If I were awarding stars solely based on the prose quality, I would give In the Woods four stars. Unfortunately, neither the overall plot nor the murder mystery did it for me.

My first impression of Detective Rob Ryan was that he was a jerk, and, by the end of the book, I haven't changed my position. Although Rob shows potential for growth during the course of the narrative, for example, finally delving into his trauma, recommitting himself to self-care, and showing vulnerability, he’s ultimately like, “nevermind,” and reverts back to his douchey ways. I never thought I would be turned off from a murder mystery because of a character’s interpersonal relationships.

The murder mystery is easy to figure out (again, not a flex), and I didn’t like the overreliance on murder mystery tropes.

Additionally, I think the book just does too much. French introduces themes such as misogyny (à la boys will be boys), corruption, preservation, (possibly) environmentalism, urbanization, colonization, childhood, justice, trauma, healing, loss, and love, but never follows through with any of these themes. I’m of the mind that if authors are going to introduce themes, they should deal with them meaningfully; otherwise, they shouldn’t introduce them at all.

Sighing with disappointment, I can only give In the Woods two measly stars.

Definitely would have finished The City & the City sooner had I not been so busy.

Two cities, Beszel and Ul Qoma, inexplicably overlap. At any place in either city, one can see the outline of the opposite city and its inhabitants in one’s environment, but one mustn’t look too long or interact with the other city, or one runs the risk of breaching—breaking the rules and invoking the omnipresent police, Breach.

When a seemingly unidentifiable young woman turns up dead in Beszel, Inspector Borlu increasingly begins to suspect that the murder involves breaching and possibly something far more sinister.

I’m thoroughly impressed with The City & the City. It’s one of the few books in which I’m not bothered that the characters aren’t well developed. Inspector Borlu and his contemporaries just want the truth and/or justice, and that’s sufficient.

Although I don’t understand why Breach is a thing and why the cities can’t just become one city (did I miss something?), I like the murder mystery’s solution.

I had high expectations for The City & the City, and it didn’t disappoint.

In The Silence and the Roar, Fathi Chin’s country is ruled by a dictator, simply known as the Leader. Though the Leader ensures that everybody sings his praises, Fathi’s country is far from being a utopia. For example, during the Leader’s celebratory marches, people are recklessly trampled to death, and the military fires indiscriminately into the crowd. The Leader is much more concerned with making people believe he is a good leader so he can maintain his precarious position of power than resolving problems in his country.

Unlike some dystopian books, Siris rejects the tendency to depict authoritarian governments as sleek, intelligent, and sober. Instead, through Fathi’s observations, Siris notes the ludicrous lengths the Leader goes to in maintaining his power. For instance, Fathi is interrogated for saying “f*ck the Party” to a Party member, and another man is imprisoned for six months because a malfunctioning copy machine made the Leader look like a pirate.

My favorite scene is when a distressed doctor comes to Fathi (as Fathi is a renowned writer) and asks him to name the violent conditions that occur during the Leader’s marches. Fathi calls them “surreal” and the doctor is instantly relieved. One often goes to doctors, not writers, for healing, but Siris reminds that writers, and artists in general, can provide a significant type of healing as well.

I’m uncertain that I love The Silence and the Roar’s ending, but the parts that I like are extremely well done—an underrated novella, to be sure.

I didn't like the plot as I thought the book was going to revolve around friendships between women and women not sacrificing their happiness for men, but, ultimately, the book is about women diminishing their own needs for men's happiness. I'm extremely disappointed.

Nathaniel, now fourteen, has gained a position working for the government in Internal Affairs. When Nathaniel can’t identify the powerful force destroying famous London localities and the other government officials threaten to push Nathaniel out of his precarious position, Nathaniel breaks his promise and summons Bartimaeus again to help identify the new foe. Meanwhile, the story follows Kitty as she joins her “Resistance” commoner associates in carrying out various thefts and destruction of magician property. Unbeknownst to Kitty, Nathaniel has also been hunting her and her associates down since their humiliation of Nathaniel two years previously.

I was putting off reviewing

The Golem’s Eye because I have so much to say on the matter. This is my warning that there will probably be spoilers littered throughout this review that I am too lazy to hide behind spoiler tags.

First of all,

The Golem’s Eye goes hard when it comes to criticizing the magician government, which, in all likelihood, is a reflection of Western governments in general. Not only are the magicians explicitly classist and authoritarian, but they are also xenophobic and possibly racist. The government actively targets ethnic Czech peoples living in the empire(?). Through Kitty’s appearance in court, the author additionally shows how unjust the legal system is as Kitty is punished for simply attending her court summoning and daring to speak against a magician.

Next, I enjoy the author’s criticism of “The Resistance.” I keep referring to the group in quotation marks because the group isn’t a true rebellion. Though, at first, the group aims to combat the injustices and oppression imposed upon them by the government, the group’s motivation quickly devolves into a ploy to get a piece of the magicians’ metaphorical pie. No longer does the group worry about justice or the plight of commoners, but is focused on playing at being magicians themselves in collecting magical items and acquiring money in exchange for their stolen goods (Sounds almost exactly like the magician Sholto Pinn, doesn’t it?). Another issue with The Resistance is that the group’s reliance on the sole leader, Mr. Pennyfeather, makes the group extremely unstable. With Mr. Pennyfeather’s death, the group immediately falls apart. Greed coupled with a hierarchical structure—similarities the group shares with the magician government—destroys the Resistance, not the government’s oppression. Kitty leaves the experience completely disillusioned.

Apart from the more blatant political commentary, there are several moments that I sincerely enjoy. For instance, I love Nathaniel’s time in Prague (which I totally forgot about, btw). The Gladstone afrit skeleton situation is absolutely hilarious to me in its complete irreverence. I also didn’t know that I needed Nathaniel x Jakob interactions in my life. The two are great together.

Despite struggling to stay motivated to read

The Golem’s Eye, I was absorbed by the story when I was actually reading it. There’s just so much great stuff in there for a young adult novel. It’s a solid four-star read for me.

I distinctly remember losing my sh*t reading this book at my grandpa’s house as a teenager. As it turns out, my tastes have changed significantly, and I no longer revere

Mortal Engines like I did previously.

Mortal Engines has the potential to be an impactful book. First, the characters are likable, particularly Anna Fang and Bevis Pod. It doesn’t take too much to start caring for the characters as the reader sees that the main cast of characters are people who are trying to do the right thing. Secondly, the way the author constructs the city of London introduces some substantial themes. London is literally a tiered city, physically representing the social classes of the city. Early on, Katherine Valentine becomes aware of the appalling conditions prisoners live in on the lowest tiers of the city. There are even echoes of environmentalism through reminders of the destruction of both the current moving cities and the Ancients.

However, by the end of the book, all the themes are reduced to the singular theme: war is hell. There’s obviously nothing wrong with this theme, but I’m unsure why the author took the time to introduce all these other themes when

everything unceremoniously gets destroyed. I suppose this ending could symbolize the end of all of London’s oppressive institutions, but I’m not convinced. Tom, Hester, nor the readers see a clear alternative to London’s institutions. Yes, the Anti-Tractionist cities don’t eat/fight other cities or harm the environment as much, but the lifestyles of the citizens in each type of city are presented as comparable. That is to say, the author doesn’t clearly show how the Anti-Tractionist lifestyle/institutions are better. Idk

.

More so than its theme,

Mortal Engines’ biggest fault is its prose. The prose is overly simplistic; the author resorts to telling instead of showing, especially when it comes to the characters’ emotions. Because of the prose style, I never felt fully immersed in the world building or connected to the characters.

Additionally, I just felt like there were way too many character deaths TT

Though it has some interesting material, I’m going to have to give

Mortal Engines two out of five stars. There are better steampunk books out there :)

I can see why

I Am Princess X was one of my favorite books as a teenager: the premise is so clever, and the book itself represents a certain era in my life. Like May, I read this as a high schooler preparing for college—an awkward age when you're yearning to live like an adult, but not having the cognitive or emotional abilities to do so. And this book was obviously written during the good ol' tumblr days when being a hipster was still considered cool/desirable. I mean, there's even a reference to Vine! If that doesn't date the book, I don't know what does.

I want to like

I Am Princess X more than I actually do. There are so many nice elements such as a mixed (race?) main character, a positive portrayal of a queer anarchist, and wonderful artwork, but I think everything was executed poorly.

First, the characters weren't as developed as I would have liked them to be. For example, we hardly know anything about May outside of her friendship with Libby. Second, the dialogue is stilted. It felt like I could have written the dialogue, which isn't a good thing. Lastly, the ending was anticlimactic. I remember being so scared the first time I read the ending, but this time, I was just like, "That's it? That's all that happens?"

I legitimately thought that May and friends had to sneak out of the house in the dark with Mr. Ken Mullins stalking around, but no, that's not what happens.

I Am Princess X has nice things going for it, but it ultimately fails to be anything more than mediocre.

The Graveyard Book is still as charming as it was to me when I first read it (or rather,

listened to it) when I was in sixth grade though it is a touch sadder than I remembered.

It's fabulously constructed and the prose is nice, but it's missing that layer of complexity that I crave, quite possibly because it's a book for children. I just feel like I've outgrown it more than I thought I had...

Despite this, I still highly recommend

The Graveyard Book.

I was dreading rereading

The Amulet of Samarkand because I was worried the book wasn't as good as my sixteen-year-old and eighteen-year-old self thought. Thankfully, the book is still good.

The Amulet of Samarkand is basically Harry Potter (sorry to keep referencing the franchise, but it has quite the cultural impact) if the wizarding world was more "realistic" instead of a neoliberal fantasy.

Unlike Harry Potter, there aren't clear cut good guys and bad guys. Honestly, most of the characters are leaning toward the bad side. Nathaniel, the MC, isn't the chosen one, and he's somewhat morally ambigious. He's proud to the point of recklessness (Ged from

A Wizard of Earthsea, anyone?). Magicians are unapologetically portrayed as the exploiters and oppressors⁠—commoners (non-magicians) are segregated and not part of the government, magicians have no real power outside of the exploitation of magical entities, and magicians themselves routinely backstab each other in order to scrabble up higher the government hierarchy.

I honestly didn't find the majority of the book to be irresistibly riveting, but that might be because I've already read the book twice before. The opening scene of the summoning of Bartimaeus will always be iconic in my mind. It remains to be seen if I will keep the

The Amulet of Samarkand on my favorites shelf when I get around to rereading the other two books in the trilogy as I have a strong suspicion that the sequels are actually

better than the first book.

The Reluctant Assassin is such a comfort read for me. I love time travel, gritty, Industrial Revolution London, and Jack the Ripper-esque macabre. I also love Riley and Chevron separately and together.

That being said, there's still a lot of weird things in the series. Like, who was that woman that Garrick contacted in the middle of the story? I can't remember, but it must be a detail that sets up for the next book, I guess. And why are flamboyant characters or characters with facial disfigurement always bad guys? Neither of those qualities are inherently bad; I'm uncomfortable with what making villain characters with these qualities implies.

And why does this story seem that it was written for children and young adults simultaneously? The plot is a bit childish, but the gore level is probably too much for children. I'm just a bit confused, that's all.

Overall,

The Reluctant Assassin is a fun book if you don't look too closely.