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Content Warning: racism, slavery, misogyny/misogynoir, domestic abuse, alcoholism, arson.

Josephine Leary is ambitious, bright, and since the age of nine, free. Growing up in North Carolina, she moves to the city of Edenton with her husband, determined not only for a fresh start, but one that will see her setting up a happy future for her children one day. As time goes on, she realizes just how hard it is to deal with the expectations of others, even as she fights to realize her dreams, and finds herself wondering whether or not her hopes of owning property and being financially independent is possible with a family to take care of. But Josephine is nothing if not resolute, and if forging her own path is what it takes, she'll gladly do it. 

How hard it is for me to give this book only a measly two stars! Initially, I was drawn into Josephine's story, particularly because this fascinating woman was, in fact, a real person, and the author's note gave me an idea of Alexander's love for Josephine and her dedication to making her known to the wider world. I must say that, as always, this is simply a case of me personally not clicking with a book -- just because I didn't enjoy it, doesn't mean that you won't. With that being said, there are some issues with this novel that I feel the need to address, particularly in regards to its narrative, plotlines and historical accuracy. 

First and foremost, my main complaint with Carolina Built is that much of it does not mesh with historical reality. As expected with fiction, not every single part of a book is typically "historically accurate," as there are authorial liberties that must often be taken for the sake of a story or character, but some of the problems in this are absolutely egregious. For example, when Josephine is pregnant, she forgoes wearing a corset, despite the fact that there were maternity corsets, which were softer and typically unboned. I perhaps could've overlooked this, were it not for the fact that Josephine then proceeds to go about town and visit her landlord in this state. It was practically enough to make my mouth drop open. There is no way, in any circumstance, that a woman of Josephine's position and society would do such a thing. Women are often frequently mentioned wearing trousers as well, despite the fact that this story takes place through the 1870s' up until the 1890s'. 

For most of history, it was not only considered inappropriate and strange for women to wear trousers, but illegal. One character, a friend of Josephine's, wears trousers, but she is by and large considered to be "different" and unwomanly; this didn't bother me much. But it is not only this character who dons them, and it just struck me as out of time and place. There's a long and complex history of women's relationship with trousers and pants, but in order to keep this review short, I'll say simply that it was not only uncommon, but something that could easily jeopardize a woman's position amongst her peers, in society, and as a woman altogether. There are several other examples I could list of this book making similar errors, but it would take too long to list them all. 

The other big problem I struggled with is characterization and the timeline jumps. Almost every chapter (with very few exceptions) take us from year to year: for example, one chapter will show us Josephine in 1873, and then the next will take place in 1874, then the next will be 1875, and so on and so forth. Not only did this rob us of an opportunity to get to know Josephine in any meaningful way, but it also was just...jarring. There are also some chapters which give us things from Josephine's husband's, Sweety, perspective. I wasn't really sure what these aimed to do: make us like him more, or less? Putting it plainly, his character was awful, and I couldn't find any reason to sympathize with or like him. The chapters don't even seem that different, because neither Josephine nor Sweety seem to possess a personality outside of their designated traits (Josephine being kind, brave, ambitious; Sweety being insecure, often mean, and little more than that). 

I don't want to go on and on about the things I didn't like about this book, so for a moment, I would like to expand on the things I did enjoy. Mainly, I loved the real history behind this powerful woman, and I think had we been given an opportunity to really understand her business acumen and cleverness (it's never really shown, only told to us), this book would've been far better and more interesting. Josephine's relationships with her two daughters, Clara and Florence, were beautiful, touching and very sweet, and her unchanging support of them was lovely to read. One of the other reasons this book still got two and a half stars is because it celebrates Josephine's accomplishments, her life, and the fact that she fought for the life she wanted and the futures she believed her daughters deserved.

Finally, I do want to end this on the note that it is Josephine's relationship with Sweety that truly brought this book down even further for me. I couldn't stand the way she put up with a man of this character, who committed the acts that he committed, said the things he said, and although Alexander cannot, of course, change the facts of Josephine's life, it was extremely difficult for me to find any redeeming qualities in Sweety. He was a constant aggravation, not only for Josephine, but for me as a reader, too. 

With all that being said, it's hard for me to recommend this one, but I must say there are many others who I know will love this book, and as always with all forms of enjoyment in our lives, will get more from it than I did. So, make your own choice on whether or not you want to pick this one up, but for me, it didn't feel worth the 300+ page journey. 

Book Review: The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea by Axie Oh

 

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Content Warning: death (including that of children), violence, murder, misogyny.

Mina cannot remember a time where there were no storms. In her seaside village, the people have been struggling for as long as she can remember, begging the Sea God to have mercy upon them -- and sacrificing their daughters every year in the hopes that finally, his true bride will break whatever curse has befallen them. The bride is intended to be the beautiful Shim Cheong, but when Mina's brother, Joon, follows her out to sea, Mina makes a rash attempt to save them all, and becomes the Sea God's Bride herself. Swept into the mythical realm of spirits, Mina learns that all is not as it seems, and that it is the Sea God himself that is beneath a curse. Determined to break it, and in the process save her family and village, Mina decides to do whatever she must to give them all a chance at a better future, no matter what happens in the process.

As one of my most highly anticipated reads of 2022 (which even made it onto my list), I had extremely high hopes for The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea. I've never read anything else by Oh, so I was going in a bit blind, unsure of whether or not her writing style would click with me, but fully expecting to love the story for its fairytale-esque feeling and its exploration of Korean culture and traditional beliefs. The problem perhaps lies mostly with me, or to be more accurate, my feelings on the young adult genre as a whole. As soon as I read the first chapter, I had a sinking feeling that this wasn't going to be quite the five or four star read I was imagining.

Currently, the style that dominates YA books is first-person, present-tense, usually combined with long passages of navel-gazing. Another problem I have with it is the feeling of constantly being told something, rather than shown it actually happening. While some people absolutely love it, I find it distracting, and admittedly, rather off-putting. Oh also makes a point of telling us time and time again that Mina, our heroine, is not special in any way, not beautiful or talented or particularly bright. This trend has the detrimental side effect of making the characters seem as if they're lamenting their so-called issues and lack of self-confidence, but instead of engendering relatability, it instead leaves me wanting to roll my eyes. After all, Mina is special, as we're made aware of the entire time: she's brave, goodhearted, determined to make a difference, and aside from occasionally rash or impulsive, pretty much without flaws.

Those aspects impact my ability to fully immerse myself in or enjoy a story. Others like the style, have no problems with these current trends, and will undoubtedly wholeheartedly love this book -- but sadly, I'm not that reader. However, with that being said, I do want to focus on some of the positive elements of this book!

Firstly, in spite of the fact that Oh's writing isn't exactly my cup of tea, I did find her descriptions beautiful, and the way she expertly weaves in the cultural information we need to know without it being obtrusive was wonderfully done! Many reviewers have compared this to Ghibli's Spirited Away (which happens to be one of my favorite films of all time), and I definitely see why -- the first portion of this book in particular is reminiscent of the spirit realm that Chihiro passes into, with its restaurants, carts and bathhouses, and its strangely uninhabited city. There are some really excellent scenes where we get to enjoy both the strangeness and the beauty of this undersea world, and the atmosphere is beautifully rendered.

As for the characters, I liked Mina, but I can't say I ever fully felt convinced or moved by her motivations or emotions. It's strange, because this book is touted as a 'feminist' story, but I can't really discern what about it is supposed to give us this feeling -- simply because Mina tries to make her own choices, and forge her own destiny? There wasn't really a particularly strong focus on sisterhood, either, although there is a touching relationship between Shim Cheong and Mina, and most of the other characters in this book are men. Speaking of which, I must say that I truly enjoyed Kirin and Namgi's characters, and I did love the sort of grudging friendship they build up with Mina. The few other women and girls that populate this book are little more than window-dressing.

There were some very touching moments, and in those moments, I found myself wishing that I could truly adore this book like so many others do. The overall juvenile feeling of the writing, story and character-voice also left me feeling a bit cold; Mina is supposed to be sixteen, but instead, she often seems like she's closer to twelve or thirteen. I did find the ending sweet, and I actually enjoyed the romance at the heart of the book, something that took me by surprise, as I'm usually not a fan of romantic plotlines in YA books. 

At the end of the day, I wish I could've loved this book as much as I hoped to, but sadly, it simply wasn't for me. Don't let this discourage you, however -- I think many readers will love this, and while it isn't mind-blowing, it's a solidly mapped out story that is extremely easy to read. 

Book Review: Homegoing by Yaa Gyasi

 

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Content Warning: death (including that of children), murder, violence, misogynoir, racism, slavery, torture, rape, homophobia, drug addiction, child abuse, spousal abuse, arson/fire.

In eighteenth-century Ghana, two young women are born in different villages. They are half-sisters, destined to never meet, in spite of their proximity: Effia has the so-called "luck" of marrying one of the British soldiers her village trades with, and living in the Cape Coast Castle; below, in the dungeons, Esi is imprisoned, on her way to being sold across the Atlantic as a slave. Spanning over three hundred years, this novel follows the descendants of Esi and Effia as they struggle with their own problems and the wounds of their family history -- and as they ask what it means to be black, what freedom really means, and what exactly home is. 

There are some novels that are transcendent. Many of us might think of classics, works that have been studied for years and years and that are intended to explore the depth of human life. Homegoing, then, despite its newness, can be nothing other than a modern classic -- a story of perseverance, of the meaning of life, of how we relate to and remember our ancestors. But more than that, it's a story that centers black people's lives and their experiences, taking the narrative away from its constant centering on not history, but on white people's version of history. The novel itself tackles this issue in several brilliant, searing chapters, and with the arsenal of talent, craftmanship and tender feeling Gyasi has unleashed in this story, the story told here is nothing short of transcendent. This is, without a doubt, a modern classic in the making.

Each chapter is like its own short story. First, we are introduced to the half-sisters mentioned in the summary, Effia and Esi, who get their own short tales that inform us of their past lives and the ones they're living now. In a move that I can only describe as ingenious, we are then transported in each chapter to a different character, time and place. It's difficult to single out one character or chapter or story, because not only are there so many, but they are all equally moving, intense and vividly written. Although the themes here are extremely heavy -- and oftentimes painful to read -- throughout the novel there is a feeling of hopefulness, of an embrace of the future and of reconciliation between parents and children, between siblings and cousins and descendants and their ancestors. 

This exploration of multigenerational trauma is heartrendingly powerful, and shows us the aftereffects of slavery and racism through the centuries. There is a question often asked by many of the characters in this novel, in their own way: what if things had been different? What if the ugly face of slavery and degradation had not happened? What if white people, and the evil they brought with them, had never made it to the Gold Coast? And what does home mean, to a people displaced?

Homegoing is a term that comes from enslaved people, a belief that once a person had died, their soul would return to Africa and, therefore, to peace and freedom. In the mirroring of this novel's first and last scene, we see this in play, and in a literal sense. Homegoing. A beautiful word, and one that encapsulates this story perfectly in its feeling of hope, belief, love, pain, and history. When I was thinking of what to say in this review, I replayed Homegoing's climax in my mind, and truly got chills. 

I cannot recommend this gorgeous novel highly enough. Beautiful, remarkable, amazing in its layers, complexity, and its lovable, fascinating characters, this is a book I will be thinking of for a long, long time. 

Book Review: Libertie by Kaitlyn Greenidge

 

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Content Warning: death, murder, violence, suicide, racism, misogyny, sexual assault, slavery.

Named after her father's dream of freedom, Libertie Sampson is born free in Kings County, New York. Her mother, Cathy, is a brilliant physician, and has a plan set in stone for Libertie's future: she, too, will attend medical school, become a doctor, and join her mother's practice. But as Libertie ages, beginning to resent her mother for the pressure she's constantly under, she instead finds her own passions, things she knows her mother will not approve of. The complex relationship between mother and daughter comes to a head when Libertie receives a proposal from a young Haitian man. Deciding that life may be better in his beautiful home country, abandoning her mother and her life in America, she sets off with him, only to discover that the freedom she's been promised by her new husband is not quite what it seems. 

Primarily character driven, giving us a look through the eyes of a young black woman born in Reconstruction-era New York, this novel is powerfully ambitious in its tangled, multilayered storylines. Though Libertie is freeborn, she still suffers under the heavy weight of various oppressions: the oppression of being a woman, of being dark-skinned with no hope of passing, of wanting a future for herself that is beyond what her mother has imagined for her. What, exactly, does freedom mean? It's a question Libertie asks herself -- and those around her -- several times throughout the narrative. Is freedom kind or good? Is freedom the option of making any choice, no matter its consequences? And can a black woman ever truly be free from the burdens heaped upon her by white people, by men, by society?

Firstly, I must applaud Greenidge for her beautiful prose and style of writing. It makes reading this story a breeze, in spite of its many heavy themes, and its rather slow pace. Incorporated into the story itself is music, poetry, letters passed between Libertie and her mother, and other additions that somehow make the story itself feel richer. I found the narration style pleasant, and for me, Libertie's voice felt very authentic -- as if it were truly written in the 1860s or 1870s. We're allowed a closeness with Libertie that helps us to understand both her shortcomings and her strengths, and also an opportunity to peer into her mind, to see how the suffocation of her position impacts her life and relationships. Speaking frankly, in the style of many literary masterpieces, there isn't exactly a "plot," per se -- but instead a tracing of Libertie's life through her childhood up until she becomes a married woman, and the daring journey she forces herself to take.

Personally speaking, I didn't mind the slightly aimless wandering of this novel, though I saw many people who found that aspect unpleasant. For me, it fit perfectly into Libertie's mentality, her keen sense of not belonging, of being lost. I did sometimes wonder where it was all going; this isn't a book that nicely cleans up its loose ends. We are left to make assumptions for ourselves about Libertie's future and the decision she finally makes at the novel's end. I like both parts in equal measure, and Greenidge makes both New York and Haiti fascinating, sort of unconscious mirror-images of one another. The best part of the novel is Libertie herself, as well as her frighteningly complicated dynamic with her mother, and I loved that Libertie was allowed to be many things: selfish, desirous, loving, lonely, angry and unsure. To me, she felt fully fleshed-out, mainly because she was flawed and therefore came across as genuine.

I debated on whether or not to give this book five stars. It came very close to five stars, but in the end, I did find myself feeling a little uncertain about what it was exactly that Greenidge was trying to express through Libertie and the characters around her. There are many themes at play here -- racism, misogyny, their intersection, what it means to be virtuous, if love can overcome pain -- but as I mentioned before, freedom is the true core of what's being discussed here. It's not something that can be categorized in any meaningful way, because it means something different for everyone. For Libertie, freedom is no more shame, no more anguish, no more hatred, the start of something that goes beyond herself and her own life. 

Sadly, I did find the portions with Emmanuel (Libertie's husband) and his dysfunctional family a little lacking, not because they weren't interesting, but because none of it ever seemed to fully form into the tempest that's been brewing. I also couldn't really tell whether Libertie loved him or not (at least, not until much later), and I found their whole whirlwind romance a touch confusing. It was odd to be so close to Libertie, and then suddenly, during her courtship with Emmanuel, it felt as if we were strangely distant from her and unable to parse her emotions or thoughts. I also would have loved for there to be a deeper aspect to her relationship with Emmanuel's twin, Ella; it seemed like perfect material for an interesting relationship, perhaps one that later allows them to reconcile their differences.

I'll finish rambling now! Let me say simply: I highly recommend Libertie, and I think of it as a treasure in the genres of historical fiction and literary fiction. Beautiful, fraught with tension and emotion, and a masterpiece in its own right (despite its flaws). I will gladly read anything else that Greenidge puts out.

Book Review: Count Your Lucky Stars by Alexandria Bellefleur

 

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Margot Cooper is the only single person in her friend group. After a catastrophic incident in her youth, she doesn't really "do" relationships, particularly serious ones. When she's tagging along with her engaged friends as they search for a wedding venue, Margot gets the surprise of her life: the wedding planner they've chosen is none other than Olivia Grant. Olivia, Margot's former high-school best friend, her first love, and the girl who shattered her heart. Freshly divorced, Olivia is feeling a bit lost, and when she meets Margot again, all her old feelings come roaring back to life. But with a wedding to be planned -- and both of them thinking the other was the one who ended their "sort of" relationship -- can Margot and Olivia realize that this is the second chance they've both been looking for?

Let me preface this review by making something clear: I'm not exactly what you might call an avid reader of romcoms. I have nothing against them for the reasons that many people list (as so many seem to consider romance books somehow "lesser" or "below" the standard of good literature), but instead it comes down purely to taste. For me, they can be a bit boring or one-dimensional. Since these pet peeves have more to do with the genre than a single book in particular, I did find myself struggling a bit with those same issues in Count Your Lucky Stars, but I must say I ended up being pleasantly surprised nonetheless!

The plot revolves primarily around Olivia and Margot's quasi-relationship in their adolescence and now, eleven years later, the awkwardness between them as the try to figure out what exactly the other one is thinking and feeling. One thing that aggravated me was that the main motivator of the storyline is the fact that Margot and Olivia never communicated with one another before or after their "breakup," and that's the sole reason why they're unable to be free with each other now in their adulthood. As someone who hates the easily solved miscommunication trope, it didn't exactly endear me to the proceedings. However, I must say that this issue is actually addressed in-text, and it made me like the whole thing a little more.

I loved Margot. That's it, plain and simple: she was the highlight of this book for me. She's funny, a little caustic, full of feelings that she tries to hide beneath a façade of cool kindness. She has rough edges, which instantly made her likable, relatable, and makes you root for her happy ending. It was certainly a nice touch that everything in this book wasn't sunshine and rainbows; Margot has to deal with some of her own personal problems, and with the fact that sometimes, change can be scary, but it doesn't have to be bad. On the other hand, Olivia also has her own problems, but I didn't find them as compelling. Throughout the book, we're told continuously how Olivia is this wonderful person, her main fault being that she gives too much and is basically too nice. While this does happen in the real world, obviously, (and I myself have struggled with this issue, as I believe many women do), I couldn't help but roll my eyes a little. All of us have negative aspects in our personalities, but that was the only one I ever saw in Olivia, a sort of strange non-problem (if that makes any sense at all).

Because of this, I struggled a little to connect with the relationship at the book's core. Margot was fantastic, but Olivia grated on me a bit, and I think that's why I sometimes didn't find their romance all that compelling. That being said, I must say that this book is fun, written in an enjoyable, simplistic style, and actually made me laugh several times. Their interactions were quite sweet, and the scenes of intimacy between them were well-written, steamy and enjoyable! 

All in all, this was a fun ride, and I know that romcom lovers will eat this up happily! It's sweet, a little heated (in all ways!), and Margot is a character that I found easy to love. Sometimes the other characters came off a bit flat, but Margot's absorbing character makes up for that in spades. 

Book Review: A Certain Hunger by Chelsea G. Summers

 

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Content Warning: violence, murder, death, misogyny, rape, cannibalism, arson, outdated racial terms.

Dorothy Daniels is a food critic. Not just any, mind you: one of the best of the best. A master at describing culinary delights and winning over the minds of intellectual foodies, Dorothy loves her job. Her other passion? Men, in any and every form. Spending her time between New York and Italy, passionately eating at the best restaurants and seducing men, Dorothy is just like anyone else. Aside from the fact that she is bitingly clever and independent, of course -- and happens to be a cannibal.

I'd been looking forward to reading this, seeing as I adore unlikable female protagonists and what some might categorize as "nasty" literature. I don't mind grotesquery, as long as it's cleverly done and serving some sort of narrative purpose. Summers excels at this sort of quasi-pretension, rife with vulgarity, and her writing can't be described as anything but decadent and beautiful. Many people will probably be put off by the frank, semi-disgusting descriptions of sex and murder, but for me, the combination of the elegant and the repulsive worked wonderfully.

Dorothy, our antiheroine, is not likable. Period. There's no ifs, ands or buts about it, and I applaud Summers for both making her an interesting, readable narrator, but also not falling into the trap of trying to make her sympathetic or relatable. In spite of the fact that she's an unrepentant murderer, cannibal and generally bad person, it's both a little frightening and strangely fun to be trapped inside her head for the duration of this narrative. 

The story is told in a disjointed fashion, going from flashbacks of her murders (as well as affording us some small pictures of her adolescence and childhood) to the present day. Although some people dislike books told in a nonlinear fashion, I don't mind it, and I actually felt that it helped us to get an idea of what it might be like in Dorothy's head as she reminisces. All other characters are purposely rendered in a somewhat one-dimensional way, telling us that Dorothy sees them as little more than objects, dolls to move around in her own personal playhouse. The one person she actually seems to love and view as another being on her level is her best friend, Emma, who is actually painted quite vividly; she could make for an interesting narrator in her own book.

So, by now you're probably wondering... why only three stars, then? Well, to put it simply, there were some things that left a bad taste in my mouth (pun not intended). Yes, Dorothy is a psychopath, a cannibal, and a murderer -- she is not intended as a moral compass by any stretch of the imagination. But during the course of the tale, Dorothy ends up meeting Kiandra Wasserman, a black woman and police detective. Their meetings felt oddly racialized to me, particularly because every time Dorothy encounters her, she compares Kiandra to animals (most often ponies, but regardless, it didn't strike me quite right). To be fair, she often describes other characters in unflattering, often animalistic or food-adjacent terms, but with Wasserman's character, it is essentially every single time. 

Summers also has Dorothy describe Kiandra with a word that is outdated, offensive, and frankly baffled me. I hate to repeat the term here, but I don't want anyone to make assumptions about what it might be, so I'll put it here: J*wess. I believe that Summers has a Jewish father, so I feel it's only fair to include that information, but as I'm not Jewish I'm not sure how much of a difference it makes. She also seems fixated on Kiandra's dreadlocks, and the descriptions of them sometimes struck me as strange and unpleasant. 

I understand that, perhaps, this is Summers giving us a taste of Dorothy's own biases, but it strikes me as odd, because in other parts of the narrative Dorothy tells us she's aware of her privileges as a white woman (although just because one is aware of those privileges does not mean you don't use them for your benefit, or still hold implicit biases anyways). She also says some slightly cruel things about other women and womanhood, but I think that's fair game, considering she herself is a woman. 

All in all, I can't exactly recommend it in good faith because of those elements that left me feeling a bit uneasy. I welcome thoughts and further discussion on these issues! 

Book Review: A Clash of Steel: A Treasure Island Remix by C.B. Lee

 

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Content Warning: violence, murder, death, misogyny, (slight) internalized homophobia, emotional abuse.

Xiang dreams of life beyond the shores of her tiny fishing village. Finally managing to convince her cold, powerful mother to take her to Canton, where she can learn to run one of the family teahouses, she's excited by the opportunity not only for more freedom, but the chance to show her mother what she's capable of. When Xiang meets a troublemaking girl named Anh, who steals the only memento Xiang has of her father, they inadvertently stumble upon something shocking: a treasure map, locked in Xiang's pendant. And not just any treasure map -- but the clues to find the fabled, notorious Dragon Fleet's legendary riches. But things are not always as they seem...

Let me admit something upfront: I've never actually read Treasure Island. I know the beats of the story, of course, but most of my familiarity with the tale comes from two other retellings -- Treasure Planet, the charming Disney film, and Black Sails, which tells the (somewhat humble) beginnings of Captain Flint, Long John Silver, and many other characters from Louis Stevenson's original. So, I can't say much about that aspect of A Clash of Steel; I kept in mind that it was intended as a sort of riff on that book, but I primarily treated it as its own fresh story. 

It only took me a few chapters to realize that this was perhaps not the book for me, but I very, very rarely quit reading a book once I've started it, so I decided to keep pushing forward. Besides, I sometimes find myself warming to a story even if I didn't quite like it in the beginning, so I had hopes that that might be the case here. Sadly, though, it wasn't: for me, this felt like a pain to get through. Probably the main issue is that I just didn't like the writing, which struck me as painfully juvenile; yes, I know that this is YA, but the current style that permeates the genre always strikes me as feeling amateurish. Told in first-person, present-tense (not my favorite at the best of times, to be fair), I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that so many paragraphs begin with "I" that it was giving me a headache.

The worldbuilding is vague. This book is categorized as fantasy, I suppose because it's kind of alternate historical fiction, but aside from that, I can't really tell you what the so-called "fantasy" elements were. Do pirates and hidden treasure automatically qualify a book for the fantasy genre? I'm not sure, so I'll have to get back to you on that one. The images that Lee is able to conjure with her descriptions are beautiful, however. The only problem is that there is too much detail -- the plot ends up dragging because of it. 

I liked Xiang well enough, but I'm not sure I ever really became emotionally attached to her. I liked her love interest, Anh, a little better; she's spunky, a little prickly, and ambitious. The rest of the characters never felt fully developed or realized, and even though Xiang tells us time and time again how bonded she ends up becoming with the ragtag crew she joins up with (not a spoiler, as it's in the synopsis!), I never really saw any evidence of that with my own eyes. Sure, she told us, but as far as scenes that show us these friendships, they scarcely exist at all. It was actually similar to her relationship with Anh on that score, too. Although she does spend more time with Anh than any of the others, and there is a touch more development between them, there's still a lot of telling us that Anh did this, said this, likes or dislikes this, etc. without ever putting those interactions down on-page. 

The plot itself doesn't really kick into high-gear until around 70%, and the pacing is extremely slow. I don't mind a book that takes its time, but it was disappointing that the fun, somewhat emotionally charged action scenes don't happen until the very end. I wanted to root for Xiang and Anh and the rest, but everything was just a little too shallow for me to ever become fully invested. I also couldn't get over how conveniently they find everything, how easily their obstacles are overcome, and that they decipher the map basically within seconds, even though they don't actually take their time to ponder it until they're on the island hiding the treasure!

 Now, with all of that being said, I think I would have probably loved this if I'd read it when I was sixteen. Teenagers will probably adore this, and I did love the fun ideas at work here (I've been a bit pirate-obsessed since childhood), with the added bonus of a diverse cast and fascinating Vietnamese and Chinese culture woven into the story. It didn't work for me, but tons of people loved this story, and I don't want you to not read it based simply off my review -- for many young people of Vietnamese and/or Chinese descent, this story will probably have a depth and meaning that I simply can't understand.

I do want to add one last note: the author includes a beautiful note at the end of the book which tells us a bit about how she ended up deciding to write this, and her family's story of immigration. I loved that her family's own history inspired her to craft this story, and regardless of how I ended up feeling about this book, there's a wonderful meaning behind it. 

Book Review: The Red Palace by June Hur

 

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Content Warning: death, murder, violence, misogyny.

In 1758, Hyeon has achieved her life's dream of working as a palace nurse. In spite of the fact that she's illegitimate, and a "vulgar commoner," Hyeon plans to make her future a bright one. When four women are massacred at the Hyeminseo, where she received her education as a nurse, her mentor Jeongsu is arrested for the crime -- and Hyeon, determined to save her, finds herself deep in the mire of deadly court politics. With the help of a young police inspector, Eojin, and the rumors circulating that suggest the Crown Prince himself may be responsible, Hyeon will stop at nothing to uncover the truth.

What sets June Hur apart from the crowd, for me, is not merely her ability to transport you back into the historical period she's covering, but also the fact that she dares to write something that is not your "typical" historical fiction or mystery. I can't tell you how much I tire of reading the same overused mystery tropes -- I used to absolutely love domestic thrillers, but they've become so dime-a-dozen I can barely bring myself to be excited for them anymore. Instead, in The Red Palace (as well as in Hur's other works) we are allowed to explore a period and place rarely seen in English-language fiction, and it's nothing short of a marvel.

The accuracy and detail that Hur inserts into all of her works shines brightly here; as we journey through the Joseon kingdom and palace with Hyeon, we learn a bit about her daily tasks in the palace as well as her extensive medical knowledge. I loved the descriptions of clothing, the palace courtyards and pavilions, the discussion of the caste system, and so much more. It goes beyond a mere mystery with its insight into historical life. 

Our heroine, Hyeon, who is the bastard daughter of a highly-ranked man who sees her as little more than an annoyance, is intelligent, compassionate, and often cool-headed. She's extremely stubborn -- which lends itself easily to her dedication in finding out the truth, no matter the cost -- and although she does begin to find herself growing closer and closer to Eojin, the police inspector, she never strays from the path she's set for herself. Many romances in young adult books leave me rolling my eyes, as they seem to take something away from the main story or plotline, but in this case, I was pleasantly surprised to find myself rooting for Eojin and Hyeon both separately and as a future couple. 

The mystery itself actually kept me on my toes, although by the end, I kept thinking I should've seen it coming! I enjoyed that Hur provides a nice number of suspects, each seemingly with their own motives and histories, and keeps us guessing throughout the entirety of the novel. The only other novel I've read of Hur's is The Forest of Stolen Girls, which I also enjoyed greatly, and I plan on reading The Silence of Bones as well, but I must say that in my (admittedly rather limited) knowledge of Hur's works, this one has been by far the best and my personal favorite! 

Beautifully realized, with a main character who you will find yourself loving and rooting for, I highly recommend this fascinating fictional portrait revolving around the real-life story of Joseon's Crown Prince Sado that employs its own twists to the narrative. Her next novel, A Crane Among Wolves, will be out in 2023 -- and I'll be so happy when I get to read that first page!