Author: Marissa Lingen

Review copy provided by the publisher. Also the author is a friend.

This morning I wrote to another friend, “I’ve finished reading Amal’s new collection, and now the only problem is how to write a review that’s laudatory enough.” “A good problem to have,” my friend correctly noted.

Seriously, though. I’ve read most of these stories before, but when I came to each one, it was a matter of, “Oh, I loved this one!” rather than “Oh yeah, this one.” There is a stylistic and thematic inclination to the stories that never rises to sameness. It’s such a distillation of why I have been consistently happy to see these stories (and a few poems!) in the venues where they’ve appeared, for the years they’ve been appearing.

If you were hoping that this would be a source of new Amal stories, you’ll have to keep waiting, this is the kind of collection that’s a culmination of previous work rather than a revelation of new. But it’s a beautiful slim volume, I’m thrilled to have it, I will press it upon my friends and relations, hurrah. Hurrah.

Ruth Awad, Set to Music a Wildfire. A poetry collection that is very directly about her experiences as a daughter of a Lebanese immigrant and her father’s experiences in Lebanon. Interesting but not particularly subtle; I’m not sure it’s fair to demand subtlety on these topics.

M.H. Ayinde, A Song of Legends Lost. A thumping big fantasy. Did I read this because one of the characters is eating plantains very early on and I love plantains? Well. That wasn’t the only reason. But the things it said about the worldbuilding drew me in and kept me going for many hundred pages.

Shane Bobrycki, The Crowd in the Early Middle Ages. Bobrycki noticed a gaping hole between the Roman Empire and the Renaissance when it came to the influence of large group behavior in Europe, and this book is him examining what we know about that, what crowds there actually were, what impact they had on the life of their cultures and why. He manages to remember that Europe does not just mean Italy at first and later France and England, which is always nice.

Eliane Boey, Club Contango. I really like Boey’s prose, and this started out well for me, but as the narrative bore inexorably down on the plot twist and I could no longer pretend it would not be that particular plot twist–which I had foreseen at the very beginning and really hoped it would not be–I grew more and more frustrated. Here’s hoping her next thing doesn’t lean on a twist of that particular sort.

Sarah E. Bond, Strike: Labor, Unions, and Resistance in the Roman Empire. Bond is clear and explicit about where she’s drawing parallels between modern unions and ancient groups that have similar traits, and she’s willing to make her arguments about them specific rather than handwavey. A corrective for too much of the assumption that the people of the past were not like us, and an angle on the ancient world more interesting to me than most.

Michael Brown, The Wars of Scotland, 1214-1371. Definitely what it says on the tin, from the top-down perspective rather than anything about what these wars were like for the rank and file. Did you know the Scots were not a restful people in this era? welp.

Steph Cherrywell, The Ink Witch. I loved this so much. It’s MG fantasy that’s actually funny rather than adult-trying-too-hard, it’s got ink magic and a tarantula familiar and a lovely fierce trans heroine whose plot is not about being trans, it’s about magic quests and family politics and mermaids and yeti and running a little motel. It’s so great, I’m so happy about this book.

P.F. Chisholm, A Taste of Witchcraft. At this point in this series (this is book 10, don’t start here), we are no longer talking about an historical murder mystery series but more generally an historical adventure series. This one goes very, very vividly into the tortures accused witches suffered, so if you’re not feeling up for that, maybe not this one. It also features quite a bit of my favorite characters in the series, though.

Sunyi Dean, The Girl With a Thousand Faces. Discussed elsewhere.

Nicola Griffith, She Is Here. A short collection of essays, poems, and short stories. Most of the essays were familiar to me from previous sources, but they go well here thematically. I love Griffith’s novels, but her shorter work does not feel as strong or essential to me. For me this is a nice-to-have, not a must-have.

Bassem Khandaqji, A Mask the Color of the Sky. A novel about a young Palestinian man who has aspirations in both archaeology and fiction–who is writing a novel about Mary Magdalen, or trying to–who looks at the wider world and wants a wider life. And then he finds an ID that will allow him, with his particular appearance, to readily pass as a Jewish Israeli, and he does that for a while, and it’s the sort of book where the complications are primarily internal, emotional, mental, about his place in the world and his identity, rather than thriller novel shooty-shoot complications. It’s short and fairly straightforward.

Margrit Pernau, Emotions and Temporalities. Kindle. This is one of a series of short monographs that I downloaded a while ago, and it’s the first where I’ve really felt that the format limited content beyond what was useful. I wanted a lot more context on emotionality and assessments of past/present/future in the cultures Pernau was discussing; I felt like more and longer examples would have strongly benefitted her argument. Ah well, I’m told you can’t win them all.

Dana Simpson, Unicorn Secrets. This is the latest of a collection of daily strips of the comic Phoebe & Her Unicorn, which I don’t read daily, I read them in collection form. It is nice and fun and nice. Is this the best of them, no, but it does what I wanted it to do, it is a pleasant diversion.

Dodie Smith, I Capture the Castle. Reread. So one of the things I didn’t fully notice when I read this the first time, 25 years ago on a friend’s futon waiting for another friend’s wedding, is that this is an almost perfect balance of Victorian and modern novel. Specifically: money is allowed to be the main concern. Money is discussed in detail, what food you can get for it and what clothes and what marriage will do about it and how we feel about that. Marriage is still considered to be the main way that women handle money, but no longer the only way (and the ending makes that matter rather than blurring to a romantic “isn’t it lovely that the marrying couple just happens to have enough funds after all?” that some of the other books both Victorian and modern fall back on). It is very matter-of-fact about sex and sexuality for its publication date, but not in a smarmy or overbalanced way. This is also one of fiction’s non-evil stepmothers, and bless her for that.

D.E. Stevenson, Miss Buncle’s Book. Kindle. A very gentle comedy about a spinster in a small village who writes a novel with keen observations of all her neighbors and sets the whole town on its ear. I’m fascinated by the line Stevenson manages to walk between letting the Great Depression feel real (Miss Buncle needs her book to make her money! it’s not quite as money-focused as I Capture the Castle but still) and still keeping it upbeat for the people who were reading the book as an escape from that very same Great Depression. Not terribly deep, fairly predictable in its larger plot though not necessarily in its scene incidentals, fun all the same.

Ethan Tapper, How to Love a Forest: The Bittersweet Work of Tending a Changing World. I was a bit disappointed in this, which aims at being a lyrical memoir of a life in forestry. The lyricism is repetitive (which is harder to forgive considering how short this volume is) and in places twee (writing some sections about himself in the third person as “the man” did not work for me), and in general there was a great deal less how than I hoped for. He talked about what he was doing, he even talked in general terms about those who might not understand how killing plants could help a forest ecosystem. But as it was memoir rather than science essay, he felt no need to go into the evidence behind his positions–and, crucially, actions.

Jo Walton and Ada Palmer, Trace Elements: Conversations on the Project of Science Fiction and Fantasy. Discussed elsewhere.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

This is such a fresh and vivid fantasy, it is achingly sad and exciting and wry by turns. I am so glad I got to read this. It tangles two timelines, the “past” of the 1940s and the “present” of the 1970s, both in Hong Kong’s Kowloon Walled City slum and then reaching out to the areas around it. Mercy Chan doesn’t have any memories when she washes up on the shores of Hong Kong during the Japanese occupation–a terrible time to be friendless and unprotected. But she isn’t quite either thing, because she has Bao, her maogui (cat ghost)–not a type of spirit known to be friendly, but Bao has apparently made an exception for Mercy.

Bao won’t be the last of the local ghosts, spirits, and gods we meet in the course of this book (although he is my favorite). Mercy’s talent at communicating with ghosts has given her steady work with the triads for decades. Now her past is catching up to her, and if she can’t remember what it was, her future looks imperiled–and so does the future of Hong Kong itself. This is a book that seeks kindness in a world that doesn’t always think it has room to be kind, and I found it to be a very satisfying read indeed.

Review copy provided by the publisher. Also I’ve been friends with both authors for a good long while.

Which makes this a very weird book for me to read, honestly, because I met both Jo and Ada through SFF fandom and conventions, through all writing and talking and thinking about genres, and so a lot of the first third of this book is, for me, “the obvious stuff people talk about all the time.” Well, sure. Because Jo and Ada are people, and I am around them talking about this kind of thing all the time (or at least intermittently for more than twenty years in one case and more than fifteen in the other, so it adds up), so naturally their points of view on genre theory are in the general category of “stuff I would logically have been exposed to by now.” It’s a bit “Hamlet is just a string of famous quotes strung together,” as reactions go: kind of the cart before the horse. And it means that there are a few things that are in the category of “oh right, there’s the thing I always disagree with Jo about; look, she still has her own idea about it rather than mine, go figure.” This is to be expected given the long and winding discussion it’s been, but it makes it a bit harder for me to say useful things about what it will look like to most readers.

So the first third of the book is the part that most obviously fits the title–it’s the section that has the largest-scale thoughts about the nature of genre qua genre. The second third was the most satisfying to me: it was thoughts on disability and pain. I think a too-casual reader might mistake it for random padding to make this book book-length without requiring Jo and/or Ada (some of the sections are co-written and some are written solo by each author) to write more entirely new material. But no. Absolutely not. The way that Jo and Ada process disability is strongly shaped by each of their perspectives as SFF writers and readers, and the way they process SFF is–sometimes subtly, sometimes overtly–shaped by their lived experiences as disabled people. Some of our personal stories are about the project of science fiction and fantasy. Jo’s and Ada’s are. And they’re useful–powerful–to see on the page like this. This is where knowing people for a quite long time doesn’t give me a “yes I have already been here” reaction, because three disabled friends do not talk about disability and personal history and its place in the speculative project in the same way as two of them would write about it for a general audience. It’s a view from a very different angle, which is great to have. The last section is more miscellany, still related to the title but more specifics, less sweeping theory. It’s labeled craft, and this is true, but in a broad sense–there are pieces about The Princess Bride and optimism and censorship as well as about protagonists and empathy in a structural sense.

I wonder if people who come to this book from reading mostly Ada rather than both but by the numbers more Jo would see how Jo has influenced Ada’s prose voice in the joint pieces. For me, the stylistic commonalities with Inventing the Renaissance were really striking, but if you’d come directly from reading that I wonder how much you’d be saying, oh, that’s got to be Jo Walton because it’s not really what I’m used to from Ada Palmer solo! Co-authorship is an interesting beast, and I feel like there’s a difficult balance here that’s partially achieved by having pieces by each person solo as well as the two together. I’m not sure I can immediately come up with another thing like it that way.

Joan Coggin, The Mystery at Orchard House, Why Did She Die?, and Dancing With Death. So I finished this series all in one gulp, which I wouldn’t have done if a friend had not lent me the last two, but…they did, so here we are, no regrets whatsoever. They’re very much on the light end of mystery, and Lady Lupin remains funny and generally quite kind. I don’t know that they’re going to change your life except for giving you some pleasant hours in your life, which…sometimes is the kind of changing your life a person needs right now.

Kate Emery, The Dysfunctional Family’s Guide to Murder. This is a YA mystery from an Australian writer, and while I don’t know a lot of Australian teens, the voice feels authentic to me. Another on the light end of mystery, successfully so.

Jamie Holmes, The Free and the Dead: The Untold Story of the Black Seminole Chief, the Indigenous Rebel, and America’s Forgotten War. I really appreciated having a lot more about this period filled in. I feel like the way that American schools taught the Trail of Tears, at least when I was in school and I strongly suspect now, sort of…had it happen in isolation. Did not encourage people to do the math and realize that the Southern whites who were “defending their way of life” had in many cases had that land and that way of life for less time than I’ve lived in the house I live in now. The relationships between Black Americans and Native Americans have been complex and interesting, and a book that focuses on some of that also does a better job of decentering whiteness than many histories, so hurray for that.

S.L. Huang, The Language of Liars. Discussed elsewhere.

Fatemeh Jamalpour and Nilo Tabrizy, For the Sun After Long Nights: The Story of Iran’s Woman-Led Uprising. Oof, the timing on this one. Well. It’s an earnest account from two writers, one of whom was on the ground for the events described. This is very recent history–2022-24 or thereabouts–so if you don’t have any familiarity with Iran outside that period you’ll probably want additional reading before or after reading this, but I think after would be fine, I think you could learn about these brave women now and get more of their backstory later with no problem.

Judy I. Lin, Song of the Six Realms. This was secondary world YA fantasy that frankly did not stick with me particularly well. There was a girl musician swept away to a magical realm with peril and stuff, and it was fine, it did just fine at that, but I wasn’t really driven to seek out more of the author’s work.

C. Thi Nguyen, The Score: How to Stop Playing Someone Else’s Game. For my group of friends I am very much toward the “non-game-enthusiast” end of the spectrum, so one of the things that was interesting to me about this book is that he could be very clear about what things appeal to game enthusiasts in ways that I could understand even if I didn’t share them. But I think the parallels and cross-connections with games and metrics, and how to keep that from growing toxic, is some really useful stuff, worth thinking about.

Karen Parkman, The Jills. This was a very readable thriller that ended up mildly disappointing to me in the end. The protagonist is a member of the Buffalo Bills American football team’s cheerleader group, the Jills (if you’re like me you did not know that they had a special name), and another of her cheerleader friends goes missing. She has dealt with missing loved ones before because her sister has struggled with addiction, which makes for compelling backstory in a thriller context. However, I felt like several of the plot twists were not very smart (“what if your stalker actually helps you out and is not the real problem” no stop that), and the ending pulled its punches both on dealing with the toxic aspects of professional football cheerleading that it had started to gesture at and at making the protagonist deal with her personal life choices and history.

Cat Sebastian, After Hours at Dooryard Books. I am a tough sell for romances, and I don’t want to say “but this isn’t a romance” just because I like it. It is, it is a romance between two men in 1968. It is also an historical novel about grief. It is both, it can be both, and it is very beautifully both. It also involves raising a baby and learning to be a family. It is also about moving forward from things you are not proud of without denying they’ve happened. I love this book. I am so glad about this book. I picked it up because two different friends said it was just what they needed right now, and it was just what I needed too.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

This is a novella with a whole range of aliens with different language features, wildly different environments, etc. Several of my friends just stopped reading this review to go pre-order or request that their library do so. You are correct, if that is the sort of thing you like, this sure is that thing.

What it does less successfully, I think, is the twist ending. I feel like this is a book that is for people who like science fiction about aliens, but for me, as soon as I knew the premise, I knew the ending, and I was correct. So if you’re reading for the aliens, come on in; if you’re reading for a clever twist you did not see coming, this is not that novella, that is not where Huang spent time and energy.

Moniquill Blackgoose, To Ride a Rising Storm. I’m usually a second book person, but this one took a minute to win me over. I think the bar was set so high by the first one that when the second one felt like “more of the same,” I was disappointed. It is, however, going somewhere, and it finished up with a bang, and I am very excited for the third one. (But where it finished with a bang was more like a starting pistol. Do not expect closure here. This is very much a middle book.)

Lila Caimari, Cities and News. Kindle. A study of how newspapers evolved and influenced the culture in late 19th century South American cities, which was off the beaten Anglophone path and rather interesting, especially because the way that snowy places were exoticized pretty much exactly paralleled how these cities were exoticized in snowy places.

Colin Cotterill, Curse of the Pogo Stick, The Merry Misogynist, and Love Songs from a Shallow Grave. Rereads. And this, unfortunately, is where the series ends for me. I enjoyed Pogo Stick, and then the other two had mystery plots that were “serial killer because tormented intersex person” (REALLY STOP IT, these books came out in the 21st century, NOT OKAY) and “bitches be crazy, yo” (WELP). The mystery plots are not nearly as central to these mysteries as one might expect of, well, mysteries, but on the other hand they are integral to the book and not ignorable and I am done. When I read this series previously I endured these two in hopes that it would get better again, and now I know it doesn’t. Well. Five books I like is more than most people manage.

Jeannine Hall Gailey, Field Guide to the End of the World. I still resonate less with prose poems than with other formats of poem, and this had several, but it was otherwise…unfortunately apropos, a worthy companion in our own ongoing ends of worlds.

Tove Jansson, Moominpappa’s Memoirs. Kindle, reread. Charming and quirky as always, with some hilarious moments about memoir that went over my head when I was small.

Laurie Marks, Fire Logic, Earth Logic, Water Logic, and Air Logic. Rereads. I still really enjoy this series, but on the reread it was quite clear to me that water is very, very much the weakest element here, no contest. The water witches are not really portrayed as people, nobody with water affinity gets to be a character, they’re very much the “oh yeah I guess we have more than three elements” element in this series. Water is the element I connect with the most strongly. I still like this series, I still think it’s doing really good things with peace being an active rather than passive state and one that has to be made by imperfect humans–more unusual things than they should be. As with the Cotterill books above, the fact that it was a reread meant that I couldn’t keep saying to myself, “Maybe there’ll be more on this later,” because there won’t, the series is complete. But in contrast to the Cotterill it was complete in a way I still find satisfying.

Alice Evelyn Yang, A Beast Slinks Towards Beijing. This is a family history novel with strong–in fact integral–fantastical elements, but only the realistic plot resolution is satisfying, not the fantasy plot at all. The fantasy elements are required for the plot to happen as portrayed, there’s no chance they’re only metaphors, but they only work as metaphors. Ah well. If you’re up for a Chinese family history novel that goes into detail of the horrors of both the Japanese occupation and the Cultural Revolution, this one has really good sentences and paragraphs. But go in braced.

Stephanie Burgis, Enchanting the Fae Queen. I always love Steph’s writing, and this was a fun book when I needed a fun book. This one felt weighted on the romance side of the romance/fantasy balance early in the book, but the fantasy plot did come roaring back in the last third. I wonder how much that reaction is objective and how much it’s that it’s an “enemies to lovers” plot, which is a trope that’s always a hard sell for me. Looking forward to the third one.

Sophie Burnham, Bloodtide. Book two in its series, please do not start here as a lot of the emotional weight starts with book one in this series, but if you were having fun with this science fiction against empire, here’s more, and there’s natural disaster and community uprising and good stuff.

Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. Reread. Okay but! This is not the Tenniel illustrations, which my godmother gave me when I was small. This is the Tove Jansson illustrations, which I had never seen before, and they’re delightful and very Jansson.

Steph Cherrywell, Unboxing Libby. This is a delightful older MG book about a bunch of young humaniform robots on Mars on a voyage of self-discovery opposed to the corporate bullshit that brought them there. I hope Cherrywell does more unique fun books like this.

John Chu, The Subtle Art of Folding Space. Discussed elsewhere.

Samuel K. Cohn Jr., trans., Popular Protest in Late Medieval Europe. A sourcebook of a lot of translated primary sources about uprisings, rebellions, and protests in mostly Italy and France in this era. (When he says “north of the Alps,” he means “the region of France that is north of where you would draw the latitude line for the Alps,” alas, but still interesting for itself.) Useful if you’re super-interested in popular uprisings, which guess who is.

Colin Cotterill, The Coroner’s Lunch, Thirty-Three Teeth, Disco for the Departed, and Anarchy and Old Dogs. Rereads. Sometimes you look up and it’s been twenty years since a series you like started, and you haven’t reread the beginning of it since then. I say “series you like,” but what happened here is that I liked the beginning a lot and have sort of grown less interested in the later volumes, so I was worried that it was a case of “my standards went up and his stayed the same.” It was not! The first volumes are still quite good, nothing else quite like them. They’re historical magical realist murder mysteries set in 1970s Laos, and the setting is a large part of the focus of the books. I firmly believe, as of this reread, that they are marketed as mysteries primarily because that’s the subgenre that knew how to market comparatively short series novels with an atypical setting, because the mystery structure is not at all traditional. Some elements are not handled as we’d handle them now, but so far I am feeling that the characters whose identities might be handled differently now are being treated with respect by the narrative if not by the people around them. I can’t think of another series that has as good a character with Downs as Mr. Geung. I love him so much. He gets to have his own strengths, interests, sense of humor, agency. Sometimes the people around him call him the r-word or underestimate him, and they are always proven wrong. Similarly, in the fourth book we meet Auntie Bpoo, a trans woman who is joyfully, passionately herself and who does not attempt to pass as cis. I love Auntie Bpoo. The language used to introduce her is not what we would use now, and the protagonist–who was born in the early 1900s and is 73 years old in the book–initially underestimates her, but he very quickly learns that this is very, very wrong–and yet just as Mr. Geung never becomes a cloying angel, Auntie Bpoo is allowed to keep some of her rough edges–she’s a person, not a sanitized trans icon. However–even with those caveats, not everyone will want to read ableist slurs, misgendering, etc., so judge accordingly whether that’s something you want to go through. I’m going to keep on with this series until I hit the point where I’m no longer enjoying it; we’ll see where that is.

Dominique Dickey, Redundancies and Potentials. Kindle. Extremely, extremely full of killing. Oh so much killing. Who knew that time travel was in place for the killing? There ends up being emotional weight to it in ways that I find interesting given that I’ve been watching the James Bond movies that are the exact opposite (zero time travel, zero emotional weight, still tons of killing). Interesting stuff.

Kieron Gillen, Caspar Wijngaard, Clayton Cowles, and Rian Hughes, The Power Fantasy Vol. 1: The Superpowers. This felt to me like they were afraid they wouldn’t get to do as much series as they had plot, and so everything sort of got jammed in on top of each other. The extremely personal take on Mutually Assured Destruction was interesting–but also this is a comic about MAD, so if you’re not up for very visceral potential of destroying the world today, maybe save it for later.

Lisa Goldstein, Ivory Apples. Reread. Goldstein definitely knows how to write a sentence, so this was a smooth read that ultimately did not hang together on the reread for me. There are too many places where someone’s motivations, especially the villain’s, are based on “somehow they got the feeling that xyz” which then turn out to be correct for no particular reason, and I think what the muses are doing as metaphors for creative work simply don’t end up working for me when pressed into service for an entire book’s worth of material. A lot of the individual chapters are vivid, but the ending just isn’t enough for me, alas.

Theodora Goss, Letters from an Imaginary Country. Lots of familiar favorites in this collection as well as some new things, demonstrating once again the breadth of what the field is publishing and of what even a fairly focused author (Goss loves ethereal fairytale-type fantasy) can manage to do.

Rachel Hewitt, Map of Nation: A Biography of the Ordnance Survey. This is about the first surveys of Britain and how the departments involved with them developed, what early technology and staff were used, etc. It’s this year’s gift to myself for my grandfather’s birthday (he worked for a time as a surveyor as a young man) and was, I feel, entirely a success on that front, especially because I like maps and mapping and how people’s thinking about them has evolved very much myself.

Jessica Lopez Lyman, Placekeepers: Latina/x Art, Performance, and Organizing in the Twin Cities. It’s the nature of this kind of study to overgeneralize and make overemphatic statements in places, and this does probably less of that than most local/contemporary ethnography. It also gave me lots of interesting case studies of a part of my home that’s less familiar to me and some things neighbors are getting up to, bracing to read in this time. This isn’t all of what we’re fighting for, but it’s sure what we’re fighting for.

Abir Mukherjee, The Burning Grounds. Latest in its mystery series of 1920s Calcutta, exciting and fun, jumps the characters down the line a few years from previous volumes but still probably better if read as part of the series than a stand-alone. Hope he does more.

Arturo Perez-Reverte, The Fencing Master. Much swash very buckle wow.

Teresa Mason Pierre, ed., As the Earth Dreams: Black Canadian Speculative Stories. Read this for book club, and there was an interesting pattern of lack of character agency in most of these stories, which is not my favorite thing. Some stories still a good time, lots of interesting discussion in book club.

Randy Ribay, The Awakening of Roku. Not as strong as the first book in its series, and I felt like it needed another editing pass (sometimes on the sentence level–we’ve seen Ribay do better than this in the previous book). A fun adventure, but if the Avatar tie-in novelizations had started with this one I’d have shrugged and stopped here. I think in some ways maybe letting Roku off the hook even when it hopes not to be.

Madeleine Robins, Point of Honour, Petty Treason, and The Sleeping Partner. Rereads. When I read the fourth one in this series in the previous fortnight, I remembered how much I liked it, so I went back and reread the whole thing. Yep, still liked it. I think most of them are actually written to be reasonable entry points to the series, so if you’re in the market for a slightly-alternate Regency period set of murder mysteries, whatever you can grab here will work pretty well.

Muriel Rukeyser, The Collected Poems of Muriel Rukeyser. This was good enough that I read the whole 600 pages, and yet I did not end up with a favorite poem, I didn’t end up vibing with any particular era of her work, and there were some that made me sigh and roll my eyes and go, oh, right, that period. I don’t know why not! I can’t say, for example, that long, wordy, referential, somewhat-political poems of the 1930s are not my jam–I’m a fan of W.H. Auden. But for whatever reason, the rhythms of Rukeyser’s language never caught me up. Well. Now I know.

Melissa Sevigny, Mythical River: Chasing the Mirage of New Water in the American Southwest. Goes back to the Spanish for discussion of what water there is and what water people hoped there would be and what terrible decisions they made around those two things. And a few non-terrible decisions! But. Oof. Interesting stuff, always there for the water, not at all how water works where I am so I can see why the Spanish made some mistakes, and yet, oof.

D.E. Stevenson, Kate Hardy. Kindle. I was expecting this to twist more than it did, because Stevenson sometimes does, and it’s better when she does, and also because my Kindle copy had a lot of additional material in the back, biographical sketch and list of other books and so on, so it looked like there was room for more to happen, and then boom, nope, fairly standard happy ending. It was reasonably fun to read but not one of her deeper or more interesting works.

T.H. White, Mistress Masham’s Repose. I had picked up several references to this from the ether, but I don’t think I actually had a chance to read it when I was small. I’m wondering what it was about the mid-20th century that got us the Borrowers and the Littles and this. Anyway it was cleverly done and reasonably warm and very much of its era, and I’m glad I read it for myself instead of just picking up hints here and there.