Chapel Orahamm's Blog, page 4

Shubnum Khan: The Djinn Waits a Hundred Years

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Released at the beginning of 2024, Shubnum Khan’s novel The Djinn Waits a Hundred Years feels like a very depressing, gloomy The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel set in South Africa with a cast of Islamic and Hindu Indians.

I paused after typing that, thinking that was all I wanted to say. I finished the book yesterday and have been brooding on it. I wanted to really form a better understanding of my impressions rather than just toss this one out as an unfulfilling story.

I am for want of better understanding an American white trans person who was raised Christian and is now pagan. I knew of one Irani girl and her brother in my high school and one Urdu girl. That’s it. That’s the extent of my personal encounters with Indian and Arabic-Muslim culture. And that was in the context of a very white public school in the Bible belt of America. To be fair, I did take a Southeast Asian Art History class and an Islamic Art History class in college when I obtained my liberal studies degree in Asian Art History and Asian History. But India, the Middle East, and Africa weren’t my focus.

By mentioning this, I hope to illustrate that I did not catch as much symbolism in this as I know there is. There’s the cultural history, caste systems, but most importantly, with the level of metaphor Khan uses, I know there was symbolism that I just couldn’t quite come to.

I read through reviews this morning before typing up my own to see if someone could break down some things for me. However, what I came to realize was how much the djinn and the hundred years of the title were ticking people off. And I think there lies the first issue of this book.

Most audiences who are going to read this in America aren’t going to understand the nuance of the djinn. And what he means to the script. The part where everyone is saying he didn’t wait 100 years missed the whole section of him traveling all over India, the Middle East, Europe, and then Africa in search of something to fulfill himself with or at least to disappear, that he found it, and then he had to wait to die. That is the 100 years. It’s the 100 years of longing, desire, and depressed waiting for a love he would never be able to take part in.

Anyways. My only other real encounter with fiction featuring a djinn that wasn’t Arabian Nights was The Golem and the Jinni by Helene Wecker – and that might have set me up to look more for what the djinn actually represented to the script. Coming at the script as someone not culturally raised to believe in such creatures, I may be missing the point of the situation, but within the story, the djinn was relegated to the East Wing of the mansion when the Madam of the house stopped using incense and blessings in that section because she wanted bad things to happen to the second wife. A djinn, if I understand it, is something akin to a demon or an evil spirit in Christian theology. The evil spirit attached itself to Meena by way of infatuation and so she was cursed. Not having a family to bless her and keep her safe but rather a family that created an emotional situation where she felt trapped to marry as a second wife a man who was infatuated with her. These feel like a way of saying: She was doomed from the start and nothing of her situation in life would ever get better. The only love she received was from a man who way the hell out ranked her in class and power and her family saw the financial benefit to this, but that man really didn’t have his head on straight.

The whole of the story dealt with selfish people perpetuating selfish cycles for their own ends. The man didn’t make an effort with his first wife to meet her in the middle. He brought his meddling mother into their house where the mother took over everything and never allowed the daughter-in-law to really develop into her own person, there by making the daughter-in-law unhappy with her place in life and her husband. A lot of that had to do with racism and caste/class positioning. He went and found what he wanted by marrying a shop girl that literally no one in the house wanted. She didn’t even want it. The selfishness led to so many horrible things happening and all because of a manner of social and cultural upbringing, entitlement, and dreaming without involving others in the decision making process. He did what he wanted and it doomed all of them. But was it just his fault? No, I also blame his mother and his upbringing.

Then there’s the actual main character and her modern day problems with the old mansion. That’s where the sad version of Marigold Hotel comes to mind. The characters are very caricature in nature. Overblown faults with little redemption. They only redeem themselves in small instances that resemble afterschool special style ‘finding oneself through bravely facing their one big flaw’. I can’t say it was bad for that method. There is only so much time and space in a book where you can develop a character, or in this case many characters because there was a lot of head hopping.

And that’s the thing. I can’t say there was much in the way of character development. The whole of the story never felt tangible. It all felt distorted, like a person going through depersonalization. The out of body experience. It felt like the characters observing themselves from the outside in a detached manner where they couldn’t help what they did, they just watched themselves do it. Which, when all of them are dealing with trauma, maybe that’s the way to present it.

That’s the thing for the story. It’s not horror. In the early stages it feels like it could have been horror. It could have really gone into spooky territory. But it didn’t. It’s a wound-by-proxy trauma dump. Which, if you need that feeling of unrequited-love-never-to-be in a gloomy house, then I guess that works. Maybe that’s what the story was – seeing as the house was always portrayed as this living thing in the last throws of death – was an observation of the house on all these characters rather than depersonalization. But in the same way people like watching Cold Case Files because there is an underlying trauma response that is comforting to them (and should be addressed with a psychologist) this story is a cry for help. Honestly – I think the author probably needs a hug and a cup of tea and maybe some time to process with someone who is familiar with the culture and society so as to be of best help.

Read it if you want. It’s going to stick with me for a while yet, but I won’t be keeping this book on my shelf. I now know why the used copy I picked up had several sets of used stickers on it. It’s been sold back multiple times, and I’m going to do the same.

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Shorts: Dust Motes

“I’ll be back late. Hearirs will drop by to help with lunch and a bath. You sure you don’t need anything before I leave?” Mab calls from the door. The time it takes for me to shift my chin from left shoulder to right is the sound of the door clicking shut. It takes longer for me to turn back to watch the world from my window. Morning sun sparkles on golden dust motes drifting across the bone sill at my arm. Threadbare curtains cast nets across the blanket on my lap, leaving my fingers dappled in autumn and winter.

The market below is wrapping up, soon to move closer to the ribs for protection from the coming winds. Bright patterns and whirling prints flit about the street on this last sound day. Children dash in and out of the awnings and barrels of goods. Their chirping echoes in the morning above the clash of hawkers bartering their wares. They are headless in their dashing pursuit of pleasure.

An undercurrent, though, runs through the market below my window. The anxiety of the biddies scampering from stall to stall permeates the fog of dust clinging to the underside of the ribs as a cancer. It is in the way they bob to and fro. The way their men curl their shoulders in. The way the squealing ankle biters escape to their houses well before the rising moons cast fingered shadows across the square.

In the morning calm, that noxious persistence settles at cafe chair feet. Warm cups and soft words tamp it into the sand. It is with the shift in shadows and the rotation of guards that the mood scuttles away. Reality shatters that bubble, sending shards hurtling to the ground. Downcast heads. Furtive eyes. Robes and capes clutched at the throat.  Hands reaching for little wrists to pull questioning voices away.

Waxed carapaces flash bobbles of red sparkd across the scrap walls. Insignias, charms, wards swirl across their mandibles in perpetual prayer that we will survive another day. Riders in uniform sit proudly behind swiveling heads, waving to the thinning crowd. Months ago, they would have been greeted with cheers and applause. Now, we watch from the corners and the doorframes.

The patrols leave the main thoroughfare. Anger and disappointment curl inside my unyielding fingers. Tension crackles in the void they leave behind as customers fill the empty lane.

A knock at the door and a rattle of keys tells me my day has spilled away from me like an upended mug once more. Hearirs is hurried and brisk. Impersonal. Her meals are simple and nutritious, if bland as always. She works for the guard. Cares for those of us who no longer serve. She doesn’t ask needless questions. Helps that she was there when my ant went rogue. When my world spun out of control. When I became a burden.

That moment, staring at a washed-out sky, unable to communicate with my limbs, slips through my fingers every time her soapy rag finds another patch of garbled nerves. Hearirs’s proximity rubs at me. An intrusion. She has helped me, though. Months have sanded away at my composure, but she works with me to speak again. To chew. To hold a fork. To stand upright.

I want Mab. Hearirs’s attention drives thorns of loneliness into my flesh. Mab, their light brings me home. I want to be home. I want my space to feel correct. It’s never correct when they walk out in the morning. They work now, to keep us fed. They could have left, when everyone thought I was dead. They stayed, when I wanted to give up.

Hearirs leaves me back in my chair, where I can watch the world tick by. Where people gather, shuffling along in mobs, in droves. I slip into an afternoon nap with the cool shade of the sun passing it’s zenith.

Sitting on the edge of the falls. Laying in the cool opening of the caves, the curve of their back fitting into my hands. I watch them laugh, tucking their curls behind their long ears. Whispered sweetness is an anchor to the boggy depths that demand my return.. 

Evening sets in, shadows creeping across the canopies. Fires burst forth in alleys drawing me from my dreams. Giggling ricochetes against tent poles. Calls for food, the smell of roasts waft through my sill. My hands go cold with the lengthening dark.

Musicians pull their instruments to their hands and cheers permeate the air in punctured hollows of the night. Chords drift over the raucous applause, and a beat sets in as the door creaks open.

My brain settles; the twitch in my digits yield to the calm that walks across my floor. I look up to Mab who sets down parcels and packages in the little area we call a kitchen. They are tired, but their smile embraces me.

“Have a good day?” they ask, pulling their cape clasp from their throat and setting the garment on its hook.

Time seeps through ice as I grapple with my head to move my chin toward my chest.

“Did you see anything interesting?” They shift foodstuffs through the pantry placing a pan to the burner. The raffle of papers and chaffe of bone drains away the edges of my day.

Lifting a shoulder is moving a mountain, but their patience in waiting for my reply is a blanket around my heart. They are radiant in our little space, setting away shadows in their glow. I want to watch them move forever.

“What can I do?” Mab asks, worry creasing their brow. Some days I wonder if they can read my mind, how attuned they are to my melancholic whims. 

My heart breaks with the question. I know what I wish I could do with them. I reach, my hands unwilling to obey. My voice catches between my brain and my throat, refusing to bow to my rule. I drop my gaze, frustration burning across the tips of my ears. Somewhere in the distance, between my skull and my chest, a far-off sound begs for understanding. “Dance?”

Mab, deep brown eyes sparkling with tears, leans down to me, wrapping their arms under mine to take the weight of my back. Sensations shift, and the world tilts, but their arms are warm and reassuring in the scuffle of nerve endings. I do the best I can to wrap my hands around their shoulders, resting my head against the top of their curls. Exhaustion screams, demanding its cruel expectations. My chair is five leagues away, and I sway, my legs jittery as I fight to command them to stand.

The drums from the musicians reverberate through our little home. For a minute, for a time, for this one second in our lives, we are golden dust motes floating in the morning sun, twisting around our centre of gravity. “Love you.” It’s garbled and slurred, words crashing against my teeth as rain breaking against the ribs, but I mean it with every bone in my body.

“I love you too,” they whisper into my shoulder, their grip tightening against my back.

And we are floating. Dust motes on the wind.

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Snob: Steel Under Silk

Licensed by Lehzin and brought out in 2022, this ongoing Yaoi manhua delves into the tragedy of a former noble whose only fault is being the son of a bureaucratic scapegoat in the Joseon period.

This is a trigger warning level Yaoi that goes beyond coercion. A rather large number of historical setting style manga and manhua that deal in this genre tend to be. I mean…after all, healthy gay relationships aren’t often encouraged in much of the world. Some small communities and tribes. Some particular religious factions. But this one, not really.

There is some plot developed around court intrigue and who is stabbing who in the back as most historical fiction tends to lean when dealing with court nobility.

But let’s be real.

If you’re reading this, you aren’t here for a plot. And you didn’t go looking for a review on it to find out if the governor keeps his cabinet post. You want to know if the art is decent and the up closes are yummy.

Well. As usual, stuff’s whited out, so use your imagination or a Bamboo pen. Do they even make those anymore?

This one’s a bit more D in the BDSM. I can’t say the relationship is anywhere near healthy, but the art, color, and expressions are not objectionable on execution.

Outside of the primary ‘more than coercion’ trigger warning, there is also the part about swords and using them on people. So, if you don’t handle blood well, this is not your happy place.

It isn’t one I would add to my shelf. I was giving it a try because Tiktok is a trap and I saw some music video splice job that made it look pretty.

I like a good historical romance. Not so much this sort of set up.

Sue Lynn Tan: Daughter of the Moon Goddess

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Brought out in 2022, Sue Lynn Tan’s novel Daughter of the Moon Goddess is the perfect novel for anyone who has been binge watching all of the mythical c/j/k dramas on Netflix and is in dire need of reading fix that fits the same story structure parameters.

The sentence structure is amazingly distinct, and not in a bad way. I deeply enjoyed it and how the characters were built. It felt truly like a proper c-drama with the same type of motivations and goals you would expect. I’ve seen a few ‘Western’ style writings where you can tell the person really likes these types of dramas and settings but doesn’t fully understand the socio-cultural interpersonal relationships that come from a culture they are not living in. This is genuine and perfect in its motivations, social structures and hierarchies, cultural values, familial piety, you get the picture.

Now, with that said, growing up on Westernized romance, the romantic feelings of the two LIs in this felt a bit shallow. I think that has a lot to do with this difference in cultural perspective and lived vs seen experiences. Western romance can be quite different from Eastern romance, and that may mean that I didn’t get the true depth of the seven philosophical loves. I would say though, that still holds true with how I experience c/k/j dramas. I like watching them, but certain emotional elements don’t really make sense to me in their expression.

The editing on it was well done. I really can’t complain at the dialogue or action tags and the vocabulary was varied enough to not feel juvenile, but also not feel like someone was making love to a thesaurus (looking at epic fantasy here).

Is it something I would suggest? Yeah, I’d say if you like the dramas, this will scratch that itch. It does have a little bit of spice in there and I would suggest you find the few pages to give it a glance over before handing it over to a teenager if you’re thinking of giving it as a gift, just in case it’s a bit much for your morals. I didn’t find it objectionable. I’d probably not hand it over to anyone under 16, but I also wouldn’t be surprised to see 14s reading it on a bus or something either.

Anyways, yeah, give this one a go.

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Bad Viking: Strange Horticulture

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I’m testing out games that are more towards my aesthetic, rather than just the basics everyone has heard about (looking at you Bethesda and Nintendo). Bad Viking is a new-to-me company that I stumbled into because of the idea of this game.

First of all, Strange Horticulture is a perfect slow, rainy day, fall game. A warm drink is suggested. It carries the aesthetic across the board. It doesn’t have much in the way of changeable imagery to it. It’s primarily text and clue based – more on that in a minute, but it’s the saturated dark colors, the costumes for the handful of characters and the general layout of the working page that I am enamored with. The music is also decent for that dark academia feel.

The story follows you along as you re-establish an odd greenhouse with a variety of plants you ‘go looking’ for. You really don’t ever leave the main screen, it just gives you information on you having found or not found something. The characters come to you each day looking for a plant to cure an illness, lift or set a curse, or a few number of other…dealings, shall we say?

There are also a handful of different endings depending on your actions throughout the story (did you join or destroy a cult or things like that), which makes the game replayable for quite a while. Not bad when I got it on steam for, I think, $5? It was on a sale. Looking at it not on sale, looks like it’s $15. I would add it to the wishlist and wait for it to ping on a sale, but I don’t think you will be disappointed at the $15 price tag either for the replayability hours.

Now. Here’s the caveat. This thing, if you don’t feel like offing your characters in the first couple acts and incurring bad stuff, needs to be played with a side-by-side wiki opened. One that names all the plants so that you can label them appropriately, and the other as a lead through on what the characters want. You can press your luck and do it the hard way. I know there are more than plenty of y’all out there who think playing with the cheats open as not real gaming, but I honestly like playing that way. It makes it relaxing and I can take more time to appreciate the artwork and the storyline, rather than stress about randomly offing someone with deadman’s fingers fungi. There is a book in game that is supposed to give you hints and help you figure out the botany, but I found it less than helpful once I started getting deep into the plants.

This one is definitely one I would suggest for folk who like the dark academia vibe, cottagecore vibe, a bit of Victorian drizzle, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle mystery. My one suggestion is watch your screen size. The words get difficult on a smaller screen, like on a SteamDeck or Switch. I would suggest it as a monitor game if you can tolerate sitting at a desk or have a larger laptop. Otherwise, there is an in screen magnifying glass you can use, but that gets tedious.

Also. Label your plants early and often.

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Dreams

I come to in the darkness. Sweat drips off me, causing my shirt to stick uncomfortably. I breathe a sigh out. Just a dream. I tell myself this as I pull myself from the tangled sheets. I’m always telling myself this mantra. Mom and dad told it to me. The babysitter said it. The therapist chanted it until it was the only thing I knew to say when I would wake up like this.

I stumble to the bathroom in the tiny studio apartment, cast off my damp clothes, and throw myself through a shower. It’s the scratches on my arms though, that get me. The bruises that show up randomly. The slashed sheets. They all say I do it to myself. Maybe I do. Hard to verify it when they had a 24-hour live feed on me in solitary back when my parents put me in a psych ward. The staff couldn’t explain the manifestations. They let me out a month later when they couldn’t figure out the marks, or make the nightmares stop. They tried. I had the scars to prove it.

Now, in a different city, in a different country, I was still running from my dreams most nights. A new job had done little to change the stress that they all blamed on instigating the nightmares. Like school, clubs, love life. Everything was stress. It was everything else that caused me to dream, to be weird. That’s what they kept saying. They’d say it to their graves.

Dried and clothed, minor wounds addressed, I strip the bed of its linens and toss all of it in the washer. I want to see them explain the green and purple goo that coated the bedding and stained my sheets weird shades of opalescent grey. Let them try to tell me the box of bizarre spears that shot corrosive pink bubbles, electric knives with glowing jewels I could not find the names to, and laser guns that shrunk to the size of my pinkie finger hidden under my bed were just my imagination. I want to see the expression on their faces when I finally drag the creatures into my world. When I had enough evidence to turn the world on its head, I’d bring it all out.

I smile as my gaze settles on the nightstand. A burnt-umber scaled appendage with seven talons rests in the plastic tray I keep there for my nightmares. I had learned, after numerous attempts to drag whatever I could from the other side, that I’d rather not have gross stuff all over my furniture. The talons twitched nervously.

The chest at the end of the bed produces a new package of sheets. With luck, I’ll be back to sleep before midnight has passed, and I’ll get a second chance. This time. This time I’ll drag it over, kicking and screaming if I have to. I finish assembling my bedding, toss the talon in a massive plastic bag, and deposit it in the freezer with the other bits and pieces I’d come away with before collapsing back on the mattress.

Time to dream big, kid. I tell myself. I force my eyes closed, and the nebulous turmoil behind my eyelids drops me into the wormhole once again. We’re going monster hunting.

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Natsu Hyuuga: The Apothecary Diaries

There are affiliate links in the post. I make a small commission off sales from the links that keep the blog going. I don’t collect your info.

Natsu Hyuga’s The Apothecary Diaries, originally released in 2014 is an ongoing manga with about 63 chapters as of my reading at this point. I found the first three books at my local library and the rest of the volumes elsewhere to read. I am now caught up on the story and incredibly frustrated that at where my cliff hanger hit. I need more.

The illustration work is beautifully rendered, sometimes with a couple panels of colorwork. I like those. It informs me as to how the illustrator views the characters compared to how I fill in their hair and clothing.

The pacing has been closely managed. The mysteries are handled with good timing so that it isn’t drawn on past about 3-4 chapters from what I’ve gathered, while there is a few larger mysteries tying everything together. I like this type of build up. It keeps the continuity of the story.

The relationship between the MC and LI is also just *chef’s kiss*. It’s the frustrated one-individual-is-pining type and the other has just written them off completely because they are ‘unreachable’ so to speak. It’s giving me raging Sebastion voice “just kiss the girl” vibes but the pacing still makes me want to just enjoy the slow burn frustration. That’s how you know the author, illustrator, and editors have done their jobs right. They make you want conclusions, but you’re not mad at the build up.

Let’s just go with I was giddy by the time the cave scene came up, and not mad at how it concluded either. It felt correct how it was handled. I’m looking forward to the next chapter update.

If you like knowledgeable characters who are not perfect Sherlock Holmes, you want a long slow burn for romance, and you enjoy historical scene setting, this’ll do the trick nicely. I like historical scene setting. It let’s there be something else outside of just current drama. I want to escape current social and political convention when I read, and these types of stories do it for me.

Sadly, if I had all the manga I love reading as physical books, I really would need to buy a different house. I would not have the room. I can justify stand alone books, but manga series need to be kept to kindles and rentals for me. If it wasn’t an issue, yes I would have the whole set of this and consistently buy them when new ones released.

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Natsu Hyuga: The Apothecary Diaries

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There are affiliate links in the post. I make a small commission off sales from the links that keep the blog going. I don’t collect your info.

Natsu Hyuga’s The Apothecary Diaries, originally released in 2014 is an ongoing manga with about 63 chapters as of my reading at this point. I found the first three books at my local library and the rest of the volumes elsewhere to read. I am now caught up on the story and incredibly frustrated that at where my cliff hanger hit. I need more.

The illustration work is beautifully rendered, sometimes with a couple panels of colorwork. I like those. It informs me as to how the illustrator views the characters compared to how I fill in their hair and clothing.

The pacing has been closely managed. The mysteries are handled with good timing so that it isn’t drawn on past about 3-4 chapters from what I’ve gathered, while there is a few larger mysteries tying everything together. I like this type of build up. It keeps the continuity of the story.

The relationship between the MC and LI is also just *chef’s kiss*. It’s the frustrated one-individual-is-pining type and the other has just written them off completely because they are ‘unreachable’ so to speak. It’s giving me raging Sebastion voice “just kiss the girl” vibes but the pacing still makes me want to just enjoy the slow burn frustration. That’s how you know the author, illustrator, and editors have done their jobs right. They make you want conclusions, but you’re not mad at the build up.

Let’s just go with I was giddy by the time the cave scene came up, and not mad at how it concluded either. It felt correct how it was handled. I’m looking forward to the next chapter update.

If you like knowledgeable characters who are not perfect Sherlock Holmes, you want a long slow burn for romance, and you enjoy historical scene setting, this’ll do the trick nicely. I like historical scene setting. It let’s there be something else outside of just current drama. I want to escape current social and political convention when I read, and these types of stories do it for me.

Sadly, if I had all the manga I love reading as physical books, I really would need to buy a different house. I would not have the room. I can justify stand alone books, but manga series need to be kept to kindles and rentals for me. If it wasn’t an issue, yes I would have the whole set of this and consistently buy them when new ones released.

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W. Michael Gear: Flight of the Hawk; The River

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There are Amazon affiliate links in this post. I receive a tiny commission when you use the link to buy stuff. This helps support my blog, which I greatly appreciate. I don’t collect your info, that’s Amazon’s business.

Released in 2018, Flight of the Hawk: The River by W. Michael Gear truly revealed to me how much I do not know about the War of 1812, or much of the goings on around that time period. I’m on a western kick at the moment, but finding ones that aren’t modern cowboy romance or modern western murder mysteries is a bit of a stretch for me to find. One of those things where it’s still a genre I’m working my way into.

The writer and editing department did their job with this. The setting was beautifully rendered, the characters have depth, the pacing feels a bit slow, but not in a bad way. The syntactic structure, though. That one is golden. The variability of vocabulary and sentence pattern just sings. Sorry, I’m a pattern snob and most mass produced novels are fairly predictable, this one surprised me at it’s eloquence without coming across stuffy.

I’m not sure that I would add it to my shelf. I rather like my Tony Hillerman collection, and W. Michael Gear’s collection would need to be accounted for. I think it would work well in my Kindle shelves instead. I borrowed my copy from the library, and it looked practically brand new because not a lot of people read Westerns.

I enjoy writing accents. Some authors can pull off written accent, and some can’t. Gear’s work has some accents in it that read well, and other’s that were a touch odd. I found the Scotsman came across more like Jamaican in my head than Scottish. I think it was the use of ‘mon’ for ‘man’ that gave me Jamaican. The French and Spanish accents I had an easier time following. I think that was really my only issue with the workings of the book.

Oh, and Native American names. I find it stupid that people will translate Native American names, rather than just use their names. Like ‘red bird’ rather than the name. It’s like saying “From the Oak Tree Settlement (Acton) and Blessed Ruler (Aidric) have gone to town to visit with Elf Ruler (Alfred).” You don’t do it with English names, don’t do it with Native American names. It’s reductive.

Would I suggest it? If you’re into Westerns, I think you might get something out of this. It will definitely test you on your knowledge of a particular time and place.

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ustwo games: Assemble with Care

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If you ever wanted to muck about in a picture book, ustwo games’ Assemble with Care does this beautifully. With oil pastel digitalized graphics and a move-along arrow, the story unfolds with large crisp font and syntactic structure that reminds one of a child’s book. The underlying story behind the little tasks though hints more at of the troubles hanging over many adult heads’ that can’t be fixed as easily as a tapedeck or a rotary phone.

The music is calming and the color palette meditative for solving small scale puzzles. There are enough hints that make it relaxing, rather than frustrtaing. It does not require a full on side-by-side wiki to accomplish tasks. It is exceptionally rail heavy, and that’s okay when you don’t want to go adventuring around.

My singular complaint is in the use of the screwdriver within the mechanics. I tried this out on my laptop without a mouse, just the trackpad, and that doesn’t always work that well for this application. I found that if I *very* gently pulled my index finger down on the left side of the trackpad I could unscrew the screws and if I then pushed my finger back up on the left side, it would rescrew – wish a lot of work. That was a few fixes in before I figured it out without just brute forcing the thing. I would like to say it is probably either easier with a mouse or maybe a joystick…depends on if it would require you to rotate the joystick or move it up and down. The initial thought I had when trying to fix the tape deck was to swirl my finger in a spiral on the trackpad – that did not yield results. So, there’s the one heads-up. But, it really isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of the story.

I picked it up on a Steam sale for $4. Knowing the amount of work that went into the art and voice acting, it’s hard to feel like that’s about all the game is worth, but I really wouldn’t pay much more than that sales price. It’s usually $8, and that’s probably more fair to the game designer and all the other people who went into making it, but it doesn’t feel like it has much re-playability and the overall mechanics feels…simple? Is simple the right word?

Anyways. It’s pretty in a storybook kind of way. It didn’t keep me engaged for more than about 4 ‘jobs’ at a given time, but that’s probably alright if you’re only killing 20 minutes. I would say, if I were to play it in a killing time mode, that the typography is at least large enough to be comfortable on a SteamDeck. Haven’t tested that. I would imagine this would be easily compatible.

Suggest it? ….ehhhh? It’s not bad. But being reminded of all the grown up stresses underlying all the broken things that the main character is able to fix isn’t something I find escape worthy. If you’re looking for a very subtle amount of drama, this might be up your ally. I mean, the game is titled Assemble with Care after all. It’s hinting not only at being gentle with the items you are fixing, but also empathy and care for the people you are helping when fixing those items, and knowing that there are just some things you cannot fix.

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