Book Review

Splintered Kingdom by Gretchen Powell Fox

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Splintered Kingdom by Gretchen Powell Fox is the second installment in the Shattered Crown trilogy. It expands the world beyond the high-stakes tension of the Arcane Crucible and plunges Elyria and Cedric into the fragile aftermath. All the while, Elyria is learning to wield her shadow magic without letting it consume her, and Cedric is coming to terms with the truth of his own identity. As twin victors of the Crucible, they must work together to find both halves of the Crown of Concord in order to save Arcanis from collapse. Between political unrest, stunning betrayals, and the will-they-won’t-they tension still sizzling between the pair, nothing about this journey is going to be simple.

Book cover for Splintered Kingdom by Gretchen Powell Fox.

The truth has a way of hiding in the spaces between what is written.

Gretchen Powell Fox, Splintered Kingdom

What stands out most in Splintered Kingdom is how much bigger this universe becomes. In Smoke and Scar, the tension of the story came from a contained, brutal set of trials that compacted risk, characters, and plot into a tight space. Here, we’re invited into cities, borderlands, courts, and villages. We meet famine, piety, zealotry, poverty, the fierce solidarity of towns under pressure, and a spectrum of beliefs that test our heroes at every turn. The expansion of the setting amplifies the stakes as the narrative terrain is both emotional and geographical now. That shift allows Fox to lean more intentionally into the social commentary already pulsing beneath her worldbuilding. We see not only the effects of the missing Crown of Concord, but also what it costs ordinary people when political turmoil causes kingdoms to fracture.

Of course, the beating heart of this story still belongs to its characters. Elyria, Cedric, and the plucky crew we met in the Sanctum are magnetic as ever, even if they’re often separated this time around. But we also meet even more of their friends in Splintered Kingdom, and the experience is delightful! Tristan, in particular, is the standout favorite. Every scene he’s in becomes instantly more charming, more fun, more alive. (If Fox sees this, I would absolutely read an entire novella about him!) I also appreciate how Kit feels so much sharper and more grounded outside the Crucible, with arcs that nicely emphasize her wit, courtly intrigue, and strength of character rather than the single note of her (justified) rage as we saw during the trials. Nox and Thraigg, sadly, fade a bit to the background here, perhaps to make room for new characters and plot. Regardless, the ensemble overall remains a highlight for me. Fox has a way of writing even the smallest side character with enough depth that you care if they don’t make it out alive. It makes the reading experience so much more agonizing…and fun!

I was also glad to see LGBTQ+ representation handled with more care and attention, a welcome improvement on the first book that makes this world feel richer and more lived in. In my Smoke and Scar review, I noted that Tenebris Nox offered seamless nonbinary representation, yet the broader spectrum felt underexplored for a story that otherwise manages to showcase such a diverse fae world. In Splintered Kingdom, queer identities appear across core and side characters, folded into everyday dialogue, court dynamics, and found family moments without fanfare. The result is a story that reflects the breadth of its own world, and characters that feel more authentic because of it.

She did not want to admit that her power felt sharper, steadier whenever he was near. Did not want to admit to the hum of recognition, of belonging, she felt whenever his own power flared. Even now, her power flickered under her skin at the thought, as if her shadows, too, yearned to reunite with his fire.

Gretchen Powell Fox, Splintered Kingdom

The romance you signed on for also finally gets its moment, and the bell pepper-level spice of the first book definitely upgrades to a chili pepper or two for the sequel! In Smoke and Scar, Elyria and Cedric were too busy surviving the trials to do more than trade fleeting glances and hold the line on all that pent-up longing. In Splintered Kingdom, they have space to ask real questions, to decide what they want from each other, and how much of themselves they’re willing to give. The early intimate scenes between them are unquestionably the strongest, when they’re still feeling their way through a new romantic dynamic. There is a quiet vulnerability to how they explore that connection and surrender to their desire for one another. It feels earned after the enemies-to-lovers slow burn from the first book. For me, the love scenes in the second half of the book don’t have the same effect because they seem to exist for their own sake rather than in service of character or plot. I’m thinking of one specific love scene towards the end of the book when I say that. But for the most part, the evolution of their bond feels right. Cedric and Elyria are most effective when they don’t dull themselves down for each other, and that flickering tension—fire and shadow learning to move together—continues to work. Their arcs feel designed to slot together, to fill spaces the other left empty, which makes watching them get together incredibly gratifying and poetic.

One of the most rewarding through-lines in this series is its interest in power—not just the kind you cast or fight with, but the kind that shapes people and institutions. Cedric’s arc continues to be one of my favorites. Watching him unlearn the indoctrination he grew up with, challenge Lord Church’s legacy, and finally begin to see his own power as something worth embracing is deeply satisfying. Elyria’s journey with her shadow magic is also layered, since it’s about control but also about learning to live with the parts of yourself you were taught to fear. The book also sharpens its questions around mana magic: who gets to use it, what it costs, and whether a resource can be wielded without stripping the world that sustains it. I hope the final installment leans into that idea of stewardship, not just control, and shows what responsible magic might look like in a world that has already paid too much for convenience.

When you spend all your time trying to bury your power instead of learning how to use it, there is a bit of a steep curve to catch up.

Gretchen Powell Fox, Splintered Kingdom

That said, it bears noting that the first half of the novel drags. Given everyone is so worried about finding the crown and saving the kingdom, the fact that they’re willing to sit around and wait for permission to leave on that journey felt…odd. The characters—and readers—were trapped by plot necessity more than anything else. Sure, the excuse is that Lord Church is manipulating everyone because he doesn’t want our heroes to find the crown, but the sheer amount of time they spent waiting around just doesn’t feel convincing or believable when the world is supposedly on the brink. The writing also feels clunky in places, with repetition and awkward sentence construction that pulls you out of the moment. The pacing struggles under the weight of long exposition scenes and a few too many logistical detours. It’s not enough to undo the emotional resonance of the story, but it does dull the edge a bit.

Still, Splintered Kingdom holds its ground as a thoughtful, character-driven follow-up. It may not have the razor-sharp pacing of Smoke and Scar, but it makes up for that with expanded themes and wider emotional arcs. The final chapters deliver some gut-punch moments I didn’t see coming, and while the book ends with a clear setup for the final installment, it still feels like a full experience.

Thank you to the author, Gretchen Powell Fox, for sharing an advanced reader copy of her book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

The Love Haters by Katherine Center

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The Love Haters by Katherine Center follows Katie Vaughn, a video producer staring down layoffs, who grabs a last-chance assignment filming Tom “Hutch” Hutcheson, a Coast Guard rescue swimmer turned viral hero in Key West. The gig could save her career, but there’s a catch: the entire shoot takes place in and around the water, and Katie can’t swim. Worse, she’s spent years battling the mirror, counting calories, hiding her body, and shrinking herself to fit a world that demands smallness. So when she’s forced to don a bathing suit on a tropical beach with cameras rolling, every insecurity she’s tried to bury comes surging back to the surface. The story implies that love can heal self-loathing, but unfortunately, both unravel in the attempt, leaving neither fully convincing.

Book cover for The Love Haters by Katherine Center.

The funny thing about the internet is that it is basically a collective hallucination. If you don’t join in, it doesn’t exist.

Katherine Center, The Love Haters

What immediately struck me was how quickly this book plunges readers into the deep end of Katie’s body image struggles (without a trigger warning in sight!). From the very beginning of this novel, readers are immersed in calorie logs, obsessive self-scrutiny, and a fixation on size and appearance that dominates nearly every thought Katie has. It’s relentless and nearly made me put the book down. It could genuinely be triggering for readers sensitive to themes of body dysmorphia or disordered eating, so take care of yourselves!

It’s clear Center means to excavate the pain of existing in a body under siege—by culture, by the patriarchy, by self-loathing—but intent and impact diverge sharply. The narrative never quite interrogates the systems that made Katie feel the way she does about her body. Instead, it documents her obsession until it becomes the story itself. And while that might mirror the claustrophobia of living with disordered thinking, the lack of distance or reflection turns empathy into exhaustion. There’s no relief, only repetition. And for readers who understand this kind of thinking, it feels less like representation and more like being trapped inside a familiar cage.

If you don’t reject the harsh things people say to you, then I guess, at some point, that means you accept them.

Katherine Center, The Love Haters

When the novel relocates to Key West, the tone brightens but never fully transforms into the familiar, fizzy rhythm I expect from a Katherine Center beach read. Aunt Rue, with her unfiltered wisdom and larger-than-life energy, is the book’s saving grace. She’s a reminder of what Center can do when she writes women who are vivid, messy, and alive. Rue’s presence reminds readers that joy might still be possible even when self-acceptance feels far away. Honestly, she and the dog were the best part of the book.

Hutch, the supposed love interest, never evolves beyond his résumé: heroic, humble, vaguely haunted. His romance with Katie feels like a narrative obligation, built on proximity and projection rather than genuine chemistry. And when the story pivots toward the idea that Hutch helps Katie finally see her own beauty, I nearly lost it. Women do not need men to feel beautiful or worthy! What could have been a meditation on self-acceptance dissolves into a tired, outdated trope where love is mistaken for validation and vulnerability for dependence. Miss me with that noise!

Every time you have to be brave, you get to be a little braver next time. That’s what life is for.

Katherine Center, The Love Haters

Center’s prose has always leaned on optimism, a kind of curated hope that can make even pain feel purposeful, as if every heartbreak can lead somewhere lighter. At her best, that outlook turns her stories into gentle reminders that resilience can coexist with joy. But here, that instinct backfires. The tone wavers between lighthearted beach read and heavy-handed self-hatred without ever finding balance. The result is tonal whiplash: a story that wants to be both a balm and a confrontation but ends up being neither. Even the structure buckles under the weight of contradictions, from a fake-dating subplot that feels nonsensical to a drinking contest scene that borders on grotesque, and an ending that asks for more suspension of disbelief than emotional investment.

There are, admittedly, glimpses of Center’s craft beneath the wreckage. She captures the sensory immediacy of place with almost painterly precision: the burn of sunlight on bare shoulders, the damp quiet before a storm, the lazy rhythm of a coastal town half-asleep in its own heat. But aesthetic competence cannot rescue what the book refuses to confront: its own complicity in the very narrative it seems to critique. For a novel about a woman learning to take up space, The Love Haters spends an extraordinary amount of time shrinking her down again.

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

Book Review

This Spells Love by Kate Robb

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What if one impulsive, margarita-fueled decision could wipe away your worst heartbreak—but at the cost of everything else? In This Spells Love, Kate Robb blends romantic comedy with a dash of magical realism to explore what happens when one woman’s attempt to forget her ex rewrites her entire reality. After a drunken spell with her best friend Dax, her sister, and her eccentric aunt, Gemma wakes up in a world where her ex never existed, her life is nearly unrecognizable, and the one person who’s always mattered most—Dax—no longer remembers her at all. Whimsical and heartfelt, this debut asks a compelling question: if you could undo the past, would you still choose the same future?

Book cover for This Spells Love by Kate Robb.

It’s like Hot Tub Time Machine without the hot tub.

Kate Robb, This Spells Love

There’s real charm in the setup, and the pacing is strong throughout. Robb’s prose is breezy and digestible, with writing that makes it easy to devour chapters without realizing how much time has passed. The magical realism element is understated, more a plot device than a full-on genre shift, which works well for readers who prefer grounded rom-coms. And at its core, the novel is about more than romantic love. It’s about learning to recognize your blind spots, appreciating the people who anchor you, and understanding that healing doesn’t come from rewriting the past. It comes from making peace with it.

But for all its strengths, This Spells Love stumbles where it matters most: character depth. Gemma, as a narrator, is often difficult to root for. Her self-absorption borders on grating, and while the story hinges on her personal growth, it’s hard to feel invested in that journey when she seems oblivious to the emotional needs of those around her. She treats her support system like background noise and rarely reflects on how her actions impact others until late in the book. While this is realistic in some ways, it doesn’t always make for compelling reading.

The side characters—particularly Gemma’s sister and aunt—feel one-dimensional. They appear when needed, serve their purpose, and then retreat until the plot calls for them again. Even Dax, who is arguably the emotional anchor of the novel, is frustratingly underdeveloped. Because the majority of their romance happens in an alternate reality where he’s essentially a different person, the emotional stakes never quite land. The book gestures at a best-friends-to-lovers arc, but it lacks the lived-in warmth and history that make those stories shine. There’s no satisfying build-up to the chemistry; we’re simply told it exists, and then expected to believe it transcends timelines.

The predictable path is boring. And you miss out on the chance to try some really incredible things.

Kate Robb, This Spells Love

That said, there’s something endearing about the concept itself. The idea that love can survive (thrive!) through a fractured reality is a powerful one. And while the execution is imperfect, the themes resonate. Gemma’s realization that Dax is her constant, the one person who feels like home no matter the version, lands with a quiet poignancy. It’s not quite the sweeping romance it could have been, but it’s earnest. And sometimes, that’s enough.

This Spells Love is a flawed but engaging debut. It may not deliver on all its witchy promises, and it might leave some readers wanting more from its characters and emotional arcs. Still, for an afternoon curled up with something light and slightly magical, it scratches the itch for cozy fall vibes. Just don’t expect potions, pentagrams, or a deeply fleshed-out love story. This one’s more about the lesson learned than the spell cast.

Thank you to NetGalley and Dial Press / Random House Publishing Group for sharing an advanced reader copy of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review

Thieves’ Gambit by Kayvion Lewis

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Thieves’ Gambit by Kayvion Lewis is a young adult thriller that plunges readers into a vibrant, fast-paced world of high-stakes heists and intricate betrayals. It features seventeen-year-old Rosalyn Quest, or Ross, who belongs to an infamous family of legendary thieves. On the very night Ross resolves to escape her family’s criminal legacy, her mother is kidnapped. To rescue her, Ross enters the prestigious Thieves’ Gambit, an international competition of perilous challenges, extravagant heists, and ruthless opponents. Victory promises a single wish to the winner—and Ross’s best chance to save her mom. But as the competition escalates and alliances form and fracture, Ross must decide who to trust, and how much she’s willing to risk to win.

Book cover for Thieves' Gambit by Kayvion Lewis.

I was stealing my own future back.

Kayvion Lewis, Thieves’ Gambit

Right from the start, Ross emerged as my favorite part of this book. She’s tough, resourceful, and relatable. Her evolution from someone who staunchly follows the family rule—“if they’re not a Quest, they can’t be trusted”—to a character who cautiously opens herself up to others, feels genuine and rewarding. I really felt for her as she slowly learned through interactions with her new friends that the family she’s so fiercely loyal to has actually isolated her from the type of life she’s always wanted. The struggle to reconcile who you are with who you want to be is something so relatable.

However, this novel does face some hurdles. With its familiar heist and competition elements, it occasionally fails to establish its own identity distinct from similar stories in the genre. Lewis tees up some thrilling challenges for the Gambit, and it’s fun to watch Ross and the other competitors work through them. But Six of Crows, The Inheritance Games, and even Ocean’s Eleven have been floating around for years. I love a good heist, but the predictability of a less lethal Hunger Games often left me craving something uniquely fresh or surprising with this story.

If you’re not making friends, you’re making enemies.

Kayvion Lewis, Thieves’ Gambit

Another aspect that didn’t entirely hit the mark was the romantic subplot involving Devroe. Though Devroe had brief moments of intriguing vulnerability, his relationship with Ross lacked depth and chemistry. It felt somewhat superficial and rushed, making it difficult to root for them. Perhaps that’s partially due to all the characters actively competing against each other in challenges that rely on them outwitting their opponents. Still, I needed more than a charm offensive from Devroe. That said, I did enjoy the other secondary characters; Kyung-soon and Mylo were two favorites. Lewis’s diversity in character backgrounds and cultures is commendable and by far one of the best things about this book.

Ultimately, Thieves’ Gambit is an enjoyable read ideal for fans of heist adventures and fierce female leads. Though the romance underwhelms and some narrative choices slightly dull its shine, the clever plot, exciting heists, and layered protagonist make it a worthwhile pick.

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

Book Review

Smoke and Scar by Gretchen Powell Fox

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Smoke and Scar by Gretchen Powell Fox is a gripping enemies-to-lovers romantasy that plunges readers into a world still reeling from the dark, magical scars of an ancient war. At its center is Elyria Lightbreaker, a fae war hero (or criminal, depending on who you ask) who has spent 250 years drowning her past in alcohol, sex, and reckless avoidance. But when her dead lover’s sister enters the Arcane Crucible—a brutal, winner-takes-all series of trials that could shift the fragile balance between humans and fae—Elyria is dragged back into a fight she wanted to forget. As she battles deadly opponents, shifting alliances, and an infuriatingly broody human knight, Smoke and Scar delivers high-stakes action, emotional depth, and a slow-burn romance that smolders…right until it ignites.

Book cover for Smoke and Scar by Gretchen Powell Fox.

Cedric shuddered at the thought of what it would be like to meet the Revenant in battle at full power. He hoped he never had to find out. And yet, for some reason he could not possibly begin to explain, he also hoped he did?

Gretchen Powell Fox, Smoke and Scar

I could only ever mean this in the best way, but start this book prepared with the knowledge that it will make you fall hard for its characters, then drop you into a haunted cave and threaten to break your heart once you’re in its clutches. (But it’s fine! You’ll be fine. Trust me.) Elyria is sharp, feral, and drowning in unresolved trauma, and Cedric, is a fierce warrior with protective instincts that belie his programming, particularly once he begins to question the narratives he’s been raised on after actually spending time with fae. What makes their dynamic fresh is the way Fox subverts our favorite genre conventions. Elyria is the shadow mommy, if you will. She’s emotionally constipated and a little bit uncouth, and Cedric is her damsel in distress (and there is so much distress—whump goblins, come get your food!). Their romance is the kind of slow burn that aches in the best way, full of reluctant trust and repressed third-degree yearns. Among other choice genre favorites, there is a Pride and Prejudice-esque hand flex, as well as a “who did this to you?” But when I say it’s a slow burn, what I mean is any slower, and they’d literally be on fire. But it’s great! So bring your marshmallows!

High fantasy can sometimes fall into the trap of making side characters seem as though they’re positioned simply to function as plot devices rather than people, but here, every character feels important and distinct. They are a found family, full of snarky, reckless, and endlessly lovable personalities. Fox’s treatment of “side characters” (more accurately, characters who are not the two main love interests) reminds me of the way Leigh Bardugo writes her characters in the Grishaverse. Nox and Thraigg are my favorites in the bunch (actually, I need an entire novella all about Nox), but truly, not a single one feels expendable.

As she met his golden brown eyes, something stirred in the hollow place where her inner shadow slept. A recognition. An understanding.

Gretchen Powell Fox, Smoke and Scar

One of the most impressive things about Smoke and Scar is its handling of power—not just the kind you wield in battle but the kind that shapes societies, histories, and people. The Crucible isn’t just a fight for a shiny prize; it’s a symbolic war over centuries of oppression, loss, and vengeance. The fae and humans have deeply entrenched narratives about who deserves power and why, and Fox doesn’t take the easy route of making one side clearly “right.” Instead, the story wrestles with the murky, often brutal nature of power itself: who controls it, who’s willing to die for it, and whether it can ever truly be shared.

The worldbuilding smartly reinforces the novel’s deeper themes, balancing intricate political tensions with tangible, sensory-rich settings that make you feel like you’re walking through the aftermath of a war that never quite ended. The Crucible itself is a thrilling, blood-soaked puzzle box of challenges, and Fox crafts each trial with enough variety and tension to keep both characters and readers on their toes. There’s a real sense of danger, and readers quickly learn no character is safe. As a result, each thrilling victory feels earned. The trials aren’t just about physical strength either; they demand strategy, adaptability, and an understanding of the larger forces at play. And because of that inventiveness, it’s fun to read about each new trial because they almost feel interactive, pulling the reader into the problem-solving alongside the characters.

Beyond its political and magical intrigue, Smoke and Scar also carries deeper themes of identity, acceptance, and learning to embrace the parts of yourself you’ve been taught to suppress. Elyria’s journey with her shadow powers, in particular, feels like a metaphor for self-acceptance—whether that’s tied to gender, sexuality, culture, or any other aspect of identity. There’s a moment where she finally stops resisting this part of herself, and it’s written with a kind of catharsis that will resonate deeply with anyone who’s ever struggled with their own sense of belonging.

She’d spent so long burying half of herself. Now that she had finally given that half the freedom of acknowledgment—started to embrace it, even—she suddenly wanted to know more about it. Wanted to know everything.

Gretchen Powell Fox, Smoke and Scar

If there’s one place where I found myself wanting more, it’s in the details of Cedric’s backstory (anyone else get unreasonably attached to Tristan for the 0.5 seconds he appears?) and the mechanics of mana magic. Cedric often serves as the “token human,” giving us an outsider’s perspective on the fae world, but his own history remains somewhat elusive. The concept of mana and the tension surrounding its use also raises questions that feel ripe for further exploration. What exactly does it mean to leach mana from the land? Why is it seen as so inherently destructive, especially when celestial forces gifted humans with this ability? And what are we to make of the fact that most of Cedric’s identity as a knight is supplemented by the lore behind this power? Fox gives us enough to fuel the conflict but leaves plenty of room for further revelations in future books. We also get seamless nonbinary representation in Tenebris Nox, but for all the diverse and interesting fae creatures and cultures introduced in this novel, I really wish we’d had a chance to see more of the LGBTQ+ representation that surely must exist in this world.

Ultimately, Smoke and Scar is the best kind of fantasy because it provides readers a thrilling, high-stakes adventure while sneaking in sharp commentary on power, identity, and history. And yet, despite its weighty themes, the book never feels bogged down. It’s as entertaining as it is thought-provoking. The characters are ones you want to protect (even when they make terrible choices), and the world feels vast but never overwhelming. I can picture it next to everyone’s favorite series by Sarah J. Maas, Rebecca Yarros, and Leigh Bardugo. If you love found family, slow burn romance, and fantasy that dares to explore the true cost of power, this is one you won’t want to miss.

Thank you to the author, Gretchen Powell Fox, for sharing an advanced reader copy of her book in exchange for an honest review.