By Ella

The Ever Storms is the third book in the ongoing Wilderlore series; the previous books in the series are The Accidental Apprentice (book 1) and The Weeping Tide (book 2).

Look out—there are spoilers for earlier books in the series in the review!

After facing off with Audrian Keyes and saving the Wilderlands and the Elsewheres—twice—Barclay Thorne is ready for a break. But instead, he and his fellow apprentices, Viola and Tadg, are bound for the Symposium, a series of courses at one of the Lorekeepers’ most prestigious schools in the heart of the Desert.

As an Elsie and outsider to the Lorekeeper world, Barclay is pretty sure he’s going to be scrambling to keep up. And that’s even without the Tourney, an infamous prank war between the Symposium’s students which his friends expect him to be part of, too.

But when a series of mysterious sandstorms known as the Ever Storms appear across the desert, Barclay and his friends might be the only ones who can find their source and stop them before they give rise to something even more disastrous.

I truly love the Wilderlore series, and The Ever Storms was just as good as its predecessors. Witty and magical, this is a perfect middle-grade read for anyone who loves sprawling fantasy series that sparkle with uniqueness and yet take advantage of the familiar. I love Foody’s worldbuilding—every Wilderland is full of interesting details and vivid descriptions, and the Beasts and their powers are both varied and so intriguing. Barclay and his friends, particularly as the series progresses, are such good characters—all distinct and funny, their interactions, relationships, and interactions are consistently engrossing and likable, and I’m so glad to get to know some of them better in this book. I already can’t wait for book 4! I highly recommend The Ever Storms to readers ages nine and up, particularly those who love fantasy series like Septimus Heap and Poppy Pendle. 

By Ella

For a century, Mina’s people have cast a beautiful girl into the ocean every year to become the Sea God’s Bride, and appease his wrath. It is believed only this can keep the storms that have plagued her homeland at bay—and that, one day, the Sea God’s true bride will put an end to the chaos altogether.

But when Shim Cheong is chosen as the sacrifice, Mina refuses to let the girl her beloved brother loves become just another girl vanishing beneath the waves. When the time comes for her to be thrown into the sea, Mina leaps into the sea in her stead—and is thrust into a world full of secrets and gods, where old tales provide only the barest guidance, and her future—or lack thereof—might depend on a single red thread.

Here, Mina must uncover a plot against the Sea God, unravel the rivalries and factions of those who live beneath the sea, and choose between two worlds if she wants to save the world she came from, and all those she left behind.

I fully admit that the stunning cover is the reason I first picked up The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea—but the imaginative worldbuilding, unexpected twists, and strong characters are why I kept reading. The atmospheric setting and strong mythological threads added such depth to all the details and moments; I often felt as though I could see the whole world around Mina. Particularly as the story drew on, there were several twists I wholly wasn’t expecting, and the multilayered relationships, alliances, old feuds, and disagreements of the gods and other beings who inhabit this world gave the whole story a complexity and secretiveness I highly enjoyed. The absorbing, beautiful prose was also utterly amazing! I highly recommend The Girl Who Fell Beneath the Sea to readers ages twelve and up.

​By Ella

The Secrets of the Stormforest is the third book in L D Lapinski's middle-grade fantasy Strangeworlds Travel Agency series. It is preceded by Strangeworlds Travel Agency and The Edge of the Ocean, both of which we also loved--we chose the series overall as one of our favorites of 2022! 

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[Look out--there are spoilers for books 1 & 2 below!]

Ever since Flick Hudson discovered the Strangeworlds Travel Agency and met Jonathan Mercator, who oversees the travel through the multiverse via portals trapped in suitcases, her life has become extraordinary. But now, as Flick begins to understand the truth about the travel agency and the dangers facing the many worlds, she discovers that not just Strangeworlds, but the entire multiverse, might be in danger. 

Now, with Jonathan and Avery by her side, Flick must race to find a suitcase with the power to destroy the multiverse--before it is used to tear apart every magical place she's ever found. 

I adored Flick and Jonathan's previous adventures, each full of quirky twists, awesome characters, and a sense of inarguable magic. The Secrets of the Stormforest's only flaw is that it's the final book in the trilogy! With everything that made books one and two so wonderful, plus unfolding secrets, impending disaster, and a series of stunning plot twists I never would have expected, there was so much to love about this story. As in the earlier books, Lapinski's characters are extraordinary; I felt so much for Flick, Jonathan, Avery, and the entire cast over the course of this book, who are made utterly relatable by their vulnerability, flaws, bravery, and connections to one another. Everything came together with beautiful, sometimes heartbreaking perfection, and threads both anticipated and unexpected from the previous books wove into a story I didn't want to end. I highly recommend the Strangeworlds Travel Agency series to anyone who loves heartwarming, exciting adventures, strong characters, and immersive worldbuilding, ages nine and up. 

By Ella
​
Thea Fowler was supposed to be as ruthless as her infamous mother, Clementine, has become. In the weeks, months, after the disaster that des-troyed her home, she was supposed to learn that the only way to have power in a world ruled by men is to take it for yourself. She was supposed to be audacious and commanding and stoic. She was supposed to be as terrifying and steely as Clementine herself, who has hardened in her resolve into the most dangerous pirate on the seas.

She was supposed to be just like Clementine, just like her mother, who has turned all her old pain and fury into becoming a person who men will have no choice but to listen to.

But all Thea has learned is that she will never live up to her mother’s ex-pectations—that, to her, she will always be weak. All she’s learned is that being Thea—quiet Thea, emotional Thea—will never be enough.

It should be easy: running away with a handsome boy who says he loves her for all the reasons Clementine has berated her all her life. It should be easy, making a new path for herself, away from the swaying decks and painful expectations of her mother’s ships.

Making a new path for herself. It’s what Clementine would have done.

But Clementine’s version of strength can only bring Thea so far when she has always failed at being her mother’s daughter. And when old and new betrayals crisscross through Thea’s life—most painfully of all, her own—she must find her own way of being strong.  

I first read The Sea Knows My Name immediately after its release, and despite all my plans to the contrary, it kept me up far later than I intended, absorbed utterly in Thea’s world. But it took several months of thoughtful contemplation, and then a reread, for me to figure out how to properly write a review on it. Full of powerful, lyrical prose and realism so unshakable that it electrifies every sentence, this is one of the most stunning books I have read in years—and it took some time to decide how to write a review that would do it justice.

I utterly fell in love with this book. Robson (also the author of Girls at the Edge of the World) creates a world and a set of characters so vividly real it almost feels wrong to call this book fantasy. After all, this story is nothing like classic fantasy novels or even a typical pirate tale, full of swashbuckling triumphs, twinkling fairies, and the unmovable hand of destiny. Instead, it is nuanced, as quiet and emotional as its protagonist, and as thoughtful and powerful as Robson’s debut. Unconventional in the best possible way, this is a tale about family and stories, about the devastating expectations of a patriarchal world and the different kinds of strength it takes to live in it. Instead of falling into traditional patterns of storytelling and expectations concerning how women are treated and portrayed, The Sea Knows My Name actively stands up against them.

Thea defies and stands up to the expectations of her society without openly defying them, reminding the reader undeniably that there is more than one way to be a woman, and that being quiet or having feelings does not mean you accept or embody the expectations of a patriarchal society. Conversely, Clementine is in so many ways the classic YA fantasy heroine from the early 2010s—ruthless, determined, and feminist because she wants to set herself apart (the infamous ‘not like other girls’ trope). Thea openly defies this, contradicting the idea that one must be masculine and unemotional to be feminist, but in her own way, Clementine does not fall into the stereotype, either. They are, neither of them, wrong or stereotypical; instead, they are both strong in different ways, and Robson’s subtle yet determined way of weaving this thread and the contrast between them is utterly extraordinary.

With every plot twist and image, every line of dialogue, Robson builds a world and a story so spectacular that feeling ambivalent about this book is utterly out of the question. With vibrancy, realism, and a sometimes painful determination to tell the truth, she weaves something fulfilling out of Thea’s pain and conflict and all the patriarchy and control in the world, something that leaves the reader both empowered and deeply touched by the singular power Robson wields with this deceptively simple, lyrical novel. Raising questions about silence, freedom, love, power, strength, expectation, feminism, judgement, survival, and so much more, perhaps the starkest beauty of all in The Sea Knows My Name is its ability to weave so much together into a narrative that does not content itself with being simply ‘convincing,’ but is utterly real. We need more books with characters like Thea, and more writers as thoughtful and powerful as Robson. Devastating, beautiful, and full of deft realism, I highly recommend The Sea Knows My Name to readers ages thirteen and up.

By Ella

The Sunbearer Trials occur once every decade to renew the sacrifice the sun made centuries ago and keep the selfish, power-hungry Obsidian gods at bay. Ten talented semidioses are selected to compete for twin honors: the winner, to carry the sun’s light across the land; and the loser, to sacrifice themself to keep the sun shining. The winner is always the child of one of the Gold dioses, who train all their lives for the Sunbearer Trials and live far removed from the humans they protect. When Jade semidioses like Teo are chosen, they’re practically considered a shoo-in for the sacrifice. 

Teo isn’t exactly looking forward to watching the Sunbearer Trials—he sees them as yet another way for the Golds to show off their superiority. Plus, it seems all too likely that the only Gold he likes—his best friend, Niya—is going to be chosen for the Trials, and he can’t quite reassure himself that she won’t become the sacrifice. 

It’s the last thing he’s expecting when he’s chosen for the Sunbearer Trials himself. 

Now, Teo must race against privileged Golds—including his ex-best friend, Aurelio, who everyone thinks will become the next Sunbearer—for glory, fame, and simply survival. And even with his fellow competitors Niya and Xiu, another Jade, on his side, the chances of one of them becoming the sacrifice seems higher with every passing trial. 

As the trials seem determined to not go according to plan and Teo realizes that every outcome will be painful, he has to fight harder than ever for the survival of him and his friends—no matter how noble losing might be. 

I've wanted to read Cemetery Boys, Aiden Thomas's debut, since it first came out, but somehow I found myself picking up The Sunbearer Trials first--and I'm so glad I did. I absolutely loved it. From the first page, I felt utterly absorbed in the setting; although complex, it never became too complicated or confusing, instead adding atmosphere and a beautifully queernormative society that only made this book an even more amazing read. Teo is such an incredibly relatable, funny, and deep character who I truly would follow wherever the story goes next; his struggles, decisions, relationships, and determination are both believable and inescapably realistic, and he's the kind of hero I feel like I don't see often enough. This book also features one of the most distinct secondary casts I can remember reading recently--there are about half a dozen competitors (and quite a number of gods) who aren't one of the principal characters, and yet their motivations, personalities, and relationships are so extraordinarily vibrant, distinct, and well-defined that they all very well could have been. Although there are many familiar fantastical threads that run through The Sunbearer Trials, Thomas turns every one of them into something unique and distinct, and I was constantly surprised by twists and turns of the story, turning it into something I hadn't expected but couldn't help but love. I highly recommend The Sunbearer Trials to readers ages twelve and up, particularly those who love LGBTQ fantasy and strong, distinct characters.

By Ella

​A century ago, the kingdom within the Mirrorwood was cursed. Its perfect prince was replaced by a demon one; a wall of thorns was raised to protect the outside world from his dark magic, though it can't prevent some of it from slipping through. The land lives in fear of that magic and the demon prince, and awaits the day when a beautiful princess will enter the Mirrorwood and break the curse at last. 

Fable is hardly a beautiful princess. She doesn't even have a face of her own--she's blighted, cursed by one of the Mirrorwood's twists of dark magic, and unless she wishes to fade into nothing, she has to constantly steal the faces of others. But it's a tenuous existence, even with her family's love and support--she's constantly afraid that a blighthunter will find her and kill her, or, even worse, punish her family for harboring someone blighted. 

When a determined blighthunter's apprentice, Vycorax, pursues Fable and her trusty cat into the Mirrrorwood, she knows she has to act--or risk never seeing her family again. Her only chance at a free, happy life is to slay the demon prince and break the curse herself, even if that means confronting the Mirrorwood's most dangerous beasts, bargaining with ancient powers, and trusting someone she's been taught her whole life to despise. 

But not all evil has horns. And in the Mirrorwood, nothing is as it seems...

Clever, absorbing, and uniquely imagined, I'm so glad I read The Mirrorwood! Mirrorwood! Although the premise easily could have fallen into a straightforward, cliche tale of heroism, Deva Fagan makes it so much deeper and more interesting, propelled by twists I never saw coming. I loved Fable and all the supporting characters, particularly Lyrian and Vycorax, who were layered and often did what I least expected them to, surprising me in the best possible way. The worldbuilding was light and evocative, and I particularly enjoyed reading about the Withering and the Subtle Powers, which helped give the Mirrorwood a unique flavor. I highly recommend The Mirrorwood to readers ages ten and up who enjoy middle-grade fantasy like The School Between Winter and Fairyland. 

By Ella

Rhaskos. A Thracian slave, worth far less than the animals he cares for. Separated from his mother, forced to serve a master who curses him and beats him. He draws horses in the dirt, and dreams of freedom.

Melisto. She caused her mother no end of trouble as a baby. She has never stopped. The future looks as bleak to her as a stretch of flawless fabric: what everyone expects, and so easily ignored. Serving Artemis as a Little Bear might be the first and last chance, however temporary, for her to be herself.

Against the backdrop of ancient Greece, told in poetry and prose and in fragments of the past, this is the tale of a boy and a girl whose futures are dark to them—and who might, through the impossible friendship they form, at last find the peace they have both been searching for.

Amber & Clay is unique and utterly absorbing, blending historical fiction, magic, and archaeology into something almost improbably powerful and beautiful. I’ve read a handful of books which use both prose and poetry, and honestly none of them have pulled it off very well; there always feels as though there is an abrupt shift when transitioning from one to another. But Schlitz’s prose is so lyrical and deliberate that the story flowed seamlessly from one style to another, and brought the book together more fully and made it feel more concrete rather than splintering it into sections. Not only that, but this ranks among one of the most excellent historical novels I have read (it’s set in Greece, particularly the Athens area, around the fifth century BCE)—not just for how it feels as though it stays utterly true to the time period, but because the feelings and conflicts and dreams of Rhaskos and Melisto are so bright and evocative in my mind that they might be living next door, not twenty-six centuries ago.

To be honest, of all the books I’ve reviewed, Amber & Clay is one of the hardest to describe. Its scope feels enormous, and yet deeply personal; its struggles, concrete and yet ephemeral. So much happens, but it isn’t the tale of the vast shifts of war and politics occurring in the background. It isn’t even a grandiose interpretation of what it must’ve been like, growing up without any chance at having rights. Instead of seeking to change the world, Rhaskos and Melisto both simply seek to live with it: to live in a society which they see not as unjust and discriminatory as we do now, but simply as how the world is. This crucial and too-unique nuance lends the story a vibrant realism which it might otherwise lack, and helps every detail of the story, its characters, and its setting shine with power and truth. Amber & Clay is, quite simply, extraordinary—I highly recommend it to readers ages eleven and up.

By Ella

​Becoming assistant to mapmaker Paiyoon has been Sai's first and only chance to escape the life she was born into. But in a birth-based society where your ancestry determines your future, Sai has to keep her con father and home in the marshes outside the city of Mangkon a secret--or risk Paiyoon's employment and the only chance she's ever had to earn enough to escape her father and the low status afforded to her by her birth. 

When she and Paiyoon are given a place on an expedition intended to map the southernmost reaches of the world, Sai is thrilled. Here, at last, is her chance to escape her life and Mangkon and use her wages to start over somewhere where no one knows her. 

But Sai isn't the only member of the ship not telling the whole truth, and when she discovers the expedition may be headed for the mythical Sunderlands, land of dragons, riches, and the impossible, Sai must decide what she's willing to give up to reach the future she's worked so hard for. 

The Last Mapmaker is an expertly paced, imaginative fantasy novel which I couldn't stop reading until the final page. Sai is the rare protagonist who doesn't always do the right thing, but always does it in a way so understandable and relatable that a reader can't help but sympathize with her decisions; I love how her choices and feelings drive the course of the story. Without using excessive description, Soontornvat's writing makes this world bloom in my mind, and I had a very strong sense of place throughout this book. I loved the details of the setting, particularly Mangkon and the legends about the mysterious Sunderlands. I highly recommend The Last Mapmaker to readers ages nine and up, particularly those who enjoy fantasy novels with strong heroines and complex characters. 

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. 

​By Ella

Everyone in the village is sure that Luka Lupu--clever, kind, and full of wisdom--will be a sorcerer one day, and help protect Illyria against the ferisome Dread. Even his sister, Marya, believes that, although no one would listen to her if she didn't. Stubborn, opinionated, and, worst of all, a girl, the Lupus have no expectations for Marya. Her parents only hope that when the sorcerers who test promising boys for magical potential find it in their Luka, Marya will not be too great of an embarrassment. 

But even these low expectations are dashed when the sorcerer's test goes horribly wrong, and Marya is sent off to Dragomir Academy--a place intended to instill good manners into troubled girls. 

At first, Marya finds herself at Dragomir as she always has been: incompetent and full of mistakes, somehow unable to heed the rules. Troubled. But as time passes and Marya learns more about Dragomir and her fellow students, she begins to wonder whether facts she's been taught all her life are true after all--and what Dragomir Academy is really intended for. 

The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy is simultaneously an engrossing, nuanced story full of magic and mystery and a deep, thoughtful exploration of the stories our society tells us--and who, ultimately, they truly serve. Anne Ursu weaves a tale led by a strong, flawed protagonist who finds herself coming to terms with a world that would rather she stay silent, and a society designed to keep her that way. This reflective, almost philosophical undertone--perhaps best epitomized by the lingering question, 'who does the story serve?'--creates an undercurrent of questioning and cross-examining patriarchy and predominant narratives that both inspires and empowers, and never even considers veering into a preachy, overt, or otherwise contrived vein. Much like the slightly older Girls at the Edge of the World, it evolves and intertwines with the narrative, giving the story new resonance without ever stealing away its strong and resounding voice and plot. I also love the story and plot itself; its unexpected twists, straightforward yet evocative language, distinctive characters, and beautifully paced unfolding mystery kept me swept up in the story until long after the final page. I highly recommend The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy to readers ages ten and up. 

By Ella

Holly the squirrel once had grand dreams of being a heroic familiar like generations of brave animals before her, and saving the world by the side of her wizard. But when she drank from the magic pool that gives familiars their powers, her ability--conjuring pastries--wasn't deemed good enough for the wizards. Instead, she was sent to the Shelter for Rejected Familiars, where animals like her live. 

Ever since, Holly has been intent on welcoming new arrivals to the Shelter for Rejected Familiars, whose abilities to turn to stone, float, or move the universe two feet to the left simply didn't live up to the wizards' expectations. She's found a community here, and she's determined to enjoy it, even if she'll never fully shake her old dreams of heroism and accomplishment. 

When another Shelterling brings back news of a spell that could fix them and give them the magic powers they all deserve, Holly is determined to make it work. But as she and her friends defeat dragons, navigate tunnels, and travel across the sea to gather the necessary ingredients, she begins to wonder: what if they don't need better powers to be extraordinary after all? 

I've adored every book I've read by Sarah Beth Durst (Spark, The Stone Girl's Story, and The Girl Who Could Not Dream are a few favorites), and her newest novel, The Shelterlings, utterly lived up to my hopes. With strong characters, clever twists, and an ever-present hint of humor, I sped through Holly's story and loved every word of it. Durst is a master of worldbuilding and adding uniqueness to every story, and her angle on the classic trope of familiars was particularly enjoyable. I also loved the characters, particularly Holly, Gus, and Periwinkle! I highly recommend The Shelterlings to readers ages nine and up, particularly those who like fantasy adventure novels. 

By Ella

Celia Cleary has always known that on her 4,444th day alive, she'll inherit the power of prophecy, just like generations of Clearys  before her. She's been looking forward to it, too. But none of her grandmother's stories have prepared her for the shock of finally having her first vision--and watching the boy down the street, Jeffery, die. 

Celia knows she has to save him. She might not know him well, but she's always been sure she should use her prophetic powers for good. So, despite her grandmother's warn-ings, she saves him--and immediately sees another vision of him dying. And another. 

Apparently death is set on its quarry, but Celia isn't going to let this happen--particularly as she gets to know Jeffery better, and might even begin to feel some-thing for him. But as her seventh-grade year dissolves into fortune-telling chaos, and Celia learns more about her power, she must decide whether she can keep outwitting death forever--or if some things simply can't be changed. 

The Problem with Prophecies is a clever, magical, and ultimately bittersweet tale of friendship, growing up, and family. I loved the Cleary family's gifts and the stories Celia's grandmother tells about their ancestors, which are both hilarious and clever (the excerpted page from 'the Cleary Family Guide Book' on the back cover may be one of my favorite book jacket accents) and always firmly secured in the modern day. Scott Reintgen (who also wrote the fantastic middle-grade Talespinners series) deftly creates a tale both lightly humorous and moving; I can't wait to see what he writes next! I recommend The Problem with Prophecies ​to readers ages ten and up, particularly those who enjoy fantasy grounded in the real world. 

​By Ella

Everyone believes that Quinton Peters is dead, but his younger sister, Amari, has never been convinced. He just disappeared--she's sure he's out there somewhere. So when she discovers a suitcase from Quinton with her name on it--and an invitation inside from somewhere called the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs--she's certain that whatever it means, it holds the key to discovering what really happened to Quinton. 

But the Bureau, an organization which keeps magic and the magical world hidden from everyone else, isn't exactly handing out information about the disappearance of one its top agents--even if Amari is his sister. It quickly becomes clear that if Amari is going to learn what really happened to Quinton, she's going to have to compete for a spot in the Bureau against far more experienced candidates--not all of whom think Amari deserves a place here at all. 

Amari must forge some unlikely friendships and uncover the plans of one of the most dangerous magicians of all time if she wants to find a place at the Bureau, and learn what really happened to Quinton. But doing so may destroy her tentative acceptance in the Bureau--and keep her from seeing the most perilous deception of all. 

I've heard so much about Amari and the Night Brothers​, and I'm so glad I finally read it--it not only lived up to my high expectations, but exceeded them. Many of Amari's story elements are familiar, but Alston's strong characters and absorbing world-building make them feel utterly new, creating an exciting page-turner that left me wishing I already had book two. I utterly loved this world--full of small, quirky details and stunning descriptions, I was completely engrossed in the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs. Its flaws and prejudices made it deeper and layered, and helped it feel far more realistic than an idealistically perfect society. Amari's determination and love for Quinton truly drive this story, and I'm glad I'll be able to enjoy more books about her--and the supporting cast (particularly Elsie and Dylan), who are equally awesome! This story had more than one twist that truly surprised me, and I loved how the mystery of what really happened to Quinton unfolds. I highly recommend Amari and the Night Brothers to readers ages ten and up who love fantasy books full of clever plotting and strong characters. 

By Ella

"On a warm April morning, a week after the terrible day on which Grand-mère Sylvie died, Sylvie walked away from her home...She did not look back and she did not cry. She did not deserve tears. 

​She had made a terrible mistake."

                                     - from Healer and Witch 

Sylvie's Grand-mère has always had a strange, unaccountable gift for healing, able to save lives when Sylvie's mother cannot. But Sylvie has never seen this ability--or even the stranger power she herself has inherited--as witchcraft, or even as dangerous. Not until, in the wake of Grand-mère Sylvie's death, she seeks to heal her mother's grief, and instead steals her memories of Grand-mère Sylvie--and of Sylvie herself. 

​Sylvie is determined to find someone to teach her how to properly use her gift so that she might return her mother's memories. With Martin, the farrier's son, by her side, Sylvie sets off into the world beyond her tiny, rural hometown. But sixteenth-century France is a dangerous place for a girl with odd powers, full of questions and inquisitors and those who would use her gift to their own ends. Sylvie must decide what life she is willing to lead--and who, in all the world, she can trust to show her her way. 

Healer and Witch is an exquisitely written, beautiful historical fantasy novel that weaves many disparate threads into a single, stunning storyline. Although I initially picked up this book for its lovely cover, Werlin's writing pulled me in instantly:  simple and unadorned, it perfectly evokes the time and Sylvie's character as a girl who is far from naive, but nonetheless is largely ignorant of the world. Sylvie's journey toward understanding, self-discovery, and in a way independence in a land that would rather stifle, confine, and condemn her for her abilities and simply for being a woman weaves the heart of this book, giving the story an emotional depth and complexity that truly make it shine. The setting also feels particularly well-imagined, including the characters who Sylvie meets along her way. Overall, I highly recommend Healer and Witch ​to readers ages ten and up, particularly those who like historical fantasy or enjoyed the depth and writing style of The Troubled Girls of Dragomir Academy.