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Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the eARC. This book will release from Atria Books on January 28, 2025 in the US. I felt this review needed to be public for other readers' awareness, but please be aware that I only read the first few sentences of this book.

I know Emily is a celebrated, beloved author in our community, and I’ve been a fan of some of her work in the past. While I struggled with her second novel, Interesting Facts About Space, due to triggering content related to stalking and what I felt was a mishandling of PTSD treatment, I was still eager to read her upcoming novel.

However, upon opening my ARC copy, I found an author's note that explained the story “deals with suicide” from the perspective of someone who treats their death “as trivial.” Suicide and mental illness are not mentioned in the book’s blurb or marketing materials, so this note took me by surprise. I flipped to the table of contents and saw that the first chapter is is a suicide note, followed by 21 chapters titled “Attempt One,” “Attempt Two,” and so on. Initially, I interpreted this to mean the book chronicled 21 suicide attempts, which was alarming and triggering for me.

In my search for clarification, I came across reviews explaining that these chapters detail the narrator’s attempts to write a suicide note, not suicide attempts themselves. However, reviewers also mentioned unsettling elements, including a narrative that oscillates between humor and distortion when discussing suicide, mental illness, and psychosis. One review shared how the narrator fabricates stories, walks back serious claims like experiencing hallucinations, and justifies these fabrications as attempts to make her suicide “more comprehensible.”

Given my past concerns with Emily Austin’s handling of sensitive topics and the deeply personal nature of this subject matter, I’ve decided not to read We Could Be Rats. While I respect the nuanced and complex ways writers approach mental health, I feel strongly about prioritizing my own mental well-being and only engaging with stories that handle these issues with care and clarity.

To my fellow readers: if you choose to read this book, please tread gently. I encourage us all to remain mindful of how storytelling impacts both ourselves and others, especially on topics as sensitive as this. 

Coming Out Like a Porn Star, edited by Jiz Lee, is a vital and thought-provoking anthology that amplifies the voices of porn performers navigating the uniquely challenging process of "coming out" as sex workers. Through a collection of deeply personal essays, contributors shed light on the profound stigma surrounding porn work and the precarious balance performers must strike between asserting their identity and protecting their safety. This anthology unpacks the ways in which sex work intersects with privacy, familial relationships, self-determination, and societal notions of morality, insisting that sex workers deserve the same dignity, respect, and privacy as anyone else.

Many of the essays reveal the paradoxical nature of performing in porn—a profession simultaneously fetishized and demonized. Contributors share how societal shame impacts their ability to feel proud of their accomplishments, forcing them to keep secrets or distance themselves from loved ones to protect their own safety and others' comfort. Others view coming out as a defiant act of reclamation, rejecting harmful stereotypes and demanding respect for their work. Pieces like Cyd Nova’s exploration of self-authorship in both gender and labor and Cinnamon Maxine’s fierce refusal to conform to familial expectations stand out as powerful declarations of agency.

What sets this anthology apart is its nuanced depiction of porn as a space for both constraint and liberation. For some, the industry becomes a place of self-discovery and sexual exploration, where clear communication and boundaries allow for authentic expression. Conner Habib’s essay illustrates this duality beautifully, portraying porn as a tool for self-transformation and a space for reclaiming autonomy in a society that often seeks to strip it away.

Particularly compelling are the essays that expose the structural barriers porn performers face, such as Kitty Stryker’s piece on financial institutions that discriminate against sex workers, underscoring the systemic nature of their marginalization. These accounts reveal the far-reaching consequences of society's inability to accept sex work as legitimate labor, from limited job prospects to fractured family relationships.

By sharing their stories, the contributors in Coming Out Like a Porn Star challenge readers to confront their own biases and cultural taboos. This anthology doesn’t just humanize sex workers—it positions them as central to broader conversations about agency, authenticity, and the right to live without shame. It is an essential read for anyone seeking a deeper understanding of sex work and the courage it takes to live authentically in a judgmental world.

📖 Recommended For: Readers interested in nuanced discussions about sex work and societal stigma, those passionate about dismantling cultural taboos, advocates for sex workers' rights, fans of anthologies that amplify marginalized voices, and anyone who values stories of resilience and self-determination.

🔑 Key Themes: Stigma and Privacy, Identity and Autonomy, Family and Relationships, Reclamation and Activism, Cultural Immaturity Around Sex.

Content / Trigger Warnings: Homophobia (minor), Transphobia (minor), Drug Use (minor), Mental Illness (minor), Suicidal Thoughts (minor), Suicide Attempt (minor), Sexual Content (minor), Sexual Assault (minor), Cancer (minor), Eating Disorder (minor), Racism (minor), Dementia (minor), Child Abuse (minor). 

Tyler Wetherall’s Amphibian is a haunting, lyrical exploration of girlhood—its desires, betrayals, and transformations. Through the eyes of Sissy, a young girl navigating a turbulent coming-of-age, Wetherall crafts a narrative that is both raw and dreamlike, blending visceral realism with fantastical elements.  

Sissy is a deeply introspective character, drawn to water and its transformative power. Her fixation on her body—its budding sexuality and strange metamorphoses—anchors the story in the liminal space between childhood innocence and adult desire. As she moves with her emotionally fragile mother, Mou, to a new town in England’s West Country, Sissy’s world is shaped by longing: for stability, understanding, and the magnetic pull of her classmate, Tegan. Their friendship, marked by both tenderness and turbulence, propels Sissy toward self-discovery while exposing the precariousness of girlhood friendships.  

Wetherall’s writing brims with poetic cadence and evocative imagery. Sissy’s voice oscillates between sharp clarity and dreamlike musing, mirroring the fragmented, chaotic nature of adolescence. The story is layered with symbolic transformations, from Sissy’s webbed toes and growing tail to the mythic parallels she draws with mermaids and Eve. These symbols underscore the fragility and inevitability of change, often intertwined with pain, societal expectation, and desire.  

Sexuality lies at the heart of Amphibian, exploring the hypersexualization of girls in a world that denies them the safety to navigate their own desires. Sissy’s fear of being labeled or shamed, even as she craves power and connection, captures the dissonance many young girls face. Wetherall deftly unpacks how girls are often taught that their worth is tied to the sexual desire they elicit, pushing them toward dangerous territory in search of agency.  

The novel’s darker threads unravel through the presence of Tegan’s sister, Haley, whose world of parties, drugs, and predators exposes Sissy and Tegan to adult dangers too soon. The trauma Sissy witnesses—her complicity in silence, her mother’s neglect, and her friendship’s unraveling—converges in a climax that feels both inevitable and devastating.  

Through Amphibian, Wetherall crafts a powerful meditation on girlhood’s contradictions: its beauty and violence, its vulnerability and strength. Sissy’s transformation—both physical and emotional—remains etched in the mind, a reminder of the messy, magical metamorphoses that define growing up.

📖 Recommended For: Fans of lyrical and introspective prose, readers captivated by the turbulence of girlhood friendships, anyone drawn to coming-of-age stories with a touch of magical realism, and admirers of Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield or Chlorine by Jade Song.

🔑 Key Themes: The Complexities of Girlhood, Sexuality and Shame, Transformation and Identity, Betrayal and Intimacy, Power Dynamics in Female Relationships.

Tiffany Yu’s The Anti-Ableist Manifesto is a powerful, transformative collection of essays that challenges readers to rethink everything they think they know about disability. Grounded in Yu’s personal narrative as a disabled woman of color and enriched by thorough research, the book explores disability justice, intersectionality, and actionable steps toward dismantling ableism. Yu’s empathetic yet assertive voice invites readers into a world where disability is not a deficit but a source of creativity, resilience, and pride.  

Opening with her own story—a car accident that left her disabled at age nine—Yu critiques the societal expectation for disabled individuals to justify their identities with trauma. From this vulnerable starting point, she frames disability as a deeply individual and collective experience, exposing the systemic ableism that compels disabled people to "prove" their needs and existence. With clear, accessible prose, Yu dives into the complexities of dynamic and non-apparent disabilities, illustrating how they remain misunderstood and often invalidated. The inclusion of striking statistics—like the fact that 70–80% of disabilities are non-apparent—underscores her argument for greater awareness and empathy. 

Yu’s discussion of language is particularly impactful, offering a nuanced take on person-first versus identity-first language while advocating for terms like “non-disabled” or “pre-disabled” over “able-bodied.” Her exploration of ableist microaggressions and euphemisms is a call to action for nondisabled readers to reconsider their words and attitudes. This reframing continues in her detailed breakdown of seven models of disability, which she urges readers to view as tools rather than rigid categories, encouraging a blend of the social, human rights, and affirmative models.  

One of the book’s most empowering themes is the adaptability and creativity of disabled individuals. Yu celebrates the “life hacks” that disabled people invent to navigate an inaccessible world and emphasizes how inclusive design benefits everyone. She critiques the limitations of social media while also recognizing its potential to foster community and amplify disabled voices, offering practical tips for curating a disability-inclusive feed.  

Yu does not shy away from the intersections of oppression, examining how ableism compounds with racism, sexism, and classism. She introduces concepts like non-disabled privilege and non-disabled guilt, encouraging readers to move beyond discomfort toward meaningful allyship. Her call for an accessibility-first culture and disabled leadership in shaping accessibility is a revolutionary vision of justice and equity.  

Thoughtful, clear, and empowering, The Anti-Ableist Manifesto is a must-read for anyone committed to social justice. Yu’s incisive analysis and tangible strategies offer both disabled and non-disabled readers a roadmap for collective liberation. This collection doesn’t just invite readers to rethink disability—it demands it.

📖 Recommended For: Readers passionate about social justice, anyone eager to learn about disability rights and justice, advocates for inclusive design, those seeking actionable allyship strategies, and fans of Sonya Renee Taylor or Alice Wong.

🔑 Key Themes: Disability Pride, Intersectionality, Anti-Ableist Allyship, Inclusive Language and Design, Creativity and Adaptability, Social Justice and Equity.

We Ate the Dark by Mallory Pearson weaves an evocative southern gothic mystery with chilling supernatural themes and lyrical prose. When Sofia’s remains are discovered in her small town of Loring, North Carolina, her twin sister Frankie is left reeling. The discovery brings together Frankie’s estranged friends Cass and Poppy, and together, they seek answers to Sofia’s death with the help of Marya, who has a ghost-seeing gift no one quite understands. Their journey unveils Sofia’s dangerous dabbling in mirror magic and the Fissure, a purgatorial realm that adds an eerie, otherworldly depth. As they uncover Sofia’s hidden encounters with a mysterious girl named Finder and an unsettling love spell, they are pulled into a dark confrontation with a demonic entity that Sofia once made a deal with. 

The novel's strength lies in Pearson’s writing: haunting and darkly lyrical, each page pulls readers into a world both painfully real and otherworldly. Pearson creates an eerie, atmospheric setting that envelops Loring in a near-mythic haze of past trauma, lost dreams, and restless spirits. Themes of loyalty, unresolved grief, and sisterhood resonate strongly throughout, and the bond between Frankie, Poppy, and Cass feels raw and touching, grounding the supernatural elements in genuine emotion. Pearson beautifully captures the grief and fierce loyalty among the friends, showing how they each process Sofia’s death—and the tangled emotions that come with it. However, while the prose shines, the pacing stumbles; the story moves slowly for most of the book, only to rush through significant reveals in the last 20%. This abrupt shift leaves important plot points around the Fissure and Sofia’s mother’s coven underdeveloped, making the ending feel ambiguous and unresolved rather than climactic. Though there’s a sense that the ending gestures toward a sequel, the lack of clarity or closure may leave readers yearning for answers. 

Despite its flaws, Pearson’s deft handling of themes such as grief, loyalty, and the quest for closure is memorable, and the prose itself is spellbinding. Fans of atmospheric horror with rich character studies and supernatural elements will find the story’s haunting tone and interpersonal depth compelling. We Ate the Dark is a gripping, emotional read with a cast of well-crafted characters and a chilling narrative that explores how loss, love, and memory haunt us - one I will be thinking about for many weeks to come.

📖 Recommended For: Fans of Southern Gothic tales with a supernatural twist, readers drawn to lyrical and evocative prose, those who enjoy exploring themes of grief and trauma through a lens of friendship and chosen family, and anyone captivated by eerie, atmospheric mysteries.

🔑 Key Themes: Grief and Loss, Chosen Family, Supernatural Forces, Trauma and Healing, Loyalty and Betrayal, The Haunting Power of the Past.

In Mama: A Queer Black Woman's Story of a Family Lost and Found, Nikkya Hargrove presents a compelling memoir that is both deeply personal and powerfully resonant. She courageously recounts her journey of gaining custody of and raising her half-brother, Jonathan, due to their mother’s substance abuse and eventual death, illustrating her struggle to create a safe, loving family despite the traumas that shadowed her own upbringing. Hargrove’s writing is steeped in raw honesty and a reflective depth that captures the complexities of intergenerational trauma and the harsh realities faced by families impacted by substance abuse, incarceration, and societal biases.

A central theme of Mama is the devastating ripple effect of addiction and trauma within families, especially when addiction forms as a means of coping with insecure attachments or unhealed wounds. Hargrove thoughtfully exposes how her mother’s own experiences with abuse and incarceration contributed to cycles of pain that threatened to extend to Jonathan, a cycle Hargrove fights to break by stepping into a parental role. She also examines the painful limitations of the American carceral system, revealing how it dehumanizes and harms both the incarcerated and their loved ones on the outside. Through prison visits and the lens of family court, Hargrove critiques policies that prioritize biological reunification over a child’s wellbeing, challenging a state process that, though intended to support, often inflicts further damage.

Hargrove’s memoir is also a tender exploration of her queer identity, her journey to find belonging, and the added layers of complexity in being a queer, Black mother navigating social stigma. Her relationship with Dinushka, her future wife, brings a sense of hope and healing as they create a supportive, multicultural family unit. Yet, as Hargrove faces societal scrutiny and battles for Jonathan’s custody against an absent yet persistent father, she sheds light on the obstacles placed before Black mothers and welfare recipients. Her narrative offers an unfiltered view into the stigmatization around race and class, revealing the judgments that weigh on self-worth and the courage it takes to defy them.

Ultimately, Mama is a testament to the resilience found in chosen family and the transformative power of love and community. Hargrove’s story invites readers to witness her journey of healing and, through her introspective and powerful prose, find inspiration in her fight to forge a family built on strength, compassion, and unwavering commitment.

📖 Recommended For: Readers who value raw and reflective storytelling, those interested in narratives on intergenerational trauma and resilience, fans of memoirs centered on Black motherhood and queer identity, and readers of Saeed Jones and Cole Arthur Riley. 

🔑 Key Themes: Generational Trauma, Addiction and Recovery, Queer Identity and Belonging, Systemic Bias and Injustice, Family and Resilience.

We Came to Welcome You by Vincent Tirado delves into the psychological depths of assimilation, social horror, and identity, painting an eerie portrait of suburban life as seen through the eyes of Sol Reyes, a Black American butch struggling with her sense of self and security. Sol and her wife, Alice, move into Maneless Grove, a gated community where everything from the smiles of neighbors to the rules of the HOA exudes a “neighborly spirit” that feels increasingly sinister. They buy this home partly to escape Sol’s workplace strife—her white colleague’s jealous sabotage leaves her under investigation—and perhaps as a way for Sol to find stability after her difficult upbringing. Yet, as the strange occurrences mount and her wife Alice begins to change, Sol is left questioning whether their sanctuary is a trap, built as much to keep them in as to keep outsiders away.

Tirado’s introspective and poetic writing style echoes Sol’s isolation and discomfort, blending dark humor with passages that spark an ambient unease. There’s an ongoing tension between Sol’s social paranoia, fuelled by systemic racism and a history of being othered, and the creeping horror unfolding within her own home. As her wife becomes more deeply enmeshed in the HOA’s version of assimilation, Sol becomes more determined to uncover the ugly secrets hidden beneath the surface, facing everything from supernatural oddities—vanishing stairs and cryptic warnings buried in her yard—to her own sleepwalking escapades that dredge up haunting memories and unaddressed trauma. Sol’s skepticism and snark are her armor against both her invasive surroundings and the pressures to conform in a predominantly white community that expects her to fit in.

In tackling these themes, Tirado lays bare the invisible costs of “belonging” in spaces built for exclusion. Sol's fears of being judged, or even erased, in this suburban hellscape speak to the psychological toll of forced assimilation, amplified by Sol’s apprehensions around her racial and queer identity. The book highlights the pressures of conforming to white, middle-class ideals while sacrificing parts of oneself just to survive, using horror to examine the slow decay of one’s autonomy and the fragility of identity under social scrutiny.

However, despite its compelling premise, the story sometimes feels overburdened with various subplots that don't fully converge. The ending lacks a sense of closure, leaving certain threads hanging and undercutting the novel’s carefully constructed tension. Though richly layered, We Came to Welcome You might have benefited from a tighter focus to better unify its complex themes. Nonetheless, Tirado’s haunting, socially reflective debut earns a solid 3.5 stars, inviting readers to consider what parts of themselves they might sacrifice for the illusion of safety and acceptance.

📖 Recommended For: Readers who enjoy psychological horror with social commentary, those interested in exploring the impacts of assimilation on identity, fans of haunted suburban narratives with themes of systemic oppression, readers who appreciate introspective and darkly poetic prose.

🔑 Key Themes: Assimilation vs. Authenticity, Systemic Racism and Microaggressions, Identity and Belonging, Survival and Self-Preservation, The Haunting Nature of "Perfect" Suburbia.

In Jackal, Erin E. Adams weaves a haunting narrative of suspense, identity, and unresolved trauma set against the eerie backdrop of Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Liz, our narrator, is a Black woman reluctantly returning to her predominantly white Rust Belt hometown for a friend’s wedding. What begins as a weekend marked by tense reunions quickly unravels into a nightmarish hunt for answers after her goddaughter, Caroline, vanishes. The disappearance drags Liz into the heart of Johnstown’s sinister past, where young Black girls have been mysteriously vanishing for decades. Adams’s writing is richly atmospheric and unsettling, capturing both the literal and metaphorical shadows that haunt Liz’s journey as she delves into the chilling history of this town.

At its core, Jackal explores the complex intersections of race, class, and systemic erasure, particularly through Liz’s lens as a Black woman with a fraught relationship to her roots. Johnstown’s history of socioeconomic disparity and geographic segregation looms over the narrative, with Adams using the town’s recurring floods as a metaphor for how racial and economic divides continually wash over yet shape the lives of its residents. Liz’s inner conflict, shaped by impostor syndrome and a yearning to escape her small-town origins, reflects a common struggle among marginalized individuals seeking to break free from places and histories that feel confining or even dangerous. Adams’s exploration of Johnstown’s dark underbelly not only tackles the trauma inflicted on Black families but also questions the ease with which society allows certain histories and people to be forgotten.

Through unsettling interludes and supernatural elements, Adams blurs the lines between real and imagined horror, suggesting that the violence visited upon these young Black girls is both societal and supernatural in nature. Shadows, literal and metaphorical, stalk Liz, underscoring the sense of ever-present danger Black individuals face in predominantly white spaces. This supernatural mystery symbolically ties into the larger theme of erasure, portraying Blackness as both a target and a source of resilience amid pervasive hostility.

While Jackal maintains a tense, introspective tone that grips readers, the climax’s twist on why the girls went missing felt slightly disconnected from the broader narrative, leaving some aspects underexplored. However, Adams’s immersive prose and powerful themes of resistance and survival make Jackal a memorable read. This chilling story earns a 4.75-star rating for its evocative portrayal of Black womanhood within spaces determined to overlook it, even if some elements of the ending left me wanting more.

📖 Recommended For: Readers who enjoy atmospheric, suspenseful prose; those interested in the intersection of horror and social critique; fans of stories that confront racial trauma and explore Black identity in predominantly white spaces; and anyone drawn to narratives of resilience and mystery.

🔑 Key Themes: Systemic Erasure and Racial Injustice, Intergenerational Trauma, Identity and Alienation, The Power of Community, Visibility and Survival in Hostile Spaces.

Thank you to NetGalley and the publisher for the eARC! DNF at 27%.

Teenagers Sophie and Noah are twins being raised by their deeply devout and pious Catholic parents. When their parents catch Noah with a gay pornographic magazine, he is sent away to a Catholic boarding school for “troubled” teens. The novel follows Sophie as a flu outbreak sweeps across the US, and she rushes to save her brother Noah.

Sophie lives in an extremely small, rural, and isolated town in which the church members make up almost the entire population. Sophie hates her parents and her religion so much, she barely wants to live, feels like she’s not even living. The town librarian secretly funnels her novels to read, as her mother has strict rules about what books she’s allowed to check out. There is a strong emphasis on virginity and the danger of women’s beauty. Sophie’s mother became deeply devout and ascetic after being sexually assaulted, because she believes she invited the assault and that her piousness will protect her moving forward. In this way, American Rapture explores how religion can turn us against ourselves.

The flu eventually makes its way to Sophie’s town, and she’s sent home from school one day when a student tests positive. Sophie returns home to find her parents having sex on the living room floor, an almost unthinkable experience considering their devout piousness. When Sophie tries to flee the house, her parents begin to attack her. This culminates in Sophie’s dad attempting to rape her, which she is able to escape from. She steals her parents’ car and heads toward the facility where Noah is being held. On the way, she gets stuck in unmoving traffic. A man in a nearby car becomes infected, breaks into Sophie’s car, and also sexually attacks her. At this point, it becomes clear that the virus is driving people to sexual violence. I realized that American Rapture is a book about a teenage girl surviving a sexual violence epidemic. Considering this is essentially my actual life, I did not feel the need to continue reading this book. This book needs some major trigger warnings for incest and sexual assault. 

This is an all vibes, no plot book full of lyrical writing and reflections that feels like it's been through the MFA wringer a few times. Those kinds of books sometimes work for me. This one didn't. I simply don't have the brain cells for it right now. Thanks to NetGalley and the publisher for the eARC anyways!