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Abbreviated Books Reviews Pt. 2

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I ended 2023 with over 50 books read. I decided that if I was reading that much I’d be able to write a fair amount of regular reviews. That didn’t play out as I’d hoped. Between welcoming a new baby, becoming a stay at home dad, and starting thesis for my MFA, I’ve had not nearly enough time. That being said, I did manage to read 41 books this year, a bit shy of my 50 book goal. Here are my thoughts on those I’ve read since my last update.

(in order of least to most recent)

The 7 1/2 Death of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton

Of all the books on this list, this was by far my favorite. I was a little apprehensive at first as the protagonist begins with amnesia, which is a trope I hate. But as soon as the reason for the amnesia was revealed I was all on board. It’s a crazy time travel mystery that I’ve been recommending to everyone, no matter what they normally read. It’s that good.

Escape from a Video Game: The Secret of Phantom Island by Dustin Brady

Every night I do a half hour of reading with my kid before bedtime. We grabbed this at the library since he likes video games and Choose Your Own Adventures. For a six-year-old, it was engaging, especially the puzzles where you have actual worksheets to fill out and keep track of your progress. For adults, there’s a fair amount of nerdy humor thrown in there to keep things entertaining for you as well.

Shuna’s Journey by Hayao Miyazaki

Another bedtime book, I also picked it because I’m a huge Miyazaki fan. It’s a graphic novel, so it’s a pretty quick read, and while the concepts were understandable for my son, I think the gravity of the situation won’t be appreciated until he’s a few years older. I wasn’t a huge fan of the ending, but if you like Nausicaa you’ll probably like this.

The Strange Case of Origami Yoda by Tom Angleberger

My kid likes this one enough that he got the whole series for Christmas. Some of the social situations are more appropriate for a middle grader, but the humor and the stakes are fairly universally understood. There’s a good amount of humor, and I particularly enjoyed the footnotes and the idea that multiple kids came together to make this case file.

The Song Rising by Samantha Shannon

The third in the series, this one felt a little lesser than the first two, but still engaging (enough that number four is later on this list). As with most fantasy series, the stakes here get bigger and broader. Relationships get strained and people die. The charm of the story will always be Paige and how she navigates all the worlds (social, political, literal) she has been thrust into. And of course, wondering if she and Warden are ever going to hook up.

The Most Boring Book Ever by Brandon Sanderson

This was a bit of a let down. The premise is good, and the art is fun, but it came off more as a proof of concept than a successful application. It’s no secret I’m a huge Sanderson fan, and maybe I had some high expectations going into this having just finished a children’s book focused intensive two week class. Definitely one to check out from the library as opposed to adding to your collection.

House of X/Powers of X by Jonathan Hickman

Moira. Dang. I have a very broad, encompassing knowledge of most comics. I’ve got a few hundred in boxes in my attic and I read X-men novels as a teen. But I had no idea about Moira and what she can do and did do, over and over and over. This was a super fun read, especially if you like time manipulation stories, as I very much do. It’s incredibly satisfying to see different characters take different paths and to see them succeed or fail depending on choices. It’s like those What If scenarios playing out in front of you.

The Waste Lands by Stephen King

The third in King’s Dark Tower series, this follows Roland and his friends (not giving away any spoilers) as they navigate Roland’s expanding world in their search for the Dark Tower. As with his others in the series, time plays a huge role in the narrative, and how things may be different, but still somehow always stay the same. Technically, that can be said about any story since we can only write what we know, but there’s intentionality here. Also, riddles are fun. 🙂

Storm Front by Jim Butcher

As part of the research for my thesis (I’m writing a fantasy mystery), I grabbed a few established examples to see how writers have approached the genre. Jim Butcher is probably the most well known, with the Dresden Files being the most well read. I really enjoyed his Cinder Spires books, and while this was a fun read, it didn’t have the same draw. Granted, Storm Front came out almost twenty-five years ago and was his first book. His writing has progressed since then. To me, Harry Dresden felt kind of like Gandalf. He occasionally did some neat stuff, but he often relied on others to solve his problems or answer his questions. I’m hoping as the series goes on he becomes more of a self-reliant protagonist.

A Court of Frost and Starlight by Sarah J Maas

This was the Christmas themed mini book that came out after the trilogy. And I say mini comparatively. It’s normal length compared to most books. It was nice to take a break from the heaviness of the series, and while there were some cute things going on, I felt that a lot of the relationship tensions that were front and center never got resolved. They just became more build up for the next book. They only resolution came from Feyre’s art, which was nice, yes, but there’s more’s the just Feyre here. Hopefully the last book gives the satisfaction I’m looking for.

Fated by Benedict Jacka

The next of my research reads, this was the one I enjoyed the most. The protagonist is a probability wizard, meaning he can sort of see into the future. I’d already given my own protagonist a somewhat similar ability, so it was interesting to see how Jacka utilized it in a narrative. The characters were smart, unique, and the world was fun to read about. Never did I feel like I was slogging or floundering, and I kept wanting to turn those pages. Of the fantasy mysteries, this series is the one I most want to continue.

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone

This was recommended to me as I was in the middle of working with an editor on an epistolary short story (which is being published this summer!) as a great example of epistolary prose. Plus, time travel! It was a relatively quick read, but there were sections that were fairly dense and required a bit more attention as I read through it. My favorite part, not being shy about my Shakespeare fandom, was when I thought, oh, they’re totally going to do a Romeo and Juliet thing here. Then Romeo and Juliet was referenced by name, followed by other key moments I won’t spoil. Then science was fun, the relationship was fun, and the form was fun. Just fun all around.

The Mask Falling by Samantha Shannon

Book four in the series, this one benefited by giving us a new setting as well as time to sit with Paige and Warden for more than a minute without someone trying to kill them. There was a reveal that I’d figured out in the first book, so that was a bit anti-climatic, but it’s still refreshing to see Scion through a different lens, and somewhat further away. As always, I’m in awe of Shannon’s breadth of knowledge of language and culture and history.

Midnight Riot by Ben Aaronovitch

You always hear people say you need a strong opening sentence, or opening paragraph. Well, this book had one of the best opening pages I’ve read in a long time. Enough that I took a picture and sent it to my MFA peeps. Aaronovitch has a fun, witty voice that never appears to be trying too hard. My only complaint about the book what that it fell victim to one of the suckier detective tropes of misogyny. I don’t mean to imply the author is, but for once I’d like to read a straight male detective protagonist who doesn’t see all women as pieces of meat.

The Road by Cormac McCarthy

Dark. Depressing. And literally dark. Post-apocalyptic nuclear winter dark. It won a Pulitzer, with good reason. The whole story focuses on the relationship between father and son as they try to survive in the wasteland they now live in. Hope and love are the drivers of survival, both of which are tested in very real, relatable ways, even if they exist in a very different reality. Also, not being able to picture things in my mind, I have a very high tolerance for gore and grossness. There was one paragraph in this book that was the most disturbing thing I’ve ever read. Ever.

Die Trying by Lee Child

Book two in the Reacher series, we see Reacher caught up in something again because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No improbable family connections this time, but still a lot of the calm, collected, violent Reacher we expect. I felt like this was almost two books in one, with two very distinct sections that each start and end abruptly. It works, and makes sense, but still very abrupt. I mentioned earlier I wanted to see a detective who sees women as more than a piece of meat, and to his credit, Reacher does that. But I also wonder if he’s going to hook up with every hot lady he ends up working with. If hook ups happen authentically, no big deal. But if this happens every book it’s going to get awfully boring.

Berserk Deluxe Edition, Vol. 1 by Kentaro Miura

Last on the list is this massive tome, a manga collection from the series Berserk. I happened upon it randomly at the library, where they had all fourteen of them in a row begging to be inspected. I knew a little of the premise from seeing some of the anime, but I was not prepared for the level of gore. It was stylized, almost comical at times, but it was a lot. And Guts is a bonafide A-hole. But I tore through the whole thing in one evening, so it was definitely engaging. I think I kept burning through it wondering what could possibly happen next, given the ridiculous images I was seeing. I’ve got Vol. 2 on hold at the library, so we’ll see how it progresses. If it’s stays as engaging, it seems I’ll have quite a bit to get through.

That about wraps it up. I don’t think my goal will be quite so high in 2025 as I have to finish thesis on top of another class, and my daughter is now crawling so a lot of my day will be chasing her around and making sure she doesn’t break/kill herself, which is all a parent really needs to do the first two years 🙂

And the next books on the list, each of which I’m partially through, are Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson, Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders, and Wizard and Glass by Stephen King. Happy reading, and let me know if you found any of this helpful, or if you agree or disagree about any of these.

Book Review: The Tainted Cup

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My MFA thesis starts up this fall and I’ve decided to write a fantasy mystery (Mystasy?), because those are two genres I don’t see paired up too often. And whereas I’ve had the idea for this book/series for quite a while, I haven’t had the time to devote to it. Once I made my decision, it begged the question, what is a fantasy mystery?

As luck would have it, I was walking out of my local library and a cover on the staff recommendation shelf jumped out at me. The gold on navy with green accents pulled my eye and I found myself hushing my kid so I could read the back. I needed to know what a fantasy mystery was. The back read “A Holmes and Watson-style detective duo take the stage in this fantasy with a mystery twist, from the Edgar-winning, multiple Hugo-nominated Robert Jackson Bennett.”

I was ready to ask the question “where have you been all my life?” to both the book and the staff recommender (thanks Mao), simply from holding it in my hand. I’d instantaneously set The Tainted Cup on a pedestal without even realizing it. And it didn’t disappoint.

The story starts with our main protagonist, Din, as he investigates his first murder. He’s partnered with brilliant eccentric recluse Ana, who never steps foot on the crime scene (or out of her house for that matter). This grisly and disturbing murder is only the beginning, because as with any mystery (and transformer), there’s more than meets the eye.

I never want to give away spoilers, so here’s my brief rundown of what I liked and why you should read it:

  1. The magic system is neat. Botanical and just vague enough to be mysterious in its own right.
  2. Din’s flaws make his resourcefulness impressive. Plus he’s not too shabby with a sword. 🙂
  3. Ana’s logic is never Deus Ex Machina. There’s never any logical leaps stemming from withheld information. Everything is presented, ready for you to figure it out.
  4. Also: kaiju. Because why not.

Obviously there’s more going for it than what’s listed, but no sense giving anything away. Oh, and did I mention it’s the first in a series? The Tainted Cup just came out this year, so we’ll have some waiting to do (2025 according to google), but with the character, world, and story setup that happens in these pages, we’ll before too long be able to return to this world and continue sleuthing with Din and Ana.

One surprising aspect for me was the amount of violence in the book. And by that, I mean there was much less than I expected. Most fantasy has crazy action scenes with swords and magic and mythical beasts. Mysteries often have chases and, of course, murders. You’d think that crossing the two genres would ratchet that up a bit. Not really. And that’s not a bad thing. It wasn’t even until after I’d finished that I’d had this realization. Personal preference: I’d have loved some more fights. But it worked just fine without them.

I very much appreciated how the information was doled out to the reader. Sometimes we got the info and made the connection along with the characters. Sometimes the detail was mentioned chapters earlier and only became relevant at a later time and it was on us to remember it. And other times we were given hints at known information that wasn’t pertinent in the moment, but became a promise of a meaningful reveal later.

But how, as a writer, do you determine what information to give and when? That’s a good question, and one that applies to more than just mysteries. You might have guessed it, our craft subject of the day is:

Information Rationing.

Let’s start with characters who have information. When it comes to non-perspective characters, information rationing isn’t too difficult. People lie. Or they’re ignorant. Or they tell half-truths, intentional or not. You can pick any number of reasons why a non-perspective character will omit information, assuming it works with the story and their character of course. Bilbo doesn’t tell Frodo the details of his ring. The Dursleys tell Harry his parents died in a car crash. The International Fleet doesn’t tell Ender those aren’t just games. They’ve got reasons, and those reasons make sense for the characters and the plot.

Perspective characters are trickier. When Katniss has that flashback about Peeta giving her bread, we learn something about the both of them that impacts the story later on. That memory is triggered and she conveys that information to us. But what if we she withheld that memory? The characters’ connection later on wouldn’t make as much sense.

Even more to the point, take when Penelope is truly shocked about something Lady Whistledown said. It doesn’t make any sense. She is Lady Whistledown. The character’s knowledge of her secret role is hidden, even in her POV. Unless there’s a Fight Club situation going on, she would reasonably have thought once or twice about the fact that she is the one writing gossip.

An effective way around this is for the character to be cognizant of the fact that they have information, and then move on. Everyone has secrets, but let’s say we’re in your head, and your secret comes up. You’re not going to not think about it. That’s silly. And unrealistic. And it loses the reader’s trust.

In The Tainted Cup, there’s a situation just like that. Din (and this isn’t really a spoiler since he thinks about it right away in chapter one) has somewhat regular thoughts about not wanting Ana to find out what he did, or what his limitations are. We eventually learn the truth, and all his actions make perfect sense because of it. But we don’t feel cheated as the reader, because Din was honest with us about what he knew, and we knew why he wasn’t going into specifics.

And beyond character information, there’s story information. One way story information is distributed is via the plot. For the longest time, those two terms were synonymous in my head. The way I like to think about it now is the story is what happens. The plot is the order in which we see it happen. In Edward P. Jones’ The Known World, we see the story of this fictional county through the lives of its many inhabitants. The stories are given to us in bits and pieces, from character to character and back again. If all those characters’ stories were told chronologically, one at a time, we’d still get the whole story, but we’d lose so much context and interconnection as we experienced each one. The rationing of information, the order in which the story is told, is was makes that story great. One of the many reasons, actually.

And of course we have to talk about mysteries. Finding clues, finding information, is what those books are all about. There are probably a ton of different ways to go about it, but I like to look at a mystery’s disbursement of information like a family tree. A likely incestuous family tree, but you get the idea. At the bottom is, for the sake of the analogy, you, the inciting incident, the moment that kicks the story off. From there we branch up to the parents, the clues we find. Some people only have one parent, some have two or four or even more. And those parents don’t exist in a vacuum. They have parents and cousins and aunts and uncles and secret lovers and all that.

But how do you know just how many parents your story needs? How many different people is your grandpa going to make kids with? For that, I start at the other end of the family tree. Your great great great great grandparent, for example. The bad guy. I need to figure out what they did, who they did it with, and why they did it. Each of those is one of their kids. Each of those kids will have their own motivations and actions and relationships, making kids of their own. Sometimes those kids will meet, sometimes they’ll get a little incestuous. But before long there’ll be this massive family tree of plot, all leading to the bad guy. You just need to find one of the bottom descendants and start your story there.

As with any incestuous relationship, the goal of the participants is to keep it hidden. Your protagonist needs to figure out which cousins did which cousins, and why. Surely it wasn’t just because of a pair of big brown eyes. Right? Right? Treat each step of the family tree as a new secret. Some won’t be hidden, they’ll just need to be traced. “Ohhhh, that’s who my great-grandma was.” Others will definitely be hidden and will take a bit more work. “Aunt Peggy did what?!” But once all the tree has been revealed, each clue, each relationship, will make sense and support the structure of the entire tree.

Wow. I had not planned on that analogy, especially not as much lover from the same mother. But I think it works. And you know what else works? The Tainted Cup. Without further ado, here’s how The Tainted Cup fares with The Author’s Arsenal.

For excellent character creation and portrayal, I award The Seal. Ana definitely is set up to be a big player in future books, but Din especially shines. For phenomenal world-building, I award The Scroll. The ecology of the world alone is astounding, but add in the politics and history and classism… very nice. And for brilliant storytelling, I award The Quill Pen. In order for a mystery to work, the storytelling has to be on point. And it very much is.

If you you’re a fan of either fantasy or mystery, and especially if you’re both, I highly recommend picking up The Tainted Cup. I don’t think I’ve read anything quite like it, and I’m certainly glad I did.

As always, feel free to let me know if there’s a book you want reviewed.

Book Review: Miranda and Caliban

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I want to start this review off with a disclaimer: I am in no way professing to be a Shakespeare expert. Am I smarter than the average bear regarding The Bard? Yes. Evidence: I subbed a high school English class a few months back and they were studying Romeo and Juliet. A couple of kids said they were shocked by the ending, and I was like, what? He literally told you it was going to happen. At the beginning. Like a bad movie trailer. Then I recited the prologue from memory.

While not an expert, after majoring in English and Theatre Arts, I’ve got a healthy bit of Shakespeare under my belt. And of all his plays, my favorite is The Tempest. I, for kicks and giggles, rewatched my Blu-ray copy of Helen Mirren’s Tempest a few weeks ago. I have a fairly detailed character work-up and world-building done for a Tempest retelling of my own I’d like to write. L. Jagi Lamplighter’s Prospero’s Daughter trilogy is on my shelf, patiently waiting its turn. So you can imagine my excitement when I heard about Jacqueline Carey’s Miranda and Caliban.

My first exposure to Jacqueline Carey came back in high school when Kushiel’s Dart was published. It’s an alternate history set in France, with fantasy elements. It was steamy. And BDSM-y. 2001 me definitely was not expecting what I’d stumbled across. Kushiel’s Dart was Romantasy before that was even a term. So when I picked up Miranda and Caliban and saw their physical closeness on the cover, you can imagine the expectations that bloomed in my mind.

Those expectations immediately ran into a brick wall. For those who haven’t read The Tempest, let me give you a very truncated version: Prospero, the rightful Duke of Milan, and his daughter Miranda are marooned on an island, having been nefariously exiled by his brother Antonio with the help of the King of Naples. On the island with them are Caliban, a monstrous-looking native, and Ariel, a powerful sprite, both of whom serve Prospero against their will.

With Ariel’s help, Prospero conjures a storm that shipwrecks his usurping brother, the King of Naples, and the King’s son Ferdinand. Prospero orchestrates events to lead Ferdinand to fall in love with Miranda. Meanwhile, he confronts the conspirators, leading them to repentance, avoids an assassination plot by Caliban, and ultimately forgives his enemies. He renounces his magical powers, frees Ariel, and prepares to return to Milan to reclaim his dukedom.

All’s well that ends well.

The problem I had at the get-go was this line from The Tempest:

Filth as thou art, with humane care, and lodged thee

In mine own cell, till thou didst seek to violate

The honor of my child.

Act 1, Scene 2, Lines 349-351

Basically, we learn that Caliban at one point tried to rape Miranda. And that he’s not sorry about it. So with this line in mind—with Miranda and Caliban being a love story—Ricky Ricardo started shouting in my head: “Carey, you got some ‘splainin’ to do!”

I never want to give spoilers, so I’ll just say what my expectation was for how this could work out. Prospero is the one who says Caliban tried to rape her, and Caliban (who is said to not have the greatest command of English) says he wishes it had happened. Miranda does not corroborate Prospero’s claim. The only way I could see this working was that they were in love and were just about to do the dirty, when Prospero walks in. He assumes it’s rape, when in actuality it was consensual.

That was my guess. I won’t say how it played out, except that Carey’s story makes sense regarding that line. There was another sticky part that I hadn’t thought about initially, though its problematic nature became very clear. Prospero and Miranda have been stranded on the island for twelve years. She was three when they arrived. That means she’s currently fifteen years old. Caliban was already there and living on his own, and he’s now nineteen years old. For them to have a relationship, especially a physical one… that’s a bit dicey.

With Carey’s retelling focusing on everything leading up to The Tempest, we’re able to see Miranda and Caliban’s relationship grow and bloom into something almost beautiful, contrasting well with the island and the demands of Prospero. What I enjoyed the most was the integration of magic into the story. In the play, Prospero does *hand wave* MAGIC. No explanation, nothing beyond the play telling us so. In this novel, we learn how the magic works, and what all the characters go through as a result of this magic.

It’s also fun to get internal monologues, character reactions, and thoughts to give deeper meaning to their relationships. Yes, actors can convey much on stage, but the text of Tempest, as with plays in general, is limiting. It’s the nature of the medium. But here, instead of actors conveying the story, Carey does so via the novel.

The only quibble I have with the novel is regarding the relationship logistics and my modern sensibilities. When they’re younger, we know there’s an age gap, but all their interactions are innocent. Friendly. As they get older, we learn the exact gap: four years. Of course, there can be the arguments of being historically accurate, or accurate based on the source material, but with adaptations, there’s always room for leeway. Creative liberties. Every reader’s sensibilities vary, but for me, the age gap might have been a good area to fudge.

And that brings us to the topic of the day: adaptations.

We’ve all seen direct adaptations of books: Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, Gone Girl, etc. You’ve likely even seen direct adaptations of Shakespeare, like the Leonardo DiCaprio Romeo and Juliet, or the Keanu Reeves Much Ado about Nothing. I want to talk about adaptations that use the source material as a springboard as opposed to a script.

Version 1.0.0

An interesting adaptation that comes to mind is Wicked. Gregory Maguire’s novel was adapted from the original Wizard of Oz novel. Specifically, the story of how Elphaba came to be the Wicked Witch of the West. Wicked was then adapted into a musical. That musical is now being adapted into film. But if we’re talking about Shakespeare, look at Lion King. Or 10 Things I Hate About You. Those are adaptations of Hamlet and Taming of the Shrew.

Or, if we want to look at novels, A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley is King Lear. Fool by Christopher Moore is also King Lear. Moore’s protagonist also headlines two more Shakespearean adaptations, A Serpent of Venice and Shakespeare for Squirrels, the first being a combination of Merchant of Venice and Othello, the other A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Then there’s Shylock is My Name by Howard Jacobson, very clearly Merchant of Venice. And those are just the ones off the top of my head.

But what’s the point of adaptations? Why do we have them? It’s hard to speak on the motivations for others, but for me, it’s about the love of the story and characters. I doubt Christopher Moore woke up one morning saying, “Man, I hate that King Lear garbage. I should do it better. And raunchier.” More likely, given the sequels, he has a love for Shakespeare and wanted to share that love with an audience that may not have been as open to The Bard.

That’s another reason right there. Audience. This can work two ways. First, it can tap into a fan base that already exists. Had I picked up A Thousand Acres and read about a dying farmer and the drama revolving around what’d happen to his farmland, I’d have chucked that across the room and not looked back. But when I was given it and told it was King Lear, I was all, “Ooooh, interesting…”

The flip side is introducing readers to Shakespeare who have zero interest in him. You wouldn’t believe how much groaning and complaining I hear during the Romeo and Juliet sections in high school classes. But If I gave the kids who like dick jokes a copy of Fool, and the ones interested in modern fiction Shylock is My Name, all of a sudden you’ve got people invested in the stories of Shakespeare.

What makes an adaptation though? In Miranda and Caliban, Carey created a whole narrative to give context to the relationship between the titular characters, something portrayed in the original text as him lusting after her. Moore’s Fool takes us through the events of King Lear, but through the eyes of Pocket, and takes great liberties with the fool’s relationship with the other characters. Smiley’s A Thousand Acres’ setting is completely separate from King Lear’s, but runs through the same plot and character concerns. Each is an adaptation, and each is done differently.

As someone who has plans to write a Shakespearean adaptation, I can say that my goal is to introduce new readers. There’s not a ton of overlap with sci-fi and Shakespeare, so that could be a fun demographic to tap into. Also, as I said at the beginning, The Tempest is my favorite of his plays, so a love of the source material goes a long way.

So, with this broad understanding of the purpose of adaptations, how does Miranda and Caliban hold up? How does it fare with the Author’s Arsenal?

For exceptional character development, giving new depth to established characters, I award The Seal. For world-building and setting, giving life to an island and magic almost entirely unspecified in the play, I award The Scroll.

For non-Tempest readers, Miranda and Caliban is an engaging introduction to the world of the Tempest. For Tempest fans, it adds much more depth to the characters, Prospero and Ariel included. Jacqueline Carey has done a fantastic job of creating a narrative that will satisfy those familiar and unfamiliar with Shakespeare alike.

That’s all for now. As always, let me know if you have a book I should review.

Book Review: The Atlas Complex

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I read a lot of books. A lot. Most of the time as I’m reading, I’m simply enjoying the words in front of me. Sometimes I’m slogging through them. Infrequently I’m blown away by what’s in my hands. When I read Olivie Blake’s The Atlas Six last year, I was blown away. Yes, as you’d expect, the writing was good. But what thoroughly engaged me was the breadth of knowledge across fields of study and the application and integration of that knowledge in the story.

I immediately burned through the second book, The Atlas Paradox. It built on much of what had been established in the first book, upped the stakes, contextualized and humanized some characters, and was a worthy successor to the first one. Then I was sad because I had to wait until the third one was published.

And so here we are now, The Atlas Complex is out, and I have thoughts. As always, I strive for spoiler free reviews, but I do want to note that the only way to talk about this book is to spoil parts of the first two. If you’ve read them, then you can proceed safely. If you haven’t, and the blending of the psychology and morality and philosophy of magic sounds interesting, then go get a copy of The Atlas Six. Right now. Like, stop reading, and do it.

The Atlas Complex follows our favorite sextet (and their add-ons) as they try to make sense of their new (sort of) freedom. Libby is back from the past and a newly minted mass murderer, Parisa is shacking up with Dalton and scared of her own mortality, Reina and Callum are off playing God and trying to fix the world (good luck with that), Tristan’s trying to figure out where the hell Atlas went and how he’s supposed to handle the Archives, and Nico just wants everyone to be friends.

As with the first two books, the entire narrative focuses on the characters and their journeys. The plot is their relationships with each other. The story is their relationships with each other. The trouble is their relationships with each other. You get the idea.

Some of our questions from the prior books get answered. Libby and Nico: Will they or won’t they? Callum: Does he care about anything? All of them minus Libby: Who hates themselves the most?

One of the more interesting aspects of the third installment is how much more screen time side characters get. We get inside Dalton’s head (in a non-literal sense this time). We get to see how Gideon’s handling everything with his mom and Nico and Libby and a few other issues rearing their ugly heads. And, we get brief snippets from members of The Forum.

What does this mean? The driving force of the trilogy is the character work Blake presents us with. In the afterward of this book, she talks about how her goal was to write a story where the characters and their relationships became the plot and story. That strategy was what made the first book so novel (at least to me), and the second and third followed suit. The problem is that when something novel is done repeatedly, it starts to lose that novelty.

Ultimately, while the characters were still engaging and interesting, their stories alone weren’t enough to conclude a trilogy. Blake easily compels us to invest in her characters, but we end up lacking reason to invest in a greater conflict.

What is the greater conflict, you ask? That’s a very good question. I wondered that too as I read this. And that brings us to today’s topic: stakes.

Why does Frodo need to destroy the One Ring? To prevent Sauron from ruling Middle Earth. Why does Elizabeth need to get married? So the Bennett family won’t go bankrupt. Why does the Cat in the Hat need to clean up his mess? Because mother will be very angry when she gets home if it’s dirty.

Regardless of the perceived severity, stakes drive narratives and characters, and are the reason characters do what they do. There are several levels of stakes that can be at play: public, personal, and philosophical. If we look at the Elizabeth example, the public stake is her family’s wealth. Pretty straight forward. The personal stake is her own pride. She believes Mr. Darcy looks down on her family for being lower rank and accepting his proposal will wound her pride. The philosophical stake is losing her belief that society shouldn’t care so much about wealth and rank.

It’s not enough to have a world-ending catastrophe to avert. It’s also not enough to overcome personal demons. A good narrative will have multiple levels of stakes, often connected or reliant on each other. Elizabeth isn’t the only person with stakes in Pride and Prejudice. Each character needs something, some motivation and something that motivates them.

An easy way to to establish stakes, at least early on as you’re figuring out your story, is to take your character, figure out what makes them great or wonderful or happy, and then decide how to destroy those things. Doing bad things to protagonists inherently creates stakes. You can tweak them or think of new ones throughout the process, but attacking their comfort zones is a great place to start.

Based on what I’ve mentioned with The Atlas Complex, it shouldn’t be a surprise that it’s lacking in the stakes department, but how did it fare otherwise with the Author’s Arsenal?

For exceptional character development, The Atlas Complex is awarded The Seal. Character is what drives this whole series, and The Atlas Complex in particular relies on character to engage the reader and advance the story.

That about wraps this up. Happy reading, have a great weekend, and stay tuned for more. And as always, if you have a book you’d like reviewed, add a comment and I’ll try and fit it in.

Book Review: The House in the Cerulean Sea

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I finished up 2023 with 55 books read, beating my Goodreads challenge by five books. Averaging just over a book a week, it occurred to me that there is plenty of opportunity to talk about books and what I, and perhaps you, are reading.

The next thing I wanted to decide on was how to talk about the books and how to value them, as a review generally is supposed to do. How to talk about them was the tricky part, but after conversations on twitter as well as in real life, I’m going to pick something from the book that either stood out as effective or ineffective, and do a spoiler-free analysis of that particular literary technique (because everyone hates spoilers).

Valuing the book seems trickier. You can find a something-out-of-five rating on Goodreads easily enough, but I wanted something more personal, and something more informational. What does a star mean? What’s the difference between three and four? Between four and five? Did the fantasy have too little magic? Was the romance too overt? Did I figure out the mystery’s killer in the first ten pages? I read a lot of different stuff, so I need something that can accommodate different types of books. I hereby give you…

The Author’s Arsenal system.

By no means are these five areas exhaustive, but they represent five key elements in any story. By not awarding a book with one of these emblems, it doesn’t necessarily mean it did poorly (though it very well could). Instead the emblems it does receive should be lauded as the book’s strength. The five emblems are:

  • The Quill Pen. This will be awarded for exceptional storytelling or narrative.
  • The Inkwell. For depth and richness of theme.
  • The Parchment: For the quality of writing style and prose.
  • The Seal. For character development.
  • The Scroll. For world-building and setting.

So, without further ado: The House in the Cerulean Sea.

T.J. Klune’s magical realism novel treads the line between middle grade and YA. It’s longer than a typical middle grade book, however the language fits a middle grade book style much more closely than it does YA. The prose is direct, the characters are clear with their feelings, and everything feels very honest.

As I finished my read, two things stood out. First, the world-building. The House in the Cerulean Sea features an alternate version of our world where magical creatures/children exist and are known by the general populace. Linus, our main protagonist, is sort of a social worker for these children, and the whole story revolves around a specific assignment he must complete.

From the inner-workings of the bureaucratic government oversight agency to the prejudice of humans toward magical children to the intricacies of the various environments, Klune does a great job of establishing a believable world the characters exist in. Often times middle grade stories can gloss over details or dive too deep at the expense of narrative and character, but he does a fine job of maintaining the correct balance.

The second highlight is theme. It is established early on—so I don’t consider this a spoiler—that Linus is a gay man. There’s no fanfare in the revelation, and no shame. It is was it is. Which is exactly how it should be. Linus exists in a world where he expects to be treated the same as everyone else, and believes that others have the same right. Including magical children. Between him wrestling with his own emotions as well as understanding and accepting the children, Klune does a fantastic job of establishing and reinforcing a positive theme with enough tact and honesty for a middle-grade (and older) audience to understand the message without feeling they are being beaten over the head.

Before I move on to my craft bit, I do want to call out the one thing that rises above the rest in this book. Written as a middle grade book, there are expectations and limitations when it comes to prose. A third grader typically won’t be able to handle Tolstoy or Faulkner. The prose must accommodate the audience. But that isn’t necessarily a summation of the author’s ability. While most of the book reads as typical middle grade prose, there is a poem around the midway point that, while plain in diction, is rich in metaphor and layered with emotion. After I finished it I audibly said “dang.” If you pick up this book, that is definitely something to look forward to.

On to craft. Since finishing this book, I’ve had many discussions about it, some with people who haven’t read it (mainly on the function of craft), and some who have (mainly on the application of craft). Based on those conversations, today’s topic is agency.

I’m sure most of us are familiar with the term, but agency basically describes the character’s ability to do something. Are they reacting to events and being led by the nose, or are their reactions to the events of the story their own choice, plot and antagonists be damned. There is a distinction to be made about their choice.

If the character gets into a situation where they must do something or face terrible consequences, sure, they’re technically choosing to do the thing, but that’s not much of a choice. They’re basically being herded. But, if they’re presented with that same choice and do a third option, or they agree and turn that choice into their own growth, then you’ve got some agency.

Sometimes the decisions are small. Deciding not to answer that phone. Turning left when they always turn right. Maybe this one time they’ll skip the coffee shop on the way to work. Sometimes the decisions are larger. Standing up to the bully. Giving into temptation and stealing that heirloom. Turning off the targeting system as they fly through the trench.

What makes characters interesting is their choices, and their ability to choose. It makes their lives more dynamic, makes their actions carry more weight, and it adds a pulse to the story, an energy the reader can feel even if they’re unaware that’s what they’re feeling. You can have an amazing plot and setting, but if you have a boring character sleepwalking through that story your readers won’t connect.

In The House in the Cerulean Sea, Klune uses a tried and true character arc of a person lacking agency, only to gain it as the story advances. That arc can be tricky. If you wait too long to have the character begin to learn, you may lose your reader. Often times those characters will be supported by interesting plot, immersive world-building, or engaging prose. If you can hook the reader long enough to ascend that arc, then good on you. But without a character to invest in, pretty words and locations can only do so much.

And now, for the big moment, how did The House in the Cerulean Sea fare with the Author’s Arsenal?

For deftness of theme and a well-execute message, especially given the audience age, I award The Inkwell. For an immersive (and wholly believable) world, I award The Scroll.

Remember, for awards not received, it doesn’t indicate a poor execution of those qualities. The awarded emblems are just for what is done particularly well.

I’m sure this is the most prestigious award the book has received 😉 As such, Klune should be proud of the world, characters, and story he created.

Future reviews won’t have the whole explanation of the review process. This one did because it was the Arsenal’s maiden voyage. Expect a variety of books, new and old, across genres. And, if you have any you’d like to recommend, let me know. If I’ve already read the book, the odds are low I’ll review it. I rarely re-read anything because there’s just so much out there and I want to get as much new content as possible.