Shari Creates

Books, languages, things I make and notes from everyday life.

Tag: Book review

  • Anathema

    Anathema

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    Maevyth Bronwick enters the forbidden Eating Woods in search of her banished sister and crosses into Aethyria, a dark world of magic, curses, and dangerous creatures. There she meets Zevander Rydainn, a centuries-old assassin whose curse may be tied to Maevyth’s blood, binding their fates together in ways neither of them expected.

    I picked up Anathema because I was in the mood for dark fantasy romance, and Zevander sounded exactly like the sort of hero I usually like — cold, dangerous and not particularly friendly.

    The story follows Maevyth Bronwick, who lives in Foxglove Parish, where everyone knows not to go near Witch Knell, otherwise known as the Eating Woods. People who are banished there don’t come back. Then Maevyth’s sister, Aleysia, is banished into the woods, and Maevyth goes after her. That takes her somewhere she definitely wasn’t expecting to end up: beyond the mortal world and into Aethyria, where she meets Zevander Rydainn, known as the Scorpion. He is a centuries-old assassin carrying a curse, and Maevyth’s blood may be the key to breaking it.

    So naturally, he can’t simply get rid of her. Not to mention that he was totally into her. 😂 Apparently mortals smell rather deliciously like oranges to the immortals of Aethyria. The problem is that mortals are also associated with disease, which is one of the reasons crossing between their worlds is rather complicated.

    This was actually a very interesting setup for me because their relationship doesn’t begin with romance. Zevander has a practical reason to keep Maevyth alive, while Maevyth has her own reason for wanting to get back to the mortal world. And this is where Maevyth and I eventually began to have problems.

    Initially, I really liked her. She seemed level-headed, sensible, observant and surprisingly capable considering the horrible environment she had grown up in. Then Aleysia was involved and suddenly, to me, all reason went out the window. I understand loving your sister. I understand wanting to know what happened to her. But Maevyth had just entered a forest where she had literally watched a monster tear the flesh off Uncle Riftyn. She barely escaped with her own life, somehow managed to cross into an entirely magical world, and Aleysia was trapped on the other side with that creature approaching her.

    At that point, what would a sane and reasonable person realistically think had happened to Aleysia? Because my assumption would not be, “She’s probably fine. I just need to get back there.” To me, there was practically nothing that would make me believe Aleysia should still be alive. Maevyth’s single-minded certainty about it started bothering me because it didn’t fit the level-headed girl I thought I had met at the beginning of the book.

    The romance, though, worked much better for me. The attraction was pretty much there from the beginning, especially on Zevander’s side. For someone who wouldn’t even blink when killing someone, the fact that he couldn’t bring himself to kill Maevyth while she was lying in her bed did it for me. 😂 His attraction to her was hardcore from day one, even if he couldn’t bring himself to admit it. For Maevyth, it was much slower. There were practical reasons for them to remain together before there were romantic ones, and their relationship developed gradually rather than having her immediately fall all over him. That part worked for me.

    The world itself is much darker than a lot of romantasy I’ve read. This isn’t just a pretty magical forest with a few dangerous creatures wandering around for decoration. The Eating Woods are genuinely horrible, some of the creatures are grotesque, and there is an underlying horror element throughout the story. There is also a LOT of worldbuilding: curses, blood magic, mages, different realms, creatures, old gods, prophecy, Zevander’s history… A LOT.

    But surprisingly, I was completely immersed in it. I didn’t actually just listen to Anathema. I read the book while listening to the audiobook at the same time, and that combination was chef’s kiss. 🤌 Having the text in front of me while Melissa Barr and James Cassidy brought the characters to life made it much easier for me to sink into such a complicated world. Instead of struggling to keep up with unfamiliar names, places and all the lore through audio alone, I could actually see everything on the page while hearing it performed. I tore through this enormous book in about a day, so whatever complaints I have about it, boredom certainly wasn’t one of them.

    And then there was James Cassidy. I think we need to acknowledge that his voice may have had some influence on my continued interest in Zevander. 😂 His performance suited Zevander extremely well: deep, controlled, slightly threatening — basically exactly what I wanted this character to sound like. That deep baritone voice certainly helped the imagination.

    Unfortunately, the ending did the book some harm for me because then we get the trapdoor. After everything Maevyth has gone through trying to find Aleysia, she discovers her sister beneath the floorboards of the Crone Witch’s cottage. Alive.

    And my brain immediately went: No. No, no, no.

    How long had she been down there? How did she survive everything that happened after Maevyth crossed into Aethyria? How did she get from the Eating Woods into that crawl space? What exactly had been happening to her all this time?

    I know it is a cliffhanger and obviously the next book can provide explanations. But as the ending of Anathema, it asked me to accept one thing too many without giving me enough information to make it believable. And this is one of my problems when I read: once something doesn’t make logical sense to me, my brain starts pulling at the thread.

    I can overlook a lot in fantasy. Magic? Fine. Immortals? Fine. Giant murderous creatures roaming around a cursed forest? Absolutely. But the internal logic still has to convince me. Between Maevyth repeatedly throwing reason aside whenever Aleysia was involved and then discovering Aleysia alive under that trapdoor, I reached the point where I couldn’t keep making excuses for the story.

    Then there is another cliché I keep noticing in these kinds of books: why do they all have masquerade parties? 😂 At some point, the mysterious masked ball has to stop being mysterious.

    Anyway, other than those jarring things, there was so much about Anathema that I genuinely enjoyed. I liked Zevander. I loved the dark gothic atmosphere. The Eating Woods were wonderfully horrible. The world was interesting enough that I became completely immersed in it, and reading the book together with the audiobook was probably one of my favourite reading experiences in a while. And apparently I liked James Cassidy’s voice enough that I subsequently went looking through the other audiobooks he had narrated. So there is that. 😂

    Would I continue with The Eating Woods? No. I was curious about what happens next, but not curious enough to read another enormous book hoping that the things which bothered me would eventually be explained.

    Sometimes a book can keep me completely absorbed while I’m reading it and still lose me once I start thinking about what actually happened. Anathema was one of those books.

  • Is Writing a Book Review Worth It If Nobody Reads It?

    Is Writing a Book Review Worth It If Nobody Reads It?

    If you enjoy reading but aren’t particularly interested in becoming a book blogger or building an audience, you might wonder whether there is any point in writing book reviews at all.

    After all, who are you writing them for?

    I’ve been writing more book reviews myself lately, and I’ve realised that the answer doesn’t necessarily have to be other people.

    Writing a review can be useful even if you are the only person who ever reads it.

    It makes you think about what you read

    It is very easy to finish a book, decide that it was good or bad, and immediately move on to the next one. Writing a review makes you stop for a moment.

    Why did you like it? What annoyed you? Did the characters behave consistently? Did the story make sense? Did the ending actually work?

    You don’t need to write an essay. Even a short review forces you to turn a vague reaction into an actual opinion.

    You start reading more actively

    This is something I have noticed in my own reading. Because I write about books afterwards, I tend to notice more while I am reading them. Small details stand out. I notice when a character behaves strangely, when something appears inconsistent, or when an author does something particularly well.

    Sometimes something bothers me halfway through a book and is explained perfectly later. Sometimes it never is. Either way, I am paying attention rather than simply consuming the story.

    It gives you practice expressing an opinion

    There is a difference between saying, I hated this book, and being able to explain why it didn’t work for you. Maybe the pacing was too slow. Perhaps a character’s actions made no sense. Maybe the story was perfectly well written but simply wasn’t to your taste.

    Working out that distinction is useful. Writing reviews gives you regular practice at organizing your thoughts and explaining an opinion clearly, even when that opinion is entirely subjective.

    You remember the books better

    If you read regularly, books can eventually start blending together. A review becomes a small record of what you thought at the time. Months or years later, you can look back and remember not only what the book was about, but how you reacted to it.

    And occasionally you might discover that your opinion has changed.

    Nobody has to read it

    You don’t need a blog. You don’t need followers. You don’t even need to publish the review. Write it in Goodreads, StoryGraph, a notebook, a private document or wherever you keep your reading records.

    The value isn’t necessarily in having an audience. Writing the review makes you stop, think about what you have read, decide what you actually think about it and put that thought into words.

    So, is writing a book review worth it when nobody is going to read it?

    I think so.

    Because you already got something out of writing it. You thought more carefully about the book, worked out what you really thought, and created a record you can return to later.

    And if someone else does read it and finds it useful, that is an added benefit — not the only reason to write it.

  • A Hazard of Hearts

    A Hazard of Hearts

    Book cover of A Hazard of Hearts by Barbara Cartland
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    Serena Staverley is left in a precarious position after her father gambles away the family estate and her future to Lord Harry Wrotham. Lord Justin Vulcan, a formidable and famously successful gambler, wins Staverley Court and Serena’s fate from Wrotham. Serena initially fears the reserved and intimidating Vulcan, but as family intrigue, danger and secrets unfold around them, she gradually discovers that his reputation does not tell the whole story.

    This is going to be slightly unfair as a book review, because I cannot talk about A Hazard of Hearts without talking about the 1987 adaptation too. For me, the two have become almost inseparable. I watched the movie first, and this is one of those very rare cases where I can honestly say that the adaptation is as good as the book.

    The story follows Serena Staverley, whose father has gambled away the family fortune. In one final disastrous wager against Lord Harry Wrotham, he loses Staverley Court and effectively Serena’s future as well. Yup, the bugger wagered his own daughter thinking he could overturn his bad luck and win back everything. Lord Justin Vulcan then challenges Wrotham and wins everything from him. It is an outrageous setup even by old-fashioned historical-romance standards, but it also means that Vulcan, in a very strange way, has actually helped Serena. He has taken her out of Wrotham’s hands rather than being the man who engineered her father’s ruin.

    Serena naturally has every reason to be wary of Vulcan. He has a formidable reputation: serious, reserved, not particularly talkative, and apparently blessed with the luck of the devil at the gaming table. He seems like the sort of man who simply does not lose. Looking back, he has rather strong Mr Darcy vibes. The interesting part, though, is that his behaviour keeps contradicting the frightening reputation. He does not treat Serena as though she is part of his winnings, he does not take advantage of the situation, and little by little he proves himself respectable, dependable and trustworthy.

    That is what makes the romance work for me. Serena does not suddenly fall for him simply because he is handsome (though Marcus Gilbert was handsome in the movie 😍) , mysterious or powerful. He earns her trust first. So while the story definitely has enemies-to-lovers vibes, I would probably describe it more accurately as distrust-to-love: wariness, observation, trust and then attraction.

    And then, of course, there is the movie. Because I watched it before reading the book, Helena Bonham Carter became Serena in my imagination and Marcus Gilbert became Lord Vulcan. Their chemistry was the bomb. There really is no more sophisticated way for me to put it. 😂 Helena Bonham Carter gave Serena exactly the right combination of youthfulness, pride and innocence, while Marcus Gilbert had the serious, controlled presence Vulcan needed. Together, they just worked.

    And when Vulcan says, “Shall I make you fall in love with me, Serena?” I said: YESS!!!

    The supporting characters were excellent too. Diana Rigg was wonderfully memorable as Vulcan’s mother, Lady Harriet, who is a real character in her own right: dramatic, controlling and very much a force to be reckoned with. Edward Fox was also excellent as Lord Wrotham. The whole production felt much richer than a simple television romance, and one of the reasons it works so well for me is that, as I remember it, the adaptation stayed quite true to the book. The characters, atmosphere and even memorable lines carried across to the screen.

    I finally found a copy of the novel in 2008 through eBay, from a secondhand bookseller in the US. I had already been looking for it for quite a while, so actually getting hold of it felt like finding something I had been chasing for years. And thankfully, the book lived up to the movie.

    In fact, watching the adaptation first helped my reading experience. I already had Serena and Vulcan clearly formed in my imagination, and instead of finding that limiting, I enjoyed having Helena Bonham Carter and Marcus Gilbert accompanying me through the story. The novel itself is wonderfully dramatic: gambling, family intrigue, danger, secrets, villains and plenty of romantic tension. It is exactly the sort of unapologetically old-fashioned romantic adventure that Barbara Cartland did so well.

    For once, I do not feel the need to choose between the book and the adaptation. I love both. The movie made me want to find the novel, and the novel gave me more of a story I had already fallen for.

  • Dear Enemy by Jean Webster — I Think Sandy May Have Been the Beginning of a Type

    Dear Enemy by Jean Webster — I Think Sandy May Have Been the Beginning of a Type

    Dear Enemy by Jean Webster book cover
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    Published: 1915
    Sallie McBride takes charge of the John Grier Home and finds herself constantly at odds with the institution’s reserved Scottish doctor, Robin MacRae.

    I loved Daddy-Long-Legs, so naturally I read Dear Enemy too.

    And somehow I ended up loving this one just as much.

    It is the sequel, but instead of Judy, the letters are written mainly by her friend Sallie McBride, who has been put in charge of the John Grier Home.

    Sallie is probably one of the reasons I enjoyed it so much.

    She is funny, stubborn, quite dramatic at times, and not remotely the sort of person you would immediately imagine running an orphanage.

    Also, she has red hair.

    I have a weakness for red-haired heroines. I don’t know why. I just do. 😂

    But the real problem here is Dr MacRae.

    Sandy.

    Cold, serious, difficult Sandy.

    I remember liking him enormously.

    At the beginning, he and Sallie do not get along at all. He thinks she is frivolous and inexperienced. She finds him infuriating.

    Which, of course, made me very happy.

    I love enemies-to-lovers.

    Not necessarily people genuinely trying to destroy each other. I mean that particular kind where two people keep clashing because they completely misunderstand one another, and then somewhere along the way the irritation starts turning into something else.

    And Sandy has that Mr Darcy sort of appeal to me.

    Not that he is Mr Darcy.

    Just that same difficult, reserved man who initially seems cold and judgmental, and then you slowly realise there is considerably more going on underneath.

    And naturally he has a tragic history as well.

    Because apparently being cold and difficult wasn’t enough. 🤣

    I won’t go into it because I don’t want to spoil the book, but learning more about him changes the way you see him.

    That worked very well on me.

    I also loved that Dear Enemy kept the letter format from Daddy-Long-Legs. There is something about reading a character’s letters that makes everything feel more intimate.

    You see Sallie getting annoyed with Sandy.

    Then mentioning Sandy again.

    And again.

    And being very annoyed with him.

    Very, very annoyed.

    At some point you start thinking, Sallie, you are writing about this man quite a lot for somebody you supposedly cannot stand.

    😂

    That is exactly the sort of romance I enjoy.

    The book isn’t only about the romance, though. A lot of it is Sallie trying to improve the orphanage and slowly becoming attached to the children and the work.

    I liked watching her grow into the job.

    She doesn’t suddenly become some perfect, self-sacrificing heroine. She remains Sallie. She complains, gets frustrated and has opinions about absolutely everything.

    But she cares.

    And gradually you realise how seriously she has begun taking the responsibility she was originally quite reluctant to accept.

    Maybe that is part of what I love about Jean Webster’s books.

    There is romance, yes, but the heroine also gets a life.

    Judy gets education and independence.

    Sallie finds work that actually means something to her.

    And then there is the romance on top of that.

    In Sallie’s case, with a grumpy Scottish doctor.

    A tragic one.

    Who she initially dislikes.

    Honestly, what more did I want?

    5/5

  • Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster — An Old Favourite That Still Feels Like Hope

    Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster — An Old Favourite That Still Feels Like Hope

    Daddy-Long-Legs by Jean Webster book cover
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    Published: 1912
    Orphaned Jerusha Abbott is given the chance to attend college by an anonymous benefactor, on the condition that she writes him regular letters about her life and studies.

    Reread: February 2026

    Some books become favourites because you discover them at exactly the right time.

    I think Daddy-Long-Legs became one of mine before I had even read it.

    When I was a child, I knew Judy Abbott through the Japanese anime My Daddy Long Legs. I remember coming home from school wanting to catch it on television. I loved that world — Judy going away to school, making friends, discovering a completely different life and writing all those letters to the mysterious man paying for her education.

    Years later, when I was old enough to properly explore the internet, I discovered that the original Jean Webster novel was available free through Project Gutenberg.

    Naturally, I read it.

    And loved it.

    So this reread came with a ridiculous amount of nostalgia attached.

    Daddy-Long-Legs is told mostly through Judy’s letters to the anonymous benefactor who sends her to college after she grows up in an orphanage. She has never properly met him. She knows almost nothing about him. She has only caught a glimpse of his long shadow, which is how he ends up becoming Daddy-Long-Legs.

    The letter format is probably one of the things I love most about the book.

    You don’t simply get told that Judy changes. You watch it happen through the way she writes.

    She arrives at college having spent her entire life in an institution, suddenly surrounded by girls who grew up with families, books, travel, beautiful homes and all sorts of ordinary experiences she has never had. Then, letter by letter, her world gets bigger.

    She learns.

    She reads.

    She makes friends.

    She develops opinions.

    She gets annoyed.

    She becomes ambitious.

    And she becomes increasingly herself.

    There is something enormously comforting about that.

    I have always loved the period as well. The college life, the clothes, the letters, the expectations placed on young women, even the small descriptions of everyday life give the book a cosy atmosphere that works particularly well for me.

    And then, of course, there is the romance.

    Let’s not pretend the appeal is entirely about education and personal development. 🤣

    There is definitely a bit of Cinderella wish fulfilment here.

    An orphan girl is given an extraordinary opportunity. She gets an education. She discovers that she can write. Her entire life opens up before her.

    And then she falls in love with a rich man.

    I mean.

    I’m not complaining.

    I also realised while rereading it that part of the romantic appeal is very similar to what I love about You’ve Got Mail.

    There is something ridiculously satisfying about two people becoming important to each other while one of them doesn’t fully understand who the other person really is.

    That gap in knowledge creates a particular kind of tension that I apparently enjoy very much.

    And no, I’m not explaining that any further.

    Some things are better discovered while reading. 😄

    What makes the story work for me, though, is Judy herself. She isn’t waiting around hoping somebody wealthy will rescue her. By the time the romance reaches its conclusion, she has already spent the book becoming independent, educated and determined to make something of herself.

    The romantic ending is the cherry on top.

    Perhaps that is why Daddy-Long-Legs has always felt like such a hopeful book to me.

    It is about what can happen when somebody who has been given very little is finally given an opportunity.

    A door opens.

    Then another one.

    And suddenly a life that once seemed completely predetermined becomes full of possibilities.

    Reading it again still gave me that same fuzzy, warm feeling I associate with the story from childhood.

    Part of that is certainly nostalgia. I can’t separate Jean Webster’s Judy completely from the Judy who used to appear on my television after school.

    But I’m not sure I want to.

    Some stories become part of your life that way.

    And after all these years, Daddy-Long-Legs is still one of mine.

  • Behind Five Willows by June Hur — Book Review

    Behind Five Willows by June Hur — Book Review

    Behind Five Willows
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    Published: 2026
    In Joseon-era Korea, an illegal book transcriber and a secret novelist exchange letters without knowing they dislike each other in real life.

    My rating: 5 out of 5 stars

    Behind Five Willows is a historical young-adult romance set in Korea during the Joseon era. At its centre are Haewon, an illegal book transcriber, and Seojun, a nobleman who secretly writes fiction at a time when the government is banning books. Their lives become entangled when Haewon’s older sister falls in love with Seojun’s best friend, forcing Haewon and Seojun to accompany the couple during their courtship.

    Their first impressions of each other are not favourable. Haewon finds Seojun arrogant and irritating, while he is equally quick to judge her. What neither of them initially realises is that they already know another side of each other through the letters they have exchanged anonymously.

    That part immediately reminded me of You’ve Got Mail, one of my favourite films. In the film, the two main characters enjoy writing to each other without knowing that they are rivals—and that they dislike each other—in real life. I have always liked that contrast: two people can understand each other intimately through their words while completely misreading one another face to face.

    Of course, You’ve Got Mail is itself a variation on a much older romantic structure, and Behind Five Willows openly draws from Pride and Prejudice, another of my all-time favourites. Haewon and Seojun have their own version of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy’s problem: both are intelligent and observant, but neither is as accurate a judge of the other as they believe. Their relationship changes gradually as they see beyond social position, pride and their original assumptions.

    The Joseon setting prevents the novel from feeling like a simple retelling. Reading and writing are not merely shared interests for Haewon and Seojun. Because of government censorship, books can place their livelihoods and reputations at risk. Haewon’s work as a transcriber also gives us a glimpse of how stories were copied and circulated when access to them was restricted. The historical setting therefore shapes both the romance and the choices available to the characters.

    I also enjoyed the characters beyond the central couple. Their family obligations and differences in social status are not decorative complications; they influence what each person is permitted to do and how easily a mistake can affect an entire family. At the same time, the book does not become weighed down by its historical and political themes.

    One of its strongest qualities is that it is an easy read. The story moves smoothly, the romance develops naturally, and the historical details are incorporated without making the book feel like a lesson. It has enough substance to make the setting meaningful, but it remains warm and accessible.

    For me, Behind Five Willows combined several things I already love: the misunderstandings of Pride and Prejudice, the anonymous correspondence of You’ve Got Mail, and a historical setting that was much less familiar to me. The result felt recognisable without being repetitive.

    I gave it five stars because it was simply a pleasure to read.

  • Until the End of the World by Sarah Lyons Fleming — Book Review

    Until the End of the World by Sarah Lyons Fleming — Book Review

    Until the End of the World by Sarah Lyons Fleming book cover
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    Published: 2013
    When a zombie outbreak reaches Brooklyn, Cassie Forrest and her friends flee for the relative safety of her late survivalist parents’ cabin. Escaping the city is only the beginning as the group faces the infected, dangerous survivors and unresolved personal relationships.

    My rating: ★★★☆☆

    There is something especially unsettling about a zombie story that begins in a familiar, ordinary place. In Until the End of the World, Cassie and her friends must escape Brooklyn after an outbreak turns everyday life into a fight for survival. With the dead walking and society rapidly collapsing, it has all the ingredients for a tense apocalypse story.

    I enjoy character-driven survival stories. The relationships between survivors matter because they give us a reason to care whether anyone makes it through. Reminiscing about the old world can also make the losses feel real. Here, though, those elements occupied so much of the story that they began to weaken the danger surrounding the characters.

    There were long stretches devoted to memories, romantic feelings and unresolved relationships when I wanted more urgency. The characters are supposedly living through the end of civilisation, with dead people walking around and trying to take bites out of the living, yet they frequently seem more concerned with romantic navel-gazing.

    Hellooo? Zombie apocalypse?

    The final straw for me was Cassie becoming involved in pairing her recent ex with her best friend’s younger sister. Perhaps Cassie had never truly loved him, and some readers may see nothing uncomfortable about the situation. I did. It felt strange and far too entangled for me—especially when the characters had rather more immediate problems involving the collapse of civilisation and the walking dead.

    The survival preparations and journey away from Brooklyn gave the story a promising foundation. Cassie’s family background also makes her more prepared than the average person suddenly thrown into an outbreak. Those details helped keep me interested, and the book was readable enough that I never disliked it completely.

    My frustration came from the contrast between the scale of the catastrophe and the emotional tone. The stakes should have felt enormous, but the repeated focus on relationship drama made them seem strangely distant. I wanted the zombies and the collapse of society to drive the story, with the personal relationships developing naturally under that pressure—not competing with it for attention.

    I gave Until the End of the World three stars. The survival premise had potential, but the emphasis on romantic discussion and complicated personal relationships was not what I wanted from the story. Although this is the first book in a series, I could not bring myself to continue beyond it.

    Readers who enjoy relationship-focused apocalypse stories may connect with it much more than I did. Personally, I needed more survival horror, more urgency and considerably less time spent contemplating who still has feelings for whom while the dead are walking.

    Recommended for: Readers who enjoy character-focused post-apocalyptic fiction, found-family dynamics and romance alongside their zombies.

    Perhaps not for you if: You want a tense, horror-heavy zombie story in which survival takes precedence over relationship drama.

  • Adrian’s Undead Diary by Chris Philbrook — Series Review

    Adrian’s Undead Diary by Chris Philbrook — Series Review

    Adrian’s Undead Diary — Original Eight-Book Arc
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    Published: 2013–2014
    Adrian Ring records his survival through a zombie apocalypse as he gathers supplies, builds a community and confronts threats from both the living and the dead.

    Overall rating: 4 out of 5 stars

    This review covers the original eight-book Adrian’s Undead Diary arc, beginning with Dark Recollections and ending with Cassie.

    I first listened to the series through Audible. There was a deal on the first four books—or at least the first part of the series—and the audiobook format suited the story particularly well. Because Adrian records what happens to him in diary entries, listening to the books felt almost as though he were personally recounting his experiences. It made the story immersive from the beginning.

    The series follows Adrian Ring as he tries to survive a zombie apocalypse. It begins on a relatively small scale: finding somewhere defensible, gathering food and weapons, clearing buildings and working out whom to trust. These practical survival details were one of the main reasons I kept reading. The books spend time on the everyday problems of surviving after society has collapsed, rather than treating supplies and security as matters that simply resolve themselves between action scenes.

    What held my interest even more was the community that gradually developed around Adrian. He begins in isolation, but the story slowly becomes about more than one man surviving. New people arrive, relationships form and the group has to make decisions about how to protect what they are building. I became interested not only in whether Adrian would live, but in what kind of society these survivors could create.

    Humour is another major part of the series. Adrian is crude, sarcastic and often very funny. In the earlier books, his humour softens the horror and makes the violence easier to tolerate. A straightforward account of zombies, death and constant danger could have become oppressive, but Adrian’s voice gives the story energy and personality.

    However, the same humour became increasingly irritating to me towards the end. There are moments when the characters are facing serious danger or emotionally significant events, yet someone still makes a joke. I understand that people sometimes use humour to cope with fear, and the diary format means Adrian is recounting events after they happened. Even so, not every tense moment needs to be defused. Sometimes a scene needs to remain frightening or painful long enough for its emotional weight to settle. When the jokes became too constant, they weakened moments that should have felt more serious.

    My reaction to the wider storyline also changed as the series progressed. The early books concentrate heavily on survival, zombies and human threats. Later, the explanation behind the apocalypse expands into a much more overtly supernatural conflict involving good, evil and humanity’s fate. This is not exactly magic in the fantasy sense, but it moves the series away from grounded survival horror and towards a cosmic struggle.

    That development will probably appeal to readers who want an explanation for why the dead rose and who enjoy a larger mythology behind a zombie story. For me, it was less satisfying than the earlier focus on survival and community-building. By the final book, the series had moved quite far from what originally drew me into it, and I was not entirely happy with the conclusion.

    My ratings reflect that progression. I gave the first two books five stars, Books 3 through 7 four stars, and the eighth book three stars. So although my overall rating is four stars, it was not a consistently four-star experience. I loved the beginning considerably more than the ending.

    Despite my reservations, I read all eight books in less than two weeks. That says something about how absorbing the series could be. The diary structure, detailed survival elements, developing community and audiobook experience kept me involved even when the humour and supernatural storyline began to work against it.

    I would recommend the original Adrian’s Undead Diary arc to readers who enjoy character-driven zombie fiction, detailed survival planning and a protagonist whose humour makes a brutal world more manageable. Just be aware that the story eventually becomes much more supernatural than its opening books initially suggest.

  • The Red Palace by June Hur – Murder, Palace Intrigue and a Romance I Actually Liked

    The Red Palace by June Hur – Murder, Palace Intrigue and a Romance I Actually Liked

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    Published: 2022

    After reading A Crane Among Wolves, I wanted more June Hur.

    One of the reasons I started reading her books in the first place was that I wanted historical fiction and romance outside the usual Regency and Victorian settings. I have read enough about drawing rooms, dukes and English society for a while. Give me somewhere else.

    Joseon Korea works particularly well for me because I have watched so many Korean historical dramas that I already have the whole visual world sitting inside my head.

    And The Red Palace gave me plenty to work with.

    Hyeon is a young palace nurse whose mentor becomes a suspect after four women are murdered in a single night. She begins investigating with Eojin, a young police inspector, and before long their investigation starts getting dangerously close to the royal family.

    The palace-nurse setting immediately gave me Dae Jang Geum vibes.

    The stories aren’t the same, obviously, but there was something very familiar about following a woman working within the palace, surrounded by court officials, strict hierarchies, medicine, rules and powerful people who could ruin your life without much effort.

    I could see everything.

    The palace corridors. The courtyards. The clothes. The officials. The nurses moving around the palace.

    At times it felt less like reading a book and more like watching another Joseon-era drama in my head.

    And then there was Eojin.

    I really liked Eojin.

    He and Hyeon work together on the investigation, so they have perfectly legitimate reasons to keep meeting, but gradually their relationship becomes something more. I liked the quiet courtship of it – those little meetings and gestures where it becomes increasingly obvious that this isn’t purely about solving murders anymore.

    The romance doesn’t overwhelm the mystery either, which is probably why it worked so well for me. I got the investigation and palace intrigue I wanted, but I also got enough romantic development to become invested in Hyeon and Eojin as a couple.

    And importantly, it actually goes somewhere.

    They choose each other, and the ending gave me the romantic payoff I wanted.

    Thank you. 😂

    I think that may be why The Red Palace left me more satisfied than A Crane Among Wolves. I enjoyed that book too, but this one felt more complete to me.

    The murder mystery kept things moving, the Joseon palace setting was exactly my kind of thing, Hyeon was easy to root for, and Eojin was the sort of romantic hero I actually enjoy.

    Historical murder mystery.

    Joseon palace intrigue.

    A competent inspector.

    Slow-burn courtship.

    And an ending that didn’t leave me asking, “That’s it?”

    Apparently that is how you get five stars from me.

    5/5

  • Ruthless Vows by Rebecca Ross — A Happy Ending, But Not Without a Cost

    Ruthless Vows by Rebecca Ross — A Happy Ending, But Not Without a Cost

    Ruthless Vows
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    Published: 2023

    Spoiler warning: This review discusses major plot points, character deaths and the ending.

    I went into Ruthless Vows almost immediately after Divine Rivals, so by this point I had accepted that yes, this was a world where ancient gods were at war and everybody else had been unfortunate enough to get caught in the middle of it.

    And strangely, once I stopped resisting that part of the story, I enjoyed it much more.

    The gods themselves still weren’t really what I was there for. I was there for Iris and Roman.

    Especially after the way Divine Rivals ended.

    They had finally found each other, fallen in love and even married — only for the war to separate them almost immediately. So Ruthless Vows begins with exactly the sort of situation designed to make me miserable: Iris doesn’t know what has happened to Roman, Roman is alive but no longer quite himself, and the two of them have to somehow find their way back to each other.

    Naturally, I was invested.

    What I liked about this book was that Rebecca Ross didn’t save every bit of happiness for the last five pages.

    Iris and Roman had already chosen each other. They were already married. Their relationship wasn’t being dangled in front of me as some reward I might get if I survived another four hundred pages.

    Instead, the question became whether they would actually get the chance to have the life they had chosen.

    That worked much better for me.

    And when they finally found their way back to each other, it had that bittersweet feeling I tend to like in stories about war. You want the people you care about to survive. You want them to get home. You want the happy ending.

    But if everyone walks away perfectly fine, then what was the point of putting them through a war in the first place?

    Rebecca Ross didn’t do that.

    Iris had already lost her mother in the first book. In this one, she loses Forest.

    And Sarah.

    That hurt.

    Especially because Sarah and Forest had found something with each other before they died. There was something particularly cruel about that — two people finding a little bit of happiness in the middle of all this destruction, only for the war to take them anyway.

    But I also think the story needed losses like that.

    I love happy endings. I really do.

    I am not asking authors to destroy everybody I care about just to prove that their story is serious.

    But I also don’t want a war story where every important character miraculously survives because the author doesn’t want to upset anyone.

    Then it stops feeling like war.

    Someone doesn’t come home.

    Someone who was loved is missing from the ending.

    Someone else has to keep living with that.

    That sadness sitting beside Iris and Roman’s happiness is probably one of the reasons the ending worked so well for me.

    They get each other back.

    They survive.

    They have a future.

    But it costs them something.

    By the end, I had also become much more comfortable with the universe itself. The mixture of old-fashioned technology, newspapers, typewriters and magic that I liked in Divine Rivals was still there, and now that I had accepted the whole gods-at-war business, I could simply enjoy the story instead of wondering why I wasn’t more interested in the mythology.

    Maybe I just needed one entire book to get used to it. 😂

    Whatever happened, Ruthless Vows worked for me in a way Divine Rivals didn’t quite manage.

    The romance had more weight because Iris and Roman had something real to lose.

    The war finally felt personal rather than just mythological.

    And the ending gave me what I wanted without making everything conveniently perfect.

    Happy.

    Sad.

    A little unfair.

    But hopeful.

    That’s probably exactly how a story like this should end.

    5/5