I’ve been a fan of Nnedi Okorafor for several years now, but it wasn’t until about a month ago that I found out that one of her first novels, which originally went out of print, was being reissued with new content and a new cover! (Gorgeous cover, by the way.) I ended up buying it, and though it wasn’t her best (what else would you expect from one of her very first books), but it’s not just a fun ride—it’s a glimpse into an incredibly talented author coming into her own.
Niger, 2074. In the wake of a nuclear disaster, both humanity and the natural world have developed powers far beyond their imaginations. These Shadow Speakers have been given strange abilities by the aftershocks of nuclear war. Born into this world is 15-year-old Ejii, gifted the abilities of advanced sight and hearing the thoughts of animals. When she was young, her father, a corrupt politician, was assassinated. All these years later, Ejii decides that, regardless of the horrific legacy her father left behind, she must journey out into the Sahara Desert to search for his killer.
TW/CW: murder, beheading, fatphobia
Being a (somewhat) longtime fan of an author and reading their debut or earlier works further down the line is always an eye-opening experience. I was expecting something along those lines when I bought Shadow Speaker the other day, but…man, I really had no idea what I was in for. Shadow Speaker was honestly kind of bonkers, but in the best possible way. Quite plainly, it’s one of the boldest debut novels that I can think of.
Shadow Speaker was Nnedi Okorafor’s first novel (published all the way back in 2008), and it really does feel like a debut. I said eye-opening before because you can see the through lines where Okorafor hadn’t yet hit her stride in terms of writing; in contrast to the tight organization of most of her other novels, we still get chunks of worldbuilding delivered paragraph by paragraph. Her prose has the same bold brightness and whimsical spirit that really stands out as her signature, but it hasn’t been refined as much. And with the re-release this November, despite apparent rounds of editing, there’s still a few things that haven’t aged well from 15 years ago (ex. the villain’s evilness explicitly being tied to him being fat…mmmm, yikes…). All debuts are bound to have flaws, but the latter ones could have probably been edited out. But unlike that, I feel like it’s worth keeping some of the writing as it is—reading this novel was a time capsule into the mind of a younger writer.
And yet, Shadow Speaker is still one of the boldest books I’ve read in a long time, debut or not. Everything about is really and truly nuts, and that was the best part about reading it. Once you get the exposition of Ejii’s post-apocalyptic, magical world out of the way, at no point did I know where this novel was going, and at a certain point, I ceased to even care. There’s the spread of X-Men-like powers caused by a nuclear disaster, a talking camel (also because of the nuclear disaster, how did you guess?), gods and goddesses roaming across the land…you get the idea. Actually, no. You don’t get the idea. And that’s the point of this book, from what I can tell—Ejii and her ragtag band of nuclear magicians don’t know where they’re going either, and that’s where the fun of Shadow Speaker lies.
Over the years, Nnedi Okorafor has proven herself to be an absolute master of Afrofuturism (more specifically Africanfuturism and Africanjujuism, in her words), and the latter (a term that she coined to describe a subgenre of fantasy that is specifically Afrocentric and is inspired by the mythologies of Africa) really describes this novel to a T; although the inciting incident and the introduction of powers has a distinctly sci-fi feel, Shadow Speaker is so clearly fantasy. It’s hard to do that kind of genre-bending so effortlessly in a debut, but already, Okorafor make it look easy. Every element, whatever genres you want to ascribe them to, is blended seamlessly into the world of the Desert Magician Duology as smoothly as stirring together the ingredients of a cake. It’s an impressively distinct world, and despite its flaws, I’m glad this book was brought back into print.
Part of the reason for re-releasing Shadow Speaker is that Nnedi Okorafor just published its intended sequel, Like Thunder, this November. Hopefully I can get my hands on it soon, but it’ll certainly be interesting to see the leap in writing style between the two, given how much time has passed…
All in all, a bold and wild debut from one of science fiction’s most original writers active today. 3.5 stars!
Shadow Speaker is the first book in the Desert Magician’s Duology, followed by the new sequel, Like Thunder, which came out this November. Nnedi Okorafor is also the author of many books for adults, teens, and children, including Lagoon, the Binti series (Binti, Home, and The Night Masquerade), Noor, Remote Control, and many others.
Today’s song:
this song makes me ridiculously happy
That’s it for this Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Here in theU.S., November is Native American Heritage Month! I’m surprised that I haven’t compiled a list for the occasion yet, but to be fair, November tends to be a busy month for me. But now that I’m a few days away from break, I figured I would use that time to make this list.
Despite the wonderful boost in diversity in YA and adult literature in the past decade or so, I’ve seen very little of that diversity focused on Indigenous characters and stories. It could be just me, from an outsider perspective, but diversity means boosting all voices—not just the few that you can think of off the top of your head when you think of the word “diversity.” And as an American, I know full well that we are and always have been living on stolen land, so it’s important to read outside of what our history books teach us. So I’ve compiled some of my favorite books by Native American, Indigenous, and First Nations authors for the occasion.
Let’s begin, shall we?
THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR NATIVE AMERICAN HERITAGE MONTH
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 books by Indigenous authors? Let me know in the comments!
Today’s song:
That’s it for this recommendations post! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
The Deepy Sky came out this July, and I’ve been seeing a ton of buzz about it around the blogosphere since. I’m always in for a sci-fi thriller, and this one delivered in that aspect, as well as the wonderful mixed-race rep!
Asuka has been chosen as a representative on a mission to deep space, where she will help give birth the next generation of Earth’s children. But she has been chosen to represent Japan—a country she barely knows, as a half-Japanese, half-Latina girl raised in the United States. Feeling like an imposter to an unfamiliar country, she accepts her duty and joins the crew of the Phoenix. But a deadly explosion onboard the ship leaves her the only surviving witness. With all eyes on her once more, Asuka must get to the bottom of the explosion before the perpetrator strikes again.
TW/CW: racism, terrorism, miscarriage/fertility themes, death of a child
“Literary” sci-fi rarely does it for me; most of what I’ve read barely scrapes past the 3.5 star rating for me, at best. Often, what happens is that the sci-fi element gets significantly watered down for the sake of marketability, drama, and a place in a celebrity’s book club (see: Sea of Tranquility, In the Quick). But The Deep Sky had the chops to make itself unique—and incredibly poignant.
The sci-fi plot of The Deep Sky is pretty standard as far as story elements go, but Kitasei’s approach to it made it feel fresh. It’s the setup for a myriad of sci-fi thrillers: you’ve got a large crew voyaging through the depths of space, only for a tragic accident to leave everyone onboard in suspicion, with no way to get back to Earth. It’s not necessarily a new approach plot-wise that keeps it going—it’s the emotional core that Kitasei brings to it. You’re really able to see deeply into Asuka’s head, deeper than a lot of authors dare to go with these kinds of stories; it’s a great way to increase the stakes without having to complicate the mystery of the story.
Also, LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIXED-RACE REPRESENTATION!! I’ve been on a roll with books with amazing mixed-race characters and stories lately (see also: Leslie Marmon Silko’s Ceremony—a very different book, but no less poignant), and as a mixed-race person, I’m so glad that narratives like these exist. Kitasei’s depiction of the imposter syndrome that Asuka faces about her identity is twofold—not only is there the level of it that comes with her being of Japanese and Mexican descent in the U.S., but also in the fact that she has to represent Japan—a country that she’s barely been to—in this mission. It really did make me feel so, so seen. Kitasei’s portrayal of having these intersecting identities and them coming at odds with how others want to box you in was deeply moving and authentic, and I cannot thank her enough for that.
Back to the subject of literary sci-fi. A lot of these types of novels that I’ve read deal with intersecting, nonlinear timelines, which may or may not have to do with actual time travel (case dependent). For the most part, it worked incredibly in Kitasei’s favor—even outside what we can consider the “main” plot, the pieces that we get of Asuka’s life before the deep space mission were almost more intriguing than the actual murder mystery in space. Kitasei’s character work is incredibly detailed and nuanced, and having most of this novel be driven by character and family was a choice that made me enjoy it that much more. These types of sci-fi thrillers normally lend themselves to very distant characters, and minimal character work by proxy (outside of “trust no one”), so this was a breath of fresh air in that sense.
That being said, the nonlinear timeline was also what brought part of the novel down for me. There’s much more emphasis placed on the time before the mission than the actual mission, making the murder mystery plot feel like an afterthought. The way that these timelines were spaced out meant that we went long stretches without checking in on what’s supposed to be the novel’s inciting incident, which made the stakes feel much lower than they were meant to be. The tension got appropriately amped towards the end, but other than that, there really wasn’t as much thriller as I was expecting going in. Maybe this is just a matter of how The Deep Sky was marketed, but I did wish we got a little more of the “main” plot.
All in all, a rare gem of a literary sci-fi novel where every page brimmed with emotion and suspicion. 4 stars!
The Deep Sky is a standalone; it is also Yume Kitasei’s debut novel.
Today’s song:
listened to my first Arlo Parks album, and I’m a fan!! this was my favorite, for sure
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Always Human came onto my radar around three years ago—probably from my fellow bloggers—but I’d forgotten about it until I came across it at my college’s library. I’m always a sucker for cozy sci-fi, and I never say no to a graphic novel, so of course I picked this book up. But while it was sweet and had some great commentary on disability, it didn’t quite scratch my sci-fi itch in all the right ways.
Sunati lives in a world of body modification. With simple, easy-to-use technology, she can change any part of her appearance that she wishes—even enhancing her memory so that she won’t have to study for tests. But not everybody has it as easy as Sunati. Austen has Egan’s syndrome, which means that her immune system rejects any kind of body modification. When the two meet by chance, it’s love at first sight. And although they are different in all kinds of ways, it won’t take long before they realize that they were made for each other.
Art by Ari North
TW/CW: nothing that I can find—Always Human is very gentle, and I’d be hard-pressed to find anything triggering about it. Enjoy!
Always Human is sweet. It was a soft, tender palate-cleanser, but I didn’t find myself getting very attached to any of it. It’s cute, and I’d say it’s worth a read, but it lacked the emotional weight to fully immerse myself in the characters or the world.
Let’s start out with the positives. It’s rare that fictional, sci-fi disabilities actually mirror the experience of disabled people, but Always Human did an excellent job of portraying Austen’s disability. Austen has Egan’s syndrome, a fictional autoimmune disorder where her body rejects any kind of body modification, which is central in the futuristic world where Always Human is set. Throughout Sunati and Austen’s developing romance, this novel makes the very important case that disabled people do not exist to inspire you, and that going through life as a disabled person isn’t some grand feat. It’s something that Sunati has to contend with when talking about Austen, and watching her learn made at least some of the romance work.
Additionally, I loved how vibrant the art style was! I’m not usually one for the quasi-manga style that North draws in, but every panel really did pop. The vibrant pinks and blues truly shone, which simultaneously sold the joyous glow of young love and the bright, technology-centric world that Sunati and Austen inhabit. Just like the story itself, there are no hard edges: everything is soft and cloudy, calling sunsets, cotton candy, and hope to mind. It suited the story exceptionally well—Ari North absolutely looked like she knew what she was doing.
However, there was one part of the art that didn’t sit as pleasantly with me. Although the colors consistently popped, the character movements…did not. Their poses looked so consistently stiff. And listen. I’m an artist. I get it. Drawing dynamic poses is so hard. Game recognizes game. But the characters’ movements looked so wooden, no matter what pose they were drawn in. These static poses failed to immerse me fully in the story—if they don’t look like they’re really moving, how can I believe that anything else is? I’m saying this to myself as well as Ari North: maybe a few more of those nice references on Pinterest would have livened up the art.
Always Human made the jump from WebToon to print after seemingly wild success on the former, but I’m not sure if the plot format survived the leap. The broken-up chapters would theoretically work if I were getting them, say, once a week, but all together, they didn’t feel quite as coherent. I’m all for cozy sci-fi and slice-of-life stories, but what makes the ones I like work is that there’s still some kind of end goal, however low-stakes it may be, that the characters are heading towards. Always Human felt rather meandering in that sense. It really felt like the plot was being made up as North went along, and the result was quite lukewarm. Even the romance, which the plot clearly hinged on, was set up and happened so quickly that the rest of the story didn’t hold much water. If the romance had been slowly developed over the course of the graphic novel, I would have felt much more engaged. Thus, I never really felt the emotion that North was trying so hard to get across—it all felt rushed and half-baked. Insta-love is never the answer, kids.
All in all, a light and fluffy sci-fi comic that boasted vibrant color and cogent points about disability, but felt rather stiff in both the art and the plot. 3 stars.
Always Human is the first volume in the Always Human series; the series concludes with Love and Gravity.
Today’s song:
adore this album, but also, I can’t listen to it too many times in a row, y’know?
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
It might still be a week or so before I completely return to some semblance of my normal schedule, but I’m starting to get to the point where I know where I’m going and what I’m doing. And as much as I hate the constant home football games we’ve been having, at least it means that my already quiet floor is even quieter, so I can get my homework done in a serene environment—and write these reviews as well!
Since my birthday last month, I’ve taken all of the books I got—ones that I bought on my birthday and gifts from family—back to my dorm, where I slowly (yes, slowly, settling into college is weird) devoured them over the course of several weeks. I’m happy to say that it was a fantastic batch—not every one was the best book I’ve ever read, but it’s chiefly in the 4-star range. I got a 5-star book out of these as well! And now they sit proudly on my little dorm bookshelf, ready to be reviewed.
Verse, Chorus, Monster! is the memoir of iconic British musician and Blur co-founder Graham Coxon, charting a life of music, fame, addiction and art. Before the noise and clamour of the Britpop era, Coxon was a shy Army kid tempering his anxiety through painting and a growing love of music. As he honed his artistic skill at school, his band with school friend Damon Albarn, fellow student Alex James, and a drummer called Dave Rowntree began to get noticed. But there are things they don’t tell you before you get famous. There are monsters out there. And some may even be lurking inside yourself.
☆
TW/CW: substance abuse/addiction, themes of mental health issues
I’ve been trying to branch out into more nonfiction over the past few years, but even if I wasn’t, I would have picked this up eventually either way. My Blur awakening back in 2021 made sure of that. So of course I was excited to see that Graham Coxon was coming out with a memoir—he’s always struck me as such a sensitive, creative person, and Verse, Chorus, Monster! fortunately cemented that, for the most part!
I always have a lingering fear that celebrity memoirs will somehow ruin my image of them, but with this one, I still hold that Graham Coxon seems like such a deeply insightful and sensitive soul. This glimpse into his mind was all at once raw and touching; the frequent sections about his struggles with anxiety and alcoholism were difficult to read, but I’m so glad to have verbal confirmation that he’s been getting better as of late, and that he’s starting to work on himself in that respect. Beyond that, there’s just so much about this memoir that was immediately endearing. The insight into one of the main creative forces behind one of my favorite bands (and a fantastic solo artist in his own right) was fascinating to hear from the front lines, and I loved the pieces we got of his creative process—opening the book with the spark of inspiration that lead to the hook of my favorite song (“Tender”) was the quickest possible way to win me over. And it’s easy for memoirs to have a sense of humility that’s manufactured, but Coxon’s personality really did come off as genuinely humble.
All in all, an excellent memoir by a truly admirable creative force—and a refreshingly humble one. 4 stars!
In the ashes of a dying world, Red finds a letter marked “Burn before reading.”
So begins an unlikely correspondence between two rival agents in a war that stretches through the vast reaches of time and space.
Red belongs to the Agency, a post-singularity technotopia. Blue belongs to Garden, a single vast consciousness embedded in all organic matter. Their pasts are bloody and their futures mutually exclusive. They have nothing in common—save that they’re the best, and they’re alone.
Now what began as a battlefield boast grows into a dangerous game, one both Red and Blue are determined to win. Because winning’s that you do in war. Isn’t it?
A tour de force collaboration from two powerhouse writers that spans the whole of time and space.
☆
TW/CW: blood, violence, murder, self-harm, descriptions of bodies/corpses, torture, poisoning, war
Hoowhee, brother. This one was good.
Time War had floated on the edges of my radar for years ever since it came out, but I ultimately decided to pick it up on the recommendations of one of my professors and one of my best friends. And their high praise—and the high praise of so many others—was more than well-deserved.
For such a short novella, Time War packs a truly unforgettable gut punch, vibrant and rich with emotion. Who knew that these two characters identified only by colors would consume so much of my days when I read this? I can’t praise this book enough. The prose is beyond rich, truly enchanting and expansive, fitting for the cosmic scale that this story is set in. It has an almost gothic sensibility to it, even with the firmly sci-fi trappings—what’s more romantic, dramatic, and emotional than two lovers reaching for each other across the vastness of space and time itself? But even with this grand scale, This is How You Lose the Time War is one of the most deeply human stories that I’ve read in ages. It taps into that innate desire to love and be loved, or even to just have someone to talk to as the world around you is collapsing. In spite of the grand, cosmic conflict and multiple universes colliding, nothing can come in the way of our desire for love and connection. It’s one of those stories where plot details—names and how this time-spanning war started—mean nothing in the face of the deep resonance of the characters.
Hold me. I need a minute…
What else is there to say? Go read this, what are you even doing? 5 stars!
Ambassador Mahit Dzmare arrives in the center of the multi-system Teixcalaanli Empire only to discover that her predecessor, the previous ambassador from their small but fiercely independent mining Station, has died. But no one will admit that his death wasn’t an accident—or that Mahit might be next to die, during a time of political instability in the highest echelons of the imperial court.
Now, Mahit must discover who is behind the murder, rescue herself, and save her Station from Teixcalaan’s unceasing expansion—all while navigating an alien culture that is all too seductive, engaging in intrigues of her own, and hiding a deadly technological secret—one that might spell the end of her Station and her way of life—or rescue it from annihilation.
☆
TW/CW: themes of colonialism/imperialism, murder/attempted murder, violence
College isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, but man, it’s fun sometimes. I got an A on a literary theory assignment where I compared this book to an essay we read in class. I love being an English major.
If the fact that I used A Memory Called Empire for a literary theory assignment doesn’t make you think that there’s a ton of great stuff to chew on in this book, I’m not sure how else to convince you. It’s fantastic space opera, but it errs more on the side of a political thriller—a common enough combination these days, but one that was so well-executed in this case. Reckoning with the history of colonialism in science fiction has been on the rise—and for a very good reason—but A Memory Called Empire had such an interesting take on it. This is the first of these kinds of novels that I’ve seen tackle the seduction of colonialism; along with the actual murder mystery afoot, Mahit Dzmare is also being pulled—both physically and mentally—into the clutches of the reigning Teixcalaanli Empire, and is being groomed into the ruling culture as she tries to stay afloat and protect her space station from imminent colonization. The character work is nothing short of excellent, the worldbuilding is top-notch, and the suspense is palpable from start to finish. It’s all a treat.
This book has gotten quite a lot of hype over the years, but it really is all that—alluring, suspenseful, and nothing short of insightful. 4 stars!
Stel and Atan are interstellar investigators trying to find a lost space station and its crew. When they discover the mythical paradise planet Edena, their lives are changed forever. The long out-of-print Edena Cycle from Moebius gets a deluxe hardcover treatment! Moebius’s World of Edena story arc comprises five chapters–Upon a Star, Gardens of Edena, The Goddess, Stel, and Sra–which are all collected here.
☆
TW/CW: nudity, mild sci-fi action
I’ve been meaning to get into Mœbius for years now; ever since I reactivated my pinterest and went on a deep dive of sci-fi art, I’ve been drawn to the enigmatic, meticulous, and downright wondrous quality of his art. (I feel like it would’ve happened eventually—turns out that he was a major influence on Tony DiTerlizzi, and especially his inking style in the Search for WondLa trilogy, which has shaped me beyond repair.) I started here with Edena, and I put it on my birthday list.
I still hold that he may be one of my favorite artists. His style is so ethereally captivating, and I found many a piece that I’ve used for my desktop wallpaper in the past few years inside Edena. His landscapes are instantly transporting, and there’s not a single character design lacking in whimsical charm. The story itself…slightly less so? It’s like a sci-fi Yellow Submarine, but if the script was due in an hour and he’d forgotten all about it until then. Given the circumstances, it’s understandable; Edena apparently started out as a car ad (???), and then it took on a life of its own, completely unplanned. There’s inconsistencies aplenty with both the story and the art, but for the most part, it was just so wild that I enjoyed the ride. If it gives you some idea of what happens, Mœbius pulls the classic “IT WAS ALL A DREAM” move that ends up resolving (if you can call it that) the whole mess. It’s nuts. But there were so many pockets that I wished we could have explored more. There were some super interesting gender themes going on—I wish we got to know why Stel and Atan were on their gender-neutral hormone supplements, for a lack of a better word, but the resulting transformation into their Adam and Eve roles (hence the name) was so fascinating, especially since this only came out in the late eighties or so. (Of course, Atan/Atana effectively becomes a damsel in distress post-transformation, but that’s a whole other can of worms. Ouch.)
In short, The World of Edena was beautiful, if not a bit of a mess. Luckily, the mess was endearing, for the most part, or at least fun. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!
As a biracial, unenrolled tribal member and the product of a scandal, Daunis Fontaine has never quite fit in—both in her hometown and on the nearby Ojibwe reservation. When her family is struck by tragedy, Daunis puts her dreams on hold to care for her fragile mother. The only bright spot is meeting Jamie, the charming new recruit on her brother’s hockey team.
After Daunis witnesses a shocking murder that thrusts her into a criminal investigation, she agrees to go undercover. But the deceptions—and deaths—keep piling up and soon the threat strikes too close to home. How far will she go to protect her community if it means tearing apart the only world she’s ever known?
☆
TW/CW: racism, murder, sexual harassment and assault, misogyny, rape, death, gun violence, descriptions of injury, substance abuse
Originally, I put off reading this book because a) I’m not usually much of a YA mystery/thriller person, and b) the mountain of hype was certainly intimidating. I ended up reading Warrior Girl Unearthed because the plot fascinated me more from the start, and I loved it so much that I ended up buying Firekeeper’s Daughter after all. And, once again, I’ve been struck with the luck of hyped books being all worth the hype.
Every part of Firekeeper’s Daughter is excellent, from the effortless way that Angeline Boulley weaves a scene and setting together to the never-ending suspense that kept me guessing for page after page, twist after twist. Making a setting as tangible and populated as hers was is no easy feat—and it suited every other aspect of this book in every conceivable way. You can’t have a corrupt, hidden history of a town without the town itself. The sense of community—and the rifts driven into it—were some of the best I’ve seen in YA fiction in quite a while. Part of that wouldn’t have been possible without Boulley’s equally excellent character work; Just like their community, every character feels nothing short of authentic and multilayered. This all made the twists so much more effective—with such layered characters, I learned to expect the unexpected. And even with the ongoing expansion of diversity in YA as a whole, I feel like I haven’t seen as many novels centering Native American or Indigenous characters and stories, so I’m glad that this book exists in that sense as well. (Shoutout to Darcie Little Badger and Moniquill Blackgoose as well!) And Daunis is mixed-race as well! Yay!!!
If you’re questioning whether or not Firekeeper’s Daughter is worth the never-ending hype: trust me, it’s worth a read. 4 stars!
Change or die. These are the only options available on the planet Jeep. Centuries earlier, a deadly virus shattered the original colony, killing the men and forever altering the few surviving women. Now, generations after the colony has lost touch with the rest of humanity, a company arrives to exploit Jeep–and its forces find themselves fighting for their lives. Terrified of spreading the virus, the company abandons its employees, leaving them afraid and isolated from the natives. In the face of this crisis, anthropologist Marghe Taishan arrives to test a new vaccine. As she risks death to uncover the women’s biological secret, she finds that she, too, is changing–and realizes that not only has she found a home on Jeep, but that she alone carries the seeds of its destruction. . .
☆
TW/CW: death, violence, animal death, gore
I picked this one up after how much I loved So Lucky, also by Griffith. Thing is, I had no idea that a) this book was written almost 30 years before So Lucky (although this cover should’ve tipped me off to that), and b) that, even with the genre difference, that this would be a very different kind of book. At this point, nothing tops So Lucky for me, but Ammonite was still a fascinating book in its own right.
If you’re going into this book expecting what most would consider traditional science fiction, you’ll be sorely disappointed. Most of it follows Marghe, who is tasked with delivering a vaccine to an isolated colony of women whose community was decimated by a mysterious illness that wiped out all of the men. At its heart, Ammonite is firmly a survival story; it’s a story of the wilderness, of venturing into the unknown, and adapting to the world around you. There are moments of suspense, moments of tenderness, and moments of absolute fear. Another reviewer described it as “Dune but gay,” and other than the more traditionally sci-fi elements of the former, the comparison was spot-on. Ammonite also has the fact that it’s much slimmer than Dune going for it, but given how long Dune is, that’s not saying much. But I think what has seemed to make this book so groundbreaking is its take on gender dynamics. The cast is entirely women, but when all of the men are taken by the illness, the remaining women don’t automatically form a pacifist, hippie commune; there are flawed women, there are good-hearted women, there are warlike women, and everything in between. This banishing of broad generalizations about gender, I think, is what makes Ammonite feel so ahead of its time.
Sidenote: this was written in the nineties, so Nicola Griffith had to have known about goth people…right? Just saying, calling the barely-described alien megafauna “goths” made me envision a giant, towering version of Robert Smith, not, y’know, whatever she wanted us to picture.
All in all, a very unique take on sci-fi and survival with some groundbreaking gender dynamics that have held up for the past 30 years. 3.5 stars!
A mutated Abe Sapien fights carnivorous monsters crawling out of the desert sand, a fortified militia that’s walled Phoenix off from the rest of the world, and a vicious zombie swarm, while a mad necromancer rises over the monster-infested ruins of Seattle. Collects issues #6-#7 and #9-#11 of the series.
☆
TW/CW: gore, blood, violence, racism, body horror
I haven’t caught up on the actual Abe Sapien series since…[checks notes], eight grade, I think. Jesus. I just remembered flying to New York when I was about 14 and reading the first volume. But even then, I think I subconsciously chose a good place to pick up with it, since there’s a pretty clear gulf between the first three and vol. 4—before and after Abe gets mutated, shot, and quits the B.P.R.D. Just another day at the office for the guy, y’know?
Suffice to say, I was somewhat disappointed by this volume. It was still enjoyable, and even though I was never the biggest fan of Fiumara’s art, the more stylized look suits Abe’s stretched-out, mutated form. Other than that, there wasn’t a whole lot here that I found terribly memorable. Abe goes through the exact same arc as Hellboy upon leaving the B.P.R.D., but it never seems to culminate in much development on his end. Plot-wise, it’s the same ol’, I’m afraid—Abe goes into a random, apocalypse-ravaged town in the middle of nowhere, and, surprise surprise, it’s time to fight some zombies and witness a copious amount of fungus-related body horror. Somehow, the latter works better when it’s the whole B.P.R.D. trying to deal with it—the group dynamic is what makes B.P.R.D. consistently shine, and as much as I love Abe, I’m not sure if he could carry a story like that when it’s the same format they’ve been using on and off for several years. Abe is one of my favorite Mignolaverse characters, and it’s such a shame that he’s never gotten to shine as much in his solo comics. And judging from the reviews on the later volumes, it seems like the quality tanked until we got the band back together for The Devil You Know. Shame.
All in all, an entetraining trade, but one that ultimately did a disservice to one of the Mignolaverse’s most beloved characters. 3.25 stars.
Today’s song:
I swear, this has to be some of Mitski’s best work in YEARS
That’s it for this batch of mini reviews! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Here in the U.S., National Latinx Heritage Month lasts from September 15 – October 15! I’m always looking to diversify my reading, but this month is especially important to me since I’m half Latina myself, and I love exploring parts of my culture and others’ through literature. I sadly didn’t get around to making a recommendations post last year, since it landed when I was still trying to settle into college, but I really wanted to make on this year, so I planned ahead. And even though the header says YA (I’m stingy about my WordPress space), I wanted to include books of all age ranges in this year’s post. Enjoy!
For my past lists for Latinx Heritage Month, click here:
TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! What are your favorite books by Latinx authors? Have you read any of these books, and what did you think of them? Let me know in the comments!
Today’s song:
merry Shakey Graves, everybody
That’s it for this post! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
After I read Meru back in June, I immediately went through the rest of S.B. Divya’s full-length books and put them on my TBR. Even though sci-fi is my favorite genre, I don’t readily jump for sci-fi thrillers quite as often, but after loving Meru, I was willing to give this one a chance. And while it wasn’t without its flaws, Machinehood was an incredibly detailed and twisty novel!
2095. In Welga Ramirez’s world, humans and machines work in an uneasy symbiosis. Artificial intelligence has become so advanced that humans must take all manner of pills, not only for them to keep from getting sick, but to be strong enough to compete with the machine labor force. Welga has intentions to retire from being a bodyguard. But after a client is killed in front of her and a hybrid human-machine terrorist group called the Machinehood is to blame, she must track down her killer—and the members of the Machinehood that have threatened to attack every major pill funder until production comes to a standstill.
You ever finish a book that’s so detailed in its worldbuilding that not only can you imagine all of the described conventions and their ramifications, but the massive google doc that was probably behind it all? That’s how Machinehood felt to me—aside from the one other S.B. Divya book that I’ve read so far, Machinehood was one of the most thoughtfully-crafted books I’ve read in a long time.
At its best moments, Machinehood felt like a good Christopher Nolan movie. There was no shortage of suspense, and while it was difficult to keep up with at times, it was always an enjoyable read. I don’t gravitate towards sci-fi thrillers as much, even though sci-fi is my favorite genre, but this novel reminded me of what the really well-written ones are capable of doing; the suspense kept me guessing, the tension hardly ever let up, and there were twists aplenty to satisfy any sci-fi reader’s appetite. And of course, nothing makes a thriller like a main character about to retire, and then has to do that One Last Mission™️. When it’s not a part of a huge franchise, it works for me.
Machinehood is S.B. Divya’s first novel, and even then, it’s easy to see the threads from where they eventually branched off to Meru. The most prominent of those was, by a long shot, the worldbuilding. Like Meru, the dystopian, AI-dominated world of Machinehood is painstakingly detailed, down to the most minute consequence of any given sociopolitical ramification. I wouldn’t be surprised if Divya had some kind of Pepe Silvia-style conspiracy cork board to keep track of all the possibilities of this world that they created. There truly was no stone left unturned, and for the most part, it was a positive experience—between the moments of suspense, it was fascinating to see these possibilities unfold. From the myriad of pills that keep humans competing with the AI labor force to the ways that genetic and physical modification advanced, there was nothing that Divya didn’t think of, and that created one of the most fleshed-out sci-fi worlds that I’ve read recently.
Unfortunately, the downside of all of that excellent worldbuilding was its delivery.Having read Meru first, it’s easy to see how Divya improved on this delivery from Machinehood to there. Meru deftly toed the line between explaining its complex worldbuilding and dumping it all in one sitting. Machinehood, on the other hand, could have used some work in that department. As much as I enjoyed how richly layered the worldbuilding was, Divya had a frequent tendency to ramble on about said worldbuilding; even with all of the suspenseful plot points falling into place, this novel took frequent breaks to explain why [x] was a result of [y] and [z], which took away from the tension built up during the parts where the actual plot occurred. It’s a pitfall that I can almost excuse, given that a) Divya’s worldbuilding is obviously top-tier, and b) this was their debut novel, but it definitely took away from some of my enjoyment of the book as a whole. This novel probably would’ve gotten the full 4 stars from me if not for all of this.
All in all, a twisty and suspenseful debut with extensive worldbuilding that sometimes suffered from just as extensive rambling. 3.75 stars, rounded up to 4!
Machinehood is a standalone, and S.B. Divya’s first novel. Divya is also the author of the Alloy Era series (Meru, Loka, and an untitled third book) and Runtime, and has contributed to many short story collections.
Today’s song:
been listening to this song a bunch again, we’re levitating over here
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles! Everybody say happy birthday to Hobbes, who turns 7 today:
I’ve been following Alechia Dow ever since The Sound of Stars was a 5-star read for me way back in 2020; I’ve loved reading her brand of hopeful, queer YA sci-fi with Black characters at the forefront, and so I was so excited to hear that A Song of Salvation was set in the same universe as her first two books! Unfortunately, I found it to be more lackluster than her first two books, but that doesn’t mean that I still enjoyed it.
Zaira Citlali knows her purpose. As the reincarnation of the goddess Indigo, she has been granted with their powers—but cannot seem to harness them. What’s worse, her mortal enemy, the destruction god Ozvios, remains at large, and as he creates war all across the galaxy, he’s eyeing Zaira as a prime sacrifice. But Zaira won’t go down without a fight, even if it means rushing to control her powers. With the help of Wesley, a disgruntled smuggler who just wants to get the job done, and Rubin, a celebrity podcaster that Wesley definitely doesn’t find ridiculously attractive, she must find her way to Terra, the center of intergalactic conflict, to ensure that the song of the universe remains intact.
TW/CW: themes of war, genocide, colonialism/imperialism, murder
I liked this book. But I wanted to like it so much more. Ever since The Sound of Stars, I’ve been trying to get my hands on every Alechia Dow that comes out—normally, I love her special brand of sweet, vibrant sci-fi with Black, queer characters at the forefront. But putting this book next to The Kindred has made me realize that I’m liking her books less and less with each one that comes out. And that makes me really sad. It almost makes me scared to re-read The Sound of Stars, which was a 5-star read for me, just out of fear that it won’t be as impactful for me now as it was back in 2020. All that is to say that A Song of Salvation was still a solid read, but a visible downgrade from both The Sound of Stars and The Kindred. It doesn’t feel like her best work at all.
I’ll start with the positives: if anything, A Song of Salvation was still fun and well-crafted. Dow’s space opera universe where queer characters of color are in charge of their own destinies and get to star in their own star-crossed romances is always a treat to step inside of. The new context and worldbuilding that Song adds to this already vibrant world made it even more fleshed out and real, and Dow was adept at handling all of the intergalactic politics as war descended upon the universe. It’s all richly layered and detailed, with no stone left unturned in terms of the eccentricities of everything going on. And of course, sci-fi with high(ish) stakes but with ultimately hopeful and happy resolutions are always a win. Before I get into my main gripes, I should clarify that I did enjoy the book—it was still a fun read, and better than a fair portion of YA sci-fi—but having read Dow’s other novels, it left me wanting more.
What was endearing to me about The Sound of Stars and The Kindred (the latter to a lesser extent) were the characters—Ellie and Morris felt so resonant, and Felix and Joy, even if they were slightly less so, were still a joy (no pun intended) to be around. Given that Dow’s books have leaned more on the side of character-driven, I expected Song to have the same kind of characters and character development, but unfortunately, I found it lacking. Zaira, Wesley, and Rubin were all fun characters, in the abstract, but it felt like Dow didn’t give them the same love and care that she did for her other characters. They all seemed to have a baseline personality trait each: Wesley is grumpy, Rubin is flamboyant, etc. There wasn’t a whole lot to Zaira, either—it genuinely saddens me to say this, but she feels like every single “reincarnated god/goddess/has the power of a deity” kind of character, whose only traits seem to be that they’re overpowered. And for all of the “I can’t control my powers :(” talk, she seemed to miraculously save the day most every time? That’s not to say that they weren’t all at least entertaining, though; they had a good group dynamic, and Wesley and Rubin were cute together. (Did anybody else feel like Rubin was a toned-down, YA version of Ruby from The Fifth Element? The name and everything…I can’t be the only one to see that…)
Plot-wise, A Song of Salvation struggled to remain relevant for at least half of the book; it felt like a lot of running about with no consequence to the story (and, y’know, the looming intergalactic war?). The second half more or less suffered from the same problem, but it hinged so much on the cameos from the previous books. Don’t get me wrong—it was really sweet to see Ellie, Morris, Joy, Felix, and all of the others, but the more that they showed up, the more it felt like they were being used as crutches to keep longtime readers interested in the story. And for such endearing, well-developed characters, having them used like this was such a shame. They were too well-written to just be cameos. It really felt like such a shame.
All in all, a fun addition to Alechia Dow’s sci-fi universe, but one that relied too much on the wondrousness of its predecessors to stand on its own. 3.5 stars.
A Song of Salvation is the companion to Alechia Dow’s other YA sci-fi novels, The Sound of Stars and The Kindred; they are not a concrete trilogy, but they are all set in the same universe, and can be (and probably should be, just to understand everything) read as such. Dow is also the author of the forthcoming middle grade novel Just A Pinch of Magic (slated for release this October) and All’s Fair(y) in Love & War (slated for release in 2025).
Today’s song:
haven’t been able to stop listening to this gaaaaah
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
I’ve been eyeing this book for a while—I remember it being heavily advertised on Goodreads when it was first released, and normally, I don’t pay much attention to Goodreads ads or sponsored books, but all you had to say was “space opera” and I was hooked. I’m a woman of simple tastes. It was cheap on the Kindle library, so I bought it to read on vacation. To my excitement, it ended up being my favorite book that I read on vacation—so detailed and gripping!
Jayanthi, like all other humans in her day and age, are confined to Earth. Kept there by the Alloys, evolved human descendants with advanced capabilities, she has been raised by Alloy parents on her homeworld, but has always dreamed of seeing the wider galaxy. But when an opportunity arises for Jayanthi to explore the newly discovered planet Meru with the aid of an Alloy pilot, she jumps at the chance—what better way to show the galaxy that humans are more than their violent past?
With the help of Vaya, her Alloy pilot, Jayanthi touches down on Meru. Soon, they find themselves embroiled in a human-alloy conflict, seemingly engineered to separate the two of them. Will Jayanthi and Vaya beat the odds—and restore faith in the human race?
TW/CW: ableism, xenophobia (fictional), sexual content/pregnancy, descriptions of injury, sci-fi violence
I got carsick while reading this book, but I don’t hold it against it at all. That was on me and my hubris of thinking that I wouldn’t get nauseous on a long car trip just this once. Whoops.
Reading some of the lower-rated reviews of Meru is kind of cracking me up…listen. I get that zie/zir pronouns (and neopronouns in general) are somewhat obscure, but of all the absolutely wild, dense, and out-there concepts that this book throws at you, that’s what makes you jump ship? Not the exceedingly complicated…well, everything else?
That being said, Meru lived up to the hype I’ve seen it getting for the past few months! It hit a sweet spot for me that a lot of sci-fi and fantasy books rarely do—creating a complex and multilayered universe, but very delicately balancing when and where to deliver all of this information. Divya came very close to going over the edge, but she navigated the worldbuilding delivery with aplomb.
So, about said worldbuilding. I’d say that Meru isn’t for the faint of heart, even for longtime sci-fi fans—as I mentioned in the beginning of the review, there’s a lot to take in, from the post-human history of the Alloys to all of the machinations surrounding new genetic modification laws in the future. But even though we do get some of this information in larger chunks, Divya excels at navigating which information is actually relevant to the scene it’s informing, and not sledgehammering you with extra information that only becomes relevant elsewhere in the book. It also helps that every inch of said worldbuilding is truly fascinating—it’s clear to see how much care was put into the creation of this universe.
If you’re talking about disability in sci-fi, you’re generally bound to open a particularly dicey can of worms. There’s quite a lot of eugenics narratives that a lot of readers have let slide for years, and the narrative of curing all disabilities is seen as positive, when a lot of the disabilities being described never needed curing in the first place. For the sake of this review, I’ll keep it short, but the bottom line is that it’s gross. But Meru takes a refreshing perspective on disability in sci-fi—not only was Jayanthi, the protagonist, specifically engineered to have sickle-cell anemia (now THAT’S a subversion I like), her disability is depicted in a far more advantageous and positive light. Anyone who’s ever touched a high school biology textbook probably remembers this example: despite its drawbacks, those with sickle-cell also have increased resistance to many tropical diseases. That’s exactly the case for Jayanthi, whose sickle-cell anemia makes her more suited to the environment of the planet Meru than those without it. Positive disability rep is good enough, but having it specifically depicted as something that gives the character the edge is something special. That, along with the wonderful discussions around disability and bodily autonomy (both allegorical and literal), made Meru a wonderful experience for me as a disabled reader.
In addition, Divya has created such a vibrant cast of characters in Meru! Jayanthi was such an endearing and powerful protagonist, and her relationship with the equally endearing Vaha was full of tenderness, despite its ups and downs. Almost all of the cast added to the book’s masterful suspense and tension, making you feel deeply for all of the relevant characters before things got (very) hairy. Plus, the integration of Sanskrit, several Indian-coded (and other POC characters), and loads of casual queerness was a breath of fresh air from all of the white, male, cishet sci-fi that still dominates the market. We need more books like Meru.
All in all, an intricately-crafted sci-fi novel that dazzled with its detailed worldbuilding, diversity, and refreshing discussions around disability. 4 stars!
Meru is the first book in S.B. Divya’s Alloy Era series, continued by the forthcoming Loka, slated for release in July of 2024. Divya is also the author of Machinehood and Run Time, as well as a contributor to several short story collections.
Today’s song:
NEW SMILE IT’S SO GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD (does this mean that we’re closer to hearing “Read the Room” too?????
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
I put this one on my TBR years ago, and I only fished it out of the void a few days ago, after looking for some books to read for AAPI heritage month. I’d read mixed reviews, so I went in with low expectations, but I came out with a fantastic and nuanced story of feminism in a high school setting!
Eliza Quan knows that she’s qualified for the position of editor-in-chief at her high school newspaper. She’s been with them since the beginning of her high school career, and sure, she may not be the warmest person 24/7, but she has what it takes to bring the newspaper to new heights. The problem? Her classmates don’t seem to think so.
When she loses the editor-in-chief election to Len DiMartile, who only joined the newspaper after an injury prevented him from playing baseball and decided to run against her on a whim, she feels as though all of her hard work has come to nothing. And she knows she’s qualified—so why does this sexist activity keep running amok in her school? After pouring out her thoughts in a manifesto, Eliza thinks it’s all over. But after the manifesto is posted to the paper’s website without her permission, it causes a ripple effect of protest and accusations. Among the sides being taken, can Eliza transform this drama into genuine change at her school?
Don’t you just love it when you’ve forgotten about a book existing, so you go in with low expectations, and you end up dazzled? Top 10 feelings, for sure.
I’ve read my fair share of feminist, realistic-fiction YA in my day, and sadly, it’s easy for them to miss the mark, whether it’s introducing diverse characters for the sake of intersectionality and doing nothing with them (Six Angry Girls) or having a protagonist who only focuses on very surface-level aspects of feminism without getting any more nuanced (half of Watch Us Rise). But Not Here to Be Liked delivered the nuance, heart, and punch that it was supposed to, making for a powerful story of systemic misogyny and leadership.
I think some of the reviews seemed to miss the point when talking about Eliza—she’s a great character, but she’s not intended to be entirely likable. It’s in the title, after all! Sure—she’s determined to make the school paper as good as possible, and sometimes, that comes off as abrasive or strict. But that’s the point—were she a man, these traits would be praised: she’s “too harsh,” but he’s “willing to take charge” or “a fearless leader.” See the double standard? That’s what this book was trying to say all along. And Quach did an excellent job of having a flawed but incredibly root-able protagonist: every position that she takes is a laudable one that’s backed up more often than not. Eliza was robbed of her position, simply because a man’s charisma meant more than a woman’s experience and talent.
Not Here to Be Liked also portrayed how we think of feminism so well! As soon as Eliza’s manifesto is leaked and both support and vitriol begin to flow towards her, many of her classmates stand behind her, but their support is often half-baked; it’s a great commentary on that shallow, hollow white feminism that’s so prevalent among people who aren’t willing to do anything politically uncomfortable: slapping an “I am a feminist” pin on your shirt, saying “smash the patriarchy!” a few times because it’s briefly profitable, and being done with it. This novel does an incredible job of dissecting the true nuance of feminism and teaching others that making genuine change isn’t simple or easy—there are always more layers than you think there are. It’s never just about gender—it’s about race, sexuality, class, and so many other facets of our national (and international) identity. And even though this book doesn’t necessarily cover every bit of it—it’s a big ask for a single book to cover every single component that falls under feminism—it didn’t need to: misogyny and racism were the main focuses, and they were dealt with in a nuanced way. Apart from a misunderstanding of the Bechdel test (the book seemed to interpret a lot of it as how much real women think about men, when Bechdel’s focus was more about how female characters are written, especially in male-dominated Hollywood), it’s a great view of feminism in a YA setting.
Plus, with all of my gripes, Not Here to Be Liked did something of an enemies-to-lovers romance pretty well! Going into this novel, that part was what I was most suspicious about, but Quach, unlike many romances with “enemies-to-lovers” slapped onto them as a buzzword, actually handled in a way that felt authentic. The stages of Eliza and Len’s relationship didn’t feel like it was cut into neat, digestible slices—they had their ups and downs, and the result wasn’t entirely black and white, either. That’s what love is. It’s not quantifiable by any of the labels we put on it, and that’s how it’s supposed to be. Personally, I didn’t think that they had a whole lot of chemistry together, but their relationship was well-written enough that I could push some of that to the side.
All in all, an incredible story of one young woman’s fight for justice in her high school that scores high on its protagonist and depictions of feminism. 4 stars!
Not Here to Be Liked is a standalone, but Michelle Quach is also the author of The Boy You Always Wanted, which is slated for release on August 1, 2023.
Today’s song:
almost finished with Kindred on FX, and I have mixed feelings about it, but for now, at least I got this eery Beatles cover out of it
That’s it for this week’s Book Review Tuesday! Have a wonderful rest of your day, and take care of yourselves!
The Bookish Mutant 