A poignant and luminously hopeful tale about the joys, mistakes, and repercussions of growing up and falling in love, Sunlight Finds You took my breath away from the first page to the last.

I'm always drawn to a good coming-of-age story, especially one with a fierce female protagonist. Here we have Nora, seventeen years old, when she meets shy and clever Leonard at school. Soon the two of them are inseparable, but this was the 1950s. Social norms clash with the exhilaration of young love, and they are forced to break off their relationship. What follows is a series of decisions and actions that Nora must take, the consequences of which she will feel for the rest of her life.

I opened this book to the first page and was immediately captivated. Nora made for a compelling main character, with her strong personality, her love for her family, and the impetuousness with which she fell for Leonard and he for her. It was a tale brimming with the optimism of youth and the headiness of young love, and I couldn't help but be swept away.

There was something about the quiet and reflective prose and the fascinating characters that made me forget what I was reading was completely made up. I was so immersed in this tale, I often didn't want to stop. I wanted to inhale it in one go, to sink in and not surface for air until I had reached the very end.

It was clever to structure the narrative as a much older Nora looking back on her younger life. Not only did it add insight, but it also showed how resilient Nora was in spite of all that befell her. That resilience was a large part of the charm of this tale, with its tone of grace and buoyancy turning this story from one of sadness into one of hope and redemption.

The story seamlessly weaved in and tackled so many worthwhile topics—societal norms, family dynamics, parental expectations, class and gender differences, grief, regret, and forgiveness—all of it done with a subtle and deft hand.

Recently, I've been picking up books about women in suburbia set during this time period, only to be disappointed with the results. So many books seem unable to make up their minds about what they want to say, often walking back at the last moment what they've been trying to accomplish up to that point. I'm glad that wasn't the case here. There was no wishy washy, no attempt to walk Nora back from all that happened to her. In fact, her strength in the face of pain and adversity is the whole point of this book.

What an absolutely irresistible story this turned out to be. Everything about it was so masterfully done, I'm still dazzled and reeling in the aftermath. I can't believe this was the first I've heard of Laura Moriarty. It's clear there'll be no stopping me now from digging through the rest of her backlist.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

"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

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[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

.

.

.

.

.

.

[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