I’ve had a few pride-related book tags that I’ve been waiting to do since last June, so I figured I’d break this one out right about now. I found this one over at The Corner of Laura, who also created the tag.
Rules
Link back to the original creator (The Corner of Laura) and link back to this page (otherwise, the original creator won’t get a notification).
Thank whoever tagged you and link back to their post
(Optional) Use the graphics and don’t forget to credit the original creator (Text prompts are at the end of the tag if you’d prefer to use those)
(Optional) Tag 5 or more other people.
Let’s begin, shall we?
🏳️🌈THE LGBTQ+ HISTORICAL ICONS BOOK TAG🏳️⚧️
SAPPHO: Greek poet known for her lyric poetry which is believed to describe homoerotic feeling | A book of poetry (or written in verse)
Nothing Burns as Bright as Youis a beautiful novel in verse about the complicated relationship shared by two Black queer girls.
ALAN TURING: Mathematician known for cracking the Enigma code but who was persecuted for his homosexuality| A character who deserved better
As sweet as The Girl from the Seawas, I found myself getting so stressed out about how Morgan treated Keltie in the beginning. She just kept pushing her around and neglecting her, and while it did resolve itself neatly and they fell in love, I still felt so bad for Keltie. She’s just an adorable creature, dude, she doesn’t need all that human baggage…
GILBERT BAKER: Creator of the rainbow Pride Flag| The most colorful book you own
Skyhunterhas one of my favorite book covers in my collection—it dazzles me every single time I look at it!
ANNE LISTER: Landowner, industrialist and considered to be the first modern lesbian| A book written as a diary (or includes diary entries)
I have fond memories of reading the copy of I Capture the Castlethat my mom bought for me while I was out sick years ago, and re-reading it several times since. It’s seriously the sweetest, most charming book—a big thank you to my mom for turning me on to this one.
MARSHA P. JOHNSON: Prominent figure in the Stonewall Uprising and founder of several LGBTQ rights organisations| A character you’d would want fighting at your side
Sona and Eris from Gearbreakersare both formidable in their own ways—either one (or both) would be an easy pick to have fight at my side.
ALFRED KINSEY: Creator of the Kinsey scale| A book set in academia
I haven’t read a whole lot of books sets in academia (and I’ve never gotten the hype for dark academia, so I tend to steer clear of those), but Leigh Bardugo never misses, so obviously this prompt has to go to Ninth House.
LUCY HICKS ANDERSON: First trans woman to defend her identity in court| A book where a major scene takes place in court
It was so hard to think of any books besides To Kill a Mockingbird (Laura’s answer) with a courtroom scene, but I read Merunot long ago, and it has a particularly climactic and poignant courtroom scene—a futuristic one, but a courtroom scene all the same.
OPEN PROMPT: Your choice | A book that inspires you
Of course, I’m going with David Bowie as my LGBTQ+ historical icon of choice—who else? He’s been a hero of mine for years, and a hero to so many. Even in the 60’s, before he rose to stardom, he was already breaking down barriers, and continued to do so in all aspects of his career thereafter. Calling somebody “ahead of their time” is thrown around quite often, but I really think that the world wasn’t ready—and wouldn’t be ready for today—for Ziggy Stardust. And personally, I can’t think of a better beacon of hope to me than him; I started getting into his music at a time when I was struggling to find my place and looking for a light at the end of the alternative weirdo tunnel. And here was Bowie, wearing dresses in the 70’s, openly declaring his bisexuality, and creating a cosmic persona that touched the hearts of so many people. I’ve certainly felt like an alien all my life, but he, if anyone, is to credit for teaching me to embrace that feeling—to quote him, “oh no, love! You’re not alone.” From one bisexual alien to another: thank you.
As for a book that inspires me, I’d easily give that title to Becky Chambers’ Wayfarers series. Sci-fi always seems defined by cosmic stakes and harrowing violence, and while that can work in moderation, these books really cemented the idea that a narrative doesn’t have to be centered around struggle or suffering to be worth reading—and writing. Here, Chambers has created a vast, creative space opera universe with complex political background noise and dozens of strange creatures, but they’re not embroiled in some lofty, intergalactic conflict: they’re just going about their lives. It’s something that almost no other piece of sci-fi media has ever done—it’s very common in realistic fiction, but the concept that happiness and healing as genuine plot points can exist alongside aliens and starships just blew my mind. I aspire to write at least one thing as comforting and cozy as Becky Chambers someday.
And remember, kids: grimdark is just as unrealistic as sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, because they represent opposite ends of the same literary spectrum. Making a book excessively dark and gritty doesn’t automatically make it deep, and giving a character an excess of trauma and a tragic backstory doesn’t automatically make them fleshed-out and well-written.
+ anyone else who wants to participate! If you see this tag and want to do it, I’d love to see your answers! If I tagged you and you’ve already done this tag/don’t want to do it, my bad.
Today’s song:
we love a good guitar freakout
That’s it for this book tag! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
I’ve been eyeing this book for a while—I remember it being heavily advertised on Goodreads when it was first released, and normally, I don’t pay much attention to Goodreads ads or sponsored books, but all you had to say was “space opera” and I was hooked. I’m a woman of simple tastes. It was cheap on the Kindle library, so I bought it to read on vacation. To my excitement, it ended up being my favorite book that I read on vacation—so detailed and gripping!
Jayanthi, like all other humans in her day and age, are confined to Earth. Kept there by the Alloys, evolved human descendants with advanced capabilities, she has been raised by Alloy parents on her homeworld, but has always dreamed of seeing the wider galaxy. But when an opportunity arises for Jayanthi to explore the newly discovered planet Meru with the aid of an Alloy pilot, she jumps at the chance—what better way to show the galaxy that humans are more than their violent past?
With the help of Vaya, her Alloy pilot, Jayanthi touches down on Meru. Soon, they find themselves embroiled in a human-alloy conflict, seemingly engineered to separate the two of them. Will Jayanthi and Vaya beat the odds—and restore faith in the human race?
TW/CW: ableism, xenophobia (fictional), sexual content/pregnancy, descriptions of injury, sci-fi violence
I got carsick while reading this book, but I don’t hold it against it at all. That was on me and my hubris of thinking that I wouldn’t get nauseous on a long car trip just this once. Whoops.
Reading some of the lower-rated reviews of Meru is kind of cracking me up…listen. I get that zie/zir pronouns (and neopronouns in general) are somewhat obscure, but of all the absolutely wild, dense, and out-there concepts that this book throws at you, that’s what makes you jump ship? Not the exceedingly complicated…well, everything else?
That being said, Meru lived up to the hype I’ve seen it getting for the past few months! It hit a sweet spot for me that a lot of sci-fi and fantasy books rarely do—creating a complex and multilayered universe, but very delicately balancing when and where to deliver all of this information. Divya came very close to going over the edge, but she navigated the worldbuilding delivery with aplomb.
So, about said worldbuilding. I’d say that Meru isn’t for the faint of heart, even for longtime sci-fi fans—as I mentioned in the beginning of the review, there’s a lot to take in, from the post-human history of the Alloys to all of the machinations surrounding new genetic modification laws in the future. But even though we do get some of this information in larger chunks, Divya excels at navigating which information is actually relevant to the scene it’s informing, and not sledgehammering you with extra information that only becomes relevant elsewhere in the book. It also helps that every inch of said worldbuilding is truly fascinating—it’s clear to see how much care was put into the creation of this universe.
If you’re talking about disability in sci-fi, you’re generally bound to open a particularly dicey can of worms. There’s quite a lot of eugenics narratives that a lot of readers have let slide for years, and the narrative of curing all disabilities is seen as positive, when a lot of the disabilities being described never needed curing in the first place. For the sake of this review, I’ll keep it short, but the bottom line is that it’s gross. But Meru takes a refreshing perspective on disability in sci-fi—not only was Jayanthi, the protagonist, specifically engineered to have sickle-cell anemia (now THAT’S a subversion I like), her disability is depicted in a far more advantageous and positive light. Anyone who’s ever touched a high school biology textbook probably remembers this example: despite its drawbacks, those with sickle-cell also have increased resistance to many tropical diseases. That’s exactly the case for Jayanthi, whose sickle-cell anemia makes her more suited to the environment of the planet Meru than those without it. Positive disability rep is good enough, but having it specifically depicted as something that gives the character the edge is something special. That, along with the wonderful discussions around disability and bodily autonomy (both allegorical and literal), made Meru a wonderful experience for me as a disabled reader.
In addition, Divya has created such a vibrant cast of characters in Meru! Jayanthi was such an endearing and powerful protagonist, and her relationship with the equally endearing Vaha was full of tenderness, despite its ups and downs. Almost all of the cast added to the book’s masterful suspense and tension, making you feel deeply for all of the relevant characters before things got (very) hairy. Plus, the integration of Sanskrit, several Indian-coded (and other POC characters), and loads of casual queerness was a breath of fresh air from all of the white, male, cishet sci-fi that still dominates the market. We need more books like Meru.
All in all, an intricately-crafted sci-fi novel that dazzled with its detailed worldbuilding, diversity, and refreshing discussions around disability. 4 stars!
Meru is the first book in S.B. Divya’s Alloy Era series, continued by the forthcoming Loka, slated for release in July of 2024. Divya is also the author of Machinehood and Run Time, as well as a contributor to several short story collections.
Today’s song:
NEW SMILE IT’S SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD (does this mean that we’re closer to hearing “Read the Room” too?????
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
This book came out around a month ago, and I figured it would be a great read to start off pride month (after a very disappointing biography of Josephine Baker). If Tomorrow Doesn’t Come was my first exposure to Jen St. Jude (it’s her debut, after all), but after this, I’m ready to watch for anything else she writes.
The news has just broken that an asteroid capable of wiping out the population is headed towards Earth in nine days. Avery Byrne had planned to drown herself on her college campus that day—being closeted from her religious parents, the mounting pressure of college, and undiagnosed depression had become too much to bear. But now, she’s forced to flee her college and face her family. Among them is Cass, her best friend and longtime crush, who she’s been hiding the truth from for years. With nine days until the end of the world, Avery must come face to face with everything that she wanted to run from, but must also realize the hope at the end of the world—maybe she finally has time to make things right.
TW/CW: suicide, suicide attempt(s), suicidal ideations, homophobia, religious bigotry, mental health issues (depression), natural disasters/end of the world scenarios (impending asteroid impact)
This is a heavy one. That can’t be understated enough—I always put trigger warnings before my reviews now, but these ones are really important to keep in mind. If Tomorrow Never Comes is a devastating novel—but a deeply important one, as long as you’re in the mental headspace for it.
That being said, one of the best parts about this novel is how Jen St. Jude handles such topics. It would’ve been easy to romanticize or otherwise dramatize Avery’s very real struggles with mental health and queer identity, but everything was handled with such care and grace. It’s clearly a very personal novel; nothing is glossed over, but nothing is overblown to amp up the tension needlessly. We’re very slowly coming out of the post-13 Reasons Why romanticization of suicide and mental health issues, so it’s very important that books like these exist to counteract that—presenting these subjects exactly as they are.
All of the relationships were also done so well in this novel! Each character was crafted with so much care, and the interactions that each one had with the other really made them stand out. The forced reunion of Avery, her friends, and her extended family in the event of the asteroid created so many moments that felt refreshingly human—messy and hard to read at times (part of the ending made me cry, full disclosure), but authentic and genuine. Again—in the face of an onslaught of very dramatic apocalypse-oriented YA in the past, it’s so nice to see one that’s full of emotion, but more in the way of real, interpersonal relationships and not 2012 love triangles in the face of impending doom.
That being said, I did have one major problem with this novel. I liked the format that St. Jude had where the novel was split into Avery’s past and present, but the flashback chapters felt somewhat stilted compared to the present day chapters. They leaned a lot more on telling—giving us information about Avery’s life, friends, and family in a very rote way, as opposed to letting all that bloom naturally. It’s even stranger considering that the present chapters didn’t have this problem at all—maybe it was just some kinks to work out when writing in Avery’s past tense. With all of the heart that this novel had, it just left me wishing for something as fluid as the other chapters.
I’ve seen some people complaining about the ending, but I feel like this novel couldn’t have ended any other way. This novel was always going to be about relationships during the apocalypse, and the mechanics of the apocalypse weren’t meant to be the star of the show. I will admit that I had to turn back to check that yes, this really was the end, it felt like the quiet, tender ending that this novel deserved.
All in all, an emotional and deeply personal story of love at the end of the world. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!
If Tomorrow Doesn’t Come is a standalone, and it is Jen St. Jude’s debut novel.
Today’s song:
SAW THE YEAH YEAH YEAHS LIVE LAST NIGHT IT WAS MAGICAL
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Here we are again in pride month! It certainly is a joyous time of year, but in the past few years, it’s been a difficult one, too. All across the country, we have seen waves of anti-LGBTQ+ legislation, and the rhetoric that queer people are unnatural and wish to convert your children has spread like wildfire. We’ve also seen a dangerous increase in book bans—particularly by queer authors and authors of color. Books with diverse perspectives aren’t harming children—depriving children of these books is the dangerous part. Now more than ever is it important to read diversely: there’s never any harm in seeing a different perspective through literature. And if you’re really that concerned about “protecting the children,” maybe you should advocate for stricter gun laws instead of worrying about drag queen story hour.
In past years, I’ve split this post up into multiple (organized by genre), but I decided to make it all one post this year to keep it all more organized.
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! What are your favorite queer reads that you’ve read recently? Have you read any books on this list, and what did you think of them? Tell me in the comments!
Today’s song:
That it for this year’s pride month recommendations! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Honestly, it’s a wonder that I managed to get my hands on this book when I did. I heard about it from a few “out this week” blog posts from other book bloggers (thank you!!), and as of today, the book’s only a week old. I put it on hold on the Kindle library, and it came in surprisingly quick, to my relief! I was super excited by the sci-fi premise, and in most of the relevant aspects, it absolutely delivered!
The method of space travel that 17-year-old Jessica Mathers is familiar with isn’t the kind you’d expect. In for the process to work, teleportation is a crucial step—the body that you’re in on Earth isn’t the same one that goes to space. But either way, after six years of waiting to reunite with her scientist parents on a faraway exoplanet, Jessica is going to space.
But when she wakes up, she’s alone in the wreckage of the ship that was supposed to carry her and the crew, stranded on an alien planet. The walls of the wreck are covered in the evidence of something sinister, and her parents are nowhere in sight. And a teleported clone of herself may be the only person she can trust—and the only person for miles around on this planet.
TW/CW: sci-fi violence, blood, murder, body horror, loss of loved ones
tread lightly – this review contains some spoilers!
Sci-fi that references old(er) poetry is an incredibly niche demographic, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t squarely in the middle of it. You got me there.
This book kind of came out of the blue for me—I forgot that Matthew J. Kirby existed after reading a few of his books in middle school (sorry), so Star Splitter was more of a left-field pick for me. But despite its flaws, it was a fascinating and gripping read—certainly a better addition to the world of YA sci-fi!
Hard sci-fi is hard to nail down for a young adult book; astrophysics and quantum mechanics are hard for anybody to understand, but I can speak for myself as an (older) teenager and a longtime YA when I say that it might be even harder to understand for a younger-skewing audience. Not to insult anybody’s intelligence—I’m fully including myself in there, in all my new English major glory. But Kirby hit the near-perfect balance with explaining the mechanics of teleportation, and how it factored into space travel. It wasn’t explained like it was being explained to a child, but it didn’t dump all of the information in an unceremonious chunk of jargon, either. And it’s a super fascinating concept to boot—it adds a layer of suspense to an already suspenseful book, there’s significant ramifications for most everything about the world that Kirby sets up, and there’s an existential aspect too. It’s all great there.
The story itself held a lot of water for me as well! There was so much to pick apart in it‚ from Jessica’s existential conflict about interacting with her own clone (HUH) and her own body to the mystery of what happened to the DS Theseus and its inhabitants. (Also, loved that we had a spaceship called Theseus. I’m assuming it’s a nod to the Ship of Theseus, but it also works on another level when you consider what happened with the crew. I won’t spoil anything about that in particular.) Kirby’s writing consistently kept all of that afloat, juggling two different timelines with suspense unfolding in both of them. His descriptions of the landscape of Hades (Mr. Kirby really likes his Greek mythology, huh?) were also nothing short of lovely—I’m a sucker for any kind of alien planet exploration, and Star Splitter, for the most part, adequately scratched that itch.
I say “for the most part” because, as much as I loved it, there were so many parts that seemed too important that were just left out of the final conflict. The sideplot about the ruins of an alien city with a giant pile of ground sloth-looking skeletons???? Bioluminescence everywhere?? BEING PURSUED BY AN UNSEEN ALIEN IN THE SHADOWS??? That was my favorite part of the whole novel, but we really didn’t get any resolution to it. It felt like such a crime that we never got to see where that thread led, given how much it was foreshadowed and otherwise built up. I get that it wasn’t necessarily the main conflict, but Kirby gave it a similar amount of weight to the main conflict, so it felt like it was in need of a more satisfying conclusion than “Jessica got out of the city ruins somewhat unscathed.” I NEED MORE. GIVE THE PEOPLE (ME) WHAT THEY WANT.
I feel like this happened a lot with Star Splitter for me—aside from the main conflict, there were so many fascinating and inventive things going on with the world that felt so creative, but were just tossed aside as afterthoughts once they were explained. The fauna on Hades? Mt. Ida? QUANTUM GHOSTS? I was just taken aback by so many parts of the plot, only to have them scrapped in favor of the main conflict, which I…halfway understand. All this is to say that said main conflict was excellent, but I just wanted more. It wasn’t like Star Splitter was an exceedingly long novel either—320 pages leaves some room to explore at least a few other aspects of the world, I think. That’s why I’m *officially* putting my rating at 3.75 instead of the full 4 stars—there was so much creative stuff to chew on, but not enough of it was expanded upon. I’ll be needing a sequel, please and thank you. 🫶🏻
All in all, an inventive and fascinating sci-fi novel that presented a plethora of creative aspects to fill up the plot, but still left me wanting in some places. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!
As of now, it looks like Star Splitter is a standalone, but Matthew J. Kirby is the author of several other books for children and young adults, including the Dark Gravity Sequence (The Arctic Code, Island of the Sun, and The Rogue World), The Clockwork Three, A Taste for Monsters, and many others.
Today’s song:
getting caught up on Palehound before Eye on the Bat comes out…another great album!! this song reminds me so much of Wilco
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
As some of you may know, April is Autism Acceptance Month here in the U.S.! I don’t think I’ve highlighted a book list for the occasion, but in my ongoing quest for disability rep in general, I’ve come across many great books with Autistic protagonists and stories. If you’re looking to diversify your reading, it’s always important to uplift every kind of marginalized voice, and disability rep in general often gets left in the dust. So I’ve compiled a list of books by Autistic (with one exception—the author is still neurodivergent, just not Autistic) for this month.
NOTE: some of the older books on this list may still use the term Asperger’s, but in recent years, the term has since been renamed to Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD) in the DSM-5, in part because of its association with Hans Asperger, who was involved with Nazism. Some people still use the term, but it is still important to acknowledge the history behind the term.
Enjoy these book recs!
THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR AUTISM ACCEPTANCE MONTH
On the Edge of Gone – Corinne Duyvis: (YA, Sci-fi) a harrowing, dystopian vision of the world moments after a comet’s blast changes a girl’s life forever. | ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5
Queens of Geek – Jen Wilde: (YA, Fiction) a fun love letter to comic cons, fandom, and geek culture! | ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
An Unkindness of Ghosts – Rivers Solomon: (Adult, Sci-fi) the raw, unforgettable story of a colony ship structured like the Antebellum South, and one woman’s quest to change things for the better. | ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Afrotistic – Kala Allen Omeiza:(YA, Fiction) I love that this novel centers a young Black Autistic girl—it’s so refreshing to see disability rep that isn’t just white!
Peta Lyre’s Rating Normal – Anna Whateley: (YA, Fiction) I’m a woman of simple tastes. I see queer and neurodivergent rep, and I click “want to read” without a second thought.
Ellen Outside the Lines – A.J. Sass:(MG, Fiction) I don’t read much MG these days, but I’m excited about the queer and Autistic rep in this one!
Social Queue – Kay Kerr:(YA, Fiction) I just started reading this one—I’m excited to see how it explores autism and dating!
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and if so, did you like them? What are your favorite books with Autistic rep? Let me know in the comments!
Today’s song:
That’s it for this list of recommendations! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
I was in a fantasy mood recently, so I decided to pick up The Spear Cuts Through Water after hearing some rave reviews from other bloggers. The gorgeous cover only added to the sell. But in the end, this novel ended up being a major disappointment—a murky, 500+ page slog that was only enjoyable for fleeting moments. I really need to stop setting myself up for disappointment with all these overly long high fantasy books…
The Emperor of the Moon Throne has terrorized the land of the Strangled Throat for centuries, aided by his three reckless sons, aptly dubbed The Terrors. But like everything else that he has seized, the Emperor’s power comes from an age-old moon god who has been locked under the palace against her will. But a god is not meant to be kept in captivity.
So she escapes. Aided by Jun, a disgraced palace guard, and Keema, a warrior from a distant, mysterious land, she sets off on a journey to find her freedom. But the Moon Throne will not let go of her so easily…
TW/CW: ableism, cannibalism, child abuse, murder, body horror, substance abuse, mentions of sexual assault (off-page), torture, loss of loved ones
This is one of those instances where I feel like I’ve read a completely different book than all of the 5-star reviewers. I really wanted to like it—and there were a few things that I did like—but ultimately, it felt like a 20-minute prog-rock song in book form: well-written, but so unneccesarily convoluted and full of itself that it became insufferable.
Before I go on my tirade, I will acknowledge that there were some wonderful, very bold and skilled parts of this novel. Jimenez’s writing had moments of being both beautiful and insightful—there were a few anchors to pull me through the slog, and his prose had moments of being incredible. 2nd person is always a bold choice, but unlike other aspects of this novel, it was executed very well, succeeding at being both immersive and fresh without feeling like it was bold just for the sake of being so.
“Bold” is generally I word that I could ascribe to most of this book. A lot of it was written in a fresh, nontraditional way, and I appreciated its execution in some sections. But a lot of it just felt like showing off—having unconventional chapter breaks and an infuriating structure just for Jimenez to show that he was capable of doing so. Most of these ended up being to the novel’s detriment. The random “chapter” breaks (there really weren’t any chapters in this book?), which mostly just ended up being sized-up font that was, essentially, what should have just the first sentence of the paragraph. And since they were all just first sentences of the paragraph, there were 2-3 of these breaks per page. POVs got switched without warning and without explanation, making the reading experience overcomplicated where it could’ve been an easy fix. It just felt like it was biting itself in the foot in the name of art—it could have been a beautiful story, if it wasn’t so intent on showing off how “different” it was.
As a result, so much of this novel got lost. Even though I was fairly lost trying to discern whose POV is it this time, I did notice one thing while reading The Spear Cuts Through Water—where’d the worldbuilding go? Other than the vague notion of a fantasy world (gods and goddesses, some talking animals/spirits, etc.), I had no idea of the layout of the world, the regions of the world, any kind of cultural cues or conventions, any kind of magic system…it just wasn’t there. At all. The same goes for the characters—they were all but cardboard, moved around like pawns for seemingly no reason. (I get that they were under oath by the Moon God, but the point still stands. They didn’t need to be that stiff.) Other than the reveal about Keema, nothing compelled me about either of them, or any of the other passing side characters. This novel was just so intent on chasing itself in circles that it forgot the essential elements that a novel needs.
All in all, a fantasy with great potential, but that ended up losing itself under layers of attempts to be daring and new. 2 stars.
The Spear Cuts Through Water is a standalone, but Simon Jimenez is also the author of The Vanished Birds.
It’s finally here! The moment that I’ve been patiently waiting for…
After I discovered Phoebe Bridgers back in early 2020 (before it all went wrong), my boygenius revelation came soon after (right around when it really all went wrong). Not only was it my gateway to Julien Baker and Lucy Dacus, but it stood out as a representation of so many things—a critique of the pedestals we tend to reserve only for male artists, the way the music industry often lumps together “women in indie rock” simply because of their gender, and the magic that happens when three incredibly talented queer women get together and make music. Their self-titled EP, released in 2018, seemed to be the beginning and end of their relationship, but they secretly reformed and came together to release their first full-length album this March. And the results are simply magical, full of different highs and lows, but emotional and heartrending all the way through—in the best way.
boygenius’ Rolling Stone cover, an homage to Nirvana
Enjoy this album review!
THE RECORD – BOYGENIUS (album review)
Release date: March 31, 2023 (Interscope records)
TRACK 1: “Without You Without Them” – 8.5/10
never underestimate the power of an intro 🥲
If the record encapsulates the friendship of Baker, Bridgers, and Dacus, then this song is the perfect summation of that thesis. boygenius have made me so emotional over a cappella, somehow—their harmonies, pioneered in this case by Lucy Dacus, rise in perfect tandem, as each one thanks their parents, and their parents before them (“who would I be/without you, without them?”)—for the opportunities that brought them together as friends, by a cosmic miracle, and relishing in the quiet moments opening up to one another. Already a hard-hitter, and we’re barely even a minute into the album…
TRACK 2: “$20” – 9/10
Mama told me that it don’t run on wishes, but that I should have fun,
Pushing the flowers that come up
Into the front of a shotgun…
boygenius, “$20”
Rocketing from the quiet moments to a supersonic pace, “$20” remains one of my favorite songs on the album, even after everything else came out. Every lyric is delivered like a punch while grinning, each member’s voice coalescing and pulling apart at just the right moments, fading in and out of sync in perfect deliberation. Everything erupts with Phoebe Bridgers’ final scream, which remains one of the highlights of this album, where all of the pent up energy in this song bubbles to the top and fades out just as quickly. HAAAAAAAGH I STILL CAN’T STOP LISTENING IT’S BEEN LIKE 2 MONTHS
TRACK 3: “Emily I’m Sorry” – 8/10
This was my least favorite of the singles, but it’s still a beautiful heartbreaker of a song—like much of Phoebe Bridgers’ work, the instrumentation (which I still love, especially when everything seems to dissolve at 1:46) takes a backseat to her air-light, heartstring-tugging voice, and lets her shine. It just feels less cohesive as a supergroup—I get that all of the members had their songs that they wrote on their own, but this feels more like a Phoebe Bridgers single that just happens to feature Baker and Dacus than a boygenius song. It’s worked with some of the other songs in that style, but I feel like this would’ve worked better as just Phoebe Bridgers.
Hooooooooowhee, we’re back to Lucy Dacus throwing her whole fist into my chest and tugging at the heartstrings, huh? Is that what we’re doing?
Although (almost) nothing compares to the meteoric ecstasy of “$20,” “True Blue” is still a steadfast favorite of mine on this album. It’s a case study of how perfect the harmonies of these three are for each other. The way that Baker and Bridgers chime in on the bridge always makes my heart sing, as though they were somehow predestined to have this pairing of differently gorgeous voices, all joining hands in another ode to their mutual friendship.
TRACK 5: “Cool About It” – 9.5/10
But we don’t have to talk about it,
I can walk you home and practice method acting,
I’ll pretend that being with you doesn’t feel like drowning…
boygenius, “Cool About It”
This one rapidly rose to become my favorite on the album, and I’ve had it on repeat ever since. boygenius is versatile in the way that they organize songs together—sometimes it works with all of them singing at once, as in “$20,” but neatly-sectioned songs like this one, where each of the members gets their time in the spotlight, works just as well as the other. And this one’s the shining highlight of the album, a Simon & Garfunkel-inspired, introspective reflection on the complicated feelings of confronting people who were once prominent in your life—not being able to deny their toxicity, but grappling with not being able to outwardly show it. Each facet of their lyricism shines—Baker’s ability to dig directly into the emotional core of these feelings and making it look easy, Dacus’ dry but solemn display of wit, and Bridgers’ vulnerable confessions steeped in glistening stars. I have nothing but love for this song.
TRACK 6: “Not Strong Enough” – 7/10
Strangely, this was one of my least favorites of the album—the lyrics remain incredible (and the music video is so sweet 🥲), but there’s a country-pop twang to this one that doesn’t quite hook me all the way. There’s no denying how wonderful the ending is as Lucy Dacus builds up the bridge—”always an angel/never a god,” which all comes crashing together as we get another fantastic Phoebe scream.
TRACK 7: “Revolution 0” – 7/10
Though this one doesn’t hit me as hard as some of the others, Phoebe’s soft introspection truly shines on this song. The barely audible strings and the fluttering, dissolving synths make for an atmospheric song that feels like the musical equivalent of watching the sunrise on a crisp, winter morning. I can practically feel my breath fogging out before me, just as all three of their voices seem to gently drift into the air.
TRACK 8: “Leonard Cohen” – 6.5/10
Though Lucy Dacus’ lyrics are still funny and tender at the same time, this song feels oddly disjointed to me. Dacus’ voice comes in at a sudden, weirdly-placed time, and it doesn’t seem like it’s no purpose. Again: lovely lyrics, but the song never quite picks itself up from that initial, rocky start. I hate to say it, but maybe it’s for the best that it’s so short.
TRACK 9: “Satanist” – 8.5/10
(do I get something for being the 666th like on the lyric video for a song called “Satanist”?)
(STOP TRYING TO AUTOCORRECT CRED TO CREDIT SHUT UP SHUT UP)
One of my favorites after the singles, “Satanist” is proof that the neatly-sectioned format of letting each member sing a verse is a perfect way to let them all shine through! With Julien Baker’s witty lyrics and punchy guitars all the way through, it’s just a lovely chunk of indie rock all the way through. The ending, though drastically different, is just as wonderful, with all of their harmonies rising up like bonfire smoke into the night sky.
TRACK 10: “We’re In Love” – 8.5/10
If you rewrite your life,
May I still play a part?
boygenius, “We’re In Love”
Ow, did Lucy Dacus just get saddled with all dealing all of the emotional damage on this album? Does she just have a huge paddle that she’s just musically whapping us with? If that’s the case, “We’re In Love” was what knocked me off my feet for good…ouchie
Nearly 5 minutes long, “We’re In Love” presents Lucy Dacus and company ruminating on the nature of their shared friendship once more, reflecting on inside jokes and quiet moments spent together, and loving every inch of each other despite their flaws. Even outside of their cosmically aligned harmonies, it’s clear that boygenius have struck something truly special with their friendship, a connection that has allowed them to grow and produce no shortage of beautiful, creative works, and get to know each other better through it. It’s gorgeous…get out the tissues.
TRACK 11: “Anti-Curse” – 8/10
Turning back to the more fast-paced side of “Satanist,” “Anti-Curse” has Julien Baker letting loose once more. Though I enjoyed some of Baker’s other tracks more, it still has that raw vulnerability that endeared her to me when I first became a fan, but with the expansion of her more vast, Little Oblivions sound that gives everything even more weight. It feels like the whole song is painted in the same colors as the album color, with sunsets, breaking waves, and the taste of salt in your mouth.
TRACK 12: “Letter To An Old Poet” – 8.5/10
I wanna be happy, I’m ready
To walk into my room without looking for you,
I’ll go up to the top of our building,
And I’ll think of my dog when I see the full moon.
I can’t feel it yet,
But I am waiting…
boygenius, “Letter To An Old Poet”
Oh, so I see they let Phoebe Bridgers have this one tearjerker, and she took the opportunity and RAN with it? YOW.
I can’t think of a more fitting closer for the record. The whole song acts as a sister song to “Me & My Dog,” off of their self-titled EP, a reconciliation not only with the complications of a past relationship, but of a desire to heal oneself, move on, grow, and confront the truth. It’s clearly personal to Phoebe, but it feels like a collective healing call for all of them, a promise that the past is the past, but that we are all different people than who we once were. Every re-worked lyric acts as proof of change, a renewed mindset, and of hope that the future will be better while stargazing. Gah. Beautiful end to a beautiful album…
THIS PHOTOSHOOT HAD NO BUSINESS BEING THIS FUNNY 💀 I CAN’T GET OVER JULIEN IN THAT FRILLY DRESS HAHAHAEHJKEFKFDKJ
I averaged out all of the ratings for each track, and it came out to aboutan 8.1! I’m so glad that they decided to make a whole album—through all of the highs and lows, it displays their talents as individual musicians and as a collective creative force, and I’ll never get sick of their heavenly harmonies. And above all, it stands as a tribute to queer friendship, and every kind of love that we share, no matter the feelings that we associate with it. I’m sure it’ll be one of my favorite records of this year, without contest.
Since this is an album review, consider the entirety of the record to be today’s song.
That’s it for this album review! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
As some of you may know, last week (March 20-27) was when the #TransRightsReadathon was hosted in response to a dangerous increase in anti-trans legislation across the U.S. Created by Simi Kern, the goal of the readathon was to give the spotlight to as many trans books and authors as possible to bring them awareness and support in light of the rampant transphobia across the country and beyond. It’s been frightening and heartbreaking to see what’s happening in other states, and I want to support my trans siblings in any way possible. So I’ve decided to include shorter reviews of all of the trans books I read this week—all of which were good!
For as long as they can remember, Aaron and Oliver have only ever had each other. In a small town with few queer teenagers, let alone young trans men, they’ve shared milestones like coming out as trans, buying the right binders–and falling for each other.
But just as their relationship has started to blossom, Aaron moves away. Feeling adrift, separated from the one person who understands them, they seek solace in digging deep into the annals of America’s past. When they discover the story of two Revolutionary War soldiers who they believe to have been trans man in love, they’re inspired to pay tribute to these soldiers by adopting their names–Aaron and Oliver. As they learn, they delve further into unwritten queer stories, and they discover the transformative power of reclaiming one’s place in history.
TW/CW: transphobia, dysphoria, misgendering/deadnaming, homophobia, off-page sexual assault, religious bigotry
Novels in verse always get me when they’re done well, and A Million Quiet Revolutions was no exception. The story of Aaron and Oliver is one that was essential to be told, and it resulted in a beautifully poignant piece of verse!
The growing relationship between Oliver and Aaron felt so genuine, and the combination of pseudo-epistolary format (oh god, that sounded pretentious…) with verse emphasized the way that their relationship transcended barriers of both place and time. The interweaving of the past with the present gave me an insight into a queer part of history that I’m almost embarrassed that I didn’t consider until reading this—better late than never, I suppose. Their voices both leapt off the page, and the easy flow of Gow’s verse made the reading experience feel effortless, drifting like wind—good poetry, to me, doesn’t quite feel like poetry; the rhythm remains, but it doesn’t feel like going line by line in such a rote way.
Above all, the message of this novel in verse is one that’s so important, especially in a time where the narrative of LGBTQ+ people being trendy and new is being pushed so often—queer people have always been here, and we will always be here. Aaron and Oliver’s journey of researching their trans namesakes—cross-dressing soldiers in the Revolutionary War—was one that’s so necessary for understanding our own roots. The key to belonging is realizing that you have always been a part of history, no matter how many pains historians have taken to ignore or deliberately erase the queerness and transness that has always been there. For me, that’s why A Million Quiet Revolutions is such an important read.
Brimming with history and rich verse, A Million Quiet Revolutions is an ode to discovering your own roots, and finding solace in hidden histories. 4 stars!
In this queer contemporary YA mystery, a nonbinary teen with autism realizes they must not only solve a 30-year-old mystery but also face the demons lurking in their past in order to live a satisfying life.
Sam Sylvester’s not overly optimistic about their recent move to the small town of Astoria, Oregon after a traumatic experience in their last home in the rural Midwest.
Yet Sam’s life seems to be on the upswing after meeting several new friends and a potential love interest in Shep, the pretty neighbor. However, Sam can’t seem to let go of what might have been, and is drawn to investigate the death of a teenage boy in 1980s Astoria. Sam’s convinced he was murdered–especially since Sam’s investigation seems to resurrect some ghosts in the town.
Threatening notes and figures hidden in shadows begin to disrupt Sam’s life. Yet Sam continues to search for the truth. When Sam discovers that they may be closer to a killer than previously known, Sam has a difficult decision to make. Would they risk their new life for a half-lived one?
My ultimate hope was that this book would be as well-crafted as its cover, and for the most part, it lived up to my expectations! The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester deftly toes the line between a coming-of-age story and a decades-old mystery, buoyed by a diverse and lovable cast.
Sam Sylvester has a batch some of the most diverse representation I’ve seen in a realistic fiction/mystery novel in a while—aside from having a nonbinary, asexual, and Autistic protagonist (more neurodivergent protagonists, please!!), there were so many different characters that were incredibly intersectional—queer, POC, and disabled characters all across the board, and not just the teen characters too! All of these identities were woven so well into the story, and I loved the journey of self-acceptance and reckoning that Sam experiences throughout the novel as they unravel the mystery of the boy who died in their room 30 years ago.
That being said, although I liked most every aspect of this novel, this really feels like a novel that’s going to date itself. I enjoyed a handful of the references (always extra points for David Bowie), but a lot of the more recent ones—the references to Tumblr, Gen Z slang, internet culture, and a Steven Universe gag every other page, read as very hackneyed and stilted. As authentic as the rest of Sam Sylvester was, those parts dragged down what would have otherwise been powerful and realistic dialogue. Most of the writing did its job and did it well, but the attempt to ground it in the present day only ended up making a novel that’s going to date itself far quicker than it was probably intended to.
Despite that, I’d say that Sam Sylvester is still a must-read—for the excellent representation, for the mystery, and for the coming-of-age story. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!
The author of the “vivid and urgent…important and timely” (The New York Times BookReview) debut The Map of Salt and Stars returns with this remarkably moving and lyrical novel following three generations of Syrian Americans who are linked by a mysterious species of bird and the truths they carry close to their hearts.
Five years after a suspicious fire killed his ornithologist mother, a closeted Syrian American trans boy sheds his birth name and searches for a new one. He has been unable to paint since his mother’s ghost has begun to visit him each evening. As his grandmother’s sole caretaker, he spends his days cooped up in their apartment, avoiding his neighborhood masjid, his estranged sister, and even his best friend (who also happens to be his longtime crush). The only time he feels truly free is when he slips out at night to paint murals on buildings in the once-thriving Manhattan neighborhood known as Little Syria.
One night, he enters the abandoned community house and finds the tattered journal of a Syrian American artist named Laila Z, who dedicated her career to painting the birds of North America. She famously and mysteriously disappeared more than sixty years before, but her journal contains proof that both his mother and Laila Z encountered the same rare bird before their deaths. In fact, Laila Z’s past is intimately tied to his mother’s—and his grandmother’s—in ways he never could have expected. Even more surprising, Laila Z’s story reveals the histories of queer and transgender people within his own community that he never knew. Realizing that he isn’t and has never been alone, he has the courage to officially claim a new name: Nadir, an Arabic name meaning rare.
As unprecedented numbers of birds are mysteriously drawn to the New York City skies, Nadir enlists the help of his family and friends to unravel what happened to Laila Z and the rare bird his mother died trying to save. Following his mother’s ghost, he uncovers the silences kept in the name of survival by his own community, his own family, and within himself, and discovers the family that was there all along.
TW/CW: transphobia, xenophobia, racism, Islamophobia, miscarriage, grief, sexual assault, animal death, loss of a parent
I didn’t go into The Thirty Names of Night with any expectations, but I was stunned by the writing! This novel is one of the best magical realism novels I’ve read in recent years, with writing as rich as a tapestry and a story that’s just as well-woven.
Joukhadar’s writing style was the star of Thirty Names; this is the first of his novels that I’ve read, but he has such a unique talent for finding unlikely comparisons and weaving them into the richest, most obvious but out-of-sight metaphors imaginable. I would never have compared the gray sky on a foggy day to the color of a kitchen knife, and somehow, it was right in front of me. His talent for metaphor suited the emotional depth of this story, as well as the almost fantastical element of the birds in New York—I will never claim to be the expert on him, but if there was any story that was suited for Joukhadar to tell, it’s this one.
That writing also made the emotional core of this story possible. There’s so much to Thirty Names: gender identity, grief, heritage, family, and the body itself, but all of it was handled with such grace and aplomb that made the story feel really, truly real. I might’ve even passed the aspect of the birds by as something that could feasibly happen with how this story was written. Every part of this novel is deeply moving, raw and beautiful, and the prose flows as smoothly as air over a bird’s wings.
All in all, a beautiful, literary tale of connections—to family, to gender, and to the world around us at large. 4.25 stars!
“If you control our sleep, then you can own our dreams…And from there, it’s easy to control our entire lives.”
From the brilliant mind of Charlie Jane Anders (“A master absurdist”—New York Times; “Virtuoso”—NPR) comes a new novel of Kafkaesque futurism. Set on a planet that has fully definitive, never-changing zones of day and night, with ensuing extreme climates of endless, frigid darkness and blinding, relentless light, humankind has somehow continued apace—though the perils outside the built cities are rife with danger as much as the streets below.
But in a world where time means only what the ruling government proclaims, and the levels of light available are artificially imposed to great consequence, lost souls and disappeared bodies are shadow-bound and savage, and as common as grains of sand. And one such pariah, sacrificed to the night, but borne up by time and a mysterious bond with an enigmatic beast, will rise to take on the entire planet–before it can crumble beneath the weight of human existence.
TW/CW: animal attack/animal death, police brutality, body horror
Alright, so the only explicitly stated Latinx characters, specifically of Mexican ancestry, are named…Carlos and Maria? So most everybody else gets semi-unique names, but not them? It’s like Cho Chang all over again…[LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER}
If I hadn’t read Victories Greater Than Death beforehand, I would’ve been more suspicious, but it seems like Anders has gotten a lot better with diversity on that front, but…still iffy. Just saying.
That aside, The City in the Middle of the Night was one of the more inventive dystopias that I’ve read recently, but it fell victim to very convoluted writing. It’s obvious from every page that Anders put so, so much work into creating a fleshed-out world with an equally fleshed-out history—that was a riotous success on her part. The premise of society being divided by a tidally-locked planet felt eerily feasible, and I absolutely ADORED all of the alien life forms on the night side of January—the Gelet were obviously my favorites, but I would’ve liked to have seen more creatures. ALWAYS MORE CREATURES.
However, Anders’ writing choices ended up making parts of The City in the Middle of the Night something of a struggle. The story itself ended up being rather convoluted and tangled, and I found myself getting lost and confused about wait, which side of the planet are we on again? Why are we here in the first place? The additions of a boatload of characters that ended up having very little consequence to the plot at large didn’t help either. This story had the potential to be incredible, but it ended up getting so lost in itself that it became an ordeal to figure out where I was.
All in all, an inventively-conceived dystopia that excelled in worldbuilding but floundered in its writing. 3.25 stars.
Tell me what you think! Did you participate in the #TransRightsReadathon, and if so, what books did you read? What do you think of these books?Let me know in the comments!
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!
The Shape of Water has been my all-time favorite movie for several years now—I’m looking over my shoulder at the poster above my bed as I’m writing this. I had the novelization on my TBR for a few years, but only got around to it recently, probably for fear of it not living up to the film. I had no idea that it was a dual release with the film, but after reading it, the novelization of The Shape of Water struggled to live up to the poetic poignance of the film.
Visionary storyteller Guillermo del Toro and celebrated author Daniel Kraus combine their estimable talent in this haunting, heartbreaking love story.
The Shape of Water is set in Cold War-era Baltimore at the Occam Aerospace Research Center, which has recently received its most sensitive asset ever: an amphibious man captured in the Amazon. What unfolds is a stirring romance between the asset and one of the janitors on staff, a mute woman who uses sign language to communicate with the creature.
Developed from the ground up as a bold two-tiered release—one story interpreted by two artists in the independent mediums of literature and film — The Shape of Water weaves together fantasy, horror, and romance to create a tale that is equally gripping on the page and on the big screen.
TW/CW: racism, homophobia, xenophobia, ableism, misogyny, sexual harassment/assault, blood, gore, murder, animal death, loss of loved ones
The Shape of Water is a movie that’s touched my heart in a way that I doubt any other will. In summation, the film is a testament to the marginalized experience—any kind of marginalized or othered group—and self-love and acceptance. Guillermo del Toro is a storyteller without parallel, and maybe that’s why I was so hesitant to pick up the novelization for so long. I had no idea that it was a dual release with the film, but either way, my fears ended up being confirmed—Daniel Kraus’ novelization is faithful in the barest, structural way, but largely failed to capture the heart of the film’s message.
I’m not familiar with Daniel Kraus’ other novels, but even a quick scan on Goodreads tells me that he’s a frequent collaborator with Guillermo del Toro, which, after reading this, frankly surprises me. Del Toro’s storytelling, from this film to Pan’s Labyrinth and the most recent Pinnochio, has a consistently strong emotional core, something that anchors the fantastical elements to our most core human experiences. And somehow, Kraus chose to adapt this novel in the most flat, checklist-like way possible. Yes, all of the beats of the film were there, as well as some bonus content. But thanks to Kraus’ dry writing, the emotional core—what made the story so deeply impactful in the first place—apparently flew straight over his head.
Now, before I get into my major gripes, I will say this—the novelization picks up far more at the halfway point. The chapters that Kraus writes from the perspective of The Asset were an unmistakable highlight, charming, dreamlike, and refreshingly strange compared to most of the other perspectives. I almost find myself wishing that the scene with Bob Hoffstetler and The Asset made it to the film. And the very climactic events in the third act were dealt with the appropriate amount of weight, and the pace picked up significantly, unlike the steady pace of the movie. And as much as I love the dance scene, I completely get the decision to nix it from the novel—out of all of the scenes to translate from screen to page, that would be at the top of the page.
With that out of the way, I was bothered by how much emphasis Kraus places on the antagonist, Strickland. There were some fascinating scenes that never made it to the film of the process of him capturing The Asset in the South American rainforest; they were interesting additions, and although I liked them in general, it mostly ended up being Strickland being incredibly racist. It’s painfully on brand for his character, but beyond that, it seemed like his character got the most page time out of the whole cast. He is the main villain, sure, but given that this story is about the marginalized experience and he is the predatory antithesis to what the film stands for, the decision didn’t leave the best taste in my mouth.
My other main issue was how Kraus wrote the character of Elisa Esposito. For the most part, Kraus was somewhat faithful to her personality, but there were multiple instances where the descriptions of her were incredibly concerning. On several occasions, she is described as “childlike” and “[like] a kindergartener” in scenes where she is struggling to communicate her needs—for those of you who have not seen this film, Elisa is mute, and she uses ASL to communicate. It’s already offensive on the front that Elisa is such a treasured character to me, but Kraus seems to, once again, miss the message of the film by a mile, and ends up right smack in the middle of the all-too-common trope of infantilizing disabled people—especially disabled women. Elisa is in no way “childlike” for trying to communicate her needs—she is a grown woman, and she is frustrated by the struggle to communicate with her abled peers in a world that is not built for her. Let me say it again: Elisa Esposito is a grown woman. Even though Kraus was somewhat respectful in some of his other descriptions of her, but these instances all but negated everything else that he had established in the adaptation.
All in all, a structurally faithful, occasionally beautiful, but often frustrating adaptation of a film that will forever have the prime spot in my heart. 3 stars from a peeved Guillermo del Toro fan. Just watch the movie instead.
The Shape of Water is a standalone, as the film is, but Daniel Kraus has also collaborated with Guillermo del Toro on the novel Trollhunters. Kraus is also the author of The Life and Death of Zebulon Finch, The Teddies Saga, and several other books for all ages.
Today’s song:
saw these legends on Friday night—such a beautiful experience, and I’ve had this song on repeat ever since
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 