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by Mari Carlson

In Genevieve Gornichec’s fantasy novel, The Witch’s Heart (12 hours), Angrboda has been burned three times for performing witchcraft, but she remains alive at the edges of the mythical Ironwood, where she begins a lasting, tenuous relationship with the trickster god Loki, Odin’s half brother. But Ragnarok, the destruction of the known world, threatens their future—and the future of their unusual offspring.

Jayne Entwistle, best known for her narration of the Flavia de Luce series by Alan Bradley, brings Angrboda to life with a husky, sage voice and northern English lilt. Her comforting tone and gentle pacing reinforce the novel’s focus on Angrboda’s domestic challenges in the shadow of cosmic conflicts. Accents used to delineate characters create a lively cast of women and men who visit Angrboda in her forest hovel. As many listeners will want to continue this dive into Norse mythology, a helpful list of resources for further reading follows the narration.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Genevieve Gornichec on writing The Witch’s Heart when she should have been writing a term paper.

Jayne Entwistle, best known for her narration of the Flavia de Luce series, brings Angrboda to life with a husky, sage voice and northern English lilt.

Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Horror

Whisper Down the Lane

Review by G. Robert Frazier

by G. Robert Frazier

If you aren’t sure what kind of experience you’ll be getting when you crack open Whisper Down the Lane, the first chapter will cast aside any uncertainty. Within just a few pages you’ll have gotten enough shocking violence, overwhelming fear and psychological intrigue to keep you hooked for hours.

Inspired in part by the real-life McMartin preschool trial—in which members of the McMartin family who operated a preschool in Manhattan Beach, California, were charged with sexual abuse of children, which in turn gave rise to a national panic over satanic ritual abuse—the novel follows similar circumstances, although in a highly fictionalized way. Author Clay McLeod Chapman alternates chapters from the perspectives of Sean, a kindergartener in 1983 Greenfield, Virginia, and Richard, a teacher living 30 years later in Danvers, Virginia, where he and his wife are raising his stepson, Elijah. As you might expect, their stories are inextricably linked, and everything starts when Sean, influenced by his mother’s paranoia, tells a lie that will change his entire world.

Part of the novel’s chilling effectiveness comes from its portrayal of the detectives assigned to Sean’s case and how their leading questions ultimately result in Sean saying what they want him to say, resulting in the unfair and undeserved persecution of Sean’s teacher on suspected sexual offenses. Chapman pulls no punches, revealing how the simplest of misrepresentations can result in a sort of mass hysteria against someone, just as it did in the real-life McMartin era.

Sean changed his name when he grew older to put his past behind him, but now, as Richard, he is haunted by his past lies and the psychological fallout of those lies. When his school’s rabbit mascot is found brutally slain on the soccer field, it sets off a thrilling chain of events that sets his past and present on a collision course.

While most of the novel is enmeshed in psychological thrills and foreboding, its depictions of ritualistic animal slayings are graphic, unnerving and not for the easily squeamish. The contrast between grim unease and startling violence only serves to heighten the chills. Chapman, who ironically writes both children’s books and horror novels, combines the two mediums in masterful style, just as a certain Maine-based author does with his horror novels.

If you aren’t sure what kind of experience you’ll be getting when you crack open Whisper Down the Lane, the first chapter will cast aside any uncertainty.

Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy

The Bone Maker

Review by Chris Pickens

by Chris Pickens

Twenty-five years ago, in the land of Vos, a group of mighty warriors fought and defeated a great evil. Celebrated and rewarded for their bravery, the group became legends in their own lifetimes and retired in a time of newfound peace. In Sarah Beth Durst’s The Bone Maker, it’s the demons we battle after triumphing over our greatest hardships that are the most challenging to defeat. How much pain and how many sacrifices does it cost to win? And could you summon that courage again, if you were called upon?

Kreya of Vos lost her husband, Jentt, when he sacrificed himself to save the world from the renegade bone maker Elkor. But Kreya is a bone maker too, able to use animal bones to animate inanimate objects with sentience and locomotion. Consumed by grief and hidden away deep in the forest with Jentt’s corpse, she pores over forbidden rituals that temporarily bring Jentt back to life. When she risks everything to harvest the bones of soldiers defeated at the final battle with Elkor, she discovers that the world may not be safe after all—the ancient evil Kreya and Jentt thought they defeated 25 years ago may have returned.

Readers will be hooked by an early scene that depicts one of Jentt’s many returns from death. Kreya awakens him, but she knows her spell is only strong enough to keep him alive for a day. It’s incredibly sad and instantly relatable. Regret is a significant theme for all of the book’s characters, and Kreya’s longing is a pitch-perfect way to introduce it. Other characters have regrets as well, but a wife who wants her husband back hits especially hard. Durst displays a mastery of emotional resonance throughout the book, bringing each character’s scars to the surface even in moments of levity. You never really forget the toll the past has taken on each person.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Sarah Beth Durst on her love of backstories, the importance of humor and the inspiration for bone magic.

The Bone Maker follows story beats common to many fantasy novels. The second act has a certain “getting the gang back together” spirit to it, returning a group of semibroken people to one another’s company. Two things keep the story feeling fresh while Durst sets her chess pieces upon the board. The first is dialogue; The Bone Maker features lovely banter between people who know each other well, and they alternate insults, jokes and witty comebacks with raw conversations about pain and regret. Some of the best moments involve characters simply talking to one another and reflecting on feelings they have held inside.

The second element that sets The Bone Maker apart is its magic system. Each kind of bone magic is distinct, simple to understand and integral to the story. Durst constantly reveals new and creative ways to use the slightly creepy shamanistic act of carving symbols in bones in order to solve problems—to read the future, for example, or to endow someone with superhuman strength. While some of the central rules are set up early and repeated, the reader always feels that a new way to use magic is right around the corner.

When I read Durst’s Race the Sands last year, I loved the way she zeroed in on her characters as they searched for ways to reconcile with pain and loss. That same empathy is present in The Bone Maker, refracted across a new group of fantastic characters. There’s power in these bones.

Twenty-five years ago, in the land of Vos, a group of mighty warriors fought and defeated a great evil. But their quest isn't over.

Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Science Fiction

Dead Space

Review by Laura Hubbard

by Laura Hubbard

If you’re an employee of Parthenope Enterprises, there is no such thing as privacy. Your movements around whatever desolate space station you occupy are tracked constantly, and the only place you aren’t under video surveillance is in the comfort of your own quarters. Or so security officer Hester Marley believes. But when an old friend dies under mysterious circumstances after sending her an untraceable message, Hester is forced to reexamine her certainty about the Parthenope panopticon. In order to solve his murder—and indeed, in order to survive her investigation—Hester will need to reconsider not just her views of life within the company, but also what she knows of her own tragic past.

Kali Wallace's Dead Space is tense and kinetic. Wallace masterfully dances back and forth between two speeds, using them to guide us towards a destination that feels both surprising and inevitable. In some scenes, Wallace lingers over interrogations as Hester and her investigative crew dissect every word and facial expression of the dead man’s fellow crew members at the asteroid mine where he worked and died. In others, the narration careens from one impact to another, sometimes literally, as the body count on the mining station continues to mount.

Because it’s written in first person, the book centers almost claustrophobically on Hester. At first glance, Dead Space’s protagonist is not exactly dynamic. Hester is competent but miserable, having been forced into indentured servitude by medical debt from injuries she sustained in a terrorist attack. In the moment of the attack, her dream—to explore the moon of Titan as part of a team looking for extraterrestrial life—was ripped away from her, replaced by a sobering reality of imperfect prosthetics and a security job ill-befitting an artificial intelligence expert. At least, that’s the view of her we see initially.

Yet as bad goes to worse in the investigation, we witness Hester bloom into someone who is passionate, curious and fiercely intelligent. Dead Space is as much about processing grief as it is about solving a murder. The events on the mining station force Hester to fully reckon with her loss even as they push her to her limits, giving an intensely human throughline to a story that might otherwise lose focus during its many twists and turns.

The book opens with a bloody description of a body modification surgery gone horribly wrong, and descriptions of gore only escalate from there. But Dead Space gives readers who can stomach such things an amazing gift: a character-driven thriller full of secrets, mayhem and plenty of explosions that will leave them guessing from beginning to end.

Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Science Fiction

A Desolation Called Peace

Review by Noah Fram

by Noah Fram

It has been two months since Mahit Dzmare and Three Seagrass foiled an attempted military coup on Teixcalaan—though they may have started a war to do it. Dzmare is back on her native Lsel Station, among her people but unsure if she still belongs there. Seagrass has a desk job; a prestigious one, to be sure, but a bore all the same, so when she lucks into a not-quite-legal chance for an adventure, and one that will bring her and Dzmare together again, she leaps at the chance. As diplomatic envoys to an uncommunicative alien armada, they must contend with a host of horrors, from a fleet of screaming, ship-eating aliens and deadly fleet politics to an infestation of cats and a lack of non-clichéd poetic imagery. And if they survive their privations, both military and literary, it is not at all clear whether either of them can truly go home again.

In her award-winning debut novel, A Memory Called Empire, Arkady Martine tackled the problem of communicating between cultures in a shared lingua franca, detailed an empire at war with itself and told of an intrigue involving Lsel Station’s memory-preserving imago-machines and one man’s quest for immortality. In A Desolation Called Peace, all of those themes have evolved in complexity, diving deeper into an intrigue about the very nature of life and death. The central cast is as appealing as ever, and the cats, described as “very friendly, if—sharp, on the ends” and “puddles of space without stars” are a delightful addition.

Martine’s debut showcased her consummate skill and perfect blend of narrative, humor and world-building; her second effort highlights her thematic ambition, and her abilities as a writer are more than equal to the task. Desolation is the kind of book that crouches in your mind, waiting for a quiet moment. It is hard to read slowly, but demands to be savored, lest you miss some of the cleverest and most elegant foreshadowing in modern science fiction. Redolent with echoes of Frank Herbert’s Whipping Star, Iain M. Banks’s Excession and screen epics such as Arrival and Ronald D. Moore’s “Battlestar Galactica,” it nevertheless carries its own distinctive melody.

Arkady Martine’s first book was a deserving Hugo winner. Her second might eclipse it.

It has been two months since Mahit Dzmare and Three Seagrass foiled an attempted military coup on Teixcalaan—and they may have started a war to do it.

Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Science Fiction

Winter’s Orbit

Review by Stephanie Cohen-Perez

by Stephanie Cohen-Perez

Though the planet of Iskat is cold and gray, with ferocious predatory avian species adorning the frozen environment, Everina Maxwell’s debut novel, Winter’s Orbit, is anything but frigid. This queer science fiction romance astounds not only through its believable, multilayered character development, but also in the eons of intergalactic political and cultural history that Maxwell weaves into a 400-page novel.

Kiem Tegnar is a playboy prince of Iskat in his mid-20s who would rather party until daybreak, drink at carnivals and cause a scene than deal with anything remotely resembling political responsibility. But his life is thrown into disarray when his grandmother, the Emperor, informs him that he will fulfill his lifelong duty as a minor noble by getting married the following day. Not only will this shock to the Emperor’s least favorite grandchild disrupt his hedonistic lifestyle, but his arranged marriage will be to Jainan nav Adessari, widower of Kiem's cousin Taam, whom Jainan still mourns but Kiem barely remembers. Their marriage will preserve the political alignment between Iskat and one of its seven vassal planets, Jainan's homeworld of Thea.

Suddenly thrust into a diplomatic role, Prince Kiem must navigate new etiquette to save face and maintain the relationship between Iskat and Thea. With the vassal contracts to be renewed soon, both Kiem and Jainan find themselves in awkward and uncomfortable situations as the relentless press hassles them for gossip about their impromptu marriage and a faceless Auditor comes to observe the veracity of their union—and thus, the veracity of the link between the planets. But while Kiem and Jainan share a common political goal, their strikingly different personalities pose challenges as they become a unit.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Everina Maxwell on the freedom of a "queernorm" speculative world.

Beneath Kiem’s slightly callous, celebrity exterior lies a loyal, likable potential leader with a strong sense of morality. Maxwell uses Kiem’s wry sense of humor to convey his insecurities and anxiety about his new position and his relationship with Jainan. There’s no question that he is attracted to his cousin’s handsome, highly educated widower, but because of both formal customs and Kiem's own internal compass, he feels guilt, shame and confusion as a newlywed married to a man he'd only just met. As he picks up on the Iskan government’s condescending treatment of Jainan’s fellow Theans and uncovers evidence that his cousin’s death might not have been accidental, Kiem is filled with a strong, genuine desire to help the mysterious man he has been forced to marry—and who has been forced to marry him.

Winter’s Orbit fits into the romance genre just as much as it does science fiction, and its central relationship develops and flourishes in a world devoid of homophobia. On Iskat and its vassal planets, characters wear certain tokens to indicate binary or nonbinary gender identities, and relationships, even royal ones, range from monogamous, polyamorous, queer (or not) and religious (or not). As Kiem adapts to his new relationship, he must also learn more about Thean customs and traditions if he is to truly understand and empathize with his new spouseand become both a good husband and nobleman.

Maxwell expertly weaves relatable issues—cultural tensions, strained family dynamics, relationship struggles and government and media corruption—into a stunning outer space setting where readers will be just as invested in Kiem and Jainan as they are in unraveling the dangerous mysteries afoot in Iskat. With its dark, dry humor and its unforgettable depictions of bereavement, heartbreak and new love, Winter’s Orbit is hopefully the start of much more to come from Everina Maxwell.

Though the planet of Iskat is cold and gray, with ferocious predatory avian species adorning the frozen environment, Everina Maxwell’s debut novel, Winter’s Orbit, is anything but frigid.

Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Science Fiction

We Could Be Heroes

Review by Ralph Harris

by Ralph Harris

We Could be Heroes by Mike Chen is a refreshing, light take on the superhero origin story. Two misfits, Jamie and Zoe, become unlikely friends when they meet in a support group for amnesiacs and realize that they’ve both had the same strange experience. Both woke up one day with no memories of their former life, but with extraordinary new powers.

The story is set in the fictional city of San Delgado, which could easily be any major city in the United States. This fictional location helps Chen bring a grounded, everyday quality to what could have been a larger-than-life tale. Small, funny details like awful neighbors and Jamie and Zoe’s support group allow readers to slip seamlessly into the shoes of his otherwise remarkable protagonists.

Despite their powers, Zoe and Jamie are normal, friendly humans who want little more than to be happy, and their heartfelt interactions and charming dialogue are the backbone of We Could Be Heroes. Zoe is driven to learn more about her past and who she was, while Jamie merely wants to retire to an island with his cat, Normal. Together, they save lives, learn about themselves and try to defeat the bad guys. Jamie and Zoe genuinely care about each other, and while their mutual trust certainly takes a while to build, their genuine respect and love for each other will slap a smile on even the gloomiest of readers.

Speaking of love, there is zero romance in this book (just like this reviewer’s cold, cynical heart appreciates), and it’s for the best. The lack of romance between main characters or with side characters allows Chen to focus wholly on his two protagonists. If any other subplots or characters stole the spotlight, this story would have felt rushed or poorly paced. Instead, We Could be Heroes is a well written, elegantly structured tale of joy and friendship.

We Could be Heroes by Mike Chen is a refreshing, light take on the superhero origin story.

Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy

The Witch’s Heart

Review by Laura Hubbard

by Laura Hubbard

Genevieve Gornichec’s debut novel, The Witch’s Heart, is both staggering in its beauty and delicate in its execution as it takes the Norse characters and stories we are so familiar with and shoves them to the background. Gone are the death-defying feats of Odin and nearly invisible is the quick-tempered Thor. In their stead, Gornichec highlights the overlooked witch Angrboda, Loki’s mate and the mother of monsters.

The Witch’s Heart opens with literal heartbreak and flames. Angrboda has been burned three times and her heart has been stabbed and removed for refusing to help Odin peer into the future. Yet still she lives, largely stripped of her powers and reduced to foraging for roots and snaring rabbits in a forest at the edge of the world. When a god—the frost giant trickster Loki—returns her gouged-out heart, Angrboda is distrustful. But as Loki continues to insinuate himself into Angrboda’s life, distrust turns first to affection and then to deep love. The witch and the god have three fate-possessed children together: the wolf Fenrir, the Midgard serpent Jörmungandr, and the half-dead girl and future queen of the dead Hel. Together with the help of the huntress Skadi, Angrboda attempts to shield her growing family from Odin’s searching eye, but the threat that her unusual family poses to the gods in Asgard can’t be ignored for long, and every step they take pushes them collectively towards a climactic conflict: Ragnarök.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Genevieve Gornichec on writing The Witch’s Heart when she should have been writing a term paper.

Gornichec’s work is not a book of swashbuckling Viking adventure. Rather, it is a character study of a woman whose story has otherwise been relegated to but a few sentences of mythology. Ragnarök, the twilight of the gods, looms in Angrboda’s visions, but for the most part this is a story of small moments with large consequences. Gornichec lingers over scenes of domesticity—over Skadi helping Angrboda build her furniture, over the feelings of resentment that accompany your child liking their other parent more than they like you, over the simple wonder and occasional annoyance of sharing a bed with someone you love. The Witch’s Heart invites us to swim in these details, lulling us with descriptions of a family dynamic that we know can’t possibly last.

And this is where the beauty of Gornichec’s work lives. She never denies the tragedy that is inevitable in any story of Norse mythology. Angrboda, like all the others, is bound by fate and her rebellions must be within its confines. For some readers, the small scale of Gornichec’s novel and the focus on the inevitability of Ragnarök might be frustrating. After all, this story is not what we have been told to expect of tales of Vikings and witches. But to those readers, Gornichec offers this: instead of fighting the end, focus on the details and savor the life—and the change—that can be built in the cracks that fate has neglected.

Genevieve Gornichec’s debut novel, The Witch’s Heart, is both staggering in its beauty and delicate in its execution.

Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy

The Frozen Crown

Review by Noah Fram

by Noah Fram

Starting a book series is among the trickiest things for a writer to do. After all, stories that unfold over multiple volumes often need quite a bit of exposition, so first books run the risk of spending too much time laying the groundwork and losing the reader halfway through. Then there’s the problem of the ending: Is it better to end with a cliffhanger halfway through a high-stakes scene or in the proverbial calm before the storm? Amid all this, writers must craft a compelling narrative out of a partial story. Writing is hard enough without these added difficulties.

The Frozen Crown, Greta Kelly’s debut and the first installation of her Warrior Witch duology, builds an evocative setting, a tantalizing magical system and a compelling and complex set of protagonists so well that it feels like a full story with some missing pages. Were it a standalone novel, I would have thrown it across my apartment for its unanswered questions. But as the first of a set, such a visceral response is a testament to its success. Kelly’s world is hard to resist (and well worth the investment), and the sequel demands to be read, both to finish a gripping story of politics, revenge and illicit magic and for my own peace of mind.

Princess Askia Poristkaya e-Nimri of Seravesh, to use her full title, is on the run. Her country has been overrun by the expansionist Emperor Radovan of Roven and his fire witch, Branko, as they carve their way down from the north. So Askia has turned southward, hoping to leverage her familial ties to the court of Roven’s rival empire, Vishir, to secure an army with which she can reclaim her home and birthright.

But Askia’s task is complicated by a dangerous secret: She is a death witch, one who can see, hear and commune with ghosts, and both Roven and Vishir contain many who would hunt, hurt or kill her if they knew. Furthermore, her standing in the Vishiri court is tenuous, and Radovan’s plots follow wherever she goes.

Kelly’s setting evokes the geography of the Caucasus: Roven’s climate, naming conventions and culture are inspired by the Slavic kingdoms of modern-day Russia, while Vishir is something of a conglomerate of several civilizations from Persia and the Middle East. However, this is no historical fantasy in the vein of Guy Gavriel Kay. Instead, these inspirations are clearly intended to provide a broad structure rather than information regarding the plot itself. Its details are more of a piece with K.S. Villoso’s Chronicles of the Bitch Queen, from the queen seeking allies in a foreign and often hostile land to a society that exists in an uneasy and strained truce with magic.

The story is told in a direct, sometimes terse first-person narration, which fits Askia’s blunt personality. There are moments when this writing style feels unpolished, and though it serves the characters well, it may end up clashing with the ambition of Kelly’s thematic vision. The Frozen Crown tackles so many problems, from sexism and the pitfalls of ambition to the nature of good and evil themselves, that it runs an unusual risk. While it feels and reads like a fantasy epic, it could easily veer into the darker territory occupied by the likes of Joe Abercrombie and Alex Marshall, simply because there may be too many conflicts for these characters to resolve in only two books. However, The Frozen Crown is dynamic and promising enough for both it and its forthcoming sequel to be worth the read, regardless of how the story ends.

Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy

The Ruthless Lady’s Guide to Wizardry

Review by Stephanie Cohen-Perez

by Stephanie Cohen-Perez

C.M. Waggoner’s second novel (following her outstanding 2019 debut, Unnatural Magic) is a dazzling, romantic fantasy quest that requires all of the cogs in readers’ brains to turn at once. Beyond her exceedingly clever, tongue-in-cheek chapter titles that harken back to classic adventure tales and her pointed observations of human—and other creatures’—true nature, Waggoner gifts readers with the delinquent, sailor-mouthed, headstrong, queer protagonist that they never knew they always needed, not to mention a riveting plot that continuously satisfies.

The Ruthless Lady’s Guide to Wizardry follows several extraordinary female characters. Protagonist Dellaria “Delly” Wells is a streetwise fire witch—supposedly one of the best in the city Leiscourt—with whom readers will experience an immediate sense of camaraderie. Waggoner’s solidly built world of Daesland contains many class divides due to socioeconomic and magickal reasons, and Delly finds herself navigating them all with difficulty, being a citizen of the lower classes. She practices the snubbed arts of “gutterwitchery,” having dropped out of the local university to use her magic on the streets, despite possessing the skills and knowledge to excel in an academic setting. Delly has grown accustomed to her townie life, in which she takes care of her addiction-riddled Mam, spends her free time in the pub, owes various people money and often gallivants around town with a one-night stand or various friends with benefits.

When Delly jumps at an unexpected opportunity to join a noblewoman’s entourage as a bodyguard, she encounters a ragtag team of high-class lady sorcerers, necromancers and fighters, including an intriguing part-troll and an elderly “body scientist” (tsk, upper-class ladies don’t say necromancy) and even a shape-shifter. This raunchy, bawdy magic-school dropout attempts to fit in and protect Miss Wexin on her way to her marriage, all while finding her own romantic prospect in aforementioned part-troll. Murderous attempts by disturbing creatures on Miss Wexin’s life rock the group’s dynamics and make trusting others difficult. But these strange and dangerous encounters are only the first half or so of this breakneck-paced plot. Not only is Miss Wexin’s life in danger, there is also the larger societal problem of drip, an addictive drug with deadly side effects that is affecting the poorer classes. This league of ruthless women must pool together their skills for the greater good, and it may be up to Delly to crack the case due to her once-ridiculed background.

As characters begin what is quite possibly the strangest bonding experience of their entire lives, Waggoner gives each a distinct voice and personality—readers will develop more than a few memorable favorites. Waggoner excels at detailed world building, from the opulent nobles’ homes and foods to the sensory feel of both the gutterlife and manors, to the stench of the local pub and even the squeak of a mattress during Delly’s cavorting with assorted fellows. But its playful title does not do such a marvelous book, or its themes, justice. Delly’s world is a land where householded (adopted) children, questionably reanimated animals, neglectful mothers, drug addiction, mysterious potions and queer romances are quite the norm. This is a book of unlikely friendships and morbid humor that is unafraid to explore relevant and oft-avoided topics.

C.M. Waggoner’s second novel is a dazzling, romantic fantasy quest that requires all of the cogs in readers’ brains to turn at once.

Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fiction

Book Clubs: February 2021

Feature by Julie Hale

by Julie Hale

Fight the winter doldrums with four fresh takes on the supernatural.

Danvers, Massachusetts, site of the 1692 witch trials, is the setting of Quan Barry’s enchanting novel We Ride Upon Sticks (Vintage, $16.95, 9780525565437). The year is 1989, and the teenage girls on the Danvers Falcons field hockey team are desperate to get to the state finals, so they sign a pact of sorts with the devil. The pact seems to work, as the team hits a winning streak, and all manner of witchy teenage mischief ensues. As many ’80s references as a “Stranger Things” fan could desire and a group of unforgettable female characters make this a delightful read, and Barry’s exploration of gender roles and female friendship will spur spirited discussion in your reading group.

In TJ Klune’s fantastical tale The House in the Cerulean Sea, Linus Baker, caseworker from the cold, impersonal Department in Charge of Magical Youth (DICOMY), must decide if a group of enchanted youngsters poses a threat to the future of the world. When he befriends the odd bunch (which includes a gnome, a strange blob and the actual Antichrist) and falls for Arthur Parnassus, their kindhearted and devoted caretaker, Linus’ loyalty to DICOMY wavers. Klune contributes to the tradition of using speculative fiction to obliquely discuss the experiences of marginalized groups in this funny, inventive and gently told novel.

Stephen Graham Jones’ chilling The Only Good Indians tells the story of Lewis and his three friends, Native American men who left the Blackfoot reservation in search of a different life and who share a bond from a traumatic event in their childhood. When Lewis is visited by an ominous elklike figure, mysterious deaths start to occur, and the men realize that their past has—literally—come back to haunt them. Jones’ atmospheric novel is compelling both as a horror novel and in its treatment of guilt, social identity and the complexities (and dangers) of assimilation. The canny, surprising ways he combines Native history and traditions with horror tropes will give your book club plenty to talk about.

J.D. Barker and Dacre Stoker offer a spine-tingling supplement to Bram Stoker’s iconic Dracula with Dracul. Bram is the main character and narrator of Barker and Stoker’s Ireland-set tale (and yes, Dacre Stoker is the real-life great-grandnephew of the Victorian author). As a boy, Bram has strange encounters with his nursemaid, Ellen Crone, who seems connected to a series of local deaths. When Bram and his sister, Matilda, learn years later that Ellen is a member of the bloodsucking undead, they find themselves in the center of a terrifying mystery. Reading groups will enjoy making connections between Stoker’s original story and this creepy companion novel as they examine the conventions and devices of both supernatural narratives.

Fight the winter doldrums with four fresh takes on the supernatural.

Science Fiction, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Science Fiction

Persephone Station

Review by Ralph Harris

by Ralph Harris

Stina Leicht's Persephone Station brings together a crew of lovable misfits to wage war against a hostile corporate entity. Leicht takes influence from cyberpunk novels and Star Trek, pulling together an action-packed plot focused on normal people (well, as normal as you can be in this world) doing their best to defend the innocent and protect the weak.

Persephone Station gathers narrative speed with all the grace of a snowball rolling downhill in an old cartoon, sliding and bounding from the moment our heroes find themselves in over their heads, which happens almost immediately. Rosie, a nonbinary crime lord with a heart of gold, employs Angel and her retired, revivified (think basically cyberpunk zombie soldiers, and yes, they are as cool as that sounds) merc crew to protect the titular planet’s pacifist alien race. Leicht’s universe has a “Prime Directive”-style edict—specifically, humans can’t colonize worlds where sentient species are already present. But since Persephone Station’s native population, the Emissaries, do not wish to be discovered, Rosie and Angel must work together to protect them as best they can, eventually teaming up with the mysterious Kennedy Liu to safeguard the Emissaries from being exploited by the Serrao-Orlov Corporation.

Leicht has crafted a fully imagined world that functions like a living, breathing member of the story. Various aspects of the world beyond Persephone bleed into the story, but never in a way that feels cheap or unearned. Angel’s cybernetic augments feel at home next to pulse lasers, spaceships and an internet that spans a galaxy. Leicht only flirts with the darker tones of a typical cyberpunk setting, focusing much more emphatically on the camaraderie between characters and their ever-present pursuit of truth and hope. There are no dark twists in the 500 or so pages of Persephone Station; instead, Leicht spends her time investing the reader in her characters’ plight.

ALSO IN BOOKPAGE: Stina Leicht on her fascinating alien race and writing her first science fiction novel.

Rosie, Angel and Kennedy’s interactions are rife with earnestness and charm. Each character loves and cares for their friends and their dialogue feels natural and genuine. Their wins are reader wins, and their losses resonate harshly with the reader. The highly likeable characters help balance Persephone Station’s erratic pacing. Since the plot takes place over the course of a week or so, even several hours of skipped time can be jarring. There were several moments where I needed to flip back a few pages simply to make sure I had not missed a key story beat.

Despite these moments, Leicht draws her story to a beautiful and bittersweet ending. After crafting such heartfelt attachment to its characters, Persephone Station gifts the reader with a positive, entertaining story of grit and determination in which the will to do good prevails despite great cost.

Persephone Station by Stina Leicht brings together a crew of loveable misfits to wage war against an extremely hostile corporate entity.

Fantasy, Science Fiction & Fantasy

Science Fiction & Fantasy Fantasy

King of the Rising

Review by Stephanie Cohen-Perez

by Stephanie Cohen-Perez

Kacen Callender’s highly anticipated second book in their Islands of Blood and Storm duology is an incredible ride. King of the Rising summons us once again to the Caribbean-inspired isles of Hans Lollik, which are as flawlessly picturesque as they are fatal. Elskerinde Sigourney Rose’s actions in the first book, Queen of the Conquered, have rendered the islands and their people a chaotic, revolutionary mess.

King of the Rising presents readers with a fresh voice via the perspective of Løren Jannik, who was once one of Sigourney’s enslaved personal guards. We learn that, like Sigourney, Løren is also gifted with the supernatural psychic abilities called kraft. His connection to his former mistress is further complicated by the mysterious ways their powers interact, as well as the constant fluctuation of his moral compass as the rebel tyrant Malthe and his followers demand the head of imprisoned Sigourney alongside that of their colonizers, the Fjerns. But while Sigourney is of royal lineage and wields her kraft as a mind-control weapon, Løren prides himself on being an empath and using his kraft for good—or for relative good, at least.

Callender skillfully portrays raw human emotion and psychology as devious, power-hungry leaders pit islanders against one another and Løren must decide if he should be the one to lead the islanders to true liberty, not just temporary freedom as a result of a disorganized rebellion. The urgency and stakes increase when the islanders learn of a traitor in their midst, and Callender’s penchant for crafting unconventional, fantastical mysteries shines as Løren, Sigourney and the other rebel leaders must choose where their loyalties lie. We also glean enticing and horrifying clues, as well as insight into deep personal and intergenerational trauma, through Callender’s implementation of flashbacks.

When he saves Sigourney from execution for reasons that escape even his own understanding, Løren finds himself the unlikely leader of an island revolution, much to the chagrin of the Fjern and some rival islanders, who fear the power of his unique kraft. As the surviving Fjern return to claim Hans Lollik Helle for themselves, Løren and Sigourney must work together, journeying to the other islands and beyond to try to rally the forces they'll need to make their final stand. King of the Rising puts readers firmly into the minds of Callender’s unforgettable characters as it answers a spine-tingling set of questions: At the end of the war, who will survive and who will rule?

Kacen Callender’s highly anticipated second book in their Islands of Blood and Storm duology is an incredible ride.