Reviewed by Erin Britton

An explosive sci-fi thriller where magic and technology collide with devastating consequences

A Stellar Spy mixes espionage tension with the intrigue of near-future galactic exploration and the wonder of magic in this compelling tale of double agents, vengeful mages, and corrupt politicians.

A Navasi mage has attacked the Rose Palais, seat of the Rulani government, marking it with a cerulean blue shimmer that exposes the planet’s vulnerability. “I stare at the brilliance as it slices through the night, an illuminated sigil telling me everything’s changed.” Tessa Daevana—ex-wife of Premier Finn Daevana and mother of his two children, Morgana and Sage—rushes to the scene.

Tessa’s desperation to find out what has happened is certainly due to concern about her family, but it’s also due to duty. She’s the Planetary Security Counselor and is responsible for the safety of the regime and its figurehead. Despite this, Tessa has no desire to be swept up in the thirst for vengeance that is sure to consume Rula. “Save me from the bloodlust, the hawkishness, the need to punch back ten times harder.”

Of course, Tessa has to keep the reason for her reticence secret from those around her—she’s a sleeper agent for Elitha, a rival planet, “home to a host of unchipped Navasi, who have been taught to control their powers.” Every aspect of her cover has been planned to perfection, even her drab home. “Like every other facet of my life, it’s curated to portray a certain lifestyle, a certain milquetoast vegetable of a person.” And it’s worked well so far.

However, the attack on the Rose Palais prompts Finn to consider implementing Operation Paradoxum, a “way to destroy the magic of unchipped Navasi on the planet.” It’s supposed to be a doomsday plan to prevent planetary collapse, not a means of revenge against a lone attacker, and it has the potential to spread to other planets and effect chipped Navasi too, including Tessa.

The situation places her in an impossible position. “I stand on a precipice, under which roils a river of magma.” Tessa knows she needs to protect the Navasi throughout the Human Consortium, but she also still loves Finn and wants to safeguard their children. Which way will she leap from the precipice?

Maya Darjani has crafted a universe in the not-so-distant future that is both delightfully fantastical and recognizably human. A great deal of thought has clearly gone into the backstory of the Human Consortium, which was formed “after humanity escaped the gravitational well of Gaia and stumbled its way to interplanetary civilization.”

Such details establish the background to the story well and ensure that a certain sense of realism and logical technological progression is maintained throughout. The worldbuilding in terms of the individual planets is also richly detailed and convincing. For instance, “Rula’s a planet of ash and regolith, of granite and basalt. Indestructible like polymer, but as volatile as lava.” This makes it easy to imagine the environments that the characters face.

Darjani also ensures that the unusual combination of chimerical magic and technological innovation seems organic and flows throughout the story. While both are woven into the fabric of life on Rula, magic is strictly controlled—save for the escapades of the occasional would-be assassin—whereas technology is abundant. Amusingly, the latter even facilitates multilevel marketing: “Buy one, get the second half off on NanoImprove smoothies!”

On a more serious note, despite being the subject of far less suspicion than magic, Darjani stresses that technology can be equally dangerous. From the REALM machine—the gateway to a highly advanced virtual reality environment—found in every home hosting meetings between spies and their handlers to Operation Paradoxum comprising “a technological virus with an activated biological component,” there is peril lurking everywhere.

And then there’s all the espionage and counterespionage. A Stellar Spy is just as much a spy thriller as it is a sci-fi novel, and Darjani provides plenty of detail about the spycraft of the future. From clandestine meetings to dead drops to covert listening devices, all the key aspects of the spy genre are present, albeit in more advanced forms. There are also a few tongue-in-check nods to the classics: “Covert Ops 101, always keep blackmail material, even if you plan on never using it.”

As for the main spy, Tessa is certainly good at what she does, although she doesn’t like it. She ditched her handler and got out of the game years ago, assimilating into her fate life on Rula as best she can, but her conscience pulls her back in following the attack on the Rose Palais. “I have to make a choice. Protect my family, or prevent a war crime.” This sense of conflict permeates the story, adding to the tension.

Darjani provides real insight into Tessa’s thoughts, motivations, and doubts, establishing her as a conflicted and rather surly character who wants to do what is right and save as many people as possible. And despite all the lies and fake background details, she really does care about Finn and love her children. Such emotions exacerbate the difficulty of her situation.

Like all good spy novels, there are double agents and double crosses aplenty in A Stellar Spy, making it difficult to know who to trust and where things might be heading for Tessa. What’s more, the magic-filled action scenes are exciting and the exposition is well handled. A Stellar Spy is a stellar choice for your next read.

Thank you for reading Erin Britton’s book review of A Stellar Spy by Maya Darjani! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Grace Okubo

A piercing exploration of desire, detachment, and the dangerous comfort of familiar harm

Epic and Lovely is the story of a woman at the end of her life, penning a letter to her doctor; this letter serves as a confessional, a chronicle, and an explanation for her dying wish.

This woman, Nina Simone Blaine, writes with flippant detachment, recounting a series of disturbing and even horrific experiences in a cavalier manner. Her language exposes a fractured self-image: she has long believed she is undeserving of good things because she was born deformed, while simultaneously clinging to a conviction that she is entitled to them. This contradiction affects her choices, making her accept treatment she shouldn’t and defend behaviors she should run from. Her moral compass is broken, so her attitude swerves from resignation to entitlement, or from victimhood to agency.

The novel is fittingly set in Los Angeles, a city adept at masking its quiet rot and normalized wrongs with a polished veneer. The dialogue displays the elite education of its characters, which contradicts their surprising lack of wisdom. Against this backdrop, a community of people, united by their common ailment, the hopelessness of it, snobbishly arrogant toward the outside world, yet reluctant to extend grace to one another.

Through Nina’s testimony, we glimpse her parentage—a father absorbed in himself and his pseudo-world, a mother, fighting her low expectations for life with rare explosions of fierce self-worth. Tracy, her mother, tries and woefully fails to unshackle Nina from her self-imposed “expiry date,” all the while being unable to fully eviscerate herself from the powerful and abusive men to whom she has surrendered control.

Nina’s relationships are charged and difficult. There is a husband who treats her more as a function than a person. Then there is Cole, a fireball of provocation and devotion, inciting tension and needless rage, yet somehow convinces her he does all in the service of his unconditional and unmatched sacred love. Cole’s intoxicating presence is marked by moments that suggest his subdued violence. Even the doctor, Tabitha Chen, to whom she is writing, is not spared scrutiny as she often reflects on how she chooses to trust her despite past breaches of trust between them.

The book is about a mother whose dying wish is to create a better world for her daughter, and she does it by describing the world she comes from and what she hates about that world so that her daughter doesn’t inherit the disadvantage and shame she grew up with.

The book does a great job of depicting its characters, especially its protagonist: a person who uses the pursuit of pleasure to mask the pain of circumstances they had no control over. Shocking moments filled with bewildering choices are followed by mind-numbing reactions that keep you reading, then a climactic event that, in any other story, might provoke transformation—but here is met with the same strange detachment. It’s a world where needless pain could have been avoided if the characters had listened, extended compassion, or been bold enough to step away from harm, choices they had but rarely took.

While the pervasive detachment in the book’s storytelling style lends it strength, it is also its greatest challenge. Shocking moments are described with clinical objectivity, which may leave some readers craving a clearer emotional anchor. Notwithstanding, the story cleverly explores how love can conceal harm, how privilege can coexist with despair, and the simultaneity of entitlement and low self-esteem within a person.

Epic and Lovely thrives with its morally complex characters and their layered relationships. In addition to a surprising storyline, there are also nuggets of common-sense wisdom throughout the book, hidden within its deliberate detachment. Even in the book’s final pages, you’ll be questioning the choices of its characters and reflecting on the quiet compromises we make in our own lives.

Thank you for reading Grace Okubo’s book review of Epic and Lovely by Mo Daviau! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by John M. Murray

A stirring chronicle of one woman’s fight against fear and repression during America’s McCarthy era

In The Advocate: Women of the Red Scare, the narrator—Grandma Ollie’s devoted grandson—recounts the turbulent landscape of post-World War II America.

Set in the small Southern town of Livingston, the book follows Ollie, a fierce African American community organizer, as she confronts economic exploitation, racial prejudice, and the paranoia of the McCarthy era. Through her eyes, we meet a cast of mill workers, local politicians, union bosses, and curious townsfolk, all swept up in the “Red Scare–Black Scare” hysteria. The book humanizes the often-overlooked women activists of the period and illuminates how mass fear can erode justice and communal bonds.

From the very first pages, the reader is immersed in the tension of the era. “It was a dreadful time to be a kid living on Catfish Row behind railroad tracks.” Grandma Ollie’s world is one of constant vigilance, where each speech and organizing meeting risks blacklisting and arrest.

Early on, her audacious confrontation with Sam “Big Toe” Bowers—a labor leader more invested in maintaining the status quo than championing women’s rights—showcases the system she’s fighting against. In a scene both comic and revolutionary, Ollie socks Bowers in the jaw, igniting the suppressed anger of hundreds of cotton mill workers.

Using her “bullhorn on wheels,” Ollie channels that energy into mass pickets and sit-down strikes. The narrative details her strategy: “Frau Disturber sat down; and under the butts of the women workers struggled an impotent, choleric and hitherto invincible cotton empire.” Her speeches alternate between fiery oratory and tender appeals to solidarity, as she insists, “we are organized upon a principle that the strong shall help the weak.” Grandma Ollie is soon arrested on charges of inciting a riot and assault—her cause now public fodder for a fearful, sensationalist press.

Realistic and grounded characterization stands out as one of the novel’s core strengths. Grandma Ollie is an intellectually curious, unsentimental, and deeply humane figure. Through her, the author exposes the hypocrisies of both conservative elites and self-styled radicals. The grandson’s voice—equal parts affectionate and exasperated—provides a compelling counterpoint, illustrating how difficult it can be for a younger generation to grasp systemic injustice.

The narrative expertly balances satire and serious historical critique. Descriptions of the local press’s complicity (“The Livingston Daily Republican… often instigated and orchestrated the witch hunts” ) ring chillingly relevant. Meanwhile, the reader is drawn into Ollie’s private moments of doubt and resilience, like with her poetry and her reflections on Marxism and religion. The author’s seamless interweaving of historical context—the impact of Section 7A of the NRA on Southern mill towns—with personal anecdotes gives the work both depth and immediacy.

Stylistically, the book brims with memorable lines and insightful aphorisms—such as Ollie’s rallying cry, “Better to starve fighting than starve working!” Such passages underscore the moral urgency driving her activism, while preserving the wit and humanity of Ollie’s endearing personality.

Some of the book leans too heavily into dense philosophical dialogue, most notable in the latter half. Debates cover an impressive gamut of topics from Marxism to religion to human nature, but these dialogues can come across as didactic and clash with the more compelling narrative. While the discourse does reinforce a recurring theme of generational and ideological clashes, they slow the story and can feel out of place.

The Advocate: Women of the Red Scare is a powerful, uncompromising portrait of courage under siege. Through the lens of one remarkable woman’s struggle, it exposes the corrosive effects of fear-driven politics and reminds us that true progress often stems from the unlikeliest of revolutionaries. A strong blend of sharp satire and rigorous critique ensures that Grandma Ollie’s legacy will remain a beacon for those who dare to challenge injustice.

Thank you for reading John M. Murray’s book review of The Advocate by Homeless! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Shelby Zwintscher | Content Warnings: gore, sexual assault

A gruesome and unsettling tale of the cold-blooded world of publishing and the risks an aspiring author will take to tell their story

Henry Richmond Pendel is the hottest and most cut-throat agent on the literary scene. He’s got clients like J.D. Church, king of horror, under his wing, so maybe he can be cut-throat. Pendel isn’t afraid to back editors into corners to cut epic deals, and then walk away without bothering to remember their name. He’s harsh, manipulative, and, as of late, paranoid.

A seemingly routine query rejection has taken a turn for the worse. Pendel is getting bombarded with emails from Alex Moyer, an aspiring author blinded by his passion for storytelling, when he begins to feel as though he is being watched. Things are out of place at home and an entire book series has disappeared off his shelf.

The timing is horrible for Pendel, as allegations of Church grooming underage students are swirling around, book deals are hanging in wait, and an industry wide dry spell is imminent.

Meanwhile, Alex Moyer is taking his fate as an author into his own hands. He needs an acclaimed agent like Pendel on his side, but to do that, he’ll have to get to know him and his clientele better. After a visit to Pendel’s house, Moyer pursues Church, following him from the airport to his hotel.

“Really, when it comes down to it, there’s no difference between fact and fiction, a story told versus a story lived. A person’s body of work is only as good as what remains in a person’s memory. So when I start my story, I choose one of the biggest names in the business.”

Like any good storyteller, Moyer has set the story up for success, booking the room next door to Church. During a “chance” encounter in the hallway, where Moyer plays the part of adoring fan, one thing leads to another, and the first body in Moyer’s body of work is “edited” to perfection.

Pendel is spiraling. Driven by his paranoia, he is manipulating deals for smaller authors and drinking while he texts Church. Except it’s not Church, it’s Moyer. Church is found mutilated in his hotel room, and his texts are the last contact anyone has had with him.

Told in alternating perspectives, On Submission follows an unraveling Pendel as Moyer sets his sights on Pendel’s client-list. The characters of Moyer and Pendel are curiously parallel. They are both dark, both eerily sterile and detached, yet crisp in contrast. They stand out on their own as complex, bad humans at odds against each other.

The pacing of the story is quick, methodical, and consistent, although it does slow down a bit later on. When the pace slows, the characters lose some of their unsettling edge, but the satisfying conclusion comes in to rectify all of that.

On Submission is good at being weird and twisted. The murder scenes are concise without taking away from the shock-inducing, disturbing gore. A couple scenes, particularly those that include sexual assault, are likely to cause some discomfort for more sensitive readers.

The most compelling part of On Submission is the conversation it opens about the publishing industry. It doesn’t shy away from putting heartless agents, writers’ desperations, and publishing biases under the microscope. Every time I’d put the book down, I’d be pondering what statement the story was making about these things. It’s a showcase of it all, ridiculousness included.

“We all have a story to tell. Some are just willing to do anything to tell it.”

On Submission is sharp in all the ways that matter. If you’re not afraid of gore, want a shadowy look into the world of publishing, or savor the mind of confidently deluded characters, pick up On Submission.

Thank you for reading Shelby Zwintscher’s book review of On Submission by Michael J. Seidlinger! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Timothy Thomas

A thoughtful narrative contemplating the impact of loss & abandonment on faith and the possibility of redemption in its death

Saint Catherine of Secaucus is a moving work of literary fiction from author Ann King that investigates the effects of naïve faith in one’s youth and the life-altering consequences of losing that faith.

King’s pragmatic prose reveals an intimate knowledge of the thoughts, emotions, and internal conflicts that come with the disillusionment of one’s beliefs and the abandonment of a parent, taking a novel that is ordinary in its concept to extraordinary in its execution.

As a child, Catherine Ricci was among the most faithful and idealistic students at her Catholic school, having been inspired by Sister Alberta’s example to such an extent that Catherine herself aspired to the sisterhood. The unfortunate and untimely death of her beloved Sister, however, triggers the end of that dream and, in addition to her parents’ separation, the slow demise of her faith.

By the time she enters high school, she considers herself agnostic, much to the chagrin of her mother and her Aunt Grace, who, though stuck in a passionless and abusive marriage, nevertheless cling to the hope of her Catholic beliefs. The collapse of Catherine’s religious convictions and the bitterness toward her father is accompanied by a growing apathy that strains the relationship with her mother in her teenage years and creates a void of meaning and direction in her life. But when an attempted rape turned manslaughter incident catches up with her in college, her life takes an unexpected turn that brings God back into focus, challenging her agnosticism and apathy as she uncovers new meaning.

Saint Catherine of Secaucus is perfectly paced, grounded, and moving. Catherine’s blunt, focused narration is honest, rarely exaggerating events or details for the sake of storytelling, but still managing to add color to the story with its realism. If a good story is not only in its concept, but in how it is told, then Saint Catherine undoubtedly bears the mark of a good story.

The book also excels in its portrayal of people. Its cast of characters, from Catherine’s Aunt Grace to her high school crush and protester extraordinaire, Gerald, are vividly multidimensional, as though written from memory. Catherine herself is revealed to have quite a bit of depth, as her introspective analyses of the circumstances of her life are both reasonable and measured. Though she may struggle at times with the conclusions she has drawn, her rationale for them is often very understandable.

Ann King’s novel invites us to think more deeply about our lives and how the easily explained and unexplainable converge to generate questions that may challenge our thinking. This book may not give us direct answers to our most-searched questions, but it does provide an engagingly accessible jumping off point for our discovery of truth. A truly worthwhile read.

Thank you for reading Timothy Thomas’s book review of Saint Catherine of Secaucus by Ann King! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Addison Ciuchta

An expertly woven story collection about love and identity in a fully fleshed Greenwich Village

Made up of one novella and fifteen short stories, Greenwich Connection is all set in the same world— Greenwich Village in New York—but taking place at different times. 

The novella follows Monty and Terry, both soldiers in 1944 who fall in love with each other on the battlefield. When Monty is presumed dead, Terry is left reeling in the aftermath of their brief but meaningful time together. Then a chance encounter in a parking lot sets Terry’s life in another direction. The short stories that follow take the point of view of other residents of Greenwich Village between 1944 and 2001, all of whom have their own journeys finding love and happiness as members of the LGBTQ+ community across the decades.

Each character’s story intertwines with another’s. Those set in the later years give a new perspective or resolution to those set further in the past, and each adds more depth and development to the world. A character who may play a small role in the lives of Terry and Monty may take center stage in another’s life or even get their own moment to shine as the main character of their own short story. It’s a fun and enriching way to build on a world while only giving characters glimpses into the lives of characters who feel real. The author writes with a sharp poeticism, introducing characters and their quirks in as little as one sentence before they’re endearing enough to root wholeheartedly for.

“Terry was eternally on the lookout for trouble and overjoyed when it found him.”

While it could be easy to slip into the same voice for each character, the author doesn’t fall into that trap. Each point of view is different, each struggle is unique to the character, and each love story is individual and touching in equal measure. Each character is gay or lesbian or queer, and their stories are intentional, thoughtful, and realistic. The author doesn’t shy away from hard topics either, with characters experiencing AIDS, addiction, violence, heartbreak, and tragedy. But the stories don’t tokenize or caricature anyone; each character is given their space to become their own person with flaws and dreams and a unique point of view.

“Miss Dee Andrea Monet smoothed the nylon stocking against her left calf, which still bore several almost-imperceptible welts from her childhood.”

The setting becomes a character in and of itself, especially as characters move around the same spaces in the same neighborhood but seen through different eyes. The constant interweaving of stories gives the city a lived-in feel as readers get to see it across nearly sixty years. Since the one-off character we see walking down the street or doing performance art in one story could get their own story down the line, it emits a living, breathing atmosphere to the entire neighborhood. We’re reminded that everyone in that city (and in your own) has their own lives, struggles, and identities.

“She was happy for me, but sad too because she’d seen lightning strike and knew it wasn’t going to happen twice.”

Greenwich Connection is a striking, superbly interwoven collection that rings with realism as queer characters languish, live, and love in the same neighborhood spanning six decades.

Thank you for reading Addison Ciuchta’s book review of Greenwich Connection by Richard Natale! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Chelsey Tucker

A slam dunk of a suspenseful sequel 

Sherri L. Dodd continues to captivate with this Murder, Teas & Crystals trilogy. Book 2, Moonset On Desert Sands, takes place after all the chaos and violence that went down in Arista’s cozy cottage. 

Arista then moves to Sedona with Aunt Bethie. With Aunt Bethie’s coven close by, Arista sees Sedona as the best place to grow her powers and get answers on how to handle the situation with her psychotic Uncle Fergus. As more information about her birth rite comes to light, Arista’s confidence begins to swell and she is ready to face Fergus head on.

Fergus has teamed up with Fallon, a woman here to help him rally support and essentially take over as High Priestess. “With you as leader, I’ll continue to contribute behind the scenes. Perhaps a wizened elder in my own right.” 

Even though Fergus places her in a position of power, Fallon starts to look down on Fergus as she implements changes, “She had grown tired of his doubt, and his jealousy of her rise in popularity had become problematic.” When a new lead breaks on Arista’s whereabouts, Fergus and Fallon address their differences head on. In pursuit of his ultimate goal (killing Arista), Fergus will stop at nothing.

For me, book twos usually come with some trepidation. Will this be a powerful novel all on its own, or will it just be a bridge to book three? Dodd destroys this fear page after page. Each new location, character, or magical aspect serve a purpose here. The bigger picture is slowly, tantalizingly revealed with some majorly jaw-dropping twists.

Dodd demonstrates a deep knowledge of the occult all throughout Moonset On Desert Sands. The witchy dictionary and the three pages of references and inspiration at the back of the book are wonderful touches and evidence to how in-depth the story goes. It’s one thing to experience the specifics of the occult; it’s another to learn about them. Dodd does both. The vocabulary used is mostly beginner level when it comes to crystals, candles, or yoga, but Dodd also uses her prose to enlighten the concepts. She does a wonderful job writing about yoga: “Fallon posed on all fours, taking time to straighten her legs, raising her butt toward the ceiling. With heels pressed down, she pulled her stomach tight and, with palms spread wide on the floor, exhaled a long, fluid breath.” Those who do yoga will recognize the pose as downward dog, while new readers visualize it clearly—all of them spending the page time with (some of) the calming effects of yoga. 

If you loved Murder Under Redwood Moon (like I did!), you’re going to love Moonset on Desert Sands. Dodd truly delivers here. Magic and witchy themes are grounded in the reality of modern day, bringing elements of fun & lightheartedness to the serious practice and belief.

This novel is a beautiful balance of both charming and darkness. Now we wait with bated breath for the final installment of this captivatingMurder, Teas & Crystals trilogy.

Thank you for reading Chelsey Tucker’s book review of Moonset on Desert Sands by Sherri L. Dodd! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Eric Mayrhofer

A kaleidoscopic short story collection thriving on empathy

It’s not unusual for stories about humanity’s connectedness to mirror that connection in their structure. Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell is a sterling example that comes to mind. In that book, Mitchell amplifies the experiences of multiple oppressed or under-appreciated communities in one epic, splintered narrative. In UnVeiled Voices, author Dr. Sandra Walton Wilson may keep them separate in their own short stories but vividly paints every shade of the human condition.

This collection gives voice to figures too often hidden by history and popular society, like trans boys struggling to be themselves or a girl experiencing the first hints of abuse from boys on the playground. As Wilson so beautifully puts in her foreword, “Everyone has a story to tell.”

Those stories don’t always offer clear or comfortable answers. In the opening story (which cleverly hooks readers with its title, “The Finale (1864)”), a woman named Hannah reflects on her life as a plantation slave, where she is forced to sleep with another slave named Solomon when she comes of age. In a series of unnerving scenes written with the simplicity of a fairy tale, Hannah eschews the predictable reaction—revulsion with and repulsion from her coerced rapist—and instead “begins to appreciate is gentleness… She knew that Solomon had fallen in love with her.” It forces readers to question their judgments on intimacy and consider how true love can take root in environments where freedoms of choice are, at best, a luxury.

Meanwhile, the story about the girl on the playground asks how and when society plants the ideas that result in abuse against women. Titled “First Kiss: Sexual Abuse/Love? (1956),” the main character Joy draws the unwanted attention of a boy at school after her parents encourage her to leave Valentine’s Day cards for her classmates. Aside from the feelings of insecurity and uncertainty in assault narratives, however, readers find that Joy “kept an eye on [her classmate] and made sure she stayed in a group of girls…After about a week Joy stopped looking for [him]…After about two weeks Joy began to enjoy recess time once again.” Some of the stories in UnVeiled Voices stir up some uneasy feelings, but Wilson is skilled at elevating the overlooked experiences of humanity’s resilience.

There is a visible tug of war going on in the book between its compelling stories and the facts that inspire them. Some stories have context added as notes right after a story, while others provide information in appendices. The titles of the stories and poems can take on a more academic tone than the rest of the text too, so it keeps us questioning what Wilson knows. While some of the notes work to their desired effects, they sometimes made me wonder if they were there because the story didn’t dig deep enough thematically, like the story of Asinath from the Bible finding a suitor.

As with Mitchell’s work, UnVeiled Voices is a work crafted with great feeling, fueled by kindness and understanding. Readers will be moved by the heart of this collection.  

Thank you for reading Eric Mayrhofer’s book review of UnVeiled Voices by Dr. Sandra Walton Wilson! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Warren Maxwell

A gritty story of smoky bars, violence, and salvation

“‘Does this look like the face of a winner?’”

Up and coming boxer Bobby Raymond, the Baltimore Kid, has a shot at the world championship belt. Or so he thought, until a straightforward hometown victory turns into a grotesque knock-down-drag-out of a fight. Bobby might pull out the win, but it’s a pyrrhic victory that leaves him ready to quit. His hands are broken, his face destroyed, his kidneys ache, and his will is gone. 

Rather than going through the motions of post-fight recovery, Bobby gives away his winnings, says goodbye to his ex-girlfriend, and sets off for New Orleans to right the wrongs in his life, starting by finding his brother Chuck, a person he betrayed long ago. 

Once in New Orleans, Bobby is swallowed up in the maze-like world of the French Quarter. In the process, colorful characters of all stripes enter his life—none more important than Holly, a beautiful ballerina who moonlights as a stripper at her abusive father’s club. 

Each relationship develops and pulls Bobby along a different path, whether to the racetracks, the dingy backrooms of bars, or opulent parties. The seedy atmosphere is laid on thick with cigarette smoke and booze practically spilling off the page. 

Yet in the midst of this down-and-out milieu, the core of the narrative is Bobby’s unflagging goodheartedness, his desire to turn the page on a life filled with pain and risk and, perhaps, save his newfound companion in the process.

“‘I’m not letting you walk away this time.’”

The novel’s pulpy sensibility wears its references on its sleeve. There’s a little bit of Bukowski, a dash of the classic detective noir, and an array of shameless boxing-story tropes that touch on everything from Rocky to Raging Bull—at one point a character screams, à la De Niro’s Jake La Motta, “Grrrrrrrr!…I’m not an animal! I’m a fuckin’ human being.” For fans of this genre, The Butcher and the Butterfly comes through.

Some of the the shades of gray that usually blur the line between good and evil in noir, pulp fiction, and boxing stories are less gray here. There’s a superficial clarity between right and wrong that doesn’t exactly allow for slivers of doubt to complicate the narrative tension. Heroes are heroes, villains are villains, and the gap between the two is vast.

The novel makes an interesting use of short chapters, but sometimes the chapter breaks come just as tension arises. That, or characters move from a small disagreement to an out and out fist fight within a cut. The abrupt shifts work sometimes but miss others.

The Butcher and the Butterfly is a compelling story of broken, down-and-out people finding one another and struggling to crawl out of the New Orleans underworld.

Thank you for reading Warren Maxwell’s book review of The Butcher and the Butterfly by Jim Antonini! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Toni Woodruff

A gripping story that depicts a fictional, fragmented U.S. and the temptation of revolution

To some, the word secession might bring up antiquated, antebellum images of the Civil War. In Aaron Morell’s A New America, secession is the tragic present. 

Roman Wolfe is a California journalist who is investigating the secession and the country that is born from the event, Independence. Despite the brusque name, the sentiment of independence, freedom, and most importantly, tax-free lives are what the residents strongly value. 

Even with freedom at its helm, Independence has few foreign journalists covering the state of affairs first hand. Roman decides to pioneer this venture to explore the new, infant political topography and the policies enacted to preserve Independence. It becomes clear, at the very least to Roman, that Independence is not a far cry from its predecessor nation as it faces a monumental racial divide. 

Many of the residents have bought into a myth of Mexican cartels being smuggled into Independence by the United States and that many Latinos in the community are secretly harboring dangerous criminals. Roman’s own personal life also becomes a source of clashing conflict, as he tries to navigate a relationship with a secretive woman named Kat, an Independence resident. The inclination comes to the forefront during the Independence election year.

Something that is evidently clear from the initial pages is that this novel functions as a part exposé, part story. And it captivated me. Embedded between anecdotes of troubled farmers and disjointed families lies Roman’s thoughts throughout a personal journey. He offers a reasonable voice that cuts through the more reactionary beliefs that Independence was succumbing to. His voice has a ruminative coating, often thinking about the human instinct behind actions. Why were the people of Independence so afraid of the boogeyman they created? Roman offers the reader a lot of thoughtful discussion regarding this question. 

Roman’s relationship with Kat is also quite fascinating, if not saddening. Kat’s subpar treatment of Roman comes from her need to feel superior, stemming from her insecurity with her own mother. They keep wanting to recreate the lightning in a bottle moment of when they first met, not realizing how shrouded Kat’s life was. He reports their relationship similar to the way he reports other incidents in Independence; as though he is an observer and not part of it. This concept is well-executed, like many others concerning the politics of Independence, and it makes for a deep-thinking, thought-provoking novel. 

I longed to hear more from the youth though. They’re often mentioned as antagonizers or victims, but it’s rare to get the viewpoint of someone who grew up solely on Independence soil and has no other way of life. They come across mostly as political pawns, which is a compelling angle, but it does feel like we are missing something without their thoughts and internal experience.

I’d gladly recommend A New America to political fiction readers who have an interest in journalism or appreciate thought-provoking stories on America with a clear, riveting writing style.

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