"This isn't new," Juno murmurs, and I nod. "This is what it's always been like under Bridger, and even before. The fascists were just waiting
"This isn't new," Juno murmurs, and I nod. "This is what it's always been like under Bridger, and even before. The fascists were just waiting for a time when they had enough backing they could say the quiet part out loud.
The Good: — Castor and Juno. Together they are the beating heart and shining soul of Junker Seven. Junker Seven is strongest when they're together. All of their scenes together are just so GOOD, from the quiet moments when they open up to each other to the nerve-wracking moments when potential danger lurks nearby. — Defiant and optimistic spirit. It's in all the quiet rebellions, like placing Juno's sticker over graffitied slurs, and in finding community and support. — Castor's character development. Castor's initial position as someone who only wants to keep their head down changes considerably over the course of the story, and Kelley does an excellent job executing this change in graceful stages. — Great rep. Castor is a nonbinary lesbian, autistic, and uses prosthetics, and their love interest, Juno, is a trans lesbian. — Very readable. Kelley's prose is well-structured, natural, and readable. — Small heroic actions. The depiction of how small everyday actions save lives under fascist regimes. The port master didn't need to lead a rebellion or use a weapon to make a difference: she just asked the police to look at something so Castor and Juno could slip to their ship.
The Bad: — Gaps and lack of clarity in setting/background information. Junker Seven's setting mirrors the real life loss of rights for trans individuals, increase in anti-queer sentiment and overall rise in fascism over the last handful of years. However, J7 is set 250+ years in the future. Have we stalled in this political position for two centuries? Has it gone back and forth? Have we experienced progressive periods and periods of loss? A tiny bit more clarity would go a long way. — Story structure is a bit wonky. Junker Seven's most exciting situation happens from the 45%-55% mark, and it leaves the plot in a vague state of "Now what?" until near the end. Although the time Castor and Juno spend together is enjoyable to read, there's a distinct lack of forward momentum. — Some repetitive information. Example: The "generic round face description" for Castor in the first few chapters comes to mind.
YMMV: — Avoidable trouble. Some of the trouble Castor and Juno run into is avoidable. Like, Juno is on the run. But she still leaves the ship when they refuel. And she doesn't dye her very noticeable hair until it's already caused problems. — Some typos. Nothing wild. Under YMMV because I assume most will be corrected by publication. But I know some folks hate ANY typos. — What does the seven stand for??????
(Final thoughts: I enjoyed Junker Seven quite a bit! It's full of heart and Kelley is skilled–Junker Seven is an incredible debut. I'm looking forward to the second book in the duology. Thank you to Olive J. Kelley for the opportunity to review an advance copy!)
Final Rating Story: C+ Prose: B Characters: A World: B- Theme(s): B- Enjoyment: B
"This isn't new," Juno murmurs, and I nod. "This is what it's always been like under Bridger, and even before. The fascists were just waiting for a time when they had enough backing they could say the quiet part out loud.
The Good: — Castor and Juno. Together they are the beating heart and shining soul of Junker Seven. Junker Seven is strongest when they're together. All of their scenes together are just so GOOD, from the quiet moments when they open up to each other to the nerve-wracking moments when potential danger lurks nearby. — Defiant and optimistic spirit. It's in all the quiet rebellions, like placing Juno's sticker over graffitied slurs, and in finding community and support. — Castor's character development. Castor's initial position as someone who only wants to keep their head down changes considerably over the course of the story, and Kelley does an excellent job executing this change in graceful stages. — Great rep. Castor is a nonbinary lesbian, autistic, and uses prosthetics, and their love interest, Juno, is a trans lesbian. — Very readable. Kelley's prose is well-structured, natural, and readable. — Small heroic actions. The depiction of how small everyday actions save lives under fascist regimes. The port master didn't need to lead a rebellion or use a weapon to make a difference: she just asked the police to look at something so Castor and Juno could slip to their ship.
The Bad: — Gaps and lack of clarity in setting/background information. Junker Seven's setting mirrors the real life loss of rights for trans individuals, increase in anti-queer sentiment and overall rise in fascism over the last handful of years. However, J7 is set 250+ years in the future. Have we stalled in this political position for two centuries? Has it gone back and forth? Have we experienced progressive periods and periods of loss? A tiny bit more clarity would go a long way. — Story structure is a bit wonky. Junker Seven's most exciting situation happens from the 45%-55% mark, and it leaves the plot in a vague state of "Now what?" until near the end. Although the time Castor and Juno spend together is enjoyable to read, there's a distinct lack of forward momentum. — Some repetitive information. Example: The "generic round face description" for Castor in the first few chapters comes to mind.
YMMV: — Avoidable trouble. Some of the trouble Castor and Juno run into is avoidable. Like, Juno is on the run. But she still leaves the ship when they refuel. And she doesn't dye her very noticeable hair until it's already caused problems. — Some typos. Nothing wild. Under YMMV because I assume most will be corrected by publication. But I know some folks hate ANY typos. — What does the seven stand for??????
(Final thoughts: I enjoyed Junker Seven quite a bit! It's full of heart and Kelley is skilled–Junker Seven is an incredible debut. I'm looking forward to the second book in the duology. Thank you to Olive J. Kelley for the opportunity to review an advance copy!)
Final Rating Story: C+ Prose: B Characters: A World: B- Theme(s): B- Enjoyment: B
How absurd, she thought. How absurd, after everything that had happened, to die over a sandwich. But she’d started it, hadn’t she?
The Good
How absurd, she thought. How absurd, after everything that had happened, to die over a sandwich. But she’d started it, hadn’t she?
The Good: — Fun. I mean, there are some mild shenanigans afoot, and we love shenanigans. — Quite readable, smooth prose. Curtis has a practised and marked style. — Strong characterization. Our unnamed protagonist meets a number of characters, and Curtis renders them as distinct individuals in the short time we spend with them. — Fun protagonist. We don't know anything concrete about her, let alone her name, but she's determined, resourceful, and in possession of a delightful disposition. — Heart. Frontier has heart in spades, and it's particularly evident when our nameless protagonist pines for her missing lover.
The Bad: — The unnamed protagonist lacks the dedicated supporting cast or intriguing setting necessary to carry her journey. This is Frontier's deepest flaw. You can have a protagonist we know nothing about for most of the story and still have a fun and interesting book. You can have an absent supporting cast and still have a fun and interesting book. You can have a lacklustre setting and still have a fun and interesting book. Any two of these three is completely fine as long as the third element supports the other two. But we can't have a protagonist we know nothing about, looking for a missing lover we know nothing about and befriending people who last no longer than ~50 pages in a setting with little intrigue. — Boring setting. Despite some singular points of interest, the setting is simply one part generic western and one part odd religious twist with a sprinkling of store brand post-apocalyptic dystopia. — Poor choice of opening scene. The protagonist's ship/lifepod has recently landed, and a trio hopes to sell that sweet space metal for big money. Greed gets the best of them, and they kill each other hoping to score more money for themselves. It's a bad foot to start on: introducing characters, killing them immediately, and then forgetting about them. — We learn nothing about the main character or her missing lover until near the end. Listen: I think mystery is good. I think intrigue is important. But you need to feed readers with sufficient tidbits until the reveal, or they'll get bored and hungry and look for satisfaction in another story.
YMMV: — Some light Gideon the Ninth-flavoured humour (but lacks the cast.) If you like Gideon, Frontier has a very similar-but-lighter flavour to the prose and overall story. — Questionable use of a tortoise. You– you can't– you can't make a hole for a secret compartment in the middle of a tortoise's shell. That's the location of their SPINE.
(Unfortunately, despite some lovely characters, prose, and sentiments, Frontier lacks a crucial supportive element necessary to carry the story from beginning to end. Regardless of any criticism I have for Frontier, I really enjoyed reading it and look forward to future books by Curtis. Thank you to both Solaris Books and Netgalley for providing an eARC in exchange for an honest review!)
Final Rating Story: C Prose: B Characters: C+ World: C Theme(s): C Enjoyment: B-
“Look.” Kaye levels her gaze at me, with an urgent cut to her voice. “Either we go together now, or I burn you where you stand.”
I'm sorry.
“Look.” Kaye levels her gaze at me, with an urgent cut to her voice. “Either we go together now, or I burn you where you stand.”
I'm sorry. This was not good. It was possibly one of the worst things I've ever read.
The Good: — Cool concept . A witch/vampire hunter and a vampire who were super close friends before the vampire turned? Good stuff. Unfortunately, a good concept only goes so far. — Some sweet scenes between Ava and Kaye . When Ava and Kaye travel together during the first half, they spend time sharing the struggles and trauma they've endured during their two years apart, and sometimes protect each other. It's nice. — Some of the end visuals were cool . I'm thinking primarily of a specific scene in the last 25%. Flores' description itself is poor, but the set-up she describes is gloriously macabre in invention. — Some solid effort into worldbuilding/history . It's scrambled and messy and nigh impossible to follow, but the effort is there. It doesn't work well in a standalone YA fantasy with a romantic focus, though.
The Bad: — Slow, clunky set-up . There's clearly a lot of important personal background information, but it's dropped in SO awkwardly. I think the author is trying to drop it "casually" in conversation, but all of the conversations are dull and the information is awkward and out of order. Kaye's mother hunted vampires and was an important councilwoman, but was ALSO considered a traitor for sympathising with vampires before she died? This is all considered preliminary info to understand Kaye and her motivation. — Abysmal prose . Not so much a writing style as it is words banged out on a keyboard with nary a thought beforehand, during, or after. The equivalent of driving off readers with bear spray. A chore and a headache to read. — Shitty, ineffective storytelling . Entire paragraphs and sometimes even pages spent on useless, tedious content, from describing walking down a street to regurgitated information. — Treats readers like they're stupid . There's always extra details. It's small things like Ava's "non-beating heart" to Ava's "Clarity Mother" long after they're established. Plus, general things, like mentioning there are more businesses "most probably run by humans, but possibly some by witches as well." Like no shit???? There are more humans than witches and vampires are killed. Who the fuck else would run them? — The MOST telling over showing . It feeds nicely into the above two issues, officially rendering The Witch and The Vampire unreadable. — Counterintuitive worldbuilding/introduction to the setting. Books give you information in a specific order, so you can build a cohesive image of the world, how the characters fit in it, and so you realize things at the right–and satisfying–time. Here, it's given in a chaotic, hard-to-follow, "wait, I just remember this ALSO" sort of way, like someone (poorly) recounting a dream. — The weird focus with youthful witches . A witches' power is at its height when they're in their mid-teens and this is the ONLY time they retain their powers if they're turned into a vampire.
YMMV: — Spellcheck keeps correcting Kaye to Kate, which is personally insulting. — I didn't even realize it was supposed to be a Rapunzel/Tangled retelling?
What the heck even was this?: — This quote : "Then I wipe the dust off the books on literature and mathematics that my mother gives me, the ones I never touch because the journal tells me all I need to know: that there’s a whole world of vampires waiting in the trees." — Ava's dad died prior to the start of the book . He was accidentally caught in a vampire trap and starved to death. This isn't anything important to the story. It's literally just a FOOTNOTE to explain why Ava remembers to check trees for vampire traps, which is something SHE SHOULD DO ANYWAY. — Setting a prison wagon on fire and driving it through the forest . There's a part where there's vampires imprisoned in a cage, and the flame witches set it on fire for… security reasons??? Idk. And then they drive it through a forest where–and this is actually a significant plot point–rivers, streams and other sources of water have dried up. (Not even touching upon how the cage is silver in the first place.) — Kaye was "trained to track" things in the forest, but despite graduating in a few months, she doesn't have any practical experience. Also, how do you train someone in tracking without providing experience???
(Final thoughts: I try not to be mean, but The Witch and the Vampire is awful, and it’s embarrassing the publisher released ARCs in this state. I’d be embarrassed querying with a book in this state. This is genuinely some of the worst writing and storytelling I’ve ever encountered. Thank you to Wednesday and Netgalley for providing an eARC in exchange for an honest review. Also, I usually apologize if I give a less than favourable review, but… I think it’s the reverse here tbh)
Final Rating Story: D Prose: D Characters: C- World: C- Theme(s): D Enjoyment: D
“You’re flirting with being labeled a radical for a hopeless plan,” she said, though it sounded weak even to her.
He smiled at the greed s
“You’re flirting with being labeled a radical for a hopeless plan,” she said, though it sounded weak even to her.
He smiled at the greed suffusing Taesia’s expression, eyes glimmering with the same thrill she knew must be mirrored in her own. “But are you willing to flirt with it?”
Taesia glanced again at the forfeited circle. Dante wouldn’t delve into something he didn’t think was for the greater good. Dante believed in a better world, and she believed in Dante.
(Thank you to NetGalley and Orbit Books for providing an eARC in exchange for an honest review!)
The City of Dusk is a great example of how execution–namely good storytelling–is the crucial difference between an engaging story and an AGONIZING SLOG THROUGH NEARLY 200K WORDS. AHHHHH.
The City of Dusk comes in strong with world and concept. Four realms, four gods. Formerly free to travel between, but sealed off from each other for the past 500 years. In the realm of Vitae, there are four houses, each descending from the union of a previous monarch and one of the four gods.
Taesia is the edgy middle child of the shadow-centric Lastrider family. She longs to have no responsibilities so she can fuck off and do whatever. Angelica is the daughter of the elemental Mardova family. She can’t utilize her magic without playing music. Nikolas is the magically inadequate son of the light-centric Cyr family. His magic has weakened since his younger brother’s death, and he'd be sympathetic if he wasn’t lawful-good. Risha is the dutiful daughter of the necromantic Vakara family. Her only desire is to unseal the realms so the 500-years' worth of agitated spirits can move on to the realm of the dead.
Welp. This is a character-driven book, and I didn’t care about them. Their various relationships with each other and their families are integral to the story, but their introductions are graceless and full of telling-over-showing. They wind up feeling clunky and flat. Nikolas, Julian, Risha, and Dante are all bland. Angelica’s arc is chaotic and confusing. Taesia’s character arc was the most interesting, but it means she’s unbearable for 80% of the book.
The City of Dusk is told in third person, past tense from SEVEN different points of view: Taesia, Dante, Angelica, Nikolas, Risha, Julian, and a seventh unnamed character.
The City of Dusk’s problem is STRAIGHT-UP mediocre storytelling. Sorry, not sorry. Good storytelling is efficient and invisible: you’re so caught up you forget reading. The City of Dusk is the opposite: the writing is sloppy, forceful, and overlong. Events feel random and scenes feel sloppy. Sim commits the two key sins of good storytelling. One: almost everything is done through telling over showing, distancing us from the characters and therefore the emotional heart of the story. Two: it’s all awfully inefficient. Sim uses eight words to do the work of one and the story is FULL of useless details. Two characters will meet and have breakfast to contribute a SINGLE USEFUL LINE to the narrative. Sim also has a bad habit of focusing on a character’s every emotion at every second instead of letting a scene speak for itself. It turned a book that should be a dark delight into a dull, dense slog. (Seriously, this book could lose 50k and still function perfectly fine.)
HOWEVER: the last 15% - 20% was pretty cool. Things get dark and twisty, and Sim isn’t afraid to follow through with the repercussions from the character’s actions. This part was really fun to read. (If I liked the characters it would probably be even better.) It was also really cool most of the main cast were queer (Taesia and Nikolas are bi/pan, Risha is ace, and Angelica is sapphic) and characters of colour. Sim also has some really lovely individual lines and paragraphs–it’s just the storytelling at large that I found fell flat.
Overall—★★★☆☆ (2.5 Stars)
Recommended... If you want a really cool world and take on gods/magic or a queer ensemble cast, and don’t mind a bit of slog. I’m definitely interested in what happens next, but hope the sequels are a little tidier....more
It's very hard to buy Devon's motivation for most of the book. She wants a special drug so her son doesn't need to eat brains to stay alive, but even It's very hard to buy Devon's motivation for most of the book. She wants a special drug so her son doesn't need to eat brains to stay alive, but even if she finds the drug, he'll still always have a horrible craving to eat brains. ...more
“Victor is extremely intelligent,”Nurse Ratched said. “He can fix almost anything. And he decided to fix you, so you should be thankful to you
“Victor is extremely intelligent,”Nurse Ratched said. “He can fix almost anything. And he decided to fix you, so you should be thankful to your father. Your dad. Your daddy. Error. Error. Do not call people ‘daddy.’That is unprofessional.”
The Good: — Warm, fuzzy, cozy. I mean, it's a lil found family who gets excited to listen to music and watch old movies together. Even the most sadistic robot is protective of Victor. — Fun writing style. Klune's writing is readable and lively, and he is generous with banter and other humorous bits. — Found family! One human and a collection of refurbished scrap robots protecting and supporting each other in times of strife. — Fun robots! Alongside Victor's scavenged family and their eclectic personalities, some of the other robots are just… really neat? The enigmatic Blue Fairy and their description is incredibly striking, for example. — Strong characterization. Although it sometimes feels a bit over-simplified, Klune's characters are distinct and sharply rendered. — Great reenvisioning of original material. Nods to the original work are easily identifiable, but aren't a forced 1-to-1 adaption.
The Bad: — Some timeline weirdness. Part of it is how Klune leads into some sections. He'll begin with all the ways the weather has changed, but then it turns out it's less than a week later. Another issue: Victor and Hap's relationship develops over a ridiculously short period of time and relies heavily on the way Hap "imprints" on Vic upon waking up. — Tonal incompatibilities. At some point the warm-fuzzy-found-family vibes jar violently with "my dad and my new friend used to hunt humans." (This isn't a spoiler, it's in the Amazon summary.) — World is a little thin. Some things don't make sense. Example: Humanity destroying the earth is a huge part of why robots decided to take over, but robots are still using fossil fuel–to the degree that Victor chokes upon smelling it. — Important ends left open. There are some pretty big world-wide implications and ripples from what the characters learn and the actions they take, and they're sort of ignored. — A number of long, unnecessary, or dull passages. Particularly at the start of a chapter. I skimmed ahead when the writing stagnated and forced myself to go back and read it in case I missed something, only to discover I hadn't missed anything.
YMMV: — Potty humour. Many bathroom-going references and dick jokes. — Quirky characters. Vic is accompanied by a neurotic, distractible Roomba and a sadistic nurse-bot. — A bit twee, depending on your taste. Look, you're either going to love when Victor's little group recites their core rules/values–ending with "And always be brave!"–or you're going to find it cloying. — Cured my hiccups. I had hiccups the morning I started the last third and no hiccups when I read the last sentence. Obviously, cannot guarantee the same for others.
Final thoughts: It's a nice adventure. I had a nice time. Klune's a solid writer. But there wasn't anything new here, and I feel like the core issue is that it's intended as something secular and cosy, but Klune's stretched out this big, underdeveloped setting for it. (Thank you to Tor Books and Netgalley for providing an eARC in exchange for an honest review!)
Final Rating Story: B- Prose: B Characters: B World: C Theme(s): C+ Enjoyment: C+
Lori's stuck in a fay realm decoding ancient scrolls for a sketchy fay Queen, but Lori also thinks the captain of her elite mercenary squad, the SilveLori's stuck in a fay realm decoding ancient scrolls for a sketchy fay Queen, but Lori also thinks the captain of her elite mercenary squad, the Silver Ravens, is super hot. The problem? Lori cannot convince Tamsin that the Queen is anything other than a bastion of goodness, despite the mounting evidence otherwise.
The Good – Two good twists – Passable prose
The Bad – Lori is supremely unlikable – First half is tediously slow – Nothing meaningful happens – The fat-shaming – Weird pacing – Allllll the telling over showing
There are expectations, y’know? If a character is decoding ancient scrolls, you expect clever puzzles. If a character is sent to a fantasy realm, you expect them to use magic or at the very least, TOUCH a sword. If you read a romance, you expect SOME romantic tension. Literally ANY AMOUNT.
I won't lie: Silver Ravens was a struggle to get through. It’s full of characters, situations and lines that add nothing to the story. Lori decoding the initial puzzles on earth? Boring. The ~10% dedicated to Lori meeting and travelling with the Silver Ravens to the castle? Boring. (Referring to them as “crazy drug addict cultists” wasn’t a great move either, Lori really sucks.) Lori decoding scrolls at the castle? Boring.
The second half is chaotic. After the Queen's nephew steals the scrolls, Lori joins the Silver Ravens and they are constantly on the move, harassing the slave race (oh yes there’s one of THOSE) and shooting at things. With guns. Modern guns. Lori has sniper training.
But most of it is simply taking up space. Rarely meaningful, rarely interesting, rarely entertaining, rarely contributing to the “romance” between Lori and Tamsin, which is mostly Lori thinking, “Ah yes, Tamsin is hot, but too bad she’s loyal to the probably secretly evil fay queen.” The pacing is off, and it feels like wall-to-wall "and then THIS HAPPENS" without any rhyme or reason. What was the point of having Lori, Tamsin and Shorty—was it Shorty? the Silver Ravens are all so forgettable—navigate the maze, set off the pressure trigger trap, and kill a bunch of dragons? It could be swapped with Lori taking a shit and we'd have the same outcome.
However, I'll give credit where it's due: the twist with the Queen and the Silver Ravens was interesting, as was the one at the end.
Any attempt at a diverse cast is outweighed by Lori's comment on how as a cult, the Silver Ravens are "doing well on multicultural credits," and also the boggarts, who are basically a slave race to the fay, and who the Silver Ravens, besides Lori, treat like cannon fodder.
It helps none that Lori is so unlikeable character. Mind you, I don’t think “likeable” is a strict requirement for an protagonist , but those characters have a specific role, and also, the author is purposeful and in control of their characterization. Lori is simply unpleasant. She is weirdly judgy from the start. Right away she is mentally judging the dentist’s receptionist: she’s fat, she’s a fake blonde, she's wearing too much make-up, she's stupid. This isn’t a character I want to spend any time with, let alone ~100k words with.
Silver Ravens is written in third person, past tense from Lori's point of view. Fletcher's style is a bit scrambled. Her paragraph and sentence structure is fine, but she focuses too often on unnecessary details and uses too many weak or filter words. Characterization was weak. But the killer is Fletcher's telling-over-showing: there's no between the lines, everything is spewed out onto the page with no thought to order or usefulness. And the reverse: showing when the subject matter is boring and skippable.
The reality is that, when you write a book, every word needs to contribute to something—multiple things, if possible—be it plot or character development, foreshadowing, etc. At the same time, it needs to remain interesting enough to keep the intended audience's attention. In Silver Ravens, very little—if anything—contributes to those end goals, and besides a few throwaway lines, it's not entertaining.
Recommended For... Unfortunately, Silver Ravens was supremely unenjoyable, and I struggle to recommend it unless you’re desperate for f/f fantasy novels.
(Thank you to Boldstroke Books and Netgalley for providing an eARC in exchange for an honest review!) (Annnd I’m sorry!) ...more
Thorn by Anna Burke is one of those rare stories of exceptional quality where even when I do find myself with a criticism, it is in the realm of "thisThorn by Anna Burke is one of those rare stories of exceptional quality where even when I do find myself with a criticism, it is in the realm of "this area could use a spot more of polish" rather than "this is why this doesn't work."
The Good – Strikingly intimate story – Slow burn romance – Tender romance – Loving attention to detail – Rowan's well-executed inner monologue – Strong descriptions – Strong characterization – Focused narrative
The Bad – More Huntress backstory, please – Anachronistic use of the word "cleavage" – Some weak word usage
Story—★★★★☆ (4.5 Stars) After breaching the boundary into the Huntress's territory, Rowan's father returns to their cabin alone and injured, carrying a stolen rose in his pocket. The Huntress follows him down from her mountain keep to exact her payment: a rose for a rose, a thorn for a thorn. Thus, she whisks Rowan up the mountain to the endless winter of her castle. Unknown to the Huntress, the rose's magic has already taken root in Rowan, threatening an ages old curse to come to fruition: the blooming of the rose marks the beginning of the end for the Huntress, the curse dictating she will lose someone who she cannot bear to lose.
I deeply enjoyed Thorn: the slow burn, tender romance; how the melancholy, frostbitten atmosphere sinks into your bones; the heart-twisting rush as the curse breaks.
Two key things about the composition of Thorn: One, every sentence, every word in Thorn was necessary. Do you know how rare that is? In a sea of bloated books, do you know how rare it is to encounter such a tightly written book? To not need to skim? For this reason, Thorn feels denser than it's ~60k words, and I loved and appreciated every one of them. (Again, such a rare occurrence.)
Two, Thorn is strikingly, achingly intimate. Not erotic, no, Thorn is actually a rather clean romance. But the remote location, the limited cast (Rowan and the Huntress most of the time), the skillful execution of Rowan's inner monologue—again, such a rare thing to encounter an inner monologue which adds meaning to and is even necessary for a story—and Burke's careful attention to and more importantly, her careful timing of little encounters between Rowan and the Huntress enhance the sheer intimacy of every aspect of Thorn.
Thorn is gloriously moody in atmosphere. A melancholy permeates deep into the fibre of the narrative and setting, a sadness like a bruise pressing into the lives of Rowan and the Huntress as Rowan adjusts and even comes to prefer her new circumstances. Central to the tale is their romance, which Burke weaves with careful, thoughtful threads and a handful of loved and well-executed tropes: training together, wound tending, cuddling for warmth, etc.
I am of two minds on the setting. Thorn's layout of individual settings, descriptions of the weather, and again, the moody atmosphere hit the mark: keep an extra blanket nearby when you read it! However, there is a lack of naming about: the village, the coast, the mountain, the city. This may aggravate some die-hard, detail-oriented perfectionists, but it feels intentional rather than lazy, and enhances Thorn's fairy tail quality.
Characters—★★★★☆ Sweet mercy, the romance between Rowan and the Huntress is tender beyond words.
Rowan has held her family together through her mother's death and her father's bankruptcy: she's the one who set her own grief aside and buoyed her sisters and she's the one who found her mother's old family cabin for her family to start anew. In return, she is rewarded with an engagement to a young man she dislikes in the name of recovering her family's status and fortune; when her father thoughtlessly plucks a winter rose from the Huntress's domain, Rowan is the one she takes as payment. Rowan is relied upon and looks out for her family, but her reward is always another expectation, another sacrifice.
Rowan is likeable and steadfast character with a solid character arc. She is emotionally honest with herself—a key part in why her inner monologues work so well—she stands up for what she believes in, doesn't flinch from doing what's necessary to protect her loved ones, brave, undergoes significant self-discovery and most important in a protagonist: Rowan gets shit done.
The Huntress is distant, detached, cold: she is the embodiment of winter itself. She is not cruel in the present narrative—although she was in the past—but she prioritizes necessity and retains a measure of pride and selfishness from her former self. She is not specifically likeable at first, but she is interesting, and the reader wants to see her thaw and wants to see her relationship with Rowan bloom. I do wish we got a touch more backstory on the Huntress. We see bits and pieces of the Huntress's heart, and catch hints of her past. We learn the shape of her character, but not the things that shaped her. How much we learn about her is acceptable for the novel, but there was room for a wee bit more.
What makes Thorn stand out from other Beauty and the Beast retellings and truly work is that it that the Huntress's castle genuinely offers something Rowan couldn't get anywhere else: freedom. Freedom of her expectation to marry a man, freedom from pretending to be someone she isn't, and the freedom to pursue what her heart wants.
The supporting cast are fleshed out to the degree they are both functional to the narrative and can stand on their own as individuals without crowding out the core characters or falling flat. I do wish we got a bit more on the Huntress's Hounds, but that's more personal interest than anything.
Writing Style—★★★★☆ Thorn is told in first person, past tense from Rowan's point of view, alternating with short chapters in third person, past tense from the Huntress's point of view.
Burke's sombre, graceful style gives the story its perfect air of haunting melancholy. Rowan's voice is First of all: holy hell, Burke's attention to small details is A+. Little things, like Rowan waking up with the taste of soot in her mouth after falling asleep near the banked coals of the fire or a layer of fat settling on a bowl of strew left out raise Thorn to new levels and bring the reader deeper into the story.
When it comes to weak spots in her writing, we have the usual suspects: mades and feels in spots they can easily be replaced by stronger word choices. But they are not used to a severe or unusual degree, and therefore don't hold back or weaken the narrative. The only time a word choice distanced me from the narrative was the single time Rowan mentioned how a dress looked on her and used the word "cleavage." It's such a modern word. Cleavage was first used to in geology in the early 19th century and not in reference to breasts until 1946, which is rather anachronistic to Thorn's setting and implied time period.
Themes and Representation—★★★☆☆ (3.5 Stars) There is sapphic representation in Rowan and the Huntress. There is one character of colour in the witch who cursed the Huntress, who is described as having brown skin.
Thorn primarily delves into the complications of love, comparing relationships to roses. It's a lovely metaphor, fits perfectly in the narrative, and enhances Rowan and the Huntress's relationship. Burke also touches on the suffer mothers endure, society's expectations of girls and women, and the dynamics of give and take in relationships in general.
Overall—★★★★★ (4.5 Stars)
Recommended For... Readers who want a strong retelling; enjoy clean romance; "melting the ice queen" (literally) trope; moody atmospheres; snowy settings you can feel in your bones.
Kate (Feathered Turtle Press Reviews)
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Books:
lgbt-sff
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