October is the Coldest Month (Christoffer Carlsson)

4 Stars

“Vega Gillberg is 16 years old when the police come knocking on the door looking for her older brother, Jakob.

Vega hasn’t heard from him in days, but she has to find him before the police do. Jakob was involved in a terrible crime. What no one knows is that Vega was there, too.
In the rural Swedish community where the Gillbergs live, life is tough, the people are even tougher, and old feuds never die. As Vega sets out to find her brother, she must survive a series of threatening encounters in a deadly landscape. As if that wasn’t enough, she’s dealing with the longing she feels for a boy that she has sworn to forget, and the mixed-up feelings she has for her brother’s best friend.

During a damp, raw week in October, the door to the adult world swings open, and Vega realises that once she has crossed the threshold there is no turning back.”

I don’t read a lot of thrillers. That’s not to say I don’t like the feeling that you get from reading thrillers, there’s something about that dry-throat, adrenaline-surge as everything begins to tumble apart. Generally, I tend to get my fill of that feeling from horror books, but there was something about the blurb of this particular YA psychological thriller that drew me right in.

From the start there’s a very sinister feel to the story, all dark forests, drowning bogs and remote trailer parks. Much of the local economy runs on moonshine and the general atmosphere is one of ‘don’t ask questions that you don’t want the answer to’. Vega’s world is a hard and unfamiliar one. I’m sure that most people think of Scandinavia as some kind of utopia, they certainly don’t usually stop to consider the stories of those raised in poor rural towns and villages.

The story starts with a visit from the police. You get the feeling that the police don’t very often stick their noses into the business of this little forest community, and that their presence is unusual and unwanted. Vega, our protagonist, is asked whether she knows the location of her brother who is wanted for questioning about a crime. Vega must pretend that she knows nothing when, in fact, she knows exactly what they are talking about…she just doesn’t entirely know why it happened. We follow Vega as she tries to work out what happened that night and what it has to do with her brother.

It’s a short book, only taking me an evening to finish, but I think it’s the perfect length for the story that Carlsson wished to tell. I’d argue that it’s much more about Vega’s growth in an environment hostile to young women, than the mystery of the crime itself. Vega has to stick her nose in places where she is not welcome, learning uncomfortable truths about her brother, money and her uncle’s moonshine operation. A portion of the book is also devoted to her complicated feelings for one of the local boys and their awkward and strained relationship following some drunken fumbling. I liked that Vega’s interest in sex wasn’t shamed at any point during the book. She’s a sixteen year old girl, unapologetically finding what she likes in a world that has forced her to grow up too fast.

This book was a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but what I got was a rich little book, evoking all the cold loneliness of rural Sweden. Vega is a wonderful protagonist, who is fighting a battle against her past and the stagnancy of the world around her. Although the ending is left quite open, I found myself hoping that she ended up with a future that she deserved. I’ll definitely be picking books up by Carlsson in future.

Many thanks to Scribe UK and Netgalley for a copy in return for an honest review.

 

Moroda (L.L. McNeil)

4 stars

I was pretty much sold on this book the moment the author described it as princes, dragons and sky pirates. Moroda is a young woman thrown into a jail cell after speaking out against an Arillian Lord  who seems to have her people in thrall. Normally quiet and unassuming, Moroda is forced into an unlikely alliance with a Sky Pirate named Amarah when a dragon attacks the city. The slaying of the usually peaceful dragon by a mysterious Arillian hunter and the realisation that the creature may have been under a similar thrall to the people of the town, sends Moroda, and a motley crew of fellow travellers, across continents in search of answers.

‘Moroda’ was a classic fantasy novel in almost every respect, from the wide range of magical races to the dragons and in depth consideration of personal values and morals. Our protagonist Moroda, and indeed the dragons within book, are advocates of nonviolent methods of conflict resolution. Indeed, the whole premise of the book seems to be that war between humanoids is pretty much meaningless in the face of the damage that we wreak on our environment and our world. What use is an end to war, when the destruction we’ve wrought with kill us all anyway? The question raised at the very end of the story seems almost to be ‘do these people even deserve the world that they live in?’

One of my favourite parts of the novel was the dragon lore. We have a world where the souls of dragons are the source of almost all magical power, to the extent that the oldest Sevastos dragons are pretty much worshipped as gods and creators. Phoenixes are found in greater numbers near the largest dragons, attracted to their heat and power,  and phoenix feathers can be used to scry for their location.

Alongside the dragons there are several humanoid fantasy species. Arillians are winged beings with a strange magic of their own; the Varkain are grey skinned creatures that can transform into venomous snakes and the Ittallans are also shapeshifters, though more humanoid in appearance.

One thing that I’ve heard recently from some of my friends is how eager they are for a fantasy series that doesn’t focus on romance. ‘Moroda’ was entirely romance free, and whilst I personally prefer a love subplot, I can totally see why that would be a selling point for many people!

I was also impressed with the ending, it really made sense with the tone of the rest of the novel, focusing on non-violence and sacrifice. I’m interested to see where the rest of the series goes from this, who of the characters will be the focus and, to be honest, whether any of them with even survive! It’s been a long time since I’ve been unable to predict where a series will go and it’s honestly quite exciting to be able to say that!

The not-so-good:

It’s only a small thing but during the reading experience I really felt as if we needed a map. I was having trouble working out where people were going and what they were doing. Ironically, I rarely actually look at maps in books, but I felt myself turning the page to go and look for one a couple of times whilst reading this. Something to consider for future books in the series maybe!

The other small criticism I have is that the book felt very dialogue heavy. The thing with dialogue is that I like it fleeting and to try and mirror actual speech as much as possible, otherwise I end up skimming it. Pretty much every explanation in this book took place via speech and I wondered whether it would have been better explained via an internal voice recap, a letter or some other method, to allow the speech to be more playful and less ponderous.

Conclusion

It’s been a while since I read a pure adventure fantasy and it was really refreshing to do so. Dragons, soul magic and sky pirates all combine into a rollicking start to what looks to be an interesting series. I look forward to seeing where the next book takes what is left of our motley crew!

Many thanks to L. L McNeil for a free copy in return for an honest review. All opinions expressed in this review are entirely my own.

Truthwitch (Susan Dennard)

4 stars

“I’ll always follow you, Safi, and you’ll always follow me. Threadsisters to the end.” 

I am not ashamed to admit that I picked up this book entirely because the cover is gorgeous. It was a pleasant and not-all-together-unexpected happenstance that I enjoyed the story as well.

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Character

Now, character is what this book does really well. Our central protagonist, Safiya, is a Truthwitch, a very rare type of witch who is instinctively able to tell truth from lie. Safi is a stubborn and feisty noblewoman from a family which has fallen on hard times, a perfect foil to her Threadsister, Iseult, a calm and very logical Threadwitch, widely mistrusted due her Nomatsi heritage. I liked the balance that the two girls gave eachother, Safi having to learn to not let emotions get in the way of her ability to tell truth, Iseult struggling not to be overwhelmed by her knowledge of humankind’s bonds and feelings, shown to her as a constant drifting miasma of coloured threads. I loved the concept of Threadsisters and brothers, a bond between characters that most closely correlates to platonic soulmate. It took me longer to warm to Safi’s character than Iseult’s, probably because I related more to Iseult’s quiet fire and determination, but even Safi went through a bit of a metamorphosis by the end of the book.

Events unfolding in book lead Safi and Iseult into the sights of Merik, a Prince of Nihar, and Aeduan, a much feared Bloodwitch who tracks by the scent of a person’s blood. I adored both characters. Merik is equally as hot headed as Safi, though, as a Windwitch, his rage comes with more risks. A young Prince second in line to the throne of a country on the brink of starvation, Merik crosses paths with the girls when desperately trying to broker a trade deal to keep his people alive. Immediately, Safi and Merik find the most superfluous of reasons to hate one another, and we all know how that ends…

Aeduan is equally a fascinating character,  somewhat an antagonist in this story, but only in the way that he is a mercenary on a contract. Hired to hunt Safi, who has been forced to flee from the City for reasons I will not divulge, he is utterly driven, unwilling to let anything get between him and his quarry. A lot of questions are raised in this book about the nature of just exactly who Aeduan is, but not a lot are answered…I am very interested to learn more about him in later books. Also, I ship our Threadwitch and our Bloodwitch with a fury

Story

One of the things I quickly realised whilst reading ‘Truthwitch’ is that I tend to favour fantasy with a slower pace. This book starts quick, only slows a little and then powers up for the finale. The book opens with a heist…well, an attempt at a heist that only really ends up exposing Safi and her secret powers to the mercy of our money hungry Bloodwitch. Truthwitches are rare and their powers, for reasons of business and government, are considered incredibly lucrative. Safi has tried her hardest throughout her life to keep her powers a secret from those that could twist her to their use and now her fragile shield has come shattering down.

From this point on we enter a story where the world is in a tremulous 20 year pact of peace, which is soon due to reach its natural end. Past wars have left several countries in ruin, everyone is jostling and trying to buy themselves any advantage to keep themselves on top of the hierarchy when the peace crumbles. Witches are revered in some countries and considered criminals in others, but all live under a common threat, the fear of cleaving, where their powers corrupt almost instantly leaving them creatures of murderous instinct.

The witches in this world have powers that work upon one of a selection of elements: earth, air, water, fire, aether and void. It’s not particularly complicated, though some of the naming conventions don’t make it immediately obvious who can control what. Threadwitch, for example, is a type of Aetherwitch, whilst a Bloodwitch is considered to be a Voidwitch…which, let’s be honest, is probably because it sounds cool.

The plot is fast paced, there are multiple POVs (none which I found tiresome), we have sea battles, enchanted hurricanes and wild chases on horseback. It is really good fun.

My one big criticism of this book is that the actual physical worldbuilding is fairly weak. There were a couple of times I had to guess at what exactly Dennard was going for when she was describing the cities and palaces. I think that Venaza is supposed to be a Venetian simulacram, but that was pretty much all I had to go on when trying to build an image of it in my mind. It actually did dampen the reading experience for me; I love rich and decadent worldbuilding and in places I felt I might as well have been dumped in a white room for the lack of imagery. I have no doubt that Dennard had beautiful lush images of her world in mind, she just never really put it on paper.

Final thoughts?

This was a really fun book; witty and sharp, with no words wasted. We have witch battles, true friendship, hate-to-love, cool magic systems and an entire world only a misstep away from war.

I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again, this book was really fun, I can’t wait to pick up book two.

Fair Rebel (Steph Swainston)

 

3.5 stars

Fifteen years after the last devastating Insect attack, the immortal Circle is finally ready to launch an offensive against their implacable enemies. This time they have a new weapon – gunpowder. Hopes are high.

But the Circle’s plans are threatened when the vital barrels of gunpowder go missing. Jant, the Circle’s winged messenger, is tasked to investigate. Soon it becomes clear that the theft is part of a deadly conspiracy . . . and Jant and his friends are among the targets.

As tensions rise, Jant races to foil the conspirators. Can he expose them in time – or will the crisis blow the Fourlands apart?

My first introduction to the Fourlands was a good seven years ago now, in a book large enough to take someone’s head off. The blurb read as if all my favourite disparate plot characteristics had been forged into one enormous vat of excellence. Immortals, a winged messenger, drug fuelled crossings to wildly strange parallel worlds. Thankfully, it was as good as I had hoped.

Skip forward eight years and we have a book that I did not think was coming. “Fair Rebel’ is the fifth instalment in the Fourlands series, the story of a land being slowly destroyed by a wave of unrelenting, world-eating insects. Without giving too much away about the plot of the initial trilogy, because I think you should probably go and read that first, fifteen years have passed since an onslaught that stemmed the tide of insects, even if only for a little while. The Circle, a coterie of the very best militarists that the Fourlands has to offer, gifted immortality for as long as they remain ‘the greatest’, are planning a staggering assault on the insects far to the North, using their new secret weapon, gunpowder. Obviously, this does not all entirely go to plan.

One of my favourite things about these books has always been the voice of our protagonist, the immortal Messenger, Jant. Fate gave him fully functioning wings in a world where, for most, they’ve become little more than vestigial. The Jant of the original trilogy spent more time in the drug jettisoned worlds of the shift than in the Fourlands, but he seems more tempered in ‘Fair Rebel’, maybe a little more aware of just what they have to lose if he takes his eye from the ball. His relationships are firmer, truer, he seems more reluctant to disappear from them than the immortal of fifteen years ago. It raises a lot of questions about humanity and what happens to our humanity if immortality intercedes.

There was, however, one big elephant in the room for me when I was reading this book. The word ‘gypsy’ is used liberally throughout. I’m pretty sure it was used critically (well, semi-critically), indeed in the book the ethnic group that it’s used for and their persecution is a huge story theme. It’s just difficult when you’re physically wincing every time you see the word. You’ve just got to question whether it was necessary to use such a loaded word in text. I mean, it’s a fantasy world, just come up with a fancy fantasy word. Likewise, the plotline, which obviously had some basis in world events and the current post-Brexit bigotry we’re encountering, wasn’t handled as delicately as it needed to be. I’m not sure whether we’re all still a little bit tender for narratives about domestic terrorism, especially when coupled with a loaded use of the word ‘gypsy’. Swainston’s books have always dealt in the more fringe realms of fantasy; sex, drugs and death, and were probably never really for people who like ‘happy go lucky’ books, but there are definitely parts of this plot that came up as a big question mark for me.

So it was a bit of an up and down experience for me. I love the character of Jant, I love being back in the world and the depth and detail of Swainston’s work, I’m just not sure that the plotline worked and I ended up a little bit worried that it might even be offensive to some readers. I felt like in places it was trying to make a point but then never really made it. Is this supposed to be a book about terrorism? If you want to have a discussion about the broad painting of marginalised ethnic groups as ‘bad’ or ‘evil’ purely due to the actions of a few then why is this book about white people? It’s either an allegory for the treatment of actual Romani people or an allegory for the treatment of the Muslim community in the world at the moment, it can’t be both, and it felt a little bit like a weird, mind-mashing mix of the two.

So, my recommendation at the moment is to read the first three books. I’m not quite sure where this book sits with me. I enjoyed it when I was reading it, but thinking about it and writing this review I started to realise just how uncomfortable I’d been with the way some of the plot points were handled. I’ll be interested to see how the next book continues the story, but I’m disappointed with the way that this one unfolded.

Many thanks to Gollancz and Netgalley for a copy in return for an honest review.

When the Moon was Ours (Anna-Marie McLemore)

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“To everyone who knows them, best friends Miel and Sam are as strange as they are inseparable. Roses grow out of Miel’s wrist, and rumors say that she spilled out of a water tower when she was five. Sam is known for the moons he paints and hangs in the trees and for how little anyone knows about his life before he and his mother moved to town. But as odd as everyone considers Miel and Sam, even they stay away from the Bonner girls, four beautiful sisters rumored to be witches. Now they want the roses that grow from Miel’s skin, convinced that their scent can make anyone fall in love. And they’re willing to use every secret Miel has fought to protect to make sure she gives them up.”

4 stars

It took me longer to read this book than I would have liked. It’s not a fast book, it’s a slow, meandering, thoughtful book with beautiful, lyrical prose. It contains probably the most sensitive portrayal of a trans character that I’ve come across, a trans character that is allowed to fall in love and explore his sexuality without fetishization.

I think I can safely say that it won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. Things happen and you just have to let go and accept that they’re happening. This book is the definition of Magical Realism, down to the beautiful authenticity of the Latin American elements present in the book. Think pumpkins turning to glass, brujas pulling the lovesickness from a heart, shining painted moons, and a roping vine of rose that buds and flowers in response to the protagonist’s inner turmoil.

You can really tell that this book is ‘own voices’. McLemore draws upon her heritage and, as is described in the afterword, her marriage to her husband, who transitioned after they started dating. It gives the book a truthful feeling even amidst the unreality of some of the magical elements. You feel as if McLemore is very carefully and sensitively choosing her words. The relationship between Miel and Sam, how it blossoms and, equally as importantly, how they help to manage each other’s foibles is just so tenderly handled that it makes your heart swell in your chest.

‘To Sam, she was the girl who gave his moons somewhere to go. She was the dark amber of beechwood honey, the caramel of sourwood, and the bitter aftertaste of heather and pine. She was every shade of blue between two midnights.’

I also loved how McLemore intertwined the cultural identities of our two characters, how Sam shared traditions of his Pakastani heritage with Miel, and she shared with him the Mexican culture of her family. It’s sad and powerful and feels very true.

One star was removed because I felt that, in places, this book could have benefitted from being shorter. There were some beautiful passages that lost their power for me because I felt as if I’d heard them before earlier in the book. I felt it was dilute when it could easily have been concentrated.

However, I think overall that any positives far outweigh the benefits. I think it’s still sadly unusual to find a book ‘for’ lgbt individuals as opposed to ‘about’ lgbt individuals. There are some books I’ve read where I worry for the lgbt kids reading them, where an overuse of slurs to illustrate the hardships facing lgbt individuals ends up hurting those who read it whilst looking for characters like themselves. This book was different. Yes, it covered transmisogyny and dysphoria, but importantly it gave its lgbt characters a happy loving relationship and a warm positive ending. I cannot thank McLemore enough for that.

Thank you to St Martin’s Press for a copy in return for an honest review.

 

Miranda and Caliban (Jacqueline Carey)

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4 stars

Miranda is a lonely child. For as long as she can remember, she and her father have lived in isolation in the abandoned Moorish palace. There are chickens and goats, and a terrible wailing spirit trapped in a pine tree, but the elusive wild boy who spies on her from the crumbling walls and leaves gifts on their doorstep is the isle’s only other human inhabitant.

There are other memories, too: vague, dream-like memories of another time and another place. There are questions that Miranda dare not ask her stern and controlling father, who guards his secrets with zealous care: Who am I? Where did I come from?

The wild boy Caliban is a lonely child, too; an orphan left to fend for himself at an early age, all language lost to him. When Caliban is summoned and bound into captivity by Miranda’s father as part of a grand experiment, he rages against his confinement; and yet he hungers for kindness and love. 

“Thou art the shoals on which Caliban wilt dash his heart to pieces.” 

I will admit, it’s been a while since I read ‘The Tempest’, though I think you could probably never have read it and quite happily enjoy this book. ‘Miranda and Caliban’ is a retelling focusing on the younger years of the two protagonists, only entering the events of the play at the very end.

It was a beautifully crafted book, delicately written as Carey’s work always is, meandering through lush prose and rich fantasy. ‘The Tempest’ has often been lambasted for its dearth of female characters and this story seeks to address that, giving an important voice to a character who is used mainly as a tool in the original text. Likewise, in ‘The Tempest’ I always felt slightly uncomfortable that Caliban, an Algerian man, was written in a way that seemed to suggest he both abhorred and adored his own subjugation. In this retelling both Miranda and Caliban are shown as prisoners of Prospero, prisoners of societal prejudices even on an island cast out into the sea.

I can say straight out that this book will not be for everyone. It’s a cruel, hard book. Miranda and Caliban are kept under her father’s finger through physical punishment and emotional manipulation. She is both revered by her father and treated like dirt, on one hand taught the basics of his complicated magical arts, on the other forced to do menial tasks in kitchen work and cleaning. Prospero’s misogyny throughout the book left me with such a bad taste in my mouth, which I suppose shows the book is doing exactly what it intended to. Likewise, Caliban is subjected to horrific cruelty and unrelenting racism throughout. He adores Miranda, sees her as the sun in his otherwise grey, caged life, but he knows that he will never be allowed to be with her. It becomes so ingrained in him that, by the end, even he believes he is not good enough. Unfortunately, as this is a retelling, neither of our young protagonists gain their hearts desires.

This is a beautiful, lyrical book, filled with strange magic. I adored how Carey writes the capricious air spirit, Ariel, truly a creature of nature, beholden to no one other than themselves. I, personally, loved the heady, rich way that she writes, as if every paragraph is laden with heavy buds. I know that it won’t be to everyone’s taste. I can imagine that for some readers this book would be their idea of their worst nightmare, meandering, maudlin and unrelenting, but, for me, it was like being taken on an out of body experience.

So, if you enjoy reading a book for the feelings, for the journey and development as opposed to the plot, this is definitely a book for you. Even though it was sad, sometimes making me feel a little numb inside, it was so rich and immersive that I couldn’t blame it. It’s a book that makes you feel a lot of things, though not all of these sensations are so easy to pin down.

Many thanks to Macmillan-Tor/Forge for a copy in return for an honest review.

The beautiful cover is by Tran Nguyen.

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First Year (Rachel E. Carter)

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4 stars

So, I’d already had ‘First Year’ on my ‘to-be-read’ pile for a little while when I was given the opportunity to read a copy of the new edition, with its beautiful new cover, in return for an honest review. 

I have a weakness for books set in schools of magic, especially when the books have feisty, stubborn female protagonists. 

Ryiah is an apothecary’s daughter who wants nothing more than to be a battle mage. Unfortunately, her magic has a bit of a habit of doing everything other than what she asks of it. She and her twin travel to one of the three War Schools, hoping to make their dreams of becoming mages reality. What they hadn’t quite counted on is the wide divides between them and the aristocratic students who seem to have been training for this their entire lives. Never have those chosen few apprenticeships seemed so unattainable and far away. 

 

Fighting her way through classes, late nights and brutal training regimes would be hard enough, but what further complicates matters is a Prince. A Prince that can’t seem to decide whether to hate or to help her. 

I enjoyed this book a lot more than I thought I would. I found that I actually had to fight myself to put the book down before bed. I felt like I was getting the magic education that we all secretly dream of!

Ryiah is a great lead, she says and thinks what she wants, makes decisions that sometimes make you wince, but is so focused and hardworking towards her goals that you can’t help but admire her. Her twin is a cad, but a cad with a heart of gold who wants nothing more than to be a Healer. There seemed to be a genuine warmth between the two of them that, if you’re close to your brother like I am, felt very real. I also loved the friendship between Ryiah and Ella, female companionships like that aren’t something we see nearly enough of in fantasy fiction, and I really liked how much they supported each other and the sort of silent insistence that both of them would reach the end of what was turning out to be the year from hell. 

Whilst the plot isn’t wildly groundbreaking, I found that I didn’t mind. A stubborn female protagonist reaching for a goal that seems completely out of her reach. A smug and arrogant prince who the main character does not immediately fall head over heels for. A militaristic magic school with duelling and hazing and hierarchical struggles. Hundreds of students whittled down to a final test. It’s a formula that has been followed before, but for the basic reason that it’s a good formula, and it’s the details overlaid over the top of it that makes it individual and enjoyable. 

I would definitely recommend if you enjoyed the books of Tamora Pierce, Trudi Canavan or Elise Kova. A quick, deeply enjoyable, escapist read. I can’t wait to get my hands on book two!

Many thanks to Rachel E Carter for a copy in return for an honest review. 

A Quiet Kind of Thunder (Sara Barnard)

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“Steffi doesn’t talk, but she has so much to say. Rhys can’t hear, but he can listen. Their love isn’t a lightning strike, it’s the rumbling roll of thunder. 

Steffi has been a selective mute for most of her life – she’s been silent for so long that she feels completely invisible. But Rhys, the new boy at school, sees her. He’s deaf, and her knowledge of basic sign language means that she’s assigned to look after him. To Rhys it doesn’t matter that Steffi doesn’t talk and, as they find ways to communicate, Steffi finds that she does have a voice, and that she’s falling in love with the one person who makes her feel brave enough to use it.”

4 stars

I was going to start this review by yelling about how cute this book was. But I just didn’t think that did it justice. Yes, this story is really really cute and I enjoyed it a lot, but it’s also really important. Our protagonist, Steffi, is selectively mute and struggles with anxiety that underpins every single one of her daily interactions. Our love interest, Rhys, is biracial and was born deaf. Steffi, having learnt some BSL to help her communicate when unable to talk, is roped in by her school to help new boy Rhys settle in and they end up finding that the other is the person they feel they’ve always been looking for.

This idea could have ended up really twee, but instead Barnard was honest about some of the difficulties of Steffi and Rhys’ friendship and relationship. There is no awkward feeling that Steffi or Rhys are ‘saved’ by the others existence, or that they couldn’t live their lives without the other, they just really enjoy being together. Indeed, there are a number of believable miscommunications between them fuelled by Steffi’s low self esteem and the fact that Rhys isn’t automatically the perfect human being just because he’s a disabled main character. Both seem beautifully and realistically human  and the relationship between them was so engaging I ended up sitting down and reading the book in one go.

But the relationship isn’t the only talking point of the book, in fact, I’d say it was only one of the plot points in a book that dealt with emotional discussions of grief, therapy and life long female friendship. Steffi is a character that will probably feel instantly recognizable to anyone with anxiety, but even to those who are less familiar, her friendship with her best friend and the way it morphs, changes and strengthens over time is so important. Changing schools, relationships, different life courses all can strain friendships, making those in them fear they may become distant from those that have been part of their lives for as long as they can remember. It was really lovely to see a female friendship meet those challenges and grow from it, not falter in the face of adversity.

For me, the thing that knocked it down a star was the last fifty pages or so. Without giving spoilers, Steffi comes to a realization in the last page that, as someone with anxiety, I feel maybe should have had a little more time spent upon.  I just don’t feel that the decision she made had enough time to come to fruition in the little time spent on it. It felt like a drastic turn around on her thinking in the rest of the book. Whilst her epiphany was a healthy one, it’s very difficult for someone with their anxieties so ingrained to come to that thought process so quickly. The thinking that goes into something like that, something which fights against every iota of your insecurities, feels like torture and I wish that had been given a little more page space.

Overall, this was a great book. Sweet, sad and truthful, it managed to share the beauty of a burgeoning relationship without every shying away from the common, and more specific, pitfalls of the main characters love.

Thank you to Pan Macmillan for a copy in return for an honest review.

The Dream-Quest of Vellitt Boe (Kij Johnson)

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Professor Vellitt Boe teaches at the prestigious Ulthar Women’s College. When one of her most gifted students elopes with a dreamer from the waking world, Vellitt must retrieve her.

But the journey sends her on a quest across the Dreamlands and into her own mysterious past, where some secrets were never meant to surface.

4 stars

So, when I first picked up a copy of this book I, somehow, neglected to notice that it was based on the Lovecraft mythos (more, specifically, ‘The Dream Quest of Unknown Kadath’) and, once I realised this, I spent a while torn between continuing as I was and reading up around the base concept. In the end I sort of did a bit of both.

I can happily say that this book is accessible to any and all, you don’t have to know anything about Lovecraft’s work to enjoy it. I’d read a little of Lovecraft’s work but found it very difficult to overlook the racism and sexism that is prevalent in it. Beautiful ideas utterly mired by disgusting prejudice. Johnson’s book almost reads as a commentary on that, a bit of a ‘what we could have had’ if the Lovecraft stories weren’t so hostile to women. Vellitt Boe acts as foil throughout the book, correcting some of the more troubling assumptions of the original books and gently critiquing the misogyny of Lovecraft’s male protagonists, namely Randolph Carter, the protagonist of the original ‘Dream-Quest’.

‘He loved who he was: Randolph Carter, master dreamer, adventurer. To him, she has been landscape, an articulate crag he could ascend, a face to put to this place. When were women ever anything but footnotes to men’s tales?’

One of the things I enjoyed most about this book is the voice of the protagonist. Vellitt Boe is an elderly woman, a character who has settled down to a life of quiet academia after decades of adventure, before being pulled into it once more. It’s so rare to read about older women in fantasy, especially not elderly women who are the heroes of the story.

Even without focusing on the important social commentary aspects, this is a beautiful book. It is entirely possible to get lost in the Dreamlands with Vellitt Boe. It has all the haunting beauty of the Mythos’ original ideas, but written in a more accessible, less rambling manner. The author mentioned in the afterword that she can remember the first time she read ‘The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath’ at the age of 10, and that, even though being troubled by the racism, the ideas of the Dreamlands had stuck with her. You can see the nostalgia in this book, that of Vellitt Boe travelling the roads she travelled as a young woman, and that of Johnson giving voice to the worlds she had adored and devoured as a child.

Whether it be the wild landscapes and creatures of the Dreamlands, or the well trodden paths of our own modern world,  Johnson finds beauty in both the extravagant and the mundane. Throughout the story you feel you are taking the journey with Vellitt, through places both bizarre and somehow familiar, and into the memories of a life fully lived.

Thank you very much to Macmillan-Tor/Forge for a copy in return for an honest review.

For those who are wondering, the beautiful cover art is by the wonderful Victo Ngai