The Music of Creation

In their ambitious and meticulously crafted collaborative debut, The Music of Creation, Paul J. Knight and Chris Allen present a science fiction epic that reimagines humanity’s most abstract art form—music—as the most coveted resource in the galaxy. Drawing from their diverse professional backgrounds in botany, archaeology, and creative composition, the authors construct a universe where a simple melody is far more than entertainment; it is a cosmic currency capable of shifting the balance of power across star systems.

The narrative centers on Ryan Reilly, a shy teenager living in the Irish countryside whose extraordinary talent triggers a "Level One" alert on the scanners of the Protectorate of Music, a rank not seen since the days of Beethoven. The Protectorate, a group of Thalesian aliens who have secretly monitored Earth for two centuries, seeks to defend gifted musicians from "Abductors" who exploit human talent as a universal narcotic. Into this high-stakes game of intergalactic espionage steps Lindora Rue, under the human alias Lindsey, a young protector who finds herself deeply entwined with the Reilly family.

One of the book’s most compelling themes is the dual nature of music as both a creative and destructive force. Ryan’s ability, eventually dubbed The Music of Creation" transcends mere performance and allows him to manipulate the very fabric of matter through "neurowaves". Knight and Allen explore the scientific and philosophical implications of music that can affect subatomic particles, elevating the story from a standard "chosen one" trope to a thoughtful meditation on the origins of the universe.

The authors also delve into the complex ethics of intervention and the weight of loss. The Protectorate’s long-standing hidden presence on Earth raises poignant questions about the right of a superior civilization to "protect" another without its consent. This is balanced by the emotional core of the novel: the bond between Lindsey and the Reillys. Both Lindsey and Ryan share the trauma of losing their families at a young age, a parallel that grounds the interstellar conflict in human vulnerability.

The world-building is rich and vividly realized. The Thalesian homeworld, with its red oceans and bioluminescent "facial patterns" that shift colors to reflect emotion, is a standout achievement in speculative biology. Furthermore, the authors' commitment to "handcrafted" storytelling, explicitly noting that no AI was used in the writing, shines through in the lyrical prose and deep character development.

The Music of Creation is a testament to the power of collaboration. It is a professional and polished piece of speculative fiction that manages to be both an action-packed thriller and a poignant family drama. For readers who appreciate hard science fiction seasoned with a deep appreciation for the arts, Knight and Allen have composed a magnificent overture to a truly resonant series.


The Music of Creation


INDIGENT

Briana N. Cox’s Indigent is the kind of literary horror novel that refuses to let you sit comfortably in your assumptions. I found myself both deeply unsettled and profoundly moved. Cox doesn’t simply write horror; she excavates it from the fault lines of class disparity and medical injustice.

From its opening pages, the prose is visceral and immersive. The introduction to Camille is particularly striking. Cox’s language is sharp, almost surgical, capturing the fragility of a young woman unraveling under physical and psychological strain. The writing style is lyrical yet unflinching. Sentences coil and constrict, mirroring the bodily horror unfolding on the page. The sensory detail—blood under fingernails, the metallic scent of decay, the oppressive Georgia heat—grounds even the novel’s most surreal moments in reality. It is a bold stylistic choice that pays off; the horror feels intimate rather than theatrical.

The structure of the novel also deserves praise. The shifting perspectives from Camille to residents of Leigh Pierce Estates create a layered portrait of a community often overlooked. Anika, Miss Inez, Rashon, and Xavier are not caricatures of poverty; they are fully realized individuals navigating systems that fail them. I appreciated how Cox humanizes each tenant before tightening the noose of dread. The Estates itself becomes a character—aging, neglected, stubbornly standing amid gentrification and decay. That setting functions as both backdrop and indictment, underscoring the novel’s critique of institutional abandonment.

Plot-wise, Indigent balances slow-burning tension with shocking bursts of violence. The mystery surrounding Zion’s disappearance and the creeping sense that something deeply unnatural is festering within the building propel the narrative forward. Yet what impressed me most was how the horror is never gratuitous. Every grotesque image serves a thematic purpose. Cox draws clear parallels between infestation and systemic exploitation. The residents are consumed not only by literal horrors but by debt, addiction, racism, and bureaucratic indifference.

As a reviewer, I am especially attentive to how marginalized characters are handled in genre fiction. Cox approaches them with care and complexity. Rashon’s insomnia and fear, Xavier’s quiet desperation to better himself, and Anika’s daily grind to protect her son are all rendered with empathy. Their struggles feel authentic rather than symbolic. The novel’s engagement with race and class is not heavy-handed, but it is unmistakable. It asks difficult questions about who gets medical care, who gets believed, and who gets left to decay unseen.

If I have one critique, it is that the density of the prose and the shifting timelines may challenge readers expecting a straightforward thriller. However, those willing to sit with the discomfort will find the effort richly rewarded.

Indigent will resonate strongly with readers who appreciate literary horror in the vein of socially conscious speculative fiction and those who value atmosphere and thematic depth as much as plot. It is a haunting exploration of interconnectedness, survival, and the cost of being deemed disposable. Cox has crafted a debut that is not only terrifying but timely, and I suspect it will linger with readers long after the final page.


Indigent

Briana N. Cox’s Indigent is a horror novel that sinks its teeth in slowly. Xavier is a maintenance worker at Leigh Pierce Estates, a crumbling apartment complex that feels like it’s rotting from the inside out. He’s young, trying to keep his head down, juggling community college classes and a job that barely pays enough. From the start, you sense that he’s someone who’s always had to manage himself carefully—careful not to get too angry, careful not to look threatening, careful not to disappoint his mother. That restraint becomes crucial as the horror escalates around him.

When Zion, one of the basement tenants, suddenly disappears, Xavier is the one ordered to clear out his apartment. That task becomes one of the novel’s most important turning points. As he sorts through Zion’s belongings—boxes, souvenirs, rat traps, strange stains on the ceiling—there’s a growing realization that something violent and unnatural happened. The scene where he notices three small drops of what looks like blood in the popcorn ceiling is subtle but chilling. It’s not dramatic. It’s quiet, unsettling, and deeply personal because we experience it through Xavier’s confusion and denial.

What makes Xavier compelling is that he’s not a typical horror protagonist. He’s not reckless or curious for the sake of the plot. He’s practical. He’s tired. He wants stability. When the property manager casually reveals that the building is slated for demolition, Xavier’s fear isn’t just about ghosts or parasites—it’s about displacement. Where will he go? How will he afford it? The horror of eviction and economic precarity feels just as threatening as whatever is spreading in the basement.

The tension intensifies when Xavier encounters Camille outside the building. She’s clearly unwell—her body rigid, her speech off, something neurologically wrong. Xavier’s instinct isn’t suspicion; it’s concern. He tries to help her, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it puts him in a morally complicated position. That moment says so much about him. In a building where everyone is just trying to survive, he still chooses empathy.

As the novel unfolds and the infestation, literal and metaphorical, becomes impossible to ignore, Xavier is forced to confront how much he can endure. The parasites and bodily horror imagery grow more grotesque, but what stays with me is his internal struggle. He’s watching his community deteriorate, watching people disappear, watching systems fail them, and still trying to do the “right” thing in small, quiet ways. There’s something devastating about that.

By centering Xavier’s perspective, Indigent becomes more than a horror story about decay. It becomes a story about a young man trying to build a future in a place that’s collapsing around him. The dread is real, the violence is shocking, but it’s Xavier’s steadiness—his fear, his restraint, his reluctant courage—that gives the novel its emotional punch.


Indigent

Indigent is a literary horror novel that blends body horror with sharp social commentary, delivering a story that is as unsettling intellectually as it is viscerally. I found this novel ambitious, disturbing, and thematically rich.

The story opens with Camille, a young woman hitchhiking toward Atlanta while suffering from a mysterious and deteriorating physical condition. Her internal monologue is fragmented and urgent, hinting at parasitic forces at work inside her body. That opening sequence sets the tone: this is horror rooted in vulnerability, isolation, and the fragile line between mental and physical collapse.

The narrative then widens its scope to Leigh Pierce Estates, a low-income apartment complex in Atlanta that functions as both setting and symbol. Cox introduces a rotating cast of tenants—Anika, a hardworking mother; Miss Inez, the elderly neighbor keeping watch; Rashon, sleepless and anxious; and Xavier, the young maintenance worker trying to keep the building running while attending classes. The disappearance of a tenant named Zion becomes a pivotal mystery that quietly propels the plot forward. As Xavier is tasked with clearing out Zion’s basement apartment, subtle signs of violence and decay begin to accumulate, raising the question of whether something unnatural is spreading through the building.

What impressed me most was how Cox layers her horror. On the surface, there are parasites, unexplained illnesses, and disturbing bodily transformations. Beneath that, however, is a sharp critique of systemic neglect—particularly within healthcare and housing. The Estates is aging, poorly maintained, and eventually threatened with demolition. The residents are one crisis away from displacement. The horror, therefore, operates on two levels: the literal infestation and the societal one.

Cox’s prose is dense and often lyrical, occasionally bordering on poetic. While that stylistic choice may slow readers expecting a brisk thriller, it contributes to the atmosphere. The tension builds gradually, favoring dread over shock. When violence occurs, it lands hard because it feels earned rather than gratuitous.

From a character standpoint, Xavier emerges as an especially compelling anchor. His quiet attempts to balance responsibility, financial stress, and moral decisions ground the novel. Through him, the reader sees the human cost of what’s unfolding. The supporting cast also feels lived-in; even minor characters are drawn with care.

This book will resonate most strongly with readers who appreciate socially conscious horror. Fans of literary horror that blends genre with commentary—think readers who enjoy morally complex, character-driven narratives—will find much to admire. It will also appeal to those interested in stories about community, class struggle, and the intersection of health and poverty.

Indigent is not light reading, nor is it meant to be. It is unsettling, thought-provoking, and at times deeply uncomfortable. But for readers willing to engage with its themes and pacing, it offers a powerful and timely exploration of what it means to be consumed by illness, by systems, and by circumstance.


Morning of a Crescent Moon

Morning of a Crescent Moon by N. J. Schrock is a quietly powerful work of historical fiction that unfolds with patience, empathy, and deep respect for the people whose lives it portrays. Set in Virden, Illinois, during the tense months surrounding the 1898 coal miners’ strike, the novel balances labor history with intimate, human-scale storytelling. Rather than relying on spectacle, Schrock allows meaning to build through small, carefully observed moments that reveal how social unrest touches every corner of a community.

The story centers on Cate Merry, a young woman arriving in Virden to begin a new life as a schoolteacher after leaving nursing work that left her emotionally scarred. Through Cate’s observant and compassionate perspective, readers meet the town’s residents and begin to understand the fragile balance between hope and hardship. Early scenes—her arrival by train, her first walk through town, and her tentative efforts to settle in—establish themes of healing, belonging, and moral responsibility.

One of the most memorable figures Cate encounters is Noah McCall, a young coal miner who has assumed the role of guardian and provider for his three younger half-siblings after the deaths of both parents. Noah is not introduced through grand gestures, but through quiet evidence of responsibility: pulling his siblings in a wagon to town, tending a garden, and making sure the children earn small incomes selling vegetables door to door. His character embodies one of the novel’s strongest themes—that strength often shows itself in sacrifice rather than bravado.

Cate’s growing awareness of Noah and his family adds emotional depth to the broader labor conflict. Through him, the strike becomes personal. He is not a symbol or a political mouthpiece, but a young man forced to balance survival, moral conviction, and care for others in circumstances he did not choose. Their interactions, which include brief conversations, shared glances at town events, and Cate’s thoughtful support of the children, are understated yet meaningful, revealing how connection can form even in uncertain times.

As the novel moves forward, tensions surrounding the strike escalate. Conversations become sharper, fear more present, and the town’s divisions more visible. The construction of a stockade around the mine stands as a stark image of separation and looming violence. Noah’s position as both a miner and a caregiver highlights the stakes of the conflict: this is not only about wages or contracts, but about families, futures, and dignity.

When hardship and loss arrive later in the story, they feel earned rather than sensational. Schrock handles these moments with restraint, emphasizing endurance and communal resilience instead of tidy resolution. The novel’s closing sections reinforce the idea that progress is slow and costly, but possible through collective resolve.

Overall, Morning of a Crescent Moon is a thoughtful, immersive novel best suited for readers who appreciate character-driven historical fiction and stories that foreground quiet courage.


The Last Titans: How Churchill and de Gaulle Saved Their Nations and Transformed the World

In 1940, Charles de Gaulle and Winston Churchill met for the very first time, and with the future of their respective countries in doubt. Winston Churchill had recently become Britain’s Prime Minister, while France’s capitulation to Germany had forced De Gaulle to flee his country in exile. Churchill would oversee a large portion of the Allied effort until the US entry into the war over a year later. De Gaulle viewed the Vichy Government in his home country as not befitting the people and sought Churchill’s assistance in finding a way to assist with the war effort. The two leaders couldn’t have been more different, Churchill being a bombastic political animal, whereas De Gaulle was a taciturn and reluctant leader. The crucible of war would burnish their legacies, their impact on their countries’ history still felt today.

The Last Titans ranks as an exemplary dual biography delving into two leaders who shepherded their countries through the consequential Second World War. Author Richard Vinen’s important work illustrates the attributes that made Churchill & De Gaulle transformative leaders while not hesitating to point out the idiosyncrasies that made them fallible and more human.


The Great Houses of Pill Hill

Oh, how I wanted to love Diane Josefowicz's The Great Houses of Pill Hill. The protagonist, Cookie Cooke (why?), is an interior decorator with a fascination with Lizzie Borden and the recreation of crime scenes. Using her ample artistic talent, she recreates famous crime scenes in miniature, which, on its own, would be so cool. I wish the book had been about her use of that skill to help solve a crime, but, alas, she has an affair with a married man whose house she's renovating. That old story.

There are some lovely moments of description in this book as relates to old houses, thus the three-star review. If you're a sucker for historic homes with hidden secrets, you'll get some bang for your buck. But, you'll also get far too many characters, secondary storylines that don't make logical sense, and a deep disdain for Cookie, who makes increasingly stupid decisions.

All of that aside, though, this has all the markings of a limited series premise: beautiful old New England homes, healthcare fraud, 19th century Egyptian occultist practices, and a murder...or two? Or three?


A Fabulous Thru-Hike

A Fabulous Thru-Hike by Derick Lugo is a joyful, candid, and inspiring account of a six-month journey along the Continental Divide Trail. With humor and honesty, Lugo captures both the physical grind and the emotional highs of long-distance hiking, from the brutal desert heat to the breathtaking mountain vistas. His voice is warm and self-aware, making the experience accessible even to readers who have never set foot on a trail. The book shines in its celebration of resilience, friendship, and small moments of wonder, balancing hardship with laughter and gratitude. Uplifting and deeply human, A Fabulous Thru-Hike is an engaging reminder of the transformative power of putting one foot in front of the other.


The Children

For any adult reader who ever hoped to fall through a looking glass or stumble upon a lamppost in a winter wood, Melissa Albert’s adult debut is the book you have been waiting for.
//The Children// introduces the Sharpe siblings, who spent their youth isolated in a Vermont farmhouse, acting as the living templates for their mother’s famous portal-fantasy novels. Now adults, Guinevere makes a living shilling for her mother’s estate, while the elusive Ennis executes provocative art exhibitions, including //Mother//, which threatens to expose the grim reality behind their upbringing.
Albert writes with a dark, sophisticated elegance that takes the eerie charm of her YA titles and elevates it into something far more visceral. The book brilliantly deconstructs the toll of surviving a mythic childhood,  balancing psychological suspense with genuine supernatural dread. Albert’s builds a setting with an enveloping, dreamlike atmosphere, where the boundary between fiction and trauma dissolves. //The Children// is a stunningly immersive triumph that honors the classic allure of fairy tales while bravely exposing the sharp teeth hiding beneath the magic.


American Trickster

The body discovered in 2003 in the forbidding terrain of Death Valley was just another mystery connected to reclusive author Carlos Castaneda. The remains were identified as Nury Alexander, a devoted follower of the anthropologist. Castaneda rose to prominence with the publication of his book The Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge in 1968. His work was highlighted as an Anthropological book and proved inspirational to many, yet as years passed, skepticism would arise as to the claims made in his book and whether Castaneda’s works were bunk and better described as fiction. Castaneda won over more than a few people with his charisma and storytelling. By the time of his death, his most loyal group of followers resembled a cult with Castaneda bending and breaking many according to his will.

American Trickster is an extensive biography that seeks to elucidate the mind and work of a truly enigmatic figure. Carlos Castaneda’s words reached out to a wide audience, and his influence extended to the entertainment world, yet few knew the real Castaneda. Author Ru Marshall has done an outstanding job in exploring the man, the myth, and the tragic stories of those whose loyalty often clouded their better judgment.


Abdullah's Bear Needs a Name!

Abdullah's Bear Needs a Name! by British-Pakistani author Yasmin Hanif is a story with roots in culture but also the universal aspect of growing up, having to label things you identify with and love, and recognizing your family's role in your life. Abdullah lives in a Muslim household that is currently celebrating Eid al-Fitr; during the celebrations, he receives a teddy bear as a gift from his Abba (father), and is now tasked with having to name it. This is harder than it sounds, but after getting input from family members, it helps him come up with the perfect name.

 Even though the story contains characters with different cultural traditions than many Americans, the main part of Abdullah getting a teddy bear and needing to name it is a universal concept for young readers and older ones reading aloud. Readers will learn some new words in Arabic throughout the book, with their definitions (if not figured out in the story) found in the back. The illustrations are full-color and enhance the overall story.


National Parks ABC!

National Parks ABC! is the perfect book to introduce young readers to nature, parks, animals, and the great outdoors. Because this is a board book, it is sturdy for little hands to hold onto and not rip (too easily), so the book and the reader can enjoy multiple sit-downs with it while learning or being introduced to the names of national parks across America, and lesser-known animals seen in the wild. Young readers will appreciate the alliteration, sometimes seeming like a tongue twister, but the reader will have a good idea of what to expect with each sentence because of this. I enjoyed learning about the names of the parks and (sometimes) funny-sounding names of the animals I hadn't heard of before; I also enjoyed the full-color pictures on each page. Reading National Parks ABC! is a quick experience that can lead to more time spent learning and enjoying.


Old Soul

Old Soul by Susan Barker is a haunting, genre-blurring novel that sinks its teeth in slowly and refuses to let go. Beginning with a chance encounter in Osaka, the story unravels into a chilling global pursuit of a mysterious woman linked to decades, perhaps centuries, of devastation. Barker deftly weaves horror, thriller, and western elements, using fragmented testimonies to build an atmosphere of dread and moral unease. The novel interrogates predation, free will, and the cost of survival with unsettling precision. Bold, ambitious, and deeply atmospheric, Old Soul ultimately rewards the reader with a striking and memorable literary experience.


I Love You Rain or Shine

This might be one of my favorite new books. This is a book about a frog telling his froglet how much he loves him. This book is really sweet because the frog loves him before a storm, during a swim, or when playing hide and seek.

I really like the illustrations because the frogs look like they are having so much fun in everything they are doing. There are lots of pictures of flowers and insects. I really like their are lots of insect and animal families on many of the pages, the ladybugs are my favorite. Finding all the different type of families is sort of like a scavenger hunt. My favorite illustrations is when they are having a picnic by the pond with sandwiches.


Oscar Wilde's Stories for Children

This book is misnamed, unless the purported "stories for children" means the child in all of us. Oscar Wilde is one of the wittiest and most creative writers in English literature. The fairy stories in this book, while in the tradition of that genre, are even more delightful and creative. In addition, it is a beautiful book with great illustrations.

Reading this book—or most any work by Wilde—is like cozying up with a most delicious box of chocolates. Wilde’s mastery of language and light humor make reading an effortless charm.

There are six stories included in this volume, some previously unknown to me. The moral, gentleness, and heart displayed within the stories are also a good lesson for our time, when the sweetness of character is sometimes undervalued. This is a great gift for a child or the child within us.


The Cloud Kingdom

This fantasy book is full of adventure. It seems fairy people have stolen a pangur from a girl named Nancy. She will do anything to get it back, even make a deal to become the only storyteller. Oh, how the stories beautifully unfold while being connected together.
The illustrations of this book are stunning and just incredible on their own. My favorite illustration is of the scruffy, horned creature made of snow in the Ghost Dragon story. My favorite story in the book was that of the Magic Hat Shop, where each hat has been crafted with a charm of its own for its owner. If you like beautifully told books with equally beautiful illustrations this book, then this is the perfect book for you!!


Fruitcake

Let me put it this way: Fruitcake by Rex Ogle feels like reading someone’s diary at the exact moment their world tilts. First crushes arrive tangled and uncertain, first kisses only deepen the confusion, and the simple act of being yourself somehow becomes the hardest challenge of all. Ogle’s middle-grade memoir captures the emotional turbulence of eighth grade with disarming sincerity. Rex’s feelings for Charlotte and Drew are portrayed with such clarity that you can practically feel the knots in his stomach. Paired with expressive artwork that softens the hardest moments, this is a heartfelt, deeply relatable story about identity, courage, and self-acceptance.


How to Lose a Goblin in Ten Days

This enchanting fantasy blends humor, heart, and a touch of whimsy that’s ideal for rainy-day reading. Jessie Sylva’s story follows an irresistible cast of characters on an unexpected journey where friendship grows in the most delightful ways. With clever worldbuilding and gentle stakes that balance adventure with warmth, this novel wraps you in its charm like a soft blanket. Perfect for readers who love cozy fantasy with plenty of heart and quirky twists that keep you smiling through every chapter.


The Invisible Woman: A Thriller

As a longtime fan of James Patterson, The Invisible Woman did not disappoint. I was hooked from the very first page. Elinor Gilbert is the title's namesake—not because she's truly invisible, but because people just don't notice her. For some people, this might be an issue. But for an FBI agent, being invisible has its advantages. After being thrown under the bus by her coworker, Alan Metcalf, Elinor finds herself living the simple life as a music teacher. When the scuzzy Metcalf calls her to let her know the FBI wants her back for a special job and that she might be able to redeem herself to the FBI, Elinor decides to take the bait. The catch? She has to be a nanny. The problem? Elinor knows nothing about children, let alone babies.

This book reminded me of Mrs. Doubtfire because Elinor has to wear a foam suit under her clothes to disguise herself. There are a lot of comical parts in the book, and the characters were so colorfully written that they felt real. Fans of Patterson will want to grab their copy ofThe Invisible Woman right away.


The Society: A Novel

The Knox is a centuries-old building in Beacon Hill that is home to a secret society. Vivian, while born into old money, is running out of it. She grew up hearing about an old family legend that she is an ancestor of the original founding member of the Knox, meaning she is eligible for an inheritance. Vivian manages to work her way into The Society, but then mysteriously has an accident followed by her disappearance. Enter Taylor, her ER nurse, who becomes concerned for her and manages to get a job at the Knox to find out what really happened. Taylor needs to watch out, though, because they’re not called secret societies for nothing.

I thought the author’s writing style was refreshing and different. I enjoyed that parts of the story were told from the building’s point of view. I found Taylor hard to relate to, however, and the plot kind of fell flat towards the end, which was surprising, given how long the book was and the amount of time the author had to build a mystery. Overall, if you like stories about elite secret societies, you will probably like this one.


Whose Nest Is Best?

This book was very fascinating; it was jam-packed with information about many different types of birds and their nests, as the title suggests. It has a little blurb about each bird and its nests and how it takes care of its young, as not every bird does the same thing, like ostriches raise their babies together. So if you are a fan of birds, this is the book for you.

What I found most interesting is how big an Eagle's nest is, as wide as a school bus and tall as a house, which is hard to imagine in a tree.  There is also more information in the back of the book on each book. It would be cool if the pictures of the eggs on the endpapers had been labeled to know which bird each egg belonged to.


Seasons by the Lake

In Seasons by the Lake, two young brothers, Minak and Nuka, describe a year in their lives, season by season, living next to a lake in Greenland. In spring, they watch bubbles trapped in ice thousands of years ago release like fireworks in a glass of water. In summer, they catch a fish called a char and pick crowberries in the midnight sunlight. In fall, snow begins falling, which means sledding outside and cozy days inside, waiting for the lake to freeze for skating. Winter brings the beautiful Aurora Borealis, or Arsarnerit in the local language, along with tales of how the ancestors are playing soccer in the sky and steaming bowls of caribou stew or suaasat. Finally, the day arrives when they can skate across their frozen lake!

Naja Lund Aparico has written a lovely, educational book which brings alive the culture of native Greenlanders, including their language, and the beauty of their environment. Alex Nees gentle illustrations enhance the beauty of the story. Finally, Aparico provides some interesting back matter for those for whom the story has piqued their curiosity about the interesting environment and people.


Truman Toad and the Quest for the Perfect Hug is the story of Truman, a self-absorbed toad who literally loves everything about himself and isn't ashamed about wanting to spend all his time alone, with his favorite person. After a night of happy dreams, he wakes up and remembers dreaming about the perfect hug, and even though it's not normal for him, he is determined to find the right person/animal who can give him the "perfect" hug. He tries out so many from various animals, but continues to leave each one disappointed until he learns that if he stops taking things so seriously and has more of an open mind, the "hug" experience goes much better for everyone involved.

 I love hugs too (mostly just from family members and some friends), so the subject matter is a positive one for me and one I can relate to. As a picture book, the story held my attention throughout, and I enjoyed viewing the colorful illustrations on each page that enhanced the storyline. The moral is applicable to readers of all ages, and more readers may find themselves happier after checking out Truman's story.


City of Others

In City of Others, Jared Poon crafts a luminous and poignant tale about belonging, transformation, and urban magic. Through vivid prose and meticulous worldbuilding, the city itself becomes a character—alive, unpredictable, and full of wonder. Poon weaves together threads of mystery and emotional depth, inviting readers into a narrative that feels both fantastical and deeply rooted in human experience. The blend of myth and modern life makes this novel a rich journey of self-discovery that enchants from the first page to the last.


The Crypto King’s Muse

The Crypto King’s Muse by Francesca Frost is an engaging and emotionally layered novel that blends ambition, technology, romance, and personal reinvention. At its heart is Charlotte Gordon-Lennox, a woman who has already lived several lives—and lost more than most people ever face. Once a successful international fashion entrepreneur, Charlotte now finds herself drowning in debt after the collapse of her business during the pandemic. Determined not to give up, she reinvents herself in the volatile world of cryptocurrency trading, where risk and reward sit side by side.

From the opening pages, Frost introduces readers to Charlotte’s relentless determination and vulnerability. In the first chapter, Charlotte participates in early-morning cryptocurrency trading sessions with a group of women scattered across the globe, each drawn to the digital market for their own reasons, whether survival, opportunity, or independence.

This scene establishes both the intensity of the financial stakes and the strong theme of women carving out space in a male-dominated industry.

Charlotte’s life changes when she receives a job opportunity at Riverbank, a powerful cryptocurrency platform based in the Cayman Islands. The position could provide the financial stability she desperately needs, but there is one complication: the company’s enigmatic cofounder, Duane Blacklock. Charlotte and Duane share a complicated past, and their reunion sparks both tension and undeniable chemistry.

Frost excels at creating layered characters whose motivations feel authentic. Charlotte, in particular, is a compelling protagonist. She is intelligent, driven, and flawed in ways that make her deeply relatable. Her struggles with financial pressure, personal loss, and professional ambition are portrayed with sympathy and emotional nuance. Rather than presenting her as a perfect heroine, the novel allows readers to see her doubts, fears, and stubborn resilience.

Duane Blacklock is equally intriguing. His guarded personality and sharp intelligence make him both frustrating and fascinating. The interactions between Charlotte and Duane carry a steady undercurrent of tension, sometimes romantic, sometimes confrontational, that propels the narrative forward. Their dynamic adds emotional complexity to a story already rich with themes of ambition, trust, and redemption.

Another strength of the novel is its setting. The story moves across glamorous and international locations, from Manhattan to the Cayman Islands and beyond, capturing the global nature of cryptocurrency and high-stakes finance. These backdrops add a sense of scale and excitement, giving the narrative an almost cinematic quality.

The writing style is polished and immersive while still remaining accessible. Frost weaves technical elements of cryptocurrency into the story without overwhelming readers who may be unfamiliar with the subject. Instead of feeling like a lesson in finance, the crypto world becomes a compelling backdrop for a story about risk, both financial and emotional.

Readers who enjoy character-driven contemporary fiction with elements of romance and high-stakes ambition will find much to appreciate here. Fans of novels about powerful, resilient women rebuilding their lives after setbacks will likely connect strongly with Charlotte’s journey. Those interested in stories set in glamorous business worlds or emerging industries like cryptocurrency will also find the premise particularly intriguing.

The Crypto King’s Muse is a thoughtful and engaging novel about reinvention, ambition, and the courage it takes to take risks again after life knocks you down. With a determined heroine and a world where money, power, and emotion collide, Francesca Frost delivers a story that is both entertaining and emotionally resonant.


The Stream

Thomas W. Fargnoli’s The Stream: Keys to Peace is the kind of novel that blends storytelling with spiritual reflection, creating a narrative that feels both imaginative and introspective. Rather than focusing on fast-paced action, the book invites readers to slow down and consider deeper questions about faith, purpose, and the pursuit of inner peace.

At the heart of the story is Benito, a young boy whose curiosity about life extends well beyond the classroom. Early in the book, readers see him struggling with a bully at school who disrupts both his confidence and his love for playing soccer. When the bully kicks Benito’s brand-new soccer ball deep into the woods and disappears with it, Benito reacts with anger and frustration, an emotional moment that shows just how deeply he feels things.

This event becomes one of the turning points in his journey, pushing him toward deeper reflection and eventually toward the lessons his grandfather shares with him.

Benito’s grandfather serves as the philosophical guide of the story. Their porch conversations after dinner are filled with thoughtful lessons drawn from scripture and life experience. One particularly memorable discussion centers around the biblical story of King Solomon. Benito is fascinated by Solomon’s request for wisdom rather than power or wealth, and the conversation sparks his own desire to understand life more deeply.

These scenes give the book a thoughtful tone and highlight the strong generational bond between the two characters.

Another storyline introduces Bob, a middle-aged man who is beginning to question the direction of his own life as retirement approaches. Bob’s character provides an interesting contrast to Benito's. While Benito is searching with youthful curiosity, Bob is wrestling with uncertainty and the feeling that something meaningful may be missing from his routine life. Watching birds gather at the feeder behind his home becomes a small but symbolic moment for Bob, giving him a sense of purpose even while he wonders what comes next.

One of the more intriguing aspects of the book is how these two lives slowly begin to mirror one another. As Bob reads about Benito’s journey, he starts experiencing strange moments that echo the boy’s story, including hearing the distant sound of running water where no stream should exist. These moments create a quiet sense of mystery that keeps readers engaged.

The novel touches on several important themes, including patience, humility, forgiveness, and faith. A particularly meaningful lesson appears when Benito learns that holding onto anger, especially toward the boy who bullied him, can create emotional barriers that prevent him from finding the peace he is seeking.

The Stream: Keys to Peace is a reflective and thoughtful novel that will likely appeal to readers who enjoy stories about spiritual growth and personal discovery. While the pace is gentle, the ideas explored throughout the book linger long after the final page. For readers open to contemplative storytelling, this book offers a meaningful and uplifting experience.


The Stream

Thomas W. Fargnoli’s The Stream: Keys to Peace is a reflective work of fiction that blends storytelling with spiritual exploration. Written in a calm and deliberate style, the novel focuses less on dramatic conflict and more on the gradual development of wisdom through experience, faith, and personal reflection. As a reader, I found the book to be a thoughtful examination of how individuals at different stages of life search for meaning.

The narrative follows two central characters whose journeys unfold in parallel. The first is Benito, a young boy in the Philippines whose spiritual curiosity sets him apart from many of his peers. From the beginning, Benito is portrayed as unusually attentive to the lessons he hears in church and to the guidance of his grandfather. After experiencing a vivid dream about a peaceful stream that fills him with tranquility, he becomes convinced that finding the real stream will lead him to wisdom and deeper understanding.

What I found particularly effective about Benito’s storyline is how it captures the persistence and innocence of youth. Determined to follow the invitation he believes the dream represents, Benito spends many afternoons exploring forests near his home. In one memorable scene, he pushes through dense sticker bushes and slides down a hill in pursuit of the sound of flowing water, only to discover that the stream disappears as quickly as it appeared.

The moment illustrates one of the book’s central messages: the search for wisdom often involves frustration and setbacks before progress becomes clear.

Running alongside Benito’s story is the perspective of Bob, a man in his mid-fifties facing uncertainty about his future as retirement approaches. Bob’s storyline gives the book a grounded, contemporary element. While Benito searches through nature, Bob’s search is more internal. Conversations with his wife about perseverance, particularly reflecting on the challenges they overcame while raising a family and completing their degrees, add depth and realism to the narrative.

The Stream: Keys to Peace is a contemplative novel that will resonate most with readers who enjoy philosophical or faith-based fiction. It is not a fast-paced story, but rather one that unfolds thoughtfully and encourages reflection. For readers interested in themes of spiritual growth, mentorship, and the search for purpose, Fargnoli offers a narrative that is both meaningful and quietly inspiring.


The Stream

Every once in a while, a book comes along that feels less like a traditional story and more like a quiet conversation about life. The Stream: Keys to Peace by Thomas W. Fargnoli is one of those books. While it presents itself as a fictional narrative, the story functions almost like a reflective guide about searching for peace, purpose, and spiritual understanding.

The novel follows two very different characters whose lives slowly begin to mirror each other. The first is Benito, a thoughtful young boy living in the Philippines who becomes captivated by a dream of a peaceful, flowing stream. The dream leaves such a strong impression that he begins searching for the stream in the forests near his home, believing it may hold deeper wisdom and meaning.

Benito’s journey is shaped largely through the guidance of his grandfather, whose gentle wisdom becomes one of the highlights of the book. Their conversations explore ideas about faith, perseverance, and inner listening. At one point, Benito becomes discouraged when he thinks he has finally found the stream, only to have the sound disappear when his thoughts drift toward what the discovery might mean for his life. His grandfather explains that the moment Benito became distracted by expectations, he lost the quiet awareness needed to stay connected to the experience.

Running alongside Benito’s story is Bob, a middle-aged man living in the United States who is dealing with anxiety about retirement and the possibility of losing his job. Bob begins reading a book about Benito’s search and slowly finds himself relating to the boy’s quest more than he expected. His storyline adds a very human and relatable element to the novel. Many readers will recognize the feeling Bob experiences—the sense that life should hold something deeper, even when everything on the surface seems stable.

One particularly memorable moment occurs when Bob believes he hears the sound of running water behind his home, even though he knows there is no stream nearby. Later, he dreams about stepping into the same peaceful stream Benito described, feeling a wave of calm and surrender as the water carries him along.

These scenes give the story a slightly mystical tone that keeps the reader curious about how the two journeys might connect.

Throughout the book, Fargnoli teaches the readers lessons that unfold gradually through dialogue and experiences rather than dramatic action. For readers who enjoy contemplative storytelling, this slower pace feels intentional—it encourages reflection rather than rushing toward a conclusion.

What makes The Stream: Keys to Peace appealing is its simplicity. The writing is clear, the message is uplifting, and the story gently reminds readers that peace often begins internally. It suggests that sometimes the answers people are searching for are not found through control or logic but through patience, openness, and a willingness to listen.

Readers who enjoy thoughtful, faith-inspired fiction or philosophical stories about life’s bigger questions will likely appreciate this book. It’s a calm, reflective read that leaves you thinking long after you’ve finished the final page.


The Stream

As someone who enjoys reflective fiction that blends story with deeper life questions, The Stream: Keys to Peace turned out to be a surprisingly thoughtful and calming read. Thomas W. Fargnoli weaves a narrative that feels part spiritual allegory, part coming-of-age journey, and part philosophical reflection on the search for peace.

The book centers primarily around Benito, a thoughtful twelve-year-old boy in the Philippines who begins having vivid dreams about a beautiful stream that fills him with peace and tranquility. After sharing the dream with his wise grandfather, Benito learns that the dream may be an invitation: one that challenges him to search for a real stream that symbolizes deeper wisdom and spiritual growth.

One of the elements that stood out to me early in the story was the tenderness of Benito’s relationship with his grandfather. Their porch conversations are some of the most memorable moments in the book. The grandfather never gives answers; instead, he gently guides Benito toward understanding life through patience, faith, and perseverance. As Benito searches through forests for the mysterious stream, he encounters physical obstacles, but each setback becomes a lesson about character and determination.

Another compelling layer of the story comes through the parallel narrative of Bob, a middle-aged man approaching retirement who begins reading about Benito’s journey. Bob’s storyline adds a reflective adult perspective that many readers will likely connect with. He’s dealing with anxiety about the future and searching for meaning beyond the practical routines of work and responsibility. As he reads about Benito’s search, Bob begins to experience strange moments of connection to the story—such as hearing running water and even dreaming of the same peaceful stream.

The novel explores several key ideas that run consistently throughout the narrative. Perseverance is one of the first lessons Benito learns during his search. His grandfather explains that the scrapes and difficulties along the way are not failures but part of the process of growth. This felt especially meaningful because it mirrors real life. Most meaningful discoveries come slowly and require persistence.

Another strong theme is faith and spiritual openness. Both Benito and Bob begin learning that true wisdom isn’t something forced through logic or control. Instead, it comes through surrendering to something larger than oneself, whether that means prayer, trust, or simply quiet reflection.

What I appreciated most about The Stream is that it didn't feel preachy despite its spiritual undertones. The lessons unfold naturally through story and dialogue rather than lectures. The pacing is gentle and reflective, which makes the book feel almost meditative at times.

Readers who enjoy inspirational fiction, spiritual allegories like The Alchemist,, or thoughtful stories about personal growth will likely find this book meaningful. It’s the kind of story that invites readers to pause, reflect, and perhaps even consider what their own “stream” might be.


Iysh

Greg Price’s IYSH is a historical novel that immediately places the reader inside one of the most turbulent and heartbreaking periods of the twentieth century. Set in Nazi Germany during the early years of World War II, the story follows Leo Butlion, a Jewish university student studying medicine in Koblenz, as he begins to realize the danger facing his family and community. From the opening chapters, Price establishes a tense atmosphere that steadily grows darker as the political realities of the era begin to unfold.

One of the strongest elements of this novel is the author’s descriptive writing style. Price has a clear ability to create vivid scenes that help readers visualize the world his characters inhabit. In the opening chapter, for example, the author carefully paints the setting of Koblenz in winter with its crowded streets, overcoats, and the uneasy mood surrounding rumors of war. These details do more than simply establish place; they also create a sense of unease that foreshadows the tragedy to come. The pacing of the narrative is deliberate, allowing tension to build naturally as Leo learns about the growing threat of Hitler’s regime.

The plot itself is compelling because it combines historical context with personal drama. What begins as rumors among university students soon turns into a devastating reality for Leo and his family. The Butlion family’s clothing store becomes a symbol of everything they have built through hard work, only to see it seized by Nazi authorities. The emotional turning point of the early chapters occurs when the family confronts the brutality of the SS, illustrating the cruelty and suddenness with which ordinary lives were destroyed during the Nazi takeover. These moments are written with intensity and realism, making the reader feel the shock and despair experienced by the characters.

The characters are another highlight of the book. Leo stands out as an intelligent and thoughtful protagonist whose education and awareness make him more alert to the looming danger than others around him. His conversations with his father, Eli, provide some of the novel’s most meaningful moments. Eli represents a generation that believes stability and reason will prevail, while Leo senses that the situation is far more dangerous. This contrast creates a powerful emotional dynamic between the two characters. Meanwhile, Rachel, Leo’s mother, adds an emotional depth to the story through her vulnerability and devotion to her family. The tragedy that strikes the family underscores how deeply readers have come to care about these characters.

Price also deserves credit for portraying the wider Jewish community in Koblenz. The scenes involving the synagogue and the discussions among community members show how ordinary people tried to respond rationally to an unimaginable threat. These moments give the story historical authenticity while highlighting themes of resilience, faith, and survival.

Readers who enjoy historical fiction will likely find IYSH especially engaging. Fans of World War II novels such as The Book Thief, All the Light We Cannot See, or The Tattooist of Auschwitz may appreciate the novel’s focus on the human cost of war and persecution. It will also appeal to readers who enjoy character-driven historical stories that combine family drama with real historical events.

IYSH is a powerful and emotionally charged novel that explores courage, loss, and perseverance in the face of overwhelming oppression. Greg Price’s descriptive storytelling and compelling characters make this a memorable work of historical fiction that will resonate with readers who appreciate stories of survival and humanity during dark moments in history.


Finding Democracy Through the Lens of a Young German Woman, 1944-1950

"A meticulously researched and deeply human work, Finding Democracy Through the Lens of a Young German Woman, 1944–1950 offers a rare intimacy that transforms history into lived experience. Margaret F. Merritt brings exceptional authenticity and emotional clarity to a pivotal moment in modern history through photographs, sketches, and primary documents. The narrative balances scholarly rigor with graceful storytelling, illuminating resilience, moral awakening, and the quiet power of personal choice. This is a thoughtful, evocative book that lingers long after the final page, inviting reflection on freedom, memory, and the fragile rebuilding of democratic ideals." —Jessica Fahey, Seattle Book Review


Distortion

Distortion by Sierra Ernesto Xavier is an unconventional and deeply introspective work of literary fiction that focuses on the emotional and psychological complexities of two individuals attempting to build a relationship while confronting the physical and emotional scars of their past. The novel is striking in both its subject matter and its structure, relying almost entirely on dialogue between the two central characters. This stylistic decision immediately sets the book apart from more traditional narratives and creates an intimate reading experience that places the reader directly inside the characters’ conversations and vulnerabilities.

At its core, Distortion is about identity, trauma, and the struggle to accept one’s body and history. The story unfolds through conversations between a man and a woman who are gradually revealing their past experiences with physical deformities, surgeries, and the emotional consequences of being perceived as “different” by society. Through these exchanges, the reader slowly pieces together their personal histories. The author intentionally avoids detailed scene descriptions, instead allowing the dialogue to reveal the characters’ memories, emotions, and physical realities. This technique mirrors the way people often learn about one another in real life, through conversation rather than observation.

One of the most compelling aspects of the book is its exploration of how physical trauma and medical interventions shape a person’s identity. Both characters recount harrowing experiences with surgeries intended to “correct” their bodies. The descriptions of these procedures, particularly those involving facial reconstruction and spinal surgery, are intense and emotionally charged. These moments are not presented merely for shock value; instead, they highlight the emotional toll of living in a body that has been repeatedly altered in pursuit of normalcy. The characters’ dialogue captures both the pain of those experiences and the complicated desire to be accepted by others.

What I found particularly powerful is how the novel examines the concept of shame. Many of the characters’ fears revolve around how others perceive them, whether through laughter, judgment, or avoidance. The male character, for instance, reflects on the humiliation of being stared at because of his facial differences, while the female character discusses the physical asymmetry caused by scoliosis and the invasive medical scrutiny that accompanied it. These discussions feel raw and honest, offering insight into how deeply social perceptions can affect self-worth.

Despite the heavy themes, the book is ultimately about connection. The dialogue between the two characters often shifts from painful recollections to moments of tenderness and empathy. They begin to see one another not as damaged bodies but as people worthy of affection and understanding. That evolving relationship provides a sense of emotional depth that keeps the narrative engaging even though the structure is minimalist.

Readers who enjoy experimental literary fiction will likely appreciate Distortion. Those who are interested in psychological exploration, character-driven stories, and philosophical discussions about identity and the human body will find a great deal to reflect on here. Fans of dialogue-focused works or plays may also connect with the format, since much of the narrative unfolds like an intimate two-person stage production.

This is not a fast-paced or plot-heavy novel; instead, it is a contemplative and often challenging read. But for readers willing to engage with its themes, Distortion offers a thought-provoking look at vulnerability, resilience, and the difficult journey toward self-acceptance.


Journey Through the Valley: One Man's Story of Learning to Trust Jesus with Work, Faith, and Family

Journey Through the Valley by David Brenner is a deeply reflective memoir that explores the complexities of faith, ambition, family, and personal transformation. Told through the author’s own life experiences, the book follows Brenner’s journey from a driven young executive chasing the American dream to a man gradually learning to surrender control and trust God in both success and hardship. I found the book to be both introspective and relatable, especially in how it addresses the pressures of modern life and the search for deeper meaning.

At its core, the memoir is about the tension between worldly success and spiritual fulfillment. Early in the book, Brenner describes how he pursued career advancement, financial stability, and social validation, believing these achievements would bring happiness. Outwardly, his life appeared successful. He had a promising career, a relationship that eventually became a marriage, and a growing family. Yet internally, he struggled with anxiety, emotional wounds from childhood, and the feeling that something essential was missing. This theme of internal conflict appears throughout the narrative and serves as one of the book’s strongest messages: external success does not necessarily lead to inner peace.

Another major theme is spiritual growth through adversity. Brenner repeatedly encounters moments when life does not go according to plan—career pressures, marital struggles, fatherhood challenges, and personal doubts about God. Rather than portraying faith as a quick solution, the author emphasizes how faith develops slowly through hardship and reflection. The “valley” in the title symbolizes these seasons of struggle, where faith is tested but ultimately strengthened. Brenner writes about how painful experiences forced him to examine his beliefs and learn to depend on God instead of relying solely on his own ambition and determination.

The book also explores the theme of vulnerability. Brenner’s willingness to share personal failures, such as neglecting emotional connection in his marriage or prioritizing work over family, makes the story feel authentic. His reflections show that spiritual maturity often begins when people acknowledge their weaknesses rather than hiding them. For readers, this honesty makes the message more powerful because it illustrates that growth is rarely linear.

Community is another important thread woven throughout the memoir. Brenner credits much of his transformation to relationships with others who encouraged his faith, particularly a mentor named Pastor Mark and the men’s spiritual group he joined. Through these relationships, the author learns the importance of accountability, shared wisdom, and spiritual support. These moments highlight the idea that faith is not meant to be lived out alone but within a supportive community.

Finally, the theme of surrender plays a central role. Over time, Brenner learns that faith is not about controlling outcomes but about trusting God even when circumstances are uncertain. This realization becomes a turning point in his journey, helping him approach challenges with humility and patience rather than fear.

Journey Through the Valley is an encouraging and thoughtful memoir about personal transformation. Its themes of faith, perseverance, vulnerability, and community make it a meaningful read for anyone who has struggled to balance ambition with purpose. Brenner’s story reminds readers that life’s hardest seasons can ultimately become the places where growth and spiritual renewal begin.


Hunter's Hidden Camera

Anthony Auswat’s Hunter’s Hidden Camera is not an easy read, but it is a compelling one. As an adult male reader and someone who has read a fair share of coming-of-age and psychological dramas over the years, I found this novel both unsettling and surprisingly poignant. It explores sexuality, jealousy, shame, and moral compromise in a way that feels raw and unfiltered, sometimes painfully so.

The story centers on Hunter, an eighteen-year-old high school senior living in a conservative suburb of Los Angeles. From the opening pages, we’re immersed in his complicated inner life. He lives in the shadow of his older brother Nash, who is athletic, charismatic, and effortlessly masculine. Hunter’s fixation on him drives much of the narrative. Beneath the surface of sibling rivalry lies something deeper: Hunter is struggling with his sexual identity, buried under layers of fear, denial, and religious guilt. He is gay but closeted, terrified of the consequences of coming out in his Irish Catholic family and socially rigid community.

What elevates the novel beyond a standard coming-out story is Hunter’s deeply flawed decision-making. In an effort to gain financial independence and perhaps a twisted sense of power, he secretly records his brother through hidden cameras and uploads edited footage to an adult website for profit. This choice is morally indefensible, and Auswat doesn’t attempt to sanitize it. Instead, he allows readers to sit with the discomfort. As a middle-aged reader, I appreciated that the author didn’t glamorize Hunter’s actions. The guilt, anxiety, and escalating consequences feel authentic and psychologically grounded.

The writing style is candid and modern, filled with internal monologue that often reads like a confessional. Hunter’s voice is sharp, self-aware, and darkly humorous at times. While some scenes are explicit, they serve a narrative purpose, highlighting the tension between desire and shame rather than existing purely for shock value. The pacing is steady, with moments of genuine suspense, especially as Hunter’s lies begin to stack up and the risk of exposure grows.

What struck me most was how convincingly Auswat portrays adolescent insecurity. Even though I’m decades removed from high school, the emotional core—wanting to belong, fearing rejection, comparing oneself to others—still resonates. The dynamic between Hunter and his girlfriend Emma is particularly heartbreaking. He cares about her but cannot give her what she wants, and the resulting tension is painfully real.

This book will likely appeal to readers who appreciate edgy psychological drama and morally complex protagonists. Fans of contemporary LGBTQ+ fiction that doesn’t shy away from darker themes will find it especially engaging. It may also resonate with readers who enjoy character-driven stories about secrecy, identity, and the consequences of ambition gone wrong.

That said, it is not for everyone. The mature content and ethically troubling choices require a reader willing to grapple with discomfort. But for those open to it, Hunter’s Hidden Camera offers a provocative and emotionally layered exploration of a young man spiraling under the weight of his own secrets.


When Paris Whispers

I picked up When Paris Whispers expecting a travel-infused coming-of-age story, and while it certainly delivers that, the novel surprised me with how emotionally layered it is. Marianne C. Bohr writes with warmth and insight, creating a heroine whose inner struggles feel just as vivid as the streets of Paris she explores.

At the heart of the novel is Catrine Gray, a thoughtful and introspective young woman who has dreamed of France her entire life. After her father’s sudden death, she decides to take a leap and move to Paris, hoping the city she’s long imagined will help her rebuild her life.

What struck me immediately was how deeply the novel explores grief and memory. Some of the most touching passages involve Catrine recalling moments with her father, especially when he encouraged her love of French culture and literature. These memories explain why Paris means so much to her. It’s not just a place; it’s tied to the person who believed in her the most.

Bohr also does a fantastic job portraying Catrine’s insecurity. She grew up feeling awkward and out of place. She was too tall, too quiet, and never quite confident in her own skin. Those feelings follow her to Paris. Watching her navigate a new city while battling that inner voice of doubt makes her journey compelling.

One scene that stood out to me is when Catrine explores the city alone after a difficult phone call with her mother. The conversation is painful. Her mother criticizes her choices and questions why she even went to France in the first place. Instead of letting those words defeat her, Catrine walks through the Latin Quarter, observing cafés, markets, and university buildings. That quiet moment of wandering becomes symbolic of her determination to keep moving forward.

The Paris setting itself is wonderfully immersive. Bohr doesn’t simply list famous landmarks; she captures the everyday rhythm of the city with its busy metro stations, pastry shop windows, narrow streets, and outdoor cafés along the Seine. These details make the reader feel as if they’re discovering Paris alongside Catrine.

Another highlight is Catrine’s fascination with French literature. Her conversations about writers like Balzac and Hugo add intellectual depth to the story and show how books have shaped her identity. I particularly enjoyed the scene where Vincent shares a little historical trivia about the street connected to Balzac’s Le Père Goriot. Moments like that give the novel a lovely literary charm.

What makes this book memorable is how personal Catrine’s journey feels. She’s not trying to conquer the world; she’s simply trying to figure out who she is without the expectations that have always defined her.

Readers who enjoy thoughtful character-driven fiction, stories set abroad, and novels about personal reinvention will likely love When Paris Whispers. It’s reflective, heartfelt, and filled with small but meaningful moments that linger long after the final page.


When Paris Whispers

Marianne C. Bohr’s When Paris Whispers is the kind of novel that slowly pulls you into its world and then keeps surprising you with emotional depth. What begins as a story about a young woman chasing a dream quickly evolves into something richer—an exploration of grief, identity, courage, and self-discovery set against the enchanting backdrop of Paris.

The novel follows Catrine Gray, a young American woman who has dreamed about living in France since childhood. After a painful personal loss, she finally gathers the courage to leave her life behind and travel to Paris. What I loved most about Catrine is how authentic she feels. She isn’t immediately confident or glamorous; instead, she arrives tired, grieving, and unsure of herself. Her journey feels incredibly relatable because it isn’t neat or easy.

One of the strongest scenes early in the book takes place before Catrine even reaches her friend Freddie’s apartment. Almost immediately after arriving in the city she has romanticized for years, she is shoved to the ground and robbed. The moment perfectly shatters her idealized vision of Paris and forces both the character and the reader to confront reality. The humiliation and shock she experiences there set the emotional tone for much of the story. Instead of turning around and going home, however, Catrine decides to stay, showing the quiet courage that defines her character.

Another aspect of the novel I enjoyed was the complicated friendship between Catrine and Freddie. Their history stretches back to high school, where Freddie’s bold personality first drew the shy Catrine out of her shell. Yet their dynamic isn’t entirely healthy. The prologue already hints at deeper tension between them, culminating in an explosive argument that includes jealousy, insults, and even Freddie cutting Catrine’s long braid with a knife. This scene reveals just how volatile their relationship can be and immediately adds suspense to the story.

Bohr also captures the emotional weight of family expectations beautifully. Catrine’s strained relationship with her mother adds another layer of conflict. Her mother constantly undermines her confidence and criticizes her choices, which explains why Catrine struggles so much with self-doubt. When Catrine calls home from Paris and hears those familiar criticisms again, it’s both heartbreaking and illuminating.

But the novel isn’t all tension and introspection. There are also moments of warmth and charm, especially when Catrine meets Vincent, Freddie’s cousin. Their first dinner together in a Parisian brasserie is one of my favorite scenes. The conversation about literature, wine, and Parisian culture creates a wonderful sense of atmosphere and hints at possible romance without rushing it.

Ultimately, When Paris Whispers is a story about finding the courage to become the person you want to be. Readers who enjoy thoughtful literary fiction, stories of personal growth, and vivid international settings will likely find themselves completely absorbed. It’s a reflective, character-driven novel that proves sometimes the biggest adventure is learning to trust yourself.


The House on Chestnut Circle

"The House on Chestnut Circle is a richly atmospheric and deeply unsettling experience that pulls readers in from the very first page. With masterful pacing and a creeping sense of dread, the story layers emotional depth, small-town tension, and psychological unease in a way that feels both intimate and irresistible. Each revelation is handled with subtlety, rewarding readers who love smart mysteries that linger in the mind rather than rely on shock. The House on Chestnut Circle is a beautifully crafted, haunting novel that stays with you long after the final page." —Kathryn Dare, Portland Book Review


Margery and Me

As someone who loves historical fiction but also craves strong, slightly rebellious female leads, Margery and Me completely drew me in. Set against the backdrop of early 20th-century spiritualism, this novel tells the story of Mina (later known as Margery), a woman determined to shape her own destiny in a world that keeps trying to define her. What makes it even more intriguing is that it’s based on a true story and is narrated by her dead brother, Walter. Yes, really. And somehow, it works beautifully.

Walter’s voice is easily one of my favorite parts of the book. He’s witty, protective, a little sarcastic, and surprisingly tender. Watching Mina’s/Margery's life unfold through his ghostly perspective adds so much depth. It’s funny at times, heartbreaking at others, and always layered with this sense that he both understands her better than anyone and can’t quite control the chaos she’s walking into. That tension kept me hooked.

Mina herself is such a compelling character. She grows up under a harsh father, escapes into city life, endures a disappointing first marriage, and then reinvents herself. I loved how ambitious and self-aware she is. She’s not perfect—she’s impulsive, proud, and sometimes blind to red flags—but that made her feel real. Her second marriage to the charismatic Dr. Roy Crandon opens the door to high society, but also to new complications. The dynamic between Mina’s hunger for independence and the societal expectations placed on her felt especially powerful.

The spiritualism aspect was fascinating. Séances, table-rapping, public scrutiny, and the looming presence of skeptics, especially Harry Houdini, create this electric atmosphere. I didn’t know much about that era of American history before reading this, but the author makes it feel vivid and cinematic without overwhelming the reader with facts. It’s clear there’s a lot of research behind the scenes, but the storytelling never feels heavy.

One thing I really appreciated was how the novel explores grief, ambition, and identity. Mina’s connection to Walter, whether you read it as literal or symbolic, adds emotional weight. It’s not just about fame or deception; it’s about longing, family, and trying to be seen in a world that doubts women’s power.

I think this book would especially resonate with readers who enjoy historical fiction centered on complex women; fans of stories about unconventional heroines navigating rigid social structures. If you love novels that blend real historical figures with fictionalized emotional depth, or if you’re drawn to themes of female ambition and reinvention, this one’s for you. It would also appeal to readers who enjoy a touch of the supernatural without venturing fully into fantasy.

Margery and Me is smart, entertaining, and surprisingly moving. It made me think about how far women have come, and how much courage it once took just to claim a voice. I closed the book feeling both inspired and a little haunted, which feels exactly right for a story about spirits and the women bold enough to call them.


Sun Tzu: The Art of War for Health & Longevity: The Warrior's Way to Wellness

In Sun Tzu: The Art of War for Health & Longevity: The Warrior’s Way to Wellness, Y. Tony Yang offers an ambitious and thoughtful reimagining of one of history’s most enduring strategic texts. Rather than applying Sun Tzu’s military philosophy to business or politics, Yang turns the lens inward, framing personal health as the most important campaign we will ever wage. From the outset, Yang establishes both intellectual credibility and emotional resonance. In the preface, he shares his childhood experience studying The Art of War in Taipei, later weaving that early exposure into his professional life as a health policy scholar. This personal narrative gives the book warmth and authenticity. Yang is not simply borrowing Eastern philosophy as a metaphor; he is integrating cultural inheritance with modern scientific understanding.

The book follows the structure of Sun Tzu’s original thirteen chapters, reinterpreting each through the lens of preventive health and longevity. “Laying Plans” becomes building a personalized health strategy. “Attack by Stratagem” transforms into proactive prevention. “The Use of Intelligence” evolves into monitoring biomarkers and learning from one’s body. This structural parallel is both clever and surprisingly effective, providing cohesion to what could otherwise feel like a broad wellness manual.

One of the book’s greatest strengths is its insistence on integration over fragmentation. In the introduction, Yang critiques modern medicine’s tendency to treat isolated symptoms rather than interconnected systems. He illustrates this through relatable case studies, including professionals juggling medications, busy adults postponing preventive care, and individuals overwhelmed by conflicting advice. These examples humanize the argument without becoming overly sentimental.

Yang’s tone remains measured and professional, yet gently encouraging. He avoids miracle claims and quick fixes. Instead, he advocates for what he calls strategic health—long-term thinking, environmental awareness, disciplined habits, and alignment between values and lifestyle. The message is empowering rather than prescriptive: you are not a passive patient but the “general” of your own body.

The economics of health maintenance, explored in early chapters, is particularly compelling. By comparing the long-term costs of chronic disease with the relatively modest investments required for prevention, Yang reframes wellness not as indulgence but as a prudent strategy. Readers who appreciate data-driven arguments will find this section persuasive.

That said, the book occasionally leans heavily on metaphor. Readers seeking step-by-step medical protocols may find the strategic framing abstract at times. However, for those open to a conceptual shift, seeing health as governance rather than repair, the approach is refreshing.

This book will resonate most strongly with readers who enjoy integrative health, Eastern philosophy, and big-picture thinking. Professionals interested in preventive medicine, wellness coaches, policy thinkers, and individuals navigating midlife health transitions will find particular value. It would also appeal to readers of holistic health works that bridge science and spirituality without veering into mysticism.

The Art of War for Health & Longevity invites us to stop fighting isolated battles and start cultivating favorable terrain. It is not about waging war against the body, but about governing it wisely. Yang’s central insight is simple yet profound: the greatest victory in health is the illness that never takes hold.


As someone in her late sixties who has watched friends navigate everything from heart disease to cancer to early cognitive decline, I approached Sun Tzu: The Art of War for Health & Longevity with cautious curiosity. I have shelves full of health books promising “the answer.” What I did not expect was a book that would ask me to think differently, rather than simply do more. Y. Tony Yang frames health not as a desperate fight against aging, but as a lifelong strategy. Drawing on Sun Tzu’s ancient principles, he suggests that the best victories are the ones that require no battle at all. That idea alone stopped me in my tracks. At my age, so many conversations revolve around managing what has already gone wrong. Yang gently but firmly redirects the conversation toward preparation, awareness, and prevention.

What struck me most was his emphasis on integration. In the introduction, he critiques the way modern medicine often separates mind from body, nutrition from stress, and sleep from immunity. I have lived that fragmentation myself—one doctor for blood pressure, another for joint pain, another for sleep. Yang’s perspective felt validating. He acknowledges the brilliance of modern medicine, yet he encourages us not to surrender all responsibility to it.

One section that resonated deeply was the discussion of positioning oneself for health success. Rather than relying solely on willpower, Yang advocates shaping your environment—your “terrain”—so healthier choices become easier. After reading this, I rearranged my own kitchen, placing fresh produce front and center and moving the sweets out of immediate reach. It seems simple, but the shift has been surprisingly effective.

The chapter on energy and inner strength also felt particularly relevant for someone in later life. Yang does not equate vitality with youth. Instead, he speaks about managing resources wisely—protecting sleep, moderating stress, choosing sustainable movement. I appreciated that he never suggests extreme regimens. His tone is respectful, almost companionable, as if he understands that our bodies at sixty-five require different strategies than they did at thirty-five.

If I have one critique, it is that the strategic metaphor may feel abstract to readers who prefer concrete meal plans or workout charts. This is not a quick-reference manual. It is a philosophical reframing of how we relate to our health.

I would recommend this book especially to readers over fifty who are beginning to sense the consequences of earlier habits and want a wiser path forward. It would also appeal to caregivers, retirees planning for active aging, and thoughtful individuals who enjoy reflective nonfiction. In the end, Yang’s message is both sobering and hopeful: we may not control every outcome, but we can govern our daily choices with intention. At this stage of life, that feels less like warfare and more like stewardship, and that distinction matters deeply to me.


As a 29-year-old, I’ll admit I didn’t think a book inspired by The Art of War would change the way I look at my health. I exercise a few times a week, try to eat reasonably well, and assumed that was enough. But Sun Tzu: The Art of War for Health & Longevity challenged that comfortable mindset in ways I didn’t expect. Y. Tony Yang’s central argument is simple but powerful: the greatest victory in health is preventing disease before it ever takes hold. Instead of framing health as damage control, he reframes it as a strategy. That idea hit home for me. In my generation, we tend to optimize everything—productivity hacks, financial investments, side hustles—but rarely think of our bodies as long-term strategic assets. What stood out most was the concept of “Laying Plans,” which Yang adapts from Sun Tzu’s framework for building a comprehensive health strategy. He encourages readers to assess their terrain: genetics, environment, stress levels, and sleep habits. I realized I had never actually looked at my family health history beyond casual mentions. After reading, I had a serious conversation with my parents about diabetes and hypertension in our extended family. That knowledge alone shifted how I think about my diet and fitness routine.

The chapter that resonated most with me was “The Use of Intelligence,” which focuses on monitoring and learning from your own health data. As someone who already tracks workouts and steps, I appreciated how Yang expands that idea beyond surface metrics. He talks about using data strategically—not obsessively, but intentionally—to make informed decisions. It made me rethink how I interpret wearable stats and routine lab work. Data isn’t just numbers; it’s reconnaissance.

Another strong element is Yang’s emphasis on systems rather than short bursts of motivation. I’ve done intense 30-day fitness challenges before, only to fall off afterward. Yang’s strategic model encourages sustainable positioning instead—shaping routines and environments so healthy behavior becomes the default. For example, I shifted my late-night gaming sessions to earlier hours to protect sleep, something I previously brushed off as “I’ll catch up later.” Framing sleep as foundational infrastructure rather than optional recovery was eye-opening.

The book isn’t a step-by-step fitness manual, and readers looking for detailed workout programs won’t find them here. Instead, it provides a framework for thinking differently about health as a lifelong campaign. The tone is thoughtful, grounded in both philosophical insight and modern science, without veering into hype.

I’d recommend this book to young professionals who are ambitious about their careers but haven’t yet applied that same strategic thinking to their bodies. It’s also ideal for readers who enjoy blending classical philosophy with practical modern application. If you’re in your twenties or thirties and think serious health planning is something to worry about “later,” this book makes a compelling case that later is built right now.


As someone who has read The Art of War before (and found it fascinating but admittedly a little intimidating), I wasn’t sure what to expect from Sun Tzu: The Art of War for Health & Longevity. What I found instead was one of the most practical and motivating wellness books I’ve read in a long time.

Y. Tony Yang brilliantly reframes Sun Tzu’s ancient military principles into a strategy for everyday health. Instead of treating our bodies like battlefields under constant attack, he encourages us to become thoughtful generals by planning ahead, strengthening our defenses, and preventing problems before they escalate. I loved the idea that “the greatest victory requires no battle at all.” That mindset shift alone changed how I think about my own habits.

The book walks through health in a structured, strategic way and covers everything from prevention and early intervention to mindset, environment, and long-term planning. What makes it stand out is how integrated it feels. Rather than focusing on one trend (like diet or fitness), Yang shows how sleep, stress, movement, nutrition, and even our physical environment all work together. It made me realize I’ve often treated my health in pieces by fixing one issue while ignoring another.

I especially appreciated the real-life examples sprinkled throughout the chapters. Stories about people catching health issues early, investing in lifestyle changes before chronic disease sets in, or simply shifting their mindset from reactive to proactive made the concepts feel doable. This isn’t a preachy book. It’s strategic but compassionate. Yang emphasizes that health isn’t about perfection; it’s about positioning yourself wisely.

What have I already started applying? First, I’m thinking more preventively. Instead of waiting until I feel run-down, I’m prioritizing sleep like it’s part of my “defense strategy.” I’ve also started looking at my calendar differently by blocking out time for walks and meal prepping. The idea of health as a long-term campaign rather than a 30-day sprint really resonated with me.

I also loved the emphasis on mindset. The chapter on being your own “commander” hit home. It made me reflect on how I talk to myself when I slip up. Am I harsh and reactive, or strategic and adaptable? That alone felt empowering.

If you enjoy books that blend philosophy with practical application, and if you like the idea of becoming more intentional about your health without extreme rules, this is a great read. It’s thoughtful, grounded in research, and surprisingly motivating.


Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads

I found Clark T. Carlton’s Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads to be most compelling in the question it dares to ask: what happens after the prince carries the virtuous girl away? What becomes of the sister who was cursed? And what of the mother who shaped them both?

Charles Perrault’s original tale,Diamonds and Toads, which this book is based on, is simple and moralistic. A kind farm girl, rewarded for helping a disguised fairy, drops jewels and flowers when she speaks; her cruel sister, punished for her vanity, spews vipers and toads. One rises to royalty. The other is cast out and left for dead. It is a story of stark justice, almost brutal in its symmetry.

Carlton, however, is uninterested in symmetry. He is interested in the aftermath.

From the opening chapters, we are plunged into a world where grief, class ambition, and moral compromise have real weight. Gwendolyn Honeydale, clearly inspired by the virtuous sister, possesses gentleness and generosity, but she is no porcelain figurine. She labors, she bleeds, she questions. Her mother and sister are not caricatures; they are women driven by fear of poverty and the hunger for status. That nuance is where the novel breathes. Life, as we know, rarely divides cleanly into roses and reptiles.

What most impressed me was the novel’s atmosphere. There is a simmering darkness beneath the pastoral surface full of whispers of witches, forest superstitions, and social rot. This is indeed, as promised, a tale to slake the thirst of those craving a witch’s brew. The magic feels older than courtly enchantment; it is earthy, dangerous, and threaded with consequence. One senses that every blessing carries a shadow, and every curse leaves residue.

The prose itself is lush without becoming indulgent. Carlton lingers over the making of glass, the harvesting of honey, the textures of cloth, and smoke and flame. These artisan details ground the fantasy in the tangible. As someone who has lived long enough to appreciate craft, whether in baking, sewing, or tending a garden, I found those passages deeply satisfying. They remind us that transformation, magical or otherwise, requires heat and patience.

This novel will resonate most with readers who grew up on fairy tales and now seek their complexities. Women who have navigated family tensions, ambition, disappointment, and reinvention will recognize the emotional truth beneath the fable. It is not a light bedtime story; it is a reflective, sometimes unsettling meditation on reward, punishment, and the cost of desire.

In the end, Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads suggests that fairy tales do not truly end with a wedding or a curse fulfilled. They ripple outward into lives that must still be lived. And that, to this seasoned reader, feels far more honest and far more enchanting.


Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads

I’ve always loved fairy tales, but I’ve also always wondered what they leave out. Clark T. Carlton’s Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads feels like the answer to that curiosity. Inspired by Charles Perrault’s Diamonds and Toads, this novel doesn’t just retell the story of the kind sister who speaks jewels and the cruel one who spits vipers, it asks what happens after the magic settles. And honestly? The aftermath is messier, darker, and way more interesting than the original fairy tale ever hinted at.

At its heart is Gwendolyn Honeydale, a farm girl whose goodness isn’t sugary or unrealistic. She’s grieving her father, navigating a toxic home life, and is constantly underestimated by her ambitious mother and sharp-tongued sister, Fanny. The opening funeral scene alone sets the tone—this is not a soft-focus fairy tale. There’s cruelty, manipulation, and social climbing right from the start. But Gwen’s kindness shows up in small, powerful ways: how she cares for neglected animals, how she gives her own clothes to a poorer girl, how she harvests honey with gratitude instead of entitlement. Those details made her feel real, not just “the good sister” archetype.

One of my favorite threads in the book is the glassmaking. When Gwen encounters Paolo, the young glassmaker, the scenes in the forge are vivid and almost cinematic. The fire, the molten glass, the delicate shaping all mirror Gwen’s own transformation. She’s under pressure, tested by heat, and slowly reshaped by circumstance. I loved that symbolism without it feeling heavy-handed. It’s romantic, yes, but not in a rushed way. The relationship unfolds against class tensions and family expectations, which adds stakes beyond simple attraction.

The book also leans into a slightly gothic vibe. The forest feels dangerous. Rumors of witches and darker magic simmer in the background. There’s this sense that blessings and curses don’t just disappear once a prince gets involved. They linger. That’s what makes this story feel like it’s for readers who grew up and started asking harder questions. What happens to the “bad” sister? Does punishment actually fix anything? Does marrying well solve deeper wounds?

I found myself connected to Gwen’s frustration at being boxed in by other people’s plans. Her mother’s obsession with status and land feels painfully relatable in a modern way, like parental pressure wrapped in old-world ambition. Gwen’s quiet resistance, her desire for autonomy, and her insistence on compassion instead of cruelty felt empowering without being preachy.

This novel is perfect for readers who love fairy-tale retellings with edge, including fans of darker folklore, morally complicated families, and slow-burn transformation stories. It’s magical, but it doesn’t shy away from the consequences of magic. And that’s what makes it linger long after the last page.


Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads

Clark T. Carlton’s Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads takes the familiar skeleton of Charles Perrault’s Diamonds and Toads and builds something far more muscular around it. As a reader who has revisited enough fairy-tale retellings to approach them with caution, I was struck by how fully realized this novel feels. It is less a retelling than a continuation. It's a deliberate exploration of what such a moralistic tale would look like if its characters were allowed to live beyond the lesson.

The story centers on Gwendolyn Honeydale, a farmer’s daughter whose innate kindness sets her apart from her calculating mother and socially ambitious sister, Fanny. The novel opens at their father’s burial, a scene that quickly establishes the emotional and economic stakes. With the patriarch gone, the family’s modest farm becomes leverage in a marriage scheme. Mother is intent on marrying Fanny into the wealthy Prigghemp family, who seek additional land to solidify their bid for nobility. Gwen, meanwhile, is reduced to drudgery, milking cows, harvesting honey, tending neglected animals, while absorbing both grief and humiliation.

Carlton weaves in elements that echo Perrault’s original premise: virtue rewarded, vanity punished. Yet here, those qualities are not expressed through instant enchantment. Instead, we see character revealed through action. Gwen gives away her own outgrown clothes to a poor neighbor, risks reprimand to show compassion, and approaches her beekeeping with reverence rather than greed. Fanny, by contrast, hoards attention, weaponizes charm, and measures worth in status and spectacle. The moral contrast is present, but it is grounded in behavior rather than fairy dust.

A significant narrative thread emerges in Gwen’s encounters with Paolo, a young glassmaker newly arrived in town with his family. The glassblowing sequences are among the novel’s strongest passages. Carlton’s descriptions of molten glass shaped in fire provide a fitting metaphor for transformation—beauty forged under intense heat. The artisan trade also expands the novel’s world beyond the farm and manor, introducing themes of craft, commerce, and class mobility.

As the plot unfolds, social tensions mount. Marriage negotiations, whispered rumors of witches in the forest, and the looming presence of nobility create a layered backdrop. The question becomes not simply who will rise or fall, but at what cost. Carlton allows his characters to confront consequences rather than wrapping events in neat bows.

This book will appeal to readers who appreciate historical texture in their fantasy and who prefer moral complexity over tidy endings. It suits those interested in the intersection of folklore and social realism, where land, inheritance, ambition, and reputation matter as much as magic. In expanding a brief seventeenth-century tale into a fully inhabited world, Carlton demonstrates that fairy tales endure not because of their simplicity, but because of the human truths waiting beneath them.


Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads

Gwen is mourning the loss of her father, her inconsolable grief compounded by the lack of decorum shown by her mother and sister as her father is laid to rest. Gwen is mortified at her sister Fanny’s behavior as she disturbs her father’s coffin to steal money to pay gravediggers. The prospect of a future living with a mother and sister who mistreat her and rely on her to do everything is grim. The day Gwen meets Paolo is a day when a little light begins to enter her world. Paolo, a young artisan, is smitten with Gwen and gives her a gift that touches her heart. Paolo wants to court Gwen, but when Gwen informs her mother, she is aghast when informed that she is betrothed to another man.

Gwen’s fortunes appear to be at an ebb until the day she encounters a strange woman in the forest. The woman casts a spell on Gwen, which allows Gwen to produce diamonds and jewels at a whim. While Gwen’s abilities are cause for fascination by townspeople and others, Fanny is afflicted with a curse that causes many, including her own mother, to recoil. Whereas Gwen can produce beautiful gems, dangerous snakes, and menacing toads emanate from Fanny. Fanny’s spell has led to danger as a vengeful mob looks to capture her as she is blamed for the havoc caused by the frogs and serpents. Fanny soon finds herself exiled as her superficial mother casts her aside in favor of Gwen.

Gwen’s beauty and her newfound abilities allow her mother to play matchmaker on a grander scale for her younger daughter, which leads to an engagement with Prince Merrin. Upon meeting a variety of the noble and royal class, Gwen witnesses the same ugliness in them as she saw in her mother and sister. She reluctantly marries the handsome Prince Merrin, but still thinks of Paolo. However, her first night with her new husband proves illuminating as she learns Merrin was forced into the marriage as well, and his true love must be kept a secret as it could prove scandalous to the kingdom. The newlyweds agree to keep each other’s confidences, yet their future remains murky.

Meanwhile, Fanny has found commonality with a coven of witches, a group of women intent on causing a ruckus for the royals. Fanny is inspired to cause trouble for her mother and Gwen when she learns some ancient family history that casts a negative light on her mother. A confrontation between Fanny and her estranged family leads to destruction at the royal castle and questions about Gwen’s powers and whether the sisters are colluding.

Diamonds and Roses, Vipers and Toads is a nuanced fairy tale fantasy that charms from beginning to end. Gwen is the Cinderella-esque protagonist whose life is transformed from dreary to royalty as she is gifted with a talent both admired and highly sought. Gwen possesses the humanity and warmth that are lacking in her mother and sister. Her character arc progresses gradually from reserved and maltreated to assertive and regal. Author Clark T. Carlton has penned a terrific and inspired novel that reflects on how secrets often hold the same power as spells, beauty is skin-deep and fleeting, and how the power of love transcends all the riches in the world. This is a standout effort by a veteran storyteller.