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Yellowface By R. F. Kuang (Review By Lana T. ’27)

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YellowfaceYellowface by R.F. Kuang
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

At first glance, Yellowface by R.F. Kuang is a book that prides itself on its timely realism. Chock-full of references to Twitter, Youtube, Goodreads, among other popular websites, Kuang takes a risk by placing her book in a very specific era that modern audiences are all too familiar with. The biggest risk in potential with this is that it can age your book significantly, and even worse with the inclusion of modern references, it can result in a book that appears to be trying far too hard to be relevant. Even though Yellowface came out in 2023, a mere two years ago, I personally found that the language and references didn’t add to the reading experience. Perhaps it was my lack of experience in reading books so explicitly modern, but constant references to the “Twitterati” and being cancelled were more tiresome than humorous. To be fair to Kuang, it is very clear that Yellowface was designed to be a popular, biting satire. I was unsurprised to learn that it boomed in popularity due to BookTok because the satire is engaging and easy to get involved with, resulting in a book with mass appeal. Yellowface follows June Hayward, who adopts the alias Juniper Song in order to publish and take credit for the unpublished manuscript of her deceased acquaintance, Athena Liu. Yellowface also puts us in the first-person perspective of June, whose narration is at times nuanced and interesting, and at times so blatantly racist that I question if satire is a little generous. Portraying a protagonist who consistently subjects others to microaggressions is an interesting choice, but it doesn’t make it easier as a reader to stay in the perspective of someone who says she “tries not to gag” in the presence of Chinese food.
Yellowface has a lot of redeeming qualities, with a wonderful premise that serves as an engaging source of conflict throughout. June gives a lot of commentary about authenticity and privilege within the industry, constantly defending her theft by saying that Athena would steal from other people for her novels as well. These moments, where Kuang dives into the nuance of the situation and portrays her protagonist in a human light are the best ones. They give an opportunity to look beneath the theft and see the person underneath. Unfortunately, the execution fumbles as the book continues, eventually concluding with an ending that can only be described as a trip over the finish line. Kuang spends time building up a conclusion that would provide a satisfying ending, making June face justice while also giving her closure for her actions, only to completely abandon it and pivot into an ending that feels shockingly fantastical for a relatively grounded story. The needless introduction of a cartoonish villain completely grinds the book’s pace to a halt, and when that happens with one chapter to go, there’s very few paths to recovery from there. The ending is the part that has stuck with me the longest after reading, but unfortunately because of how completely unnecessary and jarring of a turn it was. I found myself wishing that we could have seen the path Kuang spent multiple chapters building to instead, which would have been much more fulfilling and clean. Overall, Yellowface is a very interesting book. It opens the door to topics like authenticity, diversity, and the publishing industry, but fails to go any further than a surface level peek. As a satire, it does the bare minimum, but is at times mind-numbingly obvious. While it doesn’t have my recommendation, I can’t say I don’t think it was worth reading, because the chaotic end and few moments of nuance were enough to make me think it had something to say, even though those things might not have been the best executed.

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The Chosen and the Beautiful By Nghi Vo (Review By Tara N. ’26)

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The Chosen and the BeautifulThe Chosen and the Beautiful by Nghi Vo
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

The Chosen and the Beautiful is a retelling of The Great Gatsby from Jordan’s perspective with some fantasy elements. I loved this book! It’s explicitly in conversation with the themes and motifs of the original, rather than being its own story or trying to be quirky and twist things up— it takes Fitzgerald’s throwaway references to the dynamics of race, class and sexuality and makes those undertones explicit. The prose is gorgeous and well-paced. I often found myself rereading sentences and paragraphs just to bask in the beauty of Vo’s language. I finished this in two days, even though I knew how the story ended, or perhaps because I did. It was very refreshing to have a light read after several months in the APUSH textbook trenches.

The magic system is based off of cultural superstition/myths—I would’ve liked to see Black and Native American tradition dealt with beyond a few offhand references, especially considering how Vo relates them to Gatsby, but I also get that the author may not have felt that it was her story to tell. Regardless, the omission is a bit awkward in a story meant to fill these sorts of omissions in the original. Fitzgerald already does an excellent job of writing Daisy, but seeing her flaws through the lens of a close friend makes the banality of her cruelty feel more real. I really DO know people like that—people who can be carelessly kind and good without changing their fundamental nature, who are self-centered without being genuinely evil.

The Chosen and the Beautiful doesn’t really stand on its own; to me, that’s more of a feature than a bug, but I understand the complaint. Vo is adapting and staying faithful to a plot centered around Jay Gatsby in a book that is not about Jay Gatsby—Jordan doesn’t always meaningfully engage with the central events of the book, which can get a little awkward. Vo does a good job of filling in the gaps with Jordan’s own introspection and Jordan’s own character arc, but the story of Jordan Baker and the story of Jay Gatsby sometimes tug against each other. My biggest qualm is the ending—it doesn’t really measure up to the sense of catharsis and full-circle completion of the original. It’s not satisfying in the same way. And the magic system has some utterly insane implications that aren’t really dealt with, but perhaps the forthcoming companion/sequel will fill those gaps.

I heavily recommend reading this book during or after you read Gatsby in English 3. It will make the original feel fresh and interesting if you’re getting bored of the same characters and themes, and you’ll enjoy the essay-writing and discussion process more in class, which will probably result in (gasp!) a better English grade. 3.5 stars, rounded up.

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Hell Bent By Leigh Bardugo (Review By Tara N. ’26)

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Hell Bent (Alex Stern, #2)Hell Bent by Leigh Bardugo
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Spoiler warning: no major spoilers, but a lot of minor ones. This also won’t make any sense unless you’ve actually read the book.

I reread this book two years after it dropped in hopes that I had hallucinated it having been bad (I only remembered one plot point. I’ll give you a hint: it was glowing.) I was sorely disappointed.

Many elements of the book were a let-down, and it’ll be difficult for me to articulate why. I think the most pressing issue is that Hell Bent tries to pack too much plot into too short of a book and leaves character development by the wayside.

The central mystery of Ninth House is not who killed Tara Hutchins; it’s who Alex Stern is, and by extension who Darlington is, who Hellie and Len are, where did they go, why do we care. These are the questions the reader is trying to answer as they work their way through the book.

But Hell Bent just focuses on its moving parts—Eitan, Anselm, Reiter, Michelle, Walsh-Whitley, Darlington himself. In a Goodreads Q&A, Leigh Bardugo mentioned that the Alex Stern series was originally going to be, like, 12 books, then got shortened to 5, then 3, because they took so long to research… and unfortunately, that’s very apparent. Hell Bent felt like it was the premise of several different books frankensteined together.

Several books’ worth of character development gets awkwardly skipped over. Mercy, Tripp and Turner get awkwardly shoehorned into the main cast, with their character arcs hastily jammed in in the form of supercuts and flashbacks. I say this not because I think they shouldn’t be, but because I think they should’ve been given more screentime and development—each of them deserved their own book in the spotlight.

Tripp was particularly jarring; in the original book, he’s a hapless symbol of white privilege and the infinite second chances given to wealthy young boys. There’s hints of where Bardugo wants to go with his character—the minor reveal that he was instinctively aware of what Blake Keely was came all the way back in book 1—but the transition from set dressing to guy we are supposed to care about just isn’t actually executed. Mercy’s being brought into the fold is also clumsily done. She’s one of my favorite characters, but I think the revelations she has in Hell Bent can’t be contained within the span of a few conversations.

People complained about the pacing of Ninth House, but Ninth House was good because you watched things unravel slowly; Hell Bent sacrifices all of that and thus has the opposite problem (although it wasn’t a problem in the first place). Too much plot is crammed in. Nobody stops to take a breather and emotionally process what’s going on. Ninth House was self-aware in a way that Hell Bent is not.

And I really, truly hate to say this—because this series is not about Darlington, he is not the hero of this story, and that is part of the point. I’ve seen people act like the white man was the best part of the series and it drives me utterly insane—but he really should’ve had more screentime. I would’ve wanted to see his POV earlier. Hell Bent is, ostensibly, about rescuing him. The fun of Ninth House was piecing the story together from the split POVs; perhaps Hell Bent could’ve pulled a similar trick with Alex’s thoughts from above, and Darlington’s thoughts from below. I support him going off the rails, but I want to see that process occurring bit by bit, not just a jump-cut to him suddenly being naked and feral with claws and horns. Darlington’s entire premise is that he’s a gentleman—if he’s not acting the part, we need more than a few sentences on why.

The story read like one of my English essays: a haphazardly jammed-together collection of plot notes, impossible to treat with their proper gravitas. Any legitimately compelling moment fell flat, because there was no real buildup, just payoff, payoff, payoff, except for the payoff didn’t feel like payoff because there was no buildup to make it a payoff, and we didn’t even get the biggest payoff of the series that everybody was hoping for (IYKYK). Alas.

I don’t care if book 3 takes another four years (I actually do, but that’s beside the point)—just please let it make up for this.

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Dream of the Red Chamber By Cao Xueqin (Review By Jason S. ’25)

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Dream of the Red ChamberDream of the Red Chamber by Cao Xueqin
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

“The Dream of the Red Chamber is a peculiar novel to write a review for. I’ve been reading it on-and-off over the course of the last three months, and I’ve had to reread my favorite sections to really collect my thoughts. In reflecting, I’ve come to the conclusion that the novel is pretty worthwhile.

For the uninitiated, The Dream of the Red Chamber is an 18th-century Qing Chinese novel, among the Four Great Classical Novels of Chinese literature. In the frame narrative, a humble primordial stone begs a Buddhist monk and a Taoist priest to help him experience the pleasures of the mortal “red dust.” The stone is thus incarnated as the pampered heir Jia Baoyu, who cultivates a doomed love for his cousin Lin Daiyu in the pleasurable Daguanyuan garden and navigates the declining fortunes of four aristocratic families. Due to my limited knowledge of Chinese, I elected to read Chi-chen Wang’s translation using the Wade-Giles romanization (I will refer to the characters in pinyin). Although Wang ultimately abridged the 120-chapter novel into 40 chapters and removed much of the poetry and nuance introduced by Cao, I found his adaptation to be suitable for a first read-through where those details would have been inevitably glossed over anyways.

The story reads in an almost episodic fashion, with various courtly vignettes informing an overall metanarrative of societal decline. Due to this structure, most of the characters in this novel are static, and as the novel progressed, quickly made themselves unlikeable to me, either through their actions or ignorance. Baoyu, our protagonist, was a prime example. His petulance, passivity, lust, and hedonism deeply frustrated me as the troubles of his family became clearer. In fact, at times he literally sits and stares catatonic as events unfold around him. Don’t mistake this for a negative, though — his inability to take responsibility enhanced for me the message that all pleasure regresses into dust, and a certain turning point in the middle of the book made me feel really sorry for him. The only characters I could truly root for were the truly innocent who underwent horrible psychological and physical abuse at the hands of others, usually female servants victimized by either Baoyu’s ignorance or the Macchiavellian antiheroine Wang Xifeng.

My main criticism is with the pacing. Perhaps it is a consequence of Wang’s effort to compress 120 chapters into 40, but I found myself incredibly confused as to who was who. It took me a solid few minutes with a family tree online to truly understand the complex relationships between the four families. I’d sometimes start reading a chapter and give up halfway through because I didn’t know who any of the characters were, which really hurt the episodic nature of the text and made it harder to connect with the characters. It wasn’t a huge issue, though. In my opinion, all that means is that this text will take extra effort to digest.

I want to end this review by talking about the ending (in a spoiler-free way). The thing is, it completely contradicts everything that’s been established about the characters, and subverts the overarching narrative Cao was building up. Yet it contained some of the most beautiful literature I had the pleasure of reading in the book. Puzzled, I sleuthed online and learned quickly that the last 40 chapters of the original 120 had been written by an unknown author with completely different intentions from Cao. In other words, for the last third of the book, I too was a captive of the “red dust,” too blinded by the feel-good writing to question its authenticity. Yet I maintain that the ending is beautiful, and I think its dubious authorship enhances its value. Is Baoyu’s happy conclusion illusory by necessity? This is a question I hope to revisit upon future examinations of this text later in life. The truth is that we will never know, and accepting that fact is our first step to abjuring the red dust.”

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The Meursault Investigation By Kamel Daoud (Review By Jason S. ’25)

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The Meursault InvestigationThe Meursault Investigation by Kamel Daoud
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

“The Meursault Investigation takes place in the same world as Albert Camus’s The Stranger, and tells those events from the perspective of the younger brother of the unnamed Arab murdered by Meursault, who published The Stranger upon his release from prison. In its frame story, the reader takes the role of a voiceless college student who interviews Harun, the brother of Meursault’s “unnamed Arab.” The novel gives the “unnamed Arab” his name — Musa — and provides a unique anticolonial Algerian viewpoint on the philosophical side of Camus’s work through the jaded, unreliable narrator’s picaresque experiences as a fence-sitter during the Algerian Revolution.

The Meursault Investigation is a novel I enjoyed much more in concept than execution. My main issue with it was that its attempts to juxtapose Meursault and Harun were too heavy-handed, with Harun’s narrative having blatant parallels to nearly every major scene in Camus’s novel (with varying levels of success). This became especially noticeable pacing-wise in the second half of the book, into which most of Harun’s plot is crammed; I nearly rolled my eyes when I realized that Meriem, Harun’s love interest, was meant to be a foil to Marie Cardona. It was almost too obvious.

Despite this gripe, the book held my attention throughout its relatively short 191 page duration. Two interesting insights into The Stranger struck me in particular: first, regarding the absurdity of ‘just’ violence and the ethics of liberatory war in Harun’s interrogation; and second, a passage in which Harun praises The Stranger despite his hatred of Meursault because its economy of language allowed it to convey the last words of a person close to death. I also greatly enjoyed the attention devoted to Harun and Musa’s mother, who was a deeply complex character and a highlight in a way her counterpart in The Stranger was not.

If you haven’t read it already, I recommend considering this book after you’ve read The Stranger (perhaps in your first semester of AP Literature), just because it’s refreshing to read such a different take on it. Though it has problems, it’s a thought-provoking supplement that relevantly excoriates the blind spots of Camus’s contribution to the Western canon.”

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Misery By Stephen King (Review By Lana T. ’27)

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MiseryMisery by Stephen King
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Stephen King undoubtedly has one of the best resumes of any author, with works like The Shining, Carrie, and The Shawshank Redemption standing out as his best works. However, recently I came across one of his vastly underrated books, Misery. It tells the story of an author, Paul Sheldon, and one of his extremely devoted fans, Annie Wilkes, who saves him from a car crash. Slowly, Annie’s intentions seem less like those of a concerned fan who nursed him back to health out of the goodness of her heart, and more like an obsessive, temperamental monster who would rather break her toys than share them. Annie’s behavior masterfully escalates, and the reader is left in horror of what she will do next, or if Paul can make it out of her house alive. The book is a masterclass in suspense, with the scenes that shine being the moments where Paul sneaks around the house, doing his best not to make any noise. The entire time, the reader is on the edge of their seat, just waiting for Annie to jump out from behind a corner and for Paul’s luck to run out.
Misery masterfully keeps the reader in suspense for most of the story, and Annie’s cruel behavior results in one of the most vindicating endings of any novel I’ve read. My only true problem with the book is it sometimes becomes a story within a story, with Paul’s novel that he’s being forced to write taking up chapters. I found this story much less compelling than the one that took place in the prison of Annie’s house. These chapters, while a nice break from the tension in the house, sometimes broke my engagement with the book, especially when they went on for an exceedingly long time. However, Stephen King makes these chapters occasionally worth it with the small textual details that remind us of the reality this book is being written in. As Paul’s typewriter slowly loses letters, the chapters of the book are left with more and more spaces, reminding us of how much time has passed.
Annie Wilkes is one of the most terrifying villains in literature, with her mood swings and violent nature keeping me glued to my seat. As the reader, we spend all our time with Paul, and feel his helplessness in moments where Annie gets mad, as he is unable to do anything about it. Oftentimes gory and uncouth, the book does a brilliant job of showing us how indomitable Annie is, and the miracle it would take for Paul to make it out. The characters are what make this book shine, and it’s no wonder Kathy Bates won an Oscar for her portrayal of Annie in the movie. Misery might be my favorite Stephen King novel, as no work of his has left me so nervous for the fate of the protagonist, or so joyous at the fall of the villain.

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The Wings By Yi Sang (Review By Jason S. ’25)

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The WingsThe Wings by Yi Sang
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Want to see a Korean take on bite-sized psychologically gripping novellas like The Stranger and The Metamorphosis? Look no further than The Wings, by the early 20th century modernist Yi Sang.

These comparisons are of course not made to suggest that Yi is derivative in any way. Rather, it is a testament to the sheer amount of pain and alienation Yi can convey in as little as 40 pages. The story follows an unnamed 26 year-old narrator who is completely ignorant of human society. Manipulated by his wife Yeonsim, he languishes in the darkness of his room and accepts the vast inequality between his and Yeonsim’s lifestyle. Nevertheless, he wonders what her occupation is, and his attempt to learn more about her and humanity has tragic consequences.

While reading through the novella, I was struck by the childlike naïveté with which our narrator approaches the world. For instance, he concludes from his observations that the reason people exchange coins is that there is some pleasure inherent to bartering, and becomes immensely happy just from giving Yeonsim some coins. This simplicity makes his eventual loss of innocence even more crushing as we attempt to piece together Yeonsim’s circumstances.

I also found it incredibly interesting to read The Wings in the context of Yi’s life. Without giving too much away, The Wings is a semi-autobiographical piece of literature and mirrors Yi’s own relationship with his wife, who had an occupation he was deeply ashamed of. In addition, Yeonsim’s treatment of the narrator parallels the colonial Japanese oppression of the Korean identity, and Yeonsim’s occupation ends up being incredibly relevant to Japanese abuses of power during Yi’s lifetime.

The Wings manages to pack raw emotion and several layers of analysis into 40 pages. It’s no wonder many Korean high school curricula teach it to this day. I highly recommend it.

If you enjoyed The Wings, I’d highly suggest checking out Osamu Dazai’s novel No Longer Human, which I’ve reviewed on the Book Blog! It is similarly a bite-sized semi-autobiography, written by an Asian author in the proximate context of Japanese imperialism, and touches on themes of an alienated individual attempting to understand society.

As previously alluded to, The Stranger by Albert Camus and The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka are also nice bite-sized novellas about people alienated for either their psychology or physical form. Bonus points to The Stranger to also having a colonial context.

And lastly, if you enjoy experiencing narratives through microtransaction-light video games, I suggest looking into Limbus Company. It’s a Korean-developed gacha RPG available for free on Steam and mobile with characters from literature such as Meursault (The Stranger), Gregor Samsa (The Metamorphosis), Yi Sang himself, and more. Surprisingly deep story, and it’s always fun to watch Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights beat up Don Quixote.

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My Fault By Mercedes Ron (Review By Kristiyan K. ’27)

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My Fault (Culpable, #1)My Fault by Mercedes Ron
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

For the record, I hate this book. I only read it because I heard the Netflix movie was good. My Fault by Mercedes Ron is a typical Wattpad story (I haven’t read any, but I’ve heard a lot about them). It’s about an innocent girl with a dark past who meets a guy who also has a dark past, and they fall in love. In this case, the girl, Noah, is forced to move in with her rich stepfather in California and his handsome son, Nick. You know, the classic ‘stepsibling romance’ trope that’s not creepy at all.
First of all, the writing was so bland and lifeless, it was like listening to the Google translate lady read a dictionary. The sentences were dry and repetitive, and the plot was filled with unnecessary fluff. It was as if the author was paid by the word, and they were determined to reach their quota no matter what. The dialogue was so cringeworthy, my face muscles twisted into a million unnatural positions. It reminded me a lot of Anna Todd’s After series, which is a whole other can of worms. In other words, the writing was so bad, it was almost comical. I found myself laughing at the absurdity of it all. Perhaps the poor quality of writing was caused by the fact that the book was originally written in Spanish, and we can blame the translators, but I highly doubt it because the writing itself was definitely not the only tragedy in My Fault.
If the writing didn’t make you want to burn the book, the characters and plot line will definitely do the trick. Noah is basically another Bella Swan, but with a bit more attitude. She’s so superficial and boring, I wanted to DNF the book a million times. Noah’s inner monologue is shallow and self-absorbed, and it’s almost painful to read. She’s constantly obsessing over her appearance, and she has no real depth of character. She exists solely to be the love interest. The only interesting thing about her is her tragic past, which was the only part of the book that made me feel anything other than complete and utter cringe. Her father was abusive, and she’s still dealing with the trauma of that experience. However, even her past is presented in a superficial way. We don’t really get to see how her past has affected her as a person. She’s just a victim who needs to be saved by the handsome hero.
Nick, on the other hand, is your typical bad boy. He’s a gang leader, he parties a lot, and he has a double life. He also has issues with his mom, but we don’t even get to see her! The thing that really grossed me out about him was his internal dialogue. He treats women like objects, and it’s not just in a casual manner. It’s a deep-seated belief that he holds about women. He sees them as possessions, as things to be used and discarded. It’s not just his actions that are problematic, but also his thoughts and attitudes. What threw me off the most was that his actions with Noah are the opposite of that – he is caring and a real gentleman.
The main focus of the book is the romance between Nick and Noah, which is about as healthy as a potato chip. He’s a walking disaster, and she’s the innocent new girl who somehow falls for him. They’re both attracted to each other, but their relationship is a toxic mess. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion, except the cars are made of glass and filled with explosives. Nick and Noah are constantly hurting each other, and it is so frustrating to watch. It’s like they’re playing a game of “I want you, but I can’t have you” and they’re both losing. It’s not romantic, it’s just headache-inducing. The relationship is a rollercoaster of emotions, and it’s exhausting to follow. One moment, they’re happy and in love. The next moment, they’re arguing and fighting. It’s a never-ending cycle of ups and downs, and it takes a toll on both of them. Noah is constantly trying to fix Nick, but she can’t. He’s too far gone. And Nick is constantly trying to control Noah, but she’s not going to let him. They’re both fighting for their own independence, but they’re also fighting for each other. It’s a complex and messy relationship, and it’s not easy to understand. But one thing is clear: it’s not healthy. The relationship is toxic and destructive, and it’s going to end badly. If you’re looking for a healthy and uplifting romance, this is not the book for you.
Oh, and also let’s not forget the five-year age gap (22 and 17) and the fact that they’re stepsiblings. It’s like something out of a soap opera. I mean, who thought this was a good idea? It’s just creepy. The romance isn’t very spicy, but it’s passionate. The enemies-to-lovers trope is executed poorly, but the tension between them is enough to make you say ‘Dang.’ The book had one plot twist, which was not interesting at all. When it finally got to that point, it was like figuring out that water is wet.
There was one mildly interesting side character, Jenna, but she wasn’t that special. The book made me chuckle a total of three times, and two of those times were because of Jenna. Ultimately, do not read this book. It’s a waste of time. If you want to read about a toxic and questionable relationship, just read the After series. My Fault felt like reading fanfiction written by a 13-year-old. I heard that the second book gets better, but I’m not putting myself through torture just to see where Nick and Noah end up – in the trash can where I would have put my copy of the book if it was not a digital one. If you want to read an actually interesting romance, I would recommend reading Lightlark by Alex Aster or Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros.
P.S. Allegedly, Noah gets pregnant in the second book (had to throw that out there)… also the second (and third) movies are coming out soon…

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Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros (Review By Nikita J. ’28)

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Fourth Wing (The Empyrean, #1)Fourth Wing by Rebecca Yarros
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

In Fourth Wing, Rebecca Yarros masterfully blends intense action with rich, immersive imagery that draws readers into a world brimming with magic and danger. The story follows Violet Sorrengail, a determined protagonist who must navigate the treacherous landscape of a military academy where survival is anything but guaranteed. Yarros’s writing style shines through her vivid descriptions, painting scenes that feel both alive and palpable.
Moreover, the intricate relationships and rivalries among the characters add depth to the narrative, making Violet’s journey both compelling and relatable. Yarros deftly balances moments of tension with emotional introspection, as in one of my favorite quotes: “Courage isn’t the absence of fear, but the determination to fight despite it.” This blend of action, character development, and lush imagery ensures that Fourth Wing is not just a tale of dragons and magic, but a powerful exploration of resilience and strength. It’s a captivating read that will resonate with anyone who appreciates strong, character-driven fantasy.
I give this book a four out of five and recommend it to fantasy lovers!

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A Court Of Thorns And Roses (Review By Kristiyan K. ’27)

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A Court of Thorns and Roses (A Court of Thorns and Roses, #1)A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Prepare to be enchanted. Sarah J. Maas’ A Court of Thorns and Roses is more than just a book. It’s a lifestyle, a religion. A whirlwind of passion, danger, and unforgettable characters, this novel will leave your hands shaking, your heart pounding, and your mind reeling. You may think this is yet another corny romantasy book. Trust me, it’s not. It’s THE romantasy book.

From the moment Feyre, a fierce and independent young woman, is dragged into the magical faerie realm of Prythian, you’ll be hooked. As she navigates the dangerous politics and treacherous alliances of Prythian, Feyre must confront her own fears and desires while fighting for her freedom. Her journey is a rollercoaster of emotions, filled with heart-wrenching trials, exhilarating adventures, and a forbidden love story or two that will fill up your soul.

The writing is nothing short of exquisite. Maas paints a world so lyrical and evocative, you’ll feel like you’re right there, amidst the towering trees or the glittering halls of the Spring and Night Courts. The characters are complex, flawed, and utterly captivating. Feyre is a heroine you’ll root for, her strength and resilience shining through even in the darkest of times. The fantasy elements and world-building are equally impressive. Maas creates a rich and detailed world that is filled with fascinating creatures, ancient lore, and dangerous secrets. The action elements and fighting sequences are well-developed and add depth to the story, providing an interesting and fast-paced narrative. To truly immerse yourself within this magical world, I recommend reading the book with a fantasy book playlist. The music will enhance the experience and help you visualize the scenes even more vividly (Velaris has several songs inspired by it…).

But let’s talk about the real magic of this book: the romance. Oh, my goodness, the romance! It’s spicy, it’s passionate, and it’s everything. The enemies-to-lovers trope is executed to perfection, and the tension between Feyre and Tamlin will have you fanning yourself and muttering, “Oh la la.” And don’t even get me started on the plot twists (especially in the second book). These plot twists are canon events, and as such I cannot interfere… even though there is so much I want to write about….

Beyond the romance, the fantasy elements and side character arcs are equally amazing. The faerie politics are fascinating, and the magical creatures are both enchanting and terrifying. And let’s not forget about the lovable and hilarious side characters, like Rhysand, who’s a total dreamboat, and Cassian, who’s just… Cassian. You’ll know what I mean. Anyways, what I was getting at is that once you finish reading ACOTAR you’ll feel like a part of a big and happy family.

In conclusion, A Court of Thorns and Roses is an absolute must-read for any fan of fantasy, romance, or both, or neither. It’s a spicy, plot-twisting adventure that will leave you breathless. So grab your favorite beverage (be careful near the book), get comfy, and prepare to be enchanted. Just a warning: once you finish this book, you might find yourself experiencing a severe case of post-ACOTAR-depression; the next ten books you read will be dry as bricks. Trust me though, it’s totally worth it. This book/series is five stars for a reason!

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