Harriet is a loquacious observer, a learner (truthfully a bit of a know-it-all), and a wallflower in her 5th Season, still unmarried. Alexander is the bastard spare (rather than heir) of a duke, a rake, and uninterested in love, let alone marriage. When the two of them are caught in a private library (doing absolutely nothing untoward) by a notorious gossip, the misunderstanding leads them into an emergency elopement, a marriage in “name only,” but you already know how this story will end.

So much of this doesn’t fit my reader profile on paper. She’s collecting “dirty” words, ones whose definitions are usually afforded to men in the 1800s not women, for a dictionary project (hilarious!). He’s got a regular mistress on his payroll (should play out more scandalous than it actually does). She doesn’t think he could ever want her and he thinks she must realize she’s too good for him; these thoughts dominate them both for most of the book (miscommunication much?). There’s lots of innuendo, a fair amount of strong language (because of the dictionary, but also not), and multiple open door scenes. A huge part of the plot is that Alexander teaches innocent Harriet everything he knows about, ahem, the bedroom… And yet, what can I say, friends? I enjoyed the heck out of this and was grinning ear to ear. It was funny, clever, smart, and the DEFINITION (see what I did there?) of a good time.

Thank you to NetGalley and Zando for the digital review copy and the opportunity to serve as an early reader. This was pure pleasure and fun!

Since my daughter is only 7, I thought it might be a little soon to read this; it turns out, there's a lot to learn and prepare for and it's never too early to start.

This book is full of excellent information on all kinds of topics like basic anatomy, period products, hormonal therapy options, and abnormal symptoms. It was laid out in detail with good organization and (anonymized) stories from the author's actual practice as a children's/adolescents' gynecologist. The heartbeat of this book is that while debates and arguments about sex education abound, especially in the United States, parents can be empowered to open the channel of communication with their kids early, prepare them for what's coming, and be a sounding board and safe place when puberty hits—because it will. The author shares that parents are the ones who know their kids best, and no matter what happens in schools or government, they are the ones who can support their kids through these transitions best. From personal experience, the author shares about adolescents who'd been failed by both schools and by parents to receive the information and practical application needed for this time of life. I appreciated the practical tools provided here with diagrams and conversation starters and facts I didn't know before about the timeline of puberty's onset, etc.

My one qualm was that the author tears down some big misconceptions and shares facts about cultural differences surrounding attitudes toward puberty, but this was sometimes conveyed in a way that made me feel like she was writing only to an audience that would already agree with her. There weren't as many footnotes to research studies as I might have liked and the writing doesn't come across as persuasive essays asking parents to reconsider their views (all while sharing stories of how she did get parents in her practice to do so).

But overall, I don't think this book is intended to force a viewpoint; overall, it intends to help parents think about their own values, challenge negative stereotypes about puberty, and become a loving, supportive, and helpful parent. Overall, I was enriched and closed this title, thoughts swirling, with tools to prep my kids and myself for this inevitable future.

Thank you SourceBooks for the advance reader copy and the opportunity to serve as an early reader.

After seeing glowing reviews from friends with similar taste, I had a feeling this would be a book I’d love, and I was right.

Frankie and Mere are adult sisters who live in a small mountain community in Northern California. Their childhood was fraught with loss and chaos, and each responded in her own way. Harbored resentment still eats at them both, even as they’ve started their own families. When a woman in their town goes missing, they must face what has been buried and unsaid for years.

This was so lovely and moving, sad and hopeful, thought-provoking and eye-opening. (Readers, take care and note content warnings including SA). The topics were ambitious for under 350 pages—parenting, marriage, sisterhood, addiction, recovery, community. It’s all in there. There were times when I wondered where a storyline was going or if these themes could all be handled with care and attention. By the end, the answer was yes, although I do think each sister could have had her own book of the same length and I would have read them.

Everything came together beautifully. I closed the novel with tears in my eyes. Characters confronted one another in healthy conversation, faced their pain square in the eye, and recognized their need for growth. I was especially affected by the ideas about escape and the encouragement to “stay in it,” which both Mere and Frankie learn in their own ways. I could say more about the relationships with husbands, children, and friends in this, or about the Northern California setting, or the insight I got into recovery as an outsider, but instead I’ll just say if any of this appeals to you, pick this up!

I'll definitely be picking up the author's debut soon. This is a gem.

Thank you Book Sparks for the opportunity to be an official summer reading ambassador and to Harper Muse for the finished copy. I also received an advance listener copy from NetGalley. I read about half of this as an audiobook and half in print. I loved the narration for Frankie and struggled a bit more with the lilting wistful cadence of Mere, but overall I still the think the audiobook was a good production.

This one has me thinking about why some people don't give memoirs star ratings. It feels too much like rating another person's life experience. That's why I always try to rate them based on the writing style, personal connection, and the structure. But here, I was tempted to not rate it because there were several times I was so uncomfortable while reading this. It felt like my own bias that I was uncomfortable with the author's experiences with Christianity, chronic illness, and the American medical system. But then I thought more about why I read memoirs—I want to be seen and reflected in another's experience. But an alternative is that I want to see and understand someone's life that is different from my own. The Place Between Our Pains does both. While I cannot relate to the author's long, uphill battle with a buffet table of chronic illnesses, she still writes about the universal human experiences of grief and joy, all with dark humor and heartbreaking honesty. The writing is lyrical and poetic. It's sometimes so real it hurts, and had me hurting alongside the author. The recounting of each new experience in the hospital and every new diagnosis or piece of equipment needed left me a little exhausted, at times, but in a way that made me ask, "can't the author just catch a break?" The answer is no. And yet, through it all she shares how she was surrounded by the love of her community and found joy in little things like wild flowers and foraging for mushrooms and Nintendo. Reading this expanded my worldview and its acknowledgments encouraged me with the final words, "may this book be received as one reminder that your life is worthy of being witnessed, your story deserves to be heard, and your joy will survive." Thank you, KJ.

Thanks also to NetGalley and Convergent Books for the digital review copy and the opportunity to serve as an early reader.

4.25 stars

Daisy and Tom ride the same bus before dawn each morning. They never interact, but they've noticed one another. She's engaged to be married to someone she probably shouldn't be (the author will convince you, I promise). He's heartbroken over his ex-girlfriend. When unusual circumstances on the bus have them teaming up in an altercation, they become friends and Daisy offers to help Tom win Sophie back while he offers services as a wedding photographer. But can they really stay just friends?

Tessa Bicker's debut, The Book Swap, was a favorite read of mine the year it was published so I was really looking forward to this. While it didn't hit quite as close to home and there were a few parts I struggled with, I still really liked this one. One thing to note is that both of these titles look like contemporary romance novels based on the cover styles. In my opinion, they are not. They are contemporary fiction with a romantic subplot. This one is less about Tom and Daisy and sparks flying than it is about each of them pulling through difficult circumstances. Daisy's career is stalled and her fiancé isn't encouraging any advancement. Tom's is thriving, but at the expense of his romantic relationship. Both have complicated family dynamics. Both have felt misunderstood. And both seem to understand, see, and accept the other for who they are in ways they've not experienced before. Both need to learn to take responsibility for their own lives and futures.

The dialogue was springy and fun. I loved the addition of Tom's younger sister, Martha. Give me a spunky 6-year-old character any day. Daisy was frustrating at times, especially in how dense she could be, even as friends and family tried to help her along in life; however, I can also see why she was this way and was pleased when she finally broke out of her daze. Tom was a delight.

Daisy's friend Clara says, "don't even get me started on whatever weird, beautiful thing is going on with that golden retriever man of yours" and that sort of sums up this book. It's a weird and beautiful friendship that Daisy and Tom have and it stays that way for too long, all while Daisy is still engaged. I don't think lines are completely crossed, here, but it's discomforting (even as I wanted to give Daisy's fiancé a piece of my mind many times over) and a very slow burn for the romance subplot. It's also a slow burn for Daisy to return to her own voice and agency, but I shed a few tears at her final recognition and growth.

Even with my qualms, I still overall enjoyed this one and will keep looking forward to anything Tessa Bickers writes in the future.

Big thanks to NetGalley and MIRA for the digital review copy and the opportunity to serve as an early reader.

3.75 stars

Ruth lost her mother at 17 and the summer after high school graduation, still unmoored in her grief, her dad sends her to Block Island, RI to work for a friend of her mom's. That summer on the island with Diana (and her nephew, Charlie) will change her life forever. A decade later, the unexpected hits her again and Ruth, at a crossroads, must decide her trajectory from here.

There was so much about this that I loved: the poetic prose, the scenic views, the warm feel of summer. This screams beach read with a serious side. The exploration of Ruth's grief, her relationships with the other characters, and the way she's cut herself off from forward motion and growth were all strong; however, I found Ruth herself to be very stuck in her patterns, almost unyielding in her willingness to receive feedback from friends and family, and ultimately immature for a woman of 27. She makes so many poor decisions and has so many difficult conversations with people without seeing that she might be the problem. This was very hard to watch, even though I could sympathize with her situation. Caretaking for a mother with cancer at such a young age was bound to affect/stunt her.

I think my main issue was that I expected to experience more emotions and heartbreak when I began reading. Instead, I felt a little disconnected and frustrated. Ruth does have revelations. She does grow. She does work through some of her grief and repair some of her relationships, but all at a pace that felt both too slow (reflecting on the 10 years readers are privy to) and too fast (looking at the summer in which the novel takes place). Overall, the last 25% and Ruth's character growth in it brought a satisfying ending that redeemed my final rating. I think many readers will really appreciate the setting, the mess that is Ruth's life, and the slow development and change. The author has a way with words that makes me hopeful that a different storyline would be a winner for me in the future, but I wanted just a tad more from this debut.

Thank you to NetGalley, Random House, and Thousand Voices for the digital review copy and the opportunity to serve as an early reader.

Death is a man in his 30s named Travis. He visits with people during their final moments and offers comfort. He doesn't cause their deaths or prevent them. He's just there, ushering them off so that everything can be beautiful and nothing will hurt. When he meets Dalia across the hall and her daughter, Layla, will his detachment and role catch up with him? Will he wish for the emotions and attachments that make someone human?

What a unique experience! I am glad I had a friend to buddy read this one with (thanks Alicia!), because there was a lot to process. Questions of life's meaning, attitudes surrounding death and suffering, the significance of family and love; this tackles so much in a short time. This included quite a few heart-wrenching deaths in it, senseless ones—children, accidents, etc. and sensitive readers should beware. I think, though, that this is true to life (and death); it doesn't often or ever make a lot of sense. And these characters brought to the forefront what is so beautiful and heartbreaking about the human experience.

I did scratch my head a few times at the metaphorical language and the changing voice (sometimes we are in first-person, sometimes second-, without a whole lot of warning that this shift is coming). I also didn't get all the answers I wanted about how Travis as Death "worked" in the world. I kept waiting to get more backstory for him or more explanation of his movements, seeming-omniscience, etc., and that never happened. Despite that, I cried so many tears at this story and when I finished the last page, understanding the interconnectedness of the earlier chapters, I wanted to go back and reread, analyzing more deeply.

A book that can make me think and feel this much, deserves praise.

Thank you Avid Reader Press and NetGalley for the digital review copy and the opportunity to serve as an early reader.

In the wealthy community of El Nido in the hills above Berkeley, California, things are awry during the pandemic. Well, they were awry everywhere, but especially here. When the Changs move in next door to the Belles, trouble is afoot. Race, privilege, class, immigration, real estate, COVID-19—this book has it all. Arguably, it has too many things.

Compared in descriptions to Celeste Ng's, Little Fires Everywhere, I can see the parallels. When I started the book it had been a long time since I requested, and I didn't remember that Ng's work had been mentioned. I immediately felt the connection, recognized it on my own, and had my hopes up. This fell much flatter overall. The topics were ambitious (as already listed above) and I think they could make for some really great book club discussions. Until about the 50% mark I felt like the story was subtly interrogating my mindset and beliefs, all in a good way. Then, unfortunately, events and characters started becoming harder for me to track and the narrative got lost. The second half became much more in-my-face about the issues and I preferred the way the first half was more seamlessly interwoven into the fabric of the story. While I started the novel with high expectations, I ended up disappointed. The characters I grew to loathe didn't really get their comeuppance (which... to be fair, in real life, does that always happen?). The ones I adored didn't really get much closure. I suppose this is true to life, but it made for a dissatisfying experience for me.

The audiobook narration had some great moments. I appreciate Barrón's voice is a lower register for female narrators, but the performance was still a little stilted. I had a hard time differentiating characters and storylines. I benefited from having a print copy to reference, but without this, I'm sure I would have been more confused than I was.

Overall, this wasn't a bad book, but it did not reach the standards I had when comparing it to LFE. If I had to sum it up, this just tried to do too much.

Thank you to NetGalley, Flatiron Books, and Macmillan Audio for the digital review copy and advance listener copy of this title and the opportunity to be an early reader.

At the opening of the digital review copy, Saga Press included a short "dear reader," from the publisher and the translator. In Anton Hur's letter, he notes that science fiction traditions in the West are imperialist-centric; they focus on colonizing and empire. He shares that Korean science fiction doesn't follow the same pattern and that Kim Choyeop's work is a prime example. After reading these short stories in translation, I wholeheartedly agree.

Choyeop explores what it means to be human while at the same time pushing us into outerspace and new technologies. A person's consciousness is uploaded to a library after death and is lost in the archives. A village where people accept each other's physical flaws is hidden in the stars while the rest of society is altered (this felt reminiscent of Scott Westerfeld's Uglies series for me). A woman-turned-cyborg wrestles with whether deep space or deep sea would bring the most peace.

If We Cannot Go at the Speed of Light is explorative and sometimes uncannily realistic. I was especially drawn to "The Materiality of Emotions" and how we would like to control our emotions, even the awful ones—why not have products or fragrances that give us this ability, to control depression or hate? I was also pleased to see the author state this story is one she may expand someday. I was pleased, because truly, all of these stories could have been entire novels and I would read them.

The more I think about this collection of short stories, the more I like them, and if there's any reason to not give this 5-stars, it's simply that I wanted more for each one of them.

Thank you to Saga Press and NetGalley for the digital review copy and the opportunity to serve as an early reader.