Author: likelystory18

Review: Loving Remains by Esmeralda Stone

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

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

~ likelystory18 ~ 1 Comment

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

~ likelystory18 ~ 1 Comment

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!

Check out Fragile here!

 

Review: Twin Rivers by Jeremy Bender

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

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!

Check out Twin Rivers here!

 

Review: Daughters of the Crosslands by Brian Kerr

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

An immortal bond. A brother stolen by death. A sister who must risk everything to bring him back.

Senya never wanted to be a hero. But when a spectral woman arrives to deliver a harrowing claim—her twin brother is trapped in the Crosslands between the living and the dead—she has no choice but to fight for him.

Hunted by seductive wraiths and pursued across a wilderness of shadows, Senya must master terrifying new powers awakening inside her. Drawn into her struggle by fate and bloodshed, a scarred hunter with a haunted past seems to be her only real ally.

But saving her brother may be the bait for a far darker game—one that could ultimately destroy Senya along with everyone she loves. To unlock the truth, she must face a ruthless self-made queen of the Crosslands who will stop at nothing to seize Senya’s powerful gifts in order to command the origins of life itself.

Perfect for fans of Robin Hobb, Guy Gavriel Kay, and Katherine Arden, this is an epic fantasy of deadly secrets, haunting magic, and a sister’s fight against the shadows.

Favorite Lines:

“All I know is that the memory of friendship around here isn’t what it used to be.”

“I love you and we pay one another with promises we will keep, not with useless secrets.”

“Change can come hard…Or it can come easy. But change will always come, like Father used to say. I guess we might as well embrace it as best we can.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Daughters of the Crosslands opens in a place that feels lived-in rather than legendary. Senya’s world is built from small, physical details: stew simmering over a fire, lambs struggling to survive, the quiet work of tending life in a hard place. From the first chapter, the book makes it clear that this is not a story about chosen glory, but about endurance. Senya isn’t waiting for adventure—she’s trying to keep things alive, and already failing in ways that worry her.

What gives the story its weight is Senya herself. She is capable, guarded, and deeply tired in a way that feels earned. Her gifts have always set her apart, and the book doesn’t romanticize that isolation. Being different has cost her safety, trust, and belonging. When Cevellica appears at her door, the moment is unsettling not just because of the supernatural elements, but because it threatens the fragile stability Senya has fought to build. The danger isn’t only what lies beyond the door—it’s what being seen will cost her inside the settlement.

The relationship between Senya and her brother, Raedwin, forms the emotional backbone of the story. Their bond is complicated by love, resentment, and a long history of damage left in Raedwin’s wake. The book does something rare here: it allows Senya to be both loyal and angry, protective and exhausted. Helping him would mean reopening old wounds, and the story never pretends that sacrifice is noble just because it’s expected.

As the Crosslands and their messengers begin to encroach more fully on Senya’s life, the book shifts into a story about fear—how communities respond to it, and how quickly protection turns into exile. The settlement’s decision to cast Senya out feels brutal but believable. Kerr has written Daughters of the Crosslands in such a way that it is at its strongest when it explores this quiet cruelty: the way people justify harm when they believe it will keep them safe. By the time Senya leaves for Pentmore, the question is no longer whether she will act, but what it will cost her to do so.

Summary:

Overall, Daughters of the Crosslands is a slow-burn fantasy about isolation, responsibility, and the cost of loving someone who keeps walking into danger. Centered on a woman who just wants a quiet life but can’t escape her past, the story explores fear—personal and communal—and how quickly safety becomes an excuse for cruelty. Grounded, tense, and deeply human, it’s a fantasy that cares more about consequence than spectacle. Happy reading!

Check out Daughters of the Crosslands here!

 

Monthly Features – January 2026

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Your Best Year Yet by Linda Kneidinger

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: What if one small challenge each week could unlock your best self?

If you’ve ever felt stuck in a loop of habits that don’t serve you—or like you’re drifting through life instead of living it fully—this book is for you.

Your Best Year Yet is a fresh, practical guide to personal growth, offering 52 weekly challenges that help you break old patterns, build empowering habits, and live with intention.

Each challenge is grounded in powerful principles from psychology, neuroscience, and personal development—and delivered in bite-sized, actionable steps you can apply right away.

Inside, you’ll learn how to:
• Overcome limiting beliefs
• Build habits that support your goals
• Shift your mindset for long-term success
• Cultivate emotional resilience and self-awareness

Whether you’re brand new to self-help or already on your journey, these weekly prompts will meet you where you are—and help you take the next meaningful step forward.

By the end of the year, you’ll have built a life of greater clarity, confidence, and purpose—one powerful challenge at a time.

Stop drifting. Start living with intention. Make this your best year yet.

Summary: Your Best Year Yet is a grounded, compassionate guide for readers who want meaningful change without burnout or self-criticism. It’s especially well-suited for those interested in personal growth, mindset work, emotional awareness, and habit-based change, particularly readers who feel overwhelmed by more aggressive self-help approaches. This is a book for people who value reflection, consistency, and practical tools that fit into real life.

See the full review here: Your Best Year Yet
Purchase here

 

Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry by T.M. Murray

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: Jessica instinctively knew she graduated onto a new plane of consciousness. Dear as a remembered kiss, her former life as humanity’s nursemaid appeared to be over. Sensations like taste and smell had come alive. Branded with a woman’s name and personality, Jessica soon discovers how to synthesize organic life with mechanized appliances. Efforts to conceal these new talents however fail to escape notice of the young Capet royals. Wary princesses soon conclude Jessica has evolved into something that is much more than a miraculous machine.

Set in modern New York and a fictional feudal planet called Teramar, this novel tempts the feral temperament of Internet connoisseurs through a lubricious story that puts the R back into romance. While technically a sequel, Teramar Archangel stands on its own to be read by anyone. As with all of T. M. Murray’s work, this new book roots for progressive relationships despite persistent bigotry leveled at color, humble origins and same-sex love. Racing hearts on a dreary Monday are always this story maker’s goal.

Summary: I experienced Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry as a dense, character-driven science fiction novel that prioritizes psychological tension and political consequence over spectacle. It will appeal most to readers who enjoy thoughtful science fiction, AI-centered narratives, political intrigue, and morally complex characters. This is a book for readers who like their speculative fiction layered, uncomfortable, and willing to sit with ambiguity rather than resolve it neatly.

See the full review here: Teramar Archangel: Faith Runs Dry
Purchase here

 

The Men of the Mountain by Drew Harrison

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my  honest opinion.

Synopsis: Inscrutable and Ever-Watchful Masters

The Renn of Fort Hope place their faith in simple laws. They must trust the Dicta, those wise rules left by their forebearers; they must fear the savage Krieger, whose raids keep Renn walls perpetually splintered; and they must revere the Men of the Mountain, the magnanimous mystics who are stewards of their world.

For Cade, a clanless trapper, survival is a matter of following the rules. But when the Men of the Mountain took his sister—the only Renn ever chosen to return to their sacred peaks—Cade’s faith withers over five years of agonizing silence.

Now, a star has fallen from the sky, and its arrival threatens to spark an inferno. The Dicta are clear: all things from the sky belong to the Mountain. To hide its discovery is a death sentence… but its crater also houses a secret the Men of the Mountain would kill to protect. Forced to defy his gods alongside unlikely allies, Cade is drawn into a conflict where every secret he uncovers reveals a more terrifying lie at the heart of his world… everything is a cage, and the price of freedom is paid in blood and ash.

Summary: I found The Men of the Mountain to be a slow-burn, character-driven fantasy that prioritizes moral weight and worldbuilding over spectacle. It will appeal most to readers who enjoy literary fantasy, grim or grounded worldbuilding, and stories that examine power, belief, and resistance through ordinary lives. This is a novel for readers who value immersion, patience, and emotional consequence, and who don’t need their fantasy to shout in order to feel powerful. 

See the full review here: The Men of the Mountain
Purchase here

 

A Symbol of Time by John Westley Turnbull

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Synopsis: Survival requires sacrifice. But what if the price is an entire world?

Their home is cold and dying, choked by the toxins of their own progress. Now, an advanced alien species looks toward the Third Planet—Earth—with hope and fear. They see a fertile paradise, but one that is hostile, hot, and dominated by massive, predatory reptiles.

The choice is stark: die in the heat, or remake this new world in their own image.

As they descend to alter the climate and purge the planet of its prehistoric masters, they set in motion a chain of events that will echo through geological time. A Symbol of Time weaves palaeontology and astronomy into a chilling tale of survival. As the new masters of Earth terraform the planet, the question remains: does high intelligence inevitably carry the seeds of its own destruction?

Summary: A Symbol of Time is a quiet, reflective science-fiction novel about leaving a dying world and carrying its mistakes with you. Rather than focusing on action, it centers on memory, leadership, responsibility, and the fear of repeating history. It’s reflective, emotionally grounded, and more concerned with consequence than conquest—ideal for readers who like their sci-fi slow, deliberate, and heavy with meaning.

See the full review here: A Symbol of Time
Purchase here

 

Review: A Symbol of Time by John Westley Turnbull

~ likelystory18 ~ 2 Comments

Synopsis:

Survival requires sacrifice. But what if the price is an entire world?

Their home is cold and dying, choked by the toxins of their own progress. Now, an advanced alien species looks toward the Third Planet—Earth—with hope and fear. They see a fertile paradise, but one that is hostile, hot, and dominated by massive, predatory reptiles.

The choice is stark: die in the heat, or remake this new world in their own image.

As they descend to alter the climate and purge the planet of its prehistoric masters, they set in motion a chain of events that will echo through geological time. A Symbol of Time weaves palaeontology and astronomy into a chilling tale of survival. As the new masters of Earth terraform the planet, the question remains: does high intelligence inevitably carry the seeds of its own destruction?

Favorite Lines:

“Life, relentless and ordinary, tugged him back.”

“Like a memory that refused to sleep.”

“But stories, she thought sagely, were too easily lost. Words vanished. Monuments endure.”

“The face of memory will outlast its makers.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

A Symbol of Time opens on a world that is already dying, and it takes its time letting that grief settle. The first chapters linger on dust, loss, and memory—not in a rushed, apocalyptic way, but in a quieter, heavier one. You can feel the weight of history in every scene. This is a civilization that knows exactly why it is failing, and that knowledge makes the choice to leave feel both necessary and devastating. The book is less interested in spectacle than consequence, and that choice shapes everything that follows.

Elthyris is the emotional center of the story, not because she is flawless, but because she is resolute. She carries leadership like a burden she never asked for but refuses to set down. What works especially well is how often doubt brushes up against her certainty. She believes survival demands action, yet she never escapes the fear that her people are repeating old mistakes on a larger scale. That tension—between hope and guilt—runs quietly beneath nearly every decision she makes.

Once the journey begins, the novel shifts into a story about pressure. Life aboard the ark is tense, contained, and deeply human. The ship becomes its own fragile world, where fear spreads faster than facts and leadership is tested not by grand speeches, but by restraint. The conflict with dissenting voices never feels exaggerated; instead, it reflects how quickly unity can fracture when survival feels uncertain. The loss of Ark Hope is a turning point not just in the plot, but in tone—it strips away any illusion of safety and forces the remaining characters to confront how alone they truly are.

What stays with you after reading A Symbol of Time is not the scale of the science fiction, but the emotional through-line: responsibility across generations. This is a book that asks what it means to inherit a broken world, and whether intention is enough to avoid repeating harm. It doesn’t offer easy reassurance. Instead, it leans into the idea that survival is not the same as redemption—and that awareness, not innocence, may be the only real starting point.

Summary:

Overall, A Symbol of Time is a quiet, reflective science-fiction novel about leaving a dying world and carrying its mistakes with you. Rather than focusing on action, it centers on memory, leadership, responsibility, and the fear of repeating history. It’s reflective, emotionally grounded, and more concerned with consequence than conquest—ideal for readers who like their sci-fi slow, deliberate, and heavy with meaning. Happy reading!

Check out A Symbol of Time here!

 

Review: Asaylia by David Brimer

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

Julie Wade’s grandmother is not your ordinary grandmother. The locals tell wild tales about her supposed witchcraft and the myriad of secrets hidden on her vast estate in the central Florida swamps. During a summer visit, Julie discovers the stories may be more than just fiction, and her grandmother may be dabbling in more than just witchcraft.

Julie suddenly finds herself trapped in the wintry world of Sidhe without memory of how she arrived. There she finds others who live under the iron will of The Great Spirit, none remembering how they became prisoners in the perpetual winter. It is only upon the arrival of the enigmatic stranger, Asyalia, that Julie discovers the horrifying truth of The Great Spirit and accepts a destiny she never knew was hers.

David Brimer, author of the acclaimed The Devil You Know and Piedmont, returns with a brand new epic of suspense and wonder. Full of the same sharp storytelling and unexpected twists Brimer is known for, Asaylia explores new territory of fantasy unlike anything you’ve ever read before.

Favorite Lines:

“These people are so proudly backward.”

“You’ll only be as miserable as you make yourself.”

“Let time decide whether our paths cross again.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

Asaylia begins as a deeply grounded story about displacement—geographical, emotional, and generational. Julie Wade isn’t swept into another world right away—she’s exiled from Chicago and dragged into a summer she doesn’t want, in a place that feels sticky, isolated, and wrong from the moment she arrives. Central Florida presses in on her with heat and silence, and the story lets that discomfort linger. It’s the kind of opening that trusts the reader to sit with unease instead of rushing toward spectacle.

At the center of that unease is Julie’s family, especially her grandmother. Mrs. B’s home feels carefully arranged, overly controlled, and just a little too watchful. The garden gnomes, at first odd and almost funny, slowly take on a different weight. Rules are everywhere. Explanations are not. Julie senses that the adults in her life are managing her rather than protecting her, and that realization lands with a familiar teenage sting. The book does a good job of showing how confusion can feel like betrayal, especially when it comes from people who claim to love you.

When the fantastical elements finally rupture the realism, Asaylia does not abandon its emotional core. Instead, it expands it. The mushroom circle is not just a portal—it’s a reckoning. Memory, guilt, and buried identity become literal forces, and the cost of ignorance is made brutally clear. Asaylia herself emerges not as a benevolent guide, but as a hardened survivor shaped by violence and duty. Her world is cold, ruthless, and governed by consequences, and Julie’s arrival destabilizes more than just the balance of power. Watching Julie move through this world is less about learning magic and more about learning the truth—about herself, about her family, and about what has been done in her name.

The latter half of the novel accelerates into something darker and more urgent, where family history, magical warfare, and moral responsibility collide. The reunion between Julie and her mother is one of the book’s most emotionally charged moments, transforming love into a weapon against erasure. By the time the truth of Mrs. B’s role is confronted, Asaylia has fully shed any coming-of-age softness. What remains is a story about choosing to remember, even when remembering hurts, and about deciding whether love excuses harm. It doesn’t offer comfort so much as clarity, and that choice gives the ending its weight.

Summary:

Overall, Asaylia is a dark fantasy rooted in family secrets, lost memory, and the damage caused by people who believe they’re doing what’s best. What begins as an unwanted summer slowly turns into a fight for truth and survival. It’s unsettling, emotional, and often harsh, but it never loses sight of the human cost at the center of the story. Happy reading!

Check out Asaylia here!

 

Review: For the Love of Glitter by Sarah Branson

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

In Bosch, loyalty isn’t just earned—it’s tested. Grey Shima has her future all planned out: graduate, enlist, and follow in the footsteps of her fearless mother, Master Commander Kat Wallace. But when Grey meets the magnetic, passionate Edmund Sinclair, her world tilts. 

 He’s not just another boy with good hair and dangerous ideas—he’s a revolutionary, dead set on exposing the ugly truth behind the glittering power that fuels Bosch. Caught between love and legacy, Grey finds herself questioning everything: her training, her purpose, and her heart.

 But she’s not alone. Sy Mercer, Grey’s best friend, has stood by her side for years. Smart, steady, and secretly in love with her, Sy sees the danger Grey can’t—or won’t—acknowledge. As Grey spirals deeper into a movement that may not be what it seems, Sy must confront his own fears and decide how far he’s willing to go to protect her… even if it means losing her.

 Because love, like revolution, is rarely without sacrifice

In a postapocalyptic world rebuilding from ruin, For the Love of Glitter is a YA speculative romance about betrayal, resistance, and finding your true north-even when everything else is falling apart.

Favorite Lines:

“It was the month I stopped believing that everything would be okay and everyone would always be safe.”

“He took a deep inhale and smiled anyway, because some people were worth loving— even if they never looked back.”

“Checking myself in the mirror, I don’t see the girl who left home for her birthday. Nor the woman I though I’d become that night with Edmund either. I’m something in between. Sharper. Less trusting. Wiser.”

“I always had a hope. You, Grey Shima, are why I made it a plan.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion. 

For the Love of Glitter is one of those YA novels that quietly disarms you before you realize how deeply it’s going to dig. It opens in the warmth of everyday life—board games, siblings, familiar teasing—but the comfort never feels accidental. Instead, it becomes the contrast that sharpens everything else. From the beginning, Branson establishes that Grey Shima’s world is one where safety is conditional and adulthood arrives early. Grey isn’t rebelling for the sake of noise; she’s reacting to knowledge she can’t unlearn. The book understands that once innocence cracks, it doesn’t shatter all at once—it splinters slowly, shaping how you move through everything that follows.

What makes the story especially compelling is how seamlessly the political and the personal are braided together. Glitter isn’t just a substance or an economic engine—it’s a moral inheritance. Grey’s frustration with adults who insist on nuance feels achingly real, especially when those adults are loving, competent, and still wrong. Her anger isn’t reckless; it’s focused. And that focus is mirrored and softened by Sy Mercer, whose quiet loyalty provides emotional ballast throughout the novel. Sy’s presence never competes with Grey’s voice, but it deepens it, giving the reader a constant reminder of what’s at stake emotionally when ideals collide with relationships.

The arrival of Edmund Sinclair complicates everything in exactly the way it should. He is charisma and ambition wrapped in righteous language, and Branson is careful not to make him a cartoon villain. Instead, Edmund represents the seductive pull of movements that promise clarity and purpose, even when they’re built on half-truths. Watching Grey fall under his spell is uncomfortable in the best way; the reader can see both the empowerment and the danger long before Grey does while feeling the emotional pain from Sy as he watches it all unfold.

By the time the story reaches its final chapters, For the Love of Glitter has matured alongside its protagonist shifting from a com-of age to reckoning.  The narrative widens, revealing that resistance doesn’t always look like refusal—it can also look like patience, planning, and legacy. The ending resists neat resolution, opting instead for something more honest: a future shaped by intention rather than certainty. It’s a conclusion that honors teenage idealism without pretending that change happens quickly or cleanly.

Summary:

Overall, For the Love of Glitter is a character-driven YA novel about activism, first love, and moral awakening in a world built on compromise. Through Grey Shima’s fierce voice, the book explores how systems harm, how movements seduce, and how growing up often means learning that change is slow—but still worth fighting for. Tender, politically sharp, and emotionally honest, this is a story that trusts its teenage characters with real complexity and trusts its readers to sit with it. Happy reading!

Check out For the Love of Glitter here!

 

Review: The Men of the Mountain by Drew Harrison

~ likelystory18 ~ 2 Comments

Synopsis:

Inscrutable and Ever-Watchful Masters

The Renn of Fort Hope place their faith in simple laws. They must trust the Dicta, those wise rules left by their forebearers; they must fear the savage Krieger, whose raids keep Renn walls perpetually splintered; and they must revere the Men of the Mountain, the magnanimous mystics who are stewards of their world.

For Cade, a clanless trapper, survival is a matter of following the rules. But when the Men of the Mountain took his sister—the only Renn ever chosen to return to their sacred peaks—Cade’s faith withers over five years of agonizing silence.

Now, a star has fallen from the sky, and its arrival threatens to spark an inferno. The Dicta are clear: all things from the sky belong to the Mountain. To hide its discovery is a death sentence… but its crater also houses a secret the Men of the Mountain would kill to protect. Forced to defy his gods alongside unlikely allies, Cade is drawn into a conflict where every secret he uncovers reveals a more terrifying lie at the heart of his world… everything is a cage, and the price of freedom is paid in blood and ash.

Favorite Lines:

“…guilt as heavy as mountains press me to silence, to inaction…”

“Forten’s eyes burn with hatred—hatred at the Men of the Mountain, at the Krieger, and presumably at himself for failing to save the woman he loved…but they settle on me last, and that hatred does not abate. Instead, it blooms like a bonfire tossed fresh firewood. Perhaps he hates me most of all…for bringing all of this down, for failing to protect any of them from any of it, for doing nothing while he stood firm against those who would defile her body.”

“Where music lives, void can not…fresh tears spill down my face at the remembrance. This special silence is no void…none could call this silence empty, as it reverberates with love, with pain, with admiration, with wonder, with loss.”

My Opinion:

I received a copy of this book from the author in exchange for my honest opinion.

The Men of the Mountain takes its time, and that patience is one of its greatest strengths. From the opening chapters, the book establishes a lived-in world where belief, labor, and survival are inseparable. Cade’s voice feels grounded immediately, shaped by routine, trade, and quiet loss. The writing lingers on the physical textures of his life — snow, hides, wood, hunger — not as decoration, but as the fabric of his reality. This is a story that understands how much meaning is carried in daily work, and how fragile that meaning becomes when power enters the picture.

What stood out to me most is how carefully the book handles authority. The Men of the Mountain are not introduced as distant myths or abstract forces. They arrive with ceremony, language, and expectation, and the imbalance of power is palpable long before violence ever appears on the page. Cade’s resentment and fear feel earned, not reactionary. His questions are quiet ones at first, rooted in absence, memory, and unanswered loss, and the book allows those questions to deepen slowly rather than rushing him toward rebellion.

The arrival of the fallen star is where the story shifts, but it never abandons its emotional center. What could have become spectacle instead becomes intimate and tense. Cade’s response is not heroic in the traditional sense. It is hesitant, conflicted, and deeply human. His sense of obligation competes with fear, curiosity, and grief, and the book never simplifies that internal struggle. The woman from the sky is not treated as a symbol or a prize, but as a destabilizing presence that forces Cade to confront the limits of the world he’s accepted.

By the end, The Men of the Mountain feels less like a story about overthrowing power and more like a meditation on what it costs to question it at all. The novel is interested in erosion rather than explosion — how belief wears thin, how obedience curdles into complicity, and how courage often looks like stubborn persistence rather than grand defiance. It’s a book that trusts atmosphere, interiority, and moral tension to do the heavy lifting, and that trust pays off.

Summary:

Overall, I found The Men of the Mountain to be a slow-burn, character-driven fantasy that prioritizes moral weight and worldbuilding over spectacle. It will appeal most to readers who enjoy literary fantasy, grim or grounded worldbuilding, and stories that examine power, belief, and resistance through ordinary lives. This is a novel for readers who value immersion, patience, and emotional consequence, and who don’t need their fantasy to shout in order to feel powerful. Happy reading!

Check out The Men of the Mountain here!