What are your bookstore rituals? For example, where do you go first in a store? As a coffee addict, I’ll definitely stop by any coffee bar first. Then I like to sip and wander the new releases and sale tables. I’ll wind up seeing books written by my friends and internally (hopefully) I’ll say hello. I’ll always check graphic novels for my kids. But no trip is complete without shopping the journals section.
Tell us about your favorite library from when you were a child. My father managed the Brooklyn Public Library, so the central branch is my perennial favorite. However, I also loved the Staten Island Public Library and I still remember that old book smell.
While researching your books, has there ever been a librarian or bookseller who was especially helpful, or a surprising discovery among the stacks? Most of my research has shifted to quick Google questions due to time constraints, but booksellers have been instrumental in getting the word out about Five Broken Blades, and librarians have championed my career from the start.
Do you have a favorite bookstore or library from literature? A favorite fictional bookseller or librarian? My favorite library from literature is easily the one in The Starless Sea. If you’ve read it, you know why. I designed an amazing bookstore for The Jasmine Project. It was one of those times I spent weeks researching and thinking about it for approximately three sentences to land in the finished book, but I don’t regret it.
“There isn’t a bookstore or library I don’t want to see, honestly.”
Do you have a bucket list of bookstores and libraries you’d love to visit but haven’t yet? What’s on it? There isn’t a bookstore or library I don’t want to see, honestly. There are libraries and bookstores in France, China and Budapest, Hungary that look amazing. I just saw a bookstore in California with bookstore collies. I am nothing if not easily influenced by the cuteness of bookstore pets or read-to-me dogs in libraries.
What is the most memorable bookstore or library event you’ve participated in? Saratoga Springs Public Library in New York puts on a book festival each fall with panels all over town, and it’s one of my favorite events of the year. With every bookstore event I’ve done or even stock signings, I’m blown away by how the staff is always helpful, enthusiastic and kind, regardless of whether I’m signing three books or over 500.
What’s the last thing you checked out from your library or bought at your local bookstore? My last books from my library were graphic novels for my kids. They are voracious and tear through them in a day. For me, my last purchase was Heartless Hunter. I am lucky and was sent arcs of Rebel Witch, The Bane Witch and Meet Me at Blue Hour, and I can’t wait to read all of them.
How is your own personal library organized? Ugh, it is not. I’ve had rainbow shelves and alphabetical, but my collection is currently in stacks spread in various places around my house. I keep talking about built-in bookcases. This might’ve shamed me into getting that project underway.
Is the book always better than the movie? Why or why not? Actually, I don’t think it is. I can think of two off the top of my head where the creators of the series took the concept to better places. However, generally, yes, I think the book is better, solely because it’s so difficult to get all the internal thoughts and motivations of a character across in film.
Bookstore cats or bookstore dogs? Both! Bookstore raccoons and I’ll live there.
What is your ideal post-bookstore-browsing snack? Hmm. It would have to be something that didn’t dirty my fingers because I’d want to read. Maybe rice cakes (tteokbokki).
Photo of Mai Corland by Leila Evans.
The author of the Broken Blades fantasy series shares her favorite literary libraries and gets real about bookshelf organization—or a lack thereof.
I set pen to white paper and brainstormed around the circled word “MOTHER.” What were my word associations and allusions? The Queen of Coins. Marmee March and Cersei Lannister. Josephine Rabbit. The Capitoline wolf.
A she-wolf nursing infant twins is an unforgettable image. Strange, certainly. Unnatural, perhaps. It is the emblem of Rome itself, found on coins and football club jerseys, and has traversed the world as its empire once did—to Parisian parks and U.S. city squares. The mother wolf has become an established part of our communal iconography.
“Retelling is a trendy word, but these stories are more than a reimagining, they are also a resurrection.”
This trope persists in other mythologies, too. Atalanta raised by bear cubs. Enkidu. Mowgli and Tarzan. These feral children prevail as symbols of hope and survival. Of life, against all odds, finding a way. And yet, while our oral tradition and literature may love the babies, we think and talk and write much less about their mothers.
Most people with a grasp of European history know Romulus and Remus, but before there was a wolf, there was a woman, breaking herself in birth. Who was she? Why was she separated from her children? The answer is Rhea Silvia, princess turned pregnant priestess, who lost her babies because she lived in a time when nefarious powers governed what she could and couldn’t do with her body.
I scoured the primary sources for Rhea, finding the clearest narrative in book one of the Roman Antiquities by Dionysius of Halicarnassus. I thought I knew Rome because I was raised on sword and sandal epics, Ben-Hur and Spartacus. But Latium is something else entirely. It’s a confederation, a league of small cities under the loose rule of Alba Longa—a site that no longer exists. It may have been where the pope’s summer residence, Castel del Gandolfo, is located, but there are no remaining pillars or foundations to visit. Rhea and her sons are one of the old myths, occurring outside the cultural assumptions of Roman Empire, the stock images of Coliseum and Caesar.
I read of the kings that descended from Aeneas, a lineage almost Shakespearean in nature, so reminiscent of the Bard’s best tragedies, so rife with rivalry and revenge. King Numitor’s daughter, a Vestal Virgin, is impregnated by the god of war, and delivers Romulus and Remus in an almost biblical narrative: babes sent down the river to escape death, fulfilling a prophecy. Afterward, however, Rhea Silvia fades from the record like the brightest colors in an ancient fresco. She’s not even in the background; she’s gone.
In SPQR: A History of Ancient Rome, Mary Beard raises the question: What does Rome’s founding myth reveal about its values and character?
A redundant brother. A divine birth. Patriarchal values. Male protagonists.
Retelling is a trendy word, but these stories are more than a reimagining, they are also a resurrection. In Mother of Rome, Rhea gets restored to the scene—rising out from under the classical author’s omission or neglect and into the game of thrones. In the novel, I write: “’This is the first lesson, Rhea. Men think they create the empires, but both are born of women.”
Mother of Rome is my ode to Rhea Silvia, to a mother’s life-giving love, but it is also a reminder: There is always a before. Before the city. Before the kings. This is that origin story, and it’s hers.
Photo of Lauren J.A. Bear by Heidi Leonard.
Lauren J.A. Bear’s Mother of Rome reorients the empire’s founding myth around the rebellious, passionate princess Rhea Silvia.
In Old Crimes and Other Stories, Jill McCorkle’s characters face moments of reckoning and work to make sense of the past. A father has trouble connecting with his daughter and adjusting to the digital era in “The Lineman.” In “Confessional,” a husband and wife buy an antique confessional for their house—a purchase that leads to surprising discoveries. “Commandments” features a trio of women dumped by the same man who meet to share stories about him. Wistful and wise, McCorkle’s fifth collection is the work of a writer at the top of her game.
Louise Kennedy explores the lives of contemporary Irish women in her bleakly beautiful collection, The End of the World Is a Cul de Sac. Kennedy’s protagonists—rendered with authenticity and compassion—contend with fraught or dangerous relationships, motherhood issues and economic woes. Sarah, the main character of the title story, pays an ugly price for her husband’s poor business decisions, while the main character in “In Silhouette” is tormented by her brother’s participation in IRA activity. Kennedy’s moving stories offer numerous discussion topics for book clubs, including female fulfillment and the human need for connection.
Salt Slow finds Julia Armfield leaning in to science fiction and the supernatural in stories that examine urban life and women’s experiences. “Mantis” focuses on the turmoil of adolescence, as a young girl’s body mutates in startling fashion. In “Formerly Feral,” two stepsisters form an extraordinary bond with a wolf. Whether she’s writing about giant bugs or a zombie ex-girlfriend, Armfield is clearly at home with the odd and the uncanny, and the end result is a captivating group of stories. Themes of sexuality, spirituality and loss will get book clubs talking.
GennaRose Nethercott’s Fifty Beasts to Break Your Heart and Other Stories is sure to delight—and disquiet—readers. Ominous, imaginative and intriguing, Nethercott’s stories probe the tension between the wild and the tame as they exist in our daily lives. In “Homebody,” a young woman undergoes a strange physical transformation after moving into a new house with her partner. “Sundown at the Eternal Staircase” chronicles the goings-on at an eerie tourist attraction. Thanks to Nethercott’s remarkable narrative skills, the impossible becomes plausible. Inspired by folklore and fairy tales, she reinvigorates the short story form.
Round up your reading group and ring in 2025 with one of these fabulous short story collections.
In an odd corner of Tokyo is a ramen restaurant that, for the right clientele, is actually a pawnshop. Walk inside and the shop owner will greet you warmly. You’ll apologize and say you are in the wrong place, that you were looking for a hot meal, you need to go, but the shop owner will stop you. And he’ll offer you the opportunity of a lifetime: the chance to pawn a regret, or to shed a choice that has been a burden.
All her life, Hana Ishikawa has anticipated and dreaded the day she will inherit her father’s magical pawnshop, a nook that rests between two worlds: bustling, modern Tokyo and Isekai, or the Other World. She understands it is necessary to collect human choices and to turn them over—in the form of glowing birds—to the Shiikuin, the mysterious, terrifying figures in “pale white Noh masks . . . [stinking of] rusting metal and decaying flesh” who guard Isekai. But on the morning of Hana’s first day as shop proprietor, she finds the place ransacked, her father missing and a choice stolen, presumably by him. To complicate matters, Keishin, a brilliant human physicist, stumbles into the shop on the morning of the disaster and insists on helping Hana find her father.
So unfurls a story that is equal parts adventure and romance, lighthearted and devastating, philosophical and emotionally resonant. Hana and Kei embark on a journey through Isekai, jumping into puddles and coming out in other realms, folding into paper, climbing ladders through clouds and witnessing the release of the stars. They run from the Shiikuin and chase after Hana’s father, who presumably holds answers to questions about Hana’s past; simultaneously, they circle each other, tentative but magnetic. It’s a Romeo and Juliet love story, after all. They’re from two different worlds: “She was the moon in the water,” Kei observes, “Close enough to touch, yet beyond reach.”
Author Samantha Sotto Yambao’s world building in Water Moon is marvelous and digestible, utilizing short chapters and precise, direct descriptions. And our protagonists, Hana and Kei, are refreshingly communicative and mature. Yambao has created a work of art that is atmospheric and, above all else, wondrous. Although there are stakes, Water Moon is a heartwarming, low-suspense read that reminds us to take hold of our lives and our choices.
Water Moon, Samantha Sotto Yambao’s atmospheric and wondrous fantasy, centers on a Tokyo pawnshop where people can sell their regrets.
Princess Rhea Silvia has had everything wrenched from her grasp. She has borne the loss of her mother and brothers, and seen her father stripped of his throne. Now forced into the life of a Vestal Virgin by her power-hungry uncle, Rhea has been divested of whatever power she once possessed. But she has a secret that will change the world forever—if she can live long enough for it to bear fruit. The night before she is to be commended to the virgins, Rhea takes Mars, the god of war, to her bed, violating her vows and consummating an affair that will birth one of the most powerful empires the world has ever known. Rhea’s story is one of gods and blood, of sacrifice and vengeance. Hers is the story of the birth of Rome.
In Mother of Rome, author Lauren J.A. Bear reinterprets the strange and tragic backstory of the twin founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus, into a story of intrigue, determination and the raw ferocity of a mother’s love. Like most myths, Rhea’s intrigues even when stripped down to its most basic parts. But Mother of Rome gathers strength from emotional specificity: namely, Bear’s refusal to shy away from the uglier parts of a mythological retelling and her devotion to showing the emotional truth of the women she portrays. Rhea seeks vengeance in a world where men acknowledge her only when exerting control over her destiny and body, and her rage and frustration spring from the page—but so too does her unbridled joy at seeing her children for the first time. Similarly, her cousin Antho’s sense of helplessness at being tied to men who disgust and terrify her may loom large, but so too does her hope for her forbidden love. Because in Bear’s hands, women’s stories—and women’s rages, hopes and fears—matter. Cathartic and moving, Mother of Rome reimagines the founding myth of Rome in a way that transcends gods and empires, instead focusing on the humanity at the story’s core.
Cathartic and moving, Mother of Rome reimagines the myth of Romulus and Remus by placing their mother, Princess Rhea Silvia, center stage.
I’ll be honest—it took me a moment to understand this book. We are immediately thrown into an opulent “year-turning” party: buffets of food, swirling gowns, a mysterious grandfather clock slowly ticking down the hours until the new year. Our protagonist, Kembral Thorne, is at the party while on maternity leave from her job as a Hound, a police officer-esque position that specializes in retrieving people or objects from other dimensions known as Echoes. In rapid succession, author Melissa Caruso introduces Kembral and the rest of the guests at the year-turning party (including Kembral’s nemesis and obsession, professional thief Rika Nonesuch), the framework of Echoes and a series of specialized terms for the world and its sociopolitical system. If reading this paragraph was overwhelming, you can expect a similar reaction when you begin The Last Hour Between Worlds.
But—but! If you’re a fantasy romance fan who’s been craving originality from the genre, this book is truly a breath of fresh air. Once you’ve gotten the gist of Echoes and more or less familiarized yourself with the characters, the storyline is a heady, bizarre rush of murder mystery meets Alice in Wonderland. Kembral discovers quite quickly that the year-turning party is being used as a chessboard of sorts, that a game is being played out between powerful interdimensional beings. Every hour, the party falls into a weirder, deadlier Echo, and it is up to Kembral and Rika to figure out how to stop the game before they’re trapped in an Echo they can’t escape from—if they don’t, everyone will die.
Caruso has created a compelling heroine in Kembral, who is equal parts tough, resourceful and vulnerable. A full-blown adult and mother, there’s an element of maturity and caution to her perspective that is refreshing in a genre that is often full of young protagonists who dive headlong into peril. The heart of the novel is Kembral’s relationship with Rika: their history and their secrets, how they’ve leaned on each other and how they’ve hurt each other. Caruso’s writing is stunning as well, with lines like “trying to figure her out was like trying to hold the shape of fire in your mind.” Although I was skeptical when I started, by the middle, I was completely on board with Kembral and Rika as they tried to save their sinking ship—or, in this case, their dimension-bending party. The Last Hour Between Worlds isn’t a breezy read, but it will stretch your imagination and leave you thinking.
A heady, bizarre rush of murder mystery meets Alice’s in Wonderland, The Last Hour Between Worlds is an interdimensional fantasy adventure.
An acolyte of the sun god, Mische saw her life destroyed when she was forcibly Turned into a vampire. After murdering the vampire who turned her, Mische is spared from execution when she agrees to journey into the afterlife with Asar, a vampire prince, and resurrect the god of death. Tasked by the sun god with betraying Asar and sabotaging their mission, Mische finds herself questioning everything she’s ever believed in when she begins to fall for Asar.
The Songbird & the Heart of Stone takes us straight into an afterlife that’s as intriguing as it is terrifying. How did you conceive of your version of the road to the underworld? Much of my process adhered to the improv philosophy of “yes, and . . .” I know that many readers love my books for the hot vampires—and make no mistake, I do also love hot vampires!—but I have a streak that just really, really loves weird, gross, dark magic. I always enjoy creating structures to my magical fantasy journeys that have a strong sense of progression, and better yet if they give me the opportunity to try all kinds of different gimmicks. So, I loosely ran with the general idea of “circles of hell” and thought about what those “levels” might look like in the context of the Nyaxia world. Then I mapped each of these levels to the character arcs for Mische and Asar, and tied them into the lore of the gods’ story. This piece was the most fun for me!
So far in the Crowns of Nyaxia series, we’ve been inside the heads of three characters: Raihn, Oraya and Mische. Mische has a very different internal monologue than any of the others. How did you get into her head to really capture that change in narrative voice? Going from Oraya’s cynical, hard-edged voice to Mische’s optimistic and thoughtful one was a little jarring in the beginning. But, I had a baby in between writing The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King, the previous book in the series, and Songbird, so I had a lot of time to think about the inner workings of Mische’s brain during my maternity leave. I got to know her a lot in borderline-hallucinatory brainstorming sessions at 3 a.m.!
“There’s a lot more to power than physical strength . . .”
Luce, Asar’s beloved necromantic dog, is undoubtedly going to steal some readers’ hearts (just as she stole mine). How did she come into the picture? It’s only now that I realize I cannot remember when I first conceived of Luce! She came into the picture very early in my brainstorming for Asar’s character. He’s introverted, rigid and definitely a bit scary, but boy does he love his dog! (Rightfully so—she is a very good girl.) I believe that platonic relationships are just as important as romantic ones. It’s important that we see the characters reflected against someone else who is meaningful to them. In this case, Luce really helped me define Asar, and took on an (after)life of her own from there.
Architecture—whether it’s the impressive structures of the underworld or the details of the Citadel—gives a distinct sense of character to the human, vampire and godly locations within The Songbird & the Heart of Stone. Did you have any particular inspirations for the look of each major location? I’m very flattered by this question, because it’s so important to me that each of the houses feels distinct! My favorite thing about the Nyaxia world is that it’s just so huge, and with every book that ventures into a new corner of the world, I try to make sure that place feels different from everywhere we’ve been before it. Typically, I’ll start with a very general “vibe” for a place, and then I’ll mash together many different influences until I like what I’ve arrived at. I will be the first to admit that the entire creative process on this front is chaotic!
You once mentioned that you ended up with the three courts because you couldn’t choose one type of vampire. What were some of your influences in creating the vampire houses, and if you had to join one of the houses, which would it be? There wasn’t one specific influence for each house so much as each had a general “vibe” I was trying to capture. The Nightborn are the winged, deadly vampires; the Shadowborn are the seductive, scheming vampires; the Bloodborn are the monstrous, bloodthirsty vampires. Of course, these simplistic ideas bloomed into many others as I fleshed everything out!
I would be in the House of Shadow, because I’m definitely not coordinated enough to be in the House of Night nor intimidating enough to be in the House of Blood. I’d likely immediately get myself killed in the House of Shadow, too—but at least I could hide out in the libraries for a while first.
Despite following the same god, Mische and Chandra have little in common when it comes to both their outlook and their goals. If their roles had been reversed, how would Mische have taken to life as a midwife for vampires? What about Chandra as a vampire? Chandra and Mische both have been indoctrinated by their god most of their lives, and both of them have very real, very legitimate reasons to justify hatred of vampires. Chandra is so similar to Mische in so many ways, and yet has followed all of those commonalities to a completely different end. Even at the height of her status in her previous human life in her cult, Mische couldn’t fully accept the harsh boundaries of her world. Chandra was likely exactly the kind of acolyte Mische wished she could be in those years: pious, devoted and unquestioningly loyal. But Mische was never going to be that person, for better or for worse. Even if her positions were swapped with Chandra, they would always end up in radically different places.
Just as Chandra and Mische are foils, so too are Mische and Asar. We get Mische’s perspective the first time she sees Asar, but what does Asar think of Mische at first sight? I can’t answer this question in too much detail because it might be something we cover in the next book! In a super general sense: Asar knows right away that Mische is unusual, and he’s intrigued by her right off the bat. Some of that is just because he’s a guy who likes to know things, and Mische is objectively unusual because of her background. But even from the start, when he’s underestimating her, he gets the sense that there’s more to her.
Imbalanced power dynamics and the abuse of power are themes that have cropped up several times in Crowns of Nyaxia so far, from Vincent in The Serpent & the Wings of Night to this novel. This is obviously an issue in our own world as well, but do you think that there’s something about vampire society that makes it particularly interesting to explore? The exploration of power runs through the entire series. In the world of Nyaxia, there are just so many different layers to those power dynamics: humans versus vampires, gods versus mortals and, of course, the plethora of interpersonal power dynamics that are specific to each character. What makes this particularly interesting to me is that some groups or characters stand in very different places on the power spectrum depending on the lens you’re looking through. Vampires, for instance, are much more powerful than humans physically, but they’re also often brutally hunted if they venture beyond Obitraes. Vincent, Oraya’s father, was obsessed with maintaining power, but the things he had to do to keep it ended up isolating him—and unforgivably harming those he loved most. There’s a lot more to power than physical strength and having so many different layers in this world has made it particularly fun to explore.
Even with her own discomfort surrounding her vampirism, Mische holds views on vampires that seem more nuanced than what we see from Oraya in the Nightborn Duet. How much of that is from their backgrounds, and how much is due to the individuals—and the courts—that they’re dealing with? I love this question! Mische and Oraya are so, so different. They came from opposite backgrounds. Oraya was surrounded by vampires but constantly told how dangerous the world around her was. Meanwhile, as a missionary, Mische learned to help people become better versions of themselves by looking beyond her initial impressions of them. They embody opposite extremes, and we would have seen that even if their positions and Houses had been swapped—but of course, both still isolate themselves in different ways.
We get a deeper view of the pantheon in The Songbird & the Heart of Stone, including the very intimate interactions between the gods and their followers. What inspired you to have the gods be so very present (and fallible)? I love the sheer amount of possibility that the pantheon introduces into this world, and from the beginning, I wanted the gods to be highly present, creating very tangible impacts on the story. It introduces a whole other layer to the hierarchy of the world and another level of power dynamics. It throws open doors that would otherwise be impossible to explore!
Are there any gods who we haven’t interacted with yet who you’re excited to explore further? I am fascinated by the gods, and they play a much bigger role from Songbird onwards. So, the short answer is “yes, so many!”—but I think I’ll leave it at that rather than risk saying too much.
Photo of Carissa Broadbent by Victoria Costello.
The Songbird & the Heart of Stone starts a new arc in the author’s bestselling Crowns of Nyaxia series.
The question of how best to set up a personal library has confounded many a book collector. When it comes time to arrange them, all those wonderful volumes can seem like the pieces of an unsolvable puzzle. The literature lover who’s searching for solutions will welcome Book Nooks: Inspired Ideas for Cozy Reading Corners and Stylish Book Displays by Vanessa Dina and Claire Gilhuly.
Packed with easy-to-execute design schemes and Antonis Achilleos’ fabulous photographs, Book Nooks offers tips on how to group books according to color and size, as well as strategies for using personal effects in an arrangement. For establishing a comfy reading area, there are options to suit every style, space and taste. The book also addresses the art of stacking (Yes, it can be a creative act!), suggests methods for bringing plants into the picture, organizing those prize cookbooks and integrating analog reading material into a teen’s room. With reading recs from noted authors and a look at Little Free Libraries, Book Nooks is a bibliophile’s best friend.
Hidden Libraries
DC Helmuth’s Hidden Libraries: The World’s Most Unusual Book Depositories is a perfectly on-point present for any reader, but especially one who loves to travel. This wide-ranging title profiles 50 remarkable libraries in locations across the globe. Staff stories, fascinating facts, spectacular imagery and a foreword from critic and librarian Nancy Pearl make it a winning tribute to the mission of libraries everywhere.
Hidden Libraries surveys a range of amazing physical spaces. The Kurkku Fields’ Underground Library in Kisarazu, Japan, is a book-lined grotto covered in grass, while the cocoon-shaped Heydar Aliyev International Airport Library near Baku, Azerbaijan, projects sheer architectural awesomeness. Examples of inspired resourcefulness regarding book circulation abound: In China, the Shenzhen library system distributes titles via vending machine. And Helmuth doesn’t dismiss even the most miniature of libraries. A handsome wooden cabinet filled with colorful books, the Little Free Library at the South Pole—startling against Antarctica’s unrelieved whiteness—seems to defy its frozen surroundings. Big or small, grand or humble, each library serves as a singular point of enrichment and connection, and Helmuth’s stirring volume honors these efforts.
The Rory Gilmore Reading Challenge
With its quick-witted heroine Rory Gilmore, a voracious reader with dreams of attending Harvard, Gilmore Girls could very well be classified as a TV show for bookworms. The series, which aired from 2000 to 2007, made numerous allusions (339, to be exact) to books of all genres—titles favored by Rory and her friends. In The Rory Gilmore Reading Challenge: The Official Guide to All the Books, Erika Berlin explores the novels, plays and poetry cited on the show, providing episode information and details on who read what.
Inspired by Buzzfeed’s 2014 list of all the books mentioned in Gilmore Girls, Berlin’s breezy volume takes a nostalgic look back at Rory’s world while sharing reading recommendations (Frankenstein, The Poems of Emily Dickinson, One Hundred Years of Solitude, the list goes on) and invaluable book-related advice, including approaches for becoming a more focused reader and easy ways to impose order on a chaotic book collection. Filled with photos from the show, this book is a sunny retrospective and a buoyant tribute to the reading life.
Buried Deep and Other Stories
For the fantasy fan, there’s no better gift than Buried Deep and Other Stories by Naomi Novik, bestselling author of the Scholomance trilogy, Uprooted and Spinning Silver. As this collection proves, Novik is a natural conjurer whose stories—rich with allusion and detail—feel effortlessly authentic. Each provides an escape into an alternative world that’s wholly realized.
“Dragons & Decorum”—a fantastical recasting of Pride and Prejudice, set in the Regency England of Novik’s Temeraire series—finds Elizabeth Bennet riding a winged dragon named Wollstonecraft. In “The Long Way Round,” Novik offers a taste of her next work (tentatively titled Folly) and introduces spirited protagonist Intessa Roh. “Vici,” another Temeraire tale, but this time set in ancient Rome, chronicles the unexpected camaraderie that arises between Marc Antony and a valiant dragon. Introductions from Novik accompany the anthology’s 13 stories, and readers will relish the context they give to her work. This is a transportive collection from an author who maps her narrative milieus with extraordinary precision.
The Man in Black and Other Stories
Crime fiction maven Elly Griffiths is known as a prolific writer, having penned the Ruth Galloway, Harbinder Kaur and Brighton mysteries series. But did anyone suspect she was writing short stories on the side? That’s right—Griffiths has long played around with short-form work, and her intriguing new volume, The Man in Black and Other Stories, spotlights this aspect of her artistry.
The atmospheric anthology brings together 19 pieces, in which, fans will be delighted to learn, Griffiths expands the backstories of some of her most popular characters. The volume’s eponymous story is a spooky sketch set just before Halloween that features Ruth Galloway. “Harbinger” tracks Harbinder Kaur’s all-too-eventful first day at Shoreham Criminal Investigation Department. And in “Ruth Galloway and the Ghost of Max Mephisto,” all three of Griffiths’ sleuths converge, as it were. Ingeniously plotted and leavened with humor, the pieces are brief but satisfying. From sinister tales to twisty whodunits, Griffith’s short stories deliver as much spellbinding suspense as a full-blown novel.
Got a serious bibliophile on your list? Tick that box with one of these titles.
The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door by H.G. Parry (The Magician’s Daughter and The Unlikely Escape of Uriah Heep) provides a dazzling escape for lovers of magical universities and fantastical adventures that span both the human realm and the wilder, more unpredictable faerie world. When Clover Hill gets the opportunity to attend the school of her dreams, Camford University of Magical Scholarship, she is initially met with the ostracization that she expected as the only student not from an affluent magical Family. Clover does her best to keep her head down, determined to learn how to undo a possibly fatal fae curse that was inflicted upon her older brother during the Great War. But much to her surprise, one of the most popular students in school, Alden Lennox-Fontaine, takes an unexpected interest in “the scholarship witch,” and his posse of equally elite and fabulous friends takes her under their wing. But even as Clover befriends Alden, Hero and Eddie, dark and sometimes unforgivable secrets are revealed that will test not only their bond, but also the tradition of the Families and the students’ trust in the revered institution of Camford itself.
The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door is an excellent magical twist on dark academia, drawing upon now-beloved tropes such as ivy-strewn, cobblestone pathways and cavernous libraries, then adding a dash of spellcasting and hedgewitchery: The pathways can shift in the blink of an eye, and the library is guarded with enchantments. But the novel offers more than the superficial pleasures of the aesthetic, as Parry explores in detail the very human relationships at play during Clover’s time at Camford, from the platonic to the romantic and everything in between.
Clover’s adventures with her charming new companions are entrancing, and Parry infuses them with a never-ending series of exciting twists, keeping readers on their toes. Clover initially sees both Camford and her friendships through rose-colored lenses, describing the campus in romanticized, atmospheric terms. The reader is therefore often at the mercy of the protagonist’s perspective—tricked, as in one of the fae’s infamous deals, into thinking we’ve figured her situation out. Parry keeps the magic flowing as her characters battle to save the early 20th-century human world from dangerous faerie magic, constantly surprising readers in this accomplished take on the popular dark academia aesthetic.
The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door is a magical twist on dark academia that presents an entrancing vision of an alternate post-World War I England.
As she begins the second of the three duologies that will make up her Crowns of Nyaxia series, author Carissa Broadbent leaves the House of Night and takes her characters straight to hell—the underworld, that is. The Songbird & the Heart of Stone picks up in the months after the events of the Nightborn Duet (The Serpent & the Wings of the Night and The Ashes & the Star-Cursed King), as former acolyte Mische is still reeling from losing her connection to the sun god after being Turned into a vampire. When she is captured by the House of Shadow, one of three vampire courts, Mische is spared from death by the mysterious Asar, the bastard prince of the House of Shadow and brother to the vampire who Turned her. But Asar saves Mische not out of compassion, but to help him complete a task given to him by the goddess Nyaxia: Descend into the underworld and resurrect Nyaxia’s long-dead husband, the god of death. It’s an offer Mische can’t refuse, especially when her own god breaks his silence, ordering Mische to aid Asar and then betray him by killing the god of death after his resurrection.
In The Songbird & the Heart of Stone, Carissa Broadbent marries a thoughtful look at religious and family trauma with epic adventure and romance. Fan-favorite Mische was originally introduced as a seemingly happy-go-lucky sidekick in The Serpent & the Wings of Night. But now, she struggles to choose a path that could bring her happiness in her new life as a vampire, afraid of destroying her tenuous hold on her humanity—and her god. Not to be outdone in the personal baggage department, necromancer Asar has a past as bloody as it is tragic. You could argue that his actions go slightly beyond the “morally gray” territory so beloved by fantasy romance readers, edging into downright villainous. But his devotion to Mische and desire to help her find love that doesn’t hurt make him a compelling (and swoon-inducing) romantic lead. Mische and Asar’s story isn’t over yet, but this first half of their romance makes clear that they are destined for an adventure that will shake the very foundations of their world and its pantheon.
In The Songbird & the Heart of Stone, Carissa Broadbent marries a thoughtful look at religious and family trauma with epic adventure and romance.
Comforting, kindhearted and soulful, Julie Leong’s The Teller of Small Fortunes offers a welcome reprieve from the dreary and violent stab-a-thons that often dominate the fantasy genre. Pull up a chair, grab your favorite mug and sink into this lovely debut’s warm embrace.
Tao, a fortune teller from the Empire of Shinara, loves her life of solitude. Crisscrossing the neighboring kingdom of Eshtera with her covered wagon and faithful mule, she makes a living telling small fortunes wherever she goes. You may be wondering, “What is a small fortune?” Well, Tao can tell when the spring rains will come, how many calves will be born this year or when the inn’s common room will be full again. However, when one of her fortunes reveals a missing girl is still alive, Tao finds herself enlisted to help Mash, the girl’s ex-mercenary father, and his similarly reformed companion, former thief Silt, track her down. But what about Tao’s coveted peace and quiet? Being alone is the only way she can keep her secret safe, because Tao can tell big fortunes: ones that can hurt people. As their journey continues, Tao must decide how much to tell her companions about her true powers, even as time runs short to help an innocent in need.
In The Teller of Small Fortunes, Leong paints with primary colors, leaving very few shadows in her portrait of friendship and family. Each member of Tao’s party has distinct regrets and murky pasts, but these backgrounds simply reveal how the characters will heal one another. Leong homes in on small moments, carefully calibrating each step toward trust and companionship. But that is not to say that The Teller of Small Fortunes does not have tension. The party’s mission to find the lost girl is not without real pain. But always there is a sense of peace, that whatever happens, the group will endure and grow.
If you’re looking for an epic told at the end of a bloody sword, this one may not be for you. But in between all the hacking and slashing, sometimes you find yourself in need of a pleasant diversion. Sweet-natured and therapeutic, The Teller of Small Fortunes is the perfect pick for such times. It feels like coming home.
Sweet-natured and therapeutic, Julie Leong’s The Teller of Small Fortunes is cozy fantasy done right.
Read if your Halloween plans are: A horror movie marathon, specifically A24 horror movies
Ezri Maxwell doesn’t know whether their childhood home had ghosts, exactly, but they do know that it was haunted and determined to maim, traumatize and scare them and their Black family into leaving their mostly white Dallas suburb. Desperate to distance themselves from a childhood of constant dread, Ezri and their sisters fled the former model home as soon as they were old enough. Their parents, however, stayed where they were—right until the day they died under mysterious circumstances. At its core, Rivers Solomon’s Model Home is a study of the interior landscape of someone trying to make sense of their life in the wake of extreme tragedy. Ezri’s head is cluttered with the detritus of trauma, from their mother’s ambivalence toward them as a child to the repercussions of living with mental health issues for years, (“a host of diagnoses—which change with whatever clinician I see”). A disturbing tale that explores self-doubt, family drama and childhood trauma, Model Home is a powerful and gut-wrenching addition to the haunted house pantheon.
Read if your Halloween plans are: Exploring potentially haunted places—abandoned strip malls, creaky old houses, creepy caves … you get the idea.
If you’re in the mood for some spine-tingling stories, cozy up to Djinnology: An Illuminated Compendium of Spirits and Stories From the Muslim World, a fictitious (or is it?) compendium that is both fascinating and creepy, and made all the more so by Pulitzer Prize-winner Fahmida Azim’s striking illustrations. Seema Yasmin, a journalist, professor and physician, has created a fictional narrator named Dr. N, a taxonomist and ontologist who has traveled the world to investigate the sometimes benevolent, sometimes malevolent djinn. Djinn, Dr. N writes, have been “haunting humanity since pre-Islamic times.” He submits the fruits of his research to his academic committee to explain his long and unexplained absence from class, in this volume of stories from around the world that capture the long history and great variety of djinn. Many of these stories are related to human events, such as one concerning a ghostlike horseman who allegedly appeared in Cairo’s Tahrir Square at the height of the Arab Spring. Another terrifying tale of more dubious origins takes place in London, when a woman delivering her husband’s specimen to an IVF clinic spots what she thinks is an abandoned baby in the middle of the road. She stops, of course, but things do not go as she expects. Djinnology is beautifully designed, with maps, English and Arabic inscriptions and more, gamely selling a high-octane, between-two-worlds vibe. Most of all, Azim’s haunting illustrations in smoky colors perfectly portray this menagerie of spirits. Readers will find themselves looking over their shoulders.
Read if your Halloween plans are: A bar crawl in a tiny costume, weather be damned
Quite often in fiction, the figure of the vampire has represented loneliness, but we’ve arguably never seen that sense of yearning quite the way Rachel Koller Croft portrays it in her new novel, We Love the Nightlife. Croft’s protagonist, Amber, is frozen in her party girl prime, turned in the waning days of the 1970s by her maker, the beautiful and manipulative Nicola. Decades later, Amber begins to imagine what life might be like without Nicola, and considers an escape plan. But Nicola’s influence is powerful, her ambitions are vast and her appetite for control deeper than Amber ever imagined. Despite her vampiric nature, Amber feels like one of us. This is mainly due to Croft’s skill; her conversational, warm and relatable prose depicts Amber not as a lonely monster, but as a person longing for freedom in a savage world covered in glitter and awash with pulsing music. We also get to see Nicola’s side of the story and her own brand of yearning, giving the book an antagonist who’s not just remarkably well-developed, but human in her own twisted way. These dueling perspectives, coupled with memorable side characters and a beautifully paced plot, make We Love the Nightlife an engrossing, darkly funny, twisted breakup story that’s perfect for vampire fiction lovers and fans of relationship drama alike.
Read if your Halloween plans are: Watching a brainy horror documentary, or peeking at spooky clips on YouTube
Any horror writer doing their job knows how to tap into the fears that plague us most. Jeremy Dauber’s American Scary:A History of Horror, from Salem to Stephen King and Beyond provides a robust account of how art has reflected American dread for centuries. As it turns out, our history is rife with foundational fear, making it prime territory for some scary storytelling. Dauber starts his “tour of American fear” with our country’s bloody beginnings and proclivity for blaming the devil for everything from bad weather to miscarriage (hello, Salem!). He then passes through slavery, the Industrial Revolution, the Civil War and beyond to more contemporary paranoias reflected in film: murderous technology (The Terminator), individual indifference (the Final Destination series) and surveillance (Paranormal Activity), to name a few. Dauber’s attention to the details of myriad cultural touchstones, both famous and obscure, will entice those who care to tiptoe deeper into the darkest of the dark. American Scary’s greatest success is making readers consider what art may be born of our late-night anxieties. Spooky stuff, huh?
Read if your Halloween plans are:Curling up in a chair at home, reading a lightly spooky book or one of the more gothic Agatha Christies
Librarian Sherry Pinkwhistle resides in a quiet hamlet in upstate New York. The only out of the ordinary detail about Ms. Pinkwhistle is that she loves to solve a good murder mystery—not only those in the books she protects and enjoys at work, but also the real-life, grisly deaths in the otherwise sleepy little town of Winesap. But when a string of local murders hits a little too close to home, Sherry realizes that she can no longer remain an unattached bystander. A demon, or several, might be at the heart of these ever-increasing deaths, and Sherry will need the help of her skeptical friends and her possibly-possessed cat to root out the evil in Winesap. C.M. Waggoner’s The Village Library Demon-Hunting Society is a stunning blend of genres, a dark supernatural adventure masquerading as a cozy mystery—and by the time readers realize this, they, like Sherry, are too deeply entrenched in the case to let it go. Waggoner infuses the pages with darkly humorous scenes and snappy dialogue, as well as unexpected magical touches that hearken back to the author’s previous fantasy novels, a combination that’s perfect for fans of horror tropes as well as lovers of mystery. Sherry Pinkwhistle is a sleuth to be reckoned with, and beneath her frumpy and soft exterior lies a pleasant surprise: a clever, determined heroine who will stop at nothing to protect the place she calls home and the people who live there.
Read if your Halloween plans are: Circling up with friends and family for a night of scary stories
Eerie Legends: An Illustrated Exploration of Creepy Creatures, the Paranormal, and Folklore From Around the World arrives like Halloween candy, just in time for the spookiest season of the year. Austin, Texas-based artist Ricardo Diseño’s bold, offbeat illustrations don’t simply complement these spine-tingling stories, they lead the way. Each chapter blends elements of fiction and nonfiction, and includes a corresponding full-page illustration that stands on its own as a fully realized piece of art. The horror elements here are plenty scary, but skew toward the creature-feature end of the spectrum—think Universal Studio monsters, or even Troma’s The Toxic Avenger. The chapter on Krampus details the yuletide terror’s appearance with frightening specificity: “Part man, part goat, and part devil. . . . His tongue is red, forked, creepy, and always whipping around.” Diseño’s hoofed monster, straight out of the Blumhouse cinematic universe, is shown in the midst of abducting a child. Each chapter ends with a campfire-style tale about the designated monster, written with Lovecraftian zeal by Steve Mockus. As an added incentive, the cover glows in the dark—a feature I hadn’t noticed until after I fell asleep with it on my bedside table. Talk about eerie.
Read if your Halloween plans are: A hike contemplating the macabre beauty of seasonal decay—be sure to leave the woods before dark!
Nobel laureate Olga Tokarczuk’s fabulous novel, The Empusium: A Health Resort Horror Story, opens in 1913, when Polish 24-year-old Mieczyslaw Wojnicz arrives in the village of Görbersdorf, Germany, to be treated for tuberculosis. Tokarczuk is known for her penchant for the mythical and her deft, dark satirical wit, and as the subtitle, “A Health Resort Horror Story,” would lead readers to hope, the forests above the village whisper and echo with eerie sounds. The narration seems to come from ghostly entities who at times “vacate the house via the chimney or the chinks between the slate roof tiles—and then gaze from afar, from above.” A cemetery in a nearby town discloses evidence of a ritual killing every November. It is September, and the clock is ticking. Translated from Polish by Antonia Lloyd-Jones, The Empusium is about the rigid patriarchal world of pre-WWI Europe, and the tension between rationality and emotion. It is also about a young person coming of age—like Thomas Mann’s The Magic Mountain, from which it draws inspiration. Facing a threat he does not understand, Mieczyslaw responds to the mysteries around him with curiosity and seeks his own way forward. Tokarczuk also favors a new path and, as usual, casts her enthralling spell.
—Alden Mudge
Whether you’re a homebody or a thrill-hunter, we’ve got a seasonal, spine-tingling read for you.
Quite often in fiction, the figure of the vampire has represented loneliness; readers are very accustomed to the particular kind of yearning that immortality and blood thirst can bring. We’ve seen it in the work of Anne Rice, Stephenie Meyer and many more, but we’ve arguably never seen that sense of yearning quite the way Rachel Koller Croft portrays it in her new novel, We Love the Nightlife.
In Croft’s follow-up to her debut, the thriller Stone Cold Fox, the vampires of Nightlife are draped in yearning even as their never-ending revels mask what they really want. Croft’s protagonist, Amber, is frozen in her party girl prime, turned in the waning days of the 1970s by her maker, the beautiful and manipulative Nicola. Decades later, despite the comfortable life they share in a Victorian mansion, and Nicola’s ambition to open a new nightclub to be their personal playground, the old ways of doing things start to chafe at Amber. She begins to imagine what life might be like without Nicola, and considers what an escape plan might look like. But Nicola’s influence is powerful, her ambitions are vast and her appetite for control deeper than Amber ever imagined.
When we meet her, Amber is not physically alone, but she is lonely, trapped in a domineering friendship she’d rather leave, desperate for a way to change her circumstances and yearning for a different life. It’s a place most of us have been at some point or another, and despite her vampiric nature, Amber feels like one of us. This is mainly due to Croft’s skill; her conversational, warm and relatable prose depicts Amber not as a lonely monster, but as a person longing for freedom in a savage world covered in glitter and awash with pulsing music.
The real magic trick of the novel, though, is how Croft fleshes out the world beyond Amber’s view. Nicola’s perspective is also laced throughout the narrative, from her childhood more than a century earlier to her very particular desires in the present day. We get to see not just Nicola’s side of the story, but her own brand of yearning, giving the book an antagonist who’s not just remarkably well-developed, but human in her own twisted way. These dueling perspectives, coupled with memorable side characters and a beautifully paced plot, make We Love the Nightlife an engrossing, darkly funny, twisted breakup story that’s perfect for vampire fiction fans and fans of relationship drama alike.
We Love the Nightlife is an engrossing, darkly funny and twisted story about a friendship breakup—between two vampires.
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Maria Ressa’s book is a political history of the Philippines and an intimate memoir, but it’s also a warning to democracies everywhere: Authoritarianism is a threat to us all.
Sean Adams has dialed down the dystopian quotient from his first satirical novel, The Heap, but that element is still very much present in The Thing in the Snow.
