Wife - Charlotte Mendelson

Charlotte Mendelson’s book Wife follows Zoe Stamper, who is swept into an intoxicating, unreachable world when she begins a relationship with the older, sophisticated Dr Penny Cartwright. Years later, trapped in a marriage built on secrecy and fear, she fights to break free in a story that moves between past and present to reveal the horror, humour and suspense of her midlife escape…

And though it sounds thrilling, I can only give it two stars. When I started reading, I had high hopes — maybe I’m biased, being a lesbian who naturally gets excited about lesbian literature — but I was unfortunately, severely let down. This is one of the worst lesbian literature novels I’ve ever read, and here’s why:

For starters, I didn’t like Mendelson’s writing style. The prose feels like constant yapping, it’s like she’s desperate to be funny but the humour never lands. There isn’t really a solid plot line, either, making the whole thing dull, and the random character facts sprinkled throughout add nothing except my growing urge to skim. The book is exhausting — 356 pages of arguments, tangents, and conversations that go nowhere because the same character wins every time.

First, there’s Penny, who is straight‑up manipulative in that “don’t interrupt me, Zoe” way. And Zoe barely speaks, almost never stands up for herself, and somehow manages to be both sympathetic and maddening. I never felt like I truly knew her, but I did repeatedly want to slap some sense into her. Penny, meanwhile, is childish, controlling, and deeply unlikeable. Together, they make an infuriating pair of protagonists who drag the story down rather than carry it. I mean, I questioned almost every decision the characters made — including the side characters — and my frustration grew with each baffling course of action. It’s honestly a miracle I didn’t stop reading halfway through.

Furthermore, the whole back‑and‑forth structure between present and future just didn’t work for me — it felt chaotic, like the book kept yanking me out of one moment before I’d even settled into it. Instead of feeling clever or layered, the jumps made the story hard to follow, and because Mendelson was feeding me soooooooo much information at once, my brain eventually tapped out and started quietly zoning into the void. Half the time I was asking myself why on earth I needed to know any of these random details, and the other half I was flipping back a page trying to remember where we even were in the timeline.

Despite all this, the novel does explore meaningful themes. Mendelson examines power imbalance, showing how Penny’s behaviour shapes every corner of Zoe’s life. The split timeline highlights how a once‑liberating relationship becomes suffocating, and the domestic setting builds a sense of claustrophobia that mirrors Zoe’s emotional trap. And so, at its core, Wife is about how love curdles into control, and how escaping long‑term manipulation requires confronting both your partner and yourself. It’s powerful material — some of which Mendelson handles well and I can see she worked hard to convey — but overall, the execution simply doesn’t live up to the weight of the story.

And on that terrible note, I leave you with some advice of my own: if you want to dive head‑first into a story about a disastrous relationship, relive pure toxicity, or you’re simply curious about how bad this book actually is… go ahead, read it. Otherwise, honestly, it’s not worth the emotional calories. Lesbianism isn’t painted in a good light here at all — instead of celebrating something beautiful and heartwarming, the novel leans into tired, messy tropes we spend every Pride month trying to shake off. Watching it flatten something rich and complex into chaos and misery is just… sad. So yes, while some readers might find value in its darker themes, I strongly advise you to avoid it if that’s not your point of interest.

But just incase, you can buy your copy of the novel here: https://amzn.eu/d/0bfAjISf

Carmilla - Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu

Laura’s isolated life in a remote Austrian castle takes a wild turn when a carriage accident drops the enchanting Carmilla on her doorstep, sparking an intense and eerie friendship. As Laura grows weaker and Carmilla grows stranger, the story unfolds into a seductive, gothic vampire tale that won’t let you down.

Now, I’m taking a different approach with this review, as the book stands apart from anything I’ve read before. I want to unpack this as best I can because boy does it deserve the attention. Apologies if it’s essay-like, my tiny mind has a lot to say.

I don’t usually read horror classics, and I rarely enjoy traditional classics in general, but Sheridan Le Fanu’s Carmilla completely surprised me. It’s extraordinary and captivating from the moment I sat down with it. Unlike many other older novels such as Frankenstein or The Great Gatsby, Carmilla is genuinely easy to read despite its dated phrasing, both in description and dialogue. I was thrilled by this, because I cannot stand when a book forces me to stop and decode every single sentence. I simply don’t have the energy for that, and the story ends up slipping away from me, which feels like such a loss.

I love stories. I want to understand them, to be immersed in the worlds authors work so hard to create. But that becomes impossible when I’m faced with lines like this from Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: “It was the secrets of heaven and earth that I desired to learn; and whether it was the outward substance of things, or the inner spirit of nature and the mysterious soul of man that occupied me, still my enquiries were directed to the metaphysical, or in its highest sense, the physical secrets of the world.” (p. 39). It’s beautiful, I can’t deny the power of the language, but I still find myself pausing, trying to fully grasp what Shelley means before I can move on. The flow breaks. The experience becomes stop‑and‑start, and eventually frustrating.

That leaves me with two choices: either I give up because I’m tired of not understanding, or I push through and finish a story that ends up meaning nothing to me because the language kept me at arm’s length. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate classics though—they’re the original foundations of so much modern storytelling, and I truly believe the world needs them. Their themes and messages are powerful in ways few contemporary works can match. But Carmilla stands out because it lets me enjoy those timeless qualities without making me fight the prose to get there.

‍ ‍ So, without a doubt, Carmilla is one of the prettiest novels I’ve read - if you can call a book pretty? I think you certainly can, and if you give this one a whirl you’ll understand the vibe.

Carmilla is basically the queen of the Female Gothic, and honestly, she knows it. The whole story takes place in super domestic, feminine spaces—castles, sickrooms, cosy little drawing rooms—and somehow Le Fanu has made it all absolutely terrifying. I had chills. It was strange. I was horrified. Carmilla and Laura’s relationship is the perfect mix of “aww that’s sweet” and “oh god she might kill you,” which is exactly the kind of emotional whiplash I think a Female Gothic thrives on. And underneath all that lace and candlelight is a very real critique of how vulnerable women were in a patriarchal society. Basically: men are useless, women are in danger, and the vampire is the only one getting things done.

Then, obviously, my favourtie feature - in honour of Pride month, again: Le Fanu kindly provided us with queer subtext, which - if i’m being honest - isn’t even subtext half the time. Carmilla is out there making heart eyes at Laura, and Laura is quite understandably, confused, flattered, and mildly dying. It’s one of the earliest vampire stories (origninally published in 1872) to openly explore same‑sex desire, and it does it in that classic Victorian way where everything is both deeply romantic and deeply repressed. It was a beautiful experience reading it. Carmilla’s affection is tender one moment and predatory the next, which creates this delicious tension between lust and danger. It’s like the book is whispering, “Being gay is beautiful… but also maybe deadly… but also beautiful again.” And because of this captivating back‑and‑forth, I ended up getting this weird ASMR effect from the writing during the more intimate scenes. Books rarely give me physical sensations, but this one? It was like the words were literally whispering to me. I swear I could feel Carmilla’s eerie yet lascivious presence in my own bedroom, which is not something I was emotionally prepared for on a Saturday night.

It’s safe to say I was freaked out by Le Fanu’s protagonist, but at the same time I was completely absorbed by her beauty and that unnerving sense of calm she carries around like a perfume. She terrified me, enchanted me, and honestly? I didn’t know whether to run or offer her a cup of tea.

And as if all that wasn’t enough to get me excited about a classic novel that I did in fact doubt I’d enjoy before I bought it; there’s the whole vampirism side to it and it’s brilliant hidden metaphor, which is basically a buffet of symbolism. You want repressed sexuality? It’s there. Illness? Absolutely—Victorians loved a good tragic cough. Fear of the foreign “other”? Yep, Carmilla literally strolls in from nowhere and everyone panics. Carmilla isn’t just a vampire; she’s the embodiment of every Victorian anxiety rolled into one very pretty, very chaotic woman. And honestly? She slays. Literally and poetically. I honestly couldn’t be more into this life than I already am.

Finally, with all that said, I definitely think you need to read this. It’s not a long novel — just 156 pages — but it’s jam‑packed with greatness.

Buy your copy of the book here: https://amzn.eu/d/0beXiP2n

Thirst Trap - Gráinne O’Hare

If this book were on a 0–5 scale, I’d give it a 10, because numbers are fake and so are rules.

Three young women in Belfast are partying, deflecting, and stumbling through messy love and work lives, while avoiding the grief and guilt of losing the fourth member of their once‑inseparable friend group. A year after the accident, they’re still running from adulthood, the future, and the truth about what happened.

Now…where to begin? Gràinne O’Hare’s writing is so good it should be illegal. The prose? Gorgeous. The humour? Sharp enough to cut me. The characters? Chaotic little disasters I would absolutely follow into poor decisions. It’s a chaotic yet blissfully beautiful story, written in a humorous way without ruining the tragic parts of the narrative. Honestly, I can’t think of a better way this could’ve been written. Gràinne O’Hare has outdone herself — I loved every bit of this novel, from the first word to the last.

O’Hare’s writing style blends the perfect prose elements together, concocting this compelling book that had me turning every page, pulled through her characters’ lives like I was a magnet and the pages were sheets of iron. I also loved how raw she painted each of the girls’ lives, and how believable they all were — painfully believable at times, which is my favourite kind. She was just so descriptive, interweaving funny metaphors and idioms to keep me engaged alongside the characters’ thoughts, and all their super interesting relationships with all the different side characters O’Hare put in there to move the story along. Ugh…it was just brilliant.

It’s sharp and contemporary, which I always admire, and very Belfast‑specific… which also seems to be something I’m naturally drawn to. There’s something about Irish writers that pleases me more than anything, and I’m not sure if it’s because Irish culture is foreign to me — I’ve never been to Ireland — and the way it’s depicted completely enraptures me; or if I simply love the personalities of these writers, which shine through their novels with an obvious amount of their heart and soul in every phrase and clause. Perhaps it’s both, but either way, I can’t get enough of it, and I will be reading this again.

Aimée Walsh and her book ‘Exile’ (a review on that can be found much further back on my book review homepage) was the first Irish novelist I read, and Gràinne O’Hare certainly won’t be my last… not after reading the masterpieces these two have created.

Not to mention O’Hare’s character work, which is incredible. Her protagonists are flawed, deeply human, and — if I’ve said this word before I’m sorry — chaotic. I love a character who just lives their life brazenly with all the emotion. It’s what keeps me reading a lot of these Contemporary, Humorous/Dark Comedy, and LGBTQ+ / Sapphic Fiction books. If I don’t like a character, for whatever reason, you’ve lost me at page one, to be honest. I want to feel excited by them, I want to dislike them for some of the human decisions they make, and I want to feel like I know them — and O’Hare’s Thirst Trap does just that.

From the start, I knew these girls had troubled lives, and that alone gave me the desire to know more. Can you tell I love a good disaster?

Furthermore, I want to share my love for female‑driven novels. A lot of the things I write are from female perspectives, and sometimes I pick up a book solely because I want to read about the lives of women. I’m often disappointed when a book is written from a male point of view. I love and relate to women a lot more than I do men, and I’m sure a lot of other girls and women out there do too — and this sort of book nails that desire on the head. It’s perfect for getting lost in a woman’s world, and because of that, I’ll be reading it again in the near future for both validation and pure enjoyment because why not?

So, if you love messy women, Irish humour, and emotional chaos, this is your book, honey. It’s perfect for anyone who feels a lot but uses jocularity to get through it — basically, anyone who wants something they can genuinely connect with while still feeling a little bit of warmth along the way. I mean, I felt for these girls the whole way through this short portion of their lives, and I found myself rooting for them and getting riled up at every bit of mistreatment they faced. If that’s not a sign telling you Thirst Trap is definitely a good book to invest in, then I don’t know what to tell you…

Buy your copy of the novel here!: https://amzn.eu/d/0aUqaj5T

No seriously…buy it. Please.

The Lost Passenger - Frances Quinn

Elinor Coombes escapes her oppressive marriage by boarding the Titanic, but when the ship sinks, she seizes the chance to reinvent her life by letting the world believe she and her son died. Now living under another woman’s identity, she must navigate poverty, protect her child, and keep their dangerous secret from resurfacing.

This is a book about class and misogyny, bravery and resilience, a world‑changing historical event, and the harsh truth behind keeping secrets too big to be kept. I liked it — but I didn’t love it.

Anyone who knows me knows that I’m a massive fan of James Cameron’s Titanic, partly because I’m a little history buff about it, but also because of both its fictional love story and its devastating depiction of the real disaster that occurred on April 14, 1912. (If you’re unfamiliar with this event, I strongly advise doing some research and perhaps watching the film.) But more importantly, I suggest reading this book — and any other that covers the tragic scenes of that night. One: it’s fascinating. Two: you’re in for a truly emotional ride so you’re gaurenteed a bordom free read. Three: it’s a story that should never be forgotten.

In The Lost Passenger, Frances Quinn has spun her own version of that unfortunate night in a simply written prose novel that serves as a gentle reminder of Titanic’s story, sandwiched between the narrative of her character Elinor Coombes — and that story is compelling in its own right. However, Quinn’s writing style was not to my taste. I found it flat, and apart from the extremely short portion of the book that actually covers the Titanic’s sinking — which was disappointing too — it felt uneventful and anticlimactic.

There were some genuinely hair‑raising scenes that bring the narrative together, but she let them down by giving them a lack of excitement, thrill, and real sense of danger. Most things turned out to be fine in the end — initially presented as deeply detrimental but resolved very quickly with zero consequences — leaving many scenes underwhelming. Quinn also relied on a lot of cliché metaphors, similes, personifications, and idioms which were effective but not overly engaging, and this didn’t give the novel much depth — hence me calling it a “simply written prose novel.” And before you come at me, I know it sounds mean, but her writing was pretty basic. It was readable, with a few scenes sprinkled throughout that got me reading quicker, but the prose surrounding said scenes were drawn out and boring. So I wouldn’t say The Lost Passenger is an enthralling read, it’s just a nice read for if you don’t want to rush, and are interested in what life was like back in the early 19th Century.

With that said, Quinn’s knowledge and the research she put into executing this book were excellent. I could tell she cared deeply about the subject she was writing and was passionate about getting it right — creating characters who felt real, and depicting locations as they genuinely were. And I do like a good historical novel — it completely removes you from modern‑day shenanigans and places you in a world you’ll never get to go back to, but one that did, at one time or another, exist. This is, of course, bearing in mind that it’s a realistic historical novel and not, say, a fantasy set hundreds of years ago in a fictional country like Game of Thrones. So, I think Quinn deserves a lot of praise for her handling of that genre. It’s stunning work, honestly.

If you’re a historical‑novel fan, you should absolutely give this one a go — even if it’s solely because you’re interested in the history behind it rather than the story of a headstrong woman navigating a life she hates, all the way through to one that feels foreign to her but so right for reasons I’ll let you decide are justified or not. You may just find yourself in a silent battle with Elinor, but isn’t that what makes a book just that little more capivating?

Even though I say that, and that in itself sounds positive, I’m going to leave this book at a solid three stars. I don’t think I’ll reread it anytime soon, but it was a different kind of escape from what I’m used to, and it offered a good story with strong messages — and in a novel, that’s all I really ask for, for it to be considered good on my book-o-metre. Though, if you prefer more vivid imagery, something a bit more poetic and unique, I wouldn’t pick this up just yet. There are far more historical novels in the ocean; you’ve just got to look — as will I while I embark on my next read!

Do what you will with this one, and enjoy it… it’s lovely, really.

Buy your copy of the book here: https://amzn.eu/d/02toTbcW

Bad Queer - Gayathiri Kamalakanthan

Surya is non‑binary, but falling for Blessing complicates everything as they begin to wonder whether he truly sees them, or just an imagined version. As their final school year unfolds and friendships shift, Surya must navigate first love, identity, and the desire to be understood.

Gayathiri Kamalakanthan has written a deeply moving story through poetry. The short stanzas make for a quick read, but never at the expense of emotion. Kamalakanthan can make three words feel as powerful as a full sentence in a prose novel, and because of that, I’m sure this queer story will resonate with every reader who picks it up — or is about to.

Now, I finished this in about a day and a half, though I technically started it a month ago. The silly little break I took was because I’m a hardworking student at university writing my own stories for very serious deadlines… so I apologise for the delay in my reading. But when I picked it back up, I thought: what better way to start my 2026 summer reading journey than with a queer book that aligns with June’s purpose — to shed light on queer communities across the world, better known as Pride Month. So, happy Pride to all, and I hope this review is useful.

First things first: this is a good book, no doubt about it. However, I’m only giving it three stars. For many reasons — the first being that I did not like the protagonist, Surya. They made a lot of good points that I’ll stand by forever, but they also got on my nerves quite a bit. They often came across as selfish, and at times — particularly in their relationship with Blessing — a little forceful. Not aggressively so, but in a way that someone might not even realise they’re being.

This book is about identity, navigating love, and being free and curious about it all. But I felt that message was contradicted when Surya confessed their feelings for Blessing and put him in a pressured position where he had to reconsider his own identity to accommodate theirs. Not that Surya wasn’t understanding, but I don’t think they gave Blessing much space to truly consider the situation. Especially since Blessing knows he’s a straight cis man; and having Surya remind him that they’re not a girl, so this wouldn’t be a straight relationship, felt a bit forceful and unfair — particularly when he clearly showed hesitation. And unfortunately, from experience, I don’t think telling someone they could be something else when they’re sure they aren’t is ever a good idea. So yes, that annoyed me and gave me a negative outlook on the protagonist — and the protagonist is supposed to carry the story. When you don’t like them at all, it becomes harder to enjoy the book as much as you might have if they were a little more likeable.

That isn’t to say it’s entirely a bad thing, though. Flaws are desperately needed in characters; without them, a story becomes less believable and lacks depth. Kamalakanthan did a good job creating a character who feels very true to certain people today, both in their queerness and in their very human actions and motives.

The second reason for this three‑star rating is the dialogue. At times, it felt like full, well‑crafted speeches rather than natural conversation, which gave it an unnatural and emotionally distant tone. Perhaps this is due to the poetic structure — and if so, it makes sense stylistically — but it doesn’t change how that style affected my reading experience. It made the characters feel a little robotic.

And finally, the thing that bothered me most was the ending. Personally, it didn’t feel like an ending at all. It cuts off mid‑dialogue and leaves you on a cliffhanger you desperately want resolved but are forced to imagine it instead. It simply stops, and the result feels incomplete which is disappointing, considering how strong the overarching storyline was. The final page certainly didn’t do it justice. And I know that alone might be a make‑or‑break point for you. Honestly, if I’d known the ending was going to be below par, I probably would’ve skipped the whole thing myself. So there’s no judgment from me if you no longer have any intention of reading this now, though, like a lot of things in life, you don’t know until you try…

Overall, the story feels emotionally heavy while you’re in it, but once it ends and you reflect on its themes and scenarios, it’s actually quite a light book to hold — not a lot truly happens. It’s definitely a character‑driven story, fuelled by feelings and personal choices rather than major, action‑packed plot twists. So if you like easy‑paced, relatable, heartfelt stories, Bad Queer might be for you. It’s different, and it sheds light on a topic that doesn’t get spoken about often, yet it’s beautifully presented through poetry that flows — sometimes in concrete form too — so you’re taken on a journey through exactly how Surya is feeling in every moment of each scene. It’s illustrated as well, which helps bring the story together visually, and that I really enjoyed. It’s colourful, full of life and culture, and because we’re celebrating a very important time of year, please do my little writer heart a favour: buy it, read it. You’re not only educating yourself on a complex queer experience, but you’re also supporting a queer writer (Gayathiri Kamalakanthan), and creating something this honest is both brave and deeply touching.

Buy your copy of the book here: https://amzn.eu/d/07FQBq2V

The Secret History - Donna Tartt

Right. This is a first for me, and hopefully a rare occurrence — or ideally a never‑again — kind of situation.

I started reading this book two and a half months ago, and I’ve finally decided I don’t want to read another page of it. I’m 131 pages in, and I feel like I’ve wasted countless hours wandering through a world I have absolutely no emotional connection to. It’s flat. And when I say this book is boring, believe me… it’s boring. However, I’ll warn you now: I can’t speak for the entire book because I haven’t even made it halfway. So everything I’m saying comes from what I have read; and if that’s any indication of what the rest contains, the climax and ending don’t look hopeful.

I love the dark academia genre; If We Were Villains by M.L. Rio is one of my favourite books. It’s thrilling, intriguing, and genuinely captivating. Because of that intense fondness, I naturally assumed Tartt’s novel would give me something similar. Instead, I’ve been met with disappointment of the highest order, in case that wasn’t already obvious. I’m so disconnected from it that there’s a steel wall between me and page 132, and I have no desire to break through it.

Initially, this surprised me. The Secret History has so many glowing reviews; I don’t think I’ve ever seen a novel so universally praised, and after my experience, I genuinely don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because I’m not into Latin, Greek, or anything to do with “classics”. But why should that make me hate a novel this much when it’s written in contemporary prose, and only touches on those classical elements? It’s not like I’m reading Shakespeare or Frankenstein, where I have to concentrate on every clause just to understand what’s happening.

It’s a modern classic, easy to follow, with a supposedly dramatic narrative… if you’re into dry storytelling that feeds the reader information you don’t necessarily need, that is. The protagonist spends pages rambling about things I can’t even identify because I must have mentally checked out. I’m none the wiser about the plot, and I dread to think how much more I’d have to endure before reaching the “200 pages of excitement” someone mentioned in their one‑star Goodreads review. And even if that’s true, I don’t have the energy or motivation to wade through the four hundred pages surrounding it. To me, that’s ridiculous. A book should enthral me from start to end, not from page 400 to page 500-something. In my book, that’s a lousy story.

Then again, maybe this is more up an English literature student’s street — and that’s fine, whatever floats your boat. But this certainly isn’t the novel for me. It’s too slow, the characters are bland and a little stereotypical (but in a muted, uninteresting way), and i’ll repeat: I’m over one hundred pages in and nothing has happened. I’ve literally only read two chapters; not even that. That alone makes me want to scoop my eyes out with a plastic spoon. It’s long, and for what reason? I haven’t learnt anything that makes me want to turn to the next page. So what’s the point?

The fact that I can’t bear to read any more is genuinely shocking. I never give up like this. I read things so you don’t have to — but with this one, I’ve tried it, I’ve hated it, and now I’m sharing it; unfinished or not. Unfortunatly, I’ve hit a wall, and I’m in desperate need of something that’s actually good for both my downtime entertainment and fuel for my own writing. Reading is my jam, and this book has put that hobby on hold for far too long. It’s sad.

With all that being said, the rest of the book might be great, and you might think the world of it, and you wouldn’t be alone. But I’m not alone in feeling the way I do either, and I’ve been completely put off. I’ve tried my best to convey that above, and i hope that some if not all of it, speaks to you. If you didn’t enjoy English literature in school, or you’re not a language‑learning fan, or you don’t like dark academia, or you’re looking for your first dark academia read… don’t pick this one. There are far better stories to dive into than The Secret History. It’s not worth it.

And on that terrible disappointment, never fear, I’ll be starting a new novel today — hopefully one that earns a much more positive review.

Buy your copy of the book here: https://amzn.eu/d/0edXPqjB

Before We Were Innocent - Ella Berman

Two former best friends who were once suspects for their friend’s death are forced to confront their past, when a similar crime pulls them back together a decade later. As Joni becomes entangled in new accusations, Bess must decide whether to protect her old friend or finally face the truth about what really happened in Greece all those years ago.

Before We Were Innocent is nothing more than a three‑star read. I didn’t love it, but I also didn’t hate it, and there are a lot of reasons that led me to that middle ground. First of all, the beginning felt messy. Ella Berman wrote two parallel timelines: the present day in 2018 and the past in 2008. As you read, each story unfolds, but they don’t necessarily intertwine very well. This made it confusing to follow during the first chunk of the narrative, and that had me setting a low standard for the rest of the novel.

Though I felt this way initially - and it did sort of ruin the first part of the book for me - I think as the story went on, it started to make sense and was definitely necessary for the reader’s general understanding of what was happening. With that said, maybe Berman didn’t start the story in the right place, or perhaps it would have worked better with a prologue followed by the flashbacks starting at a later point in time. Some of the information in the first few pages wasn’t all that impactful and was extremely hard going.

Subsequently the story was quite flat, and because it wasn’t very eventful but very informational, it just wasn’t that exciting. Most of the book felt like it followed the rule of “tell, don’t show” rather than “show, don’t tell,” and that affected my attention span. When I’m reading, I want to be gripped from start to finish and while I was mildly interested in where the story might land, I wasn’t profoundly engrossed or on the edge of my seat at all. Its lack of exhilaration made it predictable, and I ruined the ending for myself by the midway point.

So, if you’re any good at solving murder mysteries, I’d steer clear of this novel because you won’t get the thrill you’re looking for. Yes, the narrative took some unexpected turns, but they weren’t jolting revelations; more like anticlimactic swivels in a direction not far from what I’d already predicted. Hence why it felt uneventful and a little boring.

Furthermore, losing myself for a week in a world that wasn’t mine was nice, but overall it’s a very fair-to-middling novel without much depth. However, despite all those negatives, there were some positives that I genuinely loved finding throughout the story. Before I list those, I want to make sure I state that Before We Were Innocent definitely succeeds when it comes to addressing societal issues, people’s behaviour, the media, and so much more. The story thrives on its underlying messages and themes to its audience.

Berman explores the complexities of toxic female friendships, the impact of adolescent trauma, the destructive power of secrets and memory, and themes of guilt, betrayal, maturation, and loyalty. This is where the book is both powerful and relatable. I mean, its relatability was the soul reason I kept reading. I was drawn in by relationships that reflected a lot of my own past friendships and romantic experiences. It highlights just how cruel girls can be, and subtly steers young women away from behaving that way; not just with female friends, but with anyone.

This was particularly good to me because as women, we sometimes forget there are healthier ways to communicate than through our insecurities and jealousy. It’s okay to have them, and feel it,  but it doesn’t excuse you from being nasty. Berman shows exactly what happens when we act when our emotions are clouding our judgment; it’s heartbreaking, immature, and silly. To see these interactions play out on the page, strengthened my connection to the characters. I knew exactly whether I liked them or not, and exactly why that was. And these themes need to be spoken about because they reveal the ugly truth to people who don’t want to believe they act a certain way. Whether that’s being petty, or rude.

To conclude, considering its core messages, I’d recommend this book because you might learn something from it. Even if you don’t, you’ll definitely find some aspect of it relatable, even if the writing and story aren’t as strong as they could be. And if it really doesn’t tickle your fancy, then rest assured, you wouldn’t be missing out.

Buy your copy of the novel here:

https://amzn.eu/d/dqLE75g

Blue Sisters - Coco Mellors

Three very different sisters—still grieving the loss of their fourth—are forced back together to save their childhood home, and in doing so confront grief, secrets, and the chaos of their separate lives. Their reunion becomes the catalyst that helps them rebuild themselves and rediscover connection.

As a sister myself, this novel is held very close to my heart. It was breathtaking from the very beginning with its opening sentence, “A sister is not a friend.” In fact, the entire opening paragraph grabbed my heart and caught my undivided attention like no novel has done before. The complexity of the sisters’ lives astonished me, and their delicate yet strong relationships with each other plucked at my heartstrings as certain feelings and events between the three of them unfolded. Not only did I find their bonds relatable, but the conflict within their intertwined lives was incredibly compelling.

I’m a massive fan of domestic and urban fiction, and family sagas—one of my favourite books is Malibu Rising by Taylor Jenkins Reid, after all—and Coco Mellors’ attempt at this genre was mind‑blowing. I will forever hype this book up and recommend it to all the girls out there who have a sister or sisters, because this is a novel that should be treasured and read with care. A close friend once told me she felt she could eat certain books, they were that good. And it wasn’t until I read this, after she said that, that I truly understood what she meant.

I felt this story in my bones; it was that powerful and genuinely exhilarating. I just wanted to consume it—not only with my eyes and mind, but I wanted to eat it and have it live in me, because the words on every page hit harder than the one before. Mellors has such a beautifully illustrative way of describing everything that I’m a little jealous of all her metaphors, similes, idioms, analogies, and the different ways she uses objects or ideas to represent deeper meanings. It was a truly inspiring read, and I hope every single person who picks it up finds those same aspects just as striking as I did.

Mellors’ Blue Sisters is a five‑star novel and you can disagree with that all you want, but don’t dismiss it until you try it. I didn’t find a single fault as I read, and because every page felt like perfection to me, attempting to put this novel down for the night was like trying to remove a limb. I got attached very quickly and was saddened every time I had to set it aside because I didn’t want any of the sisters’ journeys to end. And though I felt this way throughout, the ending was satisfying and didn’t leave me wanting more. If you’re a bookworm and you’ve experienced the pain of needing to know more but were being told this is the end forever, then you’ll know how rare and delightful that is. It’s disappointing otherwise; like ordering a cup of coffee only to take the lid off and see it’s half full. A story that starts in the right place and finishes in the right place is a story definitely worth reading.

So if you want a story that’s unpredictable, humorous at times, and ready to take you through a storm of emotions, then Blue Sisters is for you. It’s the kind of book that confirms ones love for reading, and if you don’t enjoy reading, or simply don’t read, I hope this book gets you in the mood and inspires you to pick up more. Even if it’s not your jam, Mellors’ other novel Cleopatra and Frankenstein might be. I can’t vouch for it as I’ve never read it, but if it’s written anything like this one, it’s probably an absolute banger too. Or maybe other novels in this genre will tickle your fancy, who knows? But one things for sure, you’ll never know unless you try.

Buy your copy of the book here:

https://amzn.eu/d/7e2DN5c

Such Charming Liars - Karen McManus

Kat and her estranged almost‑stepbrother Liam are thrown back together during a high‑stakes con at a billionaire’s birthday party, where a murder forces them to team up. As their scam‑artist families collide, the teens realise they’re in danger and can only rely on each other. It gets worse before it gets better — but can Kat and Liam find a way out of this alive?

Karen McManus’s latest novel, Such Charming Liars, is… bad. And as much as I hate to say this — because I can’t recommend reading enough — I genuinely wouldn’t recommend this book to anyone. It was readable, sure, but I felt like the pages were sucking the life out of me, which was incredibly disappointing. Especially because I’m in love with the One of Us Is Lying trilogy. I’ve read every single one of McManus’s novels and never had a single issue with any of them. In fact, I’ve reread a few just to relive the thrill; they were that good. But this 2024 release? I don’t think I’ll be reaching for it again anytime soon, if ever.

For starters, I didn’t get on well with Kat and Liam. I disliked Kat and found it very hard to connect with her, which made it impossible to root for her. She  annoyed me — and I know that’s blunt — but I really, really wanted to shake some sense into her because she said and did some pretty stupid things. Yes, I know that without all her silly decisions the story would’ve been hella boring, but Kat could’ve been so much more interesting and realistic without all the corny behaviour and dialogue. I cringed too many times. The dialogue felt dumb and improbable, and that alone made the book tough to get through. And while we’re on the topic of characters, I didn’t like the family dynamics either. I totally understand that neither of these families is a regular, functioning family, but the way Kat behaved around her mother was just odd. I don’t feel like any 16‑year‑old would act the way she did. Teens might become distant, they might hate their parent, they might ignore authority — but becoming their mother’s protector? That dynamic didn’t land. Liam and Kat acted way older than 16, which made their conversations and choices feel out of place for their age group. The only thing that hinted at their actual age was their naïveté, but even that annoyed me because it didn’t match the way they were conducting themselves otherwise.

It all became quite cheesy and made the story harder to believe. Not to mention how information‑heavy it felt — a tiring, drawn‑out read when all I wanted to do was put the book down and end my unexpected bout of disappointment.

However, I write these reviews for you in the hopes that they help you decide whether you want to read a certain novel or not. So I have a duty to finish every book I pick up… unless it starts making my life a living hell. And to be fair, the fact that I soldiered on with this must mean something, right? It was decent to a certain extent. If you simply want to escape life for a bit and don’t feel like taking a book too seriously, Such Charming Liars might work for you. In that sense, I’d recommend it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t waste your time.

Besides, there are better heist novels out there. Fantasy heists like Leigh Bardugo’s Six of Crows and Scott Lynch’s The Lies of Locke Lamora; classic thrillers like Michael Crichton’s The Great Train Robbery; and contemporary works like Grace D. Li’s Portrait of a Thief and S.A. Cosby’s Blacktop Wasteland. I can’t vouch for all of them, but I know The Great Train Robbery is fantastic and well worth the read, even if you’re not a fan of older texts. And Six of Crows has been read by a close friend of mine who loves it — and as El from Stranger Things says, “friends don’t lie,” so I believe her. It’s on my TBR list and i have a much better feeling about that genre and heist, than this one i’m writing about. As for you, I may not be your friend, but trust me when I say this novel isn’t as good as McManus’s other ones. There are plenty of people out there who agree with me, too.

For now, I’m sorry to bring you this let‑down, but I hope it gives you some clarity when choosing between Such Charming Liars and another heist novel in the future. Hint hint: choose the latter.

If you wish to buy this novel, click on the link below!

https://amzn.eu/d/8ftTEaI

The Safekeep - Yael Van Der Wouden

The Safekeep is set in rural Netherlands, specifically Overijssel, around 1961, in the lingering shadow of World War II. The book opens with a gentle introduction to the characters, where we meet Yael Van Der Wouden’s protagonist, Isabel, and her siblings. This ultimately sets the narrative in motion, though it does have a slow build-up before the first major plot points arrive. We follow Isabel’s journey and her ever-growing connection with Eva, her brother’s girlfriend. When her brother leaves their childhood home for a short business trip, the two girls are left alone for an indefinite amount of time. In that space, their bond deepens, Isabel’s belongings begin to go missing, and a historically rooted emotional truth comes to light. Will it shatter their relationship, or bring them closer together?

It’s a story about control, obsession, and the hidden histories tucked inside a house far more complicated than it first appears. And Van Der Wouden does a lovely job of bringing that vision to life.

Initially, I thought the opening was a bit slow. It took me a few days to properly get into it, and at times I wondered whether this book would be interesting enough for me to keep going. But by the time I’d finished the first third, I was proven very wrong. This became an extremely enthralling read, and I found myself invested in both Isabel and Eva’s lives as if I knew them personally — like I was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, listening to them tell me their story.

Historical novels have never ceased to amaze me. I find military history incredibly engaging, and I genuinely want to know about every second of every year the world wars took place. The subject fascinates me, so when I find a novel set in or around wartime, I know I’m going to enjoy it — and I can’t recommend The Safekeep enough. Not only does it touch on the Holocaust and its devastating effects on Jewish lives, it’s also built around a beautiful love story between two women who, at the time, would never have been able to be open about their relationship. It offers insight into what life was like for queer people when their identities were heavily stigmatized. Because of that, it evoked a kind of fear and heartache I don’t always feel when reading contemporary lesbian romance.

Van Der Wouden captivated me with her complex characters, to the point where the story felt almost entirely character-driven — with the house itself acting as a character too. It symbolizes so many things like: memory, and trauma that tie into the book’s main themes: secrets, and the desire for control. It’s a simple story on the surface, but it carries powerful meaning and delivers heart-stopping twists that pulled me even deeper into their world. I wasn’t taken on a chaotic emotional roller coaster; instead, it felt like drifting down a tender, composed river in a gently bobbing boat that occasionally tugged at my heartstrings. Van Der Wouden writes with a calm, steady hand — short sentences that keep the pace flowing, dialogue that feels true to how people actually speak. And with all its unnerving moments, its sensual scenes, and its elegant bursts of description, it becomes a deeply moving piece of writing.

Overall, I’d give this book 4.5 out of 5 stars. It’s a little slow at the start and not immediately captivating, but once the small conflicts begin — the friction between personalities, beliefs, and buried truths — I was hooked and eager to uncover exactly where these women came from. The Sunday Times calls it “razor-sharp, perfectly plotted… a thrilling story,” and I couldn’t agree more. It’s different, it’s steamy, it’s unlike anything else — and it absolutely deserves the praise. I’m so glad I read it, and I hope you are (or will be) too.

To get your own copy of the book, use the link below:

https://amzn.eu/d/ixnuzcn