Adrian Collins's Blog, page 10

REVIEW: Lies of P

Lies of P by Neowiz, Round8 Studios, and Rough is a Souls-like game in the vein (no pun intended) of Bloodborne. The premise is an odd one that immediately caught my attention: what if Pinocchio was a steampunk dark fantasy? It’s such an out-there premise that I didn’t initially check the game out, which proved to be a mistake. I was a huge fan of Bloodborne and it was one of my all-time favorite games by the time I finished it. 

I ended up choosing to play Lies of P because I’d heard it was the game most like Bloodborne. Is it? I’d argue it’s the only game I’ve played in about five years that can compare. It is dark, well-designed, full of wonderful characters, and possessed of a fascinating story that I became fully engrossed in. The game also has an amazing soundtrack with beautiful orchestra and vocal pieces that I bought the mp3s for. The game designers knew just how awesome the music was since it has the option of playing them in the background of the game’s hub.

The premise is, as stated, a variation on the classic Pinocchio story but with a few million twists. In this version, Pinocchio AKA P is a puppet (steampunk robot) that is brought to life by the blue-haired psychic, Sophia. Sophia reveals that you live in the automated city of Krat that is a little bit of every part of Europe. Until recently, it was a shining utopia of science and alchemy with the populace living privileged lives. Unfortunately, the puppets have all risen up and started massacring the human population. P must rescue his and every other puppet’s creator, Geppetto, and put an end to the crisis. But are renegade robots the only problem in the city? No, no, they are not.

What follows is a story of P gradually uncovering the complicated plots going on behind the scenes before Krat’s downfall. This includes the sinister Alchemists cult, the local religion, the Stalkers sect, and the billionaire industrialist Venigni. The city is a beautiful creation of Old World styles that has fallen into a state of decay but still holds signs of its former beauty. The enemies are incredibly well-designed, and the environments are both fun as well as beautiful to look upon.

Gameplay wise, it’s very similar to other Souls games with Bloodborne the most similar but has a far bigger focus on parrying than dodging. P has a cybernetic arm that can be modified to have special abilities but will be needing to block or parry enemy attacks if he wants to survive against any of the bosses. The dodge rolls in the game are much shorter than most so there’s no point in trying to get out of the way unless you are fighting very specific enemies. Crafting plays a role in the game that is greater than other Souls-likes as you have the option of mixing and matching the various weapons.

Does Lies of P have any flaws? Perhaps a little too much of the challenge is nerfed by the difficulty options but greater accessibility has been something that many gamers consider a feature rather than a bug. The experience for Lies of P is also a lot more linear than Bloodborne or Elden Ring. Still, I think the game is a fantastic experience overall and surprisingly dark. Lies of P has themes of body horror, oppression, and surprising amounts of moral ambiguity as the society of Krat was clearly papering over a large amount of its issues before things went to hell.

Lies of P: Overture is the DLC expansion for the game and I think a fantastic game in its own right. P is transported back into the past by one of the Stargazer devices that can teleport him around and has a chance to save two of the people who might prevent the disaster that befell Krat. The difficulty spike for the game is something that I had to struggle with a bit but eventually managed to overcome. I also came to love the characters of Lea and Arlecchino almost as much as Sophia and Eugenie from the main game.

In short, this is a great game, and fans of dark fantasy will absolutely love it. If you enjoyed Bloodborne or Elden Ring then you’ll almost certainly love Lies of P. It has its very own identity, though, and I feel that is something that needs emphasizing. The fact it does have a “Very Easy” and “Easy” mode means that people who can’t do regular Souls games will also be able to experience this one’s story in its entirety.

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REVIEW: The Fallen & the Kiss of Dusk by Carissa Broadbent

The Fallen & the Kiss of Dusk is, in Broadbent’s own words, ‘a big, epic, wild ride’, and I think that pretty much sums it up. On paper, this conclusion to The Shadowborn Duet features all the high stakes action, cutthroat intrigue, delicious angst, brutal sacrifices, and intense emotional turmoil that you’d expect from a top-tier dark fantasy romance, yet the execution just left me a bit… whelmed?

Now, The Songbird & the Heart of Stone was my personal favourite book in the Crowns of Nyaxia series so far, and the diabolical cliffhanger at the end had me absolutely dying to see the continuation of Mische and Asar’s journey in The Fallen & the Kiss of Dusk. I mean, we’ve got a world full of vampires thrust into eternal night, an impending war between the gods, the underworld teetering on the brink of collapse, and two lovers now trapped on opposite sides of the veil who are ready to go to hell and back to reunite. In other words, cue the chaos.

Again, this book really had a lot of potential to become a new favourite for me. First of all, I am always a sucker for a good dual POV storytelling structure, especially when it comes to stories involving romance, yet the addition of Asar’s perspective in The Fallen & the Kiss of Dusk did not really live up to my expectations. Yes, I loved getting to know him more intimately as we unravel his tragic past and get to see just how deeply, madly in love he is with his woman Mische, but for some reason I just never connected with him on an emotional level.

Moreover, I found Mische and Asar’s motivations and actions quite incomprehensible and frustrating in this instalment, not least because they both have the biggest martyr complex ever. And even though their backgrounds and current circumstances are so different, I had a really hard time finding any distinction between their voices. To me, both of their perspectives lacked a true emotional core and a strong personality (like, who even is this Mische? where is the quirky girl we met in the first duet?!), which made it really hard to get invested in their romance and all the life-or-death conflicts that they seem to attract like a magnet.

And holy smokes, are there some big conflicts going down in The Fallen & the Kiss of Dusk. Similarly to the set-up of the previous instalments in this series, this book is separated into six distinct parts, with each part bringing a new trial for these characters that is more dangerous and deadly than the last. On the one hand, this resulted in a breakneck pacing that makes this book dangerously addictive and effortlessly readable, as there is truly not a single dull moment to be found.

Yet on the other hand, it made the romance feel hollow to me as there was no room for quiet moments of genuine connection (and this was not helped by the fact that they are either whining about not being able to bang or actually having an intense bang session that could crumble mountains every time they do get a little moment together). Also, it all just felt a bit too repetitive to me, and I personally just got so damn exhausted by all the non-stop action and the over-the-top drama of it all. Oh and for the love of all that is holy, can we get more cutthroat vampire shenanigans and less annoyingly petty gods, please and thank you?

All that is not to say that I am not impressed with Broadbent’s ambitious vision for the larger Crowns of Nyaxia series, though. The epic world building is so rich, the divine lore is masterfully intertwined with the characters’ personal journeys, the exploration of trauma, religion, morality and mortality is quite beautiful, and the progression of the overarching plot of the series is way more complex than I had ever anticipated. Also, I really loved seeing so many familiar faces from both The Nightborn Duet and the standalones Six Scorched Roses and Slaying the Vampire Conqueror (which I all highly recommend reading beforehand) popping up and playing an important part in the story here; hell, they might even have outshone the actual protagonists of the story for me.

Maybe I went into this with too high expectations or maybe it was just a case of ‘wrong book, wrong mood, wrong timing’, but I ultimately wanted to love The Fallen & the Kiss of Dusk a lot more than I did. Still, I think there is no denying that Broadbent deserves to hold the crown as one of the best and biggest names in epic, dark romantasy right now, and the ominous epilogue left me more than eager to return for the continuation of the Crowns of Nyaxia series in the next duet.

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REVIEW: We Are Always Tender with Our Dead by Eric LaRocca

The town of Burnt Sparrow, setting for a new trilogy from Eric LaRocca and starting with We are Always Tender with our Dead, is a cursed place that doesn’t let go. Much like the townsfolk stuck there, you’ll find yourself returning to Burnt Sparrow long after you’ve put down the book. This is a queer, literary horror with hints of the speculative hidden in the shadows, and there are shadows aplenty.

With the occasional diary entry, news article or blog post revealing additional aspects of the mystery surrounding Burnt Sparrow, We are Always Tender with our Dead is primarily told through the experiences of 17-years old Rupert Cromwell, a boy whose mother died years ago and whose father is a frightening oddity to him. More than anything We are Always Tender with our Dead is a story about thresholds, and as Rupert teeters on the threshold to adulthood he finds it difficult to relate to the men of Burnt Sparrow and struggles to understand how he is supposed to become a man, when he is so unlike those around him. Rupert is gay and finds the men of the town to largely be destructive and cruel, at best, indifferent to the pain of others.

This indifference is highlighted through the tragedy that has struck Burnt Sparrow, a Christmas day massacre on the main street of the town. The dead are left where they lie, a decision made by the town elders for reasons they keep to themselves. Rupert and his father are among those employed to guard the dead, which exposes deeper differences between them and begins to validate Rupert’s nihilistic tendencies.

“There’s nothing in this world that has meaning or shares any value. I’ve already been taught that human life holds no significance. It’s sad to think how a corpse is very often worth more than a living thing. At least there’s some value left in a dead body, however little, however insignificant. But what becomes of us when even the dead have little meaning?”

Besides thresholds hidden throughout, We are Always Tender with our Dead also makes a salient point about the widespread desensitisation to violence and tragedy in our society. Not least with its content and how it is presented, and in what order. If the massacre of 100 people, left to rot in the street, doesn’t move you, which of the many acts of violence that follow will? Which aspects of this story will you select to be outraged by?

The inclusion of – literal – nameless, faceless enemies within the town may seem a bit on-the-nose but, like everything in this book, LaRocca is making a point with the portrayal of the alleged perpetrators of the town’s massacre. Though it is all rather conveniently managed by the, I suspect, old-god entangled, purple-clad town elders. Another commentary on Western society?

This book comes with a fairly comprehensive content warning list in an opening author’s note, and, as LaRocca suggests, if any of those warnings concern you, don’t read the book. There is a lot of subtlety in We are Always Tender with our Dead that is disguised beneath the violence, you have to be willing to be challenged and willing to think beyond your immediate reactions to get to it. A lot of hints at the wider forces at work in Burnt Sparrow are included but that is a payoff that does not come with answers in this installment. This is a queer, literary horror, coming-of-age tale in a corrupt/ed small town with supernatural undercurrents running through it. It is also a commentary on the acceptability of violence in our society. Some parts will crinkle your nose, others your mind.

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REVIEW: System Preference by Ugo Bienvenu

From creator Ugo Bienvenu for Titan Comics, System Preference is a dystopian sci-fi tale in a bright but difficult future for humanity. With data storage at a premium in a world filled with an obsession for social media, historical treasures are being deleted to create space for holiday photos. One man takes it upon himself to illegally save cultural treasures in his robot surrogate.

System Preference does what good sci-fi is meant to do. It questions what makes us human and what is important about life. An archivist, Yves, looks like he has a great life. He is married to a beautiful woman, working for a powerful company, and his unborn child is currently being cared for by his loyal robot surrogate carrier called Mikki. However, Yves risks it all to save cultural treasures (such as 2001: A Space Odyssey) and store them in his robot so that such information isn’t lost as his company wipe clean such media in an attempt to store space in a world where people are more focused on having the space to store their holiday photos and social media videos. It reminded me a lot of a less action-based Equilibrium as Yves acts as Christian Bale here and tries to keep secrets from his bosses in order to preserve what he feels is important for humanity. Yves has a child on the way, a wife already angry with the risks he is taking, and he is aware of monitoring at work but yet he still feels it’s important to save such media to make sure humanity can learn from the messages in these stories which he feels is vital.

The artwork in System Preference is beautiful with the sci-fi world brought to life with stunning colours and vivid detail on par with other great graphic novels such as Low, and Y: The Last Man. A Netflix adaption in a similar manner to the brilliant Scavengers Reign would work perfectly with this world and there is so much scope for more. The story questions the overabundance of media we currently have available and the ease with which content can be created – does such a world lead to a lack of connection and a lack of meaning within such work? If we don’t value the effort placed into art then what will happen to us? How does this further disrupt the connections we have with other humans, especially as we begin to rely more of technology as Yves and his wife do with their robot surrogate. It’s a timely story as we further question the use of AI in creative mediums. The tension ramps up in the story as the world closes in on Yves and the stunningly dark but beautiful ending has left me wanting more. There is more to come with this stunning sci-fi tale and I’m sure, like the greatest sci-fi, this story is one that we want to keep in our memory for a long time.

System Preference is a brilliant dystopian sci-fi cautionary tale about what makes us human. It takes a good look at humanity as we are and the path that we are on as it questions what will be important to us in the future. A stunning tale and one that sci-fi fans should not miss!

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REVIEW: It’s Not a Cult by Joey Batey

It’s been a while since I’ve read a horror book, but when I saw that Joey Batey–the brilliant actor behind Jasker in Netflix’s The Witcher–was the author, I knew I had to give it a go. It’s Not a Cult is a morose, cold, at-times darkly funny, brutal commentary on when fandom goes too far. It’s a story of losing control of the story, even when the story is one you came up with, of balancing fame with safety, of creating and the risk of creation. And with Batey at the helm–one of the few living authors who can write from this position of actual understanding of the fandom–it feels like a gleeful exploration of the worst possible scenario.

In It’s Not a Cult Alice is the drummer and videographer for a small, unnamed, unheralded band who write and make music about the Solkats, a series of gods who pull the strings of humanity behind the scenes. In their band the tortured writer Callum comes up with new Cycles about the Solkats, telling their stories like a dark fantasy novellist, and Mel, a camera-loving and somewhat mysterious singer, brings them to life at the front of their band. They are weird, and different, and generally widely ignored by the people at the dingy pubs they play at in the hope a few of their small following might show up. Until one evening one of their fellow musicians is severely beaten at one of their gigs and, for the first time, Alice sees shady creatures amongst the fanbase, pushing them to violence and mischief. And then, the band is no longer obscure, or unknown, and the madness of rabid internet fame lands.

At its core, It’s Not a Cult is a story about the most terrifying fandom in music. It’s a commentary on how scary the internet can be for the average person who finds fame, and what it must feel like to one moment to be basking in the glory of finally being understood and appreciated after all the years of unseen grind, and the next moment, be terrified of your own fans. While this is obviously a ramped-up-to-1,000 version of that theme, I can’t help but feel that with Batey’s ascension to acting fame in one of the most ravenous fan bases on the planet–fantasy–that every fear penned is loosely based on a lived experience of he or one of his co-stars.

The two key points of view to the story look at fandom from opposite directions. Alice views the world and the experience of the band through the viewfinder of a camera, an interesting, introverted character who finds herself ripped from her comfort drummer and videographer role and put in the backdrop of the most explosively viral band on the planet. Kaylee is a relatively middling YouTuber one day, and then she discovers the band, finds the secrets behind the words (even those the band didn’t intend to exist) and finds herself at the front of the wave of crazed fandom baying for the next Cycle, trying to find the band’s next hidden gig, and obsessing over every line and lyric with her followers.

Batey has done really well to take this concept and run with it. The author takes us through this eerie ride that begins with hooded figures and stolen data cards in dingy bars, and grows as our characters do. The band is forced from the comfort of being all-but-anonymous performers as shadowy figures and a rabid fanbase grow their fame and weaponise it. They must face their own needs and desires for creativity and performance as they begin to conflict with their fear and the greed of those around them (greed for money, attention, and leadership). This is where I found It’s Not a Cult the most interesting–looking into how the band change over time as the fame rises. Seeing how Alice, Callum, and Mel change as their fascade of not caring about success so they can just create is prodded and pulled and torn.

Finally, we need to talk about the Solkats. With names like Yem, the Mother, Solkat of Empty Beds; and Scran, Solkat of Bar Tabs, Reckonings, and Squander; Hockle, the Antecedent, Solkat of Spit and Nervous Moments; Bizen, the Witch and Solkat of Children’s Lies; and the great Whisht, Solkat of Red Wine Stains and Noise, the mysterious, mischievous gods of Callum’s Cycles are a little silly, a little dangerous, and a very awesome way to underpin the creepier side of the novel. With Alice being your viewpoint into seeing the Solkats, we see the way they have impact on the world and on the fandom. And through the Cycles and the way humanity has worshipped for millennia, we know that gods and their followers demand sacrifice.

It’s Not a Cult is an incredibly fun read. It’s morose, funny at times, interesting, engaging, sad, and keeps prodding at the part of my mind that sees the worst of what viral fandom can be. I really enjoyed it and am glad I stepped out of my SFF wheelhouse. Joey Batey has pulled another arrow out of his creative quiver and hit a bullseye.

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REVIEW: The Knight and the Moth by Rachel Gillig

The Knight and the Moth, the latest dark fantasy from Rachel Gillig, has been everywhere I look on bookish social media for months. It has a beautiful and intriguing cover, and my interest was certainly piqued. However, this wasn’t my first experience reading Gillig. I have previously read her debut novel, One Dark Window, and although I thought it was okay overall, that read didn’t blow me away, and the sequel never seems to make its way up my to-be-read pile. So, it was with some trepidation that I picked up The Knight and the Moth; everyone else loves this, would I love it too?

Six, one of six diviners resident at Aisling Cathedral, can’t remember much of her life from before. Only her name, Sybill Delling. She’s spent nearly ten years drowning and dreaming to learn the fates of the people who pilgrimaged across the kingdom of Traum to visit the cathedral. Her service is nearly at an end, and she and her fellow diviners (One through Five) start to imagine what is next for them. The arrival of the new young king to Aisling also brings a mysterious knight. Roderick Myndacious is boorish, brash, and beautiful, with no reverence for the diviners or respect for their dreams. Sybill hopes his visit will be swift without cause for him to return. But when her fellow diviners start to vanish one by one, she finds herself with nowhere else to turn but to the new king and his dark knight.

I found The Knight and the Moth an easy world to settle into. Traum is a faux medieval realm, and I had no difficulty imagining this setting. This might, however, be helped by the fact that I’ve lived near two spectacular cathedrals at various times in my life, so the initial location of Aisling Cathedral was essentially a mix of the two of them, and it felt familiar from the get-go. Gillig’s writing is easy to follow, and I enjoyed the fairly dark magic system, religious lore, and questing knights aspects of the story.

However, some elements of The Knight and the Moth didn’t work well for me at all. I don’t mind romance in my fantasy as a subplot, but not only were the romance elements here a fair chunk of the story, but they were also quite predictable. Oh look, the female main character takes an instant dislike to the tall and brooding, eyeliner-wearing knight. I wonder if these frenemies will eventually become lovers? And despite the dark beginnings of the novel, as Six / Sybill and the knights move away from the gothic setting of the imposing cathedral and its drowning pool, the novel sort of stops feeling like a dark fantasy. Which is also fine, I don’t mind an epic fantasy. I love a quest. But I thought I was reading a gothic dark fantasy, and now it’s a quest that I haven’t wholly bought into. I must admit, I spent much of The Knight and the Moth feeling ambivalent about everything. My socks were not being knocked off the way everyone else’s seemed to be.

Two things saved this book for me. The first is the talking gargoyle, who calls everyone Bartholomew. Yes, I know what that sounds like. I like animal companions in books, and the gargoyle falls into that category. He provides comic relief with his mixed metaphors and was so endearing that I kept reading to find out if he served some greater purpose other than stoney sidekick. The second thing was the plot twists in the last quarter of the novel. After spending most of my time reading The Knight and the Moth, feeling like everything was progressing as predictably as a quest should, these twists were a literary slap to the face. I thought I was all set to get everything neatly tied up, and then there was a sharp bend away from the conclusion I expected. Despite the rest of the novel, it’s made me want to read what happens next out of sheer curiosity.

I’m sure many people out there will adore The Knight and the Moth. Heck, even in the GdM team, there are some people who really enjoyed it and have sung its praises. But for me, it felt only okay for most of the time I was reading it. I’m not quite sure if an ending that took me by surprise and an endearing gargoyle are enough to tip it over into being a good read, which is a shame, but maybe goes to show that I shouldn’t always believe the bookish social media hype. Thank you to the team at Orbit for providing me with a copy of the novel.

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REVIEW: The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

There were moments during The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett—author of The Divine Cities trilogy and the Founders trilogy—where I lost track of time and discovered the day had ended, and the only thing I did that day was read this book. A whirlwind of a mystery novel set in a fraught fantasy world, The Tainted Cup is a Holmesian murder mystery that involves genetically modified superpowered individuals, mutating fauna, and kaiju-sized monsters that threaten to destroy everything.

The Tainted Cup follows Dinios Kol, the Watson to his superior Ana Dolabra’s Holmes. Kol is a young assistant to Ana, and he’s an engraver: a person who is genetically modified to remember everything he sees using scent. Set in the Empire of Khanum, in the canton of Daretana, Kol and Ana—an infamous and peculiar detective that always wears a blindfold and doesn’t much care for manners—must solve the mystery of a series of murders where trees burst from the chests of the victims. If that wasn’t bad enough, outside of Daretana’s walls is a titan, a giant sea monster that tries to breach the walls at irregular intervals, so time becomes an enemy of Kol and Ana as well: after all, you can’t solve a murder if the entire city is destroyed.

The world of The Tainted Cup is a mashup of Roman military culture, pre-colonial Britain, and, interestingly enough, the worlds of the video games Bioshock Infinite and Dishonored. Many of the people of this world are genetically modified, called “sublimes”, created to serve certain purposes. There are engravers, as mentioned before, as well as crackers, people modified to have super strength. Everything in The Tainted Cup just bleeds cool, and it certainly helps that Bennett’s writing is whip smart. Ana is weird, funny, and brilliant, while Kol is inquisitive yet reserved. Their dynamic was a joy to read, and I looked forward to whenever they were in a room together, just to see how they’d interact. Those around them are just as interesting: the swordsman and foul-mouthed officer Miljin comes to mind. I could see him being a fan favorite, just as Bennett’s character Sigrud from The Divine Cities trilogy was.

Bennett’s worlds always feel lived in and politically-minded, and that’s no different here in The Tainted Cup. He makes this strange world feel accessible. Early on, he tells you the rules of this world and how those rules affect the characters around them. Part of the fun of a mystery is having the clues alongside the investigators so the reader can also participate, and, even though the Khanum Empire is a world unlike our own, Bennett still manages to get the reader up to speed quickly and simply so that the main focus can be on the mystery.

His pacing, too, feels crafted and intentional. Like any great mystery novel, Bennett manages to weave in clues and dead ends that keep you from solving the case right up until the last minute. The Tainted Cup’s worldbuilding, suspense, and characters all come together cohesively in such a way that will make you want to read the sequel, A Drop of Corruption, as soon as you finish it.

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REVIEW: Hemlock & Silver by T. Kingfisher

T. Kingfisher has long proved herself to be the queen of the twisty, dark, satirical, genre-blendy fairytale retellings, but I think she truly outdid herself in Hemlock & Silver. Is it a fairytale fantasy? A portal fantasy? A horror fantasy? A cozy fantasy? A romance fantasy? Honestly, who even cares. It’s just a damned brilliant book steeped in Kingfisher’s trademark dark humour and wit that had me intoxicated from start to finish.

“The cat sighed the sigh of the much put-upon. “I didn’t plan to educate a human today,” he said.”

I mean, just read the first line of Hemlock & Silver and tell me you don’t immediately want to keep reading: “I had just taken poison when the king arrived to inform me he had murdered his wife.”. THAT is what I call a strong opening; the hook is planted, the tone is set, and the intrigue is already just oozing off the page. Then add to all that some strangely haunting mirror worlds, a mysteriously ill princess, addictive toxic apples, a narcissistic cat with a big ass personality, and an introverted bodyguard who is really distractingly attractive (how unfair of him!).

Needless to say, T. Kingfisher has taken the tired, old Snow White fairytale and spun something uniquely refreshing and exciting out of it. But the real magic that makes this loose retelling stand out from the crowd for me is the fact that it’s told from such a refreshing perspective: a blunt, headstrong, plus-size (and autistic-coded?) 35-year-old healer and poison expert who is both (deservedly) confident and embarrassingly awkward all at the same time. In other words, Anja is the woman of my dreams.

“Tact is overrated anyway. And if I started being tactful now, he’d probably die of shock.”

Now, I can see how some people might find the pacing of Hemlock & Silver a bit rocky in places with its slow set-up and very hectic ending, but I personally didn’t care at all as there was truly not a single second where I was not entertained. Anja is just so charming and funny without even trying to be, and processing all the increasingly weird events of this mystery investigation through her pragmatic and deadpan perspective made it all the more fun.

Moreover, Anja is extremely competent and clever without being cocky about it, and I loved how her incredible knowledge of all things poison, herbology, and faith (which she passionately spouts out at the most (in)opportune moments) just made the entire world come to life. Kingfisher’s boundless imagination is truly on full display, and it’s honestly astounding to me how much rich and unique worldbuilding is packed into such a tight standalone novel. Sure, it might have taken me quite a while to wrap my head around the intricacies of the eerie mirror realm magic, but Anja seemed to understand how the logic was logicking, so I was just along for the wild ride and I eventually caught up (I think?).

“After a moment I swallowed hard and said, “I’ve gone mad.”
“That,” said the cat, “is also none of my business.”

Anja’s strong (and dare I say, intoxicating) first person narration just had me completely immersed and engrossed the entire way through, and the unconventional way that she interacted with the world and the people around her was honestly beyond amusing to me. Especially her deep despair over having to work with a volatile 12-year-old princess (help, how do you deal with CHILDREN?!), her sharp banter with her unexpected, sassy animal companion, and her undeniable attraction to her wonderful bodyguard who accidentally gets roped into her crazy rollercoaster of an investigation just had me constantly smiling and feeling all the feels (please tell me where I can find myself my own Javier, thank you very much).

In a way, the dynamic between Anja and Javier reminded me a lot of the romances in Kingfisher’s Saint of Steel series, except in Hemlock & Silver the romance is just simmering in the background and never becomes quite as explicit. The tender, slow-burn yearning was just sooo delicious, and I loved how that subplot balanced out the diabolical darkness that is packed within these pages. I mean, talk about some horrifying visuals, sickening sensations, pulse-pounding action and heart-wrenching twists and turns. Also, don’t expect Hemlock & Silver to conclude with a perfect fairytalesque ‘and then they lived happily ever after’ ending. Yes, this is a very satisfying standalone, but I would honestly sell my soul to get a sequel someday to follow up on some of the tantalizing threads left dangling.

“That’s humans for you, I suppose. In dreadful danger, with the weight of the world crushing us down, we’ll somehow still find ourselves thinking: I wonder if he likes me?”

At this point I have read almost the entirety of Kingfisher’s catalogue, and Hemlock & Silver is not just one of my top favourites, but I’d dare say it’s also one of her best works yet (which is saying a lot, because she honestly just doesn’t miss). So, whether you love T. Kingfisher mostly for her fantasy works like A Sorceress Comes to Call and Nettle & Bone, for her horror works like The Hollow Places and What Moves the Dead, or her fantasy romance works like Swordheart and Bryony & Roses, I think Hemlock & Silver is a masterful blend of all those styles that will satisfy cravings you never even knew you had.

Thank you to NetGalley and Pan Macmillan for providing me with an eARC in exchange for an honest review. All opinions are my own. Hemlock & Silver is scheduled for release on 19 August, 2025. 

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REVIEW: The Extra by Annie Neugebauer

There’s a moment in one of my favourite horror flicks, John Carpenter’s The Thing, which for me is greater than any of the brilliant gore scenes around it, or even that blood testing scene. It’s very simple. The camera focuses far longer than it should on some of the characters in the besieged Arctic base. Doing nothing. On their own. Looking shifty. Are they human? Are they alien? We just don’t know. It’s a moment of disquieting tension, a sense of the uncanny, a deep knowledge of the not right that we all carry in our primitive reptile brains. In The Extra, out September 9 from Shortwave Press, Annie Neugebauer has taken this sense of the just plain wrong and extended it into an entire novella that will leave you more strung out than God’s washing line, all based around the best horror high concept you’ll read all year: 10 go camping. When they get there there’s 11. Everyone remembers everyone else… who’s the extra?

The head of this metaphysically challenged university-sponsored camping trip is Matt. Matt and his two fellow staff guides are looking forward to some great team-building times with the seven students. But when it becomes clear that someone else is along for the ride, but he and the guides remember every single person there, the entire nature of the trio becomes one of deep paranoia and doubting everything, and trying to work out the ultimate question: who is the extra, and how do they stop them being brought back with them into civilisation?

The important thing to say about The Extra is that this is not a book that deals in massive plot developments, or action, or character arcs. Indeed, if you read this too fast, you might be tricked into feeling you’re shortchanged and I imagine some will be left wanting more. But, at the risk of wading into the minefield of telling people how to read, this is a mood book. And the mood is unbearable, slow-boiling tension. Every line of dialogue or character description is to be mulled over. Every exchange could be with the Extra. It is a book full of normal conversation that is tinged with fear of the unknown, and I felt this growing sense of unease that made it actively unpleasant to read in the best way, a sensation horror fans will understand well.

A big addition to the mood of The Extra described above is the concept of not just an impostor, but an impostor who can change memories. This brings a metaphysical, sci-fi-esque addition to proceedings, and you can sense the growing descent into mini-madness the narrator feels when they can no longer trust their own minds and memories. You thought Invasion of the Body Snatchers was stressful? Try making it quantum. Added to this is the insertion of the sense of the surreal, the paranormal, the unknown into nature descriptions. Neugebauer takes time to have our protagonist appreciate the great outdoors, with some evocative prose, but it’s tinged with a supernatural sense of the uncanny.

All this tension builds to one of the most nail-biting endings of the year, where a small but vital decision creates this time-based sense of unbearable stress and urgency to the point where I genuinely felt a little nauseous. There are two more sequels expected to this, next year and the year after. I don’t know what Annie Neugebauer is building here, but it is something that you need to feel, and The Extra is a fantastic calling card for the author.

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REVIEW: Black Lagoon

Black Lagoon is the gritty, action-packed 2006 anime following the Lagoon Company, a motley crew of modern-day pirates based in the fictional Southeast Asian city of Roanapur. As the series opens, the mild-mannered Japanese businessman Rokuro Okajima is taken hostage by the Lagoon Company. After his employer decides it’s not worth the trouble of rescuing him, Rokuro joins forces with his captors as a member of the Lagoon Company and is given the nickname Rock.

As an uptight, white-collared businessman, Rock is a classic fish-out-of-water character among the ragtag Lagoon Company crew. The Lagoon Company is led by Dutch, a Vietnam War veteran with an imposing physique. Dutch provides remarkably steady leadership as his team navigates Roanapur’s volatile world of smugglers and mercenaries. There’s also tech whiz Benny, a Hawaiian shirt-wearing Floridian who loves his vintage computers and manages the engineering side of Lagoon Company operations.

But the star of the show is Revy, a tattooed Chinese American mercenary with a tragic past and an unhinged temper. Known as “Two Hands” for her unmatched ambidextrous gunfighting style, Revy’s fierce and brazenly foul-mouthed approach to essentially all social interactions masks the deep emotional scars from her abusive upbringing in New York’s impoverished Chinatown. As we spend more time with Revy, she gradually becomes the emotional core of Black Lagoon, providing a depth that I would not have expected from the first several episodes of the series.

Black Lagoon leans on the time-honored trope featuring a ragtag crew of morally gray protagonists who take on morally darker gray antagonists. The villains of Black Lagoon are often gleefully deranged, with their own tragic backstories that hit almost as hard as Revy’s. From murderous vampiric twins to a monomaniacal guerilla maid, Black Lagoon has some of the most unstable yet oddly sympathetic villains that I’ve seen in any grimdark fiction.

There are clear parallels between the characters of Black Lagoon and those from the late 1990s series Cowboy Bebop, with Dutch and Revy showing obvious inspiration from the latter’s Jet Black and Faye Valentine, respectively. Black Lagoon could have easily fallen into the trap of being a less nuanced Cowboy Bebop rip-off, but thankfully it defines its own trajectory of storytelling excellence. Whereas Cowboy Bebop excels in style, projecting an effortless aura of cool with its jazz music and laidback tempo, Black Lagoon offers a fast-paced stream of heart-pounding action while achieving surprising emotional depth, especially after the action shifts to Rock’s home country of Japan.

Altogether, Black Lagoon is one of the finest anime series of the 2000s, with an action-packed story, razor-sharp dialogue, and some of the best dubbing I’ve heard in any anime. With its emotionally damaged characters who walk the line between sanity and violent derangement, Black Lagoon is must-see TV for grimdark anime fans.

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