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

This is not planet Earth as we found it. This is a new place—a fire planet we have made.

A detailed investigation into all that transpired during the record-breaking Fort McMurray Fire, in which almost 100,000 people were forced to flee in a single afternoon, as well as a historical and scientific exploration of how we got to this point and where we will go from here, Fire Weather is as essential as it is eye-opening.

Going into this, I'd like to think I was fairly well-versed on current events, especially on anything weather-related. And of course I knew about global warming and climate change; I don't live under a rock, after all. But when it came to grasping the nitty gritty of exactly what all that entails, I admit I was a little bit hazy.

So this book is exactly what I needed to become crystal clear on this topic. It sits right at the intersection of current affairs, science, and history, all topics that interest me about our world. And I found it to be an absolutely engrossing read, one that as it went on, became harder and harder for me to put down.

We start off with a brief look into the history of fossil fuels, as well as how Fort McMurray became a petroleum boom town surrounded by boreal forest. Then the book shifts into a deep dive of the Fort McMurray Fire, and let me tell you, it is as harrowing and thrilling of a tale as any I've ever read. The mechanics of this fire were almost heretofore unseen, its destructive properties so vast and ferocious, it spawned its own weather systems and was not truly extinguished for more than a year.

The city and the surrounding landscape had become something akin to a fire planet—not a biome but a “pyrome” whose purpose was not to support life but to enable combustion.

But the irony is that Fort McMurray would not have existed as a city if not for its industry of extracting and producing fossil fuels. And while it's this industry that had made it into a boom town, it also simultaneously helped to shape the climate into one that supported and sustained the fire that eventually razed the city to the ground.

But the author doesn't just stop at reporting on the fire. He takes that event and ties it to history and science, and shows us the future in store for us if we choose to continue our destructive love affair with fossil fuels. The amount of research that went into this book must have been staggering, as is the author's vision and ability to tie it all together into a cohesive narrative that both informs and astounds.

Reading this book often left me in chills. Vaillant has a way with words that is not only illuminating in the way of nonfiction, but also evocative and emotionally resonant in the way that only the best of fiction can achieve. And the result is nothing short of remarkable and sobering.

It is almost unbearable to consider that our reckoning with industrial CO2 is only in its infancy, and that future generations will bear this burden far more heavily than we do now.

The juxtaposition of the details of a wildfire side-by-side with a study of climate change is a masterful stroke, as is the choice to go with the Fort McMurray Fire in particular. This combination, which examines climate change from both the micro and macro levels, really hits home the symbiotic relationship humankind has developed with fossil fuels and underscores the positive feedback loop we have created, through negligence at best and willful greed at worst, that is currently propelling us towards a future none of us want to see.

The message isn't all negative though. Yes, we are past the point of no return and our planet will never go back to the way it was before, but our total annihilation isn't a foregone conclusion yet. There is still hope, if we can only make the hard choices now and pivot in time. And so this book, more than anything, is a warning and a call to action.

The current moment is the greatest challenge humanity has faced since we (almost) mastered fire. This time, it is not fire we have to master, but ourselves. If we fail this test, there will be another one, and another after that, but each time the stakes will be higher and the price of failure steeper.

Every once a while, I come across a nonfiction read so profound, so staggering in its scope and so clear in its view, I feel like I'm walking away with essential knowledge of the world. And so this book does exactly that. It is timely, insightful, and surely a must-read as we approach yet another hottest year of yet another hottest decade on record.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

When it comes to horror, I'm not looking to have the bejesus scared out of me. Yes, you read that correctly. I am in fact a big ol' wimp and I'm not afraid to admit it. You can judge all you want, you horror junkies, but my bar is somewhere around reading Goosebumps and having nightmares afterwards.

So it's no surprise that I hemmed and hawed when it came to reading this book. Could I handle it? Is it too scary? Would I have nightmares for weeks and live to regret it? I even asked the person who knows me best what he thought, and my husband so helpfully put it in tennis terms that I was trying to make an unforced error.

But something about this book called to me, and I just couldn't let it drop. And I'm so glad I went for it. Because not only did it not scare the bejesus out of me, but I actually had the most ridiculously good time with it.

When Margaret and her husband Hal first came upon that beautiful Victorian house, they couldn't believe their luck. But soon after moving in, they began to realize why it had been sitting empty for so long. And slowly but surely, things reach a fevered pitch every September. While Margaret loves the house quirks and all, Hal can't take it anymore. Soon after he leaves, Margaret's daughter Katherine shows up looking for her missing father. But what Katherine doesn't understand is that her being there and poking around is making things so much worse.

Let me just say right now, The September House isn't like any other horror book I've ever encountered. The tone isn't dark and depressing as all heck. Instead, there's this levity that makes it so much fun. Maybe that tone isn't quite the norm when it comes to this genre, but I certainly didn't mind and I'm glad the author chose to take it in that direction. It makes an otherwise inaccessible genre feel entertaining and delightful (words I never thought I'd associate with horror).

Most books of this genre take their mission to scare the reader very seriously, almost to their detriment. The protagonist (always a female) is made to jump and squeak and whimper at every dark corner, shadow, and small noise that emanates in their vicinity, as if their fear would somehow translate onto the reader. But instead of adding to the atmosphere, it just makes me roll my eyes. After all, if such simple things could send our protagonist into a tizzy, then how could they possibly handle the really scary stuff? Thankfully, this book does not fall into such a trap.

Margaret is the most strong and competent heroine I have ever come across in a horror book. Nothing fazes her. Not blood running down her walls, not apparitions that appear and try to bite her, and certainly not unspeakable evils in her basement. She just carries on with conviction and all her wits about her, and it's a breath of fresh air, I tell you.

This book has the feel of a thriller, meant to keep the reader engaged and turning the pages. There are interesting developments along the way that you don't see coming, and the overall progression of the story arc is both surprising and satisfying.

That isn't to say there aren't moments of seriousness and fear, but they did not overwhelm the scaredy-cat in me. Rather, the built-in comedic relief and the strong female protagonist both helped to offset the fright, and turned this into a horror story I could actually enjoy.

Now after such an unexpected experience, I'm left wondering if horror is really my long-lost favorite genre after all?

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars