A Universe in Words

Review: 'Hunger and Thirst' by Claire Fuller

2026-05-27T10:33:22.208+01:00

Being a teenager is always messy. It is the best of times and the worst of times. It is especially bad, however, if you're not just haunted by childhood experiences but perhaps also by an active ghost. Hunger and Thirst is an intriguing exploration of art and female friendship that had me gripped. Thanks to Fig Tree and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 07/05/2026
Publisher: Penguin General; Fig Tree

1987: After a childhood trauma and years in and out of the care system, sixteen-year-old Ursula finds herself with a new job in the postroom of a local art school, a bed in a halfway house, and—delightfully— some new friends, including wild-child, Sue. When Ursula is invited to join a squat at The Underwood, a mysterious house whose owners met a terrible end, she can’t resist the promise of a readymade, hodgepodge family.

But as Sue’s behaviour and demands become more extreme, Ursula who has always been hungry—for food—and more importantly for love, acceptance and belonging, carries out her friend’s terrible dare. It's a decision that will haunt her for decades.

Thirty-six years later, Ursula is a renowned, reclusive sculptor living under a pseudonym in London when her identity is exposed by true-crime documentary-maker who is digging into an unsolved disappearance. But it is not only the filmmaker who has discovered Ursula’s whereabouts, and as her past catches up with her present, Ursula must work out whether the monsters are within her or without.

I have said it before and I will say it again: the Gothic is the best genre to explore trauma through. There is nothing like a crumbling house full of the ghost of the past to show that no man is an island and we all have a history. There is nothing like art created in a near fugue state to show the murky depths of a psyche. There is nothing like a doomed female friendship, forged through shared misery and betrayed secrets, to show how hungry we all truly are. Claire Fuller excels at all of this in Hunger and Thirst. I think the Gothic nature of the story is also enhanced by the back and forth between this murky, sticky past and the present, with its true crime journalists and cell phones. It is a somewhat jarring juxtaposition that speaks to how incoherent life can be, how the past and present can feel irreconcilable. The Gothic always requires you to eventually face this abyss, to look into it and allow it to look right back at you. I find this an incredibly rewarding reading experience, although I also appreciate that it might now be for everyone.

In Hunger and Thirst we follow Ursula both as a sixteen-year old and almost fourty years later, when the things that happened in her childhood come back to haunt her. We meet teen-Ursula as she moves into a halfway house and starts a new job in the post room of an art school. Ursula is drawn to the art being created there, but also to her coworker Sue, who seems so confident and strong. We also flash back and forth to the adult Ursula, now a reclusive but famous artist, who is being hounded by a reporter who made a documentary about what happened all those years ago. This forces adult-Ursula to confront some of the things that happened, to think again about the years since and about her own role in it all. I want to remain super-vague about what actually happens, because I immensely enjoyed the way it all unfolded. When Hunger and Thirst leans most fully into its Gothicness, it is stunning. I loved the way Fuller plays with all the various forms you can be haunted in your life, by the little pieces of other lives and people that cling to you as you move through life yourself.

I read Claire Fuller's Our Endless Numbered Days back in 2015 and adored it, yet I haven't read any of her novels since then until Hunger and Thirst. This is clearly something I need to rectify because I do really enjoy her writing. Claire Fuller is able to touch on those deeply painful, vulnerable parts of girl- and womanhood, the craving for love and connection, the almost literal hunger and thirst that accompanies persistent self-denial. Her language is also beautiful and she has a real control of her craft. Hunger and Thirst could easily slip into cliches or seem overly dramatic, which is always a danger with Gothic literature, but it never does. Fuller has the reader consistently hovering on the knife's edge between belief and disbelief, between wanting to externalise the trauma and the past in the forms of a ghost and accepting that the past is never gone and always a part of us. What I really liked about this novel is the role that Fuller gives art in understanding one's self. Sue is obsessed with film making, with capturing images and ideas, with visualising the building dread. Ursula also turns to art to express things she cannot fully verbalise, constantly returning to similar themes and motifs as she tries to understand herself. That is, in the end, what I think art is for; giving shape to things we cannot fully name, directly look at, or fully accept. Hunger and Thirst does this well and I can wholeheartedly recommend it.

I give this novel...

5 Universes!

Hunger and Thirst is a stunning Gothic novel about trauma and womanhood, the role of art, and facing your monsters. If you're into any of this, then it is a must-read. If you're hesitant about it, still give this book a go.

Review: 'Hollow Inside' by Asako Otani, trans. by Ginny Tapley Takemori

2026-05-27T10:04:36.690+01:00

If you enjoy reading about adults trying to figure out what to do with their lives in a way that may not be super-healthy but is the best they can do, then Hollow Inside is for you. It's a novella that raises a lot of questions without giving you answers, but that is in and of itself a valuable reading experience, even if it can also be frustrating. Thanks to Steerforth & Pushkin and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 05/05/2026
Publisher: Steerforth & Pushkin

A witty, deadpan novel about modern relationships, pets, and living as a single woman; for fans of Sayaka Murata, offbeat humor, and sharp social observation

In this skewed, mordantly funny Japanese novel, two women navigate aging and relationships in divergent ways.

Hirai, 38, has recently started living with her colleague Suganuma, 42. Both women are single and feel ambivalent at best about the prospect of marriage. Stuck in bland jobs that don’t pay enough for them to afford one-bedroom apartments in the city, they defy social expectation and create their own domestic routines, allowing space for Suganuma’s side-hustle—3D-printing figurines of beloved dead pets for their grieving owners.

Though initially united by their resistance to romantic love, the pair begin tentative forays toward partnership. Suganuma strikes up a secret affair, which shocks Hirai into action and back into the world of dating apps. As she drifts through painfully adequate dates and endures intrusive questions at office socials, Hirai frets over whether she really needs to freeze her eggs again. In a dating world sapped of genuine connection, where can she turn to feel less hollow?

The debut novel by a bright new voice in Japanese fiction, Hollow Inside won the prestigious Subaru Prize. With a dark, deadpan tone and sharply witty observation, Asako Otani satirizes the myths and pressures of contemporary romantic love, as Hirai and Suganuma try to chart their own paths in a precarious world.

Sometimes you read a story that leaves you unsure about many things. What is this story about? What am I meant to take away from it? Why are the lives shown here so empty? Is my own life empty? Can we find satisfaction and comfort in a world that is becoming ever emptier of meaning and true connection? As you can see, asking such questions quickly spirals into wondering about yourself and that is most likely the point of stories like Hollow Inside. While this is a Japanese novella and therefore reflects social and cultural attitudes towards single, middle-ages women there, it also speaks more widely to adult life globally, I feel. Our societies are becoming ever more commercial and capitalist, with the pursuit of happiness directly tied to how much you can buy and how much you can show off. This is linked, however, to an ever-increasing loneliness, exacerbated by rising costs and failing social safety nets. Do we take refuge in our favourite bands? Do we band together with our friends? Do we open up and accept less than we want, just to have something? These aren't necessarily fun things to think about, but it is probably good to sit down with these questions every once in a while.

Summarising Hollow Inside is tricky. The novella focuses on Hirai, who is in the last years of her thirties and has just moved in with a female friend and colleague, Suganuma. Neither of them has a relationship, neither of them has a whole lot to look forward to, but they find comfort and companionship in one another. When Suganuma re-enters the dating world, Hirai follows, but there is not a whole lot of excitement or joy to be found there either. The title most directly refers to Suganuma's side job, producing 3D-prints of deceased pets, which are hollow on the inside. It most importantly, however, also refers to the hollowness of Hirai's life, to the absence of something profound and touching that can give her life meaning. The tone of the novel echoes this hollowness in its direct, unflowery language. In part this feels typical of the style of Japanese fiction I have read so far, but there is an added lack of colour and life in Hollow Inside which is impressive. Ginny Tapley Takemori once again provides an excellent translation, from what I can tell. I appreciate that none of this sounds like I'm recommending this novella, and yet I think that I am. Not all reading experiences can or should be fun and I do think Asako Otani puts a feeling into words that is otherwise difficult to discuss and approach.

I give this novella...

3 Universes!

Hollow Inside sets you up for a complex reading experience, one which is at once empty and full of hidden meaning. If you are willing to meet the novel in that absence, to face your own hollowness, then it can be a very rich, if perhaps sad, encounter.

Review: 'One for Sorrow' (D.I. Callanach #7) by Helen Fields

2026-05-27T09:38:08.233+01:00

Cat-and-mouse games provide an excellent plot structure for thrillers and mysteries. Who is really chasing whom? As Ava and Luc run down the clock, you just know someone is going to get hurt in the process and it creates for excellent tension. And yet, something didn't entirely work for me here. Thanks to Avon Books and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for a honest review. My sincere apologies for the long delay in reviewing!

Pub. Date: 03/03/2022
Publisher: Avon Books

One for sorrow, two for joy
Edinburgh is gripped by the greatest terror it has ever known. A lone bomber is targeting victims across the city and no one is safe.

Three for a girl, four for a boy
DCI Ava Turner and DI Luc Callanach face death every day – and not just the deaths of the people being taken hostage by the killer.

Five for silver, six for gold
When it becomes clear that with every tip-off they are walking into a trap designed to kill them too, Ava and Luc know that finding the truth could mean paying the ultimate price.

Seven for a secret never to be told…
But with the threat – and body count – rising daily, and no clue as to who’s behind it, neither Ava nor Luc know whether they will live long enough to tell the tale…

Ava Turner and Luc Callanach are probably my favourite detective duo, just like Helen Fields is one of my favourite mystery/thriller writers. And yet it took me ages to get around to One for Sorrow and I left it not entirely sure how I feel about the series at this point. I did have a good time with One for Sorrow. And yet... I think maybe I'm not meant for these long detective series because although Fields does a good job at showing how both Ava and Luc are cracking under the pressure, I nonetheless don't understand how they are still standing with everything that has been going on. I think this is just a point where I cannot fully suspend my disbelief, since I have the same issue with detective shows or even superhero films where the hero gets up again even after the 50th punch straight to the head. So while I like both Ava and Luc as characters, I can no longer fully "believe" in them as real people. That doesn't entirely take the pleasure out of reading these books, but it does somewhat hamper my ability to fully connect. This is a personal thing, however, and so will not be the same for other readers.

One for Sorrow is grim, which becomes clear when it starts at a funeral of someone you'll care about if you've read other books in the series. There is a new threat in Edinburgh, a killer who is out for revenge. But who is the killer truly targeting? We get some clues through the story of Quinn, a young woman who finds herself targeted by an obsessive and abusive boyfriend. How her timeline and story align with that of Ava and Luc trying to deal with the increasingly violent crimes from their killer is not revealed until quite close to the end, although as an attentive reader you'll start putting those clues together. I was still on the wrong track with my predictions though and the eventual revelation was quite bitter sweet. I will say that Helen Fields takes it to a hundred in One for Sorrow. There is non-stop tension, the crimes are rough to read, the backstory is tragic, and there is literally only one tiny little ray of sunshine throughout the entire 400 pages of this book. Ava is on a downward spiral and there is a fatigue to her that is hard to read, especially considering that the punches keep coming regardless. One for Sorrow is not a good time, in that sense, although it is a tense and occasionally thrilling one!

I really enjoy Helen Fields' writing and have for a while. I like how she builds and maintains tension, the set pieces she sets up, and how she fleshes out her characters. There are certain scenes in this book which felt incredibly vivid, in good and bad ways, which meant I could see them in my mind. There are little ticks she gives her characters which make them intensely human and recognisable. I truly think that the D.I. Callanach series is an excellent one for anyone who loves tense thrillers and a solid, "found family"-esque team of detectives. With One for Sorrow however, I, as I mentioned above, hit the wall of "how much more are we going to make these people suffer". This is an issue, if you want to call it that, with the genre itself. If you're going to keep a series going, you have to up the stakes somehow. With all of that in mind, One for Sorrow is a dark and twisted read and maybe it's a good thing that the next book in the series hasn't come out yet. Perhaps if we give it some air, there will also be some light at the end of this harsh tunnel for Fields' main characters. This book did also introduce cognitive psychologist Connie Woolwine to me, who is the protagonist of a new (?) series Fields is writing, so perhaps I'll check that one out.

I give this novel...

3 Universes!

I did enjoy One for Sorrow but it left me feeling somewhat in the dumps after. This is not a flaw of Helen Fields' writing in any way, it is just a consequence of seven books' worth of trauma and ever-increasing stakes both for the main characters and the reader. So it's time for a little break for me, but the whole series is still one I'd recommend!

Review: 'Not Your Final Girl' by Mikayla Randolph

2026-05-13T13:16:52.987+01:00

A reunion of high school friends at a remote cabin is the perfect place for old feuds and buried memories to resurface, especially if they are all united by a dark deed. In Not Your Final Girl, we get to know a group of mostly deeply dislikeable characters and get to watch them be hunted down. The novel definitely has higher ambitions that being straightforward slasher-fun, but to what extent these ambitions actually work is probably up to the reader. Thanks to CLASH Books and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 05/05/2026
Publisher: CLASH Books

A feminist slasher novel fueled by female rage and haunted by gruesome murders, in this contemporary reimagining of Tess of the D’Urbervilles there can only be one Final Girl.
Darcy and her high school friends haven’t gathered together in seven years. After a tragic murder on prom night, the group graduated and never looked back. But when the lakeside cabin they spent their summers at is put up for sale, they reunite for one last hurrah.
Darcy hopes it will be an inspiring weekend that will help them all move on from their shared trauma. But Ashley, her biggest tormentor and the group’s manipulative self-appointed leader, is sure to stir up trouble. After a first day filled with jealousy, heartbreak, and unexpected guests, tensions are bursting, and the feud between Darcy and Ashley resurfaces.
The reunion takes a sinister turn when a masked killer slaughters one of their own. Cut off from the outside world with the death toll rising fast, the terrified friends turn on each other and uncover long buried secrets. Someone is seeking justice for their past betrayals and with friends like these no one is safe in this dark-femme slasher for fans of Maeve Fly by CJ Leede and The Indian Lake Trilogy by Stephen Graham Jones.

Can a slasher be feminist? Of course, everything can be feminist with the right kind of attention. But what is required of a slasher to earn the label "feminist"? The book does quote Carol Clover about the Final Girl at the front, a quote I recently used in an academic article as well, so that was fun for me but doth not, in and of itself, mark this as feminist. Feminism at its most basic is a political movement to win suffrage for women, to ensure that we are politically represented and equal in the eyes of the law. On a cultural level, feminism has sometimes been seen as making angels out of women who, in comparison to horrible men, can do no wrong. More recently, feminism has grown a little and emphasised that it is important that women are allowed to be loud and ugly, bad in different ways, not nice, not kind, not pretty, not, in short, perfect angels. I think that is the direction Not Your Final Girl goes into as well, wanting to show complex and complicated female characters and show how they deal with trauma and difficulty but in the context of a slasher. I've seen a number of people refer to this as a slasher-take on Thomas Hardy's Tess of the d'Urbervilles in their reviews, which surely comes from a marketing angle. I can see it, roughlyyyy, with some goodwill, but admittedly it's been a while since I've read Tess. In this book Mikayla Randolph is definitely interested in trauma responses, in victim blaming, in internalised misogyny, and more. I don't know if the explorations of those themes go quite deep enough for me and, depending on your mileage, each reader will have a different experience with it.

Not Your Final Girl begins with a brief flash of the night where everything goes down, with two characters sprinting for their life and one being determined that they will be the final girl, not the other one. We then jump back a day or two to everyone arriving at the cabin. We have a whole set of characters: Darcy, the odd one out, Ashley, the high school bully, Su-Ah, Ashley's new girlfriend, Eliza, the younger sister of a previous friend, Kai, the novel's take on the jock, Lettie, who is now Insta-famous, Spencer, who has a crush on Lettie, and Nate, who used to date the previous friend and has now brought Eliza to this trip. They have come to the cabin, owned by Lettie's parents, because it will soon be sold, but what really unites them is what happened around prom in high school. There is an absence in their group, someone who is not there, and much of the novel's tension swirls around discovering what happened back then. As the tension rises, people begin to die in various interesting and gruesome ways as someone is clearly settling scores. But who? It did click for me in the end, mere seconds before the reveal, so I liked how Randolph set that up. In hindsight, there are clues, which is how it should be.

One thing I really enjoyed about Mikayla Randolph's writing is how she ratchets up the tension in the second half of the book. Some of the deaths and suspense scenes worked really well and felt chilling due to the small details Randolph introduced. In contrast, first half is very focused on setting up the various relationships between the characters based on their shared history and while this was interesting, it did also become a little bit of a slog. There is only so much high school drama you can read about before you wish these people would just grow up. A thing I wonder about is how the POVs were selected. We get chapters from Darcy, Ashley, Su-Ah, Eliza, and Kai. The latter feels mostly irrelevant to me, although the others do make some sense. Especially Su-Ah, as an outside perspective, was interesting and here the voice was also a little different in comparison to the others. Su-Ah reads and volunteers in a library (if I remember correctly) and so she frequently compares situations to stories. It was a nice way to individualise her chapters. I wonder why Lettie didn't qualify for a POV, though, and although I deeply disliked Nate, perhaps seeing events from his perspective would also have been interesting. Finally, I have one big issue with Not Your Final Girl which also feeds into my questioning the novel's feminist status. This isn't really a spoiler but skip to the next paragraph if you want to know nothing. It somehow stuck in my craw that the one character who was a bully, saw red, struggled with anger issues, and was presented as manipulative is Ashley, who is a Black woman. I fully see what Randolph was doing with her character and she builds in a little bit of awareness in there and the consequences of being Black in a slasher context, but it's not enough. I don't know if the character was always meant to be Black or if that was a decision later in the writing process, but especially since we get Ashley's POV, there should have been more discussion, or at least authorial awareness, of the impact of her ethnicity. Despite these issues, I was very intrigued by Not Your Final Girl and I'll keep an eye out for what Mikayla Randolph writes next.

I give this novel...

3 Universes!

Not Your Final Girl didn't hit me as quite as revolutionarily feminist as the marketing would like, but Randolph shows a good skill at writing suspense and at crafting unlikeable characters in difficult situations.

Review: 'The Ghost Women' by Jennifer Murphy

2026-05-03T11:01:00.003+01:00

The Ghost Women has so many things I enjoy: a weird school, dark woods, an isolated island, murders related to tarot cards, magic. And yet... While I had a good time with this book, it left a weird after-taste in my mouth that I did not enjoy. Thinking about it the last few months, I'm still conflicted about this book. Thanks to Dutton and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My apologies for the delay in reviewing.

Pub. Date: 24/02/2026
Publisher: Dutton

A mysterious art academy in the woods, a deck of ancient tarot cards, a centuries-old secret

On a hot August morning in 1972, the body of Abel Montague, a student at St. Luke’s Institute of the Arts, is found hanging from a tree in the forest. An ancient Hanged Man tarot card is found in the back pocket of his pants and his body has been positioned into the exact pose illustrated on the card.

When Detective Lola Germany arrives at St. Luke’s—a former monastery that once housed a secret order of monks who carried out witch trials and executions—she believes they are dealing with a ritualistic murder. While interviewing school administrators and Abel’s classmates, Lola discovers Abel’s live-in girlfriend, Pearl, seems shaken but also might be hiding something—along with her group of friends who call themselves witches.

When more students are found dead, each body arranged like a tarot card, Lola realizes she is trapped in a web of power and ambition that spans centuries. Soon the lines between past and present, spiritual and tangible, begin to blur, and the only way to survive is to seek answers from places she never imagined.

I have deeply conflicted feelings about The Ghost Women. On the one hand, I enjoyed it, was intrigued by it, raced through it. On the other hand, it felt under-developed and misguided in some of its intentions. My enjoyment came largely from the usual places when it comes to thrillers. I like figuring out what is going on, putting the clues together, testing alibis. This pleasure is inherent to the genre for me, which is why I read it. The problem is that my issues are rooted in this novel specifically, in what it does, what it suggests. We are moving into mildly spoiler-y territory here, not explicit, but suggested, so maybe skip the rest of this paragraph. Much of the mystery and murder spree has to do with sexual abuse and assault, with the long history of female suffering wrapped up in the history of the island itself. In and of itself not a problem, as thrillers can be a good place to explore the various feelings and issues that such violence brings up. Unfortunately, The Ghost Women takes a weird turn where an arbitrary line seems to be drawn and some of the violence can be excused because "poor boy", while the rest of the violence is abhorrent and evil. I don't understand where this line came from and what Murphy wanted to do with it. It suffers from taking the "divine feminine" energy talk so far that it excuses male violence. While I don't at all want to accuse Murphy personally of rape apologia, some of the book can come across that way because there is a lacking control over the material.

Lola Germany is a detective on a small island off the coast of South Carolina (if I remember correctly) and her relatively straightforward life takes a drastic turn when she is called to the mysterious art institute St Luke's. One of its students has been found dead, posed exactly like the Hanged Man card from a Tarot deck. This is far from the last murder, but each death merely adds to the confusion, to the various layers of relationships, promises, and betrayals that hang over St. Luke. Can Lola figure it all out in time, especially to maybe help protect a group of female students who have formed their own little coven? The Ghost Women is told mostly through Lola's perspective, but we also get chapters from Pearl, the girlfriend of the first victim and part of the coven, as well as other relevant-ish characters. I did like the atmosphere that was created early on in the book with this island-setting that had a history of witchcraft and violence and with a protagonist that had a hidden, troubled past. However, certain parts of the novel drag a bit and the plot might have worked better if the whole thing had been tightened up a bit.

I mentioned my main issue with the book above, but there were other aspects that didn't wholly work for me. I will first say that Jennifer Murphy has a knack for atmosphere and imagery, though. I could picture many of the scenes perfectly and there were so many individual elements I enjoyed. The school itself was intriguing, the island was interesting, Lola could have been a really conflicted and fascinating main character, the coven of students was very promising. None of it fully comes to fruition, however. The novel's setting in the early 1970s is also intriguing but I don't feel like it makes a whole lot of sense, aside from perhaps aligning with the "student at a fancy school being artsy and weird, low-key hippies" thing. Or rather, it could have made sense if more of the reality of this time period had played more of a role. Lola has zero struggles as a female lead detective, for example, and racism felt practically absent from this novel. There is also the issue of the title to me. The island is said to be haunted by Ghost Women, the ghosts of women burned at the stake for witchcraft, which is connected to a history that has European people settling on the island in the late Middle Ages... That is not feasible, regardless of what Murphy says in the Acknowledgements. These Ghost Women pop up occasionally and I appreciate that our main female characters are meant to be their inheritors, but I still don't feel they were relevant enough to give the book its title. Overall, all of these things really come down to world-building and authorial control. There is too much going on, too many plotlines that are either not fleshed out or require so much suspension of disbelief from me that I gave up. Add to that the confused messaging on sexual assault and I was left feeling weird. It might be that for other readers these things work or are not an issue, but for me they ended up tainting much of the rest of the story.

I give this novel...

2 Universes!

I still don't know how to feel about The Ghost Women. On the surface it has a lot of things I like, but how it all came together in the end did not work for me. In the end, it is that mildly sour aftertaste that determined my rating.

Review: 'Trad Wife' by Saratoga Schaefer

2026-05-03T10:26:00.005+01:00

I read Saratoga Schaefer's Serial Killer Support Group last year and had an absolutely delightful time with it. It was gutsy, bloody, sharp, and funny all at once. That was their debut, so when I saw a new book of Schaefer's pop up I wanted to sink my claws into it straightaway. And what a weird delight Trad Wife ended up being! Thanks to Crooked Lane Books and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My apologies for the slight delay.

Pub. Date: Crooked Lane Books
Publisher: 10/02/2026

Every #tradwife needs a baby. She’ll get one at any cost.

When Camille Deming isn’t cooking, cleaning, or homesteading in her picture-perfect country farmhouse, she’s posting about her tradwife lifestyle for her online followers. She takes inspiration from other tradwives on social media, aspiring to be like them, but Camille’s missing a key component: a baby. And contrary to what she posts online, things with her husband, Graham, have been strained. Pressured by her eager followers, Camille fears that without a baby, her relationship will suffer and her social media will never grow out of its infancy.

When Camille discovers a mysterious, decrepit well in the wheatfield behind her house, she makes a wish for a baby. Afterward, she has unsettling experiences that she convinces herself are angelic in nature, and when she’s visited one night by a strange creature, her wish comes true.

Camille’s pregnancy announcement gets more engagement than anything she’s ever posted—so what if Graham’s reaction is lukewarm? Camille’s life is finally falling into place. Never mind that her pregnancy is developing freakishly rapidly and she’s suddenly craving raw meat. Being a traditional wife is worth it.

Trad Wife is, in many ways, deeply gross but that is all part of the joy of reading it. Part of it is the "trad wife" rhetoric which is woven throughout the book but especially the first third or so. Schaefer does an excellent job at somewhat lampooning it but also showing its toxicity. It is still no fun reading it, though, and watching Camille tamp down her own humanity, instincts, thoughts, and desires is rought. This is not helped by the fact that her husband Graham is a waste of skin. However, there is also something deeply fascinating about watching an intelligent woman squeeze herself willingly into an ideological straight-jacket. When Camille has her encounter, Trad Wife takes a drastic turn into the paranormal which introduces a whole different level of gross that I revel in. As a woman, I find the idea of pregnancy both wonderous and horrifying and that combo comes through strongly in this book. For those who are iffy or easily triggered by body horror and goriness, you might have to gird your loins or put the book down, but everything that unravels in the second half of Trad Wife had me on the gleeful edge of my seat.

Camille wants a baby. It's the final thing she needs to make the idealistic, trad wife, barefoot in the kitchen-image that she projects online come full circle She and her husband, Graham, have been trying ever since they moved into their grand country home, but he is drifting away and she is still not pregnant. When Camille discovers a weird well in the garden that calls to her, she makes a wish. What then visits her is both a horror and a dream, something between a devil and an angel, but when she does become pregnant, she accepts all the horror that follows. As her pregnancy advances, however, she begins to chafe against the restrictions of her life, the expectations and empty promises. But maybe the unravelling of all she thought was important to her is exactly the thing she needs to find happiness. As I said above, Camille is deep in the trad wife bubble and is quite unlikeable as a result, at least to readers like myself. This is clearly intended by Schaefer, however, as we get enough glimpses at who the true Camille is to come to understand why she might be doing what she's doing. It makes Camille a tragic character, which then makes her turn towards the disturbing fully understanding. I've often said that I love women who go bizarre and Trad Wife does this excellently, ratcheting up the body horror inherent to pregnancy, the tension between Camille and this weird creature, and the bloodiness of love.

Saratoga Schaefer's Serial Killer Support Group is, in many ways, a straightforward thriller of a woman trying to find her sister's killer, but what they do with that material is deeply enjoyable. In Trad Wife, Schaefer takes a similarly simple-seeming set-up, akin to Rosemary's Baby, and again takes it to places I hadn't expected. I've seen quite a few books, mostly thrillers, floating around recently that pick up on the trad wife trend, but I don't know if any of them are willing to go quite as far as Schaefer does here. (I might pick up one of them to double check, but I severely doubt it.) Trad Wife is gory, deeply weird, gross, fascinating, and thrilling. Reading it is like picking at a scab, you know you shouldn't enjoy it as much as you are but there is a satisfaction about it you don't necessarily want to think about more deeply. Trad Wife is an excellent, if very different, follow-up to Schaefer's previous book and they're now solidly on my instant read-list. I cannot wait to see what Saratoga Schaefer comes up with next!

I give this novel...

5 Universes!

I had a delightful time with Trad Wife and I really like how Schaefer's writing and plotting has developed since their debut. I loved that Schaefer played with genre and expectations and went slightly left-field with it all. If you have a strong stomach, do yourself a favour and pick this book up!

Review: 'Rabbit Test and Other Stories' by Samantha Mills

2026-05-03T09:54:00.001+01:00

I read Samantha Mills' debut novel The Wings Upon Her Back two years ago and was absolutely astounded by it; it was one of my favourite reads that year and I still think about it frequently. So when I saw a short story collection by Mills I jumped at the chance to read it. Thanks to Tachyon Publications and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 21/04/2026
Publisher: Tachyon Publications

A time-traveling fisherwoman keeps landing on the right shore, but at the wrong time. A pair of witches fight over the gate between life and death. A new consciousness, intent upon seeing all the wonders of the universe, visits a floating library. A rock-and-roll legend squares off against a town full of devils. Humanity makes first contact but falters when put in charge of selecting the world’s representatives.
These riveting stories run the gamut of the genre, transitioning from fantasy to contemporary, and then into the farthest reaches of space. They take place in strange and emotional worlds, with stakes ranging from the epic to the personal, with ample room for humor and hope amid tragedy.

Alongside various stories, Rabbit Test also features a Foreword by Meg Ellison, an Afterword and Story Notes, both by Samantha Mills, at the end. I have seen the latter a few times now in short story collections, definitely ones from Tachyon as well, and I really enjoy it. Here, Mills lays out how some of the stories developed, what her initial ideas were, how a specific story challenged her, or what she hopes it achieves. While I'm a strong believer that author intention never trumps reader reception, I do find it interesting to see what an author thought, as it can expand how I perceive the story itself. Especially with an author like Samantha Mills who, in my opinion, is exceptionally good at playing with expectations and genres, it is interesting to see what her thoughts were. It is, however, not necessary to engage with the Story Notes because the stories themselves already offer plenty of food for thought and enjoyment.

Rabbit Test has thirteen stories and I loved something about each of them. I loved the opening story, 'The Death of the God-King', which is about a man who dies and returns, protecting his island and people for centuries, until someone comes looking for his immortality. It is a beautiful story about love, power, sacrifice, and tradition. 'Strange Waters', the second story, is also stunning, following a mother who is stuck in temporal currents, her boat constantly cast adrift into different centuries as she tries to get home to her children. 'Adrianna in Pomegranate' has a delightful magic system based on manuscript creation and is also a tragic story about loss, parenthood, and love. 'Rabbit Test' is the story that gives the collection its name and is deeply focused on female bodily autonomy, the right to abortion and the centuries of struggle associated with it. 'A Shadow Is a Memory of a Ghost' is delightfully creepy and imaginative as a rivalry between sisters to guard the border between life and death seeps into the next generation. 'The Limits of Magic' is also excellent about how magic is not always the solution and how most things don't come easy. Set in a desert atmosphere, it is a story about repression and rebellion. '10 Visions of the Future; or, Self-Care for the End of Days' is, as the title implies, something of a list featuring ten ways the world might end but it is also oddly uplifting and hopeful for all the various apocalypses. 'One Part Per Billion' takes place in space and features alien tech, multiple selves, and the perennial question of why there is only ever one woman. 'Spindles' broke my heart but I also loved it, as a young girl and her bear companion try to reach her mother while hunted by invaders. 'Four of Seven' is for the people who listened to Noah Kahan's 'Dashboard' an felt guilty, except it takes place in a space colony and is also somehow heartwarming. 'Laugh Lines' is brief, more like flash fiction and takes the shape of an obituary that goes somewhat sideways maybe. 'Kiki Hernandéz Beats the Devil' is a stand-out, just for the sheer inventiveness and fun I had with it! It features a hellhound, a guitar, and demons aplenty. The collection ends with 'Anchorage', which was one of my favourites, about a space crew docking onto an anchorage and the ship's robot system (?) that maybe feels a little too much.

As I said at the start, Mills' The Wings Upon Her Back is a stellar book that has stuck with me ever since I read it. In that book, Mills has the space to set up an intricate world and complicated relationships and characters, all while addressing some serious themes. I wondered whether she can accomplish the same in short stories, whether I would feel that same magic. I have to agree with Meg Ellison's very admiring Foreword because the stories in Rabbit Test are indeed magnificent. I really like what Mills does with the tropes of the various genres she dabbles in here. She blends Fantasy and Sci-Fi very well with contemporary issues and concerns, bringing in a little Historical Fiction here and there, and thereby consistently surprised me. I quite simply love the worlds and characters she creates and find myself fully invested each and every time. I would truly, whole-heartedly recommend this collection to anyone who enjoys Speculative Fiction because there will be something here for you. I can't wait to read more by Samantha Mills in the future, she's definitely an instant read for me.

I give this collection...

5 Universes!

Rabbit Test and Other Stories is a brilliant collection of stories that all in some way fall under the Speculative Fiction-umbrella. Samantha Mills is an excellent writer who has a real knack both for world-building and for the small details that make her worlds and characters come alive.

Review: 'The Many' by Sylvain Neuvel

2026-04-26T12:58:00.002+01:00

I read Sylvain Neuvel's Sleeping Giants back in 2016 and loved it, although I never got around to reading the rest of the Themis Files books. When I saw The Many, however, his first stand alone in a while, I dove at the chance. I'm glad I did because I had a delightful time with this. Thanks to Solaris and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 21/04/2026
Publisher: Rebellion; Solaris

“I’m you now. We all are.”

When advertising executive Carole Veilleux loses it at Booker’s donut shop and bites Booker on the arm, it’s about the most interesting thing to happen in the small city of Marquette, Michigan, in years.

But that’s only the beginning of the story. Carole and Booker find their minds merging, in a collective that extends to include Carole’s husband Shivansh and local doctor Evelyn Schlapp. The four of them become the beginning of something larger and stranger than they could ever have imagined.

The Many begins with a tick that comes across something in the woods. We then switch to the inhabitants of the small town of Marquette, especially Carole, who one day bites Booker. Through different POVs we get an understanding of what happened, but then these POVs begin to shift, expand, and we come to realise that people are becoming connected. It is not just Carole and Booker, who find themselves mind melding, but also Carole's husband, Shivansh, and a local doctor, Evelyn. This is merely the beginning, however, as the question becomes whether to keep their new-found connection secret or to let more people in on it. The Many is in many ways an absolutely hilarious novel, while also being deeply serious. There are moments and chapters which had me laughing out loud, although I can't share more to avoid spoilers, but there were also moments that deeply touched me, which spoke to out shared nature as humans and our place in this world. At just over 300 pages, The Many isn't an overly-long novel, but it does pack a punch and tells a great story.

From Sleeping Giants I already knew that Sylvain Neuvel had a real skill for playing with narrative, figuring out different ways to tell a story. One of those is through form, with Sleeping Giants featuring diary entries and interviews, but in The Many it not so much in the form but in the nature of the perspective. The Many switches POVs consistently, but at a certain point these POVs themselves begin to change. Through these different POVs, the novel becomes something of a polyphonic novel that nonetheless speaks with a single voice. When Carole and Booker merge, they are still themselves and yet Carole is now also a Black man while Booker is also a married white woman. As their network develops and grows, people suddenly find themselves quite literally in the shoes of others, becoming aware of each others' desires, fears, and thoughts and discovering that truly humanity is one, that ethnicity, religion, sex, gender, sexuality, etc. do not, in a good way, matter. Neuvel addresses police violence, gender transition, racism, and more and while there is no easy, straightforward solution to any of these issues, The Many does offer insight and commentary in a way that feels both sharp and subtle. In a way the message that we are all the same if we could only see it is a little cliche, but the way that it is told makes The Many a gorgeous book.

I give this novel...

4 Universes!

I had an absolutely lovely time with The Many, which is both funny and touching, sad and uplifting. Sylvain Neuvel is an excellent Sci-Fi writer and I will definitely be dipping back into the Themis Files series.

Review: 'Transcription: A Novel' by Ben Lerner

2026-04-24T13:25:00.006+01:00

I've tried retyping this little intro a number of times, trying to figure out the best way to tease Transcription and hint at what struck me about it and I'm struggling. Perhaps that is, in and of itself, a good indicator for the book, which is about struggle, about figuring out what to say when, how to best say it, and whether any of that matters at all. Transcription offers a lot of food for thought but I'm still stuck on whether it fully works. Thanks to Farrar, Straus and Giroux and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 07/04/2026
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

The narrator of Ben Lerner’s new novel has traveled to Providence, Rhode Island, where he is to conduct what will be the final published interview with Thomas, his ninety-year-old mentor and the father of his college friend Max. Thomas is a giant in the arts who seems to hail “from the future and the past simultaneously” and who “reenchants the air” when he speaks. But the narrator drops his smartphone in the hotel sink. He arrives at Thomas’s house with no recording device, a fact he is mysteriously unable to confess.

What unfolds from this dreamlike circumstance is the unforgettable story of the triangle formed by Thomas, Max, and the narrator, and an exploration of fathers and sons, male friendship and rivalry, and the challenges of parenting in a burning world. One of the first great novels about the early days of COVID, it is also a brilliant meditation on those technologies that enrich or impoverish our connection to one another, that store or obliterate memory. Full of startling insight, but written with the intensity of a séance, Lerner shows us how the air is full of messages, full of ghosts. Ultimately Transcription demonstrates what only a work of fiction can record.

Transcription centres on an unnamed narrator who is present throughout the three connected stories/parts of the novel. In the first he is on his way to interview an old mentor, Thomas, when he drops his phone in the hotel sink and is now without a way of recording the interview. When he visits Thomas, he is unable to tell him about this and their conversation is a meandering ramble through memories that may or may not be real, as Thomas seems to be slipping away while the narrator obsesses about his useless phone. In the second part, we see the narrator present at a conference in honour of the now-deceased Thomas where he reveals his little phone mishap, which casts his interview, which was the last one Thomas ever did in a whole new light for the other attendees. How reliable is this interview, if there was no transcription or recording of it? The last part is our narrator in conversation with Max, Thomas' son and the narrator's college friend. Max's relationship with his father is complex, but so is his relationship with his daughter, who might have ARFID, and his relationship with technology. There are clear themes which surface throughout these three parts, namely that of fatherhood, the constructed nature of relationship and memory, and technology as a boon and a manipulator. All of this does come together to craft both a suspenseful story and an interesting meditation on these themes, but parts of it did also leave me cold.

I've not read anything by Ben Lerner before but I can see why people enjoy his writing. Transcription is at once deeply rooted in the now and yet also vague. We have references to Covid-19 and Taylor Swift, but also allusions to all kinds of historical events and personages that you'll have to Google. I did not end up Googling these, as I was reading, so perhaps I missed out on something that way. With this balancing act, Lerner does create a certain kind of tension which is enjoyable and aids in the somewhat ghostly atmosphere of the whole book. I did have to think of this "ghost in the machine" idea, especially as technology is so central to how this novel is marketed and constructed. Lerner weaves a narrative that is at once incredibly straightforward but also retains ambiguity, the feeling that there is more there but that we can't quite access it anymore. On a sentence-level his writing is also excellent. I did wonder if that "more" was actually there, though, or if the sense of it is created by non-linearity, an unnamed narrator, and allusions. I found Transcription very intriguing and I was definitely sucked into its different parts. I also appreciated how the parts came together, interwove with one another and yet left enough blank space that I could think and speculate. And yet I couldn't escape the feeling that its central message is unclear. Perhaps this is because of how I read it, maybe I didn't go with the flow enough or should have looked up those references. I am definitely curious to read more by Lerner, even if Transcription didn't entirely do what I thought it might.

I give this novel...

3 Universes!

While Transcription didn't mystify me in the way I hoped for, I was intrigued by it. If themes of fatherhood, reliability, and technology intrigue you, then definitely give this one a go!

Review: 'King Kong Theory' by Virginie Despentes, trans. by Frank Wynne

2026-04-24T12:50:00.005+01:00

As I will moan about below, I think Feminism as a movement has, in the cultural sphere, lost its bite, has become a little too tame and submissive to still be allowed at the table. For me, Virginie Despentes' King Kong Theory was a great reminder that being yourself unapologetically and talking honestly and directly about one's own experiences is crucial and radical. Thanks to Farrar, Straus and Giroux and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My sincere apologies for the delay in reviewing.

Pub. Date: 11/05/2021
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

I write from the realms of the ugly, for the ugly, the old, the bull dykes, the frigid, the unfucked, the unfuckable, the hysterics, the freaks, all those excluded from the great meat market of female flesh. And if I’m starting here it’s because I want to be crystal clear: I’m not here to make excuses, I’m not here to bitch. I wouldn’t swap places with anyone because being Virginie Despentes seems to me a more interesting gig than anything else out there.

Powerful, provocative, and personal, King Kong Theory is a candid account of how the author of Baise-Moi and Vernon Subutex came to be Virginie Despentes. Drawing from personal experience, Despentes shatters received ideas about rape and prostitution, and explodes common attitudes about sex and gender.

An autobiography, a call for revolt, a manifesto for a new punk feminism, King Kong Theory is Despentes’s most beloved and reviled work, and is here made available again in a brilliant new translation by Frank Wynne.

Feminism has been around for a good little bit now and I feel that during my own lifetime it very much hit the mainstream. Somewhere in the early 2010s it was highly lucrative to use the label "feminist" to sell anything, be it tote bags, make-up, books, clothes, anything commercial basically. In becoming lucrative, I think Feminism as a political movement lost some of its teeth. Not, crucially, among those who had always engaged with it as a political movement, something to organise around and use to address societal issues. But for many, Feminism became a catchphrase that meant both everything and nothing. Nowadays, it can be blamed for everything and anything as well, while being used as an excuse so as not to criticise society. It is now anti-feminist, to some, to be concerned about the rise of trad-wife/soft girl/girl math-content online. We now have to censor when we talk about sex work or rape online, either to avoid getting shadow-banned or to not upset anyone watching. While I appreciate not wanting to upset people, some things need to be talked about directly, honestly, and even harshly and sometimes getting upset is actually necessary. With all of that brewing in my mind, I found it incredibly refreshing to read Virginie Despentes' King Kong Theory. First published in 2006, it is an incredibly open and honest, sometimes aggressive sometimes contemplative, collection of essays about womanhood, being undesirable, rape, pornography, media, masculinity, and more. Even though I've read quite a bit of Feminist theory and writing, I still had to get used to the directness with which Despentes addresses these issues but I did absolutely revel in it, even if I don't necessarily agree with her on all fronts.

King Kong Theory contains seven essays or chapters. The firs, 'Bad Lieutenants', is almost like a Foreword and contains the quote from the blurb above. It is something of a rallying cry to resists the social pressure to shape your life around being desirable to men, to insist on your own physicality and interests over those imagined by the patriarchy and media. 'Who's Taking it Up the Arse, You or Me?' discusses some of the conflicting aspects of different waves of feminism, especially how this leads to complicated impulses for women themselves. A sentence that really stood out to me here was "It is the idea that our independence is destructive that has penetrated to the marrow of our bones". 'You Can't Rape a Woman Who's a Total Slut' is perhaps the most confronting chapter, as Despentes discusses her own experience of gang-rape alongside a friend when she was 17. While she initially compartmentalised the experience until she read an interview with Camille Paglia and begins more actively thinking and talking about it. It is not an easy read, especially if you have experience with sexual assault, but I think it is incredibly important that Despentes is so open and confrontational with her experience and language. In 'Sleeping with the Enemy' she discusses her experience with sex work, how it was liberating for her to a certain extent and had her reconsider certain stereotypes. She here also discusses marriage, legal wrangling that punishes sex workers rather than their clients, and the Madonna-Whore dichotomy. 'Porn Witches', as the name somewhat suggests, is about pornography and how the industry has changed, but also how deeply it is intertwined with class, which I found intriguing. Despentes also discusses her own experience co-directing Baise-Moi with Coralie Thrin Thi. 'King Kong Girl' talks about Peter Jackson's King Kong reboot and the beauty and the beast-myth, while also circling back o Baise-Moi. Favourite quote here, "The monster inside me isn't going to give up". Finally there is 'So Long, Girls', which begins with Antonin Artaud's break-up letter in which he lays out how he wants to be loved, what is expected of a woman. This chapter addresses why men blame feminism when they are failed by the system they helped create. In a way it's an encouragement to men to start thinking about their own liberation.

This might not be a book for everyone and yet I do think everyone, especially those identifying as women, should read it. Virginie Despentes is very much a member of Gen X and very French, but there is value here for readers from all corners. What I loved about King Kong Theory is that while Despentes is often being sly and somewhat joking, she is also consistently enraged and this burns through the novel. I think it is that anger, as well as her seemingly unshakeable belief that her own experiences and thoughts are as valid as anyone else's, if not more so, that I enjoyed most. Despentes' thoughts are deeply inspired by her own experiences and so she sees topics such as rape, pornography, and sex work through her own lens. I don't think that is a bad thing because our debates about these topics profit from using a broad set of perspectives. Her own experiences also encourage her to not see women as intrinsic victims of society, but as people who can experience and survive trauma, who can participate in their own subjugation, and who can learn, grow, and resist. I think that attitude in and of itself is useful and valuable, regardless of whether you agree with Despentes' particular arguments.

I give this book...

5 Universes!

King Kong Theory is undoubtedly provocative, even after all these decades. I found its brutal honesty and directness incredibly refreshing, however, and think 21st-century feminist can profit from some of Despentes' bravery.

Review: 'The Misheard World' by Aliya Whiteley

2026-04-08T13:10:00.002+01:00

I have been reading and loving Aliya Whiteley since 2014 and she is an instant yes for me any time I see a new book by her. Recently, however, I have been struggling with a book she co-wrote with someone and so I went into The Misheard World with a little trepidation. That was gone within the first few pages, however, as I fell fully in love with her writing all over again. Thanks to Rebellion and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 31/03/2026
Publisher: Rebellion; Solaris

Before wars are won, they must be witnessed.

Elize Janview is a soldier, one of the few survivors of an unimaginably terrible weapon, which ended the long détente between the North and the South and plunged them back into all-out war. She enlisted with a dream of finding those responsible, of somehow getting revenge for the deaths of everyone she knew, but was posted to guard the prison at Crag, the fortress of the South, which has never fallen to the enemy.

Janview’s life is transformed when a rough wooden box is delivered to Crag, holding the performer and spy Marius Mondegreen, agent of the North: the Misheard Word, who can read minds, breathe fire, and make objects appear and disappear. Janview is to witness Mondegreen’s interrogation by his captor, the beautiful and cruel Allynx Syld, who promises the end of the war. As recorder – and by degrees participant – in the interrogation, Janview comes to question everything she knew about the war, and the very world she lives in…

What I adore about Aliya Whiteley's writing is that while she opens up different amazing worlds in her stories, she also always returns to the idea of storytelling itself. Her novels and novellas aren't necessarily meta in that they actively comment upon the writing itself, but they do always engage with what a story is, what it can do, and how powerful it is. Whether the story is good or bad, the telling of it does something and Whiteley is intrinsically aware of this. In The Misheard World, this awareness also grows in the protagonist and getting to witness it was a real pleasure. An even greater pleasure was the sheer breadth of stories she and I were being served. Whiteley teases all kinds of stories, be it kings in towers, girls in caves, or the cost of high-stakes gambles and none of them fully find an ending. In a weird way, neither does The Misheard World. I don't want to spoil anything, but Whiteley takes the open-endedness of story to heart. You can always tell a different story, you can always go on after the expected ending, and there is power and beauty in that. I continue to adore Whiteley and in The Misheard World she tells another story that will stay with me for a while.

The Misheard World is told in various parts. We meet Elize who is stationed at the Crag, a prison fortress, amidst a war between the North and the South. The destruction of her home triggered the war and also put Elize on a path of vengeance, but she has begun to wonder whether such a thing as an enemy and revenge truly exists. Then, the Unheard Word, Marius Mondegreen, is delivered to Crag to be interrogated by the Allynx Syld and Elize is meant to be a quiet observer during the interrogation. Always on the outside, Elize is slowly sucked into the complicated relationship of Mondegreen and the Sylduntil all of a sudden she is in the very midst of events. What if the world she knows is not as it seems? What if the stories that are told hold a kernel of truth? What will Elize do? What kind of story will she tell? I absolutely adored Elize as a main character. There is something very quiet but steely at her core and when this is shaken I felt that echo within myself. While most of The Misheard World is narrated through her, there is also a part told through another perspective and I loved how this switch in perspective also allowed a mix-up of focus and intent. Where Elize begins somewhat naive, the other narrator is full of cynicism, and when we return to Elize I felt happy to be back with her. The Syld and Mondegreen are also very intriguing characters who begin as cyphers and are slowly revealed.

I am hardly an objective reader of Aliya Whiteley, since I've enjoyed pretty much everything she's written. However, with that kind of history comes the niggling worry that maybe, just maybe, this one won't hit the same way. My relief at this not being the case was almost immediately pushed aside by my focus on this new story, this new world, these new characters. Whiteley has a knack for crafting speculative worlds and settings that intrigue while being deeply familiar. Her characters also always feel deeply human, even if they maybe aren't entirely or do things we don't immediately understand. The same is true for The Misheard World. Another aspect to this novel, which it shares with her novel Skyward Inn, is the presence of war as a context for an investigation of storytelling. If we look at our world today, right now in April 2026, surely we can see how deeply entwined stories are with the horrors of war. Who is telling us these stories? What are they trying to get us to believe? Who is in control? These are all important questions to ask and novels such as The Misheard World encourage us to do so.

I give this novel...

5 Universes!

I adored The Misheard World and my only complaint is that it's over. However, I have the feeling it is the kind of book that will reward rereading. And otherwise there are always more stories to hear, tell, and read.

Review: 'The Cabinet' by Un-Su Kim (김언수), trans. by Sean Lin Halbert

2026-04-08T11:10:00.001+01:00

Imagine being so bored at work you attempt to break the code lock on a random cabinet. Imagine further, if you will, that when you crack the code, the cabinet is filled with stories about people who seem to be ... changing. And if you can stretch your imagination further, consider that this is merely the beginning. The Cabinet is a deeply odd, surrealist kind of novel and although it didn't fully work for me in the end, I had a great time reading it! Thanks to Angry Robot and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My sincere apologies for the delay in reviewing.

Pub. Date: Angry Robot
Publisher: 12/10/2021

Cabinet 13 looks exactly like any normal filing cabinet. Except this cabinet is filled with files on the ‘symptomers’, people whose weird abilities and bizarre experiences might just mark the emergence of a new species.
But to Mr Kong, the harried office worker who spends his days looking after the cabinet, the symptomers are just a headache; from the woman whose doppelganger broke up with her boyfriend, to the man with a ginkgo tree growing from his fingertip. And then there’s that guy who won’t stop calling, asking to be turned into a cat…
A richly funny and fantastical novel about the strangeness at the heart of even the most ordinary lives, from one of South Korea’s most acclaimed novelists.

The Cabinet begins with an author's note that nothing within the book should be confused for fact. Usually that is just a fun little note to the reader of somewhat surreal books to know we're going to get some fun speculating. Un-Su Kim puts it there for a reason, however, because The Cabinet does weave reality with fiction. The first story we get related to the Cabinet is about the real Ludger Sylbaris, who was a survivor of a volcano eruption on Martinique in 1902. In The Cabinet he is still a survivor but he and his town are also something else. Admittedly, I didn't know about Sylbaris before this and some of Un-Su Kim's play here is lost when you can't recognise the traces of fact in the fiction. However, this kind of confusion is what I enjoy about surrealist or speculative fiction because it encourages me to look at the world with new eyes. It allows you to think more deeply about who and what we are, how we move through the world and what kind of effect we have. I had loads of these kinds of thoughts throughout the first two parts of

The Cabinet is split into three parts. The first part, 'The Cabinet', sees us introduced to the protagonist and narrator, Kong Deok-Geun, who introduces us to the various contents of Cabinet 13, which he stumbled over out of boredom. It seems that in our frantic modern world, some people are changing, evolving, developing, mutating. These people are "symptomers" and they take all forms and shapes, from surviving on guzzling gasoline to growing trees from fingers and blipping out of time for random periods. Deok-Geun finds himself somehow involved in monitoring and helping these people, all while caught somewhere between admiration and revulsion. The second part, 'City of Heaven', thickens the plot somewhat, introducing us to a grim syndicate that wants to gain access to these files for nefarious reasons and a female colleague who also becomes entangled in the cabinet. The final part, 'Boobytrap', sees the syndicate come for Deok-Geun and the novel takes both a more grim and even more fantastical turn. This is where the novel slightly lost me. Not that I lost interest, but it turns out I was more interested in the symptomers and what they might be than in Deok-Geun's struggles.

The Cabinet sways somewhat between telling the story of its protagonist, Deok-Geun, and the stories of those contained within the Cabinet. The connections between the two are not always immediately apparent and it is easy to wonder what this book is meant to be about. As I mentioned above, I think this kind of wondering and searching for meaning is in large part the novel's aim. We live in a ridiculous world but we do our very best, day in day out, to create meaning out of its absurdity. Novels such as The Cabinet do the opposite, increasing the absurdity and thereby circling back to the question of meaning. I am not entirely sure, still, if Un-Su Kim's take on this works for me. It is worth noting that this was Un-Su Kim's debut and for that he demonstrates a masterful grip over tone and storytelling. Especially the first two parts are full of brilliant imagery and intriguing suggestions, funny turns of phrases, and remarkable insights into humanity. The overall plot, however, concerning Deok-Geun, the Cabinet, and the syndicate, does not fully come alive for me. Deok-Geun feels less real to me than the people whose stories are contained in the Cabinet, he seems more detached from his life and the world than they are. Perhaps this too is intended. Overall, The Cabinet is the kind of book that will leave you with unanswered questions but also, if you let yourself fully sink into it, a new appreciation for our weird world.

Sean Lin Halbert's translation worked well for me, although I cannot read Korean and so don't know how it works in the original. From my experience reading Korean and Japanese literature, the writing style needs some getting used to when you've mainly read English works up until now. There is a brevity and directness to it which sometimes lands as deeply humorous and sometimes as bland, but once you get used to it it works very well. There were some issues with my ARC. Sometimes words and verbs seemed to be missing or there were incorrect near-homonyms ('when' instead of 'went' for example). I assume all of these have been corrected for the published book however.

I give this novel...

3 Universes!

I had fun with The Cabinet but must also admit that it didn't entirely come together for me. This might very much be a me thing, so if you're into weird fiction, absolutely give this book a go!

Review: 'Repetition' ('Gjentakelsen') by Vigdis Hjorth, trans. by Charlotte Barslund

2026-04-08T10:23:00.005+01:00

What is it that makes us? Is childhood really the wellspring of everything? Are we bound to endlessly circle certain ideas and events, revisiting them over and over in the search for a truth? And where does that end? These are just some of the questions that came up while reading Repetition, a novella at once beautiful and painful. Thanks to Verso Books and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 03/03/2026
Publisher: Verso Books

As winter approaches in Norway and the daylight dwindles, a chance encounter prompts a novelist to reexamine her past. The seismic events following her sixteenth birthday return with haunting vividness, exposing a story both utterly familiar and desperately strange.

It was the year she first got drunk, the year she first had sex with a boy. She was watched like a hawk by an anxious mother and a silent, distant father. It was a year of typical teenage fixation and typical teenage frivolity, and of all the usual parental fretting. Until something else took hold, and her family made an unspoken decision and a terrible sacrifice. Only now, decades later, can these events come close to being comprehended.

In Repetition, award-winning novelist Vigdis Hjorth explores through fiction the parts of childhood that chime through the decades.

I have read a few of Vigdis Hjorth's books now, both in Bokmål and in translation. She is a very intriguing person to me, which is helped by the fact that many of her books seem to blur the lines between the author outside the book and the writer inside the book. In 1967 literary scholar Roland Barthes published an article called 'La morte de l'autor', or 'The Death of the Author'. This article was crucial to modern literary criticism as an academic discipline and a general practice. In short, Barthes argues that we should not rely on the author to give us the ultimate and correct interpretation of a text, but that we should the focus on each reader's own reception and understanding of a text. This might sound obvious now, but it was an important corrective for literary scholarship. It doesn't matter what an author themselves says about their text, you as the reader get to form your own ideas about the things you read. It also doesn't matter what other readers say, your own reception is valid. Now, of course, if you want to have nuanced and complex conversations about books it becomes interesting to draw in interpretations from other readers, historical context, what an author thought about their own work, etc. but this does not mean you have to change your own ideas on or feelings about the text. This is easily done for authors who lived in the past, about whom we have sparse or even no information at all, in short, authors who we can either project onto or dismiss. But what when the author shares our own time, is a public figure about whom things are known? This inevitably affects how you read their work and often this is a negative effect for me. With how Vigdis Hjorth writes, however, this interweaving of author and narrator is almost part of the art, making the reading of her books a complex but rewarding process.

Repetition begins with an author at a cabin. Now in her sixties, she has just come off a tour of various speaking events and now wonders what it is she has been writing and talking about. Keeping a promise to a friend, our author narrator attends a concert and finds herself seated next to a teenage girl and her parents. This encounter sets her off to think about her own youth, specifically a time in her teens when something fractured. She explores her tense relationship to her family, her mother's rising anxiety and its effects on her, and her experience with sex and alcohol. As she circles around her younger self, it becomes clearer and clearer that the narrator is working towards a realisation, towards the revelation of something horrid that has been kept a secret. I felt incredible tenderness for her younger self, especially as she described her mother's intense questioning and attempts to control her. There are some lines about the darkness our teenager feels mut be inside her, if her mother is so panicked about her, which hit very close to home. It is a dark and complicated story, but there is also an odd form of beauty here which emerges towards the end.

I find it difficult to read Repetition and not think of what I know about Vigdis Hjorth and what she has said and written about her family. The novel therefore feels autobiographical to me, which adds an extra layer of complexity to reading about what happens and happened to the teenager. The idea of repetition, of returning over and over to childhood and reliving it, thereby naturally altering how you feel about what happened, what you remember about what happened, and who you were then and are now, are elemental to this novel. Because of this circling, Repetition also is a difficult read for anyone who finds their thoughts also returning to things over and over again. This is enhanced by the deep anxiety and shame which seems to exude from the mother. While the bad thing that happened to the narrator relates mostly to her father, it is the tight control exercised by the mother, her deep panic and fear of her daughter, which seeped into me as I read. What I also liked, however, was how the purpose of writing, telling, and fiction came through. Sometimes the stories we tell are more real (to us, to others) than the things that really happened. How we choose to remember, how we speak, or not, of what we experienced, can be more powerful than a cold, hard reality. How Vigdis Hjorth has her narrator speak of fiction, of censoring herself and then being hit by her own words, realising what they revealed, is fascinating. A part of me does wish to read this without exterior knowledge of Hjorth, but I also think she is one of the rare authors where the melding of fiction and fact, book and world in fact enhances what she is trying to say.

I give this novel...

5 Universes!

Repetition is no easy read. It is a dark novel, not just because some of it is set in a cramped apartment or a cabin in the woods, but also because it reenacts the endless circling of thoughts as you look back on your own life. It is a masterful work, however, which deeply touched me.

Review: 'the witch doesn't drown in this one' by amanda lovelace

2026-03-23T13:14:00.005+00:00

I've enjoyed a number of amanda lovelace's poetry collections and so I was very happy to see another one appear, especially one which is something of a return, or a reconsideration, of previous themes. These poems will definitely have you feeling some kind of way, most likely anger. Thanks to Andrews McMeel Publishing and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this collection in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 03/03/2026
Publisher: Andrews McMeel Publishing

In this one, the witch doesn’t burn or die or drown. In this one, she rages.

In the witch doesn’t drown in this one, celebrated poetess amanda lovelace revisits the titular voice behind her 2018 bestselling collection the witch doesn’t burn in this one. With candor, honesty, and well-earned wisdom, lovelace expounds on the roller coaster of feelings brought on by simply trying to exist as a woman in the sociopolitical climate of 2025’s America. Through poetry that encompasses a myriad of fem-centric themes, including queer love, trans rights, patriarchal oppression, and intersectional feminism, she demands that women of all backgrounds and lived experiences be seen, heard, defended, and loved.

the witch doesn’t drown in this one is a deeply felt and hard-won reminder that though some stories that start with bitch-fire end with tear stains, women are powerful, resilient beings who have always contained the strength to rise again, especially when we swim back to the surface together.

I always find it intriguing to figure out when and how authors, poets, artists, etc. choose to go back to certain topics or themes. Even if it feels like the final word has been said on something, life can surprise you and so bring you back to an idea or an image. Sometimes you revisit something with fondness, either fondness at your own younger self, at your naivety or optimism, or at the time and place, but sometimes there is also a sadness or even bitterness to it. In the witch doesn't drown in this one we get an unexpected return, one even lovelace didn't anticipate for themselves. In the seven or eight years since The witch doesn't burn in this one the world has at once become a place that is more aware than ever and yet also one that has become more divided and dangerous. Getting to read lovelace's own thoughts about why they came back to this title in the series, how they made that journey, was really interesting anda good way to start a poetry collection that is at once a return and a departure.

This poetry collection is split into two parts. The first, 'the bitch-fire rages on' is familiar in tone and imagery to lovelace's other poetry collections that I have read. There is the desire to rage, to pick up a sword and conquer your enemies as if they were dragons, or even better, as if they were cruel kings instead of tech CEOs and sundowning presidents. It was in the second part, 'the everlasting flood', however, that I truly felt why lovelace needed to come back to this series, this topic, these ideas. There you can find the sadness of exhaustion, of disappointment, the fear of the fire of your rage that might just burn you before it finds your enemies. I think it is this second part, which so clearly functions as a needed counterpart to the first, that presents something new and probably necessary for readers. While we all desire to rage into the night, we also need to look unflinchingly at ourselves, at our wounds and at our hurt, in order to make it through.

I will say I enjoy amanda lovelace's poetry collections mostly for the imagery that is employed. I like the ideas and how fiercely they are expressed, the clear genuine feeling behind all of it. I will also say, however, that over the years I have become slightly less forgiving towards Instapoetry. I appreciate that this is a divisive term and that not everyone to whom the label is applied feels like it fits. I don't know where lovelace falls on that, but what I intend by the term is poetry without rhyme or meter, usually short lines, and a clear focus on social themes. There is nothing wrong with this as a form of poetry, but I do find myself butting against its simplicity sometimes. That is a more complicated issue for me than it maybe first appears. There are issues touched upon in this collection, for example, which should be talked about simply and straightforwardly, which should not have to be nuanced. However, there is great depth to meter, to alliteration, to rhyming, to all those other poetic techniques which could actually enhance what is being said. I appreciate that this is not that kind of poetry, but I think I will limit myself in engaging with it in the future, except perhaps for lovelace's work, since I am fond of it.

I give this collection...

3 Universes!

While I am no longer quite as fond of this poetry style as I was in the past, I loved revisiting lovelace's own thinking and poetry with them through the witch doesn't drown in this one. Especially the second half of this collection provides some much-needed space to mourn what is being lost.

Review: 'The Baby Group' by Caroline Corcoran

2026-03-09T09:51:00.001+00:00

When you have carefully curated your life then your past is always a threat. Scarlett's past comes rearing back in The Baby Group, a thriller about womanhood, sexuality, and motherhood. I had a great Saturday afternoon with this book, which does some really interesting things but is also delightfully insane. Thanks to Avon Books and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My sincere apologies for the delay in reviewing.

Pub. Date: 17/9/2020
Publisher: Avon Books

Her life was perfect. Until the video.
Scarlett’s golden life suddenly unravels when someone sends a shocking video of her to everyone she knows. The only people who claim they haven’t seen it are the friends in her new mothers’ group: Fiona, Emma and Asha.
Scarlett is forced to delve into her past to discover who is out to get her. But as her circle of trust gathers around her, she has to ask – are her friends as innocent as they seem?

What I didn't expect from The Baby Group was a surprisingly nuanced exploration of revenge porn and female sexuality. Scarlett's life falls apart when a sex video of her is released and after the first few pages I was low-key concerned that this would turn into a major yikes. Caroline Corcoran, however, really manages to both depict Scarlett as a flawed human who has made mistakes and as a woman who should not be shamed for having a sexual past. It is a very difficult line to walk, especially in a thriller where everyone is suspect and messy, but Corcoran manages it. I don't have personal experience with revenge porn, but as a woman I have of course experienced and witnessed how the mere suggestion of female sexuality makes people uncomfortable and cruel. Any kind of past is immediately weaponised and this becomes especially true when a woman becomes a mother and is suddenly meant to be a paragon of virtue and excellence. So I give The Baby Group bonus points for being both a thriller full of insane twists and nonsense turns and a book that addresses this topic with nuance.

Scarlett has very carefully curated her life, from how much she hides of her past to her mummy blog which is slowly gaining traction. Her return to work after maternity leave is ruined, however, when her colleagues and family members all receive a video of her having sex with two men years ago. Now, her past is rushing in and Scarlett slowly begins to fall apart. The only people who haven't received the video are the three women in her baby group, Emma, Cora, and Asha. The women bonded in the rush of new motherhood, baby vomit, and stress, but now they are all Scarlett still has. But how strong is their bond? And how much can she trust her husband, who has kept his distance ever since the video? To figure out who is trying to ruin her life, Scarlett has to dive deeper into her own past and confront some of her own darkest fears and secrets. Scarlett is a complicated woman, which I always enjoy, and many of her actions and choices post-video release need to be understood as emerging from something of a breakdown. With this in mind, I was able to enjoy how wild certain parts of this book are. With the nuance discussed above put aside, The Baby Group is an utter rollercoaster ride full of babies, glasses of wine, and disappointing spouses. There are reveals and twists and plot insanity throughout and if you're happy to turn your brain off slightly you'll have an excellent time.

This is my first thriller by Caroline Corcoran and I will definitely be keeping an eye out for future ones. The book is well paced, has a good concept and plan, and as it moves through its plot it is highly entertaining. As said above, enjoying The Baby Group does require a high level of suspension of disbelief, especially towards the end. Many of the twists and reveals are well-earned, but I also have to say that the ending, specifically the last two chapters, did not really work for me. It felt a little too neat to me, despite the chaos. The novel is narrated mostly by from Scarlett's perspective, but every once in a while a chapter from Anon comes in, who is plotting Scarlett's demise. As a reader, the suspect pool becomes very narrow pretty early on, but I think Corcoran does a good job keeping us somewhat guessing. In the end I was mostly right in my suspicions and the motives behind it. Also, while I'm not a mother myself and doubt I ever will be, I did think The Baby Group worked in the complexity of motherhood pretty well. It is a chaotic time in a woman's life where everything changes, at least for a little bit, and where figuring out who you actually are becomes more difficult. While I don't think the title actually suits the book entirely, I do think it emphasises this aspect of story well.

I give this novel...

3 Universes!

The Baby Group is a fun thriller about motherhood and womanhood, about your past haunting your present. Its nuanced handling of female sexuality elevated this slightly above the usual thriller for me, although it definitely is bonkers as well.

Review: 'Dreadful' by Caitlin Rozakis

2026-03-09T09:22:00.003+00:00

Imagine waking up without your memory and coming to realise that, although you don't remember it, you are actually a super evil villain with a bad taste in home decor. And imagine further, if you will, that this is somehow not the last of your trouble. If this sounds like fun to you, you'll love Dreadful, which is a delightful time of a book. Thanks to Titan Books and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 28/05/2024
Publisher: Titan Books

It’s bad enough waking up in a half-destroyed evil wizard’s workshop with no eyebrows, no memories, and no idea how long you have before the Dread Lord Whomever shows up to murder you horribly and then turn your skull into a goblet or something.

It’s a lot worse when you realize that Dread Lord Whomever is… you.

Gav isn’t really sure how he ended up with a castle full of goblins, or why he has a princess locked in a cell. All he can do is play along with his own evil plan in hopes of getting his memories back before he gets himself killed.

But as he realizes that nothing – from the incredibly tasteless cloak adorned with flames to the aforementioned princess – is quite what it seems, Gav must face up to all the things the Dread Lord Gavrax has done. And he’ll have to answer the hardest question of all – who does he want to be?

A high fantasy farce featuring killer moat squid, toxic masculinity, an evil wizard convocation, and a garlic festival. All at once. All in all, Dread Lord Gavrax has had better weeks.

The twenty-first century has really been the century of the antihero. While we absolutely had antiheroes before, I think the past few decades have seen a real rise in how interested we are in them. This is in no small part probably due to the growing disenchantment with traditional or stereotypical heroism and with a growing suspicion of people who hold power. Antiheroes are good story material when it comes to asking questions about who we are and who we become in a complicated world where absolutes and black-and-white thinking are nearly impossible. In Dreadful we get a sort of cozy discussion of this, with the main character needing to figure out whether he can leave his evil past actually in the past and if he is still responsibly for the things he has done if he can no longer remember them. Are we more than our past actions? Can we take accountability for things we cannot imagine having done? And how do we forge a future when the past is unclear? Dreadful approaches these questions with a sense of humour and does not necessarily provide answers or go very deep with them, but it does provide an excellent avenue to start thinking about these things while having a good time.

Gav cannot remember why he woke up on the floor of some creepy-looking wizard's workshop, but he does know this is not good. Slowly piecing together who he is meant to be from how his goblin servants and slimy assistant behave, Gav has to realize that he was, or perhaps is, a very bad person indeed who is currently keeping a princess locked in a dungeon for some evil plan. To make matters worse, this is not even his evil plan and now he needs to not only figure out who he wants to be but also try to prevent the end of the world. While Gav is unsure of himself, the princess, Eliasha, very much knows who she is and what she wants. While she is not without her own insecurities, she is a delightful departure from the damsel in distress-stereotype. Alongside her, the goblins are very fun as are most of the other characters so that reading Dreadful is a mostly uncomplicated matter. As it is a more cozy kind of fantasy, it won't get as dark as some people might want, but it also doesn't overly stray into the saccharine. Sometimes it does feel a little self-helpy when it comes to Gav trying to figure his own feelings out, but I'm willing to forgive that because we should have more books with male characters attempting emotional self-regulation and selfawareness.

I think this is Caitlin Rozakis' fantasy debut and for that it is a very confident novel. I like the world she establishes, how she weaves various themes into her characterisations, her humour, and the pacing of the novel. While not everything in Dreadful is necessarily entirely my thing I do think it is a very fun book and a promising start for Rozakis. One of the things I didn't entirely love is the potential relationship hanging over Gav and Eliasha. While age gaps don't have to be problematic, Eliasha is just such an interesting figure on her own that it does feel somewhat undermining both to her and Gav's own characterisation to play with the "he changed for her"-trope. However, there is a lot to enjoy about Dreadful, from the goblins and the heavy presence of garlic to the brief suggestion of cosmic horror. The whole novel picks up various fantasy tropes and shuffles them around, giving us fun alternatives to consider. For fantasy lovers who don't mind a bit of sweetness, I would definitely recommend this novel. I'll also be keeping an eye out for any future books from Caitlin Rozakis.

I give this novel...

3 Universes!

I had a great time with Dreadful, it was fun and inventive and engaged with interesting themes without going too deep into them.

Review: 'The Wandering Queen: A Novel of Dido' by Claire Heywood

2026-03-09T08:44:00.002+00:00

Dido, the famous queen of Carthage, died of a broken heart. I was never very fond of that part of the Aeneid, it felt like a cop out and Aeneas was not worth it. So when I saw Claire Heywood's The Wandering Queen promising to retell Dido's story, I was very intrigued. Thanks to Dutton and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 10/02/2026
Publisher: Dutton

When the King of Tyre dies, he decrees that the rule of the kingdom will pass equally to both his children: Elissa, his clever and strong-willed daughter, and Pygmalion, her young half-brother. But Elissa, not yet skilled in the machinations of court, quickly finds herself sidelined by a band of powerful merchants in favor of her more malleable brother.

Forced out of her palace home, Elissa resolves to forge her own path. Both triumph and heartbreak await in the life that she builds, transforming herself from a sheltered princess into a strong and formidable leader. When she leads her followers on an epic journey in search of a new home in a faraway land, she earns herself a name that will echo through millennia: Dido, the wanderer.

Then one day, a mysterious stranger, Aeneas, arrives at the city gates, fleeing the Trojan War. As Dido and Aeneas are increasingly drawn to each other, Dido is forced to make an impossible choice between power and love.

I have avoided many adaptations of classical works, in part because I am very fond of many of the "original" works. I am a literary scholar which means I do adore the more formulaic, archaic, lyrical writing of older translations as well. I also have an issue with how some of the adaptations are marketed as providing feminist retellings in which some of the most awe-inspiring female characters of Antiquity become girl-bosses who have never done anything wrong in their lives. (Like, the only version of Medea in which she does not kill her children that I'll accept is Christa Wolf's, because how she reformulated the story spoke directly to Cold War tensions.) Since I haven't read most adaptations, this is purely an impression I get from the marketing and blurbs, but those have been enough to dissuade me from reading many of them. While I loved Circe by Madeline Miller, even that book did not hit me in the way Circe's depiction in the Odyssey does. All this to say that I went into The Wandering Queen a little hesitantly, although if there was ever a Classical female character that needed to be rescued from the clutches of her author, it was Dido. I have to admit that I was never really into Aeneas the way Virgil wrote him. I see why Achilles and Hector are so famous, I think Odysseus is a fascinating figure. Aeneas, however, ain't sh*t and Heywood can't really change that nor the fact that the story has Dido falling in love with him. Heywood does her best to show how and why this would happen, but this love affair still feels like a miscalculation on all fronts. The way Heywood handles it is probably as good as we can get, but I still felt myself sighing at Dido over him. However, despite that sighing, The Wandering Queen does feel like a nice complement to the Aeneid which allows us to expand our understanding of the story.

The Wandering Queen tells the stories of Elissa and Dido, who are the same woman but years apart. Elissa is the daughter of the King of Tyre, promised an equal part in ruling her beloved city, except that palace intrigue prevents her from taking the role she feels destined for. She now has to decide what is best: being of service to her people, regardless of title, or getting her due. Dido, meanwhile, gets to see her new city, Carthage, thriving. When Trojan survivors straggle in, she once again finds herself faced with a choice: stay true to the image of the widowed queen or dare to experience love again. The stories of Elissa and Dido are interwoven in an intriguing way, where the more you learn about young Elissa, the more you come to understand who Dido is now. She gets to be a complex woman with desires and ambitions, who is definitely smart but starts of somewhat naive. Both Elissa and Dido make mistakes and I was happy to see room for that within this story. I also liked that Heywood surrounded her with other female characters, even if sometimes it felt a little anachronistic how they dealt with one another. While Aeneas remains a hurdle to me, I really liked how Heywood resolved that element of Dido's life.

This is my first time reading anything by Claire Heywood and I really enjoyed her writing style. Although, as mentioned above, the writing sometimes feels a little too modern, I also know that this is a a me-thing. The Wandering Queen is a very accessible entryway into the story of Dido and I hope it does function as something of a gateway for readers to explore classical works as well. Heywood's writing is also very descriptive, meaning that Tyre is very vivid, as is Carthage itself. This is all a part of Heywood taking her research and bringing it to life. At the end of The Wandering Queen, Claire Heywood explains the various stories that exist around Dido and her own approach to this story. If Dido and Aeneas were historical people, they would have lived centuries apart, but this did not stop Virgil from making Dido a love-sick woman who was left behind. (I was gratified to find out that people already disliked this by the time to Aeneid was written!) Virgil's text is so famous that it has probably eclipsed any other tales of Dido, so seeing Heywood revive some of them in her book was lovely. I don't know if The Wandering Queen has fully converted me towards reading more adaptations of classical works, but I will definitely check out other books by her!

I give this novel...

4 Universes!

I did have a good time with The Wandering Queen, as much as I can while remaining an Aeneas hater. Dido is a fascinating figure and I'm very glad to see her receive some attention.

Review: 'The Universe Box' by Michael Swanwick

2026-02-03T12:01:00.002+00:00

I absolutely adored Swanwick's Stations of the Tide when I read it a year or two age, so I was very excited to get the chance to read some of his short stories in this collection. The Universe Box is full of inventive tricks from an author clearly in command of his craft. While not all of it worked for me, it was a very fun read. Thanks to Tachyon Publications and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 3/2/2026
Publisher: Tachyon Publications

Discover the vast worlds and pocket universes of Michael Swanwick (Stations of the Tide), the only author to win science fiction’s most prestigious award five times in six years. In his dazzling new collection, the master of speculative short stories returns with tales in which magic and science improbably coexist with myth and legend. With two stories original to this collection, Swanwick aptly demonstrates with poignant humor why he is widely respected as a master of imaginative storytelling.
In engaging stories, Mischling the thief races through time to defeat three trolls before the sun rises for the first time and turns the inhabitants of her city into stone. A scientist is on the run from assassins, because her research in merging human intelligence with sentient AI is too dangerous. An aging veteran obtains a military weapon from his past: a VR robotic leopard in which he rediscovers the consequences of the hunt. In the biggest heist in the history of the universe, a loser Trickster (and the girlfriend who is better than he deserves), sets out to violate every trope and expectation of fiction possible.

Michael Swanwick has been writing since the 1980s, but the stories in this collection are gathered from the past few years. They really show Swanwick's control of the craft of writing. It's not the kind of writing where you can race through a story easily. Pretty much every sentence holds a different kind of surprise or twist and plays with language. There is not just the control of language, however, but also Swanwick's knowledge of the genres he's operating in. There is a confidence in how he moves away from the expected tropes and how he establishes his characters. In his preface to the collection, Swanwick talks about how the ending is crucial to a story and that some stories have had to wait on the shelf for years before he found an ending worthy of it. It is true that the stories in this collection don't usually end how you might expect them to and usually that twist is well-earned and set up properly in retrospect. For readers who are experienced in reading speculative fiction, sci-fi and fantasy, this makes his stories incredibly fun to read. I can imagine that perhaps, for readers less familiar with these waters, however, this can make some of the stories a bit more challenging. I think the work you might have to put in will be rewarded though!

As with every story collection, there are some stories that align more with a reader than others. The collection begins with 'Starlight Express', where a woman arrives in old Roma by an energy road and it is unclear where she is from. There were aspects to this story I really enjoyed. 'The Last Days of Old Night' was one of my faovurites, in part because of its main character and in part because it was inspired by Iceland. Mischling is made human from her previous mouse-existence by three brothers with awesome powers. What comes next is an exploration of abuses of power, of creation, and the end of an endless night. 'The Year of the Three Monarchs' is brief but fun and reads more like a mini-history for an imagined empire than a full story. 'Ghost Ships' is, according to Swanwick's preface, a very personal story that is also a ghost story and although it didn't work entirely for me, I did think it was veyr well-written. 'The White Leopard' is a very intriguing story about a drone leopard, friendship, and marital betrayal. 'Dragon Slayer' was another favourite, I loved Swanwick's take on time travel in a magical storyworld. 'The Warm Equations' is also very short, almost like a one-shot, of a pilot who has crashed and is sure he won't be saved. 'Requiem for a White Rabbit' is a stunning story about robots, intelligence, violence, and the question of what is real and whether that really matters. 'Dreadnought' is very intriguing, combining a kind of dark social commentary about addiction, poverty, and being unhoused with a seemingly apocalyptic battle for the soul of the world. 'Grandmother Dimetrodon' is really intriguing, as a protagonist travels back in time and begins raising dimetrodons in order not to be found guilty for a crime. But a strange visitor throws his life off balance. It is a story about violence and evolution but it didn't fully pull those strings together in a decisive manner for me. 'The Star-Bear' is something of a double-edged love letter to Russian emigrees in Paris. 'Nirvana and Bust' was a delightful story about human and artificial intelligence that I really liked despite my general disdain for current AI. 'Reservoir Ice' is a really interesting take on time-travel, but also on consent and how the linearity of time matters. 'Artificial People' is about a robot learning about life and gaining consciousness in a strangely gentle way. I had some difficulty with 'Huginn and Muninn - and What Came After', which I will address below. 'Cloud' was a little unfocused for me, but this somehow added to its vibe. 'Timothy: An Oral History' is about a female world in which a man is once again created. Here it is the form that is interesting, which is made up of various testimonies, but the politics of it are also intriguing. 'Annie Without Crow' is a delightful medievalist tale of gods and powers and little baby Elizabeth I. Finally, 'The Universe Box' is a fun heist story that moves at an intense pace and is full of fun images and figures.

Like I said above, Swanwick is an excellent writer and there are images and ideas in this collection that will definitely stick with me. I did have, as said, a weird feeling about the story 'Huginn and Muninn'. In and of itself it is a stunning story about identity, gender, and depression. There are Alice in Wonderland-vibes, there are vultures, there is mild body horror suggested, and I think that the way mental health issues are addressed is really interesting. It is, however, also a story about Alice Sheldon, whose penname was James Tiptree, and her suicide, which includes the potential murder of her husband. Swanwick addresses some of his intent behind writing this story in the Preface and this had me intrigued about reading the story itself. I think that there is something beautiful about working through the violent loss of a respected colleague through art, but after reading the story I also just wonder where the line is between an author's public persona and their own personal struggles, and how much oft hat should (posthumously) be explored by others. I don't necessarily have a clear answer to this, I just know that it stuck with me, after the story was done. However, I still had a great time with this collection. While some stories are a bit briefer and more like one-shots than full stories, the ones that felt more worked out were stunning. I will definitely keep reading Swanwick's work and hope to get into more of his novels soon.

I give this collection...

4 Universes!

Not every story worked quite as well for me, but there are some very inventive approaches here and some very stark imagery, which will stay with me for quite some time!

Review: 'One Aladdin, Two Lamps' by Jeanette Winterson

2026-01-25T12:18:00.003+00:00

Jeanette Winterson has been on my radar for decades at this point and when I saw One Aladdin, Two Lamps I was super intrigued by its concept. It is a very personal book, bound to hold some opinions not everyone agrees with, but I find Winterson's insight into the art of storytelling fascinating. Thanks to Grove Atlantic and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 20/01/2025
Publisher: Grove Atlantic

I can change the story because I am the story.
A woman is filibustering for her life. Every night she tells a story. Every morning, she lives one more day. One Aladdin Two Lamps cracks open the legendary story of Shahrazad in One Thousand and One Nights to explore new and ancient questions. Who should we trust? Is love the most important thing in the world? Does it matter whether you are honest? What makes us happy?
In her guise as Aladdin—the orphan who changes his world—Jeanette Winterson asks us to reread what we think we know. To look again. Especially to look again at how fiction works in our lives, giving us the courage to change our own narratives and alter endings we wish to subvert. As a young working-class woman, with no obvious future beyond factory work or marriage, Winterson realizes through the power of books that she can read herself as fiction as well as a fact: “I can change the story because I am the story.”
An alluring blend of the ancient and the contemporary, One Aladdin Two Lamps ingeniously explores stories and their vital role in our lives. Weaving together fiction, magic, and memoir, Winterson’s newest is a tribute to the age-old tradition of storytelling and a radical step into the future—an invitation to look closer at our stories, and thereby ourselves, to imagine the world anew.

One Aladdin, Two Lamps is a fascinating kind of memoir in which Jeanette Winterson takes One Thousand and One Nights, or Alf Laylah wa-Laylah, and uses its form of storytelling to dive deeper not just into her own life but also into what stories can do. In Alf Laylah, Shahrazad (not Scheherazade) saves her own life and that of countless other young women and girls by spinning story after story for a thousand and one nights to the cruel king Shahryar. Duped by his first wife, Sharyar is taking out his male rage on women across the land, killing a new virginal bride each morning. Shahrazad volunteers for the marriage and ends each morning on a cliffhanger, convincing her murderous husband to wait one more day. Within this framework, countless of stories, gathered from across Asia, the Middle East, and North Africa are then told. In One Aladdin, Two Lamps, Winterson meets Shahrazad where she is, fearing for her life but with a story to tell, and from there spins out both her own life story and the power of how stories operate in Alf Laylah. It has been a while since I've had the pleasure of sitting in a lecture hall and have someone passionately introduce me to a work of literature. One Aladdin felt like being a student again, in all the best ways, as Winterson's love for Alf Laylah but also for storytelling in general comes through on every page. Winterson is effortless in how she reaches for references to other books, thoughts, and ideas and it was an absolute joy to be let in on.

I can't really provide the usual kind of summary of the book here, in part because it's a memoir, a retelling of Alf Laylah, and social commentary. Attempting to sort through it would be a nightmare for me, but would also strip the book of its complexity and process. One Aladdin, Two Lamps is about stories, about those we tell, about who gets to tell them, about which ones have been told and which we can maybe try to change. It is about women, both those in stories and those in real life, about their struggles and about their achievements. The book is about class, about feminism, and about our current hellscape. Winterson is, or at least was at the time of writing the book, a bit more optimistic about AI than I am. I can see what Winterson is aiming for, though, I just don't see it happening myself. I found the insights Winterson gave into her own life and thoughts very interesting, as a woman and a lesbian in the mid to late twentieth century, the role feminism played in her life, her childhood, poverty and class, and, always, the power of a good story. Again, not everything about Winterson and her life will align with the experiences and ideas of all readers, but there is incredible value to getting such a deep insight into someone else's thoughts and process.

Jeanette Winterson is a brilliant author, something which has been solidly established for a while now, but this was my first time in ages properly sitting down with her. What I loved about One Aladdin, is that it felt like having a direct conversation with Winterson. The style is very direct, almost like verbal communication, and yet there is an immense control over every single word. I'm not sure how to best explain it, but I can tell from how accessible and smooth the writing is that it takes a high level of craft and skill. As I said above, reading One Aladdin is like attending a lecture, except that it is also much more personal than any real academic lecture would be. I highlighted so many phrases throughout the book, both to look up a reference later and to have a lasting snapshot of some of her writing. In how direct and open her writing is, Winterson somehow cuts through all of the noise to get across some genuine truths. The book ends on something of a rallying cry for the power of reading and literature, for sitting down with a book and letting it work on you, on seeing the patterns in the stories and seeing where they take you, on freeing up the imagination. Just for those two or so chapters, this book is worth it, but the whole of One Aladdin is a worthwhile read.

I give this book...

5 Universes!

One Aladdin, Two Lamps is a beautiful exploration of what storytelling is for and why it is so important to us. I'd highly recommend this to anyone who is in need of an inspiring cri de coeur for literature and reading, as well as a thought-provoking discussion of our current times.

Review: 'The Looking Glass: Essential Stories' by Machado de Assis, trans. by Daniel Hahn

2026-01-16T12:44:00.001+00:00

I love short stories and I always think collections such as these from Pushkin Press are an excellent way to get a taste of new (to you) authors. The Looking Glass is just such a case for me, as I was entirely new to Machado de Assis before now and have now become a willing convert to his writing. Thanks to Pushkin Press and NetGalley for a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My very sincere apologies for the long delay!

Pub. Date: 13/12/2022
Publisher: Pushkin Press

Enchanting, fresh translations of the finest stories by Brazil’s greatest writer and author of short stories, cited as the greatest black writer in Western literature

Machado de Assis is one of the most enigmatic and fascinating story writers who ever lived. What appear at first to be stately social satires reveal unanticipated depths through flashes of darkness and winking surrealism. This new selection of his finest work, translated by the prize-winning Daniel Hahn, showcases the many facets of his mercurial genius.

A brilliant scientist opens the first asylum in his home town, only to start finding signs of insanity all around him. A young lieutenant basks in praise, but in solitude feels his identity fray into nothing. The reading of a much-loved elder statesman's journals reveals hidden thoughts of merciless cruelty.

This beautiful new collection of fresh translations offers the perfect gathering of his most beloved stories:
The Fortune-Teller
The Posthumous Portrait Gallery
The Loan
The Tale of the Cabriolet
The Stick
The Secret Cause
The Canon, or Metaphysics of Style
The Alienist
The Looking-Glass
Midnight Mass

Joaquim Maria Machado de Assis was a Brazilian author, who wrote in Portuguese, and lives from 1839 to 1908. The grandsons of freed slaves, he grew up poor in Rio de Janeiro and never attended university. He worked his way through various, journalism-related jobs and public positions before finding success with his writing, switching from plays to fiction. While he continued to work governmental jobs, he also began publishing his novels and short stories. What I found intriguing about reading up on him was that as a Black man married to a white woman and the grandson of freed slaves, he apparently largely stayed away from addressing political topics and themes in his writing. I am one of those people who considers everything to be political and I think issues such as race, slavery, class, etc. nonetheless come through in the stories contained in The Looking-Glass, even if they're not addressed directly. Apparently this changed somewhat when Brazil became a republic in 1899 and it is also after this that he wrote the novels considered his masterpieces and major works of Brazilian literature, especially Quincas Borba and Dom Casmurro. After reading his short stories here, I am definitely eager to give them a try soon!

The collection The Looking-Glass contains ten stories from de Assis and as with every collection, not every story will be an equal hit with everyone. However, I found myself actually really enjoying almost all of them. It starts with 'The Fortune Teller', where a torrid love affair meets a torrid end. This story was delightfully dark and felt very tongue-in-cheek. 'The Posthumous Portrait Gallery' is next and here Machado de Assis' wit really comes through. After the death of a respected man, his nephew finds his journal which contains all his brutally honest thoughts about the people he has met. 'The Loan' sees a spendthrift attempt to get money from a friend, while 'The Tale of the Cabriolet' sees a curious canon dig into the tragic lives of two recently deceased visitors to his town. 'The Stick' is a really intriguing story and shows how, despite all the fun and wittiness, de Assis is addressing something about human nature. A young boy runs away from the seminary and looking for help, but then finds himself tested when he in turn might have a chance to help someone. 'The Secret Cause' might be a little much for some readers, as it contains graphic depictions of animal abuse, but it is a fascinating insight into a deeply odd mind. 'The Canon, or Metaphysics in Style' is probably one of my favourite stories in the entire collection. While a canon is attempting to write a sermon, de Assis takes us by the hand in a whirlwind journey to find the right adjective for a noun. It is a story that somehow feels both highly modern, yet also very magical realist and somehow a little surrealist. 'The Alienist' is another great story, about a doctor deciding to create a madhouse and going slightly above and beyond in his search for the true nature of madness. 'The Looking-Glass' gives the collection its name and its frame narrative is what really intrigued me. It begins with a conversation between meta-physicists about the soul, which is interrupted when a man insists we truly have two souls, an internal and external one. As proof, he relays his experiences in his own youth when, as an ensign, he became dependent upon a looking-glass to know himself. Finally, there is 'Midnight Mass', a very quiet story about a midnight conversation between a young man and a woman. This latter one is apparently considered one of the greatest stories of Brazilian literature and I did find it very touching.

Since I was new to Machado de Assis and had no real conception of when he wrote, I went into The Looking-Glass completely blind. I remembered that it was written in Portuguese, but I had no notion of what his style might be like. Purely from a style perspective, I was amazed that these stories came from the mid to late 1800s. Now, I'm a medievalist, so I'm not surprised that texts that are old are good. Where my amazement came from is that something about Machado de Assis' style feels incredibly modern. Perhaps it is the cynicism that comes through, or the way magical realism seems to be present here almost a century before it became an actual thing. Machado de Assis somehow finds a way of giving realistic settings and people and situations, reflecting (I think) Brazil in the 19th century pretty well, and yet there is a romantic or inventive twist to how he writes it that feels un-realist. There is also the fact that he addresses the reader directly and leaves many of his endings quite open. Reading these stories, it felt like Machado de Assis and I were in conversation about humanity, about both our hypocrisies and the beauty we are capable of. I really want to continue that conversation by reading more of his work.

Daniel Hahn explains in an afterword that he attempted to retain a 19th-century style in his translation, which could perhaps feels a little antiquated to some readers. I thought this worked really well, especially as it also retains the aged feel of the text. Considering how modern and fresh some of Machado de Assis' writing feels, having this contrasted with the style is a really good way of highlighting his achievements as an author.

I give this collection...

5 Universes!

The Looking-Glass: Essential Stories won't necessarily be for everyone. There is a cynicism and a harshness to some of the stories, but there is also real wit and beauty. Overall, I would wholeheartedly recommend it to those with an interest in magical realism and literature from South-America.

Review: 'And Put Away Childish Things' (Terrible Worlds: Destinations #3) by Adrian Tchaikovsky

2026-01-16T12:05:00.001+00:00

Adrian Tchaikovsky has become a very steady favourite of mine because of his incredibly solid Fantasy and SciFi output. He is, however, still a mood read for me, just because I need to be in the right mindset to really fully sink into the worlds he creates. Hence, it took me until now to get to And Put Away Childish Things, but this timing turned out to be absolutely on point. Thanks to Rebellion and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My sincere apologies for the delay in reviewing!

Pub. Date: 28/03/2023
Publisher: Rebellion; Solaris

Harry Bodie’s been called into the delightful fantasy world of his grandmother’s beloved children’s books. It’s not delightful here at all.

All roads lead to Underhill, where it’s always winter, and never nice.

Harry Bodie has a famous grandmother, who wrote beloved children’s books set in the delightful world of Underhill. Harry himself is a failing kids’ TV presenter whose every attempt to advance his career ends in self-sabotage. His family history seems to be nothing but an impediment.

An impediment... or worse. What if Underhill is real? What if it has been waiting decades for a promised child to visit? What if it isn’t delightful at all? And what if its denizens have run out of patience and are taking matters into their own hands?

In December, my book club decided that Christmas was the perfect time for us to start reading The Chronicles of Narnia. I am a major fan of the 2005 adaptation of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe and also like 2008's Prince Caspian. There is just a delightful feel to these films and they introduced me to Ben Barnes, so a plus all around. However, I never got into Narnia the way I did The Lord of the Rings and never read the books. Book club to the rescue, I am now four books deep into the entire series. Although I technically knew they were more actively geared towards children than Tolkien's work, I was nonetheless surprised at just how much they are YA. In that sense they really are more like The Hobbit than LOTR, but without all the intense world-building and more Christianity. Why this detour about Narnia? Well, And Put Away Childish Things is all about a series of books that are portal fantasies, in which young children make their way into a fantastical realm full of adventures and drama. This realm is called Underhill and although its books were never quite as famous as Narnia, which also exists inside this world, there is a dedicated fanbase regardless. Throughout the book Tchaikovsky is very tongue-in-cheek, not just about portal fantasies generally, but about C.S. Lewis specifically. Had I not been reading the Narnia books right now, I would absolutely still have picked up on this (it's not subtle), but I wouldn't have had the reading experience for those books and therefor emight not have appreciated the jokes and references quite as much.

Harry Bodie is extremely down on his luck. Still struggling to become a serious actor in his thirties, he joins a TV show about family history and reveals that his grandmother was the author behind the famous Underhill books. While this reveal goes very sideways, it still draws certain eyes to Harry, eyes who are extremely interested in uncovering the truth of Underhill. When Harry does end up in Underhill after various shenanigans, it is not at all what he was expecting. Underhill is decaying, falling apart, dying. Can it be saved? Should it be saved? And can Harry figure out what his own hero's journey is meant to be, both in the real world and in Underhill? Harry is a delightful protagonist in that he is a deeply flawed human being and he knows it. He is easily annoyed, more easily cowed, and unsure if he brings anything valuable to the table. I read the first third or so of this on a train and I legitimately had to stifle laughter repeatedly as we watched Harry have a horrible time. I also liked Underhill as a place, the whole interrogation of the portal fantasy-genre, and the other characters. I will say that towards the end it got a litttlleee bit convoluted, but I appreciated the lengths to which Tchaikovsky went in such a short book (around 200 pages).

Like I said above, I'm always in good hands when it comes to an Adrian Tchaikovsky book. I don't know how the man writes as much as he does, but it is consistently fun and inventive. With Childish Things, he also really gets to poke fun at fantasy which, judging from my reading experience, he seems to have enjoyed very much. The fun he pokes is in good taste, though, for those worried their Narnia love may be tainted! In its own little way, Childish Things is also about the power of storytelling, about how a good story can keep you going, but also about how a story can be created for bad ends. In today's political and social climate, that is a message of great importance, as is the lesson Harry needs to learn about his own importance. Overall, I can wholeheartedly recommend the book to lovers of fantasy.

I give this novella...

4 Universes!

I had a great time with And Put Away Childish Things, especially because of my Narnia reading. However, Tchaikovsky is a consistently excellent author, so even if Narnia isn't your thing, this book very well still might be.

Review: 'The Luminous Fairies and Mothra' by Shin’ichirō Nakamura, Takehiko Fukunaga, and Yoshie Hotta, trans. by Jeffrey Angles

2026-01-14T10:47:00.001+00:00

Godzilla is the king of kaiju, absolutely, but let us not ever forget about Mothra, the giant moth who can be both enemy and companion to Godzilla. When I saw that Jeffrey Angles had also translated her origin story, I knew I wanted to read it, especially because I had no idea fairies were involved. Thanks to University of Minnesota Press and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Pub. Date: 13/01/2026
Publisher: University of Minnesota Press

The original story that hatched Mothra, one of the most beloved monsters in the “kaijuverse”—available in English for the first time

Mystical and benevolent, the colossal lepidopteran Mothra has been one of the most beloved kaiju since 1961, when The Luminous Fairies and Mothra was originally published in Japanese. Commissioned by Tōhō Studios from three of Japan’s most prominent postwar literary writers (Shin’ichirō Nakamura, Takehiko Fukunaga, and Yoshie Hotta), the novella formed the basis for the now-classic monster film Mothra, with a protagonist second only to Godzilla in number of film appearances by a kaiju. Finally available in its first official English translation, The Luminous Fairies and Mothra will captivate ardent, longtime fans of the films as well as newcomers.
Written just months after the largest political demonstrations Japan had ever seen, The Luminous Fairies and Mothra reflects the rebellious spirit of the time. In this original story, explorers visit a South Pacific island and capture a group of fairies, inciting the fury of the goddess Mothra, who sets out for Japan on a mission of rescue and revenge. Expressing a powerful social stance about Japan’s need to chart its own foreign policy during the Cold War, the novella’s political message was ultimately toned down in the Tōhō Studios film. Through this translation, Anglophone audiences will discover Mothra as a figure of protest fiction intricately reflecting the complex geopolitical situation in early 1960s Japan.
The Luminous Fairies and Mothra is translated into lively prose by Jeffrey Angles, who also wrote an extensive afterword about the novella’s cultural context, the unusual story of its composition, and the development of the 1961 film. Following Angles’s best-selling translation of the original Godzilla novellas, this new work will once again delight kaiju fans everywhere.

After reading the Godzilla novellas by Shigeru Kayama, also translated by Jeffrey Angles, I was naturally also very interested in the Mothra story. My first time seeing Mothra was in the otherwise not great (for me) 2019 film Godzilla II: King of Monsters. The whole film is very dramatic and full of big kaiju and big family problems for humans, but for me it was always Mothra that I liked most. I love her, in part because moths feel so fragile and yet, once you make it huge, it holds an enormous amount of power. Whereas with Godzilla, we initially were dealing with a monster that represents the destructive power of atom and hydrogen bombs, Mothra is something more mythical and other. She is of this earth, yes, but there is a mythology to her, as well as a divinity, which separates her form the other kaiju in my opinion. In this book we do not just get presented with the stories about her, which were the starting point for the 1961 film, but also again with a very detailed commentary essay by Angles. Here, the political and social climate of Japan in the late '50s and early '60s is discussed, much of which was new to me. Again, it is fascinating to see in what kind of cultural, social, and political cauldron a monster is formed.

So The Luminous Fairies and Mothra is fascinating to me because it is told by three different authors, collaborating but writing separately. Angles explains some of the process in his essay at the end, but I think it is super interesting to me that this new monster was created by committee. In many ways this is also true for Godzilla, as Shigeru Kayama wrote a treatment, inspired by a story Ray Bradbury, which was then shaped by script writers, by directors, and by special effects teams. Few monsters are solo projects. But how Nakamura, Fukunaga, and Hotta went about it is just such fun. Nakamura writes the first part of the story, where our protagonist, a linguist, arrives at a mysterious island, used for hydrogen bomb tests, where he encounters not just an indigenous population, but also fairies. Fukunaga takes over and introduces an additional protagonist, a journalist who simply has to know more about this island and therefore sneaks onto it. Not only does he, too, encounter people and fairies there, but he also gets to witness the presence of the enormous Egg and its mythical backstory. Hotta finishes the novella off by giving us the birth of Mothra, a takedown of capitalism, and destruction across two continents. As with Kayama's novellas for Godzilla, you can tell that these were script treatments. Especially the action towards the end is left very vague to allow directors and special effects teams to live out their own dreams. I really liked the fantastical and mythological elements they created for Mothra's origin, however, and how he/it/she is also connected to hydrogen bombs and yet also something entirely different.

The afterword/commentary essay after the story is again very extensive and, as said above, interesting. Two elements I especially liked were the exploration of Mothra's gender and potential literary inspirations. In the West, Mothra is generally gendered as she and this is, to a certain extent, due to the fact that many European languages, be they Germanic or Romance languages, have gendered grammars. Some languages, however, like Japanese and Chinese, do not grammatically require a strict he-she-it, meaning that these pronouns can be left out entirely. A translator into English, like Angles, naturally has to figure out what to with this so that it makes sense to English readers and reading his thoughts about this, and about the few instances where gender does play a role in the story, is really interesting. He also sets up a comparison to the Doctor Doolittle books form the 1920s, some of which feature an enormous moth. It is a new comparison and one that I think holds solid merit, based on what Angles represents. I haven't read the books for myself, but he traces how their translations into Japanese feasibly could have reached the authors and traces textual and thematic parallels that do suggest these works are in a form of communication with one another. Finally, Angles also carefully but sharply addresses aspects of colonialism and racism in the text, as it takes place on a Pacific island featuring an indigenous population. I think this is generally handled very well by him and provides extra nuance to the story as well as the film.

I give this book...

4 Universes!

Overall, I had another excellent time with Angles' translation and commentary, as well as with the monster and story that Shin’ichirō Nakamura, Takehiko Fukunaga, and Yoshie Hotta have created. If there are any further kaiju-related books from Angles and/or University of Minnesota Press in the future, I will be all over them.

Review: 'Godzilla, and Godzilla Raids Again' by Shigeru Kayama, trans. by Jeffrey Angles

2026-01-14T10:20:00.004+00:00

I love monsters and the things they represent and Godzilla has been the kind of monster I have enjoyed thinking about. But where did he come from? How did Godzilla begin and how did he become a phenomenon. This book provides the first English translations of the novellas behind the monster, alongside a detailed discussion. Thanks to University of Minnesota Press and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My sincere apologies for the delay in reviewing!

Pub. Date: 03/10/2023
Publisher: University of Minnesota Press

The first English translations of the original novellas about the iconic kaijū Godzilla
Godzilla emerged from the sea to devastate Tokyo in the now-classic 1954 film, produced by Tōhō Studios and directed by Ishirō Honda, creating a global sensation and launching one of the world’s most successful movie and media franchises. Awakened and transformed by nuclear weapons testing, Godzilla serves as a terrifying metaphor for humanity’s shortsighted destructiveness: this was the intent of Shigeru Kayama, the science fiction writer who drafted the 1954 original film and its first sequel and, in 1955, published these novellas.
Although the Godzilla films have been analyzed in detail by cultural historians, film scholars, and generations of fans, Kayama’s two Godzilla novellas—both classics of Japanese young-adult science fiction—have never been available in English. This book finally provides English-speaking fans and critics the original texts with these first-ever English-language translations of Godzilla and Godzilla Raids Again. The novellas reveal valuable insights into Kayama’s vision for the Godzilla story, feature plots that differ from the films, and clearly display the author’s strong antinuclear, proenvironmental convictions.
Kayama’s fiction depicts Godzilla as engaging in guerrilla-style warfare against humanity, which has allowed the destruction of the natural world through its irresponsible, immoral perversion of science. As human activity continues to cause mass extinctions and rapid climatic change, Godzilla provides a fable for the Anthropocene, powerfully reminding us that nature will fight back against humanity’s onslaught in unpredictable and devastating ways.

The monster that a culture and society produces tells us a lot about that culture. Scholar Jeffrey Jerome Cohen established seven theses through which a monster can be read. These are that the monster's body is a cultural body, that the monster always escapes, that it is the harbinger of category crisis, that it is difference made flesh, that it polices the borders of what is possible, that there is desire at play in the fear of the monster, and, finally, that they are crucial in how we become ourselves. (For more on this, see Jeffrey Jerome Cohen, 'Monster Culture (Seven Theses)', in Monster Theory: Reading Culture (1996), pp.3-25) With these theses, Cohen gave us a language to explore why monsters are so intriguing to us, why they feature in all forms of literature and art, why we need them to make sense of ourselves, and why we keep coming back to them. Many of the monsters he discusses are very old, but Godzilla makes an appearance in his chapter as well as an example of how the monster demonstrates the arbitrariness of difference, smashing not just Tokyo but also all the arbitrary rules we establish (p. 12). A monster like Godzilla is not just a source of entertainment, although that is also a part of it. Godzilla also stands for the destruction we humans are capable of, our smallness in the face of nature and some of our own achievements, the forbidden desire to push knowledge as far as we can, and more. In reading these novellas behind the creation of Godzilla, accompanied by an excellent commentary essay at the end, you can really get to grips with the various elements that came into play to create Godzilla.

The book contains two novellas, written by Shigeru Kayama, namely Godzilla and Godzilla Raids Again. In Godzilla, we first discover the existence of Godzilla and his connection to the atomic bombs and hydrogen bomb tests. As he emerges and ravages Tokyo, the novella focuses on a set of scientists who are torn between studying Godzilla and destroying him. In Godzilla Raids Again, we focus on a trio of characters who work at a fishing and cannery company in Osaka. When Godzilla reemerges at their coast, alongside a potential kaiju enemy, their lives are thrown into disarray. Using their piloting skills, two become involved in tracking and hopefully defeating Godzilla, while the third (female) character has a more limited role. As Angles explains in his detailed commentary at the end, Shigeru Kayama was asked to provide a script treatment for the 1954 film and as well as for the 1955 sequel. He expanded these later into novellas, but they are still very action focused. The characterisations are very to the point without a whole lot of embellishment, which worked for me but might be off-putting to some readers. I really appreciated the focus, especially in the first novella, on how Godzilla in and of himself represents the atomic and hydrogen bomb. He was not necessarily nature's answer to human meddling in the beginning, although he is mostly considered in that light now. Both ways of reading him are valid, but the tension between the presence of such awesome (in its traditional sense) power in the face of the enormous costs associated with it are probably the most fascinating aspect of his whole construction for me.

Godzilla and Godzilla Raids Again will naturally be a good fit for readers who are already intrigued by the monster, who watched Godzilla Minus One and now want to know more. For those more generally interested, along the lines of Cohen, about what monsters say about us, this is also a valuable read. I think Godzilla is one of the last truly new monsters we created and seeing how he emerged and what is at play here is very interesting. There is enormous benefit, I think, in these novellas finally being translated into English, but they are also helped very much by Jeffrey Angles' commentary and essay. It helps situate the creation of Godzilla in time, explaining some of the aftermath of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the contemporary issues at play, and the cinematic aspects that shaped the stories presented here into the films that hit the cinemas. I had a really good time reading this book and dove straight into Angles' translation of the Mothra stories afterwards.

I give this book...

4 Universes!

The novellas here are not necessarily the most gripping stories on their own merit, but they are very interesting nonetheless and it is great that they are now accessible to a wider audience.

Review: 'The Island House' by Amanda Brittany

2025-12-31T14:48:00.004+00:00

Speaking of women getting up to nonsense, The Island House is full of literary insanity, covered with a dusting of Gothic madness. There is so much to this book I could have adored, but somehow these parts didn't come together into a whole I can fully appreciate. Thanks to HQ Digital and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My sincere apologies for the delay in reviewing!

Pub. Date: 11/08/2021
Publisher: HQ Digital

A DARK FAMILY SECRET
When Alice’s father dies after a tragic hit and run, his death stirs up unanswered questions about her childhood. Who was her mother, why did her father never speak of the past, and why can’t she remember anything before the age of seven?
AN ISLAND CUT OFF
But when she receives an anonymous letter containing a photograph of a refurbished gothic guesthouse surrounded by water, and an invitation to stay, old memories fight to resurface.
Alice has visited before. She is certain of it.
WHO WILL SURVIVE?
Convinced the clues to her past lie at the hotel, she checks in. But once on the island, a wild storm rages, waves crash violently into the rocks, and the house is cut off by the roaring sea.
Then two guests are found dead. And the hotel owner is missing. Will Alice ever uncover her secret past?
And will anyone leave the island alive?

People are calling this a locked-room mystery on Goodreads and I don't know why. Is And Then There Were None a locked-room mystery, just because a group of people are stuck in an isolated place? Just because a room is locked does not mean a locked-room mystery has taken place, in my opinion. Almost by definition, it has to appear to be physically impossible for any of the characters to have committed the crime and The Island House is not detailed enough for that. The Honjin Murders by Seishi Yokomizo is a good example of an actual locked-room mystery and it requires an insane amount of detail and authorial control. The Island House has aspects of this, in the sense that there is clearly a grand plan that brough everyone to the house for the mayhem, but even the speed with which the characters jump to "there is a murderer among us" is insane. There is literally a crucial character who, from the beginning, is not present, so why wouldn't he be your first suspect, rather than the person standign right next to you? I know why, because plot vibes, but that doth not a locked-room mystery make. Terminology quibbles aside, The Island House is helped very much by the gothic flair it borrows for its setting and world-building in allowing for a certain level of disbelief suspension. However, it doesn't go quite far enough in doing so that I could deal with some of the utterly inane decisions being made throughout this book.

We start The Island House with Alice as she is informed of her father's death due to a hit and run. He was a very successful author so when his death reveals his real identity to the world, there is a lot of interest. Alice responds by mostly staying inside and hiring a young woman called Faith to take care of her sculpture store while she mourns. After a few months, Alice is slowly opening up to the world again when she receives a photo of a house on an island which reminds her eerily of the gothic mansion that has been haunting her dreams since she was a child. She made a sculpture of this house in her dreams, in fact, and it matches the Flynn House perfectly. When the new owner of the house, who has turned it into a boutique hotel, buys the piece and invites her to visit, she hems and haws. When Faith drags her awful new boyfriend Mitch there, Alice can't help her curiosity and convinces her ex-boyfriend Leon to come with her. Upon arriving at Flynn House it quickly becomes clear that not all is as it seems, including the other guests. Across one stormy night, all kinds of mad things occur which may or may not teach Alice something about herself. I really wanted to like Alice as a main character, especially because there are so many interesting aspects to her and her history, but she spends a lot of time in this book not really making any choices. She is sort of thrown around by the waves of fate but is consistently surprised and shocked by it too. I would have liked to root for her more. What doesn't help is that the book switches POV a lot, or rather focus, which doesn't really help. We don't really need Leon's insight, for example. There are also flashbacks or chapters which might be diary entries and while these start of interesting, they become something of a B-plot that waters down the tension of what is really happening. I did also have to say that within the resolution of it all, which was very dramatic and over-the-top, there were a few elements about family and love that I personally found a little icky in their implications.

The Island House has so many elements that I love. I adore a gothic house full of trauma and history. I adore a And Then There Were None-style mystery where a set of characters find themselves in a location that somehow means something to all of them. I also love a main character who can't quite remember her past but has ominous glimpses of it. And yet it didn't come together for me. Like, if we're going to have creepy ventriloquist dummies, give me more creeps. If we're going to have haunted family dynamics, really show them to me rather than just telling me about them. I do have to admit there is a fun twist to this which, while not super shocking, did give me a nice "oooohhhhh wait" moment early on when I caught one of the little bread crumbs. This wasn't quite enough, however, to save it from the otherwise rushed plotting. This is not a short book, but it reads super fast, jumping from one thing to another, back in time, forward in time, a new POV, another flashback, MURDER, brief contemplation, and then more running. The beginning is quite slow in setting up Alice and her current state of mind, but the last half or third is a lot. Perhaps if there was a better balance to the two, I would have gotten into the actual story a little more. So this one was technically a miss for me in many ways but I did want to know how it would all resolve, so it's not a complete loss. I would probably read something different by Amanda Brittany in the future, because I do think the skills are there. This story was just a bit too much.

I give this novel...

2 Universes!

I read The Island House very quickly, in an evening, and did have a form of fun with it, but in the end it felt a little messy to me. There are so many intriguing ideas, especially the way Brittany plays with the Gothic, but the book never lingers long enough to really come together.

Review: 'A Haunted History of Invisible Women: True Stories of America's Ghosts' by Leanna Renee Hieber and Andrea Janes

2025-12-31T14:38:00.001+00:00

Ghosts are ubiquitous, or at least the stories about them are. Every town has their resident ghost stories and tragic history, but what is really behind them? And where is the line between learning about history and exploiting it? In A Haunted History of Invisible Women Leanne Hieber and Andrea Janes investigate these questions, among others, in ways that work for believers and non-believers. Thank to Citadel and NetGalley for providing me with a copy of this book in exchange for an honest review. My sincere apologies for the delay in reviewing!

Pub. Date: 27/09/2022
Publisher: Kensington Books; Citadel

Sorrowful widows, vengeful jezebels, innocent maidens, wronged lovers, former slaves, even the occasional axe-murderess—America’s female ghosts differ widely in background, class, and circumstance. Yet one thing unites them: their ability to instill fascination and fear, long after their deaths. Here are the full stories behind some of the best-known among them, as well as the lesser-known—though no less powerful.

Tales whispered in darkness often divulge more about the teller than the subject. America’s most famous female ghosts, from from ‘Mrs. Spencer’ who haunted Joan Rivers’ New York apartment to Bridget Bishop, the first person executed during the Salem witchcraft trials, mirror each era’s fears and prejudices. Yet through urban legends and campfire stories, even ghosts like the nameless hard-working women lost in the infamous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire —achieve a measure of power and agency in death, in ways unavailable to them as living women.

Riveting for skeptics and believers alike, with humor, curiosity, and expertise, A Haunted History of Invisible Women offers a unique lens on the significant role these ghostly legends play both within the spook-seeking corners of our minds and in the consciousness of a nation.

I don't know if I believe in ghosts. I've never technically seen one, although I've been in plenty of places where you might expect a proper haunting. I feel like I'm open enough to the concept that surely a ghost would have popped up by now. But I have had experiences that I can't (or don't want to) wholly explain, moments where I thought I saw something, where I could feel the history of a place pressing in on me. A potential explanation would be that I knew the history and so my mind made me experience it or that I really wanted to see my grandmother again and so I my brain gave me a glimpse of her. I'm not necessarily opposed to that but, as Hamlet said, "there are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy". So I find myself see-sawing between not believing in ghosts and appreciating that there might be more than I can prove. What is nice about A Haunted History is that Hieber and Janes are no trying to convert you. They appreciate, and make explicit, that ghost stories are constructed things, told for a specific purpose at a specific time. In this way it aligns nicely with the constructed nature of gender, as they explore in their introduction, in that gender too is made up of norms and expectations which are performed over time. At the intersection, then, of the stories we tell about gender and the stories we tell about ghosts, a conversation about the power of storytelling and the storyteller emerges, which makes A Haunted History a fascinating read.

A Haunted History is divided into seven parts, each of which are named after certain archetypes, which they aim to explore. Part one, 'Death and the Maiden', considers the ghosts of young women, who haunt the places where they met their untimely deaths. Here I especially found the chapter on the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire affecting, while the discussion of academic ghosts and what they say of the female college experience was intriguing. Part two, 'Witches', looks, as the name implies, at female ghosts who are connected to witchcraft accusations, but I was glad there was a strong focus on the youth of Dorothy Good in Salem, especially. Regardless of what current popular culture makes of the Salem witchtrials, lives were destroyed here and that needs to be considered. Part three, 'Mothers and Wives', features the story of Ma Green, which I found delightful. I'd love to imagine her still present on her beloved ships. The fourth part considers the 'Bad Girls, Jezebels, and Killer Women', especially the female ghosts of the Frontier. Here, some readers might have issues because Hieber and Janes purposefully retain the language of the period, meaning we're not speaking of sex-workers here. While I follow them in that choice, I was left a little dissatisfied by this particular chapter although I can't entirely put my finger on why. Part five is about '"Madwomen"' and the quotation marks are very much part of the title. Madness is frequently assigned to women because it makes for a very easy story. I really appreciated the kindness with which they approached Sarah Winchester and the Wandering Woman of Central New York. Finally, 'Spinsters and Widows' get their turn in part six, which features some very intriguing if difficult to prove stories, while 'Frauds, Fakes, and Mythmaking' is the topic for the seventh and final part.

Like I said above, A Haunted History is a very intriguing read, which is bound to invite conversations, just like ghost stories themselves. Often, when I review a horror book, I'll explain why I am such a fan of horror, namely because I think certain things get revealed in these stories that are not allowed to the surface in others. Similarly, I fully agree with Hieber and Janes, that ghost stories too reveal something about how we think of the past, of women, of men, of power, and of our own modern time. The two authors take it in turns, roughly, to write a chapter each and they frequently bring in their own experiences as tour guides and/or as people sensitive to the ghostly realm. When it comes to the latter, I think they both strike a great balance between being honest about what they have experienced and allowing the reader the space to make their own judgements. That extension of grace also makes it easier to follow along as a full-blown skeptic, I imagine. Because their tour-guiding experience is so crucial to the book, the book is limited to the United States of America. This makes complete sense form a feasibility standpoint. However, because ghost stories are so culturally inflected, I would have loved to see a chapter or so dedicated to different kinds of ghost stories, from other cultures, as this contrast might bring out the clarity needed to really nail the American ghost stories. I think Native American ghost stories or legends could have been an excellent resource here, especially as this would have connected nicely to the chapter about the Frontier. Overall, however, this is an interesting book that I would happily recommend to anyone with even a passing interest in all things ghostly.

I give this book...

4 Universes!

A Haunted History of Invisible Women provides a fascinating insight into the various stories of female ghosts that haunt America, told with empathy and grace rather than sensationalism.