Book Review: This Poison Heart by Kalynn Bayron

By Megan Amato

Content warning: violence, murder, parental death

Once in a while comes a book, usually in a series, that you know as soon as you finish reading it will be placed upon the shelf with those other volumes you turn to when you need a familiar friend to see you out of a reading slump. Something you can count on. Comfort reads. Kalynn Bayron’s YA contemporary fantasy The Poison Heart has very firmly been placed on that shelf.

When Briseis inherits a house from an unknown birth aunt, she and her two moms trial spending their summer there so Briseis can explore her gift and learn more about her heritage—one where plants bloom and grow at her touch and allow her to handle the deadliest plants without dire consequences. As Briseis settles into this town filled with strange inhabitants, newfound freedom settles over her, she begins a budding romance with a mysterious girl, and she reveals her magic to a friend for the first time. Soon, that sense of safety is ripped away when it’s revealed that the garden out back holds an even deadlier secret than the plants grown there. Kept under lock and key is a plant that her ancestors have kept safe for generations. One that others would kill to get their hands on. 

After I read Bayron’s debut sapphic YA fantasy novel, Cinderella is Dead, she became an instant-buy author. She has a way of creating incredibly likeable characters—teenage ones at that!—and Briseis was no different. As she works through the labyrinth that is her heritage, it is easy to sympathize with the mistakes she makes from the sense of loneliness that comes with her gift, her desperation to keep her remarkable family from fearing her, and the weariness resulting from protecting deadly secrets. One of my pet peeves in young adult fantasy is when protagonists barely react to traumatic events, especially murder or death, and quickly move on with their lives. However, writers like Bayron ensure that you feel every emotion of Briseis’s as she is confronted with traumatic events: new love, impulsive curiosity, primal fear, blinding anger, and paralyzing grief. It reminds you that even with her magic, she’s still human. 

One of my favourite elements in the novel was Briseis’s moms and their unconditional support of their daughter through everything. Adoption always comes with its share of trials and traumas, and when birth families are suddenly involved, it can be painful for both the adoptee and adoptive parents. However, Briseis’s parents are open and honest with her while encouraging her to learn about her heritage at her own pace. Even as the plot develops and unbelievable circumstances come to light, they trust that Briseis was telling the truth and that she could make the right decisions—it contrasted nicely with another less-than-appealing parental relationship in the novel. 

Contemporary/urban fantasy is one of my favourite genres. I love the blend of myth and folklore with the real world. Bayron does it beautifully, layering Greek mythology into this small modern town full of big characters and even bigger stakes. Many of my favourite tropes are found in this novel, including nature-based magic, a small town filled with colourful characters, and a powerful love interest who’s a softie for the protagonist. This book was easy to read, bursting with beautiful botanical descriptions, and full of humour that had me giggling out loud. I will leave you with these final words: if a mysterious kind lady tells you not to grow oleander, for the love of the Greek gods, listen to her!

Book Review: The Jasmine Throne by Tasha Suri

By Megan Amato

Content warning: body horror, murder, gore, violence, torture, homophobia, forced opium use, child death, public executions by fire

If you have read any of my previous reviews, you may think these next words have no meaning, but nevertheless, Tasha Suri’s fantasy, The Jasmine Throne, is my favourite read of the year and easily tops my top ten of all time. Her layers-upon-layers of worldbuilding wrapped in breathtaking prose and her extremely fleshed out and flawed protagonists slowly burning for each other around a complex plot had me flipping the pages faster than my group read had assigned. I simply devoured it. 

Princess Malini is supposed to burn like the Mothers before her. When she refuses, her Emperor brother exiles her to the temple where their late father once sentenced all inhabitants to burn—including the children who gained power from the river hidden beneath. Priya, who escaped that massacre and is now a maidservant for the local regent, volunteers to work in the temple with hopes of finding the river. But even drugged and isolated, the Princess Malini has other plans and will use anyone to free herself and get revenge against her tyrannical brother—including the kind maidservant she is starting to care for. But as their feelings for each other grow, and the complications with it, so are two diverging rebellions—one that Malini set in motion to depose her brother from the throne and the other led by Priya’s wrathful temple brother who plans to burn the whole corrupt empire to the ground. 

Even just thinking about the plot, I get chills. Despite the added layers of questionable morality from both characters—or maybe because of it—I am almost immediately sympathetic to their situation and motives. I love angry woman characters who act upon their fury, and this plot delivers. I am fully invested in seeing the two of them destroy and remake their perspective worlds. Malini is clever, determined, and well versed in court politics and intrigue, which makes her a brilliant opponent to all that stand in her way. Priya has a kind heart, has always looked out for others, and is more than happy to play the supporting role—but she will not be used. Not by the woman who makes her knees weak or by the brother who once saved her life. The river beneath the temple can be found by her alone, and she will let neither of them utilize it to destroy all she cares about in their search for vengeance.

Sometimes when I read books with multiple POVs, I am pulled out of the story and frustrated that I have to read certain POVs. I didn’t have that problem with The Jasmine Throne. Suri’s side characters are just as full of depth and well-developed. She ekes out the mystery surrounding them and the ways they fit into the plot, and I found myself eager to learn more about them with every chapter I read. My favourite was Bhumika, the regent’s seemingly kind wife who adopts people into her household staff and is pulling more strings than we can ever imagine behind the scenes. Aside from the emperor, whom we don’t get to know too well in this book, there is no clear baddie. Everyone is wrapped in shades of grey to aid their cause, and it only makes them more appealing. 

One thing I haven’t touched on but is equally deserving of praise is the magic system. As a reader, I’m not too picky about magic systems; I love them loosey-goosey and extremely detailed alike. Suri’s falls more into the latter, as she constructed a history that explains the river beneath the temple and those who gain power from it, and the naturalistic and horrifying consequences that are spreading across the continent. I won’t give too much away, but I loved every single detail of it, and I think Suri should do a course on creating magic systems. 

The Jasmine Throne doesn’t live in my head rent-free; it pays for it with every single detail that lingers in my dreams. I am supremely jealous of all of you who will get to read it for the first time. I am begging you to read this beautiful story so I can rave about it with you.

Book Review: Sisters of the Snake by Sarena and Sasha Nanua

By Megan Amato

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a simple girl in possession of a pair of eyes and ears must be in want of a Prince and the Pauper retelling. Ever since I watched Barbie as the Princess and the Pauper—at an embarrassing age—I’ve loved any piece of media featuring this trope (that includes The Princess Switch, Mary Kate and Ashley’s It Takes Two, Beethoven’s 4th, and The Parent Trap). Penned by real-life twins Sarena and Sasha Nanua, Sisters of the Snake is a brilliant addition to add to my collection of retellings and adaptions. 

In an Indian-inspired world, sheltered Princess Rani is desperate to prove to her ruthless father that she has what it takes to rule. Orphan and street thief Ria’s only concern is stealing enough to survive. When Ria discovers her name on a conscription list, she and her best friend Amir plan to rob the castle of its jewels to pay their way out of the oppressive kingdom. When Ria is caught by the princess who shares her face, Rani promises to give her enough jewels to escape if she agrees to temporarily switch places. As Ria wrestles with acting like she’s been born royal and trying not to fall in love with the princess’s fiancé Saeed, Rani bears witness to the destructive nature of her father’s regime. When the existence of a dangerous mythic stone is discovered, Rani and Ria must look outside their own desires to find the bloodstone before the king, and save their kingdom.

The shining beacon of this novel is its characters. The protagonists are fleshed out with their own desires and goals that are realistic to their situations. I liked that despite being confronted with the reality of the world outside her privileged life, Rani’s views and goals shift slowly as they adapt to each new situation she’s faced with before her blinders are fully taken off. On the other hand, Ria has always known the struggle of existing in the kingdom outside of the elite. Now, as she temporarily lives the life stolen from her due to a cataclysmic prophecy, she undergoes the emotional turmoil and feelings of rejection that come with any adoptee/orphan discovering their birth family. Both undergo journeys of self-discovery that are precariously placed in the midst of saving their world—and I love it.

The romances are also very well done. Rani’s relationship with the sweet Saeed had been one of duty and disappointment, while Ria’s with Amir had been one of pure friendship, almost familial. While the chemistry between each pair is palpable through the page, the history of each relationship, along with the lies told to maintain their illusion, has to be overcome first. Saeed is my absolute favourite, and I’m looking forward to watching him becoming even more fleshed out and solid in the next book as he is given more agency out of the shadow of his mother.

The only real issue I had was that we didn’t see much interaction between the sisters because they were parted most of the book. Their relationship at the end felt slightly rushed, but I’m hoping that because this book mainly focused on their individual journeys, the next one will centre around their growing relationship.

The Nanua sisters have written an imaginative debut and a fun twist to one of my favourite tropes. I will be keeping both eyes peeled for the sequel that undoubtedly will have increased stakes for my favourite characters. 

Book Review: Kaikeyi by Vaishnavi Patel

By Megan Amato

Once in a while there comes a novel that astonishes you with its raw beauty and talent. And for me, on this day, it’s Vaishnavi Patel’s stunning epic debut, Kaikeyi. This exquisitely written feminist reimagining of the Ramayana from the so-called villain’s perspective was masterfully plotted and full of vivid details that immersed me within its pages and left me in utter awe that this is Patel’s first novel.

As the king’s only daughter, Kaikeyi lives in the shadow of her twin and seven other brothers—until her father banishes her mother from court and Kaikeyi must step up to fill her shoes. Desperate for her mother, Kaikeyi unsuccessfully begs the gods for their help before scouring her mother’s library for a lesser god and discovering something else: a meditation ritual that lets her manipulate the bonds that tie her to others. Using the bonds, she convinces her brother to train her as a warrior and teachers to let her study so that she doesn’t have to rely on the whims of men while her beloved maid Manthara teaches her to be a queen. When she’s married off as the third wife of another king, she learns that her penchant to use those bonds doesn’t always have the desired results. But Kaikeyi is not willing to give up the freedom she’s gained or the voice she’s earned and be regulated to the sidelines—nor is she willing to let the women around her do the same if she can help it.

While I’m not as familiar with the Ramayana as those who grew up with it—I did do some research prior to and after reading Kaikeyi—I was awed by the level of depth and character work Patel wrote in humanizing quite a villainized figure. Kaikeyi is portrayed as a jealous and scheming wife in the epic, and though these traits aren’t totally erased from the novel, they’re built upon and layered with nuance to include the cultural and historical context that comes with being a daughter, and later a mother, in a rigidly patriarchal society. She is not a paradigm of virtue by any means. Like any human, she is filled with shades of grey consisting of just as many strengths as flaws, and  that is what I find so beautiful about her. She’s a character who will use whatever tools she’s given to fight for agency and self-actualization and will do whatever it takes to protect those she loves. 

As someone who identifies somewhere on the asexual spectrum, it was also refreshing to have representation in such an extraordinary character. Her struggle to understand her feelings for her husband outside of the friendship they shared will no doubt be felt by many readers who have struggled with the same sentiments. 

This was an absolutely stunning debut, rich in both descriptive details and character growth. I cried several times throughout, and I would recommend everyone wanting an epic, character-driven story full of female power and magic to put this on their to-be-read piles immediately. 

Thank you to Hachette Book Group for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Our Violent Ends by Chloe Gong

By Megan Amato

Content warning: blood, torture, violence

  These violence delights have violent ends. 
  And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, 
  Which as they kiss consume. — Shakespeare

After that maddening and hair-pulling cliffhanger Chloe Gong left us with in These Violent Delights, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on the conclusion to the 1920s Shanghai duology, Our Violent Ends. Both books are named aptly after Romeo and Juliet, the work that inspired them, and the titles hint at the arrogant decadence and bloodshed that coat the pages and trap the tragically in-love protagonists in the blood feud between their rival gangs. The finale is intense, full of hostility and betrayal, but most of all love, in all its forms. 

To protect everyone she cares about and hold her place at the top of the Scarlet Gang, Juliette killed one of Roma’s best friends—or so everyone thinks. Marshall hides during the day in an apartment outside of the city and sneaks out at night to protect those he cares about in the White Flowers Gang while Juliette smuggles him food. Although Roma and his cousin Benedikt are out for her blood, she keeps up the ruse as bloodshed between the rival gangs escalates.

But it’s not only the gangs who are amping up the violence. As the communists and nationalists make moves to take over Shanghai, so too does a blackmailer who will let the city fall to contagious monsters unless both Scarlet Gang and White Flowers come to heel. Juliette and Roma will have to work together again to save their city and risk both their hearts and lives in the process.

This thrilling conclusion brought the characters we were just getting to know in the first book to life—especially the side characters. We get much more of fun-loving Marshall and his relationship—or lack thereof—with his military father. Juliette and Marshall’s blossoming friendship provides some of my favourite moments in the novel, as does his devil-may-care attitude as he vigilantes to save his love, Benedikt, from his own destructive behaviour. Roma’s younger sister Alisa is also far more fleshed out. Her motivations and actions shift from younger sister to a girl just as willing to protect her family without the bitterness Roma carries. 

However, Kathleen’s character arc stands out from everyone’s—including the main characters. She transforms from a supporting character into her own as her position as Scarlet infiltrator into the communist party blurs until she no longer pretends to sympathize. Though she loves her cousin, she moves out from under Juliette’s shadow, sheds the disguise of the dead sister she’s worn for too long, and emerges as Celia, a woman who wants more for herself and her city than the corruption and violence of gang life. 

Roma and Juliette’s love is just as all-consuming and destructive as it has been all along, each willing to sacrifice everything to protect and love the other. But this doesn’t mean that it isn’t beautiful to behold. Despite the many consequences of their actions, their love for each other is just as intense as their love for Shanghai. When both are threatened, their combined efforts to save everything that matters has them shed their gang roles and egos, which ups the stakes and moves the plot to its volcanic crescendo. 

Thank you, Simon & Schuster Canada, for the ARC copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Wild and Wicked Things by Francesca May

By Megan Amato

Content warning: spousal abuse, bloodletting

Let me tell you something that I hope you won’t judge me too hard for: I loathe The Great Gatsby. I dislike the self-absorbed, surface-level characters, the terrible decisions they make, and the fact that we are supposed to find some sort of meaning in the plot—or so our English teachers said. However, I do love the 1920s vibes. Francesca May’s Wild and Wicked Things somehow managed to deliver the glitzy and smoky atmosphere that I love along with flawed yet likeable characters. 

After her father dies, Annie travels to Crow Island—a place where witches flout the laws banning the use of magic—to sort out his belongings and lick her wounds in a cottage by the sea. After settling, she visits her once-best friend, Beatrice, and Beatrice’s elegant husband who disparages all magic, particularly the seemingly languid and lavish witches in the mansion next door to Annie. Despite warnings from multiple sources to stay away, Annie can’t help but be drawn to the house and its enigmatic owner, Emmeline—especially when a discovery about her own dangerous and magical heritage draws her even closer. However, soon Annie discovers that an ill-fated spell is slowly killing Emmeline and the only way to save her is to get the selfish and bright Beatrice and her smooth yet formidable husband to pay what’s owed—his blood. 

Someone with considerably less skill could have tried to write this story with its extremely flawed characters and failed to make us care about them. May, however, wove a story with characters so deliciously complex that I couldn’t help but root for even my least favourite characters. Beatrice is unlikeable, self-centred in her wants and desires, and uncaring in what she has to do or who she has to hurt to get them. And yet, I couldn’t completely hate her. While she doesn’t necessarily change as the novel progresses, her own fears and reasons for her actions elicit sympathy at her lowest and even have me rooting for her in the end. 

Despite having more altruistic reasons for their actions, Annie and Emmeline aren’t faultless either. Drawn together like the tide to the sandy shore, unable to stay away despite the destructive force of their bond, both make decisions that have devastating consequences. Annie, determined not to be the boring girl she imagines herself, makes impulsive decisions that are detrimental to those she loves. And Emmeline’s determination to do everything herself causes her to risk not only her life but those of the people she would do anything to protect. Yet it's these flaws that make their stories all the more compelling and their tumultuous relationship convincing. 

Wild and Wicked Things is a stunning novel full of shades of grey and despite being inspired by a classic, it felt original. The setting, magic, and building tension caused by the characters’ actions moved the plot in a way that had my pulse racing, both from the threat of immediate peril and the sexual tension. I will always be one to sign up for a sapphic retelling with magic and mystery, and May definitely delivered. 

Book Review: Daughter of the Moon Goddess by Sue Lynn Tan

By Megan Amato

Sometimes it’s okay to judge a book by its cover—especially when that book is Sue Lynn Tan’s magical retelling of a Chinese myth, Daughter of the Moon Goddess. Blessed with stunning UK and North American covers, Tan has crafted a tale that’s both lyrical and rippling with tension. 

The day Xingyin discovers her magic is also the day she loses all that she has ever known. As the daughter of the Moon Goddess, Xingyin believes her mother universally beloved—until she’s forced to hide from the celestials who exile her mother to the moon for stealing the immortality the emperor gifted to her husband. 

Stranded in the Celestial City, she works for a callous mistress until a chance meeting grants her the opportunity to study with the prince, learn more about her magic, and free her mother. As Xingyin’s magic, education, and skill with a bow grow, so do her feelings for both the gentle prince who’s nothing like his ruthless parents and the supportive and stalwart army captain. Caught between conflicting claims on her heart, Xingyin will face countless monsters, betrayal, heartbreak, and even dragons in her quest to unshackle her mother from the moon.

Xingyin is a gorgeously written protagonist who transforms from a sheltered and naïve girl into a warrior who doesn’t let her trauma stop her from being kind to those who deserve it. She fights for her place in the world, outside of her relationships with her mother and the prince, but she doesn’t forget them or leave them behind despite the complications and danger and heartbreak being connected to both of them bring her. 

I’ve always disparaged love triangles, but I think that it’s the lingering effects of the first love triangle I read—you know the one that had most of us millennials picking “teams”? That one. However, the love triangle between Xingyin, cinnamon roll Prince Liwei, and seasoned Captain Wenzhi was so well done that while my heart would have pinged a little had she chosen one over the other, it would not have been broken. While neither character nor relationship is perfect, I loved how their feelings and dynamics grew in such different ways, yet each supported her sense of agency, unthreatened by her internal and external strength. While it seems clear that she has chosen one by the end, I have a feeling it's not the last we will see of their love triangle.

However, one thing I do hope to see in the sequel is more of her relationship with her only non-male friend, Shuxiao. I loved their friendship dynamic from the beginning, and I wish there had been more of her in the story.

As a writer who is often economical, I am always in awe of writers who seem to write sweeping prose as effortlessly as they plot their novels. Daughter of the Moon Goddess was beautifully written, and though I have never been to a celestial kingdom, I felt completely immersed with all my senses engaged by the breathtaking worldbuilding. From other reviews I’ve read, the lyrical writing may not be for everyone, but I never felt pulled from the story. Sue Lynn Tan’s debut novel was a delight to read, and I will be (im)patiently waiting for the next one.

Thank you to HarperCollins Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Six Crimson Cranes by Elizabeth Lim

By Megan Amato

Content warning: abuse

Some authors are gifted with the ability to paint with words, and after I read Elizabeth Lim’s The Blood of the Stars Duology, I knew she was one of those beloved writers. Six Crimson Cranes is no exception. There is a soft dreaminess to the storytelling—as if made with an Impressionist’s brush—that is used to reconstruct, reshape, and transform Hans Christian Anderson’s fairytale into its own story full of immersive sensory details and lush prose. 

After Princess Shiori’s forbidden magic causes her to miss her betrothal ceremony, her father orders her to embroider a tapestry in apology under the eye of her cold stepmother, Raikama. After witnessing her stepmother’s terrifying magic, Shiori runs to inform her brothers, but before they can warn their father, Raikama stops them. She turns the brothers into cranes and banishes Shiori with a bowl permanently covering her face and a warning that for every word she speaks, one of her brothers will die. Lost and alone, far away from home and unable to prove her identity, Shiori sets out to find her brothers, break their curse, and save her empire. She will have to climb a mountain, outwit an angry dragon, and sew a magical net until her fingers bleed to outwit her enemies and save her family and home—all with the help of the betrothed she never thought she wanted.

There were so many small elements of this novel that I loved, from her brothers’ distinct personalities to the adorable and mischievous dragon who got Shiori into and out of all kinds of trouble, to the paper origami bird she magicked to life and who meant so much to her. Shiori’s relationship with each of these characters is beautiful to read, but it’s the slow burn romance with her kind-hearted betrothed Takkan that is breathtaking to behold. Lim proves that swoon-worthy heroes shouldn’t and don’t come from the patriarchy-prescribed cookie cutouts of hard, possessive men who take what they want, but in the sweet, unwavering loyalty of someone who will lend strength when needed but let our heroine grow, build, and act on her own well of courage and agency.

Despite my warm, fuzzy feelings, Shiori’s character growth was just as, if not more, compelling as the romance. She starts the novel as a spoiled, pampered princess and while good intentioned, she is naïve and sheltered by her father and brothers. When she is banished without the ability to make a sound, she must earn her own keep and learns just how vulnerable those who aren’t given a voice are—literally and figuratively. Once she discovers the plot against her father and realizes it's not only her family that is endangered, her plans shift and change. With the consequences and results of her actions, she begins to understand the responsibility of the power she holds both with her magic and as a princess. As she faces the constant hardship of those who aren’t given much agency, she also begins to understand that not everyone is as one-dimensional as they are painted to be—even her stepmother. 

After writing this review, my only wish is to now go back and reread this book—whew. Sometimes a book is just vibes and no plot, and while I’m not averse to those books, Lim has managed to make a book with both vibes and a stunning plot. Buy yourself this book for the cover (the UK version if you can), and keep it for the magical story within.

Book Review: For the Wolf by Hannah Whitten

By Megan Amato

Content warning: bloodletting, violence 

I’m a simple girl. Give me a pretty cover, a fairytale retelling set in an enchanted forest combined with mysterious and complicated political happenings, and I will happily give you my money. Hannah Whitten’s debut YA fantasy, For the Wolf, delivers on all these themes, spinning classic myths like Beauty and the Beast and Little Red Riding Hood and weaving them into her own original and highly imaginative tale. 

As the only second royal daughter born in a century, Red has been promised to the ravenous Wolf since her birth. Despite her bond with her sister, Red is almost eager to go and spare those she loves from her out-of-control magic that scares her more than the Wolf himself. However, upon entering the woods, she learns that the Wolf is not the villain he is made out to be, and that the dangerous Wilderwood, the only thing keeping the monsters from descending upon her kingdom, is dying. Red will have let go of her bone-deep fear, join forces with the Wolf, and learn how to use her magic to save everyone she loves—but the cost might be the one person she loves most: the sister who will do anything to get her back.

One of my favourite genres is fairytale retellings. I love to find the familiar wrapped up in a new or unfamiliar environment. Whitten knew her genre well, and she combined iconic imagery—like the cloak from Little Red Riding Hood—with the tale everyone loves to reimagine: Beauty and the Beast. However, what I appreciate most about Whitten’s version is that she said “NO” to the Stockholm Syndrome found in the original fairytale—which can also be found in countless retellings—and built the romance on Red’s will to stay within the Wilderwood despite the Wolf’s reluctance. 

Whitten’s characters pulled me into the story from the very beginning. As a protagonist, Red’s inner turmoil, motivations, and fears about her magic and sacrifice were very believable, and I felt her weariness in the marrows of my own bones as she resigned herself to death at the Wolf’s hands to protect her loved ones. And later, when her buried will to live resurfaces in the face of her own mortality, I was immersed in her first real fight for herself—just because she was  “for the Wolf,” didn’t mean she would go down without a fight. However, despite his reputation, the Wolf is a cinnamon roll wrapped up in a rough exterior, and as Red witnesses him selflessly spill his blood for the greater good time and time again, she has to readjust from her readiness to die to the ability to fight for everything she holds dear. 

Overall, this is a fantastic read full of magic, love, sacrifice, and power, shown through the progression of the plot, through the political workings of multiple players, and through the sacrifices Red and those around her make—especially her sister Neve, who virtually sacrificed her soul to get Red out of the Wilderwood and away from the Wolf. I am eagerly awaiting Whitten’s second novel featuring Neve’s story, which promises to be more morally grey and features one of my favourite tropes: angry girls destroying others’ expectations. 

Book Review: Ace by Angela Chen

By Megan Amato

Content warning: discussions about trauma, rape, and abuse 

Even though I primarily dated men as a teenager, I’d had sexual and romantic experiences with women. After talking to a bisexual friend in my early twenties, she showed me a picture of a very beautiful woman in an evocative pose and asked if I felt anything when I looked at it. I said no, and she declared me straight. I believed her. It wasn’t until years later that I realized I didn’t feel anything sexual when I looked at any gender’s body and spent years wondering if I was truly broken. In the last few years—thanks to Twitter—I stumbled upon the words bi/panromantic and demi/greysexual and finally felt something unlock. It was freeing. 

In Angela Chen’s Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex, she discusses her own experience coming to terms with her asexuality while highlighting the responses she received from other aces she interviewed. One of the things that became clear immediately is that no two experiences were the same—from their knowledge and understanding of what asexuality means, to their dating experiences, to unlearning biases and stereotypes, and to accepting that there was no “normal” when it came to sexuality.

As an avid reader, I often find something relatable in the books I read, but I found myself on the verge of tears while reading Ace. It was a revelation of re-finding myself, of the vocabulary and feelings that I’ve often felt when coming to an understanding—or lack thereof—of my sexuality and the complexities within the community itself. I especially connected with Chen’s own experience of confusing sexuality with the desire to feel special and cherished. As a hypersexual teenager, it took time to realize that I rarely felt sexual attraction. Because of my own traumas, I equated sex with the need to be a part of something, to mean something to someone. Chen’s discussion of compulsory sexuality (like compulsory heterosexuality)—that the societal portrayal of the “normal” way of being is to feel sexual attraction—also hit home because I had no other understanding of how to show my love but through access to my body. 

What I really appreciated in this book, and I think is often missed when talking about asexuality, is the consideration of intersectionality. Chen, who is Chinese American, talks to others from different cultural and economic backgrounds; those with different abilities and sexualities and races and ages; and those with and without trauma. All these factors influence how one experiences attraction and one’s understanding of sexuality. Chen explains how the majority who identify as asexual are white, and these people dominate discussions around asexuality. White folks have more societal power to be able to explore their sexuality safely. In contrast, BIPOC have more layers to unpeel in their identities before getting there, including community beliefs, racial stereotypes, racial trauma, fetishization, societal expectations, access to information and queer comminutes, and the fear that asexuality is another way for white people to control sexuality. 

Chen wrote this book for everyone. Not just aces like me who can recognize themselves and learn more about the nuances of asexuality, but also those who don’t identify but want to learn more, those in relationships with aces or even those who might relate to aspects that fit into their own sexual desires. Angela Chen’s Ace: What Asexuality Reveals About Desire, Society, and the Meaning of Sex is an important read with topics that anyone can find value in, and I hope this review encourages people to pick up a copy.  

Thank you to Penguin Random House for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Dollhouse by Charis Cotter

By Megan Amato

After nearly three decades of declaring my apathy towards horror to anyone who will listen, this past year or so has proved that I just hadn’t explored the genre enough. I should have known better—I tell the same to those who say they hate romance. Gothic horror and ghost stories both delight and spook me, and Canadian author Charis Cotter’s middle-grade novel, The Dollhouse: A Ghost Story, was no exception. 

On their way to her mother’s new job, Alice woefully wishes for a more attentive father and imagines the train crashing when it halts abruptly. Sore and a bit dizzy, she meets Mary and her sweet, child-like 16-year-old daughter Lily when they arrive at the house. They explore the home against the cantankerous owner’s wishes and discover a dollhouse in the attic, nearly an exact replica of the house. Soon after, Alice begins to dream of the dollhouse’s creation and a mischievous girl named Fizz and her sweet, child-like older sister Bubble. When a man like her imagined father shows up, real and dream life blur as happenings in the dollhouse appear in her waking world and vice-versa. She demands an answer from smug-faced Fizz, who tells Alice that her train accident was much worse than thought—she died. A distraught Alice denies this, but too many events add up. Was her concussion causing her to hallucinate, or was she the ghost haunting Fizz’s world?

The Dollhouse combines many classic horror tropes—secret rooms, creepy dolls, ghosts that only the protagonist can see, and a plausible explanation mixed with a hint of the unexplainable—and delivers them in a mysterious package that pulls the reader into the story. I loathe when adults critique children’s books with adult book parameters. While the plot progression is a tad predictable, it didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the story, and I think middle-grade readers will enjoy guessing what is going on in that spooky house. I found the development of the story well done, and I think many of the themes (cancelled plans, divorce, lack of control, adults not listening to them) are ones that many young readers can find relatable.

Despite my enjoyment in this story, I did have one major gripe with it: how the developmental disabilities of two of the characters, Lily and Bubble, are written.  While I understand that their mirrored traits provided similarities between the protagonist’s real world and her dream/doll world, it came off as a stereotype. Lily’s otherworldly and “off with the fairies” qualities made my hackles rise as it is a common and harmful trope often written into characters with developmental disabilities. However, instead of writing it off for this problematic representation, I think parents should talk to their kids when issues arise in books so children and young adults can think critically about what they are reading.

Despite this glaring issue, I do think that middle-grade readers of ghost stories and fans of Neil Gaiman’s Graveyard Book or Coraline alike will enjoy this spooky tale. 

Thank you, Penguin Random House Canada and Tundra Books, for this copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Ace of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídée

By Megan Amato

Content warning: racism, both personal and institutional 

Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé’s debut YA dark academia thriller Ace of Spades was blessed with good marketing. I immediately pre-ordered a copy after the author tweeted it and comped it as Get Out meets Gossip Girl. A few weeks after that, Illumicrate released a debut box with an exclusive UK hardcover signed edition with extra wee treats, and I couldn’t say no. I had high expectations for this book, especially after Twitter mutuals raved about it, and by the end of the book, I was the personification of the exploding head emoji.  

There are only two Black students at Niveus Private Academy: Chiamaka, a chronic overachiever who fights twice as hard as everyone else to stay in the precarious position at the top of her school, and Devon, a talented musician with dreams of Julliard who prefers to stay in the shadows. When an anonymous source called the “The Aces” begins to expose their deepest secrets, Chiamaka and Devon band together to uncover the culprit. As they untangle the web of secrets and lies surrounding the plot against them, their carefully built lives begin to crumble, and friendships (or alliances in Chiamaka’s case) dissolve. Soon they both realize that the only person they can trust is each other, because it’s not just the act of one or a few but an insidious racist conspiracy that has sought to harm Black students attending Niveus for decades. 

I am still in awe that this is the author’s debut. The layering in the plot and the motivations of the characters is done so flawlessly that you would expect Àbíké-Íyímídé to be a veteran in the genre. Both Chiamaka’s and Devon’s characters are well-developed and completely different from one another—an achievement hard done when both are told in the first person present. I didn’t have to look at the chapter head to see whose chapter it was; I could tell by the character’s confidence and place in the world around them. The pacing of the unfolding events and subsequent actions were spot on for the genre, and I found myself quickly engrossed in the story—and what a story it was!

One of the things I like most about this book is that no topic is off-limits—nothing is shied away from. Àbíké-Íyímídé doesn’t coddle her teenage readers (or her adult readers for that matter), she trusts them to understand the nuances of race and racism, sexuality and homophobia, gender and misogynoir, class and privilege, and how they all intersect. These themes are challenged in almost every part of the plot, from the differences in the main characters’ backstories and arcs, to how their individual proximity—or lack thereof, especially in Devon’s case—to whiteness change the ease in which they move in their worlds, to the far-reaching and malicious scheme that seeks to destroy them. The author moves every piece of the plot like pieces on a chessboard until, by the end, with chills up your spine and the weight of anxiety in your stomach: checkmate—but I will leave it to you to find out who plays the final piece. 

I highly recommend you pick up a copy of Ace of Spades from your local bookshop and join in the collective gasp that emerges from every mouth at the last few paragraphs in the book.

Book Review: Skin of the Sea by Natasha Bowen

By Megan Amato

Content warning: depictions of kidnapping for the purposes of slavery 

The world that debut author Natasha Bowen has devised in Skin of the Sea is breathtaking, full of history that cannot be ignored, and richly detailed with West African folklore and culture. It’s beautifully written and flawlessly plotted; it would be easy to lose yourself in the worldbuilding and characters if not for the devastating roles that the African slave trade and middle passage have in the novel. 

Simidele (Simi) is Mami Wati, one of seven mermaids the sea goddess Yemoja remade to bless the journey of those stolen and murdered at sea. Simi is already grappling with letting her past life go and embracing Yemoja’s cause when she threatens the fate of the Mami Wati by pulling a live boy from the sea. With the help from Kola, the boy she saved, Simi sets out to find a set of rings that will help her undo the damage she has done. However, she isn’t the only one looking for the rings, and if the resentful messenger god gets his hands on them first, the world and everyone she loves will perish—including the boy she’s forbidden to love.

Two-dimensional main characters? Bowen has never met them. Simi demonstrates her courage and strength throughout the novel by defending her decision to save Kola despite the consequences, yet she does everything in her power to ensure those consequences are righted. Her character arc is also immensely satisfying. In the beginning, she is unsure and unsettled in her new place in the world, desperate to remember and hold onto her past human life.  As the novel progresses, she doesn’t lose that longing—especially as her feelings for Kola grow—but she grows more confident in herself through overcoming adversity, and through shared camaraderie. 

Kola is an admirable love interest, unafraid to show a softer side as he cares for those around him. The connection and chemistry between Kola and Simi are beautifully written, and despite their instant attraction, their budding—and forbidden—feelings for each other are demonstrated slowly, subtly, and appropriately for two young adults thrown into a life-or-death situation. The side characters are just as fleshed out and interesting, and I’m especially fond of Yinka, whose strength is constantly shown through not only her combat skills but the affection she shows to old and new friends. 

There are many elements in this novel, but Bowen seamlessly weaves them together, creating a new mosaic out of an existing folklore and history. There is a fairytale dreaminess that I love in retellings, and the descriptions of Simi’s environments are described so that I can almost feel the salt on my own skin. The plot is well-paced, moving with an urgency and tension befitting to the issues involved in the book and the characters at play. Skin of the Sea has quickly—I read this in one very long sitting—become one of my favourite books of the year, and I would highly recommend it to anyone. You can pick up a copy of it on Nov. 9. 

Thank you, Penguin Random House, for the complimentary copy of Skin of the Sea in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Quiet is Loud by Samantha Garner

By Megan Amato

Samantha Garner’s debut novel The Quiet is Loud is an intriguing, grounded sci-fi that develops through poignant moments in the past, dream sequences, and present first-person narrative to unveil a story that transcends the pages and takes you on a tour across Canada as you play connect-the-dots with the protagonist’s life.  

After ten-year-old Freya Tanangco’s dream of her mother’s death comes true, she discovers that she is one of the rare people with extra mental abilities. Blaming herself for her mother’s death, she keeps her secret to herself, especially from her prejudiced father. As an adult, Freya works hard to keep her head down in a world cruel to those like her, but when her visions start to bleed into her waking life, she is forced to seek help from a “paradextrous” support group. Just as she starts to find her footing with her abilities, her trust in the wrong person threatens to expose her ability to the world—and to her notorious father, whose refusal to consider the feelings of a family member has already torn a hole in their family. 

This story is subtle. When I first started reading, I thought it would be one of those books that I would stop and start as I worked my way through the plot, but I should have had more faith in the author. Rather deftly, Garner layers and weaves details throughout the book that draw you in through the moments of the past that shaped Freya’s fear, to the present, where she must overcome that fear to save someone she loves and free herself from the threat of discovery looming over her.

It was hard not to empathize with Freya as she grew, learned lessons about the people in her life and the world, and withdrew from a society she feared and that feared her in return. She is supported by endearing characters, including a cousin who may not understand her but will do anything to support her; a brainy support group leader who would make those even with eidetic memories jealous; and an inherently kind paradextrous man who proves that different genders can be friends and remarkable ones at that. However, my favourite character was Freya’s fastidious aunt, who has purposely pushed those she loved away due to her own trauma but steps up when people need her the most.

The only character who I thought was slightly underdeveloped was the antagonist. I felt like their relationship with the protagonist developed too quickly and deteriorated just as fast. However, part of me wonders if this was done purposely to show how those with charisma and self-righteousness draw bees like honey but can be just as quick to use that power to destroy real people’s lives for the “greater good.”

I believe that every story teaches you something, be it a recipe for a dessert or a valued life lesson from an elder. In The Quiet is Loud, I learned more about tarot readings and how they can be deciphered, about Norse and Filipino mythology, and that people who try to change the world without consulting those they’re trying to help can do more harm than good. However, the main message is clear: our stories are ours to tell, and how they are told can be more important than the telling itself. 

You can pick up a copy of Samantha Garner’s The Quiet is Loud from Canadian indie publisher Invisible Publishing. It’s definitely worth the read.

Book Review: Iron Widow by Xiran Jay Zhao

By Megan Amato

Content warnings: attempted rape, violence, misogyny, domestic abuse, femicide, torture, murder, alcohol addiction

"Iron Widow is both a celebration of my favorite aspects of my culture and a critique of its worst beliefs, but as you read this book, I urge you to remember that misogyny is not exclusive to Chinese culture—it is everywhere in the world." – Author's note 

Xiran Jay Zhao's YA sci-fi novel Iron Widow is an ode to angry girls everywhere. Based loosely on figures in Chinese history, including China's only female emperor, it's a breathtaking novel that doesn't shy away from topics often listed as taboo in teen fiction. In almost every way, this book defies norms that we often see in YA—and even adult—fiction.

Huaxia is like any patriarchal society: men rule, and woman are subjected to having to support the men’s whims and dreams at the cost of themselves. This is often literally the case as young and often poor women are sent as concubines to young male pilots who use the women as "co-pilots" to power their chrysalises—transforming robots made from the exoskeleton of the aliens invading their homeland. 

After 18-year-old Zeitan's sister is killed by the most famous and beloved pilot, Zeitan plans revenge and volunteers herself as his concubine. After she kills him during flight and takes over the chrysalis, she is named an Iron Widow. To silence her, the powers that be force her to co-pilot with the notorious Li Shimin, murderer, and the strongest contemporary pilot—no girl has ever survived as his co-pilot. After failing to kill him, Zeitan begins to suspect that Li's reputation isn't what it is made out to be, and they form a reluctant partnership. Threatened by the combined power of a criminal and young woman, Huaxia sends them to be sacrificed in a battle, but they come up victorious. With the help of the rich boy she left behind, they form a trio that schemes to ensure they are too valuable to kill, and to stop the needless death of girls to power chrysalises—by whatever means—and change history in Huaxia. 

Let me start out by raving about the polyamorous relationship. Yes, you read that right. Zhao doesn't make you go through the angst-filled "which one will she choose," but instead says, "why can't she have both?" and more, "why can't the men love each other too?" Of course, there are some hiccups, as these are three humans, but it has nothing to do with jealously and everything to do with respect and people repeatedly trying to kill them. 

I have a particular fondness for angry female characters. And if they stay angry throughout the novel, withholding forgiveness, even better (I'm not sure what that says about me, but there you go). Zeitan is not exactly "good." She's a morally grey character—but her anger is just. It stems from societal gender and class barriers that have shaped a life in which her parents disvalue her, abuse her, and pressure her into signing up as a concubine so they will profit from her death. Her placement in the world has molded her into a character who will do anything for freedom—but it also makes her angry, brave, and desperate enough to set out to ensure that no girl will face what she does again.

This book has quickly punched its way to one of my top three reads of the year. It's a brilliantly fleshed out story with exhilarating worldbuilding and characters who grab you by the throat and don't let go. The ending was—I won't ruin it for you, so let's just say I'm already holding my breath for book two.

Thank you, Penguin Random House Canada, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Made in Korea by Sarah Suk

By Megan Amato

Despite my love for all things YA fantasy, I am not usually drawn to YA contemporary romance. I didn’t have the best time in high school, and even if I was keen to relive it, I sometimes find it difficult to be invested in the ordinary lives of teens when I’m nearly double their age. However, after seeing the book advertised on Twitter and learning it was written by a fellow Vancouverite, I decided to give Sarah Suk’s Made in Korea­ a chance—and I’m so, so glad I did.

Protagonist Valerie Kwon’s K-Beauty business means everything to her. It’s a chance to make her parents take her seriously as a young businesswoman and a way to make money to whisk her beloved ailing granny to Paris. She will let nothing stand in her way of success, especially not Wes Jung, the cute new student who has started a competing business. But Wes has more at stake too. He must make enough to get into the music school his parents won’t pay for, and so he makes an impulsive bet with Valerie that will potentially double the winner’s earnings. The two contend against each other, and it both pits the rivals against each other and draws them closer together. Soon Wes learns to voice his dreams and desires instead of folding to his parent’s expectations, and Valerie discovers that there is more value to the people around her than the profit they bring in.

This rival-to-lovers story defied my own expectations in so many adorable ways, and despite my reluctance to invest myself in the romance, I found myself flipping through the pages at rapid speed. Suk’s characters are compelling in all their strengths and flaws, well developed, and loveable in contrasting ways. Valerie is driven, puts business before making connections, but has a soft spot for her halmeoni and her fun-loving cousin. Wes is sweet, devoted to his passion for music, and dreams of a life outside of the scrubs his parents want for him. They’re both outsiders—Valerie by choice and Wes as the perpetual new student who never had the time to find his place—and their gradual opening up to each other is beautiful to read. Plus, the tough girl and marshmallow boy is one of my favourite tropes in m/f romance. 

I admire this story because there isn’t a “mean girl” per se, and Valerie isn’t pitted against another girl to compete for Wes. The tension Suk has written in the story is more creative and less damaging to young—especially femme—readers who are constantly taught to compete against other girls and femmes. The other girl who is friends with Wes might have been a rival for his interest, but Suk created a three-dimensional side character with agency and her own desires, goals, and interests outside of their friendship—and I loved that. I would read any book with her as the protagonist.

Made in Korea is a beautiful read, full of small details that stick with you—I might just have taken to eating Hi-Chews based on my mood now—but overall, it’s a love letter to the author’s Korean-North American heritage. I encourage readers of all ages to read it, but I especially love that this is out in the world for teens to see a healthy romance and especially for teens who don’t often see representation of themselves.

*Thank you Simon & Schuster Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review!

Book Review: Becoming Leidah by Michelle Grierson

By Megan Amato

Content warning: rape

As a lover of all things folkloric, selkie stories are both right up my alley and my worst nightmare. I find the benevolent creature fascinating to read about, but the nature of the myth itself always makes me feel boxed in and claustrophobic. Michelle Grierson’s Becoming Leidah is no different, both drawing me in with its beautiful prose, folklore, and imagery, while I try to claw my way out of the “love story” it professes to be.

The story is set in a small Nordic village converted from its pagan roots to Christianity and begins with a storm that washes fisherman Pieter up onto rocks, where he finds Maeva seemingly waiting for him. He makes love to her and takes her home to marry, and even though she seems reluctant to even talk to him, he is obsessively in love with her. They have a child, the spirited Leidah, who grows close to her father, who dotes on her but continually argues with her overprotective mother. As the story progresses, you realize that this isn’t about a fairy tale romance, but about a magical woman who can’t leave the marriage she was forced into because her husband has hidden her seal skin. When Leidah begins to show signs of magic, Maeva will do anything to escape the village that hates her and return to the sea with her daughter—even as her desperate husband does everything in his and his witch lover’s power to stop her.

Told from multiple perspectives, this story moved me in many ways—not all good. It was beautifully written, filled with Nordic mythology and descriptions so breathtaking that I could weep. And weep I did when I discovered that the first scene on the rocks, told in wistful glimpses of prose, was non-consensual, and so is Maeva’s marriage to Pieter. I know this is done purposely—selkie stories rarely end happily. Even if the selkie in question loves the human, the sea always calls them back and only hiding their seal skin keeps them from returning to the sea. Even knowing this, I couldn’t help but be angry at how the story unfolds and the lack of accountability Pieter faces throughout the novel—even if that, too, is realistic. 

Despite how this story makes me feel, I cannot deny the magic delivered within each line and how deliberately Grierson voiced each character so that each chapter felt like you were in the character’s head or diary. My favourite perspective to read was wee Leidah as she begins to grow into herself and her magic. She’s an impartial and innocent figure outside of her parents’ awful marriage; she loves her father and desperately wants her mother to love her, and is unwittingly drawn into her mother’s quest for freedom. While both Maeva and Leidah’s characters and motivations were well developed, I felt that Pieter’s was lacking. All we know about him is that he is obsessed with keeping his wife—despite her asking for freedom throughout the novel—and even in his POV chapters, we never really understand why. While his actions wouldn’t have been justified even if we knew, it would have made the story stronger—and possibly made me less angry.

My last complaint about the story is that the last quarter came undone in a way that left me confused and dissatisfied. And while I do enjoy the parallel of Pieter and Maeva’s lives coming undone in an unsatisfying and confusing fashion, I genuinely don’t think I could describe what happened in the end—and not in an ambiguous ending kind of way, but with a “huh?” However, despite these faults, I would still recommend Becoming Leidah to other readers. It’s a beautiful and emotional tale and deserves the chance to be read by folklore lovers and readers alike. 

*Thank you Simon & Schuster Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review!

Book Review: The Henna Artist by Alka Joshi

By Megan Amato

Content warning: Domestic abuse, abortion

Richly detailed, thoughtfully plotted, and bustling with history, Alka Joshi’s debut historical novel The Henna Artist transports readers from their homes to post-colonial India in the 1950s. In addition to the stunning prose, it also doesn’t shy away from topics like contraception, abortion, and the caste system’s intricacies.

After escaping an abusive marriage, Lakshmi runs away to the bustling city of Jaipur and makes a name for herself as an herbalist and henna artist for the privileged and rich. Lakshmi dreams of financial independence and sees a quick way to make money by matching the son and daughter of two privileged families. When her estranged husband turns up with a sister she didn’t know existed in tow, Lakshmi takes her in and attempts to acclimatize her to a new life. Things are not easy between the sisters as Radha comes with her own traumas and questions Lakshmi’s choices. Soon Lakshmi’s plans to gain true independence are threatened as the consequences of both sisters’ choices begin to unravel all her hard work.

The tension of each of their choices drives the plot, but the depth and vitality of the characters make this story stand out. Joshi allows her characters to be flawed, to make mistakes and learn from them and grow. Lakshmi cares for the women who purchase her services, but her own goals often lead her to make unsavoury decisions based more on financial gain than loyalty. However, when Radha shows up, their strained relationship forces her to revaluate her choices and what is truly important to her. Radha enters her sister’s life as an angry young woman dubbed “Bad Luck Girl” in her village and begins to grow as she follows her heart, gets it broken, and ends up paying deeply for it. The side characters are just as developed, even the antagonists, showcasing humans in all their messiness.

It calls to mind one of the best pieces of writing advice I have received, which was given to me second-hand by a friend: write through all five senses.  Joshi has mastered this. The prose is beautifully written and interwoven with detail after detail that feel natural and flow from the page like the scent of jasmine, the taste of mango, the feel of one’s skin against another’s, and the stunning views and sounds of the Pink City. The research done to write a novel so intricate in detail must have been enormous. 

I tend to read a lot more genre fiction and normally shy away from more literary works as they can be exploitative of other cultures and needlessly depressing (I just like a happy ending!). According to the author’s note in this book, the events are inspired her mother’s life and even if her mother took creative licence in telling her own story, I put trust in the author to tell it. It’s a beautifully written and often poignant story, and I would recommend it to those looking for an immersive story full of heartbreak and hope. 

Book Review: Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia

By Megan Amato

Thanks to a duo of teenage babysitters who introduced four-year-old me to The Blair Witch Project and Alien, I had nightmares for years, jumping at every brush of a branch against my window.  I avoided horror with varying degrees of success over the years and literally ran from the room at the first sign of any advert promoting a horror film. Despite this, the supernatural has always fascinated me. Throw in a speculative element and a haunted house, and I’m hooked enough to ignore the internal warning bell’s toll. That’s why despite my hesitation to read anything labelled horror, Mexican Canadian Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic intrigued me enough to add it to my Goodreads list. 

At the novel’s opening, Noemí is sent to check up on her cousin, who has written a hysterical letter claiming that her English husband is poisoning her. Greeted with cold hospitality and prevented from being alone with her cousin, Noemí worries about this once-romantic cousin wilting in such an oppressive place. When she begins to have weird dreams about a dead woman, she suspects that there is more amiss in High Place than the mold-ridden walls and strict rules, and she discovers a history of cyclical violence that has stained the house and its members. At times romantic, sometimes grotesque, and often chilling, this gothic horror is sinister in a way that draws from Mexico’s colonial history to highlight the twisting insidiousness of race theory eugenics and exploitation wrought by Western Europeans on Indigenous peoples around the world. 

In the beginning, the protagonist seems like an unlikeable character: Noemí is spoiled, toys with men and is seemingly fickle. As you read on, you discover that she is exceedingly clever, determined, and loyal to those she loves but ultimately a product of her time and place. As a young woman in 1920s Mexico, she has ambitions to be an anthropologist but is dependent on the men around her to get into the university and gain entry to all the places she wants to go. 

At times the story can be slow-moving as Moreno-Garcia weaves the mystery around the history of the house and family, but never enough to pull me from the story or stop me from reading the book in two evenings. The plot is intricately woven, and I found myself collecting details to try and figure out just what was going on in that creepy house. The foreshadowing was done so well that even the hints I guessed accurately were only the tip of the vast iceberg that is the plot. The twist ending was unique, compelling and, to be honest, a little weird—but it worked. 

Silvia Moreno-Garcia has masterfully written a book full of atmosphere and an eerie charm, combining myth and allegory with the exploitation of Mexico to deliver a terrifying novel that has even the scaredy-cat in me wishing to reread this novel all over.

Book Review: The Gilded Ones by Namina Forna

By Megan Amato

Content warning: talk about rape, explicit violence, colourism, sexism,  

The Gilded Ones by Namina Forna was my most anticipated book of the year, and it didn’t disappoint—it caused stomach curling, hands gripping the edge of my seat, shut-the-book-and-run-to-another-room level anxiety—but it didn’t disappoint. 

The story is a first-person young adult narrative following 16-year-old Deka, the only dark-skinned girl in her puritanical and patriarchal town. When her blood runs gold—instead of the desired crimson—on the day of her Ritual of Purity, her village turns against her, and Deka learns she is immortal—the hard, painful and should-have-been-permanent way. After her world—and body—are completely torn apart, a mysterious woman proposes to glue it all back together by offering a position as a soldier in an elite army of alaki—“almost immortal” girls who fight to help the Emperor defeat the monstrous deathshrieks. Deka soon learns that there is more to her heritage than she knows, and her blood may just be the key needed to defeat her enemies—known and unknown. 

Deka is by far one of the most likeable characters I’ve read in YA fantasy. She’s equal measures kind and determined, desperate to find someone who accepts her—demon and all, quick to take a leadership role but unafraid to lean on someone when she needs to.  From the very beginning, you root for her; even when the blurb on the back of the book warns you of what is to come, you are always crossing your fingers that she will be okay and overcome whatever hurdle the world Forna has created throws at her. Watching her grow into her position and confidence, make mistakes and thwart others’ plans for her is an absolute delight.

I am a sucker for a magical school or supernatural training ground of any kind, so this book might as well have been on my shelf since conception. Some might find complaint in the common trope of a chosen one being found in an unwanted girl in some remote village, trained to fight evil and exceptionally good at it. However, those criticisms would be shallow, as Forna has crafted a world unlike any other. The book is full of worldbuilding, creatures that delight the imagination, and a plot that moves and shakes both the characters and the reader to our very cores. Even if this West African-inspired fantasy didn’t have this strong foundation of originality, the story would still be novel as there aren’t the same amount of fantasy stories written by and featuring a Black woman. 

The one aspect of the novel I am of two minds about is the romance between the protagonist and a soldier named Keita. On the one hand, I think he is a tad underdeveloped, and more could have been written about his experience training and falling in love with Deka. However, I love that the emphasis isn’t placed on the romance. It’s there to show that Deka is worthy of the romantic love she seeks, but as Deka says herself, the centre of the world is her friendship with fellow alaki, Britta. While readers of fantasy romance may be disappointed by this, the power of a friendship between women is the shining gem in this novel. It’s what you turn the page for—along with the marvellously comprehensive plot that deepens on every page.

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve read The Gilded Ones, but it’s all I can think about as I go about the chores of my daily life or dive into new worlds. I highly recommend this book to anyone looking for a new immersive read!

*Thank you Penguin Random House Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review