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 enjoy 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 a fun 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 of a story about faking it?

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 at all.

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 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 and their lifestyle.

I understand this is supposed to be satire, and it's trying to tackle a variety of timely topics. But the problem is that none of those things actually came through on the pages. In lieu of delving deep into these worthwhile topics—exploitation of children in social media, the difficulty of juggling a career and motherhood, the intense pressure to appear happy even when you're not—it really only skimmed the surface, choosing instead to return again and again to focus on how deranged Natalie is.

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 fully 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

Call me crazy, but could Kevin Kwan be the Jane Austen of our era? Cause from where I’m sitting, the similarities couldn’t be more striking.

But let's talk about the book first. Going in, I thought I was getting a zany romantic comedy. But instead of your typical white representation, we get two Asians, one of whom comes from an extremely wealthy though misbehaving family. And I would've been happy with that. At the time this book came out, it was extremely rare to see ethnic Chinese characters as the main love interests, so to get even that made me really excited. But this turned out to be so much more.

Because the thing is, this isn't a romcom. And it isn't chicklit either. Crazy Rich Asians is a social satire, and the distinction makes all the difference. The point of this story isn't to read it with full earnestness while cheering on Rachel and Nick and marveling at the opulent wealth and cringing at the excessive displays. Yes, you can do that, but it's also crucial to understand that the over the top extravaganza is simply a vehicle for Kwan to critique the social norms and structures of our time, and in the process, make us laugh.

I was amazed at how Kwan was able to peel back the layers and keenly sketch out all the characteristics of growing up Chinese, including the enormous pressure to succeed along the narrowest of lines, the expectation to bow to familial demands, and the emphasis on face and appearance. The juxtaposition of Nick and Rachel and the way they approach their families really highlights the difference between the East and the West, and how hard it can be for the two sides to understand each other.

And through it all, Kwan injected so much fun and humor into this. I normally can't stand to read about Asian family dysfunctions because it hits too close to home. But here, Kwan was able to take raw and tender subjects and turn them into comical events, all the while honestly examining the beauty and ugliness within. The strife and the feelings in here were spot on, but they made me laugh instead of cry.

It's worth talking about the film adaptation for a second. So this is another example where it pays to read the book because the film just doesn't do it justice. The book was such a carefully constructed satire, but the adaptation slashed out all the social commentary and ironic humor, and turned it into a heartfelt romcom. While there's nothing wrong with that and I'm a fan of the movie, it really doesn't hold a candle to the original material.

Now back to Jane Austen. She, too, was a satirist. Social satire was the backbone of her work, and she wielded her characters, her dialogue, her wit, all to critique social structures and norms of her time. And so Kevin Kwan does too, both of them exploring human nature and exposing all of its follies and foibles in the pages of their stories. They both focused a lot on class, wealth, and social hierarchy, using the romantic pairing of a poorer character with a richer one to showcase the extent that vanity, snobbery, and greed play in our lives.

I've been a fan of Kevin Kwan for some time now and have read most of his books, some of them more than once. But it wasn't until recently when I read a few of Jane Austen's that I finally put two and two together. And once I saw the resemblance, I couldn't unsee it anymore. Kwan must have been a big Austen fan, and it shows in the way he carefully crafted this tale. It is both a scintillating triumph in its own right, as well as a reverential nod to the OG of social satire.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

Not gonna lie, Ali Hazelwood is my guilty pleasure. And Two Can Play is the perfect little escapist read to take me away from it all.

What is there to say that I haven't said a thousand times before? I love Ali Hazelwood, and this story is the perfect example why. Her writing is so spunky and vivacious, it never fails to engage me and put a smile on my face. Even when she uses her signature miscommunication trope, I'm still there for the ride, and that says something.

Speaking of miscommunication, that is the crux of this story. But before you go and throw this book out the window, know that it wasn't too bad here. The novella length saved it from the excessive and extravagant treatment that Ali is known to give her full length novels. Instead, we get just the right dosage and then it's all quickly resolved.

I'm not much of a video game player, so I did go into this with a bit of hesitation. But no worries, Ali has a penchant for writing smart, loveable characters, and I immediately fell in love with both Viola and Jesse. If ever there was a romance trope I adore, it's pining, and this had it in spades. In fact, both of our main characters were partaking, so the sizzle was high.

If I had one quibble, it's that the spicy scenes take up too much of the book, especially considering that this is a short novella to begin with. I wanted less of the sexed-up Viola and Jesse, and more of the regular version. But that's my problem. Every time I read one of Ali's novellas, I end up wanting more. But then I complain that the full length novels are too much. Sorry, Ali, it seems you just can't win with me.

I understand this first came out on audiobook format a few years, and it's only recently that it has been published to written form. That's interesting, and it might be the first time I've ever heard of such a thing. But I didn't listen to the audio, I've only read the book, so all my thoughts are solely for the latter.

Also, someone needs to write The Limerence Saga ASAP. Ali, I hope that's you?

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

Who can know what will come? Today, a kingdom. A life where you eat and drink from dreams. Tomorrow, the dirt of the grave to rub on your mouth.

Talk about a powerful, compelling, utterly riveting story. When people say reading is an exercise in empathy, surely this is the consummate example of that.

Some books really get to you. And I knew from the very first page that Good People would get to me. How could I not read a story about immigrants who gave up their home, their language, their culture, everything they knew and loved, all to move somewhere foreign and build a new life for their family, and not feel something stirring in my immigrant heart?

Rahmat and Maryam remind me of my parents, working so hard to give their children the opportunity of a better life. And Omer and Zorah remind me of myself, with all that intense pressure to succeed and the constant push and pull between the old and new. And if this book was just about the immigrant experience, I would've loved it already. But it was so much more.

It's written like a mystery, and bit by bit, we learned what happened to Zorah and her family. I feel like my heart was pounding the whole time, wanting to know more, yet afraid of what I will learn.

As is every great book ever written, it's not about the plot, it's about the characters. And the ones in here are so flawed and so real, it was almost too much to take at times. I felt for every single person in here as their human nature (and so ours too) was laid bare on the pages.

The format added to the appeal. It's written like a documentary, told via interview transcripts with the different friends and acquittances of the family. You would think with so many different viewpoints and narrators, it would get confusing. But it wasn't. The focus was always solidly on the family, and they remain the center of our story.

The unusual structure paved the way for the goal of this story, which was to provide a composite, often disparate view of the family. Are they the good immigrants, working hard to achieve the American Dream? Or are they old and stubborn, unable to change and assimilate in a new country? Are they humble in their achievements? Or do they allow their children to spoil and run wild?

As the story progressed, I didn't know what to think. Every new page was another color in the kaleidoscope, but how did they all fit together? I've seen mysteries done a lot of different ways, but this was such a unique and bold take on the genre, and the journey and resolution were altogether nothing short of striking.

We touch upon so many worthwhile topics along the way. Everything was seamlessly woven in and done with such a subtle and deft hand, that it never felt forced or preachy. There is no black or white, only so many shades of grey in between. And I nodded along to every insightful morsel, gobbling it up and storing it in my mind to mull over in the days and weeks to come.

For how thought provoking this book was, it was also eminently readable. I know there's been a recent trend to bill every vaguely interesting book as a one-sit read, but it's no exaggeration here. Once you start, you won't want to stop. This was such a fast, engrossing read, the hours will fly by until you've reached the very last page.

This story worked on every single level—riveting and unputdownable, a terrific mystery, but also underneath, many many layers to think about and digest. It's one of those books that indelibility changes who you are, and the version of you after will forever be slightly altered from the version before.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

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.

The other major problem is that Lady Tremaine is not evil in this version. If that is the sound of your jaw dropping, you and me both. I know it’s not easy to write a compelling villain as your main character, and so I can see the urge to smooth away the bad and turn on the good. But to eliminate every bit of evil in its entirety is to also exorcise all that was fascinating 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

Perhaps a day will come when I can resist a reference to my favorite Agatha Christie, but it's not this day. And so from the moment I saw the title to this book, I knew I had to read it.

Let's start by setting the correct expectations though. Any similarities to Agatha Christie or And Then There Were None really begins and ends with the fact that both books contain quite a few dead bodies and one title is a pun of the other. But that's it. On every other front, you should really think of this story as not at all related to its namesake.

What this is though is a blend of murder mystery and romance, all set to the coziest of atmospheres and quaintest of villages.

The mystery itself was quite fun and interesting. Georgie's beloved Buncombe-upon-Woolly is gripped in the throes of crime. As more and more residents pop up dead, Georgie can't help but be concerned. Surely five suspicious deaths in a year seems a bit much. And so she has no choice but to stick her nose where it doesn't belong and sleuth out what's really going on.

I liked the mystery. I thought it had clever twists and turns and red herrings of the sort that every mystery reader would approve of. There were quite a few moments throughout when it took me by surprise, and even though the investigation was conducted in the bumbling way this sort of story usually is, it all came together in the end with much satisfaction.

But when it came to the romance, I was less certain. To be fair, I think this is in large part due to the fact that I'm just not crazy about the cozy genre. The writing and the characters ooze a sort of preciousness and by golly jolliness that feels distinctly inauthentic. And so when two of its characters come together, it feels even more fake.

With Georgie especially, although she is so smart in other respects, she exhibits a sort of cluelessness with Sebastian that is immensely grating. There are only so many demure "you can't possibly like me" a reader can take before having had enough.

I'm a little surprise because Martha Waters comes from a romance background and this was her first mystery, But go figure, I wasn't that into the romance and my vote goes solidly to the mystery side of things.

By the way, could this be the start to a mystery series? Now that the ridiculous romance has been all sorted out, I wouldn't mind reading more of Georgie and Sebastian's adventures.

"Why should I need to read about a fictional cozy village full of homicidal maniacs when I am already inhabiting one?"

Readaroo Rating: 3.5 stars

For a fictional biography to work, it's almost entirely hinged on its characters. They really have to shine, convincing us that people who have never existed are in fact real. But the ones in The Future Saints are so bland, they never truly came alive. They lacked personality, clinging to the sort of superficiality that hobbled them the entire time.

Who is Hannah other than someone who loves and misses her sister? How do I tell the other two members of the band apart? What does Theo even see in Hannah? The book never adequately addressed these crucial questions, and so my feelings toward the characters remained fuzzy and ambivalent.

Character depth matter, never more so than when it's a character-driven story. And so here, it was an uphill climb almost the whole way to try to differentiate and connect with these rather lackluster ones.

But perhaps the blame lies with me. All the comparisons to Daisy Jones had me thinking this was a fictional rock 'n' roll biography. But it was less that and more written in the style of women's fiction, with explorations of grief and addiction and a love story embedded in, and the rock 'n' roll provided the setting rather than the focus.

About halfway through, I finally started getting into the story. But even then, I didn't feel much for the band. My favorite character was Theo, whose earnestness and sobriety and desire to help others finally won me over.

This was fine. But I think I just expected more. The writing, the characters, even the events in the story, all felt more generic than memorable, which just doesn't line up with my expectations of what a fictional biography, let alone a rock 'n' roll one, should be.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

Across the board, my top complaint when it comes to stories featuring royal characters is that they just don't dig deep enough. Admittedly, it's hard to capture all the nuances of giving up one's life and anonymity in exchange for dubious fame and lifelong duty. And so when presented with such a situation, most stories tend to settle for frivolity and superficiality. Of course the crown is shiny, the crowds adoring, the love interest handsome and dashing. What else is there?

So I went into The Heir Apparent with the same sort of low expectations. But I'll tell you what, this book impressed me from almost the very first page. Finally, here is the royal story I have been waiting for.

Lexi left the British royal life behind and is now working her way through her medical residency in Australia. And even though the hours are brutal and the pay nonexistent, she's living her best life. But when a helicopter appears on New Year's day bearing news of her family, that life is over. Now she must come to terms with what it means to be first in line to the throne and what she must sacrifice to be queen.

I feel like Rebecca Armitage was really smart here. Instead of trying to build out an entire British royal family and its inevitable dysfunctions from scratch, she borrowed heavily from the existing one. And so everywhere we look in here, we see characters and situations we recognize—a beautiful and beloved mother who died too young; an absent father who was emotionally unavailable; two siblings, one who stayed and toed the family line, the other who escaped and tried to lead a normal life; and surrounding it all, an institution that sells out one another to make the monarchy look good.

In the midst of all this dysfunction is Lexi. She's a likable and relatable main character, and she very much anchors the story. The writing has enough depth while at the same time retaining all the spark and fun you'd expect from a tale like this, so I couldn't help but want to read more.

I like that the romance never became the center of this story. A lot of books would misstep here and devolve into the sort of sappy happily ever after that bares no resemblance to reality. Instead, while we get some scenes with our hopeful couple, the focus remains where it should be, on Lexi's choice.

This story boils down to a dysfunctional family drama, albeit one played out on a grander, more royal stage. And it did such a good job, seamlessly weaving in tidbits from the real British royal family that it managed to feel both fresh and familiar.

This was quite a compelling debut. I'm curious if Rebecca Armitage will try to carve out a niche for herself as a writer of fictional royal drama or if she's going to veer more in the dysfunctional family/coming of age direction. Time will tell.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

The first book in a historical murder mystery series, A Gentleman's Murder has a lot of potential, but not all of it is fully realized.

Let's start with what I enjoyed. The mystery itself was an interesting one, done in the style of the Golden Age that I'm a huge fan of. Because the murder takes place in a location with limited access, we immediately have a finite list of suspects and the feel of a locked room mystery. As the investigation proceeds, there are clues and red herrings aplenty, and it was fun to see it all unfold.

Eric Peterkin, our main character and residential amateur sleuth, is a sympathetic and likable lead. He is half-Chinese at a time and place where diversity is not an asset, and the exploration of the difficulties and bigotry that he faces is done with complexity and deftness. He is also a war veteran and suffers from PTSD, which is very much a focal point of this story.

Here, though, is where I think my personal preferences kept me from enjoying the story more. I don't tend to gravitate towards war historical fiction, and this is very much that. Even though we are post The Great War, Eric and every major player in this mystery is a war veteran, and their trauma shapes the bulk of the narrative.

I also found the first half to be quite slow in pace and rather grueling to get through. We are introduced to all the characters in one go, and they all blended into each other in my mind. I had a hard time keeping them apart, which became especially problematic since they are the main suspects in our murder.

The other thing that made it feel slow is that what starts out as a murder in the present quickly becomes an investigation into another murder in the past. And so now, not only am I having trouble keeping straight who is who in the present, but also how they all related to each other in the past.

Fortunately, somewhere around the halfway point, I found myself settling into the story and starting to enjoy it more. What began as an introduction to all the characters and their backgrounds had coalesced into a more plot-driven mystery, and I was finally able to what I do best in a story like this—and that's to don my detective cap and armchair detect away to my satisfaction.

To be fair, I think my lukewarm experience here isn't that uncommon when it comes to first books of murder mystery series, even among ones that eventually go on to become my favorites. There's something about needing to establish setting and atmosphere and the main characters that just drags it down a bit. And more often than not, it's the author's debut or their first attempt at the murder mystery, and so there's some growing pains to work through as well.

All in all, now that I've gotten acquainted with Eric Peterkin and his sister Penny, I wouldn't be opposed to reading a second book. I'd be curious to see where this series goes.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

I love Ali Hazelwood, I really do. But her recent tendency towards the meek and emotionally immature female main character has me throwing my hands up in exasperation.

This has been a slow, steady decline. Hazelwood has always been a fan of the miscommunication trope (or no communications at all, as the case may be), and it's the one overarching conflict in all of her books. But to make this trope into a scenario in which hundreds of pages could be written to keep two seemingly compatible people apart, one or the other must suffer from an inability to say what's on their mind. And so here we go again in Deep End.

This book had so much potential. Instead of the usual STEM participants that we've come to expect, we have collegiate athletes who also happen to take their education seriously. Now, as a STEM girl myself, I'm all for scholastic excellence, so to have both that and athletic achievement was almost too much for my nerdy heart to take. But the keyword here is "almost" because it started to go off the rails pretty much immediately.

Scarlett is a diver who harbors a secret inclination for BDSM-style sex. She also suffers from mental block and leftover trauma (the reasons behind the aforementioned inability to communicate). In swoops Lukas, a hot swimmer who just happens to harbor her same sexual inclinations. Only problem? He's the ex of her best friend.

On paper, the premise sounds fine. But even a cursory glance would have you come to the realization that the main conflict for the couple (her friend/his ex) is a thin one at best. How long could this self-inflicted martyrdom on behalf of her friend—who encouraged them to get together in the first place—go on for Scarlett? Well, the book clocks in at almost 450 pages, and you really start to feel it as it goes on.

By the time we get to the final culminating conflict, the wheels have really come off. Scarlett, in all of her meekness, could only watch in horror and victimhood as her friend, whom she has lied to and gaslit the whole way, finally called her up on it. But since Scarlett is the main character and could do no wrong, her friend was the one who eventually had to shoulder the blame and come crawling back to apologize.

You know, in psychology, there is this concept of nice versus kind. Nice is the superficial construct of always saying polite pleasantries and what the other person wants to hear, all in service of getting them to like you. But kindness is a deeper, more empathetic understanding of how to help the other person in the long run, even if it means they might not like you as much in the short term. Scarlett is all former, but the book is written such that it makes her seem like the latter, and I found the whole thing insufferable.

I don't blame the characters, obviously, since it's the authors who make them that way. And I don't even really blame the authors. I get that romance as a genre has always been looked down upon and to be taken seriously, writers feel that they must lean ever more into the conflicts and the trauma and the flawed characters in order to get there. But at some point, you've plumbed the depth of the scenario, and there is just no way to dig any deeper without going so over the top that you're just taking away from the story and the characters.

Also, a big deal is made about the BDSM exploration in this story, with the author even including a note to warn readers at the beginning. But it was so tame that I'm not sure I would've even noticed if the book had not made a huge deal of it. As it stands, the spicy scenes were steamy enough, but they also contain the sort of odd, inadvertently funny quirks that pepper Hazelwood's sex scenes (swallowing a whole boob in another book, constantly tear licking in this one).

And don't even get me started on how all the guys in this story seemed to lust after Scarlett, even though she's devoid of personality and can barely utter a complete sentence around them without a lot of hemming and hawing. Does it remind you of a certain book that rhymes with Twimight? Hmm, maybe that's just me.

All this complaining and yet I keep coming back to Ali Hazelwood. Her writing just grabs me, and no one does banter quite like her. So when we weren't stuck inside Scarlett's head and her back-and-forth about how she has no friends and no one could like her and how scary every male is and how she can't possibly let her best friend know about her feelings, I actually had fun. But it was just so few and far in between, and the rest so exhausting, that it sucked all the energy out the book.

Am I going to keep reading Ali Hazelwood? I don't know. The issue seems to lie in her full-length novels where she has the page count to really go to town on her female main characters, while her novellas remain as fun as they've always been. So there, I guess I've just answered my own question.

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

I like twists and turns as much as the next thriller-loving gal. I mean, who wouldn't want to be surprised and stunned and stupefied to within an inch of their life? But in order for the twists to deliver, they have to make sense within the story and its characters. And unfortunately, that didn't really happen here.

Initially, Anatomy of an Alibi seemed off to a good start. We are introduced to Camille and Aubrey, one trying to get out of her marriage and the other impersonating her to give her the alibi she needs to achieve her goal. But then as the story progressed and the twists started piling on, it became ever more convoluted and absurd, and before I knew it, I was tuning out.

The problem is that the story lacked believable and fleshed out characters to anchor all the mayhem. Everyone in here came across as flat and nondescript, there to further the plot along but not much else. When every character is bland and everything they do and say is generic, it's hard to get into the story.

And the sheer number of characters was bewildering. As more and more of them were introduced, I could feel my eyebrows migrating towards my hairline. By the time Aubrey's four roommates came into the picture, each of whom was clearly put there to serve a very specific purpose, I just couldn't take it seriously anymore.

I kept waiting for the moment when I would buy into the story and really care—about the characters, about the plotlines, about the twists—but it just never happened. I'm pretty sure if I had quit the story midway and never found out the conclusion, I wouldn't even have shrugged. When everything is random and all the characters interchangeable, what does it really matter what happens to one when it could've easily happened to another?

And if I'm being honest, I wasn't wild about the writing either. I noticed it in First Lie Wins (Ashley Elston's adult debut), but the superior story there covered for that deficiency. Here, it was on full display. The author favors present tense, which can add a sense of immediacy to the tale, but with the downside that it can also make the writing feel simplistic and forced.

I went into this with high expectations. Ashley Elston's previous book was a standout thriller that delivered both a unique storyline and all the thrills. So to have this one fall short is particularly disappointing.

That all sounds super negative, but it wasn't that bad of a read. It certainly goes by fast enough if you're looking to wile away a few hours. But it prioritizes its twists over everything else, and at the end of the day, it's just hard to come away feeling satisfied with a story like that.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

Mercury brought us into the skies, Apollo took us to the Moon. But what about Gemini, the important but often overlooked middle child? Hardly anyone remembers the achievements and dangers of its two-year, twelve-mission program that paved the way for all that followed. Gemini: Stepping Stone to the Moon hopes to right that wrong.

Immediately from the prologue, this book had me hooked. We open onto the spacewalk of Gemini 9 which had come perilously close to fatal. From there, we step back in time to the beginning of NASA and to President Kennedy's pledge to put a man on the Moon before the end of the decade. It was a gutsy and ambitious pledge, but once made, NASA took it as a promise and proceeded to run with it.

This book covers every Mercury and every Gemini mission, and it's fascinating stuff. Every crewed outing (six for Mercury, ten for Gemini) carried enormous risks for the astronauts and contained objectives that must be met in order to move the program closer to its boots-on-the-Moon promise. And in almost every single mission, something went wrong. The combination of quick thinking, ingenuity, and plain luck that kept everyone safe made for a thrilling tale.

Kluger's a terrific writer. His style is very zippy and engaging, so it pairs well with nonfiction, really bringing history to life and keeping the reader riveted. He's faithful to the technical stuff, but he also understands that this story isn't just about that. The human parts are just as important, and he is able to bring to life all the key players and every astronaut that made the Gemini achievements possible.

Kluger also has an eye towards humor, and when you have bureaucracy, posturing on the national and international stage, and good old human folly all mixed in together, there is sure to be some unintended funny moments. The space race with Russia was particularly predisposed to being droll, even if inadvertently so, and Kluger's take on it added a lot of zing to the whole thing.

When it comes to nonfiction, one of the most important factors is whether there is enough content to fill out a book, and that's a resounding yes over here. In fact, it's quite a task to distill a dozen missions and the history leading up to them down to just 300 pages, so Kluger is able to pick and choose the most interesting bits, and as a result, every page of this book comes across with urgency and insight.

What an exhilarating read, especially at this moment in history when the Artemis program looks to be on the verge of bringing us to the lunar surface once more. What is old shall be new again, and so we're right back on the stepping stones to the Moon.

If you're a space buff like me, or just a nonfiction fan in general, I don't think you'll regret picking this up and learning all about Gemini, And in case you're wondering, the correct pronunciation is "gem-min-ee" according to NASA.

Readaroo Rating: 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!

Oh Emma, you delightful, spirited creature! You are so well-meaning and so certain of your cleverness, yet horribly misguided. What results is nothing short of a comedy of errors.

This is my third Jane Austen, and I have a confession to make. Before I started reading her, I thought people from back in the day had no sense of humor. You only need to pick up any of the often recommended classics (all long, dull, droning on and on about rather tedious topics) to come to the same conclusion. So discovering Jane Austen has been quite the breath of fresh air and continuous source of enjoyment for me.

But first, a little bit of a rocky start. It's hard to go into a classic completely blind, especially one so famous and oft-adapted. So when I opened the pages of Emma, I already knew that one of the decisive movies of my childhood, Clueless, was based off of it. And so it is that my love for Clueless and my complete familiarity with the script made the initial chapters of this book a little more plodding than it should've been.

My brain couldn't help but compare the two. It constantly kept a running tally of every character, every scene, and every plot development I came across, happily mapping them to their corresponding one in the film while I begged it to stop. It was enormously distracting, to say the least.

But by and by, the book won me over and my brain quieted. I would say about a third of the way in, after Volume 1, was when I really started to get into and enjoy the book. The characters came alive, and Emma's smug and self-congratulatory meddling, all to unintended consequences, brought so many smiles and chuckles my way.

But it isn't just silly nonsense, one after another. If it were, this would've quickly deteriorated into slapstick comedy or artificial fluff. What makes this tale so scintillating is that Emma possesses self-awareness. She walks away from each experience with some much needed understanding and contrition, and that is what ultimately makes her such a likable and relatable heroine.

Jane Austen really has a way with words. Her writing is quite dialogue-heavy and she spends a lot of back and forth on each topic, way more than I see in contemporary writing. Yet her witticism not only prevents the scene from becoming stale and repetitive, but rather makes each additional sentence shine with ever more insight.

Let's talk about the romance. I mean, there's a reason why many consider Jane Austen to have laid the foundation to the Regency romance genre. Here, we have what must be the OG friends-to-lovers, and I'm all for that. The slow burn, especially as it starts to crystalize in Volume 3, was swoon-worthy and oh so satisfying. Add to that the grumpy/sunshine vibes and the eventual emotional reveal, and I confess I shed some tears.

This is a story where it gets better and better as it goes on. At first, Emma's folly produces some less than ideal results, but really no harm no foul. All is forgiven, especially from her perspective. But then as time goes on, the consequences and misunderstandings start piling up, and eventually all of Emma's chickens come home to roost. That, plus the slow burn romance, all add up to a thoroughly riveting and immensely gratifying arc and conclusion to the story.

I'm solidly in my Jane Austen era now, and I totally get why she still has such a fervent fanbase this many centuries after her stories were first written. While much has changed in our lives since the 18th century, much still remains the same. And her characters, her stories, her astute observations all seem destined to remain as timeless now as they did when they were first created.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

In just two books, Uketsu has established himself as one of the most innovative mystery writers in recent memory.

Diving into one of his books is a bit like jumping into freefall. You can never quite anticipate it and you never know where you're going to land. But the journey, short and brief though it may be, is sure to delight and exhilarate.

And so Strange Houses is just like that. We open into a discussion about the blueprint of a house. At first glace, it looks to be a lovely and charming home, but when you peer a little closer, certain features don't really make sense. Then the more you look, the more it seems the house is hiding something dark and maybe even a bit sinister.

I totally inhaled this. Once I started, I couldn't put it down. Everyone talks about one-sit reads like we've all got unlimited, uninterrupted time at our fingertips. But with this book, you can actually read it in one go. I think I got through it in just under three hours, which is totally doable, if not in one continuous chunk, then at least over the course of a day.

What can I say, there's just something really fun about hunting for clues in pictures. Like, I know I'm an adult now and I should only be reading serious literature with words in it, but come on, who doesn't love pictures in their books? It totally harkens back to the carefree childhood days of Where's Waldo? and Hidden Objects.

I enjoyed the first half of the book more than the second. The first half focused on the blueprints and the architecture of the houses, and it was really fun to follow along as the characters discussed and deciphered the meaning behind unusual features, coming to conclusions I should've seen, but somehow didn't.

The second half got a bit convoluted. There were so many characters, I had to flip back and forth a few times to make sure I got everything and everyone straight. And the explanations and reveals really tested my suspension of disbelief skills, possibly to a level heretofore unseen.

I'm looking at the ratings for this book, and I totally understand why they're a bit lower. But for me, I really didn't mind the wackiness. I already had to suspend my disbelief to read Uketsu in the first place. After all, no real person would hide sinister clues in pictures nor build houses in this way. So to even buy into the author's premise was already a leap, and I was happy to follow thereafter to wherever he took me.

I cut my teeth in mysteries with Agatha Christie, and while the two of them have very different styles, Uketsu and Christie both fully embraced the spirit of the genre. At its heart, a mystery is meant to be a puzzle, one where we the readers must don our detective caps, try to solve it for ourselves, and when we inevitably fail, marvel at the way it all comes together.

Readaroo Rating: 4 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?

I wonder what price I would pay, for that same freedom.

A dynamic entry into the Greek mythology retelling space, I, Medusa takes a villain in the traditional lore and turns her into the hero of her own story.

I adore mythology retellings. But for some reason in recent years, I’ve been tiring of them. Maybe I’ve read too many. Or maybe all the interesting ideas have been written and there's nothing new left. Whatever the reason, it's surprising and thrilling to come across a tale and a character that makes me remember why I fell in love with the genre in the first place.

The story kicks off, and I'm immediately enthralled. We follow Medusa as she yearns to leave the island of her home. She wants to see what's out there, to explore and have adventures. But instead, she is a mortal woman amongst immortal beings, and her parents' sole expectation of her is a favorable marriage to burnish the family name.

In prose equally arresting and foreboding, Ayana Gray draws the reader in, and we are left with the distinct feeling that all will not go well for Medusa. After all, every Greek mythology is pretty much a tragedy, and I don't think it's a spoiler to say that Medusa's will be as well.

But then, as the book continues, it starts to get a little bogged down with an issue common among this genre. When you think about it, you can approach a mythology retelling in two ways—by centering the tale on an event or on a character. If you go with an event, you have more freedom to focus on the choosiest bits, though at the expense of some character development. But if you pick a character, while you get the advantage of sketching them in sharp relief, you must more or less tell their whole life story, and some parts just aren't as interesting as others.

And so the middle of Medusa's tale sagged a bit from this exact phenomenon. We've moved on from the exciting introduction to our heroine and her bid to leave her childhood home. And we haven't yet gotten to the pivotal moment when she would become the legendary monster of so much fame and infamy. Instead, she's just living her life day to day, trying to make it as an acolyte in Athena's temple.

My other issue with this story is that certain sections come across a bit too obvious and modern in its lessons. This is a clearly a female rage story, but some of the dialogue are a bit too aware of this fact and apply a contemporary language in its examination of misogyny. That doesn't really match the ancient tone of the story and as a result, it pulled me out for a bit.

But small quibbles aside, this is such an interesting take on an often maligned character. Medusa is more than just the monster and myth she ends up being, and this story does her justice, bring all of her beauty and complexity and duality to life.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars