Notebook

With tenderness and grace, Heidi's poems speak to those who have felt rejected—by parents and by the church—and to those seeking to break intergenerational cycles. She writes from the position of someone who has been a prodigal daughter herself. As a reader, that comes through clearly, as her writing is compassionate while incisive. There is no judgement here, only acceptance, but also no excusing of harm. The way she balances all this with such delicacy is truly skillful. I'm glad this book is in the world.

How can any review possibly do justice to so timeless a book? What could I possibly say that has not already been said? Wuthering Heights is the first book I remember loving. I don’t remember now why it so captured my senses even at such a young age when I read it in 5th grade. It is obsessive, codependent, and toxic. Let's not delude ourselves. Yet this obsession drives the book; Cathy and Heathcliff are like a cyclone, whipping everyone around them up into their frenzy without care for anyone else, wreaking destruction everywhere.

One of the aspects I really enjoy about Wuthering Heights is Emily’s description of the moors. Having grown up on the moor of Haworth, in a rather solitary upbringing, her love for its nature are seen clearly, yet she also does little to soften its harshness. And thus does she paint Heathcliff, that he, in a way, mirrors the moors. He is as harsh, and as merciless as the setting in which he is placed, further stripped of humanity by those around him. As far as we know, he could indeed have sprung from the earth itself. I love this book, not simply for the intense, insane love (for lack of a better word here) of Heathcliff and Cathy (which I both feel akin to, yet also repulsed by), but for the tragedy of Cathy, to have been born as wild as Heathcliff and the moor, yet to be forever torn between accepting her true nature and conforming to the expectations of society.

In contrast to hers and Heathcliff’s love, her daughter and Hareton’s relationship arises at a more gradual pace, as they grow from scornful enemies (as Heathcliff intended for them), to lovers standing upon a foundation of mutual respect and the desire to become better for each other. Perhaps not as thrilling, nor as captivating as, “He is more myself than I,” but far healthier—surer. That, I believe, is what finally broke Heathcliff. As the narrator repeatedly observes that Heathcliff sees Cathy in both her daughter and Hareton, to see them then love each other in spite of his best efforts to sow hatred, utterly defeats him.

This is one of those books I can read a thousand times and still find something new each time.

when the government massacred the Taiwanese for daring to speak out against it (the government that had taken over from China after losing to the communists).

It was a period of martial law of mass suppression, murder, and imprisonment for over 40 years. Taiwanese people were not allowed to speak Taiwanese. My parents said they had to hide radios and listen to them secretly.

Tens of thousand of people were killed by the government which covered it up and forbade anyone from even talking about it until the 90s. To this day, the exact death toll is unknown because of all the cover-up.

Let’s not repeat history.

This definitely isn't a book I would normally pick up on my own, but I'm still glad I did. Pedro is such a force in the literary world, talented in so many ways (I just found out he also does archery??), and is an incredibly generous, kind, and supportive human being. How does someone like him exist in the world? I’m truly honoured to know him.

The second story in Pedro’s collection, “A Final Song for the Ages,” broke my heart a little, and I’m still thinking about it days later.

His story, "Do As I Do" was my favourite from the collection, though. It has everything I enjoy in a short story: a strong woman, puppies (lol), and heart. In a post-apocalyptic world, people long for more than survival, and the character(s) in this story learn trust and forge unlikely bonds. Also, never thought I would root for a robot, but there's always a first time..

Overall, this is a book that would appeal to readers who enjoy sci-fi, post-apocalyptic stories with lots of action, aliens, and humanity's fight for survival.

Started Kimberly Warner ’s memoir today, and thought I’d be reading it slowly, but I ended up being swept up in her beautiful writing and story.

I don’t often find myself nodding along as I read. Certain parts, though, were so relatable, I couldn’t help it. The delete button? Yes. The shrinking myself in response to the more chaotic members of my family? Yes. Not having a map for grief? Yes.

And ok, I’ve only finished part one so far, but Unfixed already has my heart. It holds so much of what I already know of Kimberly herself: tenderness, resilience, hope, acceptance—yes, even amidst pain.

Update (23 Feb 2026):

I finished Part II. This part hit really close to home for me in many ways. (SPOILER ALERT) At the end of chapter 10, Kimberly shares about volunteering her budding film-making skills for a grief support organisation. She writes about developing a theatre troupe, and a group of young adults who perform a skit about grief. In one part of the skit, the actors go, "Turn around if you'd give up everything you've learned since your person died, in order to have them back," and none of them turn. The idea being that in spite of the pain and heartache, grief made them better people.

I don't think I'm there yet. While I agree that in some ways, I'm probably better, overall, I don't know if I am. Of course, it's not so black-and-white, which is the point of the skit. But, I feel like I used to be softer.

In another part, Kimberly writes about her to-be husband's disabled daughter, Sydney:

"Parenting a child with intellectual disability, he's learned that life is messy, outcomes unpredictable, often unwanted."

And then, "I don't know how to get to her, and the absence of that knowing panics me." That line especially caused almost a visceral reaction. I've never heard anyone describe so clearly how it feels to try to connect with a child—my child—with a disability. Why it's so frustrating, but underneath that frustration, so utterly frightening.

I'm in awe.

Update (26 Feb 2026):

Complete. Review:

Kimberly's memoir, Unfixed, is an embrace, a hand holding you through a churning sea. And she herself embodies the kind of grace, resilience, and compassion that comes off every page.

The book is a story about what happens when a life shatters and you’re left with just the pieces lying around you—how you take these fragments and still create a whole life, a whole identity.

“…a midlife DNA test reveals that the man who raised her isn’t her biological father…” and “As she unravels the secrets hidden beneath her family’s story…A mysterious illness takes hold, leaving her adrift in dizziness…”

With tenderness and hope and absolutely beautiful writing, Kimberly traverses unknown waters of chronic illness and identity, and finds that wholeness isn’t about having it all together, or having a perfect resolution, but about embracing and being present.

I've finally read this book. It was on my Goodreads "want to read" list for years before I later deleted everything and started over. I don't even remember how I first heard of it, but it would come up in the book world every now and then.

For some reason, I'd always thought it was a light YA romantic fantasy that wouldn't interest me much. The cover and tagline may have something to do with it. "Love is the strongest magic of all"? Please do better, whoever came up with that. While it has fantasy elements, I'd label it as adult historical fantasy, with more emphasis on mythology and Celtic pagan tradition. And like other fairy tale retellings (this one based on the Brothers Grimm's "The Six Swans,") I expected happy, light, simple.

Yes, there is a love story, but it's a very, very slow burn. Very slow. That's fine with me. In fact, the whole pacing of the book, though some might consider it slogging, was perfect for me. Marillier took her sweet time setting up Sorcha's world, her background, her relationships with her family, especially her six brothers, and the magic of the Fair Folk. It's deeply atmospheric with rich, descriptive passages, set against a backdrop of the conflicts between the British and the Irish. This is a book with a deep sense of place and a connection to the earth.

The book follows the tale of the six swans pretty predictably, but what I didn't expect (and what I appreciated) was its refusal to brush over effects of trauma and grief. No one in this book gets a pat, happy ending tied up neatly with a bow. In this, it follows the tradition of Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, in which "love is now mingled with grief."

There is triumph, yes, but also much loss. The years Sorcha and her brothers were away and the pain they endured through them, her broken home when they return—all have lingering wounds that aren't mended, even after the curse is broken.

That, I think, is what will make this book linger in my heart and mind.

If you like books with ambiguity and deep connections between family members and lovers, check out my upcoming short story collection, The Constellation of Forgotten Things.

Eh. I think I just expected better from M.L. Wang after The Sword of Kaigen. This one was way too preachy. I have to give credit where it is due, however: it is a readable book, and not difficult to get through at all, nor boring.

(spoiler)

I'm sad we didn't get any closure with Aunt Winny and Alba.

(end of spoiler)

But that's exactly what I mean when I say it was just eh. Blood Over Bright Haven was excessively focused on the main character, Sciona, and her character development, that everyone else—including the secondary character, Thomil—just seemed like props to be used in service of her growth. Perhaps that was the point of the book? The one-dimensional characterisation of all the other characters wouldn't have taken me quite by surprise, except that in The Sword of Kaigen, the characters were much more thoroughly fleshed out.

Which makes me wonder if Wang intended to write the book this way all along.

Because the other thing is, she has a clear agenda in this book; it's extremely preachy to the point of being infuriating. The parallels between Tiran's oppression of the Kwen, and the U.S. of the indigenous and other minorities (and willful ignorance of the human costs to live in such luxury compared to the rest of the world), are obnoxiously blatant.

I deeply dislike when authors do this—treat readers like they can't understand their point unless they shove it down readers' throats, that is—it drives me mad. That's another reason why I didn't enjoy it as much.

However, if the point was to be preachy and drive her point across, keeping everyone except Sciona flat makes sense. Sciona is the one who must come to terms with her white privilege, face the atrocities she and her people have committed on other peoples, both knowingly and unknowingly, and have a reckoning with herself and all she has ever known.

By showing us the process, Wang puts on display how agonising it is, how it can literally bring someone to the brink of death—and yet, free them all the same.

I find this quote to sum up the overarching theme of the book well:

"She's hope."
"Hope?" Carra repeated.
"She's proven that she can change her mind," he said.

So, my personal enjoyment aside, perhaps in spite of what I dislike about Blood Over Bright Haven, it's not about that; it's about the hope of people in power being willing to change, and give justice to those they've harmed.

The writing is beautiful and I enjoyed it. This isn't the sort of book you read quickly, and that's something I appreciate in my books.

That said, the writing style is also such that it keeps the reader at some distance from the characters. I was personally happy with that, considering my own experience with child death; I never felt like Agnes's grief triggered or overwhelmed me. Instead, it was a meaningful and thoughtful exploration of what a child's death can do to a family, the surviving children, and a couple's marriage—all things I've wrestled with in my own life.

It's not often I read books that are this hyped up. I certainly don't expect to enjoy them, hence why it took me this long to finally read it. But this one, this one will stay with me for a long time.

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I should have known better than to read this book when I'm already emotional and grieving, but oh, what a book. It brought back nostalgic feelings of the wonder I had when I read The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe for the first time, and The Secret Garden. These beautiful books that taught me, as a child, that magic existed in my ordinary world, if only I had the curiosity and eyes to look for it. The introduction talks about these books as inspiration, and it comes through in a wondrous way here.

The way S.E. Reid managed to craft this story from the eyes of a ten-year-old child is awe-inspiring. Her writing is always whimsical and atmospheric in the best ways. It transported me right back to those days when I was young and just wanted to be heard, to have a grown-up who would have a real conversation with me, to feel belonging somewhere. And of course, now that I'm a parent myself, I felt the ache from Pete, who was just trying to be the best dad he could be.

Ivy & Ixos is a master work in such a small book. It made my heart ache. I loved it.

My Darling Dreadful Thing surprised me in the best way. Admittedly, I went into it with no expectations. All I knew was that the cover intrigued me (yes we judge books by their covers!). I appreciated the back and forth between the actual story and the interview between Roos and the doctor. Van Veen's use of an unreliable narrator in Roos worked extremely well—yet another exactly of a book that utilised the, "Is she crazy or are there actually ghosts?" to great effect.

That's not what I really liked about the book, though. Instead, what lingered was the relationship between Roos and Agnes, and the strange, somewhat toxic love they grew to have. It made me think of how trauma sometimes destroys relationships, especially if one person pursues growth while the other remains stuck. I'm not sure if that was the message the author hoped to convey, but it's what I was left with in the end.

The atmospheric descriptions made for a delightfully creepy read, perfect for autumn nights when you're not quite sure if the house is creaking or if there are old spirits wandering in the dark.

While I expected Lamb to break my heart, I didn't quite expect it to turn it inside out and scoop out its contents in the visceral way it did. This book is brutal yet tender, just like the titular Lamb, and as the narrator, D, sifts through Lamb's belongings to understand him, I think he's also trying to know himself. The fragmentary, non-linear storytelling works well for the story, as D looks through the past.

We're left without an easy answer or resolution. In that way, it's a reflection of life and the illusory nature of memory - how uncertain it is.

The book vaguely reminded me of Hua Hsu's memoir, Stay True, which is also a reflection on a close friend's death (not a spoiler; it's the premise of both books). While the two books are wildly different in style, the hearts behind them are what made me think of it: growing up in a world that doesn't accept you, searching for belonging in the face of loss.

I, Medusa is a bold retelling of Medusa's story that puts agency back into her hands. There were elements I enjoyed while reading this book: the relationship between Medusa and her sisters, the reframing of Medusa's "coupling" with Poseidon through the lens of someone in power taking advantage of someone who was vulnerable. It's a quick and easy read that I completed in a day.

Medusa herself wasn't a likable character to me; she made mistakes (choices) that she refused to learn from, which harmed people she cared for again and again. Some may call that empowerment, but I'd call it selfishness. She's praised for these actions and punished in turns. By the end of the story, I wasn't left with the sense that she had learned anything at all.

Even though it's labeled adult fiction, Medusa's young age makes this book more appropriate for young adults, despite the darker content. The book's overarching themes of consent, power, and prejudice make this a relevant one for our time.

This book had a lot going for it: lovely writing, evergreen themes of religious trauma and the search for acceptance and belonging, and ace-representation. Winters handles difficult topics like severe child abuse with sensitivity. Hallowed be Thy Name kept me engaged enough throughout the story that despite some issues I'll point out below, I wanted to find out what would happen. I also really enjoy these kinds of stories where you wonder if something supernatural is really going on, or if the narrator is crazy. Augustus is an awkward and endearing unreliable narrator whom I wanted to hug and love. The way he would try to self-sabotage relationships because of his insecurities was incredibly relatable.

Winters writes beautifully. I highlighted several passages that made me go, "Oh, wow." Beginning the story with the reader knowing that Augustus murdered his mother sets up a different mystery—what exactly happened? This was quite clever and I enjoyed trying to figure it out.

That said, the book would benefit from editing at the developmental and line levels. Midway through the book, <spoiler> the romance took over the narrative to where it no longer felt like a horror book until it needed to again for plot reasons. While I understand the reasoning behind that, it was jarring. </spoiler> The beginning of the book also felt really long, so it seemed like half the book was set-up. The pacing was a bit strange.

On the line level, there were several incidents when characters exchange dialogue in a way that sound Victorian, but they're living in the modern times with Internet. 

Nathaniel was such a nice character that he never seemed like a real person to me, which then caused the relationship to fall flat. As a result, I'm afraid the full impact of the ending failed to land, even though on a cognitive level, I knew how I was supposed to feel.

Overall, I enjoyed this book. It's very readable and kept my attention throughout.

Thank you to the author for my free ARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own.