Book Review

Empire of Flame and Thorns by Marion Blackwood

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Empire of Flame and Thorns by Marion Blackwood is an enemies-to-lovers romantasy where a fae girl enters a series of deadly trials for a chance at freedom. It’s set in a world where dragon shifters rule, justifying their dominance over fae through stories of a half-remembered past where the fae once held power over the dragon shifters, though neither side truly remembers how or why that world ended. Now, the fae live under tight control, their choices limited, their futures dictated. But every 150 years, the Atonement Trials offer three winners the chance to leave this oppressive system. Selena Hale enters the trials not just for her own survival and freedom, but for the possibility of helping the fae rebellion in a way she never could from within.

Book cover for Empire of Flame and Thorns by Marion Blackwood.

Because fear is a weapon. It gives other people power over you without them even having to do anything.

Marion Blackwood, Empire of Flame and Thorns

This is one of those books that pulls you forward through sheer momentum alone. The trials are chaotic by design, governed only by whatever rules the dragon shifters decide to enforce in the moment. That instability raises the stakes immediately, especially because the fae are not competing for glory or status, but for their lives. The intensity never settles into a predictable rhythm either. Instead, each challenge forces Selena to adapt, and the reader is right there with her, recalibrating what survival even looks like from one trial to the next.

Selena is a compelling protagonist, in part because her growth feels as much internal as it is external. She enters the trials with something to prove, not just to the world around her, but to herself. Her ability to manipulate emotions has made her an outsider among her own people, leaving her caught between wanting connection and knowing she makes others uneasy. That tension carries into how she moves through the trials. She wants to be liked and accepted, but she also has to learn how to prioritize her own survival and sense of self. Watching Selena begin to prioritize herself, trust her instincts, and own her power rather than ignore or diminish it is one of the most satisfying arcs in the book. By the final trials, both Selena and the reader have a clearer understanding of what her abilities can do and why they matter.

You do seem to have an unhealthy obsession with tracking me down in empty corridors. Can I suggest a hobby instead? Perhaps knitting since you’re so fond of pointy sticks.

Marion Blackwood, Empire of Flame and Thorns

Selena and Draven’s dynamic works because it disrupts expectations from the very beginning. Their first encounter sets the tone, with Selena turning what should be a moment of danger into something chaotic and unexpectedly funny. That same energy carries into the trials, where their back-and-forth builds on that initial clash and gradually becomes something else as their connection deepens. The banter is quick and does more than just entertain us, as there’s always an undercurrent of tension shaped by the fact that Draven holds power within the system that controls Selena. He reads as distinctly morally grey, shifting in ways that are hard to fully understand until later, which gives the enemies-to-lovers arc its edge.

The story’s deeper potential lies in its suggestion that power is less about truth and more about who controls the narrative of the past. The idea that the dragon shifters’ rule is justified by a history no one fully remembers raises a larger question about inherited narratives and how they are used to sustain systems of power. Both sides are operating on stories that have been passed down, shaped and reshaped over time, until they function less as truth and more as justification. There are moments where the text gestures toward this, particularly in how the fae themselves question the legitimacy of their oppression, but it stops short of fully engaging with it. There’s a deeper conversation here about cycles of violence, about how long a debt can be carried across generations, and who ultimately pays for it. I hope these early threads are laying the groundwork for something more fully realized in future installments.

I don’t care if you hate me. Truth be told, I kind of hate you too. And that’s why I don’t hold back when I talk to you.

Marion Blackwood, Empire of Flame and Thorns

Overall, this is an action-packed, immersive, and fun romantasy that rewards paying attention, even when you’re not entirely sure what you’re noticing. There’s a steady sense that something isn’t adding up, and the final plot twist brings that unease into sharp focus. It doesn’t tie things up so much as it opens them further, leaving a lot still to explore, both in terms of character and the larger stakes. One thing I know for sure is that I’ll be picking up book 2. I need to see what happens after that ending!

Thank you to NetGalley and Scarlett Press for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

My Roommate from Hell by Cale Dietrich

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My Roommate from Hell by Cale Dietrich is a YA paranormal romance where an anxious college freshman discovers his new roommate is literally the Prince of Hell, sent to Earth through a supernatural exchange program meant to foster peace between the two realms. Owen Greene arrives at Point University with a careful plan: keep his scholarship, get good grades, secure a coveted internship, and avoid unnecessary chaos. That plan immediately unravels when Zarmenus Bloodletter moves into the other half of his dorm room. Zar’s arrival brings demon cats, accidental fires, and chaotic dorm life into Owen’s carefully structured world, forcing him to navigate supernatural diplomacy, roommate drama, and feelings he definitely did not plan for.

Book cover for My Roommate from Hell by Cale Dietrich.

He is chaos, I am order. We make no sense.

Cale Dietrich, My Roommate from Hell

The first part of the novel leans heavily into this odd-couple roommate dynamic, and it’s where the book finds much of its humor. Owen’s anxious inner monologue is genuinely funny, especially as he tries to rationalize the increasingly ridiculous situations unfolding around him. His disbelief at demon cats, ghostly mishaps, and Zar’s complete lack of human etiquette makes for several laugh-out-loud moments. The funniest part is that most of Owen’s issues are actually about common roommate quibbles, and not the demonic surprises that keep popping up!

At the same time, this early section is also where the pacing struggles the most. The first half of the book centers on Zar’s messy, disruptive behavior, but also on Owen’s repeated refusal to confront him about it. Instead, Owen cycles through a familiar internal pattern: he decides he’ll talk to Zar tomorrow, worries about ruining their relationship, convinces himself it’s not that bad, and ultimately says nothing. Because his ability to secure an important internship depends on getting along with his supernatural roommate, Owen keeps giving Zar “one more chance,” even going so far as to clean their room for him. The result is that the conflict becomes repetitive. Oddly enough, Zar’s antics are less frustrating than Owen’s refusal to simply talk to his roommate and communicate his issues.

Point’s most famous exchange student might be a demon, but he’s not Satan. There’s a difference.

Cale Dietrich, My Roommate from Hell

Once the story reaches the fake dating plotline, the tone shifts into something softer and more romantic. In order to smooth over some supernatural complications, Owen and Zar decide to pretend they’re a couple. Watching them construct elaborate schemes to convince other students that their relationship is real leads to several sweet and awkward moments, and the premise taps into the classic appeal of the fake dating trope. This section has a lot of charm, but the execution feels slightly uneven.

The fake dating storyline begins fairly late in the book, and there’s relatively little one-on-one interaction between the Owen and Zar before it starts. Much of the first half focuses solely on Owen navigating dorm life, dining halls, and the overwhelming experience of starting college while trying to make new friends. Those slice-of-life moments do capture the awkward uncertainty of freshman year well, especially Owen’s anxiety about socializing after the first week of school. His personality as a chronic worrier paired with quiet optimism about college is easy to recognize, particularly for anyone who remembers how strange those early college days can feel. But the transition from that, into the fake dating part of the story that more actively involves Zar feels a bit disjointed, particularly after Owen spends so much effort avoiding interactions with his roommate.

I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, and admitting that yes, I do find him, at least superficially, extremely attractive, feels like a bad move.

Cale Dietrich, My Roommate from Hell

Ironically, once the romance begins, the pacing speeds up too much. Many of Owen and Zar’s more intimate conversations or emotional turning points happen off-page or in quick time skips. Instead of lingering on the yearning, confusion, and “wait, is this still fake?” tension that often makes fake dating stories so satisfying, the story focuses primarily on how they present their relationship in public.

Even with those pacing issues, My Roommate from Hell is still a fun and surprisingly wholesome read. The demon mythology adds a playful supernatural twist to what is otherwise a recognizable college coming-of-age story. Beneath the chaos and humor, the book ultimately centers on Owen learning how to stand up for himself, navigate independence, and figure out what it means to grow into adulthood. The result is a story that feels devilishly fun, occasionally messy, and easy to enjoy, especially for readers who can appreciate the sweetness of a cozy and queer paranormal romance.

Thank you to NetGalley and Wednesday Books for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Babel by R.F. Kuang

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Babel by R.F. Kuang is a dark academia historical fantasy about language, empire, and the uneasy relationship between knowledge and power. I think what surprised me most about this novel is how gripping it is despite how dense it can be. This is a long, research-heavy novel about translation, colonialism, and academia that reads like historical fantasy on the surface. Underneath, it feels like a sustained argument about language and power, wrapped inside a dark academia setting that the book both loves and interrogates at length. Kuang invites readers to admire the beauty of scholarship while also confronting the systems that make that beauty possible, which gives the entire book a sense of urgency and forward motion.

Book cover for Babel by R.F. Kuang set against a pink background.

Translation means doing violence upon the original, means warping and distorting it for foreign, unintended eyes. So then where does that leave us? How can we conclude, except by acknowledging that an act of translation is then necessarily always an act of betrayal?

R.F. Kuang, Babel

One of the ideas that runs through the entire story is that language is never neutral. In Kuang’s version of Oxford, translation quite literally fuels empire through silver-working, a magical system powered by the subtle gaps between languages. It is such a smart way to make an abstract idea feel tangible. Language already shapes whose histories are recorded, whose stories are believed, and whose perspectives are centered. The novel simply makes that power visible.

The book also feels very in conversation with criticisms of the dark academia aesthetic in general. The libraries and lecture halls remain intoxicating and nostalgic, but the story refuses to romanticize the institution behind them. Academia is shown as a place that produces knowledge while also benefiting from colonial extraction. That tension gives the novel a sense of urgency that feels very current.

English did not just borrow words from other languages; it was stuffed to the brim with foreign influences, a Frankenstein vernacular. And Robin found it incredible, how this country, whose citizens prided themselves so much on being better than the rest of the world, could not make it through an afternoon tea without borrowed goods.

R.F. Kuang, Babel

While reading, I kept thinking about Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o’s Decolonising the Mind (even though the text isn’t directly referenced). His argument that language carries culture, hierarchy, and systems of domination feels central to every character arc. Separate from Ngũgĩ’s work, but very much in conversation with it, is the historical reality that colonial translation was rarely neutral or precise. British officials often depended on local printers, teachers, and scholars to translate English texts into regional languages, and because those officials were not fluent themselves, the results could be uneven, interpretive, or simply wrong. Those translations were then printed and reprinted until they became their own authoritative versions. Even Shakespeare exists in radically different forms across languages because of this history. That reality makes the novel’s focus on translation feel especially sharp. Language becomes both a tool of control and a site of slippage. Over time, that same linguistic space was sometimes used to resist colonial oppressors. People learned the language of power and then used it in ways the empire never intended. The characters in Babel follow that same trajectory as they begin to realize that the skills meant to sustain the system might also be used to challenge it.

The question of violence sits at the center of the novel and will likely be the most divisive aspect. Kuang pushes the story toward a conclusion that refuses easy or comfortable resolutions. One line in particular captures the book’s moral tension perfectly:

This is how colonialism works. It convinces us that the fallout from resistance is entirely our fault, that the immoral choice is resistance itself rather than the circumstances that demanded it.

R.F. Kuang, Babel

That idea connects closely to the novel’s recurring claim that translation is a form of betrayal. Every act of translation alters the original, reshaping it for new audiences and new purposes. By the end of the novel, that concept extends beyond language. The characters themselves are forced to confront what it means to reshape their loyalties, their identities, and the institution that shaped them.

It’s also worth noting that Kuang’s style may not work for every reader. The narrative includes footnotes, linguistic digressions, and historical context that slow the pacing at times. For me, this was one of the book’s strengths. I studied postcolonial theory during my doctoral work, so the intellectual foundation felt purposeful and familiar rather than overwhelming. I think the academic texture gives the novel a sense of conviction that fits its subject.

What stayed with me most after finishing Babel is how deliberately it dismantles the romantic fantasy of academia while still acknowledging the beauty of language itself. The book never suggests that learning, scholarship, or translation are inherently harmful. Instead, it asks what happens when those pursuits are shaped by systems of power and inequality, and it pushes that question toward an agonizing conclusion. It is a dense and demanding novel, but also a deeply rewarding one. It feels especially resonant right now, and it left me thinking long after the final pages.

Book Review

Stolen Midnights by Katherine Quinn

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Stolen Midnights by Katherine Quinn is a regency-inspired young adult romantasy that unfolds in the gilded city of Andalay, where the Three Fates bestow magical gifts upon the upper classes as a mark of divine favor and social worth. On her eighteenth birthday, Wren Hayes, the so-called “princess” of Ward One, waits to receive the powerful magic her status promises. But it never comes. Unbeknownst to her, a thief has stolen it! And in a society where magic is currency and legitimacy, that turns Wren into a social pariah. What follows is a richly layered, compulsively readable story about power, class warfare, dangerous alliances, and one of the most delightful grumpy x sunshine slow-burn romances I’ve read in a long time.

Book cover for Stolen Midnights by Katherine Quinn set against a pink background.

One day our world would change, and all it took to start a revolution was one person.

Katherine Quinn, Stolen Midnights

Despite being marketed as young adult, I think Stolen Midnights just barely on the edges of it. Tonally, this novel reminds me a lot of Heartless Hunter by Kristen Ciccarelli. It has that same balance of sharp banter, moral ambiguity, simmering tension, and high-stakes worldbuilding. Even when the plot turns twisty and dark, there’s an undercurrent of yearning and restraint that keeps the characters at its center, and that’s why it works so well.

I love a good thief character, so Damien was always going to be an instant favorite, but Wren really surprised me, too. She begins the story sheltered and naive, yet never willfully ignorant. Wren wants to understand the world beyond her privilege, and once that privilege is stripped away, she actively chooses growth, accountability, and compassion. Damien, meanwhile, is morally gray in all the right ways, shaped by a system that exploits the poor to keep the wealthy powerful. His motives are messy, personal, and deeply tied to the book’s class commentary. Watching these two become reluctant allies—especially with Wren unaware that Damien is the thief who stole her gift—creates a dynamic that is both emotionally charged and narratively compelling.

The dual POV structure of the chapters also works beautifully here, giving equal weight to both Wren and Damien’s perspectives without letting one overshadow the other. Seeing Andalay from opposite sides of the class divide adds real texture to the story, especially as the larger conspiracy begins to unravel.

I’m sorry because I allowed myself to be blind when I had the choice to do otherwise. I’m sorry for being a part of a society that uses people when they’re desperate. That forces them to remain desperate. Afraid. Hungry.

Katherine Quinn, Stolen Midnights

The magic system itself deserves special attention because it’s such a clever device. In Andalay, gifts granted by the Three Fates are not random blessings but deliberate reinforcements of wealth and status. Therefore, magic becomes another mechanism of control, hoarded by the upper classes and used to keep power exactly where it already sits. I loved how this magic system feeds directly into the novel’s social commentary, interrogating privilege and exploitation. It shapes Damien’s anger and motivations just as much as it forces Wren to confront the moral cost of her upbringing, adding layers that make the story resonate well beyond the romance.

Speaking of the romance, it was so much fun! The dynamic between Wren and Damien is exactly what I expect when promised enemies-to-lovers. The banter is genuinely delightful, the grumpy x sunshine trope is fully realized (he literally calls her “sunshine”!!), and the slow burn is paced to perfection. Watching Damien deny his feelings while very obviously falling for Wren was endlessly entertaining, and their chemistry is off the charts.

I also really appreciated the emphasis on female empowerment throughout the story. Andalay is unapologetically patriarchal, but Quinn highlights women supporting women, questioning their assigned roles, and actively resisting expectations designed to limit them. The contrast between older men enforcing tradition and a younger generation beginning to push back felt deliberate and thoughtfully executed.

I knew with complete certainty that I’d done the one thing I promised I’d never do—I’d fallen for a mark.

Katherine Quinn, Stolen Midnights

If I had any minor nitpicks, they come down to personal preference rather than flaws. I found myself wishing for a deeper exploration of how certain magical powers work and more on-page moments of characters actively using their magic. There’s also a mention of a jail early on that stuck in my brain. I kept expecting it to reappear or play a larger role later (at one point, I was fully convinced Damien would end up there!), but it never did. That’s very much on me for latching onto it, not the book failing to deliver. But who knows? Maybe it’s there, waiting for book 2 shenanigans!

By the time I reached the final chapters, I was fully hooked. And then that ending completely blindsided me! Jaw on the floor, theories in shambles, and a cliffhanger that was brutal in the best way. I genuinely have no idea how I’m supposed to wait for the sequel! Consider me fully committed, emotionally compromised, and counting the days.

Thank you to NetGalley and Delacorte Press for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Break Wide the Sea by Sara Holland

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Break Wide the Sea by Sara Holland is a moody, ocean-soaked young adult romantasy that immediately pulled me in with the promise of mysterious fae sea creatures, ancient curses, and that particular brand of melancholy that only stories at sea seem to pull off. The cover alone had me sold, and the premise gave me the same atmospheric pull I felt with When the Tides Held the Moon by Venessa Vida Kelley. And to be fair, the atmosphere is there. The salt, the isolation, the tension of life aboard a ship in unforgiving waters? That part worked so well for me. But while the vibes were vibing, the story itself never quite broke open the way I hoped it would.

Book cover for Break Wide the Sea by Sara Holland.

Maybe I need to be a monster to survive this.

Sara Holland, Break Wide the Sea

At the center of the novel is Annie, the heir to a powerful whaling company whose survival (and humanity’s) depends on harvesting magic from whales. It’s a fascinating and morally messy setup, especially paired with the presence of finfolk and fae mythology. Annie is also cursed, slowly transforming into something monstrous and not entirely human, which should’ve been the emotional core of the book. I kept waiting for that thread to really take over, and for Annie to reckon with what she’s becoming and what that means. Instead, so much of the narrative energy is spent on human conflicts aboard the ship, and it often feels like the most interesting parts of the story are hovering just out of reach.

Annie herself was difficult for me. She’s been trained her entire life to lead, yet repeatedly gives up power while insisting she wants it. Early on, she’s told she will be betrayed, and even as every possible sign points directly at her fiancé, August, she refuses to believe it. We spend what feels like half the book circling this impending betrayal, and because Annie won’t open her eyes, the plot stalls right along with her. Watching her continue to trust him, excuse his behavior, and remain emotionally and physically involved with him was genuinely maddening.

I didn’t want anyone else’s whole heart. I wanted the broken scraps of yours. Whatever you saw fit to give me.

Sara Holland, Break Wide the Sea

August is exactly as awful as you’d expect, and not in a way that felt particularly nuanced. He’s manipulative, controlling, and deeply unlikable, but the story spends so much time having Annie deny this that it dulls the impact. Silas, on the other hand, was the character I wanted more of. He’s the type of character I usually latch onto immediately, but we just don’t get enough of him. His relationship with Annie felt underdeveloped, and I never felt a real spark between them. The romance overall was honestly frustrating. At a certain point, I would have preferred it to be nonexistent because it didn’t add anything meaningful to Annie’s growth or the story’s tension.

Pacing was another major issue for me. For hundreds of pages, the story revisits the same ideas without much escalation, and then suddenly, everything happens at once. When the plot finally surges in the last act, it feels rushed and almost disconnected from what came before. The ending is fine, and it clearly sets up the sequel, but it didn’t reel me in or leave me desperate for more. Instead, I found myself questioning Annie’s final choices yet again, especially since I couldn’t understand why she agreed to the terms she did. Like, hello? You’re cursed to transform into a sea monster. Show me some teeth, girl!

I can’t touch him how I’d like to, not with the gloves and what’s under them. I have to be careful, but there’s something thrilling about that too—that he wants me despite the risk, despite everything.

Sara Holland, Break Wide the Sea

That said, there are things this book does well. The worldbuilding is strong, the concept is genuinely intriguing, and the ethical tension surrounding whaling gives the story real weight. I just wanted more immersion. More finfolk. More literal and figurative transformation. More time underwater! I wanted to taste the salt spray, feel the bone-deep cold of Arctic waters, and completely lose myself in those submerged realms.

Ultimately, Break Wide the Sea is a unique story with a lot of potential. My issues with it are subjective and largely tied to characterization and narrative focus rather than the core idea itself. I can absolutely see this working better for other readers, especially those who enjoy slow-burn tension and morally complex fantasy worlds.

Thank you to NetGalley and Wednesday Books for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.