Category: Uncategorized

Clara Benson, The Treasure at Poldarrow Point. Kindle. In the first two volumes of this series, its protagonist had an energetic idiot for a foil. This is no exception, but this time the energetic idiot is literally twelve years old, so she has some excuse for some of her less wise, plot-furthering behaviors. Whew.

Jedediah Berry, The Naming Song. Gorgeous. Not like anything else, a very verbal and yet very grounded fantasy. The ending was the perfect combination of surprising and inevitable, really liked this. I would say “more like this” but only in the most theoretical sense–this is not a book for a dozen sequels, this is a book for “yes, I really love singular books like this.”

Genoveva Dimova, Monstrous Nights. Discussed elsewhere.

Emran Iqbal El-Badawi, Queens and Prophets: How Arabian Noblewomen and Holy Men Shaped Paganism, Christianity, and Islam. Best book I’ve read so far about pre-Islamic history of the Arabian peninsula and adjacent areas, does a really solid job of indicating which groups controlled which regions when, situates Judaism and Christianity in their original geographic context. Really interesting stuff, only wish it was longer. Lots of historical figures I had never heard of or heard very little of, who turned out to be quite worth knowing.

Margaret Frazer, A Play of Dux Moraud, The Bastard’s Tale, and The Clerk’s Tale. Kindle. The second volume of the Player Joliffe series, and Frazer was having a great time with making the medieval plays relevant to the genre mystery; and then two more volumes of the Dame Frevisse series, very much in the “if you liked this here’s more” category. They’re not the most elevated mystery series ever, but they’re solidly doing what they do, and as you can see I am still on board for it.

Frances Hardinge, Island of Whispers. Lavishly illustrated and quite short, melancholy, a fantasy of life and death and the different (mostly non-romantic) ways people love each other.

Jo Harkin, The Pretender. Discussed elsewhere.

Nalo Hopkinson, Blackheart Man. A fantasy that handles its colonialist past a lot more explicitly–and relevantly to the plot–than we’re used to seeing, very Caribbean-inflected, very cool. The protagonist is kind of a jerk a lot of the time, but Hopkinson knows that, and portrayal is not endorsement.

Freya Marske, Swordcrossed. Some of you might want this for the duels, some for the gay sex. Me, I am in it for the wool merchants. MORE WOOL MERCHANTS. MERCHANT CULTURES OF ALL KINDS.

Hope Mirrlees, Lud-in-the-Mist. Reread. For a book club. I feel like the immediately post-Victorian nature of this book is what jumped out at me most this time. The Victorians were just yesterday, and you can tell, and in a fun way. I’ve been part of conversations about how fantasy would have been different if this rather than The Lord of the Rings had been its pattern text, but one of the things that jumped out at me about that this time is that it’s a fantasy where a parent is attempting to save their children. Very very different from the family structures in Tolkien.

Nemonte Nenquimo and Mitch Anderson, We Will Be Jaguars: A Memoir of My People. I’ve read missionary narratives before, and this was very much structured exactly like them but with the opposite conclusion: here are some stories of when I was a small child, here’s what I knew about my world and my people, here’s when I learned from the missionaries about Jesus and the western world……and now, here’s why that was a terrible experience and my life path and activism is very different. The parallelism really struck me given the conclusions.

Megan E. O’Keefe, The Bound Worlds. The last in its trilogy, wherein everyone is generally horrible to everyone else but eventually pulls themselves together and figures their space fungus shit out. Definitely don’t read it if you haven’t been enjoying the first two, it is not an entry point.

Nadi Reed Perez, The Afterlife of Mal Caldera. An absolutely beautiful and sensitively handled book that I will be recommending to very few specific people, because what it is beautifully and sensitively handling includes a lot of material dealing with depression and suicidality. I loved the voice, I loved the whole thing, but–think very carefully whether you want something this intense.

Sarah Pinsker, Haunt Sweet Home. I have long had a theory that there’s a period of “omg, I will put this NEW SOCIAL THING in my SFF story as a novelty! Look how new!” before the genre settles into, “Yep, we sure do have that, anyway here’s an actual story.” Haunt Sweet Home is a marker that we’ve arrived at the maturity stage–or at least Sarah Pinsker has–regarding reality TV shows. They’re a thing that exists, and if you’re going to put one in the story you still need a story, and this has one. It’s not the most beautiful ghost story I read this month because The Afterlife of Mal Caldera exists, but it’s a lot less harrowing than that, and a lot more fun.

B. Pladek, Dry Land. For some reason I thought this was going to be a completely different genre of book, but it is gay WWI environmentalist fantasy. If you like the war poets, sad gay boys, and modern environmentalism, this might easily be your jam. It’s mostly melancholy throughout but with glimmers of hope in the mud.

Ruben Reyes, Jr., There Is a Rio Grande in Heaven. This is the sort of weird short story collection that genre science fiction/fantasy readers don’t always hear about, but you should, because the stories are just as speculative and alien and profoundly cool as anything labeled SFF. If not more so.

Asheesh Kapur Siddique, The Archive of Empire: Knowledge, Consent, and the Making of the Early Modern British World. An interesting take on how British colonizers used recordkeeping and other knowledge management types differently in different colonies because of their varying assumptions and goals, very cool.

Dana Simpson, Unicorn Time Machine. The latest Phoebe and Her Unicorn collection, and it unexpectedly made me cry, because there are some things with Phoebe’s dad in it. To be clear, they are funny sweet things, not sad things…unless you had that kind of nerdy dad and you miss him….

Sam Kyung Yoo, Small Gods of Calamity. Urban fantasy with gods and spirits making a great deal of trouble, fun and will be on my Christmas-buys list for several people.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

A member of my family saw this book sitting on the kitchen table and said, “Ohhh, somebody gonna get eaten.” This is what we call “setting reader expectations appropriately with the cover design.”

Kosara and Asen have had six months since the events of the Foul Days in the book of the same name–six months for things to get back to normal. Things…have not done that. Nor do they look likely to. Kosara is still hearing the Zmey’s voice. Asen is no longer comfortable on the mundane police force. And there are monsters…where there should not be monsters. So: normal? really no.

Giant plague-bearing cockerels, unexpected werewolves, uncertain vampires, Asen’s late wife’s kikimora, the gang’s all here. Kosara’s dozen shadows are unruly at the worst possible times. There’s more trouble than they realized between the human realm and the realm of monsters, and it’s going to take everything they’ve got to set the balance right–and a few things they don’t have yet as well. Vivid and particular, this is a fun successor to the excellent first volume.

Review copy provided by the publisher.

This is so good, and many of you will want to read it when it comes out.

What it is: a very close third-person POV story of the pretender to the throne of Henry VII best known to posterity as Lambert Simnel, who in his life had many other names. And it does such a good job of that tight perspective. It starts with him as a little boy on a farm, with the perspective on world history that a little boy on a 15th century farm would have, without making him twee or precious or stupid. What it does with his perspective moving through the tumultuous events of his life, with the fall of Richard III and the rise of Henry VII, the uprising for which he was the figurehead and its aftermath, is a development of intimate character voice as good as any I’ve ever seen, and with lots of eventful historical material rather than just interior ponderings.

In the hands of a lesser prose stylist and character observer, this could have been the kind of rote historical fiction you often find in the late 19th century: here is an historical figure, his life and times, hurrah, the end. But a really good writer has always been able to make a book of that pattern into something more, and Harkin does as well as, say, Naomi Mitchison at the job. Which is high praise indeed.

Gina María Balibrera, The Volcano Daughters. Beautiful Salvadoran-American historical fiction/magic realism. Harrowing and wonderful. There’s running commentary from a Greek chorus-style group of politically murdered women. I gradually realized as the book went on that one of the main characters is a fictional version of someone real, and it blew my mind, because I was all in without that and then–wow what, reality is so weird. Recommended.

Clara Benson, A Case of Conspiracy in Clerkenwell and The Mystery at Underwood House. Kindle. The next volume in each of the two series I’m reading by her. I felt that the former was the weakest in its series so far but still reasonably interesting, kept me going in the waiting room for a stressful medical appointment for a family member, hurrah for reliable historical mystery series.

Christopher Brown, A Natural History of Empty Lots: Field Notes from Urban Edgelands, Back Alleys, and Other Wild Places. If you’ve been reading Chris’s newsletter, you’ll recognize some of this material, but it’s polished and considered here rather than regurgitated whole. If you haven’t, you’re in for a treat, because his nature writing about American cities is excellent, he brings a combination of lawyer’s eye, science fiction writer’s perspective, and just plain enthusiasm about the world he’s living in, with all its flaws and foibles.

Agatha Christie, The Missing Will. Kindle. This was actually a short story, and not a very substantial one at that, but it was one of the things that was available for download from Gutenberg–they’re not particularly well-labeled, and I haven’t done the work of sorting which are which, I just find out by reading them.

James S. A. Corey, The Mercy of Gods. Human scientists taken by aliens who may be cruel, may be indifferent, or may just be alien, but they sure give the human research group a thoroughly unpleasant experience–that is by no means over, this is book one in a series. I liked the range of aliens but the entire reading experience of “series of variously unpleasant alien experiences” made me morose.

Edwidge Danticat, We’re Alone. A series of essays centering her experience of being Haitian/Haitian-American. Look, seeking out art from the perspective of a currently-slandered ethnic group is not actually activism, but it’s still a great plan. This is a short collection and, like everything else of Danticat’s I’ve read, beautifully done.

Margaret Frazer, The Reeve’s Tale. Kindle. I feel like she’s changing up the structure more in the mid-late series here, and I’m pleased by that; knowing that the corpse would show up at the 55-65% mark was not actually one of the things I liked best, and she’s keeping up with the things I do like about the Sister Frevisse mysteries.

Kate Heartfield, The Tapestry of Time. Oh gosh this was lovely. I didn’t read the blurb, I just saw that Kate had a new thing and snapped it up, so I went in completely cold. I can recommend that experience, but also I know that not everybody does well that way, so I will say: WWII clairvoyants at war, also the Bayeux Tapestry, yes it absolutely makes sense in context.

Peter Hessler, Other Rivers: A Chinese Education. Hessler taught in China twice, with a generation between the experience, and in the second case he had small twin daughters who went to a Chinese school, so there’s all kinds of non-standard perspective about China and education and recent history. This was complicated for him by the fact that in the middle of the second experience…the Covid pandemic hit us. So there’s all kinds of stuff about living in China during that as well. Extremely interesting.

Jenna Satterthwaite, Made for You. I didn’t find the ending of this very satisfying, but it was compulsively, horrifyingly readable. Its protagonist is an android who was made to fit a man on a dating show, and half of the narration is that thread, their time on the dating show (I said horrifying already, right), and the other half is after they’re married and have a child and he’s disappeared. Very hooky, kind of disappointing in the end.

Bill Schutt, Bite: An Incisive History of Teeth, from Hagfish to Humans. Too many humans in this book. (Do I have that reaction too often, yes, probably.) But still lots of interesting stuff about other species, and maybe you’re more interested in human teeth than I am, I expect a lot of people are. Maybe not a lot. But some. And even I could stand the human part.

Manisha Sinha, The Rise and Fall of the Second American Republic: Reconstruction, 1860-1920. I feel like Sinha had about six books her research could have supported, and what she didn’t manage to do was either narrow the focus to write only one of them or make her overview broadly compelling. The wealth of small details felt scattered and didn’t quite come together. I especially wanted more about the people she wrote about in the introduction–for example Northern Black schoolteachers who went South to teach during the Reconstruction. Let’s get a whole book about them. This one was mainly frustrating.

A. C. Wise, Out of the Drowning Deep. Do you like weird space religion? Because this is absolutely full of weird space religion. It’s a novella that just goes hard on the weird space religion front and does not quit. Wise is another author I find compellingly readable, even if I’m often a hard sell on angels.

Clara Benson, A Case of Murder in Mayfair. Kindle. Second in its series, keeps the 1920s upper class England vibe up, if you liked the first one you’ll like this one but you can also start here, it’s the kind of mystery series that will fill you in on who’s who and what’s what when you need to know.

Agatha Christie, Nemesis and Why Didn’t They Ask Evans?. The latter of the two is a fine enough Christie mystery, not one whose solution provides enough information to try to guess it but a reasonable read if that’s not what you’re looking for in mysteries. The former has a few absolutely vicious moments of sexism, including a firm fixation on repeating a really horrid view of rape, and it reminds me why I was letting other people filter my Christie reading for a while until I got impatient. So I’ll have a bit of a break before getting more of these.

Gwynne Garfinkle, Sinking, Singing. Discussed elsewhere.

Susanna Gibson, The Bluestockings: A History of the First Women’s Movement. The middle of the 18th century was a fascinating time for a lot of things, and this history (group biography?) does a beautiful job of combining larger themes and fascinating nuggets of trivia. The organization of it is occasionally a bit scattered, but not enough to ruin the book.

Rigoberto Gonzalez, ed., Latino Poetry. Four hundred years of American Latine poetry, organized chronologically, gets to poetry I consider “recent” quite quickly but then is hundreds of pages of that from highly varied voices. Really worth the time, will almost certainly introduce you to at least a few poets you didn’t know before (and possibly several, depending on your reading habits). And as with most large poetry anthologies, if you don’t like one, you’ll be on to another soon.

Sarah Hilary, No Other Darkness. Second volume in its mystery series, grimmer and darker than most of the mysteries I’ve been reading. This one has child injury and child death very much front and center, so if that’s not something you’re interested in coping with in a novel, this one isn’t for you. Hilary seems to be grappling in fiction with what we currently think and know about post-partum psychosis.

Meg Howrey, The Cranes Dance. Two ballet dancer sisters deal with the mental health crisis one of them has while the other attempts to maintain her career. Beautifully written, but almost all the characters are absolute jerks, so if you don’t like reading an entire novel about jerks trying to work in the arts, this will not be for you.

Laurie R. King, The Art of Detection. Kindle. This one did not work for me. I’m not sorry I read it, it’s in a series I like and it was not a terrible read, but it featured a lengthy (lengthy, pals) Sherlock Holmes pastiche in the middle, that was treated as if it was a good pastiche, and I didn’t think it was. I know her Mary Russell mysteries are quite popular, but the few I read of those (I prefer this series, the Kate Martinelli series) were attempting to go on and do their own thing, not just neatly pastiche Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The interesting part was that it was a contemporary novel from just long enough ago that a few things made me gasp with remembering what it was like then.

Lydia Moland, Lydia Maria Child: A Radical American Life. This is a really good biography of a writer and activist who is not as well known as she might be, and whose abolitionism led her to feminism without letting go of its focus. Moland does an excellent job at liking but not lionizing her subject, making Child’s flaws clear but also placing them in their larger historical context. Recommended.

Ben Orlin, Math for English Majors: A Human Take on the Universal Language. This is my friend Ben’s latest effort in the direction of helping people who aren’t as comfortable with math understand it a bit more, or perhaps in the direction of helping those of us who are super-comfortable with math understand some different ways to talk to people about it. Amusing and not a big time commitment, towards goals I support.

Sarah Rees Brennan, Long Live Evil. This is one of the recent trend of portal fantasies where the protag is the villain in the fantasy world. It’s tropey and snarky, but I think the thing that makes it stand out from the other tropey snarky books in this sub-genre is that Sarah Rees Brennan draws on her own experience of critical illness in ways that go counter-trope, in ways that are completely and heartbreakingly real. In with the villains having a dance number from the musical version.

Cynthia Saltzman, Plunder: Napoleon’s Theft of Veronese’s Feast. Lots of stuff about Veronese’s painting, lots of stuff about Napoleon’s relationship with the material goods of the lands he was attempting to conquer. Not a particularly long book but interesting.

Laura J. Snyder, Reforming Philosophy: A Victorian Debate on Science and Society. John Stuart Mill and William Whewell did not agree on a lot. Snyder points out some of the stuff they did agree on, and for the most part also points out how they did not acknowledge even those points of agreement. But in any case it’s a lot of interesting stuff about what science even is, how it is supposed to work or has to work, all kinds of stuff where everybody was wrong (at least by our current, probably also wrong, standards), but it was interesting to see how we got here from there.

Noel Streatfeild, Caroline England. Kindle. Do you want a novel-length thing with the same theme as Philip Larkin’s “This Be the Verse”? (You know, “They fuck you up, your mum and dad….”) Because that’s what this is. It predates the Larkin by several decades, but yeah: “wow do people’s family relationships and childhoods mess them up in varying ways.” Okay, I guess, if that’s what you’re looking for.

Sara Imari Walker, Life As No One Knows It: The Physics of Life’s Emergence. The main thing in this book that I didn’t already have a solid grasp on was assembly theory, but that was a very cool thing to be exposed to. I think it’s a well-written popular history that should be clear to people at a wide variety of levels of prior knowledge of biophysics and astrobiology. A trivial but interesting feature of this book is that Walker decided to use the convention of referring to people by their given names instead of their family names after first reference–I would have said “Sara decided” if I’d been writing it the same way she did. So Mary Shelley became Mary, Albert Einstein Albert, and so on. Very cozy and collegial but I can’t see my way clear to doing it; not only am I entirely too comfortable with the distinction between “I had the nicest chat with my friend Fran” and “Wilde’s prose really shines in the jewel stories” distinguishing the personal from the analytical, but many of the eras I like to consult have a dozen and a half of Mary, Elizabeth, and Anne, with never a respite into Rotrude or Jennifer, and having to resort to Mary A. and Mary S. to distinguish whether we’re talking about fossils or novels would make me feel like I was back in Mr. Habrock’s kindergarten class. Still, it was fine for a book worth of someone else doing it.

Review copy provided by the author, who has been a friend On Here since forever.

This is a compact short story collection, reprinting Garfinkle’s work on this theme rather than attempting to be a Complete Works or even a Greatest Hits situation. In these pages you’ll find work reminiscent of her novel, Can’t Find My Way Home, in its focus on mid-late twentieth century and music through a speculative lens.

It’s a quiet volume, none of the stories flashy and high-concept. What it does well is focus on small moments of yearning, epiphanies or more often longing for epiphanies that might prove elusive, because this is not a tidy collection, this is a not a collection where the protagonists get what they want at the end of each story, neatly in a bow. It is always, through all its timelines, more human than that.