More Than Enough

 Anna Quindlen

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

Genre: Contemporary Fiction

Initial Impression

This is the first time I’ve read anything by this author, so I had no idea what to expect. The synopsis of the story sounded truly interesting and not something I have read in the past.

Summary
The story centers on Polly Goodman, a New York City English teacher in her forties who’s built a pretty comfortable, if somewhat rigid, life for herself. Everything seems settled until a birthday DNA test throws a wrench into things by revealing a close relative she didn't know existed. It’s a classic setup, but instead of turning into a fast-paced thriller, it's more of a slow-burn look at a personal identity crisis.

Most of the book follows Polly’s everyday grind—juggling classes at an all-girls school, heading to her usual book club meetings, and coming home to her husband, Mark. On the surface, it’s all very "civilized," but Quindlen uses that routine to peek at the messy stuff underneath: the lingering sting of infertility, old heartbreaks, and that nagging question of who we actually are when our biological history is a blank slate.

Characters
Polly is... well, she’s a lot. She’s thoughtful and compassionate, sure, but she spends so much time stuck in her own head that I found myself wanting to give her a bit of a nudge. Her anxiety about aging and her longing for a child feel incredibly raw and honest, but there were moments where I felt like I was reading her diary entries rather than watching a story happen. She can feel less like a person in motion and more like a landing pad for big "Life Lessons."

The author did a good job with some of the side characters. The women in the book club each has her own set of problems, and their different paths in life act as a "what if" mirror for Polly. On the other hand, Mark is just the "perfect" husband. He’s kind, steady, and always there. Honestly, he might be too perfect. He lacks that messy, human friction that would make him feel like a three-dimensional partner rather than just a supportive backdrop.

The Pacing and the Writing

Anna Quindlen's prose is lyrical and carries this gentle weight to it. That said, the pacing is likely to be a drawback for some readers. It was for me. Despite the book being less than 300 pages, it took me some time to get into it and finish it. There are these massive stretches of internal monologue that, while beautiful, definitely stall the engine. It’s the kind of book you read for the sentences, not necessarily because you’re dying to know what happens on the next page.

The Setting

New York is handled well here, too. It’s not the "Sex and the City" version; it’s a lived-in, slightly weary version of the city that feels like a natural extension of Polly’s personality. It’s subdued, a bit

melancholy, and stays pretty much at that one emotional frequency throughout.

Final Thoughts
More Than Enough is a solid, emotionally intelligent look at the things we don't usually say out loud. Quindlen did a great job capturing that specific mid-life realization that life didn't turn out exactly how you planned. This is very relevant to us when we hope for something, and the result is something else.

However, the book’s greatest strength—its restraint—is also its biggest flaw. It’s so quiet that it occasionally risks being forgettable. Sometimes I felt the author wanted to expand many subplots inside a constrained number of pages. If you’re into deep character studies and don't mind a plot that moves at a walking pace, you’ll probably find a lot to love. If you’re looking for a "hook" or a big dramatic payoff, this might feel a bit thin. I'd give it a 3/5: well-crafted and sincere, but it didn't exactly set my hair on fire.

Many thanks to NetGalley and the publishers for the ARC of this book. 

Key Themes

• Identity and Self Discovery
• Family, Chosen & Biological
• Infertility and Motherhood
• Aging
• Memory Loss
• Female Friendship

Gone With the Wind

 Margaret Mitchell

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Classics + Historical Fiction + Romance

Initial Impression

I watched the movie adaptation many years ago and loved it, but I never read this classic. So this is the first time I read it. I didn’t rush in reading the story and took my time to read and digest every chapter of this very long story. 

Summary

Gone with the Wind is essentially a massive, sweeping look at Scarlett O’Hara—a character who is, frankly, pretty difficult to like at first. She’s a headstrong young woman raised in the lap of luxury on a Georgia plantation right as the American Civil War is about to tear everything apart. The biggest disadvantage of watching the movie adaptation before reading the book is that it becomes too difficult to imagine Scarlett as anybody but Vivien Leigh. 

The book kicks off at Tara, her family’s estate, and it doesn't take long to realize Scarlett is completely fixated on Ashley Wilkes. He’s a "gentleman" in the traditional sense, but he’s also frustratingly indecisive. It’s this unrequited crush that really drives the early plot, setting up a story that's less about moonlight and roses and more about what happens when societal upheaval hits a person who isn't used to hearing the word "no."

When the war actually starts, Scarlett’s life doesn't just change, it evaporates. You see the South go from this gilded, comfortable existence to a place defined by blockades and total economic collapse. It’s gritty. And it is a picture that shows us no war would do any good for anybody. I really wish warmongers learned that!

Scarlett deals with actual starvation and loss, and this is where the book gets interesting. She stops being a "belle" and starts being a survivor. It is a bigger transformation for her character. She’s often pretty ruthless and makes some morally questionable choices just to keep the roof over her head at Tara, but you can’t help but respect the decisions she made.

Then there’s Rhett Butler. He’s pragmatic, a bit of a rogue, and seems to be the only person who actually sees through Scarlett’s act. Again hard to think of or picture him as anybody but Clark Gable! Their relationship is a mess of pride and misunderstandings, but it’s arguably one of the most intense dynamics in literature. 

It’s a long road through the war and the Reconstruction era, and by the end, Scarlett is barely recognizable compared to the girl at the start. It ends on a note that I’d call "bittersweet," though "haunting" might be more accurate. It leaves you thinking about what she actually gained versus what she lost along the way. And that we should be grateful for what we have instead of feeling miserable over things that we don’t own. 

The Characters

Margaret Mitchell really leaned into the "flawed protagonist" trope before it was cool. Scarlett is selfish and impulsive, but that’s why she feels real. If she were perfect, the book would be boring. Her growth feels earned because it’s forced upon her by genuine trauma. 

Rhett, Ashley, and Melanie serve as these different pillars of how people handle a world full of sickness and death. Melanie, in particular, acts as a fascinating foil to Scarlett’s cynicism. Even the smaller roles, like Mammy, Prissy, or Scarlett's father, Gerald, feel like they have a history. They aren't just background noise; they represent the specific values and quirks of a society that was being systematically dismantled.

Writing, Atmosphere, and Setting

The writing is lush, maybe even a bit over-the-top at times, but it paints a very clear picture. It’s written in the third person, which gives you this cinematic, bird’s-eye view of Atlanta burning or the quiet tension of a dinner party. The atmosphere is really good, and that same atmosphere was beautifully depicted in the movie as well. 

As for the setting, the South in this book is almost like a character itself. The author goes into lots of details, whether it is the cultural norms or the physical landscape. She successfully created this heavy atmosphere of nostalgia mixed with a lot of tension. You really feel that sense of loss as Scarlett’s world crumbles, but the book manages to balance that with her sheer refusal to give up.

Final Thoughts

It took me a while to finish the book, but that was really worth it. I’d give it a solid five stars, mainly because it manages to be a massive historical epic without losing the intimate, messy emotional stuff. It’s a story about ambition and love, but it’s also a bit of a cautionary tale about pride.

People always ask if they should just watch the movie. Look, the film is a visual masterpiece, and the performances are iconic, but it honestly skips over a lot of the psychological depth you get in the pages. The book lets you sit with Scarlett’s internal monologues and gives a much more nuanced (and sometimes darker) look at the South’s transformation. It’s a long read, but it’s one of those "timeless" stories for a reason. It’s a lot more complicated than the book cover makes it look.

Key Themes

• Survival and Resilience
• Love and Desire
• Social Change and Class
• Pride and Identity
• War and Its Consequences
• Memory and Nostalgia

How to Kill a Guy in Ten Dates

 Shailee Thompson

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Horror + Romance

Initial Impression

The synopsis sounded really good, and it was the perfect book for the season, so I decided to give it a try and see how entertaining it is.

Summary

Jamie Prescott is basically every film student I knew in college—she’s doing her PhD on the overlap between rom-coms and slasher flicks. Her academic life and real life have a head-on collision when she and her best friend, Laurie, hit up a speed-dating event. It’s supposed to be a night of bad small talk and cheap street food, but then the power goes out. When it comes back on, Jamie’s date is dead at the table with his throat slit. Talk about a bad first impression.

From there, the doors are deadbolted, and a masked killer Jamie calls "Heart Eyes" starts picking everyone off. Jamie has to use her mental library of horror tropes just to stay alive. The plot gets even weirder when it seems the murders aren't random; the killer appears to be "courting" her, trying to turn her into his "Final Girl." She ends up in this bizarre romantic triangle with the other survivors—including a guy named Wes who is definitely suspicious—and she has to figure out if she’s the leading lady or just the next victim.

Characters

Jamie is... a lot. She’s got a "smart mouth" and a total obsession with cinema that makes her a fun narrator, but I’ll be honest: her constant meta-commentary on movie rules can get a little irritating. It is hard for me to believe that during such a horrific time, one would think about what had happened in a certain movie! At times, she feels less like a real person and more like a tool for the author to show off horror movie trivia. Luckily, her friend Laurie is there to act as a foil. She’s a "documentary-lover" and much more grounded, which balances out Jamie’s more theatrical vibes.

The rest of the cast, including the "mysterious" Wes, mostly feel like archetypes. Wes is described as a "wolf in Bill Pullman clothing," which is a vibe, but since the killing spree moves so fast, it’s hard to get attached to anyone. Most of them are gone before you even learn their last names.

Writing Style

Shailee Thompson writes in this fast-paced, first-person style that’s honestly pretty addictive. It’s witty, self-aware, and reads like a love letter to the genre. It will be interesting to see where the author will go from here. Will she concentrate on horror or romance? I guess time will tell about her future plans.

Setting and Atmosphere

Most of the action happens in a multi-level nightclub, which turns into a total death trap. The shift from the "red velvet" basement to the creepy, quiet upper floors makes the whole thing feel like an isolated stage play. While the author has done a good job with the setting, I feel the atmosphere was a bit lacking for me. I enjoy horror stories to be chilling and atmospheric. This story had the action but lacked the proper atmosphere. One of the reasons must be the movie trivia that the main character was obsessed with. I feel that would make you feel this story is more of a parody slasher film like “Scary Movie”. If that was the goal of the author, to make it a parody, she has succeeded.  

Final Thoughts

Overall, it’s a fun debut. A fun mixture of survival instincts with romantic ones. It’s smart, but maybe too smart for its own good sometimes. All the trope-referencing can occasionally pull you out of the story just when things are getting dangerous.

I’m giving it a 3-star rating. It’s high on concept and wit, but it lacks the emotional weight to make the stakes feel "real." Still, if you’re a cinephile looking for a light, "criminally addictive" weekend read, this is probably right up your alley.

Many thanks to NetGalley and the publishers for the ARC of this book. 

Key Themes

• The Intersection of Horror and Romance
• Survival Through Tropes and "Rules"
• The "Final Girl" Archetype
• Dating as a "Dangerous Pastime"
• Reality vs. Performance

Thebes at War

 Naguib Mahfouz

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Historical Fiction

Initial Impression

This is the third historical novel by Naguib Mahfouz. I have read his first two, and this didn’t disappoint and was worth the wait and reading. 

Summary

Naguib Mahfouz’s Thebes at War drops us into a pretty bleak era of Egyptian history. We aren't looking at the height of the Empire here; instead, the North is under Hyksos occupation, and Thebes is essentially a wounded animal backed into a corner. What I found striking right away wasn't the sound of swords clashing, but the silence. There’s this heavy, bruised atmosphere where the Egyptians are paying tribute to foreign kings and just… waiting. It’s not exactly an "action-packed" start, but that slow simmer of humiliation makes the eventual pushback feel much more authentic.

The story follows the young prince Ahmose (of course, this is 10 years after the background story and what happens to his grandfather, the pharaoh of Thebes), and his "coming of age" is actually pretty frustrating at times. He isn't your typical proactive protagonist who has it all figured out. He spends a lot of time watching, absorbing the anxiety of his elders, and honestly, he seems a bit paralyzed by the weight of it all. His growth isn't a straight line to glory; it’s more of a jagged path shaped by losing people he cares about. It makes you realize that in Mahfouz’s world, leadership isn't something you’re born with. It’s something the world beats into you.

When the resistance finally starts, it’s less about "glory for the gods" and more about the gritty, messy necessity of survival. I appreciated that the victory doesn't feel like a clean Hollywood ending. By the final pages, sure, Egypt is "free," but there’s this lingering sense that the scars—both political and emotional—aren’t going anywhere. It leaves you wondering if things can ever really go back to how they were before the occupation.

Characters

The character work here is... interesting. It's very restrained. Ahmose is great because he’s allowed to be fallible—he second-guesses himself and makes bad calls, which is a relief to read. On the other hand, the side characters, be it the generals and advisors, can feel a bit like chess pieces. They represent "loyalty" or "ambition" more than they feel like people you’d grab a drink with. That said, I suspect Mahfouz did this on purpose. When the fate of a civilization is on the line, maybe the individual personalities are supposed to feel a bit dwarfed by the scale of history.

Writing Style

If you’re looking for flowery, descriptive prose about golden pyramids and glittering jewelry, this probably isn't the book for you. Mahfouz writes with a kind of "classical" distance. It’s calm, measured, and doesn't lean into melodrama. Sometimes it feels a little cold, like you're reading a very poetic history textbook, but it fits the gravity of the subject. He doesn’t over-explain what a palace looks like; he’s much more interested in what’s being whispered in the hallways. This is not his writing style in this book only, but in all his other books that I’ve read so far. I’m very familiar by now with what he focuses on. 

Atmosphere

The atmosphere is just... heavy. There’s a persistent feeling of "waiting for the other shoe to drop." It’s a slow burn, for sure. If you need a plot that moves at 100 mph, you might find yourself checking how many pages are left, but if you like that feeling of mounting tension, it works. I liked the silence and the way the author contrasted the initial silence before the storm, and the big noise that followed the start of the liberation war.

Final Thoughts

I’m landing at a four-star rating. It’s one of those books I think I respect more than I actually loved. Mahfouz is clearly aiming for a deep dive into the psychology of how a nation gathers its strength after being beaten down, and he hits that mark. The important thing is that this book remains VERY RELEVANT today. I was in the middle of reading it when the news broke that “you know who” had bombed another country and kidnapped their president so he could steal their oil in the most disgusting way that one can ever think of. 

For that main reason, I’d suggest picking this up if you’re into historical fiction that prioritizes reflection over big cinematic battles. It might not grab you by the throat in the first chapter, and the emotional distance might keep you at arm’s length, but it’s worth the time and tells you that those who rise on greed will have to fall on their nose. The fall is not a matter of if, but when. The novel makes you think about how people—and nations—finally decide that they’ve had enough of being told what to do.

Key Themes

• Occupation and National Humiliation
• Resistance as a Moral Necessity
• The Slow Formation of Leadership
• Identity and the Birth of Nationhood
• Power, Legitimacy, and Responsibility
• War Without Glory
• Sacrifice and Its Lasting Cost
• Patience as a Form of Survival
• History Shaping the Individual
• Freedom Shadowed by Uncertainty

Small Boat

 Vincent Delecroix

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Literary Fiction

Initial Impression

I love literary fiction. When I saw this book on NetGalley, I decided to grab it and see for myself how good it is, based on the many reviews. 

Summary

So, Small Boat starts off with this almost painfully simple scene: a tiny inflatable boat loaded with migrants, cutting across the English Channel at night. It’s immediately clear that this isn’t going to be some romantic adventure. The people on board—Kurds, Africans, women, and all different nationalities and different ages—are just trying to survive. You can almost feel the weight of desperation in every cramped, cold, wet inch of that boat. And honestly, it hits differently knowing that this isn’t fiction, but something that truly happened. It feels like it could happen again tomorrow.

Then the story shifts in a way that kind of surprised me. We meet a French coast guard officer, who’s under investigation for the deaths of twenty-seven migrants. Suddenly, the narrative becomes her voice—defensive, philosophical, self-justifying—and you’re stuck inside her head. It’s uncomfortable, but in a way that works. You start to notice that the tragedy isn’t just about the people on the boat; it’s also about the systems and bureaucracies that quietly allow this kind of thing to happen.

The plot of this story doesn’t rely on twists or dramatic revelations. Instead, it lingers on important questions like accountability, empathy, and how human lives are reduced to numbers in reports. The officer is constantly circling around guilt, but never quite landing on it. You can almost hear her convincing herself as much as anyone else.

By the time you finish, you’re left with this lingering, heavy feeling. The book doesn’t let you off easy. The horror isn’t just in the drownings, but in the casual way the world seems to shrug and move on. It’s a bit bleak, but it also makes you think in a way most books don’t. This was a boat, and we have already seen how a whole civilization was starved and bombed day and night, with all the superpowers shamelessly repeating, “XYZ has the right to defend itself.” This book highlights an example of the world we are living in. 

Characters

The migrants themselves are barely sketched out, which I’ll admit frustrated me at first. But then I realized that might be the point: they’re supposed to be anonymous, swallowed by the systems that erase their individuality. There are little flashes, but nothing is fully fleshed out. And weirdly, that made them linger in my head more than if we’d gotten full backstories.

The coast guard officer, on the other hand, is front and center, and she’s… complicated, cold, defensive, and sometimes philosophical to the point of pretension. I hated her at times, but I also found myself fascinated. She’s not a cartoon villain; she’s a product of a system that teaches you to numb yourself to human suffering just to function. Like, just do your job. Watching her dodge responsibility is uncomfortable in a way that sticks with you.

Writing Style

Delecroix writes in this stripped-down, almost minimalist way that’s kind of relentless. It’s mostly the officer’s first-person monologue, which pulls you inside her head but also makes it feel claustrophobic. The sentences are sometimes short, clipped, or repetitive, which at first annoyed me, but then it started to make sense. You can see her circling around guilt, hesitating, and rationalizing. The style itself becomes part of the story’s tension.

Setting

The English Channel looms over everything, not so much as a backdrop but almost like another character. Calm, cold, indifferent. It’s like the sea itself is judging no one, letting tragedy happen anyway. The French beach where the migrants leave from feels deliberately anonymous, as if such an event could happen anywhere, to anyone. That vagueness makes it hit harder, I think.

Atmosphere

The atmosphere is really heavy. There’s this constant tension between real human suffering and the sterile, procedural way institutions treat it. You will find yourself trapped, not by walls, but by the officer’s rationalizations, her self-justifying monologue. Even though the sea is wide and open, the story somehow manages to be more claustrophobic.

Final Thoughts

I’d give Small Boat four stars. It’s not exactly a feel-good read, and it might frustrate some people with its clipped style and evasive narrator. But honestly, that’s kind of the point. Delecroix wants you to sit with discomfort, and he doesn’t let you escape. There’s a sharpness to it that stays with you long after you close the book.

That said, sometimes the minimalism feels like it works against the story. The migrants remain faceless, which risks the very erasure the book is trying to critique. Still, the questions it raises about empathy, accountability, and human indifference linger in a way most novels don’t. Not an easy recommendation, but if you’re up for sitting with unease for a while, it’s worth it.

Many thanks to NetGalley and the publishers for the ARC of this book. 

Key Themes

• Human Desperation and Survival
• Bureaucracy and Institutional Detachment
• Guilt and Moral Responsibility
• The Erasure of Individual Identity
• Isolation and Vulnerability
• Mortality and the Unpredictability of Life
• Empathy and Its Limits

Horns

 Joe Hill

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Horror

Initial Impression

I had this book for such a long time. I accidentally watched the movie a few years ago without realizing it was an adaptation. Thankfully, other than the horns, I don’t remember much from the story. 

Summary

Ignatius Perrish wakes up after a night of heavy drinking to find horns growing out of his head. Not metaphorical ones—actual, curling horns that itch and throb and refuse to go away. What’s worse is how people start behaving around him. Friends, strangers, police officers, and baristas—everyone suddenly feels compelled to confess their darkest impulses in his presence. Desires they barely admit to themselves spill out casually, sometimes cruelly, often grotesquely. Ig, already the prime suspect in his girlfriend Merrin’s unsolved murder, realizes that whatever these horns are, they’ve turned him into something unnatural.

As Ig navigates this strange new reality, the story moves back and forth between the present—where the horns grant him a disturbing kind of power—and the past, where his relationship with Merrin slowly unfolds. Their love story isn’t idealized or syrupy. It’s awkward, tender, sometimes petty, and painfully human. Those flashbacks work to remind us that Merrin was not just a victim in a crime but a fully formed person, someone with agency and contradictions of her own.

Meanwhile, the horns do more than force confessions. They seem to sharpen Ig’s understanding of human weakness. People don’t shy away from telling him all that is going on in their minds; they fully open up to him. Violence, lust, and cruelty hover close to the surface, and Ig becomes both observer and catalyst. There’s an uneasy question running underneath it all: are the horns revealing the truth about humanity, or are they warping it?

As the mystery of Merrin’s death comes back into focus, the novel slides toward something darker and more overtly supernatural. What begins as a strange curse story starts to resemble a revenge tale, with biblical overtones and moral ambiguity. Ig’s transformation, both physical and psychological, forces the reader to ask whether justice, vengeance, and corruption can even be separated anymore.

Characters

Ig Perrish is a compelling lead, though not always a comfortable one to follow. His grief feels genuine, messy, and occasionally ugly. He isn’t written as a noble sufferer; he’s angry, impulsive, and sometimes cruel, which makes his arc feel earned rather than manufactured. The horns don’t magically fix him, but they also amplify parts of him that were already there. That tension between who he was and who he’s becoming is likely the novel’s strongest character work.

The supporting cast is a mixed bag, though intentionally so. Many characters exist to expose a single vice or hypocrisy once the horns loosen their tongues, which can feel a little on-the-nose. Still, figures like Merrin and Lee Tourneau stand out. Merrin, especially, is given enough depth in the flashbacks that her absence feels heavy, not just narratively useful. Lee’s role, without spoiling too much, adds an unsettling layer about belief, entitlement, and the stories people tell themselves to justify terrible acts.

Writing Style

Joe Hill’s writing is sharp but not showy. The novel is written in third-person narration, closely aligned with Ig’s perspective, which allows for both intimacy and distance when needed. One moment you’re reading about casual small-town routines, the next about something deeply unsettling, described almost offhandedly. The humor is dark and occasionally juvenile, but it mostly works because it feels intentional rather than careless. As the first time reading something by him, I was pleasantly surprised by his storytelling methods.

Setting and Atmosphere

The story is set in a small New England town that feels claustrophobic in the way only familiar places can. People know each other, or at least think they do, until they don’t! Forests, bars, churches, and childhood homes recur often, grounding the supernatural elements in recognizably ordinary spaces.

Atmosphere-wise, Horns leans hard into discomfort. There’s a general and continuous unease, like something is really wrong and absurd beneath the surface of polite society, which seems to be just a superficial show. The book doesn’t rush to scare you outright; instead, it lets dread accumulate through confessions, quiet cruelty, and moral slippage. It’s less about jump scares and more about the slow realization that people might be worse than the demons haunting them.

Final Thoughts

At four stars, Horns is a strong, flawed, and memorable novel. The first 25% of the book is easily its strongest stretch. The concept is fresh, the emotional hook lands quickly, and watching Ig test the limits of his curse is genuinely gripping. There’s a rawness early on that feels both angry and curious, like the book itself is still figuring out how far it wants to go.

That said, I think that the constant shifts between past and present do slow the momentum. While the flashbacks add emotional weight and a good background story, their frequency sometimes breaks the tension, taking my mind out of the current tension. It’s like when something becomes really exciting, the author decides to cool things down again.  Regardless of all of this, the novel is thought-provoking. It may not fully stick there for everyone, but it leaves behind uncomfortable questions that tend to linger longer than clean answers.

Key Themes

• Truth and Confession
• Guilt, Innocence, and Moral Ambiguity
• Love and Loss
• Power and Corruption
• Faith, Devils, and Moral Hypocrisy

The Astonishing Color of After

 Emily X.R. Pan

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐
Genre: Magical Realism + Young Adult

Initial Impression

This was one of my Book of the Month book releases. For no particular reason, this novel sat on my shelf for a long time. I was eager to see if the story lived up to the hype and the praise the book and the author received. 

Summary

The Astonishing Color of After opens so strongly that, for a moment, I genuinely thought I’d found a new all-time favorite. Leigh’s grief, her mother’s death, and the surreal appearance of a red bird that she believes is her mother, all of it hits with an intensity that feels almost electric. The opening chapters mix emotion and magical realism in a way that feels fresh, like the book is promising something huge. I was fully ready for a 5-star ride.

As Leigh travels to Taiwan to learn more about her mother’s past, the story appears to be heading toward an emotional and cultural breakthrough. And at first, parts of it work; there’s something fascinating about watching her try to connect the dots between her mother’s memories and the life she never got to see. But soon the narrative gets stuck in a kind of loop. Scenes start to feel like variations of the same moment—Leigh wandering, remembering, questioning, wandering again. It’s not that nothing happens; it’s that what does happen often feels like a repeat of what happened fifty pages earlier.

The relationships in Leigh’s life—her father, her best friend, and the boy who might be something more—add some texture, but even these threads start circling around the same emotional points. I kept waiting for a shift, a real push forward, but the story hesitates so often that the momentum just slips away. What was riveting at first slowly becomes predictable, like being stuck in a dream that keeps resetting before it reaches the part you actually want to see.

Still, there are moments that stand out. Some memories from Leigh’s mother’s life are sharp and genuinely touching, and the cultural atmosphere of Taiwan sometimes brings the story back to life for a few pages. Those little bursts remind you of how powerful the book could have been if the pacing didn’t keep sagging. It never regains the spark of the beginning, but the emotional core peeks through every now and then.

Characters

Leigh herself is probably the strongest part of the book. She’s messy, confused, and trying desperately to make sense of a tragedy, and her emotional swings feel believable. Even when the plot stalls, her internal struggle still has moments that feel painfully real—especially the guilt she carries about her mother’s death and the way she keeps revisiting old memories from different angles.

The rest of the cast is less defined. Some characters appear with hints of complexity but then fade out before they become fully formed. Leigh’s father, for example, seems like he could have a meaningful arc, but he spends a lot of time drifting at the edges. Friends and extended family members show glimpses of personality, but the book rarely gives them enough space to feel like actual people. It’s as if they’re meant to support Leigh’s journey without really having journeys of their own.

Writing Style

The novel is written in a lyrical first-person style that leans heavily on imagery. You have colors, sensations, and fleeting thoughts. At its best, it’s gorgeous and atmospheric. But the same poetic tone that makes the beginning feel magical also slows things down later on. The writing wanders, sometimes beautifully, sometimes aimlessly, and that may contribute to the feeling that the plot keeps circling instead of progressing.

Setting and Atmosphere

Taiwan is probably one of the book’s biggest strengths. Emily X.R. Pan writes about the country with obvious affection, from temples buzzing with incense to small alley shops to humid streets lit by neon signs. The sense of place feels real and specific enough that you can almost picture Leigh getting lost in those neighborhoods at night. Still, a few scenes linger longer than they need to, and the setting starts to feel more decorative than essential in certain stretches.

The atmosphere begins with this heavy, almost dreamlike quality that mixes grief with magic. For a while, it’s spellbinding. Then the repetition kicks in, and the mood shifts from haunting to slightly numbing. You can feel what the author wanted the atmosphere to do—hold you in that vulnerable space between reality and memory, but the longer the story repeats its beats, the more the initial spell thins out.

Final Thoughts

I honestly wish I could give this book a higher rating, because those opening chapters are some of the best I’ve read in a long time. They’re emotional without being manipulative, and they set up a story that feels like it’s going to hit hard. But somewhere along the way, the book starts spinning in circles. Every time I thought it was about to land another emotional punch, it backed away into another round of wandering or reflection.

By the end, I wasn’t angry or disappointed so much as tired. The beauty is still there, maybe scattered or even fragile, but the pacing doesn’t support it, and the story’s emotional payoff never quite arrives. It’s a 3-star read for me: a book with a phenomenal beginning, a heartfelt core, and a middle and end that just couldn’t keep the spark alive.

Key Themes

• Grief and Loss
• Memory and the Unreliable Nature of It
• Family Secrets and Generational Trauma
• Identity and Self-Discovery
• Culture and Heritage
• Mental Health
• Magical Realism|
• Communication