Imo the best time travel stories are about grief, and this does an excellent job of that. Loved the exploration of legal ramifications for time travel and how frequent travelers' attitudes towards death would change. Would recommend for fans of literary fiction and Everything, Everywhere, All at Once.
I've been a fan of Ursula Vernon/T. Kingfisher since I was a teen, so unsurprisingly, I gobbled this up. I'm a sucker for "broody warrior with a dry sense of humor & a troubled past tries to make amends" (cough cough, Warden Blackwall, for any Dragon Age fans), and Grace was delightfully grounded. Loved the sensory descriptions from a perfumer's POV, loved the humor, loved the romance. Bishop Beartongue is the MVP.
Heartbreaking and hopeful. This is the first book in ages that I've read in 48 hours without trying to slog through it—a fast-paced thriller with a lot of heart. As someone who keeps seeing shows/books with people who were raised to be assassins as kids & turned into total badasses, and who always thought "idk man I feel like that would be deeply traumatizing in ways the story doesn't go into," it was both great and heartbreaking to have Isabel's trauma responses play such a major part in the story. But although this is a very dark book (mind the content warnings if you need to,) it is also deeply hopeful—hope in the characters who keep resolutely showing up to help someone who needs it, who refuse to let the horror of the world deny their ability to do good. The author also writes about how their own pacifism influenced the story, and I found it a really refreshing, thoughtful take on both YA dystopia and revenge narratives.
Dystopia, in my mind, only works if there's a world worth living for; and in Espera, there's a world worth living for. I'm excited to read the rest of the trilogy and see where Isabel's journey takes her.
I want to assign this as reading in creative writing classes. Not because Le Guin lays out Rules You Must Follow as a writer, but the opposite—these essays are fiercely questioning, and often challenge the reader to throw out the rules and write something true. These essays range over a wide area in the realm of SFF—from reflecting on her own books, to introducing the works of other writers, to analyses of censorship and artistic freedom. There's a certain curmudgeonly quality to Le Guin's writing that I admire—the feeling of someone you could have a really enjoyable argument with. (I especially enjoyed seeing Le Guin argue with herself in the footnotes to an essay on The Left Hand of Darkness, tracing the ways her thinking about gender in Gethen has changed.)
I don't remember when Le Guin updated the texts of these essays, but I do hope that—at some point in her life, or if she had lived longer—she would have revisited the ways these essays sometimes use autism & schizophrenia as negative descriptions, which struck me as rooted in attitudes of the 70's and 80's in ways that Le Guin pushed against for so many other marginalized identities. It's not a major thread in these essays by any means, but I found it jarring when it occurred.
I've been grappling for a while with how my love of girl-becomes-a-knight stories (think Tortall) has become more complicated when I think about the reality of knights—violent soldiers for conquest, representatives of empire. Squire does a fantastic job of threading these themes in a way that's approachable for young readers, while still leaving you with a sense of hope. The art is beautiful, the characters are just the right balance of flawed and endearing, and – as someone who does historical fencing for fun – the swordfighting is EXCELLENT. I want everybody to read this, especially fellow Tamora Pierce fans. Will be buying this as a gift for the kids in my life.
I didn't know what to expect going into this book; I picked it up after attending one of Natasha Trethewey's events, so I assumed it would be a book of poetry. Instead, this is a small collection of essays, reflecting on why Trethewey writes. While I'd recommend having some familiarity with her poetry before reading this, the essays are excellent—precise, lyrical explorations of Trethewey's childhood, white supremacy, the troubling memorialization of the Confederacy, and the places where all these things intersect.