Month: March 2026

Review copy provided by the publisher.

The line between mosaic novel and themed short story collection is a very blurry one, but I spent 99% of this book fairly sure that it was in the latter category. And then I got to the end and I don’t know any more. These stories are linked thematically and by their science fictional world conceit. There’s not an overarching character arc for any characters told in these tales.

…unless, as I was carefully taught as a high school sophomore, the setting can be a character, in which case there absolutely is character arc here, and a very settling/satisfying one too. These science fiction stories have a consistent thread of using technology to reach out to the natural world and to heal the things that are already broken in our time. There’s a wide range of characters–dolphins, robots, cats! humans I guess if you need those!–and they are generally not perfect but doing their best, which is basically my favorite kind of characters.

I am not the target audience for the type of mini-comic that appears in a few places throughout the book, but these particular examples of the form are charming and fit well with the stories around them. I feel like “now, more than ever” is one of those cliches I don’t want to lean too hard on in 2026, but also now, more than ever, we really do need stories about doing the best we can with what we’ve got, and these are that, and I’m so glad they’re all in one place to lean on.

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.