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It’s October, and that means that it’s spooky season. We’re getting ready for Hallowe’en, stocking up on decorations, getting a queue of horror movies ready, etc.

I’m done with one of my three classes for this fall. I’ve completed my Integrated Technologies class, which runs only during the first half of the semester. It’s been intense, and I don’t know that I’d take another half-semester course, given the stepped-up pace of this one. I did okay with it, but not as great as I would like, and that’s pretty much exclusively due to the rate at which things have to get done.

I’m glad to be done with this class. I’ve learned a great deal (and now I’m sorely tempted to start seriously learning HTML), but it’s going to be way less stressful for the rest of the semester, being able to focus better on my two remaining classes. It’s going to be really nice to be able to be less visibly stressed with school, too. This semester hasn’t been easy on me or my family, due to the aforementioned stress.

Now it’s on to my various other library tasks for the remainder of the semester as well. Most of these are going to be digital, but I’m still excited about them.

Esther’s best friend is dead.

She’ll blame herself, no matter what. See, Esther’s best friend, a young woman named Beatriz, was engaged to be married. She didn’t love her fiance, Silas, though. She loved Esther. That was something that the world would not allow. Esther loved Beatriz too, of that, there was no question. When Beatriz was caught with unapproved materials, she refused to deny who she was, and so she hanged. Rather than be forced to marry Silas herself, Esther fled from her home and stowed away with the librarians.

Soon, her presence among the supplies is uncovered, and she tells her story to Bet, Leda, and Cye.

Much to Esther’s shock, the librarians are not what she expected them to be. Bet and Leda are a couple, a relationship that the government would definitively not approve. Additionally, Cye is non-binary, only presenting as female while in towns, to avoid trouble. Cye takes Esther under their wing, an apprentice to the apprentice. Esther soon learns that the librarians are more than she ever would’ve guessed. 

Ostensibly, their mission is to distribute Approved Materials across the West, but the Librarians carry much more than that. Bet, Leda, and Cye have a mission to transport three women safely to Utah, home of a large group of Insurrectionists who are revolting against the oppressive state rule. Now, it’s Esther’s mission too, and it’s not going to be an easy ride. 

Sarah Gailey’s writing is always a damn fun time, and their latest novella, Upright Women Wanted, is no exception. This novella is full of classic western action: horseback chases, gun fights, and more. It’s a fast-paced read, and left me wanting to know so much more about Esther’s world.

You’ve met Addie LaRue. You’ve met her a thousand times, and you’ll meet her a thousand more, and you’ll never remember her.

You might hang on to a trace of her. Some faint, lingering tune she hummed in the hours you spent together will come back to you, and you’ll have no idea where it started. You’ll paint a picture of a girl with seven freckles on her face, a constellation that you know you never saw in the night sky, but a pattern that tiptoes around your brain for the rest of your life.

You know Addie LaRue, though you never heard her name. She goes by so many, she can’t even keep track of which one she told you. It doesn’t matter. You’ll turn away from her for a split second, and when you see her again, it’ll be as if she never existed to you before. Out of sight, out of mind.

Addie LaRue can be seen, but not remembered, even by film. Addie LaRue is a living ghost. Addie LaRue… is cursed.

When she was young, Addie LaRue was engaged, but she was not in love. Fleeing from an arranged marriage, Addie pleaded to whatever gods might have heard her. In her desperation, she made a mistake. “Never pray to the gods that answer after dark,” she had been warned. But night had fallen, and her prayer was heard, and a bargain was struck.

Now, three centuries have passed. Addie has traveled the world, learning to survive on her own. Three centuries with no one able to say her name, save for the dark being who came to her on that darker night, and who returns on occasion to see if she is tired of being forgotten. Three centuries to live as little more than a fleeting shadow.

From the fields and cities of France, Addie eventually made her way to New York, a bustling place just perfect for her to blend into. She grew comfortable there, pushing at the delicate edges of her curse to leave seed ideas in the minds of artists. “She has scattered herself like breadcrumbs, dusted across a hundred works of art.” Still, the real Addie was just as easily and quickly forgotten.

Until she wasn’t.

One day, Addie met Henry, a young bookseller. Against all odds, and in defiance of everything Addie had come to learn in 300 years, Henry remembered her. Somehow, he remembered her, and her carefully built world twisted beneath her. Soon, she is falling for Henry, and wondering if this might be what love feels like.

But Addie isn’t the only person in the world to have made a desperate plea, and she’s not the only one to have had it answered in an unexpected way. Now, everything is poised to change forever, and Addie must decide how much she is willing to risk in order to save man who remembers.

Victoria Schwab has crafted another fantastic world, equally as wondrous as the myriad Londons explored by her other heroines. This book has had my heart for months, and now it can have yours as well.

Today, Addie belongs to the world. Go find her. May you never forget her. I know I won’t.

My most sincere thanks to NetGalley for an eARC of The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue in exchange for an honest review.

I neglected to take something into account when I started semester two last month. Namely, that my youngest child would be roughly nine months old, and that his sleep schedule would be complete bullshit. Which means that mine is too.

It’s 11:45 as I’m writing this, and I’m wrapping up Labor Day Weekend. While most of the weekend has been spent recovering from being sick (not COVID, thankfully, but our second scare in the household since the beginning of August), I did manage to get some stuff done today. I got some veggies harvested from our garden beds and got the rest covered with a tarp to keep the predicted snow of of them tonight.

That’s right. Snow.

Because like my sleep schedule, Colorado weather is bullshit.

We’ve had damn near record high temperatures, wildfires, smoke-filled skies, and so on, so naturally we’re going to have a major snow storm right in the middle of it all.

I’ve got The Breakfast Club to distract me, at least. I’d somehow not seen it until this weekend, when I got to watch it for a class I’m taking on young adult literature. It’s something I’ve had a mental file on for years, but had never actually viewed. It was quite enjoyable, in much the same fashion as Ferris Bueller’s Day Off (go figure, John Hughes).

Anyway, the first few weeks of this semester are going to be rough. Not just because of sleep. One of my three classes is a half semester class, so it’s double time on that while still balancing the other two. It’ll be much nicer after the midway point, when I only have two to focus on.

Anyway, I’ve got some classic teen literature to get to, and maybe snow to wake up to. Night, y’all.

Warning: This review may contain spoilers for Gideon the Ninth, the first book in the Locked Tomb trilogy.

Seriously.

It’s really hard to talk about Harrow the Ninth without major plot reveals from Gideon, though I will do my best. If you haven’t read it yet, well…

First things first. Gideon the Ninth was probably the best book that I read in 2019. Like, hands down. I went all out to try to track down a first printing.

2nd.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Y’all.

Like.

Y’all.

Harrow’s back, but she’s not altogether all together.

She passed the Emperor’s test back at Canaan House. She survived the trials, and solved the mysteries of Lyctorhood. She succeeded, as only the genius Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House could do. She gained supreme necromantic power.

And she lost her mind.

Unless she didn’t.

Now she finds herself on board the Emperor’s space station, preparing for a war the likes of which she never could’ve imagined. God himself is there, the Necrolord Supreme, with the rest of his remaining Lyctors, helping to train Harrow in the use of her newfound abilities. But something, or someone, is stalking Harrow through the halls, bypassing every layer of protection she can come up with. Her talents with skeletal constructs alone will not be enough, and if she can’t fully tap into her Lyctor powers, she will die. Not even God can help her if she can’t acknowledge the reality she faces.

But…

Now she finds herself at Canaan House, arriving for the first time to begin her training to become a Lyctor. The heirs to the other seven houses are there as well, and Teacher bids them welcome as they begin studying the ancient arts of necromancy that will help them to unlock their greatest power. Familiar and wrong as the same time, most seems well until something, or someone, begins to track them, killing them off one by one. Harrow’s cavalier stands as bravely as he can beside her while… wait…

He?

Where’s Gideon?

Tamsyn Muir skillfully ties her timelines together, blending Harrow’s present-day trauma to that of her past, leaving readers to spend much of the novel pondering the necromancer’s reliability as a narrator. Muir provides a much wider view of the world of the nine houses and the magic blending life and death that powers so much of it. New characters and old try their best to help Harrow navigate a vast universe in which she may well be her own worst enemy. Harrow the Ninth is just as difficult to put down as its predecessor, and it left me yearning for the release of Alecto the Ninth, currently scheduled for 2021.

“Are you sure this is how this happened?”

 

“One for the Emperor, first of us all;
One for his Lyctors, who answered the call;
One for his Saints, who were chosen of old;
One for his Hands, and the swords that they
hold.
Two is for discipline, heedless of trial;
Three for the gleam of a jewel or a smile;
Four for fidelity, facing ahead;
Five for tradition and debts to the dead;
Six for the truth over solace in lies;
Seven for beauty that blossoms and dies;
Eight for salvation no matter the cost;
Nine for the Tomb, and for all that was lost.”

Harrow the Ninth is available for purchase tomorrow, August 4th. Gideon the Ninth is available in hardcover, paperback, audio, and digital.

My utmost thanks to NetGalley for providing an eARC of this book in exchange for a fair review. It made 2020 bearable.

It begins.

Again.

Soon.

My next semester of library school is about to start.

I’m sitting at about 2 1/2 weeks before my second round of classes kicks off. I’m grateful to Clarion University for providing me with the opportunity to take a course that’s 100% online (I mean, it kind of has to be for me, since the school’s in Pennsylvania).

I’m better prepared this semester than I was at the beginning of the year. I’ve already gotten my financial aid paperwork completed, and my textbooks are already being shipped. I’m not scrambling to get anything ready.

I’m taking three classes again this semester: Administration and Management of Libraries, Integrated Systems in Libraries, and Library Literature and Young Adults. I’m especially excited about the YA literature class. It’s my first elective of my grad school career, and is right in line with my current library job.

I’m nervous, though that’s more to do with the current global situation more than anything with school. Regardless, I’ll move forward as best I can.

Stephen Graham Jones wrote one of the creepiest novellas I’ve ever read, Mapping the Interior. Naturally, I leapt at the opportunity to grab an eARC of his new novel, The Only Good Indians. I’m glad I did, too.

Ten years ago, four young Blackfeet men went on their last hunt together. One last chance to get an elk before winter. Ricky, Lewis, Gabe, and Cass. It was supposed to be their shot to prove that they weren’t the screw-ups that so many folks on the reservation thought they were. One opportunity to prove that they were good Indians. Only it all went wrong, didn’t it? They weren’t supposed to be hunting in that part of the reservation. They would pay the price.

Ricky died the next year. “INDIAN MAN KILLED IN DISPUTE OUTSIDE BAR,” the headline had read. But he’d run from home. Left the reservation after his little brother overdosed, looking for work. He never made it to Minneapolis like he’d planned. But what if the headline didn’t get it quite right? What if there was more to it than a handful of roughnecks getting drunk and angry in a parking lot? More than a lone elk wandering into the lot, trashing the men’s pickups, leaving them to believe that Ricky had been causing the damage?

Now the tenth anniversary of their hunt is coming up, and Lewis is trying to find the courage to tell his wife the truth of what the four men did that day in the snow. The truth about the elk they killed, and the fate that they sealed for themselves with each rifle round. Lewis left the reservation too, though he never went as far as Ricky tried. But lately, Lewis hasn’t been feeling quite right. He’s been seeing things, impossible things. A cow elk dead in his and Peta’s living room. Dead? Or was her eye following him as he climbed the ladder? And it couldn’t be the same cow. Lewis killed her that day. Distributed her meat to the reservation elders. Still has her skin balled up in his freezer. Was it an elk that he saw? Or was it a woman with an elk’s head?

Meanwhile, Gabe and Cass are still at home on the rez, preparing a sweat lodge for a friend’s kid who needs to get put back on a proper path. A classmate of Gabe’s daughter, Denorah. The sweat will be a chance for Gabe and Cass to embrace their heritage, and pay respect to Ricky’s memory. Teach the kid, Nathan, a little too. Maybe a little bit of atonement for their elk hunt, now a decade back. At the very least, the kid’s dad will throw Gabe some extra cash that he can use to buy something for Denorah. But then, Lewis is in the headlines too…

Something survived that day, ten years ago. Something vengeful. Something patient. Something with horns.

Elk, the Blackfeet elders say, have a long memory.

The Only Good Indians is a fabulous novel. Stephen Graham Jones did not disappoint with this heartbreaking work. Part contemporary commentary on Native American lives, part slow-burning horror, it’s everything I could’ve wanted.

Happy publication day at long last, Mr. Jones.

My thanks to NetGalley for providing an eARC in exchange for a fair review.

 

I’m sorry for the delay in posting this, but it still needs to be said. I’ll no longer be supporting Sam Sykes or Myke Cole. I’ve removed my reviews of their work from my blog and from goodreads, and blocked both of them on Twitter. I’m sincerely sorry for any harm I may have caused my readers by supporting their work in the past few years.

While no author is perfect, the folks that I’ve mentioned in the last couple of posts have shown consistently that they’re unwilling or unable to make changes to their behavior necessary to make other people feel safe around them.

To those who have spoken up against the harassment, I thank you.

Hey y’all. This has been a bit of a rough afternoon. It has been brought to my attention that an author whose work I have promoted on here and on Twitter, and with whom I frequently engaged in conversation via Twitter, is a serial harasser. As such, I have made the decision to delete my review of Paul Krueger’s book from my blog, and I have blocked him on Twitter. I’ll be deleting my review from goodreads as well. The last thing that I want to do is provide promotion for a man who has injured so many people that I care about.

I am sorry for having promoted him, and for boosting his reach. I’m sorry that I didn’t recognize his behavior at the time that I met him. I believe you. I will strive to do better when it comes to boosting authors’ voices.

It’s done, y’all. I made it through my first semester of grad school.

At this point, I’ve actually been done for over a month. I turned in my last assignments during the first weekend of May, and I’ve already received my grades. Despite the anxiety brought on by COVID-19, I managed to power through my online classes and secure an A in each of my three classes for the semester.

I’m registered for my next round of classes, beginning this fall. I’ll ideally have knocked out all of my required classes (aside from my capstone) within my first year, leaving more room for exploration through elective classes next spring.

Right now, then, it’s just a matter of getting through until the fall. Hang in there, y’all. It’s been a wild year so far, and it’s not even halfway through.