I’ll start by saying that I am absolutely not the intended reader for this book. Romance/erotica may be the only genre I don’t usually pick up. But I was lured here with a promise of cosy smut and capitalist critique. For me, I’m not sure it delivered on either. 



I think the capitalist critique in this book exists in the same space as the Barbie monologue speaks to feminism. It acknowledges that there are forces in this world that exert pressure on us, and limit possibilities, like student loans, and a lack of health insurance. But it never really examines those social forces. Dystopian corporations and businesses that monetize every bodily fluid from blood to semen are present, but presented as great job opportunities to make ends meet. The social forces that make the residents of this place so destitute that they have no option is never examined. The MC Violet frequently extolls the moral superiority of hard work, frequently repeating “anything worth doing is worth doing well”, and looks down on colleagues who do not approach the exploitative working conditions with the same pep that she does.

I often really struggle with any book labelled cosy. They often exist in this strange grey area where truly dystopian things are happening in the background, while the MC carefully ignores those political realities. In this book, the MC literally lives in a segregated human city, the MC and her BFF casually talk about how humans only venture to this area of the world to fetishize and f*ck monsters, and there is rampant misogyny that is considered commonplace. Most frustrating for me, there is a consistent undercurrent of whorephobia/anti-sex work rhetoric that runs throughout the book, which felt wild for a book about a job “milking” minotaurs. The text frequently reiterates that what is occurring is not sex-work but the equivalent to a lab-tech drawing blood, while also, catering to the sexual preferences of each client, providing fetish-wear as a work uniform, and sexualizing literally every part of the job. It’s such a shame, because a book like this could have created a really radical and beautiful critique of the way that sex work is stigmatized, but instead it just fed into that stigma.

Looking at the core relationship of this book, I also struggled. Rourke was mostly indistinguishable from any of the other men, except for his wealth. Violet looks down on the human her mother recommends (because he has to move back in with his parents after getting divorced). But Rourke is also divorced. It is merely his wealth that impacts the way Violet perceives him. Rourke is also positioned in opposition to all the gross men who frequent the farm, but he didn’t stand out to me in that context either. He gets hard when he asks about her day. He calls her sweetheart. Once the core relationship starts to blossom, he spends a lot of time telling the MC that she is in charge of the relationship while undermining and overriding every single decision she makes. He is cutely called “bossy” but what he really is is controlling.

Overall, this was not a book for me. If you want a Monstery book about minotaurs, it might be for you. If you are looking for a cute relationship or capitalist critique this might not be what you were looking for.

Edited: I changed my language in the paragraph discussing Rourke because @notlizlemon rightly pointed out that my phrasing was unclear and seem to stigmatize divorced people. Forever and always, I think the stigma surrounding divorce is weird and gross, especially when it comes wrapped up in weird class stuff that judges people for relying on family support.

I don't know how to review this without feeling like I'm throwing a bunch of generic adjectives that undermine how radical this book really is.

Assata is a political manifesto disguised as an autobiography. Assata takes you on a systemic analysis of racism, capitalism, imperialism, and patriarchy using her own lived experience as a Black woman in America. In doing so, she embodies the idea that the personal is political, that the self cannot be extricated from the systems that inform its material reality.

Assata is a poet, and her skill as a writer is always at the forefront. Assata's strength as both a speaker and a writer is her bold, clear language. Her ability to take abstract, hard-to-grasp ideas and repackage them in a way that hits you straight in the chest.

She writes from a place of pure self-acceptance. Confidence is the foundation for her vulnerability; she doesn't shy away from showing us her full journey as a radical, even when she doubts herself, which serves as a powerful reminder that radicalization is an action, an ever-present choice that we make in our day-to-day lives.

Oppression becomes ambient and normal when we stop examining it, and that's exactly the outcome these systems hope for. Assata isn't afraid to lay things out plainly, whether it be her rage at the state, or her complicated relationship with the Black Panther Party and its ideals.

This stark honesty works in tandem with her focus on community and collective liberation, to demystify what it means to be a radical, an activist, a voice for justice. Assata never lets us forget the comrades who lifted her up and fought alongside her, emphasizing how much she truly embodied collective liberation. Her writing choices alchemize into a de-mythologizing of herself as a historical figure.

Reading Assata in 2026 was a balm. Her struggle and insistence on moving forward despite facing violence from the state created an oddly comforting experience. Her struggle on the surface seems insurmountable, and yet she continued forward because she believed in the hope of a radical future. Even if she became jaded, or numb, or lost, she never lost sight of her hope, and it carried her forward through horror.

Assata blows every debate and every meandering conversation out of the water by grounding you, re-centering your vision on the importance of solidarity and anti-imperialist struggle. This book will shake you to your core, demand your engagement, and embolden you to continue onward.

I loved everything about this story—and I’m calling it a story rather than a book because of the way it’s structured and told, as if you need to listen to it rather than read it! The audiobook was lovely, filled with nature sounds and beautiful folk songs! 🎵

The idea of magic as “grammar” (thus making magicians “grammarians” and magical processes “conjugation”, etc) absolutely tickles me! I understand it’s something that not everyone will be into, but I thought it was delightfully clever!

One of the best parts of the story (at least to me) was the romance between Esther and Rin. It was so haunting (as Rin is a shapeshifter), tender, and filled with yearning. It reflected the challenges that comes with loving someone from a long distance or from a different culture.

The threat/risk to Esther and Ysabel’s lives comes not from the “grammar” (magic) itself, but from the jealousy of a human man. It’s so realistic that it helps to ground and anchor this otherwise ethereal and somewhat out-there novel into something a lot more relevant in our modern life.

Last, of course, is the sisterly love that transcends magical boundaries and all other manner of things that could separate them.

If you enjoyed this one, I highly recommend Mad Sisters of Esi for its fairy tale/folk tale feel and sisterly love, as well as Women Who Run with the Wolves. The latter is nonfiction, but it contains the Selkie story which is referenced in this novel toward the end, and helps to define the “medial woman” (in Jungian psychology).