Man, time to do wrap-ups? Barely, but I have some time on my hands and there’s nothing I love more than organizing my reading stats into bulleted lists, so why not? (The only reason I’ve been able to make this many posts this week is because most of them were started several weeks prior, but I digress.)
The past few months have been strangely calm, if you set aside…well, everything that’s been going on lately. I don’t think I have to explain. I’ve been working really hard to try and be as levelheaded as I can in the face of all of these crises. Levelheaded and hopeful. Neither of these mean ignorant bliss to me—I’m continuing to speak up when I can, read what they don’t want us to read, and put my money into places that respect my existence. (wink wink, nudge nudge…hope everybody who was financially able participated in the economic boycott today! 😉) Miraculously, this semester has given me the space to work at practicing that—I’ve had a lot more free time (almost an alien concept after last semester), so I’ve been working at putting my energy into what counts, mainly being creative and feeding my soul. I finished the first draft of book 3 in the sci-fi trilogy I’ve been working at since I was 16 (!!!!!!!!!!). I’ve tried to take up knitting. (Unsuccessful so far, but I’m trying to keep at it), and I’ve tried to draw and read when I’ve got the time. That, and getting on the mining grind in Minecraft and being paralyzed as Severance consumes every waking thought I have. GOD, what a show. All this is to say that this isn’t a straight journey—I’m by no means a master at being levelheaded and balancing work with creativity, but I’m trying to learn from my mistakes. All you can do is try.
JANUARY READING WRAP-UP
I read 15 books in January! In the gap between winter break and the start of the spring semester, I read some fantastic books, from whimsical graphic novels to classic sci-fi hijinks.
I read 13 books in February! This month was slightly slower (and shorter, obviously) than January, but I was able to read several books that I’ve been excited to get around to for months! As I usually do, I focused more on Black authors for Black History Month, and discovered some great books and authors as a result.
Graphic novels haven’t been all I’ve been reading this month, but I’ve certainly been on a kick of reviewing them. Unfortunately, this one wasn’t nearly as good as The Infinity Particle, but it’s apples and oranges to compare them. I really need to stop putting everything with “sapphic” and “fantasy” in the description on my TBR, because while I love those two things together, they aren’t automatically the recipe for a good book. Sadly, The Marble Queen is proof of that.
Princess Amelia lives in a kingdom in turmoil. Accosted on all sides by pirates and on the brink of war between its neighboring nations, Marion is on the verge of collapse. Only a miracle can save it—and that miracle may be to marry Amelia off to the prince of the neighboring kingdom of Iliad. But soon, she finds out that there was a mistake—it was not the prince she is being married off to, but the new queen, the stunning Salira. Stuck in a foreign kingdom with no control over her destiny, Amelia searches for answers. But with political forces from all sides conspiring against them, she must ally with Salira in order to save both of their kingdoms from ruin.
art by Gabrielle Kari
TW/CW: blood, violence, loss of loved ones, anxiety, poisoning (attempted)
I went into this graphic novel thinking I’d get a sapphic fantasy. The sapphics? They’re here. The fantasy? Not so much. The writing and artwork? The latter picked up some of the slack left by the rushed writing, but not enough. Given more page time and refinement, The Marble Queen could have been something promising, but it was clearly a case of too many plot ideas in a shell that could not hold all of them.
If you’re looking for fantasy, The Marble Queen will likely disappoint. If you’re looking for something more along the lines of a regency romance with political intrigue thrown in, you might be more satisfied. The Marble Queen has plenty of ballroom dancing, flowy dresses, court intrigue, and pirates, but nothing that would necessarily separate it from something in our history. There was a vague, throwaway sequence about some crystals beneath Iliad that supposedly had magical powers, but it ended up having zero consequence to the plot—it felt like Kopp threw it in just so that she could say “See? See? This is fantasy, we promise!” Also, so many of the place names felt so randomly plucked and too close to real world things—kingdoms called Marion (not necessarily a common name, but similar enough to Marianne/Maryanne that it loses the fantastical feel) and Iliad (I don’t think I have to explain that one) made the worldbuilding feel even lazier. The Marble Queen’s artwork also had a lack of immersion—other than the glimpses we got of the palace and the outside world, many of the characters were shown on flat, monochrome backgrounds, making it difficult to get a full picture of the world. Had this been historical fiction with a loose basis in some of our cultures, it might have been more effective.
Additionally, The Marble Queen was all over the place in terms of plot. I got the impression that Kopp and Kari had a plethora of ideas for what to do with the story, but not nearly enough time to execute them. As a result, every subplot felt smushed together like sardines in a tin can—so many of them were there, and yet almost none of them had room for proper mobility. I was particularly intrigued by Amelia’s anxiety and her feelings of isolation in Iliad. Her fear and alienation, although given a fair amount of space in the first half of the novel, had the potential to be poignant, but since it was shoved in unceremoniously against at least six other subplots, it had to room to grow into a compelling, sensitive story. The same went for the political intrigue—I liked it in concept, but the plot with Stefan had so little room to develop that by the time the reveal came, I’d guessed it about 30 pages earlier. In between all this, we get rapid-fire scenes of training montages, poisoning attempts, emotional backstory with not nearly enough grace given to the grief they should have held, said random bit about magical crystals that doesn’t end up being relevant at all, and a pirate that was clearly supposed to be a “fan favorite” character, but only got about 5 pages of character interactions tops. Given more polishing, The Marble Queen could have been a successful story, but it had no sense of direction, which made me struggle to keep my interest in the characters.
Said plot, more overstuffed than a Thanksgiving turkey, is why I think the romance didn’t work for me either. I did get that the arrangement was meant to be rushed, but when so many extraneous plot events were happening around Amelia and Salira, I never bought the chemistry that Kopp so badly wanted to convince the reader that existed between them. We’re supposed to believe that Amelia and Salira are slowly falling in love, but there’s hardly any indication in the dialogue that a connection is being made, save for a heavy dose of panels of Amelia with sparkly eyes and anime blushing. We’re supposed to sympathize with Salira because of the untimely death of her first girlfriend, but we hardly get an indication that she’s uncomfortable during the wedding, and after the explanation to Amelia, she comforts her, and then they make out in front of a painting of her ex-girlfriend and move on. Again, this was a victim of The Marble Queen‘s full-to-bursting plot—a romance that could have been compelling was ruined by a plot that moved too fast and contained too much of the wrong things.
The art was…alright, I suppose. That gorgeous cover set my expectations too high. I could get on board with the almost-Manga art style, and I did enjoy some of the expressions that the characters made. Although the color palette was warm and pleasant, it was largely flat—there was a significant lack of shading and depth, which can sometimes work, but in a story and world this fantastical, some of it was necessary. Additionally, Kari had a tendency to overexplain some of the gestures of the characters. Instead of having some creative (and sometimes silly) depictions of sound effects, there were direct writings of, say, “rise,” “kneel,” or “stab” when characters stood up, knelt or got stabbed, or repetitions of “beautiful” when Amelia first sees Salira. In moderation, some of this could have worked, but in such large amounts (and in places where these things could have easily been inferred by…well, just looking at the artwork), they grated on me.
That being said, I loved Gabrielle Kari’s character designs! She did an excellent job of making the characters expressive and distinctive in their respective looks. Anime blushing aside (I could let it slide after a while), all of the characters had wonderful stylistic quirks and tells, making them fun to follow around their kingdom, even when the writing itself slacked off. The design language wasn’t just clear, but enjoyable to see between the kingdoms; I loved the contrast of Amelia’s flowing, flouncy dresses in contrast to the tighter, more soldierly attire of the royals of Iliad. It added what some of the writing failed to add with the themes of her alienation and isolation—she was clearly an outsider, in both her foreign mannerisms and personality and the way she stuck out in the crowd.
All in all, a fantasy (?) graphic novel with the potential for epic drama, but got dragged down by an overstuffed plot that squeezed the life out of the characters. 2 stars.
The Marble Queen is a standalone, but Anna Kopp is also the author of Lifeblood, as well as many Minecraft novels for younger readers. Gabrielle Kari is also the illustrator of No Holds Bard, written by Eric Gladstone.
Today’s song:
NEW TUNDE ADEBIMPE IN APRIL, LET’S GOOOOOOOOOO
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Imagine going so hard on an Elvis cover that you have to add not one, not two, but THREE Irish polkas at the end just so that it reaches the three-minute mark…I don’t find myself saying this often, but that pennywhistle kinda goes crazy.
“Can’t Help Falling In Love” has been covered hundreds upon hundreds of times—it’s so simple and iconic that it’s an obvious go-to for anyone to wring some emotion from the audience. (Whether or not they’re always successful is debatable. At worst, it can be the easy way out.) I can’t definitively find just howmany times it’s been covered since Presley’s original release, but it’s got a slew of big names parading behind it: Kacey Musgraves, Beck, Chris Isaak, U2, Erasure, Zayn of One Direction, and Christine McVie isn’t even scratching the surface. (Though this one isn’t technically a cover, Spiritualized’s “Ladies And Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space,” one of my favorite songs of all time, adds the lyrics to J. Spaceman’s melody. It gets me every time…) And…well, as with any song that’s covered as numerously as this one, even the greats blend together sometimes. Rarely do they stray beyond the lazy, slow-danceable tempo. You can’t do much to a classic…
…unless you’re Lick the Tins. Their take on “Can’t Help Falling in Love” is one of the only takes that makes it sound lively. From the minute the drums kick in, you’re propelled by the spirited energy that the Irish band injected straight into the heart of this song. It’s considerably sped up, but beyond that, they make it so naturally celebratory. Alison Marr and the chorus behind her make every verse feel like a victory lap, a joyous sprint fueled by the essence of that feeling of falling in love. Of course, said speed meant that they had to add said three polkas at the end, all performed with the same Celtic inspiration that fueled the rest of the cover (and their very small body of work), but it makes it feel like the most triumphant of endings: the rickety car is driving into the sunset, the bouquet has been caught, the girl has been got. John Hughes clocked that quickly in his decision to put it at the end of Some Kind of Wonderful—this song couldn’t be any more ’80s rom-com if it tried. But long before I saw that movie, there was always a kind of purity to it—nothing could taint the memory of a song that so embodied the unbridled joy of running through a field, bathed in sunlight.
I haven’t sampled any of the Lick the Tins originals, but this song was released on their first and only album, Blind Man on a Flying Horse. Maybe there is some kind of shame to be only known for an Elvis cover and then disappearing from the face of the earth, but if I had a cover as near-perfect as this one…I dunno. I think I’d be happy.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
Flowerheart – Catherine Bakewell – though I didn’t enjoy every aspect of this book, I do feel like this cover would suit the homely, comforting atmosphere that it boasted at its highest points.
It now the dead of Cocteau Twinter. It’s been in the 20-degree range for several days now, and I’ve had several…questionably fruitful sessions of attempting to learn to knit while listening to this album. My expectations were high after how consistently fantastic the albums I’ve listened to before this (Heaven or Las Vegas and Blue Bell Knoll) and how pleasantly “Oomingmak” has lingered with me for six months, but to this day, Elizabeth Fraser and co. have not failed me.
Take out the inspirations from David Attenborough’s The Living Planet: A Portrait of Life on Earth, and it would still be a distinctly winter album. With bass player Simon Raymonde absent for the recording of this album (he was recording for the This Mortal Coil record Filigree & Shadow), the sound is more delicate than a pointed icicle dripping from a rooftop; the album’s lack of a distinct bass gives its the delicacy it needs to feel as atmospherically Antarctic as it does. (A great playlist transition for you: “Lazy Calm,” the opening track, with David Bowie’s “V-2 Schneider”…what, you thought you could escape one of my posts without a mention of David Bowie?) “Little Spacey” in particular has to be one of the iciest songs on the album. Normally, that word has the connotation of being prickly or unfeeling, but in this case, I say icy in the sense of how winter sunlight reflects crystalline colors off of it, or how it begins to melt at the corners once that sunlight comes out, or how snowflakes cling to the toothy tip of an icicle during a snowstorm. Fraser arranges and layers her harmonies in such an otherworldly way that it sounds more like an overhead flock of cooing seabirds than anything human. It has the ice of an Antarctic winter, yet all of the comfort of watching it from a TV screen, in the same way I imagine the band gathering inspiration for the album.
…yeah. It’s not like George Harrison wasn’t also a jerk during the Get Back sessions, but oh my god…being in the studio with the rest of The Beatles for that long would make me write a song about how the world is ruled by ego too. Being around John Lennon does that to a guy…and Paul McCartney bluntly correcting your grammar. Jesus. Without a doubt, it’s a bitter note for The Beatles—”I Me Mine” was the last new material recorded by them, depending on which criteria you’re going off of*—but even through the bitterness, you can of course count on George Harrison to weave something timeless from it. The oscillation from the boat-rocking-on-waves sway of the verses to the urgent clanging of the organ during the chorus seems like an accurate picture of the volatility of these sessions—sometimes, they made progress that would eventually become Let It Be and Abbey Road, but it would whip around into heated arguments (take a wild guess who started most of them) just as easily. Given the more charitable and spiritual person Harrison became as he departed from The Beatles, it’s hard to imagine him throwing any sort of truly mean-spirited shade—but I feel like “I Me Mine” could be argued as a diss track. No names named, but it’s about John and Paul. We know. Or a diss track on the concept of egoism. It’s both.
*there’s a considerable amount of debate over what counts as the last true Beatles song; “I Me Mine” had only 3/4 Beatles present for the recording.
Man…I love comics, but any given comic fandom is just so painfully full of contrarians. You’ve got a bunch of dudebros wasting away in basements whining about how none of the comic book movies coming out are actually comic accurate, but then the Superman trailer comes out, and those same people are whining about Guy Gardner and his glorious bowl cut? It’s pure campy comic perfection. IT’S COMIC ACCURATE. It was never about comic accuracy, was it—
Oh? What’s that you say?
…oh. Wrong guy. Wrong Guy. Garvey, not Gardner, I’ll see myself out…great song though, right?
If I had a nickel for each time in music history that Johnny Cash became known and adored for a cover, I’d have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but in this instance, it’s really not weird that it happened twice. The man was supremely talented—he didn’t just cover said songs, but undeniably elevated them (the other, in this case, being his gut-wrenching rendition of Nine Inch Nails’ “Hurt”). In this case, a fair amount of people know that “Hurt” is a cover. I can’t speak for the rest of you, but it hit me like a sack of bricks when I found out that “Ring of Fire” was a cover.(The one time I’ve actually learned something from YouTube shorts—specifically this one by Tommy Edison.) I was just so accustomed to hearing his version and nothing else; I assumed with his stature that he’d written it just the same.
Turns out that Anita Carter was responsible for the original version, sister of June Carter (who Cash eventually married), who wrote the song along with Merle Kilgore. Carter’s voice is a noteworthy contrast to Cash’s—the way she croons the iconic line “I believed you like a child/oh, but the fire went wild” tickles my brain in that special sort of way that only a handful of songs do—as does the way her high note fades into a sunset sky at the end of every repetition of the chorus. Yet despite, that, it’s rather subdued for a song comparing love to, y’know, a whole ring of fire; to quote my mom upon hearing it, she sounds “emotionally distanced from the ring of fire.” Yikes…but it is awfully slow for the metaphor at hand. It could be a consequence of being able to see clearly after being chucked through said ring of fire and coming out the other side with more than a few burns, but you don’t exactly get that fervor that’s inherent to the metaphor. Johnny Cash, being Johnny Cash, took that sign, sped up the chorus, tweaked some lyrics, and added some mariachi horns after dreaming about a rendition of the song backed by them, as the story goes. To me, it’s two observers’ perspectives on the same phenomenon, but distance is the key: maybe it’s because Cash sung his view directly from said ring of fire that his version became more enduring. Either way, seeing the first evolution behind an enduring country hit was a surprising journey.
First book review of 2025, and so far, the best book I’ve read this month! Granted, we’re only a week into the month, but it still counts for something, right? loved Mooncakes, which Wendy Xu illustrated, but I had no idea until recently that she had published a solo graphic novel—and a sci-fi one! What resulted was an incredibly emotional read to start the year off with: robot romance and explorations of how relationships make the universe work.
Clementine Chang is headed for Mars. In the distant future, it’s a place of peace and industry, and it’s precisely the place that Clem wants to start her new life. A clever inventor, Clem has a knack for working with AI. She hopes to continue her education under Dr. Marcella Lin, a legendary AI engineer who inspired her work. But Dr. Lin is not what she seems—and she’s hiding a secret from the scientific world: a lifelike, humanoid AI that she refers to as her son. His name is Kye, and he yearns for a life outside of the one that Dr. Lin programmed for him. As Clem gets acquainted with him, she discovers that Dr. Lin’s intentions in making him were not as noble as she once thought—and that she may be falling in love with her former hero’s creation.
art by Wendy Xu(p. 150)
TW/CW: emotional abuse (past/present)
You know me. I’m a sucker for a good Frankenstein story. Oh, so you brought a conscious being into existence, expected it to be completely obedient to you and your whims, and didn’t expect anything to go wrong? Surely this will not have a domino effect of consequences…
That being said, The Infinity Particle isn’t just a Frankenstein story. We’ve been inundated with stories about AI and the ethics of giving robots human-like consciousnesses since day one of sci-fi’s conception (back to Frankenstein), but The Infinity Particle does what many of those stories try and fail to do: make the story human. It weaves both engineering and the complicated legacies of familial trauma into a story that is ultimately about relationships: that of parents and children, but also of young lovers. It’s a story of breaking cycles and of forging something newer and better out of their ashes. All of it is worth your time.
Wendy Xu’s vision of Mars in the distant future is one that I want to live in, which isn’t something I often say about sci-fi novels. The world of The Infinity Particle is a cozy, comforting one. In spite of the more emotional moments of the story, Xu’s setting is one you can get lost in. Rendered in a pastel color palette that’s easy on the eyes, it’s a world full of greenhouses, cafés, and cobblestone paths. Here, Mars is the perfect place for a museum date—except here, the museum features all manner of robots from bygone centuries. Although there are ethical conflicts with some of the AIs (this forms the central conflict of the novel), none of Xu’s AIs are malicious creatures—they’re all in the form of cuddly cats or owls, and in the case of Clem’s custom companion, a cat-moth hybrid. (SENA!! WE LOVE SENA!!) It’s a world I was eager to escape to, and one that I could dwell in forever.
Clem’s motivations were part of what made this story stand out. As she begins to dig deeper into Dr. Lin’s true motives for creating Kye, the way her former hero treats her AI creation begins to mirror how she was treated as a child; the emotional abuse from her mother is very similar to the emotional abuse by Dr. Lin to Kye. The Infinity Particle is a fantastic example of how very far-fetched, sci-fi concept can be used as incredibly emotional metaphors. We have Clem, who is a clone of her mother and was raised to live out the dreams that her mother could not, and Kye, an AI made to replace Dr. Lin’s son and live out her fantasies. Admittedly, the clone part was very on the nose, but the way that Xu delivered with care, giving The Infinity Particle an undeniable heart. In part, The Infinity Particle is a story of how trauma always echoes into the present, and how it can create ripples that both tear apart and rebuild relationships with others.
That shared trauma is part of what made the romance between Clem and Kye one that I was rooting for from page 1. Not only were they the most adorable couple (museum dates! Philosophical conversations in greenhouses!), their shared connection allowed them to help each other in ways that made the relationship blossom. Clem had experience with having to escape from the same kind of emotional abuse that Kye was undergoing, and as they realized that connection, their relationship deepened. However, it wasn’t just that aspect that made their relationship so lovable. Their chemistry was some of the best I’ve read in a YA novel in a long time—they were both such curious and sensitive people, and that combined curiosity not only drove the plot, but the course of their romance. Every shared moment was sweet, but never saccharine—TheInfinity Particle was just a warm hug (and a kiss on the cheek) in so many ways, this being one of the most prominent.
However, even though Dr. Lin was objectively in the wrong, I appreciated the way that The Infinity Particle humanized her; never once were her actions condoned, but in the end, she wasn’t a purely evil person—she was a person who slipped so far into grief that she failed to realize how she was treating those around her. She did horrible things that could not be undone, but she was also capable of healing. It’s an incredibly difficult line to toe between acknowledging a character’s humanity and acknowledging that their actions were inexcusable; most media gets it wrong (I am looking directly at Encanto), but in the short time that was given to this plot, Xu did a graceful job of hitting that balance. Dr. Lin did some unspeakably terrible things, but deep down, she is still human. My one (minor) complaint is that this was squeezed into the end and didn’t have as much time to develop as some other parts of the novel, but it was executed thoughtfully nonetheless.
And the epilogue…hnnnnnnnngh do I love a good “the fabric of the universe is made up of love” story AUUUUUUUUGH
All in all, a heartwarming, sensitive, and thoughtful story of love, robots, and what it means to have—and to want—a mind and a life of your own. 4.5 stars!
The Infinity Particle is a standalone, but Wendy Xu is also the co-creator of Mooncakes and the creator of Tidesong.
Today’s song:
I feel like I remember this song about every 5 years and realize how much I’ve missed it…
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
First post and the first Sunday Songs of 2025! No pressure. This week: new verses on new songs, new(ish) takes on old(er) songs, and…oh, god, Eric, please put your shirt back on—
Dread it…run from it…TANGK always arrives. One of the best albums of 2024, hands down. I already talked about “POP POP POP” back in March, but at the end of the year, IDLES added one more flourish to an already excellent track—a guest feature by Danny Brown. Of course, I say that knowing next to nothing about Danny Brown up until this point, but the spin he and IDLES put on one of the most prominent highlights of TANGK is an interesting one—and catchy, too. In places, the beat has been treated like an accordion, stretched out in some areas and compressed in others—the final, spoken-word monologue has been sped up, while the first five seconds are jumpstarted, recreating the static of plugging a guitar amp in. Meanwhile, Brown’s guest verse hurtles at breakneck speed; For me, there are some lines that come across rather corny (“On the surface/Looks like a circus/All these clowns around, pull the curtain”). However, at the very end, Brown’s lyrics align with the ethos of “POP POP POP” in the first place: an assertion of purpose, that purpose being staying true to yourself, spreading love, and being a source of protection for others. The final line sums it up nicely: “Took a couple wrong turns/Don’t know right from left/But found my way to the home that I strayed/And now I say everything is okay.” Can “POP POP POP” ever be improved? I highly doubt it, but I also doubt that this was meant to be an improvement—it’s more the kicking around with a preexisting idea with other collaborators, and in that experimentation, it creates an exciting take on one of the 2024’s best songs.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
Forever Is Now – Mariama J. Lockington – “Searching for something you cannot hide/Looked in the wrong place, but should search inside/Relied on things that just let me down But now I see what its really ’bout…”
Personally, I’ve never quite gotten on board with the queer cowboy aesthetic, but I can respect how queer people have been taking it back. In the first place, I think any kind of cowboy mythos attracts the kind of people who want to forge their own trails and make their own way without the constraints of society, a Venn diagram that seems to attract, strangely enough, both conservative people wanting to go back to “traditional values” and queer people who see an out from heteronormative culture. Growing up in the mountains, my association with much of it came from the former, even in our fairly liberal town (I say fairly liberal because there was the odd confederate flag or “if you’re reading this, you’re in range” sign on someone’s house). But I don’t mind seeing a bedazzled cowboy hat or a boygenius photoshoot out in the desert every now and then. Evidently, I’m too much of a city slicker.
The reclamation of country by queer people has gone in much the same way, and I’ve never been one for country in the first place (same association as above), but what I will give a try 8 or 9 times out of 10 is anything that Julien Baker is involved in. Now here’s an example of queer cowboy/country reclamation done right: nothing better than two lesbians making a song with a title referring to slang for an effeminate man and turning it into something positive and sensual. Musically, there’s twang aplenty, but at least for me, Baker’s talent screams at you like a neon sign—she’s whipped out the banjo once more, and it contrasts with the hazy overdrive that TORRES has applied to her excellent guitar work. The boygenius fan is me is more partial to how Baker’s harmonies fit with Phoebe Bridgers and Lucy Dacus, but it’s clear that she’s well-matched with TORRES, musically and vocally. I’m not 100% on board with the more country direction—it’s more on the alt-country side, but very much country-sounding—but I’ll give it a chance for Baker.
I remembered this track after getting into “Bill Murray” a few weeks ago; as wonderful an album as Gorillaz is, I often find myself forgetting about some of the songs sandwiched in the middle; this one has the job of following up “Clint Eastwood,” and with how many tidal waves that classic made in the early 2000’s, any track following that up, like “Bill Murray” and “Feel Good, Inc.,” has an exceedingly hard act to follow. But in much the same way as “Bill Murray” brings down the tempo but keeps the creativity, “Man Research (Clapper)” provides a bridge between some of the more energetic heavy-hitters—“Punk” comes up right after it. Buoyed by a sample from Raymond Scott’s instrumental piece “In The Hall of the Mountain Queen” (delightful, honestly—feels like the title screen music for an ’80s video game and not in a cheesy way), it’s dominated by the rasping repetitions of Damon Albarn pushing his higher vocals to their limits—maybe there’s the excuse for why I forgot about it. A good portion is just him going “yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah,” but that’s the mark of a great musician—sure, he’s just going “yeah yeah yeah” in front of a sample and some record scratches, but I eat it up every time. There’s a smooth cohesion to his craft that makes every separate element seem as though this song is their final form, their ultimate destiny to be brought together.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
Chameleon Moon – RoAnna Sylver – I picked this one more for the atmosphere than the lyrics—a similar kind of hazy and raspy energy, but with an undercurrent of vitality.
Some covers prove that the singer understands some part of the song more than the original creators. Not to front on Chris Knox, incredibly talented and oddball songwriters as he is, but Shayne Carter’s cover gets to the heart of what Knox and co. were going for as far as the tone and the emotion of the lyrics.
Tall Dwarfs aren’t going to be anything but jangly, and their original version of “The Slide” is no exception. It’s got a psychedelic, ’60s sway to it, faintly sunny…and then you get to the lyrics. And then you get the whiplash from hearing those upbeat guitars against the lyrics: “The doctors should kill/She’s terminally ill.” I’m sorry, WHAT? I’m not saying that songs can’t have lyrics that don’t match the mood of their music, but in this case, Shayne Carter’s interpretation does the song more justice. In contrast to Knox’s upbeat instrumentals, Carter employs solemn pianos, muted strums of an acoustic guitar, and an electronic drone that begins to circle around you at the 1:58 mark as you listen like vultures circling carrion. The acoustics sound like they were recorded at 3 a.m. in an abandoned gym with walls covered in mold. That atmosphere captures how disturbing the lyrics are—sparsely told, it recounts the experience of an 80-year-old, terminally ill woman wasting away in an institution. That cold, chilling echo gives the song a much more tangible setting and emotional depth; the spareness of it all makes the setting so much more unforgivable, with its featureless walls and constant chill in the air. That Radiohead-like, droning dread comes about as close as I would imagine to capturing that imprisoned, monotonous feeling of your mind slip away and being powerless to do anything about it, all the while surrounded by nurses who barely want to be there. It’s a tragedy of a song—it was written in the 1990’s, and while I’m sure conditions have somewhat improved for patients, these situations are a reality for so many people, whether or not they have control of their minds. The pen that Chris Knox and co. put to paper was a respectful and sympathetic one, but Shayne Carter deserves so much praise for how much his musical interpretation brought out the original sentiment—and made it even more emotional.
Sadly, it’s a story that partially came true for Chris Knox; he suffered a stroke in 2009, and has had a limited vocabulary ever since. He’s made a handful of public appearances and performances in the last decade or so, but he’s largely off the radar these days. However, “The Slide,” alongside many more of his covers from both his solo work and of Tall Dwarfs, were compiled on Stroke: Songs for Chris Knox in order to initially help his family pay the medical bills. I hoped that he hadn’t accidentally predicted his own fate with “The Slide,” but it seems that his family has been going to great lengths to make sure he’s taken care of. Even amidst the horrors he described, there are bright spots worth celebrating—namely, the love of family and friends during unpredictable situations such as his.
…okay! Going into this, I didn’t expect to be that well-acquainted with Eric Johnson’s chest hair while he stared longingly into my eyes, but here we are? 😀 Don’t think I needed all that…thank you Eric, very cool
Either way, it’s all part of the ’80s-parodying cheese of the music video, complete with mullets, long pearl necklaces, everyone’s hair being artfully blown by an invisible fan, and even a keytar. The best part is that every single band member is fully leaning into the cheese, with every band member hamming it up whenever the camera is on them. If I can erase the strategic view of said chest hair via Johnson’s unbuttoned shirt, “You’re Too Weird” is a great little indie track; Johnson has one of the more distinctive voices in indie music that I can think of, and he takes it to some of its extremes, hitting higher notes than I’d expect even from him. Like the ’80s music and videos that “You’re Too Weird” takes cues from, it’s an endlessly catchy love song, peppered by a tasteful guitar solo and tambourine here and there. I’ll have to bring this back once the weather gets warmer—it’s the perfect song for staring out the car window on a summer evening.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
If You Still Recognize Me – Cynthia So – “They say that I’m not supposed to be in love with you/They say that you’re too weird for me/And you’ll leave eventually/But then I’m the only one who ever believed in you…”
Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.
That’s it for the first Sunday Songs of the year! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Wednesday, bibliophiles! I hope this month has treated you well.
First month of the year is over, whew! I don’t wanna jinx it, but I think the rest of the year will be good.
Let’s begin with the first wrap-up of 2024, shall we?
GENERAL THOUGHTS:
January’s been a good start to the year so far, I’d say. The first half was wonderfully relaxing, what with the joys of how long winter break is in college, so I was able to recharge, catch up on reading, and get some sleep in before school started back up again. As for school, I think it’s shaping up to be a great semester! I’m finally taking some classes for my newly declared women and gender studies minor, and I’ve been enjoying those, along with the amazing English classes I’m taking for my major. It was disgustingly cold for a solid week, but at least my school had the sense to call a delay (would’ve preferred a snow day, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess), but now it’s…unusually warm? It’s nice to be able to wear a t-shirt in the afternoons, if you ignore climate change.
As I said, January has given me the chance to get back on my old reading and blogging schedule. I still didn’t blog as much outside of my regular schedule (these scholarships I’m applying for aren’t gonna write themselves), but it was much nicer not having to do that outside of schoolwork. Fingers crossed, my workload is reasonable at the moment, so I’m soaking up all the time in the honeymoon period of the semester that I can. The reading batch I had was fantastic, for the most part! I had a streak of no books that I really didn’t like for a solid three weeks, and even after that, it’s mostly been 3-5 star reads all around! Anticipated reads, books I’ve been meaning to read for a while, and re-reads—it’s been a good bunch this month. I put my reading goal at 150 books this month, which my middle school self would probably declare something along the lines of “cowardly,” but to her I’d say to wait until college.
Other than that, I’ve just been catching up on sleep (for the first half of the month, anyway), drawing, watching Abbott Elementary (so comforting and delightful!), seeing Robyn Hitchcock live (dude’s a complete weirdo, but an insanely talented weirdo), and stocking up on hot chocolate and tea in equal measure in preparations for the permanently indecisive Colorado weather. Somebody’s gotta keep us on our toes.
READING AND BLOGGING:
I read 18 books this month! Winter break gave me a good head start for the first half of the month, but I’ve been able to keep up some of the momentum through the end. And it’s been a great batch too—I’ve only read one book this month that I really didn’t enjoy, and I re-read a favorite that got even better on the second go-around!
I’ve had several books by R.F. Kuang on my TBR for a year or two, and I’d forgotten about this one until it happened to come up as one of those “skip the line” checkouts on Libby. I decided to take the opportunity (as the holds line is usually nuts for this book), and I found myself adoring it so much more than I thought it would—a biting and timely satire of the publishing industry.
June Hayward and Athena Liu have been friends since attending Yale together, working through writing projects and slowly finding themselves publishing their own works. But while Athena is enjoying success, six-figure book deals, and Netflix adaptations, June has barely been able to get a third printing of her only book. So when Athena dies in an unexpected accident, June sees the perfect opportunity: steal her unfinished manuscript, pass it off as hers, and profit. Armed with a new pseudonym and a racially ambiguous author photo, June Hayward becomes Juniper Song, and her book, The Last Front, becomes the toast of the literary scene. But evidence is beginning to pile up against her, and June will do anything to keep her newfound fame.
TW/CW: racism, death by choking, vomiting, substance abuse (alcohol), harassment, gaslighting, suicidal ideation
I’m glad I had my expectations at an average level for Yellowface, because this is one of the best satirical novels I’ve read in ages! This novel truly felt like it was attuned to the beating pulse of the dark side of the publishing industry, and it’s an exploration of diversity and publishing that’s incredibly necessary in this day and age.
I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed a novel that’s felt so true to today’s publishing scene in a long time—or ever, really, but to be fair, I haven’t read a lot of realistic fiction books in this vein. Yellowface is a biting, unflinching callout to how publishers view diversity; June’s story, though fictional, is testament to how the publishing industry views diversity and marginalization as profit to be made, not stories and identities to be uplifted, and how once they’ve checked one person of a certain demographic off a checklist, they think they’re set for “diversity.” Beyond that, it’s proof of how willingly publishers will silence marginalized voices in favor of white voices telling the stories of the marginalized, and how far they’re willing to go to keep up the façade. Truth be told, this novel did make me slightly spiral about the state of publishing as an aspiring author, but I suppose that means that R.F. Kuang did her job.
I’ve seen several reviews of Yellowface complaining that at least one of the main characters were self-inserts, but other than the whistleblower character (who only has a minor role until the end), the two main characters were dreadfully unlikable. To be fair, I’m not as familiar with Kuang’s work, but I don’t take her to be the kind of person to be so self-deprecating that she makes her self-insert into a disgusting mess of a character. In fact, Kuang excelled at making them incredibly unlikable—and hilarious in the process. I liked that, although Athena didn’t deserve what she got, that both her and June were depicted as despicable people in their own ways, but June was still portrayed to be disgustingly in the wrong—nobody’s angelic in this situation, and everybody has their flaws, but some people’s flaws pile up until they fester and collapse on top of them (June). Everything written in her voice was so cringey it was hysterical—watching her, for instance, editing the manuscript to make the British soldiers “more sympathetic” cracked me up, and Kuang clearly knew just the kind of circumstances that a white author would twist a marginalized story into—it felt painfully real, and painfully funny at the same time.
Typically, I’m not habitual thriller reader, but I’m a sucker for a story about a character digging their own grave, and god, Yellowface was the perfect scratch for that itch. June’s story of jealousy, temptation, and clinging towards fame that fall like dominoes toward her until culminating in the climax was painful but exhilarating to watch—for me, there’s nothing like watching a character’s downfall right before our eyes. June just kept digging herself further and further into eventual ruin, and with each push closer to the edge of being exposed for her (MANY) wrongdoings, Kuang perfectly amped up the tension. I was definitely white-knuckling my Kindle for a significant portion of the book just because of the sheer audacity of June thinking that none of her actions would amount to anything. It has the same feel as many of the self-destructive arcs in Fargo—the same kind of eventual tension that builds, and all the while, you know exactly how it ends, but what keeps you reading is wanting to discover how everything collapses onto them.
Without spoiling anything, I’ll say something brief about the ending. At first, it seemed a bit rushed and anticlimactic—I still hold that it was slightly rushed, but it’s a way-homer kind of ending. It wasn’t just a continuation of June feeding her own delusion—it’s terrifying proof that the system still works in favor of white authors clearly in the wrong. She may have hit the breaking point, but this controversy, just like the others, will only continue to drive up her sales. The system has not changed. As long as the publishing industry stays the way it is, she’ll still be rewarded. And that was the kind of scary reality that Kuang has proven with this novel.
All in all, a darkly witty thriller that brought a timely conversation about the publishing industry to the table—and executed it stellarly. 4.25 stars!
Yellowface is a standalone, but R.F. Kuang is also the author of the Poppy War trilogy (The Poppy War, The Dragon Republic, and The Burning God) and Babel.
Today’s song:
really and truly OBSESSED with this album
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.
Last Sunday Songs of the month, and…yep, more dreary colors. At least the actual weather is marginally less dreary. There’s still those gross piles of snow and dirt next to the sidewalk that just refuse to melt, but at least I can feel my hands now. Most of the songs aren’t nearly as dreary, I promise. Mostly upbeat, with some ominous instrumentals thrown in. Gotta keep y’all on your toes.
I’ve given up on listening to David Bowie’s discography in any semblance of order, since I’ve been listening to as much as I can on-and-off since I was about 12. But with every album I hear, I’m still staggered by the places that his experimentation took him, all the way up until his death. His creative juices truly runneth over, to put it lightly.
But, of course, in order to generate said creative juices, one must stimulate creativity and poke at your comfort zone. That’s how many of the tracks off of “Heroes” were born, with help from Brian Eno and his “Oblique Strategies” cards, which he designed as a way to provide musicians and artists with challenges on creative projects. The two each selected a card as they were making this track—Bowie drew “emphasize differences,” while Eno drew “try to make everything as similar as possible.” Seems like a frustratingly clashing set of cards, but I suppose that’s exactly why Eno made the deck and the first place. And, of course, if anybody could make these two concepts mesh…of course. It’s David Bowie, what can’t the man do? The result is “Sense of Doubt,” which feels like it was made to soundtrack the classic “dark and stormy night”—I can practically see bolts of lightning crackling behind the pointed spires of a looming castle as clouds bulge and darken in the distance, bellies full of thunder. Even with the chunky, brighter synth chords that punctuate this soundscape, nothing can make this song sound anything other than ominous; the piano chords feel like something out of a classic horror soundtrack, there’s a faint buzzing overhead that almost sounds like planes in the distance, as though war is imminent, and there’s a squeaky-door creaking that was first just the sound of a pick being dragged across guitar strings, but was later imitated by Bowie with his own voice. Somehow, the mime performance (see above) that Bowie performed to this song brings an entirely different sense of foreboding (never thought I’d say that about mime)—he repeats a gesture of moving his hand, gently rubbing his fingers, like something’s slipping away from them—sifting through the ashes of destruction wrought by his hand; what was sown has been reaped. “Sense of Doubt” echoes like a slick cavern, leaving you to wonder exactly what’s lingering in the darkness, because somethingis definitely waiting to strike.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
Flowers for the Sea – Zin E. Rocklyn – the rain-soaked creeping dread of “Sense of Doubt” would fit right in with this brand of cramped, uncertain horror on a boat full of people you don’t fully trust (including your unborn baby).
It’s been about a year since I first listened to Vespertine, and I’ll continue to die on the hill that it’s a perfect winter album. Every song has the texture of newly fallen snow, and even amidst the frigid temperatures (the kind I’m sure she’s very familiar with, what with being from Iceland and all), it makes you see the glimmer in the gray sky and the diamond sparkle of snow when the moon shines on it. It’s cold, but not in an unwelcoming way.
Next to some of the other tracks on the album, “Heirloom” doesn’t stand out as a major highlight (but to be fair, it’s hard when your competition is “Cocoon”), but it’s so oddly sticky that you I couldn’t help but let it loop when it came on the other day. It doesn’t have the same immediate power as some of its sisters—in fact, even though I will always praise Björk and her endless fount of oddball creativity, but my first thought upon re-listening to this one was that the plinking drum machine and the single, off-kilter synth chord sounded like the times I was fooling around with random buttons on my keyboard when I was seven. Even for her, it’s discordant in a borderline sloppy way, but of course, it doesn’t take her long to turn the car around and craft another successful track. Once the full forest of synths and low, reverberating hums tangle everything together, it feels like the cohesively strange Björk I’ve come to know. Her lyrics are always arcane poetry (or…pagan poetry, even), but even though this one isn’t as dense of a story, there’s still a fairytale-like lilt to the way she rambles about “a recurring dream”; like the album’s undercurrent of body heat amidst winter’s cold, the warmth radiates from hazy dream-images—”I swallow little glowing lights/my mother and son baked for me/During the nights/They do a trapeze walk/Until they’re in the sky.” I almost get a Studio Ghibli-like image of the glowing lights, as if they’d have little pinprick eyes and smiling faces like the warawara from The Boy and the Heron.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
The Wide Starlight – Nicole Lesperance – this time, a mother’s “trapeze walk into the sky” is no dream, and it leads Eli to freezing and unexpected places.
I had the incredible privilege of seeing Robyn Hitchcock on Friday night, and I’m now convinced that he’s some kind of cryptid prophet. Between most of the songs, he’d go on for a while about CDs and salami or vampires or whether or not there was a goldfish in his glass of water or his belief that the population of Britain consists of ghosts (“that’s how Brexit happened”), and that was honestly half the fun of the show—never once did I know what was coming, and it was hilarious. The other half of the fun was how immensely talented Hitchcock is as a musician—you don’t get the sense from much of his recordings, but there’s no doubt that he’s under-recognized as an incredibly skilled guitarist. My dad had been saying it over and over, and I believed him, but it was cemented when we saw Hitchcock with just an acoustic guitar strumming out whimsical hit after whimsical hit. Some of his playing bordered on the speed that I’ve only seen with Flamenco players. He’s hardcore.
In retrospect, this probably wasn’t the best song to pick since he didn’t even play it on the setlist, but I’m trying to be honest about what I’m listening to (and also trying to fit this color scheme), and it’s still a lovely song. Structurally, it’s very simple—only about three chords top, and it hardly ever changes, but it has the quality of rolling hills, a comforting curve that stays soft under your feet; each strum is an anchor, a signpost on a flat, endless road. But as with every Robyn Hitchcock song, his whimsical lyrics always steal the show. This one calls to mind graying, autumnal images—after all, “All of the colors ran out/’Round mid-November-o.” I’ve certainly got…a multitude of questions after the “I remember your locks/And your virginity” (wh…why is that what you’re fixating on, my guy), but…[ahem] that aside, every graying vignette plucked from the depths of memory fills this song up like a gothic scrapbook, full of dancing dresses and dead leaves.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
The Lost Girls – Sonia Hartl – “This is the month of the dead/Leaves on your Ouija board” already conjures up some images similar to this book, but this one also has the kind of romance that cements itself in Holly’s mind—vampirism does that to a gal.
I watched part of this year’s Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame performances for two reasons, and two reasons only: Kate Bush (filled in for by St. Vincent) and Missy Elliott. Neither of them disappointed, especially with the absolutely showstopping, infectiously joyful, and meticulously arranged medley of songs that Missy Elliott and her backup dances performed. The video here doesn’t show it, but the official recording (you can stream it on Hulu) has a moment where the camera cuts to Annie Clark just completely slack-jawed at the whole spectacle, which is the only appropriate response, frankly. It’s glorious. And it’s because of this performance that I remembered that “Lose Control” existed. Setting aside that it’s an impeccably crafted and performed hip-hop song, I forgot that I even knew it in the first place because…well, I didn’t know that I knew it. The very secondit started, the realization hit me like a freight train.
It’s the triangle song. It’s the dancing triangle song from those memes from early 2020.
MUSIC MAKE YOU LOSE CONTROL! MUSIC MAKE YOU LOSE CONTROL!
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
A Song of Salvation – Alechia Dow – I feel like this kind of infectious dancing is just kind of asking to be associated with a fun space opera centered around rescuing a space DJ.
Now that I’ve gotten more into some of the history of the band, it…seems like a minor miracle that The Black Crowes have reunited, what with the band having been something of a ship of Theseus with members coming and going for decades, as well as the multitude of hiatus periods and the most recent breakup, many of which resulted from various feuds by brothers Chris and Rich Robinson. Either way, it was recently announced that the two seem to have buried the hatchet (for now) and have started making new music!
Like several bands I’ve come to love now, it took me a while to warm up to The Black Crowes; they were fairly ever-present in the speakers of my family car when I was a kid, but I remember being put off by the Southern rock twang (though I was far from being able to use those words at age six) when I first heard them. And even though I’m still not a twang aficionado, I can appreciate more country-leaning music (not fully country though, I’m not sure if I’ll ever dip my toes that far into the pool), and I know a foot-stomping earworm when I hear it. It seems like these years apart have not dulled the classic Black Crowes formula; other than the subtle, aging of Chris Robinson’s voice, “Wanting and Waiting” could have been plucked straight from the mid-’90s. Time has served them well—they’ve only sharpened their ability to craft a catchy rock song that’s full to bursting—there’s no shortage of instrumental flurries working in this machine, from the very country organ flourish at the beginning to the choir chanting “blood on fire” as the song triumphantly stomps to a close. This one’s a crowd-pleaser in the making; I’m not sure if I’m a big enough fan to want to listen to the rest of Happiness Bastards in full once it comes out, but if the rest of it is anything like this song, it’ll be a hit.
…AND A BOOK TO GO WITH IT:
Hunger Makes the Wolf – Alex Wells – I feel like a fair amount of Black Crowes songs would fit with the Western-inspired aesthetic of the novel—it has that same scrappy, confident vibe to it that makes you want to stomp your feet.
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!
I’ve been wanting to do a book tag for a few days now, but I’ve been having to figure out my routine again what with school starting back up. I’ve gotten to a point where I’ve been productive enough that I’ve got some free time, so I figured I’d do this one now. I found this one over at The Corner of Laura, and the tag was originally created by Literary Gladiators on YouTube. This one’s super specific, but I’d be lying if I told you that I didn’t like apples from time to time—and it’s fun for a tag! Also, I learned about a few apple varieties that I had no idea existed.
Let’s begin, shall we?
🍎APPLE BOOK TAG🍏
GRANNY SMITH: An overbearingly sweet book or character
Although I wasn’t the biggest fan of Always Human, it’s a good palate-cleanser if you need something light and candy-colored to read.
FUJI: A book about a mountain
It took me a while to think of a book for this prompt, but I’m glad I remembered this one! Even the Darkest Starscenters around a trek up a foreboding and deadly mountain, and it was an incredibly engrossing read.
RED DELICIOUS: A book that would be perfect if it was only judged by its cover
The Spear Cuts Through Water has a gorgeous cover full of some of my favorite colors, but unfortunately, the book was too convoluted and full of itself for my liking. I did enjoy The Vanished Birdsthough (by the same author), so at least there’s that.
MCINTOSH: A writer that has influenced or would influence your writing
I’ve probably said this over and over in tags over the years, but I’ll always cite Tony DiTerlizzi and The Search for WondLaas the whole reason that I wanted to make a career out of writing, especially science fiction. These books never get old.
HONEYCRISP: A book you have read that is in great demand
At the time I read The Thursday Murder Club, it took forever for me to find a copy—I think it was around the time that book four in the series came out, so it was on hold in almost every place imaginable! I’m glad that I got around to reading it, though—it wasn’t a surprise that Richard Osman’s writing was just as clever as he was on Taskmaster!
BALDWIN: A writer you feel needs recognition
I can’t speak for her picture books since I haven’t read any of them, but Maggie Tokuda-Hall deserves all the praise in the world for her YA novels! She writes with such an unflinching approach to issues that many authors skirt around, and her characters are truly vibrant and full of life. I hope she writes so much more in the YA genre in the future—especially fantasy!
The Crane Husbandis magical realism, dystopia, and so much more all rolled into one.
AMBROSIA: A long book that was easy to follow
For an epic fantasy book that’s over 500 pages, The Stardust Thief was refreshingly easy to follow and free of unnecessary, convoluting elements! I can’t wait for The Ashfire King to come out.
JAZZ: A book written in or after 2010 that demonstrates freshness and originality
Even though Echo Northis an amalgamation of several fairytales retold (namely Beauty and the Beast), Joanna Ruth Meyer imbued this novel with no shortage of unique elements that made it truly stick with me.
MUTSU: A big book that you indulged in
Duneis probably one of the longest books that I’ve ever read. I’m a fast reader—it generally takes me about 2-3 days to finish a book, but this one took me over a week. Worth, it though. Fear is the mind killer.
WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE APPLE?
Gotta go with honeycrisp. I never get sick of how pleasantly sweet they are!
APPLE TREE: WHO DO YOU TAG?
I tag anyone who wants to participate!
Today’s song:
That’s it for this book tag! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles! Here we are on the first satisfying day of the year (to me, at least)—January 23rd, 2024. 1 + 23 = 24. It’s the little things.
After I thoroughly enjoyed Into the Heartless Wood, I went looking for every other Joanna Ruth Meyer book that I could get my hands on. I’m still more sci-fi than fantasy at heart, but god, I’m a sucker for a good fairytale, and Echo North scratched that itch in the most heartstring-tugging way possible.
When she was seven years old, Echo Alkaev was attacked by a white wolf caught in a trap, leaving her face permanently scarred. For years, she lived under the protection of her father’s love, despite the taunting and abuse she suffered at the hands of her peers because of her appearance. But one winter night, her father leaves for the city and doesn’t return. Echo sets off into the woods to find him once more, only to come face to face with the same white wolf who attacked her all those years ago. Desperate to find her father, she agrees to a deal with the creature: if she lives with him for one year, he will bring her father back. But the wolf’s home is a strange realm full of rooms to be sewn together like fabric, and Echo is unsure if she’s in over her head…
I am nothing if not a sucker for a high-quality modern fairytale. Joanna Ruth Meyer captured my heart the minute I finished Into the Heartless Wood, and I’m overjoyed to say that Echo North is just as masterful of a modern fairytale, clever and emotional in equal measure.
January was really the perfect time to read this novel—everything about Echo North was so deeply wintry in a truly delicious way. Fitting that it was in the negatives and snowy when I was reading this last week. All this is to say is that Meyer’s prose was truly atmospheric—for me, one of the markers of a good fairytale is being immersed in whatever strange and sinister world that the author has penned. Echo North juggles various settings, and all of them are rendered in exquisite detail. All of the descriptions, from the humble village that Echo calls home the Wolf Queen’s frozen kingdom, are so full of life that I could practically smell the crispness of the snow and feel the prickling touch of snowflakes on my cheeks. It’s already a hefty task to write just a single, central setting so vividly, but Meyer’s prose made every single place brim with life.
Speaking of settings…the wolf’s library was one of my favorite settings that I’ve read in…oh, years, I think? Aside from being an incredibly inventive twist on the typical Beaty and the Beast retellings, it’s so richly detailed and full of twists—I never grew tired of spending time in it. The mirror-books were delightful, and I loved how they became tangible pocket dimensions of sorts in Meyer’s hands; after all, books tend to have that quality, and I loved how this book basically made it more physical to be able to visit the place and characters within the books. Additionally, the rooms of the library slowly unwinding and having to actually sew them back up with a giant spool of magical thread so that they don’t fall apart was just fascinating—and it lent itself to some pretty tense stakes early on in the novel. Truly unique stuff.
I also love how disability was handled in Echo North! Echo has facial scars (as a result of a wolf attack in her childhood…that ends up circling back to a prominent part of the novel), and her journey of self-acceptance was truly heartwarming. It’s not the first novel to have a journey of self-acceptance like this, nor will it be the last; the notable difference was where the pity came in. Meyer specifically wrote it so that we pitied Echo not because of her scars, but because of how her family and peers treat her because of the scars. She grows to hate her scars in her early childhood, but the more independent she gets, the more accepting she is of herself—and uncaring of the opinions of others, and having to encounter so many different figures over the course of the novel only amplifies her sense of self-empowerment. I was hinging on this novel having a romantic subplot (which was excellent, by the way), but I loved that Echo’s scars neutrally factored into it—they were simply a part of her, and Hal loved all of her, as she loved all of him.
And…oh god. The old magic. The old magic got me. I don’t care how many people call stories about the power of love corny, but Echo North did it gorgeously. There are so many different kinds of love, both positive and negative, familial and romantic, that this novel explores, but it’s true: unconditional love has the power to move mountains. And love did tear down mountains—it’s the kind of love that makes no excuses and has room for everyone so long as they return it. This, in concert with the themes about Echo’s scars, made it all the more poignant—the ones who matter most are the ones who love all the parts of you. Having that as the crux of the climax got me a little emotional, I’ll admit. Love. LOVE. Love is the old magic!!! Love is the fing!!! :,)
All in all, a deeply emotional and lusciously written fairytale full of blizzards, wolves, and love in unexpected places. 4.5 stars!
Echo North is the first novel in the Echo North duology, followed by the companion novel Wind Daughter. Joanna Ruth Meyer is also the author of the Beneath the Haunting Sea series (Beneaththe Haunting Sea and Beneath the Shadowed Earth) and Into the Heartless Wood.
Today’s song:
schooling myself before I see Robyn Hitchcock on Friday night!!
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
The Bookish Mutant 