Review: Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail, by Ashley Herring Blake

Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail is a sapphic romance novel and a sequel to Delilah Green Doesn't Care. This is a romance style of sequel, which means that it spoils the previous book but involves a different set of protagonists, one of whom was a supporting character in the previous novel.

I suppose the title is a minor spoiler for Delilah Green Doesn't Care, but not one that really matters.

Astrid Parker's interior design business is in trouble. The small town of Bright Falls doesn't generate a lot of business, and there are limits to how many dentist office renovations that she's willing to do. The Everwood Inn is her big break: Pru Everwood has finally agreed to remodel and, even better, Innside America wants to feature the project. The show always works with local designers, and that means Astrid. National TV exposure is just what she needs to turn her business around and avoid an unpleasant confrontation with her domineering, perfectionist mother.

Jordan Everwood is an out-of-work carpenter and professional fuck-up. Ever since she lost her wife, nothing has gone right either inside or outside of her head. Now her grandmother is renovating the favorite place of her childhood, and her novelist brother had the bright idea of bringing her to Bright Falls to help with the carpentry work. The remodel and the HGTV show are the last chance for the inn to stay in business and stay in the family, and Jordan is terrified that she's going to fuck that up too. And then she dumps coffee all over the expensive dress of a furious woman in a designer dress because she wasn't watching where she was going, and that woman turns out to be the designer of the Everwood Inn renovation. A design that Jordan absolutely loathes.

The reader met Astrid in Delilah Green Doesn't Care (which you definitely want to read first). She's a bit better than she was there, but she's still uptight and unhappy and determined not to think too hard about why. When Jordan spills coffee down her favorite dress in their first encounter, shattering her fragile professional calm, it's not a meet-cute. Astrid is awful to her. Her subsequent regret, combined with immediately having to work with her and the degree to which she finds Jordan surprisingly attractive (surprising in part because Astrid thinks she's straight), slowly crack open Astrid's too-controlled life.

This book was, once again, just compulsively readable. I read most of it the same day that I started it, staying up much too late, and then finished it the next day. It also once again made me laugh in delight at multiple points. I am a sucker for stories about someone learning how to become a better person, particularly when it involves a release of anxiety, and oh my does Blake ever deliver on that. Jordan's arc is more straightforward than Astrid's — she just needs to get her confidence back — but her backstory is a lot more complex than it first appears, including a morally ambiguous character who I would hate in person but who I admired as a deft and tricky bit of characterization.

The characters from Delilah Green Doesn't Care of course play a significant role. Delilah in particular is just as much of a delight here as she was in the first book, and I enjoyed seeing the development of her relationship with her step-sister. But the new characters, both the HGTV film crew and the Everwoods, are also great. I think Blake has a real knack for memorable, distinct supporting characters that add a lot of depth to the main romance plot.

I thought this book was substantially more sex-forward than Delilah Green Doesn't Care, with some lust at first or second sight, a bit more physical description of bodies, and an extended section in the middle of the book that's mostly about sex. If this is or is not your thing in romance novels, you may have a different reaction to this book than the previous one.

There is, unfortunately, another third-act break-up, and this one annoyed me more than the one in Delilah Green Doesn't Care because it felt more unnecessary and openly self-destructive. The characters felt like they were headed towards a more sensible and less dramatic resolution, and then that plot twist caught me by surprise in an unpleasant way. After two books, I'm getting the sense that Blake has a preferred plot arc, at least in this series, and I wish she'd varied the story structure a bit more. Still, the third-act conflict was somewhat believable and the resolution was satisfying enough to salvage it.

If it weren't for some sour feelings about the shape of that plot climax, I would have said that I liked this book even better than Delilah Green Doesn't Care, and that's a high bar. This series is great, and I will definitely be reading the third one. I'm going to be curious how that goes since it's about Iris, who so far has worked better for me as a supporting character than a protagonist. But Blake has delivered compulsively readable and thoroughly enjoyable books twice now, so I'm definitely here for the duration.

If you like this sort of thing, I highly recommend this whole series.

Followed by Iris Kelly Doesn't Date in the romance series sense, but as before this book is a complete story with a satisfying ending.

Rating: 9 out of 10

Review: Long Live Evil, by Sarah Rees Brennan

Long Live Evil is a portal fantasy (or, arguably more precisely, a western take on an isekai villainess fantasy) and the first book of a series. If the author's name sounds familiar, it's possibly because of In Other Lands, which got a bunch of award nominations in 2018, She has also written a lot of other YA fantasy, but this is her first adult epic fantasy novel.

Rae is in the hospital, dying of cancer. Everything about that experience, from the obvious to the collapse of her friendships, absolutely fucking sucks. One of the few bright points is her sister's favorite fantasy series, Time of Iron, which her sister started reading to her during chemo sessions. Rae mostly failed to pay attention until the end of the first book and the rise of the Emperor. She fell in love with the brooding, dangerous anti-hero and devoured the next two books. The first book was still a bit hazy, though, even with the help of a second dramatic reading after she was too sick to read on her own.

This will be important later.

After one of those reading sessions, Rae wakes up to a strange woman in her hospital room who offers her an option. Rather than die a miserable death that bankrupts her family, she can go through a door to Eyam, the world of Time of Iron, and become the character who suits her best. If she can steal the Flower of Life and Death from the imperial greenhouse on the one day a year that it blooms, she will wake up, cured. If not, she will die. Rae of course goes through, and wakes in the body of Lady Rahela, the Beauty Dipped in Blood, the evil stepsister. One of the villains, on the night before she is scheduled to be executed.

Rae's initial panic slowly turns to a desperate glee. She knows all of these characters. She knows how the story will turn out. And she has a healthy body that's not racked with pain. Maybe she's not the heroine, but who cares, the villains are always more interesting anyway. If she's going to be cast as the villain, she's going to play it to the hilt. It's not like any of these characters are real.

Stories in which the protagonists are the villains are not new (Nimona and Hench come to mind just among books I've reviewed), but they are having a moment. Assistant to the Villain by Hannah Nicole Maehrer came out last year, and this book and Django Wexler's How to Become the Dark Lord and Die Trying both came out this year. This batch of villain books all take different angles on the idea, but they lean heavily on humor. In Long Live Evil, that takes the form of Rae's giddy embrace of villainous scheming, flouncing, and blatant plot manipulation, along with her running commentary on the various characters and their in-story fates.

The setup here is great. Rae is not only aware that she's in a story, she knows it's full of cliches and tropes. Some of them she loves, some of them she thinks are ridiculous, and she isn't shy about expressing both of those opinions. Rae is a naturally dramatic person, and it doesn't take her long to lean into the opportunities for making dramatic monologues and villainous quips, most of which involve modern language and pop culture references that the story characters find baffling and disconcerting.

Unfortunately, the base Time of Iron story is, well, bad. It's absurd grimdark epic fantasy with paper-thin characters and angst as a central character trait. This is clearly intentional for both in-story and structural reasons. Rae enjoys it precisely because it's full of blood and battles and over-the-top brooding, malevolent anti-heroes, and Rae's sister likes the impossibly pure heroes who suffer horrible fates while refusing to compromise their ideals. Rae is also about to turn the story on its head and start smashing its structure to try to get herself into position to steal the Flower of Life and Death, and the story has to have a simple enough structure that it doesn't get horribly confusing once smashed. But the original story is such a grimdark parody, and so not my style of fantasy, that I struggled with it at the start of the book.

This does get better eventually, as Rae introduces more and more complications and discovers some surprising things about the other characters. There are several delightful twists concerning the impossibly pure heroine of the original story that I will not spoil but that I thought retroactively made the story far more interesting. But that leads to the other problem: Rae is both not very good at scheming, and is flippant and dismissive of the characters around her. These are both realistic; Rae is a young woman with cancer, not some sort of genius mastermind, and her whole frame for interacting with the story is fandom discussions and arguments with her sister. Early in the book, it's rather funny. But as the characters around her start becoming more fleshed out and complex, Rae's inability to take them seriously starts to grate. The grand revelation to Rae that these people have their own independent existence comes so late in the book that it's arguably a spoiler, but it was painfully obvious to everyone except Rae for hundreds of pages before it got through Rae's skull.

Those are my main complaints, but there was a lot about this book that I liked. The Cobra, who starts off as a minor villain in the story, is by far the best character of the book. He's not only more interesting than Rae, he makes everyone else in the book, including Rae, more interesting characters through their interactions. The twists around the putative heroine, Lady Rahela's stepsister, are a bit too long in coming but are an absolute delight. And Key, the palace guard that Rae befriends at the start of the story, is the one place where Rae's character dynamic unquestionably works. Key anchors a lot of Rae's scenes, giving them a sense of emotional heft that Rae herself would otherwise undermine.

The narrator in this book does not stick with Rae. We also get viewpoint chapters from the Cobra, the Last Hope, and Emer, Lady Rahela's maid. The viewpoints from the Time of Iron characters can be a bit eye-roll-inducing at the start because of how deeply they follow the grimdark aesthetic of the original story, but by the middle of the book I was really enjoying the viewpoint shifts. This story benefited immensely from being seen from more angles than Rae's chaotic manipulation. By the end of the book, I was fully invested in the plot line following Cobra and the Last Hope, to the extent that I was a bit disappointed when the story would switch back to Rae.

I'm not sure this was a great book, but it was fun. It's funny in places, but I ended up preferring the heartfelt parts to the funny parts. It is a fascinating merger of gleeful fandom chaos and rather heavy emotional portrayals of both inequality and the experience of terminal illness. Rees Brennan is a stage four cancer survivor and that really shows; there's a depth, nuance, and internal complexity to Rae's reactions to illness, health, and hope that feels very real. It is the kind of book that can give you emotional whiplash; sometimes it doesn't work, but sometimes it does.

One major warning: this book ends on a ridiculous cliffhanger and does not in any sense resolve its main plot arc. I found this annoying, not so much because of the wait for the second volume, but because I thought this book was about the right length for the amount of time I wanted to spend in this world and wish Rees Brennan had found a way to wrap up the story in one book. Instead, it looks like there will be three books. I'm in for at least one more, since the story was steadily getting better towards the end of Long Live Evil, but I hope the narrative arc survives being stretched out across that many words.

This one's hard to classify, since it's humorous fantasy on the cover and in the marketing, and that element is definitely present, but I thought the best parts of the book were when it finally started taking itself seriously. It's metafictional, trope-subverting portal fantasy full of intentional anachronisms that sometimes fall flat and sometimes work brilliantly. I thought the main appeal of it would be watching Rae embrace being a proper villain, but then the apparent side characters stole the show. Recommended, but you may have to be in just the right mood.

Content notes: Cancer, terminal illness, resurrected corpses, wasting disease, lots of fantasy violence and gore, and a general grimdark aesthetic.

Rating: 7 out of 10

Review: Unexploded Remnants, by Elaine Gallagher

Unexploded Remnants is a science fiction adventure novella. The protagonist and world background would support an episodic series, but as of this writing it stands alone. It is Elaine Gallagher's first professional publication.

Alice is the last survivor of Earth: an explorer, information trader, and occasional associate of the Archive. She scouts interesting places, looks for inconsistencies in the stories the galactic civilizations tell themselves, and pokes around ruins for treasure. As this story opens, she finds a supposedly broken computer core in the Alta Sidoie bazaar that is definitely not what the trader thinks it is. Very shortly thereafter, she's being hunted by a clan of dangerous Delosi while trying to decide what to do with a possibly malevolent AI with frightening intrusion abilities.

This is one of those stories where all the individual pieces sounded great, but the way they were assembled didn't click for me. Unusually, I'm not entirely sure why. Often it's the characters, but I liked Alice well enough. The Lewis Carroll allusions were there but not overdone, her computer agent Bugs is a little too much of a Warner Brothers cartoon but still interesting, and the world building has plenty of interesting hooks. I certainly can't complain about the pacing: the plot moves briskly along to a somewhat predictable but still adequate conclusion. The writing is smooth and competent, and the world is memorable enough that I'm still thinking about it.

And yet, I never connected with this story. I think it may be because both Alice and the tight third-person narrator tend towards breezy confidence and matter-of-fact descriptions. Alice does, at times, get scared or angry, but I never felt those emotions. They were just events that were described to me. There wasn't an emotional hook, a place where the character grabbed me, and so it felt like everything was happening at an odd remove. The advantage of this approach is that there are no overwrought emotional meltdowns or brooding angstful protagonists, just an adventure story about a competent and thoughtful character, but I think I wanted a bit more emotional involvement than I got.

The world background is the best part and feels like it could be part of a larger series. The Milky Way is connected by an old, vast, and only partly understood network of teleportation portals, which had cut off Earth for unknown reasons and then just as mysteriously reactivated when Alice, then Andrew, drunkenly poked at a standing stone while muttering an old prayer in Gaelic. The Archive spent a year sorting out her intellectual diseases (capitalism was particularly alarming) and giving her a fresh start with a new body. Humanity subsequently destroyed itself in a paroxysm of reactionary violence, leaving Alice a free agent, one of a kind in a galaxy of dizzying variety and forgotten history.

Gallagher makes great use of the weirdness of the portal network to create a Star Wars style of universe: the focus is more on the diversity of the planets and alien species than on a coherent unifying structure. The settings of this book are not prone to Planet of the Hats problems. They instead have the contrasts that one would get if one dropped portals near current or former Earth population centers and then took a random walk through them (or, in other words, what playing GeoGuessr on a world map feels like). I liked this effect, but I have to admit that it also added to that sense of sliding off the surface of the story. The place descriptions were great bits of atmosphere, but I never cared about them. There isn't enough emotional coherence to make them memorable.

One of the more notable quirks of this story is the description of ideologies and prejudices as viral memes that can be cataloged, cured, and deployed like weapons. This is a theme of the world-building as well: this society, or at least the Archive-affiliated parts of it, classifies some patterns of thought as potentially dangerous but treatable contagious diseases. I'm not going to object too much to this as a bit of background and characterization in a fairly short novella stuffed with a lot of other world-building and plot, but there's was something about treating ethical systems like diseases that bugged me in much the same way that medicalization of neurodiversity bugs me. I think some people will find that sense of moral clarity relaxing and others will find it vaguely irritating, and I seem to have ended up in the second group.

Overall, I would classify this as an interesting not-quite-success. It felt like a side story in a larger universe, like a story that would work better if I already knew Alice from other novels and had an established emotional connection with her. As is, I would not really recommend it, but there are enough good pieces here that I would be interested to see what Gallagher does next.

Rating: 6 out of 10

Review: Delilah Green Doesn't Care, by Ashley Herring Blake

Delilah Green Doesn't Care is a sapphic romance novel. It's the first of a trilogy, although in the normal romance series fashion each book follows a different protagonist and has its own happy ending. It is apparently classified as romantic comedy, which did not occur to me while reading but which I suppose I can see in retrospect.

Delilah Green got the hell out of Bright Falls as soon as she could and tried not to look back. After her father died, her step-mother lavished all of her perfectionist attention on her overachiever step-sister, leaving Delilah feeling like an unwanted ghost. She escaped to New York where there was space for a queer woman with an acerbic personality and a burgeoning career in photography. Her estranged step-sister's upcoming wedding was not a good enough reason to return to the stifling small town of her childhood. The pay for photographing the wedding was, since it amounted to three months of rent and trying to sell photographs in galleries was not exactly a steady living. So back to Bright Falls Delilah goes.

Claire never left Bright Falls. She got pregnant young and ended up with a different life than she expected, although not a bad one. Now she's raising her daughter as a single mom, running the town bookstore, and dealing with her unreliable ex. She and Iris are Astrid Parker's best friends and have been since fifth grade, which means she wants to be happy for Astrid's upcoming wedding. There's only one problem: the groom. He's a controlling, boorish ass, but worse, Astrid seems to turn into a different person around him. Someone Claire doesn't like.

Then, to make life even more complicated, Claire tries to pick up Astrid's estranged step-sister in Bright Falls's bar without recognizing her.

I have a lot of things to say about this novel, but here's the core of my review: I started this book at 4pm on a Saturday because I hadn't read anything so far that day and wanted to at least start a book. I finished it at 11pm, having blown off everything else I had intended to do that evening, completely unable to put it down.

It turns out there is a specific type of romance novel protagonist that I absolutely adore: the sarcastic, confident, no-bullshit character who is willing to pick the fights and say the things that the other overly polite and anxious characters aren't able to get out. Astrid does not react well to criticism, for reasons that are far more complicated than it may first appear, and Claire and Iris have been dancing around the obvious problems with her surprise engagement. As the title says, Delilah thinks she doesn't care: she's here to do a job and get out, and maybe she'll get to tweak her annoying step-sister a bit in the process. But that also means that she is unwilling to play along with Astrid's obsessively controlling mother or her obnoxious fiance, and thus, to the barely disguised glee of Claire and Iris, is a direct threat to the tidy life that Astrid's mother is trying to shoehorn her daughter into.

This book is a great example of why I prefer sapphic romances: I think this character setup would not work, at least for me, in a heterosexual romance. Delilah's role only works if she's a woman; if a male character were the sarcastic conversational bulldozer, it would be almost impossible to avoid falling into the gender stereotype of a male rescuer. If this were a heterosexual romance trying to avoid that trap, the long-time friend who doesn't know how to directly confront Astrid would have to be the male protagonist. That could work, but it would be a tricky book to write without turning it into a story focused primarily on the subversion of gender roles. Making both protagonists women dodges the problem entirely and gives them so much narrative and conceptual space to simply be themselves, rather than characters obscured by the shadows of societal gender rules.

This is also, at it's core, a book about friendship. Claire, Astrid, and Iris have the sort of close-knit friend group that looks exclusive and unapproachable from the outside. Delilah was the stereotypical outsider, mocked and excluded when they thought of her at all. This, at least, is how the dynamics look at the start of the book, but Blake did an impressive job of shifting my understanding of those relationships without changing their essential nature. She fleshes out all of the characters, not just the romantic leads, and adds complexity, nuance, and perspective. And, yes, past misunderstanding, but it's mostly not the cheap sort that sometimes drives romance plots. It's the misunderstanding rooted in remembered teenage social dynamics, the sort of misunderstanding that happens because communication is incredibly difficult, even more difficult when one has no practice or life experience, and requires knowing oneself well enough to even know what to communicate.

The encounter between Delilah and Claire in the bar near the start of the book is cornerstone of the plot, but the moment that grabbed me and pulled me in was Delilah's first interaction with Claire's daughter Ruby. That was the point when I knew these were characters I could trust, and Blake never let me down. I love how Ruby is handled throughout this book, with all of the messy complexity of a kid of divorced parents with her own life and her own personality and complicated relationships with both parents that are independent of the relationship their parents have with each other.

This is not a perfect book. There's one prank scene that I thought was excessively juvenile and should have been counter-productive, and there's one tricky question of (nonsexual) consent that the book raises and then later seems to ignore in a way that bugged me after I finished it. There is a third-act breakup, which is not my favorite plot structure, but I think Blake handles it reasonably well. I would probably find more niggles and nitpicks if I re-read it more slowly. But it was utterly engrossing reading that exactly matched my mood the day that I picked it up, and that was a fantastic reading experience.

I'm not much of a romance reader and am not the traditional audience for sapphic romance, so I'm probably not the person you should be looking to for recommendations, but this is the sort of book that got me to immediately buy all of the sequels and start thinking about a re-read. It's also the sort of book that dragged me back in for several chapters when I was fact-checking bits of my review. Take that recommendation for whatever it's worth.

Content note: Reviews of Delilah Green Doesn't Care tend to call it steamy or spicy. I have no calibration for this for romance novels. I did not find it very sex-focused (I have read genre fantasy novels with more sex), but there are several on-page sex scenes if that's something you care about one way or the other.

Followed by Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail.

Rating: 9 out of 10