LOST LAMBS – Madeline Cash

This is likely going to be an unpopular opinion based the positively gushing reviews all over, but I didn’t like Madeline Cash’s Lost Lambs. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux 2026) It was quite nearly a rare DNF for me. Perhaps I’m so hard on it because it bills itself on being the exact type of quirky family story I tend to enjoy, but quirk without heart doesn’t do it for me. And I couldn’t find the heart in this novel.

If you don’t want it spoiled, don’t keep reading.  That’s the only warning you’ll get.

It started out strong, I will give it that. But it falls flat, the timeline gets a touch jumbled, the ending is rushed, and the characters lose steam. And, as mentioned, there is little to no heart in the quirk.

There’s Harper, who reminded me a bit of an older and grittier Beverly Cleary’s Ramona. She’s smart and wicked, precocious and cutting. She’s always getting in trouble and ends up at a wilderness camp for troubled kids where she “becomes a woman.” Then there’s the middle daughter, Louise, who has found herself in a relationship with an online fundamentalist who is coaching her through bombing a beauty pageant at the church.  Abigail, the oldest, is gorgeous and young, rendering her perfect for the human trafficking ring her dad’s boss runs. Catherine, their mother, has decided that her had Bud should have an open marriage. Bud becomes suicidal until his supervisor encourages him to join the Lost Lambs support group, where he meets Miss. Winkle. In turn, he notices the cargo problem at work (which is the human trafficking) simply because he’s trying to be a good employee to get a bonus to take her on a trip.

Oh, and there is a priest with a questionable history and questionable current involvement with Bud’s boss and that masked group of friends who like young women.  (Don’t worry, it’s only trafficking young woman to drain their blood because therein lies immortality. Most survive.)

Then there’s the gnat problem. The church is overrun with gnats, and someone decided it would be funny and quirky to give the book a gnat problem. Every “nat” in the novel becomes “gnat” – at least until they fumigate the church – dognate instead of donate, gnatural instead of natural.  It’s not cute and charming. It’s not funny. It was annoying as shit for over half the novel.

I felt this novel simply tried too hard.  But as I said, most folks seem to love it.

I did, however, love the cover.

TOM’S CROSSING – Mark Z. Danielewski

“I am no more her then she is anymore me now.”

“The Illiad cannot contain what the horses have to say. It has neither the ear for their speech nor for their hearts.”

“You get what you deserve when you ride with cowards.”

“ ‘You could stick around and help me dig up Landry,’ Kalin said then. “ ‘Who?’”

“I dreamt once I had a pony, but what I rode was a myth.”

I could keep with the quotes, the ones that rip or bruise the skin, some sharp some dull, but all landing on their mark – the novel is over 1200 pages after all, it’s not wanting of quotable passages – but I’ll limit it to these. Suffice it to say, Mark Z. Danielewski’s Tom’s Crossing (Patheon Books 2025) is likely going to be my top read of 2026 and is undoubtedly in my top ten of the last decade. It is Lonesome Dove (Kalin is Cal and Tom is Gus) meets my favorite King novels, kissed with Holes, of all things – and what emerges is something epic and ambitious, a ghost story of a western that breathes life into ancient legends and local lore while never getting too comfortable in its own skin. It’s a smart, slow burn that builds anxiety and twists at the heart and guts of the reader with a skilled precision – ambitious in scope but never once slipping.

The novel is about the friendship between two boys, Tom and Kalin, and their bond with the two horses that don’t belong to them – Mouse and Navidad. When Tom is on his deathbed, Kalin promises to finish what they’d started – to free the two horses by taking them to the Crossing, a dangerous journey up the canyon walls that most would say is impassable and impossible. Tom’s younger sister, Landry, overhears the promise and, when the time comes, sets out on her trusty steed, Jojo, to join Kalin, who is being led by the ghost of her brother on his ghost horse, Ash.

What happens next is the stuff people sing songs about, make paintings about. Seriously, the novel is littered with the art born of Kalin and Landry’s adventure into the canyon, the multiple confrontations with the notorious and blood thirsty Porch family, a layered retelling such that the reader doesn’t know who is telling the story (I had my theories but received definitive proof around page 500) or how it’s going to end up. (Heroes don’t die, right?) It’s a story of a story. Chapter 22 is about an art show centered around those October 1982 events (I’ve seen criticism about that chapter, but it was a necessary breather of information, almost a recap of the proceeding hundreds of pages – that served to add its own layer.)

There were 3 brief scenes that gutted me.

Russel and Cavalry after Russel’s death. (There are actually about three parts where this comes up and my heart broke in all three.)

Tom forgetting Landry.

How Kalin meets his end. 

Just read this book.

Things of note

The curse.

The role of the Church and the history of the Church.

Politics and landgrabs.

The relationship between Sondra and Allison.

The intentional use of Calvary instead of Cavalry when discussing Egan’s horse.

Landry, adopted at age 6, being Samoan and African American.

Kalin’s father having killed a Black cop.

The murder of Tom and Landry’s father.

Kalin’s hat going from white to black.

Kalin’s two talents.

The pieces in the art show, including the thumb nail.

The Porch and Gatestone feud.

The animals.  All of them.

COLORED TELEVISION – Danzy Senna

I wanted to like Danzy Senna’s Colored Television (Riverhead Books 2024) more than I did. Perhaps I’ve unfairly held her work up to that of her husband’s (Percival Everett), but I felt the novel missed its mark. There’s some fantastic stuff here, particularly with the build up of Jane and pacing of the novel, but so much is underdeveloped and lacking development – which may be intentional as part of Jane’s own bias.

Both Jane and her artist husband, Lenny, are extremely unlikable. Jane is working on her second novel – she’s been working on it for a decade.  They’ve spent the past year staying at her friend’s house, housing sitting for Brett while he’s on set in Australia.  It’s easy to pretend his home and life is her’s. She drinks his wine, wears his wife’s clothes, and imagines a world where his successes are her’s.  But Brett is coming back and while she’s finally finished her novel, her agent and editor remain unimpressed.  So, Jane gets a little desperate in a now or never attempt to “make it.”

The writing is sharp – a scathing look at layered racism as experienced by the biracial Jane. Jane’s desperation and Senna’s writing gives the novel the taste of a thriller but ultimately doesn’t deliver.

Writers writing about writers is usually hit or miss for me.  This was a miss.

THE THIRD GILMORE GIRL – Kelly Bishop

Gilmore Girls is one of my comfort shows. I put it on as background noise when I’m working, reading, sleeping. It is soothing.  Kelly Bishop’s The Third Gilmore Girl: A Memoir (read by the author – Gallery Books 2024) had that same soft comfort to it; her oh so recognizable voice captivated me as she spoke about what is arguably the real life of a show girl.

It’s relatively hard to review someone’s life, or rather the life they’ve chosen to tell us. Did Bishop have a fascinating life? Absolutely.  Do I wish we went more than surface deep in talking about it? I do.  What she does carry throughout the entire text and carry well is her role as a woman, daughter, and wife in an industry where she wanted her independence and HER name. 

Memoirs are tricky – especially when you’re not spilling any “tea” or shining a light on any skeletons. Bishop doesn’t really spurn anyone (except maybe her no good first husband), and she speaks favorably about her castmates. She stands up for Amy when it comes to network discussions regarding both Gilmore Girls and Bunheads. It would seem if you’re in Bishop’s inner circle, you are in her circle forever.  While she tells us about her connections, she holds us arm’s length; we are not deserving of that inner circle.  While it makes the memoir seem incomplete, I appreciate it – Bishop’s life is her’s and she doesn’t owe us her feelings or past – we can read between the lines.  But one thing she doesn’t mince words on it is that fact that Kelly Bishop is a girl’s girl.  Always.

If you want to pick it up, I’d strongly recommend the audio book.

KATABASIS – R.F. Kuang

“Don’t worry, it can’t hurt them. It’s only a memory.”

The discourse around R.F. Kuang’s Katabasis (HarperCollins 2025) has been absolutely ridiculous; the book community is certainly not immune to the toxic nature bred and natured by online communities. So, I’ll begin with this – if you didn’t like this novel, it doesn’t mean you’re stupid or better than. If you did like this novel, it doesn’t mean you’re smart or a sheep. Period. The discourse is honestly why I delayed reading it.  Having now read it, my thoughts are much the same as they were with Babel; it’s not a five star read FOR ME.  I said the following about Babel, and it applies here as well:

“So why wasn’t it a five-star read? The storytelling itself.  It is at times redundant and repetitive, with a heavy focus on telling not showing.”

Much like Babel, there are some great things at work here, and I do think the storytelling is a bit better with this one, but it just didn’t wow me. I will say, however, the novel, particularly the first ¾, is hilarious. There’s a dryness to Alice that I loved. Don’t get me wrong, both her and Peter are insufferable academics, but when that sharp wit pops up, tapdancing between low and high brow, it got me grinning.

The criticism of the novel being too pretentious is a bit unfair. Yes, Kuang is smart, and yes, she wants her reader to know and yes, she is Alice. But she knows what she is and she wrote a story that embraces that wholly – it’s dark academia after all. Academics ARE pretentious.  And Kuang is not blind to how it comes across, she leans into it ON PURPOSE. And it works well – even more so here than in Babel. The best parts are the juxtaposition of scholar and kid who just wants to rot on the sofa in front of tele – been there, done that.

I’ve studied at Oxford. I have a MA in multicultural literature. I rubbed elbows with scholars and spent time in stacks. I get it. I do. While I lost my thesis director prior to defending,  she did not go to hell (Gay Wilentz was a wonderful scholar and person), and I did not have to go retrieve her. (But I can recall, with clarity, the extreme grief and panic that consumed me when she finally lost her battle with ALS.)  Perhaps that is why I enjoy Kuang’s dark academia – there’s something nostalgic about it, even if I never studied magic.  I’m sorry… magick.

It’s a quick read, really.  The end is meh, but I’d still recommend it.  Just distance yourself from the discourse and enjoy it for what it is.

SUNRISE ON THE REAPING – Suzanne Collins

I can’t read when I’m sick, and the first of year brought that wicked creeping crud along with it. And that’s where Libby comes in – during my feverish state, I listened to Sunrise on the Reaping by Suzanne Collins, narrated by Jefferson White. Now it’s been a hot minute since I’ve been in the Hunger Games, but I think this might be the best novel of that world.  Is it repetitive?  Yes. Does it recast scenes from Katniss’s games with Haymitch? Absolutely. But it works.  Because we all knew Haymitch was watching history repeat itself when he served as Katniss’s mentor.

I don’t much know what I can say about Sunrise that hasn’t already been said.  I can say, however, I’m glad Collins went back to this world. I think she’s grown as an author, and I think Haymitch deserved his story. What I will never understand, however, is how folks who grew up with this series, those who eagerly grabbed this prequel, will insist reading isn’t political.  How can you not recognize our current world reflected in the text? How could those who grew up wanting to be Katniss become the capital darlings?

As a reminder, reading IS political.  Read better. Be better.

THE THIRD LOVE – Hiromi Kawakami

“Long ago. Saying those words puts me in a strong mood. Long ago – what does that mean? I’m not all that young, but I’m not that old either.”

I’ve been meaning to read more works in translations outside of my read the world challenge, and Hiromi Kawakami’s The Third Love (translated from the Japanese by Ted Gooseen) (Soft Skull Press 2025) fit that bill. (A huge thanks to the publisher for the finished copy!)

I’m not the biggest fan of time-bending/time travel novels, but the dream travel utilized here works extremely well.

Riko, a modern woman, fell in love with the man she’d marry when she was a toddler. She ultimately married him, but all that glittered wasn’t exactly gold; the marriage is marked by infidelity that he is not even ashamed of. When she reconnects with the janitor for her elementary school, Riko learns magic. She escapes her modern life and unhappy marriage by traveling back in time – first, she finds herself as a high-ranking courtesan in the seventeenth century and then as a serving lady to a princess in the Middle Ages. The different lives and worlds she finds herself center heavily on traditional Japanese literature and legend. While I wish I had a stronger foundation (I have The Tale of Genji, but I’ve never read it), such background isn’t necessary to enjoy the worlds Kawakami has given the reader.

As Riko dream travels, she is able to draw parallels between the lives she’s joined, Japanese literature, and her present life and relationships. The novel takes an open look at the role of women across centuries, especially as related to sex, child-rearing, motherhood, and love in general.

It’s certainly worth adding to your stacks.

JAX FREEMAN AND THE PHANTOM SHRIEK – Kwame Mbalia

“It’s been seven hours and nineteen minutes since I, Jackson Freeman, turned twelve, moved across the country into a house of doom, and abandoned everything I ever knew and loved, only to be accused of tomfoolery. Me!  Tomfoolery!”

I do love a well-done middle grade novel, and I adore Kwame Mbalia. (You may recall how much I love the Tristan Strong series.) It doesn’t hurt that Mbalia is an NC author, and I love to support NC creatives. Mbalia’s characters are so full of voice and life, and Jackson “Jax” Freeman is no different. I might still be partial to Tristan, but I am quite fond of Jax.

Comparing Jax Freeman and the Phantom Shriek to Harry Potter cheapens what Mbalia is doing, but the comparison is right there – a boy who doesn’t know he is magic, magic classes, a group of kids who have to save the world – but this isn’t Harry Potter. Mbalia magic relies heavily on root magic, the role of ancestors, and rich cultures that embraced oral storytelling traditions. He sets his novels in America, this time Chicago, with a history that is not ignored. Mbalia’s novels are magic, yes, but part of that magic is the sheer heart and history behind them.

Jax is sent to Chicago to live with relatives after a scandal in Raleigh. He’s immediately accosted at the train station and inanimate objects begin talking to him. A food vendor blows some type of dust in his face, and a conductor tries to steal his skin. It’s an interesting first day in Chicago. Jax soon learns that he is a summoner and comes from a longline of talented Freemans, talented but unliked. With a new group of friends, Jax sets out to clear his great great grandfather’s name and his own.

If you need a palate cleanser or a book to read along with your littles, this is it.  (And the Tristan Strong trilogy of course!)

THE SILVER BOOK – Olivia Laing

“It’s not a story you can kiss better, but he kisses him all the same, wrapping both arms around his slender waist.”

I’ve mentioned before that my ten before the end was derailed by library holds – the most recent was Olivia Laing’s The Silver Book ( Farrar, Straus and Giroux  2025). The slender volume has whispers of Booker-type, blending fact and fiction in 1970s Italian cinema in a way that is at times both opulent and scarce.  Unfortunately, the novel never reached its full potential for this reader.

Dubbed a queer love story with a noirish quality, the novel is set in the months leading up to the murder of Pier Paolo Pasolini in 1975.  The story alternates POVs between Nicholas / Nico (a young English artist on the run) and Danilo Donati / Dani (the renowned Italian custom and set designer). Danilo is a real figure; Nico and his relationship with the designer is fiction.   Dani takes Nico under his wing, as both a lover and an apprentice.  Nico draws buildings and images that Dani will in turn work his magic on for the set.  Their relationship is built on questionable grounds with significant power imbalance, but I will concede there is a love story here between the tortured young artist and the older man.

Dani and Nico are working on Pasolini’s Salo, or the 120 Days of Sodom, young Nico wholly unaware and naïve as to the dangers, even after Pasolini is severely beaten. Nico’s flight from England following the death of a lover is likely where the novel gets the noirish label, and Laing does initially feed that by giving hints that Nico was involved in the man’s death. Is he running because he killed a man or is he running from grief or is he running from a ghost? I thought Alan’s death would factor in a bit more, but it was a bit of a bust. Other than making Nico a bit morose and random hints at a haunting, Alan seems a crutch to prop Nico up and a bridge to a relationship with Pasolini. Nico is not a well-developed character even though there are numerous opportunities to add a wee bit of flesh. Any spark of interest about him is quickly dimmed – even at the end when he becomes unwittingly involved in a series of events that will have Pasolini murdered.

Liang does a way with words, and they clearly did their research into the time period, the theories surrounding Pasolini and the film, and the other larger than life characters.  Their reliance on the pretty flat Nico to propel the story forward kept the novel from reaching its full potential.

PALAVER – Bryan Washington

My ten before the end got hijacked by library holds, so who knows what the last few days of 2025 will bring reading wise. I just finished another National Book Award finalist – Bryan Washington’s Palaver (Farrar, Straus and Giroux 2025).  This is my first Washington;  Memorial  has been on my “to be put on my to be read” stack for a while, but it never happened. I really enjoyed Palaver.

The novel centers around “the son”  and “the mother.”  The son is an English tutor in Tokyo and his chosen family, which includes a complex cast of characters and relationships, including one with a married man.  The son is estranged from his mother and homophobic brother. He drinks a lot and has panic attacks and suicidal ideation. The “mother” is Jamaican and works at a dentist office in Texas. When the “son” calls her after years of silence, she immediately makes arrangements to go to him believing something is wrong.  (It was.) Once she is Tokyo, they work at rebuilding their relationship while also dealing independently with the past and choices made. While the son is the main character, I think the mother took center stage.  Her memories of her brother and best friend are caked in such emotion.

The novel is tender and hilarious, full of an intimate charm that brings you in as a welcomed part of the lives of the mother and son. There aren’t easy answers or ready forgiveness, but there’s growth and an understanding of the scar tissue each carry.  It’s such a well-done novel full of heart while not holding back any punches. (and the sections are split up with gorgeous photography)