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Unflinchingly captures the stress that the high school years can bring, especially for working-class kids with adult responsibilities. But the pages are also filled with light and love. Emoni is a well-balanced character, a girl who’s grown up fast and hard but still has a lot to figure out. Her cooking is interwoven with her cultural heritage (Afro-Puerto Rican and African-American) and lets her connect to her dead mother and absent father. The descriptions of food were rich and mouthwatering, the traces of magical realism affecting and never heavy-handed. I didn’t doubt Emoni’s commitment to becoming a chef for an instant, and I liked her relationships with her mentors, who never come off as comically harsh or unrealistically knowing. All the relationships in this book are well-written, from tense family dynamics to strained but civil co-parenting to sweet, slow romance.

I read that Joan Haverty Kerouac brought her husband split pea soup to keep him going while he wrote this book. If that’s true, it is now my #1 reason to hate split pea soup. To be fair to On The Road, it’s great material for drinking games. You could take a shot whenever the narrator’s race fetish peeks through, whenever he checks out a group of girls and makes sure to note that they’re teenagers, whenever he and his bros fantasize about beating up a queer person, whenever Marylou is called a whore, whenever Galatea’s husband abandons her, whenever the writing makes you wonder if maybe they just skimmed over rape, or whenever the narrator calls the women he’s trying to get with stupid. (Kinda telling on himself there.). The possibilities are endless! Unfortunately, it’s still a boring, exhausting book.

I usually can't stand horror. That's not a knock on the genre: I'm just easily spooked and don't enjoy squawking at loud noises. But I've been hooked on Lesley Nneka Arimah's writing ever since I read Who Will Greet You At Home. Whether her stories are realistic or fantastical, they're always infused with slowly suffocating dread that makes them terrifying and irresistible. I will read Arimah's sharp, devastating books as long as she wishes to write them, even if I have to start keeping a baseball bat by my bed.

Charming and funny, with a wildly entertaining heroine, a nice developing friendship, and a cute romance. I really liked the dynamic between Clara and her father, which delivers believable tensions while so clearly showing their love for each other. It’s predictable in many ways and doesn’t dive as deep into its characters’ inner lives as I would’ve liked, but it has an interesting cast and some genuine surprises.

I was slow to warm up to Graceling: it felt textureless to me, the way some fantasy books do if their world is too bare-bones to have a strong sense of place. But as Katsa and Po's friendship deepened and Katsa began facing harder choices, I forgot all that and was sucked into the story. Once I'd gotten into the fairy-tale like rhythm of the writing, the simplicity of the worldbuilding felt deliberate and right. Katsa's determination to push her body to its limits and explore what she's capable of, from combat to tackling geese, kept Graceling visceral and grounded.If you don't like a heroine who tackles a goose and fistfights a mountain lion, I don't even know what to say to you. (Time to get in a fight with the publishing comments: I don't recall the book making a big thing of her appearance? "smart, beautiful teenager" feels like they're just checking boxes.) Po is a great partner, gentle with Katsa's feelings while giving her the no-holds-barred fights they both crave. The villain is bone-chillingly creepy (strong allusions to child sexual abuse). After Katsa's spent so much time running from him, the subdued nature of their final showdown feels appropriate, because he's a man who would like a dramatic ending and that's why he shouldn't get one. Belongs next to And I Darken on the shortlist of books with relentless bruiser heroines.

I'm a little less annoyed with Trent after reading this book. Dude had bad decisions carved into his DNA. Trisk and Kal are large, dumb children, but not in a fun way like Rachel or their floppy-haired son. The fact that these two crazy kids caused an apocalypse with a massive death toll is part of it, but I also just found them less likeable. The Turn bummed me out, but not in the precise and devastating way of a good tragedy. However, the name "Eloytrisk" is gonna keep me giggling for years.

Wrong To Need You was the first book I read in this series, and now that I've read all three, it's still my favorite. Starting it without context wasn't actually a problem for me. Then again, I've been known to start four-book series on Book Three, so I might just be weird. I love Sadia's pride and how it gets in her way, her comfort with her sexuality (heck yeah, bi heroine!!), and her fierce and thorny love for her family. I love Jackson's shyness, his compassion, and the way he passive-aggressively breaks into people's houses. Both Jackson and Sadia deal with a complicated sort of grief as they mourn a man they loved, their shattered relationships with him, and the impossibility of closure. Watching them find their way to each other in spite of, and because of, that pain was deeply moving. (Just don't read if you're hungry: Jackson makes really nice meals.)

The first romance novel I ever read, and the reason I read so many more. A romance between a white man and a black woman in the Confederate South would be a disaster in the hands of a lesser writer, but Cole and her characters are sharply aware of the power dynamics they deal in. The central conflict in Malcolm and Elle's relationship is the question of whether a happy, healthy partnership is possible in such a toxic environment. This should be a given in a romance, but it needs to be said: Elle never has to convince Malcolm of racial or gender equality or of the need to end slavery. He was committed to abolition before he met her, and while he takes time to grasp the full intensity of the danger she's in, his dedication to supporting her goals, listening to her fears, and earning her trust prevent this from being a story where a woman has to 'fix' a man. Though they're both hypercompetent spies, Elle is the MVP of this book, and Malcolm is her number one cheerleader, making their work partnership just as great as their personal one. The speed of their romance is justifiable given the pressure cooker they're in and how easy they both are to fall in love with. A wonderful relationship, plus arson: what more could you want?

Thoughtful and furious, Jacobs's story shows the best and worst of humanity. There's her own strength and ingenuity, and the loving community that encouraged and protected her while she fought for her freedom. Then there's the man who preyed on a child, the woman who blamed her husband's captive victim rather than her husband, and the culture that allowed their crimes to happen. Jacobs shows the impact of this bigotry on one's mind both explicitly and in subtle ways. It's heartbreaking to witness her shame at having sex out of wedlock when she did absolutely nothing wrong, and her loving grandmother's anger towards her upon finding out. On top of this, Jacobs is simply a beautiful writer. The language is starkly powerful, full of keen observations and searing commentary.

Rapid hits to the status quo keep perfect pace with Jes's character development. While she cares for her Patron loved ones as deeply as ever, her illusions about them are being stripped away. That tension between reconciling and tearing the old world down drives Buried Heart forward as Jes turns her schemes and willpower to the liberation of her people. The book avoids having one special person stand in for a nationwide movement: Jes's central role feels earned, and she's not the only one in the war room with game. As compelling as her journey is, it's her mother's arc that forms the core of the book. Kiya's transformation is fitting and utterly cathartic. The two of them shine in a conclusion that's exhilarating and heartwrenching.

Confession: I skimmed the last two-thirds of this book, so there's probably nuance my review will miss. What I searched those two-thirds for, and what I really want to know, is whether the Eliza case is ever explained. I feel like "did the main character's husband rape a woman" is something that deserves more page time than we got. I would very much like to know the deal with that, or at least get an ambiguity that is given more weight and consideration within the text than occasional "that minx Eliza" references. I was also struck by Letitia's thought that Eliza might have falsely accused Davey. It's plausible she might think that- people contain multitudes!- but I would really like the story to drill down on why a black woman who has herself been raped by white men would give that serious consideration. That's gonna take a lot more character-specific detail to make sense, and it really jarred me out of the reading. That was the first time in this book I thought, "maybe you shouldn't have written this," but I kept having that thought, with varying emphases on "you", "shouldn't", and "this".

Sanctum made me cry. That's both a testament to the strength of its worldbuilding and an indictment of the unexamined cruelty at its core. It's a novel-length version of the Monty Python joke "you will be hanged until you cheer up!" without any of the self-awareness. Sanctum depicts an afterlife where suicide victims are locked in a miserable, bewildering, dangerous city until this somehow makes them stop being suicidal, in a noxious combination of 'pull yourself up by your bootstraps' and 'push 'em to rock bottom'. This is a world in which teens with severe trauma and mental illness are sentenced to kill until they feel better. It's a world in which suicide victims are targeted by murderous, sexually predatory demons- which those same teens are expected to deal with, as the suicidal dead evidently aren't afforded the same security as the non-suicidal. All of this could have been a fascinating, well-crafted story if it wasn't for the lack of self-awareness. Consciously or unconsciously, it frames suicide as a sin to be punished. I cried reading Sanctum because no one deserves to end up in this place, and I don't believe the author realizes that. I don't think Fine had bad intentions, but she mistakes torture for tough love. Sanctum has racially diverse main characters and a wonderful heroine, and others might find value in it that I didn't. But if you or your loved ones have struggled with suicidal urges, proceed with caution.

One of the best books I’ve ever read in my life. It made me feel seen while expandjng my understanding of the world. The romance between Hero and Rosalyn is excruciatingly drawn out and tense in a way that makes the payoff so rewarding and affirming. They have wonderful chemistry and realistic voices. Hero’s bonds with the families that have chosen her are complex and flawed yet formed of rock solid love. Rich sensory details- the smell of a perfume, eczema scarring- bring the story to life. I’m so moved by this stupid book I’m writing this review at one AM instead of doing the work I stayed up to do. Read this dumb thing so I’m not the only one getting emotional and being horribly groggy in the morning.

I cannot say this book was good, but I loved it with all my heart. On her sixteenth birthday, Chloe falls thirteen stories, lands without a scratch, and concludes, ‘puberty is crazy!!!’ She assumes dogs are growling at her because she’s on her period, and that leaping from rooftop to rooftop is a natural part of growth spurts. Turns out my unsavvy daughter is not just a Russian werecat, but long-lost Russian werecat royalty. Chloe’s people, the Mai, can’t have sex with humans without killing them, complicating Chloe’s choice between a brooding blond boy and a brooding brown-haired boy. Casual homophobia and a lack of diversity detract from an otherwise fun read, but I’ll still need twenty-five sequels immediately.

Not sure why Kisten gets a pass because he didn’t mean to kill a huge number of people. Callousness and incompetence aren’t any more sexy than murder. When your date tries to explain his latest batch of victims by telling you how killing a woman made him feel lousy, it’s time to get out of the car and call an Uber. Then there’s Ellasbeth, one of the most underserved characters in these books. Despite what Rachel seems to think, it’s not a giant leap from finding a naked woman in the hot tub of your boyfriend who doesn’t much like you to assuming he cheated. Don’t see why she and Trent can’t have kids by artificial means and icily co-parent from different states, but I guess genetic engineers are old-fashioned like that. Ceri is wonderful as always.

I first read this book on the floor of a Goodwill while waiting for my ride, so my positive reaction then might be chalked up to desperation. I still like Patty's sections, but the lack of any other female narrators is glaring. With the absence of Jessica, Lalitha, and Connie's voices, Freedom feels incomplete.

Dogs are the top priority here, as they should be everywhere. A good book.

Quentin Coldwater is that guy drinking his fifteen-dollar Icelandic black coffee out of a chipped mason jar while he writes a twelve-page poem about how cheating on his girlfriend made him sad. I give it six months until there's a mass exodus out of Fillory to get away from Quentin stealing everyone's weed and asking them if they've read Kafka yet. Alice deserved better.

Rachel and Trent are both so dumb. They are that post about wondering what kind of animal the Pink Panther is. They have definitely eaten entire bars of soap. They are my large, dumb children, and I love them, and wish them to remain idiots forever. But condolences to Quen on having to manage three kids instead of one.

I can accept people going into hiding under ALMOST THEIR EXACT NAMES and murdercrow mobs (ain't that already how it be). What I cannot accept is Scathach being single. She lives in San Francisco. Buff, short hair, freckles, combat boots, good with sword. I'm not saying she would go looking for a girlfriend, I'm saying she would definitely wind up with one. Most unrealistic part of this series tbh.

For someone choosing whether to try and stop an evil tyrant from taking power and possibly die in the process, or stand by while an evil tyrant takes power and probably die in the process, Camellia is remarkably indecisive. She probably takes an hour to choose between waffles and pancakes. There’s not much to her relationship with her love interest other than curiosity and lust. Which is fine- get it, girl! But I didn’t buy the book’s suggestions of something deeper. The Belles does better with sibling relationships. Camellia and Amber's thorny mix of affection and rivalry felt realistic, and I'm looking forward to seeing how it develops in the next book. The slow reveal of Orleans' secrets was genuinely creepy, and made me wish The Belles committed more fully to its horror elements. If the sequel takes that route, its villain is more than up for the challenge. She's awful in the best possible way, like the nightmare child of Cheryl Blossom and Elizabeth Bathory. The one part of this book that genuinely upset me was the fate of its queer women- I still have hopes for some of them, but I'm not holding my breath.

Dread Nation reminds me of Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter, because it succeeds in every place that novel failed. Dread Nation is a story of racial oppression told through the eyes of black people. It is a story of racism entwined with the supernatural that places the blame squarely on white humans taking advantage of a crisis to subjugate people of color. It is rich with active and interesting female characters. It has well-rounded queer characters. Its heroine is a loveable rogue in a way women are rarely allowed to be, with a distinctive voice that makes this novel compulsively readable. But Dread Nation is much more than a how-to-manual that I wish to beat Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter over the head with. Its plot veers off in surprising directions and keeps you on your toes, and at its heart is an unlikely friendship that develops at the perfect pace. I love this reimagining of US history, and I'm excited to see how the sequel handles its loaded setting.

Liked the setting and the heroine's love of science, disliked the writing of every other female character in the book (minus SPOILER) as unintelligent and shallow. A good book for when you need to stay up all night to go find elk.

The magical realism is skillful and emotional, but the romance at the center of the book is horrifying. Pedro willingly marries Tita’s sister Rosaura to get closer to her, with no regard for Rosaura’s feelings or future. Once he’s part of the household, he makes no clear attempts to stop or lessen the abuse towards the woman he supposedly cares for. His sole kind gesture, bringing Tita a bouquet of roses, is a splashy move guaranteed to draw her family’s anger down on her. Pedro doesn’t grow a spine when Tita’s mother forbids their marriage or separates him from her: he waits til Tita has found a man who would at least treat her well. After a day of escalating refusals to take no for an answer, he rapes the woman he claims to love. Love doesn’t matter at that point. It makes sense that attention-starved Tita could fall for someone who showed her intermittent rather than total neglect, and if the book had seemed to understand how awful their dynamic was, it could’ve been a heartbreaking tragedy. But with their love presented as right and inescapable, it’s just unintentionally heartbreaking.

I tapped out at “her tan, oiled breasts looked like grapefruits in a skimpy red bikini,” the line that convinced me this book was written by an AI raised on grocery ads and bad porn. I wanted to be horrified thinking of murdersharks, not boob acne.

Love Is The Drug uses the structure of a thriller to build a thorough, raw character study. Bird doesn’t save the world, but she learns how to claim the world. Watching a girl who’s been taught through social barbs and physical violence to keep her pain locked away starting to live for herself felt just as urgent as charting the course of the pandemic. Johnson captures the contradictions of life on the edge of the apocalypse through end-of-the-world dances, breath masks tossed aside, applications to schools in quarantine zones. With its sharp attention to place, Love Is The Drug couldn’t be set anywhere except DC, but its social commentary feels much broader.

Juniper Lane charts the growth of a friendship and the beginning of a romance between two women stuck in the same close-knit suburb. Both Mim and Nadia struggle to recognize and recover from toxic relationships: Mim with an abusive ex-boyfriend absent from the book but ever-present in her mind, Nadia with her parents, who are so manipulative and selfish that you’ll exhale with her when she finally explodes. Their dynamic, barbed at first but always crackling with offbeat humor, unfolds slowly over shopping trips and cooking lessons. I loved watching them overcome their barriers and misunderstandings to find joy and renewal with each other, and the last sentence had me cheering out loud.