Tag: book-blog

Review: Nihongo Wakarimasen by Marina Lizio

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

A move to Japan for love. Or…was it? Alone in a strange country with a broken soul, Marina built a life from scratch—experiencing typhoons, massive earthquakes, and even bicycle vandalism. She traveled widely across the country, learning to appreciate its rituals and oddities, and finding ways to cope with the Halloween crowds in Shibuya. Along the way, she discovered parallels between two cultures—the southern Italian and the Japanese—so far apart, yet surprisingly similar. And she found a home.

When she moved from Sicily to Tokyo, Marina could not have known how rocky her journey would be. But she trudged on, ultimately staying for over a decade in a country that initially confused her but eventually became a place she loved and embraced.

Nihongo Wakarimasen keeps readers engaged with genuine stories of humanity and cultural differences. It offers a unique view on work ethics within the realm of scientific research and provides perceptive, entertaining interpretations of the quirks, behaviors, and habits of the Japanese people. The book is packed with moments of hilarity—Masa’s super jokes, the nosy women of Fukuoka—as well as moments of self-doubt, reckoning, and acceptance.

Favorite Lines:

“What I initially found baffling became clear. The more Japanese words I learned, the easier it was to understand the culture. The more places I visited, the better I connected with people’s habits and traditions. The more I experienced, the fiercer was my defence against those tourists I was one of
in the beginning.”

“…Tokyo for me was a cross between an amusement park and a horror house.”

“Good place for thoughts. Good place to find yourself.”

“In Japan you don’t think about tomorrow, everything has a beginning and an end, and because of this you better live your life today rather than repent tomorrow and die”

My Opinion:

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

Nihongo Wakarimasen is a memoir about moving abroad, but I think what makes it interesting is that Lizio never pretends she moved to Japan because of some lifelong fascination with the country. She followed her boyfriend there in 2006, only for the relationship to fall apart almost immediately, leaving her alone in a country where she barely spoke the language. Instead of returning to Sicily, she stayed, built a career as a bioinformatics researcher, made friends, traveled throughout the country, and ultimately spent thirteen years creating a life in a place she initially couldn’t understand. That beginning gives the book more substance than a straightforward travel memoir because Japan wasn’t initially a dream destination for her. It became home almost by accident.

The book is at its funniest when Lizio is describing the small things that completely baffled her as a newcomer. There are crowded trains, complicated social rules, language mistakes, high-tech toilets alongside fax machines, themed restaurants, vending machines selling seemingly everything, and twelve different ways to express “maybe.” Her voice is very conversational and sometimes deliberately irreverent, so it often feels more like listening to a friend tell stories about the strange things that happened while she lived abroad than reading a polished cultural guide. I appreciated that she doesn’t rewrite her younger self to make her seem more culturally enlightened than she actually was. She openly admits that she initially laughed at things simply because she didn’t understand them, and part of the point of the memoir is watching that attitude change.

I also liked that the book becomes increasingly personal as it goes along. Some of my favorite sections weren’t necessarily about famous Japanese landmarks, but about the communities Lizio built around herself. The friends she made through work, other Italian expats, salsa dancing, snowboarding, and chance encounters become a huge part of why Japan eventually feels like somewhere she belongs. There’s something bittersweet about the constant turnover of expat friendships, with people entering her life and eventually leaving the country, but she also recognizes how unusually strong those relationships became because everyone was trying to create a community far from home.

The travel portions also show how dramatically her relationship with Japan changes. Early in the book, she is overwhelmed by Tokyo’s crowds, noise, rules, and contradictions. Later, she is seeking out quiet gardens hidden inside the city, hiking mountains, snowboarding in Hokkaido, exploring tropical islands, attending traditional festivals, and eventually climbing Mount Fuji. I especially liked the Mount Fuji section because it captures that change without making a big announcement about it. The woman who once arrived in Japan feeling completely out of place is eventually alone on the mountain, listening to her body, pushing herself forward, and describing the experience as rediscovering herself. There are still plenty of things about Japan that frustrate her, and she never romanticizes the country as perfect, but her criticism becomes more informed and affectionate as the book progresses.

By the end, I think the title Nihongo Wakarimasen, or “I don’t understand Japanese,” takes on a slightly different meaning. It starts as a practical phrase Lizio can use when she’s confused or trying to escape an awkward situation, but the memoir itself is really about how much she eventually does understand, not just about the language but about the culture and herself. She leaves Japan having absorbed habits she once found strange, formed relationships that survived the distance, and developed a genuine attachment to a country she never intended to call home. Her final reflection that she “picked up the broken pieces and put them together” felt like a fitting way to frame the whole experience. Japan may have entered her life because of a relationship that failed, but the life she built there ultimately belonged entirely to her.

Summary:

Overall, Nihongo Wakarimasen is a funny, candid, and very personal memoir about Marina Lizio’s thirteen years living in Japan after moving there from Sicily in her twenties. What begins with culture shock, a breakup, language barriers, and loneliness gradually becomes a story about independence, friendship, travel, belonging, and learning to understand a culture that initially seemed completely foreign.

I think this would especially appeal to readers who enjoy travel memoirs, expat stories, books about Japan and Japanese culture, and personal stories about starting over somewhere unfamiliar. It’s also a good fit for readers who prefer memoirs with a casual, outspoken narrator rather than a more literary or introspective style. Anyone who has lived abroad or experienced the strange in-between feeling of no longer being completely at home in either their old or new country will probably find parts of Lizio’s experience particularly relatable. Happy reading!

Check out Nihongo Wakarimasen here!

 

Review: Constants by E.B. Miller

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

Mark Robson is trapped in flux.

Every 18 minutes and 32 seconds he wakes up in a new reality, then dies.

The only clues to help him stop this crazed cycle and return home to his pregnant wife are the people, things, and events that reappear across worlds,

…or what he calls his constants.

Told in real time, with every chapter unfolding in a different world, Constants is a tightly-plotted exploration of reality, identity, and humanity’s search for meaning across the furthest reaches of our collective imagination.

Favorite Lines:

“That truth has to live somewhere, so for now it resides in his head.”

“Death was the exclamation mark at the close of that final inescapable argument of life’s utter meaninglessness.”

“You can’t leave me. You’re a constant.”

“Meaning takes shape from afar, so appreciate what you can.”

My Opinion:

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

Constants is one of those books that starts with a premise that sounds fairly easy to explain and then gets much, much stranger the longer you read (in a good way). Mark Robson is trapped in what he calls “flux,” where every eighteen minutes and thirty-two seconds he finds himself somewhere new, usually shortly before dying in some increasingly bizarre way. One moment he might be sitting in a psychiatrist’s office, the next he is somewhere completely removed from the world he knows. The only things he can really hold onto are the patterns that keep repeating, particularly his wife Lya, the exact eighteen-minute-and-thirty-two-second countdown, and eventually his troubled twin sister Alex. At first, I was mostly interested in figuring out the mechanics of what was happening to Mark, but the book gradually makes it clear that the bigger question isn’t really where he is. It’s why any of it is happening at all.

A lot of what makes the story work is how ridiculous and serious it manages to be at the same time. Some of Mark’s existences are genuinely funny or completely absurd, while others are violent, frightening, or surprisingly sad. The constant countdown gives even the strangest worlds a sense of urgency because Mark knows that no matter what he discovers, he only has a few minutes before everything disappears again. I also really liked the recurring therapy sessions with the Psychiatrist. Those scenes give the story somewhere to breathe and allow Mark to actually examine the theories he keeps developing about flux. Is he hallucinating? Dead? Jumping between dimensions? Is someone controlling him? The running percentages Mark and the Psychiatrist assign to the different possibilities were a clever way to show how their thinking evolves as the evidence changes.

What surprised me most was how much emotional weight the story eventually gives Mark’s relationships. Lya initially seems like his one safe place, but even that becomes complicated because the versions of her he encounters don’t necessarily share the same history he remembers. Meanwhile, his search for Alex becomes increasingly important as we learn more about their childhood, their mother’s death, Alex’s addiction, and Mark’s guilt over not being able to save the people he loves. Underneath all the strange worlds and increasingly elaborate deaths, Mark is someone who was struggling with emptiness long before flux began. He keeps believing that if he can just solve the mystery, find the right constant, or get home to Lya, he will finally feel whole. The book gradually starts questioning whether returning to his old life would actually fix anything.

The final portion is where Constants takes its biggest swing, and I think it will also be the part readers have the strongest opinions about. Without completely spoiling it, the answer to Mark’s situation changes the context of basically everything that came before it. The novel becomes openly metafictional towards the end and includes a confrontation that ends up being one of the most interesting parts of the novel for me because it asks whether suffering really needs to produce meaning at all, or whether that’s just another story we tell ourselves because we’re uncomfortable with the possibility that there may never be a satisfying answer (you’ll see when you get there!).

I also appreciated that the ending ultimately lands somewhere quieter than I expected. After spending so much of the book desperately searching for certainty, Mark doesn’t necessarily find it. Instead, he reaches something closer to accepting uncertainty itself. The idea that darkness and the unknown don’t automatically equal emptiness felt like a fitting conclusion for a character who has spent so much of his life terrified that nothing matters. Constants is definitely weird, philosophical, occasionally chaotic, and sometimes deliberately frustrating, but I think that’s also what makes it memorable. It takes a very strange science fiction premise and uses it to ask surprisingly human questions about why we’re here, whether anyone is watching, and whether a fleeting moment can still matter even when we know it has to end.

Summary:

Overall, Constants is a strange, ambitious blend of science fiction, dark comedy, existential fiction, and metafiction that follows a man trapped in a cycle of new realities that reset every eighteen minutes and thirty-two seconds. What initially feels like a mystery about multiverses and repeated deaths gradually becomes much more interested in depression, mortality, faith, memory, free will, and our need to believe there is some larger explanation for why we suffer.

I think this will work best for readers who enjoy high-concept speculative fiction that isn’t afraid to get philosophical, especially those who like stories about alternate realities, unreliable perceptions of reality, existential questions, and books that eventually become aware of themselves as stories. Readers who need very concrete worldbuilding rules or a straightforward explanation for every mystery may find parts of it frustrating, but readers willing to follow the book into increasingly strange territory will find a lot to think about after it’s over. Happy reading!

Check out Constants here!

 

Review: Eidolon: From the Case Files of the OHR by C.L. Stiles

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

When a man vanishes from a Kansas City diner — pulled through reality by forces no one can explain — Nathan Quipp knows it’s only the beginning.

As director of the Office of Hidden Realms, Nathan has spent his career keeping the supernatural world invisible to those who can’t handle the truth. But something is moving even deeper beneath the surface. Ley lines are surging. Cross-realm incursions are rising. And a near-divine source whispers the need to find the missing man — the Eidolon.

Now Nathan’s team is scattered across two continents and twelve centuries, racing to piece together a mystery that reaches from the streets of Kansas City to ancient Stonehenge and back again. The Veiled world is fracturing. The Unveiled are running out of time.

And something much older than the OHR is finally paying attention.

Eidolon: From the Case Files of the OHR is the first installment of the OHR Case Files.

Favorite Lines:

“Magic or no magic, she wasn’t starting Sunday without coffee.”

“You just found out the world is even bigger and stranger than you thought…And I won’t lie and say there’s nothing to fear.”

“The Keeper peered deeper into Nathan where the true battle raged. Not of flame, but of faith, of love. No, the memory of love.”

My Opinion:

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

Eidolon feels like a mashup of urban fantasy, paranormal procedural, supernatural horror, and found-family adventure, but in a way that’s genuinely fun instead of overly self-aware. The setup hooked me almost immediately. A man vanishes inside a diner without any trace of magic, one witness remembers what happened while others mysteriously forget, and suddenly we’re pulled into the hidden world of the OHR, the Office of Hidden Realms. From there the novel opens wider and wider, introducing ghosts, fae, magical investigators, shapeshifters, strange prophecies, hidden archives, and a growing sense that something ancient and catastrophic is moving behind the scenes.

What worked best for me was the tone. The book balances mystery and danger with a surprisingly relaxed, conversational style that makes the world feel approachable even when the lore gets complicated. Sandra and Jasmine especially carry a lot of the early momentum. Their dynamic is one of the strongest parts of the novel because Sandra has this exhausted, sarcastic competence while Jasmine reacts to the supernatural world in ways that actually feel believable. She’s overwhelmed, curious, skeptical, and fascinated all at once. Their conversations help ground the story whenever the mythology starts expanding outward.

Nathan’s storyline adds a very different emotional layer to the book. Underneath all the monsters and magical investigations, there’s a pretty consistent thread of grief running through the novel because of Anne’s death and Nathan slowly reconnecting with abilities he thought were gone. I liked that the emotional side never completely disappears beneath the action. The supernatural elements matter, but the characters’ personal losses and fears matter too. Even some of the side characters, like Mia or Taft, feel more fleshed out than you’d expect in a book juggling this many concepts.

The worldbuilding is honestly huge. The OHR itself feels like a blend of Men in Black, The Dresden Files, Supernatural, SCP Foundation, and folklore-heavy urban fantasy. Every few chapters the reader gets introduced to something new: magical archives, latent abilities, weavers, fae bargains, edge events, ancient beings, hidden blogs, undead archivists, and supernatural politics. Normally this amount of lore would bog a book down, but Stiles usually keeps things moving by tying the exposition directly to active investigations or character interactions. The inserted guidebook sections and informational entries were also a smart choice because they help explain the setting without forcing characters into unnatural exposition dumps.

That said, the book absolutely prioritizes atmosphere, lore, and character interactions over tight plotting. There are stretches where the story feels episodic, almost like watching a supernatural TV series with monster-of-the-week energy slowly building toward a larger threat. Personally, I think that structure mostly works because the cast is enjoyable to spend time with, but readers looking for a very streamlined plot may occasionally feel like the story wanders. 

I ended up really enjoying this. The novel has genuine personality, and that matters a lot in crowded urban fantasy. It feels written by someone who genuinely loves folklore, supernatural horror, conspiracy fiction, and paranormal investigation stories. More importantly, it feels like the author actually enjoys these characters. By the time the larger mythology involving the Serpent King and the Eidolon itself starts taking shape, I was invested enough that I wanted to keep following the OHR into future books.

Summary:

Overall, Eidolon is an urban fantasy/paranormal mystery novel centered around the Office of Hidden Realms, a secret organization dealing with supernatural threats hidden beneath everyday life. The story mixes magical investigations, folklore, ghosts, fae, monsters, prophecies, and hidden conspiracies with a surprisingly emotional undercurrent about grief and identity. The tone balances humor, mystery, horror, and found-family energy while gradually building toward a much larger supernatural conflict. Readers who enjoy The Dresden Files, Supernatural, Men in Black-style organizations, SCP-style lore, paranormal procedurals, or ensemble urban fantasy casts will probably have a great time with this. Happy reading!

Check out Eidolon: From the Case Files of the OHR here!

 

Review: Greet Suzon for me by Vince Rockston

~ likelystory18 ~ 2 Comments

Synopsis:

The year is 1686. King Louis XIV’s dragoons arrive in Alençon. Their mission: to brutally eradicate the Huguenot faith.

The d’Albert family’s flight is shattered when marshals ambush their wagon, seizing the father. Now, the fate of his family rests on young Gédéon. He must navigate treacherous, hostile lands, protect his mother and ailing sister, and find a boat to take them to the safe shores of Jersey.

Favorite Lines:

“A servant is not greater than his master.”

“Let’s leave that in the Lord’s hands’ – Did I really say that?”

“Can’t we each take responsibility for our own lives?”

My Opinion:

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

Greet Suzon for me is one of those historical novels that feels very grounded in ordinary people’s lives rather than grand political spectacle, even though huge historical events are constantly shaping everything around the characters. The story follows young Gédéon d’Albert and his Huguenot family in late seventeenth-century France during the escalating persecution of Protestants under Louis XIV. What surprised me most was how intimate the novel feels despite the historical scale. The religious oppression, arrests, threats, and growing danger are all there, but Rockston filters most of it through family life, friendships, travel, worship gatherings, and the perspective of a teenage boy trying to understand a world that suddenly feels unstable.

The opening chapters are honestly very strong. The attack on the Huguenot temple immediately establishes the fear hanging over these communities, but what gives the scene weight is how personal it feels through Gédéon’s eyes. He’s angry, impulsive, confused about why people who claim to follow God hate each other so much, and still young enough to swing between childish revenge fantasies and genuine spiritual questions. I liked that he doesn’t come across as unrealistically noble. He acts like an actual teenager growing up inside a frightening political and religious climate. His relationships with his sisters, especially Madeleine, also help soften the heavier material and give the story warmth.

One thing the book does very well is atmosphere. Rockston clearly did a huge amount of historical research, but unlike some historical fiction that reads like a textbook in disguise, this novel usually folds the details naturally into the story. The secret Protestant meetings, the courier missions, the coded greetings, the fear of informants, the stories of pastors disappearing into prison or slavery on galleys — all of it creates a believable sense of danger without feeling overly dramatized. I especially enjoyed the travel sections because they make seventeenth-century France feel alive. Forests, villages, river barges, ports, safe houses, marketplaces, and isolated farms all become part of the experience.

The emotional core of the novel, though, is really about faith, loyalty, and responsibility. Gédéon slowly realizes that the adults around him may not be able to protect him forever, and that shift gives the story more emotional depth as it progresses. His growing awareness of political reality feels believable because it happens gradually. The book also spends a lot of time exploring how persecution changes families and communities, not just physically but emotionally. Some people flee, some compromise, some resist quietly, and others cling harder to faith because it is the only thing left that feels stable.

The biggest thing readers should know going in is that this is a slower, character-driven historical novel rather than an action-heavy adventure. There are tense moments and real danger, but the pacing is deliberate. The dialogue and narration occasionally feel a little formal, which honestly fits the setting most of the time, though there were places where conversations sounded more polished than natural. Still, I appreciated how sincere the book felt. Rockston clearly cares deeply about the historical reality of the Huguenots and the human cost of religious persecution, and that passion comes through on nearly every page.

Summary:

Overall, Greet Suzon for me is a thoughtful historical novel about a Huguenot family trying to survive increasing persecution in seventeenth-century France under Louis XIV. Through the perspective of teenage Gédéon, the story explores faith, family loyalty, exile, fear, and growing political oppression. The book balances detailed historical research with emotional family-centered storytelling and strong atmosphere. Readers who enjoy slower historical fiction, religious history, coming-of-age stories, or novels about resilience during persecution will probably connect strongly with it. Fans of character-focused historical fiction rather than battle-heavy epics will likely enjoy this most. Happy reading!

Check out Greet Suzon for me here!

 

Review: Bloom: Crisis in the Mediterranean Sea by Andrea Morani

~ likelystory18 ~ 1 Comment

Synopsis:

SOMETHING IS SPREADING BENEATH THE SURFACE

Along the Mediterranean coast, people are dying or falling ill. Marine life is vanishing. The sea, once a source of life, is becoming a silent threat. No one knows why—or how far it will go. Called in to investigate, Dr. Marco Fassi and his team of scientists uncover unsettling patterns that point to something vast and unseen, pulsing beneath the water. As the phenomenon spreads, they’re forced to confront the terrifying possibility that nature itself is no longer under control.

For fans of Michael Crichton, Franck Schätzing, and eco thrillers grounded in real science, BLOOM delivers a chilling, high stakes mystery where the natural world becomes the greatest threat. Propulsive and eerily plausible, this gripping novel will leave you questioning what lies beneath the surface

Favorite Lines:

“Nature is staggeringly intricate—and largely mysterious—so much so that countless forces, known or unknown, could trigger catastrophes that endanger humanity. This isn’t a doom- and-gloom perspective; it’s a reminder that we live on a fragile balance.”

“The fate of not just the Mediterranean, but perhaps all the world’s oceans, rested on their success.”

“From then on, he made sure to never take their love for granted again. “

My Opinion:

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

Bloom feels like a mix of environmental thriller, disaster novel, and science-heavy speculative fiction. The setup immediately pulled me in because it starts with something that feels believable: the Mediterranean Sea warming, marine ecosystems shifting, and strange deaths beginning to happen around the coastline. The early chapters in Sardinia are honestly the strongest part of the book for me. The scenes with Sylvie and her parents on vacation create this calm, almost sentimental atmosphere before everything turns terrifying in a matter of minutes. The sudden collapse on the water and the confusion surrounding the dead fish and strange smell genuinely felt unsettling.

What I appreciated most was that Morani clearly knows the science behind what is being written about. The book dives deeply into harmful algal blooms, phytoplankton, saxitoxins, synthetic biology, and environmental collapse, but it usually does so through characters who are actively trying to solve the crisis. Marco’s sections especially carry the story once the scope expands beyond Italy. He’s written as a scientist first, and sometimes that makes him emotionally distant, but I actually thought that worked for the character. His family issues with Jasmine and his guilt over balancing science with real life gave the story a more human center amid all the technical discussions and global panic.

The scale of the crisis becomes surprisingly massive as the novel continues. What starts as isolated deaths and strange marine behavior escalates into continent-wide fear, collapsing tourism, political tension, ecological disaster, and desperate scientific experimentation. I liked that Morani didn’t keep the story small. The sections aboard the Seagull and the debates about drastic containment measures made the book feel bigger and more urgent as it went on. There are moments where the novel almost reads like a cinematic pandemic thriller, except the threat comes from the ocean instead of a virus.

That said, this definitely leans more toward “science thriller” than fast-paced action novel. The scientific explanations are frequent and detailed, sometimes to the point where the pacing slows down considerably. There are stretches where characters explain theories, toxins, genetics, or environmental systems for pages at a time. Personally, I didn’t mind most of it because the author clearly put real thought into the plausibility of the disaster, but readers looking for nonstop suspense may struggle with those sections. The dialogue can also feel a little formal at times, especially during scientific discussions where nearly every character sounds highly academic.

Still, I found Bloom genuinely interesting because it feels sincere. Morani clearly cares about the environmental themes and the science behind them, and that passion carries the book through its weaker moments. The story works best when it balances human fear with scientific uncertainty, showing how fragile modern systems really are when nature starts behaving unpredictably. It’s the kind of novel that makes you think twice the next time you hear about warming oceans or harmful algal blooms in the news.

Summary:

Overall, Bloom is a science-heavy environmental thriller about a deadly marine catastrophe spreading through the Mediterranean Sea. The novel blends disaster fiction, biology, ecology, and speculative science with family drama and global political tension. It starts strong with eerie coastal deaths and gradually expands into a large-scale international crisis involving toxins, algal blooms, and desperate scientific intervention. Readers who enjoy Michael Crichton-style scientific thrillers, environmental fiction, outbreak stories, or speculative eco-disaster novels will probably get the most out of it. Happy reading!

Check out Bloom: Crisis in the Mediterranean Sea here!

 

Review: Intrinsic by W.H.B.

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

Christopher Franklin, the proud and only son of a New York literary royalty, from birth he is built and destined to nothing less than greatness. One day, out of disappointment, he makes the dangerous decision to change and turn into someone who is not. He consciously decides to entangle his life with a miserable soul. Abruptly he learns his first lesson from life, miserable souls only bring misery, with one act he will lose everything, in one evening he will be reduced to nothing. No greatness, he becomes a nobody.

Years passed by and Chris settled into his life as a taxi driver, Brooklyn is home, and the miserable soul is still around him and has gotten more miserable with the years. This time is different, he is a dad of two beautiful daughters with unconditional love, their safety is his new purpose in life, nothing and no one is above his girls. He also discovers a dear friendship with his neighbor and confidante, a place of solace.

One night, without warning, a triggered chain reaction will take Chris into a ride of a lifetime, nothing will be ever the same, lies and secrets are uncovered, he was played and fooled, he didn’t know anything about who he is and, once again, he is reduced to nothing, rock bottom is where he belongs. Suddenly, out of nowhere, greatness at last, he has the privilege to show who he is, royalty. He will rise while making sure others will fall, miserably.

Life is fair, but not for all.

Favorite Lines:

“Life is fair—but not for all.”

“Pay it forward. At some point we all need help.”

“No matter what, things have to return to where they naturally belong—a universal rule.”

“I don’t predict the future. I don’t want to, and I don’t need to. I am simply ready and prepared for whatever it throws at me. The only thing I know is no matter what it brings, I will always be the one who decides when and how it’s going to end. Simple control. Control is when you never fail to punctuate the present moment.”

My Opinion:

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

Intrinsic immediately stands out as a very ambitious and emotionally driven novel. From the opening pages, the book throws readers into a vividly detailed version of New York City that feels alive with movement, history, and personality, and there’s an unmistakable sincerity behind the writing that kept me engaged. The narration is rich and reflective, almost cinematic at times, and the story quickly establishes itself as something much larger than a straightforward family drama. It’s interested in morality, destiny, identity, sacrifice, and what truly defines a good person, all through the life of Chris Franklin, a taxi driver carrying far more emotional weight and history than people around him realize.

What stood out most to me was Chris himself. He’s written almost like an old-fashioned idealized protagonist: endlessly kind, thoughtful, generous, intelligent, patient, hardworking, devoted to his children, and seemingly able to connect deeply with everyone he encounters. In lesser hands that could have made him feel flat, but the novel balances it somewhat by surrounding him with emotional tension and instability, especially within his marriage to Mary. The family scenes were honestly the strongest part of the book for me because they feel emotionally loaded even during ordinary conversations. There’s this constant undercurrent of volatility in the household where Chris is trying to preserve warmth and tenderness for his daughters while navigating Mary’s anger and emotional instability. Those scenes created much more tension than the larger philosophical passages.

The book also has a huge sense of nostalgia attached to New York City. The opening chapters almost function as a love letter to the city in the late 2000s and to a version of urban life that feels increasingly distant. Taxi driving, neighborhood delis, late-night cigarettes on fire escapes, crowded avenues, old bookstores, political conversations about Obama’s election, family-owned buildings, and references to pre-smartphone daily life all combine to create a very specific atmosphere. Even when the writing style becomes (intentionally) overly elaborate, there’s still a genuine affection for the setting that makes the world feel lived in. The flashbacks to Chris’s privileged teenage years also help explain why he feels emotionally divided between who he used to be and who he became.

What stayed with me most after finishing Intrinsic was how emotionally sincere it felt. The book wears its heart on its sleeve in a way that feels increasingly rare, especially in modern fiction that often leans detached or overly cynical. Chris’s love for his children, his constant desire to protect the people around him, and the lingering sense that something larger is shaping the course of his life all give the story a strong emotional core. Even during quieter moments, there’s a feeling that the novel is building toward something meaningful. It’s the kind of book that is less focused on rushing from plot point to plot point and more interested in exploring the emotional weight behind the choices people make and the lives they build.

Summary:

Overall, Intrinsic feels like a character-driven literary drama disguised as a philosophical thriller. It’s ambitious, emotional, reflective, and there’s enough heart underneath it that I stayed invested in Chris and his family. Readers who enjoy emotionally heavy family sagas, morally driven protagonists, reflective narration, and stories centered around sacrifice, destiny, and identity will probably connect strongly with this one. It feels less interested in realism and more interested in exploring what kind of person someone chooses to become when life repeatedly tests them. Happy reading!

Check out Intrinsic here!

Review: Maze: Short Stories to Faze by Sean Sheehan

~ likelystory18 ~ 1 Comment

Synopsis:

Step into a world where ordinary lives take unexpected turns, and the line between reality and mystery blurs. In this compelling collection, each story weaves a web of intrigue, delving into the hidden corners of human nature and history:

  • Two shop assistants are unsettled by a young girl’s eerie fascination with insects, a curiosity that spirals into something darker.
  • A train driver struggles to piece his life back together after a tragic incident on the tracks.
  • A pensioner battling cognitive decline questions whether he holds the key to solving a murder near his home.
  • A burglar’s routine robbery leads to a chilling discovery that will haunt him forever.
  • The fierce rivalry between twin sisters erupts, leaving devastation in its wake.
  • A pharmacist is thrust into a life-or-death confrontation with the IRA during Ireland’s War of Independence.
  • A traveller finds himself ensnared in the chaos of Ireland’s armed struggle for freedom.

Spanning contemporary Britain, modern Ireland, and the turbulent days of 20th-century Ireland, Maze: Short Stories to Faze masterfully explores themes of identity, memory, and morality. With its diverse settings and richly drawn characters, this collection challenges perceptions and lingers long after the last page.

Favorite Lines:

As I do with all of the anthologies and short story collections that I read, rather than pulling favorite lines, I like to spotlight a couple of the stories that stood out to me the most: The Maze and The Pharmacist.

My Opinion:

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

Maze: Short Stories to Faze feels like sitting around listening to someone tell eerie local legends, strange moral tales, and old Irish ghost stories while rain taps against the windows. The collection jumps between crime fiction, psychological horror, folklore, tragedy, and dark little character studies, but what ties it all together is Sheehan’s fascination with ordinary people drifting into unsettling situations. The stories aren’t flashy or overly literary. Instead, they lean heavily into atmosphere, conversation, and the quiet weirdness that can sit underneath everyday life.

The standout for me was definitely “The Maze.” It starts almost deceptively simple, introducing supermarket workers, elderly couples, and lonely men in a very observational way, but gradually the story tightens into something genuinely sinister. Albert is one of the creepiest characters in the collection because he never feels exaggerated. His awkwardness and odd conversational habits make him believable long before the full horror of what he’s capable of becomes clear. At the same time, Pat and Maeve provide the emotional center of the story. Their aging, memory lapses, and quiet affection for one another give the story a melancholy warmth that balances the darkness extremely well. The final sections involving Pat’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis were honestly more emotionally affecting than I expected from a crime-centered story.

A lot of the collection works this way. The stories are often less concerned with twists and more interested in human behavior. Sheehan spends time on small details: cups of tea, village gossip, old songs, awkward conversations, routines, and social rituals. Sometimes that pacing really works because it creates a strong sense of place and personality. The Irish settings especially feel authentic without trying too hard. Stories like “The Pharmacist” lean heavily into Irish history and political tension, while others move into stranger or more psychological territory. The overall effect is that the collection feels varied without completely losing its identity.

That said, the writing style is very straightforward. Readers looking for highly polished prose or subtle symbolism may find some stories a little blunt in how they deliver information or themes. Some stories also end a little abruptly, almost like modern folktales rather than fully fleshed-out literary pieces. But honestly, I think part of the charm of the collection comes from that simplicity. It reads like a storyteller more interested in getting the unsettling idea across than showing off stylistically.

Summary:

Overall, I enjoyed this collection more than I expected to. There’s a sincerity to it that helped a lot of the stories land emotionally, especially when the darker material is contrasted against ordinary human tenderness. The best stories linger because they mix cruelty, loneliness, memory, and morality together in a way that feels grounded instead of theatrical. Readers who enjoy unsettling but character-focused stories, small-town atmospheres, morally strange characters, and anthology collections with a classic storytelling feel will probably enjoy this one. Happy reading!

Check out Maze: Short Stories to Faze here!

 

Review: County Road 2400: A Midwest Noir by Sal Nudo

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

Synopsis:

One night of “mailbox metal” was supposed to be a reset. Instead, it became a life sentence.

Illinois, 1998. Tommy Cancio and Todd Wells are fueled by cheap beer, jagged lines of cocaine, and the midnight fog of Champaign County. The mission is simple: a high-speed pass and the satisfying ping of a baseball bat against a rural mailbox.

But when the bat hits something wet and heavy on County Road 2400, the music stops.

What follows is a desperate, mud-caked crawl into a different kind of darkness. From the suffocating rows of unharvested corn to a concrete hole beneath an abandoned Indiana burger stand, Tommy discovers that the Midwest doesn’t just grow crops—it buries secrets.

Trapped with half a million dollars in drug money and a silent “gentle giant” for a jailer, Tommy must confront the ghosts of his past—and the very real predator coming to collect.

In the heart of the Heartland, the distance between a “good time” and a shallow grave is shorter than you think.

Favorite Lines:

“All for a pumpkin, Todd. You died for a fifty-cent gourd.”

“The guy wasn’t just a drunk; he was a rabbit on the run.”

“I don’t speak English today, Tommy.”

My Opinion:

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

County Road 2400 reads like someone threw a 90s Midwest burnout story into a blender with noir fiction, small-town crime drama, and just enough dark absurdity to make the violence feel grimly funny instead of purely brutal. The novel opens with one of the strongest hooks I’ve read in a while: two drunk, coked-up friends speeding down an Illinois backroad smashing mailboxes with a baseball bat when one of them accidentally obliterates what they think is a person sitting roadside. From there, the story spirals into a chain reaction of panic, bad decisions, accidental deaths, desperate escapes, heroin addicts, corrupt luck, and the kind of bleak Midwestern atmosphere where everybody seems trapped by geography, poverty, or their own terrible impulses.

What makes the book work is the voice. The writing style is lean, aggressive, and loaded with vivid imagery without becoming overly flowery. Nudo has a really strong sense of place, especially when describing Illinois cornfields, roadside bars, junky motels, drainage ditches, and dying small towns. The atmosphere almost becomes its own character. There’s a constant feeling that the landscape itself is swallowing these people whole. Tommy Cancio is also a surprisingly effective central character because beneath all the stupidity and violence, there’s still a deeply sad guy underneath trying to outrun a life that was probably doomed long before the story even started. The book never pretends Tommy is innocent, but it also understands that people can become trapped inside one catastrophic night and keep digging themselves deeper trying to escape it.

The middle section involving Tommy hiding in Indiana was probably my favorite part of the novel because the tone shifts from crime thriller into something almost existential. The abandoned burger joint cellar becomes this horrifying little psychological prison where Tommy slowly loses his grip on reality. The hallucinations involving Todd, the darkness becoming physically oppressive, and the bizarre emotional attachment to the cellar itself all worked really well for me. There’s a strong Coen brothers energy running through parts of the book where terrible people keep colliding with even worse luck, but underneath the violence there’s also genuine loneliness and desperation. Sheriff Levi Keller ended up being another standout character because he feels exhausted and human rather than written as some perfect noir lawman. His cancer diagnosis and growing weariness mirror Tommy’s emotional deterioration in an interesting way.

The novel is definitely pulpy and exaggerated at times, but honestly I think that’s intentional. The dialogue can occasionally feel theatrical, and there are moments where the noir style becomes so heightened it borders on comic-book bleakness. But the story commits fully to that tone, and because of that it mostly works. The pacing is fast, the chapters move quickly, and the writing constantly throws memorable images at the reader. Even small details stick in your head, like the J.D. Drew bobblehead lodged in Todd’s eye socket or Tommy crawling through cornfields while combines harvest around him. The epilogue also surprised me because it gives the novel a strangely melancholic ending rather than a simple crime-story conclusion.

Summary:

Overall, County Road 2400 is a dark, fast-moving Midwest noir packed with desperation, bad luck, guilt, violence, and the feeling that one reckless night can permanently ruin multiple lives. It reads like a collision between rural crime fiction and 90s grunge culture, with enough psychological weight underneath the suspense to keep it from feeling shallow. Readers who enjoy bleak Americana, morally messy protagonists, and atmospheric crime fiction will probably burn through this very quickly. Happy reading!

Check out County Road 2400: A Midwest Noir here!

 

Visiting by Polly Walker Blakemore

~ likelystory18 ~ 2 Comments

Synopsis:

When Polly Walker Blakemore’s mother entered hospice with dementia and depression, Blakemore realized their time together would be dwindling. A lifelong diarist, Blakemore also understood she had a chance to record the small, ordinary moments that knit a family and a home together—just as she had when her mother’s mother approached the end of her life 30 years earlier.

Expecting only a few months with her mother, Blakemore visited her as often as she could. They watched The Pioneer Woman and vet shows, debated the best burgers in town, shuffled between the TV room and the sunroom, counted pills and changed diapers, and wondered whether being ready for God might be as simple as the Barefoot Contessa’s 1-2-3 recipe for roasted root vegetables. Nothing much—and yet everything—because presence was the point.

Those months stretched into two and a half years, and Visiting is Blakemore’s intimate, wry, and clear-eyed account of that time—a portrait of a mother, a daughter, and the cadre of caregivers who accompanied them through a slow but certain decline. Rich in domestic detail and emotional truth, Visiting captures the bewilderment, tedium, absurdity, poignancy, urgency, and unexpected grace notes of end-of-life care.

With vivid, keenly observed prose, Blakemore illuminates what it means to be present with someone whose light is fragmenting and fading—and why such days, small as they seem, become the ones we value most.

Favorite Lines:

“As the sun sets, so does Mom.”

“All that matters is where I am now, not how I got here.”

“One part of my world came to a close while the rest of it continued as if nothing had changed.”

My Opinion:

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

Visiting is one of those books that feels deceptively simple at first. The structure is diary-like, moving day by day through the Blakemore’s visits with her mother during hospice care in 2018, but the emotional weight sneaks up on you gradually. There is no dramatic attempt to manufacture sentimentality here. Instead, the book lives in tiny observations, routines, irritations, jokes, snacks, cigarettes, television shows, diaper changes, and conversations that loop between lucid and surreal. It ends up capturing something about caregiving and anticipatory grief that feels painfully honest.

What struck me most was how grounded the writing feels. Blakemore doesn’t romanticize dying, and she doesn’t turn her mother into a saintly figure. Her mother is sharp, funny, stubborn, demanding, critical, affectionate, exhausted, confused, and still deeply herself all at once. Some of the best moments come from the small exchanges between them. The mother complaining about “that voice,” obsessing over food, wanting cigarettes, talking about mashed potatoes “just heaven,” or proudly staying up all night eating carrot cake and ice cream with Rhonda somehow become both funny and heartbreaking at the same time.

I also appreciated how the book acknowledges the strange practical side of death that people often do not talk about openly. There are scenes about fixing loose door handles, worrying about smoke smells in jackets, sorting medications, considering who will inherit furniture, picking out a casket, and organizing hospice logistics. One paragraph in particular about mentally cataloging household items while sitting beside her dying mother felt brutally real because it captures the guilt and weirdness of thinking about ordinary material things while someone you love is fading away.

The shorter paragraph style works very well for this kind of memoir because it mirrors the fragmented rhythm of caregiving itself. Some days are repetitive, some days are chaotic, some days are unexpectedly peaceful. The entries slowly build emotional momentum without ever becoming melodramatic. The humor also helps enormously. There are genuinely funny moments scattered throughout the book, especially in the mother’s blunt observations and stubborn personality. The scenes involving fast food runs, lottery tickets, Judge Judy, and endless snacks give the book warmth and personality rather than making it feel overwhelmingly bleak.

What really stayed with me after finishing the book was its tenderness. Not perfect tenderness, but lived-in tenderness. Blakemore openly admits that there were years she did not want to be around her mother and that she cannot fully explain why. That honesty gives the relationship more depth because it never feels artificially polished. The caregiving here is tiring and repetitive and messy, but it is also full of intimacy. The repeated back rubs, helping her move room to room, listening to the same stories multiple times, or simply sitting together watching television become acts of love.

Summary:

Overall, Visiting is a quiet but emotionally powerful memoir about caregiving, family history, aging, and the slow process of saying goodbye. It does not rely on dramatic revelations or flashy writing styles. Instead, it succeeds through observation, honesty, humor, and accumulation of detail. Readers who have cared for aging parents or watched a loved one decline will probably recognize parts of themselves in these pages immediately.

Check out Visiting here!

 

Monthly Features – May 2026

~ likelystory18 ~ Leave a comment

A Moment’s Surrender by John Burt

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

Synopsis: A Moment’s Surrender follows freshman writing instructor Paul Bishop in the aftermath of the murder of his former best friend, the renowned poet Tom Corbin. Haunted by guilt and bound by a devastating secret, Paul takes it upon himself to care for Tom’s terminally ill widow, Susan. But the truth he withholds — that Tom had planned to leave Susan for another woman, Paul’s own long-ago lover Rachel Lake — draws Paul into a painful triangle of loyalty, betrayal, and unresolved desire. Caught between the two women, Paul must navigate a web of grief and deception that threatens to undo them all.

Summary: Overall, I thought A Moment’s Surrender was ambitious, thoughtful literary fiction that trusts its readers to sit with discomfort instead of racing toward easy catharsis. It’s a novel about failed courage, unresolved longing, self-deception, and the stories people construct to make their lives bearable. More than the murder itself, what lingered with me afterward was the sadness of watching people recognize exactly what is broken inside themselves while still remaining unable to change. This will probably work best for readers who enjoy psychologically dense literary fiction, emotionally complicated relationship dynamics, and novels deeply interested in art, memory, morality, and the gap between who people want to be and who they actually are. 

See the full review here: A Moment’s Surrender
Purchase here

 

At Death’s Door by Allen Rebot

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

Synopsis: One wrong turn. Seven locked doors. No way out.

When Kayla wakes up in a silent, snow-covered forest void of all life, her only sanctuary is a mysterious, pristine manor nestled among the trees. Inside, the coffee is hot and the decor is lavish, but the inhabitant is nowhere to be found. The only thing more unsettling than the silence is the hallway of doors, each etched with the image of a different beast.

At the end of the hall stands the “Gnarled Door,” a mass of intertwined roots that refuses to budge.

When Kayla finds a silver skeleton key, she inadvertently begins a descent into a series of waking nightmares. Each door she unlocks transports her into a twisted reality born from her own deepest fears: a claustrophobic dollhouse guarded by a predatory jack-in-the-box, a schoolhouse haunted by shadows of her past, and a museum where history refuses to stay dead.

As the manor begins to rot around her, Kayla realizes she isn’t just a guest; she’s a participant in a trial for her soul. To escape the “Forest of Souls” and avoid becoming a shadow herself, she must collect every key and face the truth of how she arrived at Death’s door.

In this house, your nightmares aren’t just in your head-they’re right behind the next door.

Summary: Overall, if you like atmospheric horror with creepy objects, distorted reality, monstrous toy imagery, shifting environments, and relentless tension, there’s a good chance this will work for you. It feels like a haunted maze built by someone who grew up loving horror movies, escape rooms, creepy pasta, and nightmare-fueled video games.

See the full review here: At Death’s Door
Purchase here