The Woman Who Rides Like a Man by Tamora Pierce (audio)

Posted on October 26, 2026 by pagesofjulia

Book three in a quartet that began here and is flying by. In The Woman Who Rides Like a Man, Alanna has been newly knighted, and the world now knows that she is a woman. We find her traveling through the southern desert (because it is winter and she loathes the cold) with her faithful manservant and trainer, Corum, as her only company. She is in search of adventure, and also legitimacy in the eyes of a court that does not generally approve of women warriors. She finds the first, at least, with the Bazhir, a loose nation of desert folk, and the Bloody Hawk tribe within that people. There is a battle, she proves herself by combat, she is adopted by the tribe; but the existing shaman views her as an enemy, mostly for her gender. After she kills him in a fight she never wanted in the first place, she is tasked with becoming the Bloody Hawk’s shaman in his stead, until she can train a suitable replacement. (There are some interesting cultural questions here; I am more or less as surprised as Alanna that such an important role should go to an outsider.) Of course, the candidates to replace her turn out to be two girls, something that does not bother Alanna but gives the tribe some further trouble.

“I think I’m leaving you in a fairly quiet place,” [Corum] began as he unpacked in his tent. Alanna was watching as she scratched Faithful’s ears. “You weren’t well enough known here that you could get into any trouble, and I thought they’d stay away from ye. But I come back and you’re the mother-blessed shaman of the tribe! You’ve adopted three young ones and you’re forcin’ the women to accept two of their own sittin’ with the men!”

“You’re turning purple,” Alanna commented when he stopped for breath.

But as the Woman Who Rides Like a Man (so called by her new tribespeople, with respect and admiration), she is well placed to push for such a revolution.

In the course of her accomplishments with the Bloody Hawk, Alanna also enjoys a reunion with Prince Jonathan, and they renew their love affair. He asks her to marry him, and one day become his queen; but this will lead in a different direction than he hopes.

By this novel’s end, the prospects for the kingdom of Tortall are looking up, based upon Jonathan’s work with the Bloody Hawk, which is in turn made possible (I’d argue) by Alanna’s relationships. But Alanna’s personal life remains in some upheaval. She’s come a ways from the time when she told the goddess she would never love; in one of her quieter revolutions in what women can be, Alanna takes lovers as she pleases. But she hasn’t settled on what exactly it is that she wants. Luckily, we head into book four with another quest on the horizon.

These books were originally published in the 1980s and have aged remarkably well. I think there is room for some concern in the portrayal of the desert tribespeople, but it does not feel (at least to this reader) necessarily objectionable. I’d defer to a sensitivity reader, perhaps.

I do still love Alanna and her attitudes and adventures, and am looking forward to what the final book in the quartet may hold.

Rating: 7 swords.

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In the Hand of the Goddess by Tamora Pierce (audio)

Posted on October 16, 2026 by pagesofjulia

Book 2 in the Song of the Lioness quartet continues to please. We know Alanna from the eponymous first book, where we left her mid-adventure. We meet her again still in-scene, though we’ve fast-forwarded; she is a competent and respected squire approaching the trial she must endure to become a knight. And she is dreading it, to an extent that feels a little inexplicable to this reader; she has been so good at everything she’s tried so far, although often as not that’s a feature of hard work. Alanna still lives as a boy, now a young man, with only a few close friends knowing her truth. This generally means she’s the smallest, and there is always some self-doubt.

One of the trajectories she goes through in this novel is her resistance to ‘love’ (or, as it sometimes seems, sex). It is also increasingly necessary that she live the truth of her identity. It’s never been a question that Alanna feels like a girl – she even wishes for a little more knowledge of how to wear women’s clothing and be ‘pretty.’ She poses as a boy for the privileges it provides her, to study the martial arts, and not as a matter of identity. So, one of the places we see her moving is toward declaring her true identity – but only after she achieves knighthood.

The other plot thread that provides tension is that of a threat to the throne, most pointedly in the form of its heir, Prince Jonathan, who is Alanna’s good friend and perhaps something more. The threat comes from inside the royal circle, and is magical as well as substantial; a supernatural weapon is used to obscure the truth, leaving Alanna mostly alone in fighting it. That storyline will come to a head alongside the question of where Alanna puts her breasts, as one friend forms that inquiry.

I still appreciate Trini Alvarado’s reading of these books, which is just a little clipped in a way that feels just right. (Maybe I’ll describe that better in book three.) It’s all a grand adventure, and I feel invested in the growth of our heroine, who very much rides into the sunrise at the book’s end. Even after these decades, she feels like a worthwhile hero, not at all dated. See you soon!

Rating: 7 phantom swords.

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The Correspondent by Virginia Evans (audio)

Posted on October 5, 2026 by pagesofjulia

Best book of the year. Thanks, Liz

An epistolary novel, via audiobook with a multitude of narrators: Maggi-Meg Reed reads the correspondent herself, Sybil Stone Van Antwerp, a formidable woman turning 73 when we first meet her. The rest of the cast read the parts of others, those who correspond in turn with Sybil, and several of these read more than one role: Jane Oppenheimer, Carly Robins, Jeff Ebner, David Pittu, Chris Andrew Ciulla, Mark Bramhall, Petrea Burchard, Robert Petkoff, Kimberly Farr, Cerris Morgan-Moyer, Peter Ganim, Jade Wheeler… and “various,” who I assume are Steve West and Jen Siebert?, two names verbally credited on this production but who I can find nowhere in print (so I’m inventing those spellings, sorry, best effort). While usually a single narrator handles a novel well, changing voices for different characters, I do appreciate the choice here. For one thing, a letter rarely opens with “Dear Sybil, this is John” or whatnot, and as I learned the voices (and accents!), it helped.

So. An epistolary novel, told entirely in letters (and less frequently, emails or notes) to and from our eponymous main character. Sybil is a hell of a character. I would call her, especially early on, indomitable, indefatigable, domineering, pushy, opinionated, bossy – some of these being the things we call a strong woman when we don’t like her very much. This book has pulled off that rarity: a generally unlikeable protagonist whom we still care deeply about. I did find myself applauding Sybil from time to time, especially later in the book, but she’s not easy to like. She is a flawed but eventually deeply sympathetic character, who has lived more than seven decades and has collected her share of disappointments and regrets. Remarkably, she is still capable in her 70s of learning new ways to be, trying new things, and – rarest of all – admitting she was wrong. By the end I’m quite proud of her (although I’m still not sure she’d be easy to like). We follow her selected correspondence for most of a decade, until it ends. And in these years, as Sybil puts it, her life is very full. Among other things, she entertains two suitors; finds some of her biological family for the first time (after adoption as an infant); embarks upon international travel for effectively* the first time; experiences a life-altering medical change; and navigates several important apologies or discussions of old wrongs. These are deeply impressive.

[*with an important exception which she argues should not count.]

I don’t know that I will attempt much more plot summary. Evans offers a full cast of fascinating characters as correspondents, including Sybil’s family (one adoptive brother with whom she is close; one adult child with whom she is not) and loved ones (her best friend with whom she has exchanged letters since they were children), strangers (authors and other public figures), and friends new and old. I felt the most tenderness for Sybil when she was addressing children, which she does with remarkable gentleness and wisdom for someone who can also be quite harsh, and when she was facing her own old mistakes. There is a customer service representative she emails with, who becomes quite something else (despite one of Sybil’s more face-palm faux pas in her opening missive). The richness and variety in these correspondents is delicious. I especially appreciate that while many of her regular letter-writers are of her generation, there is some diversity in age as well as in most every other sort of identity. Sybil tells us that we’d be surprised: much of the time she writes to someone, they write her back.

The argument is made that it’s easier to tell hard truths in writing than out loud, and we do get some heavy confessions and storytelling, from Sybil and from others. It is often a sad book, and Sybil is troubled and scarred, but she is as strong and awesome as she is flawed, in the end. I did really appreciate such a nuanced portrait of a protagonist who is both older and not automatically likeable; I think the novelist’s feat here is complex. I can’t stop thinking or talking about it, and I feel sure this will be the best book I read all year.

Rating: 9 cakes.

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Alanna by Tamora Pierce (audio)

Posted on September 28, 2026 by pagesofjulia

I’m certain I got this title off a recommendations list somewhere on the Shelf Awareness site, but that source appears lost to me now. It’s a book about as old as I am, but has not paled, nor does it feel especially dated. Trini Alvarado narrates this audio version, and I liked her style: a little unadorned, with a snappy pace, not lingering; but still with emotion in dialog.

Alanna is a twin of minor nobility, with no mother, and a distracted father. Her brother Thom (being a boy) is destined to go to the king’s court to train to become a knight – something he wants not at all. Alanna (being a girl) will be sent to a convent to study magic. Though powerful, she’s not crazy about that set of abilities; she’d rather study the fighting arts in Tom’s stead. And so it is Alanna’s idea to more or less switch places: they forge letters that send Thom to study magic, on his way to becoming a sorcerer, and invent his twin brother Alan, who will go to court to serve as page, then squire, then hopefully knight.

Accompanied by family servant and former soldier Coram (who is reluctant to help, but confesses that Alanna was always the more talented fighter, and anyway she threatens him with her magic), “Alan” does indeed go to court. The training is hard work, but her pride is helpful in the context of the chivalric code. She discovers quickly that it is important to take punishment without complaint. When she is bullied, she does not tattle, but trains harder until she can defeat her enemy on her own terms. Despite being the littlest, she overcomes obstacle after obstacle. She must eventually reveal her magic to save a friend’s life (especially because that friend is an heir to the throne); it is harder still to reveal her true identity as Alanna, but puberty comes for us all. I loved everything about this story of adventure and intrigue, and only found that it ended too soon, practically mid-escapade – but that only leaves me ready for the rest of what seems to be a fast-paced little series. Cheers to plucky girls!

Rating: 7 tankards of lemonade.

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Elsewhere by Gabrielle Zevin (audio)

Posted on September 21, 2026 by pagesofjulia

From the author of The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry, I found this earlier novel for younger readers. In a nutshell, I appreciated its thought-provoking nature, but some parts left me not entirely comfortable. I found the dialog a little stilted (‘however’ and ‘nonetheless’ in the voice of young people in informal settings). There was much good here; I’m stimulated by the way it has me thinking about life and death and aging and choices. My feelings are too complicated to make an unqualified recommendation, but I would love to discuss it with somebody!

Liz Hall is fifteen, nearly sixteen years old when she is hit by a taxi while riding her bike. She dies from her injuries, and wakes up on board a ship bound for Elsewhere. This afterlife resembles Earth in many ways, and people can be reunited with loved ones – and pets – there, although with a crucial twist: in Elsewhere, as time goes by, people get younger, not older. Liz has just fifteen or so years to create a new life in this new place. And she is pissed: she misses her old life, she wanted to turn sixteen and get a driver’s license, she wanted to go to college, maybe get married someday. Now that she’s getting younger again, she feels cheated. It takes some time for her to come to terms with the new set of options available to her. Meanwhile, we encounter other stories: Liz’s grandmother, who died when Liz was in utero (and is now approaching a youthful 40 years old); Liz’s favorite rock star, dead of a drug overdose; another teenaged girl; the head of the Division of Domestic Animals; a young man who still pines for his (still alive) wife.

The possibilities and limitations of the world of Elsewhere were interesting to me. I did appreciate the worldbuilding aspect, the creation of new rules, although not all my questions were answered. (For example, residents here choose an avocation, where they work for the joy of it. There is currency, although it seems to be just for pleasure spending. What of sustenance and the basic necessities? Are they free, or actually unnecessary? What of classes and classic divisions of society? There is a utopian aspect that’s not explicated to my satisfaction.) As Liz experiences her own losses – and gains – I was fascinated by some of the thinking she goes through. Perhaps foremost in my head: in this world, we seem to dread aging. Liz dreads getting younger. That alone got me thinking about the advantages of aging. Also, the option to watch the living on Earth through apparently magic binoculars got me thinking about the old question of what we’d choose to know if it were knowable. Do you want to know what people say about you when you’re not there? Do you want to know when you’ll die? Or how? Liz knows how much time she has left in Elsewhere, but as she learns, that doesn’t dictate what she’ll do with her time.

The most difficult issue of the book I will spell out for you here in white text, as is my practice for spoilers. Highlight to read, or skip it. Because of aging backwards, we can wind up with a couple that appears to be decades apart in age although they were better matched on Earth, because one died much younger than the other. But what of this: a man dies, say, in his 20s. A girl dies, say, in her teens, but because it has been decades since the man died, their Elsewhere selves are about the same age. Is it okay for them to date? The man has lived 20-something plus ten-something years: he is now ~35 to her 15. Seriously? …The important detail is whether he is now emotionally and experientially 35, or 15. I’m not sure Zevin has answered this to my satisfaction: it seems to vary case by case. I was unsure how to feel, and a little creeped out by such a relationship.

Cassandra Morris narrates in a very youthful voice that might match Liz’s own (the bulk of the story is told in her close third-person). It was sometimes a little hard for me to listen to – and maybe that’s what it’s like to be inside a fifteen-year-old’s head. (Bless their hearts.) I think she gave a good performance. But on the whole, the experience of listening to and thinking about this story I would term, not enjoyable, but thought-provoking.

Rating: 6 sets of pajamas.

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Kopp Sisters on the March by Amy Stewart (audio)

Posted on September 18, 2026 by pagesofjulia

As ever: mild spoilers for earlier books in the series, but not for this one.

Part of me keeps wanting to say “more of the same, but in a good way (promise)” – but this installment in the Kopp sisters’ adventures does in fact see a change of scenery. Following
Constance’s sad and upsetting dismissal from her work as sheriff’s deputy, she has spent a winter moping. But her country seems on the brink of entering the war in Europe, which will become World War I; Norma is up in arms (nearly literally) about her pigeons’ ability to serve as important wartime messengers; and Fleurette is getting restless as well. They will end up heading as a group to a camp of the National Service School in Chevy Chase, Maryland, where women are to be trained to help in the war effort.

But, as is Amy Stewart’s practice, this novel doesn’t begin with the Kopp sisters, but with a character introduced in this book: Miss Beulah Binford has been living under an assumed name in New York City, but her life has hit a roadblock, once again. She hasn’t been able to use her real name in years, since that name was associated in the national press with a sensational case: a man murdered his wife, and Beulah was identified as one of the girls/women he had known on the side. In distress, she grasps at the idea that she might be sent overseas to France as part of the war effort. And so she winds up in the same camp, and the same canvas tent, as the Kopp sisters (and another young woman named Sarah, who is earnest in her desire to go join her twin brother as an ambulance driver in France).

I think Stewart made an excellent choice in expanding her characters’ world from Hackensack, New Jersey (where options for Constance’s work, and Stewart’s plots, were running low) to this training camp. It’s a fascinating setting and collision of worlds: many of the camp’s attendees are young society women of privilege, on a lark, interested in at most some light sewing and play-acting at marching in lines. But some, like Sarah (or in more eccentric fashion, Norma) hope for harder work and greater discipline. Constance is hoping to hide out from her own past, a little like Beulah (who for her fellow campers identifies as Roxie Collins); but when the camp’s matron is disabled by an accident, the former deputy is back in a position of authority, and it feels so good.

This setting and new cast of characters allows for more of Stewart’s good work with her (well-researched) fictionalization of true history (the camp, and Beulah Binford, were real), as well as an examination of the way different walks of life approached the idea of war service. Central is the idea of what women might have to offer, and you can just imagine how diverse those beliefs are; many of them play out right there in Chevy Chase on these pages. I found it all absorbing. Also, for the first time I think, this audiobook included the author’s note on historical sources and the line between fact and fiction in her work, which I really appreciated (and, it made me realize, I’ve been missing in the earlier books). The short answer is, much is true, and I think Stewart does a good job of spelling out where she’s chosen or been forced to invent.

Christina Moore’s narration is strong as ever – I think she excels at the various voices, and it should go without saying at this point that I could not hear any of these Kopp sisters in any other narrators’ telling. Moving on to book six.

Rating: 7 missing bananas.

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The Witch Below the Dreaming Wood by H. G. Parry (audio)

Posted on September 7, 2026 by pagesofjulia

I love H. G. Parry.

This is a reworking of the myth(s) of King Arthur et al, with a timeline in the second World War interacting with earlier legends. It foregrounds two women: Nimue, who is raised by Morgan le Fay, the Lady of the Lake, to be Merlin’s doom; and Elaine (Ellie) Ambrose, a librarian in 1941 London who is sent to a remote estate in Wales after the bombing of the British Museum Library. Chapters alternate between Nimue’s first-person perspective (I believe hers is first-person because she has knowledge of most all events) and Ellie’s third-person (she is still working things out). Nimue’s girlhood is spent under the lake, knowing only her mother, Morgan le Fay; Lancelot, raised as her older brother; and Mordred, raised as her younger one. She is to bring down Merlin, the greatest wizard in the land. But when she leaves her underwater home, she finds out how little she understands about people, herself, her mother’s motivations, Arthur, Guinevere, Merlin himself, etc., etc. Meanwhile, Ellie is mystified and a little peeved to have been sent away from London: the bombings, the books, the work she is so committed to. But here she is in a backwater, at Camlan House, tasked with cataloging a private collection for an absent owner. She finds the housekeeper Mrs. Leaf odd and unfriendly, but the groundskeeper, Tom Wilder, will become a dear friend.

Ellie has been mostly dismissive of the recent wave of dreams, shared by much of the British populace, about King Arthur. It is only at Camlan House that Ellie begins to dream, too: not of Arthur, but of Nimue. Staunchly practical, she persists in believing that Arthurian legend can have no bearing on the bombs and the Nazis of the present–right up until she and Tom together rescue an actual questing beast from a rock pool on the coast. And then things start to get really strange.

I won’t say too much more. Things I loved about King Arthur and the Round Table are present here: the exalted ideals of the chivalric code, the loves and tragedies of Arthur-Guinevere-Lancelot’s triangle, the brooding mystique of the Lady of the Lake; all of which benefit from the recentered women of The Mists of Avalon. T.H. White even appears as a character here! (Also Maid Marian…) And then there is the passionate librarianship of Ellie, a very shadowy character herself. I loved Tom, I loved Merlin in every version. I couldn’t wait to get back into it, even with an overlay of tragedy everywhere we turn. This book is about the same length as Breeze Spells and Bridgerooms, but felt so different. I love both–but where Bridegrooms raced past in bliss and cakes and punch and fairy lights, The Witch feels epic and inexorable. This is a matter of pacing but also content: Arthur’s time and World War II are both at least as full of darkness as of light, and hinge upon the battle between the two (in simplest, most mythic terms). It’s not a cheerful story, but it is a brave, beautiful one.

Helen Day narrates in a variety of voices and accents that felt very immediate and right to me. I think I will seek out audio versions of Parry’s work in future. Definitely recommend, for lovers of books, legend, the Arthurian stories, history, and the kind of fantasy that strives to save the world.

Rating: 8 tutting mice.

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The Queen of Sorrow by Sarah Beth Durst (audio)

Posted on August 21, 2026 by pagesofjulia

This third and final book in the Queens of Renthia series lives up to its name, with hardships and sorrows, but ends on a surprisingly hopeful note. The Queen of Blood was Daleina, and The Reluctant Queen was Naelin; this third titular queen is Naelin again, facing new challenges. Thematically, to some extent, these might be summed up as the tension between caring for one’s own, as individuals (in Naelin’s case, her two children) and caring for the masses (in Naelin’s case, her realm of Aratay, and perhaps even beyond it to the people of all of Renthia). A ruler with individual loved ones is ever in a position of conflicted loyalties, with no easy solutions. We also see in this book a return of an earlier antagonist. The spirits are bad enough – killers, but only by instinct, without much in the way of personality, or motivations beyond those instincts; and they may be managed, even somewhat humanely, by a queen who is both good and powerful. But then there is Merecot: powerful, but not entirely ‘good,’ she is ambitious, self-centered, and arguably amoral. Since book one she has been at least a little bit at odds with Daleina, who is undeniably good (Merecot would say, obnoxiously so), but distressingly unpowerful in her command of the spirits. Naelin is very powerful, but poorly trained, and compromised by her personal loyalties, as above; she might be the chaos to contrast with Daleina’s good and Merecot’s less-than-good. And yes, all three of these are pitted against the spirits, characterized almost as a force of nature (indeed, they are the embodiments of natural forces), but perhaps with more agency than we originally thought.

Whew.

As a series closer, The Queen of Sorrow is powerful: there is no question of the strength of the emotional experiences of each of our queens, and I’m stimulated by a number of secondary characters, too, including several loves (and one ex), a sister, and a mother-in-law-to-be, not to mention Merecot and her machinations (and predecessor). There are weddings, deaths, a wolf with a backstory, new worlds. There’s a lot of new for a series closer, and I see we do have a (standalone-ish?) “Tales of Renthia” book already, as well. I guess I appreciate that Durst left so much possibility, although it might be frustrating for the supposed final work in a series! I think the whole thing has been a feat of worldbuilding. There’s something about the darkness here that has kept me at a bit of a distance, that I can’t quite put a finger on, but I’m also gripped by the plot and completely invested – when I spotted that fourth book I knew I had to have it. I think I relate more closely to Durst’s cozier outings, but I want this kind just as badly. Maybe I’ll figure out how to better articulate this in the next edition.

Rating: 7 jewels.

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The Warbler by Sarah Beth Durst (audio)

Posted on August 14, 2026 by pagesofjulia

I have followed Sarah Beth Durst through cozy fantasies (The Spellshop and its sequels), darker ones (The Queen of Blood and her fellows), and now here, to a deeply imaginative and deliciously weird look at the choices we make and those we may try to make for others.

Different chapters focus on three different women in three timelines, but it is Elisa who steps forward as protagonist. She has never lived anywhere longer than ten months, and lives by an elaborate set of rules and strategies, taught by her mother, to leave no trace and take no souvenirs. A family curse, passed from mother to daughter, decrees that if she ever “puts down roots,” that concept will be come literal. Elisa will turn into a tree, as her mother did before her. In alternate chapters, we see Lori, also on the run, and Rose, who always wanted to leave her hometown but never got a chance. Is a home something to be desired, sought after, built, and cherished? Or is a home a cage? We meet many weird, twisting, fascinating characters: a handsome bookstore owner, a moon-eyed lover in Paris, a possibly suicidal woman dressed entirely in pink, a gloomy pair of young women, a mystical trio of blue-haired old ones, and a bird-obsessed recluse, among others. I am over the moon that Margaret Atwood’s The Edible Woman gets a cameo here, because that’s the book this one reminds me of – it may even inspire a reread.

The tension between staying and going, and what each of us fears and yearns for among these options, occupies much of the book. Also the gifts and the chains that come out of a mother’s love for her daughter, and the question of what power we have and should have to choose for others. There is romance, and there is some ‘light’ fantasy, but mostly, there is an examination of these big questions, absolutely within the gendered constructs of a society that historically encouraged women to care for husband, children, and home, and what it does and does not encourage now. But it’s not a pointed study, because it’s couched within mysteries, creepy bird collectors, the fine art of dumpster diving, the handsome bookstore owner, etc. I had the best time! And my appreciation of Durst’s work only grows. Onward.

Rating: 8 reels of microfiche.

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Platform Decay by Martha Wells (audio)

Posted on August 10, 2026 by pagesofjulia

Platform Decay is book 8 in the Murderbot Diaries series, to which Liz originally tipped me; and is it possible this is the first one I’ve listened to on audio?! I’ve got to say, the experience disrupted some of my impressions of Murderbot, to a distracting extent, especially early on; but I really did enjoy hearing it in a different way, too. I almost wonder if I should just turn around and reread (relisten to) it again immediately. But I’ll take pity on the next person on the library’s hold list for this sought-after title.

SecUnit (formerly Murderbot, but it feels like we’re moving away from that epithet over the course of this series) has come a long way. They have, however reluctantly, resigned themself to working on their mental health, and developing relationships and even trust with humans. They’re working on ‘clear communication.’ Much of this is about their new employer/mentor/friend, Dr. Mensa. In this story, SecUnit is on a mission to rescue Mensa’s family, which of course immediately expands into a little more than that. They continue to struggle with humans: so slow, and always with the feelings, the emotions, the touching, the bodily functions (ew). But it’s always clear that SecUnit loves and cares about humans, too. Especially these ones.

Liz, as a more hardcore devotee and student of this series than I am, will have a more incisive review. At my more cursory level, I call this an appropriate extension of the Diaries: SecUnit continues to develop and grow, as do their relationships; there are surprises in the small-scale plot, but none in terms of the general arc of the series, and I mean that in a good way. This is the Murderbot we love, for all the same reasons: a combination of insightful observations about human nature with humor, and however surly the narrator gets, a hearty dose of love and devotion. I’m still here for more. I might go back to reading text, though.

Rating: 7 hot liquids.

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