Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (5/13/25) – The Knockout

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I always feel bad whenever I come back after period of hibernation only to come back with a negative review. I just have to get it all out sometimes! I’ll probably have something nice to say by next week.

Say it with me, kids: just because a book has diverse representation doesn’t erase the flaws in its writing! Sadly, The Knockout was not the one-two punch that the title promised: it tried to hard to sound hip and teenager-y, and nosedived spectacularly.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Knockout – S.A. Patel

Kareena Thakkar knows her power. She’s been building up her skills in Muay Thai, and she’s good enough to qualify for the US Muay Thai Open—an event that could take her to the Olympics if she wins. But even though it’s where her passion lies, Kareena is divided between her Muay Thai world, her peers’ desires for her to be traditionally feminine and act the way a good Indian girl should. With her ill father and the Olympics on the line—as well as a cute boy, Kareena must decide which world she’d rather stay in—or if she needs to divide those worlds after all.

TW/CW: bullying, terminal illness, misogyny, medical content

Look. I read YA frequently, knowing that it’s a market of books about teenagers mostly written by adults. Even by that standard, I haven’t read a book so deeply how do you do, fellow kids? as The Knockout in some time. I wanted to badly to root for Kareena, but her insufferable voice—and by extension, Patel’s writing—made it a real ordeal.

Kareena’s voice was the most glaring issue that The Knockout had. Firstly, she didn’t sound or act like a 17-year-old. If anything, between her language and her maturity, she sounded closer to 13 or 14. The kind of stiff, teen movie comebacks she doled out to her bullies were nowhere near the kind of experience a person would have at 17—especially someone who had been through as many struggles as her. In my experience, what you need to do when writing teenagers (or any character who’s younger than you) is to emphasize how you (or your peers) remember feeling—what you’d prioritize, what was important to you, how you would react to situations, etc. Writing like a teenager is about the emotion, because there are a lot of them running around your brain at that age. Sure, it’s hard to nail the voice, and granted, I don’t have the age distance from Kareena that Patel has. But there’s lots of easy ways to not do it, and some of those are a) extensively leaning on what you think is “hip” slang, and b) automatically skewing the character’s voices as young as possible within the teenage range. Between the unnecessary censorship of cursing here and there and her childish outbursts, Kareena was not believably 17. Additionally, Patel’s insistence at integrating what she thought to be “current” Gen Z slang was painfully bad. If anything, it dated The Knockout leagues more than making it relevant. It’s not the teenage experience, but instead the teenage movie experience, simply parroting what adults think teenagers sound like. It positions itself as current and relatable while never encapsulating what it was like to be a teenager, making what should’ve been the heart of the novel hollow.

As with Kareena’s supposed 17 years of age, I was never convinced of the stakes in The Knockout. When Patel established how good Kareena was at Muay Thai, all it did was make Kareena feel unnecessarily overpowered. I normally only say that about fantasy or sci-fi novels, but she was just too good to the point that every fight she did seemed to be a fleeting moment of struggle before she absolutely pummels her opponent. This continued throughout the duration of the novel. Even though Kareena had the Olympics on the line, I never once got the sense that this was hard for her. Her training seemed to be the only time she struggled—other than that, she just flew through the US Muay Thai open without a problem. If she actually experienced tangible setbacks within her practice or the Muay Thai open, I would’ve been more motivated to root for her. Yet everything seemed to be handed to her on a platter, making the stakes feel almost nonexistent. I knew from the start that Kareena would get everything that she wanted, and while I appreciate the value of having diverse characters succeeding in their narratives, it made for a book with no stakes.

Bullying is a major plot point in The Knockout, but I don’t think that Patel succeeded in making all of it completely believable. As far as Kareena getting bullied by her other Indian-American peers for not being “Indian” enough went, that was one of the few parts of the book that was successful; unlike the main plot, it gave Kareena’s struggles some tangible weight. However, I wasn’t fully convinced that her doing Muay Thai was something so outrageous that she thinks that she’ll be bullied by the whole school for it. I get that it’s not a traditionally feminine sport, but with the way that Kareena talked about Muay Thai, you would think that she’s coming out of the closet. Even with the cliched interactions between Kareena and her peers, I just couldn’t imagine her being bullied for it, and not just because if someone were to slam her into a locker, teen movie-style, she’d slam right back. Kareena being a Muay Thai champion didn’t feel nearly as dirty as a secret as Patel lead us to believe, which made some of the novel’s more personal stakes less believable as well.

Additionally, I have mixed feelings about the romance between Kareena and Amit. It didn’t fully sidetrack the book for me, but I wasn’t fully invested either. I did like that Amit was instrumental in helping Kareena reconnect with parts of her Indian culture, but I don’t think he had much of a personality beyond what he did for Kareena. They seemed to have almost all the same interests, and Amit didn’t have anything to distinguish himself other than not doing Muay Thai. He was just a blank slate with similarities to Kareena baked in so that there could be some instant “chemistry” between the two of them. The only tension in the romance was when Kareena met his more traditional family, so the tension didn’t even lie with him—it was all outside factors that threatened the integrity of the relationship. The only differences I can really think of about Amit and Kareena is that he comes from a more traditional family and he’s…well, a different gender. That’s it. He wasn’t a person, he was just a boyfriend. I do think that this kind of story is good with a romantic subplot, especially considering that it’s YA realistic fiction, but like almost everything else in The Knockout, I could not get invested whatsoever.

That being said, I do have some positives for the book. I’ve seen a lot of books, especially YA ones, where the main character has to choose between their traditional culture and the more “appealing” American culture. The Knockout, by contrast, had Kareena be raised by two parents who weren’t connected to their culture in a conventional way—they were flexible with letting their daughter be who she wanted to be without sacrificing their Indian heritage in the process. Kareena was disconnected from her roots in some ways (which she begins to remedy in this novel), but both she and her parents emphasize that there’s no single way to be Indian. I can’t speak to any cultural accuracies, of course, but I loved this as a message for a YA book in this context—there’s no one way to be any identity, be it in terms of gender, ethnicity, race, or anything else. Paired with the expectations of femininity that society puts on Kareena, it’s a wonderful message. I also really liked that Kareena had a combination of multiple interests that weren’t traditionally feminine—in addition to Muay Thai, she’s also passionate about computer science. Sadly, all this was overshadowed by the flaws in most of the novel, but if you took all that away, at least The Knockout has something beneficial to say. I just wish it was said in a less cliched, more authentic way.

All in all, a book with a positive message if you soldiered through it, but was bogged down by childish dialogue writing and characters (even by YA standards) and a lack of all-around believability. 2 stars.

The Knockout is a standalone. She is also the author of several books for teens and adults, including Isha, Unscripted, The Design of Us, First Love, Take Two, The Trouble With Hating You, Sleepless in Dubai, My Sister’s Big Fat Indian Wedding, and the Venom series (A Drop of Venom and A Touch of Blood).

Today’s song:

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (4/15/25) – Afrotistic

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

April is Autism Acceptance Month, and although I probably won’t have time to make a whole post about it (blame finals), I figured I would review a book with an autistic protagonist and an autistic author! This one’s been on my TBR for a few years, but I was only able to find a copy more recently. Although it wasn’t perfect, it’s a great book to introduce a younger audience to autistic issues, especially from a more diverse perspective.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Afrotistic – Kala Allen Omeiza

15-year-old Noa Ohunene Jenkins doesn’t know where she fits in—or if she can fit in at all. All of her life, she’s never felt Black enough or autistic enough. And now that she’s moving to a new high school, she doesn’t know if she’ll fit into either communities—much less her new school. Noa has her mind set on one thing: a place in the Dean’s Merit Society. The problem is, the only way she’ll get in is if she has leadership experience. Scrambling for answers, she decides to gather up fellow autistic teenagers and forms a group to discuss autistic issues. But will it be enough to show her peers and teachers that she’s just as worthy of praise?

TW/CW: ableism, racism, bullying, mentions of suicide (past), brief mentions of police brutality (in reference to police violence towards autistic people)

Afrotistic has been languishing on my TBR for way too long, but even though it wasn’t a perfect book, I think it’s a great book to introduce people—especially kids and young adults—to autism, ableism, and the intersection of race and disability! It’s already difficult to find neurodivergent representation in literature, but rarer within that category is autistic people of color—for that alone, Afrotistic is such an important book.

For some reason, I misremembered Afrotistic as being middle grade. Who knows why. I kept that assumption going in, and then I of course found out that Noa is 15 years old and a sophomore in high school. Whoops. That being said, going in with that mindset wasn’t all that bad, because I really feel like Afrotistic hits that sweet spot between middle grade and YA that’s so often unexplored. It appeals to a mid-teens age range because of its protagonist, but the writing is accessible enough that I feel like kids as young as 12 or 13 could comfortably read and relate to Noa and the other characters. (The fact that 12-18 is such a huge range of maturity for a single age group is whole can of worms, so I’ll save it for another time.) There are some more mature and sensitive topics that are briefly discussed (police brutality against autistic people of color, for one), but it’s brief enough that I feel like that age range could process and learn from it. Neurodivergent representation is hard to find in books aimed at all ages, and I feel Omeiza’s accessible writing style, as well as the relatability of Noa as a protagonist, makes for a book that could teach tons of pre-teens and young adults alike about Black and autistic identity.

Another reason I’m glad that Afrotistic exists is because of the intersectionality! The primary focus is on Noa’s identity as a young, Black, autistic girl, and how she’s struggled to make her voice heard because of how little attention is paid to neurodivergent (and disabled in general) people of color. Both through the essay excerpts in the story and through her real-time experiences not being believed by her peers and teachers, it was a poignant narrative about how neurodivergent people of color have to fight even harder to have their needs met and understood. Going off of that, I appreciated that within the Roaring Pebbles, there was a lot of intersectionality as well; as well as all of them being autistic, there was a mixed-race character with cerebral palsy, as well as men and women being present.

That being said, I wasn’t as charmed by the characters as the characters themselves seemed to be. I loved Noa and was rooting for her throughout the story, but I found myself less compelled by some of the other characters. It was clear that the friendship between Noa and Brayden was supposed to be one of the core friendships in the novel, but I really didn’t feel any kind of friendship chemistry between them. All Brayden seemed to do was make jokes that didn’t land and make awfully pushy remarks to Noa joining his youth group. I get that Noa is also Christian and doesn’t necessarily mind, but I feel like even if I was also Christian and I had somebody trying to get me to join their youth group that persistently, I’d snap. The issue with most of the other characters is that they were rather underdeveloped; this was inevitable with the amount of characters that were focused on in the Roaring Pebbles, but even the ones that had more page time were boiled down to one or two traits at most. I get that it’s difficult to juggle that many characters, but even the ones that were relatively more in the spotlight weren’t given enough traits to make them stand out. Going back to the whole pushy youth group thing with Brayden, I found it hard to believe that every single member of the Roaring Pebbles were completely fine with their group being filtered through said youth group and having a name with biblical inspiration. I get that if you’re strapped for resources, any venue you can have to gather is essential, but I would imagine that at least one of these characters isn’t Christian…

Additionally, what also soured me to some of these characters was the random side plots that weighed the story down. There’s a whole, completely unnecessary thread of two of the boys in Roaring Pebbles fighting over a girl that gets entirely too much page time and only served to derail the plot. About half of the conflicts that occur throughout Afrotistic felt of this nature—some of them were natural (like the inevitable issue that some of the autistic people have different triggers, which was something I appreciated being included and discussed), but others felt like filler. Here’s the issue: Afrotistic is only about 250 pages (on my Kindle edition), so there could have been so many more opportunities to discuss more aspects of Noa’s friendships, identity, or even her home life. Instead, we got problems that were solved far too quickly and didn’t contribute anything to the plot.

Also: I’m not completely sure how to feel about this, but I had to mention it. At some point, when Noa is surveying the different cliques in the lunchroom, she labels two of them the “woke kids” and the “cool woke kids.” It was…odd, to say the least? I can kind of see it as being a factor of her not feeling autistic/Black enough for those crowds, but I’ve never once heard cliques described as “woke” unless it’s some weird, insecure conservative person. I guess I’m so used to seeing “woke” being lobbed at anything vaguely liberal (or considerate of basic human decency) these days, but Afrotistic was published in 2022, and the same was true then. I’m just not sure how I feel about that.

All in all, a timely novel that deftly highlights the issues that autistic people of color face, but stumbled in terms of its characters and frequent plot digressions. 3.5 stars!

Afrotistic is a standalone novel, but Kala Allen Omeiza is also the author of Autistic and Black: Our Experiences of Growth, Progress, and Empowerment, and The Worst Saturday Ever.

Today’s song:

SO glad I found this song!! Brian Eno never gets old

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (3/18/25) – The Teller of Small Fortunes

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

You know it. You know I’m all for cozy literature. I wasn’t particularly in a moment where I needed cozy fantasy, but these days, I love to space them into my regular reading rotation to keep things lighter, if need be. I’m usually more for sci-fi than fantasy, but I love a good fantasy every once in a while. The Teller of Small Fortunes wasn’t the best cozy fantasy I’ve read, but like a mug of tea, it was great for a momentary hug of warmth and love.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Teller of Small Fortunes – Julie Leong

Tao is an immigrant from Shinara, making a living far to the west in Eshtera. She makes a living off of fortune-telling, but hers are not like the grand tales that people expect from those with Shinn heritage. But Tao’s fortunes have a catch: they are small fortunes, minor events that seemingly have no consequence, but will add up towards a life of crucial choices. She cannot stay for long in one place, lest these fortunes pile up and her customers start to expect more complex predictions. But when she crosses paths with an ex-mercenary and a thief-turned-poet on the road, Tao has to keep a promise to the fortune she gave them: they’re looking for a missing girl, and Tao knows that she’ll be reunited with them. What’s unknown, however, is how it’ll happen…

TW/CW (from Julie Leong): political conflict, death of a parent, parental neglect, racism, grief, alcohol

While The Teller of Small Fortunes wasn’t the best cozy fantasy I’ve ever read, if you’re looking for something sweet to tide you over, look no further! In the mood for found family, cats, spells, and wonky pastries? I’ve got just the book for you.

Given the crowds that I hang around with, it might surprise you that I’ve never actually played DnD. I’ve always been adjacent to people who are into it and frequently play it, but I’ve never played myself. By osmosis, I know enough about it to discern that anyone who loves DnD will absolutely eat up The Teller of Small Fortunes! Somebody with more DnD knowledge could probably sort each character into a class, but I’m illiterate in that department; yet even still, I can tell that it came about in the way that many DnD campaigns seem to: out of love and out of friendship. Leong’s cozy fantasy has the perfect balance of wholesomeness, levity, and more serious themes, and overall, it’s an ode to the friends we find in unexpected places. The contrasting personalities of Tao, Mash, Silt, and Kina made for a delightful found family with goals that often got in the way of each other, but twisted to form a journey across a fantastical land that taught them lessons about identity, friendship, and individuality. It’s just so sweet. Admittedly, it did border on a bit cloying at times (even for me, both with my cozy fiction proclivities and my merciless sweet tooth), but overall, cozy fantasy fans will be more than satisfied. Plus, there’s a cat. Automatic win in my book.

Tao’s character arc and the themes around it were the heart of The Teller of Small Fortunes. This novel focuses heavily on her immigrant identity, but it explored something that I haven’t often seen with these narratives. In order to make a living outside of her home country, Tao has to perform a stereotype—in her case, being a seer. She relies on this preconceived notion of her people all being able to see the future, and knows that she’ll be able to make money off of it, yet she tries so hard to make it define her. On the other side of the coin, there’s the Guild of Mages, who physically want to use her as a pawn, fitting her into their similarly superficial stereotype of what a magic-user should be. Yes, The Teller of Small Fortunes is very much a “be yourself” narrative (I will always hate Disney for making people trivialize this kind of message), but it’s one that’s complicated by the nuance of the aspects of Tao’s identity. For her, being herself is a lifelong fight, held up by several systemic forces of oppression. Her journey is a mental one just as much as it is physical, and it required the same labor, with a satisfying conclusion: the conscious effort by her to not let other people box her in.

However, the writing sometimes got on my nerves. For me, cozy fantasy can sometimes fall into the trap of being almost condescending in its writing style; it veers to strongly into the “and what did we learn today, kids?” kind of storytelling, even if it’s often aimed at adults. There is a marked difference between having a low-stakes plot and dumbing down the language for your audience. The Teller of Small Fortunes didn’t completely fall into making the language overly digestible, but every plot point and side quest (of which there are many) tended to have a very clear, obviously stated lesson that accompanied the ending. Even if said plot points were well-executed—which they often were, especially the scene with the phoenix egg—their impact was often lessened by the regurgitating of what the scene was meant to mean for the characters and the message, as if we couldn’t figure it out. I honestly didn’t mind that these plot points, especially the ending, were wrapped up in notably kind, easier ways—that’s almost a staple of cozy fiction, at this point—but we didn’t have to get their message shoved in our faces on a neon sign. Additionally, as a character, Kina also erred on this side of saccharine—she was sweet in the way that some cozy fiction characters are, but like the pastries she made, it got a little too sweet in a grating way.

I also found the worldbuilding to be quite generic. The Teller of Small Fortunes was one of those fantasy novels that took existing countries, copied and pasted them into the narrative, and added magic and mythical creatures; Shinara was clearly an analogue for China, which, while it was great for the themes of anti-immigrant sentiment and xenophobia, didn’t make for worldbuilding that was interesting or novel in any way. The same can be said for most of the other places that Tao and the gang pass through—most of them fell under the “vaguely European, I will not elaborate” curse that plagues high fantasy, and the only things that distinguished them, if any, were some of the exports/trades that they had. I will say that I loved the system of the Guild of Mages, and they served as great commentary for tokenization and a distant but tangible source of corruption in the world, but they didn’t have enough of a presence for them to have an effect on the world for me. It all felt very lackluster to me in contrast to the care that was put into the characters. I also would’ve liked more clarification on the regional magic. It’s implied through some of Tao’s background that magic is often associated with/endemic to particular regions (hence the stereotypes of Shinn people being seers/fortune tellers and whatnot), but we don’t get a clarification of whether or not the rule also applies to the surrounding regions.

Overall, a cozy fantasy that had lovely, poignant characters and themes, but was less fortunate in the worldbuilding department. 3.5 stars!

The Teller of Small Fortunes is a standalone and Julie Leong’s debut. Her next novel, The Keeper of Magical Things, is a companion novel set in the same universe as The Teller of Small Fortunes, and is slated for release in October 2025.

Today’s song:

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

Posted in Books

The Bookish Mutant’s Feminist Books for Women’s History Month 🚺 (2025 Edition)

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Here in the U.S., March is Women’s History Month! Every year, I find myself repeating the same horrors about the attacks on women’s rights in the past five years. This year is no different, save for the fact that with Trump’s presidency, so many men have felt emboldened to let their misogyny run rampant—and our society seems to encourage it, time after time. Every year, we fight to make sure that misogyny, sexism, and rape culture become impermissible again. Though it seems like an uphill climb with no discernible light at the end of the tunnel, there will always be a constant: we will keep fighting for all women. For women of color, for immigrant women, for queer and trans women (especially trans women, because feminism wouldn’t be possible without them), for disabled women, for survivors. They keep pushing against them, so we’ll keep fighting—and keep reading. The good news is that literature is rife with heroines fighting against the system, and as long as these stories are told and spread, someone will be inspired to fight. So as with all the other year, I’ve compiled even more books of women fighting against oppression from a variety of perspectives, age ranges, and genres.

NOTE: once again, I’ve switched these posts to books for several age ranges, too lazy to change the header, etc. etc.

For my previous lists, click below: 

2021

2022

2023

2024

Let’s begin, shall we?

🚺THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR WOMEN’S HISTORY MONTH🚺

SCIENCE FICTION:

FANTASY:

REALISTIC FICTION:

NONFICTION:

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and if so, what did you think of them? What are your favorite feminist books? Let me know in the comments!

Today’s song:

How Women Made Music brought me here…

That’s it for this year’s Women’s History Month list! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (2/25/25) – When No One Is Watching

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I’ve had my eye on When No One Is Watching for a few years now. I’m not typically a thriller fan, but the concept intrigued me, despite the consistently mediocre to low ratings on Goodreads and The Storygraph. Alyssa Cole is a new-to-me author, and I figured I would give her book a try. However, I’ve come out of it with a mixed bag and uncertainty as to whether I’ll read more of her books in the future. When No One Is Watching had an excellent premise that it only halfway delivered on, but was still entertaining and timely in the end.

Enjoy this week’s review!

When No One Is Watching – Alyssa Cole

Sydney Green has called Brooklyn home for her entire life, yet her childhood is quickly slipping through her fingers. Her neighborhood, which was once home to a diverse group of homeowners, is quickly beginning to be gentrified. Condos are springing up where her neighbors once lived, and her Black and brown neighbors are being driven away one by one. Sydney suspects that something is amiss, and that there may be something more insidious to the gentrification of her neighborhood. With the help of Theo, her well-meaning neighbor, Sydney seeks to uncover the truth of her neighborhood’s fate, but what she finds may be even more sinister than she could have ever imagined.

TW/CW: racism, misogyny, gun violence, murder, loss of loved ones, police brutality, kidnapping

First off, When No One Is Watching is an incredibly timely thriller, and having a thriller surrounding the themes of gentrification is genius. When you strip past the apathy the general American population has of living not just on stolen land, but land that has driven its people of color into the worst possible conditions, it really is a frightening reality to live with. Even if the gentrification of neighborhoods itself isn’t some grand conspiracy, as it partially is in this novel, it’s a no-punches-pulled look at what’s happening to neighborhoods all over the country. Adding in snippets of social media doesn’t always work in books, but weaving in the neighborhood groupchat into When No One Is Watching also served to add a critical piece of the puzzle: that a lot of white people in such situations are so easily willing to dismiss any kind of racism if it doesn’t affect them, even if it’s happening in their own backyard. With an unflinching pen, Cole examines all of the aspects of gentrification, from its history to its current iterations, making for a thriller grounded in a real source of fright.

There are plenty of scary scenes in When No One Is Watching, but the fact that Cole mines the horror out of Syd being in an Uber and her driver driving her away from her destination should tell you something about where this novel lies. That particular scene is at the beginning of the book and isn’t the scariest thing that happens, but man…Cole is excellent at squeezing the horror from very grounded, real events. With the exception of the more sinister twist at the end, this novel creeped me out because almost everything that happened was real—its horror drawn from the realities of racism, misogyny, and gentrification. I can’t speak to this personally, but it felt like the inherent horror of being a marginalized person in the United States, but specifically of being a Black woman, a group that this country has historically done everything in its power to silence and oppress. It really gives weight to the expression “truth is stranger than fiction”—in this case, truth is scarier than fiction. That’s where Cole finds the fear, which made When No One Is Watching so effective in its brand of suspense.

However, a lot of the realism that came through in the suspense aspect of When No One Is Watching was deadened somewhat by the excessive use of modern internet lingo. I don’t mean the AAVE at all—that part was great, and I’m glad to see more of it integrated into literature, because there’s no need to cater to white audiences anymore at this point (and there’s many conversations to be had about how twitter/tiktok/etc. slang has subsumed AAVE so quickly and stripped it of its original meaning). No, I’m talking about the very millennial-sounding, tweet-ready one-liners that many of the characters dole out to make the story “funnier.” (Whew. Lots of hyphens in that sentence, even for me.) If I hadn’t seen the quote “I need you to channel the confidence of a mediocre white man” on at least 10 different t-shirts, stickers, and tweets, it would’ve been funny. About half of the humor in When No One Is Watching lands, but the other half is about the same as this: quips that have been circulated on the internet for at least a decade that could’ve been funny years ago, but have gone so stale that they’ve lost all novelty, originality, and more importantly humor. Again, I liked that When No One Is Watching was able to balance levity with some of the more thriller aspects, but it would’ve tipped the balance even more if more of the humor was original. Even five years after this book’s release, it was so easily dateable. Give it another five, and it’ll be painfully dated.

What hindered When No One Is Watching the most, however, wasn’t that: it was the pacing. It was just odd. When the suspenseful moments came, they were appropriately suspenseful, but there was so much middling around in between these moments for the first 75% of the novel that I started to question whether or not I was reading a thriller. But once the big twist comes in, it’s when I was about 80-85% of the way through the book—and the entirety of the big reveal, the climactic final battle, and the resolution were crammed into only about 15% of the book. It was whiplash-inducing, but not in a way that a thriller should be. Thrillers aren’t my go-to, but for more thriller/horror movies, I like when I have some breathing room between the suspenseful/scary moments (see: Alien, Nosferatu). When No One Is Watching theoretically had that down pat, but where it suffered was that the breathing room was rarely interesting. Other than the fantastic commentary on racism and gentrification, the plot between the suspense was just boring. I didn’t care much for Syd and Theo’s romantic subplot, I didn’t care for them randomly running around and ultimately discovering very little. So much of it could have been condensed in order for the climax to not feel like being chucked out of a bus window and onto the highway—not in a suspense way, but in a wild pacing way. Big reveal, shootout, resolution, and bam, it’s all over…in about 30 pages, tops. As with the humor, there needed to be balance with the plot—more suspense spread out through the novel, and more room to process and mine into the commentary of the climax.

All in all, a thriller with sharp, relevant commentary on racism and gentrification that excelled in its suspense, but was dragged down by uneven pacing and humor that dated itself far too quickly. 3 stars.

When No One Is Watching is a standalone, but Alyssa Cole is also the author of several other novels for adults, including the Reluctant Royals trilogy (A Princess in Theory, A Duke by Default, and A Prince on Paper), the Off the Grid trilogy (Radio Silence, Signal Boost, and Mixed Signals), The Loyal League trilogy (An Extraordinary Union, A Hope Divided, and An Unconventional Freedom), and many other novels.

Today’s song:

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (2/18/25) – Drown Me with Dreams (Sing Me to Sleep, #2)

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

QUICK ANNOUNCEMENT: because I’m trying to divorce myself from Amazon as much as I can, I’m finally moving over from Goodreads to The Storygraph. From now on, my reviews will be available there @thebookishmutant.

I started the Sing Me to Sleep duology last year, and now that book 2 is out, I figured I would pick it up for Black History Month, but also so I could finally get some resolution! And I sure got a resolution…one that wasn’t as enjoyable as the first book, but nonetheless a twisty, romantic ending to a fantasy duology that balanced fun and social commentary.

Now, tread lightly! This review may contain spoilers for book one, Sing Me to Sleep. For my review of Sing Me to Sleep, click here!

Enjoy this week’s review!

Drown Me with Dreams (Sing Me to Sleep, #2) – Gabi Burton

Saoirse is on the run. Now that her siren identity has been exposed, she must flee to the other side of the wall that divides Keirdre from the rest of the world. Taking sanctuary with the budding Resistance, Saoirse discovers a world full of different species that Keirdre drove out of its kingdom, all waiting for the day that they can take back what is rightfully theirs. But tensions are brewing, and war is imminent. On the other side of the wall, King Hayes, her secret love, awaits, but do his loyalties remain with Saoirse? And will Saoirse be able to fend off the rising tides of war?

TW/CW (from Gabi Burton): murder, graphic violence, discrimination/segregation (fantasy), genocide themes, blood, descriptions of injury, imprisonment

You would think that a book that’s over 400 pages would have plenty of time to work out all of the wrinkles in the plot and the worldbuilding…apparently not. In a perfect world, Drown Me with Dreams would be a great second book in a trilogy, but in this world, it was a duology concluder that tried to do far too much. That doesn’t mean that it was bad by any stretch of the imagination, but it was certainly a step below Sing Me to Sleep.

Oops. I end up stumbling into books with startling relevance to the current climate, and oh my god, am I sick of using that phrase. But. Drown Me with Dreams does an excellent job of expanding on its themes of resistance, racism, and misinformation! Saoirse has now figured out that there’s a wide world beyond the walls of Keirdre that has been obscured by the racist regime in her home kingdom; now that she knows the truth, she’s exposed to a myriad of perspectives and has to do the work herself to deconstruct the lies she’s been fed all of her life. She meets dozens of new mythical species that have been respectively discriminated against by Keirdre, and finds out firsthand how many falsehoods that the ruling powers have upheld for decades. The simultaneous revelations and discomfort of Saoirse discovering the truth is such a wonderful thing for a YA fantasy book like this to explore—in the end, it’s up to us, in our varying experiences in the real world, to discover the truth about how our governments can shape (and mis-shape) the narratives we grow up on. I also love the themes of solidarity present—fantasy or not, I love that the kind of feminism that Drown Me with Dreams champions is the kind that holds celebrating individual experience and solidarity under shared oppressions in equal regard. It’s the kind of unity that I believe will push feminism forward, and it made for a powerful statement in Drown Me with Dreams.

Even though Saoirse and King Hayes were kept apart for the first half of the novel, Drown Me with Dreams had a great resolution to their romance! Was it classic, YA fantasy romance cheese? Yes. Was it good cheese? Absolutely. To paraphrase one of my high school English teachers, there’s a difference between gourmet cheese and “American cheese-food.” I’ve been a YA reader for quite some time now, and there’s a difference between cringeworthy cheese and high-quality cheese. Drown Me with Dreams falls into the latter category, 100%. There’s angsty angry-kissing aplenty, but it’s written believably. If anyone is looking to do slow-burn, enemies-to-lovers romance right, look no further. Saoirse and Hayes weren’t just given enough time to have their romance develop—the stakes of their forbidden love were built up for the whole series, and their chemistry together made for some high quality smoldering. It’s not trying to be enemies-to-lovers in the way that most BookTok fantasy books try and fail to do—Burton’s given us a well-developed romance you can root for, and it made Drown Me with Dreams a standout read in that department.

In my review for Sing Me to Sleep, I mentioned that the book’s main flaw was that it was juggling far too many characters. In that same review, I commended Burton’s ability to craft a rich, layered fantasy world. Both of those aspects collided in Drown Me with Dreams with disappointing results. In Drown Me with Dreams, we finally see the world beyond Keirdre, and it’s full of all of the creatures that Keirdre drove out—dryads, goblins, sprites, you name it. On the surface, I was so excited to see this aspect of the world, but two main issues arose. The first was that we were introduced to a truckload of characters, almost 80% of which had barely anything memorable about them other than the fact that they were from a “new” species. Some of them were slightly consequential, but only just. I had so much trouble keeping track of all of them, which definitely muddied my reading experience. The second problem was that all of this worldbuilding was crammed into a single book—with a kingdom and world this expansive, it needed at least another book to develop fully, which hindered how fleshed out the world ended up being, after all of these promises of it being fascinating and new. (Also, I get the point about racist narratives being made with the goblins, but…what was the reason for making goblins into glorified elves? Why did they need to be conventionally attractive?)

Which brings me to my second major gripe: this series should not have been a duology. Not only are we introduced to a staggering amount of worldbuilding that only amounts to a single book, the same goes for the plot. A full resistance movement, the tensions within said resistance movement, the looming threat of war from multiple sides, and the fallout from said monumental war are crammed into 424 pages…should be enough, right? Most of what I described only happens in the last 2/3rds of the book, and nothing gets nearly the attention it deserves. We get dragged along with a pointless red herring of a love triangle (only for Saoirse to end up with her main romantic interest and for the other guy to just DIE GRUESOMELY? I didn’t really care about the guy, but pour one out for Carrik), and all of the interpersonal conflict rarely lasts, only providing detours on what should’ve been a rich plot on its own. As with the worldbuilding. Drown Me with Dreams should have had at least one more book to expand on everything. It’s a case of Burton biting off far more than she could chew, to unfulfilling results.

All in all, a duology-concluder that didn’t deliver on its epic worldbuilding promises and rushed its climax to a dizzying degree, but delivered on its past themes and promised romance. 3.5 stars!

Drown Me with Dreams is the second and final book in the Sing Me to Sleep duology, which begins with Sing Me to Sleep.

Today’s song:

so uh guess who’s obsessed with the apple tv+ björk concert film

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (2/11/25) – The Maid and the Crocodile

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I had a ton of fun with Jordan Ifueko’s Raybearer duology, but somehow I completely missed that she released a novel last August in the same universe! It was an absolute treat to be back in Ifueko’s world, and The Maid and the Crocodile proved a valuable asset to her fantasy universe.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Maid and the Crocodile – Jordan Ifueko

Small Sade is desperate for any job that she can find. With her crooked foot and vitiligo, the people of her village think she is cursed and touched by spirits. Eventually, she finds work as a maid, but not before an act of desperation sees her bound to a powerful god, known only as the Crocodile. As she moves up in the ranks, she realizes that she is a Curse Eater—her profession as a maid not only cleans the houses of her clients, but changes their fates. Juggling her newfound ability and a world on the brink of revolution with only the Crocodile as her guide, Small Sade must learn to forge her own path before someone else decides it for her.

TW/CW: ableism, self-harm/mentions of suicide, descriptions of injuries, classism, mentions of sexual assault, abuse, loss of loved ones

I can excuse a handful of pop culture references here and there, but after that god-awful Minecraft trailer, if I hear “the children yearn for the mines” ONE MORE TIME, I’m gonna snap…Jordan Ifueko, this was a great book, but that tested me…especially with the climactic scene that it temporarily undercut.

That aside, it was an absolute treat to return to the world of Raybearer with The Maid and the Crocodile! I didn’t think to re-read the duology before going back into it (I never seem to do that unless it’s with a book I’m really invested in), but I was so easily immersed into the world nonetheless! For both casual and eagle-eyed readers, there are Easter eggs aplenty—several characters from the duology make cameo appearances (SANJEET!!! MY GUY!!!!), and the nuances of the world stay the same, for the most part. It was an easy transition, which isn’t always easy to do. I loved how The Maid and the Crocodile expanded on the world as well! Ifueko really has a strength in writing ordinary characters forced into extraordinary, powerful positions, and Small Sade is no exception. However, she’s much more different than Tarisai, which I appreciated—there’s much more of a sense of her having to work towards the top, and her humored yet determined tenacity was what made her so special of a character. Through her, we see Oluwan City from more ordinary eyes, which makes the themes of the story so much more clearer.

I couldn’t have read The Maid and the Crocodile at a better time, and not just because it was a fun read. Its themes about the nature of change and revolution are critical—IT’S ALL ABOUT LOVE! It’s so refreshing to see a character who wants to help society change for the better not out of revenge or a vague “evil government bad [does not elaborate]” motivation, but out of love. Small Sade’s motives stem from wanting to care for the people she loves and wanting to see that love reciprocated in the world around her. Change rooted from love is a perspective that I rarely see in YA, even though its plots have centered around dismantling governments and revolutionary change for decades. I’m so tired of saying “in times like these,” but I mean it—in times like these, narratives about radical change being rooted in love—for your people, for your country, and for your culture—are critical to understanding what change can truly do.

Whenever you have a disabled character in a non-modern setting, even if it’s fantasy, you always run the risk of amping up the internalized ableism. Small Sade, who is shunned and deemed “spirit-touched” because of her crooked foot (she uses a cane for mobility) and her vitiligo, faces a great deal of ableism. It’s not as though plots about overcoming ableism (NOT the disability, mind you) aren’t worth telling, but in non-modern and fantasy settings, it does get slightly tired to have all disabled characters in these settings go through versions of the same arc. I loved how Ifueko handled Small Sade’s character—she resists ableism, but most importantly, she is a person beyond her experiences of ableism. Her experience of discrimination informs her story, but it is not the entirety of her character. Small Sade is defiant, self-reliant, and deeply caring—she’s so fully-fleshed out, which is a rarity for disabled characters. So hats off to Ifueko for an excellently-written disabled character!

However, though it had its moments, I was never fully invested in the romance between Small Sade and Zuri. I got that they had a connection, but I feel like he showed up too few times for the relationship to really work. Small Sade had eons more character development than he ever had the chance to. I get that a curse slowly turning you into a crocodile tends to do this to a guy, but at times Zuri felt rather codependent—up until the last 50 pages or so, Small Sade felt more like a means to an end for him, and his redemption was too underdeveloped for me to be fully invested in it. I appreciated their mutual resolution, but it was too late for it to feel fully satisfying. Given how strongly written the relationship between Sanjeet and Tarisai was in the Raybearer duology, I really expected Ifueko to deliver more with The Maid and the Crocodile. Small Sade and Zuri had moments, but not enough for me to be invested in them romantically.

All in all, a worthy addition to Jordan Ifueko’s Raybearer universe, full of heart, curses, and hope. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!

The Maid and the Crocodile is a standalone, but is set in the world of the Raybearer duology (Raybearer and Redemptor). Jordan Ifueko is also the author of the 2022-2023 run of Marvel’s Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur, and has also contributed to Jim Henson’s Storyteller: Tricksters.

Today’s song:

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

Posted in Books

The Bookish Mutant’s Books for Black History Month (2025 Edition)

Happy Wednesday, bibliophiles!

Here in the U.S., February is Black History Month! I normally begin by talking about how critical it is in these times to uplift marginalized voices (in this case, Black voices) with the attacks on so-called “critical race theory” in elementary schools and the attempts in both the classroom and the government to whitewash our fraught, racist past. However, I find these posts becoming more relevant as the Trump administration strikes down D.E.I. initiatives and has started shutting down “identity months” among many federal agencies. As Trump and his cronies push us into an age (certainly not a golden one) that strips away the celebration and acknowledgment of the wonderful difference that makes up this country, it’s more valuable than ever to celebrate those who have historically been downtrodden. Especially since Trump has purported himself as a friend to Black Americans (then turned around and committed unspeakably racists acts during both terms already), we need to emphasize the truth: Black people are and will always be vital to this country, and their history and contributions are an irreplaceable part of American history. No policy, removal, or dismissal can change that.

As with all of the related lists I make each year, this is not an exhaustive list; I encourage you to always look further and discover books and authors of your own during Black History Month (and during the rest of the year).

For my lists from previous years, click below:

NOTE: while the header image just says YA, I’m including books of various age levels on this list. (I’m just too lazy to make a new header, sorry…)

Let’s begin, shall we?

THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR BLACK HISTORY MONTH (2025 EDITION)

FANTASY:

SCI-FI:

REALISTIC/HISTORICAL FICTION:

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of the books on this list, and if so, what did you think of them? What are some of your favorite books by Black authors that you’ve read recently? Let me know in the comments!

Today’s song:

That’s it for this year’s Black History Month list! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (2/4/25) – Death of the Author

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I’ve been a longtime fan of Nnedi Okorafor, albeit on and off—I picked up Akata Witch back when I was in middle school, and then discovered her adult books when I was in high school. Since then, I’ve been a fan of her quirky brand of Africanfuturism. You can imagine my surprise when I found out that Death of the Author was not an addendum to her long sci-fi fantasy canon, but instead literary fiction—albeit, with a dash of sci-fi. Either way, the switch from genre to genre is as smooth as I’d expect from Nnedi Okorafor.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Death of the Author – Nnedi Okorafor

Zelu is on the verge of giving up her dream to be a writer. After a pile of rejected manuscripts and a botched job as a professor, she moves back in with her overbearing, judgmental family as she attempts to get back on her feet. But when a spark suddenly comes to her, she has a bestseller on her hands: Rusted Robots. As she grapples with the price of fame and the mobility—and simultaneous lack thereof—Zelu must come to terms with her own identity as she explores the fabrication of it that the public has created for her.

TW/CW: substance abuse, ableism (external & internalized), loss of a parent, near-death situations, kidnapping

Of all people, I didn’t expect Nnedi Okorafor to take the leap into literary fiction, and after I found out the switch in genre, I didn’t expect to enjoy Death of the Author as much as I did. Thankfully, it’s only really literary in the sense that it’s contemporary, realistic fiction…mostly. The woven tapestry of Zelu’s real life and her creation, Rusted Robots, turned out to be a powerful meditation on the nature of art and identity.

Once again, make no mistake: this is fiction, but it’s not entirely just fiction. The assumption is that it’s a handful of years in the future; Zelu has fairly futuristic, adaptive prosthetics that are still in beta testing, and she tests out an automated cab service that’s been newly introduced to the streets of Chicago. Yet Okorafor takes the same skilled hand that she uses to craft intricate, far-future worlds and translates it into the idiosyncrasies of modern life, from the gauntlet of social media fame (and harassment) to being in the confines of a chaotic, judgmental family. For every character that was introduced, Okorafor matched them with an unforgettable personality, even if they only appeared for a few pages. All of the complex, rapidly fluctuated emotions were depicted with sensitivity, from the highest joys to the deepest pits of anguish and the plentiful uncertainty in between. Even without her talent for worldbuilding, Okorafor is a force to be reckoned with, and Death of the Author is proof.

I was hesitantly optimistic that Okorafor was writing a disabled main character again; Noor was a great novel, but from my memory, there was quite a bit of internalized ableism in the main character that went unaddressed. (However, somehow I didn’t know that Okorafor has experience with disability and was herself temporarily paralyzed, so my bad.) The setting couldn’t be more different for Death of the Author, but Okorafor has certainly stepped up her game as far as writing disabled characters—and part of it is that Zelu is unlikable. More often than not, you can at least sympathize with her, but at times, you can see her for the insufferable, argumentative, reckless stoner that her family sometimes sees her as. Of course, not every disabled character has to be likeable, but her relative un-likeability made some of the novel’s most powerful commentary shine even more. As she grapples with her meteoric rise to literary fame, Zelu’s fans place the burden of her being a “role model” for a number of communities: Black, woman, Nigerian-American, disabled. Being a role model can be powerful, but as soon as people saw Zelu as more of a role model than a person, it disregarded her humanity in an entirely different way. She became an example, not an autonomous being—something that is intimately tied to what many disabled people experience. In that way, Zelu represents a leap in how Okorafor writes her disabled protagonists—not just independent, but human.

I don’t have a ton of experience with meta-fiction—it’s not a matter of me not liking it, I just hardly get around to reading much of it—but Death of the Author pulls it off with ease. If you’re still not convinced that Okorafor’s literary fiction isn’t for you, you’ll at least be tided over by her signature brand of Africanfuturism, complete with the landscape of a futuristic Nigeria, robots, and appearances from Udide. It’s somehow a delightful vision of the future, where types of robots have proliferated across the face of the Earth in the face of the extinction of the human race. It’s threaded into Zelu’s life, yet it’s also a clever distillation of the novel’s themes; Ankara’s struggle with coexisting with Ijele inside of his head, as well as the changing world around him, spoke to the themes of embracing collaboration and the blurry relationship between creator and reader.

Which brings me to the whole “death of the author” part. I’ll admit, the Roland Barthes quote from the (original) “Death of the Author” gave me literary theory flashbacks. But as a grounding concept for the book, I love how Okorafor’s Death of the Author playfully pokes fun at the concept. Here, it’s as though the concept has been subsumed by the publishing industry; instead of taking Zelu’s novel as tied to her heritage and her disabled identity, the world swallows it and regurgitates a whitewashed, Americanized movie adaptation that the public eats up. (“Look what they’ve done to my song, Ma…”) Yet at the same time, Zelu is confronted by readers who insistently pester her, insisting that everything in the novel is fully tied to her identity and selfhood. Death of the Author’s strength is the clarity it finds in the balance. Zelu’s work is intimately tied to her identity, but just as intimately tied to her imagination. Her being marginalized meant that people saw her work as surely being solely about her identity, but that wasn’t the whole story either. (The note in the acknowledgements about Okorafor talking to her daughter about worrying that readers would think that Zelu is her makes the point all the more clear.) In this case, fence-sitting is the most reasonable position I can think of—to consider reader interpretation first and foremost can have fruitful results, but to deny the lived experience veers into foolishness, and vice versa; Okorafor’s embrace of the area in the middle is what made the message so clear. Reading and world-creation is a twin act, created both by ourselves and those who receive our work—it’s not a simple question of one or the other.

All in all, a surprising novel that at first seemed like a left turn, but turned out to be another testament to Nnedi Okorafor’s enduring talent. 4 stars!

Death of the Author is a standalone, but Nnedi Okorafor is also the author of several books for adults, teens, and children, including the Binti trilogy (Binti, Home, and The Night Masquerade) the Nsibidi Scripts series (Akata Witch, Akata Warrior, and Akata Woman), Lagoon, Noor, the Desert Magician’s Duology (Shadow Speaker and Like Thunder), and many more.

Today’s song:

ADORE this album

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (1/7/25) – The Infinity Particle

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

First book review of 2025, and so far, the best book I’ve read this month! Granted, we’re only a week into the month, but it still counts for something, right? loved Mooncakes, which Wendy Xu illustrated, but I had no idea until recently that she had published a solo graphic novel—and a sci-fi one! What resulted was an incredibly emotional read to start the year off with: robot romance and explorations of how relationships make the universe work.

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Infinity Particle – Wendy Xu

Clementine Chang is headed for Mars. In the distant future, it’s a place of peace and industry, and it’s precisely the place that Clem wants to start her new life. A clever inventor, Clem has a knack for working with AI. She hopes to continue her education under Dr. Marcella Lin, a legendary AI engineer who inspired her work. But Dr. Lin is not what she seems—and she’s hiding a secret from the scientific world: a lifelike, humanoid AI that she refers to as her son. His name is Kye, and he yearns for a life outside of the one that Dr. Lin programmed for him. As Clem gets acquainted with him, she discovers that Dr. Lin’s intentions in making him were not as noble as she once thought—and that she may be falling in love with her former hero’s creation.

art by Wendy Xu (p. 150)

TW/CW: emotional abuse (past/present)

You know me. I’m a sucker for a good Frankenstein story. Oh, so you brought a conscious being into existence, expected it to be completely obedient to you and your whims, and didn’t expect anything to go wrong? Surely this will not have a domino effect of consequences…

That being said, The Infinity Particle isn’t just a Frankenstein story. We’ve been inundated with stories about AI and the ethics of giving robots human-like consciousnesses since day one of sci-fi’s conception (back to Frankenstein), but The Infinity Particle does what many of those stories try and fail to do: make the story human. It weaves both engineering and the complicated legacies of familial trauma into a story that is ultimately about relationships: that of parents and children, but also of young lovers. It’s a story of breaking cycles and of forging something newer and better out of their ashes. All of it is worth your time.

Wendy Xu’s vision of Mars in the distant future is one that I want to live in, which isn’t something I often say about sci-fi novels. The world of The Infinity Particle is a cozy, comforting one. In spite of the more emotional moments of the story, Xu’s setting is one you can get lost in. Rendered in a pastel color palette that’s easy on the eyes, it’s a world full of greenhouses, cafés, and cobblestone paths. Here, Mars is the perfect place for a museum date—except here, the museum features all manner of robots from bygone centuries. Although there are ethical conflicts with some of the AIs (this forms the central conflict of the novel), none of Xu’s AIs are malicious creatures—they’re all in the form of cuddly cats or owls, and in the case of Clem’s custom companion, a cat-moth hybrid. (SENA!! WE LOVE SENA!!) It’s a world I was eager to escape to, and one that I could dwell in forever.

Clem’s motivations were part of what made this story stand out. As she begins to dig deeper into Dr. Lin’s true motives for creating Kye, the way her former hero treats her AI creation begins to mirror how she was treated as a child; the emotional abuse from her mother is very similar to the emotional abuse by Dr. Lin to Kye. The Infinity Particle is a fantastic example of how very far-fetched, sci-fi concept can be used as incredibly emotional metaphors. We have Clem, who is a clone of her mother and was raised to live out the dreams that her mother could not, and Kye, an AI made to replace Dr. Lin’s son and live out her fantasies. Admittedly, the clone part was very on the nose, but the way that Xu delivered with care, giving The Infinity Particle an undeniable heart. In part, The Infinity Particle is a story of how trauma always echoes into the present, and how it can create ripples that both tear apart and rebuild relationships with others.

That shared trauma is part of what made the romance between Clem and Kye one that I was rooting for from page 1. Not only were they the most adorable couple (museum dates! Philosophical conversations in greenhouses!), their shared connection allowed them to help each other in ways that made the relationship blossom. Clem had experience with having to escape from the same kind of emotional abuse that Kye was undergoing, and as they realized that connection, their relationship deepened. However, it wasn’t just that aspect that made their relationship so lovable. Their chemistry was some of the best I’ve read in a YA novel in a long time—they were both such curious and sensitive people, and that combined curiosity not only drove the plot, but the course of their romance. Every shared moment was sweet, but never saccharine—The Infinity Particle was just a warm hug (and a kiss on the cheek) in so many ways, this being one of the most prominent.

However, even though Dr. Lin was objectively in the wrong, I appreciated the way that The Infinity Particle humanized her; never once were her actions condoned, but in the end, she wasn’t a purely evil person—she was a person who slipped so far into grief that she failed to realize how she was treating those around her. She did horrible things that could not be undone, but she was also capable of healing. It’s an incredibly difficult line to toe between acknowledging a character’s humanity and acknowledging that their actions were inexcusable; most media gets it wrong (I am looking directly at Encanto), but in the short time that was given to this plot, Xu did a graceful job of hitting that balance. Dr. Lin did some unspeakably terrible things, but deep down, she is still human. My one (minor) complaint is that this was squeezed into the end and didn’t have as much time to develop as some other parts of the novel, but it was executed thoughtfully nonetheless.

And the epilogue…hnnnnnnnngh do I love a good “the fabric of the universe is made up of love” story AUUUUUUUUGH

All in all, a heartwarming, sensitive, and thoughtful story of love, robots, and what it means to have—and to want—a mind and a life of your own. 4.5 stars!

The Infinity Particle is a standalone, but Wendy Xu is also the co-creator of Mooncakes and the creator of Tidesong.

Today’s song:

I feel like I remember this song about every 5 years and realize how much I’ve missed it…

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