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Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (1/9/24) – Like Thunder (The Desert Magician’s Duology, #2)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

After I finished Shadow Speaker back in December, I was eager to see what the newly published sequel, Like Thunder, had in store. It was finally available at the library recently, and it was one of my first reads of this year. And though it retained some of the issues that Shadow Speaker had, it was still a worthy sequel and end to the duology.

TREAD LIGHTLY! This review may contain spoilers for book one, Shadow Speaker. If you haven’t read it and intend to, read at your own risk.

For my review of Shadow Speaker, click here!

Enjoy this week’s review!

Like Thunder (The Desert Magician’s Duology, #2) – Nnedi Okorafor

2077. Three years after Ejii and Dikéogu saved Earth from the threat of Chief Ette and forced him to sign the truce to bring no harm to the Changed, Dikéogu has realized that the fight is not over. Estranged from his parents and living on his own, he knows that the truce is due to expire, and that the humans are growing more hostile to the Changed by the day. After disaster strikes and puts those that he love in danger, he sets off to find the one person he knows that can help save the day: Ejii. But when they reunite, saving the world—for the second time—is more difficult that either of them bargained for.

TW/CW: genocide, slavery, ableism, murder, death, loss of loved ones

In general, I was still a fan of this book, but strangely, even though a lot of my minor gripes with Shadow Speaker were resolved, they were often filled in with elements that ended up bringing down the narrative. That’s not to say that Like Thunder wasn’t a worthy sequel—it absolutely was, and it was a fitting way to finally end the Desert Magician’s Duology, all these years after Shadow Speaker was initially published.

The worldbuilding was, without a doubt, the strongest aspect of Shadow Speaker, and Like Thunder expanded on it in all the ways that it should have! Through Dikéogu’s eyes, we get to see parts of the Desert Magician world that Shadow Speaker left behind, and they greatly enhanced the ongoing narrative of change and prejudice. Not only do we get an expansion of the effect of what kind of powers possessed by the Changed, we also see the direct effects that being Changed has on people apart from the main characters that we saw in book one. Time was clearly on Nnedi Okorafor’s side here, since she presumably had so many years apart from Shadow Speaker to craft all of the world’s eccentricities, but even if there wasn’t such a large gap between now and then, I have faith that her worlds would have been fleshed out anyway—if there’s one thing that Okorafor has excelled at over the years, it’s crafting a detailed world.

A lot of this worldbuilding contributed to the themes that Like Thunder built up, and it serves as an incredibly powerful narrative about genocide. Now that the three-year treaty between Chief Ette and the Changed has expired, he doesn’t hide the hostility that he’s been waiting to unleash since then. No matter what perspective that it’s written from, genocide is always a difficult and delicate subject to write about, and Okorafor took great care in depicting it unapologetically—it’s brutal, authentic, and horrifying, just as it should have been. In general, I preferred Ejii’s perspective to Dikéogu’s (more on that later), but Dikéogu’s voice was well-suited to handling this kind of subject matter; he had the anger that the subject warrants, and his rage not only fueled his journey, but the emotion behind this depiction.

That being said, I wasn’t the biggest fan of Dikéogu being the main POV character in Like Thunder. Although seeing the effects of the treaty dissolving through his eyes was enlightening and his anger fueled much of the novel (and for good reason), in much of the down time of the novel, I found him to be borderline obnoxious. Most of it manifested in his treatment of a lot of the female characters in the novel—once he reunited with Ejii, he had this attitude that he was still owed her after all these years, and it got on my nerves to no end. I wouldn’t have minded a romantic subplot between the two of them, but Dikéogu’s insistence on being incredibly possessive of her soured the whole thing for me. His perspective was needed to a point, but I felt like he worked better as a side character.

Going off of that, there were a lot of cheap elements in Like Thunder that sullied the narrative for me. When I think of Nnedi Okorafor, I think a lot about subversion—subversion of genre conventions, subversion of tropes, etc. But throughout the novel, there were just so many elements that felt pointless and served no purpose—and were so common that it almost seemed beneath Okorafor to add them in the first place. We get the age-old “killing the main man’s girlfriend for the plot” trope; I think it was meant to convey some of the horrors of the genocide going on, but it was already pretty evident that Dikéogu’s life was significantly changed and he already knew the horrors of genocide firsthand, so there was no point in having that subplot at all, especially since it was blatantly shoved in there to try and advance Dikéogu’s narrative arc. And the love triangle…why? Why? Once we got to that part, combined with Dikéogu’s possessiveness of Ejii, it just felt like filler drama—it didn’t advance the plot at all, and it seemed like a cheap way to generate drama as well. It just seemed like a disservice to Okorafor’s inexhaustible creativity.

All in all, a satisfying conclusion to a solid sci-fi/fantasy duology that excelled in its worldbuilding, but suffered in its use of overused and stale tropes. 3.5 stars!

Like Thunder is the second and final installment in the Desert Magician’s Duology, preceded by Shadow Speaker. Nnedi Okorafor is also the author of Lagoon, the Binti series (Binti, Home, and The Night Masquerade), Noor, Remote Control, and several other books for teens and adults.

Today’s song:

NEW SMILE WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

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 (1/2/24) – Into the Heartless Wood

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles! First post of the year, phew…

I went into Into the Heartless Wood with no expectations—it was the very end of the year, and I just happened to be in a fantasy mood, mostly brought on by The Siren, the Song, and the Spy and The Stardust Thief. I’m glad I had zero expectations, because Into the Heartless Wood was deeply beautiful and emotional, and it had just the right elements to make for a modern fairytale.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Into the Heartless Wood – Joanna Ruth Meyer

Owen Merrick knows better than to venture into the witch’s wood. The forest within is where the tree-sirens dwell, monstrous creatures capable of tearing down cities and ensnaring even the most sensible people with their fatal song. The woods took Owen’s mother when he was young, and ever since, he’s vowed never to return. But after his little sister wanders into the wood and incurs the wrath of the tree-sirens, one of them spares their lives. Owen and the tree-siren both begin to feel a pull towards each other. In secret, Owen visits the tree-siren, but their relationship is one that may spell disaster for the human and siren kingdoms. A war is brewing, and they may be caught in the middle.

TW/CW: blood, gore, child endangerment, suicide, torture, vehicle crash/derailment, war themes

Into the Heartless Wood was just something I picked up because I was in an extended fantasy mood for most of last week, but it blew me away at how emotional and heartbreakingly tender it was. I thought I’d given up on Beauty and the Beast retellings, but to be honest, I had no idea that this was a retelling until after I’d finished the whole thing, and maybe that’s what made it so memorable. All it stuck to was the central theme of the story—everything else was Joanna Ruth Meyer, and that everything else was beautiful.

This is more of a general statement on fantasy/supernatural romances in general, but it feels like every pairing in it ends up where the woman is human, and the man is the non-human creature or monster. It’s on most of the shirtless dude (but this time he’s a werewolf/vampire/etc.) romances that I see advertised, and it’s in a lot of popular YA fantasies. It’s always the king or prince of the fae that the otherwise practical human girl falls for. And even though it’s my favorite movie, The Shape of Water fits too. You get the idea. We hardly ever let women be monsters. Not to get real College with it, but there’s something to be said for the fact that we can’t stand to make women monsters—and therefore unattractive in some way—because otherwise, they wouldn’t be tidy little sex objects anymore. Women are hardly ever in the position of the monstrous character because a lot of writers can’t stand the thought of a woman’s characteristics or redemption arc not being tied to her beauty.

That’s part of why Into the Heartless Wood stood out to me so much. Something as simple as a gender-swap has done this novel an immense service. Seren, the tree-siren love interest, is monstrous in the basic sense, but her inner conflict and the history that led up to who she is was written in such a painfully tender way. Even if she wasn’t meant to be the love interest, you would still feel so deeply for her. The way that her POV chapters switched from verse to prose depending on her circumstances was so artfully subtle, and Meyer had no trouble navigating between the two, even as Seren herself struggled to separate herself from the woods. The conflict between Seren and her sisters, as well as the inner conflicts of her place in the world and the struggle to become something more than a pawn of her mother, made her not just fleshed-out, but a character I was rooting for from page one. (I always feel sympathetic towards the monsters, but the point still stands.) Owen was the perfect match for her—his sensitivity and fearful yearning for something beyond the ordinary fit Seren’s search for meaning beyond the wood perfectly.

The Kingdom of Tarian was also fleshed out just right! I’m assuming most of it was Welsh-inspired, judging from the names of places and characters, but I liked the integration of the industrial aspect of Tarian, and not automatically opting for a medieval setting, as most fantasies tend to do. (It’s all well and good, but it gets tiring once 95% of the high fantasy books you’ve read end up with the same setting with minor tweaks.) The industrialization enhanced the nature/mankind conflict that the novel sets up; from the beginning, there’s a stark contrast between the human world of steam trains and semi-modern warfare and the wood, with its wild, man-eating tree witches, and it made the central, generational conflict between the Witch of the Wood and the king of Tarian seem even more grave, even if the lives of both protagonists and their families weren’t at stake.

What wrapped all of this together was both the prose and verse of Joanna Ruth Meyer. Both ways, her writing was truly lyrical, achingly poetic in even the most fleeting of scenes. The emotion that was baked into the fiber of this story made the almost Romeo & Juliet-like romance of Owen and Seren feel all the more revolutionary—teenagers always feel like their love stories are what make the world go ’round, but Meyer made you believe every word of it and root for the lovers every step of the way. Every bit of both love and heartbreak was heartstring-tugging—there’s nothing like a story of lovers giving each other the courage to break away from the mold set by the world(s) around them. Works like a charm.

All in all, an achingly romantic and heartbreaking fantasy that had me hanging on every word. 4.5 stars!

Into the Heartless Wood is a standalone, but Joanna Ruth Meyer is also the author of the Echo North series (Echo North, Wind Daughter, and the companion Wolf Daughter & The Oldest Magic), and the Beneath the Haunting Sea series (Beneath the Haunting Sea and Beneath the Shadowed Earth).

Today’s song:

big thank you to my brother for sending me 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 (12/26/23) – The Siren, the Song, and the Spy (The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea, #2)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles! Also, a belated Merry Christmas and a Happy Kwanzaa to those celebrating!

To my parents: I tried so hard not to finish this in one day. I tried. But it was just too good. Just like how I devoured The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea around two and a half years ago, its sequel, The Siren, the Song, and the Spy captured my heart, and added some intricate depth, timely commentary, and no shortage of emotion to Maggie Tokuda-Hall’s fantasy world. Also to my parents: thank you so much for the incredible Christmas present!

WARNING: this review may contain spoilers for The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea—tread lightly!

for my review of book 1, click here!

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Siren, the Song, and the Spy (The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea, #2) – Maggie Tokuda-Hall

After the Pirate Supreme and their crew wounded the Emperor’s fleet, they have gone into hiding, growing the Resistance that they hope will end the colonial rule that has trapped them for decades. In the ruins of the battle, Genevieve, a loyal daughter of the empire, has washed up on the Red Shore. Now in the company of strangers, she must decide where her loyalties truly lie—and decide for herself if the empire has lied to her all along. Back on the mainland, Alfie is a spy in the Imperial Palace, hoping to tear it down from the inside. But when everyone is hiding false intentions, who can he trust in his quest to see the Resistance win?

Meanwhile, the Sea readies for battle, looking for vengeance after years of the Emperor robbing her of her daughters…

TW/CW: colonialism, genocide, blood, murder, self-harm (ritual), racism, animal death (off-page), ableism

I would have been satisfied if The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea was a standalone—it had an ambiguous, hopeful ending, and it’s rare to see novels that willingly keep their worlds in one book after an ending styled like that. Usually, when authors go and make said ambiguous but satisfying endings not so ambiguous by expanding the story and the world, it feels hollow—the sequel doesn’t always live up to the original, and sometimes, it just feels like a cash grab. The Siren, the Song, and the Spy is none of these things. It does what every sequel (and duology-closer) should do—it makes the already beloved characters, world, and plot all the more intricate and vast, but has no trouble sticking the landing and wrapping things up.

I think The Siren has the most POVs I’ve ever seen in a single book; some POVs only appear once or twice, but even still, I can think of at least ten (maybe more, I didn’t go back and count) that this novel cycles through over the course of just 320 pages. Usually, any number of POVs over five or six is too much for any author to handle; some characters don’t get developed the way they should, and some of them don’t need the page time or the internal dialogue that other characters need to make the story move forward. Normally, uneven emphasis on certain characters is also a flaw of multiple-POV novels. However, what Tokuda-Hall succeeded in was knowing when characters needed attention and when they didn’t; some chapters are dedicated to side characters, but they’re few and far between, and often shorter than the main character chapters. And somehow, by a stroke of luck, all of them felt necessary to the narrative—and all of them were compelling. Even minor antagonists got their time in the spotlight, but Tokuda-Hall used those moments to her advantage—sometimes, these chapters were more to reveal secrets than to peer inside characters’ heads. It’s a skill that very few authors have, but The Siren proved that Maggie Tokuda-Hall is incredibly adept at the art of the multiple-POV novel.

With Evelyn and Florian mostly out of the picture, The Siren develops many of the side characters present in The Mermaid—many of whom got necessary backstories, and often, something of a redemption arc. I didn’t expect to start rooting for Alfie after everything that he did in The Mermaid, but Tokuda-Hall did an excellent job of making him come to realize the error in his ways, and at least partially put him on the path to improvement. I don’t fully believe that he can ever be fully forgiven, and Tokuda-Hall acknowledges that, but what she’s also very skilled at is created complicated characters—”morally gray,” as much as it’s become a buzzword in both book communities and publishing these days, really is the best word for it. The difference is that Tokuda-Hall actually seems to know what the term really means. Introducing a batch of new characters (and not taking the easy route and killing a bunch of them off) was also a tricky task to surmount for Siren, but both the new characters and locations elevated the novel a ton; Koa and Kaia worked incredibly off of each other as siblings with wildly different personalities, and they meshed easily with some of the already established characters like Genevieve. And as with Mermaid, Siren is full of diversity—most of the new characters are people of color (as are most of the characters in the novel), and we also have Kaia, who has one hand, and a character who uses neopronouns.

Speaking of Genevieve…

I was already excited to see what Genevieve would do next after how Mermaid left off, but that was mostly because of how cunning of a character she was. At first, it didn’t seem necessary to me for her to have a redemption arc—she could have been such a sneaky minor villain, and I would’ve enjoyed seeing that develop. But her character arc was so much more than redemption—it was one of the most well-written case studies in colonial brainwashing and subsequent decolonization that I’ve read in years. What with her POV jumping back and forth between the past and the present, you can see exactly the kind of manipulation that went into her being duped into believing in Lady Ayer and the Emperor, betraying her own identity in the process. Her change of heart wasn’t straightforward either—it was plenty messy, and it wasn’t until she actually witnessed a full-on genocide that she realized what the empire was actually doing all along, but the messiness in the middle was what made her arc so memorable. Decolonizing one’s identity is anything but straightforward, and Genevieve’s journey of restructuring her beliefs and identity was rocky—as it should have been. Genevieve alone should be proof of Maggie Tokuda-Hall’s incredible skill in crafting authentic, messy characters.

On the subject of colonization and decolonization, I also appreciate the realistic—and unrelentingly anti-colonial—approach that Tokuda-Hall took to bringing down the empire. The stakes built up over both books made them feel like a real threat, and not just a hollow “evil empire” that’s only evil because the author takes great pains to tell you so. (Basing this empire off of multiple real-life examples of colonialism probably helped, but my point still stands.) The initial takedown was was incredibly emotional, and appropriately incorporated the awesome forces of the Sea. But after that final battle, what stuck out to me the most was the epilogue; it was very brief and appropriately hopeful, but what it emphasized was so important to understanding the process of decolonization—it’s messy. Even several years after the fact, everything isn’t magically fixed—things take time to rebuild, and not everybody instantly changes their minds. In such a short amount of time, Tokuda-Hall managed to portray an essential reality of colonialism that most sci-fi and fantasy narratives miss: change isn’t instantaneous, and the limbo between changes in power is a long, messy process.

All in all, a worthy sequel that proves Maggie Tokuda-Hall’s many, incredible special talents as an author—juggling dozens of POVs with ease, writing flawed characters with complicated arcs, and giving both colonialism and decolonization with the nuance that’s often missing from fantasy and sci-fi portrayals of the subject. 4.5 stars!

The Siren, the Song, and the Spy is the sequel to The Mermaid, the Witch, and the Sea, and is the end of the duology. Maggie Tokuda-Hall is also the author of several picture books and graphic novels, including Also an Octopus, Love in the Library, Squad, and the forthcoming The Worst Ronin.

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 (12/18/23) – You Have a Match

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Ever since I read Tweet Cute and loved it about three years back, I’ve been meaning to read Emma Lord’s follow-up, You Have a Match, for ages. I’m not sure if I can just chalk it up to “I shouldn’t read anything that’s languished on my TBR for more than 3 years” because it seems like most of the Goodreads reviewers I’m seeing found it just as disappointing, but either way, this one was a miss for me.

Enjoy this week’s review!

You Have a Match – Emma Lord

Abby mainly decided to give a DNA service a go as a joke. But the results tell her that she has a secret sister—Savannah Tully. And Savannah isn’t just an ordinary sister—she also happens to be an influencer with a seemingly perfect life. Desperate to find out about the sister her parents hid from her, she hatches a plan to meet up with her at summer camp. But distractions from Leo, her best friend (or something more?) and co-chef at the camp, and drama between her and Savannah threaten to throw a wrench in her plan to find out why her parents separated her sister.

TW/CW: grief/loss, mentions of substance abuse, anxiety, mentions of abandonment, brief descriptions of injury and illness (broken bones, pneumonia)

I was banking on You Have a Match being at least decent just because of the memory of how good Tweet Cute was, but I really should’ve run for the hills the minute I saw the Reese’s YA Book Club sticker on it. But whether or not I’m looking at Tweet Cute through rose-colored glasses or if Emma Lord just took a dip in quality, You Have a Match was not nearly as sweet—or even enjoyable—as its predecessor.

The main issue with You Have a Match was that it didn’t seem to know what it wanted to be. The premise (and partially the title, although it definitely applies to both) was advertised mostly as a kind of coming-of-age story of sisterhood, but the book itself also wanted to shove a fully-developed romance plot in between it all. The thing is, both of these stories could have been great as separate books—one about finding your lost sister, one about falling in love at summer camp. And I really believe that Lord could’ve succeeded with both of those stories. But even though it could have been possible to merge the two, You Have a Match felt like it didn’t know where to put the emphasis. As a result, the story felt like it needlessly jumped all over the place, making both of the plots cease to be cohesive. It really feels like a case of Lord biting off far more than she could chew.

As a result, the romance that was supposed to happen between Abby and Leo definitely suffered. So much attention was brought to the plot with Savannah and her friends that there was no room for their chemistry to develop, and by the end of the novel, none of the romance felt fleshed out in any way. All of it hinged on the reader believing the information that was very much told (certainly not shown…) that they’d had a beautiful friendship for years, and even that wasn’t enough to save the absolutely lukewarm romantic aspects of this book.

The pacing of You Have a Match didn’t help either of these issues—in fact, it was probably the reason that they were exacerbated. Once the characters got to camp, none of the timing made any sense. It felt like we were just being bounced along like a pinball from subplot A to subplot B without any room to breathe or make sense of what was happening. Everything felt transient and borderline pointless; 309 pages (for the Kindle edition) isn’t that short of a page count, but some points really did feel like filler. This is probably what could have solved the “this book doesn’t know what it wants to be” issue—cut all the filler and focus on developing the relationships between the characters, and chances are, I would’ve enjoyed it so much more.

Part of what endeared me to Tweet Cute was that the social media parts rarely came across as a Gen X author trying too hard to sound “hip.” As much as it can be, it felt real enough that the humor and romance could come through via that aspect. However, whatever internet savviness that Lord had was lost somewhere in the dust between Tweet Cute and You Have a Match. Maybe it was the shift in focus from Twitter to the whole mess that is the concept of Influencers, but it felt incredibly shallow in comparison. Despite her (eventual) redeeming qualities, Savvy came across as the most unoriginal, cardboard-cutout idea of an influencer (fit, makes green smoothies, immaculate hygiene, does yoga, etc.), but Lord could have easily subverted that idea with something that set her apart. All of the nuance came down to “influencers are people too, my life isn’t always perfect :(” and never went any further. Especially with the fact that Abby and Savvy were sisters all along, I feel like this could’ve gone so much deeper—or, at least, in a more interesting direction.

All in all, a coming-of-age, summer camp rom-com that wasted almost all of the potential that it had. 2 stars.

You Have a Match is a standalone, but Emma Lord is the author of several other novels, including Tweet Cute, Begin Again, When You Get the Chance, and the forthcoming novels The Break-Up Pact and The Getaway List.

Today’s song:

if I listen to this enough time, will I just forget that winter exists?

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 (12/12/23) – Shadow Speaker

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I’ve been a fan of Nnedi Okorafor for several years now, but it wasn’t until about a month ago that I found out that one of her first novels, which originally went out of print, was being reissued with new content and a new cover! (Gorgeous cover, by the way.) I ended up buying it, and though it wasn’t her best (what else would you expect from one of her very first books), but it’s not just a fun ride—it’s a glimpse into an incredibly talented author coming into her own.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Shadow Speaker (The Desert Magician’s Duology, #1) – Nnedi Okorafor

Niger, 2074. In the wake of a nuclear disaster, both humanity and the natural world have developed powers far beyond their imaginations. These Shadow Speakers have been given strange abilities by the aftershocks of nuclear war. Born into this world is 15-year-old Ejii, gifted the abilities of advanced sight and hearing the thoughts of animals. When she was young, her father, a corrupt politician, was assassinated. All these years later, Ejii decides that, regardless of the horrific legacy her father left behind, she must journey out into the Sahara Desert to search for his killer.

TW/CW: murder, beheading, fatphobia

Being a (somewhat) longtime fan of an author and reading their debut or earlier works further down the line is always an eye-opening experience. I was expecting something along those lines when I bought Shadow Speaker the other day, but…man, I really had no idea what I was in for. Shadow Speaker was honestly kind of bonkers, but in the best possible way. Quite plainly, it’s one of the boldest debut novels that I can think of.

Shadow Speaker was Nnedi Okorafor’s first novel (published all the way back in 2008), and it really does feel like a debut. I said eye-opening before because you can see the through lines where Okorafor hadn’t yet hit her stride in terms of writing; in contrast to the tight organization of most of her other novels, we still get chunks of worldbuilding delivered paragraph by paragraph. Her prose has the same bold brightness and whimsical spirit that really stands out as her signature, but it hasn’t been refined as much. And with the re-release this November, despite apparent rounds of editing, there’s still a few things that haven’t aged well from 15 years ago (ex. the villain’s evilness explicitly being tied to him being fat…mmmm, yikes…). All debuts are bound to have flaws, but the latter ones could have probably been edited out. But unlike that, I feel like it’s worth keeping some of the writing as it is—reading this novel was a time capsule into the mind of a younger writer.

And yet, Shadow Speaker is still one of the boldest books I’ve read in a long time, debut or not. Everything about is really and truly nuts, and that was the best part about reading it. Once you get the exposition of Ejii’s post-apocalyptic, magical world out of the way, at no point did I know where this novel was going, and at a certain point, I ceased to even care. There’s the spread of X-Men-like powers caused by a nuclear disaster, a talking camel (also because of the nuclear disaster, how did you guess?), gods and goddesses roaming across the land…you get the idea. Actually, no. You don’t get the idea. And that’s the point of this book, from what I can tell—Ejii and her ragtag band of nuclear magicians don’t know where they’re going either, and that’s where the fun of Shadow Speaker lies.

Over the years, Nnedi Okorafor has proven herself to be an absolute master of Afrofuturism (more specifically Africanfuturism and Africanjujuism, in her words), and the latter (a term that she coined to describe a subgenre of fantasy that is specifically Afrocentric and is inspired by the mythologies of Africa) really describes this novel to a T; although the inciting incident and the introduction of powers has a distinctly sci-fi feel, Shadow Speaker is so clearly fantasy. It’s hard to do that kind of genre-bending so effortlessly in a debut, but already, Okorafor make it look easy. Every element, whatever genres you want to ascribe them to, is blended seamlessly into the world of the Desert Magician Duology as smoothly as stirring together the ingredients of a cake. It’s an impressively distinct world, and despite its flaws, I’m glad this book was brought back into print.

Part of the reason for re-releasing Shadow Speaker is that Nnedi Okorafor just published its intended sequel, Like Thunder, this November. Hopefully I can get my hands on it soon, but it’ll certainly be interesting to see the leap in writing style between the two, given how much time has passed…

All in all, a bold and wild debut from one of science fiction’s most original writers active today. 3.5 stars!

Shadow Speaker is the first book in the Desert Magician’s Duology, followed by the new sequel, Like Thunder, which came out this November. Nnedi Okorafor is also the author of many books for adults, teens, and children, including Lagoon, the Binti series (Binti, Home, and The Night Masquerade), Noor, Remote Control, and many others.

Today’s song:

this song makes me ridiculously happy

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (12/5/23) – The Witch King

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Far be it from me to start the month off with a negative review, but that’s just how my December started off. Eh. Should be a lesson to me for trying to read something that’s been on my TBR for 3+ years—my tastes generally don’t change dramatically in that amount of time, but my standards for writing and plot certainly did. That’s all to say that The Witch King was a promising, inclusive fantasy that quickly proved itself to be not worth my time.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Witch King (Witch King, #1) – H.E. Edgmon

Wyatt Croft is a witch, and in the North American realm of the fae, witches are the enemy. Years ago, Wyatt’s magic got out of control, forcing him to flee back to the human world and go into exile. But his betrothal to Emyr, the prince of the fae, has not dissolved, and Emyr is back on the hunt for him. Forced back into the world of the fae, Wyatt must come to terms with his engagement—one that may hold the lives of all of North America’s witches in the balance. And his feelings for Emyr may be coming back, as much as he wants to hide them…

TW/CW: transphobia, deadnaming/misgendering, blood, gore, abuse (physical and verbal), panic attacks, substance abuse, PTSD themes

DNF at 36%.

The Witch King has made me realize that I need to expand my criteria for DNFing books; most of my DNFs are 1-star books—the ones that are just so bad that I can’t finish them. In comparison to a lot of the other books on my DNF shelf, The Witch King wasn’t comparably as bad. But the difference is that at a certain point, it was just so clear to me that this book was not worth my time. I really wanted to like it, but once I got past the first third, there wasn’t any point in me finishing this book. A DNF is not always a 1-star read, but a 1-star read is not always a DNF. It’s like geometry but easier to explain.

I wanted to emphasize that I really wanted to like The Witch King. But in the 3+ years that this book has languished on my TBR, it’s clear that my standards have changed. The foreword by Edgmon was incredibly touching, and it’s so clear that this was the book of their soul—there’s no denying the love that went into this book. And it’s so, so important to support trans authors like him, but it’s just as important to remember that even when you read diversely, a book’s diversity doesn’t automatically fix every plot hole and writing issue. There’s some slack I’m willing to give Edgmon because this was his debut, but The Witch King really left a ton to be desired.

It’s clear that Edgmon put a lot of thought into constructing Wyatt’s character, but in his quest to make him as relatable as possible, Wyatt turned from simply “relatable” to an incompetent mess. Even as a queer person, there’s only so many “I am a gay little worm who makes terrible life decisions” (actual quote from the book) jokes I can take. Jesus Christ. The word “cringe” is outright abused these days, but I feel like this is a valid quality to ascribe to the writing of The Witch King, since most of the humor feels so overdone and unfunny. If your type of humor consists of Tumblr jokes from 2017, then boy, do I have the book for you. All of the attempts to make Wyatt seem more human and fallible made him just feel like a pathetic mess incapable of seeing past his personal faults and (many) mistakes. It absolutely grated on me after a certain point. The rest of the writing wasn’t all bad, but good god, Wyatt’s characterization made me want to jump ship almost immediately.

Since I abandoned ship after the first third, there’s probably some context that I inevitably missed, but the worldbuilding of the North American fae really left a ton to be desired. Apart from the rivalry between witches and fae, there really wasn’t much of an explanation as to how the fae worked in tandem with the human world: where do the borders between human and fae begin and end? How do the two interact? And more importantly, what are the different interactions between the different species of fae? There were a bunch of different creatures that were just thrown at you in the background with zero explanation, never to be seen again. There’s a difference between convoluted worldbuilding and worldbuilding that just isn’t properly thought-out, and this fell firmly into the latter camp. It was all just a hot mess. I’ve read several reviews saying similar things about the worldbuilding, so…I guess it never did get better beyond what I read? Oof.

That being said, I really appreciate the diversity that Edgmon wrote into The Witch King. Having a trans main character is so important, and as much as Wyatt got on my nerves, characters like him need to be in the spotlight. Edgmon presented a lot of character that were very diverse in terms of race, gender, and sexuality, and while it seems like the representation wasn’t all accurate and some of Edgmon’s depiction of social issues wasn’t handled as well as it could’ve been (glad I didn’t get to that part, I guess…), it’s always good to have a range of characters like that. It’s about all I have to say about The Witch King that’s positive, but it’s worth being highlighted.

All in all, a diverse fantasy debut that sadly crashed and burned in its characterization and lazy worldbuilding. 2 stars.

The Witch King is the first book in the Witch King duology, followed by The Fae Keeper. Edgmon is also the author of the Ouroboros series, which consists of Godly Heathens and Merciless Saviors.

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 (11/28/23) – Hunger Makes the Wolf

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Hunger Makes the Wolf came on my radar when I was looking for more books with disability rep (as always), but I ended up buying it on my Kindle after my dad notified me that I had some unused Kindle points (thank you for reminding me!)—it was free with the points added on, so how could I resist? And while Hunger Makes the Wolf wasn’t perfect, it’s a ton of gunslinging, space-fantasy fun.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Hunger Makes the Wolf (The Ghost Wolves, #1) – Alex Wells

Hob Ravani ekes out a living in the deserts of Tanegawa’s World, a planet owned by TransRifts—the corporation who controls the market on interstellar travel in the whole galaxy. For 10 years, Hob has gotten by with the help of the Ghost Wolves, a group of bandits roaming the desert and finding money where they can. But when Hob discovers the body of Nick, the man who recruited her to join the Wolves, abandoned in the desert, she knows that she has to act before TransRifts discovers their operation—and discovers the powers that she’s kept hidden from sight.

TW/CW: murder, descriptions of injuries, descriptions of corpses, violence, loss of loved ones, human experimentation

Writing accents phonetically is a slippery slope that I’m not going to get fully into in this review. In this case, though, Alex Wells had decent success with making everyone who was meant to sound like they had a Southern accent actually sound like they had a Southern accent, which worked—this novel was a space Western, after all. That being said, the unintended consequence was that Wells’ spelling of Hob’s accent was that I imagined her voice more like Holly Hunter in Raising Arizona than the badass, hardened gunslinger that she was made out to be. It sort of worked, though.

As far as sci-fi subgenres go, I’m not usually huge on space Westerns; I’ve rarely seen them done exceedingly well (even The Mandalorian got more than a little repetitive eventually), but the best are at least fun. And that was what Hunger Makes the Wolf was—incredibly fun. It had all of the trappings of a debut novel, but what Wells did get right on the first time was that pacing. Although the action sequences were what made Hunger such a blast to read in the best parts, Wells also knew how to balance them out with quiet, more emotional moments, and also moments to slip in worldbuilding without absolutely walloping you with it. Wells’ action was really the star of the show here; their fight scenes had just the right amount of tension, levity, and butt-kicking to make for more than one delightful scene.

Recently, I’ve read several sci-fi books that were marketed as “space fantasy,” and none of them have really fit the bill. And yet, Hunger Makes the Wolf wasn’t necessarily marketed as such, but it does what the other novels lacked. Even amidst the classic sci-fi backdrop of corporate greed, massive spaceships, and gruesome human experimentation, there’s the element of the characters’ strange hidden powers. Naming said powers “witchiness” was already a win in my book, the charm of it really fits the Western atmosphere that Wells was going for—it hits that sweet spot of not sounding overly jargon-y or formal, but not too hokey, either. Every time one of the characters mentioned it, I couldn’t help but smile—especially in Hob’s aforementioned Holly Hunter voice.

Hunger Makes the Wolf is an incredibly ambitious novel, and the ambition is accentuated when you remember that this is Alex Wells’ debut. In some ways, it worked; Wells managed to juggle a safe amount of the worldbuilding without leaving the reader without context, but also without dumping it excessively. However, what Wells did not juggle as well was the sheer amount of characters that we jump between. Hunger was clearly meant to have a found family theme to it, which I’m normally a sucker for, but Wells just had so many extraneous characters on their hands that none of the character relationships felt fleshed out. If we had gotten more scenes with Hob and the rest of the Wolves, for instance, I would have believed that they really were as thick as thieves. Adding onto this, the perspective switches may not have been necessary; Mags, although she plays a prominent role, doesn’t have a perspective or voice that added anything substantial to the narrative. It’s a classic debut author case: Alex Wells had some spot-on ideas, but they bit off far more than they could chew.

All in all, a rollicking space fantasy with action aplenty, but with characters that left me wanting more. 3.5 stars!

Hunger Makes the Wolf is the first book in the Ghost Wolves duology, followed by Blood Binds the Pack. Hunger was Alex Wells’ debut novel; they are also the author of the short story Angel of the Blockade.

Today’s song:

FARGO IS BACK I AM FOAMING AT THE MOUTH OH MY GOOOOOOOD

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 (11/21/23) – A Crooked Mark

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles, and more importantly, MERRY FARGO DAY!! SEASON FIVE IS FINALLY HERE!! REJOICE!! I’ve been waiting three years for this…I can’t WAIT to watch it tonight!

I’ve noticed that I’ve read a lot of adult books this month (much of which have been more literary fiction) and not a lot of YA; although it’s been a much better reading month than October, I wanted some YA to mix it up. A Crooked Mark was the perfect book to scratch that itch—campy and silly in the best possible way.

Enjoy this week’s review!

A Crooked Mark – Linda Kao

Matthew Watts knows that evil works in mysterious ways. That’s why his father has raised him to know the signs of those marked by Lucifer himself. Ever since he was young, they’ve been going from town to town, making sure the Marked are killed before their evil is unleashed on the innocent. But Matt’s father has a new mission for him—his first ever solo mission, following a girl named Rae Winters. As Matt tries to blend in at the local high school, he befriends Rae—and begins to fall in love with her. And as his mission steers in the wrong direction, he begins to question if all that he’s working for is a lie…

TW/CW: murder, descriptions of burning alive, car crash, grief, loss of loved ones (on and off page), descriptions of injury

A Crooked Mark caught my eye over the summer because of its premise—not necessarily that it was particularly unique, but because it sounded so similar to Frailty—a movie about a father and his sons killing those that God has told him are demons. As far as I can tell, there’s no real correlation between the two (though I’d be shocked if this wasn’t at least a partial inspiration for the book), but, again, caught my eye—of all the movies to inspire a younger-leaning YA novel, Frailty would not be my first choice. That being said, A Crooked Mark, though not without its flaws, scratched the itch I needed—corny, supernatural fun.

From here on out, if I say “corny” in this review, I mean in the most affectionate way possible. I was on a streak of reading a lot of adult fiction/more literary-leaning fiction, and while I enjoyed all that, A Crooked Mark was just the kind of unserious book I needed to shake things up. It feels like it could’ve been the kind of campy, supernatural drama that I would’ve watched in middle school, down to the fact that there’s actually a character named Moose. It’s great. I’ve seen a lot of reviews comparing it to Supernatural, which I haven’t seen, but even from the vibes I get from the show, the comparison hits the nail right on the head. The writing, while it wasn’t the best, really nailed that feel, even if it wasn’t what Kao was going for. I can probably enjoy it more because there isn’t cheesier acting attached to the already cheesy writing, but either way, A Crooked Mark was made for corny enjoyment.

Going off of that, A Crooked Mark really nailed the beats of that kind of campy, paranormal story. Matt was the perfect protagonist for this story—not overly brooding, but still self-serious (in a very un-serious way) enough that he was fun to follow around. His friend group didn’t necessarily contribute a whole lot to the narrative, but they served the purpose of putting a shield around Rae—and later being sources of conflict once everything went south. Rae was on the too-perfect side, but again: this is the campiest book I’ve read all month. I’m not expecting monumentally good character development. I did also love that Matt was mixed-race—as a mixed-race person, I wouldn’t say it’s groundbreaking rep, or that the book explores his mixed-race identity poignantly (it really doesn’t), but it’s more important in that everybody deserves to be the hero of a cheesy, paranormal teen drama. It’s what we deserve.

That being said, for a book where Matt was up against the clock trying to discover if Rae really was marked by Lucifer himself and put an end to said evil, A Crooked Mark meandered quite a lot. It was more than a sagging middle—more of a sagging 60-75% of the whole book. There was a whole lot of uneventful high school bonding, a lot of Rae’s tutoring sessions that went nowhere, and a lot of hemming and hawing in general. It would have been easy to add bits of drama here and there to amp up the stakes, and Kao partially did this, but not enough to sustain the story. Especially since a lot of the “twists” ended up being dead ends, (save for the Big Twist™️), there really should’ve been more suspense—or at least more drama—before the main twist right before the climax. I was in it for the cheese in the first 30% or so, and it only managed to pick up in the last 20% of the book—not enough to hold my attention.

All in all, A Crooked Mark isn’t anything revolutionary or exceptionally well-written, but if you’re in the mood for something spooky and campy, this is the perfect book for you. 3.5 stars!

A Crooked Mark is a standalone and Linda Kao’s debut novel.

Today’s song:

I love listening to music like this while I’m just calmly doing chores…I’ll just be cleaning the sink and Joe Talbot’s aggressively screaming about kindness and consent in my ears bahahaha I love IDLES

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 (11/14/23) – The Crane Husband

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Brief rant: don’t you love it when Goodreads posts the nominees for the “YA Fantasy & Science Fiction” category and…there’s no science fiction books on the list? Not a single one? Thank you Goodreads 🥰

It’s been years since I’ve read anything by Kelly Barnhill; I read a fair amount of her middle-grade novels when I was younger, and there were hits (The Girl Who Drank the Moon) and misses (Iron-Hearted Violet). But either way, the road has taken me back to her adult novella, a chilling retelling of “The Crane Wife” that I thoroughly enjoyed.

Enjoy this week’s book review!

The Crane Husband – Kelly Barnhill

In a distant future, a fifteen-year-old girl lives on one of the few remaining farms in the United States, growing cloned crops in order to make a living. Her father passed away when she was young, and now she manages the farm with her mother and takes care of her six-year-old brother, Michael. But when her mother brings home a new suitor, the girl is appalled to find that the suitor happens to be a giant crane—a crane intent on working her mother to the bone in order to produce tapestries to sell. As her mother succumbs to the wills of the crane and her family grows poorer, the girl knows that the only way out is to rid the house of the crane—and she’ll do anything to make sure the bird is out of the farm.

TW/CW: death of a parent, blood, abuse, animal death, child endangerment

It’s been at least seven or eight years since I’ve read anything by Kelly Barnhill, and I was pleasantly surprised to find that when faced with the (quite large) jump from stylistic choices between age groups, she does so with eery grace! The Crane Husband was a disturbing treat, quick but chilling.

I only had a vague notion of the original Japanese folktale of the Crane Wife that this book subverts, but even without that background, Barnhill weaves a haunting, dystopian fairytale like no other. It’s that lovely kind of book that falls into science fiction, but has just enough trappings of other genres to pass as something else. The magical realism element is heavier than the rest, and it rules the book—rightfully so, given the subject matter. But like a good fairytale, Barnhill’s ability to suspend disbelief made The Crane Husband all the scarier—scenes that would have otherwise seemed charmingly quirky or absurd were downright horrifying under her lens.

Barnhill’s writing was what sold how horrific the events of The Crane Husband truly were. The way she captured the voice of the unnamed, fifteen-year-old protagonist as she had to take her livelihood into her own hands in the face of the invading crane husband had such a tangible desperation, making the conflict feel real as all get out. Tension crept out from every word, and I found myself keeping my Kindle in a vice grip as I read. And that tension never wanes—in only 118 pages, Barnhill built up monumental tension that books three times the length have failed to uphold. The Crane Husband really was nail-bitingly eerie, and it was worth it all the way.

The way that Barnhill used this tangibly uncomfortable atmosphere to drive the point of this folktale’s subversion home was also masterful. The main twist in this iteration is, hence the title, that the protagonist’s mother brings home a giant crane who she takes as her husband. And instead of the crane wife wasting away to produce beautiful tapestries, it’s the human mother being forced by the crane husband to churn out tapestries like a machine. Abusive relationships were the main theme of the novella, and Barnhill’s depiction of abuse through this lens felt as authentic as it could be, from the strained, forced silence of the women of the family and the lack of support that the protagonist finds when she tries to seek help. Beyond that, The Crane Husband’s message about suffering for art was equally powerful and important; the emphasis on how the protagonist’s mother works to the point of near-death in order to create something that people will think of as “transformative” was commentary that I wasn’t expecting from the novel, but enjoyed wholeheartedly. Needs to be said.

That being said, my only major problem with this novella was that it directly referenced the original folktale that it’s retelling. Though it was in a flashback scene, it felt tacky and unnecessarily meta to hand it to you right there—and not only that, but basically delivering the twist right at your doorstep. I will admit that I loved the line about cranes making other creatures do the work for them, but at that point, it isn’t even foreshadowing anymore—it’s just whacking you over the head with the twist that it’s supposed to be hiding from you. It made me more than a little mad, but the rest of the novella was so good that I could almost let it slide. Almost.

All in all, a timely and truly disturbing retelling that packed a stinging punch with an impressively short page count. 4 stars!

The Crane Husband is a standalone; Kelly Barnhill is also the author of many books for children, including The Witch’s Boy, The Girl Who Drank the Moon, and Iron-Hearted Violet. She is also the author of When Women Were Dragons, her first full-length novel for adults.

Today’s song:

NEW SMILE ALBUM IN JANUARY EVERYBODY STAY CALM

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 (11/7/23) – The Deep Sky

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

The Deepy Sky came out this July, and I’ve been seeing a ton of buzz about it around the blogosphere since. I’m always in for a sci-fi thriller, and this one delivered in that aspect, as well as the wonderful mixed-race rep!

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Deep Sky – Yume Kitasei

Asuka has been chosen as a representative on a mission to deep space, where she will help give birth the next generation of Earth’s children. But she has been chosen to represent Japan—a country she barely knows, as a half-Japanese, half-Latina girl raised in the United States. Feeling like an imposter to an unfamiliar country, she accepts her duty and joins the crew of the Phoenix. But a deadly explosion onboard the ship leaves her the only surviving witness. With all eyes on her once more, Asuka must get to the bottom of the explosion before the perpetrator strikes again.

TW/CW: racism, terrorism, miscarriage/fertility themes, death of a child

“Literary” sci-fi rarely does it for me; most of what I’ve read barely scrapes past the 3.5 star rating for me, at best. Often, what happens is that the sci-fi element gets significantly watered down for the sake of marketability, drama, and a place in a celebrity’s book club (see: Sea of Tranquility, In the Quick). But The Deep Sky had the chops to make itself unique—and incredibly poignant.

The sci-fi plot of The Deep Sky is pretty standard as far as story elements go, but Kitasei’s approach to it made it feel fresh. It’s the setup for a myriad of sci-fi thrillers: you’ve got a large crew voyaging through the depths of space, only for a tragic accident to leave everyone onboard in suspicion, with no way to get back to Earth. It’s not necessarily a new approach plot-wise that keeps it going—it’s the emotional core that Kitasei brings to it. You’re really able to see deeply into Asuka’s head, deeper than a lot of authors dare to go with these kinds of stories; it’s a great way to increase the stakes without having to complicate the mystery of the story.

Also, LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIXED-RACE REPRESENTATION!! I’ve been on a roll with books with amazing mixed-race characters and stories lately (see also: Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony—a very different book, but no less poignant), and as a mixed-race person, I’m so glad that narratives like these exist. Kitasei’s depiction of the imposter syndrome that Asuka faces about her identity is twofold—not only is there the level of it that comes with her being of Japanese and Mexican descent in the U.S., but also in the fact that she has to represent Japan—a country that she’s barely been to—in this mission. It really did make me feel so, so seen. Kitasei’s portrayal of having these intersecting identities and them coming at odds with how others want to box you in was deeply moving and authentic, and I cannot thank her enough for that.

Back to the subject of literary sci-fi. A lot of these types of novels that I’ve read deal with intersecting, nonlinear timelines, which may or may not have to do with actual time travel (case dependent). For the most part, it worked incredibly in Kitasei’s favor—even outside what we can consider the “main” plot, the pieces that we get of Asuka’s life before the deep space mission were almost more intriguing than the actual murder mystery in space. Kitasei’s character work is incredibly detailed and nuanced, and having most of this novel be driven by character and family was a choice that made me enjoy it that much more. These types of sci-fi thrillers normally lend themselves to very distant characters, and minimal character work by proxy (outside of “trust no one”), so this was a breath of fresh air in that sense.

That being said, the nonlinear timeline was also what brought part of the novel down for me. There’s much more emphasis placed on the time before the mission than the actual mission, making the murder mystery plot feel like an afterthought. The way that these timelines were spaced out meant that we went long stretches without checking in on what’s supposed to be the novel’s inciting incident, which made the stakes feel much lower than they were meant to be. The tension got appropriately amped towards the end, but other than that, there really wasn’t as much thriller as I was expecting going in. Maybe this is just a matter of how The Deep Sky was marketed, but I did wish we got a little more of the “main” plot.

All in all, a rare gem of a literary sci-fi novel where every page brimmed with emotion and suspicion. 4 stars!

The Deep Sky is a standalone; it is also Yume Kitasei’s debut novel.

Today’s song:

listened to my first Arlo Parks album, and I’m a fan!! this was my favorite, for sure

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