Martyr! asks some big, messy, complicated questions - how can we ensure our lives and deaths have meaning? - through rich characters, layered timelines and narrators, and language that is both poetic and simple to take in.
Cyrus is looking at the puzzle pieces of his life and not quite sure what they all mean. His mother died in a horrific accident when he was a baby in Tehran, shot by an American missile in a civilian plane. His dad spent his days hard at work on a chicken farm before leaving as quietly as he lived. And his uncle is haunted by his job as an Iranian soldier, dressed as an Angel and comforting dying soldiers on the battlefield.
Now, adult Cyrus is fighting to stay sober, pushing away love, writing poetry, and dreaming of martyrs. He’s obsessed with the act of dying for something and doesn’t know how to fully grasp it, and his journey of researching martyrs leads to some unexpected truths about his history and future.
There are dark topics at play here, but the writing is clever and quick. It’s very clear that Kaveh Akbar is a poet, but his words are crisp and not too heady. They land precisely right.
Cyrus can make frustrating decisions, but he is so multilayered and so earnest with his search for martyrdom that it is hard not to love him. He’s a great analyst, though he sometimes misses what is right in front of his face. And his narration is so vulnerable and so intimate.
“If the mortal sin of the suicide is greed, to hoard stillness and calm for yourself while dispersing your riotous internal pain among all those who survive you, then the mortal sin of the martyr must be pride, the vanity, the hubris to believe not only that your death could mean more than your living, but that your death could mean more than death itself—which, because it is inevitable, means nothing.”
The interludes of narration from Cyrus’ family were just as interesting, and an additional element that I loved were the dream sequences. To help his insomnia, Cyrus imagines two figures (historical, real, people he knows, people he doesn’t) having a conversation - a classic writing exercise. And we get to witness them interact, sometimes with a wink to the fact that they are actually iterations of Cyrus’ thoughts and mind. Each sequence was fascinating.
This is a book that celebrates the act of dreaming, that comforts the artist in all of us, that challenges what it means to have lived a worthwhile life, that welcomes uncertainty and bewilderment, and so much more. It didn’t offer up a grand emotional release, but instead thousands of little sparks of curiosity and the warmth of seeing some of my quietest thoughts and questions reflected back at me.
“He felt a flash of familiar shame—his whole life had been a steady procession of him passionately loving what other people merely liked, and struggling, mostly failing, to translate to anyone else how and why everything mattered so much.”
Ghostroots is a riveting collection of stories that will creep up and haunt you.
What a blend! One story masterfully flowed into the next, and while there were some central themes around ancestry & innate identity & community responsibility, each piece had a weight of its own.
What are we willing to carve out of ourselves? What do we owe for our past crimes - or the crimes of our ancestors? How much of us lives on in our children, and then in their children?
Many stories centered around women or girls and how much ownership and freedom they have. Some are trapped in cycles, some question where their mothers end and they begin, and some will do anything to feel something.
And the setting was so rich. A slightly shifted version of Lagos, layered on top of cityscapes that feel familiar. At what point do we become part of our community? How much must we serve it?
It’s a strange journey, and many of the arcs are left open-ended. These were subtly (but powerfully) disturbing reads! Some transfixed me more than others, but overall this was an excellent read that tickled my imagination and left me a bit frightened.
It’s hard to pick a favorite, but I think “Masquerade Season” will be tucked up into my ribcage for a long while.
CW: murder, death (child), animal cruelty/death, body horror, confinement, kidnapping, car accident, abandonment, pregnancy, abuse, self harm, infidelity, pedophilia, rape, incest
The Book Censor’s Library was a clever and deliciously delirious satire of government censorship and restriction.
The newest book censor had thought his job would be simple and boring: he just has to sit at his government office and comb through books line by line, marking anything unfit for the people to read (per the System). He’s not permitted to interpret, oh no. Just note down inappropriate references to religion, sex, queerness, and anything from the Old World.
He certainly never thought he'd be lured into the world of reading. But the first illicit book he picks up starts to infect him, putting his unobtrusive life with his wife and daughter at risk.
The revolution is calling him, but he also fears for his daughter's life as she starts showing signs of an imagination that cannot be controlled. The book censor slowly starts to descend into literature and resistance, but he has so much to lose.
It's an outpouring of love to stories and words and their power. It's filled with winks and allusions and metaphors that mix with reality.
It's a condemnation of literary censorship, but also an acknowledgement that restriction to that extent simply isn’t possible. Storytelling and dipping below the surface of language is so very human. Words as resistance can never be taken away.
It’s an intense journey with meta twists and turns, but it does still keep a bit of levity. Play and imagination are resistance here, so the book is playful as well. It’s got some great little illustrations, too!
It’s hard not to love a book that loves books so much, y’know?
If you enjoy defiant & hardcore main characters, complex relationships between mortals and gods, and unique world building & creation stories, then you should pick up We Are the Origin.
Brandi is a skilled assassin, serving her queendom and her goddess with a magical bow and an aim that never misses. She was raised to be a shadow and to NEVER question orders to send someone to the gods. Until her orders from the throne clash against her orders from the goddess of life, Freya.
Now she’s being asked to turn against the fellow assassins she views as family and tuck a (mostly incompetent) princess under her wing as she takes on her biggest enemy yet. One the gods themselves can’t even fight … and one who threatens the existence of her entire world.
Luckily, Brandi is up for the challenge.
If you like a female main character that never backs down, knows her power, swims around in moral murkiness, is kinda mean (complimentary), and kills those that cross her between blinks … you’re going to adore Brandi.
The supporting characters are each so different and so interesting. Jack’s journey from a scrappy boy who only trusted himself to becoming Brandi’s reliable partner was really sweet. The fellow shadows piqued my curiosity, though we didn’t get as much backstory on them. Sarah is the most frustrating one by far because she is fully flailing, but her group also needs to learn to treat her with compassion and throw her a bone every once in a while if she’s going to be part of the team.
I appreciated all the forms of love shown here. There’s polyamorous romantic love, there’s folks who have found their soulmate, there’s found family love, there’s worship love, and so much more. I thought the depth of love shown between Brandi and Jack was touching, and was curious about how all these venn diagrams of love between mortals and gods both challenged and supported each other.
I was less interested in the budding romance between Sarah and Noble, mostly because it felt a bit more shallow and silly compared to the stakes of everything else. (Also I don’t really like romance plotlines, so it’s for sure personal as well.) My other biggest stumble was that the language was clunky at times. The sentences didn’t always flow, and sometimes tenses (or other things) would make me have to reread a paragraph a couple of times.
There is a lot of set up here for the rest of the series (also just making sure everyone knows that this IS a series because it isn’t quite clear from the description), and I’m hungry for more. We collect our group of protagonists throughout the course of the book and every one of them has major growth to do. They all have super different personal journeys in store and I can’t wait.
I LOVE a slasher story with a meta spin – every time Stephen Graham Jones writes a gruesome love letter to horror, I’m ready to sit down and read.
Tolly Driver sits on the outskirts of his small Texan town, alongside his best friend Amber. He’s a great writer, but not the best academically or social - and he’s felt even more powerless ever since his dad’s unexpected death.
And then … he gets infected. A very specific slasher killer infection. And even though Tolly knows he’s part of the story, he can’t help but play his part and take out some gory revenge on the classmates that hurt him.
But this was all seventeen years ago. We’re reading Tolly’s autobiography as he reflects on those fateful few days so long ago, especially since his slasher story might not be over.
Tolly’s a bit of an unreliable narrator, especially as he flip flops between embracing his new killer instincts, wanting to break away from them, and feeling unsure if he has any actual say in his own story. He might be murdering kids in a mask, but he’s also pretty relatable. He feels alienated, nervous about his future, and might be a little bit in love with his best friend (though he’ll deny it). If you were on the outskirts looking in as a teenager, that pain is all too familiar.
As always, SGJ puts together a GREAT kill scene. The action and the gore leap off the pages, and my heart was pounding. This definitely feels like a faster-paced story for him, and I had fun with that. Things don’t slow down much, and the characters are pretty quick to put the pieces together (except for the final piece which I’m sure we all knew EXCEPT for Tolly).
Something I marveled at was how high the stakes felt. Tolly is writing from the future, so of course you know he makes it, but I felt like I was making discoveries with him right in the moment, right in 1989. I almost imagined myself discovering Tolly’s manuscript and turning each page with a sprinkle of dread.
SGJ writes very specific books for a very specific audience and I can never get enough.
I Was a Teenage Slasher is funny, creative, and feels like settling in for an awesome summer slasher film.
CW: murder, gore, blood, injury, vomit, death (parent/child), body horror, grief, suicide,stalking, animal cruelty/death, guns, torture, confinement, homophobia, racism
Beautyland is a peculiar little book that hit me at just the right moment. If you’ve ever felt like an alien, if you’ve ever stood with your back to the wall at a party and tried your very hardest to understand all the intricacies of the community at the center, if you’ve ever flip flopped between optimism and despair for humanity, then this is a book for you.
Adina Giorno has always been a step apart from humans: she’s been activated as a child to report on Earth to her superiors, alien relatives who live on some distant planet.
We watch Adina grow up, reporting on all her human findings through a fax machine. She experiences adolescent isolation, deep friendships, grief, fear, and all those other peculiarities in between.
I always appreciate a book from the perspective of an othered individual looking into humanity (and all the bafflement that comes alongside that). There are so many quotes and observations here that were deeply moving, and that only could have been made by someone who has been cast out.
Adina is asexual and probably autistic, but don’t fret about this falling into those tired alien tropes. It feels so earnest and fresh, and heart-wrenchingly relatable.
“Grief is a bad mirror. It shows you manipulated images of yourself, your will, and the future. It cannot show you how the small work you do will add up to yourself. Inch by inch.”
Even though I sobbed, so much of this story also made me laugh. The response transmissions from Adina’s alien superiors were SO good, along with her charming little dog Buttercup, and the relationship of a precocious little girl and her single mom.
Adina’s reflections - including of her past selves as she reexamines old memories with new knowledge- were always spot on. And the characterizations of the entire cast of characters were SO rich and well-developed.
To be clear: Beautyland is not science fiction. It’s a slow, character-driven, contemplative piece that’s using aliens as a piece of narrative framing to allow Adina to collect very direct observations.
This is the sort of story I’m going to tuck away for decades to come.
“Language is pitiable when weighed against experience.”
CW: death, animal death (pet), cancer, grief, terminal illness, sexual assault, suicide, abandonment, xenophobia, child abuse, classism, pregnancy, dysphoria, xenophobia
Blackheart Man is a really rich, folkloric story that had slightly uneven pacing, but a charmingly disastrous main character and a plot that will keep you guessing.
Veycosi will do anything to prove himself worthy - both to the musical historian leadership who will hopefully grant him acceptance to the Colloquium and to his two lovers who will hopefully wed him soon. But his narrow vision and earnest ego get him in trouble again and again.
This time, Veycosi finds his magical island (Chynchin) on the brink of war, pickens (children) start to disappear, and once-frozen soldiers might be coming back to life. He’s somehow got to protect his community and learn some hard truths about himself before everything is destroyed.
You’ll groan at Veycosi time and time again, but I have to say I found him both compelling and impishly likable. He is in dire need of a big arc, and he GETS one. He learns how to be part of a community, how to be a parent, and how to be a romantic partner.
The pacing of this novel was a bit tough. First you’re dropped right in, and I had a challenging time finding the flow of the story since things moved slowly and we were given only the tiniest bits of information and world building. The chapters were incredibly long and the narrators sometimes jumped a bit jarringly before settling into Veycosi’s narration. And then after the climax, everything was so much of a whirlwind that I again wished we had time for more lore; I wanted to savor the events of the finale more.
But this is an incredibly detailed world, with specific and thoughtful language, interesting drops of magic, and even some new creatures. Also lots of queer rep (specifically nonbinary characters with neopronouns and polyamorous triads). Plus one delightfully grumpy camel (love you, Goat!).
If you don’t mind some confusion and a slower-paced narrative, I’d give this one a chance.
CW: death (parent/child), colonization, war, drug use, injury, gun violence, racism, slavery, body horror, fire, gore, animal death, vomit, dysphoria, xenophobia, sexual content
The Teller of Small Fortunes strikes that delightful (and hard-to-achieve) balance between whimsy, adventure, and complexity.
It often feels like a Dungeons & Dragons game (there’s a wink and a nod to this right in the text). There’s a well-rounded cast of adventurers, and the story is filled with tempestuous family relationships, various magical creatures, and a wonderful CAT!
Tao is a teller of small fortunes, and small fortunes only. She’s too afraid to open up her greater magical sight again, and she’s also trying to keep a low profile so as not to attract the attention of Guild mages. So she hops from town to town with her trusty mule, doles out simple fortunes over tea, puts up with a lot of pointed questions about her background, and feels quite alone.
That all changes when she stumbles across a former soldier desperately looking for his lost child, a (definitely-totally-100%) reformed thief, a baker who longs for something more, and a very hungry cat.
Together they set off in search of the little girl, but Tao isn’t used to trusting new people, and she holds the darkness of her past close to her chest. The trouble is, things never stay hidden forever …
Tao will always be considered a foreigner in Esthera because she is Shinn - even though her mother moved them here when she was a child and she has very few memories of her homeland. She even lost her first language. But others always view her as different, as suspicious, as an ‘other’ who maybe has nefarious reasons for being there.
And Tao herself doesn’t quite know where she belongs. She feels as though she has a foot in two worlds, but isn’t quite part of either. Esthera is most of what she’s known, but she feels a deep loss for her home and tries to hold on to some aspects of her culture and upbringing.
There are countless heart-wrenching scenes where Tao confronts her feelings around her identity, both when others are cruel and kind. There are also many moments plucked right from the author’s own experiences, and they’re incredibly relatable.
There’s so much depth to each character and their arc, and a lot of theming around trust, forgiveness, and companionship. Tao has to learn how to let others in, and each new friend alters her. She finds her voice and her bravery, and also the gentleness to potentially forgive old wounds as she opens up her heart and mind. I also read Tao as somewhere on the aro/ace spectrum. Each member of her found family also has their own beautiful arc, but I won’t give anything more away there.
I enjoyed the cozy whimsy here and I think there was a perfect blend of sweetness and tears. It’s a slow-moving story, but each mini-quest will keep you hooked. I also appreciated the little twists on so many magical creatures, from trolls with existential crises to phoenixes whose words cut right to the bone.
You’ll leave thinking about fate & destiny versus choice, the joys of companionship & finding people who ‘get’ you, and how important it is to be true to yourself.
Overall, I really adored this!!
CW: death (parent), racism, xenophobia, grief, war, violence, child neglect
My Life: Growing Up Native in America features 20 essays & poems from Native American writers.
I really appreciated this collection – the diversity of both voices and forms of storytelling kept me engaged, even though (as with all anthologies) there were some pieces that clicked with me more than others.
Some are reflections, some are calls to action, some are expressions of pain and love, and some are pretty darn funny. Each person has a vastly different history and a vastly different relationship to their Indigenous identity.
I wasn’t familiar with most of these voices and I’m super curious about some of their brands & community endeavors! I definitely have a lot to look up.
CW: mentions of racism, residential schools, war, genocide, forced institutionalization, bullying, death of loved ones.
Open Throat is a curious novella - we’re in the head of a mountain lion who lives beneath the Hollywood sign as they contemplate their place in the world and make astoundingly sharp observations about humanity. They’re a creature that is both ignorant of human life and a creature who has been violently othered by society.
The lion is hungry. Dangerously hungry. Ravenously hungry. And they’re also curious about the humans that pass through: They eavesdrop on local hikers and feel protective of the homeless encampment nearby. They struggle with their emotions and ability to express themselves, reflect on their past, and think about their future.
Meanwhile, human cruelty & climate danger forces the lion to leave the hills, and they explore more of Los Angeles and its inhabitants. They come face to face with humans, and have to confront their own conflicting desires to eat them and to emulate them.
“I have no idea what it's like to be a person and to be confronted with a me”
It never feels gimmicky, though it is sometimes funny. Mostly, though, it’s profoundly sad. The lion never once has a space that is their own, and never once is perceived in a way that feels right. They’ve been forced out of territories by climate disasters, they witness sadistic acts of violence that humans inflict just because they can, and they’ve been attacked or abandoned by their own kind.
There are moments of literal queerness, but this is mostly a metaphorical journey. The lion is an outsider who has true desires that are shamed by those who cannot understand them. They have a hunger for connection, they contemplate changing their shape and truth to better fit in, and the moment they embrace their fangs they find themselves in true peril.
You’ll be pleasantly touched by some of the lion’s noticings, but also leave feeling a bit cynical about humanity and its future.