When the Tides Held the Moon by Venessa Vida Kelley

A lovely historical speculative novel starring a young man between worlds: a Puerto Rican immigrant to early-20th century New York City who is also queer. When he encounters a merman, everything imaginable and unimaginable will change for Benny (or Benigno). In an author’s note, Kelley observes that mermaid tales tend to address hybridity, and Benny does indeed walk those liminal spaces.

We meet Benny in an ironworks in Brooklyn’s Red Hook, where he is gifted in his work, but bullied and harassed and undervalued. From here he is sort of rescued (by injury) into a literal sideshow act, via employment by one of Coney Island’s entrepreneurs. He joins a built family of other folks on the margins: immigrants and those deemed ‘freaks’ for physical appearance or the lives they’ve chosen or been compelled to pursue. And he is tasked with caring for a creature he helped, inadvertently, to imprison. When the merman refuses to give Benny his name (“humanity has taken enough from me”), Benny calls him Río. Benny lives and dines with the cast, who are as colorful a bunch as you’d imagine; he begins to feel a closeness he’s always yearned for, but still does not entirely trust. He even meets for the first time men who love men – and resists the recognition they offer him, at least at first. And at the same time, he secretly spends late nights with Río. Something is developing there that might give him everything, or cost him everything. Or both.

When the Tides Held the Moon is a story about many things. It definitely contains romance, tinted with the fantasy element of a merman: his scintillating skin, his textures, his beautiful voice, his tantalizing spiritual connection with the Currents. It contains a proper plot problem to overcome: for Benny to do the right thing by Río (something he wants for many reasons, including justice as well as his more personal feelings) he has to release him. If you love something, let it go – but Benny has never experienced love before, and the conundrum he faces is abject and existential. As well as logistical: the evil showmaster who has imprisoned Río and, in some sense, Benny and all the cast, will not let his prize exhibit go easily. And, as the author’s note outlines with clarity, this novel is also about marginalized people and that hybridity that Río represents. Kelley writes, “it is my deepest hope that readers will close this book with, if not an appreciation for the struggles of marginalized New Yorkers during the early 1900s, then empathy for those past and present who stride the line between identities and whose quest for freedom demands riding a different wave.” It’s a lovely book about people who offer a number of ways to live, who have built a place for themselves in an unwelcoming world, and about love. I had a wonderful time.


Rating: 7 saris.

Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms by Sarah Wallace and S.O. Callahan

I had the best time with this lively tale of human-fae relations, magic, and enemies-to-lovers romance. It’s sugary sweet but hit just the right note for me.

In this alternative Regency-era London, same-sex relationships are as usual as hetero ones, and humans and fae folk live together, although not entirely with ease. Everybody (human and fae) takes the Hastings test when they are twelve. This exam claims to test magical ability, and the score assigned dictates each individual’s options for the rest of their life: who inherits, what profession one can enter, and one’s marriageability (which we know is terribly important in Regency London). As we enter this year’s social Season, one Roger Barnes (human) is less concerned with finding a mate, and more concerned with reworking the infamous Hastings test. Roger’s low score has labelled him as worthless, but his hard work on a new test rubric makes the reader suspicious of that conclusion early on. Unfortunately, Roger is assigned to work with Wyndham Wrenwhistle on this project. Wyn (fae) and Roger have known each other since childhood, but never gotten along. Wyn is beautiful, stylish, and aloof, where Roger is chubby, bookish, and deeply anxious. Their partnership for the test rubric is unlikely and prickly from the start, although from the reader’s privileged perspective, they may indeed have complementary qualities and much to offer one another. The trouble really begins when an unusual and eccentric gossip columnist prints the news that the two are engaged–this is false, but once printed, by the mores of their society, it would mean social doom for both families if retracted. And so Roger and Wyn find themselves working not only to fix the Haynes test, but to fake a romantic partnership, complete with romantic walks in the park (chaperoned, of course), deep sighs, and choreographed dances. And spells.

I was tickled by the combination of Regency standards and Wallace and Callahan’s worldbuilding. Human and fae magics, respectively, have long been understood for their differences, not their complementary possibilities. And some features of each will be rediscovered, by accident and with purpose, by this unlikely duo. Roger’s academic enthusiasm is absolutely genuine, and infectious. He really does need help with anxiety; and Wyn, it turns out, needs help with certain aspects of being in the city, as well. This lovely tale includes scholarship, social politicking as well as the political kind, finessing of human-fae relations, and swoon-worthy romance. Breeze Spells and Bridegrooms feels as good as fluff, but with substance. Over 400 pages flew by in an actual blink; I will be looking for more.


Rating: 9 honey-covered biscuits.

The Warbler by Sarah Beth Durst (audio)

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.

The Art of Charming a Changeling by Sylvie Cathrall

A plucky art conservator must travel into Fairy lands to save her job and a dreamy Fairy imprisoned in a painting.

The Art of Charming a Changeling is an endearing, enthralling fantasy-romance by Sylvie Cathrall, whose imagination takes readers through Folk and Fairy lands, into a painting, and back again.

Florrie Hyverfell loves her work as an art conservator. It’s people she finds challenging. Constantly arranging her face, rehearsing conversations ahead of time, seeking out comforting textures, and managing her interactions with the world exhaust her. She feels fortunate to be employed by Prince Ardant at the Commonplace Palace Museum, where she cares for his extensive collection. He even shares her passion for Fairy paintings, which have become embarrassingly outmoded. The painting he cares the most about is The Resolute Portrait of Vibrant Lord Vernal Mauve Among the Ruins; but to her dismay, Florrie quickly determines it has been replaced by a Fairy forgery. Worse, the counterfeit painting is holding hostage a changeling, a minuscule, near-perfect copy version of Lord Vernal Mauve, who asks that she call him Vern.

Florrie feels a little overwhelmed. According to the Conservators’ Code (which she has memorized), “one must only introduce the mere possibility of a counterfeit after acquiring at least five forms of incontrovertible evidence.” To save her job, and to help Vern escape from the beautiful but closed world of his painting, Florrie is compelled to find the original stolen painting. To do so, she must travel into Fairy lands, where Folk seldom travel. Meanwhile, there is the utter allure and magnetism of Vern, and does he have tiny, impossibly adorable dimples?

Cathrall (A Letter to the Luminous Deep) invites readers into a curious world in which Folk and Fairies have parted ways, with Folk generally preferring simpler technologies (rejecting levitating carts because “nothing feels so real as a wheel”) and eschewing Fairies and their overly embellished art. Finding herself attracted to Vern presents another layer of difficulty to a woman who frequently struggles to find her way. But Florrie is stronger than some might think.

The Art of Charming a Changeling offers an absorbing foray into an imaginative setting populated by art-focused princes, haughty collectors and conservators at odds with one another, fanciful Fairies, and the occasional predatory duck. It contains a sweet and cozy romance, a woman’s journey of self-actualization within a society that undervalues her, and a whimsical fantasy of changeling art. It also features a quest, for those seeking adventure. This first in a planned series will leave all sorts of readers hungry for more.


This review originally ran in the June 23, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 7 seed-loaves.

Agnes Aubert’s Mystical Cat Shelter by Heather Fawcett

Despite not being particularly fond of cats myself, I was charmed by this novel, which offers a few of my favorite Fawcett features: magic, family, wholesomeness, and a gentle arc from prickly acquaintances toward romance, in a cozy package.

Agnes Aubert runs a cat shelter in Montreal, in a version of that city where magic is present, but mostly hidden and only tolerated. She lost her beloved husband a few years ago, and his memory and her mission to save all the city’s cats (!) keep her going; her existence is rather spartan, and highly (you might say pathologically) organized. As a cash-strapped cat shelter (not the most attractive of tenants), she is having trouble finding new lodgings after a magical mishap destroyed her last rental. So she takes – with some misgivings – a suspiciously affordable place that turns out to hide an illegal magic shop in its basement. This results in her acquaintance with Havelock Renard, also known as the Witch King, the world’s most powerful magician. Agnes accuses him of selfishness, and he calls her sanctimonious and condescending. Despite his reputation, Agnes begins to consider that perhaps he is not a ‘dark’ magician after all. For his part, Havelock insists that he would most prefer to be left alone with his novels and magical experiments. She responds that she should at least be allowed to organize his collection of artefacts. Havelock is both allergic to cats and rather like one himself: solitary, contrary, and perhaps in need of rescue.

It turns out that the fate of the cat shelter may well be tied up with the fate of the very world. And notwithstanding Havelock’s unparalleled powers, it may be Agnes – insignificant, unmagical Agnes – who holds the key.

This was laugh-out-loud fun, deeply sweet without hitting (for my tastes) the saccharine, and moving. I will buy whatever Heather Fawcett cares to write next.


Rating: 8 opulent scarves.

Brothersong by TJ Klune (audio)

As ever, here you will find spoilers from previous books in the series. And, well, I’m revealing the ‘ship of this novel, but that will surprise no one who read book three.


I love these books and am very sad that the series is over.

Each of four books has focused on the development of a certain couple, and the development of one of the two characters in particular. Wolfsong was Ox’s story, and followed his relationship with Joe. Ravensong was Gordo, and his with Mark. Heartsong followed Robbie on his way back to Kelly. Now Brothersong sees Carter, eldest of the Bennett brothers, move fully into his relationship with Gavin. As the final book, it also wraps the whole larger story, and circles back around to Ox, who has become arguably the heart of the Bennett pack. I laughed, I cried.

I prefer this cover image

One of the things I love most about the Carter-and-Gavin development is that Carter has, until recently, thought he was a straight man. None of the other three couples seemed to struggle with being men attracted to men, although Ox dated some girls before deciding he was bi (or pan – I think they used the term bi). Carter is over 30 and has always been clear that women were for him. But now it is finally clear to Carter (as it has been clear to literally everyone else in his life for years) that his mate – the wolfish term for a deeply felt life partner and soulmate – is Gavin. Carter is a member of ‘like, the gayest pack ever’ (their words), with two gay brothers, etc., etc., and that’s all fine with him, but he’d never expected to be trying to figure out sex with a man himself. He’s both fine with it and quite shaken, and nervous about the actual sex part. I find this a fascinating line of inquiry. Not least, I’ve always wondered how I’d do if I found myself in love with a woman (hasn’t happened yet); I feel like I understand his confusion. And when I talk to young people these days I think about keeping our language open, and I admire the fluidity or the lack of labels that they seem to enjoy. Something about this aspect of the story really appealed to me.

Klune continues to engage me with action, intrigue, drama, pain, love, and yes, sex; I love that we can laugh in the middle of a very compelling sex scene. And he also continues to play with my feelings, threatening to off a major-major character, not for the first time. We continue to learn the rules of this werewolfed world. We have human heroes as well as werewolf ones (not that that’s new). And the pack continues to develop and grow.

I am bereft that this is over. I will miss these people forever. All the kudos to Kirt Graves, as ever.


Rating: 8 sparkles.

Thistlemarch by Moorea Corrigan

This was a compelling, engrossing read – not always quite a pleasure, because despite the presence of faeries, there was a lot of darkness to this tale. But it was absolutely rewarding.

Thistlemarch is historical fiction, set just at the end of World War I in rural England. We meet Mouse on a train: after serving as a nurse in France, she is on her way home to the estate called Thistlemarch, outside the village of Tithe. Her dear cousin Bertie was killed at the Somme. Her dear brother Roger lies in a hospital bed, raving, shouting, rarely recognizing her. Her uncle, holder of the estate, has also died. Mouse was always looked down upon by the proper, lordly wing of the family: her mother had the temerity to marry an Irish gardener, and so the girl who would be called Mouse lived in a room that would be called the Matchbox, tucked away. By a twist of fate, it falls to Mouse, disregarded niece, to inherit – but only on a seemingly impossible condition.

Faeries disappeared more than one hundred years ago; much as Mouse has always loved the tales, she has put away her childish hope of ever meeting the magical beings who once blessed the now dilapidated Thistlemarch. So when a High Fae appears to her, she feels disbelief, and distrust. Like her mother, Mouse has studied the old stories, and she knows that a bargain with a faerie is not to be taken lightly. But she needs this inheritance to pay for Roger’s care – and so Mouse makes a deal.

As the story unfolds, the falling-down estate takes on a bit of a life of its own, rebuilt and falling down again. The faerie called Thornwood seems to be allying himself with Mouse, but she’s not sure she can trust him. A hateful, grasping cousin, a longtime friend in the village vicar, a nasty lawyer, a loyal gardener, and an enigmatic faerie servant surround our protagonist, who will encounter a dragon, a dog, and a stone mermaid along the way. Faeries and magic, yes, but also class differences, penury, and various prejudices, shellshock and a nation haunted by war. It’s a riveting combination, and for all its twists, finishes with something like a fairy tale ending. I was entranced, and would read more from debut author Corrigan.


Rating: 7 egg sandwiches.

Heartsong by TJ Klune (audio)

As ever, here you will find spoilers from previous books in the series.


These are pure enjoyment and I can hardly stand the time I have to spend away from the Green Creek series on audio. Also, this image is the audiobook cover, but I do prefer the print version, below.

We spend this book with Robbie, and there is one big, early-ish spoiler that I think I’d like to preserve for any readers who are likely to get into the series, so we’ll do some white text below (highlight to read) and then keep the rest of this review brief. I’m keeping my spoilers to early in the book, still.

The book is told from Robbie’s point of view (as per usual), and in the early chapters, I was confused as to timeline, because he is with Michelle Hughes’ pack and apparently ignorant of the Bennetts, but also something is off. Does this precede the events in which Robbie meets the Bennetts, and importantly, Kelly? No: he has had his brain fucked with in a big way, his memories erased. While much of the book’s plot does handle issues that take place outside of Robbie’s head – werewolf wars and changes in the lives of other characters we’ve already come to care deeply for – the central and most important arc is interior. Robbie must rebuild his bonds with the Bennetts and with his mate, with those other players remembering their shared history and working hard not to take personally that Robbie does not. It’s excruciating.

What else to say? I’ve become very comfortable in and attached to both Klune’s storytelling style in this series, and Kirt Graves’ audio narration. These are the voices of these characters for me, and they do all have distinct voices: Robbie’s Chicago accent is pronounced, and that had been in previous books an occasional flavoring, but here is of course the main event. It took some getting used to. I salute Graves’ commitment to that acting. Also, I am no accent expert.

We end, obviously, on a major cliffhanger, with some of our favorites in grim circumstances. I’m barely holding on for book four.


Rating: 8 carvings.

Maximum Shelf: The Wild Beneath by Kelly Anderson

Maximum Shelf is the weekly Shelf Awareness feature focusing on an upcoming title we love and believe will be a great handselling opportunity for booksellers everywhere. The features are written by our editors and reviewers and the publisher has helped support the issue.

This review was published by Shelf Awareness on April 7, 2026.


Kelly Anderson’s debut novel, The Wild Beneath, is an astonishing act of imagination, firmly rooted in the physical world of a small coastal village and in the ocean itself. With threads of the magical laced throughout, a limited cast of characters wrestles for balance between land and sea and in their relationships with one another. Ever surprising, this spellbinding story holds both science and wonder, always in close touch with the natural world.

The Wild Beneath opens with a scene of beauty and terror. “She begins with a lullaby that sends coyotes fleeing up mountains. Honeybees abandon their hives to the shrill calls of songbirds and barking dogs. Beneath the seafloor, the tectonic plates loosen and rearrange…. A liquid mountain rises in the Pacific Northwest.” The earthquake and tsunami destroy a human settlement and take many lives; the effect is power and pain and loss, described in harrowing detail, but “the ocean will call it a song.” The ocean is never far from the consciousness of Anderson’s characters.

Annie MacLeod is 19, and it is an accident of timing that she happens to be ashore with her grandmother Ruth when the tsunami hits their Canadian village, Hale’s Landing. In all her life, she has spent very few nights away from her parents and their sailboat, Amphitrite. “Maybe they’re not dead,” Ruth tells Annie, although hope fades with time. The two women scour sand and scum from Ruth’s cabin and sift the detritus on the beach for mementos or for anything useful to meeting their most basic needs. Annie suffers from blinding grief and a change in her relationship to the world around her, due to events just before the tsunami that are not immediately revealed. She’s also experiencing a fracture in her relationship with Evan, the boy she’s grown up with, the two of them pushed and pulled like tides. Evan has spent summers on Amphitrite since they were both small, but for most of the year he belongs to the land, where his father, Isaac Hale, runs the timber company that gives the town its name and livelihood. Where Annie is accustomed to listening to the ocean’s nuanced song, Evan listens to the trees.

Then, at the edge of the land and the end of the world as she’s known it, Annie encounters a new arrival walking slowly down the beach. Washed up on the shore, stark naked, about her own age, with “a startling vacancy about him, not fully there, looking past her. His irises are sea-urchin grey with streaks of silver.” He accepts the name Annie offers him: Walker. It seems to Annie that he emits a hum, a sound she feels deep in her bones, that soothes the parts of her that have been jangled by recent events. “This out-of-place person in front of her… who is he? Why does she want him to like everything about her?” Walker is tall and handsome, but almost above those descriptors: he seems elementally tuned to the ocean in a way that speaks to Annie’s bones. He makes her feel safe in a different way than Evan does. In an entirely disordered world, Annie–raised by her two loving parents and by the sea, mostly outside of human society–is unsure of where to turn. Toward her best friend and first love, who offers both stability and complication on land? Or toward the strange newcomer, whose pulse feels like home, and who beckons her to return to the ocean?

With lyricism and a quiet sense of awe, The Wild Beneath reveals a careful focus on balance, rhythm, push-and-pull relationships. It is inhabited by many paired forces: Annie’s parents, Evan’s parents, the land and the ocean, Walker and Evan, the question of whether one stays or goes. Anderson orders the book by the tides: Low, Slack, Flood, High, Ebb. Within each section, there are shifts in time: Now, Before, Six years after, Forty years before. These cycles punctuate Annie’s experiences, which are highly keyed to the natural world: humpback whales, tide pools, sea stars, sand dollars, wind. Flashbacks also offer glimpses of Annie’s father, who was himself once a young person navigating the push-and-pull of land and sea. He loved the ocean, but Annie’s mother seemed preternaturally linked to it–like Walker now. Annie’s upbringing on the boat was one version of balancing those two approaches; now in adulthood, she must chart her own. In perhaps another cycle, Annie’s life represents an attempt to balance her two parents’ experiences of their world, but readers will wait for most of the book to discover what those experiences were.

Anderson offers a novel that is quietly astounding, beautiful even when it conveys profound pain. With unhurried but propulsive pacing, she draws readers into a plot that is both bewildering and bewitching. The Wild Beneath asks wise, subtle questions about the line between science and magic, and suggests that both are found in the natural world. Annie’s struggles with grief, with coming of age, with tough choices, and with a sense of being pulled in two conflicting directions at once, are both universally recognizable and shockingly unique. Her story is haunting and unforgettable.


Rating: 8 oysters.

Come back Monday for my interview with Anderson.

It’s Hard to Be an Animal by Robert Isaacs

The sudden ability to hear animals speak offers perspective, romance, and adventure to an awkward young man in this whimsical, tender first novel.

Robert Isaacs’s first novel, It’s Hard to Be an Animal, is a feat of humor, yearning, adventure, angst, and romance. In following a lonely, self-doubting protagonist, this remarkable debut manages to be about all of life, in its most unlikely twists.

Readers meet Henry on a first date at a sidewalk café in Manhattan. Nervous Henry is an inveterate doormat, but he is funny and kind. His coworker Jackie has set him up with Molly, who is playful and ebullient; Henry is quite sure she’s out of his league, but she likes him nevertheless. “Within the hour” of their meeting, “a migrating songbird weighing less than an ounce would upend his life.” Coffee goes well, so they take a walk in Central Park, where Henry spots a magnolia warbler. The sweet, decorative little bird considers the pair, and then speaks. “Fuck off,” it says clearly to Henry and then continues in a similarly foul-mouthed territorial vein. When Henry gets home to the apartment he shares with an exuberant Belarussian named Yaryk, he discovers that his housemate’s two betta fish are involved in an exchange of creatively nasty insults. The situation continues with dogs, a police horse, pigeons: Henry can now hear animals talking. If that fact were not shocking enough, they all seem to be terribly angry. He questions his sanity and finds the animals’ rage depressing.

Henry thinks himself a failure in all parts of his life, but readers can see that he has true friends in Yaryk and Jackie; he handles workplace dramas with aplomb, if also self-denigration; Molly’s attraction to him is genuine, even as they weather miscommunications verging on the Shakespearean. Painfully conflict-averse, Henry is challenged enough by human drama; fat-shaming sparrows and judgmental pythons threaten his threadbare mental health but also offer perspective. When he overhears subway rats discussing a body-disposal site, he inadvertently lets it slip to the unusually adventurous Molly. The budding couple soon find themselves enmired in the New York City subway system and an intrigue of increasingly high stakes. And a neighbor’s yappy Pomeranian turns out to be just the font of wisdom that the pushover Henry needed. In a newly cacophonous world, he may finally find his own voice.

It’s Hard to Be an Animal is one laugh, dire escapade, or poignant moment away from either disaster or nirvana. Hilarious, heartfelt, ever-surprising, Henry’s story is one of hope, redemption, and self-discovery.


This review originally ran in the April 3, 2026 issue of Shelf Awareness for the Book Trade. To subscribe, click here.


Rating: 7 windows repaired.