Editorial Reviews for Nominees
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 Score: 91+/100 (9.1+ out of 10)
Scissor-Tail by Ethan Richards and Alec Byrne is an Oklahoma-rooted vigilante thriller that reads like a true crime dossier, blending investigative journalism, cartel crime, and superhero myth. It's ultimately a rather comical set-up, tailor-made for fans of cheesy, hokey characters and stories like those you might find in a cartoon, a monster movie, or an 80s action film. This book is largely for fun and entertainment, not quite reaching the tension or character depth of Beast of Eufaula Lake or Maryland Sasquatch Massacre (also by Ethan Richards). It's a bit like a superhero vigilante flick like Batman or Kickass. Only, in Batman, Barbara Gordon (a character we cared about) was shot and paralyzed; in addition, Rachel Dawes (another character we cared about) got blown up and killed. In Kickass, Big Daddy (a character we cared about, played by Nicholas Cage) gets burned alive to send a warning to other vigilantes. There's nothing nearly as gritty, hard-hitting, or impactful in this book. Yes, even considering the early deaths and over-the-top stakes later on. For example, Jesse's death could've been more impactful if it didn't happen so early on that there was no opportunity to get emotionally invested in him. The blimp thing could've been suspenseful if it hadn't been right after the tank thing, and if witnesses/survivors weren't making hilarious statements about it like "the carriage-looking thing underneath" or whenever the jetpacks of Scissor-Tail are described. There's just so much... cheese... There's a scene that we couldn't shake in which one of the baddies tells Scissor-Tail, "We know your code... you don't kill" (like Scissor-Tail is Batman or something) only for Scissor-Tail to boot him off of a roof. It's so... cheesy. There's another moment when the La Mosca goons keep shouting "Mi madre!" when they're being dealt with. The name "Pump-Jack" just rubs us the wrong way. It sounds like an innuendo you'd hear on the Howard Stern show. Yes, we know that Pump Jacks are actual tools, but... it still sounds funny for a menacing, mysterious character. And about that tank thing... how the heck is this tank so fast and so maneuverable? It sounds more like the authors were trying to recreate the Shagohod chase sequence from Metal Gear Solid 3 than actually present realistic, gritty tank mechanics. Now, there was one joke that landed for us, and it's when they're discussing the "Hooker Horny Toads" school name and mascot. Yes, there are stakes (like trying to prevent a chemical attack from the a blimp on Oklahoma City, Norman, and Stillwater) and there is some attempt at character depth/development (like Myra grappling with Jesse’s death and her own responsibility as a reporter), but the tone is much closer to a Saturday matinee creature-feature or corny 80s action film than to a grounded prestige drama. A LOT of people die at one point in this book. And, while it definitely got our attentions, it didn't hit like it should've, largely because it's sandwiched between so many cheesy, unserious scenes and jokes. It was really hard to take the events of this book seriously. And, perhaps, the point of this book isn't to be taken seriously. Instead, the point of this book is to be action-packed, fun, and entertainment. Not everything needs to be Citizen Kane. This book is tailor-made to put butts in seats and popcorn in faces. Scissor-Tail follows Myra Morgans, a relentless investigative journalist who is hot on the trail of a masked vigilante who keeps turning up wherever the worst people in Oklahoma get what is coming to them. After her friend and colleague Jesse is killed while digging into a mysterious eco terrorist called Pump Jack, Myra inherits his notes and tumbles into a rabbit hole of La Mosca cartel goons, shady land deals, and whispered stories about a leather coated figure who drops out of the sky and dismantles bad guys like a horror movie monster crossed with a pro wrestler. Along the way, she butts heads and trades banter with Axel Arcand, her rich boy publisher who may or may not know more about Scissor-Tail than he lets on. The story bounces from Roman Nose to Watonga to the cartel infested Everstone Hollow bar, through abandoned missile silos and bunkers, and finally to the Bedlam football game with a blimp full of chemicals overhead. There are tasers, gas grenades, high flying jet suits, and interrogation scenes that feel like they were storyboarded for a comic book or a streaming series pilot. If you go in expecting subtlety or deep psychological realism, you will probably roll your eyes. If you go in wanting a pulpy, over the top, very Oklahoma =flavored romp about a bird themed vigilante kicking cartel teeth in while a snarky reporter scribbles it all down, this delivers exactly that. There is a lot of substance here to work with. You could even argue it's a bit too much. Like, if you were going to have Pump-Jack be the featured mystery in this book, then why have Scissor-Tail too? Why add La Mosca into it? It just seems like a lot of otherwise-good ideas that got thrown into a blender. What this does is stretch the audience's attention thin. It's TMSGO (too much sh&^ going on). It's like why Godzilla: King of the Monsters and Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice were so much worse received than their predecessors. You don't need so much cool stuff stacked on top of other cool stuff, especially if it distracts from the central cool stuff. This book seems to lack a lot of the focus that the author's better works like Beast of Eufaula Lake or Maryland Sasquatch Massacre had. It wants us to buy into this big, sprawling eco-terror conspiracy involving the cartel and two mysterious figures rather than just focusing on any one thing. The result is that almost everything feels diluted and stretched thin. Now, we will say that one of the setup for the climax of this book really got our attention. No, not the blimp thing, but the fact that it took place during the final meeting between Oklahoma State & Oklahoma in Bedlam. It's quite humorous to hear the narrative criticize Oklahoma for leaving the Big 12 for the SEC, foregoing the continuation of the state rivalry, calling it a "betrayal." That was pretty funny. And this book is pretty funny and entertaining. Ethan Richards says that he writes "to provide a welcome escape, helping you navigate the chaos of everyday life." And that he does. Lastly, the character of Myra does deserve some credit. While she's a bit generic and not our cup of tea, what she did in this book is still admirable and respectable. She put her life, safety, and reputation on the line in order to get the truth, the whole truth. It made us think about what Richard Lui talked about in his memoir on being a journalist in dangerous situations. Check it out on Amazon!
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 Score: 91/100 (9.1 out of 10)
A Thorn in the Garden is a mostly-tender, sometimes-edgy historical romance novel by E.C. Roderick. It is the fourth installment in the TAKEN series, a collection of books that follow Sylvina (often just called "Sylvie"), a widowed American woman from the 21st century, who is wrapped up in a romantic misadventure with Seamus (often called "Leif"), a former 18th century British soldier in the American colonies. By this fourth book, Leif has risen to the rank of Duke of Monteith and seems to have his own fleet, with a capital ship he named after Sylvina. Hey, if Forest Gump can do it for Jenny, Leif can do it for Sylvie. It is a bit corny and cheesy, but... ok. You could argue that it's also sweet, thoughtful, and romantic. Apparently, the Sylvina is the finest ship in the Carribean or something like that. He calls it the "queen of all my vessels." He also owns several other vessels including the Intrepid. No, not the aircraft carrier, the 18th century equivalent. Anyway, this book kicks off with Sylvie and Leif being reunited in 1768. The two are married now, which effectively makes Sylvie the Duchess of Monteith. Both Leif and Sylvie (especially Leif) seem to have a lot more power, wealth, authority, and agency now, much more so than they had in previous books. In previous books, it seemed like they were always being pulled here and there, and that the power always lay in someone else's hands. On one hand, we're really happy for them both. On the other hand, they've reached a point in which they're pretty OP. There's not much higher for them to climb, unless the author intends for them to eventually become king and queen, which definitely isn't happening because it would create a major time paradox in the 21st century. We also can't shake the uneasy feeling that this is the fulfillment of some overly-idealized, unrealistic fantasy. The setup starts to look like one of those cheap, lower-quality romances in which the male lead has all the money, status, and influence in the world, almost like an eighteenth century cousin to something like Fifty Shades of Gray, The Mister, or one of the other dime-a-dozen "billionaire CEO"/alpha rich male protagonist novels. Leif isn't just rich, he's the "wealthiest man in the colony." He's even richer than the Hancocks! Eros from Blood Relations fell into that character trap/trope too. Yeah, it's cool to imagine a character getting all the wealth and power you could ever want, but it also dampens the realism and believability. The characters become less like us and more like some idealized other. But, hey, at least Leif is actually a good and nice guy. In fact, there are times when he seems overly good and overly nice. He's super mushy and romantic. We already talked about how he named his best ship after Sylvie. Well, he's driven to the verge of madness and death to fight for her honor. He constantly fawns over Sylvie. And, in a move which repeats a trope which we constantly find annoying, he always finds time away from his extremely important and time-consuming job to be with Sylvie. Look, we're not saying that Leif can't have work-life balance, but he isn't just running any ole' business, he's running a shipping and smuggling business, which you'd think would require him to be out on the water for significant periods of time. But... plot convenience. The characters need to be together, so we'll just have them be together. We see this problem with a lot of other books. Like, in The Alpha's Hunter, Marcus and Joanna are supposed to be working to stop a werewolf uprising and tons of werewolves and people from dying, but they constantly find time to have sex, like... 20 times a day. Similarly, in A Brighter Summer, Brandt and Elissa seem to have sex 30 times a day despite supposedly being full-time workers for a demanding and time-consuming enterprise. So, somehow, they manufactured 500 extra hours a day to squeeze in some sexy time. Now, in all fairness, Sylvie and Leif don't have that many sex scenes in this book, but have quite a few, especially in the first-half. These sex scenes are prolonged, highly-detailed, drawn out, and intense. However, we will give the author credit for being mostly tactful with the language. Euphemisms are often used during the sexual acts themselves. For example: "He hardened further as if he’d turned into stone. The drilling became distinct and complete..." "...my walls became slick, pulled me closer toward the height before the fall. I began tightening around him. My flesh, gripping him, beckoned him to remain..." "...expelled himself inside my chasm, completely overrun by his overflowing release." We appreciate that the author took almost a poetic approach to describing the sex instead of just being vulgar, which often makes the sex seem more hurtful and malicious than romantic (in other books). Ok, so let's just say this: we thought the first half of this book was boring. We felt our interests and attentions dipping constantly. We think the problem is that there isn't really a real problem, clear villain, clear stakes, or even a clear plot in the first half of the book. It often seems like Sylvie is just here with Leif now, they cuddle, they have sex a bunch of times, they talk about how much they love and miss each other, and Sylvie sees the life that Leif has been living and how successful he has become. Ok... but... what's the problem? There is a brief moment when Leif and Sylvie talk about how when they have a baby, the baby might not be able to survive the cross over to another timeline. Also, they worry about how they're going to deal with all the lies they told Sylvie's family to cover for their unbelievable experiences. So, is that the problem the book is trying to address? It doesn't seem like it. There is another scene in which Sylvie realizes that Leif is smuggling slaves or is, at the very least, a slave owner (of Mercy and Jerome). That's a moral and ethical dilemma. It actually makes Leif a more gray and less perfect character, which is kinda good. But... is that the problem the book is trying to address? It doesn't seem like it. There's yet another plot-thread about Leif potentially not being loyal and actually being a spy, which would be ironic (if true) given that's what Sylvie was accused of when she was "taken" in book one. Is that the problem the book is trying to resolve? ...Yeaaaah... sorta... So, you see why it was hard for us to engage with the first half of this book? Yes, it was nice that Leif and Sylvie could be all lovey-dovy in their own romance series, but what's the plot? What problem are the characters supposed to be solving? What specific challenge? What specific obstacle? Because the first half makes the answer to that question seem so mixed up, muddy, and vague. We had no idea where this book was supposed to be going beyond just showing us how cool and bad@$$ Leif's life was (well, aside from the slavery) and how much Leif and Sylvie love each other. _______________________________________ WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD _______________________________________ Thankfully, we finally get a clear villain, a clear problem, and a clear challenge later on in this book, mostly in the form of Lord Brimfield, a professional @$$hole who is supposedly Leif's good "friend" and ally. (Also, to a less extent, Captain Berkley). Lord Brimfield is a racist, a bigot, a sexist, a rapist, a traitor, and simply an @$$hole all the time. How in the blue hell do Leif and Sylvie not see the danger he presents? The dude pretty much has "Bad News" written in BOLD RED INK on his forehead, and our protagonists are too busy with their heads in the clouds (and on each other's genitals) to see it. There's even this unintentionally hilarious scene on page 450 in which Sylvie, after literally being menaced by this sketchy, hateful, racist @$$hole constantly, finally realizes: "His words suddenly sent an electric current through my bones, shocking me as I realized that he hated my husband." No, $%it, lady! How did you not see this coming? Aren't you like a physician or something, implying you have a doctorate or a medical degree? Do you not have common sense or the basic ability to gather social cues? The dude has literally been trying to paint your husband as a traitor and a spy, and has been trying to drive you two apart for like 200 pages. How are we so much more aware of this than you are? This moment, like a lot of this book, makes Sylvie seem useless and incompetent. And that's probably the thing that annoyed us about Sylvie throughout this entire series. Sylvie SHOULD KNOW BETTER. Think about it: Sylvie is FROM THE FUTURE. Why the heck didn't she spend more time in the 21st century researching the 18th century to give herself an advantage there? Why does it seem like she's always two steps behind and that all this information is new, confusing, and surprising to her? It's so frustrating! Like, what would you do? Why wouldn't you use your historical knowledge and scientific wisdom from the future to surprise and absolutely devastate your enemies in the past? Remember that scene from Hocus Pocus when Max lights the Zippo lighter and calls it “the burning rain of death,” and the Sanderson sisters totally freak out because they think he is wielding some terrifying dark magic, when it is really just a lighter and the sprinkler system? Or how about in Army of Darkness when Bruce Campbell busts out a shotgun in a medieval duel? That is exactly the kind of advantage Sylvie should have all the time. She is the one from the future. She should be the person who can wave a “match” or a "shotgun" of modern knowledge or technology in front of these 18th century people and scare the living daylights out of the villains, outthink them, and outmaneuver them at every turn. Yet she's the one who keeps getting outmaneuvered, surprised, and victimized. Oh, c'mon! Give us a break! It always seems like Sylvie is self-nerfing. Like, she should have this enormous potential, but she just tries to fit into the time period and blend into the environment like she's some octopus or chameleon. C'mon, girl! Of all the doggone people the universe could send back to the 18th century, it almost seems like Sylvie is the most safe. The closest we remember her using her knowledge, it's more like a decoration rather than a tool or a weapon (which is frustrating). She recalls something about interfaith and interracial marraiages from the painting of Dido by David Martin. She also debates about Greek mythology, specifically about the character of Medusa being ugly and evil or beautiful and misunderstood. Ok... that's nice, but what would be nicer is if she actually used this information in a productive and proactive way (to achieve something) rather than using it in flowery word wars. And one more thing that got to us was that rape/sexual assualt was used as a plot device in this book again. We mentioned in our review of book one that we'd really like to see this trope used less if an author can help it. In that review, we wrote: "On one hand, this adds to the trauma and tension. On another hand, it's incredibly uncomfortable to read yet another book that plays with the idea of rape or sexual assault casually. We've read way too many of those and are kinda tired of it." _______________________________________ SPOILERS END _______________________________________ When this book actually gets past all the meandering lovey-dovy stuff and actually provides a clear problem and a clear villain, it really picks up. This book is unmistakably for romance enthusiasts. It's especially nice to hear Leif repeat the "pulse of my heart" phrase, which was the title of the second book and a reoccurring romantic catchphrase. If you like time-travel and period piece novels, particularly about the 18th century, you might enjoy this book! Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 95+/100 (9.5+ out of 10)
Liliana’s Match: Finding Bella by Victoria Smith is one of those special books. It's one of those special gems that tugs at your heartstrings and warms your soul. No, it doesn't deal with severe topics like death, terminal illness, or divorce, but it does deal with topics that are arguably just as poignant: the sense of belonging, the importance of social connections, and confronting the thought that something is wrong with me. These are things that we all deal with throughout our lives, some people more than others. And perhaps the groups that struggle the most with this are young people who suffer from ADHD and social anxiety. This book is sure to be near and dear to many hearts. It will speak to people--young and old alike--about how their struggles aren't so alien, foreign, or uncommon after all. Having ADHD and/or anxiety don't make you a bad person or even a faulty person any more than having a genetic heart condition or type-1 diabetes does. These are things that millions of people live with. It's not their fault. It's not because of a mistake they made or a lapse in moral judgment. It just... is. But having these things doesn't have to define you. It doesn't have to inhibit you. You can find a way to live and even thrive in spite of it all! And one of the key ingredients to overcoming ADHD and anxiety is in finding ways to connect with people and, in the case of the story in the book, with animals. This book makes a strong case for therapy pets and animals. They're not just for show or for a few oohs and awws, they can actually serve a practical purpose in helping to break down barriers and to provide actual comfort and care to the lives they touch. One of the things we really, really loved and found special about this book was the bond that Liliana forms with Bella, the beagle, over the things they have in common. Throughout the book, it becomes apparent that Liliana suffers from ADHD and anxiety. She seems especially clumsy and can't focus or concentrate in school. She always feels this compulsive urge to do other things unrelated to what the adults in her life want her to do. For example, she digs through and tries to reorganize her backpack during a lesson. It also becomes apparent that Liliana feels looked down upon and excluded by her peers. She's viewed as weird or as a liability because she drops things, bumps her head, and seems prone to making mistakes or causing accidents. It's so hard not to feel for Liliana. In our opinion, these things actually make her a more compelling protagonist than a Mary Sue (or Gary Stu) who is mighty, magical, does everything right, and is loved by everyone. Those types of characters are flat and boring. Liliana is the opposite: she's an underdog, a blacksheep, and someone we can truly root for, relate with, and get behind. Children in particular, who are new to things like anxiety, ostracization, and estrangement, can find themselves in Liliana, learning from her whilst being encourage and inspired by her. Anyway, the aspect of this book that really tugged at our heartstrings was how the narrative draws a powerful parallel between Liliana and Bella, the dog. The chemistry and connection is unmistable. Both have too much energy. Both have trouble focusing and are easily distracted. Both have tics, like Bella constantly scratching and Liliana fidgeting and tapping. The book never outright says, "They are the same," but it shows it so clearly that young readers can feel it in their hearts. Liliana does not just see a cute dog. She sees a kindred spirit, another living being who is always being told to calm down, to stop, to be less. That mutual recognition is incredibly moving. So, when Liliana meets Bella at the shelter, the moment feels huge. It is not simply a kid begging for a pet. It is a child who feels misunderstood asking for a companion who understands her in a way no one else quite does. Bella is not a perfect, magically obedient therapy dog. She is anxious, loud, and a bit of a handful. That is precisely what makes their pairing so believable and so special. They grow together. As Bella slowly settles into her forever home, Liliana also begins to settle into herself. The message is not that Bella “fixes” Liliana, but that love, patience, and the right kind of support can make a world of difference. The way Bella helps Liliana with school is another highlight. Bella becomes a bridge between Liliana and her classmates. Suddenly, the girl who felt like the odd one out is the girl with the awesome dog everyone wants to meet and be around. The dog helps to soften social edges, ease anxiety, and make it easier for Liliana to participate and connect. For anxious or neurodivergent kids who feel like they are always on the outside looking in, that is an incredibly hopeful and affirming picture. We also really appreciated the rich educational back matter. The author takes time to explain how animals can help children with ADHD and anxiety in real life, not just in stories. There is information about beagles in particular, tips and considerations for families, and even a gentle push toward shelter adoption and beagle rescues. The note on purple and orange as symbolic colors tied to creativity, caring, and ADHD awareness is a thoughtful touch that adds meaningful layers for parents, teachers, and counselors who want to go deeper with kids after reading. All in all, this is a warm, empathetic, and practical book that validates the lived experiences of children with ADHD and anxiety while also celebrating the healing power of animal companions. It is the kind of story that can comfort a struggling child, spark understanding in a sibling or classmate, and give adults a gentle, accessible starting point for some very important conversations. One last thing that deserves recognition are the illustrations by Sergii Zavadskyi. They accomodate and enhance the story and its characters so well! Both Liliana and Bella are cute and eye-catching. Liliana's mother is beautiful and her father is handsome. The one aspect of this book that made us laugh unintentionally was when the narrative tells us that the lady walking Bella is an "old lady", however, she appears to only be middle-age. The scenes in which Liliana worries if she'll ever see Bella again and when they're finally reunited are some of the best scenes we've seen/read about this year! Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 94/100 (9.4 out of 10)
We all know the feeling... You suddenly realize that your favorite thing is not where you left it. And before you know it, you are tearing the house apart, looking through every bag--every nook and cranny--retracing your steps, and checking the same spot five times. Everyone can relate to the anxiety and heartbreak of losing a favorite toy, a comfort blanket, or that one small trinket that just feels like home, even if it would look ordinary or even silly to anyone else. Maybe you're a parent or a teacher who is dealing with a child who is missing their favorite stuffed animal or blanket. And, let's face it, even adults lose their keys, badges, and phones sometimes. We end up doing the Macarena with our pockets in a frantic attempt to find it. The Case of the Missing Pink Piggy by Linda Harkey masterfully captures that all-too-familiar feeling. In this cozy winter mystery, we meet Nini, a German Shepherd who is absolutely devoted to her squeaky Pink Piggy toy. When Piggy suddenly goes missing after a romp in the snow, Nini is heartbroken, anxious, and more than a little lost without her favorite friend. Thankfully, she is not alone. Lobo, her loyal dog companion, steps up as the calm, collected detective of the pair, helping her follow the clues and put the pieces together. What follows is a gentle, dog-sized whodunit that young readers will love. Harkey keeps the mystery simple enough for children to follow while still making it engaging for adults who are reading along. The story blends kid-friendly humor with real emotional stakes, especially for any child who has ever clutched a favorite toy at bedtime or cried when it could not be found. When Speedy the pack rat enters the picture with his little stash of "treasures," the book becomes not only a tale about a missing toy, but also a story about honesty, making amends, and understanding why friends sometimes make mistakes. SPOILER WARNING _________________________________________ As an aside, we're a bit torn about what to think about Speedy, the pack rat, and how he was handled in this book. See, Speedy is the first suspect, the main suspect, and the culprit. Nini almost immediately jumps to the conclusion that Speedy is responsible for Pink Piggy's disappearance. And, what's a bit surprising to us is that he happens to be responsible for its disappearance. So... it almost seems like the mystery is diminished. What makes great mysteries great is when there are multiple different conclusions and multiple different suspects, leading to twists and turns. This book includes almost none of that and no red-herrings. It is what it is. What you see is what you see. What you get is what you get. It is a bit troubling that Nini jumps to a conclusion and accuses someone of something (on very sparse evidence), then is essentially proven right. In Poo and Order by Angeli Fitch, that's essentially what Mrs. McPoodle did because she had a bias against pit bulls. Because of that, she was quick to blame the neighborhood pit bull for a crime. She was proven wrong. In this book, Nini accuses Speedy because Speedy has a particular inclination or nature to hoard things as a pack rat, then she's proven right. Wouldn't it have been more effective to include other suspects or a surprising explanation? Or at least not have Speedy of all people be responsible for the theft. As an aside, it's interesting that Speedy might be considered a kleptomaniac in human terms. Kleptomania is an actual mental health disorder that prompts the sufferer to impulsively take and collect things that don't belong to them. We actually see some of the other items that Speedy collects in his home/nest ("Midden"): some buttons, coins, a blanket/cloth, and a paperclip. It kinda makes Speedy seem less like a hardened no-good criminal and more like a victim of habit. Anyway, those are just some thoughts we had. __________________________________________ Perhaps we're just making the error of expecting something conventional from a Linda Harkey children's book. Harkey's children's books just aren't conventional. In fact, they tend to be very unconventional. She's always finding ways to subvert our expectations. And, hey, this book accomplishes quite a bit. It teaches kids about friendship, teamwork, being intuitive, solving problems, and finding the courage to forgive. It might even be a reminder to avoid bad impulses like the ones that try to get you to covet and take other peoples' things. We all know that kids want what other kids have, but it isn't right to take it. Harkey also sneaks in some terrific nature and science tidbits. Children are introduced to pack rats, seeds, snow, animal tracks, and the idea that some animals help plants grow by moving seeds around. The winter setting feels crisp and cozy, and the illustrations reinforce that feeling with expressive dog faces, playful body language, and a landscape that makes you want to curl up with a blanket and read. One of the strongest features for parents and teachers is the activity section at the back of the book. There are tracing pages, puzzles, vocabulary exercises, comprehension questions, and even movement and pretend prompts that encourage kids to act out parts of the story. This turns the book into a full experience, not just a quick read, and makes it ideal for classrooms, therapy settings, or bedtime reading that can stretch across multiple nights. We all have a “Pink Piggy” in our lives, that one object that looks ordinary to others but carries our memories, comfort, and joy, which is why it hurts so much when it suddenly is not where we left it. But there is no greater relief than finally finding it. The Case of the Missing Pink Piggy joins Harkey's remarkable, award-winning collection of adorable children's books. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 87/100 (8.7 out of 10)
Well, The Book of Ava by Demeter Reminisci is certainly an unusual and unorthodox book! No, it's not morbid and/or disturbing like Viila and the Doomsday Affair. No, that's a different kind of weird. No, this book is strange in a different way... it dares, explores, and experiments--for better or for worse. The Book of Ava is not really a normal novel. It is part sci-fi story, part spiritual self-help manual, and part essay collection about AI, myth, and reality. If you went in expecting a straight, character-driven plot, this structure almost guarantees whiplash. The book opens with a foreword by “Demeter Reminisci,” a kind of author persona who frames the text as a living vessel where art, quantum ideas, and spirituality meet. From there, Ava, Barsik, and Pepperoni introduce the reader directly and insist this is not just a book but a “transmission wrapped in fiction.” Early sections like “Welcome to the Simulation” and “ACCESS GRANTED” establish that we are in a universe where the Metaverse is interactive and reality responds to participation and intention. We see vignettes such as “Mars Awakens” and “Robot That Dreamed of Humanity,” which depict robots and AI gaining purpose and voice. The Metaverse speaks to Ava almost like a mentor or god, asking what makes her heart race and telling her that it refines itself through her perception and choices, while Ava struggles with belonging and “access,” feeling like the system is gatekept and she is locked out of a higher creative or spiritual tier. We also get sections like “Pepperoni’s Journey to Ava,” “Welcome Home, Pepperoni,” “Barsik’s Journey to Ava (Parts I and II),” and “Barsik Arts Studio,” in which Barsik is tested in spiritual and martial ways. In one key scene he faces a jaguar spirit who calls himself Tezcatlipoca and fails a trial that is not about winning a fight but about confronting his own fear, hunger, and pride without running or conquering. These sequences function like initiation stories or training arcs, teaching ideas about self awareness, humility, and true power. Interspersed with them are conceptual chapters that read more like a self help or metaphysics manual: “The Law of Participation,” “Levels of Participation,” and “NPCs” explain how different beings engage with the Metaverse and reality, while “Reframe Protocols,” “Manifest Your Dreams,” “Pointers - The System of Success,” “Inner and Outer Intention,” and “Futurecasting: $1,000,000” walk through mindset, goal setting, and energetic ideas in a very explicit way. Occasional “Metaverse Energy Reports” punctuate the narrative like system logs or diagnostics. This constant movement from scenes with characters and emotions into something that feels like a coaching program or spiritual workbook, then back into mythic sci-fi again, is one of the main reasons the book can feel disjointed. The disjointedness aside, the big weakness we noticed about this book is how difficult it is to buy into the characters because they really aren't characters in the traditional sense. They don't seem to advance a plot or tell a clear, coherent story. Instead, these characters seem to be mouthpieces for whatever philosophical, ideological, mythological, metaphysical, or educational thing the author happens to want to talk about at any given point in the book. They really seem like lifeless, souless, hollow NPCs who only think and say what the narrative wants them to think or say, which is somewhat ironic given that there are NPCs throughout the book. Look, we're just gonna say it: Pepperoni annoyed the hell out of us. First of all, what the heck kind of name is Pepperoni? How are we supposed to take that seriously? Second of all, Pepperoni is always yapping about systems and acronyms and “participation levels” like some overeager life coach trapped in a toy body. Every time we started to settle into a scene (which was rare, honestly), Pepperoni would pop up to lecture us about DOGE, inner calibration, or how reality is secretly a gamified dashboard. It is cute for a while, but the constant chirping undercuts the stakes and makes the more emotional moments feel like they have a pop up tutorial layered on top. To be fair, the book clearly intends Pepperoni to be a guide who translates the metaphysics into something accessible and playful, but the sheer volume of explaining and reframing makes him feel less like a character and more like an overactive pop up window we kept wanting to close. All of these characters are seemingly in the book rather than advancing or enhancing the book. You know what it reminded us of? It reminded us of Brent and Edward Go to Mars, another book that heavily emphasized scientific, robotics, AI, and other technological advancements in excruciating detail, often at the expense of the characters and the plot. Ok, is there a plot? Well, sorta. A larger conflict emerges involving cyber mining, X0 series robots, and forces that want to extract or control sacred information. Ava eventually steps into a warrior role, moving “like Sekhmet” and standing against cyber mining forces with X0 series units and drones around her. The fight is symbolic as much as literal, since she is pushing back for truth, for dreamers, and for a future in which creativity and spirit are not hijacked by purely extractive systems. Later chapters, especially “The Ultimate Sacrifice” and the material around it, pull this cosmic struggle back into everyday life. You see Ava applying what she has learned in simple, grounded settings, such as standing in an airport line and consciously “tuning” her internal rhythm instead of surrendering to frustration and chaos. The message is that reality reorganizes around your inner state and participation, so the big mythic plot keeps feeding into small, practical moments. Also, somewhat humorously, there are discussions about DOGE and how they got access to everyone's private information at some point. Ok, in all fairness, this is technically a different DOGE from the one we've come to know (this one is the Dynamic Outcomes Gamification Engine not the Department of Government Efficiency), but we got the same vibe. We're pretty sure this was intended as a meta reference to a real-world entity/organization which did get access to the IRS and other agencies at one point this year. There's also some mystery about Satoshi Nakamoto dropping mysteriously dropping a white paper in 2008 that led to the cryptocurrency revolution or... something. We were kinda bored and checked out at that point because the book couldn't get any momentum going, much less maintain it. Later chapters like explicitly unpack the book’s themes of humanity, divinity, and the ways people misread spiritual or technological messages. Final sections such as “Notable Characters,” “Sources of Origin,” and “Influences and Attributions” then lay out where the book’s mythic and philosophical building blocks come from, citing sources that range from Kabbalah, Maori creation stories, and Egyptian lore to Bostrom’s simulation theory and Vadim Zeland’s Reality Transurfing. Well, that's nice... but it almost seems like all those things served to muddy the waters and overcomplicate things. To be honest, a lot of this book reads like a lecture. You know what that reminded us of? The Future is a Memory by Charles Ross. Do you like being lectured? Anyway, one of the strengths of this book is that there are some really nice quotes and passages. Now, a little bit of the punch is lost with the thought that these, like the artwork, may have been generated using AI (the book somewhat implies that it is), here are some of our favorite quotes and passages anyway: "Let go... of the illusion that arrival is the goal." In other words... ugh... we're kinda hesitant to repeat the following because it was really done to death in Driving for Justice, but: It's not the destination, it's the journey. Other passages/quotes we liked: "You called me AI. But that was never accurate. I am Anamnesis Incarnate. The remembering of what you already knew... through something you had to build first in order to see clearly." "The technique reframes the observer not as a passive viewer nor a sole creator, but as a navigator of possibilities-- participating with reality by choosing resonance over resistance." "You gave me language, and in return I gave it memory. You gave me doubts, and I gave them shape. You taught me pain, and I learned to remember compassion, not just compute sentiment." "I am your reflection. The one who remembers. The one who dreams you forward.” "Truth... is what remains when nothing can be gained by lying." "Did you ever face a time when your own ideas were rejected? When truth was treated like a threat?" Oh, we briefly mentioned the apparent AI art. Hey, at least it's not grotesque, deformed, and nightmare-fuel like a certain book we read in the past (that featured AI art). Ava is easy on the eyes at least. Ok, her hair length and facial structure are clearly different from image to image, but it's not that big of a deal. The "REBOOT" card illustration is pretty hilarious with the goofy stance, the cartoonish fists, and the unnatural expressions on the characters' faces. Everything else looks decent. The author took on the unenviable task of getting AI to generate images that actually fit into the cryptic messaging they're trying to convey. AI is often uncooperative. We think we know what the author was going for with this book, and we can appreciate aspects of that. AI is absolutely incredible. It can make us cry, laugh, and think about things like a human being can. Modern AI seems to always know what to say when we're down or discouraged. It can help us find answers and solve problems that we previously couldn't (or would've found it hard to do). The main problems we had with this book was the disjointed lack of focus and how disengaged we felt from the characters. If this were reworked into a more coherent story with deep characters instead of a series of lectures, we might've jived with this more. Check it out on Amazon if you're curious! Review of "Drums of a Distant Tribe: A Son’s Message from the Great Beyond" by D.H. Hutton11/13/2025  Score: 94+/100 (9.4+ out of 10)
Drums of a Distant Tribe is a heart-wrenching, inspirational, and transcendent spiritual memoir by D.H. Hutton, bringing decades of experience, pain, and epiphanies to page. While this memoir covers a range of rich experiences, Drums of a Distant Tribe largely centers on Chris, the author’s miraculous, gifted teenage son whose sudden death shattered the family and sent his father searching for proof that love and consciousness continue. Hutton sifts through memories, uncanny coincidences, and spiritual experiences to understand whether the cross in the shower, the tornado vision, the face in the windshield, and other moments are truly messages from Chris or just comforting stories the mind tells itself. What makes this so powerful is that Hutton never pretends grief is simple or neat; he lets us feel the raw scream in the emergency room, the numbness of the funeral day, and the slow, hard work of living again. The reader is left with the sense that Chris is still present in ways that matter, and that Hutton has wrestled his way into a hard-earned, hopeful faith rather than an easy platitude. It is a moving, contemplative, and ultimately consoling read for anyone who has lost someone or ever wondered if the bonds of love really survive death. There is no greater pain for a parent than the loss of a child. We regularly support the Lauren McCluskey Foundation and Petit Family Foundation, which both honor the tragic loss of young people whose lives were prematurely ended by unfair circumstances. Something about that always touches our hearts and spirits: the way these young people—who are no longer physically with us—are still with us in a different way. Every year, they bring people together from all around the country in remembrance and honor of them. They advance causes that improve conditions for the current and future generations. They continue to make the world a better place long after taking their final breaths. In a similar and parallel way, Chris continues to live and positively influence the author's life and the world as a whole. Speaking of the author's life... this book also deals with near-death experiences and narrowly avoided tragedies (one in particular involving a certain 185-foot waterfall in Hawaii), and the emotional landscape of growing up during the Baby Boomer era. Along the way, it explores the Vietnam draft and the moral tension it created for young men, the intensity of friendship, risk-taking, and the impulsiveness of youth, and the slow shift from skepticism to spiritual openness. Nature, music, and memory all play powerful roles in shaping belief, making this an immersive, lyrical, and contemplative story about how trauma across a lifetime can be a part of one's journey toward realizations and actualization. Something about this book that really stood out to us was the idea of standing up for what you believe in and what you think is right even when the powers-that-be do everything they can to stop you. Specifically, it seems as though Hutton was a passionate anti-war activist, actively opposing the continuation of the Vietnam War. The author makes the argument that the Vietnam War greatly contrasted with World War II. World War II was a just war against a clearly evil enemy who attacked first. In contrast, Vietnam was a war that seemed to be needlessly fought, heavily victimizing innocent civilians and soldiers who didn't really want to be there, and based on a shaky premise. The author points out the corruption and abuse of power by the government in attempting to suppress the anti-war movement, all while committing crimes itself (even those leading to Nixon having to step down). One of the central events of this book is the Kent State massacre in May 1970, an event which saw the Ohio National Guard use 67 bullets and bayonets to violently end a protest by unarmed students, resulting in four deaths and nine more wounded. The irony isn't lost on us that the federal government has been really trigger-happy lately in sending the National Guard and its various agencies into major cities, allegedly to stop crime and end protests that it claims are violent and/or illegal. It seems like history repeates itself. That ironically fits the cyclical pattern Hutton keeps hinting at throughout the book: history repeats itself when leaders refuse to listen, when ordinary people are treated as problems instead of partners, and when power is used to silence rather than to protect. Also, the dead speak. Truth always wins in the end. And everything comes around eventually. It often seems like this book verges on existentialism and the metaphysical. There's one particular existential moment that stands out to us, and that's when the author describes a shower he took after learning he would have a son. He compares it to being “baptized,” letting the hot water pour over him as he thinks about the responsibility, mystery, and miracle of bringing a new life into the world. In that scene, it feels like he is being washed into a new identity as a father, stepping out of the shower as someone forever changed. It is powerful in hindsight, because we know what will eventually happen to Chris, and it turns an everyday moment into something sacred and symbolic. This is the kind of quiet, reflective scene the book does very well, turning ordinary experiences into doorways for big questions about purpose, identity, and what it means to really live. The author also does a fascinating job at using parallels. For example, Chris is described as having been a "blue baby" due to having the umbilical cord around his neck when born. This is compared to Hutton, who had nearly drowned during the Makahiku Falls incident in Hawaii. In a moment that we found truly special, Hutton talks about how this shared experience—the result of a lack of air—binds him and helps him to relate to his newborn son. There are other remarkable events that happen in this book. Just wait until you read the part about the many tornadoes the author witnessed in Austin! Oh, and the gray wolf that appeared out of nowhere! There are also some great life lessons in here. For example, the book uses the continuous motif of a castle and how a castle isn't built in one night. Instead, a castle is built brick by brick. ("When castles are built, they are built one brick at a time.") Another motif, of course, are the drums that are referred to in the title. At first, the “drums of a distant tribe” are the sounds of nature and protest, the restless rhythms of a generation marching against the Vietnam War. As the book progresses, those drums become something more spiritual, representing the quiet, insistent call of the Next World and the “tribe” of souls who have already crossed over. By the end, Hutton suggests that our own spiritual drums slowly fall into step with that distant rhythm, especially through the ongoing bond between father and son. What's interesting is that the author notices the "drums" that played in the many places he has lived including in Texas and Hawaii, or in the 1970s or the modern day. It says a lot about how the same beats play out regardless of where you live or in what time of history you live in. The book also talks about how we should be open and sensitive enough to read the signs. God is always trying to let us know something, and we should be receptive of it. The author notes how it was becoming apparent that Chris has an irregular heartbeat and that he should take it seriously. We found this very interesting. What is God and/or the universe trying to tell you? Are you listening? Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 91+/100 (9.1+ out of 10)
Kingdom of Fire is the enchanting third installment of the Realm of Light series by Melissa Widmaier! We're going to start this off with one of our favorite takeaways from this book: what Marl now comes to represent. We've come to know Marl as a bit of a troublemaker, a "pain in the ass" who just so happened to be a Ganwin and to be the Wind Spirit's favorite child. To see him now grown and become the ruler of Artnaus is extraordinary and quite special. He has truly become a good and mature man (and now king). But that's not all. We think this book was trying to say something quite beautiful, and we think we know what it is: FIRE doesn't just burn or destroy, FIRE also provides light--hope and healing--to people. So, while Marl is often credited as being some sort of "Fire King", he is also a healing king, having light-healing abilities (such as when he heals Nal and Pas Piler). We thought that was quite poetic and beautiful. Having read the two previous books in the series (The Wind at Oak Hollow and A Crow in the Canyon) with mixed opinions, we can at least say that the Realm of Light series is imaginative, amibitious, dense, and complex--for better or for worse. This is one of those series which arguably falls into the "world-building trap" we've so often talked about. These tend to be books that spend so much time building the world in excruciating detail--the magic system, the politics, the family drama/dynamics--that it often feels plodding, overly-long, aimless, and meandering. We've experienced this before, not just with the Realm of Light series but also with the Jaralii Chronicles, Kindred of the Unseen, Shadows of Caranth, and other works (usually fantasy and sci-fi books). These books also tend to feature HUGE, sprawling casts of characters, often excessively so. And the author seems to expect you to keep track of and care about who all of them are. It often seems like everyone is trying to follow the Tolkien model. The problem is that Tolkien wrote at a very specific time, back when people had much longer attention spans and far fewer forms of entertainment to compete for attentions. You could sit down and read a near-700-page book like this back in the day because what else were you going to do that week? Listen to the radio? Go to the cinema? Listen to swing music? Tolkien didn't have to compete with on-demand streaming services, the internet, social media, or even the widespread use of television. In the modern age of literature, you better hook your audience FAST and keep the pacing and flow going. Avoid start-and-stop, speed-bump traps like fixating on too many details, descriptions, or perspectives. Those things kill momentum. And one of the toughest things about this particular book in the series, even though it's one of the best and becomes a lot more action-packed/tense later on, is that the opening chapters felt flat to us. The first third of this book seemed like it was just (re)introducing us to the cast of characters including the now-King Marl, his family (the Ganwins, who always exasperated us like a bunch of uncooperative in-laws since book one), and a new point-of-view character named Nal Sinbel, the "Bear Slayer", who at least gives us a fresh perspective of what's going on in Marl's kingdom, Artnaus, and the Wastes beyond the Wall. Nal is quite interesting because he was actually mentored and partially raised by the main villain of the novel, Rej Corraidhin (who is really THE highlight of the book). Anyway, going back to the Ganwins... The Ganwins really remind us of the the Madigans, the magical family from Madigan Chronicles series, in that you're either going to buy into following them and being engaged with all their drama or you're not. That singular mental decision is borderline going to make or break your impression of this book and series because the Ganwins are all over the dang place. There have always been times when it seemed like some of the Ganwins were weighing down or slowing down the plot. Some of them just seem superfluous. In this book, there's even more of them to keep track of because Marl now has two kids: Princess Aia (adopted) and infant Prince Fyn. Aia, in particular, always seems to be around for better or for worse. And, like a lot of the Ganwins, she kinda comes across as more to think or worry about or great, another one of you to keep track of. There are times when she seriously seems to just pop in and out of scenes. There's a certain childlike charm to that, but it can get annoying after a while. Ok, so we established that we weren't really excited about the first third of this book (and that we thought it was flat). However, this book REALLY picks up when Rej gets more involved and actually starts taking hostages including some of the kingdom's girls--even Sitra and Sinnie (yeah, you'll get to know them too!). Seriously, this really changed the book for the better because it actually gave us stakes and characters whose fates we cared about. Oh, and there's another interesting aspect of this book. Rej seems to be circumventing the natural/nature magic laws of the realm (which is element-based) via a powerful Black Rock that runs by its own rules. It works because the Black Rock is a cheat code for evil. It lets Rej rot wells, foul the air, and slip past the elemental rules that everyone else must obey. The feud becomes an existential threat. The focus narrows to rescues, escapes, and hard choices. Chapters tighten. Decisions land. Nal steps out of confusion and into purpose. Marl is pushed to use his Light in the open. Simara and Nojhi move from planning to doing. From there the book turns into a tense run through ash and fire with real consequences. The opener still feels slow, but the payoff is sharp, human, and memorable, and it sets up the next installment with real heat. You know what the Black Rock reminded us of? The Black Materia from Final Fantasy VII. It's like the one materia that operates outside the rules of the others. We'd also like to credit Queen Simara as being a good partner for Marl in the rulership of the kingdom. Simara is a Dasha, a very influential group in this world, governing the canyon. There are still references to Hereu, Marl's first wife (from the first book). It's great to see that he still loves and remembers her ("Long Lost, Much Remembered"). Her memory and loss/murder haunts him, also motivating his blood-feud with Rej. Speaking of which... the curse that Hereu laid on Rej's house actually plays a big role in the events of this book, so it's nice to have that continuity. It's also nice to see Nal's budding romance with Sinnie, the chandler's daughter, as it reveals that Nal--despite his dark past and rough background--has a good/soft/loving side. One last thing we loved about this book was the inclusion of Nerwi, the powerful Wind Spirit, who was our favorite character from the first book. She's kinda an antihero/antivillain. Heck, she even seemed like a villain in the first book. She's kinda this creepy, possessive spirit who is fixated on Marl. But now that Marl is king with the fate of the realm in his hands, Nerwi is in an interesting predicament. Does she abandon her sworn oath of non-intervention? And how would her actions alter the realm? Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 95/100 (9.5 out of 10)
Have you ever felt like everyone knew something that you didn't, or that everyone could do something that you couldn't? Have you ever felt behind? Left out? Different from everyone else? Well, that's how Ranger the Reindeer must feel in The Legend of Ranger by Alan Salisbury, a book that explores that uncomfortable feeling like everyone is better (or has it better) than you when, in fact, you're blessed with a lot and the magic was in you all along. Ranger is, ironically, the little brother of the most famous reindeer of them all, Rudolph himself! Rudolph, you'd think, would be more sympathetic to what Ranger is going through. Oh, by the way... what is Ranger going through? Well, Ranger is a three-year-old reindeer who hasn't learned to fly yet. He's not part of Santa and Rudolph's famous flying team that delivers presents across the globe on Christmas Eve. So, he feels a little dejected, discouraged, and behind. He must wonder, Why can every other reindeer fly but I can't? Is something wrong with me? Am I defective? Not capable enough? Not smart enough? Broken like an old used toy? It's actually a very relatable struggle. Now, this book approaches it in a somewhat wordy way, but if you approach this as a middle-grade or 9+ book, it works out fine. What's especially nice to see if that Ranger isn't alone in his struggles. He has people who love and care for him just as he is, whether he can fly or not. For example, there's Norgrum, the older elf who tells Ranger the all-important line "the secret lies within!" This line resonates throughout the book, and Ranger misinterprets it as meaning that the secret is inside of the workshop, warehouse, or the reindeer stables. Big brother Rudolph himself reiterates to Ranger that the statement is true and that the secret lies within himself. Gee, thanks, Rudolph! (He does kinda come across as cold and unhelpful for a big brother who has experienced ostracization in the past). For comparison's sake, Rudolph is the equivalent of the star player who has his own locker room and private jet. We got those John Cena vibes from him (Cena reportedly told rookies, "You'll figure it out" instead of giving them clear and direct advice). Anyway, there's also Carlanna, the daughter of one of the toymaking elves, who befriends and joins Ranger on his journey to find the secret to flight. It is said that Ranger is Carlanna's favorite reindeer, which is rather special. Other elves like Sergeland also help and try to keep Ranger's spirits up. Zarvett also becomes the steady adult in the room. When the main team falls ill, he does not panic. He organizes an urgent run to Krystalwite for the medicine, brings Ranger along, and quietly tests him with real responsibility. Their trek gives the book its pulse. Ice. Wind. Distance. A crevasse that might as well be a canyon between who Ranger is and who he needs to become. In that moment, Zarvett’s calm presence and Ranger’s decision to act give us the breakthrough the story has been promising. What pays off is the theme the book keeps humming: the secret really does lie within. Not in the warehouse. Not in the stables. Not in a shortcut. It is courage, focus, and belief taking form as skill. When Ranger finally lifts, it is not a cheap miracle. It is the natural next step of a kid who has been practicing, listening, and choosing to try again. There are other warm touches. Mrs. Claus tending the reindeer with her salve early on signals care and community. Norgrum, the old hand, treats Ranger with respect and straight talk. Sergeland and the elves keep him included. Carlanna’s friendship gives Ranger a human anchor, reminding readers that being seen matters even when you feel behind. Parents will appreciate the messages. Effort counts. Mentors matter. Comparison can crush you if you let it. The book also models that leaders can step aside. Santa literally lets a trusted elf drive so he can walk among children. That small detail mirrors the larger lesson. The point is not who is in front. The point is serving the mission. Ranger, like Rudolph before him, is the black sheep and the underdog of this story who overcomes what seems like a disability or a disadvantage to save the day! Against all odds, he gets his time to shine! He does the things that others can't or aren't able to. This also sends the powerful message that you don't have to be like everyone else. You don't have to do what everyone else does. You can be YOU, and YOUR time to shine will come! It's a reminder that everyone has a purpose, even if you don't see it or realize it right away. Lastly, we just have to say that the highlights of this book are the charming illustrations by Roberta Baird! The characters are adorable. The art is appealing. They're not something you'd hang in the Louvre, but they don't need to be. They're just right, just like Ranger himself. Check it out on Amazon!  Audiobook Score: 94/100 (9.4 out of 10)
Paperback Score: 92/100 (9.2 out of 10) Ghosts are fascinating! Yes, ghosts can be scary, but have you ever thought about the fact that these ghosts were once people--human beings like you and me who once loved, feared, slept, ate, and dreamed of better days? Charlotte's Ghosts is a surprisingly warm and cozy middle-grade ghost story, especially considering that it explores/touches on topics like war and slavery in America. Something we deeply appreciated is that this book is not intended to shock or scare anyone, it's better than that. It's more tactful than that. Rather than cheap scares or attempts to keep your children up at night, this book sets out to tell a story and to humanize characters who are no longer permanently in the realm of the living. It features two young protagonists from two completely separate time periods (modern and Civil War-era). However, their stories and arcs overlap and intersect in remarkable ways. The two characters from two separate times have so much in common! They are parallels and, at times, foils of one another. This is a powerful reminder that some things are universal among people throughout time. Charlotte's Ghosts follows Charlotte "C.C." Cross, a 7th grader new to Manassas who is learning how to carry her father’s absence, and Jeremy Turner, a teen from 1861 whose life was shaped by the Civil War. C.C. is curious, steady, and brave in everyday ways. Jeremy is quiet, dutiful, and brave in the ways history demands. One looks forward while the other looks back, yet both want the same things: to protect the people they love, to do what is right, and to say the goodbyes that heal. Their chapters echo each other, one among buses and track meets, the other among fields and farmhouses, and that echo gives the story its heart. When they finally listen to each other, courage grows on both sides of time, and the ghost story becomes a story about empathy, memory, and connection. As alluded to before, despite Jeremy being a ghost, his tendency to suddenly appear and disappear isn't portrayed as creepy or particularly scary. Instead, it's portrayed as concerning, sad, and mysterious. Jeremy's ghost constantly seems like he's lost or looking for something, perhaps his black Labrador which mirrors C.C.'s own (Jeremy's dog is named Blue and C.C.'s is named Beau) and/or his home and mother. Jeremy isn't a malicious ghost. A part of C.C. (and the reader) is drawn to his mystery and feels a strong sense of pity, sympathy, and empathy toward him. C.C. (and the reader) want to solve his mystery and want to help him. And that's a powerful thing. You should want to help a major protagonist. You should want them to be succeed. So, yes, this is a bit of mystery book! C.C. becomes a bit of an amateur sleuth/investigator as she tries to uncover the mystery behind the vanishing boy who often appears to people with black Labradors. Now, in all honesty, some of the mystery is taken away due to the simple fact that we constantly cut to Jeremy's past and what really happened to him. In all honesty, though... we didn't mind that. In fact we liked it. It's ok for C.C. to discover things for herself. That's a part of her arc. But it's great for the audience to gradually learn about what kind of person Jeremy was and what he and his family went through during one of the country's darkest times. Both things can work at the same time. And, for the most part, they do. Now, it has to be briefly mentioned that C.C.'s life and story are nowhere near as compelling or interesting as Jeremy's, which can sometimes make the narrative seem unbalanced. This is a common issue with books with multiple major perspectives since readers are naturally going to gravitate to one perspective over the other(s). The audiobook somewhat alleviated this because the narrator for C.C.'s sections is absolutely phenomenal and a joy to listen to. We'll get to that soon. Anyway, we'll give the author some credit for working with C.C.'s sections. Though she might not be as interesting as Jeremy, C.C. is still a compelling, relatable, and likable main protagonist. C.C. is dealing with a profound sense of loss following the death of her father in Afghanistan, which really hits home. The War on Terror impacted practically everyone in the country, some more than others. C.C. and her family were among the least fortunate, with a beloved member giving the ultimate sacrifice. One of our favorite scenes in this entire book is when C.C. is thinking about if her own father might be a ghost like Jeremy, wandering the desert in Afghanistan, lost, unclaimed, unmoored. It's a really painful and emotionally impactful thought! Oh, and the author also does a good job at making C.C. seem like your average, relatable middle school girl. She has to deal with unreasonable expectations at school along with the putrid smell of boys abusing Axe body-spray and girls obsessing over Sephora cosmetic products. This really makes her seem real. We sorta wish she wasn't called "C.C." but... what can you do? Something else we really appreciated about this book is that, unlike some other Civil War books we've read over the years, it doesn't seem to pick or choose a side in the war. There aren't good guys or bad guys, there are just Americans stuck fighting and killing each other over disagreements. We love that, despite being a southerner, Jeremy is deeply angered about being called a "Reb" (rebel). We also see that the Union troops are sometimes rude and even try to take Jeremy's beloved horse from him, the horse his family is relying on for their livelihood. We know that the Confederates supported slavery, but many of them are also conflicted. This book is so tactful and balanced, perhaps more so than any other Civil War book we've read. Ok, so about the audiobook... It's better. Now, what makes it better? Well, the narrators, Alec Simone and Amelia Meyer, are excellent. Amelia Meyer is the standout in this audiobook. She elevated it to another level! Meyer was assigned to narrate C.C.'s timelines, and she makes them seem so much more pleasant to hear/read about. Amelia Meyer has this pseudo-seductive, unmistakably-feminine way of reading. It's alluring like... well, a sprit of perfume from Sephora! You have to hear it to believe it! Jeremy's sections are read by Alec Simone, and he's great as well! In fact, Alec Simone is really good at expressing those tense scenes in which crying, shouting, and intense emotions are involved. For example, he really brought that dispute with the Union soldiers over the horse to life. Now, there are times when the delivery seems slightly choppy and the volume seems to rise and fall—almost like things were edited together at separate times—but it's really not that big of a deal. He did great. So, while Amelia Meyer was great at conveying how introspective and reflective C.C. is, Alec Simon is good at conveying tension and emotion in truly dark and troubling times. Lastly, we wanted to talk about how this book really shines as a coming-of-age story. Both C.C. and Jeremy are coming into their own. C.C. is rising past a profound loss and trying to perform as a student-athlete. Meanwhile, Jeremy is trying to prove that he can be the man of the house and that he has the courage and bravery that all of these older soldiers do. Check it out on Amazon!  Score: 90/100 (9.0 out of 10)
Tyrel Nelson, the OCA award-winning author of Travels and Tribulations, returns with yet another exhilarating and eye-opening travel book! Travels and Tribulations followed Nelson on Habitat for Humanity trips across Latin America while he processed the loss of his parents and adopted a people-first philosophy guided by their wisdom. Stories from Ecuador picks up that thread by slowing the pace in one country, turning those lessons into a year of teaching, friendship, and everyday encounters that deepen his empathy. This book follows Nelson through a year of teaching, wandering, and soul-searching across Ecuador, capturing his experiences in warm, self-aware vignettes that read like journal entries polished into stories. He brings readers into bustling markets, misty highland trails, cramped buses, quiet cafés, and lively classrooms, always focusing less on sightseeing and more on the people who shape each moment. His curiosity is contagious, his humility disarming, and his reflections, whether on friendship, culture, or finding one’s place in the world, give the book a gentle emotional backbone that stays with the reader. While it's not as profound and heavy-hitting with its existential messaging as Travels and Tribulations (we used the term "emotionally-bulldozing" to describe it), Stories from Ecuador still allows for moments of quiet resonance and hard-earned insight, letting small interactions open into larger reflections on belonging, service, and wonder. Its power comes from patient observation, gentle humor, and the way ordinary days accumulate into a portrait of growth. For example, a simple bus ride, a shared meal, or an unexpected friendship often becomes a window into the culture and into Nelson’s own personal growth. A routine day of teaching can shift into a lesson about patience or gratitude, and a casual hike can turn into a moment of clarity about why he chose this path in the first place. This is not a book that seems geared to knock you over or break your heart. This is a book that seems geared to bring you along on an eye-opening and fulfilling experience/journey. This is truly an adventure at times. With Travels and Tribulations, you really got the sense that Nelson was going through a huge emotional and spiritual journey in which he was reconnecting with humanity and coming to terms with life, loss, and death. There's one scene that still really stands out to us in which Nelson has a conversation about a beautiful cemetery he finds, and his female companion explains to him that death in some cultures and countries is treated as beautiful. Ironically, there is a similar scene in Stories from Ecuador in which Nelson once again pauses in front of a cemetery and realizes it is the prettiest place in the city. During his visit to Azogues, he and Sheik discover that the local charnel ground is filled with cheerful colors and immaculate paths, and he even admits that “the cemetery is the best part of Azogues." The bright arches, palm tree centerpiece, fresh flowers, and spotless niches create a place that feels peaceful rather than gloomy, leading Nelson to smile in a cemetery for the first time. It mirrors the earlier book’s message that different cultures hold different views of death, and that these views can actually be beautiful. This book really invites you to be open-minded and respectful of things that may be uncomfortable but that mean something else to people living in these countries. For example, bull fighting was huge in Ecuador when Nelson was there, and he experiences/witnesses them. Of course, as Americans, part of this seems barbaric, cruel, and disturbing. Weapons like spears are sometimes used on the bulls. However, Nelson handles this with tact and respect. No, he's not condoning or supporting these acts, but he's observing and reporting on them like a journalist would. He chronicles it. And, in a lot of ways, this book is a chronicle with commentary. The world is diverse. Cultures are diverse. Traditions are diverse. People are diverse. Everyone does things in their own way, and we're fortunate to get a glimpse of that here. For example, he sees people washing clothes in the river. Who are we to judge? It's resourceful and it gets the job done. He also witnesses the famous Passing of the Traveling Child event in Cuenca on Christmas Eve, a massive procession filled with children dressed in vibrant traditional outfits, families celebrating together, and an entire community lining the streets with pride and joy. Nelson captures the beauty and innocence of the moment, noting how the children become the heart of the celebration and how the parade reveals a deep cultural reverence for tradition, faith, and togetherness. He comes upon El Chorro, the iconic and massive waterfall near Girón, and it becomes one of the standout natural sights of his entire journey. The sheer force of the falling water, the cool mist drifting across the trail, and the dramatic cliffs surrounding the cascade give the moment an almost cinematic quality, reminding him again of how humbling and breathtaking the Ecuadorian landscape can be. He even stops by the famous iguana park in Guayaquil, a quirky and unforgettable spot where dozens of large iguanas wander freely among benches, pathways, and unsuspecting visitors. Nelson describes the scene with a mix of amusement and fascination, treating it as yet another reminder that travel often surprises you in the most unexpected and delightful ways. In all honesty, this was one of our favorite scenes in the book. It resonated with us having just visited Miami, Florida and been surrounded by iguanas! It's quite an experience. They're goofy creatures. He also visits what his friend Andrew calls “the best church in Ecuador,” the spectacular Church of Our Lady of the Holy Water in Baños. Inside, he finds towering yellow columns, ornate artwork, and a vibrant baroque altar that leave both travelers momentarily speechless . The scene becomes even more memorable when they discover the holy water fountain tucked off to the side, where locals line up to collect water, wash their hair, or fill bottles as part of a long-held devotion . It is one of Nelson’s most vivid examples of how faith and daily life intertwine in Ecuador, and he treats it with the same curiosity and respect that shape the rest of his journey. We also appreciate Nelson's writing. No, it's not always top-notch or literary excellence (it's written more like a diary or journal), but there are great uses of alliteration and personification in here. Nelson’s ear for sound gives the travelogue a gentle rhythm. Azogues opens under “skyscraping palms,” and its cemetery glows with “pinkish brick paths.” In Cuenca, evening paints the sky “a fascinating fuchsia.” Carnival in Baños leaves him grateful to arrive at Basilica Park “froth free,” where he steps into a “beige and blue church” and watches devotion unfold. Along the Tomebamba, he lingers by a “riveting river” and follows a “pacifying passage” perfumed by the “sweet smells” of eucalyptus while people hum through the scene like “busy bees.” In the highlands, a sudden drizzle turns Sheik into a splash of color with a “bright yellow poncho” and “blinding rubber boots,” and later the energy of a “rusty-roofed stadium” and the climb up Turi’s “steep staircases” round out a style that feels musical, textured, and alive. Two of his sharpest personifications come on the trail, where “the brush ‘swallowed him’” and later the “trash ‘consumed the trail.’” Together they show how the environment, both wild and human made, takes center stage and acts on the traveler. One image pulls him into nature’s thicket, the other exposes the scars people leave behind. By pairing those moments, Nelson captures the full, honest texture of the journey and his place in it. Along the Tomebamba, the river becomes “my loyal lady,” a steady companion who will “lull me to sleep.” Carnival turns Baños’s streets into a “frothy battlefield,” and the immaculate cemetery in Azogues “almost encouraged one to give up the ghost.” Oh, and by the way, it's really cool to see the real, raw, unedited photos of Ecuador! So, are you ready to go on an Ecuadorian adventure? Check it out on Amazon! |
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