"You’re living for a dream of a home that no longer exists."

At once intimate and sweeping, Pachinko takes us on a journey of one Korean family's struggle for survival, first in Korea, then in Japan. Set against the backdrop of Japan's brutal occupation of Korea, these poignant characters and their enduring legacy will linger in my mind long after I've turned the final page.

From the very first moment, the story transported me. Min Jin Lee has this way of writing that feels both straightforward and beautifully stirring. Her characters are fully realized, the plot tightly wound and historically relevant. But it's her deftness at capturing the range of emotions through the entire narrative arc of four generations of a single family that really sets her writing apart.

For such a long book, it certainly didn't feel like it. I always go on and on about how I want an immersive read to really sink my teeth into, and this was it. I flew through it, gobbling up this family saga and feeling bereft when I reached the end and had to say goodbye.

At its core, this story pays tribute to the immigrant experience and the need in all of us to find a place we can call home. Every character in here, through whatever trials and tribulations come their way, remains steadfast in their fervent hope to belong. They left their motherland of Korea, and the people there no longer consider them countrymen. But their new adopted country of Japan doesn't want them either, viewing them with contempt and loathing. In the face of such alienation from all sides, where can one call home?

I find Lee's portrayal of the often diverging experiences for different generations in the same immigrant family to be particularly astute. Sunja is first generation, making unimaginable choices and sacrifices to give her children a better life. But her children cannot possibly understand the costs and hardships they've never paid nor experienced, and so this wide gulf opens between the parent and the child. And that gulf can never be bridged, for in Sunja's shielding of her children from her struggles, she also prevents them from ever truly understanding who she is.

My heart ached for these characters. They go through so much, leaving everything they know behind—their families, their homes, their culture and language—just to have a chance to put food on the table and not go hungry. But it's not all sadness and anguish. There's still joy and happiness and love to be found. It just goes to show that life goes on, even in the most uncertain of circumstances, and that the human spirit endures.

Regarding the Japan-Korea conflict that serves as the backdrop, it's clear Lee did extensive research for this story. There is a level of authenticity embedded within that cannot possibly be imitated other than for the author to have heard firsthand what really happened during that period. Going in, I didn't realize the extent of Japan's aggression and occupation throughout Korea, so this story was particularly enlightening in that regard. It put a lot into perspective and helped me understand the feelings of hostility and resentment that still linger to this day, many decades after the war has ended.

When it comes to historical fiction, I can be hard to please. Often, I find the treatment of the main historical event (which is almost always a war) to be too heavy-handed, weighing down the whole narrative with a pervasive despair that feels more like emotional manipulation or trauma porn. Or that the treatment is too light, leading to shallow characters acting out frivolous desires not at all in line with famine and war. But this story gets it right, putting its characters center stage, and we never lose sight of their dignity and humanity through their struggles.

If I had one quibble, it would be that the first half of the book felt just a smidge more gripping than the second half. There were fewer characters, and I was really able to immerse myself into the tighter dynamics. As the story went on and the family got larger through the generations, it necessitated introducing more characters. And the flipping back and forth between so many different people and also the timeline jumps forward through the years lost some of the book's prior focus and momentum. But that is really a small quibble in an otherwise peerless tale.

When I come across a gem of a book like this, it's often hard to distill my thoughts down to just a few paragraphs. So much of this story feels special. But maybe the one overarching reason is that in this one Korean family—in their intense familial bond, their resilience and sacrifice, their unwavering hope for the future—we really see ourselves and the history of our own families reflected back to us.

What an absolutely stunning literary masterpiece this turned out to be. With its quietly deft prose and memorable characters, it sweeps across the landscape of historical fiction and family sagas, and cements itself as a classic of our time.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

"A table surrounded by suspects in a house full of secrets? I wouldn't miss it for the world. Time to give that jar of hornets a good old shake."

Oh my! The Murder at World's End had no business being so much fun.

I feel like murder mysteries are a dime a dozen. And the ones that purport to kick off a whole series of murderous shenanigans? Well, that's pretty much all of them. But most end up being meh to middling, with the sort of lackluster implementation that makes me question if I still even like the genre, let alone want to come back for more. So when I find one that actually grabs me, I get pretty darn excited.

We kick off this story with a little tie-in to Halley's Comet, and my interests were immediately piqued. It was such an unusual start to a murder mystery, I couldn't help but be intrigued. Then we're introduced to our main character Stephen and our setting of Tithe Hall, and our murderous little adventure is off to the races.

Every component of this story—the characters, the dialogue, even the mystery itself—felt a little bit different than your usual fare. And that unexpectedness kept me on my toes. It automatically means that I was paying more attention and I was more invested because I had no idea where it was all going. And I couldn't gobble it up fast enough.

There is a chaotic element to the way this story unfolded, and while I normally shy away from such a thing (neat and orderly for me, please), it totally worked here. Add to that the zippy writing and the actually laugh-out-loud dialogue, and the whole thing gave off such a wacky and spirited vibe.

Regarding the mystery itself, my bar is high. I've read a ton of mysteries, so it's rare for any of them to surprise me. And this did not. In fact, the book made what I assumed was an unforced error, which clued me in pretty early on. [View spoiler below] But that didn't affect my enjoyment one bit.

In fact, the way the mystery unfolded, with its attention to clue-gathering and focus on science and facts, was particularly appealing to me. It's always fun when a mystery lets you play along by giving you all the same clues that its fictional detectives have so that you can also have a crack at it. And it harkens back to the style of the Golden Age of mysteries, which prioritizes the inherent puzzle of the whodunnit over more modern fixations of outrageous twists and psychological drama.

Maybe my only warning is that there is a small amount of swearing in here. I personally think that swearing in the right place and the right time can add emphasis and even a bit of comedic relief, and this book got it right on both counts. But I know not every reader agrees, so just be aware if you're sensitive to that.

So yes, no doubt about it, I enjoyed this very much. And I'll definitely be counting down the days until book 2 is out and in my hands.

I didn’t have anything to say to that. I just stood opening and closing my mouth like a fish pulled out of the ocean and slapped on the deck.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

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[Spoiler] As soon as Temperance joined their investigative trio, the gig was up. The series is titled "Stockingham & Pike" and the only possible way she's not on the bill is if she dunnit.

Was this supposed to funny? Cause I didn't laugh.

Going in, I thought Yesteryear would be a slam dunk for me. But now I've found myself in the unexpected position of being just about the only one who didn't like it.

I thought this story was going to be about a traditional wife, one who wants to stay at home and revel in the domesticity of child rearing, cleaning, and cooking, all the while playing it up for the cameras of her social media account. And then one day, she actually wakes up in the 1800s and bumbles around, much to her consternation and our amusement. Now wouldn't that have been an interesting story? But instead, I got something else altogether.

You see, Natalie doesn't revel in the role. She only pretends to. Instead of spending her life doing what she actually enjoys, she inexplicably tortures herself into living a life she can't stand and faking her enjoyment of it, all the while looking down at every single person who doesn't adhere to her view of what a traditional woman should be. And so right off the bat, I'm confused. Because what exactly is the point here?

As is every story, it all comes down to the characters. And Natalie never gelled into a real, coherent one for me. She hates being a mother, but keeps having more kids. She hates farming, but insists on living on a farm. She doesn't like her husband, but screams at her sister for divorcing. And through it all, she documents every step for social media just so she can pretend some more. Yeah, I didn't get it.

There's a level of cynicism here that was hard to stomach. Natalie had a constant, internal dialogue of hate towards just about everyone who wasn't her, and it was painful to read. She viewed herself as a victim with no choice, even though every decision was hers the whole way through and she could've stopped at any time.

But Natalie isn't real, she's the creation of the author. So I feel like I'm forced to ask why Caro Claire Burke chose to write Natalie this way. It felt unnecessarily mean-spirited and cruel. Sure, there are women out there who want to have lots of kids and make every meal from scratch and let their husbands be the sole breadwinner of the family. But so what? I certainly wouldn't write a whole story just to make fun of them.

I understand this is supposed to be satire, but it really missed the mark. Satire isn't just the act of mocking. In order to be effective, it also has to say something of substance. But the problem here is that even when presented with a slew of worthwhile topics, the book instead chose to eschew them all in favor of returning again and again to focus how deranged Natalie is, all the while punishing her for her views.

When you go so over the top, you end up losing the humanity underneath, and it becomes harder to see these characters as real people. Instead of being subversive and feminist, this book actually reinforces the awful idea that women are crazy and can't be trusted to figure out what they really want.

And maybe that's at the crux of my negative feelings. When you create a character that's so spiteful and unhinged, you're essentially walking them down a path of mental illness. And I guess I just don't find yet another story about a woman acting crazy and being perceived as mentally ill to be that funny.

I'm looking at the wide gulf between my thoughts and everyone else's, and I'm honestly puzzled. Perhaps I read a different book. Or I just lack the sense of humor necessary to understand this one. Either way, I'm in the minority, so don't let me dissuade you from giving it a try.

Your mother lies to you, and then you lie to your children, and then your children lie to their children, and then you are an old woman, looking back at your own life, lying to yourself.

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

So this is a villain origin story in which the villain is not evil? Hmm, I'm not sure that works for me.

But let's backtrack a little. When it comes to fairytale reimaginings, there are two aspects that really matter. One, does the story bring something new to the table when viewed through the lens of the original fairy tale? And two, does it stand on its own as fresh and compelling? I’m sorry to say that Lady Tremaine didn’t really succeed on either front for me.

When you think about it, the evil stepmother in the original Cinderella had a distinct but abbreviated role. She was the gatekeeper to all of her stepdaughter's dreams, preventing her from living a life of love and dignity. But what did she really do from scene to scene? Well, not much. And so right off the bat, with such meager inspirations, the reimagining started to flounder.

What is there for our Lady Tremaine to do in this narrative? Well, she schemes for her daughters to get invited to the ball, then she prepares for the ball, then she attends the ball, and then she laments the wretchedness of her plans not coming to fruition after the ball. If that all seems rather bland, then yeah, that’s almost the whole tale.

Now back to the problem of Lady Tremaine not being evil in this version. What made the original character compelling is that she is both evil to the world in general as well as a fiercely "good" mother to her girls, and that juxtaposition between the two is where all the fascination lies. So to cut away the evil in its entirety is to also effectively exorcise all that is interesting about the character in the first place.

In fact, the evil isn’t just removed from Lady Tremaine, it is instead transferred to other characters. And so of course every scene with those characters—few though there were—felt fascinating and striking, and they were the origin stories I wanted and was quite frankly promised.

It wasn't until near the end that this reimagining deviated from the original and gained even a modicum of interest. But not only did the changes seem to come out of nowhere and bear no resemblance to Cinderella, they didn't even make much sense. I was honestly left a bit baffled.

I wish Rachel Hochhauser had just gone ahead and wrote a whole new story instead of deciding to follow in the limited footsteps of Cinderella. But as it stands, the parts that remained faithful to the original were bland and lackluster, while the parts that deviated (strange and perplexing though they might've been) were the only parts that held my interest at all.

I also have to mention the writing. It was ornate, often using ruminations and fancy language to give meaning to mundane happenings. It constantly pulled me out of an already glacial narrative, and it didn't do anything for me. I like complex messages as much as the next reader, but the overwrought writing here didn't match the thin plot or the lack of substance underneath.

So this was a pretty thorough disappointment for me from beginning to end. I kept waiting and waiting for the story to grab me, but it never really did. I signed up to read the origin story of a villain and instead got some uninspired and watered down version of a goody two-shoes.

Readaroo Rating: 2.5 stars

"Everyone believes their own cause is noble."

"Then may everyone do what they must to win."

Epic, beautiful, devastating—I don't think it's an exaggeration to say that The Poet Empress might just be the best historical fantasy I've ever read. And it's possible my heart may never recover.

It feels like I've been waiting all my life for this story. When you're raised on Chinese mythology, imperial dramas, and Zhang Yimou films, it's only natural to want more and better. And before anyone points me to Romance of the Three Kingdoms, I confess I craved something a little more contemporary (and a little less intimidating). So of course along comes Shen Tao to deliver everything I've ever wanted, right in her debut.

From the first page, I knew this was going to be something special. The writing is so sharp and vivid, it immediately drew me in to Wei and her plight. To be hungry and poor is her destiny and the destiny of everyone in her village. So when the opportunity arises to be concubine to the crown prince himself, what could Wei do but reach for it with both hands. She understands that to gain anything, she must first suffer. And so starts her journey into the scheming, treacherous Inner Court of the Azalea House.

So long as I was never hungry again, they could do to me anything they pleased.

What follows is a tale brimming with so much strength and resilience, and so much hope. I love strong female characters, and Wei is exactly that personified. She faces so much hardship, yet through sheer determination and cleverness, she overcomes it again and again. To cheer for Wei is to cheer for all the stories out there about little girls conquering insurmountable odds to bring nations and dynasties to their knees, and I'm so there for that.

I think one of the things that makes this story so riveting is that there is so much on the line. There is danger and death around every corner, and Shen Tao doesn't shy away from bringing the darker elements onto the pages. I often complain about low stakes ruining a story, so it's thrilling to read a book where the stakes are so high and the cost of failure so unthinkable that my heart was in my throat the whole time.

But Wei isn't perfect. In fact, no character in here is. And the exploration and revelation of every hero and every villain's good and evil is one of the most interesting aspects in this story. There are no good paths on the road to victory, only agonizing choices, so to lose bits and pieces of one's heart and soul is but a foregone conclusion. And this nuanced and complex characterization is at the center of this immersive tale's appeal.

It's also worth mentioning that this is a standalone, which I am a huge fan of. At a time when the fantasy genre tends to embrace ever longer series, it's refreshing to come across a book where the entire universe and narrative arc is kept to less than 400 pages. It means that the writing must be sharper, the plot tighter, and the resolutions more swift and satisfying. That's not to say I would mind if Tao ever decides to add to this story with a sequel, but it isn't necessary because everything is already wholly contained.

When it comes to fantasy, the one thing that makes me a little hesitant to go in is always the worldbuilding. You're just never sure what you're going to get. Will you slip right in seamlessly, or will you be spending hundreds of pages mired in the weeds before anything interesting even begins? Well, no fears here, my friends. We slip right in to a world where the rules of magic and poetry rein, but it feels as effortless as if it were our own.

But in order to enjoy this book, you do need to go in with the right expectations. First and foremost, there are parts of this story that are extremely dark. When you think about it, you can't have a tale about war and famine and suffering through the eyes of a concubine without it veering in that direction. There is abuse in all of its forms, and while it isn't gratuitous, it is present on the pages. For the right reader at the right time, that suffering adds to the authenticity and emotional resonance of the tale, but it isn't for every audience.

Secondly, in a publishing world where romantasy is the genre de rigueur and every conceivable story is implied to be one, this isn't it. This isn’t some sort of slow burn enemies to lovers, if you only waited long enough; this is enemies period. There is no romance in here whatsoever, only historical fantasy. All you readers who enjoy your fantasy with a big heaping pile of romance, you have been warned.

Sometimes I feel like what I think I want as a reader and what I actually want are two completely different things. I think I want cozy and easy, to just float on a bubble of happiness through a book. But what I actually want is to be put through the wringer, to step all over broken glass, and to feel my heart ripped out and broken and made anew. After all, what is the point of living if not to feel, what is the point of reading if not to be swept away on a tide of emotions so intense, it makes real life pale in comparison?

And so The Poet Empress achieves all that and more, coming in and completely trampling my heart and mangling my emotions. I have no doubt this fierce, lush, breathtaking story will stay with me for a long, long time.

"What is the point of suffering if we have nothing to gain?"

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

I'm disappointed I didn't enjoy The Mad Wife more. The blurb and all the glowing reviews had me believing this was a certain type of story, but it turned out to be something else entirely.

I originally picked this up thinking it was a careful exploration of what it meant to be a woman, a wife, and a mother in the 1950s (and how that might still apply to today). And the thing is, the book does start out that way. We meet Lulu, housewife extraordinaire—or at least she's trying to be with one young kid and another on the way. She lives in the Stepford-esque neighborhood of Greenwood, where all the wives stick to a very rigid schedule of cleaning and cooking to meet the "perfect housewife" standard.

But then, as the story progressed, it started to get wonky. Lulu didn't communicate, not with her husband, not with her friends, not with her family. Every time someone asked if she was all right, she said she was good and great and absolutely. But then she would get upset that they didn't read her mind or understand her. Yep, that's the sound of me sighing my way through this in exasperation.

There was also the storyline with the neighbors who moved in across the street. Lulu spends so much mental energy lamenting how others judged her for her appearance and her inability to present as the perfect housewife, yet she turned right around and judged Bitsy back, constantly making jabs to her face and behind her back. Am I supposed to be sympathetic to that? I really don't know.

It's one thing if us reader can't see where a story is going and we're taken by surprise and delight when it all comes together in the end. But it's another altogether if the author doesn't know where the story is going either. And that's the distinct feeling I got here. And so the tale ambled on, seemingly without direction or intention.

But I hung on, thinking there was some grand reveal or lesson at the end that would make all my bewilderment worth it. But when it finally unfolded, I was more puzzled than ever. What was the point of this story? If felt like the author spent the majority of time walking us down a very specific path, and then she spent the last part of the book walking it all back.

[View spoiler below]

Even the tone of the story was inconsistent and wishy-washy, contributing to the confusion I felt. It started out as dark humor very much in the vein of The Stepford Wives, with those checklists and Lulu's molded food. But then slowly and surely, the humor was dropped and all that was left was the dark. And it was very dark, make no mistake, so check your trigger warnings carefully if you're sensitive to that.

This felt so much like a bait and switch to me. I picked it up hoping for a complex look into being a wife and a mother. But by the end of the book, I wasn't sure what the heck I was reading anymore, though it certainly wasn't that.

But hey, I'm in the minority here. I see nothing but glowing reviews for this book, so don't let me dissuade you. I suspect this is a case where the story just didn't match the reader, and that happens from time to time.

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

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[Spoiler] This book is about how tough it is to be a wife and a mother in the 1950s. But no, actually, she had depression and psychosis stemming from the loss of her baby. This is about how unsupportive husbands were towards their wives. But no, actually, her husband supported her fine and it was all in her head. This is about how she had a mental breakdown from the stresses of her unfulfilling domestic life. Ah, but no again, actually she just had lupus. Like what is even going on in here?

If Evelyn Hugo put Taylor Jenkins Reid on the map, then surely Daisy Jones is the one that cements her dominance over the expansive landscape of fictional memoirs.

When you think about, what is the difference between fiction and nonfiction? Well, that's an easy question. One is real and the other is made up. Okay, but how do you differentiate between them while you're actually in the midst of a story? Ah, and herein lies the crux of what makes TJR's stories so special.

Told via interview transcripts, Daisy Jones & The Six chronicles the rise of the eponymous band that came to define rock 'n' roll in the late 1970s, as well as the troubles that subsequently led to the band splitting up seemingly overnight and never playing together again. The thing is though, this band and their entire story is fictional, but it sure doesn't feel like it.

The narrative is raw and evocative, filled with sweet, complicated characters I can't help but cheer for. There's complexity and nuance in the way TJR captures the relationships between the band members, each flawed in their own way with their individual personalities, quirks, and baggage.

Every character in here, every interaction, every thought and emotion, even the lyrics and the technical factors that go into making a band, all come together to heighten the sensation that what we're reading is real. The amount of details in here is staggering, and I applaud the author for having done so much meticulous research to build out her fictional world. The result is as authentic and gripping as the real deal.

I was captivated. I fell head first into this band and this world, and I had trouble resurfacing. There's this reader's high that you only get in the most immersive of reads—where the real world fades out and the one on the pages sharpens until it takes over your mind—and I got it here. I absolutely inhaled this whole thing, and I didn't stop, couldn't stop, until it was all done.

Going in, a lot has been made of the story's interview format; some love it, some hate it. I wasn't sure where I would fall. But of course I needn't have worried. I was hooked right from the start. It reads like an intimate first person account, allowing us to see right into the hearts and minds of every character. We lived every moment with them, feeling every emotion as if it were our own.

I will say, rock and roll is not my preferred music genre, so I was definitely a bit taken aback by how deeply invested I was in this story. I wasn't alive during the 1970s, and it would be multiple decades after that that I even began to notice American music. But that's TJR for you. She has this way of making me care deeply about things which I know nothing about and quite frankly have never given a farthing of thought to before.

Perhaps my only small quibble is that this felt almost too real. And just like real life, not everything was wrapped up in a neat bow, not everyone got the happily ever after that they deserved. In fact, no one got everything, just like real life and maybe that left me feeling a bit wistful and yearning, but for what, I don't really know.

I think to say to an author, I loved your story so much I wish it were real and I'm sad it's not and I don't want it to end, is about the highest compliment I can give. So I pay that highest compliment to TJR here. This story really showcases the range of her skills and abilities. She isn't just a writer of generic women's fiction. She can take any topic and build out a convincing, technically rich world around it, and make us see it as real. That's so impressive, and I cannot wait to see what she tackles next.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

I adore this series, and A Conspiracy in Belgravia is another fun one to add to the collection. But that adoration does come with some caveats.

First, the good stuff. I love strong female characters, and this series has it in spades. Charlotte Holmes is as clever and intrepid as ever, readily going about her day sussing out secrets left and right without ever missing a beat. It's so refreshing to follow a heroine who, when faced with adversity, is so confident in her abilities that she just uses her wits to get through any and all situations.

The repartee in here is delightful—Victorian, witty, a touch prudish—and I would often find myself lingering, rereading parts just to savor it some more. And I would be remiss if I didn't mention the sizzle between Charlotte and Lord Ingram. Their unrequited love was so sharp and visceral without ever being directly referenced that I had no choice but to swoon.

But I have to be honest. For a mystery series, the mysteries themselves are perhaps its one weakness. There are a few too many characters and subplots, a bit too much complexity in the way of the twists and turns, for this to really be easy to follow along with. And the denouement, in which everything is revealed, doesn't feel so much shocking as vaguely confusing, leaving me wondering where it all came from. Certainly I did not see the twists coming, but I'm not clear how Charlotte was able to either.

Another quibble I have is that not all the points of view were equally riveting. Charlotte, with the force of her personality, steals the show, so whenever we turn away from her to let Inspector Treadles or Livia have a turn, my attention waned. Thankfully, those sections were short, but they did slow the pace a bit for me overall.

But those really are small quibbles, and they don't unduly impact my enjoyment. The characters, their relationships with each other, the nonstop banter in the dialogue, all make this such a charming and interesting read. I hope the too-complex mysteries will get ironed out as the series matures or as we get more familiar with the characters and events at play.

Oh, one more thing to note if you're considering this. The question always comes up if one should read a series in order, and the answer here is a resounding yes! Even though each book has a self-contained mystery, there is so much backstory and character development and relationships throughout the series that to read it out of order would just be a big pile of confusion. And I do speak from personal experience, having done just that on my first go-around and lived to regret it until I finally completed my reread in the correct order.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

This is it, my moment of reckoning, and in some ways I long for it.

If characters make or break a story, then it's easy to see why Broken Country has stolen so many hearts.

I didn't really know what to expect going in. When a book is labeled as both a love story and a thriller, with promises of secrets and love triangles and death, it can easily go off the rails in the hands of the wrong author. It can slip into a soap opera, with drama for drama's sake and emotions for emotion's sake. But thank goodness that didn't happen here.

The writing was filled with so much nuance and skill, to fall into the world within was but a foregone conclusion. It took me a few chapters to really get settled, but once I did, I was fully immersed. Every scene felt vividly portrayed, every character sketched in sharp relief. It was as if I was really there, soaring with every joy and suffering through every pain.

I can't get over these characters. To say they were likable would perhaps be a step too far, but I did connect with each and every one of them. I could see bits and pieces of myself laid bare on the pages, in the precipice of the characters' decisions and in the overwhelming emotions that drove them there. They rang so true and touched me so deeply, I'm still reeling in the aftermath.

I have to take a moment to emphasize just how immersive this story was. Sometimes it feels like that's all I talk about, but that's because for me, it's just about the most important quality in a story. There's nothing worse than reading something that isn't grabbing me, while my mind checks out and tallies up chores I have to do and bills I have to pay. So when I come across a truly immersive story, I get pretty darn excited.

The narrative unfolds as a triple timeline. We spend the majority of time in the past and in the leadup to the shooting, and only a little bit of time on the trial. Looking back on it, I can see why the author chose to tell the story the way she did, and it was as effective as it was riveting.

A big deal always gets made about twists and turns whenever we're talking about a mystery, so I just want to set expectations correctly. I think if you're a mystery/thriller enthusiastic, you probably won't be that surprised here (and I wasn't). But on the other hand, if you don't read a lot of the genre, then perhaps there will be a few unexpected developments throughout. But no matter which way you land, it doesn't take away from the enjoyment of this story.

Phew, that's a lot of praise, and hopefully it hasn't scared you off, if you know what I mean. There is a certain category of books out there that seems to attract effusive compliments from readers and award-giving committees alike, but when you try to read it for yourself, they somehow come across as dull as dishwater. Or even worse, they're trauma porn out to batter your emotions simply for better ratings. But that's not this book. This book is as compulsive and unputdownable as they come, and I dare you not to read it in one go.

I think this book set out to achieve the unachievable—to be a love story and a mystery/thriller, a character driven study while being fast-paced, quiet and moving and yet still an utter delight to read—and it somehow managed to achieve them all. What a feat.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

Well, fuck me. This was about the most lackluster astronaut book I've ever read.

You have to understand, I'm a huge space nerd. I've read countless books on NASA, space exploration, astronauts, the shuttle program; you name it, I've read it. In fact, if we were to stack rank random topics, all my top spots would be taken up by everything space. So when I heard one of my favorite authors was writing a book about one of my favorite topics, I about fainted.

But right off the bat, I could tell something was off. We open with the most climactic, pivotal scene of the story. It should've grabbed me with the force of a thousand suns, but it didn't. It somehow was both too detailed and also not enough, throwing what seemed like twenty new characters at me in the span of two pages while lacking the technical details that would've convinced me we really were in the midst of a space mission. It left me feeling more confused than anything else.

Since this is a dual timeline, we then proceed to alternate between this climactic scene and the seven years leading up to it as Joan becomes a full-fledged astronaut. And while I did enjoy Joan's journey of finding herself and growing through her relationships, I can't help but feel that something was lacking here too. There was so little time spent on her actual astronaut training and so much time spent on her personal life, that it felt like I was reading generic women's lit instead of the singular, exciting story I was promised.

I zoned out constantly. There were so many characters (all introduced around the same time and none of whom stood out) that I had trouble keeping everyone straight in my head. And what should've been the exciting, technical, space portions of the book were replaced by seemingly endless discussions about constellations (my love for space does not extend to star configurations, it seems) and pseudo-philosophical chitchats about the meaning of life. I was worn down.

But even the lack of an astronaut story aside, this still had the feeling of being aggressively bland while also being overly emotional. Every scene in this book—from the contents of the pivotal scene, to the intercutting of it throughout the book, to Joan's relationships with Vanessa and Frances, to all the meaning of life chats—felt like it was set up for maximum emotional hit, almost superficially so. And while I'm not opposed to being emotionally manipulated, this book did it so openly and so obviously that I can't help but cry foul.

Looking back, I should've known my expectations were too high and I was bound for disappointment. It says right there on the cover that this is "a love story" after all. But the heart wants what it wants, and mine wanted an astronaut story, damn it.

In my defense though, what was I supposed to think? Andy Weir blurbed for this book, for crying out loud! And after Carrie Soto, in which TJR managed to take the complex, technical game of tennis and make it absolutely mesmerizing to us plebs who know nothing about the game, I thought she could write anything. After all, Carrie Soto was amazing because TJR didn't shy away from including all of its technical intricacies, not in spite of it.

So of course I thought lightning would strike twice, and TJR would do so again here. I thought I would get the perfect symbiosis of astronaut and woman, technical and emotional, science and love. But instead, the astronaut part of the story was so watered down that it felt almost like an afterthought and we'd have pretty much the same story if Joan had chosen some other career.

Clearly, I wasn't the right audience for this book. My thoughts are decidedly in the minority, and I'm pretty sure my issues here are exactly why so many other readers loved it. So don't let me dissuade you. But do set your expectations correctly before going in—this is a love story, not an astronaut story.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

Welp, that was a huge disappointment. When you talk about the distance between expectations and reality, Babel was about as far apart as you can get.

But before I get into that, let me start with a disclaimer. As you can see, I did not like this book. In fact, I'm hard pressed to come up with even one thing I enjoyed in here. But I'm decidedly in the minority, and many readers clearly loved this. If that's you and you thought this was the best thing you've ever read and would happily spend the rest of your life reading this over and over, that's totally cool. But uh, it's probably best not to read my review.

Seriously. There is a giant rant incoming, so last chance to turn back. You've been warned.

Right on, then. Let me start with my main issue here. This is clearly a tale built around the author's linguistics education and her desire to expound at length about colonialism, slavery, and racism. And I don't necessarily have a problem with that, but if you're going to go on and on about anything, there had better be some depth to it. But all I got was some regurgitation of fairly surface level stuff. And on top of that, where is even the story?

We spend hundreds of pages on Robin's linguistics and language education, during which time the author seems to have forgotten she's writing fiction and not actually a textbook. Sure, it was interesting to read about these topics initially, but when it goes on and on for hundreds of pages in the droning fashion of an actual grad-level textbook, I start to lose my patience.

Where is the insight? Where are the new and interesting ideas that would grab me and make me rethink my views on languages and by proxy, the entire world? Instead, all we get here are lots of words and what they mean and how they translate into various languages, and how there isn't a direct translation between them and so we're forced to lose a bit of meaning during the process. Like, okaaay? Do I look like I live under a rock and need this spelled out across hundreds of pages in order to grasp such a simple concept?

Then there's the puzzling factor of the footnotes. There were so many of them (at least one per page), but they weren't there to elucidate the story as you would expect. Rather, they were there to dwell on irrelevant and quite frankly boring linguistics and translation asides, contexts, and histories. Their inclusion does nothing for the already plodding pace, and I honestly can't wrap my head around why they were included in the first place.

I get that R.F. Kuang is clearly very knowledgeable about these subjects and wants to convince us that the universe she has created, and in particular, Babel, is real. And of course every storyteller faces the dilemma of how much detail to include in a bid of authenticity versus narrative pacing and flow. But Kuang, faced with this choice, always erred on the side of including everything. No detail is too small, no random linguistic tidbit too obscure, to have made it in here. As a result, I'm entirely convinced that Robin & co. are studying linguistics and languages, but since I'm not actually trying to get a PhD in these subjects, it really doesn't make for a scintillating read.

But if it were just wading through some dull passages to eventually arrive at a fascinating story, I wouldn't be so upset. Instead, we never get to the good part. This book starts and ends with the message that colonialism, racism, and slavery are all very, very bad. And while I wholeheartedly agree with that, there is nothing else of substance beyond that sentiment.

Every character, every plot development, every dialogue is in service to this message. The characters were all flat, one-dimensional representations of their respective races, with no potential for redemption or ability to rise beyond their skin color. It's odd that for a story supposedly against racism, the author employed such broad stereotypes for all of its characters.

Every plot development was clearly a way to manipulate the situation to showcase this message some more. And even the dialogues were nothing more than thinly veiled disguises, consisting of one character playing dumb so that the other character could lecture them some more (and us readers in turn) on the badness of these beliefs.

You know, there's something to be said for subtlety. My favorite books are always the ones where the author trusts the readers enough to follow along and to come to their own conclusions. Alas, that's not what happened here. Here, this book seems absolutely terrified that its readers are very dumb, so it resorts to the sort of simplistic, repetitive, heavy handed badgering usually reserved for toddlers and Communist propaganda.

But even after all this, hundreds of pages on linguistics and languages and translations, not to mention the endless discussions on colonialism, racism, and slavery, I still feel like I learned nothing new. Everything in this book is so surface level, so unimaginative, trite, and utterly predictable, that it feels like I read nothing at all.

The irony is, even with this plethora of material, I still felt somewhat fuzzy around the worldbuilding. The most interesting part of this book, how the silver relates to the languages, seems very vague and glossed over. Which means that at the end of the day, I just didn't buy into this world. And for a fantasy, that's pretty much a complete and utter flop.

Maybe if I wasn't an enthusiastic fantasy reader who craved compelling plot, rich worldbuilding, and nuanced characters, but instead was just looking for some basic ideas, then I probably would've found this story acceptable. Or better yet, if I wasn't sure how to feel about colonialism, racism, and slavery (good or bad, who can say?), then the rudimentary thoughts presented here would've enlightened my views. But as it is, this didn't do anything for me and will probably go down as my biggest disappointment of the year.

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

A delightful start to what I hope will be a very long series, A Study in Scarlet Women has everything I could want in a female Sherlock Holmes.

Lady Charlotte Holmes has chafed all her life against the restrictions placed around a woman in the Victorian era. She can't imagine a life spent doing what's expected of her, wallowing in the bland domesticity of being a wife and mother. If only there was some way she could put to use her singular talent of discomfiting strangers and acquaintances alike, perceiving and blurting out things about them they do not want anyone else to know.

Alas, it wasn't until Charlotte was forced onto the streets that she started to realize perhaps there is a use for her unusual talent after all. But she knows the only way she will be taken seriously is under the guise of a man, so Sherlock Holmes is born.

Ah, please allow me a moment to gush here. You guys know how much I love a clever female protagonist, so my adoration of this book was pretty much a foregone conclusion from the very beginning. Charlotte leaps off the pages with her strength and independence, willingly casting aside her easy societal life for the chance to make her own way in the world. Readers, I swooned.

But before I went in, I was actually a bit wary. Truth be told, I find the original Sherlock Holmes character to be somewhat abrasive and egotistical, and hence unlikable. But Sherry Thomas totally nailed it here with her spin, and Charlotte Holmes reads like a breath of fresh air. I was charmed not just by Charlotte's brain, but also by her personality and even her love for scrumptious food.

In fact, I was charmed by almost everything in this story. The supporting characters were just as memorable and delightful as our main, rounding out a cast of those I hope to see again and again in future stories. The writing was sharp and fun, incorporating plenty of the Victorian witty banter I've come to associate with tales from that era. And there's even a hint of romance, so well executed that the sizzle and tension were palpable from just the few mere sentences and glances exchanged.

If I had one quibble, it's that the mystery is perhaps a shade too complex. Since this is the first book of a series, we are introduced to quite a few overarching characters that presumably will continue throughout the series, as well as characters that are only relevant to this mystery. As a result, it's a lot people to keep straight, plus their unusual ties to each other, along with all the twists and turns as the mystery unfolded. Thankfully, the confusion doesn't take away from my enjoyment, but it did make me wish I'd taken some notes along the way. But that's really a small quibble in light of how much I enjoyed everything else.

Before I close out on my gushing thoughts, let me take a moment to highlight who I think is the best audience for this book. This is a historical fiction + mystery + romance. The mystery is at the forefront, make no mistake, but it is written in the style of a fun historical romance, with all of its slow burn and banter and even a bit of flirtation. If you are a purist who enjoys your mysteries on the serious/gritty side, this probably isn't for you. On the other hand, if you're a historical romance aficionado who's been wondering when the heck someone was going to throw a good ol' mystery into the mix, well I've got just the one here for you.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

"We can never again be who we were . . . It's impossible. We've already missed each other."

I left Shanghai when I was nine. By the time I was able to make it back for a visit almost a decade later, the city of my birth and early years, along with the people I'd loved, were all inexorably changed.

Maybe that's why I'm always drawn to stories set in Shanghai. The city of my youth exists now solely in my memories, and I keep having this steadfast hope that, by reading about it, maybe somehow I'd be able to conjure up in my mind the place and all the people I loved that no longer exist.

In that way, Homeseeking feels like an inevitable read for me. My story somewhat mirrors Suchi and Haiwen's, though decades later and without the war and only a little bit of the famine. But we all left our beloved city behind, and it feels like we spend the rest of our lives trying to mend the holes in our hearts.

But I think to distill this down to simply Suchi and Haiwen's love story is to do a disservice to this epic tale. Yes, the story centers around the two of them and their encounters through the years. But it's also a story about resilience and hope and the complicated yet unconditional love for one's children and parents and family.

The structure here works particularly well. Told in alternative viewpoints between Suchi and Haiwen, Suchi's narrative goes forward while Haiwen's goes backwards. In this way, it allows us the readers to simultaneously experience all their hopes and dreams for the future while also seeing the memories and regrets that come with a lifetime already experienced and choices already made.

Some stories hit harder because they feel more personal, and this one definitely did for me. Karissa Chen's evocative prose means I could almost see the longtang where I grew up, envision the hustle and bustle of everyday life, and hear the familiar cadence of Shanghainese, my first and still most comforting language. The scene with the fortune teller explaining the meaning of "yun" seemed like it was written especially for me. By the time I reached The Coda at the end, I was bawling my eyes out.

Maybe the only thing I didn't love was Suchi's character at times. Even her son called her a martyr at one point and it was spot on. I wanted more for her, but perhaps her depiction is authentic to the culture and the trauma that she has experienced. It must be hard to remain courageous when you've faced a lifetime of heartache and pain.

This was such a riveting and poignant tale, at times heartbreaking and at times so hopeful. Its depiction of the love between parent and child, even in the face of agonizing choices, is so searing in its honesty. And it speaks to every immigrant's heart, that we all left behind something unbearably precious and all we can do is look forward and make a new home somewhere else.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

You dangle ancient Egyptian curses in front of me, and I'm going to sign up every time. But I feel like The Stolen Queen wasn't quite what I was expecting.

At its core, this is more of a found family and coming-of-age story than anything else. Its characters were its strongest component, and it was satisfying to follow Charlotte through her archeological journey and Annie through her Met Gala adventures while seeing them gain confidence and grow into themselves.

Another thing the story got right was the atmosphere, from the dusty ancient archeological sites to the hushed reverence of the Met to the glamour and excitement of its party of the year. It makes you feel like you are really there.

While the story did keep me engaged throughout, I wouldn't say it was unputdownable at any point. The dual timeline is really more of a triple narrative, with Charlotte and Annie both in the present and Charlotte also in the past. That means anytime we build up momentum, we immediately switch to a different scene, which has the effect of slowing the pacing down.

Of course the Egyptian slant with its ancient history and antiquities and curses is what really drew me to this story in the first place. But before you get too excited, you should know there are no actual paranormal events in here. This takes place solidly in our physical world, and so all mysteries are precipitated by human actions.

If I were to point to one thing that fell short for me in here, it's that everything comes across just a smidge too superficial and wrap up a bit too nicely. There is this persistent feeling that nothing is on the line, that everything will work out for everyone. And because of that, it lacks the all-important tension that really propels a story forward and keeps the reader glued to the pages.

Nevertheless, I think historical fiction fans will find this enjoyable, and the ancient Egyptian angle certainly adds a compelling note to the whole thing. Just make sure you set expectations correctly going in that this is really more cozy than thrilling.

Readaroo Rating: 3.5 stars

I love books that make me work hard to get into them, said no reader ever. So it's with great relish (and relief) that I turned to the first page of Vampires of El Norte and was immediately sucked in.

What an incredibly vivid tale this turned out to be. The historical, horror, and romance components really gelled cohesively together and produced a story that is both rich in content as well as atmosphere.

There is so much goodness here, so much that kept me turning the pages. Nena and Nestor's love for their country, their home, and each other. The monsters, both human and not, that are trying to take it all away. And the setting against the backdrop of the Mexican–American War. I couldn't look away.

I thought the horror element was particularly well done. The way the vampires were portrayed was creepy without being too scary, thoroughly fascinating, and surprisingly humane and redemptive. It made me feel hopeful at the end, which isn't something a lot of horror books manage to do.

You can tell that Isabel Cañas put a lot of work into researching all the historical details in here. As a result, the setting feels as authentic as can be, transporting the reader to 1840s Mexico. The time and place flow effortlessly from the pages, allowing the narrative to really shine through.

As for the romance, it started out really strong, with tons of pining vibes that I can totally get behind. And it certainly ended strong the way a good romance should. But the middle there with all that parental disapproval and cowing before them and waffling back and forth? I definitely felt the angst and the melodrama of it all. But maybe this is just a case of me not being a fan of the rich girl/poor boy trope more than anything else.

Small quibbles aside, this was a heck of an interesting read. I was drawn in and held captive by the writing, the atmosphere, and the story within. I'll definitely need to check out more from Cañas.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

What a soppy and ultimately forgettable rendition of the famous fable this turned out to be.

When I approach a retelling, whether it's historical or fantasy, I'm always filled with anticipation. Here is a chance to explore a legendary tale, not via a short vignette, but through the experience of a full-length novel. I want to be completely immersed in the detailed characters, the vivid scenes, and the well-developed narrative that bring such a tale to life. But that didn't happen here.

Instead, we have a fairly basic retelling sagging under the weight of its writing. From the first page to the last, every scene is treated with the upmost dramatic flair. No moment is too pedestrian, no thought too ordinary, to not be effused with the sort of reverent, emotional language usually reserved for a story's climax. I often found myself snickering at the most inappropriate moments, unable to reconcile the dramatic tones with the simple scene unfolding in front of me.

But for all that exaggerated writing, hardly anything happens in here. This is supposed to be the story of a beauty who infiltrates an enemy kingdom to become the king's concubine and lover, all so that she can singlehandedly bring the kingdom to its knees. So where is all the action?

Instead, it's scene after scene of Xishi smiling demurely and saying a few vapid sentences here and there, and that's pretty much the entire book. There were only two small conflicts I could remember in the leadup to the finale, and both were unforced errors. I cringed so hard, I tell you, because how can someone so incompetent actually bring anything down, let alone a kingdom?

Also, for a book about being a concubine and a lover, there were no actual love scenes in here, on or off page. All they did was sleep chastely side by side in the same bed, for years, with a few pecks here and there. If you're surprised, yeah, join the club. Like what king would agree to take a lover who doesn't do anything with them? Is this book for children? Because that's the only explanation I have for the extreme celibacy of this story.

Going in, I was under the impression that this was a fantasy, in large part due to the book design, its blurb, and all the book sites that categorize this first and foremost as such. But it's definitely not a fantasy. In fact, there is not a single fantasy element in here, unless you count Xishi's beauty as so astounding that it's otherworldly. Otherwise, it's straight up historical fiction.

It's clear that the author wrote this book with an eye towards wringing as much emotion from the reader as possible. And while I'm not above being emotionally manipulated by a good story, I need a little bit more than that to feel satisfied. I prefer my stories to have some meat on them, some substantial content I can really sink my teeth into, rather than just be one empty emotional punch after another.

And yet, for all my grousing, there was something in here that kept me turning the pages. There were scenes that charmed me and led me to cheer for Xishi and Fanli. Or perhaps I was waiting for this to materialize into the riveting tale I was hoping for. Either way, I kept coming back for more, so I must've gotten some enjoyment out of it, even if it was laced with disappointment.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

Okay, lots of thoughts on this one. Going to try to unpack them all here.

The God of the Woods starts out really well. I found the beginning to be compelling, with lots of interesting characters and perspectives. But then as the investigation into Barbara's disappearance heats up, a few things started to really bother me, and it went a bit downhill from there.

When it comes to verbosity in a book, readers generally fall into two camps. For some, if they love a story, then stretching it out an extra hundred pages by filling it with lots of beautiful writing but no additional content makes it even better. But for me, my motto is always shorter is better, and fluffing it out to pad the page count doesn't do it for me. So you see where I'm going with this.

What starts out as compelling quickly turns meandering for me. The longer the story went on, the more unfocused it seemed. There are a lot of perspectives in here—I count seven—and every time something was about to happen, we immediately switched to a different perspective, effectively losing the momentum. And when we come back to the original one, the exciting scene had already happened off-page and it's mostly glossed over.

But it isn't just the perspectives, which I honestly don't mind that much. It's also how unnecessarily convoluted the mystery was, in large part due to the way it was written. Every time the police needed to talk to a witness, that person would inevitably end up missing. So we would have to spend time tracking them down just to have a conversation with them. In addition to the two disappearances which are central to this story, I counted no less than six other characters who disappeared at one time or another. It was exhausting.

Surely though, once these witnesses are found, they would be able to answer some simple questions, right? Well, no. Everyone in here lied every chance they had, often for no reason that I could discern and against their best interests. It felt like drama for drama's sake, making the mystery feel even more tortuous and chaotic. You know, just in case the reader thought it was too easy or there weren't enough pages in this book.

My other big issue is that the author has a real knack for writing dumb female characters. It drove me a bit nuts in Long Bright River and here it is again. This time, we have Alice and Louise, two of our main characters, both being portrayed as spineless fools. You guys know I love my female characters to be strong and smart, so to have to read about women who let people walk all over them while making one bad decision after another got old real quick.

Then after all of that (almost 500 pages), this mystery had to be one of the most unsatisfying I've ever come across. Clues were laid out seemingly to point to one direction or another, but then the story disregards almost everything it had said before and ends on something completely different. And some of the clues were never addressed at all, as if they've served their purpose to mislead us and now we can just forget about them.

Still, for all my complaints, I did find this to be a fairly engrossing read. There were many moments I got really into it, and the pages just melted away. But there were also many moments where I could not believe yet another character has disappeared or Alice and Louise are yet again being dumb and weak, and I could just feel my eyeballs rolling around in exasperation.

Clearly I'm in the minority here. Everyone else is loving this, so you shouldn't take what I say too seriously. Sometimes there is just a mismatch between a reader and a book, and that's probably what happened here.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

I was no longer a child. I didn’t have the luxury to be one—that had been taken . . . by hunger, by exhaustion, and by the constant fight for survival.

A riveting and harrowing tale set during the Communist Revolution, Daughters of Shandong gives an intimate look into the perilous journey a mother and her daughters must embark on to escape Communist persecution after being abandoned by their family for not having produced a male heir.

I think this is one of those stories you can immediately tell is inspired by true events close to the author. It is too raw and too heartfelt to be mistaken for anything else. Eve J. Chung must have done so much meticulous research in order to piece together her personal family history as well as historical accounts of what was going on during this time. And the result is a seamless blend of fact and fiction that brings history to life.

At its heart, this is a story about love and resilience, and there is so much of both in here. I dare you to read it and not feel deeply moved. How anyone could have endured so much suffering and grueling hardship, then persevered in the end, is truly awe-inspiring. It reminds us that no matter how bad things are, there is always hope for a better tomorrow, especially for our children.

Reading this book makes me want to reach out to my parents and hear their stories. They grew up during the Cultural Revolution, and unlike the characters in this story, did not escape. They had a front row seat during their childhood to all the fear, famine, and turmoil. And I still see in them the legacy of this suffering to this very day, which makes what they have achieved, mostly to give me the opportunity for a better future, all the more amazing.

It also reminds me of just how precious the bond is between a parent and a child. The lengths Chiang-Yue went through for her daughters is beyond words. And it completely resonated with me. Is there no despair we would not endure and no hardship we would not gladly take on, if it meant our children's survival and happiness? Even if we have reached our limit, we will find within ourselves an even deeper well from which we can draw strength and courage we did not know we had in order to do all that we can for our children.

What a heartbreaking, but ultimately triumphant celebration of the strengths of mothers and daughters this story turned out to be. It is as searing as it is memorable. Even though Eve J. Chung has now done what she set out to do and told her family story, I hope she doesn't stop here.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

How do you rate a book that doesn't quite deliver on its promise, and yet is still a riveting read?

Told through the perspectives of three generations of a family, Real Americans follows Lily as she finds the love of her life, Nick through his high school and college days as he gains independence, and Mei in her old age as she recounts what really happened all those years ago.

Of the three accounts, I feel like Lily's and Nick's boil down to coming-of-age stories, no matter how you try couch it in fancier, more racially-interesting terms. And I think that's where my mismatched expectations resulted in some disappointment. I was expecting more of a deep dive into what it means to grow up Chinese-American, but this only just scratches the surface.

The book tries to tackle so many worthwhile subjects—what it means to belong, a mother's love and expectations for her child, immigration and assimilation, having wealth and privilege, affirmative action, racism. You name it, it feels like it's in this book. If you're thinking to yourself, wow that's a lot, yes it is. And maybe that's the problem.

With so many topics, how do you achieve a meaningful look into any one of them? Well, I'm not sure you can. You can only superficially acknowledge them for a few pages, or even just a paragraph here and there, and that's about it. Every time I came across an interesting observation, I'd get excited, only to have the book immediately abandon it and move onto the next thing.

Throughout the whole story, there is this feeling that the good part is coming and I'm imminently about to stumble upon it. And this feeling propelled me through the book. I kept turning the pages, waiting with anticipation at what were sure to be astonishing revelations. But they never really materialized to my satisfaction.

I did find Mei's portion to be the most interesting and compelling. Hers was more than just a coming-of-age tale. She talks about what it's like to grow up during the Cultural Revolution, at a time of famine, when neighbor turned on neighbor, and every sort of intellectual aspiration was viewed as a punishable offense. I can't help but be drawn towards this part of Chinese history. It was the defining event of my parents' youth, yet they hardly ever talk about it.

The other interesting part of Mei's tale is the focus on the science that is central to this book, especially the ethics of gene editing and selection. But here again, it feels like the story got just close enough to tantalize, then immediately backed off, as if afraid to take anything other than a superficial stance on a potentially controversial topic.

I did want to mention the writing style. It came across as rather choppy at first, with lots of random observations and intense bursts of information, all the while keeping the reader at arm's length emotionally. It was a bit jarring initially, but then I hardly noticed anymore after a few chapters. So either I acclimated to it or the writing smoothed out. Either way, if you're having trouble at the start, don't let it prevent you from going a little further.

The entire time reading this book, I could feel the potential. There was this electric buzz that at any moment, this was going to become an amazing read. And it almost got there, but then somehow it didn't. Underneath this riveting story, there is a missed opportunity to really say something new and insightful about a host of worthwhile topics. Instead, this book skirts around them, giving brief nods to all but never more than that.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

This was a pick for my Book of the Month box. Get your first book for $5 here.

Exquisite and mesmerizing, The Fox Wife kept me enchanted from the very first moment to the very last.

Told through the alternating perspectives of Bao, an aging investigator with a penchant for sniffing out the truth, and Snow, a mysterious lady on a quest to avenge the death of her child, this story sits at the irresistible intersection of historical fiction, mystery, and folklore.

Secrets and questions abound in here. Who are these characters? What do they want? And how do their paths cross through so many years and miles of tribulations? Add to that a main character who is not quite human, as well as the singular backdrop of the wintery world of Manchuria during the last years of the Qing dynasty, and the scene is set for a tale unlike any I've come across before.

I'm always drawn towards folklore, and the hallmark of a good one is the seamless blending of the real and the fantasy. You don't want to get mired in the weeds of the how's and why's of this slightly altered world, but you also don't want to just be dropped in the middle of what feels like an artificial construct. And this story achieves that balance flawlessly.

With so much of the story riding on its animal characters, there's the fear that it can come across contrived or, even worse, silly. But the foxes in here feel so real, as if these creatures really do live in our world, coexisting among us in disguise and leaving havoc but also wonder in their wake. In fact, the portions of the story told from Snow's perspective were the most evocative, and I found her to be vivid and compelling.

Snow's quest to avenge her dead child struck something in me. The quiet and reflective prose that Yangsze Choo so deftly wields adds this soft dignity to Snow's plight, and the end result is so emotionally resonant, I felt it deep within my heart. Her grief and anger were so raw and sharp, yet her continued strength in the face of such tragedy makes her the sort of strong female character I love and cheer for.

One of the most surprising and delightful additions in here were all the little nuggets of fox wisdom. Of course if the world were seen through the eyes of an animal, their life experiences and their way of thinking would be different from ours, resulting in unique insights. And these little morsels were dispensed at the most pertinent times, leaving me nodding and chuckling along at their undeniable wisdom and humor.

When I finish a book, there are two distinct feelings I can have. Either I'm happy to be done and excited to move on to something else, or I feel a sense of melancholy that I've reached the end of a magical journey and there's no more. And this book falls squarely in the latter. I could've easily gobbled up another 400 pages of this and it still wouldn't have been enough.

What an epic and memorable tale Yangsze Choo has crafted. The story itself often speaks of foxes beguiling humans into falling in love with them, yet I can't help but feel as if it were the story that has cast a spell on me, and I were the one who was beguiled all along.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!