readthesparrow's reviews
250 reviews

Thank you to the publishers for providing an e-ARC through Netgalley!

REVIEW
I have conflicted feelings about Most Ardently.

On one hand, it was a quick, fluffy read, which did an excellent job at portraying the suffocating experience of being queer and closeted in an extremely hetero normative, misogynistic, gender essentialist society. I liked Oliver's relationship with Jane--I always love to see healthy, supportive sibling relationships in fiction.

The narrative is, at its core, YA wish fulfillment featuring a gay trans man x Pride and Prejudice. It's an easy, quick read.

Additionally, as someone who has no strong feelings about the Pride and Prejudice novel, nor has watched the 2005 movie, I still enjoyed the book as I read it and feel that, in this particular case, having read the original brought very little extra to the retelling reading experience. So this can totally be read without having read the original.

On the other hand, once I thought about the narrative beyond that very surface level wish fulfillment, I found to have several problems with Most Ardently.

I'll get the less in-depth one out of the way first.

As other reviewers have pointed out, the last quarter of the book feels very rushed. The ending is a happy one, yes, but I personally found it unfulfilling due to how rushed it was. For example,

Mrs. Bennet--despite being extremely gender essentialist throughout the novel and disapproving of Oliver wearing trousers--immediately turns around and not only fully accepts but fully understands the concept of Oliver being a man. I'm not saying she should have rejected Oliver or not been accepting, but the choice to felt in opposition to her character. As a queer person, I would have liked to see a more realistic moment of an accepting but uneducated parent, rather than the sudden, perfect about heel to being cool with Oliver not being a woman that we got.

The more in-depth issue I have has to do with how the narrative handles gender.

First, most of the female characters essentially stop being characters at all. The sisters (beside Jane) barely exist, and Mrs. Bennet is even more shallow and annoying than she is in the original novel. Oliver's friendship with Charlotte, as discussed more in-depth below, is purely a device to have a side conflict.

Pride and Prejudice is such an iconic novel because of its sharp, witty social critique. While this novel retains most of the wit from the original, particularly in the dialogue, it only offers social critique on a very basic surface level: misogyny bad, queer people should be able to be happy.

There are moments where the novel begins to approach that social critique. Conversations between Oliver and his best friend, Charlotte, explore what it means to be a queer AFAB person in this society.

Charlotte's position is that marriage is a matter of survival, especially for people who are of a lower social class, and that marriage is an option that Oliver may eventually have to consider. Oliver's position is that marriage would be suffocating for him, and that entering a marriage would not be survival but death.

Both of these stances are valid. As a queer person, I am intimately aware that choices about gender expression, marriage, and financial support often have to be made as a question of survival, and the answer to those questions differ depending on the person. On the other hand, queer people do deserve joy and acceptance, and shouldn't have to hide themselves simply just to survive. However, deciding to come out and choose "authenticity" is not an option for many, many people.

However, the novel does not fully explore this dichotomy in a nuanced, caring way.

This conflict comes to a head in an argument between the two when Charlotte tells him that she is marrying Collins. (Quote taken from the e-ARC copy. May differ in final version.)

(Emphasis mine)

Charlotte has to make a horrible, difficult choice--the best choice she can make, considering her position.

It's not an easy choice to make, and if she could marry the person she actually loves, it's clear she would. She makes it very clear she is talking about her own circumstances. Oliver's response? Take it as a personal attack and tell her that this horrible, difficult, heart-breaking decision is her 'settling.'

Ew.

After the wedding, Oliver visits Charlotte; during this visit Charlotte says that

being married is great, actually, and she's super happy being Collins' wife. She loves maintaining the estate and Collins lets her girlfriend visit whenever so actually this is great!

Charlotte and Oliver then trade apologies.

Charlotte apologizes for "implying" Oliver would never find happiness (something which, mind you, she did Not Fucking Do during that argument), while Oliver apologizes for not supporting her.

After this scene, Charlotte

completely disappears from the narrative, only being mentioned briefly in passing by other characters.

In other words, once that specific argument between them is over, the narrative washes its hands of her. The reality of Charlotte's difficult choice, the danger it inherently puts her in, and

Collins' willingness to forcibly out Oliver have for Charlotte's safety is given nary a thought, either by the narrative or by Oliver.

That last point also leads me into another, minor complaint; Oliver is extremely self-centered, in a way that seems unintended. This makes him extremely dislikable in moments when we are supposed to empathize with him (see discussion re: Charlotte).

The ending also does not reckon with or consider the power Oliver now holds as a man, nor does its characters actively challenge gender roles. For example, the fact that Oliver can now inherit property is a gender-affirming moment, not a horrifying reflection of misogyny. Oliver does not consider how he can use his manhood to help those around him, or the new power it gives him over his sisters and how that may change his relationship with them.

FINAL THOUGHTS
Ultimately, Most Ardently is just fine and that's it. Inoffensive if you don't think about it and might hit that feel-good wish fulfillment vibe for some readers. However, if you want a well-written woman or a thoughtful, nuanced exploration of queerness, you'll need to look somewhere else.

Thank you again to the publishers for the e-ARC!

 Things I Learned From The Glow: 

That was the kind of premium trash that could only be produced by a heterosexual couple in the 70s. Great job, team.
Also if you have a physical copy of this book don't take it out of your bag on a sunny day. It will flashbang you.

This review is based on a physical ARC provided by the author.

REVIEW

I had such a blast with Feeders; it was my holiday read, and I absolutely devoured it.

Like the last Stephens book I read, The Girls in the Cabin, the tension is immaculate. Stephs does not skimp on the gore and violence without going too overboard–it’s all in the small details. Like my art teacher in high school stressed, a little paint goes a long way. Stephens is also excellent at writing characters who we both root for and want to see how far they’ll stretch before breaking; I love his dialogue especially.

I loved Brynn as our main character–she’s determined, rough around the edges, and unafraid to stab a bitch. Our side characters are excellent as well (especially the younger brother; as an older sibling myself, I’m always fond of younger sibling characters).

Of the two books of his I’ve read, familial themes are something that tend to be central to his work, and I’ve noticed a common structure. The father is distant or struggling to connect with his children due to his past mistakes or transgressions. The mother is dead, with some portion of guilt for her death laid at the father’s feet. The older sibling holds this grudge against her father, but eventually forgives him once he puts his life on the line for her. The older sibling is extremely protective of the younger sibling, who is a total sweetheart and usually ends up being one of my favorite characters.

The monsters in this book, the titular feeders, are pretty neat. I’m not normally one for environmental creature feature horror (the issues I have with the genre are long), but the use of a near supernatural species of drilling, semi-sapient, meat-eating bugs not only circumnavigates those problems but also makes for genuinely frightening monsters. 

That said, while I was totally along for the ride during reading, once it was over and I had some time to think about it, I had several questions about the feeders that left me feeling a little dissatisfied. Plot spoilers behind spoiler tag!!

Primarily, I was confused about the feeder’s biology. They’re horror monsters, so I don’t expect something 100% real or accurate, but there were some elements that made me think back and go “wait, what?”.

For example, their diet. They feed on oil, and due to over-drilling, they rise to the surface to eat people (and only people). I’m willing to buy the jump from oil to flesh–it’s horror–but why did the feeders then also evolve to have venom? Venom is not necessary for them to eat oil, I doubt they’ve got many natural predators, and it’s not their primary way of eating people, either–they just chow down on flesh like piranhas. So why the venom? What’s the point, biologically?
There were hints that I interpreted as the venom being some kind of result of or interfacing for a feeder hive mind (explaining why the vaccine did what it did to Brynn). I wish that this element–and the feeder’s intelligence–had been explored a little more. Maybe it will be in a sequel?

FINAL THOUGHTS

This was my second Stephens book, and my favorite of his (at least, so far).

His real strength is, I think, his control of tension and pacing–at every turn he seems to ask “What’s the worst thing that could happen right now?” and then committing to it. The rare moments of (relative) peace are just long enough to allow you to catch your breath before the horror begins anew. I don’t often find a thriller that is actually thrilling, but Stephens has managed to thrill me two for two so far. I can’t wait to see what he writes next!

If you want a quick, thrilling read that is reminiscent of 90s creature-features, then I heavily Feeders. I do suggest checking the content warnings, though; the gore is extreme, and the book has heavy themes of drug addiction, domestic abuse, and mental illness.

Thank you to Caleb Stephens for sending me a review copy!!
User-defined content warnings are available via Storygraph.

As a lesbian who grew up attending church in the South, this memoir saw me. So many of Kadlec’s own experiences mirror my own, and her examination of the roles white fundamentalism and evangelical Christianity play in American culture made me make so many connections in my own life (like “oh, yeah, that was fucked up—who let this happen??”).

For example, Kadlec discusses her experience with purity culture. As soon as she pointed out that purity culture gave her, as a teen who had no suspicion about her queerness, an excuse to avoid dating boys, I sat straight up in my chair, because holy shit, that happened to me too!

I was raised Methodist, but unlike Kadlec, was not deeply invested in the faith. (I read and reread my favorite books through services and hid in the bathroom during youth group.) Purity culture was a Thing in the church for sure, but my tendency to read books through service and youth group protected me from internalizing too much.

The middle school I went to was public, so it wasn’t officially Christian, but it was, fundamentally, Christian anyway. There were three churches a block down and youth group pastors would regularly come into the cafeteria during lunch to invite non-Christian kids to youth group.

In sixth grade, we had a sex ed class. The boys were sent off to the cafeteria, while the girls shuffled into the gym’s pull-out bleachers.

I grew up in Alabama, so this sex ed class wasn’t a good one. The educator told us that women think like spaghetti and men think like waffles. After signing a paper that said we’d wait until marriage, we were given bracelets (cheap rubber, nothing fancy, with some slogan about abstinence). The V-Card metaphor was explained, with the educator telling us that giving our husband our V-Card on our wedding night would be the best moment of our lives. 

I look back and laugh about it—how could I not?

Thing is, all of this “sex ed” was actually right from the fundie playbook. The spaghetti-waffle metaphor is from a book by Bill and Pam Farrel, a married Christian couple who have also contributed writing to the deeply fundamentalist, anti-LGBTQ+ "Focus on the Family." The bracelets were, essentially, purity rings, and the paper we signed was the True Love Waits pledge with a secular veneer. The heavy focus on keeping our “V-Card” is, well, abstinence until marriage (which of course will happen and will be with a man).

Luckily, I was raised by a family who fully rejected purity culture, and laughed when I talked about the Waffle-Spaghetti thing, so I escaped without internalizing too much. 

Still, though, I remember imagining this purity card. A white business card, made of thick cardstock, with silver embossed edges. I thought about throwing it away, until I realized: abstinence means I’m not expected to date. And I felt relieved.

In a culture where I was surrounded by the pressure to show interest in men, it was almost a shield. It was something that I could use as a framework to understand my disinterest in men—I wasn’t supposed to be interested in them until it’s time to marry one.

Now, this was before I even knew that gay people existed. I didn’t know how or why the idea of marrying a man was so revolting to me, but it was, and I just wanted to ignore it. 

Mind you, the very system that gave me something to shield myself with was also responsible for creating that need in the first place. 

The only future I could envision for myself was one without community, because heterosexuality, a nuclear family, and Christianity were requirements I knew I’d never meet, even if I didn’t know how to articulate that yet.

The fact that evangelical and fundamentalist beliefs are part of the school system in America, especially in the South, is something I have been aware of for a long time. I’d never really reflected on its impact on me, though.

Reading this book was a healing experience. Kadlec’s experience as a lesbian is one I connected with, but there were so many others I deeply related to—her search for spirituality, her desire to push back against the idea that rural and religious means uneducated, her knowledge that coming out meant losing people. 

Kadlec does such a wonderful job of examining, of processing and deconstructing the ways in which fundamentalism and evangelicalism has infected American culture and politics. She not only does this through her memoir sections, but also through more academic, critical sections, which are sprinkled throughout the memoir. 

A point I found fascinating was Kadlec’s discussion of how Christianity makes martyrs, and how those martyrs are then used to create propaganda. For example, Cassie Bernall, whose martyrization is encapsulated in a question asked in Bible studies and sermons alike: “If a shooter pointed a gun at you and asked if you were Christian, would you say yes?” 

However, Kadlec notes, this martyrization does not happen to non-white Christians killed for their faith. In fact, many times, when Black Christians are killed for their faith—such as the victims of the The 16th Street Baptist Church bombing—they are not held in the same reverence. This is unsurprising, considering the role white Christianity played in opposing segregation.

(While on this topic, I also recommend Shanspeare’s excellent video “Tradwives and the White Supremacists Who Love Them” for more on white supremacy, heterosexuality, gender, and racism. https://youtu.be/jgQeoMEj0NY?si=DY_50UgwnDiYO9s6)

This is one of the many moments in Heretic where Kadlec analyzes how fundamentalism and evangelicalism support white supremacy, as well as the ways in which Christian opposition to social progress flows into one another—opposition to segregation flowed into opposition to abortion which flowed into opposition to gay rights which have, of course, flowed into the opposition to trans rights, all of which the church has used as fuel for their fire.

The only way we can fight this fire, Kadlec says, is by building something new—a community based not on religion or on legislature but on intersectional queer joy. 

As Kadlec quotes from artist Micah Bazant, “No Pride For Some of Us Without Liberation For All of Us.” (https://www.micahbazant.com/marsha-p-johnson)

I’m going to wrap up the review now before I go on for another thousand words. 

Heretic is amazing. I suggest it heavily to anyone interested in queer memoirs or are, like me, interested in interrogating the influence of fundamentalism and evangelicalism on American culture. 

Readers who love Carmen Maria Machado’s In the Dream House need to pick up Heretic next. And when you do, let me know what you thought—I’m desperate to talk about this book!

To Jeanna Kadlec for reaching out to offer a review copy—thank you, truely.

If you are interested in Heretic, find more information here. https://www.jeannakadlec.com/books 

If possible, support indie bookshops by purchasing the novel from your local brick and mortar or from Bookshop.org!

_This audiobook was received as an ARC through Netgalley._

The narrator is fantastic (seriously, she did such a good job with character voices--she's an amazing actress). However, due to life, I just haven't had time to listen to it. Enough time has passed that I'd need to restart entirely to refresh the plot.

I did love what I read and want to return some day! The writing and character work were excellent.

This review is based on a digital ARC recieved via Netgalley.

A super fun collection of short stories based on Japanese urban legends, connected by the titular, mysterious horror collector, who shows up in each story as a side character.

I think this collection would be perfect for a middle grade reader who likes anime or manga, books like Goosebumps, and movies like Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. I probably would have been too scared to read it as a kid myself, especially since the stories are not shy about killing off their protagonists. (Not graphically, of course, but still. Whether or not the main character survives is entirely up to chance.)

First ten percent was almost pure infodump, heavy on the tell, skimpy on the show. It didn’t pull me in.

Also, despite the authors letter opening with a discussion about the war crimes committed by Japan (with specific mention of Unit 731), the bad guys are, for some reason, Rome? But a version of Rome that’s Definitely Not Just Britain, which is something I personally dislike—if you say Rome, I want Rome, not Britain with a splash of paint over it.

[Edit: Watching and reading reviews now, I'm so glad I DNF'd this.]