Reviewed by Melissa Suggitt

He asked her to dry the rain—and somehow, impossibly, she survived him.

There are books that beg to be understood and books that dare you to try. Dry the Rain belongs firmly in the latter category. Stark, disjointed, and uncomfortably honest, this is not a story told, it’s a story survived.

In it, a teenage girl is abducted, imprisoned in a backyard cellar, and forced to live within the rules of a delusional man who both tortured and infantilized her. But this isn’t a rescue story. This is the aftermath, told in jagged pieces and halting breaths, from the only place she was ever allowed to be safe: her own mind.

The world knows her as “Mallory,” the fictionalized version of herself from the TV show created in the wake of her escape. But she doesn’t recognize Mallory. “Mallory doesn’t do what I did. Mallory doesn’t feel what I feel. She is never too much, too angry, too broken.” Mallory is digestible. Marketable. She is the story people want. The narrator, by contrast, is the story people look away from. But this book doesn’t let you look away.

The title, Dry the Rain, is not metaphorical whimsy, it’s a literal demand. Her captor forces her to take towels out into the yard after storms and physically dry the rain from the grass, the patio furniture, the grill. It’s an impossible task, a chilling symbol of his control and cruelty. To fail was inevitable, and yet failure was punished. “Every time I took a step… I pushed underwater water right back up to the surface.” She’s set up to fail, again and again, in a world engineered to trap her—physically, mentally, emotionally. It’s a haunting depiction of psychological abuse.

What unfolds is not a linear plot, but a reckoning. She reflects on how the show smoothed out her jagged edges, sanitized her pain, and replaced complexity with clarity. And how the public, desperate for a clean narrative, swallows it whole. “They say I’m brave, because they don’t want to think about what it takes to live through something like this and not come out glowing.” The brilliance of the novel is in that tension between survival and spectacle, between what happened and what gets told.

Stylistically, this is not an easy read. The narrator’s voice is raw and scattered, as if her thoughts are unraveling just barely faster than the memories come back. At times, it’s hard to follow. I found myself pulled out of the story, adrift in sentence fragments and loops of thought; but the more I sat with it, the more I understood why. Of course her voice is fragmented. Of course it is hard to track. Years of captivity, of no one to talk to but herself, of needing to stay silent just to stay alive… it reshapes language. This is a voice born from survival, not storytelling. What’s in our head isn’t always made for paper, and in that, Leise achieves something rare: authenticity over readability.

The disjointed style, while intentional and thematically justified, may alienate some readers early on. But pushing through that discomfort is part of the experience. It forces you to sit with her story the way she lived it alone, unsure, and without a map.

Dry the Rain is a sharp rebuke to the way we treat survivors of sensational crimes like media property. It exposes the circus, the voyeurism, the myth-making. It reminds us that surviving doesn’t end when the cameras stop rolling. And in a literary landscape that often seeks resolution, it dares to say: some stories don’t end. They echo.

This one echoed in me. And I think it will for a long time.

Thank you for reading Melissa Suggitt’s book review of Dry the Rain by Richard Leise! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Nikolas Mavreas

A wise and weary contemplation of untenable love

In Beyond All Knowing, Chantal Dalton writes about love, age, companionship, and loss. Her medium is the exploration of a relationship between a young man and a much older woman, from whose perspective these poems are written. Dalton’s exploration yields results that are filled with gracefulness as well as wisdom.

It would be inaccurate to the collection to analyze this book poem by poem. It is characterized by a complete unity of setting and narrative, if not of theme. Maybe it is not even a collection at all, but, rather, a uniform work of poetry, with the poems’ names serving as useful section dividers and indicators of meaning. This a story—and a powerful one at that—a stroboscopic look into an obviously complex situation.

A woman, incontinent and equipped with titanium knees, is in love with a young man, who travels and may tend to get drunk on tequila. There is a platonic relationship and a great deal of affection between the two, but it is not clear that feelings are exactly reciprocal, there being a difference between love in the forms of eros and agape. And so, the book is an extended rumination on unfulfilled love, seen from a quite unusual point of view, that of the older speaker who is here seen wondering about the fate of her tributes to the young man:

“Are my poems your haven and refuge? Or just writing that disappears on a frosty window under a ruthless sun?”

The lines oscillate between companionship and loneliness, often juxtaposing the two, with loneliness largely prevailing. The poet-protagonist goes through extremes of emotion, though their expression is fittingly subtle and subdued. She is a remarkably wise woman. Like the Marschallin in Rosenkavalier, she movingly and poignantly meditates on the unfairness of time and untimeliness. “Our timelines don’t match,” she puts it crudely, “but our spirits do.” Would she have preferred it if their timelines matched? Evidently so, and she poetically says so through artful denial:

“Good thing I didn’t meet you or know you sooner, I wouldn’t be sitting here longing to hear you whisper instead of shout — Longing to make you sigh.”

Dalton’s authentic poetic sensibility is apparent throughout. She has a knack for rhythm, but she doesn’t always take full advantage of it. The texture of her writing is delicate, yet unstrained in its simplicity. She arrests us with her insights into the psyche. These, presented without decoration, can be quite grim, nowhere more so than when the protagonist sees herself: “wrinkly skin, hesitance and fading purpose.” Such flashes disrupt the natural idleness of the work like far-off thunderbolts sounding on a simply cloudy day.

Like with everything else in life that is dictated by time, acceptance is the only possible route in our speaker’s situation. Our heart, however, can’t help but break at the reluctance, achingly simmering under the surface of her words, to accept inevitability and loss. Beyond All Knowing is filled with affecting bits of reality and stirring emotion. There is great knowledge here—and even greater lessons.

Thank you for reading Nikolas Mavreas’s book review of Beyond All Knowing by Chantal Dalton! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Lauren Hayataka

This campaign trail comes with curses, ghosts, and a demon or two.

In The Campaign, the final book in The Council Trilogy, Evette Davis delivers a smart, fast-paced urban fantasy that’s as much about political warfare as it is about personal reckoning. Returning to the series is like settling into familiar territory—only this time, the stakes have gone global, and the monsters wear suits.

Olivia Shepherd, political consultant and reluctant witch, barely has time to regroup after her last mission before she’s rerouted to Idaho on a favor she can’t ignore. Diana Chambers, a Secretary of State with her eye on the presidency, is assembling a campaign—and she wants Olivia by her side. The job would be complicated enough without Stoner Halbert in the mix. He’s not just a campaign rival—he’s the very real face of supernatural chaos, backed by dark magic and a trail of destruction no press cycle can explain away.

With her circle—William, Josef, Elsa, Lily—back at her side, Olivia’s pulled into something much larger than an election. Strange weather, unexplained violence, and ominous visions point to a world increasingly out of balance. And for once, it’s not just the Council calling the shots. It’s the gods. The dead. Her family. Everyone, it seems, wants Olivia to become something more.

The chapters move briskly, and Davis has sharpened the pacing since The Gift. The writing is confident but relaxed, letting the emotional stakes rise without drawing too much attention to them. There’s the expected fantasy flare—werewolf attacks, spectral messengers, cursed amulets—but none of it overwhelms what makes the story work: Olivia herself.

She’s a heroine who still doesn’t quite want the job, still doubts herself, still wishes things could be simpler. But this time, she stops running. Her relationships with William and Josef remain tangled and intimate, especially as she begins to question what love looks like after betrayal—and what it means to be chosen by someone versus choosing them in return. It’s messy, but grounded. Davis never plays the romance for drama. She lets it sit in the background where it belongs, textured but never overpowering.

There’s a heaviness here that wasn’t present in earlier books—grief, inheritance, exhaustion. Olivia’s late mother and grandmother are constant shadows, not just in spirit but in memory, reminding her that power often comes from pain. Her father, once a steady hand at the head of the Council, begins to falter. The prophecy following her for two books now presses closer, demanding more than strategy or magic. It demands commitment; commitment that Olivia isn’t sure she’s capable of living up to.

And still, Davis never forgets to make room for sharp dialogue, dry humor, or the surreal nature of blending campaign stops with ancient rituals. A demon hiding behind a press secretary. A livestreamed witch hunt. A political opponent whose very presence warps the laws of nature. It all works because it isn’t overwrought. It’s just Olivia’s life now—and like her, we’re not surprised anymore.

The book’s final third pivots toward deeper revelations, but Davis keeps her focus where it belongs: on Olivia. The resolution isn’t about fireworks or final battles. It’s about acceptance. What makes The Campaign satisfying isn’t how it wraps up the plot—it’s how Olivia begins to take ownership of herself. The work she does isn’t just in the field. It’s in her relationships. In her family home. In the way she finally stops hiding from the life that’s been waiting for her.

There are still enemies. Still sacrifices. But by the end, Olivia understands the cost of leading—and chooses it anyway.

Thank you for reading Lauren Hayataka’s book review of The Campaign by Evette Davis! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Elizabeth Zender

A thoughtful, vivid, and surprisingly pleasing exploration of grief

In a variety of poetic devices and sharp imagery, A Short Supply of Viability by Annette Gagliardi meets at the intersections of grief, caregiving, and death.

Speaking on both the deaths of others and the death within ourselves as a result, you would expect the book to come with a certain weight. And it’s true; a number of poems are absolute heartbreakers. But Gagliardi brings forth a brightness amidst the sorrow, a reminder of what makes life wonderful.

One of the many things I loved about this collection is Gagliardi’s use of alliteration, consonance, and assonance. Lines like “I don’t want to last long, lingering nights, laying listlessly” from “A Convenient Death” linger in my mind; the repeated “S” sounds in “When We Get Old Enough” create a beautiful, flowing through-line that propels us toward the end of life. Gagliardi’s work is timeless and reminiscent of classical poetry without sacrificing the modernity of the now.

“Do the heartbeats used
for those dreams destroy
lives lived in spite of them.

“Would you languish for that loss, as well?”

Natural imagery weaves through the themes of dying and caregiving. In “Geraniums,” one of several poems exploring the grief of losing a parent, stanzas alternate between caring for a withering plant and caring for an ill loved one. The stanzas express the mixture of a household chore with internality, as if the speaker is ruminating on things that have passed, wondering what could have been different.

Gagliardi’s exploration of the exhaustion associated with caregiving and the way this moves into the readiness to say goodbye is done smoothly, transitioning from one emotion to the next and into the final stages of grief with the grace and beauty often not given to death. I think that death, while a topic far from taboo in poetry, is not always looked at from multiple angles. We witness the perspective of someone bearing witness to a life being lost while speaking on the way it impacts how the speaker sees her own eventual passing.

This is a collection to re-read, even if just as a comfort after the loss of another loved one, a therapeutic addition to poetry lovers’ bookshelves. Gagliardi’s talent as a poet is apparent from the start. This comforting collection will soothe those in the mood for reflection in and around the hardest times.

Thank you for reading Elizabeth Zender’s book review of A Short Supply of Viability by Annette Gagliardi! 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

An exhilarating international scavenger hunt for a powerful ancient relic

The Arcane Religious Knowledge and Numinous Experience Institute, ARKANE, is an international organization dedicated to solving supernatural and religious mysteries. Morgan Sierra, an ARKANE agent surrounded by loss, was recently cursed on a mission. But while paying respects to a friend who died during that same, fateful mission, Morgan receives a call about a new assignment from her partner, Jake Timber.

It turns out that an archivist at the national library archives in Vienna has found a Nazi Enigma machine containing a long-forgotten, encoded letter depicting a drawing of The Spear of Destiny. Also known as the Holy Lance, the Spear is a relic said to have been stabbed into the side of Jesus Christ during his crucifixion. It is believed to contain unimaginable power which can wield great good or tremendous evil.

While many have claimed their relics are the real Spear, Morgan and Jake are inclined to believe the Spear in Vienna could be the true, power-wielding lance due to this newly uncovered note. Written by a Nazi officer who transported this Spear fragment to the museum, the note confirms that the Spear has been “split into four pieces, as directed.”

As the Spear’s WWII historical connections are uncovered, Morgan and Jake suddenly find the museum under attack. Jericho Command, a military group under the rightwing US Presidential candidate Ezekial Stronghold, will do whatever it takes to gain the Spear fragment.

While fighting to flee the attack, Morgan has an encounter with a tattooed man who is part of this mysterious group. In their brief interaction, both can sense darkness around the other. Is this man cursed too?

The quest to find and reunite the Spear fragments begins with the personal. Morgan learns the true weight of her blood curse when her niece is hospitalized with a potential cancer of the blood. This emotional gut punch sets up a story that’s as satisfying on the human level as it is on the high-stakes plot level.

Spear of Destiny takes Morgan and Jake to archives filled with WWII artifacts, across borders and oceans, into crypts as dark as their history, as they race to find the Spear before it can be used for evil.

It’s a heart-pumping supernatural thriller that takes the reader to real locations all around the world. From Historischer Kunstbunker in Nuremberg to Potala Palace in Tibet, every historical location that Morgan and Jake visit is described in vivid detail and adds immense value for the historical fiction fan. The settings jump off the page and make the supernatural elements all the more frighteningly believable.

The settings are specific but so is the historical detail. Penn aims to satisfy in multiple arenas—from real history to real thrills to the real possibility of the occult—and does. There’s even a bibliography and details of the research at the end of the novel for those getting lost in the fascinating history.

As the 13th installment of a series, you’d think it’d be difficult to jump into as a first-time reader. But Penn takes care to sprinkle in the relevant histories of Morgan and Jake in ways that we can understand quickly and get moving.

Fast-paced, surprising, and dark, Spear of Destiny is a can’t miss thriller for fans of Dan Brown and action-packed historical fiction.

Thank you for reading Shelby Zwintscher’s book review of Spear of Destiny by J.F. Penn! 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

Chip Cater’s short stories shine with compassion, wisdom, wit, and warmth

Memories don’t play out like feature-length movies. They happen in flashes, fits, and starts. Sometimes a memory can bubble up to the surface of your mind with a very clear point, and sometimes they ramble or roll by for no other reason than to remind you of something pleasantly familiar.

Those are characteristics that Chip Cater’s collection Capers and Switcheroos embodies beautifully. Transforming his memories into short stories, he lets readers into his mind and gives them the joy of experiencing his admiration and love, his childhood mischief, and the quiet humility that comes with age.

And it truly does feel like each story is a little door into Cater’s mind. That’s partly due to flourishes like the quick, easy nicknames that pepper his writing. When recalling his wedding in “Blue Velvet,” the opening story, he says, “We were married in the Congregational Church, which stands on the hill over the tiny string of stores and restaurants in Wellfleet. The Congo’s tall steeple towers over the town and is what you aim for when sailing back in from the outer reaches of Wellfleet harbor.”

Those small but irreverent choices, nestled in an otherwise matter-of-fact tone, help readers see that Cater doesn’t take life too seriously, even as he regards it with a sharp eye respectfully studying everything it lands on.

That matter-of-fact voice could also be called openness—even earnestness. In the same story, Cater’s wife winds up having to change into a borrowed dress, a dazzling blue number with sparkling stones. The incident is briefly the talk of the restaurant, and when Cater and his wife leave, “twelve to fifteen ‘fans,’ who had watched the drama unfold, rushed up…They wanted Mary’s autograph. After the scenes in the bar and dining room and the changes of costume, they were positive she was a celebrity. She still is.” Then later, in the story “Something Noticed,” he and Mary find themselves in Vietnam and notice there are no birds; the Vietnamese ate them into scarcity due to food shortages that began in the Vietnam War. Upon returning home, Cater reflects, “We have hundreds of beautiful birds, many of whom sing…it is our palette and our symphony.”

In just a few words, Cater reveals so much: his bounding love for his wife Mary. The couple’s quiet awareness of all their blessings, humble in the knowledge that so many have far less.

There are one or two stories that err on the rambling, rolling side of memory. “Saved by the Belle,” for example, may luxuriate a little too long in the technological details of early digital publishing for some. Even then, however, readers glimpse our narrator’s open-hearted kindness as he remembers a workplace rival. “Dan left and went to our largest competitor,” Cater writes. “He did well and we stayed in touch over the years…we had a shared interest.” Even in adversity, obstacles never become permanent barriers to good relationships, politeness, or decency.

Capers and Switcheroos is a quietly moving piece, a comforting blanket of a short story collection.

Thank you for reading Eric Mayrhofer’s book review of Capers and Switcheroos by Chip Cater! 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 Victoria Lilly

A thought-provoking novel questioning how our world is run, how one individual can change it, and what the future could look like

In the year 2032, Carrie Davenport is drawn out of the ivory tower of her tenured professorship at a North Carolina university into an opportunity of a lifetime: to draft a constitution for a colony on Mars. The life-ambition of a tech billionaire, the project is entering its final stage, the launching of the first one hundred settlers to Mars. 

Carrie, a constitutional lawyer and a queer Black woman, is named the head of the committee in charge of providing the pioneers with a legal framework for the future Martian society.

Although initially enthusiastic about the prospect of putting her life’s work to practical use—and a utopian one, at that—Carrie quickly becomes frustrated. She chafes with the conservative fellow professor of law on the committee, Adam, who prefers a traditionalist approach over Carrie’s progressive and experimental ideas. But an incident of severe police brutality derails Carrie more than a snide white lawyer ever could. She had become a successful constitutional scholar in the hopes of escaping such racist violence, but the event shatters this illusion and makes her question to what extent can one create a just society through the word of law alone.

Arc of the Universe is a bold & intriguing work that dives thoughtfully into numerous issues plaguing contemporary America—and some that have plagued it from the very day of its founding. It raises questions about our imagining of new societies and whether conventional legal frameworks can adequately shield future societies from the problems of the existing ones. 

Carrie also struggles with resolving the knot of her racial belonging, professional identity, and ties and expectations that come with both. It’s the book’s most compelling thread. From the stark realization that no amount of success in her career will insulate her from racially-motivated violence, to her unease at being called out by fellow Black people for “not doing enough,” Carrie’s emotional journey is the strongest, most human aspect of the novel. 

Somewhat less human are those parts of the story which strand into a more essayist, polemical tone. This is, perhaps, inevitable if one is to speak about issues of social justice; a deal of bluntness might be warranted, especially in the climate of today’s politics in the United States. But the polemical sections do stand out as slightly uneven and slow down the pace of the plot. There are different political viewpoints, even among the progressive characters, which drive dynamics of their relationships, and point to different approaches to bettering society that can be taken depending on one’s circumstance.

The plot underpinning this treatise on social justice provides an additional level of enjoyment, beyond the emotional arc of the protagonist. Carrie, a bookish academic teaching constitutional law, is thrust into a world of money, fame, and secrets as she agrees to work on Project Mars. From lavish parties in billionaire villas, to navigating corporate interests, to a sweet little espionage stint, the plot has plenty to offer, even if the pacing does occasionally stumble. Oh, and there is a sweet sapphic love subplot to boot!

Ambitious in scope, deeply personal in execution, Arc of the Universe is sure to leave the reader stirred. Its complex approach to issues of race, class, and sexuality—and the intersection of them all—gives food for thought regardless of one’s particular identity. The answers its characters find by the end of the story aren’t unshakeable. The moral arc of the universe might bend toward justice, but no solution is perfect, and even the most well-intended laws are ultimately embodied and enforced by flawed human beings. But although there might be no perfect solution, that doesn’t mean we should not strive toward it.

Thank you for reading Victoria Lilly’s book review of Arc of the Universe by Nikki Alexander! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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Reviewed by Melissa Suggitt

Louise Krug writes with a voice so raw, it feels like she’s handed you her heart.

Reading How to Explain feels like sitting down with a friend who doesn’t shy away from telling you the messy, complicated, and achingly beautiful truth of her life. 

This memoir in essays pulls you into Louise’s world post-brain surgery, where partial facial paralysis becomes both the least and most defining part of her identity. It’s not a polished “I overcame it all” memoir, but rather an honest, vulnerable, and even funny look at what it means to live with visible and invisible scars. From explaining her condition to a curious neighbor kid to managing the tender complexities of marriage, motherhood, and self-image, Louise opens up in a way that hits you right in the feels.

My favorite thread throughout this unique narrative is the therapy sessions. As someone deeply familiar with the relationship between therapist and patient, and as someone working through self-esteem and executive functioning challenges myself, I felt an almost immediate connection to Louise’s stories. With each therapy session she described, I found myself nodding along, her words cutting close to my own experiences. Many of us know the struggle of finding the right therapist or of sitting in that room and not having the mental capacity to accept what we’re being told about ourselves. It’s easy to fall into a spiral of self-pity, wanting nothing more than validation that it’s okay to feel this way. Louise’s writing captures that so perfectly—the push and pull of wanting to stay in the safety of that narrative versus finding the strength to put in the work and change how you see yourself and the world around you.

For anyone juggling the chaos of work, kids, and just trying to keep it together, Louise’s words land like a lifeline. Her essays explore the weight of self-doubt and the ache of wanting to be seen as whole, and they do it with such candor that you can’t help but feel your heart cracking open a little. She doesn’t just write about living with challenges—she writes about living, period, in all its messy, vulnerable, beautiful imperfection.

And the way she tells her story? Completely, wholly her own. Each essay is a world—sometimes laugh-out-loud funny, sometimes deeply introspective, always engaging. There’s a transparency in her writing that feels like sitting in on a conversation she’s having with herself, and you’re just lucky enough to listen in.

Reading this book made me feel seen, like someone else gets the quiet struggles of trying to explain yourself to a world that loves tidy resolutions and simple stories. Louise doesn’t give you that. Instead, she offers you something better: a look at the unresolvable, the messy middle, the beauty in imperfection.

How to Explain isn’t just a moving book—it’s a hug for anyone who’s ever felt different, lost, or broken and is learning to find their way. It’s a reminder that being vulnerable is its own kind of strength. 

Thank you for reading Melissa Suggitt’s book review of How to Explain by Louise Krug! 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 unique addition to the post-apocalyptic genre, thoughtfully exploring religious complacency, coercion, and corruption

The Goddess in the Mountain is book two of the Millennium Man series, following Thomas the Vitruvian, one of an untold number of individuals with projected thousand-year lifespans, each with a particular expertise that they consider to be of greater value than the others. 

The series is non-linear, intending to jump around to various points of significance in Thomas’s life to tell a larger story that revolves around the collapse and subsequent rebirth of society, so do not be surprised if you find yourself lost in time, regardless of whether you’ve read the first installment. You can still enjoy it no matter when you are.

In this entry, Thomas is approximately 310 years old. Having lived to see the cataclysm caused by the asteroid Apep’s collision with Earth and its subsequent chaos, Thomas now wanders the planet looking for other Vitruvians, and he’s found one. Entombed in an iron cage within a mountain where her devotees work tirelessly to free her from its clutches lays Atah, a goddess regaining her strength. 

This convenient mythology, crafted by the Vitruvian Magdalena Ordonez (Maggie, for short) to keep the people complacent and submissive, feeds her vanity and keeps her insulated from the outside world, sparing her from having to share her gift with humanity to rebuild civilization. Can Thomas convince her otherwise, or will the realization that her society is more a prison than a shield come too late to avoid his own entombment in the mountain of Atah?

The Goddess in the Mountain is a quick, enjoyable read packed with commentary on the nature of manipulation and religious fanaticism. Its portrayal of a post-apocalyptic society in which the religious imagination of a populace is being manipulated and controlled for the personal gain of the few feels honest, and the sentiments expressed through Thomas’s perspective in response to it is relatable. This gives the story some grounding which, in combination with the lack of fantastical elements, helps make it feel realistic.

One downside of the short length of the book is that the characters lack some depth. I would have liked to understand Thomas and Maggie’s motivations and history more, to gain greater insight into their dynamic. With the series set to explore more of Thomas’s life, I’m hopeful and certain that if this has not already been addressed in the first book, it will be addressed in a later installment. 

With The Goddess in the Mountain, DeLauder has succeeded in writing a compelling, self-contained story that fulfills the promise laid out by the intriguing larger narrative. It’s easy to read and quite exciting to explore this world through Thomas’s adventures.

Thank you for reading Timothy Thomas’s book review of The Goddess In the Mountain by Sean DeLauder! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

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