Queernorm Romantasy: Faebound by Saara El-Arifi

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the cover of Faebound

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Yeeran is a warrior in the elven army and has known nothing but violence her whole life. Her sister, Lettle, is trying to make a living as a diviner, seeking prophecies of a better future. When a fatal mistake leads to Yeeran’s exile from the Elven lands, they are both forced into the terrifying wilderness beyond their borders. There they encounter the impossible: the fae court. The fae haven’t been seen for a millennium. But now Yeeran and Lettle are thrust into their seductive world—torn between their loyalty to each other, their elven homeland, and their hearts.

I’m honestly struggling to write this review. Faebound is immediately spellbinding, the world-building vivid yet not too intricate. The writing is immersive, woven from threads of African and Arab cultures. This is perfect for romantasy readers. The normalcy surrounding queerness and gender neutrality from the start is absolute gold (“[Their] gender was as flexible as the weather, accepted like the fall of rain, and change welcomed like the turns of seasons.”); a breathtaking delight that fits perfectly into any fantasy realm. The story’s sapphic relationship is layered and interesting; I only wish it was given more time to develop and blossom.

Perhaps I’m biased (I have three younger sisters), but I absolutely love stories involving sisters. Yeeran and Lettle give the story balance, their distinct personalities and viewpoints of the world giving us insight without too much sway in one direction. The little “journal” at the end with everyone’s handwritten notes was the perfect addition to the story; a cute glossary that’s often necessary for hefty world-building.

As much as I loved the writing, the characters, the themes, and even the setting… the plot felt lacking to me. There’s a moment where the story slows as the characters grow complacent in their new surroundings, which would have been a great opportunity to delve into the mythology or culture. Puzzle pieces are set up a bit too obviously, too; the twists are easy to anticipate. Regardless, I’m curious to see how the story continues.

Recommended for fans of The Priory of the Orange Tree, Girls of Paper and Fire, Spice Road, and Legends & Lattes.

The Vibes 

Sapphic Ships (Queernormativity)
Fantasy Fiction/Romantasy (Fae & Elves)
Dual POV (Sisters)
Rivals to Lovers
African/Arab World
First of a Trilogy

Quotes

“And where there is value, there is power, and where there is power, violence will always brew.”

“You are the fire of my heart, and the beat of my drum. I am yours under moonlight. Until the rhythm sings no more.”

“Love and hate are oil and water, separate but similar, and sometimes they swirl together, making it difficult to tell one from the other.”

“You look for ways to gain power over feelings that make you powerless.”

“We must let the wind of change ease our flight, not hinder it.”

Indigenous Representation in Every Shade: If I Stopped Haunting You by Colby Wilkens

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Yá’át’ééh shik’éí dóó shidine’é. Shí éí Chloe yinishyé. Bilagáana nishłį́ Naakaii Dine’é bashishchiin. Kót’éego diné nishłį́. 

Hello my friends. I am called Chloe. I am born to Bilagáana (White people), born for Naakaii Dine’é (the Mexican people clan). In this way, I am a Navajo person.

When I was sixteen years old, I excitedly told one of my coworkers, a teenager like myself, about how excited I was to go to an Indigenous camp the next week. This would be one of the first huge interactions with other Indigenous people outside of my father and I was ready to meet other kids like me, who may have been previously isolated from their culture due to their white-passing appearance. However, upon hearing that I was Indigenous, my coworker lifted his arm, tan and golden brown, next to my freckled pasty-white arm, and told me that if I was Indigenous, he must be “super Native”. 

Interactions like this have been common all my life, no matter how much I immersed myself in learning about the Navajo people. Even now, when I read books featuring Indigenous protagonists and/or written by Indigenous authors, usually they are dark-skinned, with black hair and live on the reservation. While these experiences are good and valid, they were not my experience, and I felt apart, even as I celebrated the representation in those books. All of this backstory is to show just how much I truly hold dear in my heart Colby Wilkens’s debut novel, If I Stopped Haunting You, which features both a white-passing Indigenous female lead and a more “traditional” looking Indigenous male lead. 

Cherokee horror author Penelope Skinner has only ever wanted to write horror stories featuring Indigenous protagonists in a culturally appropriate way—however, since an ill-fated panel where she threw a book at her co-panelist and popular Choctaw horror author, Neil Storm, Penelope has not written a word since. Penelope doesn’t regret the reason why she threw the book—Neil believed that his book was groundbreaking for Indigenous representation, when it actually reenforced harmful stereotypes—but she does regret how it has made her a publishing pariah. So, when she has the chance to join a writer’s retreat in a “haunted” Scottish castle, Penelope takes it, only to find that Neil is also seizing the same opportunity. Since their doomed panel, Neil has also been unable to write anything new, haunted by Penelope’s accusations of betraying his people and writing stories with no soul. The two intend to stay as far away as possible but are drawn together both by the haunted doings of the castle and their repressed attraction to each other. As Penelope and Neil work together to solve the real-life ghost mystery, they also realize that maybe being lovers is better than being enemies.

If I Stopped Haunting You is a fun romp through an alternate genre of romance. I am not the biggest horror reader, but I enjoyed the eeriness that Wilkens evokes through her prose. I also enjoyed the sexuality and racial diversity of the characters; Penelope is bisexual, fellow retreater Daniella is sapphic, and Penelope, Daniella, and Neil are Indigenous. If you are someone who enjoys reading metafiction about writing and publishing, then you’ll love Penelope and Neil’s various discussions about the editing process and how it affects Indigenous authors.

However, my favorite part is how Wilkens handled the discussions around being Indigenous and what the world expects from an Indigenous person. As you can see from the cover, Penelope is White-passing, and it is mentioned that she is not enrolled in her tribe due to the bureaucratic red tape that is involved. However, her Indigenousness is never questioned by the people around her—Neil even says this quote that I hold close to my heart: “Believe that you’re enough. You don’t need to be enrolled; you don’t need to look Native to be Native. You’re Native, and so long as you know, that’s enough. There will always be someone who says otherwise, but they’re buying into a system created by colonizers. You’re enough, Penelope Skinner.”  

If you’d like a fun read that has surprisingly deep moments of discourse, then you can preorder your copy of If I Stopped Haunting You through Bookshop, your local indie bookstore, or your library, as it comes out October 15th. Comp titles include: Book Lovers by Emily Henry, The Truth According to Ember by Danica Nava, and A Guest In The House by Em Carroll.

Dóó ni’áásh.

Until we meet again!

A Sizzling Polyamorous Rom-Com: Triple Sec by TJ Alexander

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Triple Sec cover

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A jaded bartender is wooed by a charmingly quirky couple in this fresh and sizzling polyamorous rom-com, set in the exclusive world of high-end cocktail bars. 

As a bartender at Terror & Virtue, a swanky New York City cocktail lounge known for its romantic atmosphere and Insta-worthy drinks, Mel has witnessed plenty of disastrous dates. That, coupled with her own romantic life being in shambles, has Mel convinced love doesn’t exist. 

Everything changes when Bebe walks into the bar. She’s beautiful, funny, knows her whiskeys—and is happily married to her partner, Kade. Mel’s resigned to forget the whole thing, but Bebe makes her a unique offer: since she and Kade have an open marriage, she’s interested in taking Mel on a date. 

What starts as a fun romp turns into a burgeoning relationship, and soon Mel is trying all sorts of things she’d been avoiding, from grand romantic gestures to steamy exploits. Mel even gets the self-confidence to enter a cocktail competition that would make her dream of opening her own bar a reality. In the chaotic whirl of all these new experiences, Mel realizes there might be a spark between her and Kade, too. As Bebe, Kade, and Mel explore their connections, Mel begins to think that real love might be more expansive than she ever thought possible.

Triple Sec is a delightful and refreshing entry in the romance genre, blending the world of mixology with a heartfelt exploration of love in its many forms. TJ Alexander masterfully crafts a story that is equal parts sultry and tender, centering on Mel, a jaded bartender who has all but sworn off love. Her world is turned upside down when Bebe, a magnetic and savvy woman, waltzes into her bar—along with her non-binary wife, Kade.

Alexander doesn’t shy away from exploring the complexities of polyamory, making it clear that it’s as natural and valid as any other relationship structure. The dynamic between the trio feels both authentic and aspirational, with steamy scenes that never sacrifice emotional depth. The chemistry between Mel and Bebe is electric from the start, but it’s the slow burn development of the relationship between Mel and Kade that got me hooked.

Mel’s personal growth—both in her love life and her professional aspirations—gives the story an extra layer of satisfaction. Mel and Kade’s character and relationship development is especially well-handled, with both characters evolving in ways that feel genuine and satisfying. However, while Bebe is an intriguing character, her development had room for improvement. She serves as the catalyst for much of the plot, but her own journey felt underexplored compared to Mel’s and Kade’s. More depth to Bebe’s story would have made the emotional stakes even richer.

Overall, Triple Sec is a fantastic read for anyone looking for a modern romance with a twist. Alexander delivers a tale that is as bold and balanced as one of Mel’s signature cocktails—an intoxicating mix of passion, humor, and heart.

Content warnings: alcohol, divorce, sex

A Disabled Jewish Lesbian Time Loop Story: Time and Time Again by Chatham Greenfield

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Time and Time Again by Chatham Greenfield cover

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I love a time loop story, so I had to pick up up this sapphic YA take on the trope—especially one with with fat and disabled characters on the cover!

In the first chapter, Phoebe is living August 6th for the 26th time in a row. Every day is the same, and every day she does the same thing, including eating pancakes with her mom, playing Scrabble at her dad’s place, researching time loop stories, and ending the day with a painful IBS flare-up. Then, one August 6th goes a little differently: she steps off the curb a little later than usual and is hit by a car—gently. Jess is driving, and now they’re stuck looping with Phoebe.

Phoebe and Jess used to be close childhood friends until their fathers argued and they stopped being allowed to see each other. Now, they’re the only out lesbians at their school. They’re also both Jewish and disabled, and they immediately settle into their old friendship again—but Phoebe worries if Jess will have time for her after they return to real life.

This is the most relaxed time loop story I’ve ever read. Neither of them seem particularly worried or in a hurry about breaking the loop. They do talk about it, but they don’t panic. In fact, they sometimes are reluctant to return to their time, though Phoebe is counting down the days until she can see a doctor who might actually by able to help with her health problems and not just tell her to lose weight.

They also don’t do what I associate with time loop stories, where they have a montage of whacky or deadly experiences they would never do in real life. They do get revenge on a bully at one point, but it’s not a big departure from typical teen activities. They drive to a different state or go to a concert or shave their heads—all pretty mild reactions to having endless do-overs.

That’s not a complaint, to be clear! Part of what I liked about Time and Time Again is how it used the time loop format in a different way. (The ending also resolved timelines in a way I haven’t seen before, and it explains some other choices in the plot.) It makes perfect sense that Phoebe is stuck in time, because she already feels lost and aimless. The end of high school approaches, and she doesn’t know what she wants to do afterwards. Her anxiety prevents her from taking chances and trying new things, including driving. (Same.) It doesn’t feel like a sci-fi story as much as a metaphor for what’s already going on in her life.

As you’d expect, then, the focus is much more on the characters and their relationship to each other. It’s so nice to read a book with a romance between disabled Jewish lesbians: that kind of representation is still pretty rare, and especially when it’s both main characters. (Jess is also nonbinary.)

If you like time loop stories and don’t need them to be action-packed sci-fi stories, I definitely recommend this one. I’m happy to see this book came out of a fellowship from Reese’s Book Club: I’ll definitely be watching to see which other books are published through LitUp! Hopefully this means that stories like Time and Time Again get the marketing push to put them into more readers’ hands.

A Sapphic Gothic Dripping in Blood: House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson

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the cover of House of Hunger

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House of Hunger by Alexis Henderson is a gothic novel that follows Marion Shaw, a girl from the South slums of Prane who moves above her station when she becomes the newest bloodmaid for a countess in the North. Marion has lived alone with her sick brother Raul for years, and every day is more of the same: work for a woman who does not see her as a full person, argue with Raul about the expenses, watch as he destroys himself further with drugs, and never do anything new. But when she looks at the newspaper one day with a girl named Agnes who she won’t call her friend, she finds a peculiar post in the matrimony section calling for a bloodmaid, a girl who will venture North and sign an indentureship to bleed for whichever noble House claims her. Tired of her life and seeking a way out, Marion answers the posting and is taken to Countess Lisavet, the ailing head of the House of Hunger, by a Taster who swears Marion’s blood is some of the best and most unique he has ever tasted. Being a bloodmaid is not easy, as Marion quickly finds out. She is ranked Fifth out of the five who work for the House of Hunger, and the First Bloodmaid, the favorite, despises her upon sight. Things at the House of Hunger become more grim and more dire as the secrets of the House begin to unravel while Marion moves up the ranks and falls in love with Lisavet.

I love the world that Henderson pulls the reader into. The stark separation between the South and the North, along with the dreamy descriptions of the lives bloodmaids get to live after their years of giving themselves over like cattle to the nobles, brought the gothic setting to life and paved the way for a critique of class that felt natural and kept me reading. Henderson really leaned into the genre in this particular aspect, even going so far as to make Countess Lisavet fit the typical “dark, brooding love interest” role typically reserved for men. Lisavet makes requests of Marion and the other bloodmaids that prove she sees them as the other nobles see their bloodmaids: property with a pulse. Even if Lisavet does love Marion as she claims she does, they come from different worlds, and they are living together in Lisavet’s, in the world where Lisavet is the Countess and Marion’s purpose is to serve her and be loyal no matter what. As the book goes on, you start to see that Marion hasn’t given herself over to a grand new life; she has simply traded one type of servitude for another, more dangerous kind.

Spoilers below.

Something else that I think Henderson does particularly well is Raul’s character and how he haunts the narrative from the moment he steps foot in it. This was my favorite part of the entire story. Marion kills Raul partially by accident in order to go be a bloodmaid after he burns her ticket for the night train, and she is haunted by this decision for the entire book. Every time she thinks about Raul and his murder, some new, gory detail pops up describing his bloody eyes or the dent in his skull or the way he reached out for her as he lay dying. Raul tells her not to go, and Marion does anyway, at the cost of his life. When Marion realizes that the House of Hunger is not the place she thought it was, it’s too late to go back and change what she has done; it’s too late to admit to Raul that he was right. She gets high at one point during a game, and what does she hallucinate? Raul’s beaten-in face. Raul is dead almost the entire time, but he feels so present in every decision Marion makes. She may leave him behind, but he is part of her and will not leave her mind so easily.

That said, this is one of those books that I think could have benefited from being much longer. There are so many things that Henderson almost touches on  that we never get a real look at because we aren’t allowed to linger. Don’t get me wrong, I loved the story—I loved it so much that I think it would have been that much better if the reader had been given more room to breathe. When Marion notices that the other bloodmaids have aged more than they should have in the time that she’s known them, it’s at the end of the book when she already knows that Lisavet can feed off the life essence of someone and has already seen her do that to the Wretch who used to be Cecelia. This in particular fell flat for me because she already knew. The reader wasn’t allowed access to that information until Marion herself knew it to be true, and there was no real foreshadowing to it. I wish that Henderson had placed more hints along the way so I could have found out with Marion instead of being relegated to the sidelines going “What?” while Marion started listing details that she suddenly noticed. The mystery within the novel kind of fell apart as I got closer to the end, and I wish it hadn’t. It felt like Marion wasn’t solving anything; she was simply stumbling to conclusions that turned out to be true.

Spoilers over!

All in all, I enjoyed House of Hunger. It was a gothic story that gave me some of what I’ve been craving from my stories lately, and Henderson did a fantastic job getting me to care about Marion and the other bloodmaids. While there are things I think could have been expanded on, I finished the book in only a couple days, and it kept me enthralled the whole time.

Trigger warnings include: detailed gore, drug use, illness, death, blood-drinking, blood-letting, fratricide, and descriptions of dead/dying bodies.

A Very Queer Gothic Ghost Story: The Narrow by Kate Alice Marshall

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the cover of The Narrow

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When I got a promotional email about this book, I asked the publisher if there was a queer main character, because I couldn’t tell from the description. It’s funny that I had to clarify, because this is a very queer book: the main character is bisexual, there’s an F/F romance, and there are several queer side characters. It’s a bit tricky to discuss without spoiling anything, but you can be assured of that.

This is a contemporary YA gothic with elements of dark academia. Eden goes to Atwood boarding school to escape from her unstable and sometimes dangerous home life. Her parents just spent so much money on their brother’s legal fees, though, that there’s nothing left for tuition. The school offers her a solution: she can stay tuition-free if she agrees to be Delphine’s companion.

Delphine was once Eden’s roommate. Then, one night, Eden and her best friend jumped the Narrow—a river running by the school that’s claimed many lives. The two of them landed safely on the other side, but Delphine, who had followed behind them, fell in. No one survives falling into the river, but by the time Eden returns to her room, Delphine has returned, soaking wet but otherwise apparently unharmed. Except, Delphine is different now. She lives in a building on Atwood grounds, completely isolated. She gets ill if a drop of unfiltered water touches her.

So, every year, her parents pay the tuition of a girl who will be her companion. They decontaminate themselves on the way in and keep Delphine company, staying there at night. Eden isn’t eager to take the offer—she’s never talked to Delphine about what happened that night—but she has no other options, so she takes the deal. Soon, she finds ominous notes left from the last companion, who was taken off campus suddenly.

Although their initial interactions are awkward, Eden is intrigued by Delphine. She’s not quite the girl she knew before. Her isolation has made her blunt, with a different perspective on things. Eden is surprised to find herself falling for her. And as she does, she is determined to figure out what’s really plaguing Eden, because it’s not medical—and it seems to be coming for her, too.

Eden and Delphine’s dynamic is interesting because Eden has a solid group of friends at school that she loves—but she also lies to them constantly. She doesn’t feel like she can tell them about her home life, or what happened the summer before. That’s why she hides her still-healing injuries and dodges personal questions. Delphine, though, asks Eden to promise not to lie to her: she doesn’t need Eden to like her, but she needs her to be honest about it. Eden finds herself being more vulnerable with this virtual stranger than she can be with her friends.

This friend group is another strength of the story, even though they don’t take centre stage. The three of them are all high achievers in their chosen fields: they’re artists, athletes, and academics. Eden feels like she can’t live up to the standards they set, that she’s an outsider in her own inner circle. Her issues with self-worth are tied up with her home life, and (possibly) depression. As things at Abigail House get more dangerous, she has to decide how much she values her own life.

The element I thought was most interesting in the book is also a spoiler, though. (Highlight to read:) If there’s anything better than a sapphic ghost story, it’s a sapphic ghost story where the ghost is also sapphic! There is an abusive sapphic character, which some readers always object to, but I think since there are 3-4 queer women main characters, it worked for me. (Also, I think it’s worth depicting abusive queer relationships, too. That’s why In the Dream House is so crucial.)

I also thought it was fun to read a ghost story where the ghost is very corporeal. I’m used to gothic ghost stories where the first part of the book, at least, it’s unclear whether the main character is just imagining things, but this ghost is hard to deny.

When I got near the end of the book, I realized there were several possible endings that I would not have appreciated. Luckily, it nailed the landing for me. If you’re a fan of reading YA horror or gothic novels, I highly recommend picking this one up ASAP!

Content warnings: depression, unspecified mental health issues, abuse, violence, discussion of homophobia

A Slow Burning Sapphic Historical Romance: Lighthouse Keeper by Eliza Lentzski

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Lighthouse Keeper cover

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Historical sapphic romance—who knew that would be my “type”? Though it shouldn’t have been a huge shock, given that I love a good Western or a trek through the Alaskan Wilderness any day. I’ve noticed lately that some of my favorite historical fiction authors who create the most immersive experiences have some serious research chops to back up their writing. Sarah Waters? PhD in LGBTQ+ centric English Lit. Caro Clark? PhD in medieval history from Oxford. Eliza Lentzki? Historian by profession. Lentzki, who already writes with quite a range, has mostly stuck to contemporary settings until now, but she makes the transition to historical world building look effortless.  

Jo/Joana Pascoal is a “wickie” in training, the new assistant to an aging lighthouse keeper at “the end of the earth,” aka Provincetown, MA in the late 1800’s. Jo is the daughter of a family of Portuguese immigrants who are barely making ends meet while her eldest brother is off at sea. While she initially begins posing as a man solely to help out her family’s financial situation, Jo finds she’s most comfortable living under the guise, preferring the freedom and comfort it brings. Things are going well for Jo at the lighthouse until she meets the acquaintance of the shopkeeper’s daughter, Lizzy Darby, who becomes a distraction she can’t ignore, despite the risk to her undercover identity.

Lizzy’s days are mostly filled with working the general store her parents own, and accompanying her father on his weekly delivery to the lighthouse. Her parents desperately want Lizzy to marry, though she has no desire after her betrothed was lost at sea (though one gets the idea her desire may have been lukewarm even during that courtship). She’d much prefer to spend time in the library or digging for clams than entertain the vapid young eligible bachelors in town. When her world collides with Jo, the mysterious new wickie of few words, she finds them to be infuriating, arrogant, and an object of her fascination. Their story is one of second chances, found family, and compromise. 

Lentzki also addresses the general attitudes of the time toward sexuality, gender, and a woman’s place in society. Their effects on the main characters are as oppressive as one might expect, though she also shines a light on those LGBTQ members of society who would have been hiding in plain sight: a secret subculture and community for those who knew where to look. 

While at times the writing style evokes Sarah Waters, Lighthouse Keeper is solidly in the romance genre: a slow burn, with well crafted prose and imagery. Vivid depictions of the fresh oranges brought from Jo’s home in the Azores, both decadent and rare, and the fresh, salty clams…well, you’ll just have to read that bit for yourself. 

A Small-Town Coming Out Story: Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream by Tehlor Kay Mejia

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Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream cover

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[A quick note on spoilers: If you want to get very technical, this entire review is a spoiler. Seriously, if the mere mention of the word “spoilers” makes your skin crawl, here’s the short version of this review: Go read Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream. That said, if you’ve read a decent number of sapphic romances, you know all the tropes. Knowing the tropes makes a fair amount of potential spoilers moot. To me, that’s part of the fun—we know what will ultimately happen, but it’s the getting there that makes it so interesting. Anyway, read on at your own peril.]

A couple of weeks ago, I finally gave in—I downloaded TikTok onto my iPad. Not to yuck anyone’s yum, but I’m just not a fan of the app. Or, all told, the entire concept of the thing. At the same time, if I’m so interested in the discourse, I might as well go from whence the discourse came rather than continuing to wait for it as secondhand news. 

(If you think I’m going to say something about BookTok next, guess again.)

As I learned almost immediately, everyone is beholden to the great TikTok algorithm. Within mere days, I had been pigeonholed into a handful of very specific topics. One of these very specific topics, which is how we get to Tehlor Kay Mejia’s new novel Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream, is the “Later in Life Lesbian.” Now, for those of you following along at home, as a trans woman who came out later in life, I do technically belong in this category. But that isn’t the point here (nor is the point that “sapphic” is a much more inclusive term than “lesbian”); the point is that between TikTok and Cash Delgado, I’m noticing that this very specific topic has become a more prominent point of conversation and a go-to trope in many of the romance novels that I’ve read lately.

In fact, Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream isn’t even the first novel I’ve discussed here that follows the “later in life lesbian” trope: Ashley Herring Blake’s Astrid Parker Doesn’t Fail treads some of the same ground. I really liked that book, and I really liked Cash Delgado as well. 

Single mother Cash Delgado manages a small bar in a small town. Inez, her best friend— what’s that, you say? Cash is going to realize that she loves Inez, who also happens to love Cash? How ever did you know?!? 

Again, even though the destination is nothing short of completely obvious, it’s a good writer who makes the journey enjoyable. For me in particular, when that enjoyable journey involves a single parent/child situation, I’m even more impressed. Mejia manages to balance the small-town setting, the central trope, and the parent/child situation, which is enough to enthusiastically recommend Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream. But wait, there’s more… 

Perhaps it’s because we’re in the summer of Chappell Roan, but lately it’s felt like there’s an ever-so-small possibility that we’re almost getting ready to be able to have a nuanced conversation about women and sexuality that doesn’t eventually descend into some form of biphobia or other exclusionary discourse. In the beginning of this novel, Cash finds herself hooking up with a guy with whom she’s had a previous relationship. The fact that this guy is the living embodiment of the mistake everyone has in their past becomes clear immediately, and he is a mere twirled-mustache away from being the most stereotypical villain who ever lived. And, sure, Chase is in town to bring an obnoxious chain bar/restaurant into Ridley Falls, which will destroy the scrappy establishment where he used to work and that Cash now manages. That complication is what the plot of the novel hangs on, yes, but the spirit of the novel is propelled forward more so by the fact that the words that best describe Chase are words that end in -phobic.

Because it’s difficult enough for Cash to figure out how she feels about Inez and what that says about her sexuality and her larger identity as a person. If it wasn’t difficult, there wouldn’t be an entire corner of TikTok devoted to it. (There would be so many more videos about make-up in my feed.) “Am I a lesbian?” “Am I bisexual?” “Am I a straight woman who happens to really really like this one woman?” All are legitimate possibilities for Cash (and lots of other women), but these questions wouldn’t matter nearly as much if people like Chase could just be cool for once in their entire lives.

Cash Delgado Is Living the Dream is an extremely fun read that brushes up against some of these questions of cisheteropatriarchy, straight culture, and cultural bereavement as it relates to realizing something significant about your sexuality later in life. If you’re not interested in that particular discourse, don’t worry! You can just boo along with everyone else about how Chase is the literal worst and cheer along about how Parker, Cash’s daughter, is the embodiment of a ray of sunshine. If this discourse is something that you’ve followed or taken part in, then there’s a lot in both Cash’s journey and Inez’s reactions to that journey for you to dig into.

Liv (she/her) is a trans woman, a professor of English, and a reluctant Southerner. Described (charitably) as passionate and strong-willed, she loves to talk (and talk) about popular culture, queer theory, utopias, time travel, and any other topic that she has magpied over the years. You can find her on storygraph and letterboxd @livvalentine.

The Queer Graphic Novel That Had Me Sobbing at 3 A.M.: The Deep Dark by Molly Knox Ostertag

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The Deep Dark cover

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You’re all fired for not tell me how good this is.

I liked The Girl From the Sea, so I put a hold on Ostertag’s newest sapphic graphic novel, but I hadn’t heard anything about it, so I my expectations were pretty grounded. I definitely didn’t realize it was almost 500 pages; not the one-sitting read I was expecting… or so I thought.

I started reading this before bed, fully intending to get through a chapter or two before going to sleep. Instead, I was glued to the page until I finished it, after which I fully started not just crying but sobbing to myself. (It probably wasn’t 3 A.M., but give me some creative liberty here.) My roommate had to patiently listen to me weepily describe how good this book was. And then he offered me a chocolate chip cookie, which I definitely needed.

This review will have minor spoilers: the back doesn’t tell you what it is that happens in the basement every night, but it’s revealed early in the story. This is about Mags, a teenager who is trying to balance being the primary caregiver to her ailing grandmother, going to school, holding down a part-time job—and feeding her monster. Every night, she descends into the basement, offering her hand for the monster to feed from. It means she doesn’t get a lot of sleep on top of everything else, and it means she feels isolated: how could she ever have a real relationship, when she has such a terrible secret?

Mags is sleepwalking through life, as we can tell from the washed-out colour palette. She’s sleeping with a classmate from school who has a boyfriend. She doesn’t have a social life outside of these secret hook ups. Then, a childhood friend reappears: Nessa. Nessa is bisexual and trans, and she knows Mags’s secret already, because Mags told her when they were kids… except Nessa thinks she imagined it all. As Mags and Nessa spend more time together, Mags begins to wish for more from her life.

My heart broke for Mags, who is carrying so much on her shoulders. Her mother is horrified by her monster and stays distant from her. She thinks, “Mom says I’m so mature. And that’s code for not her problem anymore.” Her abuela is the one who forced her to start feeding her monster as a kid and to keep it a locked away secret. Her uncle, who was the other person in her family in the same situation, ran away with his monster and was never heard from again. She feels alone and like she doesn’t deserve real connection or support. She’s so tired that she’s beginning to faint at random times, and it’s obvious she can’t keep this up forever.

Ultimately, this is a story about accepting and loving the darkest, angriest parts of yourself—and allowing other people to love you in your entirety. Nessa offers Mags a glimpse of a possibility outside of just isolating herself. It’s painful and difficult, but it’s worth it.

As the title warns, this isn’t a light read. On top of Mags’s difficult emotional state and the discussions of intergenerational trauma, Nessa is also recovering from an abusive relationship, one that turned into stalking after they broke up. I also want to give content warnings for violence, death, child death, gun violence, and threatening suicide.

I did not mean to read this in one sitting, but I’m glad I did. I was immersed in this story, and I felt so deeply for Mags. It made the ending cathartic—hence the sobbing. This was obviously written from a personal place, and it’s so effective. This is a new favourite.

Religious Trauma and Queer Awakening: Gay the Pray Away by Natalie Naudus

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Gay the Pray Away cover

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Content warnings: homophobia, child abuse, religious abuse, physical abuse

Gay the Pray Away by Natalie Naudus follows Valerie Danners as she begins to understand and live her own truth. Unfortunately for Valerie, the truth of her sexuality is beyond unacceptable to her conservative Christian community, and she may not be able to have herself and her family.

I looked forward to reading this book. It combines two of my interests, sapphic characters and high-control religious groups, and one on count it thrives. The relationship between Riley and Valerie progresses naturally and is beyond adorable. I loved their sweet moments sharing each other’s passions and getting to be carefree teenagers together. Their stolen and cobbled-together dates shine throughout the book, even with a tremor of fear always running through them. I knew from the summary on the back cover that discovery was inevitable.

Which leads into the book’s weaknesses.

First, the blurb tells a majority of the story. In a way, that’s hard to avoid; this is a character-driven book, not plot-heavy. Maybe most readers found the book predictable. Maybe that doesn’t matter. With the character’s arc at the heart of this story and the warmly colored, borderline-idyllic art on the cover, even mildly savvy readers likely guessed the sort of ending this one had in store. I don’t mean that as a criticism. Plenty of queer readers want happy endings and with good reason.

However, the character’s initial perspective deserves analysis. This is supposed to be a book about Valerie deconstructing her faith. I assert that due to several scenes in which she confronts new information and experiences in the light of conservative Christian teachings. That is the book I wanted and the book I came for.

Unfortunately, it is not this book. From her introduction, Valerie does not hold those teachings. She tells us at the start how boring she finds Bible study, how she constantly daydreams during morning prayers. After sneaking a queer book from the library, she holes up in her closet to read it; this closet is set up as her little hideaway. Valerie complains about the rules under which she lives pretty much from the start. This is something that frustrates me because it feels like this fear of making mistakes. It feels like a concern on the part of maybe a writer or editor that Valerie won’t be likable enough if she holds unpopular beliefs. But a lot of people growing up in high-control religious groups genuinely hold beliefs they are raised with, beliefs many of us would deem problematic—they hold, in essence, the beliefs from which Valerie claims to be deconstructing. She is not deconstructing. You cannot deconstruct what was never built.

That is my biggest criticism of this book. Its lack of plot I can excuse. Its predictable ending seems reasonable. But the summary selling this as a deconstruction story, the passages in which Valerie claims to hold beliefs that conflict with what we’re shown prior just long enough for her to change her views? That frustrated me. The intended core of the book serves a context wholly different from the one provided here.

Gay the Pray Away is not a bad book. If you want a sweet romance in dangerous times, this is an excellent choice. My frustration is aimed at the marketing. This isn’t about a girl picking apart the toxic messaging she’s internalized; those scenes could have been removed without altering the story at all. My recommendation would be to go into it aware and keep your expectations reasonable.