Listen to Your Sister is a horror novel with guts—literally and emotionally. While it's filled with body horror, blood, and murder, at its core, this Listen to Your Sister is a horror novel with guts—literally and emotionally. While it's filled with body horror, blood, and murder, at its core, this book is about sibling relationships and the trauma of parentification. Calla, the eldest sister, has become the legal guardian of her youngest brother, Jaime, and is essentially raising both of her younger brothers. What struck me most is how powerfully the book portrays the emotional toll of being forced into a parental role far too young—especially as a Black woman raising a Black teenage boy in a world that seems determined to destroy him. That theme comes up again and again, and it's devastating.
The sibling dynamics in this book are deeply complex, messy, and incredibly well done. Calla's resentment at being forced to sacrifice her own life, dreams, and freedom is palpable, and so is Jaime's frustration at being parented by his sister instead of his actual parents. There's so much love between them, but it's buried under years of pain, anger, and misunderstanding. And while the horror aspects take everything to the extreme, that extremity only reinforces the reality: Calla's life is a nightmare, and she's giving everything she has—literally—to try to keep her brothers alive in a world that doesn't care if they live or die.
I'm not even an older sibling—I'm the youngest in my family—and I still felt so viscerally what Calla was feeling. I felt her rage, her exhaustion, her fierce love, her frustration. She was such a fully realized character, and her emotional journey really hit me hard. The horror elements worked beautifully to heighten everything, and even though things got wild and confusing at times (especially listening to the audiobook—I had to rewind a few scenes just to keep up), the emotional through-line never wavered.
Despite the intense subject matter and the gore, the book also finds space for humour and tenderness. The characters felt so real, and the levity made everything more poignant, not less. It's a brutal, cathartic, and heartfelt story that tackles serious social issues—including the treatment of Black boys in America and the unfair expectations placed on eldest daughters—with unflinching honesty and emotional depth.
This was a very high 4-star read for me—probably 4.5 stars if I did half-stars. I'm really looking forward to reading more from this author. Listen to Your Sister has so much heart, so much to say, and it says it all with a screaming, bloody, beautiful fury. Highly recommend!
Trigger/Content Warnings: blood, violence, murder, gore, gun violence, vomit, death and child death, car accident, fatal car crash, loss of parents, police brutality, drug use
Rivers Solomon is quickly becoming one of my favourite authors. Their ability to explore some of the darkest facets of the human condition with vulnerRivers Solomon is quickly becoming one of my favourite authors. Their ability to explore some of the darkest facets of the human condition with vulnerability and sharp critique, communicated through gorgeous prose that flits effortlessly from profound and poetic to casual and natural, has never failed to leave me devastated and moved. Solomon's characters are always layered and complex and flawed and deeply human, their identities often setting them apart, explorations of gender and sexuality and belonging as they reckon with abuse and oppression, sometimes fighting against it and others simply finding a way to survive.
Solomon's work is not for the faint of heart - they explore dark, disturbing themes and don't pull punches. But unfortunately, the world we live in is full of people hurting each other in many exceptionally distressing ways, and art exists to tease apart the intricacies of our experiences - good and evil and all the muddy amorphous grey spaces in between. It is this ambiguity in which Solomon shines; there is no easy answer, no perfectly wrapped up happily ever after tied with a bow. Their work is deeply nuanced, and that is the most compelling thing about it.
Model Home is a haunted-house story and a continuation of a tradition in my own personal reading lately of haunted houses as metaphor. This is a more personal approach to this trope: a haunting of one specific home, one particular family, and, in some ways, one single child. A Haunting that radiates, poisoning everything it touches, causing ripples that affect even the next generation. The haunting is not confined to the house but is a seed that has germinated in our protagonist's mind and heart.
Ezri is a genderqueer parent of a teenage daughter, Elijah, and grew up in a wealthy gated community in Texas with their two younger sisters and very successful parents - the only black family in a sea of whiteness. Ezri has returned to their childhood home after many years, only to find their parents dead. Their first instinct is to believe the house that haunted their childhood finally claimed them - but is that the whole truth?
Ezri has a complex relationship with their mother, whom they repeatedly refer to as God but who is also slowly revealed to be judgmental, withholding of love and affection, elitist, and somewhat cold. They describe their father as absent, if not physically, then certainly emotionally. But Ezri also has a nightmare mother - the woman without a face who haunts their memories and dreams. Is the nightmare mother a ghost? A personification of their childhood home? An alter ego of their true mother? Slowly, the tangled threads of twisted memories and trauma are unravelled, and we begin to learn the truth - not just about their parents' death but about what happened in their home all those years ago.
Dark, distressing, bleak, eerie, and unsettling, Solomon uses the haunted house to explore a complex family dynamic and the malleability of memory. This is an incredibly challenging book to read, emotionally, but it moved me in a way very few authors can - with some of the most devastatingly beautiful and piercing writing I've read.
Content warnings are included at the bottom of this review.
Spoilery additional thoughts:
(view spoiler)[ This particular haunted house is an act of racism and a metaphor for child abuse (and its resulting trauma). How does a child reckon with and rationalize what they suffer? Does believing that the harms perpetrated by average, everyday people are instead coming from a supernatural evil force make the pain easier to bear? To what lengths will average, well-to-do white people go to drive out the Black family that "doesn't belong" or "doesn't know their place"?
I had an inkling that the haunting wasn't supernatural in nature, but to be faced with the reality was another matter entirely. As a personification of the kind of evil twistedness born of white supremacy, and the monstrous evil that is the victimization of children, this story left me sick to my stomach and absolutely crushed for a young Ezri left to blame themself and live in terror - trying to save their younger sisters from suffering the same fate, while rearranging their reality in the only way their young mind could make sense of it. The lack of concern and care from their parents, the refusal to listen to and believe their children, the choice to stay out of stubbornness and pride over the safety and well-being of their family - this was devastating on so many levels. Even more so because this is not make-believe, but the reality of far too many children. Not just the victimization of children, but the way parents turn away from the dark truth, preferring to live in ignorance as their child suffers rather than face the reality that they were unable to protect them. No child deserves to live and grow up as Ezri did, and no child deserves a parent as traumatized as Ezri - unable to see how they are perpetuating a cycle and missing the signs of their own child being targeted and abused in turn.
The understanding that it is all too realistic that both of the child abusers in this story are unlikely to face justice left me full of rage and despair. A system that is unable or unwilling to protect children is a system broken to its very core.
The silver lining is the familial bond, strengthened and deepened by the revelation of the trauma they suffered as children. Siblings coming together to give each other the love, unconditional support, and belief they needed but didn't receive from their parents. The beginnings of healing for themselves and for their own children, giving us hope that the future will be better. (hide spoiler)]
*spoilers finished*
I feel drained and cracked open by this novel - a mess of broken, jagged edges - tender parts exposed to the harsh light of day. It took me months to finish this, and I'm not sure I'll ever wade through it again, but I'm grateful to have read it. Rivers Solomon is an auto-buy author for me at this point - though I require the extensive building of fortitude between their works to build the required resilience to survive them.
Trigger/Content Warnings: child sexual abuse, pedophilia, grooming, child abuse, neglect, blood, suicide, death, loss of parents, disassociation, racism, ableism, homophobia, homophobic slurs, anti-immigration rhetoric, eating disorders, dieting & diet culture
Rep: MC (Ezri) is Black and genderqueer and diagnosed with BPD, OSDD, NPD, C-PTSD, and GAD. Ezri's child, Elijah, is sapphic.
This book was so ridiculously cute and utterly charming! I need more romances with older characters because the nuance, maturity, and history added soThis book was so ridiculously cute and utterly charming! I need more romances with older characters because the nuance, maturity, and history added so much to their dynamic and the richness and depth of these characters. I love that we had a male bisexual and demisexual love interest, and while there is some biphobia in the book from family members, unfortunately, our female MC is nothing but incredibly supportive and lovely, and it was honestly super heartwarming and sweet.
I love the nerdiness of this book, the fact that they fell in love via video game, the silly little misunderstanding of their respective ages, and the development of their romance. It was so adorable; I was giggling and kicking my feet. I definitely need to read more books by this author because this was so up my alley. I highly recommend it!
Representation: FMC is Asian, MMC is demisexual and bisexual
Trigger/Content Warnings: misogyny, loss of parents, cancer, fatal car crash, divorce, misandry, verbal abuse, biphobia, bi erasure, homophobia, outing, and body shaming
"The first weapon I ever held was my mother's hand."
Let Us Descend is a stunningly written, dreamlike exploration of the realities of slavery through"The first weapon I ever held was my mother's hand."
Let Us Descend is a stunningly written, dreamlike exploration of the realities of slavery through the eyes of a young, grief-stricken girl who is set on a harrowing journey through ever-deepening circles of hell told in a style that is reminiscent of oral tradition and legend, drawing inspiration from Dante's Inferno.
Annis, our protagonist, lives in a world steeped in both the terrifying realities of slavery and the equally frightening, if less tangible, world of spirits. She is resilient, intelligent, and kind and constantly yearns for the human connection that is systematically and cruelly denied her at every turn.
With commentary on Western society's obsession with the morality of labour and rest, a bee motif that brings hope in times of darkness, and a narrative thoroughly steeped in grief—each word dripping with the aching pain of loss—Ward delivers a piece of literature that is in a league of its own, addressing the realities of slavery with an uncompromisingly blunt gaze.
This heart-wrenching novel will stay with me for a very long time.
“I don’t cover my ears. If she must bear it, the least I can do is bear witness.”
Representation: Black MC, bisexual MC (relationships with both a woman and a man on the page)
Trigger/Content Warnings: slavery, sexual assault, trafficking, murder, drowning, blood, confinement, violence, animal death, starvation, vomit, death, suicide attempt, pregnancy as a result of sexual assault, body horror
The story centres two characters from different generations and backgrounds, both grappling with their own personal challenges. One character is grievThe story centres two characters from different generations and backgrounds, both grappling with their own personal challenges. One character is grieving the loss of his spouse, feeling aimless and empty without his lifelong companion, while the other is dealing with her mother's mental illness and the weight of parentification on her shoulders. They strike up an unlikely friendship at a library, bonding over a shared list of books that not only connects them to each other but to several other characters in the story.
At first, I thought the premise seemed a bit cheesy—typical book club material, you know? But I was pleasantly surprised! The depth and authenticity of the characters really won me over. Their complexity and the genuine relationships they formed, especially through their shared reading experiences, resonated with me deeply. Despite my initial skepticism, I found myself emotionally invested in the story, shedding tears multiple times.
What I loved most were the characters and the central narrative about how reading and discussing books can bring people together, how literature can be a guiding light through difficult times, especially through grief (which was, sadly, my own experience a few months after reading this as I processed my own loss of a loved one through books). It was touching and heartfelt, and it reminded me of the power of literature to connect us not only to friends and family but to strangers we may never meet who have, despite wildly different circumstances, felt precisely the same range of human experiences and emotions that we have. We are not so different, and books can bridge the gap if we let them.
A beautiful book with a beautiful message that I would highly recommend!
Representation: Black & South Asian MCs
Trigger/Content Warnings: grief, self-harm, suicide, death, partner loss, loss of a sibling, mental illness, parentification, racism
This is, I believe, Medina’s debut novel, and while it’s certainly not perfectly written (the first half was just a touch slow and repetitive, while tThis is, I believe, Medina’s debut novel, and while it’s certainly not perfectly written (the first half was just a touch slow and repetitive, while the structure was a bit confusing and took some time to adjust to), Sisters of the Lost Nation is a very special book. This story is so much more than a horror novel, and marketing it that way does it a disservice. I loved Anna as a protagonist, I loved the exploration of coming to terms with their two-spirit identity, I loved several of the periphery characters like Gran and Robbie, and I found the central mystery focused on missing and murdered Indigenous women and girls absolutely heartbreaking and horrific. I was invested from the first page and rushed through the last half of the book, desperate to know if the girls were safe. The ending, which I won’t spoil, left me a blubbering mess - to the point that my husband was concerned, which says a lot considering how often I cry over just about anything, both happy and sad.
If you haven’t read this one yet, I highly recommend you pick it up - just maybe take a peak at the content warnings first to prepare yourself for the difficult subject matter. This novel hurts to read because it reflects the disturbing reality that Indigenous women and girls in North America face of a significantly higher rate of kidnapping, trafficking, and murder (in Canada, Indigenous people are six times more likely to be murdered than any other group), and there are not nearly enough resources allocated to finding these victims and persecuting the perpetrators.
I won’t forget this book any time soon, and I look forward to reading whatever Medina writes next.
Trigger/Content Warnings: bullying, self-harm, racism, vomit, transphobia, grief, sex trafficking, sexual assault, violence, murder, kidnapping, slut shaming, animal death, child sexual abuse, drug use
I began this book for my reading vlog for the Goodreads Choice Awards Horror Nominees: https://youtu.be/dVOamSxBvnk
Heartbreaking, devastating, and horrifying - yet also, somehow, hopeful. This was one of the best books I read in 2023.
The Reformatory is incredibly eHeartbreaking, devastating, and horrifying - yet also, somehow, hopeful. This was one of the best books I read in 2023.
The Reformatory is incredibly engaging, with well-drawn characters that make you root for them and worry for their safety from the first page. Robbie and Gloria were fantastic protagonists, and all I wanted was for them to be safe and together. Due doesn't shy away from the horrors of prisons for children masquerading as boarding schools, nor does she shy away from the realities of life in the South for Black people during the Jim Crow era.
While there is a supernatural element to this story, it is not the haints who are the true villains - it is humanity, the depravity of people who value power over other's lives, people who get pleasure from other's pain and suffering, and not just the evil among us - as Due states in the author's note, "The Reformatory has a central villain, but the actual villain is a system of dehumanization." While there are certainly truly villainous characters in his novel, and there are people in history who were horrible human beings who hurt people and are not without responsibility for what they've done, the true villain is the system of dehumanization that upholds a culture of violence. We even have a haunting moment in the novel where the villain thinks about how he would never have treated his dog the way he treated the boys at The Reformatory. It's devastating to think about the systemic dehumanization of groups of people, allowing not only truly monstrous human beings to perpetrate violence freely without punishment but also otherwise average people, people who do horrible things because society has brainwashed them into believing that certain people don't deserve as much respect as others, that some lives don't mean as much as others, aren't worth as much as others. And this isn't something that only happened historically, it's happening right now. There are groups of people who are so viciously dehumanized that their pain is not worth as much as others' pain; their deaths don't matter as much as other people's deaths; their lives don't have the same value as other lives, and it's heartbreaking watching it continue to happen. This book feels very timely in that aspect - bystanders and regular people are as much to blame for these systems of abuse and oppression as the sadistic monsters revelling in the power they give them over others.
An exhausting, gruelling, intense, and terrifying journey that moved me to tears more than once, The Reformatory will stay with me for a very long time.
This YA slasher had a promising start but slowly devolved into melodramatic cartoonish villainy and had a supremely questionable ending (seriously... This YA slasher had a promising start but slowly devolved into melodramatic cartoonish villainy and had a supremely questionable ending (seriously... THAT'S how it ends??)
I'm not the target audience for this, and it was certainly a quick and entertaining read, but don't go into this one with the expectation of serious or truly terrifying horror.
Like much of Baldwin’s work, Giovanni’s Room was written over half a century ago yet remains timeless and topical. An incredibly subversive work at thLike much of Baldwin’s work, Giovanni’s Room was written over half a century ago yet remains timeless and topical. An incredibly subversive work at the time, Baldwin used his own experiences as a young gay American man living in Paris to explore the complex dynamics within the gay community of the time, full of contradictions and conflict, freedom and strict roles.
Baldwin wanted, perhaps most of all, to examine the multitude of ways that shame and self-hatred can steal our joy, leaving us alone and full of regret. His protagonist, David, is so afraid of being vulnerable, of being anything other than the paragon of 1950s maleness, that he can never allow himself to open up to another person and accept their love. Giovanni challenges his understanding of relationships, domesticity, and masculinity - and rather than embracing a new way to live, a way that could, perhaps, lead to a bliss he had yet to experience, David pushes it all away - runs back to what feels safe and familiar, hurting multiple people in the process. David believed that escaping to Europe would allow him to break free of the indoctrination of toxic masculinity and to accept himself in a way he couldn’t manage at home in America. Still, it turns out that no matter where you go, there you are, and what he’s running from is so internalized and so part of who he is at a fundamental level that without deconstructing that foundation, doing that work, simply arriving in a different place with different norms, laws, and freedoms won’t be enough.
David is a deeply unlikeable yet profoundly human protagonist, flawed and stuck in his ways, yearning for a change he can’t bring himself to ask for. He can’t let go of what he thinks his life should look like, even when that means losing the (possible) love of his life.
Giovanni’s Room is a poetic and profound exploration of identity and coming to terms with your true self, gender norms and expectations and how they intersect with sexuality and shame. This is a melancholic reverie, full of grief and regret for what could have been. There is also commentary on aging, xenophobia and the mistreatment of immigrants, misogyny within the gay community, abuse of power within gay relationships, and much more. A fever dream, a reminiscence of a whirlwind romance after it’s been snuffed out.
Trigger/Content Warnings: homophobia (including the internalized variety), transphobia, death, murder, sexual assault, misogyny, suicidal ideation, toxic relationship, xenophobia
I read Parable of the Sower with my book club last year, and while I rated it five stars and immediately knew I would read the sequel, I also knew I nI read Parable of the Sower with my book club last year, and while I rated it five stars and immediately knew I would read the sequel, I also knew I needed a period of at least six business months to mentally and emotionally prepare myself for it.
Finally, the day came, and I girded my loins and dove in - and my god, was Butler an absolute one-of-a-kind writing talent lost too soon.
Parable of the Talents proves to be as challenging a read as its predecessor, yet just as impactful, delving into themes of societal collapse, survival, and religious oppression.
As the narrative unfurls, it grows increasingly distressing, particularly due to its portrayal of religious extremism and the hypocrisy of those committing atrocities in the name of god. Despite the discomfort it evokes, this series is so profoundly relevant to our time and the societal issues we are currently facing and attempting to combat. This is a thoroughly thought-provoking duology, and I only wish that those who desperately need its message would be open to reading it.
Despite the heartbreaking events throughout the novel, I came away from this instalment surprisingly hopeful. Parable of the Talents is a brilliantly crafted novel deserving of high praise, and I only wish Butler was still with us to share her wisdom and foresight when we need it most.
Watch me read and review Parable of the Talents on my YouTube channel (including a spoiler section): https://youtu.be/p05Qpz3oa48
Representation: characters are racially diverse, and all POV characters are Black. There are also sapphic relationships, though specific identities are not on the page.
Trigger/Content Warnings: slavery, child abuse, sex trafficking, sexual assault, child sexual abuse, child prostitution, child murder, pedophilia, murder, violence, suicidal ideation and suicide, death, child death, loss of parents, loss of a sibling, partner loss, loss of children/infants, pregnancy (including unwanted pregnancies as a result of sexual assault), miscarriage, fire death, kidnapping, police brutality, religious persecution, religious bigotry, homophobia, child labour, climate change
I enjoyed the first instalment of this duology, a post-apocalyptic thriller with horror elements and a lot of heart, so I was very excited to learn thI enjoyed the first instalment of this duology, a post-apocalyptic thriller with horror elements and a lot of heart, so I was very excited to learn that Rice would be writing a sequel. Perhaps my hopes were a little too high, but I found Moon of the Turning Leaves very slow to start, with little tension or stakes (especially compared to its predecessor). It took me quite a while to remember all of the characters and get into the groove of the story, which was a much quieter take on the post-apocalyptic genre with a more meandering, almost cozy quality to it. There are definitely still a few thriller-esque elements to this one, but I wouldn't classify it as horror or thriller at all; more like near-future science fiction.
That being said, I enjoyed this book for what it was, even if my expectations were not aligned with the reality of what this story was trying to do. I loved reading about the beauty of my home province (Ontario, Canada) and felt the character development was excellent. I quickly became very attached to the characters and invested in their survival, and loved the themes of reclaiming Indigenous culture, language, and community, as well as the hopeful tone.
Trigger/Content Warnings: cannibalism, animal death, injury detail, suicide, grief, racism, sexual harassment, murder, gun violence, blood, gore
I read all ten finalists in the sci-fi category of the GoodReads Choice Awards for a reading vlog! Watch it here: https://youtu.be/n6kBSG7po9Y
Lone Women took an intriguing concept (the horror of being a lone Black woman on the desolate frontier at the turn of the century), made it overly comLone Women took an intriguing concept (the horror of being a lone Black woman on the desolate frontier at the turn of the century), made it overly complicated by adding too many characters and storylines, revealed the most intriguing mystery far too soon, and then let it all fall apart in the second half.
I was hooked from the first chapter but quickly began to lose interest once LaValle revealed what was in the trunk. There were far too many diverging storylines that didn’t get satisfying conclusions; the thematic content felt muddled, the chapters were extremely short (a pet peeve of mine), the desolate and lonely landscape was so full of people that I constantly forgot it was meant to be desolate and lonely at all, and worst of all, for me, the characters felt flat and underdeveloped.
Still, I didn’t hate this novel, nor am I upset I spent my time on it. There was some lovely writing, the exploration of family dynamics, responsibility, and secrets was intriguing (if somewhat kneecapped by the trunk reveal), and I loved Sam.
This wasn’t the book for me, but I am very curious to read more of LaValle’s work.
Trigger/Content Warnings: Violence, Blood, Murder, Racism, Transphobia, Child Murder, Loss of Parents, Animal Death, Gore, Confinement, Neglect
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