Tag: Historical Fiction

Book Review

Where There’s Room for Us by Hayley Kiyoko

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In a reimagined 1880s England where same-sex love is accepted yet the patriarchy still rules, Hayley Kiyoko delivers a tender romance between two young women navigating the tension between selfhood and social expectation. Where There’s Room for Us follows Ivy, an outspoken poet from New York who relocates to England, and Freya, a dutiful socialite who’s expected to marry a lord and produce heirs in order to secure her family’s legacy. What begins as curiosity quickly deepens into a slow-burn sapphic romance filled with charm, social commentary, and a quiet but persistent sense of rebellion as Ivy and Freya begin to imagine a life that might finally be their own—if they can bear the cost of claiming it.

Book cover for Where There's Room for Us by Hayley Kiyoko.

It’s not every day a whole prime minister accuses you of being a harbinger of sapphic doom.

Hayley Kiyoko, Where There’s Room for Us

Ivy and Freya feel like two different versions of girlhood crashing into each other at the exact right moment. Ivy already knows who she is. She’s flirtatious, outspoken, comfortable sinking into her love for women without apology. She walks into a room and you can practically feel all the air shift her way. Freya, by contrast, has spent her life doing what she is told and calling it love. She reveres her father and plans to marry Lord Montgomery because that is the path laid out for her. But when she meets Ivy, she has to name what she wants for the first time in her life, and that awakening is honestly so satisfying.

Freya’s mostly peripheral relationship with her father is also more layered than I expected. She loves him and wants his approval, but eventually begins to see that his approval comes with a cost she can no longer keep paying. He is obsessed with securing an heir who can inherit his title, and because he only has daughters, he pushes Freya toward a marriage she does not want. There is one particular moment when he discovers how Freya feels about Ivy, and his reaction is ugly. Freya runs, and for one fleeting instant, she imagines what might have happened if her sister hadn’t found her and taken her in, how easily she could have been left with nowhere to go. That brief beat in the story brushes against something painfully real for many queer readers: the fear of losing home, safety, and family simply for being honest about who they are. Kiyoko weaves moments like this throughout the story, grounding the romance in quiet echoes of real-world anxieties and creating an emotional connection that feels both tender and true.

What a thing, to just be accepted like she belongs.

Hayley Kiyoko, Where There’s Room for Us

By removing homophobia from this fictional world yet leaving sexism intact, Kiyoko forces readers to see how privilege and oppression can coexist within the same structures. It reframes Victorian England through a speculative lens that feels both fresh and hauntingly recognizable. Marriage equality exists, but equality itself does not. A woman may love another woman, but she cannot inherit her father’s title or estate because that privilege is only afforded to men. This results in an intriguing tension between freedom and frustration, where Ivy and Freya’s hearts are liberated but their fates are not. It’s a subtle but biting commentary on how reform without equality still reinforces old hierarchies.

The romance is where the book falters slightly. Ivy and Freya are undeniably sweet, sometimes so sugary it almost made my teeth ache. Their early scenes together are tender and full of kissing in gardens, along forest paths, against trees—everywhere—and while that has its charm, I kept wishing for a little more tension beneath all that softness. Time jumps also rush past key emotional turns. Conflicts flare, confessions are made, family drama erupts, and then suddenly it’s two weeks later and everything has quietly resolved itself. I wanted to linger in those rough edges and actually see Ivy and Freya fight for what they keep saying is worth everything.

The novel’s closed-door romance approach adds to that sense of restraint. It’s likely a deliberate choice to make the story accessible to younger readers, and that’s understandable, but it leaves a noticeable gap between what’s shown and what’s implied.

If security comes at the cost of your soul, then it is not a choice you can make freely.

Hayley Kiyoko, Where There’s Room for Us

For all its emotional depth, the story’s conclusion feels too tidy and rushed. Some conflicts wrap up too neatly, and some emotional threads, especially between Freya and her father, never really get revisited. I kept waiting for the book to force her father to face his hypocrisy, but instead, he is mostly allowed to stay himself. On one hand, that is realistic. A lot of queer readers know exactly what it’s like to love a parent who will never meet you in the middle. On the other hand, I wish the story spelled out what that means for Freya long term. Sometimes I want to see plots like that buttoned up in fiction since real life isn’t required to make sense or be fair. Alas!

Still, this book reads like a love letter to queer readers. Ivy and Freya are adorable together, but it’s the context around their romance—the inheritance laws, the rigid gender roles, the quiet heartbreak of disappointing a beloved parent simply for being who you are—that really resonates. Kiyoko’s world doesn’t fix everything, but it gives us space to imagine better. And for that alone, it’s worth a read.

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

Book Review

Skelton’s Guide to Suitcase Murders by David Stafford

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Skelton’s Guide to Suitcase Murders by David Stafford is a cozy historical murder mystery set in 1920s England and based loosely on a real case. Although it’s the second title in the series (preceded by Skelton’s Guide to Domestic Poisons), audiences can enjoy it without reading the first. Known for his propensity to win hopeless cases, Suitcase Murders follows barrister Arthur Skelton as he sets out to defend Dr. Ibrahim Aziz, who’s been accused of murdering his wife and packing away her remains inside a discarded suitcase. Armed only with a quirky array of characters and unconventional etymological forensic evidence, he’s got his work cut out for him to prove his client’s innocence and prevent a British-Egyptian diplomatic scandal.

Book cover for Skelton's Guide to Suitcase Murders by David Stafford.

Foreigners, unless they conformed to one of the acceptable stereotypes, rarely played well with juries.

David Stafford, Skelton’s Guide to Suitcase Murders

Despite the grisly details of the murder, Stafford’s whimsical voice and clever prose immediately set a light, easy tone. Skelton and Edgar, his long-suffering clerk, spend much of their time traveling to and from locations in their quaint little town to meet clients and discuss their findings, resulting in many memorable, hilarious exchanges. Their familiarity with one another also leads to several frank conversations about racism and international relations in post-World War I England. Stafford demonstrates a clear awareness of the problems with the rise of the British Empire while still portraying likable characters living within a system defined by it. On several occasions, Skelton must come to terms with strategies that work in favor of his European clients but simply won’t do for Dr. Aziz, regardless of his innocence.

Skelton’s role as a barrister is an interesting choice since most mysteries feature professional or amateur investigators solely focused on solving a single mystery. Skelton, however, juggles many cases over the course of the novel—the titular suitcase murder almost completely forgotten at certain points. It’s difficult not to view this as a flaw since readers are primed to parse through the text for clues about Dr. Aziz’s case only. Furthermore, Skelton’s role as a lawyer also means he seldom takes an active role in the investigation; clues seem to fall into his lap, and he receives conveniently relevant correspondence from friends precisely when he needs it. It is only in retrospect that readers can make sense of the various cases, letters, and acquaintances scattered throughout Suitcase Murders, but the process of getting there is tedious for those unaware of this reward waiting at the end of the novel.

Perhaps the ‘criminal mastermind’ was as much a myth as the ‘fair trial.’ Something we like to believe in because it makes the world a more comfortable place in which to live. The myth that there are good people and bad people. And bad people aren’t like ‘us.’

David Stafford, Skelton’s Guide to Suitcase Murders

While Skelton and Edgar are jovial and sweet with their bumbling ways, the diverse cast of female characters is the true highlight in Suitcase Murders. From Skelton’s wife Mila, who teaches archery and fancies flying a plane to Africa, to Rose, a bright young lady training to be a lawyer, to Phyllis Pitt, a positively ghastly woman who revels in causing trouble, Skelton manages to showcase a robust cast of women who anchor the story to the minutiae of everyday life. I only wish Stafford had included a similarly nuanced portrayal of Dr. Aziz and his Egyptian heritage. Unfortunately, readers never learn more than the fact that he’s Egyptian.

A charming, surprisingly funny murder mystery romp with memorable characters and dialogue, Skelton’s Guide to Suitcase Murders is perfect for unwinding after a long day. It’s a quick, engaging read, and the inviting setting of a quaint English town will draw readers in and leave them excited to visit again for Skelton’s next great adventure.

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

Book Review

The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling

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The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling is a horror story built on a foundation of traditional gothic elements. The novel opens with Jane Shoringfield, a pragmatic and mathematically gifted woman who negotiates her own marriage of convenience to Dr. Augustine Lawrence to ensure her continued security and independence. The good doctor only has one request—that Jane spends her nights in a room above his surgery, and he in his labyrinthine home at Lindridge Hall. But that’s easier said than done, and Jane finds herself in Lindridge Hall on her wedding night, where she quickly discovers her new husband is hiding disturbing secrets about his past. That’s only the beginning of her troubles.

Book cover for The Death of Jane Lawrence by Caitlin Starling

She wanted Augustine to be who she’d thought he was. That man would not have lied. That man would have confided in her.

Caitlin Starling, The Death of Jane Lawrence

A problem solver by nature, Jane is doggedly determined to save her husband from the vagaries of his eerie family home, even as they become more and more unexplainable. Regardless, she persists, and it is her resolve that makes her relatable if not likable. The most interesting part of Jane’s character arc is the way she questions her own monstrousness from the very beginning. At first, it’s because she fears she’s focused too heavily on logic over emotion, but as the story progresses, Jane succumbs many times to emotional whims, and interestingly enough, it is only then she becomes unrecognizable. Was she a monster before? Or is The Death of Jane Lawrence the origin story of the monster she becomes?

Starling’s use of magic as a metaphysical concept that challenges Jane’s logical and orderly view of the world is fascinating. As Jane methodically deconstructs and revises what she knows to be true, readers settle into an understanding of how magic is meant to function in Starling’s novel. Particularly creative is Starling’s use of the concept of zero as “everything and nothing,” which serves as the backbone for her depiction of magic. However, I wish Starling had done more to explain the greater role magic plays in her fictional world and why physicians, in particular, practice it. Perhaps it’s meant to parallel the arguably god-like role they take in attempting to cure or reverse injuries and illnesses. Even so, considering Jane manages to learn magic, surely physicians aren’t the only ones who practice. How common is magic in this world? It’s difficult to tell, given Jane’s humble upbringing.

Zero…an empty nothingness, but a nothingness that went on forever, for nothing could have no bounds. The infinite and zero were one. Except that the infinite was the greatest thing in the world, and zero was nothing at all. They were opposite. They were the same.

Caitlin Starling, the Death of Jane Lawrence

Starling’s prose is melodramatic and overwrought, which at first does wonders to establish the picturesque scenery of a gloomy little town in an alternate version of post-war England. However, this strength becomes a weakness during the second half of the novel, where it often feels as though readers could skip pages at a time without losing a sense of the overall plot. The extremely redundant nature of the seven-day spell Jane casts at one point was particularly tedious to read. In general, the prose is beautiful, the details unsettling and gruesome and delightfully spooky, but they’re truly unnecessary after a certain point. Kill your darlings, as they say.

The final “revelation,” which occurs in one particular chapter near the end of the novel, closes the loop with regards to several plot points that seem misleading or arbitrary until readers are plunged into that chapter. It is deeply satisfying…until the novel just keeps going! The Death of Jane Lawrence would’ve been so much spookier if everything had ended right after the revelation. I almost thought that’s where it all ended until I turned the page! Nevertheless, the actual ending is unsettling in its own right. In proper gothic fashion, readers reach the conclusion and wonder how much of it was real and whether the supernatural elements can or should be rationalized. That’s one of my favorite elements in gothic literature, and Starling executes it so well.

A magician gets what she asks for, whether she meant to ask for it or not.

Caitlin Starling, The Death of Jane Lawrence

The Death of Jane Lawrence is a creative take on gothic literature and boasts some of the creepiest scares I’ve seen recently in a novel, especially towards the beginning, when suspense is at an all-time high. I couldn’t walk past reflective surfaces at night for nearly a week without fretting a little! However, the dense prose and excessive, rambling explanations to validate the pseudo-science behind the magic only disorients the reader and makes the second half of the story drag. Despite my misgivings, it is worth checking out if you enjoyed Silvia Moreno-Garcia’s Mexican Gothic, yet another novel that puts a modern spin on the horror-gothic mash-up with a deliciously slow and suspenseful exploration of the uncanny, or other familiar gothic stories like Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Fall of the House of Usher,” Edith Wharton’s “The Lady’s Maid’s Bell,” or Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw.

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