I’ve been a huge fan of Melissa Albert ever since I fell in love with The Hazel Wood series way back when (2018? No way…I feel old…). I forget how or why it’s taken me so long to pick up her follow-up, Our Crooked Hearts, but it was worth the wait—this novel made me remember exactly what endeared me to Albert’s writing in the first place!
Ivy has found herself at the center of string of unexplainable events. An eviscerated rabbit in her driveway. Secrets buried in the backyard. And now, a nude woman in the middle of the road that Ivy and her boyfriend almost hit with their car. The more she digs into these strange happenings, the more they lead to her mother, who dabbled in forbidden magic when she was a teenager. Ivy, now the age that her mother was when she started tapping into the supernatural, wonders if this magic has come back with a vengeance—and if there’s a way to control it before it comes back for her mother.
TW/CW: animal death/abuse/torture, blood, gore
I don’t know why it took me this long to pick up Our Crooked Hearts and how I could’ve possibly gone three years without reading something of Melissa Albert’s, because wow. This one toes the line between magical realism and horror, but either way you took it, there’s no doubt that Albert is the master of YA magical realism!
Let’s start with Albert’s obvious strength: the lyrical nature of her prose. Though Our Crooked Hearts wasn’t steeped in fairytales like the Hazel Wood duology was, it was no less enchantingly written. Every line feels like its own fairytale, full to bursting with metaphors so unique I found myself highlighting up and down the page. Albert has the ability to weave magic into the smallest of things, from the small moments in the suburbs to the unexplainable events that litter the plot like strange trinkets found on the side of the road. The Hazel Wood was already luscious, but Our Crooked Hearts feels like a maturation of everything that makes Albert’s writing good: a recognition of the magic in everything, but also of the darkness behind the glitter.
The way that Albert writes magic itself was just as compelling! Though the magic system itself is not gone into depth, it’s understood to be the kind of magic that only awakens in the shadows, summoned by girls left to their own devices without any clue of the consequences. I understood some of the unexplained bits to be a byproduct of how little Dana, Fee, and Marion understood of what they were getting themselves into—they knew about as much as we do. Like the relationships running through this novel (more on that later), it is an undercurrent to every decision that they make, rooted in revenge but later a series of bandages to throw over every little breadcrumb they leave behind by accident. On that note, I loved that this wasn’t simply a revenge story—it started as such, but that revenge grew into something so monstrous that it was spread down through generations. Hmm, sure feels like a metaphor to me…
Our Crooked Hearts is written in a dual POV between timelines, following our protagonist, Ivy, and her mother, Dana; Ivy’s perspective finds her in a quiet suburb, while Dana’s perspective is set in Chicago in the ’90s. I loved how the two of them evolved in tandem—dual POVs aren’t especially difficult to pull off, but having them set in different timelines was such a wonderful move to not only elevate the story, but deepen the mother-daughter relationship at the heart of the novel. In terms of literary fiction, I feel like there’s a trend of multigenerational novels (somehow they’re all set in New York) where they hop between time periods and family members; sometimes they’re successful (see: Elizabeth Acevedo), but often, they miss the nuance of familial connection and just focus on being literary. This is far from literary fiction (complimentary), but what this novel does that a lot of others don’t is make the timelines feel distinct. Ivy and Dana have radically different personalities, and though their journeys of dabbling in forbidden magic are similar, their goals—and endpoints—were so different that I found myself fully invested in both of them.
Mother-daughter relationships are at the heart of Our Crooked Hearts, and the dual POV makes for such a fascinating examination of when such relationships become toxic, and the events building up to the toxicity once Dana began raising Ivy. Dana’s perspective was one of constantly being pulled along—by her friends, by authority figures, and by forbidden magic beyond her comprehension. The guilt that resulted from living a life predicated almost entirely on the decisions of other people tragically informed how Ivy grew up—picking up the pieces, and discovering the pieces of her mother along the way. Without spoiling the ending, I loved how it was resolved—there’s no immediate absolution of guilt once familial ties are brought up (unlike a certain recent Disney film beginning with E), but there’s an understanding to how and why things turned out the way they did. Ivy is still left to sift through the wreckage, but all that she thought was lost was not far beyond reach.
Also, one thing that Melissa Albert can always be counted on is top-tier music references. All she had to do was mention Dana putting Liz Phair on the jukebox, and I was already foaming at the mouth.
All in all, a horrific and lyrical observation on magic and teenage girlhood, mothers and daughters. 4 stars!
Our Crooked Hearts is a standalone, but Melissa Albert is also the author of The Hazel Wood duology (The Hazel Wood, The Night Country, and the companion novel Tales from the Hinterland) and The Bad Ones. She is also the founder of the Barnes & Noble Teen Blog.
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!
Happy Sunday, bibliophiles! I hope this week has treated you well.
Sparklehorse also posthumously released “The Scull of Lucia” this week, and it would’ve fit the color scheme, but I just know that it’s gonna make me too sad to write about. Love you, Mark, but I’m trying to preserve my sanity.
I guess this week’s batch is starting out on a sour note, but I just have not stopped listening to bits and pieces of this album for weeks, so get Liz Phair’d. My advice, though: as we are in the peak of road trip season, this is the absolute worst song to put on a road trip playlist, as good as it is. Regardless of whether or not you’re in a romantic relationship on said road trip, I feel like it’s just a horrible omen either way.
Speaking to Rolling Stone, Liz Phair said that she wasn’t surprised that this song became a fan favorite from Exile in Guyville: “…[‘Divorce Song’] has that deadpan delivery. It’s an ordinary person doing ordinary things…the song is really just about relating to another person. It feels like an action-packed song. You’ve done a lot…but really it’s just two personalities trying to be intimate and bumping up against each other on a road trip and that’s all that happens.” The concept of lyrical storytelling is, for some reason, always equated to having some grand, lofty narrative, as if stories about ordinary things somehow don’t make the cut. But that’s exactly what makes “Divorce Song” such a powerful song—it’s a linear narrative about a road trip gone south, and yet it packs the same punch of a narrative spanning multiple songs. You can tangibly feel the trapped heat of the inside of a car, the humid desolation of a cramped hotel room, and the sinking realization that “it’s harder to be friends than lovers/and you shouldn’t try to mix the two/’cause if you do it and you’re still unhappy/then you know that the problem is you.” Against the backdrop of Phair’s turmoil, small details create a painfully fleshed-out picture (“and it’s true that I stole your lighter/and it’s also true that I lost the map”), the images of this song feel as real as if I were watching them unfold on a movie screen; that really should be the bare minimum, but honestly, in the age of mass-produced, filtered music dominating the airwaves, this song feels like a breath of fresh air, even 30 years later. (Not too sound like a boomer there. I’ve just been inundated for the past few days because Taylor Swift was in town this weekend.) Contrary to Pitchfork contributor Scott Plagenhoef’s assertion that Exile would come off as dated to this generation because we’re so used to explicit sexual content in mainstream music…it’s not dated in that sense? At all?? Sure, we are exposed to more of it, but that doesn’t diminish the value of one of the first female artists to bring these kind of raw, unapologetic, and honest lyrics to the indie rock scene and owning it. It’s not like it’s impossible to see that empowerment shining through, whether it’s in the context of 1993 or 2023.
Seriously, Pitchfork…whose grand idea was it to have a man write a review of the 15th Anniversary Edition of Exile in Guyville? Not that men can’t write reviews of music by women and vice versa, but this one? The album that specifically came about to critique the boy’s club of indie rock? That’s just a war crime, if I’ve ever seen it. The review is from 2008, but…no, they had definitely had women on board at Pitchfork by then. There’s no excuse. Jesus Christ…
uhhhhhhh tommy shelby sigma male octillionaire grindset cillian murphy moment
No, I haven’t watched Peaky Blinders yet, but my parents recently going through the whole show (and getting close to finishing it) has me almost convinced to watch it?? If anything will convince me, though, it’s the absolutely loaded soundtrack: Radiohead? The White Stripes? The Kills? I mean, come on. Perfection. And this too!
And, it’s reminded me that I need to get into P.J. Harvey. Somehow, I always forget about her, but every time I hear a song of hers, it’s instantly gripping, whether it’s the grinding jumpscare of “Rid Of Me” or what is hands down the best cover of The Rolling Stones’ “(I Can’t Get No) Satisfaction” ever performed, along with our queen Björk:
If that doesn’t make you want to worship the ground that they both walk on, just for a moment, I’m not sure what possibly will. The sheer power they both wield.
Again, there’s no excuse for me not to get into more P.J. Harvey right this minute, except for my pileup of albums waiting to be listened to. But for now, I at least have this song—and it’s a demo? How is this a demo?? Lucy Dacus, on her episode of Amoeba Records’ YouTube series What’s In My Bag? picked an album of Harvey’s 4-track demos, and remarked about how she wished that her demos were “remotely shareable” in comparison. Either way, I’m so glad that this demo is out in the world. Even with my limited P.J. Harvey knowledge, raw power is what characterizes what I’ve heard of her music—raw-throat screaming, instrumentals that bear down on you like an onslaught. “Naked Cousin” is just that; the slightly grungier (not necessarily grungy in the Nirvana way, but in both the musical and non-musical sense of the word), grimier sound quality coming from the demo enhances its atmosphere. It’s an eerily sinister song, the dirtiness of the instrumentation matching the lyrical image of discomfort that Harvey weaves: “I hate his smell and/I hate his company, but/But most of all, I hate that he/He looks just, just like me.” It’s a deeply uncomfortable song—Harvey really enhances the tangible feel of someone lingering over you, the feeling of their hot, sour breath pressing against your skin. She can certainly create an atmosphere, even if it’s the last one you’d want to be surrounded by.
Since I’ve started working at the library, I’ve made a playlist for myself to listen to while I’m shelving books. It’s all soft, slow songs, both so I don’t get distracted and so it matches the atmosphere of the library. So there’s a lot of Phoebe Bridgers, Radiohead, Wilco, some older St. Vincent, et cetera. “Femme Fatale” went on there almost immediately, but not just because it fit those criteria: nothing makes you feel more like a character in an indie movie than listening to The Velvet Underground in a library.
Nico’s vocals take the lead on “Femme Fatale,” leaving Lou Reed to the backing vocals on the chorus. I already talked a little about the power of her voice back when I first listened to The Velvet Underground & Nico back in April with “All Tomorrow’s Parties,” but those two songs together are emblematic of her vocal range. Next to the looming, encroaching presence on the former (although it comes later in the album), “Femme Fatale” sees Nico dipping into a gentle whisper, her voice fading to an almost imperceptible hiss at the very end of each chorus as she says “hear the way she talks.” As massive of a presence as her famously low, resonant voice is, she slips into the quiet so easily (see also: “I’ll Be Your Mirror”), and yet retains the same cavernous quality—even as her voice drifts through the enchantingly gentle intro of guitar and tambourine, you can instantly feel it in your chest, making your bones vibrate. Or maybe the latter is just the mixing of this song—famously headphone-vibrating, if the YouTube comments are any indication. It’s the perfect fit for a film—the only movie I can seem to find with it is Bandslam, which I’ve never heard of, but Wes Anderson really needs to get on it. Past time that he used it for something, although maybe he filled his personal Nico quotient in The Royal Tenenbaums?
One Nico song seems like a small quotient, but who am I to judge Wes Anderson? He’s Wes Anderson, after all.
Gather ’round, my fellow Americans, let us all cry and watch videos of Blur performing in Wembley Stadium, and hope for the best that they’ll just get over themselves and announce a North American tour. Grab your tissues. Cry with me.
But this. THIS. This is the Blur that I’d been missing! “The Narcissist” was a solid song, but “St. Charles Square” is a much better showcase of their talents—and brimming with so much more creativity. Unlike the former single, which sounded as though it could be a solo Damon Albarn track, “St. Charles Square” finally feels like Albarn, Coxon, James, and Rowntree have reformed as a truly cohesive unit, their unique talents blending as seamlessly as they did in the 90’s. Whether or not Damon Albarn’s “OI!” at the beginning is a callback to “Parklife” (aaaaaaaaaall the people) or just him being British is up for debate, but even if it is nostalgia bait, you bet I’m biting it. You guys have no idea how many times my mom and I have car-danced to that song. I’ll gladly be a nostalgic shill for a bunch of white, middle-aged British guys. And finally, finally, Graham Coxon’s signature guitar playing has returned to the spotlight! His riffs are as power-laden and punchy as ever, and he’s adopted an echoing tone that calls back to David Bowie at the very beginning of the 80’s, rightas he released Scary Monsters (And Super Creeps).And this song is full of scary monsters and super creeps of its own—the delightfully eerie lyrics are rife with “ghosts come back to haunt me” and “something down here/And it’s living under the floorboards/Its grabbed me round the neck with its long and slender claws.” With all that to work with, it’s no wonder that Albarn’s flair for showmanship shines in this track: I’d be lying if I told you that his piercing, werewolf howl at 1:40 didn’t make me giddy on every single listen. It’s a spooky delight all the way through.
I didn’t know until I started looking into this song that it was a cover—Shakey Graves was the main draw, I only knew of Shovels & Rope because they always come up as similar artists when I search for Shakey Graves on Apple Music, and I can only remember one (1) Neil Young song off the top of my head. And normally, I wouldn’t be one for folk-country songs describing a blonde woman riding through the desert on a Harley-Davidson that rhymes “diner” with “finer” (in reference to said woman), but, again: Shakey Graves.
iTunes has this song labeled as Shakey Graves & Shovels & Rope (and my English major brain wants to separate them with a comma or “and,” not a second ampersand, for the love of god 😭), but I was surprised to see that YouTube lists it as Shovels & Rope feat. Shakey Graves; if anything, there’s far more Shakey than Shovels—Alejandro Rose-Garcia is clearly taking the lead on vocals here. (I guess that this song was also included on Shovels & Rope’s covers album, Busted Jukebox, vol. 1, so that’s probably why.) Either way, the harmonies on this rendition of Neil Young are my main draw. Rose-Garcia’s voice has this distinct, irreplaceable rasp to it, rough and raw-throated at the edges, but never losing its power. Combined with the husband and wife duo of Michael Trent and Cary Ann Hearst (is it bad to ask who’s the shovel and who’s the rope in this relationship?), their voices form a resonant group of harmonies, with Hearst’s high notes elevating the thrill of the music and Trent providing a steady wall for it to anchor itself against. Whether they’re hitting the highest of high notes or gently drifting away from the chorus with their whispered repetition of “the air she breathes.” Again: I’m not usually one for the folky covers with the obligatory harmonica solo at the end, but Shakey Graves will convince me.
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!
Happy July, and happy disability pride month! Here’s a nice, warm, tomato soup and grilled cheese color palette to prepare yourself for the upcoming, inevitable heat that’ll make us all feel like human puddles. I like summer, but…to a point, y’know? Anything above 80 degrees is pushing it for me. I’d like the warmth without the sunburn, thanks.
I had the incredible privilege of seeing Shakey Graves last week, and I’m not just saying that because it got us out of some apparently nasty hail back home. My brother and his girlfriend had seen him twice before, and they hyped it up perfectly—his solo guitar and suitcase kick drum endeavors were exactly as mind-blowing as promised. Dude’s got some undeniable talent.
One of the songs I’d been meaning to get around to was “Chinatown”—Roll the Bones X is on my Sisyphean album bucket list, I promise, but I’ve been cherry-picking songs in the meantime. The version that Alejandro Rose-Garcia played live was a much smoother, slicker, and faster version, and as good as the performance was, it didn’t seem quite right for such a tender soul-barer of a song. The defining quality of “Chinatown” is just how raw it is—even if it weren’t stripped down, as everything on Roll the Bonex X seems to be, how could these lyrics not gut you? “There will come a day/when the earth will cease to spin/You’ll hold me close and say/’My god where have you been?'” Sweet Jesus. I seriously get a hitch in my throat every time I come around to that part. I can’t listen to this song without getting chills. It seems like the other side of “Built to Roam”—despite being built for a life on the road and never being able to settle in one place, there’s an unwavering, almost apologetic devotion to whoever it is he loves and a regret for leaving them behind—”I still have sense enough to fear/that I’m not much without you near.” Lord. I’m getting choked up just writingthis. You gotta stop, Shakey…
And even though this was one of the first songs on disc 2 of Roll the Bones X, I feel like it would’ve been the perfect closer, that wistful final line of “I’ll see you soon” that fades into nothing. Sentimental, self-conscious (hypothetical) album closers, anyone?
Listen. LISTEN. Across the Spiderverse is already the best movie of 2023. I’m all for the BarbenHeimer double feature in a few weeks, but nothing is gonna touch this. Nothing. I can’t think of another movie that’s given me this much faith in…well, media in general. The innovative art that made Into the Spiderverse so memorable has been cranked up to eleven, and nothing beats seeing a mixed-race character in a storyline about breaking away from people’s expectations of what he should be and writing his own story. (WE LOVE YOU MILES) Plus, the emphasis on a narrative about how good storytelling and heroism isn’t automatically synonymous with suffering? MAGNIFIQUE. Add that to a) everything about Gwen and her dimension, b) Jason Schwartzman’s innate ability to play characters with short man syndrome finally translated into a full-blown villain, and c) Spider-Punk (need I say more?), it’s rocketed up to one my favorite movies of all time. Tears were shed.
And part of what made both Spiderverse movies feel so fully realized in their richly detailed atmospheres was Daniel Pemberton’s scores for each of them. Blending all sorts of genres and cooking them all in the most seamless, synthy, movie score soup in, dare I say it, cinema history, there’s no sense of trying to get a feel for the mood—it’s as though the scenes were made with the music in mind. Everything from Spiderman 2099’s memed-to-death-but-still-iconic theme to the opening titles in Gwen Stacy’s dimension feels like it was part of the movie from the start—the innovative artistry of the animation clearly bled over into the score for every track. It was almost impossible to pick just one, but “All Stations – Stop Spiderman” came back to me again and again. Set against the chaotic but beautifully meticulous chase scene in the Spider Society headquarters, the music sounds as eclectic as the many Spider-Variants and as exciting and tense as seeing them all converge onto Miles Morales. There’s no excitement quite like the quietly encroaching bass paired with frenetic drumbeats that sound of the onslaught of Spidermen. And normally, hearing heavy breathing is a major sensory trigger for me, but the brief bite of breathing into the microphone at the 0:30 makes the high-octane excitement all the more palpable. The subtle weaving of Miguel O’Hara’s theme? The perfectly-timed switch from spider-fight to spider-betrayal? Good god, there’s nothing bad to be said about this score. Or this movie.
…What are you still doing here, anyway? DROP EVERYTHING!!! GO WATCH IT!!
New Smile material is the best kind of present, no matter the song, but…does this mean we’re closer to getting “Read the Room” soon? Please? Please?
Don’t let that dissuade you, though—I’m still reeling from the former after hearing it live six months ago, but I’m just as excited that “Bending Heretic” has finally gotten to see the light of day. Rarely do I think of songs as truly hypnotic, but this one puts me under its hazy spell almost immediately with its gentle, murmuring guitars. Thom Yorke’s voice weaves through each gently plucked note like a lazy river with a cloak of mist. You really do feel the musical twisting and turning as Yorke sings about “coming to a bend now/skidding ’round the hairpin/a sheer drop down/an Italian mountainside/time is kind of frozen.” Time really does seem to freeze—the smooth limitlessness of this first quarter (or so) makes you forget that it’s 8 minutes long—the longest song that Thom Yorke has contributed to, not counting his remix of “Creep.” Every transition is liquid smooth—Tom Skinner’s drums kick in imperceptibly, as though they were always there, accompanied by strings. But just as you’re lulled back into a false sense of security, the strings coalesce into a shrill crescendo, morphing into sheer power as the guitars kick back in. The last quarter of “Bending Heretic” has the feel of being hit square in the face by a tidal wave—you can feel the raw power deep in your bones. It transported me back to how awe-inspiring their live presence was back when I saw them in December. Listening to them then was unforgettable, and hearing this song come to life for the first time on streaming was just as much so.
Now that it’s July, I’ve realized that we’re neck-deep in Liz Phair summer over here. Buckle up.
Ever since last week’s Liz Phair (re)awakening and my recent listen-through of Exile in Guyville, the jolly deep sea fisherman in my brain has been dredging up spare fragments of hers from some part of my mind that’s been somewhat dormant since 2017. All I could remember of this one until I looked it up was “Cinco de Mayo/uhhh something something denial,” and…for once, I was right? Sort of? Listening to this one again makes me see exactly why it wormed its way back into my brain. Phair’s dry witticisms are dialed up to their full capacity, paired with jangly guitars that bring to mind sitting on benches in the midst of dry, summer heat. Dry, summer heat is what this song really is—sitting by yourself, remembering how it felt to wince, pull off the bandaid, and quit thinking about your ex. (I didn’t realize until now that there’s two breakup songs in a row? Whoops…) And as much as I now adore Exile, it seems like that album has overshadowed everything else that Liz Phair has put out (as…divisiveas some of her more recent work seems to be). I’m just as motivated now to dig my teeth into Whip-Smart as I was to listen to her debut—I already adore this, the title track, and “Supernova,” so why not? Anybody who can rhyme “denial” with “Ohio” automatically has my respect. They’re already synonyms, so it was only a matter of time.
Every time I see a new Supreme Court decision, it cements it in my mind that this song is the only Independence Day I’ll be celebrating on Tuesday. I’m just celebrating that I’m getting a day off work, at this point.
Even if the real Independence Day doesn’t have much of the same meaning anymore, at least Palehound can fill the void with a fantastic new track, self-described as a “gay breakup song for pride month.” Eye on the Bat’s first single, “The Clutch,” was hard to beat, but “Independence Day” easily slid to my second favorite single off the record so far. From the minute that El Kempner’s snappy finger-picking kicks in, every not3 is propulsive, with winding guitar melodies that crawl up the walls like ladybugs. It’s reached the level of Palehound Perfection™️ of some of their best songs—a catchy, three-and-a-half-minute long alt-rock hit that never loses its momentum. For a breakup song, it’s deceptively upbeat—it’s pure indie catharsis. It isn’t just heartbreak, plain and simple, but a series of pictures painted on tiny canvases. Each verse feels like a neatly-cut movie scene, from the “flashes of color on your face/the bass thumping, the chanting names/our cat running under the bed with his tail between his legs” as Kempner breaks it off with her partner on July 4th, to a near-death experience on the road that could have “dug us both a single grave,” but drove them apart rather than bringing them closer together. All of it is strung together by one of Kempner’s most memorable choruses: “I’m living life like writing a first draft/’cuz there is nothing to it if I can’t edit the past/and even if I could it, would kill me to look back/no I don’t wanna see the other path.” And for someone who constantly imagines alternate timelines, universes where I made different decisions, I can see how freeing it could be to know that the path that you’re on is the one you’re meant to be on—the ones still tied to their ex, for Kempner, aren’t worth dwelling on. Cheers to that.
Since this post consists entirely of songs, consider all of them to be today’s song.
That’s it for this week’s songs! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
And just like that, we’re halfway through the year…I don’t want to jinx it, but I feel like it’s been a good one so far. Other than being sick for all of April, basically, but that’s in the past. Now the pollen allergies are kicking in!! Whee!!
Let’s begin, shall we?
GENERAL THOUGHTS:
June has been on the busier side, but in a good way, for the most part. I got my very first job as a page at my local library (!!!), and I’ll be working there part-time until school starts back up. As of today, I’ve just gotten my first paycheck!!
Right after that, I went on vacation in Olympic National Park! Washington is the prettiest—I loved seeing the rainforest and the ocean, and all of that nature really got my creative juices going.
I also went to my very first pride parade last weekend!! I only stayed for an hour to watch the parade itself (that’s on sensory issues), but it made me so incredibly happy to see my community gathered there and spreading so much joy. Unforgettable experience.
Now that I’m off school, I’ve tried to get back into my writing routine. I started on the first draft to the sequel of my main WIP. I’ve made some good progress so far, but I’m planning on taking it to Camp NaNoWriMo tomorrow! I’m shooting for the full 50,000 this time, so wish me luck!
Other than that, I’ve just been drawing, practicing guitar, seeing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Shakey Graves live (both of which were AMAZING GAAAH) binging even more Taskmaster (just finished season 6, looking forward to seeing how unreasonably angry James Acaster gets in season 7), watching Across the Spiderverse (can’t remember the last time a movie changed my brain chemistry THIS much, so beautiful) and Asteroid City (another win from Wes Anderson), and trying not to inhale every single mote of pollen in my room. Allergy season is a real Fun Time.
READING AND BLOGGING:
I read 16 books this month! June wasn’t off to a great start (see the DNF below), but I ended up reading a ton of fun books for pride month! You’d think that vacation would’ve given me more time to read, but I ended up buying three books on my Kindle, all of which were rather chunky, so…
Here’s some queer fantasy for my last review of Pride Month 2023. I’m so glad that cozy sci-fi/fantasy as a subgenre is slowly multiplying nowadays, and that’s exactly what drew me to Flowerheart. I borrowed it from the Kindle library and ate it up in a few hours flat—though it wasn’t without its flaws, it was a charming, sweet palate-cleanser with lots of flowers and queer rep!
Clara has a gift—she can summon flowers at will, making them grow in any space she focuses on. But she’s only 16, and her flower magic is uncontrollable—and sometimes dangerous. When she accidentally causes poisonous flowers to grow in her father’s chest, Clara is distraught—and in desperate need of someone to heal his ailment and help her hone her magic. But the best magician for the job just happens to be Xavier, her former best friend who she can’t quite hide her feelings for. With Xavier hiding secrets and Clara racing against the clock, can they heal her father—and rein in her wild magic?
I love the title of this book as much as the next person, but I’m not gonna pretend that it isn’t a valid Warrior Cats name. Just saying. I’ll bet you money that it was somebody’s OC from 2014.
Flowerheart has a 3.58/5 average rating on Goodreads at present. I have a thing where I’ll see ratings in the 3.5 range and think “oooh, this could be a disappointment,” and then I’ll finish the book and realize that it was just about right on the money. It makes sense. I can see why several people loved it, but a good amount of people felt lukewarm about it or disliked it. For me, I’m sort of in the middle—it was a charming, sweet palate-cleanser, but the holes in the story and some of the writing style prevented me from enjoying it all the way.
The main selling point for Flowerheart seemed to be its coziness—setting aside the annoying, clearly BookTok marketing tactic to put “cottagecore” in the actual description, Bakewell passed with flying colors in terms of this book’s coziness! Other than a brief moment of fantasy body horror (said Flowers growing from Clara’s dad’s Heart), there’s very little that’s stressful. The book also has a strong emphasis on embracing your emotions and learning to love them (as opposed to suppressing them), which is always a win in my book (no pun intended). The queer-normative world was also a delight alongside of that—Clara is bisexual and in a straight-passing relationship, and there are several trans and nonbinary side characters! I ate this book up fairly quickly, but it was a delightful world to stay in, however short the stay was.
That being said, I really wanted more from the world. There really isn’t much to chew on other than the fact that everybody has a unique type of magic, there’s a ruling council of magicians that keeps everybody in check, and that most of the names have a vaguely European root or origin. Other than that, there was almost nothing to hold up the worldbuilding—if it were a house on stilts, the stilts might as well have been popsicle sticks. Where does the magic come from? What is the technology level of this world? Why are they letting 16-year-olds onto this magician council that makes all of the important decisions? Where even were we in the first place? Was there even a name for the place that Flowerheart was set in??? Cozy sci-fi/fantasy and expansive worldbuilding can coexist (see: anything by Becky Chambers), so the subgenre isn’t the issue. I didn’t need a huge, elaborate picture of the world of Flowerheart, but it was sadly clear that Bakewell did the bare minimum in terms of worldbuilding. I really did want more.
Aside from that, my main issue (if you can call it that) was the writing style. On its own, I liked it a lot—it had the perfect, charmingly over-the-top kind of style to it, and it suited the story very well. I saw another review that compared it to Harry Potter, and it made a lot of sense—it did sound very distinctly British. But Harry Potter is mostly middle-grade, and Flowerheart tended to skew the same way in its voice; Clara’s voice read more as a 12-14 year old than a 16 year old. Again: it’s not the coziness and relatively low stakes that made it feel more middle-grade, but the way that the characters were written. Not much of an issue, but I really feel like this would’ve been more successful if Clara was a few years younger.
All in all, a cozy fantasy that was filled with quite a few holes, but still sweet enough to enjoy. 3 stars.
Flowerheart is a standalone, but Catherine Bakewell is also the author of the middle-grade novel We Are the Song.
Today’s song:
ughhhhhh this album is so good
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
This week’s batch originally included a cover of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald,” but for several obvious reasons, I omitted it since I feel like that would be the absolute worst possible timing. Whoops.
quick trigger warning: there are mentions of suicide in part of this post, so if you don’t want to read that section, skip over “Evening Star Supercharger.”
Here I was thinking that “Come Talk to Me” and my 8th grade graduation were the only times that pipes of some kind (bagpipes and uilleann pipes, in this case) would ever make me feel anything…
This time, I wouldn’t say that said feeling evoked by “The Sensual World” isn’t the same kind of visceral, scoop-my-heart-right-out-of-my-ribcage of said Peter Gabriel song; this time, it’s more of a “how could she make that sound so incredibly cool” feeling. Normally, I wouldn’t be on board with these kind of fiddling, dressing up in medieval outfits kind of tunes, but I have to keep reminding myself: if anybody can do it, of course it’s Kate Bush. Of course. My favorite songs of hers make me feel like growing my shaved head all the way back out and running through the woods in a white dress (see: “Burning Bridge”), so I’m glad that she and Peter Richardson channeled that for the music video. And even without knowing much of anything about James Joyce’s Ulysses, I can’t think of a better way to adapt a monologue from a classic like that—this version is a mishmash of Molly Bloom’s monologue and Bush’s own lyrics, since Joyce’s estate didn’t grant her the rights to make the song all Joyce. (She later re-released it as “Flower of the Mountain” as a sung version of Molly Bloom’s monologue, once she was granted the rights.) I would’ve passed it off as Kate Bush and nothing but—the silky, airy cohesion throughout, the rush of joy once the fiddle and uilleann pipes kick in at the start of the chorus…everything. The chorus remained faintly in the background of my childhood memories, the title and the rest of the song lost up until a few years back, just like my favorite song was up until around two years ago. And while it’s hard to compete with my favorite song of all time at the moment, I’ve enjoyed every minute that I’ve spent with this unearthed song.
Complete coincidence—I had no idea that Exile in Guyville just turned 30 a few days ago! Perfect occasion to talk about this song, I suppose.
Most of my Liz Phair exposure prior to a few weeks ago came from two moments: seeing this album cover in passing on our iTunes library while my brother and I were trying to make a playlist for our dad ages ago, and two Whip-Smart tracks (“Supernova” and “Whip-Smart”) that defined a specific chunk of 8th grade. Listening to either of them instantly transports me back to a bus ride in the early hours of the morning, driving out to the middle of nowhere with my school to watch the total solar eclipse. And for years, I thought that that the Exile in Guyville cover was an illustration, and that the hood over her head was her actual hair. But the other day, my mom mentioned in passing, while we were listening to Palehound, how much it sounded like Liz Phair. I believed her, having a vague memory of said two songs.
And then my mom put on the first four tracks of Exile. Holy crap, dude.
I haven’t even gotten halfway through this album, but I haven’t fallen in love with an album this quickly in ages. This track is the one that keeps coming back to me—the minute the guitars kicked in, I was reeled all the way in. And even without the context of the last half of the album, this song seems to encapsulate its thesis perfectly—daring to have the courage to break into a male-dominated indie scene and make an irreplaceable mark on it. There’s the sly turning of the Rolling Stones’ lyrics back in their faces. And of course, there’s the references to height—”and I kept standing 6’1″/instead of 5’2″” isn’t just Phair keeping her head above the water after a nasty breakup, but a joking reference to her own height—she calls this song “the bravado that [she] manifest[s]” that seemed to confuse everybody once they saw how short she is. And…yeah, if I had a nickel for every person who’s said “I thought you’d be taller” to me, I could probably buy Amazon from Jeff Bezos. Liz Phair still has an inch on me, but…yep. The short king (queen?) experience.
So, to my mom, who talked about how cool it was that we were listening to the same knds of music at the same ages: I think it’s cool too. This one’s gonna be in heavy rotation once I listen to the whole thing. I love listening to music with you too.
Happy week-belated birthday to Sir Paul McCartney! Another song that ended up on here by coincidence, but I won’t argue against doing something for the occasion.
The White Album has something for everybody. Over the course of both sides, you have classic epics of songs (“While My Guitar Gently Weeps”), nursery rhyme-style political commentary (“Piggies”), eight and a half minutes of experimental discomfort (“Revolution 9”), and everything else under the sun (here comes the). It’s part of why this album is my favorite of the Beatles’ discography—there’s no shortage of songs that you can come back to, and each time, it feels like reuniting with an old friend. Yes, even “Wild Honey Pie.” I will defend that song with my dying breath. It’s hilarious.
But it’s some of Paul McCartney’s quieter, acoustic moments that have stayed with me the most whenever I revisit parts of this album. It has the pleasant simplicity of their earliest, poppiest songs, but with McCartney’s added experience, there’s a weight to it that would’ve been difficult to achieve in their very early youth. I just now realized that the bass part is just his gentle singing—there are so many moments of quiet brilliance on this album. I added this to my playlist when I went up to Washington, and every listen felt like a warm hug—and every subsequent listen still does. 1:45 of nothing but comfort. Paul McCartney just seems to have that effect.
I saw the Yeah Yeah Yeahs at the beginning of the month, and it was EXACTLY as phenomenal and soul-healing as I’d expected it to be. Karen O brought an infectiously joyous energy to every minute of the set, complete with her glittery, Elvis-but-cooler outfits and confetti cannons aplenty. It genuinely warmed my heart to see the giant smile on Brian Chase’s face every time the camera panned over to the drum kit—the whole band just felt so, so happy, and that made the show all the better. Even with how damp that night generally was, I enjoyed every second.
Of course, you can’t really live up to that as an opening act, but I enjoyed parts of Perfume Genius’ opening set, without question, even only knowing one song of his beforehand (“Queen,” which…apparently he does a whole strip tease to that one normally? I guess the weather only permitted him to make generally strip tease-like motions while dragging an itchy-looking gray sheet around…the spirit is willing, but the flesh is a bit too chilly?). Every song wasn’t a winner for me, but “Describe” certainly was. Both on streaming and live, Mike Hadreas (a.k.a. “Mike on the Mic,” according to Karen O.) seems content to let his voice take a more understated backseat, which suits the propulsive guitars that wall this track in. The combination of these driving, battering rams of guitars and Hadreas’ whispery voice form a unique sound—a song that simultaneously feels sharp and prickly like porcupine spines, but smoother than a silk sheet. Hadreas toes that line of juxtaposition exceedingly well on this song—the two contrasting sounds blend only at the edges, making for a song that never feels like it’s teetering one way or the other—it’s content to plant one leg on either side of the fence and keep them there. My only real complaint is the minute-odd ending of muttering, synth-y silence, but it’s short enough to skip, and not long enough to be a major qualm. It’s probably a transition between songs on Set My Heart On Fire Immediately, but I wouldn’t know.
I always struggle with posthumous album releases. At their worst, they’re blatant ways to capitalize off of an artist’s death and keep the nostalgia machine running, even if it’s just a collection of demos that were never meant to see the light of day. Even in David Bowie’s case—he’s my favorite singer, if I haven’t gone off about him for years on this blog, but even then, officially releasing his shelved 2001 album Toy felt weird—and it wasn’t his best work, either. I’m comforted by the fact that Bowie did actually want that album to see the light of day and seemed to be heartbroken by the fact that it got shelved, but I’m still dubious on whether or not that was Warner Music Group’s rationale for releasing it. I can say about the same for Prince’s Originals, even though I haven’t listened to it all the way through—especially with him and Bowie’s death being so close together, there’s definitely a 2016 pop-icon grief nostalgia machine running.
But Mark Linkous wasn’t necessarily a Bowie or a Prince. He wasn’t a worldwide superstar who changed the course of rock music—I can’t even think of anybody outside of my immediate family who might know about Sparklehorse. He’s gained significant renown in the indie community, but this feels different—given his history, it doesn’t seem like a cash grab at all. It seems like a genuine endeavor by Linkous’ siblings to revive some of his unreleased catalogue, not for reasons of greed or nostalgia. Toy felt somewhat off-putting; Bird Machine feels genuinely touching.
And the result of “Evening Star Supercharger” is purely Sparklehorse, without the touch of greed but still polished enough to sound smoother than a demo. It doesn’t feel far off from what I’ve heard off of Dreamt For Light Years in the Belly of a Mountain—the music has a polish of tinny glitter like a string of Christmas lights, but retains the unmistakable melancholy that ran through all of Linkous’ music. There’s an undeniable wish for stability and peace without the drugs and self-medication, but he still describes being wrenched through “the grinding metal gears/from a carnival of tears.” Knowing that he never achieved that kind of stability, leading him to take his own life in 2010, makes this unreleased material all the more heartbreaking; through the Christmas lights, it’s undeniably the sound of a damaged man. If anything, I hope Bird Machine allows us to celebrate the undeniably creative spirit that he had.
I have so many tags that I’ve been meaning to do for a while, so I figured I’d take some time on my break to do…well, at least one of them. Since I’m almost as big of a fan of music as I am of books, this is the perfect tag for me! The tag was created by Evin @ A Curly Sue’s Ramblings and Diamond @ I Have 12% of a Plan, and I found the tag over at Suhani @ Random Reader’s Rambles.
Use the tag “Chapters & Melodies Tag” in your post
Have fun!
Let’s begin, shall we?
here I am cycling through all possible “Syd or Lenny wearing headphones” gifs
🎵CHAPTERS & MELODIES TAG🎵
A SONG AND A BOOK THAT SHARE A TITLE
This prompt took a WHILE of digging through my read books on Goodreads, but I’ve found one: Supernova (Marissa Meyer) and “Supernova” by Liz Phair!
A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF A BOOK
At the time that I read The Final Six, I was somewhat familiar with Radiohead, but seeing the reference to “Paranoid Android” is what made me dive deeper into their music—OK Computer in particular. OK Computer is one of my favorite albums now, and Radiohead is one of my favorite bands. So, uh…thanks, Alexandra Monir!
A BOOK THAT FEATURES MUSIC IN IT
Ziggy, Stardust and Megets its name from David Bowie, and his music features prominently in the novel, which I loved! (Bowie’s my favorite) There are also a few Pink Floyd references, from what I remember—I think specifically about “Time.”
A SONG THAT REMINDS YOU OF YOUR OTP
art credit to L004P on Tumblr
Auri and Kal from Aurora Risingare 100% my OTP! They’re the sweetest, most tender pair together, and over the years, both of them—especially Auri—have become such important characters to me. I associate “Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space” with them for a few reasons—the lyrics (in this version, at least), fit, and the sweeping, space-y atmosphere fits the feel of the book itself. But if there’s one thing, ONE THING that I would give anything to see in the TV adaptation, it’s this song playing in the scene with Auri and Kal in the pollen fields. THAT’S ALL I ASK.
FAVORITE SONG FROM A MOVIE THAT WAS ADAPTED FROM A BOOK
Technically, this song is a) a cover, and b) was only in the trailer, but for me, it’s a fantastic cover! Gives me chills every time, and it has ever since I first saw the Dune trailer last year. Great book, great movie.
The Bookish Mutant 