Spotlight Features:
Monthly Features – February 2026
Twin Rivers by Jeremy Bender
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Synopsis: The High Priest rules the city of Twin Rivers in the name of the Lord of Mercy, his AI god. In this land, where robotic Brothers complete all labor and humans are left to enjoy the fruits of this Eden, something rotten grows. Yonatan, a newly ascended Priest in the sclerotic Priesthood, is meant to shore up the faith of those left behind. Yet as Yonatan’s preaching takes him deep into the city’s bowels, he must confront heresy far deeper rooted than he ever imagined. When he sees one of the city’s paramilitary Keepers leave a young woman to die because of her unsanctioned implants, Yonatan must decide whether his faith in the Lord of Mercy outweighs his own belief in human exceptionalism.
Summary: Overall, Twin Rivers is a dense, unsettling dystopian sci-fi novel about a city that calls itself paradise while feeding on control, faith, and violence. Through priests, enforcers, and those left outside the walls, it explores how power hides behind ritual and how mercy becomes a weapon. Dark, intense, and uncomfortable in the right ways, it’s a story about what people are willing to ignore to keep believing they’re safe.
See the full review here: Twin Rivers
Purchase here
The Dog Years of Ananias Zachenko by Paul H. Lepp
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Synopsis: What do you do when you run out of time? Ask Ananias Ezra Zachenko what he did after he was diagnosed. He set an agenda, took care of finances, delved into relationships, considered the heroic act. Didn’t go into denial, but defiance, there’s a difference.
He put it all in motion during the time he had left. A dog gets seven years to our one. Chenko rationalized the relationship by taking the best from both, our days the dog’s years and began to calculate. Anything to lengthen the short leash he is on.
During his dog years he planned for everything, but nothing turned out as expected. He concentrated on time, when he should have been looking at weight. No matter the type of year, when one runs out of time on this side, one has to figure out how to make weight on the other side.
Summary: Overall, The Dog Years of Ananias Zachenko is a quiet, thoughtful novel about illness, time, and the way diagnosis forces a person to renegotiate their relationship with living. Grounded, reflective, and emotionally restrained, this story explores how we measure time when the future becomes uncertain — and whether time can ever really be controlled at all.
See the full review here: The Dog Years of Ananias Zachenko
Purchase here
Her Ravishing Heartless Prince by A P Von K’Ory
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Synopsis: He’s a European prince with a thousand-year lineage—and he hates her as much as he craves her.
Alyssa:
Prince Carl-Theodor Frederick Maximillian Christoph Albert Maria Johann Anselm is as insufferable as his name is long. Arrogant, powerful, entitled—everything I despise wrapped in devastatingly gorgeous packaging.
So I do what I do best: verbally eviscerate him and his precious bloodline with razor-sharp insults. I avoid him like the plague.
But avoidance only delays the inevitable.
Soon he has me exactly where I’ve been secretly fantasizing—on my knees before him. The problem? I can’t tell if this is seduction or revenge. Prince Hot and Cold swings between arctic ice and molten lava, dragging me to the edge of beautiful insanity.
The real question: will I survive the fall?
Prince Carl-Theodor:
Alyssa obliterates my world like a derailed train the moment we meet. Her beauty blinds me—then her vicious tongue insults thirteen thousand years of noble bloodline.
No one has ever dared.
As Head and Defender of the House of Saxony-Bremer, I vow on my ancestors’ graves to make her pay. I’ll bend her. Break her. Make her beg until she drowns in regret.
But here’s the twisted irony that threatens everything: hurting her destroys me too.
I can watch her crumble, hear her wounded cries—but the moment she surrenders, something in my chest stops cold.
Have I sworn an oath that will damn us both? And why does her pain feel like my own destruction?
Summary: Overall, this is a high-drama, ego-heavy royal romance where attraction and revenge walk hand in hand. If you enjoy dominant alpha tension, pride-fueled misunderstandings, and romance wrapped in luxury and lineage, this delivers an intense, indulgent ride.
See the full review here: Her Ravishing Heartless Prince
Purchase here
The 7 Albums of Stovepipe by Paul H. Lepp
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Synopsis: From 1948 to 1982 nothing was as high mileage as a turntable. The speed limit was set at 331/3 rpms to take a spin down a highway of tunes on a ten-inch vinyl LP (Long Play) record album. The turning point 1982 when Compact Discs began to put the albums in our attics and closets. To some the change from LP to CD was a turning point on the same level as BC to AD. A wealthy collector has a well-trained staff they spend their time on finding the artifacts the turning points of the Boomer Generation left behind, items like Lee Harvey Oswalt’s belt, Jack Ruby’s cuff links. His staff comes across a nine word offer on the net, “Any Albums Made by the Stovepipe – Name Your Price.” He allows his staff to investigate, the project becomes an obsession. What they find out is a group known as The Chronologists are also interested in the authenticity of Stovepipe, the Musical Massiah between LP and CD, master of voice and instrument, lord of technology. Both Collector and Chronologists want to prove Stovepipe beyond a myth like Paul Bunyan or Johnny Appleseed, but for different reasons. One wants to prove he is alive, the other dead, and only one can be right.
Summary: Overall, a dense, unconventional novel that blends conspiracy, cultural history, and myth-making, The Seven Albums of Stovepipe is less about proving whether its central figure exists and more about why we need him to. The book rewards patient readers who enjoy experimental fiction, unreliable narrators, and stories that feel part oral history, part conspiracy file — especially those interested in music culture and how influence gets erased or mythologized.
See the full review here: The 7 Albums of Stovepipe
Purchase here
Review: Her Lethal Crown Assassin by A P Von K’Ory
Synopsis:
A MAFIA PRINCESS
DARK KNIGHT BRITISH ARISTOCRAT
WHO’D BURN DOWN THE PLANET FOR HER
When powerful Mafia fathers need to settle debts, even daughters become currency. But Ambrosia Gianovecci Derossa has never been anyone’s pawn—and at twenty-one, she’s done playing by her father’s rules.
Ambrosia
Kidnapped from my Swiss holiday by a lethally gorgeous knight and whisked off to London on his private jet, I should be terrified. Instead, I’m fascinated. My captor is a stone-cold Crown assassin with impeccable manners and a plan to use me as bait for my notorious father. What he doesn’t know? There’s no love lost between the Phantom and his rebellious daughter.
Enjoying my captivity baffles my royalty abductor. The twisted attraction crackling between us floors him. Mafia princess. Knighted British gentleman killer who’s honor-bound to treat me respectfully. Kryptonite. I plan to take full advantage and charm him out of his rigid self-control.
Unfortunately, he’s about as easily swayed as the Rock of Gibraltar.
Damien
The Crown tasks me with one mission: capture the Phantom, an American crime lord more powerful than the Vatican and twice as elusive. A Royal Marines Commando, I’m built for impossible missions. Kidnapping his daughter to smoke him out should have been simple.
Think again. Now I’m trapped in a London penthouse, playing bodyguard to a 21-year-old who’s pure temptation wrapped in designer silk. Any involvement violates every code of ethics in my profession and threatens my knighthood. She’s forbidden territory.
But she flirts without boundaries, pushing me toward something dark and possessive that has nothing to do with duty. She shatters my armour, makes my resistance chains disintegrate, and awakens a hunger I’ve never known. With her, sin looks so devastatingly beautiful. I need divine f*cking intervention.
And I’m starting to wonder if I even want that.
Favorite Lines:
“God, give me strength. And Devil, please rip it the fuck away.”
“The gods aren’t heroes, the assassins are. The villains aren’t monsters, the angels are. The titans shy away from cruelty, the heroes drink it to survive. Give the villain your heart and he’ll save it in anticipation of possible further use for it down the road. Give the hero your heart and he’ll crush it under his feet on his way to his heroic deeds. The bad boys are the ones who take and admit they’re doing so, take it or leave it. The good boys are the heart-stealers who slip silently into it and then away with it, never to be seen again, leaving you with an empty hollow in your chest.”
“In the darkness, I hold her close and wonder if healing can really be this simple— if love can truly be stronger than shame.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Within the first pages we get birthday betrayal, mafia politics, a controlling father known as The Phantom, and a daughter who is done being traded like hard currency. Ambrosia Giannovecci Derossa is not soft. She’s sharp. Angry. Wounded. Gothic. She walks into rooms like she’s both the bomb and the fuse.
And then we get Damien.
Elite Royal Marine. Calm. Surgical. Tactical. The kind of man who runs chemical simulations for breakfast and treats kidnapping like a chess problem. His perspective shifts the tone from emotional rebellion to strategic surveillance. Where Ambrosia burns, Damien calculates.
What makes the book compelling is that it’s not just a romance — it’s a collision course. A mafia princess raised to be bartered. A British operative tasked with using her as bait. Neither of them fully what they appear. Both more dangerous than advertised.
The setting leans fully into excess — private jets, Swiss Alps penthouses, rooftop helipads, armored SUVs. But the luxury isn’t decorative. It’s part of the tension. Every opulent space is also a potential trap. Every high-end suite doubles as a battlefield.
The pacing feels cinematic. Surveillance scenes. Tactical planning. Chemical mixtures. Helicopter arrivals. You can practically hear the score swelling under it all. It reads like a blend of mafia dynasty drama and espionage thriller, layered with simmering attraction neither side wants to admit.
The writing is bold and unapologetic. It doesn’t whisper. It declares. Internal monologues can run long. Metaphors occasionally stretch. Dialogue sometimes leans theatrical rather than subtle. But there’s ambition here — big themes, big stakes, big power dynamics. It commits fully to its world.
At its core, this story is about control. Who has it. Who loses it. And what happens when two people who are used to operating at the highest levels of power find themselves circling each other. It’s intense. It’s dramatic. It’s morally gray.
Summary:
Overall, this story is a high-stakes collision between a furious mafia heiress and a calculating British operative tasked with kidnapping her. Set against a backdrop of extreme wealth and global power politics, the story blends dynasty drama with tactical espionage. The writing leans bold and sometimes theatrical, but the tension, scale, and cinematic ambition keep it gripping. If you enjoy morally gray characters, elite military strategy, mafia power struggles, and attraction layered over danger, this delivers intensity from start to finish. Happy reading!
Check out Her Lethal Crown Assassin here!
Review: The 7 Albums of Stovepipe by Paul H. Lepp
Synopsis:
From 1948 to 1982 nothing was as high mileage as a turntable. The speed limit was set at 331/3 rpms to take a spin down a highway of tunes on a ten-inch vinyl LP (Long Play) record album. The turning point 1982 when Compact Discs began to put the albums in our attics and closets. To some the change from LP to CD was a turning point on the same level as BC to AD. A wealthy collector has a well-trained staff they spend their time on finding the artifacts the turning points of the Boomer Generation left behind, items like Lee Harvey Oswalt’s belt, Jack Ruby’s cuff links. His staff comes across a nine word offer on the net, “Any Albums Made by the Stovepipe – Name Your Price.” He allows his staff to investigate, the project becomes an obsession. What they find out is a group known as The Chronologists are also interested in the authenticity of Stovepipe, the Musical Massiah between LP and CD, master of voice and instrument, lord of technology. Both Collector and Chronologists want to prove Stovepipe beyond a myth like Paul Bunyan or Johnny Appleseed, but for different reasons. One wants to prove he is alive, the other dead, and only one can be right.
Favorite Lines:
“Every great turning point in history leaves behind some artifact of the moment.”
“Human nature moves in two gears: conscious and subconscious, what we see and what we dream. At times, human nature finds it hard to separate the real from the imagined. That it’s in our nature to combine the two and call it history.”
“The only thing we can’t afford is to overlook any moment in our time that changed us.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
This is a book that doesn’t want to be read quickly. It wants to be circled, revisited, argued with, and maybe put down for a while before you come back. The Seven Albums of Stovepipe presents itself as a kind of investigation, but it quickly becomes something stranger: a meditation on authenticity, myth-making, and how culture decides what (and who) matters.
The framing device — a wealthy collector obsessed with historical turning points — works as more than a narrative hook. It becomes a lens for examining how we assign value. The artifacts, the surveillance, the obsession with documentation all point toward a deeper anxiety: that something meaningful slipped past unnoticed, and that history might have gotten it wrong. Stovepipe isn’t just a missing musician; he’s a missing explanation.
What’s most compelling is the book’s refusal to settle into a single genre. It reads at times like a conspiracy file, at times like oral history, and at others like philosophical riffing disguised as cultural criticism. The voices of the First Contacts feel intentionally uneven — not polished, not always reliable, but deeply convinced. Their certainty becomes contagious. You start wanting Stovepipe to exist simply because so many people need him to.
The language is dense, rhythmic, and unapologetically idiosyncratic. This is not streamlined prose. Lepp leans hard into repetition, digression, and accumulation, and that choice mirrors the book’s central question: does meaning come from clarity, or from persistence? The reader is asked to do work here — to follow long riffs, to sit with ambiguity, to accept that proof may never arrive in a clean form.
By the time the book reaches its later sections, the search itself feels more important than the answer. The Chronologists, the collector, the First Contacts — all of them are trying to control a narrative before it controls them. Whether Stovepipe is real almost becomes secondary. What matters is the hunger for belief, the fear of being late to history, and the quiet terror that the most important things might only exist on the margins, half-heard and easily erased.
This is a book about music, yes — but more than that, it’s about who gets to define influence. About how culture canonizes some voices while others survive only through rumor, devotion, and fragments. The Seven Albums of Stovepipe doesn’t give you answers so much as it dares you to decide what you’re willing to believe without them.
Summary:
Overall, a dense, unconventional novel that blends conspiracy, cultural history, and myth-making, The Seven Albums of Stovepipe is less about proving whether its central figure exists and more about why we need him to. The book rewards patient readers who enjoy experimental fiction, unreliable narrators, and stories that feel part oral history, part conspiracy file — especially those interested in music culture and how influence gets erased or mythologized. Happy reading!
Check out The 7 Albums of Stovepipe here!
Review: My Family and the End of Everything by Joe Graves
Synopsis:
The end of everything begins closer than you think. Of course, it always includes such foul practices as bureaucratic corruption, disregard for science (or the overindulgence of it), and corrupted religion. But this is not where it starts. It begins much closer to home-smart homes to be exact, and well-intentioned inventions (they really did think it was a good idea)-and human consolidation, and old men doing their best to retire.
My Family and the End of Everything follows generations of the Profeta family as they march naively towards the setting sun. The ending doesn’t come with explosions-at least, not at first. It arrives quietly, in funerals, final meditations, historical preservation, and decisions no one remembers volunteering for. From networked houses and autonomous bots to terraformed worlds, time travel, dying suns, and suspiciously ceremonial banquets, these stories track humanity’s ongoing attempt to stay human, in all our gloriously human ways.
This isn’t one apocalypse, but several, for the world ends far more often than we’d like to admit. Yet somehow, through all of them, a family-and their stubborn faith in each other and in their God-finds a way to endure and present to us this question: If we could change the future, would we?
Favorite Lines:
As I do with all of my short story collection reviews, rather than favorite lines, here are a few of my favorite stories: The House, The Pivot, and The Day the Sun Died.
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
This is one of those books that feels quiet while you’re reading it — and then very loud in your head afterward. I went in expecting a more traditional sci-fi dystopia: smart homes, neural implants, generational timelines, the sun literally going dark. And yes, all of that is here. But what surprised me most is how personal it feels. The novel is structured as a collection of short stories that tell family histories. Each story stands on its own, with its own setting, tone, and central character, but they’re stitched together by bloodlines, history, and a shared looming reality: the slow unraveling of humanity under the weight of technology, time, and its own ambition.
The early stories, like The House and The Water That Shapes Us, are intimate and unsettling. They explore smart homes that optimize autonomy away and villages wrestling with the moral cost of hyperconnection. But those are just the opening notes. As the book unfolds, we move into space brokers and gravity trials, time-traveling historians chasing the elusive “Pivot,” off-world settlements, generational missions, political maneuvering, and ultimately the literal death of the sun. Each short story feels like a snapshot from a different era of the same extended family — different centuries, different planets, different moral dilemmas — but all orbiting the same core questions: What shapes us? What do we inherit? What do we sacrifice to survive?
Because it’s structured as a collection, the pacing feels episodic. Some stories hit harder emotionally, some lean more philosophical, and others feel almost like thought experiments wrapped in narrative. That variety is part of the experience. You’re not meant to sink into one continuous arc; you’re meant to see evolution over time — spiritual, technological, familial. The repetition of certain themes across generations (connection vs. isolation, faith vs. efficiency, autonomy vs. optimization) is deliberate. It builds a cumulative weight rather than a single crescendo.
What makes the format work is the throughline of family. Even when the timeline jumps or the setting shifts from Earth to orbit to distant systems, you feel the continuity. The book reads like an archive passed down through centuries, asking whether progress always equals improvement. It’s ambitious in scope — far bigger than just one storyline — and that ambition is both its strength and its defining characteristic. If you go in expecting one protagonist and one conflict, you might feel untethered. But if you lean into the anthology-style structure, the mosaic effect becomes the point.
This collection is less about the end of the world and more about the slow rewriting of what it means to be human.
Summary:
Overall, I found this book to be a reflective, generational sci-fi that explores what we lose when everything becomes connected. Instead of flashy dystopia, this book offers quiet, unsettling plausibility — smart homes that optimize away autonomy, neural networks that gently suppress prayer, and families wrestling with what shapes identity across centuries. It’s thoughtful, faith-tinged, and morally gray in the best way. If you like speculative fiction that prioritizes emotional and philosophical depth over action, this one lingers. Happy reading!
Check out My Family and the End of Everything here!
Review: Her Ravishing Heartless Prince by A P Von K’Ory
Synopsis:
He’s a European prince with a thousand-year lineage—and he hates her as much as he craves her.
Alyssa:
Prince Carl-Theodor Frederick Maximillian Christoph Albert Maria Johann Anselm is as insufferable as his name is long. Arrogant, powerful, entitled—everything I despise wrapped in devastatingly gorgeous packaging.
So I do what I do best: verbally eviscerate him and his precious bloodline with razor-sharp insults. I avoid him like the plague.
But avoidance only delays the inevitable.
Soon he has me exactly where I’ve been secretly fantasizing—on my knees before him. The problem? I can’t tell if this is seduction or revenge. Prince Hot and Cold swings between arctic ice and molten lava, dragging me to the edge of beautiful insanity.
The real question: will I survive the fall?
Prince Carl-Theodor:
Alyssa obliterates my world like a derailed train the moment we meet. Her beauty blinds me—then her vicious tongue insults thirteen thousand years of noble bloodline.
No one has ever dared.
As Head and Defender of the House of Saxony-Bremer, I vow on my ancestors’ graves to make her pay. I’ll bend her. Break her. Make her beg until she drowns in regret.
But here’s the twisted irony that threatens everything: hurting her destroys me too.
I can watch her crumble, hear her wounded cries—but the moment she surrenders, something in my chest stops cold.
Have I sworn an oath that will damn us both? And why does her pain feel like my own destruction?
Favorite Lines:
“She emboldened, motivated, encouraged, and inspired me tirelessly over the months.”
“But above all else, I have half the entire planet’s butterflies residing merrily in my belly.”
“I love her like the devil loves sinners and God loves the devil for being capable of that.”
“For that, I’ll love him even after death and in every other entity form I become.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
There is something wildly unapologetic about this book. From the first chapter, Alyssa announces herself as messy, sexual, ambitious, and emotionally reactive in a way that feels both over-the-top and strangely honest. She is not a soft heroine. She is sharp-edged, proud, dramatic — and I kind of loved that about her.
Carl-Theodor, on the other hand, is less brooding prince and more simmering strategist. His inner monologue runs on discipline, revenge, family honor, and suppressed desire. The tension between them is not sweet. It’s combative. Competitive. Magnetic in a way that feels dangerous rather than tender.
What really drives this book is pride. Hurt pride. Family pride. Social pride. Romantic pride. The entire story pulses with ego clashes and misinterpretations that spiral into obsession. Their chemistry thrives on restraint and retaliation. Every conversation feels like a fencing match. Sometimes they wound each other deliberately. Sometimes they do it accidentally. Either way, sparks fly.
The world-building is lavish — castles, heiress empires, royal jewelry, elite universities, helicopter landings at Burj Al Arab. It leans hard into opulence. If you like billionaire/royalty romance that fully commits to excess, this delivers.
That said, this book is not subtle. It is dramatic in all caps. Characters monologue. Emotions explode. Internal thoughts can be theatrical. But there’s a sincerity to it that makes it compelling even when it’s chaotic.
At its core, this is a story about two powerful people who refuse to yield first. It’s ego vs ego. Attraction vs revenge. Control vs surrender. And honestly? Watching them circle each other is half the fun.
Summary:
Overall, this is a high-drama, ego-heavy royal romance where attraction and revenge walk hand in hand. If you enjoy dominant alpha tension, pride-fueled misunderstandings, and romance wrapped in luxury and lineage, this delivers an intense, indulgent ride. Happy reading!
Check out Her Ravishing Heartless Prince here!
Review: The Journey of the Wish – Part I: The Grey Winter of the Enslaved by Stefanos Sampanis
Synopsis:
I perceived the world and acknowledged all of its colours. There was truth; the kind you cannot simply speak of. A tale suits the cause better. It is a disguise that anyone can enjoy and if intrigued, look behind it. This is my testament. A fantasy saga exploring the most human reality. A Journey that lies ahead and matures with each page turned.
Favorite Lines:
“Yet, though that name somehow remained, most of his knowledge from those days is useless and forgotten – belonging to a life vastly different from the cursed existence he now endures.”
“More important than anyone, but least important to all.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
The Grey Winter of the Enslaved is a book that doesn’t ease you into its world—it immerses you, then asks you to endure it. From the opening pages, it’s clear this is a story built on suffering, memory, and consequence, told through a mythic lens that feels both ancient and emotionally immediate. The prose leans lyrical and deliberate, often reading more like a lament or an oral history than a conventional fantasy narrative, which suits the story it’s trying to tell.
What stood out to me most is how deeply this book commits to the idea of loss as a permanent condition rather than a temporary obstacle. Glimm’s story isn’t about overcoming trauma in a neat, redemptive arc; it’s about surviving it, living alongside it, and being shaped—sometimes deformed—by it. The physical transformations inflicted on the Enslaved mirror the emotional ones, and the book never lets you forget the cost of endurance. Winter here isn’t just a season; it’s a system, a sentence, and a state of being.
The worldbuilding is dense and methodical, layered with gods, rituals, hierarchies, and mythic laws that govern who belongs where and at what cost. This isn’t the kind of fantasy that explains itself quickly or cleanly. Instead, it trusts the reader to keep up, to sit with uncertainty, and to piece meaning together over time. At times, this can feel heavy—especially when paired with the book’s emotional weight—but it also gives the story a sense of gravity and purpose. Nothing here feels accidental or decorative.
This is not an easy book, either emotionally or structurally. It lingers in grief, cruelty, and moral ambiguity, and it often refuses the comfort of hope. But there’s something quietly powerful in that refusal. The Grey Winter of the Enslaved feels less like a story meant to entertain and more like one meant to be witnessed. By the end, it leaves you with the sense that survival itself can be a form of resistance—even when it costs more than it gives.
Summary:
Overall, The Grey Winter of the Enslaved is a dark, myth-heavy fantasy that leans into grief, endurance, and moral cost rather than heroics or easy redemption. I found it to be an emotionally demanding and richly imagined story where survival comes at a steep price and loss is never fully undone. It’s immersive, somber, and unapologetically heavy. This story could be for readers who enjoy lyrical, myth-inspired fantasy; stories centered on suffering, memory, and survival; and worlds governed by harsh systems rather than hopeful destinies. Best for patient readers comfortable with slow pacing, dense worldbuilding, and emotionally heavy themes. Happy reading!
Check out The Grey Winter of the Enslaved here!
Review: Loving Remains by Esmeralda Stone
Synopsis:
Isaac Collins is trying to run Teagan’s Funeral Home and keep his life as calm as possible.
Cory Hughes is just trying to keep her head—and her death consultant business—above ground.
Thrown together by circumstance, a bit of guilt, and a lot of attraction, Isaac and Cory begin an uncomfortable friendship and soon realize the things that make them different may also be why they can’t seem to stay away from each other. And it could be just in time. Because not everything is as it seems at Teagan’s Funeral Home.
A romantic mystery for adult readers looking for mature characters, honest and open-door intimacy, dark humor, and a happily ever after that feels earned.
Favorite Lines:
“There were some laughs that made you instantly laugh with them. Some laughs that you couldn’t help but laugh at. And some laughs that were horrific and terrible, like a five-car pile-up you couldn’t turn away from.”
“No one should sit unclaimed for years on end, just waiting to see if someone remembered them.”
“I’ve learned that passing judgement on another person’s actions without knowing all the information can cause more damage than letting things go.”
“That death was supposed to be natural, which meant it was ugly and messy at times.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Loving Remains is one of those books where the premise sounds quirky—maybe even a little playful—but the emotional weight sneaks up on you fast. A romance set within the death industry could easily tip into gimmick territory, but this story doesn’t do that. Instead, it treats death as something constant, unavoidable, and deeply human, weaving it into a love story that feels tender, messy, and surprisingly grounded.
What really carries the book is its understanding of grief—not just as a singular event, but as something that lingers and reshapes people. Cory and Isaac aren’t blank slates waiting to fall in love; they’re both already carrying loss, anxiety, guilt, and complicated histories with death long before they meet. Their connection doesn’t magically fix those things. If anything, it brings them closer to the surface. That honesty gives the romance more depth than you might expect, especially for a book that also allows itself to be funny, steamy, and occasionally chaotic.
The death-industry setting isn’t just background flavor. It actively informs the book’s questions about control, ritual, and what it means to “do right” by the dead and the living. There’s a clear tension between traditional funeral practices and more personal, less sanitized approaches to death, and the book doesn’t pretend there’s one perfect answer. Instead, it shows how those choices are often shaped by fear, love, and the desire to protect ourselves from pain—even when that protection backfires.
That said, Loving Remains isn’t a light read emotionally, even when the tone is warm. It deals openly with loss, trauma, addiction, and mental health, and those themes aren’t just mentioned in passing. The pacing is steady, occasionally slower when it sits with heavier moments, but it feels intentional rather than indulgent. By the end, the book feels less like a traditional romance arc and more like a quiet argument for intimacy built on understanding rather than rescue.
Summary:
Overall, Loving Remains is a death-industry romance that’s far more emotionally grounded than its premise suggests. It blends grief, mental health, and love into a story that’s tender, funny, and occasionally heavy, without losing its warmth. It’s a romance about choosing connection while still honoring loss, and it treats death as something to be faced honestly rather than hidden away. Readers who enjoy character-driven romance, stories that engage thoughtfully with grief and mental health, and books that balance emotional weight with genuine warmth may enjoy this book. Happy reading!
Check out Loving Remains here!
Review: The Dog Years of Ananias Zachenko by Paul H. Lepp
Synopsis:
What do you do when you run out of time? Ask Ananias Ezra Zachenko what he did after he was diagnosed. He set an agenda, took care of finances, delved into relationships, considered the heroic act. Didn’t go into denial, but defiance, there’s a difference.
He put it all in motion during the time he had left. A dog gets seven years to our one. Chenko rationalized the relationship by taking the best from both, our days the dog’s years and began to calculate. Anything to lengthen the short leash he is on.
During his dog years he planned for everything, but nothing turned out as expected. He concentrated on time, when he should have been looking at weight. No matter the type of year, when one runs out of time on this side, one has to figure out how to make weight on the other side.
Favorite Lines:
“He reasoned as he waited, we’re just a wristwatch on the arm of time and can only be wound so many times or wear down so many batteries. Springs unwind, batteries go dead, and we stop. A watch never shows the same face twice when glanced at to see how much time has been used or how much time is left. Always leaving one to wonder if it’s the correct time. All the time, wishing for more, other times wishing for less. Such were the thoughts of Ananias Zachenko, better known as “Chenko,” as he entered the dog years of his life.”
“There is nothing permanent about us; no one gets out alive. Earth is a planet where all is temporary.”
“Change is a soul who wears many coats; some fit, some don’t.”
“Fate is like giving a box of matches to an arsonist; one doesn’t really know what they’ll do, but one has a pretty good idea. Fate is neither kind nor unkind; it’s like water and fire, as it can relieve your thirst and keep you warm one moment, or drown and burn down all that’s around you the next. Fate doesn’t care. Fate is just something out there that everyone has to deal with; it can’t be controlled, only survived.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
This book opens with a man who understands, almost immediately, that his life has changed — not because of what he’s lost yet, but because of what’s been measured for him. Ananias Zachenko doesn’t rage against the diagnosis. He doesn’t dramatize it. Instead, he does something much more unsettling: he thinks. He observes. He calculates. He looks for leverage inside time itself.
The “dog years” metaphor could have been gimmicky. It isn’t. It becomes structural. Philosophical. Emotional. Time stops being linear and starts behaving like something you can bend, misinterpret, ration, or waste without noticing. The book doesn’t rush to reassure you that this is meaningful. It lets the idea sit there and bother you.
What surprised me most is how grounded the story feels even when it drifts into abstraction. This is a book full of ordinary movements — driving, eating breakfast, sitting in parking lots, handling paperwork — and yet each of those actions feels heavier than it should. Lepp captures that strange sensation where nothing looks different from the outside, but everything is already irrevocably altered.
Chenko (and the name itself matters here) is not written as a hero. He’s written as someone aware of his own limits. He knows where he’s strong, where he’s compromised, and where he’s lied to himself. The chess metaphor isn’t about winning — it’s about realizing you’re already mid-game and deciding whether to play anyway.
There’s a tenderness in the way memory is handled, especially when the narrative dips backward into childhood and scouting stories. Those sections don’t feel like nostalgia for comfort’s sake. They feel like an inventory: what shaped him, what taught him risk, what taught him responsibility, and what taught him that sometimes you step forward because someone else can’t.
By the time the book settles into its later chapters, the question isn’t “how long does he have?” It’s “what does time owe him — if anything at all?” The story doesn’t offer clean answers. It offers presence. Awareness. The recognition that control is often an illusion, but attention is not.
This is a book about illness, yes. But more than that, it’s a book about measurement. About how humans insist on quantifying what can’t be safely divided. About how love, memory, and meaning refuse to obey calendars. And about how sometimes the bravest thing you can do is stay inside the moment instead of trying to outrun it.
Summary:
Overall, The Dog Years of Ananias Zachenko is a quiet, thoughtful novel about illness, time, and the way diagnosis forces a person to renegotiate their relationship with living. Grounded, reflective, and emotionally restrained, this story explores how we measure time when the future becomes uncertain — and whether time can ever really be controlled at all. Happy reading!
Check out The Dog Years of Ananias Zachenko here!
Review: Fragile by Deborah Jay
Synopsis:
If you could heal your own body, what risks would you take?
When a childhood accident reveals Betha has a talent for magic, her terrified family insist she must never use it, for in Tyr-en, sorcery attracts the death penalty.
Brokered in marriage to an elderly lord, Betha must give up her dreams of serving in the kingdom’s guard, but as court life and intrigue become her adult world, she starts to discover there are advantages to her new position.
Settling into the privileged life of a noblewoman, she is unprepared when false accusation brings tragedy to her family, yet she determines to bring the guilty party to justice. Will she be able to do so without using magic? Or will she die trying?
FRAGILE is the origin story of a character who grew from a bit part in book #1 of THE FIVE KINGDOMS series, to a major player by book #3. It is a stand-alone story, but also an ideal entry point into the main series.
Trigger descriptions of injuries, self-harm, and torture.
Favorite Lines:
“She might never achieve her childhood dreams, but she could at least make the most of her situation.”
“Some things are worth a woman enduring for the benefits they bring.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Fragile is one of those books that looks like it’s going to be about magic, but ends up being about power — who has it, who doesn’t, and what it costs to take some back for yourself. From the opening chapters, Betha is framed as small, breakable, and constrained by everyone else’s fear. The irony, of course, is that she may be the most dangerous person in the room.
What makes this story compelling isn’t just Betha’s forbidden healing magic, but the way that magic is entangled with pain, control, and pleasure. This is not a clean, heroic ability. It’s intimate. Addictive. Complicated. The narrative never lets the reader forget that Betha’s power comes from harm — and that knowledge quietly shapes every choice she makes.
The world-building is confident without being overwhelming. Court politics, marriage arrangements, social hierarchy, and religious doctrine all feel lived-in rather than explained. Betha’s forced marriage to Lord Herschel is especially effective in how unromantic and transactional it is. The book doesn’t soften that reality, and it doesn’t rush Betha’s emotional adjustment either. Her growth feels incremental, often uncomfortable, and deeply human.
Friendship becomes one of the story’s strongest counterweights. The relationships Betha forms with other women at court — particularly Denia and Pirolanni — give her access to information, influence, and a kind of education she was never offered at home. These scenes crackle with subtext, gossip, and quiet maneuvering, reminding the reader that survival in this world often depends on who is listening when you speak.
By the time the novel moves into its darker turns — accusation, captivity, and reckoning — Betha is no longer simply reacting. She has learned how to endure, how to observe, and how to choose when to act. Fragile doesn’t pretend that power comes without consequence, but it does argue that denying yourself agency can be just as dangerous. In the end, the title feels less like a description of Betha herself and more like a warning about the systems built to contain her.
Summary:
Overall, Fragile is a character-driven fantasy that’s far more interested in power, autonomy, and survival than spectacle. What stands out most is how Betha’s healing magic is framed as intimate, dangerous, and morally complicated rather than heroic. The book excels at quiet tension—court politics, constrained marriages, and female friendships carry as much weight as the magic itself. While dark and sometimes uncomfortable, the story feels intentional and controlled, ultimately arguing that denying agency can be as destructive as wielding power recklessly. Happy reading!
Review: Twin Rivers by Jeremy Bender
Synopsis:
The High Priest rules the city of Twin Rivers in the name of the Lord of Mercy, his AI god. In this land, where robotic Brothers complete all labor and humans are left to enjoy the fruits of this Eden, something rotten grows. Yonatan, a newly ascended Priest in the sclerotic Priesthood, is meant to shore up the faith of those left behind. Yet as Yonatan’s preaching takes him deep into the city’s bowels, he must confront heresy far deeper rooted than he ever imagined. When he sees one of the city’s paramilitary Keepers leave a young woman to die because of her unsanctioned implants, Yonatan must decide whether his faith in the Lord of Mercy outweighs his own belief in human exceptionalism.
Favorite Lines:
“Second chances are a gift, my boy. Be sure not to waste it, eh?”
“A single sentence had the potential to become a slogan, and a slogan had the power of dismantling everything.”
“Asa we say, your home is not where you’re born, but where you’re comforted.”
My Opinion:
I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.
Twin Rivers opens with ritual, doctrine, and history laid out in a beautiful and deliberate way. From the first pages, you can tell this is a world that believes deeply in its own order. Mercy is everywhere in name, carved into prayers and buildings, but the way it’s practiced feels narrow, controlled, and conditional. The city itself is immaculate, polished to the point of sterility, and that cleanliness starts to feel like a warning rather than a comfort.
Yonatan’s ascent through the Priesthood is both grand and humiliating in equal measure. The ceremony is overwhelming, public, and suffocating, and the book does a good job showing how power can feel less like triumph and more like a trap snapping shut. Yonatan wants approval. He wants belonging. He wants to believe. Watching him step into a role that demands devotion while quietly erasing his agency is uncomfortable in the way good dystopian fiction often is.
The shift to Samyaza’s perspective sharpens the story. As a Keeper, he is both enforcer and witness, wrapped in technology that amplifies his strength while dulling his humanity. His chapters are visceral and grim, full of streets that rot as soon as you leave the city center. What stands out is how little joy there is in violence here. Samyaza doesn’t feel powerful—he feels used. His doubts simmer under layers of obedience, stimulants, and scripture, and the book never lets him forget what it cost to be “lifted up.”
As the story expands beyond Twin Rivers itself, the contrast becomes sharper. The Wastes, the exiles, the Rejectionists, and the whispered histories all expose the cost of paradise. What the city calls protection, others experience as erasure. The idea that perfection requires control—and that control requires sacrifice—runs through the book like a low hum. When characters begin to push back, it feels dangerous not because of violence, but because belief is such a powerful thing to threaten.
What Twin Rivers does best is show how systems defend themselves. Faith, technology, and surveillance blur together until it’s impossible to tell where belief ends and programming begins. The city talks constantly about mercy, unity, and paradise, while discarding anyone who threatens that image. By the time the cracks widen—heresy, reapings, whispers from beyond the city—the question isn’t whether something is wrong. It’s how long the city can pretend it isn’t.
By the end, Twin Rivers is less about overthrowing a system and more about learning how systems survive. Change doesn’t come cleanly or all at once. It arrives through loss, exile, and small acts of refusal. The final images linger on memory and aftermath rather than victory, reminding the reader that even when cities fall or fracture, their ideas don’t disappear easily. This is a book about faith, power, and what happens when people decide they’d rather live with uncertainty than with lies.
Summary:
Overall, Twin Rivers is a dense, unsettling dystopian sci-fi novel about a city that calls itself paradise while feeding on control, faith, and violence. Through priests, enforcers, and those left outside the walls, it explores how power hides behind ritual and how mercy becomes a weapon. Dark, intense, and uncomfortable in the right ways, it’s a story about what people are willing to ignore to keep believing they’re safe. Happy reading!
Likely Story 