Tag: Queer

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (9/15/26) – Summer in the City of Roses

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles, and more importantly, happy National Hispanic & Latine Heritage Month!

I’m kicking off the occasion with a novel that’s been languishing on my TBR for way too long. I don’t remember where exactly I heard about it, but I was intrigued by the cover and the unusual premise. Though I wasn’t immediately familiar with the myths and fairytales that it drew from, Summer in the City of Roses stands as something uniquely itself, regardless of its inspirations.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Summer in the City of Roses – Michelle Ruiz Keil

Iph and Orr are inseparable. Ever since Orr began showing signs of anxiety, Iph has been his protector, making their way around Portland in the early ’90s together. But when their father sends Orr off to a wilderness camp without Iph’s knowledge, she’s beyond betrayed. Unbeknownst to Iph, Orr snuck off into the woods the minute that he arrived at the camp. Now on separate journeys to find their way back to each other, Iph and Orr will stop at nothing to reunite, no matter the bizarre trials they encounter on the way.

TW/CW: transphobia/deadnaming, kidnapping, substance abuse, animal cruelty, homophobia, domestic violence

First off: this is a weird book. It’s weirder than a lot of mainstream YA dares to get, which I greatly enjoyed. In a publishing landscape dominated by all manner of fairytale and myth retellings, Summer in the City of Roses dared to do something radically new, and while it wasn’t completely successful, it’s a bright spot of individuality in the YA landscape.

I wasn’t familiar with the myth of Iphigenia or the Brothers Grimm’s “Brother and Sister,” the two fairytales and myths that Summer in the City of Roses was based on; once I looked into them more, there were so many fun Easter eggs that were hidden throughout. But even without that context, it felt so much like a fairytale. The strange, winding nature of the plot, as well as the oddball characters that Iph and Orr encounter along their quest, were so archetypal, but beyond that, just pure fun. Ruiz Keil’s prose gave the novel a Wes Anderson feel, especially when it came to the narrative voice and the way the characters acted and spoke. (George felt very Rushmore to me.) There’s a wandering nonbinary Robin Hood type with a mini pitbull, a band of Riot Grrrls, covens of witches from San Fransisco—it’s just unabashedly ’90s and unabashedly quirky, at that. It’s just so charming all the way through. And though I’ve never been to Portland—much less in the early ’90s—Ruiz Keil’s love for the city shone through in every page. There’s a lot of fun references to the pop culture and music scene at the time, as well as past musical movements (BRIAN ENO AND OBLIQUE STRATEGIES MENTIONED!!) It’s a charming, punk fairytale dressed in flannel with the spirit of Riot Grrrl activism and siblingly love. Summer in the City of Roses is seriously one of a kind.

Iph and Orr are at the heart of Summer in the City of Roses, and their relationship was written so tenderly. Iph’s uncertain yet determined spirit was so poignant, and Ruiz Keil captured that feeling of being a teenage girl at the crossroads of life so well. Her experiences with her mixed-race identity, with a Greek father and a Mexican mother who was rather secretive about her culture and past, resonated so much with me as a mixed-race person with Latine heritage. Orr was so wonderful, and his sensitive was dealt with so well; I also loved seeing both Iph and Orr casually come into their queerness. What stood out to me though was that despite there being all of this amazing representation, Ruiz Keil didn’t automatically translate it into modern terms that would’ve been out of place in the ’90s. (She talks in the author’s note about not choosing to use any pronouns for George, as nonbinary identity wasn’t as well known/understood in the mainstream ’90s culture as it is today, although it existed without question.) Iph and Orr are decidedly queer, and Orr is decidedly neurodivergent; a less deft author would’ve inserted all manner of 2020’s therapy/PSA-speak into the narrative, but Ruiz Keil toed the line between modernizing their identities while still respecting them as identities that existed in the ’90s, and have always been a part of history.

Naturally, a book dealing with the Riot Grrrl movement and the punk/activist culture of Portland in the ’90s would deal with a lot of social issues, and Summer in the City of Roses certainly did. Not a lot of YA literature deals with subjects surrounding sex work, especially considering the audience; but I like that Ruiz Keil touches on this, and humanizes sex workers and explains a lot of the rationale behind the activism. There are discussions about homophobia and transphobia, Latine and mixed-race identity, spirituality, and unhoused people, but through it all, what made it so meaningful was that Ruiz Keil took such a great deal of care in humanizing all of the marginalized groups she talks about. That being said, a lot of these discussions are delivered in a kind of PSA style at the worst of times; this style is also applied to any other subject that Iph learns about, which made some of the discussions drag for me. However, this is YA, and for a teen audience unfamiliar with these subjects, it might be more beneficial. Chances are, it was only an issue for me because I’ve aged out of the target audience.

A lot of the reviews for Summer in the City of Roses commented on how jarring the transition in this novel was from fairytale-inspired realistic fiction to straight-up magical realism. To be fair, I saw that it had been tagged on the Storygraph as magical realism, so I had some idea of what I was in for. Once I got to this portion of the story, the genre transition wasn’t that abrupt to me: Ruiz Keil’s writing already had the air of a fairytale, even if the actual fantastical elements didn’t come in until the eleventh hour. My problem was more about their execution. The hard left turn into fantasy was quite messy; it’s clear that Ruiz Keil had a lot of ideas and a lot to say about them, but they all tangled into a jumbled mess at the end. The ending had the potential to be so powerful, but everything was so tangled that the message got lost. I feel like part of the issue is that it needed more time to breathe—50 more pages would’ve done the trick for making sure that this element felt substantially integrated into the narrative. Summer in the City of Roses was just shy of a 4-star read for me, but this mishandled ending was why it didn’t get the full 4 stars from me in the end.

All in all, a daringly weird and ambitious novel with lots of aspirations—most of them fulfilled, but with some unfortunately left in pieces. 3.75 stars!

Summer in the City of Roses is a standalone, but Michelle Ruiz Keil is also the author of All Of Us With Wings and contributed to the anthology Dispatches from Anarres: Tales in Tribute to Ursula K. LeGuin.

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 (9/8/26) – The Folded Sky (White Space, #3)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I got hooked on Elizabeth Bear’s White Space series back in January. I figured I’d order The Folded Sky (on Bookshop.org of course…if you’re still ordering books on Amazon, go here instead!! Your money goes to indie bookstores and not Bezos!) with some leftover birthday money. Like all the other installations in this series, The Folded Sky did not disappoint.

NOTE: The Folded Sky is the third book in the White Space series, and while it doesn’t contain spoilers for books 1 and 2, it’s difficult to understand without the context that they give. For my reviews of the first two books, click below!

Enjoy this week’s review!

The Folded Sky (White Space, #3) – Elizabeth Bear

Dr. Sunyata Song was supposed to live a quiet life as a historian. Her studies of the Baomind—an ancient, moon-sized artificial intelligence created by a long-dead alien race—have so far not disturbed this. But a once-in-a-lifetime research opportunity to study the Baomind drags Sunya, her wife, and her two teenage kids out to the farthest edges of the galaxy. Sunya is elated, but she soon realizes that she’s in over her head, between the presence of her longtime academic rival, a potential murder plot, and the dying red giant that the Baomind orbits. In the midst of all this conflict, Sunya must make a choice as to what matters most to her—and all of the people around her.

TW/CW: kidnapping, child endangerment, gun violence, murder

Whoever was in charge of writing a succinct blurb for the back of this book needs a raise. Seriously. There is so much going on in The Folded Sky, and the blurb is just the tip of the iceberg. There’s the giant alien AI, of course. But that’s not even the biggest plot point. You’ve got pirates. Incredibly heated historian beef. A murder mystery on a janky space station. Red giants with horrifying implications. Did I mention pirates?

Elizabeth Bear’s characters are the reason that the White Space series as a whole works so well. Book by book, she’s not only created an increasingly multilayered and complex world, but shown it to us through the eyes of people (and systers) who are refreshingly flawed and lovable. I was already sold on the concept of a sleep-deprived, slightly-too-committed historian and her long-suffering but patient alien wife as the protagonists already, but Bear developed them so far beyond that concept; Sunya was one of the series’s most well-realized characters. She’s somebody who tries so hard to be civil and unbiased, but is not-so-secretly very impulsive and prone to being hotheaded—it’s a funny combination, but more importantly, it felt so real. Anybody with a strong sense of justice who’s also incredibly emotional can relate—all of her righteous seething about Vickee was so relatable. Her family dynamic was so heartwarming; Bear could’ve easily gone down the “teenagers are so annoying, hahaha look at them being stupid” route, but I loved how Salvie points out that Luna’s outbursts are just versions of Sunya herself (much to her dismay). Salvie and Sunya were such a lovely couple, and their devotion to their children—and justice as a whole—was the novel’s beating heart. Aside from Salvie being an alien, they felt like a family you could meet any old day, and that’s what sets the White Space series apart as a whole—nobody makes aliens (and people) as real as Bear.

Just when you think the worldbuilding of the White Space series can’t possibly get better…IT’S ELIZABETH BEAR WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!! INCOMPREHENSIBLE MOON-SIZED AI, COMIN’ RIGHT ATCHA! I love her no-holds-barred approach to making the Synarche unabashedly weird, and she followed through on that mission in The Folded Sky. This novel takes us to the more backwater, less technologically-advanced parts of the universe, and the experience of seeing what’s considered backwater in the first place is. All of the new Systers that get introduced were delightful. (Dr. Nonsense was a favorite of mine…you know I love a cephalopod, but Bear did an excellent job of making it more than just a cephalopod in space!) The Baomind itself was so meticulously thought-out, and even after Machine, Bear really pushes the limits on how strange robots and AI can get; I loved the song communication, and the twists that Sunya discovers in her studies are too fascinating to spoil. Either way, it’s proof that Bear is a worldbuilder in her prime, and this series is all th better for it.

The main reason that The Folded Sky didn’t get the full 5 stars from me was the pacing; for a series whose books that I’ve routinely gobbled up hundreds of pages of in one sitting, The Folded Sky had a slower start. But once that hurdle was jumped over, this novel was excellently executed from start to finish. I mentioned the dozens of disparate plot elements earlier, and juggling all of them would be a Herculean task for any author (much less whoever had to condense all that into a blurb). What struck me about The Folded Sky is that out of all of those facets of the plot, none of them were treated as afterthoughts. They were all a critical part of the tangled web of the novel. The murder mystery was just as compelling as Sunya’s historical work, as was the rivalry she had with Vickee and the pirates and everything else. Bear made it look easy, connecting threads that I couldn’t imagine connecting. Of course, it wasn’t perfect—in addition to the beginning, the climax was more drawn out than felt reasonable—but for a plot this jam-packed with different elements, Bear pulled it off surprisingly well.

But I feel like the chaos that the characters are mired in was so crucial to the central themes of The Folded Sky. For one thing, there was the whole Folded Sky concept in a series, and its connections to integrative complexity (new concept that I learned! And they say that only nonfiction is educational…thanks, Elizabeth Bear!) and being able to see issues and their consequences from multiple perspectives, and not, as Dr. Nonsense said, a human binary of only two sides. That was already a very powerful theme, but the chaos also related back to Sunya and her family. Though I don’t have any firsthand experience with parenthood, I loved how this theme was written; you bring children into the world, and you want to protect them from a world that is often cruel and unpredictable, and while you can’t protect them from everything, you desperately want to try. And either way, Sunya and her family are able to keep somewhat levelheaded because of the love they have for each other, and the love that they foster in their community. Overall, The Folded Sky is an ode to the power of multiplicity and many perspectives, whether that’s community-building, family, or studying history.

One more bonus point—look, I know “Life On Mars?” is one of Bowie’s most well-known songs, but the fact that it was referenced in passing still made me giddy.

All in all, a poignant and deeply moving addition to one of the best space opera series out there today. 4.5 stars!

The Folded Sky is the third book in the White Space series, preceded by Ancestral Night (1) and Machine (2). Elizabeth Bear is also the author of several other series, including the New Amsterdam series (New Amsterdam, Seven for a Secret, The White City, Ad Eternum, and Garrett Investigates), the Jacob’s Ladder trilogy (Dust, Sanction, and Grail) and many others.

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 (9/1/26) – Unconquerable Sun

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I’ve had my eye on Unconquerable Sun for several years; it’s appeared on several lists of queer sci-fi books that have caught my attention, and a loose retelling of the story of Alexander the Great seemed interesting enough. Unfortunately, Unconquerable Sun was overblown, overwritten, and kind of a waste of 500+ pages.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Unconquerable Sun (The Sun Chronicles, #1) – Kate Elliott

The Republic of Chaonia is in chaos. Princess Sun has come of age, and the throne that she’s inheriting is one of immense responsibility. Her mother, the Queen-Marshal Eirene, commanded armies and seemed to pull off miracles in order to keep their empire afloat. With a ruthless court and bloodthirsty enemies on all sides, Princess Sun must fight to earn her name—and keep her planet alive.

TW/CW: war themes, human experimentation, xenophobia (fictional), violence, murder

Unconquerable Sun wasn’t bad enough for a full-on DNF. I didn’t hate it, but I certainly didn’t enjoy reading it. Ultimately, the reason I slogged through it was because it felt like the book equivalent of the sunk-cost fallacy: I’d already gotten halfway through and I was at least vaguely curious as to what would happen, so I saw it through to the end. Sadly, things really didn’t pick up from there—this novel is 528 pages of mediocre worldbuilding and even worse characters.

Unconquerable Sun pairs two writing issues that are a fatal combination. The way that Elliott wrote the dialogue was downright obnoxious. It had that pompousness of somebody trying too hard to make the royalty come across appropriately Royal, which circled back around to just being corny. Suffering through that was already a lot, but then comes the second issue: with one notable exception, almost all of the characters had this exact same voice. Most of their voices were indistinguishable from the other, and to make matters worse, they all had the most annoyingly overwritten dialogue possible. Even the non-royal characters had voices like this, when they reasonably shouldn’t be talking like elitist politicians—it was annoying to read, but more often than not, it didn’t even make sense. It reminded me of Maria Z. Medina’s Mistress of Bones, which, to this novel’s credit, was way worse, but it had a similar issue: it made no sense for most every character to sound the same. It was a headache-inducing combination, one that doomed me to lose interest in this novel early on.

Those issues with the dialogue translated to the characters as well. Most of the characters weren’t terribly distinguishable from one another, and there were countless side characters who didn’t have any business having such a large role in the story. Elliott attempted to do some in-depth development of Princess Sun, but I feel like a lot of the discussions of her living in her mother’s shadow were heavy on the telling and lacking on the showing, making her a somewhat hollow protagonist. (That being said, I liked how Elliott wrote about her being mixed-race, and the depictions of the discrimination she faces and her inner conflict was at least decently done.) Now, remember how I said that all of the characters were/sounded the same, save for one? That’s where we get to the issue with Persephone, who was utterly obnoxious in a secret third way. Elliott was so clearly trying to make her the witty, rebellious one, from the eye roll-inducing chapter names (Rick Riordan and his consequences) to her quippy, Joss Whedon dialogue. Similarly, her seeming issues with family were so glossed over just so she could be the quirky, messy foil to the more stuck-up Princess Sun, a dynamic that couldn’t have been more overdone. It’s a real feat for me to hate most of the cast of a single novel, but somehow, Unconquerable Sun pulled it off.

Unconquerable Sun was a mixed bag in terms of the plotting and pacing. Even though I wasn’t the biggest fan of this novel, I will say that the scenes were nicely plotted and placed. The disastrous royal wedding scene was compelling, and many of the similar scenes were action-packed and kept me hooked enough to see this novel through to the end. I’m not too keen on military sci-fi as a subgenre, but the fight scenes were well-paced and the action solidly written. Other than that, I really don’t think Unconquerable Sun needed to be this long; there was a significant lull in the middle that mostly consisted of the main cast running in circles that definitely needed to be trimmed down by at least 50 pages minimum. (I peeked at the sequel, Furious Heaven, and that one is over 700 pages…UH OH.) This novel was just too overwritten for its own good—it mostly affected the characters, but the plot wasn’t spared either.

To Elliott’s credit, the worldbuilding was solid. The bones of Unconquerable Sun’s world were well-thought out, and she did a good job of building up the history of all of the factions and all of their issues. The court intrigue was decently written, and it was the only place where the insufferably highfalutin dialogue worked. That was one of the only aspects of the novel that I wanted more of, but it was often left in the dust in favor of pew pew pew military sci-fi time. I’d mostly seen Unconquerable Sun advertised for said court intrigue, but it’s solidly military sci-fi (the Guardian review quite literally called it a “shoot ’em up,” so that’s on me for not seeing that. My fault, not the book’s fault). I wish this had been developed more, but it did a good job of humanizing the people caught in the crossfire of war, from the Phene victims of experimentation and the soldiers who had been drafted against their will; of course, I’m that one friend who’s too woke, but I feel like that could’ve been increased more, and there was some good potential for some commentary on the imperialism rife in this novel. Of course, this is military sci-fi, so this might be an ordering a milkshake from Home Depot situation, but I think my point still stands; military sci-fi, at its best, can be an excellent way to dissect of the horrors of war, imperialism, and unfair exploitation of all kinds.

All in all, a space opera that had too much and too many of everything: overwritten dialogue, forgettable characters, and, overall, just pages. 2 stars.

Unconquerable Sun is the first book in the Sun Chronicles, followed by Furious Heaven and Lady Chaos. Kate Elliott is also the author of several other books for teens and adults, including the Black Wolves series (Black Wolves and Dead Empire), the Jaran series (Jaran, An Earthly Crown, His Conquering Sword, and The Law of Becoming), the Court of Fives trilogy (Court of Fives, Poisoned Blade, and Buried Heart), and many more.

Today’s song:

I keep coming back to this track—it’s not my favorite from lost weekend, but it has some of the album’s best lyrics, hands down

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 (7/21/26) – Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I hate to say it, but while Amie Kaufman has never let me down with her books, her book recommendations are less reliable. That’s how I found out about Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous, but to be fair, I’ve been reading and enjoying Autumn K. England/M.K. England’s books since I was in high school. They’ve never been a favorite or auto-buy author for me, but their books have been consistently solid and enjoyable in a pinch. Unfortunately, their cozy adult debut is their weakest novel to date.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous – Autumn K. England

Oaklin Nettlewood is turning over a new leaf. After narrowly escaping from a magical cult, Oaklin has fled to the small town of Mossley’s Rest. In a fit of desperation, they buy a farm, not knowing that its former occupant was a beloved staple in the town before her death. Her ghost lingers in the barn, and she’s bent on helping Oaklin revive the farm in earnest. But between painful flashbacks, suspicious townsfolk, and Oaklin’s self-imposed barriers, will they ever be able to start over?

TW/CW: panic attacks, mental illness themes, past descriptions of murder/violence, substance abuse

I wasn’t a massive fan of England’s books before, but they were consistently entertaining, which is why I’ve kept reading them. This might be where I break up with them. I should’ve seen the red flags when this was compared to Can’t Spell Treason Without Tea, which I rated too generously in retrospect. Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous was largely bland, and when it wasn’t bland, it was grating; there are so many ways to make cozy genre fiction compelling, and England used none of them.

Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous did have a prominently good aspect; it’s not just a matter of “the main character is disabled/mentally ill and that’s cool,” but England’s depiction of Oaklin’s PTSD was so empathetic. England did an excellent job of writing all of the facets of Oaklin’s trauma and mental illness. No punches were pulled with the depictions of their violent flashbacks, and their frequent panic attacks and harshly critical inner monologue were treated with the appropriate balance of sympathy and authenticity—unlike some other parts of the book, none of it felt sanitized, which I appreciated. It didn’t just feel like representation for representation’s sake—it felt like a genuine attempt to humanize a mental illness that’s quite stigmatized.

I’m not sure if I was just able to pass over the flaws in England’s novels in high school because I wasn’t super discerning or if Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous is just their worst novel. Whatever the case, one of the biggest weaknesses of this novel was just how downright bland it is. I hate to say this, but I genuinely can’t think of a single unique quality that England’s writing has. There were a few nicely flowery metaphors here and there, but it just felt devoid of any individuality. The bucolic setting was described at the barest minimum, as were the relationships between Oaklin and the others. I wasn’t expecting a worldbuilding marvel, or anything, but any sense of the world beyond the absolute bare minimum was missing. England’s writing style was just exceedingly nothing. This was certainly a book. With words in it.

I was hoping that England’s characters and dialogue would pick up the slack that the boring writing left off. Unfortunately, that was not the case. Apart from Oaklin, who was decently written, and Granny (whose main distinguishing factors were that she was a ghost and had the mannerisms of an old lady), the supporting characters were lazy copy and pastes of each other. Looking back, the only thing that distinguished Lior from the others was that she was [checks notes] an attractive woman who had a different job from the others. Ryn and Jules were the exact same character. (I think one of them plays guitar? That’s all that distinguishes them.) But what really exacerbated this issue was that all of their dialogue sounded the same. To make matters worse, they all had these very modern, gratingly “quirky” mannerisms that felt like some insufferable person’s DnD campaign. For all the effort that England put into making the people of Mossley’s Rest seem like the kind of small town folk that you’d be comfortable being neighbors with, I just wanted to leave as soon as possible.

An extension of this character issue came in the form of the romance. I liked the setup of Oaklin and Lior’s relationship, but none of it felt earned. From the start, I knew that they would end up together. That in and of itself wasn’t the problem; the problem was that their romantic progression felt so fast and unearned. So much of how their relationship developed fell into the many timeskips throughout the novel, leaving what we had on the page insufficient. It just lacked tension. In cozy genre fiction of any kind, romance is a great way to introduce an element of low-stakes tension without making the novel overly tense. Here, it was just insta-love, and wholly unearned. The only real barriers were Oaklin’s past identity and their conflicting professions, both of which got smoothed over pretty quickly. I do like that Lior was able to accept Oaklin in spite of their past, but it just felt like it robbed the book of some fluffier tension that it very much needed.

That being said, I will say that, in spite of not enjoying myself throughout most of Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous, I did love the ending. It’s messier than a lot of cozy fantasies like it are willing to get, and the biggest takeaway is that Oaklin is fundamentally deserving of love in spite of their past, which they had no control over. Yes, it was a little sappy, but I always appreciate narratives about the harsh criticism that characters have about themselves being proven wrong. England stuck the landing, but it wasn’t enough to save the whole novel.

All in all, a cozy fantasy that was forgettable in all senses of the word. 2.25 stars.

Field Guide for the Formerly Villainous is the first novel in the Everyday Magic series, but no sequels have been announced yet. Autumn K. England (also writing as M.K. England) is also the author of several other books for teens and adults, including The Disasters, Spellhacker, Roll for Love, All Fired Up, and many others.

Today’s song:

NEW CHELSEA WOLFE ALBUM IN AUGUST, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!

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 (7/14/26) – Machine (White Space, #2)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

Thankfully, after last week’s disappointment, we’ve got something to save the track record for Disability Pride Month. I started Elizabeth Bear’s White Space trilogy earlier this year, and I knew I wanted a physical copy of book 2. It’s one of the great joys in life when a sequel is better than the first book—and Ancestral Night was already a 4.5-star read for me, so this was huge! Machine was a fantastic step up for a series that’s already a cut above the rest.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Machine (White Space, #2) – Elizabeth Bear

Dr. Brookllyn Jens is a special kind of doctor. Her patients are usually aliens, and her status as an emergency specialist means that her job description tends to involve having to jump out of spaceships. It’s already a job that keeps her on the edge. But when Dr. Jens and her crew discover two ships that have been abandoned for thousands of years, they uncover a mystery with layers upon layers of disastrous implications. With a strange, antiquated AI, an entire human crew in cryosleep, and a potential conspiracy on their hands, Dr. Jens and her crew must race against the clock to make sure that everybody makes it out alive.

TW/CW: ableism, misogyny, medical content, xenophobia, violence, murder

Genuinely, my sole problem with this novel is the title. Elizabeth Bear thought out this intricate and complex space opera world full of thousands of aliens and unique space travel, and couldn’t think of a more memorable title than Machine? I mean, yeah. There sure are Machines. Lots of ’em. But come on, really.

As much as I enjoyed Haimey’s story in Ancestral Night, I really think that making the White Space series several collected companion novels was the right move. It expands the intricate world that Elizabeth Bear has crafted in so many exciting ways that were only possible through the eyes of a different cast of characters. I loved the ways that the Synarche and all of the different species within it were fleshed out. Bear’s writing is as sharp as ever—her voice is so witty and hilarious, but she also knows just how to stick the landing when it comes to the more climactic or serious moments. The pacing was top-notch, especially considering that Machine is nearly 500 pages long—I blew through hundreds of pages at a time, and Bear never lost me.

I absolutely adored Dr. Jens as a protagonist, and Bear’s willingness to let her protagonists be messy yet lovable people made her shine. Dr. Jens has such a dry sense of humor, and her wry observations about the world around her made Machine such an entertaining read. But beyond that, I loved her continuous self-reflection—about the ideas she’s constructed about herself, but also about her work and the world around her. The supporting cast was so vibrant and lovable—it was a treat to see Cheerilaq again, first off, but all of the characters were so delightful and added a real human (and syster) authenticity to Core General’s staff. Sometimes your coworker gets on your nerves for no discernible reason, and they’re also a massive cetacean-like being getting wheeled around in a massive tank. On that subject, I loved all of the new Systers that Bear introduces. My creature design brain predictably became that meme of the dog with the propeller beanie and the giant lollipop seeing all of the truly alien aliens that populated the Synarche. But Bear went beyond good creature design and into crafting memorable, multilayered characters, which is what makes her space opera stand out in the end.

In particular, the expansion of the AI and robots in the Synarche was one of the most intriguing aspects of the world that Bear discusses in Machine. The whole plotline with Helen Alloy was one of the most well-executed. I love how Bear interrogates the objectification of women and how sci-fi has historically translated this into female-presenting robots. The visceral discomfort that Dr. Jens has that Helen was specifically created to have a hypersexualized, feminine form felt was like seeing the sun peer through the clouds after decades of weird men writing all kinds of messed-up sex-bots. It’s treated with the appropriate level of disgust—both on Helen and Dr. Jens’s part. Helen’s manipulation also ends up being vital to the later twist, and her entire arc of deconstructing the lies that she was programmed with was handled with such tenderness. Beyond the robots, I think that thread of treating people who have been brought up with hateful ideologies and not immediately dismissing those with different opinions was one of the best aspects of Machine; Bear’s insistence that people—human, alien, or AI—are not inherently bad, only victims of harmful ideas, was so necessary.

Bear’s take on disability in a sci-fi context was also such a respectful and well-researched one! She listed off several sensitivity readers in the acknowledgements, and their work paid off—for someone who seems to be non-disabled, by all accounts, this might be one of the most caring representations of a disabled person and their struggles in sci-fi I’ve seen by a non-disabled author. Dr. Jens has a chronic pain disorder, and she has a special exo-suit that manages some of her pain, but not all of it—sci-fi tech still has limitations in the far, far future. She still aches and gets physically taxed from her daring missions. Granted, I’m not chronically ill, but it felt like Bear paid so much attention to how Dr. Jens’s symptoms would present and how her high-stakes profession would affect it. Additionally, there’s a lot of talk about how disability is handled in the future; there was lots of discussion of “rightminding,” a process that, among other things, mitigates the effects of some mental illnesses. It would’ve been so easy to just slap it on as a cure-all technology, but Bear’s approach was one that I rarely see in sci-fi. It’s not necessarily “disability isn’t cured,” but it’s handled on a case-by-case basis, there’s an understanding that different kinds of disabled people have different needs and opinions about how they want to live with their disabilities with the technology available. This rejection of the one-size-fits-all approach to disability was a breath of fresh air, and wasn’t afraid to get into the nuance of how disabled people live their lives.

Disability wasn’t the only issue that gets dealt with in a refreshing amount of nuance. Bear was not afraid to get into the weeds with this novel, and it made my reading experience so much better. Machine, more so than its predecessor, gets into how a utopia and utopian ideas can be twisted into something sinister. It all feels very Ursula K. LeGuin—the Synarche is without a doubt an ambiguous utopia like The Dispossessed. (First off, I liked that Bear interrogates the ethics of “rightminding” targeting potentially “dangerous ideologies,” and how that ends up being decidedly non-utopian.) I appreciated that Bear discusses how well-intentioned utopias can be co-opted into vehicles for hatred, but also how that revelation wracks the people who genuinely believed in this utopia—people like Dr. Jens. Her arc in having faith in her hospital and the Synarche was so human—her entire reality and faith in the organization she devoted her life to is messily upended. But the realization that she comes to—that you can take the good work you wanted to do and the faith in your fellow people outside of corrupt organizations and do your own work—was one that feels so vital. I also loved the thematic potential of the infectious meme—not unlike the spread of a hateful ideology—that is treated as an infection that has to be weaned out with attention and care. Bear’s depictions of that crushing realization and how Dr. Jens and her coworkers pick up the pieces was so heartfelt, and a very potent message in this day and age.

All in all, a spectacular companion to Ancestral Night that expanded Elizabeth Bear’s masterfully crafted space opera universe with pulse-pounding action and heart. 5 stars!

Machine is the second book in the White Space trilogy, a series of companion novels set in the same universe; it is also includes Ancestral Night (book 1) and Folded Sky (book 3). Elizabeth Bear is also the author of several other series, including the New Amsterdam series (New Amsterdam, Seven for a Secret, The White City, Ad Eternum, and Garrett Investigates), the Jacob’s Ladder trilogy (Dust, Sanction, and Grail) and many others

Today’s song:

still going through my mom’s records from the ’80s. this remains peak.

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 (6/23/26) – Heaven’s Graveyard

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

After my Idolfire freakout last week, I knew I had to get my hands on Heaven’s Graveyard as soon as I could. I put it on hold, but mercifully, it came in way sooner than I thought! YIPPEEEE!! It wasn’t as enchanting as Idolfire, but those are huge shoes to fill—Heaven’s Graveyard is still a cut above the rest.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Heaven’s Graveyard – Grace Curtis

Coda Callanuny has thrown herself into her university work. A student of archaeology, she’s been bent on solving a mystery that she’s been chasing since childhood: proving that Aleya, a figure of myth, was a real person and not a fairytale. But when a beloved professor—the only one who believes her theory—suddenly turns up dead, her chase for history becomes a chase for a murderer. It turns out that her professor’s findings could change the world, and in the wrong hands, could spell disaster. With the knowledge of a sunken, magical city in ruins, Cod must fight to protect the secrets that governments could kill for—and to protect the ones she loves.

TW/CW: murder, violence, misogyny, descriptions of injury, war themes, religious bigotry (fictional) animal cruelty, toxic relationship

First off, can we stop to appreciate how gorgeous the cover is? Aled Thompson’s artwork is truly stunning.

There. Have you taken sufficient appreciation time? Very well, onto the review…

Once again—like Idolfire, which was billed as science fantasy for…reasons, I guess, Heaven’s Graveyard isn’t science fantasy either. I’d put it more in speculative fiction or fantasy, since this is a fantastical setting and magic exists, but said magic doesn’t play a central role; there also isn’t enough “new” technology to qualify as sci-fi. But enough about my ramblings about genre misclassification and mismarketing, let’s get into how excellent Heaven’s Graveyard is!

With Heaven’s Graveyard, Curtis proves that she is a master of worldbuilding. Watching the more archaic world in Idolfire transform into something semi-modern was a fascinating feat. In terms of technology, I’d say we’re somewhere at the equivalent of the 1900’s-1930’s (radios, fantasy forms of high-speed transportation, fairly advanced warfare methods, etc.); aside from being a breath of fresh air in a genre where medieval and Victorian settings reign supreme, it was planned out so meticulously. Between the explorations of politics, education, and religion, it felt as vibrant and real as Curtis’s other worlds. I particularly liked how Curtis explored the rise of the new Procumbent religion, and how it had come to dominate much of the world and how it seeped into said politics and education. Stepping into Heaven’s Graveyard felt like I’d gotten a ticket to visit this world, which is a must for good genre fiction!

As always, Curtis’s characters shone in Heaven’s Graveyard. The central characters lacked some of the oomph that made Idolfire stick with me—I loved Coda (and Sparrow was despicable, but excellently-written as a manipulative but charming prick), but she lacked the pull that Aleya and Kirby had on me. I think part of it was just that kind of grand, mythic arc that they had wasn’t present here, and although Cod’s arc was emotional, it didn’t move me nearly as much as the former’s. Granted, I knew going in that it wasn’t going to be the same, but I just feel like the full effects of Cod and Sparrow’s disastrous relationship were glossed over, to the point where it almost felt like an afterthought. Thal grew on me much more than I expected, and I loved the relationship that she and Cod had towards the end. Like Idolfire, all of the kooky side characters felt so real and made the world feel so much more lived-in, and every glimpse made the world so delightfully human.

Like Idolfire, Heaven’s Graveyard excels at the balancing act of pairing humor with darkness. In this case, it applied to the murder mystery side of the plot. In spite of the murder of one of Cod’s beloved mentors, Curtis’s take on mystery was surprisingly funny. Most of that came from the fact that, in the first half of the novel, the main obstacle that Cod faced was the infinite layers of bureaucracy from the university and her colleagues thinking that she’s gone nuts. Yet Curtis maintains the stakes—both external and personal—involved in the mystery. I loved the first reveal about Nivela, and I loved how it tied into how this novel examined how history and historical discoveries are often manipulated for political gain. There’s a thematic thread from Idolfire about revelations that could shatter the carefully maintained foundation that a country/empire/etc. has built for itself that I appreciated. Fast-paced and full of mystery, Curtis’s blend of genres was a success.

It’s clear that Heaven’s Graveyard comes from a deep passion for archaeology and history. On the surface level, I loved Curtis’s depiction of historians and academia, from Cod’s relentless search for the truth to the bureaucratic hoops that she has to endure, even in a fantasy world. Cod’s quest to prove that Aleya was real formed the core of her character, but I loved how it tied into her character arc and Curtis’s exploration of history and obsession. Cod’s quest becomes one that blurs the boundaries of genuine desire to uncover history and her own ego, and I loved the nuance that Curtis afforded it. It also provided a timely commentary on how we often feel the need to push aside the wishes of other people and cultures in the pursuit of knowledge, and without spoiling anything, I love how Cod comes to the realization that she does. It shows not just a deep reverence for archaeology and historians, but a love for the people whose bones that this history once belonged to.

All in all, a masterful blend of fantasy, speculative fiction, and mystery that made every page worth the ride. 4.25 stars!

Heaven’s Graveyard is a companion novel to Idolfire, which is set 2,000 years before this story in the same universe; however, according to Curtis, they can be read separately from each other. Grace Curtis is also the author of Floating Hotel and Frontier.

Today’s song:

today’s oddly specific song fragment that I love: the way that tom waits says the word “mackerel”

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

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (6/16/26) – Idolfire

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles! Halfway through 2026 now…😵‍💫

If you told me about 3 years ago that I was this excited for a new Grace Curtis book, I wouldn’t have believed you. Full disclosure: I didn’t like Frontier, but the premise of Floating Hotel was so endearing to me that I took a chance on it…and loved it. And here I am now. (Special shoutout to Kat @ The Lily Cafe, who is the reason that I know that this book exists. Thanks, Kat!) I had a feeling I was going to enjoy Idolfire, but as we’re officially halfway through the year…this might be one of my favorite books that I’ve read this year!

Enjoy this week’s review!

Idolfire – Grace Curtis

After illness tears her family apart, Kirby of Wall’s End sets off on the road to Nivela, a famed kingdom that has fallen from grace, but retains the promise of magic beyond its gates. Across the world, Aleya Ana-Ulai is searching for Nivela too, eager to prove herself after being abandoned by her family. When these two women from disparate regions meet on the road, neither knows that their togetherness is key to their survival. But the road to Nivela is long and treacherous, and it seems to hold everything but the answers they need within it. Aleya and Kirby must decide if the promise of Nivela is worth it—and if they’ll be able to survive at all.

TW/CW: violence, blood, war themes, loss of loved ones, child death, infertility

First off—this isn’t a slight on the book, but if you’re going in (like I did) expecting science fantasy, Idolfire is not that. This is straight up fantasy. I’m convinced that the “science fantasy” thing was tacked on for marketing reasons after Curtis wrote two sci-fi novels. Just be forewarned about that…and the fact that this book came dangerously close to destroying me. This might be one of the best books I’ve read all year.

Grace Curtis’s prose keeps getting better and better with each novel she writes. It’s prose that gave me genuine, heartwarming joy to read. She just has this way of making everything, from the setting to the subtle glances between characters, so wholly human; it goes beyond feeling lived-in and real and becomes something with a real heartbeat. Where Curtis succeeds is in shedding light on the unsaid; slight turns of phrase became quietly heartwarming or heartbreaking with a single word. Her renderings of the varied landscapes that Aleya and Kirby travel through are so rich and full of life. Every line of dialogue is razor-sharp, both in their humor and their power to devastate. If you want proof of Curtis’s improvement as a writer, Idolfire is the perfect evidence.

One of the strongest aspects of Idolfire was how it balanced humor and more sobering, serious themes. Curtis has really honed her talent for humor—there were so many moments throughout that were laugh-out-loud funny. Aleya and Kirby had such excellent chemistry (more on that later), but their separate senses of humor pinged off of each other exceptionally well, making for a fantastical road trip that never had a dull moment. And yet, Curtis gave the same amount of care to depict the darker themes of the novel alongside the lighter ones. Curtis’s depiction of war was one that has stayed with me; her descriptions of it have no interest in glorifying its purpose or its participants. Even for a novel billed with swordfighting, her sparse, devastating language in describing the horrors of war were so impactful in a genre where there’s often a degree of romantic language ascribed to something so horrendous. From the effect it has on the minds of individual soldiers to the scars that it wrought across the lands of Idolfire, Curtis explored every facet of living during wartime. Yet Curtis had the same level of care in the lighthearted and dark aspects of Idolfire—for a novel like this, it was a very difficult balance to strike, but Curtis absolutely clinched it, making for a novel that was, above all, human.

I didn’t think that Curtis’s character writing could get much better after Floating Hotel, but I was proven wrong. Although I loved the slice-of-life roving between multiple characters, I think that narrowing her focus down to two central characters did a great service to their development. Aleya and Kirby were some of the most memorable characters that Curtis has ever written. A less talented writer would’ve slapped a hasty grumpy-sunshine dynamic on them and left it at that, but they both had such richly layered personalities. Both of them had trauma so deeply embedded in their psyches, but Curtis did an excellent job of showing us how it manifested in both of them and shaped their personalities. I loved how Aleya’s more reserved, stoic nature played off of Kirby’s more mischievous personality, but the deeper you get, the more you realize that both of these traits serve as shields for both of them. They had such immediate, lovable chemistry, and the progression from begrudging companions on the road to lovers was impeccably paced, and every step of that progression felt so natural—and instantly lovable to root for. Without spoiling anything, things do turn out bittersweet for them, but I think the way that Curtis ended their story was poignant and fitting for both of them.

I also adored the road trip plot of Idolfire, and it kept me guessing constantly. Curtis’s talent for character writing also applied to the menagerie of weirdos that Aleya and Kirby met along the road to Nivela. Even the smallest glimpses we got of the denizens of Idolfire‘s expansive fantasy world were so fleshed-out, and they added so much life to the already fantastic worldbuilding. Balance is something that Curtis clearly has been honing, because like the balance between levity and darkness, there was a great balance of more action-packed moments—such as Aleya’s many swordfights—and downtime with Aleya and Kirby. The pacing was neat as a pin, and even the downtime between the more climactic parts of the novel were measured out to near-perfection. Idolfire really was a balancing act in so many ways, but Curtis toed the lines she set with enviable ease.

And if there’s anything that you can expect Curtis to do well with, it’s sharp commentary on empires and imperialism. Floating Hotel excelled at that as a point in the background, and Idolfire honed in on it even more. I think what Idolfire brings to the conversation is how ideas shape the image of an empire. Fully acknowledging that Curtis is British and I’m just projecting my experience onto this book, but I couldn’t help but think about Nivela—and Aleya and Kirby’s goals—in terms of the permanently out of reach “American dream,” and how an empire can build up an idea of itself while hiding a crumbling foundation beneath it. The further they go on their journey, the more they see the destructive aftermath of an idea twisted into something that excuses genocide and imperialism. I also liked how it tied into the magic system, with belief being what makes certain magic work/not work, and how that translated into the belief in Nivela, which has been faltering to the point of destruction. (Without getting into spoilery territory, there’s some really fascinating stuff about the very literal, human cost that this has in the world of Idolfire.) In the end, I think it was a beautiful meditation on the power of ideas, and how they can be twisted into something so terrible that it swallows the world, but how we can use that same power to create a more equitable world worth living in.

Ultimately, with ratings like these, there’s always that slight oomph that pushes it into 5 star territory. I think there’s still a few small nitpicks that made 5 stars not justifiable, but it sure was close. Overall, Idolfire was a deeply moving and human road trip fantasy, a meditation on the nature of the ideas and idols we hold up in our minds. 4.75 stars!

Idolfire is a standalone, but it has a companion novel, Heaven’s Graveyard, set 2,000 years later in the same universe. Grace Curtis is also the author of Frontier and Floating Hotel.

Today’s song:

I’m sorry, Let’s Dance (1983), I was unfamiliar with your game

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 Pride Month (2026 Edition)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Thursday, bibliophiles!

Here in the U.S., June is Pride Month! You know the drill. I hate how bittersweet these posts are, and the bitter keeps growing. I see the beauty of this month and our queer community, but I can’t help but shrivel from the reminders that there have been repeated attempts to take queer books off the shelves across the country, and that the trans community here in the states has been under attack more than ever. My heart truly, truly hurts for all of us. I hurt. Of course, here I am, being cisgender in my cushy blue state with an openly gay governor, but nonetheless, I hurt whenever any other member of the queer community is hurt.

I’ve been an out and proud bisexual for almost eight years. Not long, in the grand scheme of things, but these years have taught me so much about queer people and the LGBTQ+ community. If there’s anything that I see in us, it’s our tenacity. No matter the slew of hateful legislation and rhetoric, we always come back stronger than ever. If there’s anything that the queer community doesn’t do, it’s back down in the face of a threat. In spite of the never-ending threats from outside and inside (the infighting never stops, y’all need to be normal about each other, please), we are like dandelions pushing through the cracks in the pavement: we never surrender, and we continue to bloom in the face of adversity.

But here’s the thing. I don’t like having to be this resilient. I don’t think any of us do. But if there’s anything to take solace in, it’s that our community is so strong and diverse that there will always be someone fighting. Yes, we all have to do what we must, but it’s important to remember that simply surviving, just being, is resistance in the face of the government wanting the public to believe that we aren’t worthy of the same rights as everybody else and that our stories are not fit for public consumption. You don’t have to be out and proud. All you have to do is be.

So here’s my annual pride month recommendations list of queer books from a variety of genres and backgrounds. I’ve compiled all kinds of books from various sexual orientations and gender identities, as well as backgrounds (queer people of color, disabled queer people, queer immigrants, etc.). Hopefully there’s something for everyone. (As always, if I’ve mistakenly identified anything on this list, please let me know! I’m only human.)

Now, more than ever, it’s crucial to support the LGBTQ+ community (especially the trans community, who are under attack more than ever) in whatever way you can. If you want to show your support them monetarily, here are some great organizations to donate to:

This is a non-exhaustive list, and I encourage you to seek out organizations in your area! There are so many wonderful people across the country (and the world) doing great work for the LGBTQ+ community.

A refresher on my key:

MC: Main character

LI: Love interest

SC: Side character(s)

For my posts from previous years, click below: 

Let’s begin, shall we? 

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈THE BOOKISH MUTANT’S BOOKS FOR PRIDE MONTH (2025 EDITION)🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️

FANTASY:

SCIENCE FICTION:

REALISTIC/HISTORICAL FICTION:

*it’s worth noting that the main character of this novella is a mountain lion, but I feel like it still counts.

**the cover for The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar has not yet been updated to reflect Sonido Reyes’s name change.

ANTHOLOGIES (VARIOUS GENRES):

NONFICTION:

TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK! Have you read any of these books, and if so, what did you think of them? What are some of your favorite queer books that you’ve read recently? 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!

Posted in Book Review Tuesday

Book Review Tuesday (5/19/26) – Silver Under Nightfall

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I read a handful of Rin Chupeco’s books in high school. I liked them for the most part, but I think I just lost interest eventually. Fast forward a few years, and I found out that they’d written another series for adults, and the premise hooked me. However, it seems like Chupeco’s writing doesn’t hold up now that I’m older. Silver Under Nightfall was just ridiculous in all the wrong ways.

Enjoy this week’s review!

Silver Under Nightfall (Silver Under Nightfall, #1) – Rin Chupeco

Remington Prendergast is a Reaper—a highly-trained bounty hunter who specializes in the most dangerous quarry: vampires. Even with his talents, the rumors surrounding his possibly vampire heritage have alienated him from his colleagues. His father, the Duke of Valenbonne, has been desperate to make his powers so great that they overshadow the rumors, but he’s failed. But when strange, deadly vampires, the likes of which the kingdom has never seen, begin to spread across the kingdom, Remy’s only choice is to turn to a pair of enigmatic vampires to solve the case—and risk being drawn into their seductive web.

TW/CW: blood, gore, sexual content, loss of loved ones, pedophilia, vomit, emotional abuse

I haven’t read a Rin Chupeco book since I was about 17. I really should’ve kept it that way. Silver Under Nightfall sounded fun and gothic enough from the premise, but this novel was bordered on being a disaster. It genuinely boggles my mind that this book has such a positive average rating on both Goodreads and The Storygraph. I endured 500 pages of this (probably should’ve DNF’d it), but now I have the evidence to hate from an educated stance…

Before I get into all my gripes, I’ll give Chupeco credit for the handful of things that they did well. Though it didn’t go in the direction I would’ve liked it to go, I loved the vampire murder mystery/thriller plot, and the genetically engineered monsters and subsequent fights were quite fun. There were moments where they nailed the gothic atmosphere, and there were a handful of solid quotes here and there. But unfortunately, these elements, despite being key to the premise, weren’t delivered on nearly enough, which is surprising, since Silver Under Nightfall is over 500 pages long. Unfortunately, most of that 500 pages is a poorly-written mess.

The last book of Chupeco’s that I read was The Ever Cruel Kingdom, which I honestly forgot about completely, other than the vague sensation of it being entertaining, but ultimately finishing it just to finish it. Not a great endorsement, I know. But even at that age, I had the sense that it felt overwritten, that there were random metaphors tripping over themselves. Unfortunately, that quality increased tenfold in Silver Under Nightfall. To Chupeco’s credit, their writing has some fun moments of being campy and gothic. In the end, they were just trying way too hard to be gothic. This resulted in so many sentences with nonsensical structure and metaphors that went on far longer than they humanly should have. At the worst points, the writing was so deliberately obtuse that I could barely get any sense of the setting or world beyond it. (Worldbuilding? Who is she?) It was just dense and unwieldy, and did very little to enhance the atmosphere.

Speaking of trying too hard, Chupeco’s dialogue was the worst victim of the above prose problem. It was terrible. All of the characters oscillated between talking like 15-year-old edgelords and fictional Victorian nobles, even though they’re all meant to be adults. The Victorian noble bit was painfully overwritten, carrying over the same problem of Chupeco’s floundering attempt at making Silver Under Nightfall gothic; again, a lot of the dialogue was stuffy at best, grammatically nonsensical at worst. On the other end of the spectrum, you have characters like Remy, who Chupeco spends 500 pages desperately trying to convince you that he’s funny.

Below is an actual quote from the book:

“…I’ve never infected anyone, if you don’t count my dry wit—”

Oh my God, free me from this prison. 90% of the humor in Silver Under Nightfall is 2017 Tumblr humor partially filtered through quasi-historical nobleman speak; like the specially-engineered vampire-creatures in the novel, it’s an unholy abomination that shouldn’t exist. And Chupeco really, really, really wants you to think that it’s funny, so much so that it supersedes most other elements that are important in a novel, like…oh, worldbuilding? Character development? No, apparently what matters most is making sure that the reader knows, beyond all reasonable doubt, that your character has a dry sense of humor. And he doesn’t. He, like most of this book, is painfully unfunny.


This brings me to the characters. I think the fundamental problem was that Chupeco seemed hellbent on making them as likable as possible, which in the novel, translated to them having virtually no flaws. We’re beaten over the head with the prospect that Remy is a poor widdle baby and nobody likes him because people think his mommy was a vampire but he’s also SO TALENTED and SPECIAL and EDGY and COOL. Textually, we get very little evidence to support this, other than his overlong monologues and the treatment he gets from his father. No character development, no revelations that aren’t external—stuff just happens to him, and Chupeco just paints him like this sad, wet puppy that got left out in the rain. Show me more interactions between him and the other Reapers! Give me some actual internal reflection and genuine grappling with his identity at the very least, dammit! As for the others, there’s not much to say about them…which is to say that most of them had one character trait each. Malekh and Xioadan were sexy, the Duke was a Bad, Bad Guy, and there were…a few others? I guess? Most of them got taken care of in the bloodbath towards the end. Silver Under Nightfall was just a classic case of a main character that was unrealistically overpowered and emo, and then all of the others were just window dressing (or threesome fodder).

However, I think the fundamental problem with the characters in Silver Under Nightfall was that Chupeco refused to give them any nuance. Remy, for how much of an edgelord he was purported to be, was purely good. Malekh and Xioadan were the same way—they were completely pure, despite the “oooh the evil vampires are seducing me ooooh 😏🫦” plot. There was a revelation at the end that could’ve complicated the relationship between Malekh and Remy in a super interesting way, but Chupeco immediately shuts it down in favor of Malekh being completely pure. Of course, all of the bad guys are completely bad. I wouldn’t even let this kind of black and white writing slide in a YA novel. It was such a lazy, uninteresting way to write these characters, especially when the novel touts itself as having all of these morally gray characters. None of the specialest, most precious little guys can have any sort of nuance or depth, I guess.

All in all, a bloated mess of a vampire novel with unwieldy writing and even worse character work. I feel like I’ve been drained…by Colin Robinson, maybe. 2 stars.

Silver Under Nightfall is the first in the Silver Under Nightfall duology, which concluded with Court of Wanderers. Chupeco is also the author of the Bone Witch series (The Bone Witch, The Heart Forger, and The Shadowglass), the Never Tilting World series (The Never Tilting World and The Ever Cruel Kingdom), the A Hundred Names for Magic trilogy (An Unreliable Magic, Wicked As You Wish, and The World’s End), The Sacrifice, and several other novels for teens and adults.

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 (3/10/26) – To Ride a Rising Storm (Nampeshiweisit, #2)

Posted on by madeline @ The Bookish Mutant

Happy Tuesday, bibliophiles!

I fully thought I reviewed the first book in this series…whoops. Did I just hallucinate writing a book review? In 10-ish years of writing book reviews, I guess it was bound to happen…

Suffice to say, I really enjoyed To Shape a Dragon’s Breath—it filled the void left by Harry Potter and rekindled my love for good old magic school YA, but without having to remember that J.K Rowling exists. To Shape a Dragon’s Breath is unabashedly Indigenous and queer, with a witty, delightful protagonist, a lovable supporting cast, and potent commentary on racism and colonization. And did I mention the dragons? Naturally, I was excited to see what the sequel had in store. And for the most part, To Ride a Rising Storm was a very rewarding sequel, full of the same heart that endeared me to book one.

Now, tread lightly! This review contains spoilers for book one, To Shape a Dragon’s Breath. If you haven’t read it and plan on doing so, you may want to skip this review.

Let’s begin, shall we?

To Ride a Rising Storm (Nampeshiweisit, #2) – Moniquill Blackgoose

Anequs has survived her first year at Kuiper Academy. Eager to return home with Theod, her only other indigenous classmate…who she may be developing feelings for. She intends to spend her summer break with her family, but what she returns home to is quite the opposite. The Anglish have begun to encroach on her homeland. Anequs is determined to assert her people’s right to govern themselves, but before she can intervene, she’s swept back to Kuiper Academy for another semester. With new friends and enemies, Anequs is determined to not let the idiosyncratic, nonsensical rules of Anglish society beat her down. But with a looming political threat mounting outside of her school, Anequs’s peace might be short-lived.

TW/CW: racism, xenophobia, misogyny, homophobia, colonialism, classism, violence, descriptions of injury

I love the Nampeshiweisit series—both books have been a delight to read. But for both books, I’ve been slightly torn about the worldbuilding. What you have to know right off the bat is that it’s not subtle, but also that it’s not trying to be subtle. Anequs and her people are Native American-coded, and the English stand-in is quite literally Anglish. You can see where we’re going here. But I wouldn’t be reading book two of this series if I wasn’t on board with it; and to be fair, the Anglish are basically a hybrid of England and a lot of Scandinavian countries in terms of their culture and folklore, even though they play the role of the English here.

However, I appreciate it more in the sense that it’s a political statement rather than a worldbuilding one—Blackgoose isn’t here to beat around the bush here when it comes to critiquing colonialism. Once you get past the names, there’s a rich fantasy world to be found here. It’s a world of dragons and secret societies and magic, and Blackgoose does an excellent job of explaining how they’re integrated into this world, and how they’ve affected geopolitics; this book gets even more into the politics of the world, which I greatly enjoyed. Plus, if you’re sick of how said magic schools have handled diversity (you all know who I’m talking about here), there’s so much diversity here, be it queer, POC, or disabled characters. And none of it feels like ticking off boxes—it all feels like how marginalized people would have lived and acted historically in a multicultural space.

One of the parts I most enjoyed about To Shape a Dragon’s Breath was Anequs herself. She’s just such a spirited and downright delightful protagonist, but one that easily holds her own against the obstacles that she faces. The Nampeshiweisit series is one that I’d recommend to readers of all ages, honestly, but especially younger readers who have just reached the age range of YA, and one of the main reasons I’d recommend it to younger readers (especially young girls) is Anequs. She’s such a good role model for young women, especially young, queer women of color: she’s determined, smart, and takes both her peers and the authorities to task for their racism and colonialism. Her personality practically bursts off the page. She isn’t without her flaws, either, and all the better—young girls are better off with role models who aren’t perfect. But so much of the draw for this series is how much I love being in her head and going on adventures with her and Kasaqua. Blackgoose really struck gold with Anequs—she’s a memorable protagonist in every way.

To Ride a Rising Storm was more character-driven than its predecessor, and for the most part, it greatly benefitted from it. For most of the novel, there’s not any hardcore, climactic action, but there are so many parts of the world and other cultures that get fleshed out that I can’t complain…mostly. (More on that later.) Either way, I loved the development of Anequs and her friends, old and new. Blackgoose’s characters are just so charming and compelling, and I loved that we got more page time with them. Jadzia was a great new addition, and I loved what she added to the friendship dynamic with Anequs, Theod, Sander, and the others. The glimpses we get of those on the margins of Anglish society outside of Kuiper Academy made the world feel even realer—there were so many pockets that we hadn’t seen before, and Blackgoose’s prose made me so much more immersed into the setting. Though some of the other parts of the book suffered from this focus, To Ride a Rising Storm felt like it was there to make the world more real.

However, there are drawbacks to having a book just for making the world feel more immersive. I’m torn about To Ride a Rising Storm because although I loved reading every second of it, there was a very clear pacing issue. While I enjoyed the more cozy, somewhat low-stakes approach that this book had, it was paced quite unevenly. We get some very serious action and stakes, but they aren’t introduced until halfway through the book. The final battle is crammed into the last 3% of the novel—I checked on my Kindle when this huge battle went down, and it started at the 97% mark! For a moment this climactic, it was introduced far too late. It just didn’t quite feel like Blackgoose quite knew whether she wanted to make this novel fully cozy or low stakes; either commit to the coziness or give the stakes more weight throughout the rest of the novel. Again, I enjoyed the pace until I didn’t—the last quarter of the novel proved that there was a serious issue with imbalance.

All in all, a worthy sequel with timely political commentary, tender friendships, and one of YA fantasy’s most memorable protagonists today. 4 stars!

To Ride a Rising Storm is the second book in the Nampeshiweisit series, preceded by To Shape a Dragon’s Breath.

Today’s song:

prepping myself to see Jeff Tweedy this friday…thanks to my dad for this one!

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