The Black Girl Survives in This One is a solid collection of horror short stories, but I think that many of the stories would have worked better in longer formats—some of the stories felt so edited down that they lost a degree of clarity.

“Inheritance” by Camara Aaron and “Foxhunt” by Charlotte Nicole Davis are my favorite stories in the collection. “Inheritance” stands out for me because it’s rooted in Black Caribbean culture (as a linguistics nerd, I

loved the depiction of Dominica Creole English), and I think it just works incredibly well as a short story—clear and to the point.

Additionally, I loved seeing how each of the authors interpreted the prompt of “horror short story centered around a teenage Black girl”. It was fascinating for me to look at how the authors defined and portrayed fear.

The Black Girl Survives in This One is comfortably a sound collection of short stories.

Nothing really wrong with

The Dark City, except everything could have been more developed. I have to give props to Fisher because the novel’s aged well, but I still prefer

Incarceron.

Doppelganger feels like a much needed debriefing of the past few years since the start of the pandemic. Naomi Klein tackles the conspiracy theories that have surfaced because of the unexpected and trying circumstances surrounding Covid. Klein claims that conspiracy theories form when people have legitimate underlying fears, but attribute these fears to the wrong/unrelated sources. (Hint: the true culprits are usually capitalism and institutions.)

As I reflect, I’m surprised at how familiar I’ve become with some seriously unhinged conspiracy theories—part of what has changed in recent years must be how prevalent conspiracy theories have become.

Anyway, I’m jealous of how Klein’s mind works. She’s able to connect so many seemingly disparate topics in such a striking way. By the end of

Doppelganger, I was thoroughly impressed.

I was drawn to

Free to Fall because of its focus on surveillance—our devices give us a false sense of choice; however, I think

Free to Fall ultimately handles the theme of surveillance irresponsibly.

Rory and North free the world from Gnosis only to still be living in a capitalist world. The whole point of Gnosis and real-life tech companies is not just to control people, but to lull them into a false sense of trust in institutions (i.e. not question authority) and keep them buying things. Companies want profit, but also want to keep the systems that allow them to profit. If profit’s not a thing anymore, then there’s no incentive to do what they do. True freedom is inseparable from the downfall of capitalism.

Even though

Free to Fall is incredibly readable, I just feel like the ending is underwhelming and

somehow super judgy towards Hershey.

. I also don’t understand why Rory and North had to be in a relationship; I think they work better as friends, and I didn’t enjoy their insta-love.

In essence,

Free to Fall is a fun read that fails to dig deeper into surveillance.

I’m extremely disappointed with

We Should All Be Feminists. Adichie frequently equates biological sex and gender. I’m going to resist the temptation to call the piece outdated as that implies that “we just didn’t have that information back then!”, which is not true since the queer liberation movement has been going on for a while. Adichie also leans too far into neoliberalism for my tastes; nobody should be the head of corporations because capitalism shouldn’t exist. I don’t think women can truly be free as long as capitalism still exists.

Holy cow, I was so stressed reading

Eon. So many things happened, and, even though so many of those things were predictable, I was still stressed about the outcome.

Eon’s biggest strength resides in its lush world building. This is one of those books in which I can fully immerse myself in the world building because the author has developed it thoroughly. I would love to know fellow reviewer Renoir’s thoughts on the world building as they are more knowledgeable about Chinese/Japanese/Asian history and culture.

Additionally, I love Lady Dela and her characterization as a transwoman. I love that Eona’s perspective of gender is guided by Lady Dela. Ultimately, Eona realizes that internalized misogyny has distorted her perspective of herself and the world.

I typically have an issue with the whole hero/"chosen one" narrative, as it seemed like the fate of the kingdom was resting on Eona, but, by the end of the story,

I think other people were pushing the “chosen one” narrative on Eona. Eona proves that she’s simply a (gifted) teenager caught in unfortunate circumstances.

My main issues with

Eon are Eona’s characterization, and the depiction of disabilities. I realized by the end of the book that I dislike Eona as a character. Besides her internalized misogyny (which isn’t her fault), Eona consistently makes stupid, impulsive decisions that tend to negatively affect others.

Relatedly, I dislike how Chart’s character is dealt with. I know the author was trying to make Eona likable and moral, but Eona’s “charity” only serves to characterize Chart as someone to be pitied or in need of saving. Also, there’s the ending.

I don’t like that Eona is healed because it implies that disabilities are defects or abnormal. I realize that her master intentionally injured her (it wasn’t an accident), but I still don’t like it.

Overall, I have mixed feelings toward

Eon; however, there are enough good things here that I am interested in reading the sequel.

I take no joy in saying that this is one of the worst books I've ever read. I echo a sentiment of an earlier reviewer in wondering how the editors allowed

Prophecy to be published in its current state.

The plot didn't make sense, the worldbuilding wasn't fleshed out enough, and the characters are two-dimensional. To make matters worse, this book is built on the overused hero narrative which I become more skeptical of the older I get.

What's maddening is that this had potential to be a great book! The editors truly did Ellen Oh dirty, and it makes me upset.

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.