Here in the U.S., July is Disability Pride Month! Although I’ve seen some more recognition for it in the past few years, I find myself saying this over and over—disability issues are left behind in intersectional feminism far too often. The larger representation in media of disabled people as otherwise white and cishet, the lack of accessibility at many pride events, and the hurdles that most disabled students have to go through in order to get accommodations at school is proof. And yet, around 27% of Americans have some sort of disability—myself included. As the literary world has slowly shown more stories with disabled characters, it’s more important than ever to uplift disabled voices.
Like some of my other themed lists this year, I’ve decided to expand it beyond YA, because I’d be remiss if I didn’t include some of the amazing Adult and MG reads with disabled rep over the years. I’ve separated all of these recs by age group, and included their genres, my rating, and the type of disability rep.
(SHOUTOUT TO NOT IF I CAN HELP IT, I FINALLY HAVE A MORSEL OF SPD REP)
for my lists from previous years, click here:
2022 (+ on having SPD and the lack of representation)
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and what did you think of them? What are your favorite books with disabled rep? Let me know in the comments!
Today’s song:
That’s it for this year’s Disability Pride recs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles, and happy…Tuesday. The fact that the Fourth of July comes so close on the heels of the Supreme Court releasing the results of all of their major rulings has significantly soured most attempts I’ve tried to have at patriotism (especially since we have the incredibly unfortunate conservative majority controlling far more than they should), especially in our post-Roe era. None of that puts me in a particularly patriotic mood. But, as always, criticizing your country and pushing for change that will make it better is, to me, is the best kind of patriotism. And if nothing else, I get the day off work today. I’m not about to complain.
That aside, I’ve got an exciting review today! Ever since I devoured Little Thieves back in January, I’ve been itching to read the sequel, which came out this May. After a few failed attempts to get it on Libby, I finally got a physical copy from the library and ate it up as quickly as I did its predecessor. And although I liked it slightly less than book 1, Painted Devils retained its spirit—delightful from start to finish.
Now, tread lightly! This review may contain spoilers for book 1, Little Thieves, so if you haven’t read it and intend to do so, skip over this review.
Vanja Schmidt may have succeeded in breaking a godly curse and finding love with Emeric, but that doesn’t mean that her conniving days are behind her. In fact, they’re very much alive—and proved when she fabricates a god to get out of a slippery situation. Problem is, the townsfolk have now accepted Vanja’s Scarlet Maiden as their god, and started a cult in her name. And the Scarlet Maiden demands a sacrifice in blood—a sacrifice that Vanja can’t afford to make. While Emeric goes on a hunt to verify the Scarlet Maiden’s existence, Vanja must find a way out of the sacrifice before time runs out—and before her fraud is exposed.
TW/CW: abuse (physical and verbal), fantasy violence, blood, body image issues, abandonment, animal death, cult imagery
Seeing the phrases “we live in a society” and “scrimblo” within 100 pages of each other in a medieval-inspired fantasy book felt like being hit by a train, to say the least, but the fact that Margaret Owen very nearly pulled it off is nothing short of a miracle. I’m still reeling just thinkingabout it.
My months of waiting and searching are finally over—I managed to get Painted Devils in my hands, and I’m so happy for it! Although it wasn’t quite as cohesive as Little Thieves was, it was nevertheless a delight from start to finish—being back with Vanja on her chaotic adventures was nothing short of a joy in a sea of YA fantasy novels that take themselves a little too seriously, even though their protagonists are only 16.
I’ll quickly start off with my one major gripe—the reason that I docked it down from book 1’s 4.5 stars to 4.25. Painted Devils, as much as I adored it, definitely fell into the curse of book 2: all of the good elements were still there, but they lacked the cohesion that the first book had. It was all fun, but a good portion of the middle felt like the characters were running around for no reason, without much consequence to the plot. Some of it felt like filler, and for a book that was almost 500 pages long, it didn’t feel altogether necessary.
Other than that, it’s hard to find any nitpicks or problems with Painted Devils! Even though Vanja has always been the main character, this book really felt more about her—it was wholly her story, about what happens when your storied past catches up to you, and how to reckon with your past to become the person you are today. Even amidst the near-constant humor that these books have relied on, Owen manages to tackle so much of Vanja’s character with incredible aplomb, balancing her bouncing-off-the-walls personality with some genuinely heartbreaking and wholly important discussions about familial manipulation and abuse. For a series that’s often been defined by its levity, Vanja’s journey towards self-love and acceptance was unexpectedly heartfelt. It’s exceedingly difficult to balance those two aspects, but Owen made it look easy.
Beyond that, I loved seeing the relationship between Emeric and Vanja develop, both romantically and platonically! They continue to be perfect foils for each other—a physical representation of the grounded and humorous qualities of this novel, and how they complement each other. Their personalities have started to bleed into each other in the sweetest way—Emeric starting to loosen up, and Vanja reluctantly trying to do the opposite—and every moment they shared together was a delight to read. Plus, the discussions about consent are always welcome, and a refreshing break from the years of 500+ year old fantasy love interest that we’ve all had to slog through in the last decade or so.
Owen’s writing, of course, continues to be the star. It’s rare that an author can make a character whose main trait is being “chaotic/morally gray” into something that goes above and beyond the buzzwords—Vanja continues to be impressively fleshed-out, and my life is all the better for it. Some of the more meme-y humor, like the previous book, continues to be jarring in places, but Owen’s other points of humor makes for a wonderfully charming read. There’s really not much else in the world of YA fantasy that succeed like Little Thieves and Painted Devils do: bringing the joy back to a magical, fairytale-inspired world, and balancing it with the reality and darkness that every bad, gritty fairytale retelling missed by a mile. Even with the frustrating ending, I’m so eager to see where the conclusion takes Vanja, Emeric, and all the rest.
I really feel like the world needs a 2D animated adaptation of these books. Just saying.
All in all, a sequel that was a delight to read, even with its lessened cohesion. 4.25 stars!
Painted Devils is the second book in Margaret Owen’s Little Thieves trilogy, preceded by Little Thieves and concluded by an untitled book slated for release in January of 2024. She is also the author of the Merciful Crow duology (The Merciful Crow and The Faithless Hawk).
Today’s song:
XYLOPHONE SOLO
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy July, and happy disability pride month! Here’s a nice, warm, tomato soup and grilled cheese color palette to prepare yourself for the upcoming, inevitable heat that’ll make us all feel like human puddles. I like summer, but…to a point, y’know? Anything above 80 degrees is pushing it for me. I’d like the warmth without the sunburn, thanks.
I had the incredible privilege of seeing Shakey Graves last week, and I’m not just saying that because it got us out of some apparently nasty hail back home. My brother and his girlfriend had seen him twice before, and they hyped it up perfectly—his solo guitar and suitcase kick drum endeavors were exactly as mind-blowing as promised. Dude’s got some undeniable talent.
One of the songs I’d been meaning to get around to was “Chinatown”—Roll the Bones X is on my Sisyphean album bucket list, I promise, but I’ve been cherry-picking songs in the meantime. The version that Alejandro Rose-Garcia played live was a much smoother, slicker, and faster version, and as good as the performance was, it didn’t seem quite right for such a tender soul-barer of a song. The defining quality of “Chinatown” is just how raw it is—even if it weren’t stripped down, as everything on Roll the Bonex X seems to be, how could these lyrics not gut you? “There will come a day/when the earth will cease to spin/You’ll hold me close and say/’My god where have you been?'” Sweet Jesus. I seriously get a hitch in my throat every time I come around to that part. I can’t listen to this song without getting chills. It seems like the other side of “Built to Roam”—despite being built for a life on the road and never being able to settle in one place, there’s an unwavering, almost apologetic devotion to whoever it is he loves and a regret for leaving them behind—”I still have sense enough to fear/that I’m not much without you near.” Lord. I’m getting choked up just writingthis. You gotta stop, Shakey…
And even though this was one of the first songs on disc 2 of Roll the Bones X, I feel like it would’ve been the perfect closer, that wistful final line of “I’ll see you soon” that fades into nothing. Sentimental, self-conscious (hypothetical) album closers, anyone?
Listen. LISTEN. Across the Spiderverse is already the best movie of 2023. I’m all for the BarbenHeimer double feature in a few weeks, but nothing is gonna touch this. Nothing. I can’t think of another movie that’s given me this much faith in…well, media in general. The innovative art that made Into the Spiderverse so memorable has been cranked up to eleven, and nothing beats seeing a mixed-race character in a storyline about breaking away from people’s expectations of what he should be and writing his own story. (WE LOVE YOU MILES) Plus, the emphasis on a narrative about how good storytelling and heroism isn’t automatically synonymous with suffering? MAGNIFIQUE. Add that to a) everything about Gwen and her dimension, b) Jason Schwartzman’s innate ability to play characters with short man syndrome finally translated into a full-blown villain, and c) Spider-Punk (need I say more?), it’s rocketed up to one my favorite movies of all time. Tears were shed.
And part of what made both Spiderverse movies feel so fully realized in their richly detailed atmospheres was Daniel Pemberton’s scores for each of them. Blending all sorts of genres and cooking them all in the most seamless, synthy, movie score soup in, dare I say it, cinema history, there’s no sense of trying to get a feel for the mood—it’s as though the scenes were made with the music in mind. Everything from Spiderman 2099’s memed-to-death-but-still-iconic theme to the opening titles in Gwen Stacy’s dimension feels like it was part of the movie from the start—the innovative artistry of the animation clearly bled over into the score for every track. It was almost impossible to pick just one, but “All Stations – Stop Spiderman” came back to me again and again. Set against the chaotic but beautifully meticulous chase scene in the Spider Society headquarters, the music sounds as eclectic as the many Spider-Variants and as exciting and tense as seeing them all converge onto Miles Morales. There’s no excitement quite like the quietly encroaching bass paired with frenetic drumbeats that sound of the onslaught of Spidermen. And normally, hearing heavy breathing is a major sensory trigger for me, but the brief bite of breathing into the microphone at the 0:30 makes the high-octane excitement all the more palpable. The subtle weaving of Miguel O’Hara’s theme? The perfectly-timed switch from spider-fight to spider-betrayal? Good god, there’s nothing bad to be said about this score. Or this movie.
…What are you still doing here, anyway? DROP EVERYTHING!!! GO WATCH IT!!
New Smile material is the best kind of present, no matter the song, but…does this mean we’re closer to getting “Read the Room” soon? Please? Please?
Don’t let that dissuade you, though—I’m still reeling from the former after hearing it live six months ago, but I’m just as excited that “Bending Heretic” has finally gotten to see the light of day. Rarely do I think of songs as truly hypnotic, but this one puts me under its hazy spell almost immediately with its gentle, murmuring guitars. Thom Yorke’s voice weaves through each gently plucked note like a lazy river with a cloak of mist. You really do feel the musical twisting and turning as Yorke sings about “coming to a bend now/skidding ’round the hairpin/a sheer drop down/an Italian mountainside/time is kind of frozen.” Time really does seem to freeze—the smooth limitlessness of this first quarter (or so) makes you forget that it’s 8 minutes long—the longest song that Thom Yorke has contributed to, not counting his remix of “Creep.” Every transition is liquid smooth—Tom Skinner’s drums kick in imperceptibly, as though they were always there, accompanied by strings. But just as you’re lulled back into a false sense of security, the strings coalesce into a shrill crescendo, morphing into sheer power as the guitars kick back in. The last quarter of “Bending Heretic” has the feel of being hit square in the face by a tidal wave—you can feel the raw power deep in your bones. It transported me back to how awe-inspiring their live presence was back when I saw them in December. Listening to them then was unforgettable, and hearing this song come to life for the first time on streaming was just as much so.
Now that it’s July, I’ve realized that we’re neck-deep in Liz Phair summer over here. Buckle up.
Ever since last week’s Liz Phair (re)awakening and my recent listen-through of Exile in Guyville, the jolly deep sea fisherman in my brain has been dredging up spare fragments of hers from some part of my mind that’s been somewhat dormant since 2017. All I could remember of this one until I looked it up was “Cinco de Mayo/uhhh something something denial,” and…for once, I was right? Sort of? Listening to this one again makes me see exactly why it wormed its way back into my brain. Phair’s dry witticisms are dialed up to their full capacity, paired with jangly guitars that bring to mind sitting on benches in the midst of dry, summer heat. Dry, summer heat is what this song really is—sitting by yourself, remembering how it felt to wince, pull off the bandaid, and quit thinking about your ex. (I didn’t realize until now that there’s two breakup songs in a row? Whoops…) And as much as I now adore Exile, it seems like that album has overshadowed everything else that Liz Phair has put out (as…divisiveas some of her more recent work seems to be). I’m just as motivated now to dig my teeth into Whip-Smart as I was to listen to her debut—I already adore this, the title track, and “Supernova,” so why not? Anybody who can rhyme “denial” with “Ohio” automatically has my respect. They’re already synonyms, so it was only a matter of time.
Every time I see a new Supreme Court decision, it cements it in my mind that this song is the only Independence Day I’ll be celebrating on Tuesday. I’m just celebrating that I’m getting a day off work, at this point.
Even if the real Independence Day doesn’t have much of the same meaning anymore, at least Palehound can fill the void with a fantastic new track, self-described as a “gay breakup song for pride month.” Eye on the Bat’s first single, “The Clutch,” was hard to beat, but “Independence Day” easily slid to my second favorite single off the record so far. From the minute that El Kempner’s snappy finger-picking kicks in, every not3 is propulsive, with winding guitar melodies that crawl up the walls like ladybugs. It’s reached the level of Palehound Perfection™️ of some of their best songs—a catchy, three-and-a-half-minute long alt-rock hit that never loses its momentum. For a breakup song, it’s deceptively upbeat—it’s pure indie catharsis. It isn’t just heartbreak, plain and simple, but a series of pictures painted on tiny canvases. Each verse feels like a neatly-cut movie scene, from the “flashes of color on your face/the bass thumping, the chanting names/our cat running under the bed with his tail between his legs” as Kempner breaks it off with her partner on July 4th, to a near-death experience on the road that could have “dug us both a single grave,” but drove them apart rather than bringing them closer together. All of it is strung together by one of Kempner’s most memorable choruses: “I’m living life like writing a first draft/’cuz there is nothing to it if I can’t edit the past/and even if I could it, would kill me to look back/no I don’t wanna see the other path.” And for someone who constantly imagines alternate timelines, universes where I made different decisions, I can see how freeing it could be to know that the path that you’re on is the one you’re meant to be on—the ones still tied to their ex, for Kempner, aren’t worth dwelling on. Cheers to that.
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!
And just like that, we’re halfway through the year…I don’t want to jinx it, but I feel like it’s been a good one so far. Other than being sick for all of April, basically, but that’s in the past. Now the pollen allergies are kicking in!! Whee!!
Let’s begin, shall we?
GENERAL THOUGHTS:
June has been on the busier side, but in a good way, for the most part. I got my very first job as a page at my local library (!!!), and I’ll be working there part-time until school starts back up. As of today, I’ve just gotten my first paycheck!!
Right after that, I went on vacation in Olympic National Park! Washington is the prettiest—I loved seeing the rainforest and the ocean, and all of that nature really got my creative juices going.
I also went to my very first pride parade last weekend!! I only stayed for an hour to watch the parade itself (that’s on sensory issues), but it made me so incredibly happy to see my community gathered there and spreading so much joy. Unforgettable experience.
Now that I’m off school, I’ve tried to get back into my writing routine. I started on the first draft to the sequel of my main WIP. I’ve made some good progress so far, but I’m planning on taking it to Camp NaNoWriMo tomorrow! I’m shooting for the full 50,000 this time, so wish me luck!
Other than that, I’ve just been drawing, practicing guitar, seeing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Shakey Graves live (both of which were AMAZING GAAAH) binging even more Taskmaster (just finished season 6, looking forward to seeing how unreasonably angry James Acaster gets in season 7), watching Across the Spiderverse (can’t remember the last time a movie changed my brain chemistry THIS much, so beautiful) and Asteroid City (another win from Wes Anderson), and trying not to inhale every single mote of pollen in my room. Allergy season is a real Fun Time.
READING AND BLOGGING:
I read 16 books this month! June wasn’t off to a great start (see the DNF below), but I ended up reading a ton of fun books for pride month! You’d think that vacation would’ve given me more time to read, but I ended up buying three books on my Kindle, all of which were rather chunky, so…
Here’s some queer fantasy for my last review of Pride Month 2023. I’m so glad that cozy sci-fi/fantasy as a subgenre is slowly multiplying nowadays, and that’s exactly what drew me to Flowerheart. I borrowed it from the Kindle library and ate it up in a few hours flat—though it wasn’t without its flaws, it was a charming, sweet palate-cleanser with lots of flowers and queer rep!
Clara has a gift—she can summon flowers at will, making them grow in any space she focuses on. But she’s only 16, and her flower magic is uncontrollable—and sometimes dangerous. When she accidentally causes poisonous flowers to grow in her father’s chest, Clara is distraught—and in desperate need of someone to heal his ailment and help her hone her magic. But the best magician for the job just happens to be Xavier, her former best friend who she can’t quite hide her feelings for. With Xavier hiding secrets and Clara racing against the clock, can they heal her father—and rein in her wild magic?
I love the title of this book as much as the next person, but I’m not gonna pretend that it isn’t a valid Warrior Cats name. Just saying. I’ll bet you money that it was somebody’s OC from 2014.
Flowerheart has a 3.58/5 average rating on Goodreads at present. I have a thing where I’ll see ratings in the 3.5 range and think “oooh, this could be a disappointment,” and then I’ll finish the book and realize that it was just about right on the money. It makes sense. I can see why several people loved it, but a good amount of people felt lukewarm about it or disliked it. For me, I’m sort of in the middle—it was a charming, sweet palate-cleanser, but the holes in the story and some of the writing style prevented me from enjoying it all the way.
The main selling point for Flowerheart seemed to be its coziness—setting aside the annoying, clearly BookTok marketing tactic to put “cottagecore” in the actual description, Bakewell passed with flying colors in terms of this book’s coziness! Other than a brief moment of fantasy body horror (said Flowers growing from Clara’s dad’s Heart), there’s very little that’s stressful. The book also has a strong emphasis on embracing your emotions and learning to love them (as opposed to suppressing them), which is always a win in my book (no pun intended). The queer-normative world was also a delight alongside of that—Clara is bisexual and in a straight-passing relationship, and there are several trans and nonbinary side characters! I ate this book up fairly quickly, but it was a delightful world to stay in, however short the stay was.
That being said, I really wanted more from the world. There really isn’t much to chew on other than the fact that everybody has a unique type of magic, there’s a ruling council of magicians that keeps everybody in check, and that most of the names have a vaguely European root or origin. Other than that, there was almost nothing to hold up the worldbuilding—if it were a house on stilts, the stilts might as well have been popsicle sticks. Where does the magic come from? What is the technology level of this world? Why are they letting 16-year-olds onto this magician council that makes all of the important decisions? Where even were we in the first place? Was there even a name for the place that Flowerheart was set in??? Cozy sci-fi/fantasy and expansive worldbuilding can coexist (see: anything by Becky Chambers), so the subgenre isn’t the issue. I didn’t need a huge, elaborate picture of the world of Flowerheart, but it was sadly clear that Bakewell did the bare minimum in terms of worldbuilding. I really did want more.
Aside from that, my main issue (if you can call it that) was the writing style. On its own, I liked it a lot—it had the perfect, charmingly over-the-top kind of style to it, and it suited the story very well. I saw another review that compared it to Harry Potter, and it made a lot of sense—it did sound very distinctly British. But Harry Potter is mostly middle-grade, and Flowerheart tended to skew the same way in its voice; Clara’s voice read more as a 12-14 year old than a 16 year old. Again: it’s not the coziness and relatively low stakes that made it feel more middle-grade, but the way that the characters were written. Not much of an issue, but I really feel like this would’ve been more successful if Clara was a few years younger.
All in all, a cozy fantasy that was filled with quite a few holes, but still sweet enough to enjoy. 3 stars.
Flowerheart is a standalone, but Catherine Bakewell is also the author of the middle-grade novel We Are the Song.
Today’s song:
ughhhhhh this album is so good
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
This week’s batch originally included a cover of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” but for several obvious reasons, I omitted it since I feel like that would be the absolute worst possible timing. Whoops.
quick trigger warning: there are mentions of suicide in part of this post, so if you don’t want to read that section, skip over “Evening Star Supercharger.”
Here I was thinking that “Come Talk to Me” and my 8th grade graduation were the only times that pipes of some kind (bagpipes and uilleann pipes, in this case) would ever make me feel anything…
This time, I wouldn’t say that said feeling evoked by “The Sensual World” isn’t the same kind of visceral, scoop-my-heart-right-out-of-my-ribcage of said Peter Gabriel song; this time, it’s more of a “how could she make that sound so incredibly cool” feeling. Normally, I wouldn’t be on board with these kind of fiddling, dressing up in medieval outfits kind of tunes, but I have to keep reminding myself: if anybody can do it, of course it’s Kate Bush. Of course. My favorite songs of hers make me feel like growing my shaved head all the way back out and running through the woods in a white dress (see: “Burning Bridge”), so I’m glad that she and Peter Richardson channeled that for the music video. And even without knowing much of anything about James Joyce’s Ulysses, I can’t think of a better way to adapt a monologue from a classic like that—this version is a mishmash of Molly Bloom’s monologue and Bush’s own lyrics, since Joyce’s estate didn’t grant her the rights to make the song all Joyce. (She later re-released it as “Flower of the Mountain” as a sung version of Molly Bloom’s monologue, once she was granted the rights.) I would’ve passed it off as Kate Bush and nothing but—the silky, airy cohesion throughout, the rush of joy once the fiddle and uilleann pipes kick in at the start of the chorus…everything. The chorus remained faintly in the background of my childhood memories, the title and the rest of the song lost up until a few years back, just like my favorite song was up until around two years ago. And while it’s hard to compete with my favorite song of all time at the moment, I’ve enjoyed every minute that I’ve spent with this unearthed song.
Complete coincidence—I had no idea that Exile in Guyville just turned 30 a few days ago! Perfect occasion to talk about this song, I suppose.
Most of my Liz Phair exposure prior to a few weeks ago came from two moments: seeing this album cover in passing on our iTunes library while my brother and I were trying to make a playlist for our dad ages ago, and two Whip-Smart tracks (“Supernova” and “Whip-Smart”) that defined a specific chunk of 8th grade. Listening to either of them instantly transports me back to a bus ride in the early hours of the morning, driving out to the middle of nowhere with my school to watch the total solar eclipse. And for years, I thought that that the Exile in Guyville cover was an illustration, and that the hood over her head was her actual hair. But the other day, my mom mentioned in passing, while we were listening to Palehound, how much it sounded like Liz Phair. I believed her, having a vague memory of said two songs.
And then my mom put on the first four tracks of Exile. Holy crap, dude.
I haven’t even gotten halfway through this album, but I haven’t fallen in love with an album this quickly in ages. This track is the one that keeps coming back to me—the minute the guitars kicked in, I was reeled all the way in. And even without the context of the last half of the album, this song seems to encapsulate its thesis perfectly—daring to have the courage to break into a male-dominated indie scene and make an irreplaceable mark on it. There’s the sly turning of the Rolling Stones’ lyrics back in their faces. And of course, there’s the references to height—”and I kept standing 6’1″/instead of 5’2″” isn’t just Phair keeping her head above the water after a nasty breakup, but a joking reference to her own height—she calls this song “the bravado that [she] manifest[s]” that seemed to confuse everybody once they saw how short she is. And…yeah, if I had a nickel for every person who’s said “I thought you’d be taller” to me, I could probably buy Amazon from Jeff Bezos. Liz Phair still has an inch on me, but…yep. The short king (queen?) experience.
So, to my mom, who talked about how cool it was that we were listening to the same knds of music at the same ages: I think it’s cool too. This one’s gonna be in heavy rotation once I listen to the whole thing. I love listening to music with you too.
Happy week-belated birthday to Sir Paul McCartney! Another song that ended up on here by coincidence, but I won’t argue against doing something for the occasion.
The White Album has something for everybody. Over the course of both sides, you have classic epics of songs (“While My Guitar Gently Weeps”), nursery rhyme-style political commentary (“Piggies”), eight and a half minutes of experimental discomfort (“Revolution 9”), and everything else under the sun (here comes the). It’s part of why this album is my favorite of the Beatles’ discography—there’s no shortage of songs that you can come back to, and each time, it feels like reuniting with an old friend. Yes, even “Wild Honey Pie.” I will defend that song with my dying breath. It’s hilarious.
But it’s some of Paul McCartney’s quieter, acoustic moments that have stayed with me the most whenever I revisit parts of this album. It has the pleasant simplicity of their earliest, poppiest songs, but with McCartney’s added experience, there’s a weight to it that would’ve been difficult to achieve in their very early youth. I just now realized that the bass part is just his gentle singing—there are so many moments of quiet brilliance on this album. I added this to my playlist when I went up to Washington, and every listen felt like a warm hug—and every subsequent listen still does. 1:45 of nothing but comfort. Paul McCartney just seems to have that effect.
I saw the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at the beginning of the month, and it was EXACTLY as phenomenal and soul-healing as I’d expected it to be. Karen O brought an infectiously joyous energy to every minute of the set, complete with her glittery, Elvis-but-cooler outfits and confetti cannons aplenty. It genuinely warmed my heart to see the giant smile on Brian Chase’s face every time the camera panned over to the drum kit—the whole band just felt so, so happy, and that made the show all the better. Even with how damp that night generally was, I enjoyed every second.
Of course, you can’t really live up to that as an opening act, but I enjoyed parts of Perfume Genius’ opening set, without question, even only knowing one song of his beforehand (“Queen,” which…apparently he does a whole strip tease to that one normally? I guess the weather only permitted him to make generally strip tease-like motions while dragging an itchy-looking gray sheet around…the spirit is willing, but the flesh is a bit too chilly?). Every song wasn’t a winner for me, but “Describe” certainly was. Both on streaming and live, Mike Hadreas (a.k.a. “Mike on the Mic,” according to Karen O.) seems content to let his voice take a more understated backseat, which suits the propulsive guitars that wall this track in. The combination of these driving, battering rams of guitars and Hadreas’ whispery voice form a unique sound—a song that simultaneously feels sharp and prickly like porcupine spines, but smoother than a silk sheet. Hadreas toes that line of juxtaposition exceedingly well on this song—the two contrasting sounds blend only at the edges, making for a song that never feels like it’s teetering one way or the other—it’s content to plant one leg on either side of the fence and keep them there. My only real complaint is the minute-odd ending of muttering, synth-y silence, but it’s short enough to skip, and not long enough to be a major qualm. It’s probably a transition between songs on Set My Heart On Fire Immediately, but I wouldn’t know.
I always struggle with posthumous album releases. At their worst, they’re blatant ways to capitalize off of an artist’s death and keep the nostalgia machine running, even if it’s just a collection of demos that were never meant to see the light of day. Even in David Bowie’s case—he’s my favorite singer, if I haven’t gone off about him for years on this blog, but even then, officially releasing his shelved 2001 album Toy felt weird—and it wasn’t his best work, either. I’m comforted by the fact that Bowie did actually want that album to see the light of day and seemed to be heartbroken by the fact that it got shelved, but I’m still dubious on whether or not that was Warner Music Group’s rationale for releasing it. I can say about the same for Prince’s Originals, even though I haven’t listened to it all the way through—especially with him and Bowie’s death being so close together, there’s definitely a 2016 pop-icon grief nostalgia machine running.
But Mark Linkous wasn’t necessarily a Bowie or a Prince. He wasn’t a worldwide superstar who changed the course of rock music—I can’t even think of anybody outside of my immediate family who might know about Sparklehorse. He’s gained significant renown in the indie community, but this feels different—given his history, it doesn’t seem like a cash grab at all. It seems like a genuine endeavor by Linkous’ siblings to revive some of his unreleased catalogue, not for reasons of greed or nostalgia. Toy felt somewhat off-putting; Bird Machine feels genuinely touching.
And the result of “Evening Star Supercharger” is purely Sparklehorse, without the touch of greed but still polished enough to sound smoother than a demo. It doesn’t feel far off from what I’ve heard off of Dreamt For Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain—the music has a polish of tinny glitter like a string of Christmas lights, but retains the unmistakable melancholy that ran through all of Linkous’ music. There’s an undeniable wish for stability and peace without the drugs and self-medication, but he still describes being wrenched through “the grinding metal gears/from a carnival of tears.” Knowing that he never achieved that kind of stability, leading him to take his own life in 2010, makes this unreleased material all the more heartbreaking; through the Christmas lights, it’s undeniably the sound of a damaged man. If anything, I hope Bird Machine allows us to celebrate the undeniably creative spirit that he had.
I’ve had a few pride-related book tags that I’ve been waiting to do since last June, so I figured I’d break this one out right about now. I found this one over at The Corner of Laura, who also created the tag.
Rules
Link back to the original creator (The Corner of Laura) and link back to this page (otherwise, the original creator won’t get a notification).
Thank whoever tagged you and link back to their post
(Optional) Use the graphics and don’t forget to credit the original creator (Text prompts are at the end of the tag if you’d prefer to use those)
(Optional) Tag 5 or more other people.
Let’s begin, shall we?
🏳️🌈THE LGBTQ+ HISTORICAL ICONS BOOK TAG🏳️⚧️
SAPPHO: Greek poet known for her lyric poetry which is believed to describe homoerotic feeling | A book of poetry (or written in verse)
Nothing Burns as Bright as Youis a beautiful novel in verse about the complicated relationship shared by two Black queer girls.
ALAN TURING: Mathematician known for cracking the Enigma code but who was persecuted for his homosexuality| A character who deserved better
As sweet as The Girl from the Seawas, I found myself getting so stressed out about how Morgan treated Keltie in the beginning. She just kept pushing her around and neglecting her, and while it did resolve itself neatly and they fell in love, I still felt so bad for Keltie. She’s just an adorable creature, dude, she doesn’t need all that human baggage…
GILBERT BAKER: Creator of the rainbow Pride Flag| The most colorful book you own
Skyhunterhas one of my favorite book covers in my collection—it dazzles me every single time I look at it!
ANNE LISTER: Landowner, industrialist and considered to be the first modern lesbian| A book written as a diary (or includes diary entries)
I have fond memories of reading the copy of I Capture the Castlethat my mom bought for me while I was out sick years ago, and re-reading it several times since. It’s seriously the sweetest, most charming book—a big thank you to my mom for turning me on to this one.
MARSHA P. JOHNSON: Prominent figure in the Stonewall Uprising and founder of several LGBTQ rights organisations| A character you’d would want fighting at your side
Sona and Eris from Gearbreakersare both formidable in their own ways—either one (or both) would be an easy pick to have fight at my side.
ALFRED KINSEY: Creator of the Kinsey scale| A book set in academia
I haven’t read a whole lot of books sets in academia (and I’ve never gotten the hype for dark academia, so I tend to steer clear of those), but Leigh Bardugo never misses, so obviously this prompt has to go to Ninth House.
LUCY HICKS ANDERSON: First trans woman to defend her identity in court| A book where a major scene takes place in court
It was so hard to think of any books besides To Kill a Mockingbird (Laura’s answer) with a courtroom scene, but I read Merunot long ago, and it has a particularly climactic and poignant courtroom scene—a futuristic one, but a courtroom scene all the same.
OPEN PROMPT: Your choice | A book that inspires you
Of course, I’m going with David Bowie as my LGBTQ+ historical icon of choice—who else? He’s been a hero of mine for years, and a hero to so many. Even in the 60’s, before he rose to stardom, he was already breaking down barriers, and continued to do so in all aspects of his career thereafter. Calling somebody “ahead of their time” is thrown around quite often, but I really think that the world wasn’t ready—and wouldn’t be ready for today—for Ziggy Stardust. And personally, I can’t think of a better beacon of hope to me than him; I started getting into his music at a time when I was struggling to find my place and looking for a light at the end of the alternative weirdo tunnel. And here was Bowie, wearing dresses in the 70’s, openly declaring his bisexuality, and creating a cosmic persona that touched the hearts of so many people. I’ve certainly felt like an alien all my life, but he, if anyone, is to credit for teaching me to embrace that feeling—to quote him, “oh no, love! You’re not alone.” From one bisexual alien to another: thank you.
As for a book that inspires me, I’d easily give that title to Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series. Sci-fi always seems defined by cosmic stakes and harrowing violence, and while that can work in moderation, these books really cemented the idea that a narrative doesn’t have to be centered around struggle or suffering to be worth reading—and writing. Here, Chambers has created a vast, creative space opera universe with complex political background noise and dozens of strange creatures, but they’re not embroiled in some lofty, intergalactic conflict: they’re just going about their lives. It’s something that almost no other piece of sci-fi media has ever done—it’s very common in realistic fiction, but the concept that happiness and healing as genuine plot points can exist alongside aliens and starships just blew my mind. I aspire to write at least one thing as comforting and cozy as Becky Chambers someday.
And remember, kids: grimdark is just as unrealistic as sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, because they represent opposite ends of the same literary spectrum. Making a book excessively dark and gritty doesn’t automatically make it deep, and giving a character an excess of trauma and a tragic backstory doesn’t automatically make them fleshed-out and well-written.
+ anyone else who wants to participate! If you see this tag and want to do it, I’d love to see your answers! If I tagged you and you’ve already done this tag/don’t want to do it, my bad.
Today’s song:
we love a good guitar freakout
That’s it for this book tag! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
I’ve been eyeing this book for a while—I remember it being heavily advertised on Goodreads when it was first released, and normally, I don’t pay much attention to Goodreads ads or sponsored books, but all you had to say was “space opera” and I was hooked. I’m a woman of simple tastes. It was cheap on the Kindle library, so I bought it to read on vacation. To my excitement, it ended up being my favorite book that I read on vacation—so detailed and gripping!
Jayanthi, like all other humans in her day and age, are confined to Earth. Kept there by the Alloys, evolved human descendants with advanced capabilities, she has been raised by Alloy parents on her homeworld, but has always dreamed of seeing the wider galaxy. But when an opportunity arises for Jayanthi to explore the newly discovered planet Meru with the aid of an Alloy pilot, she jumps at the chance—what better way to show the galaxy that humans are more than their violent past?
With the help of Vaya, her Alloy pilot, Jayanthi touches down on Meru. Soon, they find themselves embroiled in a human-alloy conflict, seemingly engineered to separate the two of them. Will Jayanthi and Vaya beat the odds—and restore faith in the human race?
TW/CW: ableism, xenophobia (fictional), sexual content/pregnancy, descriptions of injury, sci-fi violence
I got carsick while reading this book, but I don’t hold it against it at all. That was on me and my hubris of thinking that I wouldn’t get nauseous on a long car trip just this once. Whoops.
Reading some of the lower-rated reviews of Meru is kind of cracking me up…listen. I get that zie/zir pronouns (and neopronouns in general) are somewhat obscure, but of all the absolutely wild, dense, and out-there concepts that this book throws at you, that’s what makes you jump ship? Not the exceedingly complicated…well, everything else?
That being said, Meru lived up to the hype I’ve seen it getting for the past few months! It hit a sweet spot for me that a lot of sci-fi and fantasy books rarely do—creating a complex and multilayered universe, but very delicately balancing when and where to deliver all of this information. Divya came very close to going over the edge, but she navigated the worldbuilding delivery with aplomb.
So, about said worldbuilding. I’d say that Meru isn’t for the faint of heart, even for longtime sci-fi fans—as I mentioned in the beginning of the review, there’s a lot to take in, from the post-human history of the Alloys to all of the machinations surrounding new genetic modification laws in the future. But even though we do get some of this information in larger chunks, Divya excels at navigating which information is actually relevant to the scene it’s informing, and not sledgehammering you with extra information that only becomes relevant elsewhere in the book. It also helps that every inch of said worldbuilding is truly fascinating—it’s clear to see how much care was put into the creation of this universe.
If you’re talking about disability in sci-fi, you’re generally bound to open a particularly dicey can of worms. There’s quite a lot of eugenics narratives that a lot of readers have let slide for years, and the narrative of curing all disabilities is seen as positive, when a lot of the disabilities being described never needed curing in the first place. For the sake of this review, I’ll keep it short, but the bottom line is that it’s gross. But Meru takes a refreshing perspective on disability in sci-fi—not only was Jayanthi, the protagonist, specifically engineered to have sickle-cell anemia (now THAT’S a subversion I like), her disability is depicted in a far more advantageous and positive light. Anyone who’s ever touched a high school biology textbook probably remembers this example: despite its drawbacks, those with sickle-cell also have increased resistance to many tropical diseases. That’s exactly the case for Jayanthi, whose sickle-cell anemia makes her more suited to the environment of the planet Meru than those without it. Positive disability rep is good enough, but having it specifically depicted as something that gives the character the edge is something special. That, along with the wonderful discussions around disability and bodily autonomy (both allegorical and literal), made Meru a wonderful experience for me as a disabled reader.
In addition, Divya has created such a vibrant cast of characters in Meru! Jayanthi was such an endearing and powerful protagonist, and her relationship with the equally endearing Vaha was full of tenderness, despite its ups and downs. Almost all of the cast added to the book’s masterful suspense and tension, making you feel deeply for all of the relevant characters before things got (very) hairy. Plus, the integration of Sanskrit, several Indian-coded (and other POC characters), and loads of casual queerness was a breath of fresh air from all of the white, male, cishet sci-fi that still dominates the market. We need more books like Meru.
All in all, an intricately-crafted sci-fi novel that dazzled with its detailed worldbuilding, diversity, and refreshing discussions around disability. 4 stars!
Meru is the first book in S.B. Divya’s Alloy Era series, continued by the forthcoming Loka, slated for release in July of 2024. Divya is also the author of Machinehood and Run Time, as well as a contributor to several short story collections.
Today’s song:
NEW SMILE IT’S SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD (does this mean that we’re closer to hearing “Read the Room” too?????
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
Just a note—I’ll probably be radio silent for the next week (save for liking all your wonderful posts 🫡) because I’ll be on vacation! I’m heading up to Olympic National Park, so I’m pretty excited. But for now, have a nice, blue-gray color scheme and some silly goofy music while I’m gone. And of course, we’ve got Phoebe Bridgers, The Magnetic Fields, and Ernie and Bert for pride month.
So…here I am. Finally got around to listening to Peter Gabriel 1: Car the other day. Fantastic album, but if I had to describe it in one word, that one word would be whiplash. I already knew I was in for a ride knowing that the album started out with the absolute proto-Danny Elfman insanity of “Moribund the Burgermeister” and the album’s classic radio hit “Solsbury Hill” one after the other (as much as I love the latter, it’s a crime that it’s all this album is typically remembered for…doesn’t surprise me, though), but even that couldn’t have prepared me for the full experience.
But if there’s any song off of this album that characterizes said whiplash, it’s this one. I went in expecting it to be weird, but the pure shock of this one just sent me into the nth dimension of musical weirdness. I’m not even exaggerating. This one starts out with a barbershop quartet. It’s just nuts. And I love it. It’s like Peter Gabriel was just unleashing every ounce of the pent-up goofiness within. It’s kooky. It’s whimsical. It’s silly. I’d unironically call this one of the best tracks on the album, just because he just goes all in on the silliness. However, I go back and forth on whether or not the incoherence of this album is a pro or a con—I’ve tentatively decided that it’s more pro than con, but some of it didn’t work for me. Coherence is not a quality that an album needs to have to be enjoyable, but you can doan album where every song has a different feel, genre, etc. from the next and still have it feel cohesive and joyfully carefree at the same time (see Super Furry Animals’Rings Around the World). But on the other hand, the antici……pation of having no clue of what comes next was such fun to experience. There were some songs on Car that were genuine misses for me (sorry, “Down the Dolce Vita”), but albums that are pure chaos, like this one, are a special experience. Go crazy, Peter.
(are we all still okay, bisexuals? nope? I thought so)
Now, here we are with something of a legend amongst Phoebe Bridgers’ catalogue. Famously written when she was only 16, it’s hidden in the shadows despite being a fan favorite, existing only in older video performances and a brief stint on Spotify as part of the Lost Ark Studio collection, before being mysteriously taken down. And now that it’s on Bandcamp, more of us can lose ourselves in it!
The fact that Bridgers wrote this at 16 is still incredibly impressive, but with all due respect, it…makes sense. It’s 6 and a half minutes of pure angst—she hadn’t quite nailed the lyrical flow and subtleties that came with experience yet. There’s nothing subtle about “If you were a waiting room/I would never see a doctor/I’d just sit there with my first aid kit and bleed.” But the point of this song was never to be subtle—it’s a time capsule, capturing young, unrequited love at the epicenter of its emotion. If Bridgers hadn’t nailed her lyrical style just yet, she had already nailed her innate ability to conjure engrossing emotion. There’s something about the lines “Wanna make you fall in love as hard as my poor parents’ teenage daughter/She’ll be the best you’ve ever had, if you let her” that always get me. Aww, little Phoebe…
And it all comes to a head in the iconic refrain of “Know it’s for the better,” repeated for the last half of the song. The instrumentals rise in intensity along with Bridgers’ voice until it all crashes down in a tidal wave of guitars. It really is a song to lose yourself in—the last part of the song really does make it feel like everything else has ceased to exist around you. And even though this song has gone through several iterations over the years, it’s still a feat to achieve so young. If anything, I’m just glad to exist in a world with Phoebe Bridgers in it. I know it’s for the better.
Alright, here’s a childhood nostalgia pick-me-up after Phoebe Bridgers’ sea of teen angst. I wouldn’t blame you if you needed a palate cleanser.
This one was a last minute addition, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t include it in this. I haven’t thought about this song in a solid 15 years, but the other night, I had a dream—I can’t even remember what the dream was even about, but whatever the case, it dredged this song up from the dark recesses of my mind. And I’m not complaining! There’s nothing like the joy of uncovering a forgotten childhood song, like digging through dusty old boxes of mementoes in the attic. Or, at least, that’s how I imagine it. I don’t have an attic. I digress. It’s moments like this where I really appreciate the incomprehensible eccentricities of the human brain—which neuron fired and made me remember this all of the sudden?
Even though they have the worst possible band name to have included on a kid’s album (which they did—not just this, but the classic Snacktime!), The Barenaked Ladies really do have a talent for making nostalgic, clever kid’s songs. This one is technically a cover, but for once, I’ll defer to them instead of Sesame Street; in any other circumstance, I’d immediately call blasphemy, but in this case, their take on “La La La La Lemon” surpasses the original for me. No disrespect to Ernie and Bert, the original gay TV couple. This is the only exception. They reign supreme in all else. Nothing tops the Rubber Ducky song.
The slower, more subdued Sesame Street version fits when you consider that our crotchety friend Bert is singing half of it. But The Barenaked Ladies gave this song an infectious energy—just by picking up the speed, the song gains a far more carefree, loose, and altogether more joyous feel. Maybe my preference is the nostalgia talking, but I swear that this version manages to turn the kookiness up to the perfect level—the level that made me giggle as a kid and still makes me smile now, when I’m somehow an adult with a job. Man, how’d that happen…
Either way, the main takeaway is that comedy peaked at at “La la la la, linoleum!”
I’m entirely serious when I say that the only thing keeping me from listening to 69 Love Songs right this second is because of…said 69 songs. I will, eventually, but it’s gonna require a nice, long, uninterrupted stretch of…[checks notes] almost three hours, Jesus. But you’re not gonna catch me complaining about nearly three hours of Stephin Merritt and company.
In the meantime, it seems like almost every song I hear on its own from this album rearranges my brain chemistry for a solid three days before I can snap out of it. Case in point: this one. The minute the buzzy background synths and deeply distorted…well, everything kicks in, I lost myself. Again. With his signature, dry witticism, Merritt pens another two-and-a-half minute bite of love gone sour, cloaking the thought of “[taking] a sleeping pill and sleep at will/and not have to go through what I go through” in a web of tinny distortion. I always come back to the tongue-in-cheek lines of “Or I could career of being blue/I cold dress in black and read Camus,” because…I mean, he did kind of make a career out of that? Almost? Aside from a few songs, most of The Magnetic Fields that I can think of is about love left to get moldy after a few weeks in the fridge. But here’s the thing—it never feels like Merritt is spinning a broken record—each time, has has something new to bring to the table, whether it’s the drowning melancholy of “I Don’t Believe in the Sun” or the confessional nature of “Born on a Train.” He always finds something inspired to spin out of love lost or gone the way of spoiled milk, and every time, it’s a rush of inventiveness to the head.
Here’s my PSA for today: if you haven’t watched both seasons of Prehistoric Planet on Apple TV+ …respectfully, what are you even doing? If David Attenborough’s part in it isn’t convincing enough by itself, will a masterfully-animated, nature-show style documentary about Cretaceous dinosaurs and other prehistoric life entice you? The animation puts almost everything else of its kind to shame—so much so that it looks too real to beanimated, which adds to the nature show feel. Plus, it acts like a good nature show should, not focusing all on “DINOSAUR FIGHT!!!!!1!!! RAAAAAAH THEY ARE ANNIHILATING EACH OTHER RAAAAAH!!1” and giving a speculative insight into many aspects of these extinct creatures’ lifestyles. It’s a beautiful show, whether or now you’re interested in prehistoric life. You will be, after watching this.
Even though the animation obviously steals the show (as it should), I couldn’t help but notice parts of the artfully crafted soundtrack as well. The ammonite section of season 2’s ocean episode wasn’t just my favorite moment of the season because of the tiny prehistoric cephalopods—the paired track, “World of Ammonites,” made it all the more gorgeous. Nothing fits the image of thousands of funky little guys with weird shells bobbing about in a prehistoric sea than a mixture of low woodwind, violins, and synths tinny enough to fit into a sci-fi B-movie from the fifties. The synths especially capture the audio representation of the likeness of these bizarre animals; fitting these very spacey sounds with such alien-looking creatures feels like an obvious choice, but it’s a genius one. Prehistoric Planet has consistently been a joy to watch, but nothing quite gave me the rush of joy that the ammonites—and this track—did. Love me a good cephalopod.
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!
This book came out around a month ago, and I figured it would be a great read to start off pride month (after a very disappointing biography of Josephine Baker). If Tomorrow Doesn’t Come was my first exposure to Jen St. Jude (it’s her debut, after all), but after this, I’m ready to watch for anything else she writes.
The news has just broken that an asteroid capable of wiping out the population is headed towards Earth in nine days. Avery Byrne had planned to drown herself on her college campus that day—being closeted from her religious parents, the mounting pressure of college, and undiagnosed depression had become too much to bear. But now, she’s forced to flee her college and face her family. Among them is Cass, her best friend and longtime crush, who she’s been hiding the truth from for years. With nine days until the end of the world, Avery must come face to face with everything that she wanted to run from, but must also realize the hope at the end of the world—maybe she finally has time to make things right.
TW/CW: suicide, suicide attempt(s), suicidal ideations, homophobia, religious bigotry, mental health issues (depression), natural disasters/end of the world scenarios (impending asteroid impact)
This is a heavy one. That can’t be understated enough—I always put trigger warnings before my reviews now, but these ones are really important to keep in mind. If Tomorrow Never Comes is a devastating novel—but a deeply important one, as long as you’re in the mental headspace for it.
That being said, one of the best parts about this novel is how Jen St. Jude handles such topics. It would’ve been easy to romanticize or otherwise dramatize Avery’s very real struggles with mental health and queer identity, but everything was handled with such care and grace. It’s clearly a very personal novel; nothing is glossed over, but nothing is overblown to amp up the tension needlessly. We’re very slowly coming out of the post-13 Reasons Why romanticization of suicide and mental health issues, so it’s very important that books like these exist to counteract that—presenting these subjects exactly as they are.
All of the relationships were also done so well in this novel! Each character was crafted with so much care, and the interactions that each one had with the other really made them stand out. The forced reunion of Avery, her friends, and her extended family in the event of the asteroid created so many moments that felt refreshingly human—messy and hard to read at times (part of the ending made me cry, full disclosure), but authentic and genuine. Again—in the face of an onslaught of very dramatic apocalypse-oriented YA in the past, it’s so nice to see one that’s full of emotion, but more in the way of real, interpersonal relationships and not 2012 love triangles in the face of impending doom.
That being said, I did have one major problem with this novel. I liked the format that St. Jude had where the novel was split into Avery’s past and present, but the flashback chapters felt somewhat stilted compared to the present day chapters. They leaned a lot more on telling—giving us information about Avery’s life, friends, and family in a very rote way, as opposed to letting all that bloom naturally. It’s even stranger considering that the present chapters didn’t have this problem at all—maybe it was just some kinks to work out when writing in Avery’s past tense. With all of the heart that this novel had, it just left me wishing for something as fluid as the other chapters.
I’ve seen some people complaining about the ending, but I feel like this novel couldn’t have ended any other way. This novel was always going to be about relationships during the apocalypse, and the mechanics of the apocalypse weren’t meant to be the star of the show. I will admit that I had to turn back to check that yes, this really was the end, it felt like the quiet, tender ending that this novel deserved.
All in all, an emotional and deeply personal story of love at the end of the world. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!
If Tomorrow Doesn’t Come is a standalone, and it is Jen St. Jude’s debut novel.
Today’s song:
SAW THE YEAH YEAH YEAHS LIVE LAST NIGHT IT WAS MAGICAL
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
The Bookish Mutant 