Tag: Fiction

Book Review

Dearly Departed by Chip Pons

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Dearly Departed by Chip Pons is a gay reimagining of the Hades and Persephone myth, centered on Hayden, a former god of the underworld now working as a funeral director, and Levi, the sunny flower shop owner who ends up tangled in his carefully controlled life. It’s such a fun premise…and I really wanted to love it! And parts of the book do feel fresh, tender, and specific in a way I really appreciated. I especially loved the idea of turning Hades into someone who now tends to grief in such a practical, human way. I also adored the characters, which made it all the more frustrating that, for me, the execution didn’t fully live up to the premise.

Book cover for Dearly Departed by Chip Pons.

Maybe love isn’t about outrunning grief but learning to live beside it.

Chip Pons, Dearly Departed

The beginning was easily my favorite part of the novel. Hayden needs lilies for a funeral, but Levi delivers sunflowers instead. The playful back-and-forth that follows their meet-cute, where flowers essentially do all the talking, is incredibly charming and a perfect setup for this story. You’re reminded that the language of flowers applies to both their worlds, and that it’s not so far-fetched for these wildly different characters to be compatible. I just wish the novel had stayed in that courting stage a little longer. Their relationship turns physical and emotionally intense very quickly, and I don’t think the story fully ferries the reader from curious mutual attraction to you’re my whole universe. The leap in emotional intensity feels abrupt, especially given how little time the story spends developing that transition on the page.

Once the relationship moves forward, the romance starts to feel too one-note. Hayden and Levi have chemistry in theory, and I liked the basic shape of their grumpy-sunshine dynamic, but their conversations often felt repetitive. They would talk through fairly simple ideas, then react as if they had just uncovered some massive truth about life or love. The numerous sex scenes also didn’t always work for me, largely because I never felt a strong enough emotional foundation underneath them. Instead of deepening Hayden and Levi’s connection, many of the intimate scenes felt like a Mad Libs version of romance and spice, where a grab bag of genre tropes, dirty talk, and kinks were randomly dropped in without enough context to make them feel specific to these characters. And don’t even get me started on “Good boys get the helm,” where the helm of Hades randomly shows up for a spicy scene only to never be mentioned again. What was the reason?! So much felt driven by novelty, and I think we just needed more focus on what Hayden and Levi actually wanted or needed from each other during at least some of the intimate moments because I think the physical side of their relationship can be fun and sexy while also strengthening their emotional bond.

Holy shit. Am I Bella Swan? If anyone starts talking about ‘the cold ones,’ I’m packing my pothos and leaving town.

Chip Pons, Dearly Departed

Hayden’s work as a funeral director was the part of the book I found most compelling. A former god of the underworld choosing to stay close to death, not through power or mythology but through the practical care of grieving families, is such a thoughtful and fitting direction for a Hades retelling. Those scenes gave Hayden dimension beyond the familiar brooding love interest archetype and grounded the story in something tangible and emotionally resonant. I found myself wanting more of that side of him, more time in the funeral home, and more insight into how he approaches grief and the responsibility of helping people through loss. It felt like the place where Hayden’s past and present could have intersected most meaningfully, but the novel only briefly explores that potential. Beyond a few touching scenes, much of Hayden’s time at work is reduced to paperwork and brooding, instead of the emotional and thematic richness of his profession.

I also wanted more from the paranormal side of the story. The book gestures toward a much larger mythological framework, especially with the contract that stripped the gods of their powers, Hayden’s long and storied history, and the artifacts scattered throughout his apartment, but those pieces never fully come together. I didn’t need an exhaustive Greek mythology lesson, but I did want enough context for the world to feel more intentional. Hayden has lived through centuries, witnessed history, and carried the identity of Hades into a very different life, yet so much of that background stays just out of reach.

You showed me how to love the things I never thought I was allowed to. Even myself.

Chip Pons, Dearly Departed

The third-act breakup also felt unnecessary to me. By that point, the book already had plenty of tension to work with: Hayden’s guardedness, Levi’s vulnerability, the Greek mythology, and the question of what a relationship between them would actually look like beyond the initial rush of attraction. Instead, the conflict escalates for no real plotty reason, then resolves so quickly that it doesn’t add much to their development. The saving grace amid all the strife and drama is Levi’s best friends, Dominic and Elijah. They’re delightful, and everyone deserves a found family as supportive and loving as they are.

Even with my frustrations, I think Dearly Departed is worth checking out if the premise immediately grabs you, and particularly if you’re looking for a modern, gay mythological romance with plenty of spice. For me, though, the best ideas in the book needed more room to grow.

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

Book Review

You Won’t Forget Me by Mazey Eddings

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You Won’t Forget Me by Mazey Eddings is a sapphic summer romance about Cubby Clark, a musician whose band is finally getting some real attention, partly because the Internet has misread a moment between Cubby and her bandmate as romantic. The band decides to lean into it, turning a fake relationship into a PR strategy that could help get their music heard. But a fake PR strategy still involves real feelings (and, arguably, a love trapezoid?). And the longer Cubby performs that version of herself, the harder it becomes to ignore the real question underneath it all: How much of yourself can you keep pretending away before the act costs more than it’s worth?

Book cover for You Won't Forget Me by Mazey Eddings against a pale yellow background.

What the hell were we thinking? Why the fuck did I, a straight woman, hook up with my similarly straight best friend?

Mazey Eddings, You Won’t Forget Me

One of the things I loved most about this book is how Cubby isn’t a neatly packaged romance heroine who has already metabolized all her pain into charming self-awareness. Eddings lets her be difficult, tender, funny, self-sabotaging, brilliant, overwhelmed, and wildly human all at once. And just as you get swept up into the intensity of her highs and lows, you’ll end up catching yourself in the act of judging her for it all. You’ll slow down and really look at everything she’s dealing with. She’s being ruthlessly picked apart online, shoved into public narratives she didn’t fully choose, and trying to understand her sexuality while clearly struggling with depression. Of course she’s going to be a little messy!

But that’s where Eddings’ characterization feels so thoughtful to me. She isn’t flattened into a quirky disaster girl or a misunderstood tortured artist. There are so many layers to Cubby, and that’s what makes her feel so singular. It’s like Eddings papier-mâchéd her together with so much care and attention, building her out of scraps of rage, humor, loneliness, desire, defensiveness, talent, and aching vulnerability until there is no way you could find a dupe of her in another book. She is not designed to be effortlessly likable. She is designed to be recognized, familiar, and known. What a gift of a character!

Creating something always feels like breaking a bone just to document its healing… And sometimes it’s hard to pick which bone to break.

Mazey Eddings, You Won’t Forget Me

The romance itself also has that fizzy, stomach-flipping quality that makes a book like this so fun to read. All the yearning and lingering gazes are delicious, and the love scenes possess a rare sensory quality where it feels like someone else bit into a piece of fruit, but somehow the burst of flavor registers across your own tongue. There is heat, obviously, but there is also emotional texture. The intimacy feels connected to Cubby’s larger awakening, to the terrifying thrill of wanting something she has not fully let herself name, and to the way desire can make the body admit what the mind is still trying to argue with. Truly, what’s a little heavy snogging and shared orgasms between besties, right?

But the piece that really made this book sing for me was the way it handles creativity. The song lyrics function like pressure points where everything Cubby cannot say directly gets translated into music. Eddings shows how lyrics are layered in the way all art is layered: the listener hears one thing, the writer may have meant another, and somewhere between them is a third meaning neither person fully controls. The book beautifully captures the mysterious, gorgeous, vulnerable work of mining the most fractured yet whole and truest pieces of yourself to make something honest enough to reach another person.

Pride is, and always has been, a protest, a commitment to being your truest self regardless of the bigotry, the risk of hate and violence, from others.

Mazey Eddings, You Won’t Forget Me

By the end, You Won’t Forget Me left me with that rare, giddy feeling of having read something that understands both the thrill and the terror of becoming more honest with yourself. It’s sharp, swoony, and easy to devour. A perfect Pride Month read, but also the kind of summer romance that makes you want to roll down the windows and play the music too loud. My first Mazey Eddings read, and definitely not my last!

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

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.