If nostalgia for young love and the lost days of summer had a name, it would be Every Summer After.

I'm always on the lookout for the quintessential summer read. There's nothing more satisfying than finding that perfect book to suit my mercurial moods during the long, lazy, too-bright days of my favorite season. And Carley Fortune has been on my radar for ages, ever since this book, her debut, catapulted her to the stratosphere of famous beach read authors. So it was with quite a bit of excitement and glee that I turned to that first page and prepared to be wowed.

But nothing happened, at least not initially. I was not pleased, nor was I displeased. It just felt like a very generic start to such a story, and there are many ones like it out there. But then, the more I read, the more I was taken in—with the characters, with the drama, but most importantly, with the feelings it evoked in me of a time gone by and the bittersweet memories it left behind.

And I think that's where this story really shines. It isn't so much that the more I read, the more I grew to love the tale, but rather, the more I was reminded of my own youth—the magical feeling of having my whole life stretched out in front me, the limitless possibilities and loves and adventures, the inevitable mistakes, and hurting the people I loved on the path to discovering who I really was.

This is a second chance romance, and I personally think those are hard to write. You have to not only come up with a strong enough love to begin with, but then you have to add in a plausible reason why such an auspicious couple cannot possibly be together, often for many years. And then after that, you have to come up with even more plausible reasons why these two sad characters can finally resolve all their previously unsolvable problems and get their happily ever after. Like phew, just thinking about all that makes me tired.

But no worries here, Fortune did a good job. She expertly interweaved the two timelines, one spanning the six years of Percy and Sam's youth, the other over one weekend twelve years later. Each brought something to the table, though it's clear the past timeline was the heart of this story. Percy and Sam's developing friendship and relationship through all the summer days of their youth, sketched through the glittering lens of Fortune's writing, captured all that is wonderful and beautiful and heartbreaking about growing up.

It's been a minute (or a few decades) since I was a teenager, and nowadays, I often have trouble connecting with stories featuring such young leads, usually finding them too immature or angsty to endure for a few hundred pages. But the ones in here were uncommonly responsible, with enough emotional depth to make them feel relatable and compelling.

While this wasn't a perfect tale, and there were definitely moments it felt like a debut author trying to find her legs or I had to suspend yet more disbelief in order to buy into the characters' actions, it did hold me in its thralls the way a good beach read should. I ended it feeling a little bereft at having to say goodbye to Barry's Bay, so I was happy to discover the existence of a sequel.

If you haven't tried Carley Fortune and you're a fan of beach reads, this is absolutely worth a gander. As for me, I've had the urge to listen to "The Boys Of Summer" this entire time. (Of course the original by Don Henley is fab, but my favorite remains the cover by DJ Sammy). So I'm going to go do that right now.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

What is it all the kids say nowadays? No notes, so good! Just kidding though, cause I have lots of notes.

So this is Alex Finlay doing what he does best. Everything I love about his thrillers is here—the characters, the mystery, the writing, not to mention the sheer intensity. I was drawn in from the very first page, and from there on out, I was holding my breath and turning the pages as fast as I could until I reached the very end.

To follow two characters as they try to figure out their own individual mysteries is an intriguing setup. Jules survived the May Day Killer, but is he coming back for her? And Quinn, fresh out of juvi, must find out who murdered his mother. Their two storylines weave back and forth, drawing closer and closer in the way that mysteries must, until everything ultimately collides into a satisfying conclusion.

We really get to know Jules and Quinn throughout this story. Some thrillers can come across a bit random because the characters feel interchangeable, but not here. Here, the dual points of view serve to sear these characters into our minds, and their growth and triumph is at the heart of this story's appeal.

When it comes to thrillers, I feel like I'm always complaining about how there's so much filler. Often, for large swaths of the narrative, nothing is happening, yet we follow character after character as they wallow and ruminate and jump at the shadows. So it's quite a breath of fresh air to get one where every chapter, every scene brings something urgent to the table.

A large reason for this is due to the book's unusual structure. Its timeline takes place exclusively on May 1st, year after year. We start in 1992, and then we jump to the same day the following year, and on it goes. And because there is so much time in between not covered, so much left unsaid within the pages, it necessitates a tighter narrative that strips away all the fluff and filler, automatically amping up the tension and making it unputdownable.

My only quibble is that the mystery component—and maybe it's more my fault than the story's—is too obvious. Normally when I read a mystery, I may start to get an inkling of what's going on, and by the end, I've gotten some things right and some things wrong. But in this case, I called it all and I did it with a large portion of the story still left. It doesn't take away substantially from my enjoyment of the whole thing, but I did wish for a eureka moment that never really materialized, at least for me.

Quibble aside, I had a lot of fun with this one. I loved Alex Finlay's first two books, heard his next few were a bit middling so I skipped, and here we are now. If you haven't read any Alex Finlay, you can't start with a better one. And if you've been holding off like I have, well, come on over cause he's back.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

Advertised as both a mystery and a romance, This Story Might Save Your Life somehow managed to fail me on both counts. The mystery was mediocre, the romance was icky, and the fervent adulation this book's been receiving has me scratching my head in confusion.

Let's take this one at a time. First, the mystery. Talk about much ado over nothing. You'd think with two people missing, there'll be juicy tidbits and surprising twists galore. But instead, we're literally sifting through clues like "xyz" and "ayyy" and acting like they're the smoking gun—I'm not even kidding. And this Benny guy, for a podcaster, can't even converse. His way of figuring things out was to badger everyone he knows and put his foot in his mouth over and over again.

The writing was very much in the way of a lot of domestic thrillers, aiming to be as opaque as possible in order to ratchet up the tension. So instead of just spitting it out, we get a lot of references to "the incident" and "you-know-who" just to add to the murkiness. But the thing is, having a story that is artificially ambiguous isn't the same as having an actually suspenseful mystery, and my brain was not fooled.

Then we get to the culmination, and I had a bit of a shocker, though not from surprise or delight. Let's just say, when you're reading a mystery, you never ever want the resolution to be a deus ex machina. And then, to really cement the lunacy, the wrap up proceeded to spell out in long, confusing, tortuous detail the entire ridiculous series of events that led to Joy's disappearance.

Now, onto the romance. I don't have a problem in general with infidelity in a story. In fact, I enjoy reading about it because I think real life is messy and complicated. But I do have a problem when emotional infidelity is presented as some sort of great love story, and that's what happened here. Joy and Benny were both married to other people, and they met and married those people after they met and fell in love with each other. So what exactly was their excuse other than sheer stupidity?

There was also the additional hook of a podcast, which Joy and Benny helm to the tune of millions of dollars and listeners. Yet, every time we peek at their content, it was nothing more than inane chatter and insipid flirting. I cringed so hard.

Usually, when I read a book that's not for me, I can still see why others would enjoy it. But in this case, I'm just baffled. What do you all see that I'm not seeing? Every component in here was so middling and uninspired, it makes every other book I've read in the genre look skillful by comparison. So yeah, I'm going to be here puzzling over this for quite a while.

I stare at the Batchelder-tile fireplace, the one Joy mistakenly called a “bachelor” fireplace until Xander corrected her in his singsongy accent.

P.S. Looking back, I should've stopped when I came to this line. Because with a straight face, it implies that not only are there three people in the world who know and care what a Batchelder-tile fireplace is without working in fireplace restoration, but they're all somehow in relationships with each other. And that's exactly the level of ridiculousness this story operates under.

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

It's hard to deny that Five is conceptually interesting. But unfortunately, its execution ended up feeling more gimmicky than anything else.

We follow five characters as they converge upon the training station. In a few minutes, one of them will die. Who will it be? The omniscient narrator guides the reader along until we get to that pivotal moment and all is revealed.

Let's start with the characters. When you have a story like this with an ensemble cast, where five lives intersect and change over a brief period of time, it all comes down to the characters. And the ones in here are not really what I expected. They each come with a shtick—the narcissist, the addict, the psychopath, the child psychopath, and the one that only interacts with dead people. If that all sounds a bit over the top, well, it really was.

Instead of being well-rounded individuals with some flaws, the five people in here were all taken to the extreme. Whatever their problem is, it defines every bit of who they are. There is no subtlety, there is no humanity. And when everyone is so exaggerated, it can be hard to connect and empathize with them.

Did I care what happened to these characters? No. Was I curious who would die? Not really. Because to lose one unlikable character is pretty much the same as losing another, so it was all one big shrug for me.

The other major issue is the writing. I'm sorry to say, but I found it kind of obnoxious, especially the longer it went on. The author very much chose to lean into the omniscience of the narrator, to the point that they actually came across as an insufferable know-it-all.

Review everyone’s positions. Consider what they might do next. Consider what you know that they do not, and will not, until it happens, until the train that is headed toward them is unable to stop in time.

I understand this is trying to break the fourth wall, but result was just unappealing. Instead of showing the reader and letting us figure things out for themselves, we are told what to think and how to feel every step of the way.

Life and death happen regardless of what you think, or guess, or put in your online review, or dream of, or work for, or choose, or want. Or deserve.

Yikes! This sort of grating, repetitive, and overexplanatory prose was everywhere, breaking into pivotal scenes and dispensing platitudes like they might actually be rare nuggets of wisdom.

I get it. This was supposed to be some sort of revolutionary, never before seen style of prose and storytelling. But maybe, just maybe, there is a reason no one in the past has attempted this type of narrative. And it's because instead of coming across as compelling, it's just off-putting.

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

"Blood is one thing. The sight is another. But courage—that is rarest of all, Vasilisa Petrovna."

A dark, lush, achingly beautiful tale set against the coldest winters of a bygone Russia, The Bear and the Nightingale swept me away with its unforgettable characters and lyrical prose, and in the process, completely captivated my heart.

There's no feeling like picking up the first book of a fantasy series, especially one rooted in mythology and folklore. I know I will be transported to a land and time far away, full of magic and monsters and of course, the forces of good and evil fighting it out over the soul of mankind. And such was the story here, though it surpassed all my expectations.

The setting of medieval Russia and the coming of age of a girl who must cast off the chains of womanhood to achieve greatness made this feel like a tale both old and new. Our heroine Vasilisa is the heart of this story. She is so strong and fierce and courageous, even in the face of unimaginable obstacles. Following her journey and cheering her on as she stands between her home and the evil monsters bent on destroying it was an absolute delight.

The prose was sublime, and I say that as someone who's not normally fussy about such things. I'd happily take some ugly writing in exchange for a fantastic plot. But thankfully, no such tradeoff was needed here. Every line felt carefully crafted, bringing the story to life with a vividness that was not to be denied. I frequently found myself lingering, rereading sentences and passages much too beautiful to savor only once.

Often, fantasy can come across as a bit juvenile, especially if they feature a protagonist in their teens or early twenties, making the whole thing feel more YA than adult. But the author managed to sidestep that quagmire here, sketching Vasilisa with such elegant restraint and only glancing at the sort of romantic and melodramatic notions that frequently drag down other narratives in similar situations.

Two quick words of caution. One, the book very much sticks to the authentic Russian naming and nicknaming system, so the same character was often called different things by different people. This led to some confusion the first time I read it, but on reread, I had no problems. I think the different names threw me off the first time, but if you're aware going in, hopefully you'll be able to figure them out via context with minimal issues.

Two, this has a bit of a slow start. It isn't one of those stories that roars into action from the get-go. In fact, a lot of its charm lays in its gradual development as we immerse ourselves in the atmosphere and the land and its people. It isn't until a third of the way in that the action moves to the forefront and the plot really starts to reveal itself.

I am in awe of this story, all the more so because it is Katherine Arden's debut. Now that it's whet my appetite, there's no way I can stop. I want more of its wintery magic and the fierce heroine within who defies all odds. It's a good thing this isn't a standalone, and there are still two more books to come to satisfy my cravings.

"Tell us of the frost-demon, the winter-king Karachun. He is abroad tonight, and angry at the thaw."

Readaroo Rating: 4.5 stars

How many odd and nefariously-utilized floorplans can there possibly be out there? Well, according to Uketsu and Strange Buildings, there's at least 11.

But first, let me take moment to shake off the goosebumps. That was intense, and I mean that in the best way possible. Reading Uketsu is always an experience. Once I start, I don't want to stop. I'm always thoroughly enthralled until I reach the very last page, and this was no different.

To understand Uketsu's appeal, you first have to understand what his stories are. Under the giant umbrella of the mystery/thriller genre, they fall onto the mystery side, specifically those that involve puzzles and fair play. As such, the clues are always there and the reader need only be clever enough to figure it all out alongside our protagonist. Now obviously, that did not happen to me and I succeeded in solving not a single iota of anything, but that's where all the fun and appeal lies.

And while I wouldn't go so far as to put Uketsu's books into any sort of horror category, his mysteries definitely feel tinged with chilling and macabre vibes. There is a tension and dissonance throughout that sets the overall tone, and it works to keep me on my toes.

Now, this goes without saying, but you do have to suspend a fair bit of disbelief to enjoy this story. In real life, have you ever come across even a single architectural anomaly that points to crimes and secrets? I don't think so. But the main character in here, after the success of his previous book Strange Houses, had so many people send in their own such house issues that he was able to pick out 11 and turn them into a story. Like, come on. So yes, a healthy suspension of disbelief is a must.

Speaking of that, I find it interesting that Uketsu has bestowed upon his main character the honor of being the writer of his books. I don't see this plot device often, but the few times I have, it blurs the line between fiction and nonfiction. And when it comes to mysteries, the more real and authentic it might seem, the more unputdownable it is.

Needless to say, I was absolutely riveted. The beginning, as each of the odd floorplans was introduced, felt more like a collection of short stories. But then as we went on and the disparate vignettes started to intertwine, the complexity and the addictiveness ratcheted up, until we reached the culmination of everything. And what a culmination it was. My suspension of disbelief skills was thoroughly tested, but I enjoyed every moment of it.

This is the sort of mystery that feels like it might be best read twice back-to-back. Because by the time everything comes together, there are so many elements and characters and floorplans at play, it can be hard to keep them all straight. The book did try to do some recapping, which was helpful, but I suspect if I read it again while everything was still fresh, I'd probably see the story from a whole new perspective.

A quick word of caution—be sure to check the trigger warnings if you're a sensitive reader. There are definitely some dark elements in this story.

Uketsu's mysteries are always so unique and such a celebration of the puzzle within, I can't help but be captivated. There's a part of me that has always clung to my childhood dream of being a detective when I grow up, and reading these books and hunting for clues in the pictures within, I feel like maybe I still can be.

Readaroo Rating: 4 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!

After two books, I'm starting to get a feel for Marcus Kliewer. His stories never make much sense, there's a real dearth of anything resembling an explanation, but you sure do feel a compulsive need to turn the pages.

Before we begin, a confession. I'm not much of a horror girlie. I can count on two hands the number of books I've read in the genre. And when it comes to horror films, you can forget about it. I'm either cowering in the corner as the eerie music plays, or I'm hiding behind my hands while making my husband narrate the whole thing. So when I pick up a horror book, it's with much trepidation and a commitment to only read during the daylight hours. But you know what, I never have to worry with Marcus Kliewer, because his book just aren't that scary.

The Caretaker has an interesting enough premise. Macy needs money desperately, so she answers an ad for housesitting. For only three days of work, she can make nine thousand dollars. Sure, the house is isolated and it gives off weird vibes and she doesn't really know what her duties are. But how hard can it be? Well, you know what they say about something being too good to be true, so Macy's definitely in for a rough time.

I thought the initial chapters were fantastic. The introduction of the house and the Carnswels and the caretaker job were all steeped in creepy, mysterious vibes. There was this feeling that we were building up to something big, something that was going to knock my socks off.

But then we come to the actual meat of the story itself, which is the eponymous caretaker job. Turning lights on and off, catching rabbits, staying awake through the witching hour. For every task, there was Macy, almost getting it, but oh no, messing it up at the very last moment. And every time she messes up, she must await further, ever more kooky instructions in order to make it right. And lo and behold, she does not complete a single task correctly. And so the cycle repeats.

Sigh. Is turning lights on and off that scary or interesting? Unfortunately, no. What about chasing down rabbits, or hiding from people knocking on your door? Also, no. They feel more like chores that need to be done, and wacky ones at that. After a while, I felt the urge to laugh more than anything else, because how many random things can poor Macy be made to do for the sake of this story?

But no worries, folks, I hung on, cause surely there must be some amazing reveal or explanation that will make this choreful journey worthwhile. But alas, Marcus Kliewer, you got me good there. Cause not only did the strange chores take up pretty much the entire rest of the story, but you just ended things with no real explanation or wrap up.

I should've known. These are all the same issues I had with Kliewer's previous book. All this great buildup and nothing really comes of it. His books feel like they are more targeted towards the film medium. While this sort of open-endedness might work for movies, it doesn't really work for books, at least in my humble opinion.

I don't want to sell the story short. It has a compulsive readability that rivals the best of thrillers, and I certainly kept going until the very last page. But without any real explanation or ending, I just can't find satisfaction.

Horror, maybe more than any other genre, feels so diverse in reactions and opinions. What works for one reader may or may not work for another. So if you're at all curious about Kliewer, you should give him a try. Between his two books, I would say I enjoyed this one a little bit more than his debut. So my recommendation is to start here and see if Kliewer's brand of horror works for you.

Readaroo Rating: 3.5 stars

"We’re not going to leave the island… None of us will ever leave … It’s the end, you see—the end of everything…."

Even amongst the tableau of exceptional mysteries that Agatha Christie is known for, And Then There Were None stands out as something extraordinary. It is arguably Christie's most beloved piece of work, and for good reason.

Right from the start, this story feels unusual and steeped in atmosphere. Ten strangers are summoned to Soldier Island, but when they arrive, the host is missing. The guests look at each other with suspicion. Why are they here? What could be the purpose of such a gathering? Soon a storm arrives and cuts off all ability to leave the island. And they start dying, one by one.

Ah, a locked-room mystery. My word, is there anything better? When done right, it offers such delight and satisfaction, and this story is the quintessential example. No one can get off the island, no one can get on the island. So it must be one of the guests. But which one is it? And how are they doing it?

This is quite an intricate mystery, with many characters and moving parts. There's lots going on on the surface and also underneath, which we'll come to understand later. Christie herself even mentioned that this was a difficult one for her to write, requiring lots of careful planning to come to fruition. But all that meticulousness certainly paid off.

But don't let the intricacy scare you off. It doesn't negatively impact reading experience, it only enhances it. In fact, this is exactly Christie's signature style—simple and straightforward writing, confounding mystery with carefully placed red herrings, and when the reveal comes, there's always that clear and satisfying feeling of a perfect eureka moment.

If you're more used to reading modern thrillers, mysteries like this can feel very different. The modern thriller prioritizes outlandish twists and psychological drama, whereas these Golden Age mysteries are all about the inherent puzzle within. In the spirit of fair play, the reader is given access to all the clues, and if you're clever enough, you might just armchair detect your way to the right answer before the book reveals it to you.

The first time I read this, I was left in awe. No no, I think that's too mild of a phrase. I was shaken to my core. I was thirteen at the time, and my homeroom teacher had a collection of Agatha Christie's on his shelf. I'd never read anything like them, and I inhaled the whole lot. So started my love affair with the mystery genre and the Queen of Crime. To this day, Agatha Christie remains one of my favorite authors, and I happily reach for her books again and again.

If you're a mystery reader and somehow this book has escaped your attention, it's absolutely worth adding to your list. It's impossible to understand the landscape of modern mysteries without having seen where they come from. In fact, I don't think it's too much of an exaggeration to say all the mysteries I've ever loved have probably taken every single one of their conceits from Christie's books. And this one in particular has inspired so many riffs, it would be a travesty to read those without having known the original.

Readaroo Rating: 5 stars!

When it comes to satire, Kevin Kwan understands the assignment. So it's no surprise that China Rich Girlfriend is just as fun, just as frothy, and just as sharply insightful as its predecessor.

Stepping into the sophomore book of an author who has hit it out of the park with their debut, I'm always a bit uncertain. Did I hallucinate my enjoyment? Was it a one hit wonder? Can the author really recreate the magic once again? Well, now that I've read a few Kevin Kwan books, I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. I didn't imagine it, it wasn't in my head. Kwan writes satire aimed straight at my heart and my funny bone, and I'm happy to soak up every single line.

The characters, their drama and antics, the peculiar situations they find themselves in, all feel both outrageous and familiar. Reading this was like stepping back into a culture I knew intimately. The expectation of filial piety, the inability of different generations to communicate effectively, the preference to acquire things over experiences, all made so much sense to me.

In a satire, the characters are key. Fleshing them out and imbuing them with humanity is how you ground the story and prevent it from turning into a mockery. And Kwan does so masterfully. I empathized with all the characters, I understood why they do what they do. Even the most abrasive among them never turn into caricatures, and that's skillful indeed.

It was fun to see some of the side characters of the first book get their due in this one. Everyone wanted more of Astrid, and this book certainly brings that wish to fruition. But my surprise favorite was Kitty Pong, the butt of the joke in the first book, but a leading lady here. She and Corinna really stole the show in this one, and Corinna's dossier for Kitty was one of the real highlights of the book.

I'm amazed at how much authentic details Kwan is able to add into all of his stories. The art, the fashion, the history all come from the real world, and they help make this feel borderline biographic. It might be fun to read dishy gossip about made-up characters, but to read about ones that actually come across as real? That takes it to a whole 'nother level.

I also have to give a nod to the setting. It was a joy to experience Shanghai, the city of my birth and early years, through the eyes of this story. I am forever missing this glittering metropolis with its delicious food and vivid skylines, so I definitely won't say no to such a sensational visit, even if it's just within the pages of a book.

I'm finding myself enjoying Kevin Kwan more and more. He really has an eye for social commentary, and his satirical take on crazy Asian families is the best combination of honest and funny. He sees the absurdity in human nature and paints all that folly in such delightful strokes, I have no choice but to laugh and revel in it with him.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

When you talk about stories that pack a punch, The Language of Liars sure got me pretty good. And the fact that it's a slim 150 pages? Well, that just means the wallop was even more powerful.

I went into this not quite knowing what to expect. All this talk about language and linguistics means I can't help but compare it to another book that came out not too long ago. (If you know it, you know it.) That book was excruciating long and dull and preferred to beat the reader over the head with its simplistic messages. Was I in for the same treatment here?

Thankfully no. Though both tales centered around the insidiousness of colonialism and using language for power, the execution couldn't be more different. This story felt unique, innovative, and provocative, and it's exactly the sort of memorable tale I'm always searching for.

If you know me, you know I'm a bit of nut for science fiction. It's probably my favorite genre, and when done right, it encapsulates all that makes us human—our endless need for exploration and connection and compassion. And that's exactly what we get here. Our main character Ro isn't even human, yet his quest to understand different species and languages and cultures, as well as his moral dilemmas, couldn't be more relatable. (In fact, it reminded me a lot of Star Trek: The Next Generation, an old fav of mine.)

The way this story builds up is quite masterful, all reaching towards a climax that's about as striking as you could hope for. It's been a while since a story has so thoroughly and metaphorically beaten me up, so I'm definitely going to be remembering this for quite a while.

Regarding the length, I've been loving novellas more and more recently. The shorter format means we don't have any time to waste. There's no long winded worldbuilding, no getting stuck in the weeds. The more compact style of storytelling necessitates jumping straight into the good stuff, and in return, the narrative demands our upmost attention in order to follow along.

A quick note—there is a fair bit of linguistics jargon in here, especially in the beginning, but don't let that bog you down. You don't need to grasp all the technical terms in order to understand or appreciate the tale. Just try to power through it and you'll be richly rewarded. In fact, once I got through the initial pages, I read the rest of the book in one long inhale.

If you're a science fiction nut and the sort to enjoy a story that's both stimulating and brutal, don't let this one pass you by. I bet you're going to be remembering it for a long time too.

Readaroo Rating: 4.5 stars

Ugh, sorry to always be the contrarian. I see reader after reader calling this their favorite Sally Hepworth, but for me, Mad Mabel fell just a bit short of the author's best.

But first, let's set expectations. Sally Hepworth's books are always labeled as mystery/thrillers, but they are not. In fact, if you went into it thinking you're signing up for some big brouhaha with lots of twists and turns, you'd be sorely disappointed.

Hepworth writes domestic suspense with a heavy emphasis on the characters and their personal and interpersonal drama, and the suspense comes from the story's construction. In other words, there's nothing necessarily suspenseful going on in the plot itself, it's more the way Hepworth weaves the timelines and points of view that creates the tension. 

And maybe, when put like that, I can already see why I felt more lukewarm towards this book than some of her others. None of the things that usually grab me in a Sally Hepworth story did in this one. The characters, the drama, even the tension in here all felt a bit superficial and ho hum, like I've seen it all before.

Old person who's grouchy on the outside and sweet on the inside? Check. Old person and young child form a friendship? Check. Old person's heart finally thaws after said friendship? Check.

This is a dual timeline and I had trouble connecting with Mabel in both, which is difficult to forgive in a character-driven story. The series of bad things that happens to the young Mabel felt overdone, relying heavily on coincidences and piled on past the point of believability to maximize emotional turmoil. And the portrayal of old Mabel felt surprisingly shallow, laying it on thick with the aforementioned old-person grouchiness, but I had trouble finding the sweetness underneath.

Speaking of seeing it all before, there is a revelation towards the end of the book that I figured out almost immediately. [View spoiler below]

And so for all these reasons, it didn't feel like the story was propelling me forward so much as I was dragging it along. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad by any means; it just didn't grab me the same way Hepworth's books usually do.

Readaroo Rating: 3 stars

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[Spoiler} Like, come on, of course only Mabel could see Daphne! The Sixth Sense has seared this exact feint into the memory of every single person from now until the end of time. It was so masterfully done in the film and so strikingly memorable that no one could ever pull the same wool over our eyes again. M. Night Shyamalan is the first and only person to have succeeded at this sleight of hand, and Sally Hepworth unfortunately did not.

Huh. So you guys didn't like this one? Well, that's a bit awkward, cause I'm over here having a pretty good time with it.

Now, usually I'm on Outlier Island having to apologize for hating on a book everyone's loving. But this time, it's the opposite. Consensus seems to be that this story didn't quite reach its potential, but you could've fooled me. In fact, I had so much fun with The Ending Writes Itself, I'm kind of sad it's over.

After giving it some thought, I do have a few theories as to why it worked for me but maybe not for a lot of other readers out there, so let me have a crack at explaining.

1. This book is by an author duo, one of whom is V.E. Schwab (of Addie LaRue fame). Schwab is known for writing fantasies with lyrical, descriptive, verbose (take your pick) prose, and this is definitely not that. Truth be told, I actually wasn't that big of a fan of Addie, so it was a relief to read something from Schwab that was less long-winded and more straightforward. But if you're a big Addie fan and came here looking for more of the same, this may not have anything to offer you.

2. Across the board, I'm a big fan of stories that peek behind the curtain into the world of writing and publishing. And if that peek happens to be a bit satirical and tongue-in-the-cheek? Even better. So I had a great time following along as these writers competed to finish a dead author's greatest work. But I can also see how, if that topic doesn't interest you, then this would seem like much ado about nothing.

3. This is a riff on And Then There Were None, and I think in order to fully understand and enjoy the way this tale unfolds, you do have to have read the classic first. Otherwise, this doesn't really make much sense and can come off as somewhat random and unhinged. I'm a huge Agatha Christie fan, and And Then There Were None is one of my all-time favorites by her, so this was right up my alley. This isn't the first riff I've come across, nor is it the best, but it is a fun one and definitely scratched my infinite itch for anything Christie related.

So there you go. Hopefully that gives you a better idea of whether this book might be for you. But if my experience is any indication, sometimes you can never tell. At the end of the day, we are all individual readers, and the only way to know for sure if you'll like a book is to pick it up and see for yourself.

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

If you like your romance with tons of sap and the sort of head-scratching obtuseness that keeps its characters apart for no discernible reason, then First-Time Caller is for you. Me, I rolled my eyes through the whole thing.

This started out all right, sweet and earnest if a bit cheesy. Lucie has been a single mom for a long time and is feeling lonely. Her daughter calls up a romantic radio talk show to see if she can help her mom find some love. And what do you know, Lucie and the host Aiden hit it off immediately and there's sparks everywhere, and so we've got ourselves the beginnings of a romance.

Yep, that's all good, but that's only enough content to cover like a chapter or two. And so I find myself asking, what will the rest of the book be about? Well, it seems like the author was asking herself that same question for the rest book too, because nothing else of consequence happens. We just follow Lucie and Aiden as they talk and spark but deny that they like each other due to various made-up reasons, for hundreds of pages.

Every scene, every interaction, every dialogue just goes on and on. They say the same things to each other, they rehash the same dubious reasons on why they can't be together. Like have mercy, right? We don't need everything spelled out in such excruciating detail, every scene so thoroughly beaten to death.

Tension in a story comes from what is unsaid, not what is said. It is what the reader fills in with their mind in between the lines. So when you stretch every scene and every moment to the max, you have effectively removed all the tension from the story. And you know what you have when there is no tension in a romance? One big bland slog. And indeed, that is this story.

And the longer this went on, the less patient I became. What started out as mildly flirtatious dialogue soon stretched into the sort of awkward, cloy chatter you'd overhear from teenagers and cringe at in real life. And Aiden's grumpy demeanor morphed into the kind of emotionally unavailable character that no real, self-respecting woman would touch with a ten foot pole.

In fact, it got so bad through the second half that I found myself hoping Lucie would come to her senses and ditch Aiden. Lucie, run away! You deserve so much better!

All these issues can be traced back to one problem—the book was just too long. It did not have enough content to fill up over 400 pages. And so instead of coming up with some additional believable conflict or trimming it down, the author instead chose to go with what she had and pad it up. And that's exactly what it feels like when you read it. Every chapter is just the same thing over and over, the same dialogue on repeat, the same angst as to why they couldn't possibly be together when nothing was standing in their way.

So yeah, to all the folks who read this and loved it and want Aiden to be their boyfriend, have at it. I'm taking my ten foot pole and running the heck away.

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Readaroo Rating: 4 stars

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Readaroo Rating: 2 stars

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!

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

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 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