Cleopatra

Cleopatra

by Saara El-Arifi

Ballantine, 2026. 352 pages. Historical

You know my name. But you do not know me. Your historians call me seductress, but I was ever in love's thrall. Your playwrights speak of witchcraft, but my talents came from the gods themselves. Your poets sing of my bloodlust, but I was always protecting my children. How willfully they refuse to concede that a woman could be powerful, strategic, and divinely blessed to rule. Death will silence me no longer. This is not the story of how I died. But how I lived.

I love when authors reimagine a historical figure in creative historical fiction, and this one reminded me of work by Jennifer Saint and Madeline Miller. In this work, El-Arifi has certainly interpreted multiple historical texts and presents a more accurate and authentic memoir-style biographical fiction of a powerful woman from classical antiquity, steeped in the mythology and lore of her time. But she does much more than that.

El-Arifi tells Cleopatra's story and makes her the center of it, rather than the historical patriarchal focus of her effect on the men around her. She dismantles the male gaze on this powerful queen by birthright and portrays her as the intelligent sovereign ruler she was. At the same time, El-Arifi avoids twisting Cleopatra into the mold of a feminist icon with a chip on her shoulder. Cleopatra shines as a complex, flawed character with ambition and mistakes, cruelty and loss, regrets and strategic prowess. 

This work is a breath of fresh air in a world where women are constantly denigrated by men in positions of power and reduced to epithets like "seductress", "whore", and "bitch" by sexist political leaders. There's nothing in this character that panders to insecure misogynistic little boys who call themselves men, nor should there be.

The Iron Garden Sutra

The Iron Garden Sutra

by A. D. Sui

Erewhon, 2026. 383 pages. Sci Fi / Horror.

Vessel Iris has devoted himself to the Starlit Order as a death monk, performing funeral rites for the dead across the galaxy. The spaceship Counsel of Nicaea has been lost for more than a thousand years, its passengers reduced to dust and bone. A relic of Earth’s dying past, its sudden appearance has attracted a team of academics eager to investigate its archaeological history, and Iris has been assigned to bring peace to the crew’s long-departed souls. Carpeted in moss and intertwined with vines, Nicaea is more forest than ship, but the plant life isn’t the only thing to have survived the centuries. Something aboard is stalking the explorers one by one, and Iris may be their only hope for survival.

I resonated with the remarkably contemplative tone regarding prejudice, religious doubt, and the ethics of AI, all in the context of essentially a cosmic horror tale. The use of sentient AI as an implanted companion creates an interesting dynamic between Iris and his friend/helper/abuser, and it raises the question of AI rights: can personhood be defined by any physical criterion, or is sentience sufficient? The characters were well-rounded, especially the protagonist Iris, and the atmosphere was immersive. At times, the plot slowed enough to enjoy this lush landscape that Sui has created (and to give the reader a reprieve from the traditional intensifying pace of horror). This book is well-primed for a sequel without being a cliffhanger, which seems to be a difficult balance to strike. 

A heads up to those who struggle with disordered eating that this occurs throughout the work (a lot).

The Merge

The Merge

by Grace Walker

Mariner, 2025. 320 pages. Sci Fi.

Laurie is sixty-five and living with Alzheimer’s. Her daughter Amelia, a once fiery and strong-willed activist, can’t bear to see her mother’s mind fade. Faced with the reality of losing her forever, Amelia signs them up to take part in the world’s first experimental merging process for Alzheimer’s patients, in which Laurie’s ailing mind will be transferred into Amelia’s healthy body, and their consciousness will be blended as one. Soon Amelia and Laurie join the opaque and mysterious group of merge participants. As they prepare to move to The Village, a luxurious rehabilitation center for those who have merged, they quickly begin to question whether everything is really as it seems.

This dark, complex debut stuck with me after I finished reading. The futuristic, borderline dystopian society provides a immersive backdrop for this thought-provoking dive into tough topics like personal identity and freedom, the nature of selfishness, ethical limits in scientific studies, sacrifice and self-care, mental health stigma and suicide, and end-of-life care. It's giving Black Mirror in the best possible way, including the excoriating social commentary and lingering sense of unease that regular viewers appreciate.

Walker delivers a character-focused multiple-POV narrative whose seamless transitions from voice to voice are beautifully captured in the audio co-narration. This works creeps towards psychological horror without quite crossing over. There is significant disturbing content, including suicide, memory loss, medical content, death, and more that I'm probably forgetting, as well as open-door sex scenes (which of course cannot be included uniformly under the heading "disturbing content").

I'm not sure how I felt about the ending. Some have called it open, which is generously understated: so she was drugged, and what of her mom? She's just gone? And what happened next? That's somehow worse than the "it was all just a dream" trope. It seemed rather abrupt and underdeveloped, as if the idea was either inexplicably forestalled or a slapdash eleventh-hour addition. Honestly, the ambiguous and unexpected conclusion was a little jarring and incongruous with the work, despite its otherwise intensifying pace (that really exploded around the midpoint!) and fantastic prior plot twists; I can't be entirely sure that that was wholly intentional.

No One Aboard

No One Aboard

by Emy McGuire

Graydon House, 2025. 368 pages. Thriller.

At the start of summer, billionaire couple Francis and Lila Cameron set off on their private luxury sailboat to celebrate the high school graduation of their two beloved children. Three weeks later, the Camerons have not been heard from, the captain hasn’t responded to radio calls, and the sailboat is found floating off the coast of Florida. Empty. Where are the Camerons? What happened on their trip? And ultimately, who is more dangerous to a family: a stormy ocean or each other?

I was not privileged to grow up in a household where sailing was commonplace. I remember sailing a few times at Scout camp to get a merit badge, but that took place in a reservoir in central Utah rather than the illustrious world of the Rich and Famous™. That said, I enjoyed this glimpse into this foreign world of excess, with its toxic family relationships and manipulative, deceitful secrets. There was a fair amount of the kind of family drama that makes so many reality TV so binge-worthy. 

The intensifying pace (which admittedly begins a tad slow) and not quite definable sense of unease and foreboding made for an eye-opening closed-room who-dun-it thriller; I honestly thought that it could have been just about anyone because they all were awful humans who, being candid, I don't think deserved to survive this story. They all should've been held accountable for their crimes, but maybe that makes this work all the more relatable to us plebeians. Be ready for multiple timelines and POVs, but not the jarring kind that fragments a story.

Hearts in Circulation

Hearts in Circulation

by Sarah Monzon

Bethany House, 2025. 304 pages. Romance.

Book #2 in the series "Checking Out Love" (but can be read as a stand-alone)

Circulation librarian Haley Holt is afraid that the ramshackle Little Creek bookmobile isn't quite fit for service. Her fears come true when the bookmobile breaks down and a rockslide traps her in the small hollow of Turkey Grove. Reclusive mechanic Levi Redding lives there to get away from people. He can handle getting the bookmobile running again, but the endless chatter and unsettling touch from the vibrant librarian leaves him overstimulated. When forced proximity leads to a misunderstanding, a note of apology begins an epistolary friendship, proving that sometimes the happiest of endings aren't contained within the bindings of a book. 

Given my line of work, I'm a bit biased toward stories that favorably depict librarians. This lighthearted romance brings awareness of sensory issues and other forms of neurodivergence, as well as discussing mental health topics like grief and fear, and the importance of libraries to communities. Monzon deftly weaves in these topics into the narrative without becoming preachy or dry. While the chemistry did seem a bit contrived and unrealistically instant, the literary references and cute kittens (I'm being for real) sold me on this sweet, fluffy romcom read, just in time for upcoming Valentine festivities.

This work is marketed by Bethany House as a "Christian romance" (as are all of their publications), but there is very little reference to religion or God beyond mealtime prayer. The eleventh hour mention of faith came across as almost abrupt, as if an editor hastily crammed it in last minute to meet a benchmark or quota. Readers used to this subgenre may be uncomfortable with the spice level, which admittedly does not rise much above (abundant and passionate) on-page kissing; heaven forbid delicate sensibilities are offended by the thought of a couple cohabitating outside of wedlock (gasp!).

Bury Your Gays

Bury Your Gays

by Chuck Tingle

Tor Nightfire, 2024. 295 pages. Horror.

Misha knows that chasing success in Hollywood can be hell. But finally, after years of trying to make it, his big moment is here: an Oscar nomination. And the executives at the studio for his long-running streaming series know just the thing to kick his career to the next level: kill off the gay characters, "for the algorithm," in the upcoming season finale. Misha refuses, but he soon realizes that he’s just put a target on his back. And what’s worse, monsters from his horror movie days are stalking him and his friends through the hills above Los Angeles. Haunted by his past, Misha must risk his entire future – before the horrors from the silver screen find a way to bury him for good.

I'll be the first to admit that horror isn't my first go-to genre. But I've been trying to appreciate the genre more. Tingle strikes a good chord here with a clever storyline that evoked discomfort with its gory, graphic, upsetting descriptions of body horror. 

I was surprised by the undertones (or overtones?) that spoke to corporate greed and queer erasure in media, and I didn't expect to be that deeply touched by this work. Plus, these topics are handled in a way that doesn't come across as heavy-handed or pedantic, nor does it detract from the storytelling. 

While the pacing lagged a touch in the middle, I was strangely uplifted by the value of honoring all parts of yourself and refusing to hide your identity. It's fair to say that I didn't foresee any of this, given Tingle's enormous self-published œuvre which largely comprises satire and what one might call performance art in prose (and what is technically gay monster erotica).