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[mczreads]

The Girl the Sea Gave Back

Adrienne Young

Published September 3, 2019 by Wednesday Books.

1 star

A good book will have me hooked in 50 pages. The Girl the Sea Gave Back had me seething in rage by that point.

I know ARCs are uncorrected, but the sheer amount of errors present in this book, and their severity, made me question the author’s writing ability. This ARC reads like a first draft that the author turned in without looking over her work. All spoken dialogue took me ages to decipher because the use of commas and periods in speech is wrong 99% of the time. I can overlook small typos if they don’t affect the content (I get and send texts and emails with “the the” or an omitted “of” all the time, and the message is still readable), but mistakes like a pronoun changing mid-conversation left me struggling to piece together exactly what was happening for most of the book. This was less of a problem than I anticipated, only because nothing much was happening in this book.

The Girl the Sea Gave Back, the companion novel/sort-of sequel to Sky in the Deep, takes place ten years after the events of the later. Tova, the titular character, is a Truthtongue, someone with the ability to cast and read runestones. She is found on the shore as a young child and taken in by a clan that despises her for reasons never explained or elaborated upon. In another clan, Halvard, all grown up from his appearance in Sky in the Deep, trains to become the next chief. The narration cycles between the two characters as they try to avoid war between their two clans.

The strongest parts of the book are the battles scenes and the scenery descriptions. Young can create a beautiful, atmospheric setting. But every other part of the book was lacking. Even if an editor cleaned up the typographical errors, the issues in the story--slow pace, forced romance, a complete lack of world building--would render this a 2-3 star read. As it is in the ARC, it needs a major rewrite.

I normally don’t quote ARCs because there’s a chance the words can change, but for the record, this is the point where I would have put this book on my DNF shelf: “She’d only opened her eyes to the sound of boots hitting the stone and before she’d even been able to scream, she was being dragged through the forest screaming.”

[mczreads]

The Nightjar

Deborah Hewitt

Published September 3, 2019 by Tor Books.

3 stars

Alice Wyndham is afraid of birds. So she does not take kindly to Crowley when he appears, tall and cryptic, to tell her she’s an aviarist: someone with the power to see nightjars, invisible birds that guard each person’s soul. Alice wants nothing to do with her newfound identity until her best friend, Jen, is gravely hurt. Crowley promises that Jen can be saved if her nightjar is rescued, so Alice follows him to a parallel, magical London called the Rookery. Here she trains, desperate to develop her aviarist abilities in time to save Jen before the Rookery’s warring factions turn her abilities toward a darker goal.

The Nightjar hits all the familiar notes of the British portal-to-a-magic-world books I read growing up—Narnia, Harry Potter, etc.—but with a more sinister tone. The world building and the side characters were the strongest details in the story, and I closed the book wishing I knew more about them. Alice’s story is compelling, but about two-thirds of the way through the book, the plot twists and double-crossing were starting to make me dizzy. Fewer shocking plot twists and more character development would have made this book an instant classic. As it is, The Nightjar is a fast-paced, gritty adventure, great for fans of contemporary urban fantasy.

Spoilers after the cut.

[[MORE]]

I’m a sucker for stories where magic-havers are grouped based on magical abilities. Avatar: the Last Airbender and Children of Blood and Bone are great examples. In The Nightjar, residents of the Rookery can join Houses based on their abilities (called “legacies” in the book). I appreciated the nuance of this system. House membership is not automatically granted, since applicants have to prove their skill level to join. Legacies seem to ne roughly genetic, so it’s not uncommon for characters to have either a strong talent for fire manipulation with latent metal control, or only moderate skill with both plants and water. I enjoyed this creative take on an otherwise very simple system. I would’ve loved to learn more about all the Houses and the side characters Alice meets along the way.

Speaking of side characters: Jude, one of Alice’s flatmates in the Rookery, uses a wheelchair. I was deeply impressed that it was depicted respectfully (I say this as someone who does not use mobility aids, so I’d appreciate a wheelchair user’s take on this). Jude is simply described as moving around in a chair, just like Sasha, Alice’s other flatmate, is described as always wearing a necklace and Crowley is described by his stoic facial expressions. Everyone in Jude’s life knows he uses a wheelchair, no one makes a big deal about it, and there’s no mention of using magic to fix or cure Jude because there’s nothing wrong with him. This inclusion, especially in a fantasy setting, reminded me how rare it is to find a disabled character in a book that isn’t explicitly about disability (in the 100+ books I’ve read this year, I can only remember one other book with a character using a wheelchair) and how much more work there is to do in the industry to push for better representation.

The rest of the book was either exactly what I expected or fell below expectations. The newcomer to the world has the rarest magical ability? Check. The asshole stranger who the protagonist swears is not her type creates a ton of sexual tension? Check. The plot was much more twisty than I anticipated, which others may enjoy, but I found myself wanting to stop and see the characters more fully fleshed out. Everyone exists to further Alice’s story, so once she learns what she needs from them, the reader never spends more time with them. I also felt Alice’s growth was stunted. Most of the plot involves her throwing herself at the nearest bad idea out of the desire to have a degree of control, as opposed to waiting for others to decide what she should do. She never seems to grasp the damage she’s doing along the way until the very end of the book. The ending was satisfying in that she finally has a say in her life and her abilities, but it came at such a high cost that I the payoff was bittersweet.

Still, I loved the writing and the characters in this new world. I can see myself re-reading this book occasionally, and I’d interested if the author wrote another book either in this world or with a similar style. I’m glad I read it, and I hope others enjoy it, too.

[mczreads]

House of Salt and Sorrows

Erin A. Craig

Published August 6, 2019 by Delacorte.

2.5 stars

I need to be clear about one point: I loved this book. I chose it as my add on through Book of the Month Club, and the description set up my expectations to be met with almost unsettling accuracy. There’s a specific satisfaction that comes from getting exactly what you expect. But like a 7-11 hot dog, just because a product is familiar and satisfying doesn’t mean it’s good.

House of Salt and Sorrows is a retelling of The Twelve Dancing Princesses by the Brothers Grimm. In this adaptation, we join Annaleigh Thaumas and her family at the funeral of the fourth sister to die in a tragic accident. Their culture’s long mourning period and the frequency of the accidents have left the family in mourning for years, delaying the older sisters’ coming-out parties and other social events required of a noble family. The family’s standing is also threatened by the circulating rumors that the remaining girls are cursed. When the sisters find a doorway that allows them to travel across the kingdom and dance at balls where no one knows their tragic circumstances, Annaleigh thinks they’ve found relief. But Annaleigh is haunted by visions of her dead sisters, and fears that she and the others may be in danger. She must discover who is targeting her family before anyone else dies.

The book pulls off the atmospheric creepiness of the original tale well. This feels like a classic Gothic tale with cold, dangerous scenery and heightened emotions. I also loved the world building details; Annaleigh comes from a society of island dwellers, and the nautical theme appears literally everywhere. It’s a great distraction for the imagination, but I wouldn’t be surprised if all the Houses from Games of Thrones sent a raven to tell these characters to tone it down a notch. The descriptions of Annaleigh’s ghostly visions are sufficiently creepy, and make this book well-suited for the pre-Halloween season. But going from the graphic descriptions of corpses to equally detail descriptions of ballgowns creates emotional whiplash. (I personally enjoyed the pages upon pages of fashion, but I recognize that it has all the thrill of watching someone spend hours in Create-A-Sim mode). Unfortunately, this is where all originality ends. The story beings to play YA Fantasy Bingo, and in its attempt to hit every square, it gets all tangled up and ends in confusion.

Spoilers after the cut.

Adhering to exactly twelve princesses for this retelling burdens the story; a faithful adaptation could have been done with far fewer characters. Craig did herself a favor by dropping the reader into the story after four of the girls have already died--the funeral immediately sets the tone, and the reader doesn’t have to spend pages being introduced to characters who exist to die for the sake of plot. Of the remaining eight sisters, I could only keep track of four: Camille, the heir now that her elder sisters have died; Annaleigh, our narrator; Lenore, one of a set of triplets; and Verity, one of the three youngest sisters collectively called “The Graces” (for being named Mercy, Honor, and Verity) (the fact that it is not the triplets that have themed names and a group nickname confused me for half the book). Lenore and Verity have their moments of independence that set them apart from their otherwise interchangeable sisters. The lack of personality makes it almost a relief when the other sisters are killed off, because at least there are fewer cardboard cutouts to keep track of. I want to give the author a redo, because I feel like this could have been a great, dark adaptation with fewer princesses if each character was developed enough that their deaths mattered.

I have other nitpicks in this story--the love triangle with the childhood best friend and the handsome stranger is forced and tired, the same handsome stranger has demigod powers that are later made useless--but I could have forgiven them if the ended had been at all satisfying. Instead, the cause of all the Thaumas family suffering claims the reader as a final victim. Annaleigh discovers that a deity who can make people see things that aren’t real has been tormenting the family. I’m here for all the dark trickster goddesses, but then the final plot reveals are made during a vision where nothing is real. This device makes it nearly impossible to distinguish what is true and what is part of the illusion, because the line between what appears real but should be disregarded and what appears real and must be accepted as truth seems completely arbitrary. It’s hard to accept Annaleigh’s revelations when she’s still caught up in an illusion. I want to buy this book’s editor a drink, because I can’t think of any way this could have been salvaged.

Unfortunately, this messy conclusion is what brings the book down from “average but acceptable” to “guilty pleasure.” If you see it at the library, stop to admire the gorgeous cover, but only check it out if you think a tropey Gothic fantasy will appeal to you.

[mczreads]

Gods of Jade and Shadow

Silvia Moreno-Garcia

Published July 23, 2019 by Del Ray.

4 stars

Casiopea Tun yearns to leave her life of servitude and see the big cities of the world. She dreams of fast dances and faster cars, finding temporary escape through books, while her family forces her to cook and clean and tend to her cruel grandfather and her equally awful brat of a cousin, Martín. One day, she opens a trunk in her grandfather’s bedroom and unleashes the god of death. Hun-Kamé, Lord of Xibalba, requires Casiopea to travel with him to restore his godhood and reclaim the throne of the underwold from his brother, Vucub- Kamé. The ensuing story is part fantasy quest through Mexico and Xibalba, and part coming-of-age tale as Casiopea experiences the power of her words and choices.

The direct narration style and the taut thematic threads reminded me of the fairy tales and myths I read as a child. In those tales, an omniscient narrator tells us the stepmother is wicked, the princess is the most beautiful, and the warrior is cunning: thus it is so. The point of those stories is not so much the motivations of each character, but the lessons learned from being cruel or brave or clever. Gods of Jade and Shadow strikes a balance between a traditional fairy tale of archetypes and a contemporary novel with developed characters. At times the story can feel like it is telling instead of showing, but given the subject matter, I can forgive this stylistic choice.

The alternating settings of 1920s Mexico and the Xibalba heighten the supernatural aspects of the story; the Jazz Age encourages new trends in fashion, music, and technology, which seem frightening to those clinging to tradition, while the Mayan underworld remains constant and eternal, yet utterly surreal.

I haven’t read a true fantasy book months, and this novel was a gratifying return to the genre. I felt grumpy whenever I was kept from reading, and now that I’ve finished it I want to re-read it immediately. I’d recommend this book to anyone, but more specifically to people I know so that we can enthuse over it together.

Spoilers behind the cut.

I am a simple, flawed human who knows what she enjoys. When I saw this listed as a Book of the Month selection, I had a feeling it would satisfy at least one of my interests: 1) world mythology, 2) a young person lives the life they deserve after they stop feeling obligated to garbage people, 3) mortal and immortal fall in love after a dozen chapters of angst and pining. I got lucky on all three counts, though not in the way I expected.

Humans are storytellers, and I will always enjoy reading the myths different societies establish. I’m woefully ignorant about Mayan mythology, so everything god and monster introduced in the story was new to me. That was a relief. I wasn’t distracted by details that didn’t match the stories I heard previously, which sometimes happens in books with Greek and Roman figures, so I was able to focus on how their existence functioned in the story. I’m also a sucker for characters who love books and writing. Casiopea’s beloved father was a poet. Books are her comfort, and once she leaves home, they are her only frame of reference for everything outside her daily life. She can’t help but compare everything to a story, even as she reminds herself that life is not a fairy tale. Moreno-Garcia plays with the reader’s expectations of a story as well. She lays the narrative track early, so by the time the reader arrives at the climax, there’s an unshakeable feeling that the ending has already been decided. There’s the possibility of other endings--and part of me hoped it would end differently than it did--but none of them would have honored the story or been true to Casiopea’s character.

Moreno-Garcia says her book is not YA, but Casiopea is a young adult and her character arc is the unifying element of the story. I loved getting to know her and seeing her react to increasingly higher stakes. Casiopea is opinionated and has a strong sense of justice; she gets in trouble because she holds everyone to a high moral standard. This gets her in trouble with her family, who treat her mainly as a servant, but is particularly aggravating to her cousin, Martín. Martín is the only male heir of the wealthy family, an attractive young man who secretly fears leaving the familiarity of his hometown where everyone knows to treat him with respect. He’s mediocre yet entitled, which seems like it should be harmless but in the real world seems to cause the most damage. He is weak, and Casiopea recognizes his weakness, so the two clash often. The usurper Vucub- Kamé selects Martín as his mortal champion, and Martín’s behavior at the command of the god compared to Casiopea’s highlights her bravery. Of course, she is not fearless, and her trepidation manifests at what seem to be ordinary instances. When her hair is cut short in flapper style, her anxiety is both endearing and telling. She is a young woman, and her small Catholic town and society at large has plenty of opinions of what a young woman should look like. Readers can tell that living with an oppressive family in a judgemental town has deeply affected Casiopea, and watching her overcome these small moments of apprehension is satisfying to anyone who’s tried to overcome their internalized toxicity.

The most compelling part of the story for me was the relationship between Casiopea and Hun- Kamé, and I feel like this dynamic will be the deciding factor in other’s enjoyment of this book. There’s plenty of valid criticism of stories where young women fall in love with men with more life experience, through either age or immortality. When Casiopea opened the trunk containing Hun- Kamé’s remains, a bone shard pierces her hand and the resulting blood revives him. This bone shard connects them, allowing him to grow stronger but draining her of life. The reanimated Hun- Kamé appears as a grown man and seems dismissive toward Casiopea’s hesitance to travel with him; after all, he is a god, and human morality doesn’t apply to him. I felt a fair amount of trepidation at the start of their relationship. What mitigated the creep factor for me was that while they are connected, Casiopea’s mortality turns Hun- Kamé more human. His body appears physically younger and parts of his godly consciousness fade; he loses the perspective of a god and starts to react as a human would. He gains more respect for Casiopea’s views and behaves accordingly. The more equal footing makes their eventual attraction more palatable. In the end, even though there is an option to be together, Casiopea is the one who decides they should honor their original desires and reclaim the throne for Hun- Kamé, even if it means they can’t be together. As gratifying as a slow-burn romance can be, I think it’s even more rewarding when young characters recognize that the overlap between being in love and being satisfied is actually only a small part of a larger Venn diagram.*

The novel ends with Casiopea driving--not riding--into the distance, after all the narrative threads have been knotted off. It’s the ending the story deserved, though I would love to read more about these characters. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a sequel, and in the meantime, I’ll be looking for an excuse to re-read this book.

*I say this as someone who pouted for a few hours before actually finishing the book.

[mczreads]

If You Want to Make God Laugh

Bianca Marais

Published July 16, 2019 by G. P. Putnam’s Sons.

4 stars

My copy of this book is an ARC. Any details mentioned here may differ from the published version.

Zodwa returns from school carrying painful secrets and believes she has been cursed. Delilah steps away from her career in an orphanage to visit a figure from her past. Ruth, unmoored from the failure of her most recent marriage, cannot move on with her life (and her debts) until she sells her childhood home. As these women cope with their regrets and desires, their connections to each other allow them to heal. Set in South Africa as apartheid ends and the HIV epidemic begins, If You Want to Make God Laugh tells the story of the power of love and the importance of dealing with trauma. The writing sparks with originality, and the genuine affection of these characters is a balm for the searing tragedy of past mistakes and an uncertain future. I was able to follow the story even though I haven’t read Marais’s other book, Hum If You Don’t Know the Words, which includes some of the same characters and is set before the events of If You Want to Make God Laugh. I will be checking the other book out just to read more of this author’s writing.

Spoilers under the cut.

Every time I thought I had the story figured out, there would be one more reveal that surprised me. For me, this was entertainment, but for the characters of the story, the constant dislodging of their ideas forces their personal growth as they grapple with the aphorism, “If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.”

The story switches between the perspectives of Zodwa, a South African teenager, and Ruth and Delilah, older Afrikaner sisters who are as different as “shooting stars and Mason jars.” Ruth and Delilah narrate in the first person, so the reader quickly becomes familiar with their voices. Ruth is a former stripper with a litany of vices as long as the python she used to pose naked with. Her narration ripples with cruel humor, both from her biting and petty commentary and from the reader’s observation that Ruth misses the most obvious details because she’s so self-centered. Her sister Delilah is a former nun, and her voice is appropriately more matter-of-fact, meditative, and at times judgemental.

The narration for Zodwa is written in the third person, and for all the worth of my creative writing degree, I cannot figure out why. Maybe Marais wanted to keep all the chapters from being too similar and therefore boring or confusing (which shouldn’t have been an issue, if the differences between Delilah and Ruth’s voices are any indication). Maybe, as a white Afrikaner herself, she didn’t want to “speak for” a character facing oppression. Maybe the chapters are from two different drafts that were pasted together and will be changed when the book is published. Whatever the reason, I wish the narration had been consistent.

This is a hefty book, but most of the chapters are short, so it feels like a quick read. The drawback is that each chapter only has a few pages to deliver its point. This brevity forces some revelations to be spelled out instead of experienced in order to keep the story moving. Still, these moments are profound, and were often my favorite moments of the book.

I’m still pondering what this book is about, so either I’m a slow processor or this book has real staying power. The most obvious theme from the title is God and religion, and faith features prominently throughout the story. Delilah is an excommunicated nun, Ruth believes in signs from the universe, and Zodwa frames her existence through traditional Zulu faith with a dash of her mother’s Christianity. But no character really has her faith challenged or entirely validated, and they all claim the same faith by the end of the story. The change happens when they process the guilt that stems from their beliefs.

Zodwa is a lesbian, and has picked up from her respected elders that this is something shameful. When she is told that she is cursed, that something about her disappoints her ancestors, she accepts both that she cannot change who she is and that she deserves whatever misfortune happens. When she is raped, and when that rape results in her pregnancy, she accepts the blame for it all. Delilah was also raped and gave birth as a teenager, and her pregnancy got her excommunicated from her beloved church by the same priest who raped her. She also blamed herself because everyone she trusted and looked to for guidance told her it was her fault. I was impressed by how the story highlights the similarities between Zodwa and Delilah and shows the effects of their shame and trauma at different stages of life. They both have to acknowledge the ways their faith conditioned them to accept the blame, and to put the blame where it belongs, in order to heal and have a faith that provides comfort and directions rather than one that burdens them. Their happy endings are well deserved.

Ruth realizes that she keeps making the same mistakes in life, so she looks to the universe for guidance.Ruth’s journey is more subtle, because rather than having some confrontation with the universe, she must instead come to terms with people around her. Her beliefs and faith are based on what works best for her; when she stops pursuing what she wants in order to do what’s best for others, she’s finally able to find peace.

Another common theme in the story is maternal love. The book isn’t quite in “babies make everyone happy” territory, but if it lost control of a Frisbee it’d have to go there to pick it up. This is partly because of the book’s tight focus: if you have three characters, and they are each connected in some way to a child, it’s going to center the story on children and the role of motherhood. At least only Ruth falls into the above-mentioned trope, and it feels obvious that she’s mistaken.

I also think this is a book about agency. All three women have some of their most important choices made for them: Zodwa’s baby is taken from her, Delilah was forced out of her vocation, and Ruth’s husband leaves her. Outside of their personal lives, their country is facing dramatic changes. Nelson Mandela is elected president. HIV is spreading almost as fast as misinformation about the disease. A local alt-right terrorist group targets their property. The outside world heightens the tension of their personal lives, so everyday decisions feel like they have higher stakes. At the end of the day, this is a story about how people--even people with broken spirits and serious misconceptions--make decisions and take action in a world where everything can be taken from you.

[mczreads]

The Golden Hour

Beatriz Williams

Published July 9, 2019 by William Morrow.

3 stars

I was given an ARC of this book by HarperCollins. This does not affect my review. Any details quoted here may differ from the published copy.

I can see why The Golden Hour is touted as a beach read. The sprawling, languid descriptions of the settings in the novel, specifically The Bahamas and Florida, set the reader’s mind in faraway places and other eras that are particularly appealing for summer. The story follows two women: Lulu, a journalist sent to the Bahamas to write about the governing Duke and Duchess of Windsor during WWII, and Elfriede, a woman sent to convalesce at an clinic in 1900 after developing postpartum depression. Both woman fall in love in their new locales and struggle to define happiness, family, and loyalty for themselves. The story alternates between the two women, revealing connections between their lives. While categorized under historical fiction, this book leans more into romance than history. And that’s fine! Just know that if you picked up the book for the real-life details of the Windsors, an unsolved murder, and espionage, those details are passing backdrops for an ongoing love story. I rated this book a 3 because it has its merits--mostly descriptive language that sings, placing the reader right where the author Williams wants--but the writing struggles with voice and accents, and the story would have been so much stronger if the protagonists could have been involved in more of the action.

Spoilers under the cut.

My ARC of The Golden Hour is over 460 pages long; the book should have delivered much more action, or it could have been edited to half its length if unnecessary filler had been cut.

Most of my frustrations are with the chapters narrated by Lulu. The author does give each protagonist her own voice, but with Lulu she narrates using dialogue filler. Narrative sentences include, “didn’t they?” or “if you know what I mean,” and even, “Now, where was I?” I sense that Williams is attempting to characterize Lulu through her voice, but these additions add nothing to the story or her character. She’s the sole American, and this could have been shown in her dialogue with the British characters she works with in Nassau. On my first trip to London, I created a misunderstanding over the word “bacon” in my first 24 hours. A similar disagreement could establish Lulu’s American identity, or her sass and humor could come across by speaking more bluntly than those around her.

Speaking of dialogue, Williams includes characters of different nationalities in this story. Lulu is American, Elfriede is German, Nassau residents are the British colonists and the hired native Bahamians, and supporting characters are from all over Europe, including Scotland. Guess which group of people speak in broken, phonetic English? If you guessed the Bahamian housekeepers and hired help, you’d be correct, and I hope you didn’t strain your eyes rolling them as hard as I did.

Accents can be tricky to write, and from a writing perspective, there’s a fine line between including details that create a living scene and writing something so jarring that it slows the reader down or takes them out of the story altogether. From a human perspective, authors have to be aware of how they’re characterizing speakers through their accents. And in this story, Williams does not treat all accents equally. The Bahamian dialect is written phonetically, a Scottish brogue is described as hard to understand and then “translated” into perfect English, and the Germans are only distinguished by dialogue tagged, “he said in a German accent.” Elfriede’s accent is mentioned once, in an English lesson from her lover, where it’s written to be adorable. The kicker is that much of Lulu’s story is spent with the Windsors during WWII, and their attitudes toward Hitler (sympathetic but not wanting to advertise it) and the Bahamians (straight up racist) are meant to shock because of course these views are wrong and of course anyone who feels this way is a bad person... yet the writing then creates a dynamic where white American, British, and German characters are written to be easier to understand, and therefore easier to sympathize with. And I’m sure that’s not what Williams intended! It’s aggravating to see an author undermine her own point because she didn’t examine her biases, and I wish a beta reader or editor had pointed this out.

The details I was most excited to read about--the Windsors dealing with the ramifications of David’s abdication, and the murder of Harry Oakes--occur around Lulu, but do not involve her. She’s hired to write about the Windsors, yes, and she yearns to write about the real news instead of a glorified gossip column. But nothing comes of her yearning, as she continues to humanize the Windsors, specifically the notorious Wallis, even as she suspects that they’re involved in illicit dealings. There’s no dramatic reveal or dangerous confrontation. The reader is merely informed that the Windsors were plotting treason. Similarly, the murder of Harry Oakes occurs while Lulu preoccupied with her lover, which would be fine if she were at least involved in the fallout. You’d expect a journalist to cover an infamous murder trial, right? Except Lulu’s just a columnist, so the story skips over the investigation and trial, and the reader learns the outcome through gossip at a party (and again, the Windsors are involved in ways that aren’t entirely legal). The final 30 pages of the book include all the best action, but it’s done by other characters while Lulu waits.

The bones of a killer summer read are all present in The Golden Hour. Williams can compose some solid writing. Take this description of a long train ride: “Margaret lights a cigarette and stares out the window at the passing shadows, black on black, while I settle myself against the corner and listen to the rhythmic clatter, metal on metal.” Doesn’t that echo the same “rhythmic clatter” she describes? Doesn’t the sentence feel like the rocking of a train through the dark? But her skill makes the omission of any significant action almost cruel. This could have been a longer story of intrigue and romance, or it could have been a short story of love, but in the end it only partially delivers.

[mczreads]

About this blog...

Hello! I’m Megan, or MCZ. I work in publishing, but my job deals strictly with legal notices. This blog is to indulge my love of novels.

I’ve won a pile of Advanced Reader Copies (ARCs) of new and upcoming books, so I’ll be highlighting those here as well as books I’ve purchased. For 2019 I’d like to highlight new and recent books. The focus of the blog may shift in the future. My preferred genres are literary fiction, historical fiction, YA, memoir, and narrative nonfiction. I’m happy to read outside these genres if a book catches my interest.

My rating system is as follows:

5: Stunning book. Original and artistic writing. Subject matter lingers with you after finishing. Wouldn’t change anything about the book.

4: Great book. Solid writing with memorable lines. Important or interesting subject matter. Might be stronger with a few tweaks, but would still recommend.

3: Good book. Writing might be effective but doesn’t stand out. Entertaining subject, but may be narrow in scope. One or more elements that detract from the story.

2: Multiple issues, which may include poor writing, shallow subject material, or the story does not answer the book’s premise.

1: Did not finish, or the book should not have been published as is.

.5 will be used when elements of the story belong in different categories.