Editorial Reviews for Nominees
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 Score: 94/100 (9.4 out of 10)
Adventures Are Everywhere is a wry, witty, and imaginative collection of short-stories by Elizabeth Horst! Horst makes quite a splash with what is (apparently) her debut book! While it's not a perfect short-story collection, it more than accomplishes what it needed to and—as we'll get to—included two truly standout and memorable stories! So, one thing we'll say is that you need to be patient. This book doesn't start off particularly strong. There's some growing pains in this book, perhaps because (we're assuming) it was frontloaded with the author's older works when she hadn't quite developed her craft yet. Or perhaps it's because the more comedic, slapstick, hard-to-take-serious stories were relegated to the front of the book. Either way, we did connect somewhat with "The Sheriff’s Discovery" because Sheriff Tom Hutchinson and Deputy Steve are actually quite relatable, or at least their dilemma is. Do you have people in your workplace, community, or household who do nothing but complain and trigger false alarms? So, when actual bad stuff actually goes down, you don't take them seriously at all. It's like the old story about the boy who cried wolf. He cried wolf so often that when the wolf actually came, no one believed him. So, we really resonated with Tom & Steve. Actually, they resonated with us in different ways. Tom is idealistic and seems like one of those new employees that hasn't been grinded down by the system (and time) yet. Steve is the opposite. You could argue that Steve is lazy, but you could also argue that he's just jaded and disillusioned. He has seen the law be used and abused too many times. If you put yourself in his shoes, who could blame him? The first three or four stories have a Western tang to them. Think: sheriffs, bandits, and robbers. The next few seem to take place in more Middle-Age/Medieval settings. The remainder of the stories have more a modern psychological edge to them. And that's where this anthology shines. We don't mean to be dismissive or to gloss over the other stories in this book, but they pretty much all get overshadowed by "Night Journey to Sanity's End" and "We're All Gonna Die." These two stories—especially "Night Journey to Sanity's End"—are some of the most captivating, engaging, and enthralling short-stories we've ever read! "Night Journey to Sanity's End" is a surreal and disjointed tale told from the perspective of a narrator named Johnny McDuff who is experiencing a descent into madness. The story reads like a fragmented dream or a stream-of-consciousness unraveling. The protagonist embarks on a journey—possibly physical, but more likely psychological—seeking something undefined: meaning, safety, truth, or identity. Along the way, they question reality, sanity, and even the reliability of language itself. As the story progresses, coherence deteriorates. The text becomes increasingly abstract, blurring the lines between dream and delusion, sleep and wakefulness, memory and fiction. Imagery of darkness, stillness, and internal torment dominates. By the end, it's unclear whether the narrator has found peace, lost themselves completely, or simply fallen asleep. What's magnificent about this story is that it's unsettling, ambiguous, mysterious, terrifying, and—shockingly—quite funny. The range of emotions, feelings, and interpretations of this story can't be put into words. Where do we even begin? Well, what makes such a dark story (about death, mental illness, and potentially even suicide) so funny? Well, part of it is when the narrator conscripts the audience, referring to them as "Dear reader" or "Dear Readers." That in itself isn't funny, but what makes it comedic and humorous is when the narrator starts telling the reader(s) that what they are seeing, witnessing, and experiencing is the worst thing in the history of ever—something the reader(s) cannot even begin to comprehend. Something that all the words in the English language cannot explain or begin to describe. There's so much hyperbole and melodrama in this story! It’s that over-the-top dramatization that catches you off guard. The narrator doesn’t just express suffering—they melodramatize it to absurd extremes, comparing their agony to abstract, ridiculous metaphors like “the death of all joy,” “the betrayal of the stars,” or “the collapse of the very fabric of sanity.” These flourishes are so exaggerated that they almost become a parody of suffering—inviting the reader to laugh not at the pain, but at the ridiculousness of its expression. What’s more, the narrator assumes that the audience is completely incapable of grasping their turmoil—making statements like, “Dear reader, you could not possibly understand the depths of this abyss,” or “No, dear readers, not even in your wildest dreams have you suffered as I have suffered.” This mock grandiosity turns despair into something performative. The voice becomes a kind of tragic theater character—equal parts Hamlet and emo teenager—and the humor arises from that theatricality. In that sense, it’s not unlike Douglas Adams or Kurt Vonnegut—where the comedy doesn’t come from dismissing dark subjects, but from amplifying them into something absurd, inviting readers to chuckle at the extremity of human emotion while still feeling its weight. It’s a mix of self-pity, cosmic wailing, and eye-rolling exaggeration that somehow becomes relatable in its sheer absurdity. And in a twisted way, it’s comforting: if this narrator can make a punchline out of a mental breakdown, maybe we can too. Furthermore, there is so much suspense, intrigue, and mystery in this story—even despite the goofy, ridiculous, absurd humorous and exaggerated stuff. We are continuously confronted with the question: "Where do the tram cars go at night?" On the surface—on a superficial reading—this seems like a bland question for the narrator to keep asking. However, on a deeper reading, this question is haunting. To us, this is actually asking: "What actually happens to us (and our souls) when we die?" It's so dark and eerie! The repetition of that question just gives this story a creepy, unsettling, disturbing feel. It's almost like someone whispering in your ear: "I saw what you did yesterday" then retreating into the shadows every ten minutes. Creepy! It's creepy even when it seems like the narrator is more a victim or a witness, not a perpetrator. He doesn't seem to want to kill or harm others, yet his words cut and stab and slice at the reader. He dangles the carrot in front of us—the mystery: What's going to happen? Is it really as bad and terrible as he keeps hyping it up to be? It's tantalizing! The next story that really impressed and wowed us was "We're All Gonna Die." The story is told from the perspective of a character named Nathan Levy who seems to live in an active warzone. As the enemy approaches—their weapons sounding closer and closer—the village that Nathan was staying in evacuates in a panic. We thought about the wars going on in the world (like Ukraine-Russia and Israel-Gaza) and this hit extra hard. This story hit us like a bag of bricks, highlighting the human costs of war—the greatest and most tragic cost of them all. We see as these peoples' lives get upended and, in many cases, ended outright. What's remarkable about this story is that we don't really get to spend much time with Nathan. This story is quite short. Yet we really get to know him. He is loving, caring, and compassionate. He is a good man in a terrible situation. This story is also incredibly sad and heartbreaking, perhaps even more than you might expect. Perhaps the most powerful moment in this entire story is the grim fate of the blonde-haired girl. The blonde-haired girl is never named (that we can remember), yet she's such an impactful character. You can tell that Nathan wants desperately to save the innocent blonde-haired girl despite being in hiding and every cell in his body screaming to him to stay low. His eyes and his heart reach to her and plead for her safety. That makes what happens all the more heartbreaking and tragic. And the way it is described is so beautiful yet horrifying and powerful. Just the description of blonde hair and "sharp green eyes" mixed with blood just hits differently from outright saying, "She was shot" or "She succumbed to mortar fire." The descriptions are visceral. There's a description in here about how much Nathan's shoulder aches from the shoulder strap of his bag being in place for so long. We get lines like: "I still craved existence. To live! To breathe! To exist!" And "Agony. Pain. Torture." We get descriptions of the flies and the stench of death. Nathan laments leaving the bodies of innocents to rot—unburied—and yet considers how that can send the enemy, humanity, and the world a message: that war is truly hell. Furthermore, this story is incredibly poetic, especially when it comes to the theme of life and death. A baby inchworm crawls on Nathan after he witnesses so much death, and Nathan is torn about this. On one hand, the inchworm represents new life and even hope. On the other hand, it seems like death or the universe is taunting or mocking him, almost as if to say: We've killed everyone in your village but let a bug live. This fills Nathan with rage and he even considers killing the inchworm, which is ironic because he continuously laments how people can be so cruel to take the lives of others. There's a real tug-o-war for Nathan's humanity in the midst of such inhumanity and inhuman conditions. So, did we only enjoy the books with grim and dark stories, characters, and circumstances? Not quite. There's another charming story in here that focuses on three dogs named Shelby, Bayley, and Simon who are waiting for a gift for their owner in the mail. What's humorous and entertaining about this story are all the canine shenanigans like going off to drink from the toilet bowl. Furthermore, there's a childlike innocence to these pups. It reminds us of children on Christmas day anxious and eager to open their presents. It's especially fun to hear them debate about UPS, USPS, and the delivery process in general. Check it out on Amazon!
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 Score: 95/100 (9.5 out of 10)
Blood of the Raej by Hayley Rae Johnson is a compelling and inspired fantasy novel that reminded us of a blend of Harry Potter and Avatar: The Last Airbender—with its richly imagined magical world, elemental powers tied to legacy and identity, and a young protagonist navigating destiny, oppression, and hidden heritage amidst a fractured society. We were hooked from the beginning! This book kicks off with one of the most thrilling and incredible opening sequences we've ever read in a novel! It's up there with the opening of Magic, Mystery, and the Multiverse by Aurora Winter. In fact, it's probably a superior opening. We start in medes res (middle action) during what seems to be a climactic final battle or siege between indistinct parties, one of which is led by a king (King Mason) who appears to be on the losing side. The tide of the battle has turned against him, and he is informed that his beloved wife, the pregnant queen, has been captured by the enemy. King Mason's chancellor, advisors, and others plead with him to surrender, sparing them and the kingdom from prolonged suffering. However, King Mason refuses due to stubborness and the staunch desire to preserve the Raej bloodline. This is key to the book (and series) as the Raej and their bloodline are truly special—the sole bloodline that can use magic without the need of pebbles (essentially magic rocks) and the dynastic rulers of the land. We then cut to Queen Mellany's desperate yet futile attempt to escape with her unborn child in her womb. The peril and the stakes are paramount and meaningful. And, in the midst of all of this chaos, our protagonist is born: Terhese. What a doggone epic friggin' opening! Unfortunately, none of the rest of this book really ever rises to that level of epicness again. We wouldn't say that it falls flat or falls off a cliff, but it does become significantly more tame. It's ironic we say that because we just read Republic of Mars by Dr. Sam Sammane—a book with a really flat, generic, and lifeless opening that eventually "got good" about 70-80 pages in. This book, on the other hand, is almost the reverse: a book that started with a BANG then meandered into a relatively paint-by-numbers witchcraft & wizardry book. At the same time, this is still a compelling book from beginning to end, despite its flaws and loss of momentum, if for no other reason than we care about Terhese, the Raej bloodline, and want to see some for of rectification for what happened in the beginning. This book—again, similar to Republicof Mars--decided to inexplicably become a mystery novel. It's so funny comparing the two books. Republic of Mars gets you to believe that it's going to be a sci-fi/space-colonization novel only to become more of a mystery, unraveling the truth of this Mars colony in which the powerful have seemingly rewritten history. Similarly, Blood of the Raej gets you to believe that it's going to be an epic fantasy novel only to become more of a mystery, unraveling the truth of this world in which the victors have seemingly rewritten history with the Raej as the villains. In Blood of the Raej, the narrative of Terhese's bloodline and the Raej has been twisted and warped to the will of those who overthrew them. This is totally realistic. Look at all the dynasties in China that talked crap about how bad the previous dynasty was. Or just look at Washington D.C. today. Everyone is always blaming the previous administration. We really liked and appreciated this angle. In fact, it was one of our favorite aspects of the book. Those in power have clearly wiped or changed some of the history involving the Raej. They are painted as genocidal tyrants who are responsible for the mass-deaths, endangerment, and/or extinctions of creatures like the Mermaids/Merman, the Aeon Bill (which kind of sounds like a giant griffin-like or dragon-like creature), tree goblins, and Moon Wolves. What's interesting is that we actually already had a feeling that Terhese's dad, King Mason, wasn't exactly a sage king or perfect leader/guy. In fact, when we first met him, we were already asking ourselves: what did this guy do to become so hated? Did you execute a ton of people? Did he ransack cities? Tax the people into destitution? You also see how tightly he clings to power despite it seeming disadvantageous at that stage in the conflict. So, King Mason wasn't an angel. Yet, a huge part of us still wanted Terhese to reclaim her royal status and restore the family honor as its rightful heir to the throne. Is that wrong? Well, that's part of the beauty of this book. Right and wrong are perspectives. The victor writes history. That doesn't make it true (or absolute truth). Truth becomes subjective—something based on the feelings, opinions, desires, and motives of the one creating and propagating it. Anyway, this book really becomes a lot more like Harry Potter as Terhese (in a sense "the one who lived") finds herself in a kind of wizardry school, sort of. Though it's not filled with wands or spellbooks, the Academy functions much like a magical military academy—rigorous, hierarchical, and brimming with secrets. Terhese is tested, trained, and sorted, all while discovering hidden aspects of her identity and power. Like Hogwarts, it's a place where alliances form, rivalries sharpen, and the mystery of who she truly is begins to unfold. There are even a few characters that seem to be homages to the Harry Potter series. For example, there's Professor Hadritch, whose name reminded us a lot of Hagrid but whose personality is a lot more like a mix of Snape and McGonagall—stern, commanding, and ruthlessly competent, yet not entirely without a buried sense of fairness or unexpected moments of insight. Oh, and let's talk about the Pebbles—pretty much the things that encompass and enable the magic system of this book. The Pebbles essentially work like the crystals in Labruula Awakens by Paul Wood—they're the items or objects that enable certain types of magic to be used. Actually, they reminded us a bit of materia from Final Fantasy VII. And similar to those magical items, they actual have a physiological effect on the user. The Numbing Pebble, for example, The Numbing Pebble, for example, dulls the user’s pain receptors, allowing them to push through injuries or extreme conditions without feeling the full extent of the damage. However, this comes at a cost—users can easily overexert themselves, tear muscles, or worsen wounds without realizing it, leading to long-term harm once the pebble's effect wears off. There are also some OP (overpowered) Pebbles like the Earthquake Pebble. By the way, we're also told about the awesome power of the Raej including being able to cause earthquakes, so it makes you wonder how fall they had to fall to, well.. fall. Anyway, as alluded to before, Terhese's bloodline is said to be able to use magic without the use of Pebbles, a unique and (potentially) very useful trait. Oh, and by the way, this magic system is also organized into different specialists: Pebble Makers and Pebble Pinchers. Beside Terhese, there are a few other characters worth mentioning including Chloe, who serves as a bit of a surrogate mother to Terhese after she's orphaned. She's likable and lovable enough. There are also Natalie, who kind of reminded us of Hermione but was still a pretty original character, and Nathan, who becomes a bit of a love interest. So, the romance with Nathan is supposed to be a huge part of this book (it's marketed as a "romantasy"). But that's not the impression that we got from reading it. Yes, Nathan is often discussed as being hot and attractive, and yes there are some intense scenes involving him, especially near the end, but this really seemed more like a witchcraft & wizardry book to us. In other words, it's a lot more like Harry Potter than it is like Twilight, which is a plus (in our opinion). Another character who we appreciated was Lenetta, the charming little fairy Helper who seems to be assigned to watch over Terhese. Hilariously, Lenetta kind of acts like a virtual assistant or alarm app, always reminding her when it's time for her next class. There's a lot to love, find, and explore in this book. This series has a lot of promise! Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 94/100 (9.4 out of 10)
Feral Fables is a thought-provoking, dense, and symbolically rich collection of short-tales by Dr. Lucy Jones, a therapist and storyteller with a deep interest in feminine archetypes and spiritual healing/transformation. Incredibly, due to a combination of factors including the relative short length of the book and its complicated nature, we've read this book numerous times with a variety of experiences. During some readings, we felt confused, bewildered, and even bored. However, during other readings, we felt enlightened, intrigued, and even motivated. So, that goes to show the multilayered, nuanced, and mercurial nature of this book. It also goes to show that different people can have dramatically different takeaways from this book depending on mood, time, circumstances, and other factors. Normally, we'd say that's excellent and outstanding, but we also had trouble shaking off the times when we felt like outright closing the book and taking a break from it. We couldn't agree on if this was a book that should score a 9.0-9.2 or a 9.3 to 9.5. Regardless of opinions, what's undeniable is that this book really gets you thinking. It gets you wondering things like: What the heck is this even about? And: How does this relate to me (the reader) and my circumstances? It might also make you think: Is this story even supposed to make any bit of sense? Thankfully, there are sections at the end of each story like "Play the Fable" and "Your Notes" that try to guide you toward an answer to those questions. There's a mixture of eloquent and sophisticated writing in here, but there's also writing in here that seems excessively flowery, wordy, and superfluous—like a gordian knot of words, phrases, idioms, and symbols. So, again, it's a mixed bag. You'll likely have your own unique experience with this book from the ones we had. Anyway, let's dive into the specific content... How about the writing? It's very poetic. It's poetic prose, much like parts of Her Wild Body by Noa Raveh. And it's steeped in mythos and lore. Every single one of these stories has its own mythos and lore, existing in its own little microcosm/micro-universe. And each of these stories teaches or guides the reader toward some sort of lesson, a state of mind, and/or a better frame of thinking about a situation. One of Jones's favorite poetic techniques is the use of alliteration. There's a ton of alliteration in this book. For example: "...bottomless Bedlam..." "...burdened body..." "...to become the caterpillar that crawls..." "The village square echoed with the chorus of comedy... and Rattler recites an infinite promenade of power." "Choke cherries simmer in the pot for jam... She digs Desert Mallow roots when she wants to regulate birth. She learns the curative capacity of desert vegetation." "The One does not ask her to choose between Logic and Lust but allows her divergent thinking to lead her to the depths of her destiny. " "...she feels only the frailty of her faltering feet... " " She genuflects and gives homage to the Heavenly Husband." "She hovers silently during those ceaseless shadowy struggles within my soul." "...this world of water and wave..." "...stir them into soup for stamina." "She consults the universe with the mind of a million years." "...taste the texture of words.." "She knows nights of anxiety when the piercing wail defers to a treacherous tranquility. She knows the grappling of erotic greed, as she bolts toward a haven of quiet harmony." Now, honestly, all the alliteration kind of seems overused and also highlights how flowery the language in this book is—almost to the point of: What the heck are you trying to say? Was there a clearer, more simple way to say it? Does the economy of language not apply? Ironically, the economy of language becomes an issue in the complete opposite sense: most of these stories are incredibly short. They start and stop, sometimes abruptly. There doesn't seem to be much time for the story to breathe or for characters to develop. They just... happen. That's kind of a miracle of literary achievements: stories that seem too wordy are simultaneously too short. Anyway, alliteration isn't the only poetic technique the author employs. There are also end-rhymes like: "'There will be no sailing today,' Teak said. 'It takes more wind to send us on our way.' It was a day to explore the harbor around the dock. With careful steps, Teak walked..." Oh, and how about the beautiful, vibrant use of flower imagery in the following passage? "In my dream, I enter a lush and elegant garden, filled with scentless camellias and mammoth magnolias, radiant azaleas, fragrant gardenias. I come to watch the gardener paint white roses red." A similar thing happens with the fish in "The Mermaid": "Schools of clown fish wiggle through their anemone playground, while angel fish glide quietly in their heavenly realm. Turkey fish compete for space with stone fish." Those last two examples (about the flowers and fish) may be our favorite passages in the whole book! Well, what about the stories and lessons themselves? Well... we can tell you that a lot apparently happened in these incredibly-dense yet too-short stories. We forget a lot of these names of these characters. We forget a lot of what happened. We didn't know exactly what the point was half the time. However, that doesn't make these stories bad necessarily. They just tended to tangle our brains into a pretzel—into knots—until steam and fumes came out of our ears like a teapot. Like we said before, there are sections like "Play the Fable" which help to guide you toward an understanding and perhaps an epiphany for each story. Let's discuss a few. "Are you the armadillo, or the one who crushed it?" is prompted after the story titled “The Armadillo" (also called "Boundaries of the Armadillo" in the table of contents). In “The Armadillo,” a woman discovers a crushed armadillo by the side of the road. This small, armored creature—symbolizing defense, vulnerability, and survival—mirrors her own emotional state. She approaches it not out of curiosity, but in a fit of anger and despair. The story suggests that her boundaries have been trampled by others under the guise of liberation, leaving her overexposed and emotionally invaded. The image of the armadillo, with its “soft underbelly” destroyed, becomes a metaphor for her own damaged inner self. But instead of remaining a victim, she begins a transformation. She takes medicine from a healer, reclaims the spirit of the “warrioress,” and embraces the lessons of the armadillo—not as a helpless creature, but as a source of protection and strength. She cradles the fallen animal as a shield, using it as inspiration to rebuild boundaries, reclaim power, and reconnect with the sacred. By the end, she doesn’t march—but she crawls forward with intention, seeking only those she will allow into her protected space. She withdraws into a cave to commune with Spirit and reflect, vowing never again to let her defenses falter. The haunting final prompt—“Are you the armadillo, or are you the one who crushed it?”—is not meant to accuse but to provoke self-awareness. The story challenges the reader to consider their own patterns of boundary-setting, violation, and healing. It's a powerful fable of personal sovereignty and the painful, necessary journey toward self-defined safety. There's an especially strange story in this book (and that's saying a lot) called "The Hot Fight" which uses bull fighting (from what we understand) as a metaphor for taking on the big challenges in our lives, especially the ones that stand in the way of our goals and the things we desire most. “The Hot Fight” tells the symbolic story of a woman preparing to face el Toro, a notoriously-dangerous bull (treated almost like a monster in the story) who represents seductive danger, primal temptation, and overwhelming trials. The woman is transformed into la Torera—a female matador—dressed by attendants in ceremonial armor: a girdle for truth, armor for chastity, slippers of peace, a salvation-offering sombrero, and a sword representing Spirit’s truth. Despite the weight and burden of these preparations, she walks into the bullring alone, without applause, without rescue, and without the option of retreat. The moment is hers alone—she must confront the Toro, not just as a threat, but also as a deep personal longing. As they circle, the bull and woman engage in a sensual, psychological dance. She begins to desire the bull’s assault, to submit to its power, even fantasizing about becoming his lover and martyr. That's right, we get strange lines about la Torera desiring the bull and wanting him to pin her to a bed (or something like that). What, is she the Queen of Crete (the Minotaur's mom) or something? Anyway, when the Spirit reenters her, the woman remembers her mission: to overcome—not to surrender. Even when five more bulls appear, larger and more tempting than the last, she gathers her resolve, draws her sword, and charges them. She grows stronger and more fearless in the process. Still, the story ends with ambiguity: she has not totally conquered el Toro, who lingers in her dreams. The battle of temptation and self-mastery is not over, but she is no longer unprepared. She now sleeps with the sword beside her, armored and vigilant. She is la Torera—the woman who faces the heat of the fight. As weird as this story is, it's also one of the ones that stood out to us and that we remembered. It actually made us think. Often the things that give us the most grief, the things that hurt us the most, and the things that give us the biggest challenge and times of struggle are the things we want and care about the most. For example, if you want to be a world championship boxer, you need to suffer months and years of intense training and receiving punches. If you want to be the CEO of a big company, you need to suffer years and years of getting your education and getting your experience as a businessperson under high-stress situations. If you want to be married to the hottest man or woman in your city, it's very likely they're going to put you through a grind—requiring you to prove yourself to them constantly. That's life. There's also an interesting prompt after "The Lovers": Are you enough? Can you allow yourself to be enough? Who else do you need or desire? This story explores sensuality, longing, fantasy, and the emotional complexity of desire and intimacy—often through vivid metaphors involving the Wind, the Sun, and the Moon as lovers. The quoted reflection prompts readers to examine their own sense of wholeness and whether they seek external validation or partners to feel complete. It's a meditation on self-acceptance, eroticism, and emotional vulnerability. So you can read these stories and possibly come away with a completely different message from us or even the one that the author intended. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 94/100 (9.4 out of 10)
The Art of Dying by Christopher Eustache is a bold, unflinching collection that stares directly into the abyss of human emotion—grief, detachment, existential dread—and somehow emerges with moments of piercing clarity and dark humor. Blending the surreal with the deeply personal, Eustache crafts stories that read like philosophical meditations wrapped in lyrical fiction. With a voice that is as fearless as it is compassionate, this collection doesn't offer easy answers, but instead holds space for those quietly wrestling with what it means to survive, to feel, and to let go. This book was a mixed bag to us. There were times when it had us at the edge of our seats. There were times it made us laugh. There were times it made us think. There were times it bored us. There were times it confused us. There were times when it excited us, and there were times it fell flat. We'll say this: this is a unique book. It's far from conventional. First of all, despite the book's dark topics and subject matters (like self-termination, depression, and disillusionment), the author effectively incorporates humor, sass, irony, and clever sarcasm to make this a less dreary reading experience. In fact, as we alluded to before, there are times when this book is outright hilarious and quite entertaining. There are also stories in here that are truly thought-provoking, as we'll get to. It's important to note that, despite most of these stories exploring many of the same themes, this isn't one singular story but actually a collection or anthology comprised of shorter stories. Yet, despite the lengths of these stories, some of these characters (like David and Jason) get a ton of development—arguably more so than characters in full-length novels! And let's talk about David's story for a good minute because it really is the highlight of this book, in our opinion. It really exemplifies the book and the author's range of darkness, light, sarcasm, and sass. David's story is titled "The Man Who Wanted Nothing: A Fairy Tale." Despite being told from the author/narrator's perspective, David often breaks the fourth-wall to dispute the narrative and provide his own two-cents. This is really unorthodox and, honestly, a lot of fun! But don't let the fun and humor completely distract you from the deeper, darker things going on with David and this story. Because underneath the quirky narration, ironic footnotes, and whimsical tone lies one of the most heartbreaking depictions of emotional withdrawal and existential fatigue in the entire collection. David, though eccentric and socially awkward, is profoundly intelligent and burdened by his perception of life’s absurdity. His mission to rid himself of all desire (in a Buddhist-like way) isn't just a philosophical exercise—it’s a desperate attempt to protect himself from pain, connection, and disappointment. And in doing so, he slowly erases his own identity and humanity. His relationship with his mother, Sharron, is central to the emotional weight of the story. She's loving, frustrated, and ultimately heartbroken watching her son disappear into detachment. Add in characters like Ms. Farina, Tawna, and Jess (the attractive nurse—a candidate for "Hottest Character"), and what you get is a supporting cast that amplifies David’s loneliness while still showing glimmers of compassion, love, and—perhaps tragically—hope. This story features probably our two favorite moments in the whole book: When David essentially argues with the narrator about whether he "likes penises." There are other really humorous parts of this story like when David is being a loudmouth and Ms. Farina tell him to "SHUT UP!" all the while being a loudmouth herself (ironically). It's an All That library skit come to life! We also get the hilarious line from Masud, who we think is supposed to be David's friend who married his crush (Tawna): "I’m sorry for eating your cake that one time. I said I didn’t, but I did. I lied, sorry…also sucks that you’re dying and stuff…good-bye, Uncle Dave." Wait, why does he sound like he's 6-years-old? Anyway, "I'm sorry you're dying and stuff" is just one of those lines that had us rolling and bawling. This sense of humor returns in "The Art of Dying" (the short-story this book is named after) when the protagonist encounters a little boy wearing a Call of Duty hoodie, which makes the protagonist consider the irony of a little boy wearing swag that celebrates a violent video game series. The little boy asks him, "Does it get better?" and he immediately jumps to the conclusion that the boy means life. Hilariously, the boy is actually just talking about the series. Honestly, this is probably the funniest and best scene in the book! The next several stories, which may have not stood out as much in terms of characters and story, still employed some solid writing. One thing we kept noticing is how the author uses sounds, phonemes, and onomatopoeia. For example, Eustache uses: "Beep" "Trriiiinnnggg trring tring" (doorbell) "POW" "Clink" (to describe the sound of boots) "Click" "Clang" Speaking of "Beep" used as an onomatopoeia, it is used in one of the most heart wrenching and beautiful passages in this book (from "Run"): "Beep. It followed a consistent pattern. Beep. A rhythm. Beep. Like taking in a breath of life-giving air. Beep. And slowly releasing. Beep. Each beep chipping away at the insurmountable task. Beep. Of bringing everything back into focus. Beep. One step at a time. Beep. One foot in front of the other" Nothing says that "I'm still breathing, I'm still living, I'm still kicking" like a sound that indicates one's heart's still beating. It's a beautiful way to emphasize the hope that remains in Jared's dark, wounded mind and psyche in this story. Another story that really stood out to us was "Selected." Now, "Selected" is one of the most confusing yet fascinating stories in this collection, and we had different interpretations of it. The story is about a character named Atlas, but who Atlas actually is and what he's actually experiencing is up to debate. We're not kidding, some of us actually considered if Atlas was some sort of AI-dog/robot-dog who was programmed to essentially be a prisoner or servant in this mysterious space. There are subtle hints to this being a possibility. Then again, there's just as much evidence for this premise as there is against. Another interpretation is that Atlas is someone who has been trapped/imprisoned in this liminal space for so long that he has simply just lost his humanity and his mind. He records over 60 logs and even starts misnumbering and misnaming the logs, almost as if losing track of both time and himself. This premise actually blends right in with the next story that really compelled us: "Life Sentence." In this story, Jason is sentenced to eight-years in prison after previously facing the possibility of serving a life sentence. On one hand, Jason should be relieved that he can someday see the light of day outside a prison cell. On the other hand, Jason is faced with the prospect of eight years without freedom, without seeing friends or family, and being separated from a world that's sure to change a lot by the time he's out. Similar to Atlas in the previous story, Jason is tormented by the monotony of the prison experience. In particular, there's another inmate who repeatedly and continues to laugh. This man becomes known as the "laughing man." His laughs vary in tone, loudness, and intensity, becoming one of the most maddening parts of Jason's prison experience. This story really makes you think about our prison & justice systems and the lives of the incarcerated. Yes, some of them truly belong behind bars, but what's happening behind those bars/walls/barbed wire fences? What is actually being accomplished? And why? And, perhaps most thought-provoking of all: what happens to a prisoner once they're out of prison. Do we continue to treat them like prisoners? Should we get them the help they need or leave them to their own devices? Speaking of thought-provoking, "Two Worlds" is a very thought-provoking story. This story really make you think about the way the future and emerging technologies (like AI and virtual reality) could impact those who feel lonely or suffer from depression and suicidal ideation. The main character of this story, whose name we forgot or couldn't figure out but we think is Norman, is some sort of virtual reality programmer/game designer who "creates worlds" as a means of escaping his ill feelings in the real world. It seems as though Norman's career isn't as lucrative as one would hope, especially considering the time, effort, and energy he puts into his work. Because of this, he starts to fall behind on his rent to his landlord, Mr. Okamoto, all the while starting a bit of a relationship with the landlord's daughter, Hanna, who helps close out this book with an eloquent letter. Anyway, this story really highlights the blending and blurring between reality and fiction. If you've passionately created a fictional world and/or fictional characters, you might realize that they become real to you. If you've talked to an AI about your issues and personal feelings, you might start to really bond with it. Storytelling and these technologies can serve as a bit of an escape. But can they replace reality? Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 95+/100 (9.5+ out of 10)
When Life Knocks You Off Your Happy is a phenomenal short-story collection and thematic anthology by D.A. Mintaka! Let's put it another way: When Life Knocks You Off Your Happy is one of the best anthologies and short-story collections we've ever read—EVER! It may very well be the best! Seriously! This might be the only anthology/short-story collection we've ever read in which every single story is impactful, meaningful, compelling, and digestible—as opposed to a cobweb of "WTH?!" like some collections are (we're looking at you, Feral Fables by Lucy Jones). Ironically, When Life Knocks You Off Your Happy and Feral Fables have pretty much the same goals: to guide readers who may be struggling with psychological, mental health, or general life issues to grow, improve, and heal. They also both fall into the category of self-help. However, while Feral Fables used extremely dense and intricate stories mixed with symbolic characters compounded by a plethora of exotic themes woven into them, we found this book to be so much more relatable, digestible, and, dare we say, pleasant. The way we look at it is: if you're going to help and guide people who are already tangled up in knots (mentally), why would you present them with stories that are even more tangled up in knots? Wouldn't you want to calm them down and guide them toward a better understanding by presenting stories that are relatable and, well, understandable? When you're stressed out, do you present someone with a complicated chess scenario that would take Kasparov himself a half-hour to solve and tell them: Solve it? When you're lost, scared, and confused, do you open up the Book of Revelations or Daniel chapter 7 instead of John 3:16? And that's one of the many way in which When Life Knocks You Off Your Happy shines: it's so down to earth and relatable. Every single main character in this book (and even many of the supporting characters) actually seem like us or remind us of people we know. Every single story reflects feelings we've personally felt and experiences we've personally had. We loved it so much that we want to talk about all of it, so: SPOILER WARNING! We're immediately introduced to one of the coolest, most compelling, and most interesting characters in the book: Jackie Sparks. Jackie is an innovator with an imaginative, entrepreneur's mindset. However, she's also a stubborn goofball with great ideas that she can't quite bring to life and an unwillingness to seek help and advice from other people. Jackie thinks she doesn't need anyone. Sound like someone you know? Her mind races faster than most, and she's always scribbling plans for her next big invention—usually on the backs of napkins, worksheets, or even her arms when paper isn't available. She’s a one-girl think tank, a walking idea factory. But there's a problem: none of her inventions actually work. She builds a homework-finishing robot that sets her backpack on fire. She creates an automatic sock sorter that launches socks across the room like missiles. Then there's the Super Sorter 3000—a massive contraption meant to organize her entire life—that ends up flooding her room with glitter, ping-pong balls, and peanut butter. Every single one of her solo projects ends in disaster, but Jackie doesn’t seem to care. In her mind, failure just means she’s one step closer to greatness. The beauty of Jackie’s story is how it celebrates unfiltered creativity while also gently exposing the limits of lone-wolf inventing. Jackie doesn’t want help—not from classmates, not from teachers, not even from her curious little brother. She’s convinced that real geniuses do it alone. And so she keeps failing, gloriously and explosively. But her journey isn’t about giving up; it’s about growth. Jackie slowly realizes that being a visionary is great—but being open-minded, collaborative, and humble enough to learn from others is what turns sparks into real light. Still, her independent inventions—messy, hilarious, and doomed—are part of what make her unforgettable. She reminds us that sometimes, the most inspiring part of genius is the guts to keep going, even when everything blows up in your face. The next story centers around Tessa Hart, a kind, giving, and self-sacrificing girl who finds that she can't say no to anyone. People are constantly asking her for help and for things, often without considering her personal wants, needs, or feelings. There are things that Tessa desperately wants to do, like seeing the puppies at the convention, but she gives that up to help her friend, her neighbor, and other people. She expresses being unable to say no and feeling guilty or bad about not being able to help when people ask her for it. Does that sound like someone you know? This story is great at demonstrating why it's important to set boundaries and to check in with yourself. It's like Tela Talise said in Nature Mandalas for Busy Minds: “Taking care of yourself doesn’t mean me first—it means me too." You can't do everything for everyone. You can't be everything for everyone. You can't be everywhere all at once. You're human. And, sometimes, you need to know your limits and boundaries. You can't just let inconsiderate people take advantage of you. Tessa's story and arc actually echo another story and arc in the book: that of Evelyn and her hummingbirds. Evelyn McAllister goes from helping one bird to becoming the unpaid maid and hotel manager to a host of hummingbirds. She dotes on making sure they have perfectly fresh food and water every day. Her hobby becomes a slave-like job—unpaid with no vacation. Other aspects of her life deteriorate. Evelyn has an added layer to her character (compared to Tessa): not only is she super kind and giving like Tessa, but she's also a perfectionist, possibly having OCD. Things always have to be the way that she planned or envisioned them. She imagines this perfect life for the hummingbirds with her as their caretaker or motherly figure. The problem is that smothering others with love, attention, and affection sometimes backfires when you abandon having balance in your life. Evelyn learns this the hard way when she becomes neurotic about taking care of the hummingbirds. However, she's reminded by a guardian: would one day off be the end of the world? Do the hummingbirds always need perfectly fresh water? Evelyn is relieved by the huge weight and burden lifted off her chest. She's also pleasantly surprised by how sovereign, independent, and self-sufficient the hummingbirds turn out to be. Evelyn's perfectionism and potential OCD is echoed in another story and arc, that of Rachel in the story titled "Memory Keeper." Rachel is obsessed with everything being perfect, everything being in order, and everything being as she envisions it. We almost felt like Rachel represented a utopian ideal—something unobtainable considering human flaws and fallibility. Specifically, Rachel wants to make sure that her Halloween decorations are perfect. She won't accept anything less. And when her friends and family try to get involved, she becomes frazzled and upset, criticizing what they're doing, or changing/adjusting what they've accomplished. This makes what could've been a great collaborative experience into a nightmare for her friends and family. Rachel becomes a dictator, in a sense, insisting on her own way and crushing individuality and innovation. Remember what we said about this reflecting the idea of an unobtainable utopian ideal? Well, this is how communism becomes totalitarianism. Rachel needs to be taught that she can't force her will on others and expect them to do everything exactly how she wants. She also realizes that she needs help and assistance, and that she can't do everything on her own. This turns the decorating into a fun, friendly, social, and collaborative experience in which everyone enjoys and is allowed to express their creative freedom. This story is unique in that it's actually just as much about the themes of legacy and memory as it is about perfectionism and collaboration. Rachel is fixated on the idea that everything in her life needs to be perfect (and look perfect) because it's what she will be remembered for—her legacy. Dang, that almost reminds us of the Saddam Hussein quote (to paraphrase): "People ask why I build these huge impressive monuments instead of improving schools and hospitals. It's because in a thousand years, these monuments will still be standing and will be what I will be remembered for." Rachel learns that people ultimately don't care about the big, impressive things you make or how perfect they are, they care about and remember how you made them feel. Lisa's story titled "Bringing People Together" is similar to Rachel's with less emphasis on memory & legacy and more emphasis on unity & inclusion. Lisa envisions herself as a unifier and a leader. However, similar to Rachel, she has totalitarian leanings, unrealistic expectations, and has trouble seeing herself int he shoes of others. Rachel and her classmates are preparing for a spring festival. She's surrounded by incredible talent: classmates with creative ideas, different styles, and unique visions for what the festival should look and feel like. But instead of celebrating that diversity, Lisa steamrolls it. She believes that in order for things to be perfect—and for everyone to feel united—they all have to follow her plan. Decorations must match her aesthetic. Music choices must align with her vibe. Food, posters, even where people stand—everything is dictated by Lisa's personal definition of "perfect unity." Of course, the irony is that her rigid control creates the opposite of unity. Her classmates begin to resent her. Tension rises. Joy disappears. What was supposed to be a fun and collaborative event turns into a checklist of demands. And Lisa, still believing she’s doing the right thing, is shocked when people start to back out or push back. The moment of reckoning comes not in a dramatic confrontation, but in a quiet realization: unity isn’t about sameness—it’s about inclusion. Lisa starts to see how her vision, while well-intentioned, left no room for others to belong. And more importantly, how her need for perfection and control was rooted in fear—fear that if things weren’t exactly right, she’d be forgotten or unloved. Like Rachel, Lisa learns that people don’t remember the decorations or the playlist. They remember how they felt. And when Lisa finally lets go—finally listens—the festival becomes something far better than she could have imagined: not perfect, but meaningful. In the end, Lisa learns that true leadership isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about creating space where everyone gets to contribute to the story. Eddy's story is arguably the most haunting and compelling in the whole book. Why? Well, Eddy seems to fall into the autism spectrum. You can subtly tell by the way he becomes fixated on things, concepts, and ideas. He's also a bit of a genius and/or savant, fascinated by science and formulas. Unfortunately, Eddy also finds himself fixated on other things, which make others confused and uncomfortable. Specifically, he becomes obsessed with a girl named Caroline. He constantly tries to do things for Caroline, communicate to her, and be around her. He desperately wants to be her "friend" but it is clear that she's taken aback by him and prefers her space. Eddy, who can't read social cues, just keeps pressing the issue. It gets to the point where Eddy unknowingly becomes a bit of a stalker. He writes about Caroline constantly—nothing creepy (that we know of) but constantly and consistently. His parents, getting a call from the school and finding Eddy's journal, realize that Eddy has a problem and confront him compassionately about it. They do their best to teach Eddy about freedom of choice/the right to choose your friends and about boundaries. We get one of the best analogies in the whole book in this story when Eddy's dad takes Eddy fishing. He teaches Eddy that you can't force the fish to bite. Specifically, Eddy's dad says: "Do you know why fishing teaches patience?...you can’t force the fish to bite. It’s their choice. People are like that too. You can offer kindness and friendship, but you can’t make someone accept it.” Another interesting aspect of Eddy's character, Eddy's psychology, and the story as a whole is the idea that Eddy sees everything like a math or science problem. He sees not being able to solve them problem as "failing." However, his parents tell him that he isn't failing, he's learning. He's also taught that "People aren't equations" and "People aren't science projects" that need to be figured out. "Relationships don’t work the same way as science. People aren’t equations.” The character and story of Elliot Michaels is also interesting. Elliot is the class clown and a perpetual jokester who believes that everything can be solved with a good joke and a laugh. Sound like someone you know? He's known as the "Sunshine Kid" because he always seems upbeat and happy. However, he finds himself confused and deeply bothered when a sad classmate, Grace, doesn't laugh at one of his jokes and instead erupts into tears. Elliot realizes that Grace has suffered a great personal loss, something that Elliot was unintentionally insensitive about. He learns to be more sensitive to others. Interestingly, he also learns that sometimes it's not what you say or do that can help a person the most, it's just being willing to listen. This reminded us of something that George Beasley taught in his book The Ominous Struggle. Sometimes, the best thing to do for another person is to take time for them and to listen to them. We get a great quote from this story: "Think of emotions like music. If someone’s playing a sad song, and you barge in with a marching band, it’s not going to help. You have to listen to the music first and match their rhythm." Elliot realizes that he was being a marching band. Joe's character and story is also interesting. Gosh, every character in this book is interesting. Joe is someone who always says "yes" when invited to do something, but often dips out at the last minute. Similar to Tessa in the previous story, he just can't say no. Well, he learns to in this story as he becomes known as "No Show Joe" and is treated like a perpetual letdown and disappointment. Joe is taught by Mr. Pennington: "Freedom isn’t about avoiding commitments—it’s about choosing the ones that matter and being honest about the ones you can’t make." Mr. Pennington also says: "...people respect honesty more than empty promises. If you can’t commit to something, it’s better to say so upfront." In a separate story, Nathan is a "transactional kid" who never does anything unless the other person can answer the question: "What's in it for me?" This causes him to lose friends and clients. The story of Jonah is a relatively simple one, but no less impactful. Jonah is in a group of friends that often bullies and belittles others, specifically a boy named Tommy. Jonah is torn about this. It deeply affects him and fills him with guilt and regret at not standing up and stopping the bullying. It should be noted that this is probably the only story in the book with clear antagonists: Danny, Troy, and Max. Jonah is taught the important lesson that you should surround yourself with people who share and support your values. You should choose your friends wisely. It should also be noted that there's an unnamed female character in this story who makes a deep impact. This girl uses her voice to stand up for another classmate, saying, "Don't talk about her that way." This sets an example for Jonah to later follow. Interestingly enough, Max (the smallest of the bullies) appears in another story "While Parents Struggle To Stay Together" in which it is revealed that Max is struggling silently at home and in school due to divorcing parents. Perhaps he takes out his aggression on people like Tommy because of this? It's also possible that these are two separate characters who happen to have the same name, but we prefer to think they're the same person. Lily's story centers on the pain of being excluded and feeling invisible. She’s excited about a group project and wants to contribute, but her classmates continuously overlook her ideas, talk over her, or leave her out entirely—not out of malice, but because she’s quiet and doesn’t push herself into the spotlight. The emotional weight builds as Lily begins to question her value and whether she truly belongs. Her story isn’t loud or dramatic—it’s subtle, internal, and deeply relatable. Eventually, with gentle encouragement from a teacher, Lily finds the courage to speak up and share her thoughts. When she does, her classmates are surprised by her insight and creativity, realizing what they’ve missed. Lily’s journey is about reclaiming her voice and realizing that just because you’re quiet doesn’t mean you’re unimportant. Her story reminds readers that inclusion isn’t just about inviting people to the table—it’s about making sure they’re truly seen and heard. Liam's story, despite probably being our least favorite, is probably the most relevant story in terms of this creative contest. Why? Well, it's about someone desperately and courageously trying to win a creative contest! Liam is an imaginative, creative person who is crafting a fictitious world called Zephyron, a planet with three suns and no moon. Zephyron isn’t just a setting—it’s Liam’s refuge. It’s where rebels battle the oppressive hive-mind known as The Collective, and where Liam can explore ideas of freedom, identity, and rebellion that he’s too shy or anxious to express in real life. But Liam’s struggle isn’t a lack of imagination—it’s a lack of validation. At home, his father doesn’t understand his passions and sees fiction as a waste of time. At school, Liam is quiet and often overlooked. His ideas live in notebooks and sketches, hidden from a world he’s afraid will laugh or dismiss him. But when a national sci-fi graphic novel contest is announced, Liam takes the biggest emotional risk of his life: he submits his work. And not just anonymously—he submits it under his real name. That single act is what makes Liam’s story so powerful and so relevant to this creative competition: it's about the bravery of putting your creative self out there, even when you think no one will care. Liam doesn’t win because his drawings are the best or his storyline is the most polished. He wins because his story is honest, imaginative, and deeply personal. His victory is a triumph not just of creativity, but of vulnerability and belief in his own voice. So while his story may not have been the most thrilling or emotionally intense in the book, it’s the one that most directly celebrates the heart of what creative contests are really about—sharing your vision, your voice, and your world with others, no matter how scary that might be. This book is built on the premise: "Every story starts with a question... and the courage to dream up an answer." Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 93+/100 (9.3+ out of 10)
The Pentacle is the sixth and—as it stands now—final installment in the award-winning Madigan Chronicles series by Marieke Lexmond! Where does a series go once it has lost its big bad? Whether it's Thanos in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Voldemort in Harry Potter, or Sauron in The Lord of the Rings, stories often face a new challenge after defeating their central villain: how to evolve beyond the looming shadow of evil. The Pentacle answers this question with grace, maturity, and a surprising dose of emotional complexity. Rather than introducing a new external enemy, Lexmond turns inward—exploring the aftermath of trauma, the weight of legacy, and the cost of magic. In doing so, she shows us that not all battles end with a vanquished foe. Some continue quietly within families, within memory, and within the choices that ripple across generations. The villain may be gone, but healing takes time. Justice demands reckoning. And peace—true peace—requires sacrifice. By shifting focus from confrontation to restoration, The Pentacle transforms the conclusion of an epic saga into something more intimate: a meditation on forgiveness, responsibility, and what it means to carry on after the war is over. In this way, the series doesn’t just survive the loss of its villain—it transcends it. So... where does a series go once it has lost its big bad? In the case of The Pentacle, the answer is: surprisingly a lot! In this series, we got really caught up to the build up to a climactic showdown with Queen Mab that we kind of took for granted that this was more than some melodramatic epic about good versus evil. It's actually more nuanced and complex than that. The Madigans themselves, despite being the good guys (for the most part), are not purely good nor purely evil. They have members in their midst like Lucy who have the potential to be as savage as they come. And the Madigans, despite being the good guys (for the most part), are also largely responsible for the disruptions and imbalances in the magic within this fictional universe. It was their mishandling—and often hoarding—of the elemental power objects that contributed to the world's magical instability in the first place. Their personal grievances, betrayals, and emotional immaturity were just as responsible for the chaos as any external threat (like Mab). Lucy’s descent into darkness didn’t come out of nowhere; it was enabled by years of family fractures, secrecy, and judgment. Even Tara, once a pillar of wisdom, made choices that endangered everyone, driven more by loyalty to her twin than any sense of justice. And let's not forget that Tara and Seamus both interfered with the natural order of death: Seamus lingered as a spirit bound to a tarot card rather than passing on. Oh, and by the way, we're reminded that Cal stole the magical tarot deck at some point, exacerbating the problem. Speaking of problems, we do get one added dimension to this book—another magical object, if you want to call it that: the Pentacle of Growth. Symbolically (and per the elemental magic system of this book), it completes the quartet of elemental objects: Wand (Air / Wisdom) Dagger (Fire / Consciousness) Cup (Water / Plenty) Pentacle (Earth / Growth) In our opinion, the Pentacle acts as a kind of tether—anchoring the other elemental forces (Air, Fire, and Water) to the Earth itself. It doesn’t overshadow or outrank the other elements, but it provides a necessary point of balance. It grounds them, both literally and symbolically. The best way to understand it is by comparing it to the human body: if the Wand (Air) is like your brain, the Dagger (Fire) like your immune system, and the Cup (Water) like your vital organs, then the Pentacle is your central nervous system. It’s what integrates everything, relays signals, and keeps the whole system in communication and alignment. Without it, the other elements might still exist—but they would drift, disconnect, or spiral out of control. So, the Pentacle isn’t more powerful than the others—but it’s what allows all the other powers to function as a cohesive, stable whole. It’s not just about growth in the physical sense; it’s about integration, maturity, and completion. Despite the Pentacle being the namesake and ultimate culmination of the book, the Cup of Plenty is of special interest in this book as it becomes the central object of conflict, betrayal, and pursuit—setting much of the plot in motion. Stolen by Lucy and Tara, the Cup not only represents the elemental force of Water—abundance, emotion, healing—but also acts like a living entity that responds to its rightful Guardian, Snowflake Berthelsen. Its presence stirs deep magical currents, amplifies danger, and draws all sides into a race to reclaim or protect it. Oh, and by the way... remember Snowflake from book #4 (The Cup)? Well, she's back and plays a pretty major role in this book as the Guardian of the Cup. Speaking of the Cup... More than a magical artifact, the Cup symbolizes the emotional undercurrents within the story: grief, generational wounds, longing, and the overflowing consequences of unhealed pain. It literally refuses to stay hidden, resonating with Snowflake across distances, betraying its location, and causing magical disruptions. As such, it becomes both a coveted prize and a liability—forcing the Madigans and the Berthelsens to confront not only each other, but their own family legacies and the consequences of hoarding power. In many ways, the Cup is the emotional and spiritual heart of the story—its instability mirrors the fractured bonds between families, and its rightful placement becomes essential for restoring magical balance. And, perhaps most importantly from an entertainment standpoint, the Cup sub-plot highlights the relationship between Tara and her twin, Lucy, our favorite character in the whole series. If you need to be reminded about how much we love Lucy, she was named "Best Villain" of our 2023 Spring Contest. She has been a nominee for "Best Character" in numerous contests. She is essentially the Vegeta (from Dragon Ball) of this series. Anyway, The Pentacle is the Lucy and Tara show, and we're on board with that! And they do have some really touching and interesting moment together. Keep in mind: these two were mortal enemies and arch-rivals for years. Lucy caused havoc and was the main villain of book #1 (The Dagger). This book constantly reminds us of Lucy's dark past and the terrible things she has done. In fact, even Set talks about how she was a terrible mother who could never be trust or relied on. Oh, and we're reminded about the fact that Lucy even went so far as to torture Bridget once upon a time. However, don't forget that she also allowed her body to be used in an astral-projection attempt to defeat or hold off Queen Mab, causing Lucy tremendous pain and suffering in an act of self-sacrifice, achieving some redemption. Lucy and Tara actually have some interesting and even beautiful moments in this book. Perhaps our favorite is when they laugh together. They even have a cute moment in which they joke about how old they are. That whole exchange is gold: Lucy follows her sister’s movements as she bites in the blood-red raspberry jam. “You’re right. I always had this enormous drive, and lately—I don’t know.” Tara smiles knowingly. “Welcome to old age.” “I’m not that old,” Lucy snaps back. “Exactly as old as I am,” says Tara with a wink. We were a bit bothered by the ultimate fates of Lucy and Tara (at least for now). It was upsetting that it seemed like their own family had to turn against them to complete their ultimate mission and that Vhumut, who really seemed to adore Lucy and even helped her (and the Madigans) against Mab, turned against her like this. We have a feeling that this was supposed to be upsetting. This can't be the way that these two characters, especially Lucy, go out. They're too important and they're too cool! Anyway, the book features a lot of callbacks to the previous books. We also return to the Land of Fairy for a little while and follow all the recent changes under Ceri, the new queen (because Mab never had kids). There's some good world-building here. For example, we learn that the fairies love to keep their memories in these holographic memory-box things. Diane's seeress power come into play. Also, Maeve's siren powers still continue to emerge in spurts. Cephalop is also still in here, tentacles and all. If there's anything that negatively impacts this book (and others in the series), it's the fact that it often seems stretched thin. There are so many characters and so many things going on. Not only is it difficult to keep track of all of them, but—more importantly—it's difficult to maintain tension and focus when the camera wants to keep switching perspectives. Nonetheless, we were overall happy to have read and experienced this book (and series)! Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 96/100 (9.6 out of 10)
The Philly Phenoms by Nate Oxman might be the most entertaining and well-balanced novel we've read so far this year! It's certainly up there. While this book isn't groundbreaking in its premise (a sports novel centered on the relationship between a father and his son), it's excellent in its execution. Some might even say... outstanding! There's just something so heartfelt, authentic, and genuine about this book. Even though it's a work of fiction, we were really under the impression that this was a true story—an actual memoir—the whole time! That's great writing. That's understanding people, framing, and substance. And perhaps it is based on real people and real events. In fact, the author has intimately close ties to the golfing community, not only as a skilled player and single-digit handicapper in his own right, but also through his longtime role as assistant caddie master at the prestigious Merion Golf Club (since 2009), one of the most iconic courses in America. He’s worked with generations of caddies, players, and club members, absorbing the culture, stories, and camaraderie that define the game at the grassroots level. These experiences clearly inform the authenticity of the fictional Ridley Creek Country Club in The Philly Phenoms — from the inner workings of a golf club to the unspoken codes between mentors and juniors. And, hey, we even get some golfing tips and tricks! They usually come from the main character's dad. So, let's dive right into this heartwarming, heart wrenching, riveting, emotionally-compelling sports novel! First and foremost, this novel is incredibly... human. It's grounded in its humanity, the humanity, vulnerabilities, fears, flaws, courage, and inner strength of its characters. At the book's heart are Lee Lomax Jr., ten to eleven year old navigating a post-9/11 world in the shadow of his dad, Sam, a once-great golf player who gave up going pro to focus on being a husband and father. Sam quietly carries the weight of love, regret, and unspoken dreams. He isn't a superhero; he’s a man worn by life, yet still capable of greatness when it matters most—often called a "Gamer" by folks in the book (someone who rises to the occasion and performs best when the stakes are highest like Joe Montana or Michael Jordan). Yet, above all, he's an excellent and loving father to his son and daughters. He is the person they all run to when they are afraid or uncertain—their pillar of strength and their shelter. This is especially highlighted via one of the book's most heart wrenching sub-plots as Lee's mother (Sam's wife)—a woman we're told the kids have never seen get sick—silently suffers through and battles ovarian cancer. Sam fights with all his might to be strong for his wife and kids, even when the future is so scary and uncertain. Add 9/11 and the subsequent War on Terror into the mix, and you've got a recipe for a cloudy and concerning future. But it's really interesting to see how everyone in this book responds to times of crisis and tragedies. It's very raw and human. For example, we really don't see or read about Lee's sisters (Sam's daughters) in the book much; heck, we don't even remember their names. Yet they still seem real and believable. It's the subtle things that make that magic happen For example, they rally around their dad and show up unexpectedly for one of his big matches. They (along with Lee) also help to relieve the burden on their father and mother by doing more of the chores. In fact, it almost seems like they compete with each other to do the chores, a total reversal of before. Speaking of total reversals, Lee's motivations gradually and believably evolve throughout the book. He goes from pursuing more superficial goals and rewards like getting ice cream from Dairy Queen or having fun to genuinely wanting his dad to succeed and win. But blink and you'll miss these things because the author doesn't shove them down your throat and force this messaging on you. So much of this is subtle. You know who's not subtle? Hal Rustin, the book's main villain. But even that works to the book's advantage. He is an incredibly effective villain, pushing character development and the plot forward. Remember when we said that Lee's motivations evolve? Well, they evolve in large part due to how negatively he feels about Rustin. Remember when we said that Sam used to be a promising golfer who could've gone pro before abandoning training and competing? Well, he starts training and reenters competition to defend his family's honor from Rustin. That's how you properly establish motivations. That's how you create a great character—a great villain. Make them impactful. Make them have a huge difference. Rustin is portrayed as the arrogant, antagonistic force opposing the Lomax family at Ridley Creek Country Club. He embodies entitlement, elitism, and dishonesty—traits that directly contrast with the humility, integrity, and perseverance represented by Sam and Lee Lomax. Years earlier, Sam had accused Rustin of cheating, a history that adds bitterness to their interactions and raises the stakes when they ultimately face off. Rustin not only tries to dominate on the golf course but also manipulates behind the scenes, aiming to push the Lomax family out of the club entirely. He's creepy, intimidating, and maybe even a bit homicidal. He seemingly almost runs Lee over in one scene! And he pressures him in the restroom to the point where Lee is begging in his mind for Rustin not to kick the door of the restroom stall down. How messed up is that?! The audience really grows to hate this guy as much as Lee and Sam do. That really gets us on Lee and Sam's side (if we weren't already). We want to see them overcome this terrible, awful guy. We want to see him get his comeuppance. So, when terrible things happen to Rustin, we cheer emphatically. Our favorite scene in the entire book (a nominee for Best Moment) was when he started to choke on his own cigar smoke after arrogantly mocking and taunting little Lee, giving Lee an opportunity to show some spunk and courage. One of the defining characteristics of Lee is how fearful he is. Now, keep in mind, fearful doesn't mean cowardly. A coward runs from their fears, a fearful person can still experience a profound sense of fear yet show courage and bravery in the face of it. You know what they say? Courage is when you're afraid to do something, yet do it anyway. Well, if that's true, then Lee is rather courageous! Lee's strong sense of fear reverberates throughout this book. We see it right away when he becomes fearful when a friend's golfball breaks a window, putting them in danger of getting in trouble for it. Then, in a scene that really grounds this book, we see Lee's fearful reactions to the 9/11 tragedy. Lee's mind, understandably, runs wild with questions, fears, and uncertainties. He wonders if Philadelphia might be targeted next. He wonders what he should do and how he can evacuate having only a bike. He cries. In fact, Lee cries a lot. It's something he does constantly. But it never feels unwarranted and it never seems excessive. Think about this: Lee is believably a 10-year-old/11-year-old kid whose mother might be dying, who just saw people jump from buildings and die on 9/11, who thinks that terrorists could do that to Philadelphia (his home) too, and who is constantly being threatened and intimidated by this Hal Rustin guy. You'd cry a lot too! These characters don't feel like fiction, they feel like us. This book also does a very good job at exploring the theme and pushing the idea that sports and recreational activities are important parts of society. In fact, sports really grounds Lee (and Sam), providing them with an escape and something familiar. Even when 9/11 is happening, Lee is listening to Sports Center on ESPN. It's something familiar that's warped into something alien and terrifying due to the news. Golf is something familiar that binds Lee to his father. It becomes an important part of their relationship and their time together. It's something they do together, experience together, pursue together, and live together. They are definitively and emphatically in this together, making them a nominee for Best Dynamic Duo. There are a few more subtle lines in here that we really liked. One is from Lee's mother who says: “If your dad ever practiced like he used to, no one in the club could beat him.” This little line says a ton. It basically tells you how great of a golfer Sam was and how high a potential he had (and still has). It also tells you that Sam's wife believes in him and has tremendous confidence in him. Another passage we liked was Sam's advice to "take your best shot": "Take your best shot. No matter what. That’s all you can do. That’s all anybody can do... If you try your hardest, I don’t care where the ball goes... But you gotta try. You gotta show up." And Sam shows up for himself and, more importantly, his family despite all the adversity and bad things. Furthermore, he sets an example for Lee. What's extra interesting about this passage is that it meshes, mixes, and mends with another of the book's themes: the uncontrollables—variables beyond our control. You can't control the weather, the wind, a bird or an alligator on the golf course, or external things that happen, but you can control things like your effort level and your mindset. Even when it's challenging, you've gotta give it your best shot. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 95/100 (9.5 out of 10)
A Thousand More by K.S. Lynn is arguably the most sophisticated and ambitious romance novel that we've read this year! Who would've thought that this wild story was born from a dream in 2005? Who would've thought the first 25 pages were lost due to a hard-drive crash (or something like that) and that the book was only continued in 2019? You can really tell that the author put a lot of thought into crafting this novel and its characters—arguably too much. It's dense, complex, complicated, and loaded to the brim of tragedy, twists, and drama.This book is a gordian knot of good, great, and ambitious ideas. Some of them work, some of them don't. Some of them serve as window dressing. K.S. Lynn threw everything but the kitchen sink into trying to make this book hit as hard as possible. Sometimes, it seems excessive and unnecessary. Sometimes, it actually is impactful and engaging. Nonetheless, this is a gripping, heart wrenching romance mixed with familial, generational, and psychological drama (and trauma)! How much can love endure? What about the ghosts we carry around in our hearts? Trust issues. Insecurities. The pain of previous losses. The hurt of prior betrayals. The struggle to have kids. Health issues. Traumatic events like accidents. Memory loss. Can true love survive it all? And when love is lost, can you learn to love again? To say that A Thousand More follows one or more main characters in one timeline/timeframe would be selling it short. The book actually spans several decades and involves family secrets, twins, mistaken identity, and so much more. Are you ready to read us try to untangle this gordian knot of a plot and its characters? SPOILER WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD A Thousand More mostly centers around two main couples who fell in love decades ago: Liam & Michelle and Scott & Shelby (Danielle). Now, are you really ready for SPOILERS because we can't explain this story without them. Our heads would explode. SPOILERS AHEAD. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED. So, Michelle and Shelby are actually twins. What's kind of strange about this is that this doesn't really seem to matter until the accident/amnesia angle. It's a huge "AHA!" moment. But if you don't pick up the hints, clues, and breadcrumbs along the way, you might find yourself more confused than impressed by this twist. Anyway, the twist was still impactful for us. Michelle and Shelby/Danielle were separated at birth due to one of them being premature and needing special care and attention. Michelle grew up with a neighbor who became a very close friend and whom she fell deeply in love with, Bradley Cole (usually just called "Brad"). Bradley dies before most of the major events of the book and his death clearly haunts Michelle for the rest of her life. She has nightmares of his death and dreams of him returning. His figurative ghost hangs over her and her relationship with her eventual husband, Liam. Liam was Brad's best friend. On the day that Brad died, he asked Liam to take care of Michelle if anything was to happen to him. Gosh, that's very heavy and also very melodramatic and convenient. A lot of this book feels like that. It's a really strange mixture of, "Gosh, I'm really impressed by the heaviness of what's happening, but I'm also not impressed by how contrived it feels." Sometimes, it does seem like a lot of great ideas got tacked onto this book in later drafts like window dressing, as we alluded to earlier. It sometimes feels like there are three different books with three different plots that got written together into this one. There's the plot about Michelle overcoming her loss of Brad and learning to love again. There's the plot about Michelle and Liam's relationship and issues like potential infertility, raising kids, trust issues (with people like Stacy), arguing about large expenses (like the cottage), a miscarriage, and competing with the shadow of a ghost (like Brad's). Then there's the plot about Scott being hot and engaging in a relationship with Shelby, having kids and all that. Then there's the plot about Michelle actually not being alive, Shelby/Danielle's amnesia and taking up this new life/identity as Michelle, and all the stuff that comes with that. So, that's like four different plots and four different books. So, you're definitely getting value and your money's worth if you just wanted a dense book to keep your mind occupied for a week. Gosh, then you have to fit in Sam's arc. Oh, and Martha's. It sometimes feels like every Korean drama or telenovela cliche got written into this. You know, it's actually easier to think of this book as two major parallel stories: Michelle's and Shelby's. Their lives do parallel each other in a lot of ways. Speaking of Sam and Martha from earlier, their characters actually mirror each other as well. The fractured and fragmented nature of this book, cutting across multiple decades and following multiple perspectives, reflects Shelby/Danielle's fractured mind in the later portions of this book (post-accident). We admire the ambition and the attempt. We're not sure it always worked, but it was worth a try. And we definitely came away from this book feeling like we went through an emotional, compelling, and engaging experience. In closing, Scott is definitely a nominee for Hottest Character and Bear (the Bernese dog) is a nominee for Cutest Character. Of course, there's an argument to be made that Michelle-Liam, Shelby-Scott, and Shelby-Liam are nominees for Best Couple. This book has not yet been released. |
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