By Nico

A Door in the Dark is definitely more YA than most of the books we review—I would place it firmly for ages fourteen and up. However, for high schoolers who enjoy high-tension, dark fantasy, I highly recommend it.

Ren Monroe is a survivor.

Hers is the most unlikely story: a girl from the Lower Quarter chosen to attend the prestigious Balmerick University on scholarship, where the best wizards in Kathor learn their craft. A girl who not only survived, but excelled, beating out the scions of Kathor’s wealthiest families to become one of Balmerick’s top students. And all her hard work will be worth it if Ren earns a position among Kathor’s elite, and a recruitment from one of the richest houses. That’s been her goal ever since her father’s death, since she understood what she needed to do for there to be justice in the world.

Survival. That’s why, when a spell gone wrong dumps Ren and two of Kathor’s wealthiest scions—along with three other scholarship kids like Ren—in the middle of the wilderness, she doesn’t panic and doesn’t scream. Not even with one of their number already dead.

After excelling in advanced magical theory, leading them back to civilization should hardly be a challenge for Ren. But that’s not taking into account the group’s painful secrets, particularly Ren’s own—or the creature hunting them through the most dangerous place in Kathor.

In the end, there’s only one thing Ren wants more than survival.

Revenge.

A Door in the Dark was a book I honestly didn’t see coming. I knew I wanted to read it as soon as I saw the book announcement--Scott Reintgen is one of my favorite writers—and after starting it, I found myself enjoying the book for all the right reasons: interesting characters, tension, an incredibly strong world… Then, about a third of the way in, the pace suddenly picked up, and I went from ‘enjoying’ to ‘engrossed’ in the space of just a few pages. I devoured the rest of the book in about twenty-four hours, reading a few pages whenever I had a moment to spare; it was a book that refused to let me put it down. Even now, the ending seems to have rented permanent real estate in the corner of my brain.

To begin with, the worldbuilding is amazing. I can’t think of another book that nails the theory piece of magic the way A Door in the Dark does—one of my favorite parts was how Ren was able to discuss crafting spells in such an analytical, scientific way, using different theories and principals that made it truly feel like a highly academic course of study. The tension and layered class relationships also added another dimension to the world—Kathor’s flaws and history truly brought it to life.

​The other highlight is the characters. There are few authors who can truly pull off morally grey characters this well, but Reintgen gives everyone a realism and punch that makes their decisions both devastating and incredibly believable. Ren was probably my favorite; her fierceness and intelligence blended to create a wholly unique character who stood out from page one. Intense, atmospheric, and powerfully dark, I highly recommend A Door in the Dark to readers ages fourteen and up who have ever wondered what would happen if you dropped the characters from Six of Crows or All of Us Villains into the middle of the wilderness. 

By Lina
​
Ari Mendoza - Aristotle, if you want to annoy him - is fifteen. A fifteen-year-old boy, in summer, with a father who holds the Vietnam war silent inside him and an irritatingly perceptive mother who adores him. One with a brother in prison, leaving him with questions his parents will never answer, and two grown-up sisters, making him a sort of fake only child, which is pretty depressing, when you think about it. 

Ari’s not particularly interested in making friends - most people know to leave him alone, and that’s just fine with him. But then he meets Dante Quintana, an irrepressible, erudite boy who appears at the local pool and offers to teach him to swim. Ari doesn’t like accepting help. But for whatever reason, he says yes to Dante. 

Ari is moody rain and fierce loyalty, a self-professed expert loner. Dante is sunlight and poetry and smart-aleck comebacks. They’re utterly different. They’re remarkably alike. 

Together, they might discover the secrets of the universe. 

By the time I read Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe, not only did I have high expectations, I felt I had a pretty good sense of the overall trajectory of the story. Historical queer romance? Coming-of-age tale? When you read a lot, you often go into books with a decent sense of what they’ll be like based on the loose sketch you’ve gotten from the flap and - when they’re as acclaimed and successful as this one - the reviews and recommendations. While each is unique, they often fit semiconscious, overall molds. 

Not this one. Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe was entirely different than I was expecting, carrying on in its own way, politely brushing my expectations aside each time I thought I knew what was going to happen next. Instead of the standard three-act love story I was expecting, I was launched into a stunning meditation on growing up, on figuring out who you are, and on the complexity of families and secrets and being a teenager, all while remaining unwaveringly fresh and authentic. Some books - just a few - capture that ineffable essence of growing up, of hovering on that border between childhood and adulthood; The Perks of Being a Wallflower comes to mind. This is one of them. 

It’s rare for me to fall in love with an entire cast of characters, but it happened here. All the characters, including both sets of parents, are complex and flawed and effortlessly human, and all felt real; their dialogue is particularly strong and believable. Ari is a captivating protagonist, messy, witty, wickedly smart and surprisingly introspective, while Dante’s brilliance, quirkiness, and indescribable individuality shine. I was especially struck by Sáenz’s remarkable ability to tell readers a great deal without outright saying anything of the sort, particularly concerning Ari himself: one is so deeply enmeshed in his mind, his life, and his feelings that one often viscerally understands his emotions and thoughts without his actually admitting to them. 

A tale of family, friendship, secrets, love, growing up, and, at its very heart, being human, I would highly recommend this raw, thoughtful, beautiful story to readers ages 14 and up. It’s also excellent on audio.

By Nico

​The remote city of Ilvernath is known for little more than being ordinary. With quaint shops, dense forests, and talented spellmakers, it’s little-known and little-noticed, unassuming, perhaps, to a fault.

But every generation, with the rise of the Blood Moon, each of Ilvernath’s seven most powerful families sends one of its children into a cursed duel to the death. The victor’s family controls the city’s high magic reserves until the next Tournament. The other children put forward as potential champions by their families are just more sacrifices to the brutal curse they put in place centuries ago.

For centuries, the tournament, along with Ilvernath’s high magic itself—a dangerous and incredibly powerful natural resource believed to be depleted from the world—has been a carefully kept secret. But ever since the publication of a tell-all book, A Tradition of Tragedy, which bears all Ilvernath’s secrets to the world, newspapers throughout the country have been plastered with headlines about this unassuming city that sends its children to their deaths. For the first time, as each family declares their champion, the world is watching with revolution and fascination as this centuries-old story unfolds, and the seven champions of Ilvernath battle for their families, survival, and glory.

Alistair Lowe has been raised on monster stories by his family, the undisputed villains of Ilvernath, but he wants to win not for them, but for his beloved brother. Isobel Macaslan was thrust accidentally into the spotlight as the first champion revealed, and a desperate attempt to survive might cost her her life. Briony Thorburn has wanted all her life to be her family’s champion, but the meddling of external powers might not give her that chance. And even though Gavin Greive’s family has never won the tournament—or perhaps because of it—he’s willing to sacrifice anything to survive, even the very force that keeps him alive.

But maybe this time, Ilvernath’s ancient story will end a little differently.

With the atmospheric writing of Where Dreams Descend and the emotional ambiguity and intensity of Six of Crows and An Ember in the Ashes, I knew as soon as I started reading that All of Us Villains was going to become an instant favorite. This is one of those brilliant books with an amazing premise that not only lived up to everything I was hoping it would be, but far surpassed it. Complex, intense, and sometimes brutally honest, the intertwined stories of Alistair, Isobel, Briony, and Gavin wove one of the most complicated and multifaceted stories I’ve had the pleasure to read, going far beyond subverting traditional notions of heroism and what makes a villain into a tale so morally ambiguous that the term moral ambiguity barely begins to cover it. Alistair was my favorite character—he’s a character for anyone who has ever loved a villain—but it was a narrow win; all four of the narrators are utterly spectacular, with such nuance and realism that each utterly leapt off the page into my mind. Their struggles and distinct personalities were so vibrant, and the conflicts both between them and inside themselves propelled the story forward at an electric pace. The worldbuilding was stunning; I’ve never read a book with a world quite like All of Us Villain’s, a modern-ish world where magic is carried in spellstones and bought and sold like any other every-day tool. Every inch of it felt fresh and different; even the tournament, a familiar trope in YA literature, was unlike any I’ve ever read. Fast-paced, twisty, intense, and spectacular, I highly recommend All of Us Villains (and the AMAZING sequel!) to readers ages fourteen and up.  

Note: All of Us Villains is stunning on audio--highly recommended! 

By Lina 

The princess with flaming hair, signifying war; the coveted bride with blushing cheeks, representing bloodshed; the girl who, despite the battles fought over her hand in marriage, never speaks a single line---who really is Lavinia of Virgil's epic The Aeneid? In Le Guin's imagination, she is thoughtful, caring, quiet, fiercely intelligent: a leader in her own right, who loves her people and her freedom, and refuses to be bound to the future others choose for her.

In Lavinia, the titular character traces the story of her life, one ignored or overlooked for centuries. She tells of a happy childhood, the only daughter of King Latinus, wandering the forests and fields of Latium with her best friend; of the sudden arrival of suitors vying for her hand in marriage, and thus the end of her freedom; of the Trojan stranger, foretold of in omens, who arrives on their shore; of the fated war fought with her own future as its prize. And she tells the story that comes after, of her happiness and heartbreak, victories and betrayals, and of her fierce, unyielding determination to protect her people and those she loves. 

Lavinia can certainly be enjoyed by those who haven't read The Aeneid---it's a great story, beautifully told, either way---but for those who have, it's simply stunning, a retelling of a classic tale that faithfully follows the threads and characters of the original while deftly smoothing out its inconsistencies, frustrations, and occasional illogicality. I felt as though I was not so much reading a new version of an ancient epic as experiencing Virgil's story through different, perhaps more thoughtful eyes, making it equal parts fascinating and delightful to follow Lavinia's classic tale: or, perhaps more accurately, to discover it. Given the casual misogyny of the original, it's immensely satisfying to read feminist Le Guin's take on The Aeneid, which, while faithful to the original, often approaches its content in a markedly different way. Lavinia is a compelling, independent character who never falls into the trap of some modern historical fiction which grafts modern opinions onto historical characters; even her cruel mother Amata, it is gently suggested, has suffered at the hands of patriarchy perhaps more than Virgil was willing to admit---or able to notice. 

Le Guin's mastery of building fantasy worlds is well-suited to evoking the still-rustic land of Latium before it was Rome, a place steeped in ancient tradition and folklore, guided by fate and strange omens as much as political strategy; she leaves the lines between history, ancient invention, and modern interpretation delightfully opaque. The final touch is the introduction of Virgil himself as a character, which, rather than detracting from the main story, enhances it with quiet questions of fate and perspective and who tells enduring tales, and gently reminds readers---and Lavinia herself---of the many layers of existence and opinion needed to tell a tale. Riveting and evocative, I would highly recommend Lavinia to readers ages fourteen and up.