This is going to be a shorter review cause The Mermaid was just not my favorite, and that's okay! My main line of thinking as to why a book about the ocean and mermaids was (somehow) not up my alley is this: I'm a sucker for first person narration.
The third person narration style of this novel left me feeling distant from most of the characters and their relationships, as well as confused as to whose inner thoughts I was meant to be following since it switched around during the middle of chapters at times. As a result, I finished this feeling underwhelmed by the concluding events and the main romantic relationship that slowly builds across the main plot of Amelia becoming P. T. Barnum's mermaid. To be honest, I felt like Barnum was the most fleshed out character in the cast. I'm sure this is due to the fact that Henry could draw on a plethora of historical records and accounts in addition to Barnum's reputation as she wrote. I started to lose considerable investment as a reader, though, when I realized I was halfway through the story and not as emotionally invested in the main character as I'd hoped to be.
What I did like about this book:
- The entire first chapter. Such whimsicality in the storytelling and set up of Amelia's backstory and life on land to come that I was hooked (maybe if this first chapter was the only chapter to be in third person, this review would look different... but I'm not the author!).
- Sweet, shy, bumbling Levi Lyman. While I also felt like it was hard to get to know him as a character, he was very endearing to me.
- The commentary on what lengths people will go to to express their faith despite the hurt it may cause other people. I'm looking at you, Elijah Hunt.
- Amelia's ability as a mermaid to hold a mirror up to the uglier parts of humanity and examine the way of things.
- The rocky but ultimately very lovely female friendship between Amelia and Charity.



One of my favorite quotes from The Mermaid:

"Women who did what they liked instead of what other people wished were often accused of witchcraft, because only a witch would be so defiant, or so it was thought."

*MILD SPOILERS AHEAD!*


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​This feels like a case study on human instincts and capacities to make sense of things that are pretty much unexplainable. I sit to write this feeling like trying to summarize or make my way through the intricacies of this novel's plot isn't quite the way I want this review to go, because it seems like a complicated feat, yes, but also because I feel like this novel's left me thinking more about psychological phenomena than anything else. I loved the cast of characters, certainly, and how their countries of origin, languages, backgrounds, and reasons for being at Mr. Hosokawa's birthday party all vary so much. But the interweaving stories, desires, and fears of all these different people, written in such gripping third-person omniscient POV, has led me to ask myself how I would've fared (and changed) were I in their shoes.
I think this book has moments of great uncomfortability because it gives an unbridled showcase of so many different characters' thoughts within a very high stakes situation. Chiefly, the obsession the men have over Roxanne Coss, the opera singer of such high fame and importance, came off as a bit too male gaze-y for me at times. While it's certainly honest, and one woman trapped with 39 men enamored by her musical talent and femininity are bound to indulge in some fantasies, it resurfaced a little more than I thought necessary in the plot itself. I have to say in the same breath that this honest look at so many of the characters made the hostage situation seem so much more real, and the once singularly brutal, uncivilized, violent captors much easier to sympathize with as humans desperate to fight for a cause they believe in enough to risk their lives. All of their abilities to settle into the rhythms of living in the house together, making dinners and playing chess and watching television and listening to an opera singer make sure she hasn't lost her spark and falling in love, remind me that humans can make routine and maintain sanity pretty much anywhere at any time if they have the drive to. The way that this fact unites the entire cast of characters made the ending that much harder to read, too.
The character development for Carmen really took my breath away, as well as the slow but intentional development of each quiet romance. The fact that I started this book with no idea what could or might happen and finished it with such a clear sense of how each platonic as well as romantic relationship fits together like puzzle pieces is brilliant. The differences between Roxanne/Hosokawa, Gen/Carmen, and Thibault/Edith are astounding to me, and also made me think a lot about how quickly someone can examine the validity of a marriage vow when one is very aware that their clock is ticking.
Time was such an interesting construct in this novel. How it stretches to encompass nearly five months of the hostages' imprisonment turned peaceful cohabitation with their captors. How it causes each individual's reflection on how they lived their lives before that fateful night. How it also causes them to examine what they want to do with the rest of their lives if they ever make it out of the house. I think the last 20% or so of the book hinges on that concept of time being finite and leading people to outcomes or relationships they never could've dreamed for themselves but now can't imagine being taken from them. When the final few pages unfolded in painfully quick descriptions and dialogue, I felt genuine tears welling up in my eyes. It was an inevitable end I should've and did see coming, but when it still happened, I still cried. Which leads me to my main gripe with this novel---the ending.
I understand how it works in a bittersweet, slightly askew sort of way (or at least I think I do), but I also don't see the payoff of just telling readers that Gen and Roxane are together and in love in the epilogue. We have no idea how much time has passed since the events of the last chapter, and for so much time to have been spent drawing out and describing the romances of these characters with separate people only for the book to end like this felt like a letdown. Perhaps that was exactly Patchett's intention---life can't let the circumstances of an impossible situation with two impossibly different sets of people end happily, even where love is involved. And if that's the case, bravo to Patchett, really. I just have to sit with this reality for a while. Another bravo: This book has proven to stick with me for at least the few hours that have passed since I closed it. 




Some of my favorite quotes from Bel Canto:

"True life was kept safe in the lines of Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin while you went out into the world and met the obligations required of you."

"These people who detain us so pleasantly may decide to shoot us after all. It is a possibility. And if that is the case, then why should I carry this love with me to the other world? Why not give to you what is yours?"

"She wished she could tap on the glass and wave to him, but it was a miraculous thing to be able to watch the person you love undetected, as if you were a stranger seeing them for the first time."

*SPOILERS AHEAD!*



A BookTok video I saw described the premise of this debut novel to be centered around a recent high school graduate and native New Yorker wanting to lose her virginity before leaving for college in the fall. That concept alone hooked me, but there was so so so so much more to this book than I expected. For example: Learning in the Author's Note that the premise is largely based on the author's childhood in NYC in the 80s, in addition to the events and fallout of The Preppy Murder in 1986. 
From these two tidbits unravels the story of Nina Jacobs, extremely insecure but also somehow as insightful as she is unsure. I think she's more self-aware and respectful of herself than she gives herself credit for. This entire novel forces you to live inside the head of a soon-to-be college freshmen desperate for a sense of solid self and identity. Oh, and she just so happens to be navigating all of this in one of the most carefully chaotic cities in the country at the height of its coke craze and several explicit murder cases of sexually violent natures toward young women. No big deal.
As subtly referenced in the title, a large part of this novel explores the heightened use of crack cocaine in New York City among a large part of the night life crowds---this very deliberately includes Nina, friends she made in high school, and new "friends" she makes throughout the summer. It's also quite fitting that Nina has her sights set on a seemingly unattainable boy who, from at least my reader's perspective, I could tell was bad news from a mile away despite his golden boy persona. But of course, Nina is set; Gardner will be the one to take her virginity. Without saying too much about the series of events that transpire between Nina and Gardner (as well as Gardner's slow descent into really bad decisions), I think it's a miracle Nina makes it out of the city to college in Tennessee. In comparison, her friend Stephanie doesn't make it out, both rhetorically and literally. The commentary on violence against women (both verbally and physically) crops up time and time again throughout this story, and Nina's attempts to make sense of how the world allows such things as well as how people she knows and her city experience them made me emotional. So many scenes had me wanting to scream at Nina to run. It felt a lot like the events of Marty Supreme that just keep escalating and rolling downhill towards inevitable disaster.
As if all of these themes and events weren't already packed enough, this novel also explores being Jewish in the 1980s NYC and Nina's mother's slow descent into general madness. Despite being Jewish, Nina more often observes other people commenting on Jewish people in negative ways via microaggressions. She's uncomfortable, but just doesn't know how to address that discomfort or speak up until the end of the novel. Nina is also compared several times to her mother, once very explicitly by her father: "You look more and more like Mom." Is this a compliment, or concerning, given the amount of times Francis, Nina's mother, has very high highs and very low lows? I think the novel's ending scene with Francis and Nina's conversation suggests it's complimentary in a slightly twisted and sad way, given the cards Nina's family has been dealt concerning extreme mental health conditions. Healing appears to be possible, but the road to it is long.
If this review hasn't spelled it out clearly, this book deals with some pretty heavy stuff. But I recommend it for those intrigued by the premise and up for grappling with aforementioned heavy stuff. 

*SPOILERS AHEAD!*



Oooohhh goodness gracious me, where to begin with this completely enchanting amazing second book of an enchanting amazing duology I will now be recommending to everyone? It's rare for me (and I think in general) for a a sequel or second story installment to be better than the first, but not impossible. I think this certainly classifies as one of those cases.
Wowie, there are so many amazing parts of this novel's plot. A lot of them hinge on the set up of One Dark Window's stakes and conflicts (Elspeth's parasitic friend, Hauth Rowan's terrifying power trip, and the necessity to venture into the mist-filled woods to destroy the Deck once and for all). But Gillig manages to make me care about side characters that weren't even on my radar at the beginning of the duology. Namely, Ione and Elm. My goodness, do these two have chemistry. Like, "I'm reading by myself and have to look up from the book to see if anyone else read the same heartthrob sentence I just read" type of chemistry. I was such a fan of their slow burning relationship at the book's beginning, since it made it clear to me why Elm's POV was going to be important. What I liked even more was that it didn't take toooooo long for them to finally admit they care for each other and do everything within their power to protect each other from the forces that be (mainly big scary Hauth and the misuse of the powerful Providence Cards). If Rachel Gillig ever offers a masterclass on "how to get your readers to care more about your secondary characters than your main characters," I'll be the first to sign up. 
The tension of the Providence Cards' use makes me reflect once again on the unique magic system and worldbuilding of Blunder. It's just so atmospheric and unique in a way that I think especially shines in this second book because we learn more about the Shepherd King as an actual likable character. Truth be told, I sometimes forgot to envision him clothed in Elspeth's body, wearing her skin whilst she inhabits his mind. I was really intrigued by what felt like a slow but purposeful progression of their relationship from annoyed and distant to attached and familial. While they were undoubtedly forced into closeness from Elspeth's decision to touch the Card, I like the slightly uncomfortable sentiment that they are one and the same (and therefore, a monster). The analysis of their individual characters becomes that much more of a beast (no pun intended). I think the irony of this mind/body switch up worked really well to increase the tension between Ravyn and the Nightmare. Because while Ravyn is busy loathing the Nightmare for shutting Elspeth away from him, he's blind to the signs that he and the Nightmare actually have many similarities. The payoff of their revealed ancestry lost to time and rewritten Rowan legacy feels heavier, and the parallels of losing loved ones and traitorous friends is chilling.
On another note, I absolutely looooooved the descriptions of the Alderwood and deep forests beyond the immediate reaches of Stone. I really felt the mysticism while reading and learning about the Nightmares ancient power over the trees manifested in Elspeth's body. I think the full circle moment of the trees aiding the good guys in their fight against the bad guys near the novel's end was so so cool to watch unfurl.
I have to end this review with another nod to Ione and Elm. Like, wow, I'm obsessed with them and their story. The levels of hurt and healing they experience to get to the ends of themselves and the beginning of their love is beautiful. This is one of the best books (and duologies, by default) I've read so far this year.




Some of my favorite quotes from ​Two Twisted Crowns:

"There were not enough pages in all the books Elm had read, in all the libraries he’d wandered, in all the notebooks he’d scrawled, that could measure—denote or describe—just how beautiful she was."

"I’d be your King, but always your servant. Never your keeper."

"It was difficult to look at her. Beneath the ache that existed between them was a thin, fragile thread. One Ione had slipped through the eye of a needle and plunged into Elm's chest, past all his bricks and barbs, though she didn't yet realize it. It was uncomfortable, pretending she was not sewn into him."

"I think about how easy it would be to do horrible things if I felt I had a good reason."