3.75⭐ | The Future Saints by Ashley Winstead

I love Ashley Winstead’s writing, and this book really shows her range.

The Future Saints is not a typical love story. It is about grief, sisterhood, and how grief can change individuals in ways that they may or may not know how to live.

I really appreciated the fact that Hannah’s grief was not sentimentalized or romanticized in this book. Winstead allows her to be difficult, volatile, and self-sabotaging. Hannah grieves loudly and messily. Her transformation in music shows her aversion to producing palatable grief. And this, to me, is where this book truly succeeds, where grief is not seen as something that must and will be overcome but as an experience which reshapes the self in ways that are inconvenient to others.

I also liked the format of an interview and a news article woven in this book. That really gave it a more immersive vibe of you watching a band rise and fall in real time. Also, the music industry commentary was sharp without being overwhelming.

That being said, the romance did not work completely for me. I don't really feel the romantic connection between Theo and Hannah; that feels more like a protector/friend dynamic to me rather than a love story. Theo definitely has a savior complex respectfully, um, lmao, which at times made his role frustrating more so than romantic.

Still, this was one entertaining and emotional read, and beautifully written. I love how this book shows that success does not heal grief. Love does not undo damage. And art, while powerful, cannot always save the people who create it.

Thank u to Netgalley and Atria Books for the e-ARC in exchange for an honest review.

First and foremost, let me just clarify this: this is not an enemies-to-lovers novel. There is no actual animosity present here. What Lincoln feels toward Elizabeth at the beginning is mild annoyance mixed with professionalism and emotional distance at most. That's it. No hostility, no rivalry, no tension that justifies the use of the word "enemies." Setting yourself up for that will get you disappointed.

That said, the core idea and concept of the book is still interesting. Elizabeth and Lincoln's online dynamic was pretty sweet. Some of the moments between them were swoon-worthy, such as when they're gaming together or emotionally in sync. Those scenes felt natural and they're the reason I kept going.

Unfortunately, the book was very draggy. The pace was slow and, for me, boring. The same concerns, hesitations, and internal debates were repeated throughout, without adding anything new. There came a point when I wasn't emotionally invested and I was literally just waiting for the pacing to move forward which hindered my reading experience. I mean slow burns are good but I feel like they only work when there's momentum, and here it often felt like the story was stuck in place.

One area that the book truly shines for me is in its portrayal of Lincoln and his ADHD and anxiety. That was done well. His ruminations and hiding and emotional exhaustion felt real to me, and what impressed me was that this book didn’t portray his neurodivergence as things that could be solved or fixed by "love." That was solid, and to me, he was more developed than Elizabeth.

Elizabeth's character arc, on the other hand, felt underwritten. I wanted more insights and backstory of her inner world and I wish we would've gotten to see some of her relationship with his mom (since that and how awful douglas is a larg part of the story). She wasn't a bad character, just okayish.

The side characters and the found family/friendship elements were so lovely. They were the bright spot in the book, and some of the best parts, in my opinion.

Also, I listened to this book as an audiobook, and that influenced my experience. Shahjehan Khan was great and had Lincoln down pat. Jensen Olaya was good, but sometimes her voice was a bit grating. But overall, the two were not bad.

I didn't hate this book, but I didn't love it either. It was fine, comforting in parts, boring in others, a solid 3-star read.

Thank u sm to Netgalley and Hachette Audio for the ALC.

This was my pick for January in Japan, and also my first time reading Banana Yoshimoto. Kitchen had been sitting on my TBR for a long time, and I went into it without really knowing what it was about. I expected something light and comforting, what I found instead was something far deeper, peculiar, melancholic, and deeply human.

Kitchen is made up of two parts: the novella "Kitchen" and the short story "Moonlight Shadow". Both stories focus on grief, loss, and how people continue living after someone they love is gone. Reading it felt like being seen in a way I didn’t know I needed.

The novella Kitchen follows Mikage, a young woman who has lost almost everyone in her life. After her grandmother’s death, she is left completely alone. She finds comfort in kitchens, in the hum of refrigerators, in cooking late at night, in being surrounded by food. The kitchen becomes a haven for Mikage, a place to breathe.

Mikage eventually moves in with Yuichi and his mother, Eriko, who is among the book's most peculiar and enduring characters. Each character carries their own grief, and none of them deal with it in the same way. This story does a great job of showing how intimate and personal grief is. There is no right or wrong way to survive it.

The writing in Kitchen is very simple, with short and sometimes abrupt sentences. At times, this felt awkward to me, especially knowing it’s a translated work. I also felt like I was missing a little bit of the emotional depth.

A very different approach to grief is taken in the short story Moonlight Shadow. It leans heavily into magical realism. The story follows Satsuki, who is mourning the sudden death of her boyfriend. Unlike Kitchen, Moonlight Shadow uses supernatural elements as a way to process loss. I thought it was great.The writing also was more disconnected and fragmented in this part.

The LGBTQ+ representation in this story also felt dated and uncomfortable, and at times came across as offensive rather than thoughtful.

Even with these flaws, I can’t say I didn’t appreciate what Yoshimoto was trying to do. Both stories are about learning how to live with absence. About how grief doesn’t disappear, but it simply changes shape.