questionnaires and coping mechanisms that she learns at school were very accurate to my experience with SPD and therapy. A lot of the new challenges she faces at school, from crowded cafeterias to fire drills, were appropriately shocking to her (with the combined factor of her being formerly unhoused and not used to this particular school environment), and I loved how she learned to cope with these everyday struggles. I also appreciate that Sumner introduced the perspective of Lou having some internalized ableism; a lot of her mom’s beliefs about her “just being skittish” and that she could just “tough it out” without a problem were deeply embedded in her own belief system, which made her very reluctant to get diagnosed. Lou’s arc about realizing that SPD is nothing to be ashamed of and learning to cope with sensory issues in healthy ways resonated with me deeply, and I’m sure it will with so many other readers.

Tune It Out deals with some heavy topics, but I think it does it in a way that makes it perfect for older middle grade readers. One of the main conflicts of the book is that Lou is being controlled by her neglectful, manipulative mother; one of the main realizations that she has is that her mom has been using her singing talents to try and get them money, and she refuses to acknowledge that a) her daughter’s dreams are not her own, and b) her daughter isn’t just “skittish,” but has a disability that is not being properly accommodated. It’s definitely an older middle grade subject to realize that your parent might be emotionally abusive, but the way that Sumner handled it gave it the weight it deserves. Lou idolized her mother for so long, but she reacted exactly how I would imagine a 12-year-old would. It’s a difficult read in those portions, but I think it’s an important subject for younger readers to be exposed to.

In terms of the lighter, more classic middle school parts of the plot, Tune It Out reminded me of some of my favorite middle grade novels that I read in elementary and middle school. I loved the scenes with Lou and her new friends, especially Well, who read delightfully like a Wes Anderson character. The scenes of them bonding over music made me bawl. Lou’s fears about her new friends were relatable, but all of them coming together to support Lou taking control of her own narrative were so heartwarming. Sumner really captured that feeling of being in middle school and being fundamentally different from your classmates in a way that shook me to my core.

Ultimately, I think Lou’s arc in Tune It Out was incredibly powerful. Given that so many narratives about disability lean into “inspiration” plots, I think it’s so potent that Lou’s arc centers around her gaining autonomy over her life. She finally works up the courage to stand up to her neglectful, emotionally abusive mother—that scene was one of the most poignant in the book. But I think that the core of Lou’s arc—her life being controlled, and then her gaining control over her life—is so important for young, neurodivergent girls to hear. Honestly, it works for all kinds of young girls. When you’re neurodivergent and/or a girl, so many people will try to tell you how to live your life, and being told from a young age that you are the only one in charge of your story is something that needs to be heard and reinforced. My hope is that young girls will learn that from Lou, and I have no doubt that they will. I needed a Lou when I was 12, but I’m just glad that the generations of girls to come will have a Lou of their own.

All in all, Tune It Out was easy to love: full of heart, charm, and just the sort of representation that I’ve been searching for ever since I knew about the concept of representation. Thank you, Jamie Sumner. Representation matters. 5 stars!

Tune It Out is a standalone, but Jamie Sumner is the author of several other books for children, including Roll With It, The Summer of June, Glory Be, Please Pay Attention, and more.

Today’s song:

That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Books

The Bookish Mutant’s Books for Autism Acceptance Month (2026 Edition) ♾️🌈

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Monday, bibliophiles!

Here in the U.S., April is Autism Acceptance Month! Unfortunately, I’ve only done one of these recommendations lists in the past (April is usually a very busy month for me), but I figured I would make another, because like many of the other marginalized identities that the Trump administration has been going after, the autistic community, especially here in the States, has been under attack. RFK Jr. has repeatedly made claims that he will “cure autism” (as if it even needs to be cured in the first place) and has spread all sorts of harmful and baseless misinformation about autism and autistic people. What most of it boils down to is the concept that autism—and neurodivergence in general—is somehow a tragedy.

The truth is much more nuanced. While it isn’t a superpower, as some people try to sugarcoat it, autism is not a tragedy, and autistic people’s lives, experiences, and stories are worth celebrating. That’s what I hope to do with this list: here, we have narratives in many different genres about autistic people being the autonomous heroes in their own stories. And just like the experiences of autistic people, no two are completely alike—it is a spectrum, after all, and a multitude of experiences.

And because it’s evergreen (and relatable as a neurodivergent person), here’s this clip of Fern Brady on how people talk about autism:

For my list of recommendations from 2023, click here.

Also, if you’d like an opportunity to find even more books with autism rep, Ada Hoffmann (whose books I included on my last list) has compiled an exhaustive repository of them!

NOTE: most of these novels have explicit autistic representation, but some of them (The Book Eaters, A Big Ship at the Edge of the Universe, etc.) do not have autistic representation, but are written by autistic authors; I chose to include them, as this post is meant to uplift autistic authors and characters. Additionally, there are several books that aren’t directly focused on autism, but on disability in general, but still have contributions/stories from autistic authors, which I thought merited inclusion as well.

Let’s begin, shall we?

THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR AUTISM ACCEPTANCE MONTH (2026 EDITION)

SCIENCE FICTION:

FANTASY:

REALISTIC AND HISTORICAL FICTION:

NONFICTION:

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and if so, what did you think of them? What are some of your favorite books by autistic authors? Let me know in the comments!

Today’s song:

I haven’t thought about this song in ages…

That’s it for this week’s recommendations list! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 4/12/26

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.

This week: the ordering of these songs wasn’t deliberate, but either way, at least I’m easing you in with some bright, relaxing songs for spring before you get walloped upside the head. Apologies in advance. Also, in a twist of fate, the white guys are the DEI hires in this lineup.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 4/12/26

“Puddles” – Not For Radio

Another offshoot of my recent mini-foray into The Marías’s discography, Not For Radio is the solo project of their frontwoman, María Zardoya. I haven’t listened to enough of The Marías to definitively say what the key differences are—or if there are any prominent differences at all. I’m sure there are. But on the surface, the sound of Melt (no, not the Peter Gabriel one) seems ever so slightly tweaked. Setting aside the gothy, densely forested album cover, what stands out to me about “Puddles” is that the watery sound of The Marías has come up for air. “Puddles” is still woozy dream pop through and through, but it has a sharper, drier sound than most of María Zardoya’s other project. I don’t mean drier in terms of content—it’s as compelling as any Marías track as I’ve heard. I mean that more in the fact that it feels more terrestrial and leafy, but in less out-there terms, I think it veers more into more guitar-based dream pop, with sounds that are less drenched in reverb and more grounded. “Puddles” is an apt title for this track in that respect—still watery, but corralled by verdant dirt and sprouts.

Despite that, “Puddles” is as woozy and hypnotic as any of Zardoya’s other projects. Her signature, whispery vocal delivery feels like being sung to sleep, uttering secret, seductive promises as you drift off into dreamland. The Pacific Northwest-looking music video feels just right for this track, with gentle notes that peek out from behind curled ferns and moss-covered logs under cover of shadows. Once it grows louder and the sound intensifies into a barely-controlled chaos, I can almost feel the chord progression become Radiohead-esque (especially with the slightly sinister, electronic moans that appear towards the end), but the sensual, hopeful nature of this track prevents it from fully going into irrevocably depressed Thom Yorke territory. But honestly, as much of a Radiohead-head as I am, it doesn’t need to be Radiohead—it just needs to be María Zardoya.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Fate’s Bane – C.L. Clark – “Puddles and puddles, I picture us there/Walking in circles and talking in stares/I’m seeing double, I’m already scared/Scared of what losing feels after we dare…”

“Sunshine Soul” – The Gerbils

God, I love Elephant 6. They were practically creating whole swarms of nasally-voiced dudes who liked ’60s psychedelic rock in a lab and setting them loose, and we’re all the better for it as a society. I’m sure there are some weak links among the ranks, but I’d be hard-pressed to think of any off the top of my head.

I haven’t explored The Gerbils as much as some of Elephant 6’s more prominent bands (see: The Apples in Stereo, The Olivia Tremor Control, etc.), but just from this one glimpse, I can tell that the spirit of those bands rubbed off on them. “Sunshine Soul” is a fuzzy, crunchy package of sun-bleached jangle pop, indebted to the ’60s but that couldn’t have come out of any other era but the ’90s. The production is grainy and muddled, but like a lot of its Elephant 6 compatriots, it only adds to the scrappy, garage-rock origins of the label. Even with the unexpected references to sewage and brains and arachnids in the second verse, nothing could dim the sparkle of this track. It’s nothing short of a quirky, homegrown jangle pop song, and a perfect song to celebrate the sun finally peeking out.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Strange Bedfellows – Ariel Slamet Ries – “Your life, it’s only a record/Turning ’round inside my brain/My life is only a needle/Scratching grooves into your vein…”

“The Bug” – Crumb

I feel like Crumb could transform any human emotion—positive, negative, or neutral—into a soothing, calm song. They’re not exactly endearing me to cockroaches in that video, that’s for sure. (Here’s hoping that the gecko at the end ate it?) But for a song that seems to be about anxiety—or any kind of notion, memory, or thought that never leaves your head—”The Bug” never ceases to be laidback and gently glimmering. All of their songs are hypnotic to me on some level, but the electronic drumbeat that begins at about 3:08 puts me under a spell every time. Almost two years after AMAMA was released, “The Bug,” as with most of the tracks on the album, remains a perfect, condensed terrarium of Crumb’s newest sound. Their songs are tiny ecosystems to me, with all kinds of delightful critters crawling about the moss…maybe some bugs, even?

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Taproot – Keezy Young – “We caught a fly/Reminds me of when I was some tiny child/Runs behind, but I can never see their eyes/Lost track of time…”

“Emily” – Joanna Newsom

Since the last time I talked about Joanna Newsom, my cousin ended up talking me into listening to Ys in full. It’s been at least two weeks since I’ve listened to it; honestly, I’m still chewing on parts of it, but it’s a lot more hard-hitting than I thought it’d be. Sure, there are parts that I probably just won’t fully get on board with (parts of it definitely get a bit too into “Dibbles the Dormouse Has Lost His Favorite Handkerchief [Movements I-IV]” territory for me), but to be fair, Ys is honestly quite a bit different than what I listen to on a daily basis. That could be why “Only Skin” was such a shock to my system. Listening to “Only Skin” kind of ruined it for me, since that’s still the best song on the album by a long shot, but there isn’t a single song that feels like an afterthought here. Even if I don’t mesh with every facet of Ys, I could just tell from the first handful of chords how much of a labor of love this album was. Not a moment on this album suggests that Joanna Newsom was ever messing around. Through all of its bardlike, folksy, and esoteric seasons, I really can’t say that there’s a lot that compares to this album. Kate Bush comes to mind, if in spirit more than instrumentals—I think I just love a weird woman, knowing that it took a ton of glass ceilings to break through the music industry as it is, both for Bush, Newsom, and so many others.

“Emily” immediately clues you into the fact that Newsom isn’t easing you into the record. You kinda know what you’re into the minute she opens the opening track with this: “The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow/Set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh.” If you’re not down with that, you have about 30 seconds to jump ship, because she doesn’t let up after that. At 12 minutes long, this song is the second-longest on the album, and it’s emblematic of a lot of the atmosphere on it: intricate harp (and some jaw-harp), sprawling orchestral composition, and esoteric lyrics that feel like getting punched in the gut with an oven mitt embroidered with flowers and moths. (Another bit to add to my hypothetical list of song pronunciations that I love: the way that she sings “meteoroid” is so full of wide-eyed wonder.) I think what makes “Emily” hit so hard for me is the subject matter, somewhat obscured as it is; the Emily in question is Newsom’s older sister, an astrophysicist who imparted the wonders of the universe onto her more creatively-inclined sister at a young age. Some of the lyrics feel like twisting the knife in the gut, since I have a similar relationship with my brother—sure, it’s not a one-to-one ratio of science and humanities, since he’s obviously a writer and a generally very creative person himself, and I wanted to be a scientist as a kid—but the song’s scenes of following her sister through the woods remind me fondly of my own childhood, turning our backyard into some Darwinian expedition before we’d go home and make up creatures in our notebooks. And thankfully, like the trajectory of “Emily,” my brother and I have managed to maintain that closeness into adulthood. The melody rocks and quakes, similar to “Only Skin”‘s feeling of a boat being tossed across a stormy sea, as Newsom recounts what they have weathered together as sisters. What solidifies their harmony is a repeated chorus, a promise made to her sister, a unity of her love of science and Newsom’s love of music:

“Though all I knew of the rot universe were those Pleaides/Loosed in December/I promise you I’d set them to verse, so I’d always remember/That the meteorite is the source of the light/And the meteor’s just what we see/And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid of the fire/That propelled it to thee.”

Ow. Right in the fondly-remembered sibling relationships. Anyways…love you, Max.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Lost Story – Meg Shaffer – “The whole world stopped to hear you hollering/You looked and saw now what was happening/The lines are fading in my kingdom…”

“I Bet On Losing Dogs” – Mitski

[coughing, covered in sweat, in the fetal position on the ground]

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU—

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

The Seep – Chana Porter – “I bet on losing dogs/I know they’re losing and I pay for my place/By the ring/Where I’ll be looking in their eyes when they’re down…”

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s Sunday Songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (4/7/26) – She and Her Cat

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I heard about this novel on Bookstagram a few months ago, and I was immediately hooked by the premise. I’ve been trying to read more translated literature when I can, and I’ve found…enough Japanese books about cats that it seems to be a certified Thing. (Nothing compares to The Traveling Cat Chronicles, though. That’s the peak, as far as I’m concerned.) And I’m not complaining. Short and sweet, She and Her Cat was a heartwarming examination of loneliness, womanhood, and the love we have for our cats.

Enjoy this week’s review!

She and Her Cat – Makoto Shinkai & Naruki Nagakawa (translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori)

In four interconnected short stories, four women face hardships as they learn to grapple with adulthood. Dealing with isolation, misogyny, and troubles with love, these women have no one to turn to…save for their feline companions, who are there to help them along the way. But it turns out that the lives of our cats are more complex than we could ever know…

TW/CW: sexual harassment, cheating, death/grief themes, mental illness themes

Strangely, in my ongoing search for novels in translation to read, I always end up coming back to Japanese novels about cats. (To be fair, they’ve had varying premises—and degrees of quality.) However, I think this one is unique in its approach—it focuses on the cats and the humans in equal measure, which was an interesting move. I feel like the voice of the cats (who were anthropomorphized) was properly distinguished from the humans, and their perspective on how the humans lived was wry and cute. I will say, I feel like they were almost too human and understood too much about the human world, but I can give it somewhat of a pass since it was fairly cute. Similarly, I loved the women in the novel, and how refreshingly ordinary they felt. These characters felt like an antidote to every female character that the author describes as “plain” but is actually somehow the height of conventional attractiveness and can do everything; She and Her Cat’s human characters, however, felt like ordinary strangers people with relatable issues that they processed with the help of their feline companions.

She and Her Cat hit an excellent balance of coziness for me. There’s a line that cozy fiction/magical realism of this brand often crosses, where the “coziness” transforms from a more lighthearted, low-stakes story about more positive themes to something that becomes preachy in said themes, without any regard for the reader’s intelligence. (Fluff is fluff, but I maintain that I get irked every time an adult novel still has a “and what did we learn today, kids?” moment.) But although She and Her Cat could’ve walked straight into that trap, it avoided this pitfall with ease. The short stories within this novel were simply quiet tales of isolation, perseverance, womanhood, and the bond that we have with our cats, which is exactly the kind of stakes that a cozy novel should have—all that, and every theme isn’t spelled out for you. (Yes, I know, the bar is low, but you’d be surprised at how many times I’ve run into this…with Japanese cozy books about cats, specifically. If I had a nickel, etc., etc.)

That being said, even though this was magical realism, I didn’t quite feel that magic through the writing. I’m once again returning to the problem of “are my issues with the writing the author’s or the translator’s fault?” that I’ll never solve because…well, I’m not fluent in Japanese. Though I liked the narrative voice, the prose itself was pretty bare-bones, only describing the events as they happened in a way that was rather rote. And this is a story where you get to glimpse the world through the eyes of cats, animals that have an entirely different perception on life than we do! Additionally, I didn’t get as much of a view into the setting and the characters as I wanted to, since the writing went from point A to point B more often than not. Since She and Her Cat is a short novel (under 200 pages), there was definitely room for some more vibrant prose that would’ve made the setting and characters feel more alive. I think part of that might have been a consequence of the fact that She and Her Cat was adapted from a manga, but I feel like filling in the gaps that the art left should’ve been one of the main concerns of the team adapting this novel. If this was the result, it almost feels like they only adapted the script, and not the rest of the manga.

Additionally, although this is a short story, a lot of the events felt quite rushed. I think I would’ve gotten more out of She and Her Cat emotionally if I had more time to spend with each cat and character. Although we have the through lines between the story, they were shoved in so haphazardly that any previous development didn’t mean anything for the next story, even though we had characters that could’ve potentially undergone the slightest bit more development. Like the prose, this novel had the pacing both in-story and between stories go from Point A and Point B very quickly. The appearances of characters from previous stories were so rushed that they felt like MCU post-credits scenes: oh, hey, you know this person, right? Alright, anyway, onto the next thing…

But in the end, She and Her Cat is a somewhat lighthearted and short book, so I get it that fully fleshed-out narratives weren’t exactly the goal.

All in all, a sweet anthology that excelled in creating an emotional atmosphere with its stories, but faltered in places with its prose and pacing. 3.5 stars!

She and Her Cat is a standalone, and was adapted from the Manga by Makoto Shinkai. Makoto Shinkai is also the author of several manga series, including the your name. series, Weathering With You, The Garden of Words, and many more. Naruki Nagawa is also the author of Prince of Stride.

Today’s song:

That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Sunday Songs

Sunday Songs: 4/5/26

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Sunday, bibliophiles, and Happy Easter to those celebrating! 🐰

Since I took a break last week to finish up my honors thesis, here’s my graphic and the accompanying songs from that week:

SUNDAY SONGS (3/29/26):

This week: living vicariously through a digital album because SOMEBODY won’t tour in my area, making something out of nothing, and the inevitability of mildly cursed Jeff Tweedy music videos.

Enjoy this week’s songs!

SUNDAY SONGS: 4/5/26

“Crash Landing” – mary in the junkyard

THE ALBUM! THE ALBUM IS FINALLY COMING!

After about a year and a half of following their excellent singles and EP, mary in the junkyard is finally putting out their debut album! Role Model Hermit comes out this July, and I couldn’t be more excited. With the last handful of singles, I had some fears that they’d become a one-trick pony, but I’m so glad that a) they’re deviating from the sound that they’d established, and b) that the final product is this stunningly good.

“Crash Landing” gives their sound more polish, but takes away none of their corner-dwelling, cobweb-covered sensibilities. The harmonium gives me goosebumps every time, but after the instrument fades away, that haunting power never fades. When the harmonium chords transition into the soaring guitar, it really makes the choice of the music video make sense—everything in this song sounds like frigid waves crashing against white chalk cliffs. Now that Clari Freeman-Taylor sounds clearer, the subtle power of her voice comes through even more, through lyrics surrounding falling in love with a deeply guarded person: “And I can take your mask off/But only in the dark/And you won’t takе your shoes off/In case you have to run, run, run.” The repetition of “you open up like a coconut” sticks out, mainly from the coconut bit—that word doesn’t fit as neatly with the rest of them—but as with all of their lyrics, mary in the junkyard frame it as just the right kind of flotsam and jetsam to decorate this track.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Sisters in the Wind – Angeline Boulley – “And I can take your mask off/But only in the dark/And you won’t takе your shoes off/In case you have to run…”

“Up The Hill Backwards” – David Bowie

Scary Monsters and Super Creeps has a special place in my heart. All the way back in middle school, at the height of my David Bowie discovery phase, it was one of the first albums that I listened to in full, after the virtually unbeatable Hunky Dory/Ziggy Stardust/Aladdin Sane glam trifecta. But I hold it up with nearly the same nostalgia. I feel like most of it tends to get lost amongst other Bowie albums, save for its most popular singles (“Ashes to Ashes” and “Fashion”). Both of them are icons in their own right, but I’d honestly argue that Scary Monsters, all the way through, is nearly as strong as the Berlin Trilogy, if not equally strong. It’s in a strange limbo in Bowie’s discography between the end of Berlin and the beginning of his plainer, more mainstream pop era of the ’80s, and the space between that juncture is what makes Scary Monsters so exciting to me: all the polish of pop, but with the same unusual, and often dystopian undertones of an album like Low or Lodger. Hell, he’s using what sounds to be the same drum machine from “Breaking Glass” on “Up the Hill Backwards.” It’s basically the fourth and forgotten chipmunk of the Berlin Trilogy that got unfairly swept aside.

“Ashes to Ashes” remains one of my favorite David Bowie tracks of all time, and that, along with the more commercial singles from the album, tends to overshadow the other gems on this album, everything from a Tom Verlaine cover to a dystopian tale more grounded and grittier than the contents of Diamond Dogs. But “Up The Hill Backwards” is an immediate standout to me. It feels like an alien organism wearing the skin of a typical pop song as a coat: everything seems aligned perfectly for radio-friendliness, but then it reveals just how delightfully askew it is. Most of that is due to the unusual 7/4 time signature, giving it that lack of resolution, but it’s full of chimes and squeals and chimney-like puffs that make it into a well-oiled machine like no other. With the ripping guitar riffs of Robert Fripp, you can’t go wrong—every off-kilter cog in “Up The Hill Backwards” is working in precise harmony. And it’s all strangely upbeat for a song about the existential void that comes in realizing the slowness of progress; the first line references a line in Dada: Art and Anti-Art which itself is referencing the fall of Imperial Germany (“The vacuum created by the arrival of freedom/And the possibilities it seems to offer”), but it could represent the death of one system and the slow birth of another. It’s contextualized further knowing that Scary Monsters was written in wake of his divorce with Angie Bowie, so that “vacuum created by freedom” can be systemic or personal. Either way, “Up The Hill Backwards” pledges to trudge onwards in the face of collapse, no matter how uphill the journey is.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Five Ways to Forgiveness – Ursula K. LeGuin – “The vacuum created by the arrival of freedom/And the possibilities it seems to offer/It’s got nothing to do with you, if one can grasp it…”

“Gwendolyn” – Jeff Tweedy

Jeff Tweedy’s always been one for mildly cursed music videos (see: “I Know What It’s Like”), and this video certainly translated it into the COVID-19 age, with the noses and mouths of fellow musicians (and a handful of actors) disturbingly green-screened over his masked face. If you’re hankering to see what Jeff Tweedy’s face would look like if it was mashed up with Robyn Hitchcock, Fred Armisen, Jay Som, Seth Meyers, Jon Hamm, or Nick Offerman (and more)…now’s your chance, I guess?

A lot of Jeff Tweedy’s solo work before Twilight Override tends to be more on the folky and borderline simplistic side (though the two are mutually exclusive, that’s not a dig at the entirety of folk music). It hasn’t hooked me nearly as much as his work with Wilco, but what you have to understand is that even if you’re getting something less than Wilco-quality, it’s still a great song. “Gwendolyn” is a more straightforward rocker, but you still get your money’s worth of most of what I like about Jeff Tweedy; there’s punches of truly inspired lyrics (“The sun coming up/Like a piece of toast”) and squealing, joyous guitar riffs aplenty. The truth is, Tweedy’s a cut above the rest, and even his more traditionally rock songs are as such—”Gwendolyn” is pure joy.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Lady’s Knight – Amie Kaufman & Meagan Spooner – okay, sue me…yes, I did put this in just because we’ve got two Gwens here.

“The Strangers” (Live) – St. Vincent & Jules Buckley

Even though I’ve been cruelly deprived of an orchestral tour date near me, at least I have LIVE IN LONDON! , St. Vincent’s digital-exclusive live album, where she’s accompanied by Jules Buckley’s 60-piece (!!) orchestra. I’ve loved seeing these new takes on her classic songs, especially since she’s been dredging up some rarely-played deep cuts out of the vault to interpret live (most of the shows have been opened with “We Put A Pearl In the Ground,” an instrumental piece from Marry Me.) “The Strangers” isn’t a deep cut by any capacity, but nonetheless, I think some of the album’s best interpretations have been of tracks from Actor; the whole album leans into drama and theater, so it’s no surprise that it translates well with orchestral backing. “The Strangers” is given the suspenseful, eerie grandeur of the original track, with the backing instrumentation easily taken up by the string and woodwind sections. It’s a grand, cinematic interpretation of an already grand and cinematic track, and with Annie Clark’s elevated shredding, it becomes something truly epic and sweeping, decadently consuming everything in its path.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Red City – Marie Lu – “Lover, I don’t play to win/But for the thrill, until I’m spent…”

“Moroccan Peoples Revolutionary Bowls Club” – Blur

My lukewarm Blur take du jour is that Graham Coxon may be the most talented member of the band, either on par or above Damon Albarn, as much as I love him. So the fact that I love Think Tank so much comes as a surprise even to myself. Blur without Coxon, in concept, isn’t even Blur! Right?

Sort of.

Coxon left the band temporarily due to creative differences, and during Think Tank, he only appears on one track, playing guitar for “Battery In Your Leg.” But what redeems the un-Grahamness of the album is the sheer inventiveness of it. You take away your lead guitarist, responsible for creating the band’s most iconic riffs, and the rest of the band members went “Huh. Let’s make sounds that sound like everything but a guitar and see what happens.” For Blur, this feels like a continuation of the experimental mindset that peaked with13, but in a new, more worldly sort of vein. In a way, it’s a response to loss, musically more than anything, though occasionally lyrically (“Sweet Song” was written about Coxon’s departure): when an important person departs from your life (temporarily, at least), what do you do with what’s left?

“Moroccan Peoples Revolutionary Bowl Club” doesn’t tackle that subject matter, but it is a spectacular showcase of what happened when a chunk was untimely ripped from the fabric of the band. It’s one of the tracks on the album that easily could’ve come from Gorillaz’s first album, with its commentary on greed and the destruction of the environment. Alex James’s bass gets to shine on this track, with his smooth, funky riffs becoming the centerpiece amidst humming autotune and guitars. However you feel about Blur sans Graham, it stands as a quirky album produced by a band at a crossroads—it’s strikingly unusual in their catalogue.

…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:

Automatic Noodle – Annalee Newitz – similar in spirit to the feel of Think Tank: full of strange machinery, and mostly upbeat in spite of being smack dab in the middle of a dystopia.

Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.

That’s it for this week’s songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (3/31/26) – The Actual Star

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles! Apologies for the unexplained absence last week—I defended my honors thesis, so I needed some time to prepare (emotionally, if nothing else). But I’m back now, and man, do I have a review for you…

Despite having one of my least favorite animals on the cover (whip scorpions give me the heebie jeebies, sorry), I was intrigued by the millennia-spanning premise of The Actual Star, and it satisfied my eternal hankering for more science fiction. Dizzying in scope, The Actual Star is, without a doubt, an undertaking to read—even though it’s only March, I have no doubt that it’ll be one of the most ambitious books that I’ll read all year.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Actual Star – Monica Byrne

1012. In the Mayan city of Tzoyna, Ajul and Ixul—a pair of twins descended from the Hero Twins of legend—have ambitions to reclaim a throne that was stolen from them. With their journey foretold by the gods, they will stop at nothing to claim what is rightfully theirs.

2012. Born to a Belizean father and a Mayan mother, Leah has been distanced from her father’s culture all her life. In a snap decision, she decides to venture to Belize to discover her heritage—but the mystical connection she feels to the land may be driving her to extreme decisions.

3012. The last vestiges of humanity cling to a climate-ravaged Earth. Niloux and Tanaaj, rival fanatics, are locked in a power struggle to reclaim their religion, based in ancient Mayan rituals and a mysterious saint named Leah. Their voyages will take them across an unrecognizable globe.

Across thousands of years, the lives of these distant individuals will intertwine in ways that they did not think possible.

TW/CW: self-harm (ritual), terminal illness, sexual content, incest, violence, descriptions of injury, death

To put it bluntly, The Actual Star is a mindfuck. But honestly, few other words could so succinctly put into words how I felt reading this novel. Nothing could’ve prepared me for how dizzyingly layered this novel is. Aside from the three different plots across multiple millennia, you’ve got Mayan mythology, entire sections written in Belizean Kriol, wild visions of Earth in the 31st century, pockets of poetic brilliance interspersed in bloody wrath, and so much more. “Wild ride” doesn’t even begin to describe The Actual Star. But through it all, what kept occurring to me is that Monica Byrne left no stone unturned in terms of weaving these three disparate plots together. There are so many Easter eggs connecting these timelines together, and I’m certain that I missed a ton of them. Each world was rich in narrative and thematic experimentation. It’s one of those novels that sometimes verges on an experience as opposed to a novel, and despite my qualms with it, I can’t fault this novel for being purely, showstoppingly unique.

Even though they were all connected through various through-lines, The Actual Star shone (no pun intended) in terms of the richness of the individual plot lines. While the 1012 Mayan plot was the weakest of the three in my opinion, Byrne clearly researched the time period exhaustively. I loved the 2012 plotline just for the memories of that fleeting moment when so many were convinced that the world would end, but Leah, in all her flaws, was a character I loved following through her development into something close to a (future) saint. But by far, the most entertaining and well-constructed plot was that of the speculative, climate-ravaged 3012. Byrne’s vision of the far future is bizarre, full of idiosyncratic religion, flooded cities, and humanity beyond human, but it was so rich and detailed in its construction that I loved every minute exploring this unrecognizable Earth. Beyond that, I think the power struggle in the 3012 plotline was the most interesting of the three, with the magnetic poles of Niloux and Tanaaj pushing up against each other in strange and unforeseen ways. Bottom line: Byrne did a staggering amount of research for this novel, and it shows.

However, for all of its ambition, I don’t think The Actual Star was able to follow through on all of its promises. Byrne gives us a lot to chew on here. What was most realized for me were the themes about divinity and religion, particularly with the dichotomy of what we see/know (the star) and what truly is (the actual star), a theme that I found quite poignant. For me, it worked with the plot lines of religions and personal beliefs being constructed in real time, as well as what we know the world to be in our deepest heart of hearts. However, I think there were so many thematic threads that were unresolved, even after 620-odd pages. Byrne tries to tackle a lot about the nature of death, sex, and utopia, among other things, but I think this novel was just so overstuffed that the secondary themes were bound to get rotten from sitting too long on the proverbial windowsill. Were Byrne to narrow some of the themes down, it might’ve been a more cohesive effort.

Additionally, what prevented me from enjoying The Actual Star fully was how it depicted some of its more taboo subjects. If you’re going into this novel, what you need to know first and foremost is that all—and I mean all—of the central characters are truly, deeply flawed individuals. To an extent, I really enjoyed this aspect, especially when exploring their different personalities. That being said, there’s a lot of taboo stuff happening in this novel, but I’m not sure Byrne handled it well. To Byrne’s credit, there was at least some grace given to the depictions of self-harm and cutting, but aside from that, the (plentiful) sex was gratuitous and the incest plotline was frankly unnecessary. In the end, it felt more for shock value than anything else, which did not leave the best taste in my mouth.

All in all, a complex web of a novel that boasted an ambitious premise, most of which was paid off—but by a hair, not enough. 3.75 stars!

The Actual Star is a standalone, but Monica Byrne is also the author of The Girl in the Road and Traumphysik.

Today’s song:

it’s finally here…the world finally gets to experience the pure lyrical genius of “I come at a price/like egg fried rice…”

That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!