Savanna Walker

RomanceParanormal Romance

The Marked Prince

Review by Savanna Walker

It’s always delightful to find a paranormal romance that embraces the tropes of historicals rather than the gritty noir of urban fantasy. M.A. Grant’s The Marked Prince tells an affecting, old-fashioned tale of love and redemption, taking place in the modern day but set in the immortal world of Faerie.

Grant cleverly reimagines Scottish folklore’s distinction between Seelie (light, friendly) and Unseelie (dark, violent) faeries as two separate courts. The Seelie court is ruled by Shakespeare’s Oberon and Titania and is a more traditionally stratified but supposedly less violent realm. The Unseelie faeries are ruled by the more openly authoritarian Queen Mab, whose realm is more egalitarian despite its Machiavellian leader.

Sebastian is half-Seelie and half-Unseelie, unwelcome and distrusted by the people of both courts. But as Oberon’s nephew, Sebastian can infiltrate his court on behalf of the Unseelie royal family and kidnap Sláine, the eldest son, and take him back to his homeland.

Sláine supposedly defected to the Seelie court before the events of The Marked Prince, but Grant’s prologue reveals what truly happened. While taking part in negotiations between the two courts, Sláine was captured by the Seelie Princess, Aoife, and placed under a curse. He can’t tell anyone who he is or what happened to him, and one of Aoife’s henchmen has been magically transformed to look like him. Trapped under the spell and a magical mask that hides his face, Sláine is seemingly doomed to live out the rest of his days as Aoife’s slave, Duine.

Kind-hearted Sebastian is not a natural spy, having been emotionally blackmailed into undertaking his quest. But his impulsive mercy when he witnesses Aoife punishing Duine results in Oberon gifting the masked slave to him. It’s a tenuous chance at freedom for Sláine, but Sebastian has now unwittingly made both himself and Sláine targets of the vicious Aoife.

With all that external conflict already present, Grant wisely allows Sláine and Sebastian’s relationship to develop at a realistically slow pace. They evolve from master and servant, to uneasy allies, to friends, and finally to lovers, all while navigating the treacherous Seelie court. Sláine was taught to be ruthless and manipulative as the heir to his mother’s throne, and while he offers those skills in service of Sebastian, he also begins to see their limitations. Sebastian is able to gain influence simply by advocating for the lower classes and promoting peace, defying the lessons Mab drilled into Sláine from a young age. As the pair grow closer, Sláine is forced to come to terms with the fact that his previous cruelty was not the necessity he believed it was. And by following Sláine’s canny advice, Sebastian is able to see the benefit of his high status and the ways he can use it for good.

One would expect The Marked Prince to end with a showdown in a ballroom or council chamber, given all the political intrigue that takes up the majority of the story. But Grant goes to wilder, more primal places by the story’s end, tapping into the fairy tale roots of her world to give her deserving pair a suitably mythic happy ending.

M.A. Grant’s The Marked Prince tells an affecting, old-fashioned tale of love and redemption.

RomanceHistorical Romance

The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics

Review by Savanna Walker

Olivia Waite is, quite simply, one of the finest critics of the romance genre working today. I would advise any skeptic of the genre to read her eloquent celebrations of romance, and her ability to evoke the tone and feeling of a particular book is astonishing. So I was excited, but also a little apprehensive, to hear that she would be publishing a new historical romance, having never read any of her previous books. It was a relief and a joy to find that The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics is just as elegant, just as incisive and intelligent, as Waite’s criticism.

Waite’s writing is gorgeous and always purposeful throughout this Regency-era romance. The introductions to astronomer Lucy Muchelney and her aristocratic love interest, Catherine St. Day, are striking and immediately effective, as the text itself shifts to express the differences in their personalities. The reader is thrust into Lucy’s mindset at the start of Lady’s Guide, and Waite renders her keen intelligence and longing for a life in pursuit of knowledge with immediate, straightforward prose. Then when Lucy meets Catherine, the woman who will offer to be her patron, Waite allows her writing to unfold into more fanciful, evocative turns of phrase: “You wouldn’t think, looking at the pinned-up gold of her hair and the sweet pink-and-cream plumpness of her figure, that this was the same woman who’d traversed so much of the globe. . . . She’d sat in that parlor as if she’d been grown there, as immoveable and domestic as a potted rosebush.”

Catherine is Lucy’s last and best chance to emerge from her recently deceased father’s shadow. Having been the mathematical brains behind his theories for years, she knows she is capable of translating the game-changing latest text from French genius Olerón, a task Catherine offered to Lucy’s father before he died. And while Catherine is inclined to allow the single-minded and alluring Lucy to take on the job, she fears becoming further involved with the younger woman. Catherine’s late husband, George, was also devoted to science, a calling that eventually eclipsed all other concerns and excused any emotional cruelty he visited upon his wife.

Waite patiently excavates Catherine’s memories of her difficult marriage, as well as Lucy’s lingering heartbreak over a rejection from a former lover, as the two women grow closer professionally and personally. As they attempt to gain the support of the early scientific community, Waite is able to explore the fascinating world of Regency astronomy, a booming field that commanded rapt popular interest while still warped by the same sexist, racist gatekeeping present in scientific endeavors today. The championing of women in STEM has become a bit of a romance cause célèbre in recent years, especially in historical romance, and Lady’s Guide is among the most nuanced and satisfyingly detailed works in this category. The thrill of discovery, the satisfying internal click when a new concept is fully understood, is beautifully expressed, both in Lucy’s internal monologue and in Catherine’s when Lucy explains her work and her passion for it.

However, Waite also captures how the heady rush of more equal-opportunity Enlightenment-era scientific discovery was slowly but surely narrowing via the staid nature of the following Regency period. As science began to settle into an established role in society, an interested party increasingly needed either wealth of their own or a generous patron to make an impact. This unpleasant fact becomes one of the largest stumbling blocks in Catherine and Lucy’s affair and also complicates Lucy’s relationship with her unsupportive brother, a working artist who is familiar with the dangers of becoming an aristocrat’s pet project.

In the character of Catherine, Waite is able to not only explore the personal costs of the pursuit of science but to also mount a full-throated celebration of so-called “womanly pursuits.” A devoted embroiderer, Catherine turned to needlework and design throughout her difficult marriage for solace and emotional expression. Waite describes Catherine’s embroidery just as rapturously as she details Lucy’s stars and glories in how clothing can be both art and a source of social power.

By the time I reached the wonderful, warm and quite frankly inspirational ending of Lady’s Guide, I only had one main critique, which can also be taken as a compliment. When the Black Moment* arrived, I didn’t accept it. Because I was that certain that Lucy and Catherine were destined for each other.

 

*the point in a romance when the central relationship seems doomed

Olivia Waite is, quite simply, one of the finest critics of the romance genre working today. I would advise any skeptic of the genre to read her eloquent celebrations of romance, and her ability to evoke the tone and feeling of a particular book is astonishing. So I was excited, but also a little apprehensive, to hear that she would be publishing a new historical romance, having never read any of her previous books. It was a relief and a joy to find that The Lady’s Guide to Celestial Mechanics is just as elegant, just as incisive and intelligent, as Waite’s criticism.

RomanceContemporary Romance

Teach Me

Review by Savanna Walker

Olivia Dade’s Teach Me is set in the decidedly unglamorous world of the public school system, and its clear-eyed acceptance of the stresses and injustices of that environment only makes its central romance all the more wondrous. No crazy tropes, no gimmicks, no twists—just two people falling deservedly in love.

And it certainly helps that reserved history teacher Rose Owens and her new coworker, kindhearted single dad Martin Krause, are so compelling that either could be the subject of an entire novel. As a plus-size woman who grew up extremely poor, Rose is painfully clear on all the ways the world (and specifically the patriarchy) can try to tear her down. And so she has constructed an impeccable, impermeable image—perfectly tailored, always jet black clothing; a full face of expertly applied makeup; and a polite but chilly demeanor. Rose doesn’t make friends with her colleagues and her closest friends are her former in-laws. But to her students, she is all warmth and acceptance, and always willing to help an overwhelmed or troubled teenager.

Martin is witness to both sides of Rose during their awkward first meeting, where Dade cleverly uses Martin’s reactions to his new coworker to establish his own character. A new addition to the social studies department, Martin has been given Rose’s favorite world history classes in a typically boneheaded and sexist move by Dale, an administrator who has it out for Rose. Martin intuits what has happened and the injustice of it during his first interactions with his new colleague, and is mature enough to realize that Rose’s reserve isn’t directed towards him. If anything, it is actually a sign that she’s treating him like she would any other colleague, and he is rightfully impressed and grateful for this. Martin’s emotional intelligence and unquestioning respect for personal boundaries allow Rose to feel safe enough to open up to him as they work together over the course of the school year.

As their romance unfolds, Dade ensures that Rose’s ice queen façade is just as appealing as her instinctual kindness. She doesn’t have to fully dismantle her strength to be loved. In fact, Martin finds her withering glares to deserving foes to be unbearably sexy. His pining for Rose is aching and palpable on the page, and Dade makes Rose’s inner turmoil just as compelling. Torn between her surprisingly strong desire for Martin and a longstanding fear of intimacy, Rose’s journey to her HEA is not linear and nor should it be. Teach Me is firmly grounded in reality, and acknowledges the foibles and traumas and flaws of both halves of its central couple. This is where its magic springs from—in its insistence that asking for and giving love is open to them regardless, and that love can bloom even under the deeply unflattering fluorescent lights of a public high school.

Olivia Dade’s Teach Me is set in the decidedly unglamorous world of the public school system, and its clear-eyed acceptance of the stresses and injustices of that environment only makes its central romance all the more wondrous. No crazy tropes, no gimmicks, no twists—just two people falling deservedly in love.

Mystery & SuspenseMysteryHistorical Mystery

The Right Sort of Man

Review by Savanna Walker

World War II and its immediate aftermath compose a well-trod territory for fiction, especially the British homefront. But I’ve never read a book that breathes life into the era quite like The Right Sort of Man, Allison Montclair’s sprightly new historical mystery.

It’s 1946. Rationing is still in effect, and the catastrophic damage of the Blitz still pockmarks the city’s surface, but London is shakily getting back to business as usual. For Iris Sparks and Gwendolyn Bainbridge, the end of the war has left them both somewhat adrift. And so they both leap almost gratefully into action when a client of their matchmaking agency, the Right Sort Marriage Bureau, is accused of murder. Dickie Trower has been arrested for the killing of Tillie La Salle, a canny shop girl with whom the Right Sort had arranged for him to go on a date.

Elegant war widow Gwendolyn leads the investigative charge, at least initially. And while her fledgling attempts to understand the London transportation system without the aid of a chauffeur are endearing to the extreme, Montclair adds in twists of melancholy given Gwen’s still very fresh grief over her beloved husband Ronnie’s death. To make matters even worse, Gwen had a nervous collapse upon receiving the tragic news, was sent to a sanitarium for four months and subsequently lost custody of her and Ronnie’s child to his aloof, snobbish parents.

Montclair balances Gwen’s pursuit of both independence and the murderer with her partner Iris’ own struggle to adjust to peacetime. The Right Sort of Man’s rat-a-tat dialogue is never better than when Iris is eviscerating the latest unfortunate to stand in her way, or when she’s finagling her way into a new line of inquiry like a scrappy British cousin of Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday. And as with Gwen, Montclair slowly reveals the profound sadness that lies beneath Iris’ wry and witty exterior. “I can’t answer that” is her constant refrain when asked about what exactly she got up to during the war; it’s a running joke that becomes an increasingly sad motif, reminding the reader that the freedom and excitement of Iris’ classified activities on behalf of king and country have faded away.

But Iris can still use her less-than-savory skills and reach out to some of her shadowy war buddies to solve the case. As she and Gwen delve into the lower-class world of La Salle, who may or may not have been involved in a black market scheme with a very charming gangster, Montclair mines fantastic comedy from both Iris’ ever-increasing portfolio of underhanded skills and the very genteel Gwen’s interactions with Iris’ motley former comrades.

Brimming with wit and joie de vivre but sneakily poignant under its whimsical surface, The Right Sort of Man is an utter delight and a fantastic kickoff to a new series.

 

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Allison Montclair shares why postwar London was the perfect setting for her new series.

World War II and its immediate aftermath compose a well-trod territory for fiction, especially the British homefront. But I’ve never read a book that breathes life into the era quite like The Right Sort of Man, Allison Montclair’s sprightly new historical mystery.

RomanceContemporary Romance

Reverb

Review by Savanna Walker

Ever since I first discovered Anna Zabo’s fantastic Twisted Wishes series, I’ve been enthralled with Mish Sullivan. A towering, confident as all hell bass player, Mish is a mother hen to younger members of the band. She’s been a calm, quietly powerful presence in the previous two books in the series, Syncopation and Counterpoint, dispensing the sort of loving, firmly realistic advice that spoke to a hard-won inner strength. Reverb and its characters frequently refer to her as a rock goddess, and that title never once seems unearned.

To put it frankly, Mish Sullivan deserves a romance with her hot, respectful bodyguard David Altet. A prince among men who understandably worships Mish, David is a reserved, intriguing foil to the big personalities that make up Twisted Wishes and their coterie. It’s a shame that Mish has to go through being stalked by a sexist jerk in order to meet him, but such is the world in which we live.

Reverb handles its stalker narrative with the empathy and character specificity that has made Zabo a favorite of the romance community. They place the focus squarely on Mish, rather than dwelling overlong on the frightening, misogynistic actions of her stalker. There are even a few moments where Zabo doesn’t share his comments at all, focusing solely on Mish and directly prioritizing her experience over his opinion and attempted ownership of it. Her strength to carry on and choose to be present for the fans in spite of the danger, many of whom look up to the out-and-proud queer members of the band is deeply inspiring. And Zabo makes it perfectly clear—Mish does not need to be present for the fans or stay in the spotlight, and no one in the band or elsewhere demands it of her. It is a choice she makes, her own personal act of defiance, and it is in no way the only correct response.

David and Mish approach their relationship with maturity, openness and a refreshing lack of angst. They both acknowledge the risks, especially David, who fears that becoming involved with Mish could distract him from his job of protecting her. But both know that the other is something special, and they are old enough to know when they have to throw caution to the wind. Their relationship is particularly meaningful for David, who has become increasingly isolated since leaving the military and transitioning. Coming out plots and stories of struggle are extremely important, but stories where trans characters are unquestionably accepted for who they are and deal with obstacles beyond their fight for societal tolerance are just as vital. David is an extremely sexy and appealing love interest whose identity and experiences are never fetishized, least of all by the pansexual Mish. His story is one of romance with Mish but also of allowing himself to become part of the family that is Twisted Wishes, making Reverb the perfect parting gift for fans that have similarly fallen in love with Zabo’s band of kickass misfits.

Anna Zabo finishes their fantastic rockstar romance series with Reverb, a mature and sexy love story between a confident bass player and her bodyguard.

RomanceParanormal RomanceContemporary Romance

Not Dead Yet

Review by Savanna Walker

In a magical version of modern-day Toronto, Wes Cooper is a supernatural anomaly. After being brought back to life by a witch after his untimely death in the 1930s, Wes has the abilities of a ghost—he can walk through walls, shift into the spiritual “otherplane” and even sometimes teleport from one place to another—while still being able to live a physical life on earth. He’s transferred these abilities into a very lucrative career as a thief, and due to his immortality and somewhat misanthropic nature, his only friend is one of the descendants of the witch who resurrected him.

It’s a limited life, but Wes enjoys his work and especially enjoys being able to live a safe, out life as a gay man given that his experience growing up in the 1930s was far more precarious. But Wes is thrown into the orbit of his biggest regret, Detective Hudson Rojas, when he witnesses a bizarre murder while on a job. Hudson and Wes broke up in the ‘80s over Hudson’s dangerous undercover work and his refusal to live openly as a couple. But with a potentially supernatural murderer on the loose in Toronto, Hudson needs Wes’ particular set of the skills to solve the case.

You will either buy the premise of a not-ghost, as Wes is called, or you will not. I very much hope you do, because Not Dead Yet is an emotionally grounded supernatural love story with a fantastic sense of humor. Burke fully commits to her premise and finds all sorts of fun world building details and applications of Wes’ powers to play with, in addition to exploring his and Hudson’s very different experiences as gay men. Both have experienced oppression and lived a majority of their lives in the closet, as well as experiencing the AIDS epidemic. But Wes’ relative anonymity made his coming out a somewhat easier process, whereas Hudson had to grapple with the public-facing nature of his job as well as its extremely masculine culture. There’s a fabulous reveal almost halfway through that adds a whole new element to the central relationship, but be warned, this reveal is spoiled in the synopsis for the upcoming second book.

Not Dead Yet has a superb sense of timing, balancing Wes and Hudson’s emotional, awkward reunion with a pleasingly twisty, increasingly complicated supernatural mystery. She has a seemingly unerring instinct for when to slow down the action and when to ratchet it up, in terms of both suspense and romance. Burke also makes the very canny decisions of infusing the proceedings with as much humor as possible. There’s a prison break sequence of sorts later on in the book that’s an absolute scream and gloriously succeeds in easing the tension just when things are looking very grim. Also, I’m 99% sure the title is a Monty Python reference, which is just utterly wonderful if true and perhaps the best selling point I can think of for this delightful romance.

In a magical version of modern-day Toronto, Wes Cooper is a supernatural anomaly. After being brought back to life by a witch after his untimely death in the 1930s, Wes has the abilities of a ghost—he can walk through walls, shift into the spiritual “otherplane” and even sometimes teleport from one place to another—while still being able to live a physical life on earth. He’s transferred these abilities into a very lucrative career as a thief, and due to his immortality and somewhat misanthropic nature, his only friend is one of the descendants of the witch who resurrected him.

Science Fiction & FantasyFantasy

Witchmark

Review by Savanna Walker

As fans of “Downton Abbey” can attest, there will always be an appetite for stories of family drama and forbidden love set in the bucolic, modestly glittering England that was. Cue Witchmark by C.L. Polk, a startlingly beautiful fantasy debut that is both magical conspiracy thriller and supernatural love story. But Polk weaponizes their quasi-Edwardian setting: An ornate family home’s staid beauty hides horrifying abuse. A bicycle chase through quaint, narrow city streets is the opening salvo in a battle that will become increasingly macabre. There is something wrong with this world at its core, and all its beauty and decorum serve only as distraction, camouflage or lure for the Anglophilic reader.

After a vicious, victorious campaign to conquer the country of Laneer, soldiers are returning home to Aeland, a small yet powerful island nation and Polk’s alternate vision of England. The mild weather enjoyed by the country’s inhabitants is secretly the work of a hundred mages called Storm-Singers, who together cast elaborate spells to control the weather. The Storm-Singers come from an upper class that calls itself the Invisibles, since they hide their powers from the rest of the country. Not every member of this elite, however, has weather-related abilities. The ones who don’t, no matter the utility of their powers, are bound to the more powerful Storm-Singers, and essentially used as human batteries.

Dr. Miles Singer escaped such a fate by running away from his family and joining the army, secretly using his healing powers to help wounded and traumatized soldiers. But when he discovers a mysterious mental ailment is infecting veterans, and possibly causing them to commit violent acts, he must balance his own self-preservation against the deadly consequences of staying silent. It’s not hard to draw parallels between this tension and Miles’ identity as a gay man, which he must also hide, and Polk depicts his calculations with heartbreaking restraint. Miles doesn’t have the time or space to truly feel how unjust his situation is, which only drives home to the reader how unfairly constrained his existence has become.

Polk’s reticence serves them well in Witchmark’s central love story, which adds another layer of supernatural intrigue. When a handsome, unfailingly kind man named Tristan Hunter starts asking the same questions about the returning veterans, Miles doesn’t know what to make of him. He’s too open to be an agent of Miles’ powerful family, and too seemingly naïve to be a fellow fugitive Invisible. The reason Tristan gives Miles for his lack of knowledge initially sounds insane—he’s not a human being, and he’s not from this world at all. But Polk’s prose is never more beautiful or soothing when describing Tristan and his surroundings, reaching du Maurier-esque gauzy ease, and soon the reader is convinced as well as Miles that the mysterious man is something otherworldly.

The attraction between the two of them unfolds haltingly, a port of calm established over cups of tea and excellent meals, as their investigation reaches further and further into the dark imperialist heart of Aeland. But it is a center that will not hold, and both know that. The increasing darkness of Witchmark is beautifully modulated by Polk, who slowly dims the initial vibrancy of their book, funneling the reader closer to a chilling, utterly fantastic final reveal.

As fans of “Downton Abbey” can attest, there will always be an appetite for stories of family drama and forbidden love set in the bucolic, modestly glittering England that was. Cue Witchmark by C.L. Polk, a startlingly beautiful fantasy debut that is both magical conspiracy thriller and supernatural love story.

Science Fiction & FantasyScience Fiction

All alone together

Review by Savanna Walker

It’s been six years since the colonists of Donovan, the farthest known planet capable of supporting human life, have had contact with the Corporation. A business and nation state in one, the Corporation was supposed to send frequent ships full of supplies and medicine to the colonists, as well as act as a guaranteed way back home.

Abandoned on a planet where nearly everything is poisonous and almost every alien life-form is capable of inflicting sudden, often very painful death, the colonists mutiny against their controlling overseer, set up their own governments and do their best to survive. W. Michael Gear’s Outpost begins when a Corporation ship, the Turalon, arrives armed and ready to take control of the planet and its people.

The Corporation has actually been sending ships to Donovan steadily over the years—but none have returned or even shown up in the planet’s atmosphere, and no one knows why. And when another, older Corporation ship suddenly appears in the planet’s atmosphere, everyone on it has been dead for decades. Supervisor Kalico Aguila, the woman in charge of the Turalon, nearly tips into an Ayn Rand parody at the beginning of Outpost, but her increasingly panicked anxiety over what might befall her if she leaves the planet is empathetically and effectively portrayed.

A violent confrontation seems inevitable, but Gear takes a character-driven, organic approach to the plot, deriving a level of humor that is surprising for a book with a statue of human bones on its cover. The Donovan colonists have gone various shades of native—most are clad in the scaly rainbow skin of quetzals, the large and vicious lizards that rule the bush outside their heavily guarded settlement. Aguila expects to be met with deference and fear, but her high heels sink in the mud, and the colonists call her combat-ready Marines “soft meat.”

Despite how extremely, almost hilariously dangerous the planet is, Gear’s knack for human detail and vivid depictions of the rugged natural beauty of his world make the death trap of a planet appealing. A large section of the novel is from the point of view of the Marines’ leader, Max “Cap” Taggart, as he explores the wilderness of Donovan alongside colonist leader Talina Perez. Taggart’s delight at the freedom and purity of life on the alien planet—and his unquestioned respect for the stalwart Talina—makes him a far more appealing and complex figure than the cynical grunt he first appears to be.

Nearly every character in Outpost has hidden depths and hidden sorrows, from Talina’s odd connection to the savage quetzals to the philosophical underpinnings behind her fellow leader Shig’s sangfroid. Gear’s novel at times reads more like an introduction than a properly formed novel, but with a world so rich, with so many characters to fascinate, it’s still an excellent start to an intriguing new sci-fi series.

It’s been six years since the colonists of Donovan, the farthest known planet capable of supporting human life, have had contact with the Corporation. A business and nation state in one, the Corporation was supposed to send frequent ships full of supplies and medicine to the colonists, as well as to guarantee a way back home.

FictionHistorical Fiction

Three strands in time

Review by Savanna Walker

Nicola Cornick’s House of Shadows blends a supernaturally tinged historical drama à la Outlander with a cozy village mystery to addictive, mesmerizing effect.

After the disappearance of her brother, Ben, present-day artist Holly Ansell discovers that Ben had become obsessed with Elizabeth Stuart, a 17th-century Bohemian queen whose reign was so short she became known as the Winter Queen. Elizabeth eventually returned to her homeland of England amid rumors that she had secretly married her devoted protector William Craven and was in possession of a treasure with occult powers.

Holly also discovers a Regency courtesan’s diary in her brother’s possessions. Lavinia Flyte’s journal, which Cornick cleverly models on real 19th-century sex worker tell-alls, leads Holly to believe that Elizabeth’s treasure is located somewhere in the ruins of Ashdown House.

In a dreamy, elegiac tone that blurs the lines between past and present, the natural and the supernatural, Cornick stitches together connections between the three women. Even given their enormous differences in class, Elizabeth and Lavinia are both dependent on the good will of men for any semblance of power and must present themselves as objects of desire—even the (initially) happily married Elizabeth. And when both Holly’s and Lavinia’s hunts for the treasure are waylaid by unexpected romance, Cornick explores how powerful yet fragile the bonds of love can be, especially in the first rush of attraction. Their plots seem stuck in time, existing within the season of a relationship when minutes last for hours, the swirl of emotions slowing time to a crawl.

Conversely, Elizabeth’s storyline spans decades, enough time for the instant spark between her and William to accumulate years of regrets and resentments. Theirs is a tragic romance in slow motion, with both parties moving inexorably apart due to sins committed against each other, but with memories of their shared happiness still painfully vivid.

Atmospheric and elegant, House of Shadows casts a hypnotic spell.

 

This article was originally published in the November 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Nicola Cornick’s House of Shadows blends a supernaturally tinged historical drama à la Outlander with a cozy village mystery to addictive, mesmerizing effect.

Science Fiction & FantasyYA FictionYAScience FictionDystopian Fiction

The price of silence

Review by Savanna Walker

The idea at the heart of Gregory Scott Katsoulis’ dystopia in All Rights Reserved is a horrifying one. All citizens age 15 and over must pay for every single word and gesture they use to communicate.

Katsoulis explores the implications of this system with all the bleak panache of an episode of “Black Mirror.” His young protagonist is named Speth Jime because those sounds are cheaper than more conventional names. She has to cut her hair in a certain way so that it stays in the public domain and doesn’t grow into a copyrighted style. Lawsuits over the illegal use of copyrighted words are rampant, and families risk going into crippling debt for generations if they run afoul of the draconian rules that govern their society. If they say a word they can’t afford, their eyes are shocked by corneal implants.

Speth has grown up in this system, and her rebellion against it is not a calculated protest. After witnessing a classmate kill himself rather than spend his entire life working to pay off what his family owes, Speth refuses to speak beginning on her 15th birthday and upholds a vow of silence throughout most of the novel. A decision prompted by anger but also fear due to her family’s already precarious economic situation, Speth’s silence begins to spawn similar protests, and she finds herself the center of a growing controversy.

Katsoulis remains deeply invested in his protagonist’s emotional journey throughout All Rights Reserved. Speth is not a natural revolutionary, and her reactions to her imitators range from pleased confusion to embarrassed horror. Her primary focus is to protect and help provide for her family—a brother and sister at home, and parents sent away to work off the family’s debt. When she stumbles into an opportunity with the mysterious Product Placers—the rarely-seen figures who leave targeted gifts in citizens’ homes—Speth begins to make a living perpetuating the very system she’s rebelling against. The push and pull between Speth’s resistance and conformity, while at times frustrating, is nonetheless emotionally realistic given that she has lived her entire life under this repressive system.

It’s a bit disappointing when the story bends itself back into the rebellion template, rather than just following Speth as she does her best to survive in this Dickensian dystopia, where abject poverty is only one wrong move away. But with his excellent establishment of the world of All Rights Reserved, hopefully Katsoulis will give himself the freedom do so in the sequel.

The idea at the heart of Gregory Scott Katsoulis’ dystopia in All Rights Reserved is a horrifying one. All citizens age 15 and over must pay for every single word and gesture they use to communicate.

Mystery & SuspenseFictionMystery

Murder in the mountains of Tibet

Review by Savanna Walker

In Eliot Pattison’s masterful and deeply moving new mystery, Skeleton God, a disgraced former inspector must grapple with the horrors of Tibet’s past to uncover a crime decades in the making.

Shan Tao Yun is a former Beijing inspector banished to Yangkar, a remote town in the mountains of Tibet, where fragments of a shattered culture haunt the people left to eke out a living under the gaze of Communist China. But the village’s fragile peace is destroyed when three corpses are discovered in a remote tomb. One of the bodies is a long dead Buddhist saint, but flanking him are a Red Army soldier killed 50 years ago and an American killed only hours before the tomb was discovered.

The story frequently pauses as Shan considers the ramifications of his investigation on himself and his loved ones. He tries to soothe himself by meditating on the stark, unspoiled beauty of the Tibetan mountains or stealing a few moments with his friends. These flashes of peace, written with skillful restraint by Pattison, make Skeleton God a much more contemplative read than its macabre premise would imply.

Every advance in the case rings slightly hollow due to Shan’s belief that he is damning the people of his village to increasing government control and surveillance, and that his own life and his son’s are also at stake. Pattison wrings mounting tension from Shan’s pursuit of the killers simply reminding the reader that at any moment, the characters’ freedom could be ripped away from them.

Skeleton God is a melancholy mystery, an elegy for a lost culture as well as a well-plotted puzzle that manages to be as clever as it is unexpectedly and deeply moving. There is a mystery to be solved of course, the solution of which leads to a tense and inventive final confrontation between Shan and the killers, but Pattison also draws a remarkable psychological portrait of a people living in a post-apocalyptic reality, trying to grasp small measures of resistance and hope from the wreckage.

In Eliot Pattison’s masterful and deeply moving new mystery, Skeleton God, a disgraced former inspector must grapple with the horrors of Tibet’s past to uncover a crime decades in the making.

FictionThriller

American gothic

Review by Savanna Walker

The Roanoke Girls lulled me into a false sense of security. The first chapters ably introduce Roanoke, a sprawling farmhouse in the middle of rural Kansas, and family black sheep Lane Roanoke, who returns to her family’s ancestral home years after a traumatic summer sent her running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. The disappearance of her cousin Allegra brings Lane back to her privileged grandparents and the summer fling she never quite got over, forcing her to deal with the dark things in her past while searching for her lost cousin. 

Based on those first few, perfectly capable pages, a reader may believe they know how The Roanoke Girls will end. But Engel drops a wicked twist in the first 35 pages—in the middle of a paragraph on the middle of the page—and lets it sit like a coiled snake. 

It’s a twist that most authors would save for the last chapter, and from that point on, The Roanoke Girls becomes a thrilling mystery and a satisfyingly gothic portrait of Middle America. But Engel is also interested in the things that break people and how they try to put themselves back together again. She deepens the typical tropes of the small-town mystery genre, using every sheltered country boy and fading matriarch to illustrate how people can silently, slowly shatter. 

Lane’s high school sweetheart is as damaged as she is, and the pair cleaves to each other with a jagged-edged desperation before tearing themselves instinctively away. It’s a painfully human, rough-hewn romance, and Engel balances it beautifully against Lane’s investigation into the fate of her cousin. Both threads braid together as the novel circles the mystery at its heart and The Roanoke Girls transforms into a dark fable of trauma and acceptance about damaged people accepting their crooked parts and using them to move forward.

 

This article was originally published in the March 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

The Roanoke Girls lulled me into a false sense of security. The first chapters ably introduce Roanoke, a sprawling farmhouse in the middle of rural Kansas, and family black sheep Lane Roanoke, who returns to her family’s ancestral home years after a traumatic summer sent her running as fast as she could in the opposite direction. The disappearance of her cousin Allegra brings Lane back to her privileged grandparents and the summer fling she never quite got over, forcing her to deal with the dark things in her past while searching for her lost cousin. 
Science Fiction & FantasyFictionFantasy

A masterful reimagining of ‘The Tempest’

Review by Savanna Walker

Jacqueline Carey, author of the fantasy classic Kushiel’s Dart, weds her lyrical prose to one of Shakespeare’s most enigmatic plays in Miranda and Caliban. This haunting tale of innocence, sensuality and rebellion tells the story of the vengeful magician Prospero’s daughter, Miranda, and his servant, Caliban, before the events of The Tempest.

The novel begins when Prospero forces Caliban into his service. Miranda, still a young girl, quickly takes to Caliban, helping her father in his efforts to “civilize” him. As the narrative draws ever closer to the events of Shakespeare’s play, Miranda and Caliban struggle to define their lives outside of the roles preordained for them.

Carey clearly has great respect and affection for Shakespeare’s work, but is unafraid to engage with the text from a modern perspective. The corroding effects of colonialism and vengeance, themes that ran under the surface of the original play, have immediate and heartbreaking effects here. The world of Prospero’s island is as rich and vital as it is harsh and unforgiving, and Carey deftly navigates the growing maturity of her two main characters, imbuing the pivotal moments in Miranda and Caliban’s development with shocking beauty and deeply felt emotion.

Revisions and retellings of Shakespeare’s plays are frequent, but Carey reshapes The Tempest with an uncommon grace and startling clarity. She understands the devastating impact choices, no matter how innocent, can make.

 

This article was originally published in the February 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Jacqueline Carey, author of the fantasy classic Kushiel’s Dart, weds her lyrical prose to one of Shakespeare’s most enigmatic plays in Miranda and Caliban. This haunting tale of innocence, sensuality and rebellion tells the story of the vengeful magician Prospero’s daughter, Miranda, and his servant, Caliban, before the events of The Tempest.

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