Yikes. I rode the coattails of a Hoopla romance binge straight into this from Good Boy and the entire Him series by the same authors, and this disappoints by comparison.
Part of it could be, of course, that we’re moving farther and farther away from the center of this story universe–Jamie and Wes. But even setting that aside, this setup had me uncomfortable right from the beginning. It’s a business/client relationship, and by its nature, one where there’s already some privacy boundaries crossed, and apparently they’ve been kind of friendly-flirty in their chats for a while, but it’s all still business….
Ugh. I really didn’t like it when Hailey started breaking rules for Matt, even though they were minor ones, even though her co-owner never caught her at it.
And I never felt their chemistry was worth all that hush-hush rule-breaking. Hailey was honestly over-the-top irritating in her babbling phases (she doesn’t have Blake’s silly motor-mouth charm, I guess) and Matt was just…a dude? Who likes his kids but has a bitchy ex-wife? He didn’t actually have much personality, and came across as very needy, because the entire basis of his relationship with Hailey is founded on her seeing to his every need/whim/request via her Fetch business.
I’d say this has turned me off the series, only there isn’t any more planned, so that’s a moot point. We’ll just call it a misstep then, from an author pair I otherwise enjoy very much.
I started having problems with this read right away, so I took some notes, and they ended up being so extensive for such a short novella that I’m just going to use them as my book review directly:
Starting with a kiss between two people that haven’t been introduced yet, beyond the blurb? And it’s a mistletoe kiss? Unsatisfying.
Everyone is commenting on the exact same details about Belle: Rafe, her brother, her mother, and her sister, all in the space of a few pages. They all say at least two of the same three things: she’s pale, she’s lost too much weight, she has dark circles under her eyes. Her mom and sister comment separately on the dark circles four paragraphs apart. I GET IT ALREADY, BELLE IS TIRED.
Can we get commas, please? Some of these sentences go on forever, and they’d read better if I could more easily tell where clauses start and stop.
Aaaand a few pages later grandma has precisely the same complaints about Belle as everyone else. I know this isn’t the point of the story so far, because Belle’s absence from “the family” is attributed to her hours as a junior attorney, but could she also not want to come to visit because everyone in her family is awful to her about her appearance? Sheesh.
Oh, and later, when she’s not even around, Rafe’s brother takes it upon himself to make a joke about fattening her up so she can’t leave. GROSS.
90%+ of the dialogue is either purely expository, or simply repetitive: either two people are talking about something they both already know so the author can inform the reader, or they’re speaking out loud something that was just said in internal monologue, or they’re saying something to one person that we already heard them say to another person.
Rafe brings up the idea of proposing (not in front of his lover, but in front of a family member) about two days after the story starts. Yes, they’ve known each other for most of their lives, but that’s not a reasonable reaction to a romantic relationship that new (when it’s not framed as a love-at-first-sight or other sort of “whirlwind” romance story, which this isn’t billing itself as. Everything I see tells me that I’m supposed to be taking this utterly seriously as a concept.)
Rafe’s page-long monologues where he spills his feelings in detail don’t read as genuine. It’s not even a “men don’t talk that way” thing for me, it’s simply a “people don’t talk that way.” That’s true for everyone, to some extent, for the entire book, but Rafe monologues about Belle like three or four times to different people and it’s just an info-dump of Telling Instead of Showing every single time.
Really abrupt ending–I actually turned the page on my Kindle and was surprised to see the end matter, turned back a page to make sure I hadn’t missed something, no, I hadn’t, it was just over with basically no warning.
#123 – Under His Kilt, by Melissa Blue
Mount TBR: 97/100
Rating: 1/5 stars
I didn’t like anything about it. Not one thing.
The leads have no personalities, and I’m apparently supposed to be invested (or swooning) over the hero simply because he has an accent. Maybe also because he’s kind of a jerk, but he’s enough of one not to be a great person while not being enough of one to qualify as a bad boy worth reforming (if you’re into that type of thing.) The heroine is bland as hell.
The premise is clear and we jump right to it, but there’s no real chemistry between them so the sex scenes feel kind of mechanical. Also, we only get about one and a half of them before the heroine is already getting weird pseudo-nostalgic feelings about what a shy, retiring, demure flower she used to be before one week of kinky sex turned her life around. That really brought me up short, because I didn’t find the sex to be particularly kinky, though obviously where that line is depends on the person.
Also, I know hardly anything about what setting up a traveling exhibition at a museum is like, so I could be wrong, but these people don’t sound like they have real jobs: when they’re shown at work together (so they can flirt because this is a workplace romance) they’re mostly dressing mannequins in historical clothing. Okay, obviously someone has to do that–but the curator and the traveling consultant that’s responsible for the exhibit? When the items were described as replicas, I thought workers lower on the totem pole could handle it, but then later they’re “priceless artifacts” so yeah I guess only the higher-ups can deal with them. (Which are they? Please be consistent with your details!) But what is Ian’s job exactly, anyway? If he’s in charge of the exhibit as it travels, why is he leaving as soon as it opens? If he’s not necessary to the safety/protection of the items in the exhibit, then why is he even there at all? I simply don’t understand how any of this works, either in real life (my fault) or in the story (the author’s fault, because it’s not clear at all.) And they do spend a lot of time at work together because that’s the basis of the story.
The puppy subplot? Poorly thought out. No puppy is that well-behaved without a lick of training, and only seriously confused, in-denial people would get a pet together and think it doesn’t mean anything about the state of their relationship. I had a hard time believing any of it.
And their happy ending was silly in a bad way. Hero does a rude thing to provoke the heroine into contacting him again so he can continue their relationship, only she doesn’t do it and he breaks first. And they argue. Again. And it’s all so dumb.
DNF @ 54%. I’m bored, and I’m tired of not knowing enough about the setting to understand the stakes of this high-energy heist plot.
The author’s note at the beginning mentions that there are over 50 books in “the Descentverse” and yeah, this is not a good place to jump in, even if the note claims it is. Barely anything is explained about how shifters work and even less about the world. When I gave up, the lead and his rival/ex-girlfriend have taken a literal, physical elevator down to Hell and are trying to steal something from demons. Also there are angels, also there are more types of shifter than you can shake a stick at, and there’s allusions to some sort of world-altering event, but no details.
I’m lost, and I’m tired of being lost. I can fill in some blanks with the general knowledge I’ve acquired about how paranormal romance and urban fantasy tend to work–but by doing so, I’m making the Descentverse more generic, in my own brain, than I’m sure the author intends. It seems like a vibrant and well-realized world, if you don’t get dropped into it with no grounding.
Also, “Shatter Cage” is a really dumb name, and its dumbness is not redeemed by having another character make fun of it in-universe. And if this is a romance–which I was under the impression it was based on the charity bundle I acquired it from–then it’s not great that the love interest (the ex) doesn’t even show up until more than a quarter of the way through the story. I kept waiting, and waiting…
When I finished and reviewed the second book in the series, I said that I wondered where this one would go, story-wise, since the main plot of the first book was clearly wrapped up in the second. Now, in hindsight, it seems almost obvious: time to deal with Seregil’s exile. And it does.
It just takes a long time and a lot of political and magical nonsense to get there.
I’ll be honest, I was mostly reading this for Alec. Not that I don’t like Seregil in general, but he’s not at his best under these circumstances, and the complicated (overcomplicated?) plot around negotiations for war aid from his homeland involved so many new characters, so much wrangling, and so much semi-defined magic that I got more than a little lost on occasion. The reveal of the murderer’s identity–because yes, there’s a murder tangled in all this–hinges directly on a single magical charm bracelet, who had it when, and how that can be magically proven. I did not follow all of it, and inconsistency in details is starting to show in this series anyway, because I feel like a few names from previous books were changed (or spelled wrong) when referenced, and I noticed a few other small things I couldn’t be sure if I was remembering wrong, even though I read both previous books in the last few months…
As far as the romance goes, I’m glad there was enough of a time skip between books to see Seregil and Alec jump past their awkwardness–this is a fantasy series with romance in it, not a full-blown romance the point is to jump all the hurdles with them, as readers. I’d rather them be a bit more settled in their relationship if we’re going to wade through this much complicated plot. But I was briefly and repeatedly uncomfortable whenever the text referred to either one of them (from the other’s perspective) as “friend.” Like we’ve done all this work to make a world where same-sex couples are as everyday and unremarkable as opposite-gender couples, even to the point of having the four-lamp-color system of brothels to mark which sex workers are for whom; but then Alec and Seregil are constantly referring to each other as friends. And if that’s supposed to mean their friendship is the solid core of their romantic relationship, I get it–it follows with some things Seregil said in book two, about how they’d be friends even if Alec had other lovers in the future. (Which I believe, though it would have to be far, far in the future for Alec to loosen up enough for that to happen at all. A point of characterization in his favor.) But at the same time, it’s frustrating how little the narrative acknowledges that they’re lovers. Yes, there are a few elliptical, fade-to-black sex scenes, and I’m not arguing that the solution is more sex, or more explicit sex. But the ‘faie term they were using before “tali” or “talimenios” got weakened in this book–I had taken it to mean “lovers” in the pair-bonded sense, but Seregil’s family use it for him, so obviously that’s not its only meaning anymore. And when they’re not “tali,” they’re merely “friends.” And that was jarring whenever I stumbled into it, and disappointing overall.
Anyway. Between a kindly fellow reader pointing out after my last review that they wished they had stopped after the first two books, and me peeking ahead to read the blurb about the fourth book, which seems kind of squicky to me–I’m done. I enjoyed this, but I don’t feel a great need to read the rest.
Finally got around to reading this after letting it sit on my TBR for four years–thank you, Hoopla.
I already know I’m thumbs-up for Sarina Bowen, I don’t love every book of hers to pieces but they’re always worth my time. Elle Kennedy is a total unknown factor to me. But this didn’t really read like two authors (as sometimes books unfortunately will) so I have to assume I like Kennedy as well, because I liked this. Totally willing to check out her other work.
But about this book. I’m here for every kind of queer romance, but I’ve been burned by plenty of M/M specifically in the past that is either “chicks with dicks,” as we say when the characters are designated as male but don’t feel authentic; or when the romance is fetishizing queerness, and the characters don’t have any real personalities or conflicts, because the female author/readers just want to write/read about two guys screwing.
This is neither. I know that’s a low bar to clear, but when you’re jumping in with a new series or author, it does need to be cleared.
So I’m here for confused friends-to-lovers, I’m here for the sort of second-chance-ness of this romance. Even though I’m not particularly a sports fan (of any sport,) somehow I keep reading hockey romances, and it delivers there too–enough hockey to make sure it’s important to plot and characters, not so much I’m groaning at excessive play-by-plays. I actually love that our two budding young hockey stars have vastly different views about the reality of playing in the pros, thanks to their different skill sets and personalities; that’s icing on an already delicious cake.
What kept this from being a five-star read? Honestly, the plot hinged on miscommunication or a lack of willingness to communicate, and by the end it was pretty one-sided (Wes.) Also, Wes’ biphobia.
I see there’s another book and a bonus novella in this series for Wes to possibly grow past the fear that Jamie’s bisexuality means he’s always halfway out the door to bang some chick, but that insecurity of Wes’, while realistic to a point, becomes such a tired pattern. I’m willing to forgive it a little more than usual because from Jamie’s POV, we get a refreshingly uncomplicated journey from “I like women” through “do I only like this one guy, or possibly all guys?” to “yep, I also like dick in general, therefore I am bisexual.” I will forgive a lot to get good bi rep, because it’s so hard to find, and Jamie is excellent. He questions but doesn’t agonize, he takes steps to figure himself out when he realizes he needs to, and there’s no missing b-word.
I’ll keep reading–I want to see where this goes. And I think I’ll dig up some solo Kennedy books to put on my TBR as well.
I’m happy that there’s more story here–I love series romances following the same couple through multiple books–but unsurprisingly, it mostly had the same strengths and flaws as the first book.
What’s really good is the depiction of personal stress and relationship tension between Wes and Jamie because of the secret of their relationship. But to balance that, I’m never going to be a fan of forced outing as a plot point.
I’m also pleased with the seriousness of how Jaime’s illness was handled, not only when it was happening, but also the aftermath. I have personal experience with struggling to “be myself again” after a long illness, so I got it. (But again, his illness is what leads to the news of their relationship getting out, so there’s a downside to this plot.)
New thing that’s good: Blake. At first I didn’t know what to make of someone so Big and Dumb and Loud, but he turned out to be real charming, in his own way, by the end. (Though I don’t blame anyone who can’t warm up to him, YMMV.)
Old thing that’s bad: Wes is still biphobic. It’s toned down and less important to the story most of the time, but it’s still there, even when he’s trying to talk himself out of it.
Overall, still glad I read it, looking forward to the bonus novella.
It’s cute, it’s quick, it’s fun. I don’t have a lot of in-depth things to say about it–I couldn’t give it five stars, because I don’t think it’s really better than the two novels, but it’s certainly not worse.
The only issue for me is that since I haven’t been a Bowen/Kennedy reader since the beginning and I wasn’t reading everything as it was released, this jumps past Jamie and Wes getting married, which apparently happens in the first book in the spin-off series, which I know about now and have queued up on Hoopla to read next. Not that it’s a hardship to read Blake’s book, because I love that goofball. But since I was just plowing through this series in order, it did come as a bit of a surprise.
Good, but not as great as the series it spun off from. I doubled back for this after reading the bonus novella about Jamie and Wes and finding out they were married, only I hadn’t read the book where it happened.
I can’t point to much, really, to complain about directly. The plot fits together neatly, everybody goes on their journey properly and gets a happy ending. I loved Blake as a side character, and his humor did wear the tiniest bit thin when he became the lead, but he’s still an awesome dude with a serious heart of gold, so it’s not like I don’t like him. But now I know I wouldn’t want to date him myself.
Jess got her personal arc of “I’m the family screw up” to “I know what I want to do with my life and I’m pursuing it” and that’s great! But somehow it also wasn’t all that satisfying.
And while I’m not arguing that relationships like this can’t happen or won’t work out, I’m not a huge fan of “let’s just keep having sex until eventually emotional bonds form” as a plot trajectory. There was only so often I could listen to Jess’ internal monologue about how she really, really meant to keep her clothes on, this time. And then, of course, she didn’t.
Also, given that injury and illness have been plot points in this story world before, I kept waiting for Blake’s mysterious neck pain to pay off, but it didn’t–it was just a sore neck, apparently, with no real plot important and only a tenuous symbolic meaning (since it disappeared as soon as he and Jessie got together for real.)
It’s fine. It’s readable. But it’s also missing something I can’t quite identify, compared to the series that brought me here.
Even for a thoughtful and ponderous character study novel, this was slow-paced. My interest was low enough in the beginning that I wondered if I would have the mental fortitude to wade through all of this depression and misery to the finish, but fortunately for my sake, events did pick up in the middle for a while.
But ultimately, this is a fairly unrelenting parade of sadness and grief, lightened only by stupid decisions.
As a family saga, it makes its point effectively that women of one generation often reject the norms and values of the one that came before: Evelyn felt trapped by an unwanted marriage and was an indifferent mother at best; her daughter Laura overcompensated by trying to be the best of all Susie Homemakers; and her daughter Grace basically rejected the notion that she had to have goals in life at all, or to stay connected to her family.
Unfortunately for all three of them, the men in their lives were demanding, whiny assholes of one sort or another.
As interesting and valuable as it might be to reframe the Great American Lit Novel of Total Misery–a staple we simply can’t seem to stop producing–with women front and center, this is still mostly about men; how men rule and shape women’s lives and prevent them from being happy. It’s also still the same brand of generic middle-class Americana, look at all these sad white people. Nothing about it felt original or noteworthy.
Many women in different phases of life, with different life experiences, could certainly see themselves in aspects of these characters, and I don’t want to criticize anyone who found some sort of emotional revelation or catharsis within its pages. But I think this story tries and fails to have a hopeful ending, tacked on to the misery, and that left me disappointed.
I liked it, even if it’s not exactly good. It’s incredibly basic, actually–the plot couldn’t be thinner, and the bad boy/sheltered religious girl dynamic is doing a lot of heavy lifting to get the reader to assume stuff that’s never actually specified.
The writing is often vague and ominous, and spends a lot of time inside Evie’s head where she’s constantly imagining danger and indulging fears that aren’t real, which has the detrimental effect of making me unsure how seriously to take what’s clearly supposed to be the real fear and danger she’s living under–her father’s authoritarian household regime.
Where this story shines, and why I ultimately do like it despite its many flaws, is that the dialogue between Van and Evie captures perfectly the dynamic of two people with wildly different lived experiences somehow coming to realize they’re a great deal alike. It’s awkward and sweet, with a lot of false starts and even more misunderstandings, but at the end of the day, I do believe that these two weirdos are actually falling in love (which is a low bar that so many other romances still fail to clear.)
A collection of polished but eclectic stories about sex. How much you “like” these may vary wildly based on what kinks you enjoy reading about, but even when the story’s Thing was not necessarily my Thing, I appreciated that these were well-constructed and vivid little pieces of fiction–I’m tired of reading short “stories” that are really just overblown scenes that have no point, no direction, no closure.
As a collection, though, I feel that a few of them felt out of place with the others, aberrations of tone or genre–in particular, the tale of a dream “machine” that had a Victorian fantasy vibe that was unique among all the stories. Maybe I’m biased because I didn’t like that one nearly as much as some of the others, but I did question why it was included.
Since I just came to this from one of Stein’s novellas, I’m actually impressed by the difference in the quality of the writing–everything felt smoother and more purposeful. Maybe I just had a slightly lackluster title as my first, or maybe she’s just better at crafting short stories than novels or novellas. I have another novel of hers on my TBR from ages ago, based on a recommendation, so I’m definitely interested in reading more.
DNF @ 18%, which was the start of the chapter that (finally) introduced us to the female lead.
I got this book as part of a charity bundle, and thus had not chosen it specifically or read the blurb prior to starting. With that in mind, I peaced out because I was bored by the incredibly simplistic narrative style and my lack of interest in the flat characters.
If I had even known there was another major character coming, which I didn’t, my complaint would have been “why are we nearly a fifth of the way through the book before she’s introduced?”
The problem is apparently a structural one, now that I’ve read the blurb and skimmed some reviews. The prologue is wholly about Seren, a setup because she’s needed to cause turmoil in the twin brothers’ plot. Then the next chunk of the book (until 18%) is entirely their story, setting up their curse so they can be ready to be the turmoil in Aine’s story, which is apparently the rest of the book.
And to be clear, I didn’t like the twins’ story at all. It was rushed (though now I understand why) and there really wasn’t much to differentiate the personalities of the two, and I didn’t understand/agree with their father’s reaction to the curse, and the idea of these two young men being trapped in a Fae sex fantasy cottage was not appealing to me in any way and left me with logistical questions, frustrated with what I was supposed to be inferring or not based on the vague descriptions of their goings-on.
I didn’t even get to the end that so many other reviewers object so strongly to, but since I peeked at the spoilers, yeah, if I had read the whole thing, I still would have given it one star for that nonsense, so I don’t feel the slightest bit guilty for giving up early.
If you had handed me this book with a fake cover listing a different author, I would not have been able to point out the lie.
My first Allende work was her memoir/ode to her daughter, Paula, and I was captivated by her vivid language and honest emotion. From there I kept my eye open for more of her work in my secondhand-sale scouring, and turned up Daughter of Fortune, which I found good but not great–but it was only my first fiction read of hers, the others could certainly be better, right?
Not this one. This has none of the vibrancy or honesty of either of those works. It’s a dry, disjointed tale with flat, often nonsensical characters, and a plot that never seemed to be going anywhere. (DNF just shy of halfway through, by the way. I was bored.)
If Daughter of Fortune was a beloved grandmother spinning me a tale of her younger years, and Paula a grieving mother laying out her pain with urgency and clarity, then The Japanese Lover is a bored professor three weeks from retirement phoning in her lectures until the school year is over.
I got nothing from this, and as the story went on it felt like a chore to keep reading. Nearly everyone in it is miserable, but their misery isn’t particularly compelling or interesting; again, because the historical aspects of it amount to dry recitations of the ills of the world (racism, concentration camps, human trafficking, I could keep going but I won’t) without any depth or insight into the characters those ills are attached to.
Just like the first book, this is still fun but also serious, and surprisingly lighthearted considering some of the heavy subject matter involved.
What did it improve upon, for me? The in-universe novel that the book club is reading only has one excerpt included, at the climax where it will do the most good, instead of multiple sections scattered throughout the novel, which I found distracting because I didn’t think the fake romance was as good as the real story! (This excerpt also seemed a little overwrought and heavy-handed, but it’s also supposed to be the Big Moment for a story we haven’t actually read, so it makes sense that I didn’t find it compelling–I couldn’t be invested.)
I also like how this is tackling a different subgenre of romance while aiming for the same tone, to keep it a unified series. The first book was a save-the-marriage/second-chance romance mashup, this is romantic suspense.
What stayed exactly the same and I wish it hadn’t? I still don’t care for The Russian as a stereotype and the associated potty-level humor. It will just never be my thing. He got a twinge more development this time, which I appreciate, but I’m not clamoring for “his” book any time soon.
What’s not so great about this novel? Um, the romantic suspense. The whole justice-warrior, “ra ra let’s take down the predator” plot never quite gelled for me, possibly because the humor and lightheartedness of the book’s tone made it hard to take any actual danger seriously–and there really wasn’t much physical danger at all, it was all about ruining careers, not losing lives. (Which, yeah, is bad, but not really in the cheesy spy-craft way the plot was going for, with the introduction of the mysterious Noah and his high-tech van.)
That being said, I do like some of the side-plot fallout of this being the main plot–I felt that the strain between Liv and her friend Alexis as the story unfolded was brilliantly realized, and understandable from both sides of their divide.
My other major complaint is that while I love the banter and general cattiness between our leads, I don’t really feel like the ultimate source of conflict between them–Braden’s “lie” about his father–actually justifies Liv’s reaction. I see how it’s supposed to work, the setup is all there plain as day, but lying about a deep family secret, a secret he’s kept from literally everyone, isn’t the same as oh, say, lying about your income to look more appealing, or lying about dating other people, or any of the thousand other things people lie about all the time to new-ish romantic partners.
Of course, the ultimate happy-ending point is that her reaction wasn’t justified, and they fix it, but even in the moment I didn’t think it worked as their potential relationship-ending issue. When placed against the backdrop of them working together to bring down a sexual predator, it just seemed flimsy.
Short, mostly to the point, reasonably informative. As a writer myself, I wondered if I should place any bets before reading about which of the ten I’ve already used incorrectly myself–and the answer ended up being, one, sort of. I did use an mTBI (that’s mild Traumatic Brain Injury) to knock an antagonist unconscious, briefly, once. I don’t feel particularly guilty for doing it, as he was trying to kill my protagonists at the time, and this wasn’t the action-hero, “I don’t kill them I just knock them out” version of the trope. And yeah, my unconscious dude may have suffered some sort of long-lasting repercussions from that injury, only he never shows up in the story again so it doesn’t matter!
I tell this story not to pat myself on the back (much) but to demonstrate that this is a really basic, bare-bones take on the subject, containing lots of information that any given person might already know. I already know amnesia, shock, and comas, for instance, are nothing like how they’re portrayed in media. I already know that knocking people out as an alternative to straight-up killing them is much more dangerous than how it’s usually portrayed (despite resorting to that myself, the once.) I know CPR is far less successful in real life than it is on TV. I know most of the time, it’s a bad idea to try to remove a bullet from someone’s body, you’ll do more harm than good.
And even the stuff I didn’t know, I don’t feel like was covered in great enough depth to be useful to me beyond the basic idea of “avoid this trope.”
Which isn’t to say this isn’t a valuable or useful (free) resource for writers less experienced overall, or in the field of medicine particularly. And I’ve read some novels that definitely would have benefited if the authors had read this, or something very much like it, beforehand.
But it’s a jumping-off point, not a comprehensive guide, because the “…what to do instead” parts of the book are full of suggestions that would all need further research to make viable if someone actually wanted to implement them. And this guide does say “do your research!” at several opportune points.
And since the text both opens and closes with a call to sign up for a free email course with further information, honestly reading this felt a bit like I was being advertised to, in a much more blatant way than most books do. (I mean, they’re all advertisements to read more by that author, right, if you liked them? But the core value should be the entertainment or information they provide.) Whereas this felt like a teaser for the (presumably) more in-depth email course, though as I haven’t taken it, I can’t be sure.
One, the humor does not amuse me. I don’t find sex-based humor at all offensive as a general category, but I do require it to be funny, and not just slapstick, crude, or juvenile. Nothing in this book made me laugh.
Two, our heroine never had any sensible motivations for her actions. The plot is driven by her helping people she barely knows for no real reason; she constantly gets distracted from what she “should” be doing by how hot her would-be vampire boyfriend is, so she’s not even very successful at helping for most of the story; and her own personal obstacle (the curse) is ignored until the very end, when fixing the problems of the people she barely knows also conveniently solves her problem as well.
The hero’s motivation for hanging around is painfully obvious at all times–he wants to get in the heroine’s pants, and never gets more motivation (or personality) than that. But at least his motivation makes sense in context. He even asks her at one point why she’s going out of her way for someone she’s only just met, so it’s not like the author wasn’t aware of how thin this plot was, it just got lampshaded instead of solved.
Problem three could be broken down into two issues, but I feel they’re closely related. The world-building is shoddy, and the overall pace of the story is too fast. These two factors combined to make me feel like this wasn’t a first-in-series book, like I should have already known most of this stuff (like how magic and curses worked, which was never really explained) and at least half the characters, many of whom are introduced as names with no description or relationships attached (I saw “Jonathon” at least twice before the narrative finally told me he was Chad’s boyfriend, only I barely knew who Chad was either, for example.) I never felt grounded. It all felt very soap-opera-ish, with a large cast of thin characters doing silly/stupid/over-the-top things for the drama of it, and for no other reason.
I think this romance is more interested in its faintly ludicrous premise, and setting up the rest of the series, than it is delivering on the actual romantic relationship contained in its pages.
I’m not against the idea of friends going into business together (they do all the time, even if a lot of people would caution that it’s a bad idea) but this restaurant situation is too cute to be true, in the interest of providing a stage for the “rock star slums it as a gig musician” setup. And a stage for constantly having Talking Heads conversations with the four other female friends who obviously will eventually get their own books, and it’s so incredibly transparent who’s next even before I got to the ending, which is a happy ending for our main couple, paired with a blatant fishhook of a cliffhanger for the upcoming couple.
The four friends are given physical descriptions and names, so they’re clearly intended to be different people, but for the most part they’re interchangeable–they’re all sassy, tough-love friends who are uniformly amazing at whatever their role is in the restaurant, workaholics who want the others to have time off but won’t take it themselves, and unquestionably devoted to the heroine in a way that I found both cloying and envy-worthy, as I am currently an adult woman with few close friends, and it’s true, it really does get harder to make them the older you get.
And notice how I haven’t said anything about the hero yet? He’s fine. I like his sense of humor, and the banter could be pretty good sometimes. He’s most of the reason this gets a second star. But he’s just fine, I’m not swooning for him, even though rock stars are definitely a thing with me.
But even though he gets roughly equal screen time with the heroine, I’ve come out the far end of this book with the impression that it’s really about her, and her circle of friends, and their not-believable business venture, and making sure the reader knows they’re all incredibly Tough Independent Successful Women who just happen to also want romance in their lives. Any minor differences in their personalities don’t really come through in her half of the book, because there’s five of them, and half the book simply isn’t enough time to make them all into real characters, apparently. (The hero’s friends fared slightly better, because there were fewer of them, just two primary friends, and their significant others, who were bit players and that’s fine. They didn’t have to try to wrangle equal screen time with each other like the Four Besties did.)
And because I want to add one more minor complaint that doesn’t fit anywhere else: these were some underwhelming sex scenes. They felt really dry and mechanical, even when the lovebirds were ostensibly professing their deep and profound love for each other towards the end. I never got any sense of passion from them, so the scenes were just awkward, until they usually ended abruptly. One in particular also started abruptly, and with a pretty inappropriate lead-in: the hero tells the heroine about his best friends’ tragic backstory, which I won’t spoil but is really seriously tragic and two pages later, minutes of story time and with no scene transition, he’s getting a blow job. Complete tonal whiplash.
When I heard about this book, I was excited. Adam was my favorite character of the Raven Cycle, with Ronan being a close second, and by the end of the story I was less invested in Blue/Gansey, both as a relationship pairing and as the focus of the main plot line. I didn’t hate them or anything, I just loved Pynch more.
Of course I was thrilled at the idea of a Ronan-based trilogy followup.
But then the preview chapters dropped, and I read them, and I was just…not happy. It wasn’t that they were bad, and it wasn’t even that they messed (much) with my hopeful headcanon of a happy ending for the ship. Sure, I’d allowed myself to read snippets of Tumblr fanfiction here and there, but I wasn’t reeling from disappointment that these boys were not living the life of eternal happiness and sunshine that many fic writers were giving them.
This somewhat inexplicable unhappiness caused me to put off reading the book for quite a while.
Now that I’ve read the whole thing, I don’t have a good explanation for why I didn’t like the beginning then. Now, it seems obvious how the whole thing fits together.
While I could lodge a very personal gripe that I wished Adam got more page time, this story isn’t about their relationship (which I’m sure did disappoint some of those fic writers, somewhere.) It’s about Ronan, and dreaming, and the end of the world.
I think what I love most about this is how dangerous dreaming feels, in a way I don’t remember feeling from TRC. Maybe I wasn’t paying close enough attention, maybe I was focused on other characters, or maybe the danger truly wasn’t as evident from the actions of Ronan in that story–and especially in Opal which I just read recently and have much clearer memories of. Dreaming then felt experimental and wild, sure, but not really that dangerous to the “real” world.
CDtH, in true Ronan fashion, gives the finger to the idea that dreaming could ever be safe, and by extension, dreamers aren’t, either.
I started to put together some pieces early on when people with familiar faces started showing up, and I have some unconfirmed theories that will have to wait for the next book (or the one after that, but hopefully not never.) But I like the direction the story is taking, especially in the contrast between Ronan and Declan, who surprised me with how much I ended up liking him by the end.
If I have any true complaints about the quality of this book that can’t be reduced to obviously personal biases and gripes, it’s the ending. I like some aspects of the ending very much, even for being a cliffhanger, but the mystery character of Bryde is not one of them. After all the buildup to who he is and why he won’t reveal himself, I was genuinely expecting some sort of revelation upon his appearance–I won’t bore anybody with the spattering of theories I had about him as the story progressed, as apparently none of them are true. But then he shows up, and he’s just a dude, and there’s no obvious reason for him to have ever been a mystery man in the first place.
Still love it. Still want the next book in the series now-now-now, though since the third one isn’t out yet I may hold off a while just to make the wait before the end of the story shorter.
While I’ve read a fair bit of Lovecraft, I don’t believe I’ve read the exact story this is based on/rebuttal to. If I have, it must have been long ago, because I don’t remember it clearly enough that the story synopsis sounded familiar.
With that in mind, I was reading this more as a generalized rebuttal to Lovecraft’s rampant, vitriolic, baked-in racism, and I feel the story is quite successful at using the broader mythos without buying into the deeply problematic meanings behind much of it.
As a complete work on its own…it was choppy, and I never felt like I “got” Malone as a POV character with the same depth as Tom, who I liked as a just-getting-by con man, and loved to be terrified by after he’d made the switch to evil. But Malone’s story perspective felt weaker, even as I realized it was a necessary shift.
The ending felt too fast and neat for me, but I remember that being true at the end of several Lovecraft stories as well, like “there was the cosmic horror but it’s over now, so let’s just dust up real quick like nothing happened.” So this criticism may be more reflective of the author echoing the source material, and not a new flaw.
I’m glad I read it, and I continue to be glad that creators are spinning Lovecraftian nightmares of their own, divorced from the original author’s intent, because I dig the vibe. But I think I might have subconsciously been expecting something a little bit more amazing than what I got.
Barely worth two stars, but there was just enough that I liked to save it from the worst rating.
What works: I loved Twitch, and Clodio’s “intro to wizardry” chapter in the woods. I was both impressed and surprised by the inversion of a classic trope midway through the story, though I wish it was in a better setting with better characters so I actually cared about its results. And even if I didn’t like the plot that got us there, I actually do sort of like the ending–Heloise displays a radical level of acceptance of her new situation that may not have been earned by her development up to that point, but definitely makes her a different brand of “hero” than your more standard teenage-girl fantasy protagonists.
What didn’t work: the writing style is repetitive and so devoid of subtlety I felt like I was being talked down to by the author. “Hey, did you get it? Did you see what I did there? Let me say it again in a slightly different way (or not) three pages later to make sure you didn’t miss my Big Message.” Heloise is a terrible protagonist, because she is the cause of literally every problem in the book that’s smaller than world-building level stuff. She isn’t believable as a sixteen-year-old almost-woman, no matter how many times the narrative claims she’s nearly an adult; she acts like a toddler by never doing as she’s told and constantly running away, literally, from the messes she’s created. Especially in a fairly standard low-tech fantasy village setting, sixteen year old girls really should be “almost adults” with the level of working responsibility that puts them nearly at running their own households–even more so, given that this is also a fairly standard patriarchy, so a woman’s place is in the home.
But Heloise rejects that in an extremely standard “I’m not like other girls” way, she wants to have adventures, or at the very least work outside the home, though I’m not convinced she really wants that because she doesn’t actually seem to help out at all with her father’s trade, as we see her friend Basina doing.
Moving on to other less than ideal stuff: I see many reviewers lauding the queer rep here, but I’m not one of them. There are two canonically queer characters and one Confused Love Interest; only one of these three characters survives, so Bury Your Gays is rearing its head here, even if this is supposed to be good, allowable rep that doesn’t have to skirt outdated content standards.
And back to the writing style, the action scenes are just awful. Which is especially bad because the entire climax is one long, improbable, unearned gauntlet of supposedly heroic action. I simply do not believe that Heloise, our whiny baby of a heroine, is going to endure the apparently agonizing pain of her injuries and manage to actually fight a demon under any circumstances. Her injuries as described are so severe that I genuinely think most people would just pass out, at least once any initial surge of adrenaline wore off. But the fight sequence takes ages and constantly repeats how much pain she’s in, which parts of her body are no longer remotely functional, and how she’s digging for determination to manage it. What determination? What reserves of mental and emotional strength have we ever seen this overgrown three-year-old display prior to this? And now you suddenly want me to believe she’s an action hero?
Whatever promise this story idea holds as a fantasy world, it suffers for lack of good execution, because basically every moving part of this machine has been mishandled.
As it’s been several years since I read The Raven King, I’ve forgotten at least some of the details that would have made this make more sense to me than it did. But since this is just a brief interlude between the end of that series and the beginning of the new one, and it’s told from Opal’s perspective, it’s also okay that it didn’t entirely make sense, because she’s a goat-dream-girl-thing and she pointedly doesn’t understand a lot of things about the “real” world.
I found that alien perspective, combined with the ethereal nature of Stiefvater’s prose, enchanting. It also helps that Adam is my favorite character in the series, with Ronan being a close second–as the books moved farther along, my interest in Gansey and Blue waned as the Pynch ship picked up speed.
For what it is, a little teaser, it’s good. I maybe wish it was a little less deliberately obscure about a few things, but I understand (or at least assume I understand) the reasoning behind leaving some of the important stuff vague.
I can’t decide, though, if visiting this tiny addition to the Raven Cycle world makes me want to jump right along to Call Down the Hawk, or revisit the original series, because it has been a while since I read them, and I haven’t read any of them more than once. Which is a shame, really.
This is one of those reads that was so disjointed, I hardly know where to start unpicking the tangle of my thoughts about it. So let me try a point-by-point list format.
World-building: Sucks. Even if we set aside the weird grafting of pseudo-Irish fae onto a biker gang (hey, genre-mixing is fun sometimes, I applaud the creativity if not the end result) there’s a slapdash quality to everything, curses and goddesses and fairy mythos piled together without anything resembling a plan. I admit my paranormal fantasy reading is limited to one big-name author and several lesser-known indies, so pardon my comparison to the Kate Daniels series by Ilona Andrews: but this story is like the first KD book, only with even less explanation for anything. (I loved the whole series ultimately but I did feel the world-building in the first two novels could have been clearer.)
Characters: Too many and too shallow. And I mean waaaaay too many. There’s the main couple, fine, but they’ve also got a third wheel grafted onto them, sort of. And that third wheel has two fated mates, apparently, and part of the story involves them, and also like six other characters surrounding them. And there’s twelve members of the gang total, which isn’t unreasonable in theory, but taking a whole chapter to randomly assign two more of them their mates from among the heroine’s incredibly tiny circle of friends felt excessive and clunky. And there’s a subplot about figuring out the heroine’s fae lineage, which introduces several of her family members, and the first one we meet (her grandpa) is kind of entertaining and probably justified his place in the story, but everyone else shows up for ten seconds and acts like they own the place (story.) But I know nothing about these people! Why are they important?
Plot: what plot? No, seriously, what happens? There is no overarching story line beyond the romance, it’s just a bunch of hooligans freeing the heroine from her curse (sort of) before the end of the first act, when I was under the impression that was a serious obstacle in her life, and then they just spend the rest of the book gallivanting around picking off minor bad guys and getting a tiny bit roughed up by Queen Bitch’s guards. Which I guess was supposed to be the main plot, that the romance is putting the heroine in danger from her lover’s mom? Only it never felt imminent enough to make it an actual threat, and so much else was going on that had nothing to do with it. Or nothing to do with anything, as far as I can tell.
Romance: blarg. Fated mates is not my favorite trope, but this wasn’t even trying to pretend the protagonists had any chemistry, or reason to be together beyond “he says so,” or even the slightest bit of sexual tension. The hero is just a gross man-child who steamrolls the heroine in nearly every way possible, including making his second-in-command a part of their sexual proceedings, not explicitly against her will, but definitely with a lot of coaxing to get her comfortable with the idea. I’m not at all against kink in general or threesomes in particular, but all of this felt like it was entirely out of left field, and not justified in any way by their personalities (what little they have) or any sort of thematic necessity.
When I got to the end matter and found out this book is the first in its duology, but not the first in the story universe, the shoddy world-building and vague feeling that I’d somehow been dropped in the middle of something unfamiliar became more understandable. But either it should be able to stand on its own anyway, or there should be some sort of indication in the front matter that this isn’t the beginning of the story, and I should not start here.
Wow. I just love finding nuggets of gold unexpectedly from old freebie bundles, I had no idea I was sitting on a novella this charming!
I love so much about this–the artsy-craftsy vibes of both leads, the descriptive language, the palpable chemistry, the subversion of so many tropes I couldn’t begin to list them all, the unconventional happy ending. Just about the only thing I would have liked more if done differently was the pacing–this is a novella, it was a whirlwind sort of romance that jumped to “I love you” after very few days of story time–but even that has its charm, because it comes naturally from the intensity of this secret fling and the extra layer of muse/painter to their relationship.
This author was actually on my TBR already for a much more recent novel, but I’m glad to see an older work so good, it gives me hope that they’re all going to be worth reading–the bundle included the other book in this series, I’m going to read that next.
Not as good as its predecessor, mostly because it felt unbalanced as a story. The beginning started off with a not-love-match marriage gradually turning passionate, which was great, I was hooked. But then partway through the subject matter turned extraordinarily heavy as the heroine dealt with infertility issues. (Which, to be fair, their was a content warning about for those who wish to avoid it.) I have no problems reading about it, but I was disappointed by how that’s the only thing the story became about, and everything else bent to make infertility the main plot line–which sacrificed the more dynamic and lighthearted “married first, falling in love second” story that it seemed we were promised in the beginning.
I think there would have been room for both of these plot if this had been a full novella rather than a novella, and if the second half of the story had given the hero more to do than show up for a sex scene but be almost entirely absent otherwise.
And the epilogue…honestly, it felt trite, because this is by no means the first story where the infertile heroine contrives some way to fill her life with “replacement” children, and this result for this story felt like it hadn’t been foreshadowed properly–again, a lack of space in such a short narrative, I’m assuming.
It was great, until it wasn’t, which unfortunately seemed to be the end of Act II (of five.)
Everything that charmed me in the beginning–and this did suck me in immediately–wore painfully thin by the end. Part of its ultimate lack of charm can be attributed to me not being the correct audience for this book–I did some musical theater once upon a time, but I’m not a theater nerd by any stretch of the imagination; I’ve read Shakespeare, but only a few things beyond what was required of me by school; I did go to a liberal arts college, but not one so dark, dramatic, or elitist as the fictional setting here. Also, I’m possibly just too old for this nonsense anymore, I’m finding that every time I try dark academia since I fell in love with The Secret History, it’s generally disappointing, even the other Donna Tartt novel I read, so keep in mind the personal bias of this unfavorable review.
I got tired of the endless Shakespeare monologues fairly quickly, even when it was clear that they were relevant to the narrative. I got tired of the over-the-top personalities of the main cast, though I will say I was impressed by how efficiently the seven of them were introduced and differentiated–wrangling that many characters is difficult and not often done well. But as the story wore on, I waited for them to get deeper than their stereotypes, and for the most part, they didn’t.
By the end, I was skimming past the Shakespeare and a good chunk of any given paragraph of normal text, just searching for keywords to tell me the plot was unfolding as I expected. This didn’t provide any surprises for me but one–I had figured out who committed the murder easily, but not who had assisted them in covering it up initially–and I saw the ending coming a mile away. But it felt predictable in a boring, “is it over yet” kind of way, not in the satisfying, “aha! I was right” kind of way.
Though most of the problems I found could have multiple solutions in theory, I think they stem from the same source–I think the story simply takes too long to get where its going. The murder happens too early, cutting off the high levels of tension too soon, as I never felt the post-murder story reached that same level of suspense. The melodramatic characters wear thin because they’re onstage too long without further development. The Shakespearean passages become a crutch to pad out the narrative with flavor but no extra meaning that hasn’t been conveyed by the plot.
There’s an argument to be made, certainly, for many genres of fiction being indulgent and melodramatic, and I’m not going to say dark academia shouldn’t be one of them. But I found this story to be too weak to support the level of indulgence and melodrama it was draped in, like heavy velvet curtains attached to a rod too delicate to carry their weight. The cracks in the wall where the supports are coming loose show clearly.
This series continues to be good, but to not quite live up to the OMG reaction I had to reading the first entry.
I think this could have actually been a little longer, as neither lead felt as developed as they could be. Amanda didn’t have much of a personality beyond the flaw she was labeled with–“too nice”–and the whining she did on the phone/in texts with Diana. Which is at least consistent, because when she was the other half of Diana’s conversations in the previous book, she was also pretty bland and whiny then.
Alexi fares a bit better, since he at least has the baby trauma that becomes his dark secret he “lies” about to Amanda, and he’s got the career/personal life dichotomy of being the Big Scary Guy on the ice but not at home. Only the story didn’t do much to deal with whether or not Amanda should be worried about what kind of guy Alexi really is, and we as readers know he’s pretty much a giant teddy bear who desperately wants to be a dad.
The pregnancy itself takes up so much space that it’s a third main character long before the actual child is born, and to an extent I get that, because it’s the reason they’re having a relationship at all, whether it’s the friend/co-parent one they strive for at the beginning, or the sexy/romantic one they end up with. But because the baby takes up all that room, and because the timeline jumps forward noticeably every so often so we can end the story with the HEA + birth, the actual development of the romance is short-changed, almost to the point of nonexistence. I believe these two are in lust with each other, but not really in love. I had hoped more would be done with that in the late game, like if Alexi had said something to the effect of “I want to stay with you even if we lose this baby”–which would have also done more to address his past trauma. (Which I did notice Amanda never invited him to talk about after their fight, a glaring omission.)
I feel like this story is almost there. It’s pretty close to achieving what it set out to do, it just falls short in a few places.
(And I think Hoopla has at least one more of the series available on audio, so I’ll keep going until I run out, but probably won’t buy any further entries. I’m no longer hoping they’ll be as good as Hot as Puck, but they are at least solidly entertaining.)
I’m not sure where the magic, likability, or personality of the first book in the series went, because it certainly isn’t here anymore.
I’ll admit my personal biases up front–despite the fact that I’ve read quite a few of them, age-difference romance is not a trope I favor. Nor are coworker romances (though they can be tolerable sometimes, I often find the power dynamics gross) or a-hole heroes.
So I’m striking out on all the tropes this particular installment relies on–I didn’t know the a-hole hero in the first book was setting a pattern for the whole series (and it obviously was, looking at the blurbs for the future books.)
But a lot of my problems with this book don’t even stem from the tropes I don’t care for. This one felt far more “British” than the last one, by which I mean, I’m an American reader and even if I loosely understand how the peer system is set up, I’ll simply never understand fully its political and social implications, so having everyone in this book be related to someone hoity-toity and constantly referencing a family feud generations old that turns out to just be a shady business deal…I’m over it. I never cared. On top of that, I felt like the references to famous places were much more heavy-handed here, and while I have been to England, I haven’t been to London, so they didn’t mean much to me.
I buy the central conflict of “we can’t be in a relationship for these rock-solid social, personal, and professional reasons.” Because both our leads do have excellent reasons not to bang. But they throw all of those out a window really quickly when a Depressing Plot Twist leaves the hero vulnerable, and the nonsexual part of her supporting him through it was actually really sweet, but then of course they go home and bang. I’ve run into this behavior pattern before in romances, and I’m not even saying it’s not realistic, people seek comfort. But I generally don’t think it’s healthy, and these two have way more obstacles than most standing between them. And I definitely think these two got in the sack sooner than their previous dynamics warranted.
All of that felt rushed, like we have to have them together quickly, because the meat of the story is apparently how they a) fail to keep it secret and b) fail to manage any of the other consequences of their impulsive decision. Most of the middle of the book is a train wreck with a Snidely Whiplash-esque villain metaphorically tying our leads to the tracks via social media pressure, since he’s runs a sleazy tabloid.
The thing that’s ultimately saving this from being a one-star disappointment of a sequel is the final personal conflict between the leads, which involves a different Depressing Plot Twist, but does display how far the hero has come from being the a-hole he started as. (Unlike in the first novel, where I felt that Richard displayed no real change in self from getting together with Lainie, Luc definitely gets a full personal arc here as a result of his relationship.) I think it all played out in both a realistic and satisfying manner–even if I don’t think their romance was handled well in the beginning, as rushed and shaky as it was, it definitely gets a solid ending.
Going to give this series one chance to bounce back–let’s see if I can learn to like the next grumpy hero.
Better for me than the second book, barely, but definitely not as good as the first–more like a 2.5, but I’ll round up for the sake of Goodreads’ lack of half-stars.
Plot gripes: thin and rushed. When I went to record the page count (I keep track of my monthly totals) I was shocked, yet not really surprised in retrospect, that this book is over a hundred pages shorter than its predecessor. The chemistry between the leads is hand-waved with a “they used to be frenemies in school” backstory that’s eluded too frequently but not filled in until their climactic get-together moment. (I think ultimately that’s a good choice, but it does make the beginning feel a bit empty.) Their relationship jumps right to “we’re having sex but we don’t know about the rest of it” and stays there until the final conflict, both of them refusing to address their status in any meaningful way. And then when things look dire, hero makes a quick decision and they eventually get their HEA. That epilogue was terrible, though.
Character gripes: Trix is fairly solid and gets the most development. Leo’s is much shallower, and his final decision not to take the big opportunity he’s been granted in favor of fighting for their relationship feels a bit hackneyed, since we never really learn why he’s so passionate about his art/makeup artistry in the first place (in contrast to getting at least a cursory explanation of Trix’s childhood fascination with circus arts.) The subplot with Leo’s jealousy about the fake, reality-show narrative of Trix’s romance with Jono was fine with me–he acknowledged that it was his feelings and not reality that was the problem. The subplot with Jono’s actual romance with Cat was awful, and Cat was awful, and I get that she’s supposed to be a bona fide Mean Girl, but I don’t think she added anything to the story overall. I could see so clearly how she was only there to throw wrenches in the plot, and if she was supposed to be a foil for Trix (ie, “look at how badly Cat is coping with her trauma vs. Trix”) then it would have worked better if she weren’t an entirely unsympathetic shrew of a person who does nothing but be mean to everyone and make constant trouble.
Even though there were parts of this I did genuinely like, there were plenty I didn’t, and after three books by this author I think it’s pretty clear that I don’t vibe with her style. Shelving her under “glad she works for other readers but not so much for me.”
I was looking forward to this a great deal, having loved the first two books. And this book isn’t terrible, but it’s not what I expected based on its predecessors.
A lot of the same elements are there–a main character with autism and a narrative dealing with how it affects their life. A romantic partner who accepts them. Other people who don’t, necessarily. Communication issues. So the core structure is there.
But the problem with this story is that it’s actually two stories, and I don’t feel like those two stories mesh together well.
The first half of the book is solidly a romance and I was definitely on board to give this book the third five-star rating of the series. Then it shifts drastically away from the romance for the next 40-ish percent of the book–in fact, the hero barely appears at all. Quan’s POV chapters become shorter and fewer while the narrative focuses on Anna, and she barely mentions him, because her life becomes a hell of constant caregiving, family drama, emotional blackmail, gaslighting…I mean, I’m not against romances dealing with heavy, serious topics, but this is a plunge into such a severe emotional misery that Anna’s narrator really did sound like she was crying many times. (Listening to the audiobook may have exacerbated how miserable it felt, actually, because her performance was so good, by which I mean, dramatically heart-breaking. I might have been able to keep a little more distance between myself and the text if I’d been reading words on a page instead.)
The last ten percent is by far the worst part of the story, because while the main characters are back together in what appears to be a romance, it didn’t strike me as particularly romantic, because it’s a quick-and-dirty summary of Anna’s continued mental illness (autistic burnout) and slow recovery, again with very little actual presence of Quan, who is quietly being her caretaker in the background with absolutely no fanfare (story-wise) like she got when she was taking care of her dad. That, even more than Quan’s relative lack of screen time in Part II, really felt off and even angered me, because while he’s clearly more emotional capable of being a caretaker–he basically said so early on, though not in direction comparison to Anna–the breezy, “let’s wrap up literal months of story time in a few quick chapters” pace really does him a disservice by minimizing his role in Anna’s progress.
After building him up through the first half as a hero with some baggage to carry, but basically a really stand-up dude, the rest of the book gives the impression that Quan’s journey is secondary to Anna’s, that he’s not as worthy of development, not as important. And I think that’s crap. He deserved better.
Though the audiobook did not include the author’s note that people reviewing the print edition have been mentioning gave context to the story, I did skim an interview with the author that said much the same thing (apparently,) that this book is “half a memoir.” And while I recognize that writing about such personal topics may be liberating and cathartic, and I mean no disrespect or insult to her or anything she’s gone through…I expected a romance, and I only got that for half the book. This is being marketed as a romance following on the heels of two other wildly successful romances previous, and I don’t feel ultimately that this story is enough of a romance to meet my expectations. The first half of the book is what I wanted, most of the second half is still a good story but not a romance at all, and the final part is simply bad.
Let’s be honest: 5 stars for characters I fell in love with, 3 stars for plot and narrative style.
It’s been a long time since I read Flewelling’s The Tamir Triad and liked it just fine, but that was before I got into book reviewing, so I’m actually curious to see how “good” I think they are when I reread. Which, now, I’m probably going to do. I hadn’t realized that this series was set in the same universe, mostly because I picked this up on the strength of recommendations like “it’s fantasy that’s queer without the queerness being the main focus”–which is true–and “if you like lovable rogues, do I have a new main character for you to swoon over.” Which is also true, and a completely fair assessment of Seregil.
Maybe I wasn’t swooning, exactly, but I am in a sort of love with him, and Alec, and Nysander, and more of the minor characters than not.
The structure? While this never descends to the level of true head-hopping, the omniscient narrator and choppy scene breaks do make for a disjointed style that more recent fantasy mostly seems to eschew. (Not that I’m a great fan of alternating/multiple first-person narrators either, because authors so rarely manage to differentiate their voices properly, but that’s a separate complaint.) Sometimes I would find myself taken out of my reading by a scene break I felt came at a poorly chosen time, or the author’s tendency to try to end chapters on a quip that didn’t always land. And the ending is a giant, obvious, ominous, and possibly unearned cliffhanger.
But that’s getting into plot territory, so I’ll make my case for my complaints there as well–the first half (or maybe 60%) is clearly a sort of coming-of-age story for Alec, and also building the groundwork for the future romance. If I had been reading this when it was new, I would have classified that romance as “possible but I’m not sure it’s actually going to happen” and that’s definitely what the text supports. With the benefit of reading this more than twenty years after publication, even though I’ve been exposed to minimal spoilers, I do know that the romance does happen. And that part of the novel is slow-paced and filled with excellent character work.
But the back half is a complicated intrigue plot that introduces new characters to be villains, then discards them as their relevance declines, with surprising frequency. I don’t think the conspiracy itself is the problem, only that it seems mostly disconnected from the earlier parts of the book, not properly foreshadowed. And most of what I did feel was foreshadowed well was the stuff that didn’t get fully resolved–the “evil” nobleman and his necromancer accomplice, the magic object that made Seregil deathly ill, and Nysander’s role in/knowledge of those goings-on. I get that we have to leave something for future books, but since this was clearly The Important Thing, the conspiracy against the throne seemed almost like an afterthought, like it was just an elaborate exercise to show Alec had learned to handle himself. While that’s a valid resolution to his coming-of-age story, I think it needed to be more evident in the early plot, even when the other characters were hiding their purpose from Alec for his own protection. Did I need to be kept in the dark the same way he was, as a reader?
All that being said, I still love these characters and very much want to know what happens next. I was just lamenting with Shadowmarch not that long ago that I shouldn’t have collected the whole series before I started reading, on the strength of usually loving its author–I plan to donate the lot of them, without reading the other three. But here, I don’t own the next book already, and now I regret that, because I’d like to keep going immediately.
DNF @ 23%. I really thought I was going to keep going on this one, because it did have a promising opening, but since I ended up reading this on my phone on-the-go while I read another physical book concurrently, that turned out to be a much better fantasy work, I don’t really want to go back to/on with this one.
Honestly, I’m just having terrible luck with the freebies I’ve gotten from Tor’s newsletter. I haven’t been picking them up lately, because I keep reading novellas I don’t end up liking, or first-in-series novels like this one that I either don’t finish, or if I do, that don’t make me want to pick up the next book. Which is, of course, the point of the publisher offering these freebies.
When the book started, I was like, “Yes! We’re doing monks with an alien philosophy for me to learn about! Cool!” So I put up with the lack of definition to several new fantasy words the text threw at me, thinking I’d figure them out when I had more context. And I grit my teeth through the declamatory silliness of every character having to strike an unexplained “pose” as a part of their speech. (Do I think the idea of explicitly codified body language as a required supplement to verbal communication is interesting? Absolutely. Do I think it’s executed well here? Absolutely not.) I actually thought that perhaps that was endemic to the monks, but then we veer sharply away from them in Chapter 2, when the story becomes about trading intrigue, but yeah, everybody still spends half their conversation taking poses to convey extra meaning that the author is just clearly dying to make sure we understand.
But the intrigue never actually intrigued me. Oh, sure, Seedless is vaguely interesting as a character, once I started to grok the concept of what “andat” were–one of those undefined terms from the opening that I was hoping to learn. And I think I did. But the rest of it was just tedious posturing (literally, as I’ve covered, but also figuratively in the sense of people jockeying for power over each other) over semi-mysterious happenings that I never felt invested in.
As this author is one half of the team that writes The Expanse, I genuinely thought it would be better than I found it to be, but a) no one hits a home run every time, and b) I shouldn’t expect it to be similar since it’s only one of them, and also c) as much as I love The Expanse, it’s also flawed, and this is flawed without the benefit of me already liking its characters from a television show. So I possibly went into this with unfair expectations. Even if I didn’t, however, I still wouldn’t think it’s very good.
“And they were roommates” isn’t my favorite trope, but I don’t hate it, either. I think this isn’t the best example, because they were already attracted to each other before they moved in together and they start sleeping together really quickly, so there’s no time to savor any unresolved sexual tension.
Diana is annoying, but in a way that feels too real and hits a little too close to home. Her pessimism regarding men in general and her love life in specific isn’t something I relate to, but her feelings of being a crazy messy burden on anyone who might care for her, I get. Deeply. So I do understand her resolve to swear off men and dating, though I think “until I feel better about myself” would be a more interesting conflict for the story than her deadline of “forever.”
Tanner is… well, as a boyfriend, he’s pretty much perfect, and that’s a bit of the problem. Sure, he and Diana fight like wildcats in the very beginning, but my brain read all those altercations as Diana deliberately provoking him until she got him to take the bait, so I’m not going to hold that against him. The rest of the problem is that his personal conflict arc–ADHD and his career–has very little to do with Diana at any point. Occasionally the narrative takes a stab at linking them, like “oh, I can’t handle a girlfriend on top of this, she’ll be a distraction,” but that’s undermined by two things: Diana’s clearly a distraction just as a roommate, even if she never did become Tanner’s girlfriend, and also once they do get together, Tanner starts skating better, to the point where his teammates notice and approve.
While I’m not disappointed with Tanner as book boyfriend material, I am unhappy with the way his neurodivergence is treated, because his ADHD gets ignored for large parts of the book. In the beginning, he sort of hedges around it in his POV chapters, sure, fine, we’re building up to the reveal. But once it’s revealed, he only displays any of his supposedly regular coping behaviors when the plot needs him to, not the rest of the time, and certainly none of them were foreshadowed with any significance. If he lives by the to-do list he keeps on his phone, why don’t we know about it until at least halfway through the book? Why does his summer hiatus seem completely unscheduled? Because whenever Diana pisses him off he just goes back to the gym at the drop of a hat. Were all those gym sessions on the list, or did he really not have anything else planned for that day? Why is he never obviously nervous about being late to something or deviating from his routine? Why is there not even much evidence that he even has a routine?
Don’t get me wrong, I want more romance heroes to be dealing with mental illness or neurodivergence as characters, because men’s mental health in the real world is something society tries really hard to sweep under the rug. But this just feels shallow. (Except for the scene where Diana helps Tanner with his phobia, because that is well established from the team’s prank wars, and also echoes a scene with Wanda the pig earlier in the book. So that was actually really good. But the ADHD rep, not so much. Also, Wanda was pretty cute, and I’ll grant that having the pet be a pig instead of something more ordinary has a certain charm to it, as does Chloe’s hedgehog at the end of the book. Hedgehogs are lovely.)
Okay, I’ve aired my grievances, but this was still funny to me, as the earlier novels were, I’m still going on with the series, though I’m hoping I get plots that are better-realized again soon, like the first book.
Beat the Backlist Bingo: Cover features your favorite color prominently
Rating: 1/5 stars
Well, that was a slog.
So I have a history with this piece of intellectual property. I was introduced to Williams as an author in college (1998) because several of the friends I made my first year were big fantasy nerds–no surprise there–and I was perfectly ready to move on from my high-school-era love of less sophisticated fantasy authors. I borrowed The Dragonbone Chair from one of those friends and off I went.
So in 2001 when news about Williams writing an online serial went around, and I saw the $15 price tag…well, I was a perpetually almost-broke college student still, and sure I spent money on books, but that was a high gateway, because a) I didn’t own my own computer yet, I was borrowing friends’ or using the computer lab to write papers and such; and b) sure, a chunky fantasy novel might be $7 or $8 in paperback, but it was portable, easy to reread whenever, and nobody had tablets or smartphones or e-readers yet, so an online serial publication was definitely not portable. Even fifteen dollars seemed like too much for the inconvenience of a book I could only read sitting at a computer, and couldn’t read all of at once.
I was genuinely angry about this shift away from the paradigm, and much like Williams vowing this serial was online only and would never be published traditionally (which I distinctly remember but don’t actually have a source for) I too vowed that I would never read it.
I held out much longer than he did, if my memory of that claim is even true. But I’m wishing now that I hadn’t bothered.
This is bad. Not even close to the level of quality I expect from Williams, based on the earlier Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn series, as well as War of the Flowers–which was weird but I enjoyed it–and the Otherland series, which was even weirder and not always good, but yeah, I still enjoyed that too, for the most part.
Who am I supposed to care about in this book? I’m no stranger to multiple protagonists, but there are simply too many here, meaning none of them get the development time they would need to be interesting. I’m trying to wean myself from the complaint that protagonists need to be “likable,” because a character can be a jerk and still be interesting, but few of these protagonists are particularly likable either!
1. Barrick is a whiny jerk who folds under pressure and abdicates responsibility to his sister, and then makes a spectacularly bad decision for no reason other than to set up some tension at the end, and his future arc. If it’s because he’s “mad,” bad plot reason, and if it’s because he’s affected by the more general shadow-madness, well, I guess he could be vulnerable to it like anyone else, but that’s pretty flimsy too. 2. Briony is a fairly standard “if only I weren’t a woman, people would take me seriously” princess who doesn’t fold as much under pressure but is dealt a really raw deal. I’ll give her credit, she does legitimately try her best to rule her lands, but she’s also kind of a whiny jerk like her brother, too. 3. Quinnitan is…pointless. Sure, I see how the end of her arc in this book echoes those of the Eddon twins, but there is no direct connection between her plot and anyone else’s. And I mean that literally, if there’s anything that ties her story to any other single part of the book, I simply do not see it, it’s buried in lore or foreshadowing that was lost on me amid the sheer weight of nearly 800 pages of plodding narrative. I read all of her scenes constantly wondering why I should care, and the fact that her arc is a very basic harem plot, “I don’t want to be a token wife but really what choice do I have?” sort of thing, doesn’t help, because on its own it’s incredibly unoriginal. 4. Chert is marginally likable, because he’s arguably got the most defined personality and most personal growth in the book, as a person of a “little” race who is distinctly not human–I get a mix of gnome and dwarf, with a faint whiff of Podling from The Dark Crystal–and who deals with an unexpected foundling by taking him into his family and trying to make it work, even when that foundling is really a big blank space in the story who still manages to get into trouble. 5. Captain Vansen gets points from me for being the guardsman deep in unrequited love, which is a trope I would absolutely eat up with a spoon. The problem is, the object of that love is a protagonist I don’t care for (Briony,) leading me to question what the eff he’s thinking that he can even admire her from a distance, let alone be in infatuation/love. And his plot arc is mostly “something goes wrong that’s not really has fault but everyone blames him anyway.” Which got dull.
Chert and Vansen are most of the reason this book gets a second star*, honestly. Chert’s scenes with the Rooftoppers are generally pretty excellent, even if they’re mostly tied to a plot arc that I don’t care for.
The other thing that’s getting me about this is that it feels like a deliberately grim-dark retread of Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn. You’ve got a castle that’s the seat of current government but used to belong to the enemy–the enemy that no one is sure even exists anymore, that lives in a land far enough away to feel distant but also somehow close enough to be threatening, once people believe in them again. That castle is perched upon magically important ruins/caverns, and that enemy has forms of magic/communication that affect humans and can cause or appear symptomatic of madness. There’s a race of small likable people who aren’t quite dwarves or any other “standard” fantasy race, but are still somehow cute/appealing. There’s a crippled prince who’s not really well-liked. One of the primary female protagonists is a young woman who laments the limitations of her womanhood under the patriarchal feudal system of the world.
And to someone who’s never read either of these series, that list of similarities could mostly read like fairly common fantasy tropes, and I forgive anyone who reads this review and thinks that. But I’ve read MSaT probably ten times all the way through in the twenty-plus years since I was introduced to it, and I feel like I’ve just been handed the same story again, with a thick coat of gray paint slathered on it and a few details changed–and those changes are basically always for the worse. No one in this story can be said to be a direct equivalent to Simon, who gets a very clear hero’s journey, but if I’m supposed to slot Barrick in as a Simon/Josua mashup (that crippled prince problem) then it takes the entire book to get Barrick out of his comfort zone and on his journey, where Simon got booted from the castle at the end of the first act of the first book.
And that gets at the underlying problem that is at least partially fueling all other problems–this book is clearly just the first act of the larger story, and yes i know! that is what first books do! but this also doesn’t have a lot of forward motion on its own, and it doesn’t resolve anything aside from the mystery of a single murder at that happens near the beginning. Seriously, all other plot threads get kicked down the road with the “and now they’re exiles” theme that the ending has assigned to most of the protagonists. Chert doesn’t suffer that fate, but the ending of his story line–also the end of the book itself–is the foundling reasserting that he doesn’t know who he is, which is not new information. We’ve literally not known who he is the whole time, except that we do find out who his mother is, but don’t find out how he was taken or why he apparently hasn’t aged as much as he should have or what the Qar intended by sending him back “home.” The identity of his mother is basically the least important question surrounding him.
I truly feel like I just read a 750-page prologue, and that is not a good feeling.
*Yeah, I told myself this was a two-star book, but by the time I wrote the whole review, it’s not and I can’t pretend I still believe that. This is a one-star book. This is so bad I don’t want to go on with the series, even though it almost has to get better, now that most of our protagonists are out on their journeys. And because it could hardly get worse, right? But this already took up so much of my time (I had to take a week-long break in the middle to binge some romances, as a relief from all this grimdark toil) and even though I’ve managed to collect secondhand copies of the rest of the series, and they’ve been sitting on my shelves for a few years waiting for me to invest my energy into them…I’m giving up. Not worth it.
What did I like about this? It was digestible. Having just come off a heavy, plodding, disappointing fantasy read, the easy YA tell-don’t-show narrative style went down smooth like a slushie on a hot day.
And that’s the best thing I can say about the whole book–it read fast and easy.
What didn’t I like?
1. The fact that this touts itself as fantasy when it’s not in the least bit fantastical. I don’t require my fantasy to have magic or creatures or zombies or anything, but if you’re going to call something “fantasy” it should at least be about fictional cultures that the author has invented. This is just England colonizing the Americas with the names changed. The only thing that could be said to be “fantasy” is that the population they’re displacing in the process isn’t an indigenous one, it was established by previous outcasts from their own country–though that wasn’t clear to me until the first time we met them and they were white, blond, and used woad as decoration. So they’re not supposed to be Native American analogues, they’re supposed to be displaced Picts?
2. Either way, it’s still racist and pro-colonization, because even if the Icori aren’t meant to represent an indigenous people, they’re still clearly Other, and constantly labeled as “savages” in order to justify taking their land, which all of our protagonists are participating in, in some form. Does it matter what color this fictional group of people is, if the narrative is parroting real history and real racism?
3. The second half of the plot feels, at best, tenuously related to the first half. The change in fortune for our protagonists that happens at the midpoint struck me as so flimsy and unbelievable that it was hard to take the rest of the book seriously, and that made it more obvious to me who the real villain was, despite whatever weak red herrings were planted along the way. Seriously–the first half of the story is The Bridgertons but the second turns into Little House on the Prairie. It’s too big a genre shift to make the transition seem natural.
4. There were times when I was approaching a reasonable level of sympathy for our heroine, despite her many flaws, but every time the story had a chance to explore those flaws and perhaps let the character do some work on them…well, she just kept being headstrong and selfish and whiny, right up until the LHotP section where after a single pep talk from the hero, she’s completely changed, resolved to her new station in life with a determination that seemed half-delusional and certainly out of character. She didn’t work for it, so it didn’t seem real.
5. I did not know, having picked up this book in isolation, that the rest of the “series” is actually the same time period from the perspective of one of the other girls, specifically the two best friends of the heroine. Now that I do know that, the giant blank spaces in this story where Mira and Tamsin constantly fall out of it without explanation–or with the pointedly obvious lampshade “it’s not my business so I’m not going to ask”–make sense structurally. However, that doesn’t mean I don’t think it’s a terrible flaw, because these holes are constant and irritating. For a while in the middle of the book, it felt like every time I turned two pages, the heroine was asking out loud, “Where’s Mira?” And pretty quickly I knew that question wouldn’t be answered in this book, so why keep asking?
6. I never found Cedric compelling enough a hero to justify the constant sacrifices that Adelaide made for him. I don’t think he’s a terrible character, and I enjoyed some of their banter and their occasional fights, but I’m also not about to add him to my book-boyfriend list, so it was hard to imagine myself, or anyone for that matter, doing as much for him as Adelaide did.
7. Religion. Woooo boy. I guess this part is the “fantasy” I was lamenting the lack of earlier, because if the accepted and heretic forms of this fictional religion are supposed to correspond to real-world counterparts, I didn’t pick up on it with enough certainty to tell. But my problem is that it’s suddenly a Very Big Deal that one character is a heretic, when religion had played such a small part in the story leading up to that revelation that I was mostly operating on the assumption that the main religion was socially performative, and that no one in the story was especially devout. Adelaide certainly doesn’t seem to be. But since this heresy becomes central to the conflict later on, I wish it had been better established in the beginning, because (again) the second half of the book seems wildly different than the first, and this was another aspect that made it hard to take seriously.
8. Heteronormative AF. There’s one token queer person who has a minor role, showing up just long enough for Adelaide to realize other women/cultures don’t abide by her society’s rigid norms and to feel briefly uncomfortable about it. But there’s no follow-up, no depth, no opportunity for Adelaide to grow beyond what she’s been taught. To some extent, I’m okay with that–not every story has room for fighting LGBT+ battles, and even more simply put, stories are allowed to be about other things. But parading just that one wlw character out for a moment, and making her a foreigner to reinforce her otherness, strikes me as a really poor choice if the story didn’t actually want to fight that battle. Why bring it up at all? Especially as this is supposed to be fantasy, why couldn’t the Glittering Court be an institution that provides marriage candidates to both men and women? If the candidate pool was both male and female, and so was the clientele, then many forms of queerness would be covered by it without having to dig into specifics about each character. (It doesn’t directly address ace/aro people, but presumably they’d be less interested in a marriage mart anyway, on either side, and self-select out of it.) I mean, I know why, because that would mean that in the New World there would have to be women in positions of power who needed husbands (or wives, yes, but this wrinkle is about men.) And there’s no shortage of men in the colonies, so that doesn’t track logically the same way the actual setup does. But again, if this is supposed to be fantasy….