Tag Archives: retellings

Gay Arthurian Hijinks in Space: Once & Future by A.R. Capetta and Cory McCarthy

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Once & Future, by married couple A.R. Capetta and Cory McCarthy, takes Arthurian mythos into the stars. It follows the latest, and hopefully last, reincarnation of King Arthur, now a teenage girl named Ari, and the wizard Merlin, who, due to his backwards aging, is now a teenager. Merlin’s job is, and has always been, to keep the Arthurs safe. With her own band of knights (a tight-knit and extremely diverse group of lifelong friends, including a bisexual Guinevere who is queen of her own Renaissance Faire-themed planet!), Ari must step up to defend the galaxy from its next great danger. The great danger that has called Arthur back this time? Space capitalism. (Seriously, the main villain and his company are pretty clear stand-ins for Amazon.)

I’m genuinely so obsessed with this. Listen, I was a Merlin gay in high school, and I still consider it one of my favorite shows, even though there are parts of it I really hate. It’s complicated. This book is not Merlin, it’s not trying to be Merlin, but it does scratch that Merlin itch I get sometimes, and it does it without any of the things that make me angry when I watch that show I still love. Literally every problem I have—absent in this book.

Now to talk about the book itself, I had an actual blast reading it. I laughed so much, felt genuinely sad, and I think I might have cheered out loud at least once. I’m pretty good at judging how I’ll feel about a book before I start it, so I end up enjoying most of the books I read, but this one caught me off guard by how much more I loved it than I was prepared to. Throughout the day, I kept thinking “I can’t wait for my lunch break so I can keep reading,” “I can’t wait to get home so I can keep reading,” “I can’t wait until I finish my dinner so I can keep reading.” I cannot emphasize enough how much I always looked forward to continuing this book when I wasn’t reading it.

I think the main thing I love is the characters. Arthurian retellings can be tricky because there are so many different interpretations of the characters, and someone always ends up getting villainized, and sometimes it’s for reasons that are really stupid. This book does not do that. There is so much sympathy for all of these kids and the archetypes they’ve been slotted into. I loved Ari’s and Gwen’s determination to remain themselves, and I loved how much of Merlin’s arc centered around the idea that he can protect Arthur/Ari while also having a life for himself (and maybe also kiss that cute boy who likes him).

If I had one “note” (I can’t even call it a criticism because for me it wasn’t an issue, but I could see other people feeling different), I will say the relationship development sometimes moved a little quickly, but again, I didn’t mind at all because the relationships, platonic and romantic, were so great.

This is the Arthurian retelling of my dreams. It’s funny, it’s sympathetic, and it’s gay as hell. It is exactly the book I wish existed when I was in high school, but lucky for me now, A.R. Capetta and Cory McCarthy wrote two of them!

Ungovernable Gender Chinese Fantasy: The Water Outlaws by S.L. Huang

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When a book is described as being about ruthless bandits with unseemly femininity and ungovernable gender, let’s just say that I had little to no choice in devouring every single page of The Water Outlaws by S.L. Huang. It’s a queer martial arts political epic fantasy retelling of a Chinese classic called Water Margin. But don’t be intimidated by that long string of descriptors or the fact that it’s a retelling of Chinese literature! I didn’t know the source material going into this novel and I still enjoyed it thoroughly.

The Water Outlaws holds an impressively varied cast of characters, and the numerous POVs we’re given help to flesh out the world in which this story takes place. We primarily follow Lin Chong, an esteemed arms instructor lauded for her impeccable reputation, work ethic, and success in training the empire’s army. She came from lesser means and has worked her way up by sticking to the rules. We also follow Lu Junyi, a privileged socialite who dedicates herself to scholarly pursuits and arguing against unequal hierarchies and societal values.

When Lin Chong is wrongly accused and branded as a criminal, she finds herself with nowhere to go but to the mountains and marshes where a notorious group of bandits reside. The bandits, who steal from the rich to give to the poor, are beloved by the people but despised by the government. They offer her shelter, just as they do with every person that has been deemed lesser by society be it because of their social standing, sexual orientation, or gender identity. And this rattles Lin Chong’s long standing sense of duty, honor, and justice. Meanwhile, Lu Junyi is forced to confront how her privileged place in society has distracted her from the real dangers of corruption. She must reconsider her options when neither money nor social standing can save her.

Where this sapphic genderbent Robin-Hood-esque fantasy really shines for me is the diverse cast. Yes, it’s a story with a lot of politics and fighting, which makes it fun and fast to read, but the group of outlaws has incredible queer representation (we’ve got women kicking ass, trans folk kicking ass, nonbinary folk kicking ass—you get the point) is the heart of this novel. Everybody has their own backstory, their own goals and motivations. So even though there’s a lot of people to keep track of, it’s easy to distinguish them. But this was also the novel’s greatest weakness because with so many characters, you never seem to get enough time with each person to really delve deeper into them. It’s the trappings of a wide cast in a standalone fantasy, I suppose.

I love a book that has female rage and righteous anger (I was utterly fuming; you can see it in my reading activity notes on Goodreads), and this book has it in spades. It is a book with a lot of fighting and injustice, so there are many trigger and content warnings, some of which include violence, sexual assault, blood, and cannibalism.

The Water Outlaws reads a lot like a villain origin story for all of our main characters and that was the best part for me. Are they heroes, antiheroes, or villains in the end? You tell me.

Mims (she/her) is an Asian neurodivergent pansexual who is best known for being a longtime escapist, fanfic enthusiast, and a serial rereader of favorites. Too busy looking for new worlds to explore in fantasy novels and historical fiction, this book witch only has time for the weird and the absurd. But if you leave a trail of hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, and found family then you might just be able to catch her attention. You may find her haunting the following places: Her Blog, Goodreads, Instagram, and X (formerly Twitter).

Sweet Summer Bi Vibes: Cool for the Summer by Dahlia Adler

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“Just because you’re telling a good story doesn’t mean it’s the right story. And I think it’s really important to tell the right story.”

For three years of high school, Larissa had extreme heart-eyes for Chase Harding; the sweet, popular, football star any girl would die to date. After returning from summer break, Chase finally seems to notice her, but it’s not Lara’s stylish blonde bob that catches his attention: it’s the newfound confidence she gained over the summer. Enigmatic, too-cool photographer Jasmine is the one Lara spent all summer beside…and, on more than one occasion, kissing. The girl Lara can’t stop thinking about. The first time Chase flirts with her, Jasmine walks through the doors, only to reveal they’re completing their senior year together—and that she has no interest in picking up where they left off last summer. Everything about Lara’s senior year appears perfect—supportive friends, the most popular boy in school at her arm…so why can’t she get Jasmine and their summer together off her mind?

⚠️ Spoilers Ahead! ⚠️

Cool for the Summer is a light-hearted, quick summer read with definite queer Grease vibes. The story’s sweet, relatable sapphic spin is bound to hook you from the get-go. Lara is a first-generation Russian Ashkenazi Jew who thought she’d spend the summer working at an indie bookstore, only to travel to the Outer Banks of North Carolina with her mother instead. While staying at her mother’s boss’s beach house, she spends time with seemingly stand-offish Jasmine. The two bond in little moments we see through flashbacks—snippets that demonstrate even a summer is enough to discover real, life-changing love. Larissa’s character development, especially as she steps out from behind the shadows her friends have cast, is a beautiful example of how one moment can trigger metaphoric self-discovery and growth. Though her time with Larissa triggered that development, we see the continuous ripple effect it causes.

Adler doesn’t shy away from topics rarely explored in YA, including positivity regarding masturbation and sex. However, I do wish she’d explored some of the emotions behind those moments. Since Lara internalizes a lot of what she’s thinking and feeling, there was no real discussion that would have added depth to those scenes. However, I do wish I’d had this story growing up; it possibly could have changed everything.

I can’t stress quite how relatable this story was for me. Everything from the three-year-long unreciprocated crush to one summer of stolen moments and unexpected feelings that ultimately led to newfound self-awareness and -discovery were all pieces of my own bisexual coming-out story. Sometimes, the ever-after we write in our heads isn’t the ever-after we end up wanting—a realization Lara almost has too late.

This story was an opportunity to shatter a great number of bisexual stereotypes, especially since Lara is in a relationship when she realizes her feelings for Jasmine. There’s a brief comment, made by Chase, that almost delves into and defies those stereotypes of bisexuals “not being able to choose,” but Lara bites back her anger and brushes by it too quickly. While I’m beyond grateful that we’re getting more bisexual and overall queer stories, I do wish we could have opened that discussion. At the very least, it should have been a conversation Lara had with herself— her constant internalizing provided the perfect opportunity for it.

Anyone who’s read one of my previous reviews knows my biggest rom-com trope pet peeve is miscommunication. The entirety of this story feeds off the miscommunication between Lara and Jasmine. While that fear and confusion are real and relatable (I’ve lived through it myself), I do wish there was at least ONE attempt from either of them to try, long before that miscommunication escalates the conflict between them.

With how short this story is, there’s definitely room to explore the emotions behind certain scenes in-depth. Again, Lara internalizes almost everything instead of using a friend as a sounding board, leaving this story with more “telling” than “showing.”

This quintessential summer read is ideal for lovers of YA, happily-ever-afters, and stories of self-discovery. It’s also perfect for fans of Becky Albertalli and Alice Oseman. Happy reading!

✨ The Vibes ✨

☀️ Summer Love
💜 Bisexual (Questioning) and Aroace Rep
✡️ Jewish (Ashkenazi and Sephardi) Rep
🔎 Self-Discovery
⌛ Past/Present Timeline
❤️ Happily Ever After
💕 Love Triangle

⚠️ Content Warnings: Brief Biphobia, Underage Alcohol Consumption, Parental Divorce

A Bisexual Historical Horror Retelling: Reluctant Immortals by Gwendolyn Kiste

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This is a fascinating story about the trauma inflicted on women by violent men. It’s told from the point of view of women in classic novels who were tossed to the side by literary history: Lucy from Dracula and Bertha, a.k.a. the Mad Woman in the Attic, from Jane Eyre.

Lucy and Bee enjoy their daily ritual. They spend their evenings at the local drive-in theater and then go home to clean up the decay. Meanwhile, Dracula’s ashes that Lucy keeps in various urns haunt and taunt her, trying to get her to become a monster like him. This is less a retelling and more a rewriting of classic characters.

Rochester and Dracula torture their victims, Lucy and Bee, by calling out from afar. These supernatural, ghostly hauntings act as a symbol of how it feels in reality for victims of trauma. While Lucy is a vampire, Bee is immortal for other reasons caused by Rochester. The story unfolds to show how trauma, no matter how much time passes and in whatever form it comes, lives on.

Kiste offers an interesting twist on vampire lore. Sunlight doesn’t kill them, but it does weaken them into a state of hallucination where they relive their pasts. Vampires also live in homes in a state of decay because it is caused by their own, like power within that seeps into everything they touch; they are death itself.

Like the vampire lore of Dracula, Lucy has the power to mesmerize people and put them under her control. She often does it by accident and feels shame when it occurs. She lives her life without ever feeding on humans, never taking what Dracula always tells her is hers. She constantly fights her monstrous nature, showing how trauma can turn victims into perpetrators of further pain and hurt.

When Jane appears, she is not portrayed as the heroine of her novel, but rather as a victim of Rochester’s manipulation. Although she loves Bee, Rochester still holds power over her. After decades of keeping a low profile and keeping their torturers at bay, the time comes for Lucy and Bee to face Rochester and Dracula.

For so many years, Lucy and Bee lived as companions, but they refused to talk about the horrors they went through. They never really knew each other, and the return of their tormentors forces them to be honest with each other and with themselves. It’s only once this happens they can fight Rochester and Dracula, finally facing their ghosts.

Along the way, the two villains create more victims that Lucy and Bee could not save. The men expect these women to act in their favor and do their dirty work, but the moment Lucy acknowledges their trauma, they become sisters in arms. These men constantly claim to love Lucy, Bee and all the other women they’ve used. They use love to keep excusing their behavior and manipulating their victims.

Throughout the story, Rochester and Dracula’s legacy in pop culture continues to keep Lucy and Bee out of their own narrative. But in the end, the women use that narrative to create a power of their own to defeat their enemies. Lucy and Bee regain control of their narrative and prove that although they each came from a monster, they don’t have to become one.

Perhaps the most salient flaw was the pacing. It moves so slowly that by the time you get to the action, it takes a moment to kick in and realize, “Oh yes we’ve reached the climax of this build-up.” But even so, it’s still an enthralling story. And I quite enjoyed its quiet ending.

8 of the Best Sapphic Shakespeare Retellings

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a graphic with a painting of two women reading together and the text 8 Sapphic Shakespeare Retellings

Queering Shakespeare is a popular academic subject—and why not? Shakespeare was bisexual himself, and his plays are packed full of cross-dressing and other queer shenanigans. Personally, I love a good retelling, especially one that features queer women, so I had to see if I could find enough to put together a list. Sadly, there are a lot fewer LGBTQ retellings of Shakespeare than I expected, especially Romeo and Juliet. Is retelling a forbidden love story as a queer romance too obvious?

Worse, I could find hardly any examples of queer Shakespeare retellings by authors of colour. It’s been a while since Ash, Malinda Lo! Maybe a historical fiction F/F Romeo and Juliet retelling? I’m just spit-balling here.

Although I’d like there to be more, we do have some excellent bi and lesbian Shakespeare retellings out there, so without any more preamble, let’s get into it!

the cover of Tragic

Tragic by Dana Mele & Valentina Pinti (Hamlet)

This is a queer graphic novel retelling of Hamlet! When Harper’s father dies mysteriously, she begins trying to find the culprit. Her mother has been having an affair with Harper’s uncle, making him the #1 suspect.

To help her get to the bottom of this, she enlists the help of her ex-girlfriend and her best friend (who she also has some complicated feelings for). Then her father’s business partner dies, and she realizes this is much bigger than she originally thought.

Her obsession leads to recurring dreams about her father’s death, and she begins hallucinating the ghost of a teenage Hamlet. She’ll have to bright to light a few more skeletons in her family’s closet if she wants to close this chapter.

Lady Hotspur cover

Lady Hotspur by Tessa Gratton (Henry IV)

While The Queens of Innis Lear implied a lot of characters were either bi or pansexual, Lady Hotspur centres its queer main characters. It also takes its time in establishing the world, so be prepared for hundreds of pages of epic fantasy. This loose retelling of Henry IV—a sequel to her take on King Lear—is an ambitious book that is quite divisive: it’s the kind of story people seem to love or hate. If a gender-swapped fantasy version of Henry IV with a complex sapphic romance sounds up your alley (and why would you be reading this post if it wasn’t?), give this one a try and decide for yourself.

As I Descended by Robin Talley cover

As I Descended by Robin Talley (Macbeth)

I believe this is the most well-known example of a sapphic Shakespeare retelling. As I Descended is Macbeth as a queer southern gothic YA set at a boarding school. This doesn’t follow every plot point of Macbeth, but it firmly establishes a broody atmosphere and is filled with revenge plots.

This story starts off spooky (with a Ouija board), and steadily gets darker as it progresses, ending up in seriously unsettling territory. Keep in mind the source material and don’t expect a cheerful ending, but because there are so many queer characters (including a Latina main character and a main character with a disability), there is no token queer character to kill off. This is perfect for a fall evening while listening to the wind howl outside your window.

Star-Crossed by Barbara Dee cover

Star-Crossed by Barbara Dee (Romeo and Juliet)

Of course, I have to recommend this adorable middle grade book about a girl who finds herself playing Romeo in the school play—and falling for her Juliet. But she’s had a crush on a boy before! What does it mean? This has some parallels to the play, but mostly it’s about putting on the production itself, including some discussion of the themes and ideas embedded in it. This was one of the first middle grade books to feature a bisexual main character (the paperback edition even uses the word “bisexual” on the page!) It is sweet and well done, and I’m so grateful we have middle grade books like this being published now.

the cover of Miranda in Milan by Katharine Duckett

Miranda in Milan by Katharine Duckett (The Tempest)

This one isn’t actually a retelling as much as a sequel!

Miranda and Ferdinand are in Milan to be married, ready to start their Happily Ever After, but Miranda does not get the welcome she expected. Instead, she finds herself isolated. The only person willing to keep her company is her maid, Dorothea, a queer Black Moroccan Muslim woman with her own magic powers.

Part fluffy F/F story, part creepy magic, this novella has Miranda reexamining all of the events of The Tempest, and what her father is responsible for.

Among Other Things, I've Taken Up Smoking by Aoibheann Sweeney cover

Among Other Things, I’ve Taken Up Smoking by Aoibheann Sweeney (The Tempest)

If you asked me to predict which Shakespeare play would be the most popular to adapt into a sapphic story, I wouldn’t have chosen The Tempest, but here we are. This one is also part Ovid’s Metamorphosis, and takes place between two islands: Crab, the tiny island in Maine that Miranda grows up on, and Manhattan, where she ends up. This is a story about loneliness, even when transplanted to the big city. Miranda has to decide which path she should choose (including how to resolve a bisexual love triangle). The strength of the book is Sweeney’s restrained, poetic style.

The Last True Poets of the Sea by Julia Drake cover

The Last True Poets of the Sea by Julia Drake (Twelfth Night)

This is an atmospheric, absorbing story of Violet’s attempts to understand her complicated family by searching for a lost shipwreck that changed the direction of their lives. It turned their family into survivors—at least, that’s what they tell themselves. But siblings Violent and Sam are on a downward spiral, and when Sam attempts to take his life, partier Violet is sent away. 

The Last True Poets of the Sea includes family secrets, a bisexual love triangle, a failing aquarium, and an F/F romance with a fellow wreck hunter. Perfect for fans of Ashley Herring Blake or Summer of Salt.

the cover of That Way Madness Lies edited by Dahlia Adler

That Way Madness Lies: 15 of Shakespeare’s Most Notable Works Reimagined edited by Dahlia Adler (Multiple)

And finally, this is a YA anthology with 15 retellings of Shakespeare, including many queer stories. I know at least one story is sapphic: “Dreaming of the Dark” (Julius Caesar) by Lindsay Smith, which has dark academia and witches! When a group of friends find themselves in possession of dark magic, it begins to consume them.

There are also some big name authors in queer YA included here, like Anna-Marie McLemore, Melissa Bashardoust, A. R. Capetta, Mark Oshiro, and of course Dahlia Adler herself.

This isn’t a complete list, but hopefully this gives you an idea of some of the sapphic directions that authors have taken Shakespeare in. In the meantime, keep on keeping Shakespeare queer!

An earlier version of this post ran on Book Riot.

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A Cozy Sapphic Sci-Fi Mystery: The Mimicking of Known Successes by Malka Older

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In The Mimicking of Known Successes, Malka Older creates a cozy murder mystery in humanity’s distant future on Jupiter. I found this novella to be a delightful, satisfying read. The action clicked along nicely, the world-building was intriguing, and Mossa and Pleiti were great characters.

Mossa, an Investigator, is summoned to the furthest reaches of the network of floating platforms humanity has created to settle Jupiter in order to investigate a disappearance. The victim is a university man, and Mossa’s initial cursory investigation can find no supporting evidence of a supposed suicide, nor why the man would come to such a distant platform in the first place.  Seeking more insight into his politics and motivations, Mossa enlists the help of Pleiti, her ex-girlfriend.  Pleiti is part of a team of Classical scholars who study ecosystems and environments as part of a larger movement to eventually rehabilitate and return to Earth. Together they explore university politics, Jupiter’s largest tourist attraction, and their re-kindling romantic tension with each other.

I found The Mimicking of Known Successes to be an excellent cozy mystery and perfectly novella-paced. It was balanced between intriguing glimpses of world-building and the rising action. I adored how it had traditional mystery elements – a man has vanished! People are acting mysterious! Inter-departmental friction! – and at the same time, a lot of great sci-fi details. I was in love with the rail system and the descriptions of little businesses and industries that came about on Jupiter. But nothing overwhelmed the length of the novella, which is, in my opinion, a problem a lot of novellas have. I would love to read half a dozen more novellas set on this same world, but I don’t necessarily wish this one had been longer. It felt perfectly self-contained.

Mossa and Pleiti were also great characters. Mossa is intensely focused and not great with her interpersonal skills, but I liked how she was aware of her faults, and made efforts to correct them, even if she didn’t always succeed. I loved that Pleiti understood her though, and that Mossa valued and sought out Pleiti’s contributions to the case, even though Pleiti is trained as a scholar not an investigator. The tension of their past feelings for each other and the slow re-kindling of their relationship was great. I felt like there was a lot of romantic tension here for a novella but that it was well established and grounded, which was excellent.

In conclusion, if you’re looking for a quick but engaging read, The Mimicking of Known Successes is a great choice. Whether you’re a sci-fi fan who thinks you could use a little mystery or a mystery fan who thinks you could possibly branch into sci-fi, I think you could come into this book from either angle and be satisfied.

A Sapphic Sequel to Shakespeare’s The Tempest: Miranda in Milan by Katharine Duckett

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Out of all of Shakespeare’s comedies, The Tempest has always stuck out to me as particularly odd. The play’s initial premise hardly seems like it belongs in a comedy at all—an ousted duke raises his daughter alone on a magical isle, binding spirits to his will and planning his vengeance for a dozen years before wrecking the king of Italy’s flagship with a sorcerous storm. And Prospero’s plan indeed unfolds, Monte Cristo-like, exactly as he wills it. But while we see the magician conjure ghosts and minor deities to serve him, enchant people with magical sleep and paralysis, and master the very elements of the isle, the play wraps up with the same brotherly reunions, marriage engagements, and heartfelt speeches as any of the Bard’s other comedic productions.

Author Katharine Duckett must have been just as intrigued by this curious juxtaposition as I am, because her debut novella Miranda in Milan explores precisely what happens after Prospero and his daughter Miranda return to Italy. Miranda in Milan is a direct sequel to The Tempest, staying faithful to the events in Shakespeare’s play but assuming that (written and staged as it is, largely from Prospero’s perspective) it may be the account of a somewhat unreliable narrator. Instead, Duckett gives us Miranda’s point of view. Miranda is a fascinating and compelling character for how little time she actually spends on stage—John William Waterhouse’s classic painting Miranda–The Tempest showcasing how much space she occupies in our collective imagination of the play. In Miranda in Milan, Duckett asks the very pertinent question, “what does a sorcerer’s daughter, who has lived practically alone on an island for almost all her life, do when suddenly brought to one of the largest cities in sixteenth-century Italy?”

The answer, delightfully, is that she falls in love with a Moorish witch working as a chambermaid in the Milanese castle. Together, the two of them are forced to solve the mystery surrounding Prospero’s exile. Was it truly ambition that led Antonio to betray his brother? And what ever happened to Miranda’s mother, who in all of The Tempest is mentioned only once? Miranda in Milan does a good job fleshing out the shadow that The Tempest casts, the context that either rings insincere or is brushed away in the original play. This includes some of the more problematic aspects of Shakespeare’s writing, gendered and racialized alike. The character of Caliban looms arguably larger out of Shakespeare’s pages than even Miranda does. Considering the amount of academic ink that has been spilled over Caliban in the past, I could see the argument that Duckett leaves him rather too conveniently out of sight. Personally, I found her portrayal of Caliban to be deeply sympathetic, with a clear influence on the story that ran throughout the novella. Duckett clearly set out to write a book about Miranda, but Miranda’s relationship to Caliban is an unavoidable aspect of her character, and I enjoyed how that informed the story.

Which brings me finally to Ferdinand, and possibly what I enjoyed most about Miranda in Milan. Like I mentioned earlier, Duckett doesn’t directly contradict anything in The Tempest; she merely expands and recontextualizes the events of the play. By all accounts, Ferdinand isn’t a bad man in either book—which is what makes Miranda’s journey such a compelling metaphor for the forces of compulsory heterosexuality. Miranda is raised never knowing another mortal woman. Her father, the civilized patriarch who “tamed” the feminine wilderness of Sycorax and the island, is her only source of information about the world and its workings. The same father regularly enchants her into slumber when it suits his purpose, and spends a great deal of the play manipulating her into falling in love with a man of his choosing—who, again, is literally the first person Miranda has ever seen outside the men she grew up around. Is that love? Would true love require such Herculean effort, the spells and stories and years of isolation, to produce? Or is it simply a role in a play, in which Miranda’s lines were written for her long ago? Even after Miranda becomes aware of the possibility of women loving each other, deviating from that script would cost Miranda the security, protection, and power of becoming queen of Naples by Ferdinand’s side—and earn Prospero’s tempestuous wrath. This choice will feel familiar to many lesbians in our society, and it is the choice that Miranda has to make in Milan.

I have a lot to say about Miranda in Milan for how slim a volume it is. Personally, I would have loved for the novella to engage with The Tempest on a metatextual level, not just a literal one (though there is a great line about how Prospero “always spoke as if he were performing,” which tickled me pink). I realize, however, that would probably turn the book into more of a deconstruction of The Tempest rather than a sequel, which Miranda in Milan excels at being. It’s fun, it’s cute, and it doesn’t take much longer to read than the original play. In my mind, this is just how The Tempest ends for me now.

Samantha Lavender is a lesbian library assistant on the west coast, making ends meet with a creative writing degree and her wonderful butch partner. She spends her spare time playing and designing tabletop roleplaying games. You can follow her @LavenderSam on tumblr.

Til reviews Into the Bloodred Woods by Martha Brockenbrough

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Trigger warnings: gore, torture, death, mutilation, sexual assault, child abuse, violence, harassment… and likely others I’m forgetting. This is a relentless work.

Imagine a story that understood the true horror of the old fairy tales, the depths of yearning and human pain that crafted them, and the wonder that lets us believe, and rolled them up into a young adult novel. Stuffed it with a cream of gorgeous prose. Sprinkled in some sapphic love here, a mature conflict about class distinctions there, a smattering of werefolk. Dusted liberally with feminism that permits physical strength to exist in equal validity.

Am I trying to describe a book or win Bake Off here? Who can tell!

Into the Bloodred Woods takes characters familiar to Western audiences and introduces them in a new telling that uses the strengths of that familiarity. For example, many books with this many perspectives have a confusing start—it’s hard to keep track of all the worldbuilding and four points of view. It’s easier here because I already knew their contexts. Hans and Greta, the woodcutter’s children, are familiar enough. Except this time, they’re left alone in the woods when illness claims their loving father and stepmother.

It uses those familiar characters to tell an original story. A summary of key events would only touch on a tiny fraction of the book itself. This is, as the back-cover blurb promises, a story about a king’s son and daughter, each of whom inherits half a kingdom, and the ensuing battles, politics, conniving, and cruelty. But all of that is shaped by characters: a prince who worships automation and pain, a well-intentioned but spoiled princess who thinks she’s clever enough, a child of the forest when the town is drawing near, and a woodcutter’s daughter who wants little more than family and safety. It’s the intermingling of those characters with the machinations of the wicked prince and his hoard of gold that can be melted by blood. There’s a lot going on, which leads to a fast-paced and multi-faceted story.

One criticism I’ve seen of this book centers on Ursula, daughter of the queen from Rumpelstiltskin’s story, who wants to be queen and has high ideals, but isn’t realistic or mature about them. I would argue that’s the point. She was raised on misogyny and fairytales. Of course she’s unprepared for the real world. It’s a flaw I liked, especially in the way it caused her to interact with Sabine, her love interest. Their love never felt easy. Sabine is of the oppressed werefolk, forced to live in a slum, sleep in a cage, and fight in a ring to earn her way. Though Ursula is also a were, she sleeps in a golden cage in a palace, and has limited understanding of the world and how power feels to the truly powerless. Love never handwaves their differences: they earn their closeness. Ursula has to grow and change, to do a lot of learning—some of it bitter and much of it alone. I liked the realism of that. Sabine didn’t excuse her mistakes. Distances between them feel honest, even as they both long for closeness.

This is an intense read. I wouldn’t recommend it without warning about that. It’s brutal, it’s relentless, and no one is ever truly safe. The primary villain, Albrecht, believes he understands the world better than anyone, that his rule is justified and his attention is a gift, and this justifies any act of violation. The woods themselves respond to the narrative by becoming dangerous and reactive. It’s a powerful story; it’s a story about power. It’s a story about survival, but it’s well worth the ache, as much for the catharsis as because Brockenbough doesn’t lose sight of what’s worth surviving for.

5 out of 5 stars, would be damaged by again!

Sapphic Novellas To Read In November (Or Any Time!)

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You won’t catch me trying to write any novellas this November (respect for anyone who tries to write 50,000 words in a month, it’s just not in my plans any time soon), but I did read a few! To my mind, novellas occupy a challenging space when it comes to fiction. They need to be so much more tightly focused than a novel, and when done poorly they can feel anemic by comparison. On the other hand, novellas have vastly more space to breathe and play than a short story ever could; when done well, they’re like a satisfying main course next to a short story’s minimalist appetizer. The following novellas ran the spectrum in my opinion, though I think there’s something worthwhile in each of them for readers and writers of novellas alike.

Orpheus Girl by Brynne Rebele-Henry

Orpheus Girl by Brynne Rebele-Henry is a very loose retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, set in mid-2000’s rural Texas. It is also absolutely brutal to read. The underworld here is a conversion therapy camp that lesbian teenagers Raya and Sarah are sent to after their relationship is discovered. Raya is bent on saving Sarah and leading them out of there, but the things they are forced to endure are not easy to stomach, especially with the knowledge that this sort of thing still happens today. Of the novellas I read this month, Orpheus Girl is the only one that I felt had more words to play with than was strictly necessary, and could afford to spend them luxuriously. I can tell that the author was primarily a poet before moving to fiction. Still, reading Orpheus Girl left me in a half-heartbroken haze—I appreciate books like these, but they’re the reason I generally stick to lesbian fantasy and sci-fi more than any other genre of sapphic fiction.

Content Warnings: homophobia, transphobia, child abuse, self-harm, suicide attempt, torture

the cover of Fireheart Tiger

Fireheart Tiger by Aliette de Bodard is a small, anxious story about finding agency while trapped in restrictive relationships. Princess Thanh and her kingdom of Bình Hải are stuck in several, be it with more powerful nations, former lovers, or even Thanh’s own mother. Fireheart Tiger is the shortest book here, and I felt like it struggled the most with the novella format. A large portion of this book is spent telling rather than showing, and the overall effect is that most of Fireheart Tiger feels like it is spent deep inside Thanh’s internal ruminations. Which isn’t to say that the situations it presents aren’t compelling; Thanh’s political predicament is a thorny one that presents no clear solution, likewise Thanh’s struggle to reconcile her troubled relationship with her mother and their cultural tradition of filial piety. However, Fireheart Tiger lost me at its treatment of the only overtly masculine sapphic character. I understand what Eldris is supposed to represent in the narrative—both the threat and unavoidable gravity of an imperial nation—but in practice it just feels like she was written like a man, which is a stereotype of masculine lesbians that I hate to see in any story.

the cover of Spear by Nicola Griffith

Spear by Nicola Griffith is another loose retelling of old myths, this time a clever weaving of medieval tales regarding Peretur—also known as Perceval, Parzival, or Peredur—along with a handful of other Arthurian elements. Set in 9th century Wales, Spear is a bewitching read right from the beginning, steeped in that subconscious feeling of agelessness that only really good fantasy can instill. The magic is mysterious and wild, the people historically grounded and human; each familiar name and face feels appropriately placed, and yet the story itself felt gripping and fresh. It has a young butch disguising herself as a man (without slipping into questioning her gender), a tender and passionate romance between a knight and a witch, a special import given to both etymology and food—in short, it feels like this book was written just for me, and I wish it were about a million times longer. As much as I want more lesbian low fantasy like this in my life, though, I can admit that Spear is only as long as it actually needs to be. Should I try to write a novella after all? …Maybe next November. Maybe.

Samantha Lavender is a lesbian library assistant on the west coast, making ends meet with a creative writing degree and her wonderful butch partner. She spends most of her free time running Dungeons & Dragons (like she has since the 90’s), and has even published a few adventures for it. You can follow her @RainyRedwoods on tumblr.

Sam reviews Robins in the Night by Dajo Jago

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the cover of Robins in the Night

I first read Robins in the Night by Dajo Jago shortly after it came out in 2015. The literary landscape of lesbian fantasy novels was far scarcer even seven years ago than it is today; the YA publishing engine hadn’t yet realized the market it could exploit, and stumbling upon even a halfway decent book felt like finding buried treasure. Likewise, self-publishing was picking up steam but had not yet had its heyday—while I still think that self-publishing a novel requires an admirable level of audacity, in 2015 there were far fewer people who had actually taken that leap. So when word of a self-published, lesbian retelling of Robin Hood featuring a trans protagonist started going around, I went out of my way to borrow a family member’s Kindle so I could read it.

What I found charmed and surprised me in equal measure. Robins in the Night is hard to categorize. I can’t say that it isn’t a Robin Hood retelling, but if it is, it’s in the least possible way. It’s set in a fantasy version of England, but I couldn’t tell you in what time period or really much of anything much more specific about the setting. Consistent and detailed worldbuilding isn’t very important to Robins in the Night; it’s far more interested in fun wordplay, taking the piss out of men, and girls kissing. Oh, and also snails.

The novel tells the story of Marian Snoke, who is a thief. To most people, she is nothing; that is, until she falls in with the Hooded Council, an all-women group of thieves who use their ill-gotten gains to fund a refuge for the poor and downtrodden. The plot meanders its way forward from there, jumping from character to character, idling by moments and taking small diversions, pausing for intermissions and then suddenly leaping two steps ahead.

Rereading Robins in the Night now, what really struck me was just how young it feels. Every page dances with an energy both exuberant and clumsy. The book is just so excited to be here that it can hardly keep itself focused on any one story element for long. There’s a lot of inventively creative use of language in Robins in the Night, which ranges from cute to genuinely hilarious. The romance between Marian and Jemima in particular overflows with the disbelieving awe of gay young adults falling in love for the first time. In 2015, only a few years after I came out myself, it resonated deeply with my own recent experiences. Now, it’s a reminder of what it felt like to still be in the midst of figuring yourself out and finding love after being denied it for so long.

Youthful enthusiasm isn’t without its faults, of course. There are times that Robins in the Night feels hardly edited at all. Dajo Jago did not kill any of her darlings when writing her debut novel—though I can’t say that doesn’t make up a large part of its charm. What did bother me was several dips in tone that occur throughout the book, places where something hard and violent intrudes upon the largely light-hearted narrative. Which isn’t to say that Robins in the Night can’t or shouldn’t handle topics like death, maiming, and abuse of power—indeed, bigotry and prejudice are clearly important to the author and the story. But Robins in the Night clearly wants to be a happy kind of fairy tale, and it can feel a little jarring when it decides to dip into the grimmer reaches of that genre.

But despite any clumsiness that may arise from being a new author’s self-published work, Robins in the Night is most definitely worth a read—I even think it has the potential to be at least a few people’s new favorite book. I certainly enjoyed revisiting it…although I’m still not sure what’s so important about the snails.

Content Warnings: racism, transmisogyny, implied child abuse

Samantha Lavender is a lesbian library assistant on the west coast, making ends meet with a creative writing degree and her wonderful butch partner. She spends most of her free time running Dungeons & Dragons (like she has since the 90’s), and has even published a few adventures for it. You can follow her @RainyRedwoods on both twitter and tumblr.