Category: Book Review Tuesday

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (5/26/26) – The Killing Spell

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

As I’ve been doing my AAPI books focus during AAPI Heritage Month over the years, I noticed that I’ve unintentionally neglected the PI part of the acronym, which is a real shame. Unfortunately, as with a lot of marginalized groups, it’s difficult to find books—especially genre fiction—by marginalized authors; in fact, The Killing Spell is billed as the first traditionally published adult fantasy by a Native Hawaiian author, which…insert the “disappointed, but not surprised” meme. It took until 2026 for this to happen? Christ.

Anyways, I was intrigued by that, and by the urban fantasy premise. In the end, The Killing Spell was a fun and ambitious fantasy debut.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Killing Spell – Shay Kauwe

200 years ago, a flood of unforeseen proportions changed the world forever. The Hawaiian Islands were submerged in the ocean, and the survivors found refuge on the coast of California. Kea Petrova lives in this Hawaiian Homestead in what remains of Los Angeles, honing her language-based magic. Discriminated against by the powers that be—both because of her heritage and her magic—she tries to keep her head down. But when a powerful politician is murdered by a killing spell connected to the Hawaiian language, Kea has a target on her back. Desperate to prove her innocence, she teams up with a corrupt politician to clear her name. But what they’ll uncover may shake the magical world of L.A. to its very foundations…

TW/CW: murder, violence, sexual harassment, racism, colonialism/imperialism themes

The Killing Spell is a great debut, but what stands out about it is that I can just feel how much fun Shay Kauwe had while writing it. Though it wasn’t without its flaws, I could feel that same sense of fun and adventure on every page of this novel. I guarantee that you’ll have a blast reading it!

The characters in The Killing Spell are also a standout for sure. Kea was such a compelling main character; she has that perfect combination of being flawed enough to seem real but likable enough to root for. She’s headstrong and stubborn more often than not (to be fair, it’s justified half the time), but she’s so determined and witty that it almost makes up for it. She had the perfect combination of traits to make all of her adventures instantly worth following. The other characters were differing degrees of fun and campy, which suited the classic murder mystery atmosphere. The only character that I didn’t like as much was Sora. He was a little too cliched for my liking, and as much as I love a good enemies-to-lovers arc, Kea and Sora lacked romantic chemistry to me. The romance subplot was just forced in general—thinking back to the story as a whole, it really didn’t enhance anything about it. But he’s the exception to the rule—Shay Kauwe’s characters were a joy to follow.

Despite The Killing Spell being set 200 years in the future, it checked off all of the boxes for a fun murder mystery. I think I just like genre fiction-mystery/thriller melds in general—they just present so many fun opportunities to use worldbuilding to make a compelling world and explain the structures of it by showing you what it means for things to go wrong. There’s so much here for the diehard fantasy fans, but I think if you’re a mystery reader who wants to get into fantasy, you should absolutely pick up The Killing Spell. The setting is modern enough for a lot of the classic murder mystery beats to happen, and with the right balance of seriousness and camp; you’ve got your mysterious poisonings, unlikely detective teams, and seducing people for clues in a dance hall, all wrapped up in a futuristic fantasy package. What was clear to me was that The Killing Spell was Kauwe’s love letter to both genres, and that passion was evident with every successive page.

Language-based magic was already a fascinating magic system for Shay Kauwe to explore, but it bolsters the novel’s themes, which were one of The Killing Spell‘s biggest strengths. Many of the characters (most prominently Kea) are Native Hawaiian, and there is so much discussion about sovereignty and land ownership, as well as the preservation of Indigenous cultures. But I think the language magic and the discussions of the “legitimacy” of languages was the strongest theme in the novel. Through this magic system, Kauwe starts some very cogent discussions about what languages that people and governments deems “important” in its often Eurocentric view, and the bias against languages that don’t have as many speakers; there’s also lots of very potent discussions about cultural pride and how it can be an act of resistance when the dominant, hegemonic cultures are bent on deeming it “lesser.” Kauwe’s pride in Native Hawaiian culture shone through in The Killing Spell, and from an outside perspective, I think these kinds of perspectives are so vital to fantasy as a genre.

Most of the elements above would’ve added up to a solid four stars for me. I had some minor nitpicks, but most of them aren’t very relevant. What is relevant, however, is the worldbuilding, which left a lot to be desired. Aside from the language-based magic, which was well-thought out and thematically strong, the worldbuilding got messy. The whole impetus for the emergence of magic was this cataclysmic flood, which somehow released this language magic into the world. How this happened just…isn’t explained. At all. There was a flood, the Hawaiian Islands sunk, and…magic appeared? I guess? And The Killing Spell happens 200 years after said flood. You’d think that there would be some sort of major societal change, right? Other than the vague system of magical mobs that rule L.A., we get no explanation as to how the world reorganized itself or how magic changed society at large. This is supposed to be 200 years in the future, but nothing would’ve changed if this was just an urban fantasy set today. Other than the Hawaiian Homestead plot, we don’t get any real consequences of how the world changed after the flood. And locations outside of America get mentioned, but what the hell happened to them? Come to think of it, what’s going on in America outside of L.A.? Ultimately, the foundation was there, but Kauwe didn’t expand on it nearly enough for the worldbuilding to actually hold water.

All in all, an action-packed debut rife with magic, mystery, and intrigue. 3.75 stars!

The Killing Spell is Shay Kauwe’s debut novel, and a standalone.

Today’s song:

ANOTHER BANGER CATE LE BON ALBUM IN THE BOOKS! cyrk is excellent, and this song makes me emotional out of nowhere…

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (5/19/26) – Silver Under Nightfall

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I read a handful of Rin Chupeco’s books in high school. I liked them for the most part, but I think I just lost interest eventually. Fast forward a few years, and I found out that they’d written another series for adults, and the premise hooked me. However, it seems like Chupeco’s writing doesn’t hold up now that I’m older. Silver Under Nightfall was just ridiculous in all the wrong ways.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Silver Under Nightfall (Silver Under Nightfall, #1) – Rin Chupeco

Remington Prendergast is a Reaper—a highly-trained bounty hunter who specializes in the most dangerous quarry: vampires. Even with his talents, the rumors surrounding his possibly vampire heritage have alienated him from his colleagues. His father, the Duke of Valenbonne, has been desperate to make his powers so great that they overshadow the rumors, but he’s failed. But when strange, deadly vampires, the likes of which the kingdom has never seen, begin to spread across the kingdom, Remy’s only choice is to turn to a pair of enigmatic vampires to solve the case—and risk being drawn into their seductive web.

TW/CW: blood, gore, sexual content, loss of loved ones, pedophilia, vomit, emotional abuse

I haven’t read a Rin Chupeco book since I was about 17. I really should’ve kept it that way. Silver Under Nightfall sounded fun and gothic enough from the premise, but this novel was bordered on being a disaster. It genuinely boggles my mind that this book has such a positive average rating on both Goodreads and The Storygraph. I endured 500 pages of this (probably should’ve DNF’d it), but now I have the evidence to hate from an educated stance…

Before I get into all my gripes, I’ll give Chupeco credit for the handful of things that they did well. Though it didn’t go in the direction I would’ve liked it to go, I loved the vampire murder mystery/thriller plot, and the genetically engineered monsters and subsequent fights were quite fun. There were moments where they nailed the gothic atmosphere, and there were a handful of solid quotes here and there. But unfortunately, these elements, despite being key to the premise, weren’t delivered on nearly enough, which is surprising, since Silver Under Nightfall is over 500 pages long. Unfortunately, most of that 500 pages is a poorly-written mess.

The last book of Chupeco’s that I read was The Ever Cruel Kingdom, which I honestly forgot about completely, other than the vague sensation of it being entertaining, but ultimately finishing it just to finish it. Not a great endorsement, I know. But even at that age, I had the sense that it felt overwritten, that there were random metaphors tripping over themselves. Unfortunately, that quality increased tenfold in Silver Under Nightfall. To Chupeco’s credit, their writing has some fun moments of being campy and gothic. In the end, they were just trying way too hard to be gothic. This resulted in so many sentences with nonsensical structure and metaphors that went on far longer than they humanly should have. At the worst points, the writing was so deliberately obtuse that I could barely get any sense of the setting or world beyond it. (Worldbuilding? Who is she?) It was just dense and unwieldy, and did very little to enhance the atmosphere.

Speaking of trying too hard, Chupeco’s dialogue was the worst victim of the above prose problem. It was terrible. All of the characters oscillated between talking like 15-year-old edgelords and fictional Victorian nobles, even though they’re all meant to be adults. The Victorian noble bit was painfully overwritten, carrying over the same problem of Chupeco’s floundering attempt at making Silver Under Nightfall gothic; again, a lot of the dialogue was stuffy at best, grammatically nonsensical at worst. On the other end of the spectrum, you have characters like Remy, who Chupeco spends 500 pages desperately trying to convince you that he’s funny.

Below is an actual quote from the book:

“…I’ve never infected anyone, if you don’t count my dry wit—”

Oh my God, free me from this prison. 90% of the humor in Silver Under Nightfall is 2017 Tumblr humor partially filtered through quasi-historical nobleman speak; like the specially-engineered vampire-creatures in the novel, it’s an unholy abomination that shouldn’t exist. And Chupeco really, really, really wants you to think that it’s funny, so much so that it supersedes most other elements that are important in a novel, like…oh, worldbuilding? Character development? No, apparently what matters most is making sure that the reader knows, beyond all reasonable doubt, that your character has a dry sense of humor. And he doesn’t. He, like most of this book, is painfully unfunny.


This brings me to the characters. I think the fundamental problem was that Chupeco seemed hellbent on making them as likable as possible, which in the novel, translated to them having virtually no flaws. We’re beaten over the head with the prospect that Remy is a poor widdle baby and nobody likes him because people think his mommy was a vampire but he’s also SO TALENTED and SPECIAL and EDGY and COOL. Textually, we get very little evidence to support this, other than his overlong monologues and the treatment he gets from his father. No character development, no revelations that aren’t external—stuff just happens to him, and Chupeco just paints him like this sad, wet puppy that got left out in the rain. Show me more interactions between him and the other Reapers! Give me some actual internal reflection and genuine grappling with his identity at the very least, dammit! As for the others, there’s not much to say about them…which is to say that most of them had one character trait each. Malekh and Xioadan were sexy, the Duke was a Bad, Bad Guy, and there were…a few others? I guess? Most of them got taken care of in the bloodbath towards the end. Silver Under Nightfall was just a classic case of a main character that was unrealistically overpowered and emo, and then all of the others were just window dressing (or threesome fodder).

However, I think the fundamental problem with the characters in Silver Under Nightfall was that Chupeco refused to give them any nuance. Remy, for how much of an edgelord he was purported to be, was purely good. Malekh and Xioadan were the same way—they were completely pure, despite the “oooh the evil vampires are seducing me ooooh 😏🫦” plot. There was a revelation at the end that could’ve complicated the relationship between Malekh and Remy in a super interesting way, but Chupeco immediately shuts it down in favor of Malekh being completely pure. Of course, all of the bad guys are completely bad. I wouldn’t even let this kind of black and white writing slide in a YA novel. It was such a lazy, uninteresting way to write these characters, especially when the novel touts itself as having all of these morally gray characters. None of the specialest, most precious little guys can have any sort of nuance or depth, I guess.

All in all, a bloated mess of a vampire novel with unwieldy writing and even worse character work. I feel like I’ve been drained…by Colin Robinson, maybe. 2 stars.

Silver Under Nightfall is the first in the Silver Under Nightfall duology, which concluded with Court of Wanderers. Chupeco is also the author of the Bone Witch series (The Bone Witch, The Heart Forger, and The Shadowglass), the Never Tilting World series (The Never Tilting World and The Ever Cruel Kingdom), the A Hundred Names for Magic trilogy (An Unreliable Magic, Wicked As You Wish, and The World’s End), The Sacrifice, and several other novels for teens and adults.

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 Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (5/12/26) – Interstellar Megachef

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

It’s funny that I should be reading/reviewing Interstellar Megachef when I am, because just a week ago, I was talking to my older brother about how you sometimes have to wade through the most cornball book covers and titles known to man to find good cozy fiction sometimes. Different strokes, I guess, but oh my God, this book cover is painfully corny. (And mismarketed, but I’ll talk more about that). But ultimately, it was mostly worth the gambit: although it had some structural issues, it was a solid novel about food, love, and immigration…in space, of course.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Interstellar Megachef – Lavanya Lakshminarayan

Saraswati Kaveri is determined to prove herself. After running away from her family on Earth, she upends her life to immigrate to the famed planet Primus—and earn a spot on its most popular cooking show, Interstellar Megachef. It’s not an easy feat, especially when the humans of Primus are deeply prejudiced against Earthlings, who they see as backwards and violent. But when Saras’s plans go awry, she has a chance encounter with Serenity Ko, a disgraced tech developer who might have just the solution for her to redeem herself—and her cooking.

TW/CW: xenophobia/racism, racial slurs (fictional), substance abuse

First off: Interstellar Megachef is mismarketed. Cornball cover art aside, the Interstellar Megachef aspect of the book is fairly understated. This isn’t a spoiler, but Saras gets disqualified in the first episode of the show—and this happens about a quarter into the novel. (However, Interstellar Megachef comes back as a plot point, so it’s not entirely absent from the plot afterwards.) So I’m assuming that it was marketing reasons that gave this novel its title and tagline. So fair warning, if you’re expecting the entire novel to be food-centric, I’d suggest that you dial back your expectations.

Where Interstellar Megachef succeeds is its powerful commentary on the experience of being an immigrant. To me, good cozy sci-fi succeeds when it retains the low stakes, but doesn’t hold back on discussing whatever issues it seeks to tackle; Lakshminarayan does this to great success. Saras’s experiences as an Earthling immigrant to Primus were a biting indictment of how we treat immigrants, from the outright racism and xenophobia to the more subtle micro-aggressions that they’re taught to simply put up with. The labor that Saras has to do just to be marginally accepted by her Primian peers was poignant, and it spoke to the limits of “acceptance” that mainstream society often has for immigrants: she’s only valuable to them if she’s able to serve a purpose to them. But Saras’s commitment to going against the grain and staying true to her culture gave this novel a poignant, beating heart that propelled its narrative skyward.

Interstellar Megachef also boasts a particularly vibrant sci-fi world. Of course, there are elements that didn’t quite make me suspend my disbelief; I couldn’t quite believe that Earthling humans were more discriminated against than the nigh-incomprehensible mecha tentacle aliens, but that was necessary to the plot, so I get why that was a thing. (Also, the Primian naming convention of every adult being named after the Nine Virtues was okay in concept, but confusing logistically, when you have at least four characters with the same first name per virtue.) Lakshminarayan’s descriptions of this futuristic world were so bright and lived-in, and I truly felt immersed into this neon, intergalactic future for humanity. The aliens were fun, but I feel like their role in society was underutilized, especially when the themes of prejudice and marginalization are concerned. That being said, Lakshminarayan often delivered this worldbuilding in portions that went on for three paragraphs in some cases, which unceremoniously took away from the main narrative. All of the detail and hard work was there, but integrating smoothly into the narrative was a different story, unfortunately.

However, my biggest issue with Interstellar Megachef was the pacing. I’m used to some slowness when it’s cozy sci-fi that we’re talking about, but there were some parts of the novel that seriously dragged. We take so many detours into characters that aren’t central to the main plot, and they don’t serve much of a purpose—they did almost nothing to enrich the plot or the characters. They just seemed like vehicles for Lakshminarayan to do some even more unwieldy exposition for the world (like the three-paragraph-long dumps weren’t enough…). And it’s not as though the book was too short to cut some parts—my paperback edition is around 450 pages. Did we need a whole chapter about politicians negotiating with an alien species that we don’t even see afterwards? There was definitely some trimming needed. The issues with the pacing don’t end here; with all of these detours, it took away so much from the focal plot, making the development of the main characters feel rushed by comparison.

We took so much time on said detours that the romance between Saras and Serenity was rendered rushed and unbelievable. However, part of that was due to Lakshminarayan not giving them much chemistry at all from the start. I just wasn’t convinced of them being a couple, even towards the end of the book. They just didn’t seem compatible at all—and that’s not even counting some of the terrible things that Serenity does to “prank” Saraswati that realistically should’ve been dealbreakers. (Saras!! Get out of there, girl! You deserve better!) By the time they got together at the end of the novel, I was entirely unconvinced of them as a happy couple. It was just so forced from the start, like a bungled attempt at enemies-to-lovers banter.

All in all, a solid stab at a cozy space-opera, full of potent commentary and a vibrant world, but lacking in plot and some believability. 3.5 stars!

Interstellar Megachef is the first book in the Flavour Hacker series, followed by Intergalactic Feast. Lakshminarayan is also the author of The Ten Percent Thief.

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 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 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 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 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!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (3/17/26) – Greenteeth

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles, and Happy St. Patrick’s Day! 🍀 Thankfully none of you can pinch me through the screen, but is a book with a bright green cover and “green” in the title enough for you?

I’ve had my eye on Greenteeth ever since it came out last year—the focus on Jenny Greenteeth and the gorgeous cover (shoutout to Leo Nickolls) caught my eye, but I’ve passed it up in favor of other books…until now. (Shoutout to the Boulder Bookstore, where I got myself a copy!) Though it had its fair share of flaws, Greenteeth was a touching, fantastical story of unlikely friendship.

Enjoy this week’s book review!

Greenteeth – Molly O’Neill

Jenny Greenteeth has lived in her lake for thousands of years. Most humans that she encounters are passing fascinations—or simply a meal. But when Temperance, a human witch sentenced to drown, comes upon her lake, Jenny decides to take her in. Temperance desperately wants to return to her family, and Jenny cannot break a promise. They decide to find a way back to Temperance’s family, but what they discover along the way may hint at a darker rift between the humans and the faerie realm—one that may lead Jenny to discover more about her monstrous lineage than ever before.

TW/CW: animal death, violence, blood, descriptions of injury, grief

For some reason, I thought that Greenteeth was going to have a sapphic element to it, but that’s fully on me constantly having the Gay Goggles on for everything. In retrospect, this might be the one time where having a queer relationship between the main characters would be a bad idea, because a) Temperance is happily married and b) Jenny’s at least 1,000 years older than her. God, that would’ve been a mess.

Greenteeth filled a void that I’ve felt in a lot of fantasy, and that’s the unabashed embrace of all of the weird parts of faerie folklore. I’ve been intrigued by Jenny Greenteeth ever since I read the incarnation of her that appeared in the Hellboy comics, and it’s safe to say that these adaptations of her are very close to the inherent weirdness of the original folklore. Said folklore of Greenteeth draws from classic British, Scottish, and Welsh folklore and Arthurian legend, both of which I indulged in. O’Neill introduces a delightful cast of characters and creatures, and makes the faerie realm feel truly weird, something that a lot of fantasy seems to miss. O’Neill’s atmospheric prose rendered this realm in vibrant color, and I loved every minute of the quest.

Jenny was obviously the heart of the story here, and O’Neill did an excellent job with her! She was just so lovable—like I said above, I love that she didn’t hold any punches with making her truly weird and monstrous. Jenny acts exactly like you’d expect a 1,000+-year-old creature that lives in the bottom of a lake and barely talks to anybody to act, which made Greenteeth a delight from the get-go. With Brackus as her foil and Temperance to teach her about the world, Jenny made for a charming protagonist. However, I’m not sure if O’Neill hinted at the reveals about her past (not the really big one—more on that later) well enough, because by the time they’d been established, it seemed out of character for her to hide something so drastically, lie about it so badly, or even convince herself that these things hadn’t happened at all; with her baby, I get not wanting to reveal that, but they were only revealed when we knew Jenny as a character who wouldn’t necessarily hide these parts of herself in the way that she did. I didn’t buy all of that, but aside from those unfortunate quirks, she was a delightful character. Plus, once we got over the hurdle of said reveals, her character arc became even more poignant.

What made Greenteeth suffer the most, I think, was the tonal shifts. Ultimately, I think it was indecisive about what kind of novel it wanted to be. A lot of reviewers have pegged this as cozy fantasy, and there are a few scenes that would lead me in that direction. However, with the rapid shifts into violence and decidedly more fast-paced and action-packed sequences, I really don’t think this fits the bill. (Also, I feel like most cozy novels wouldn’t pull the move of having a dog get stabbed unceremoniously and then completely brush over this in a few sentences. Not necessarily the dog-stabbing bit, but the fact that they basically go “Oh no! Anyway,” and move on. Justice for Cavall!) It was just so inconsistent in terms of the stakes; we only get to the real meat of the objective of the characters about halfway through. Frankly, I would’ve enjoyed Greenteeth whether or not it decided to be a more cozy, found family quest or an epic, Arthurian quest, but this novel could not decide which of the two it wanted to be. I’m not sure if the half-baked limbo between the two options was the way to go.

That being said…I could not get enough of the ending twist! Personally, it’s too good for me to spoil it, but without revealing anything big, I think it gave Jenny’s arc a deeply emotional conclusion. I’m no expert on Arthurian legend, but internally, I jumped out of my seat like a football fan when said Big Reveal got revealed. However, I think it added some oomph that Jenny’s arc was in need of; the reveals we get about Jenny’s backstory came too late and with too little preamble for the seemingly heartrending emotion that came along with them, but here, I think they reached the potential that they always needed. Jenny’s true origins gave her a real sense of purpose, and even though it was more of a symbolic gesture, it gave her proof of what she needed to hear all along: that she was a powerful, important being, full of love and the potential for greatness…as all of us are.

All in all, a heartwarming fantasy novel that faltered in parts of the plot, but blew it out of the water when it came to atmosphere and the tender relationships between its characters. 3.5 stars!

Greenteeth is a standalone, and Molly O’Neill’s debut novel. O’Neill is also the author of Nightshade and Oak, which came out this February.

Today’s song:

heard this before the Jeff Tweedy show on Friday night…

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (3/10/26) – To Ride a Rising Storm (Nampeshiweisit, #2)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I fully thought I reviewed the first book in this series…whoops. Did I just hallucinate writing a book review? In 10-ish years of writing book reviews, I guess it was bound to happen…

Suffice to say, I really enjoyed To Shape a Dragon’s Breath—it filled the void left by Harry Potter and rekindled my love for good old magic school YA, but without having to remember that J.K Rowling exists. To Shape a Dragon’s Breath is unabashedly Indigenous and queer, with a witty, delightful protagonist, a lovable supporting cast, and potent commentary on racism and colonization. And did I mention the dragons? Naturally, I was excited to see what the sequel had in store. And for the most part, To Ride a Rising Storm was a very rewarding sequel, full of the same heart that endeared me to book one.

Now, tread lightly! This review contains spoilers for book one, To Shape a Dragon’s Breath. If you haven’t read it and plan on doing so, you may want to skip this review.

Let’s begin, shall we?

To Ride a Rising Storm (Nampeshiweisit, #2) – Moniquill Blackgoose

Anequs has survived her first year at Kuiper Academy. Eager to return home with Theod, her only other indigenous classmate…who she may be developing feelings for. She intends to spend her summer break with her family, but what she returns home to is quite the opposite. The Anglish have begun to encroach on her homeland. Anequs is determined to assert her people’s right to govern themselves, but before she can intervene, she’s swept back to Kuiper Academy for another semester. With new friends and enemies, Anequs is determined to not let the idiosyncratic, nonsensical rules of Anglish society beat her down. But with a looming political threat mounting outside of her school, Anequs’s peace might be short-lived.

TW/CW: racism, xenophobia, misogyny, homophobia, colonialism, classism, violence, descriptions of injury

I love the Nampeshiweisit series—both books have been a delight to read. But for both books, I’ve been slightly torn about the worldbuilding. What you have to know right off the bat is that it’s not subtle, but also that it’s not trying to be subtle. Anequs and her people are Native American-coded, and the English stand-in is quite literally Anglish. You can see where we’re going here. But I wouldn’t be reading book two of this series if I wasn’t on board with it; and to be fair, the Anglish are basically a hybrid of England and a lot of Scandinavian countries in terms of their culture and folklore, even though they play the role of the English here.

However, I appreciate it more in the sense that it’s a political statement rather than a worldbuilding one—Blackgoose isn’t here to beat around the bush here when it comes to critiquing colonialism. Once you get past the names, there’s a rich fantasy world to be found here. It’s a world of dragons and secret societies and magic, and Blackgoose does an excellent job of explaining how they’re integrated into this world, and how they’ve affected geopolitics; this book gets even more into the politics of the world, which I greatly enjoyed. Plus, if you’re sick of how said magic schools have handled diversity (you all know who I’m talking about here), there’s so much diversity here, be it queer, POC, or disabled characters. And none of it feels like ticking off boxes—it all feels like how marginalized people would have lived and acted historically in a multicultural space.

One of the parts I most enjoyed about To Shape a Dragon’s Breath was Anequs herself. She’s just such a spirited and downright delightful protagonist, but one that easily holds her own against the obstacles that she faces. The Nampeshiweisit series is one that I’d recommend to readers of all ages, honestly, but especially younger readers who have just reached the age range of YA, and one of the main reasons I’d recommend it to younger readers (especially young girls) is Anequs. She’s such a good role model for young women, especially young, queer women of color: she’s determined, smart, and takes both her peers and the authorities to task for their racism and colonialism. Her personality practically bursts off the page. She isn’t without her flaws, either, and all the better—young girls are better off with role models who aren’t perfect. But so much of the draw for this series is how much I love being in her head and going on adventures with her and Kasaqua. Blackgoose really struck gold with Anequs—she’s a memorable protagonist in every way.

To Ride a Rising Storm was more character-driven than its predecessor, and for the most part, it greatly benefitted from it. For most of the novel, there’s not any hardcore, climactic action, but there are so many parts of the world and other cultures that get fleshed out that I can’t complain…mostly. (More on that later.) Either way, I loved the development of Anequs and her friends, old and new. Blackgoose’s characters are just so charming and compelling, and I loved that we got more page time with them. Jadzia was a great new addition, and I loved what she added to the friendship dynamic with Anequs, Theod, Sander, and the others. The glimpses we get of those on the margins of Anglish society outside of Kuiper Academy made the world feel even realer—there were so many pockets that we hadn’t seen before, and Blackgoose’s prose made me so much more immersed into the setting. Though some of the other parts of the book suffered from this focus, To Ride a Rising Storm felt like it was there to make the world more real.

However, there are drawbacks to having a book just for making the world feel more immersive. I’m torn about To Ride a Rising Storm because although I loved reading every second of it, there was a very clear pacing issue. While I enjoyed the more cozy, somewhat low-stakes approach that this book had, it was paced quite unevenly. We get some very serious action and stakes, but they aren’t introduced until halfway through the book. The final battle is crammed into the last 3% of the novel—I checked on my Kindle when this huge battle went down, and it started at the 97% mark! For a moment this climactic, it was introduced far too late. It just didn’t quite feel like Blackgoose quite knew whether she wanted to make this novel fully cozy or low stakes; either commit to the coziness or give the stakes more weight throughout the rest of the novel. Again, I enjoyed the pace until I didn’t—the last quarter of the novel proved that there was a serious issue with imbalance.

All in all, a worthy sequel with timely political commentary, tender friendships, and one of YA fantasy’s most memorable protagonists today. 4 stars!

To Ride a Rising Storm is the second book in the Nampeshiweisit series, preceded by To Shape a Dragon’s Breath.

Today’s song:

prepping myself to see Jeff Tweedy this friday…thanks to my dad for this one!

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (3/3/26) – Red Star Rebels

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

BEFORE I BEGIN: as this is a bookish space, I feel that it’s essential to bring this to your attention. Here in the States, H.R. 7661 (misleadingly named the “Stop the Sexualization of Children Act”) presents a grave danger to libraries and our freedom to read as Americans. This legislation, as many similar ones are, is presented under the guise of “protecting children” from sexually explicit material, but we all know what it targets in reality: fiction and nonfiction about queer people, people of color, and other marginalized groups. EveryLibrary has both a petition to oppose H.R. 7661 and instructions to call your representatives. Excluding stories of marginalized people doesn’t protect anybody. Protect our freedom to read!

It’s 2019. I’m about to finish my first year of high school, and I’m excited to buy the new Amie Kaufman book.

It’s 2026. I’m about to finish my last year of college, and I’m excited to buy the new Amie Kaufman book.

Needless to say, longtime followers of this blog (and longtime friends of mine in general) know how pivotal of a role Amie Kaufman has played in my life. Her sci-fi and fantasy novels have been a positive constant for seven years and counting, especially the Aurora Cycle. I was over the moon to find out that she was returning to science fiction after a long stint focusing on fantasy. And though it wasn’t as emotionally potent as some of her other novels, Red Star Rebels was an action-packed and romantic blast all the way through!

Enjoy this week’s review!

Red Star Rebels – Amie Kaufman

Hunter Graves has Mars in the palm of his hand. As the grandson of the man who settled Mars, he’s got it made. If only the rest of his family would actually pay him any mind. But when he’s trapped on the U.N. base after a mysterious attack, he’ll have to use more than his name to get out alive.

Cleo just wanted to stow away on this U.N. base to get the Earth gangs off her back and make a quick buck. Having to stow away with Hunter Graves when the base goes on lockdown was not part of the plan. But they’ll have to work together for eight hours before a bomb detonates, killing everybody on the base. And neither of them counted on falling for each other…

TW/CW: violence, loss of loved ones (past), fire

I’m a huge fan of Zoë Van Dijk’s artwork and I love her cover art for the U.S. edition of Red Star Rebels, but…I can’t unsee the fact that Cleo is doing the Dreamworks face. It haunts me. The thing is, it’s 100% in character for her, which almost haunts me even more.

The main draw for Red Star Rebels is that it’s a pulse-pounding action thriller in space; Kaufman has compared it to Die Hard and Home Alone in equal measure, in reference to both the atmosphere and the amount of interstellar hijinks. All of the events of Red Star Rebels happen in the span of 8 hours (the time it’ll take for the U.N. base to detonate), and it really does feel like it’s all crammed into such a short amount of time. Be prepared to be gripping the edge of your seat, because this novel moves fast—and this is the exact type of novel that needs to go at breakneck speed. The pacing is impeccable. The only drawback is that Red Star Rebels sacrificed some of the emotional potency that I come to expect with your typical Amie Kaufman novel. There’s a reason that her books are normally so thick—she doesn’t hesitate to get in the weeds with character development and poignant arcs. Though Hunter and Cleo’s relationship was charming as ever, some of the emotional aspects of this novel were quite rushed in comparison to her other novels, and I think that can exactly be chalked up to the uncharacteristically short page count—288 pages, in comparison to her often 400+ page whoppers. While the pacing worked for the plot, it didn’t work all the way for the characters—give it at least 50 more, and I think this would’ve been near perfect. That being said, even a weaker Amie Kaufman book is guaranteed to be a cut above the rest, so I’m not complaining.

Every time there’s a chance for Amie Kaufman to write a relationship dynamic where one’s a scrappy criminal and the other is a spoiled, rich brat (both of whom secretly have a heart of gold), by God, she’ll take it (see also: Selly and Lysander from Isles of the Gods, Lilac and Tarver from These Broken Stars, Nik and Hanna from Gemina, etc.). And do I eat it up every time? Absolutely. At least she switches the genders up. It’s a blatant pattern at this point, but she writes it so compellingly that I’m not even that mad. Would I like for her to mix it up a little? Sure, but this is Amie Kaufman we’re talking about—no matter what kind of relationships she’s writing, they’re always so charming and heartstring-tugging, so I’m not here to complain. The setup for Cleo and Hunter’s relationship was a perfect storm, but Kaufman did such an excellent job of making the development of their relationship realistic—it’s a survival situation spaced over eight hours, but never at any point did their romance feel too rushed. They were trapped together with very little interaction from the outside world (other than the antagonists), and there was plenty of time for their chemistry to develop. All in all, it’s another slam dunk from Kaufman—Cleo and Hunter were so sassy, and yes, made for each other. Plus, I’ve loved Kaufman’s casual queer inclusion, especially in terms of bisexuality. Beyond that, it’s so, so important to show that straight-passing relationships are just as valid and still queer, so I’m very grateful to Red Star Rebels for showcasing this!

Red Star Rebels should be a masterclass in why you shouldn’t underestimate the craft that goes into good YA novels. The best part about Amie Kaufman’s books is that sure, they look like cheesy YA (and in some ways, they are, but tastefully so) on the surface, but 9 times out of 10, they’re Trojan horses for top-notch, exhaustively researched worldbuilding. Aside from the Illuminae Files, Red Star Rebels might honestly be some of the hardest science fiction that she’s ever written. There was a ton of thought put into the physics and logistics of establishing colonies on Mars, and every aspect was pored over in exceptional detail, from the nutrients you’d need to survive on Mars to how the gravity affects the red planet’s permanent residents. Not only that, Kaufman goes headfirst into discussing the geopolitics of international Mars settlements. All of this fed into some great commentary on corporate space exploration and how corporations have unjustly been able to buy their way into influencing world politics. Kaufman’s vision of 2067 is basically what would happen if Elon Musk—[ahem] Graves had his way with things, and the commentary was an excellent way to scaffold the worldbuilding.

Back to Cleo and Hunter—as well as the worldbuilding—what I really appreciate about Kaufman’s class-divided relationship dynamics is that the less privileged person in the couple doesn’t sacrifice their values. There’s some potent class commentary in Red Star Rebels, and I love Hunter’s arc in seeing that their colonialism has consequences, and that the exceptionalism of his family came at a bloody cost. There’s also some sharp commentary on how poor people have to circumvent the law in order to make a living and are punished for it, but rich people use the same methods and get away scot-free—for instance, Cleo and Hunter ending up on the U.N. base in the exact same way, but Cleo being the only one who would be theoretically imprisoned for it. There’s a fine line in these dynamics where the poorer person in the couple ends up excusing the power imbalance and the narrative ignoring any issues of class disparity and the circumstances that made them so, but Kaufman is always right on the money (no pun intended) with imbuing her relationships with a strong sense of justice and class commentary.

All in all, another win for Amie Kaufman, full of outer space hijinks, crafty characters, and romance. 4 stars!

Red Star Rebels is a standalone, but Amie Kaufman is the author of several other books for children and teens, including the Isles of the Gods duology (The Isles of the Gods and The Heart of the World), The Illuminae Files (with Jay Kristoff; Illuminae, Gemina, and Obsidio), The Aurora Cycle (with Jay Kristoff; Aurora Rising, Aurora Burning, and Aurora’s End), The Other Side of the Sky duology (with Meagan Spooner; The Other Side of the Sky and Beyond the End of the World), and many more. Her next book, co-authored with Meagan Spooner, is One Knight Stand, the sequel to Lady’s Knight, which is slated for release on June 4th, 2026.

Today’s song:

gonna be honest…I wasn’t a huge fan of The Mountain, but this song was fantastic, so it’s not a complete loss.

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