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Robin Hood: Twisted Fairy Tales by Difference Games is a hidden object game that takes one of England’s most enduring legends and gives it a dark, gothic reimagining. It is part of a series that reworks familiar fairy tales with a macabre visual style, and the Robin Hood entry is one of the stronger instalments. Like the pinball review above, we are stepping outside the usual book format because the storytelling in games deserves the same critical attention.

The Premise

The game follows the Robin Hood legend through a series of hidden object scenes, each representing a chapter in the story. The narrative is told through brief text interludes between scenes, which sketch out a version of the legend that is recognisable but skewed. Sherwood Forest is darker, the Sheriff is crueler and the Merry Men are more menacing than any adaptation has dared before. The twisted conceit is not merely cosmetic; it recontextualises the story’s themes of justice and rebellion in ways that are more interesting than a straightforward retelling would be.

The game does not attempt a full narrative reimagining. The text interludes are short and the story serves primarily as a frame for the gameplay. But the writing is better than it needs to be, with a gothic prose style that suits the visual treatment and a few genuinely surprising twists on the familiar beats of the legend.

Gameplay and Design

As a hidden object game, the core mechanic is simple: find a list of items hidden within a detailed scene. The quality of a hidden object game depends almost entirely on the quality of its art, and Robin Hood: Twisted Fairy Tales delivers. The scenes are richly illustrated, with a gothic style that blends medieval settings with supernatural elements. The colour palette is dominated by deep greens, browns and blacks, which suits the Sherwood setting and gives the game a distinctive visual identity.

The hidden object scenes are well-designed. Items are integrated into the scenes in ways that are challenging without being unfair, and the artwork is detailed enough that objects can be hidden without becoming invisible. The game includes a hint system for players who get stuck, which is generous without removing the challenge entirely.

In addition to the standard hidden object scenes, the game includes a few puzzle mini-games that break up the pace. These are simple but well-executed, and they provide a change of rhythm that keeps the gameplay from becoming monotonous.

Pacing and Accessibility

The game is well-paced for its genre. Scenes are varied enough to maintain interest, and the brief story interludes between scenes give the player a reason to keep going. The difficulty is accessible for casual players, with no time pressure on most scenes and a hint system that prevents frustration. Experienced hidden object players will find it relatively easy, but the strength of the art and the story provides enough engagement to carry the experience.

The game is relatively short, which is typical for the genre. Most players will complete it in a few hours, though there is replay value in the form of bonus scenes and collectibles.

Who Would Enjoy It

Fans of hidden object games will find this a solid, well-presented entry in the genre. The gothic reimagining of Robin Hood will appeal to anyone who enjoys dark fairy tale adaptations, and the art quality is high enough to satisfy players who come for the visuals as much as the gameplay. It is also a good choice for casual gamers who want something atmospheric and undemanding.

It is less suitable for players who want complex gameplay, strategic depth or a substantial narrative. The story is a frame, not a novel, and the gameplay is straightforward by design.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A well-crafted hidden object game with strong gothic art, a clever reimagining of the Robin Hood legend and solid gameplay mechanics. The story is thin and the game is short, but the presentation elevates it above the average for the genre. A good choice for fans of dark fairy tale adaptations.

It might seem odd to find a mobile game review on a book review site, but PageTurner Reviews has always believed that good design tells a story, regardless of medium. Pinball HD by Gameprom Thailand is a mobile game that deserves attention for the way it translates a physical experience into a digital one without losing what makes pinball pinball.

The Premise

Pinball HD is a pinball simulator for mobile devices that aims to capture the feel of a real pinball table on a screen. The game offers multiple themed tables, each with its own visual style, physics model and set of objectives. The question for any pinball simulator is whether the digital version can reproduce the tactile satisfaction of the physical game: the weight of the ball, the responsiveness of the flippers, the way a well-placed shot can set off a satisfying chain of events. Pinball HD comes closer than most.

The game’s tables are varied enough to keep things interesting. Each table has a distinct personality, with its own layout, scoring system and visual language. The themes range from space exploration to underwater adventure, and whilst none of them are wildly original, they provide enough variety to justify spending time with each one.

Design and Gameplay

The physics engine is the heart of any pinball game, and Gameprom has clearly invested time in getting the feel right. The ball moves with a weight that approximates the real thing, and the flippers respond with the immediacy that pinball demands. The nudging mechanic, which lets the player tilt the table to influence the ball’s trajectory, is implemented well on a touchscreen, which is not something every mobile pinball game manages.

The visual presentation is strong. The tables are rendered in high detail, with lighting effects and animations that add to the atmosphere without distracting from the gameplay. The camera follows the ball smoothly, and the view shifts between a full-table overview and a close-up of the action in a way that feels natural. On a good screen, the tables look genuinely impressive.

Where the game falls short is in its long-term depth. The tables are fun for short sessions, but the objectives are relatively simple and the scoring systems do not reward the sort of deep, obsessive play that the best physical tables encourage. After a few hours with each table, most players will have seen what there is to see.

Controls and Accessibility

The touchscreen controls are well-implemented. Tapping the left and right sides of the screen operates the corresponding flipper, and a swipe gesture handles the nudging. This is a clean, intuitive scheme that works well on phones and tablets alike. The game also supports external controllers for those who want a more traditional feel, which is a thoughtful inclusion.

The difficulty curve is gentle enough for newcomers whilst leaving room for skilled players to chase high scores. The game does not punish failure harshly, which makes it a good choice for casual sessions, but the lack of a steeper challenge may disappoint experienced pinball fans.

Who Would Enjoy It

Anyone with an affection for pinball, or anyone looking for a well-made mobile game that can be enjoyed in short bursts, will find this worth downloading. It is a good introduction to pinball for players who have never encountered a real table, and a decent substitute for those who have.

It is less suitable for players who want deep, strategic gameplay or extended sessions. This is a game designed for ten-minute commutes, not all-night marathons.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A well-made pinball simulator with strong physics, attractive presentation and intuitive controls. The tables lack the depth to sustain long-term play, but for casual sessions it delivers exactly what it promises. A solid mobile game that respects its source material.

The World Has Lost is a novel that takes its title seriously. It is a book about loss on multiple scales: personal, communal and global. The premise is ambitious, and the author does not shy away from the scope of what they are attempting, though the execution is more successful in its intimate moments than in its broader vision.

The Premise

The novel follows characters navigating a world that has been fundamentally altered by an unspecified catastrophe. The nature of the loss is kept ambiguous for much of the book, which is a deliberate choice that lets the author explore the emotional landscape without being tied to a specific cause. The characters deal with the aftermath of disruption: broken supply chains, fractured communities, the slow erosion of normality. But the book’s focus is not on survival mechanics; it is on what people lose when the structures that gave their lives meaning are removed.

This is a quieter take on the post-apocalyptic genre. There is no dramatic set piece of civilisation falling, no montage of landmarks crumbling. The loss is felt in the absence of things: the shops that no longer open, the friends who never came back, the routines that have become meaningless. The author has the confidence to let the quiet accumulate, which is both the book’s strength and its limitation.

Writing Style

The prose is measured and reflective, with long sentences and paragraphs that demand attention. The author writes with a literary sensibility that prioritises interiority over action, and the best passages capture the texture of grief and disorientation with a precision that stays with the reader. The descriptions of the altered world are understated, which makes them more effective than the detailed world-building of more conventional post-apocalyptic fiction.

The dialogue is less consistent. Conversations between characters sometimes feel as though they are serving the thematic argument rather than the emotional needs of the scene, and a few exchanges are too eloquent for the circumstances they describe. The author is at their best when describing internal states and at their weakest when characters explain their feelings to each other.

Pacing and Structure

The book is slow, by design. The author is not interested in propelling the reader through a plot; they are interested in creating an atmosphere and exploring how people move through it. This works in the first half, where the slow pace mirrors the characters’ disorientation and the reader’s curiosity is engaged by the ambiguity of the situation. In the second half, the pace becomes a liability. Without a strong narrative engine, the book relies on the reader’s investment in the characters, and not all of them are interesting enough to sustain the weight.

The structure is non-linear, with flashbacks interwoven with present-day scenes. The flashbacks are well-handled and provide context without exposition, but the present-day narrative sags in the middle third where the forward momentum stalls.

Who Would Enjoy It

Readers who appreciate literary post-apocalyptic fiction in the vein of Cormac McCarthy’s The Road or Emily St John Mandel’s Station Eleven will find this worth reading, though it does not reach the heights of either. It is a good choice for readers who value atmosphere and emotional precision over plot, and who are comfortable with ambiguity.

It is less suitable for readers who want a page-turner, clear answers or traditional post-apocalyptic survival mechanics. This is a novel about emotional aftermath, not practical survival.

Rating

3 out of 5 stars

An ambitious literary novel about loss that succeeds more in its quiet moments than in its overall structure. The prose is strong, the premise is interesting and the atmosphere is well-sustained, but the pacing falters and not all the characters carry the weight they are asked to bear. Worth reading for the best passages, but uneven as a whole.

Greta Beigel’s Mewsings: My Life as a Jewish Cat is the sort of book that could easily have gone wrong. A cat’s-eye-view memoir set within a Jewish household, written with humour and a sprinkling of cultural commentary, is a concept that depends entirely on execution. Get it right and you have something charming and unexpectedly poignant. Get it wrong and you have a novelty item that wears thin after the first chapter. Beigel, fortunately, gets it right.

The Premise

The book is narrated by a cat who lives in a Jewish home, and the story uses the feline perspective to observe the rituals, rhythms and family dynamics of Jewish domestic life. The cat sees everything with the unselfconscious directness that animals bring to human behaviour, and the gap between what the humans think they are doing and what the cat thinks they are doing is the source of most of the book’s humour.

The cultural elements are woven in naturally. Shabbat dinners, holiday preparations, family gatherings and the everyday customs of a Jewish household are described through the cat’s eyes, which makes them feel fresh even when they are familiar. Beigel does not explain the traditions so much as let the cat observe them, and the reader who recognises them will find the warmth of recognition, whilst the reader who does not will learn through context rather than exposition.

Writing Style

Beigel writes with a light, confident touch. The prose is warm without being sentimental, and the cat’s voice is maintained with impressive consistency. The challenge of writing an animal narrator is keeping the perspective limited to what the animal could plausibly observe and understand, and Beigel handles this well. The cat does not understand theology, but it understands food, warmth, routine and the emotional states of its humans. This is the right level of comprehension for the conceit.

The humour is character-driven rather than gag-driven. The cat’s personality is specific and consistent, with preferences and prejudices that feel earned, and the comedy arises from the cat’s interpretation of events rather than from jokes imposed on the situation. There are moments of genuine wit, and a few passages that are unexpectedly moving, particularly when the cat observes the family dealing with loss or change.

Pacing and Structure

The book is structured as a series of vignettes rather than a continuous narrative, which suits the material. Each chapter focuses on an event, a season or a recurring situation, and the episodic structure keeps the book from wearing out its premise. Some vignettes are stronger than others, and a few in the middle section repeat emotional beats that earlier chapters handled better, but the overall arc maintains interest.

The pacing within chapters is good. Beigel knows when to linger on a moment and when to move on, and the best vignettes achieve a balance of humour and feeling that stays with the reader.

Who Would Enjoy It

Animal lovers, particularly cat owners, will find much to recognise in the cat’s observations and misinterpretations of human behaviour. Readers with an interest in Jewish culture will enjoy the way traditions are woven into the cat’s perspective, and the book would make a good gift for anyone who appreciates gentle, character-driven humour.

It is less suitable for readers who want plot-driven narrative or who find animal narrators precious. The book’s charm lies in its observation and voice, not in its momentum.

Rating

4 out of 5 stars

A charming, well-written memoir-as-told-by-a-cat that uses its premise to observe Jewish domestic life with warmth and wit. The cat’s voice is consistent, the humour is character-driven and the emotional beats land more often than they miss. A pleasant surprise for a book that could have been a gimmick.

Betty Cook’s 42 Crockpot Party Dip Recipes is exactly what the title promises: a focused, no-nonsense collection of recipes designed for one specific purpose. In a publishing landscape cluttered with cookbooks that try to be everything to everyone, there is something refreshingly honest about a book that knows precisely what it is and does not pretend to be more.

The Premise

The book is built on a simple, practical idea: the slow cooker is an underused tool for party food, and dips are the perfect vehicle for it. Most party dips can be prepared in advance, left to cook unattended and served straight from the pot, which makes them ideal for hosts who want to enjoy their own parties rather than spending the evening hovering over the hob. Cook organises the recipes by occasion and flavour profile, with sections for casual gatherings, holiday events and lighter options.

The range is broader than you might expect from the title. Alongside the inevitable cheese-based dips, there are bean dips, salsa-based dips, sweet dips for dessert tables and a handful of vegetarian and vegan options. The recipes span familiar American comfort food and a few international flavours, with a section on Mexican-inspired dips that is particularly strong.

Writing Style and Format

Cook writes in clear, practical prose with no wasted words. Each recipe follows a consistent format: ingredients list with measurements, step-by-step instructions, serving suggestions and occasional notes on variations. The instructions are written for cooks of all levels, with enough detail to guide a beginner without patronising an experienced cook. The tone is friendly without being chatty, and the headnotes are brief and useful rather than autobiographical.

One thing the book does well is provide practical guidance on scaling. Most recipes include notes on doubling or halving, and Cook is honest about which dips hold well and which need to be served immediately. This is the kind of information that experienced cooks take for granted but that beginners desperately need, and its inclusion shows an understanding of the actual use case: a book called 42 Crockpot Party Dip Recipes is going to be bought by someone who is having a party and needs recipes that work.

Pacing and Structure

The book is organised by category rather than by ingredient, which makes it easy to browse for a specific occasion. The structure is logical and the recipes within each section are varied enough to give the reader genuine options. An index by main ingredient would have been a useful addition, particularly for cooks who want to use what they already have, but the categories are clear enough that browsing is not a chore.

The recipes are well-tested. Instructions are consistent, cooking times are realistic and the flavour combinations are sensible. None of the recipes are ambitious in a culinary sense, but they are not trying to be. This is crowd-pleasing food designed for social occasions, and the recipes hit their target.

Who Would Enjoy It

Anyone who regularly hosts gatherings and uses a slow cooker will find this genuinely useful. It is a practical, no-frills reference book that earns its shelf space through utility rather than aspiration. Cooks who want glossy photography or celebrity chef stories should look elsewhere; this is a working cookbook, not a coffee table book.

It is less suitable for cooks looking for ambitious, restaurant-level recipes or detailed technique guidance. The book knows its audience and serves it well, but it does not reach beyond that remit.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A practical, well-organised cookbook that delivers exactly what it promises. The recipes are reliable, the writing is clear and the book understands its audience. Not a culinary adventure, but a genuinely useful reference for anyone who entertains regularly.

David McAfee’s 33 A.D. takes one of history’s most heavily documented periods and asks a question that only fiction can ask: what if there was something else going on, something the histories did not record? Set in Jerusalem during the final days of Jesus of Nazareth, the novel blends historical fiction with supernatural horror in a way that is both audacious and oddly respectful of its source material.

The Premise

The novel follows a secret order of vampire assassins operating in Roman-occupied Jerusalem. The supernatural elements are woven into the historical setting rather than laid on top of it, and McAfee has clearly done his research on the period. The political tensions between Romans, Jews and the various factions within Jerusalem provide a rich backdrop, and the supernatural conspiracy operates within the gaps of the historical record rather than contradicting it.

The premise is bold. Setting a vampire novel in the most consequential week of Western religious history is a high-wire act, and McAfee handles it with more care than you might expect. The book does not mock or belittle the religious elements; it treats them as part of the landscape, which lets the supernatural fiction coexist with the historical setting without either undermining the other.

Writing Style

McAfee writes in direct, propulsive prose. The sentences are short, the paragraphs are tight and the chapters end on hooks that pull the reader forward. This is genre writing in the best sense: functional, confident and purpose-built for momentum. The historical detail is integrated smoothly, with enough context to orient the reader without becoming a lecture.

The dialogue walks a fine line between period flavour and modern accessibility. The characters do not speak in historically reconstructed language, which would be unreadable, but McAfee gives them enough formality to evoke the era without slowing things down. The internal narration of the vampire characters is the book’s most distinctive voice, carrying a weariness that suits immortal beings observing yet another period of human turmoil.

Pacing and Structure

The book is fast. McAfee does not waste time on scenes that do not advance the plot, and the short chapters create a rhythm that makes it hard to put down. The parallel structure, following both the vampire conspiracy and the historical events unfolding around it, is handled well, and the two threads converge at the right moment.

The climax is dramatic and the resolution is satisfying without overreaching. McAfee knows when to stop, which is a virtue in a novel with this much incident. The historical events provide a natural endpoint, and the supernatural elements resolve within that frame.

Who Would Enjoy It

Fans of historical horror and supernatural thrillers will find this a fast, engaging read. Readers who enjoy the work of Kim Newman or Robert McCammon will recognise the approach, and the religious setting adds a dimension that most vampire fiction does not engage with. It is a good choice for anyone who likes their horror with historical depth and their historical fiction with teeth.

It is less suitable for readers who are sensitive to religious themes being used in fiction, though the book is more respectful than provocative. Readers who want literary historical fiction will find the prose too workmanlike for their taste.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A bold, fast historical horror novel that integrates vampires into first-century Jerusalem with surprising care. The prose is functional rather than elegant, but the pacing is excellent and the premise is handled with more thoughtfulness than the concept might suggest. A worthwhile read for genre fans.

Barry Napier’s 13 Broken Nightlights is a collection of short horror stories that understands the genre’s most fundamental rule: the best horror happens in the space between what you see and what you think you saw. These are stories built on shadows, half-glimpsed shapes and the particular dread of lying awake at night knowing that something in the room is not right.

The Premise

As a collection, the book is unified by tone rather than theme. The stories vary in setting and subject matter, but they share a preoccupation with the domestic uncanny: the home that stops feeling safe, the familiar object that takes on a sinister quality, the routine that becomes a trap. The number thirteen is both the count of stories and a framing device, with each tale connected to a broken nightlight, a small domestic object that should provide comfort but instead marks a threshold into something wrong.

The collection does not aim for grand cosmic horror. Its horrors are intimate and close, which makes them more effective. The things that frighten us in our own homes at night are not vast or abstract; they are specific and personal, and Napier understands this instinctively.

Writing Style

Napier writes in lean, efficient prose. There is no wasted language, and the stories are better for it. The economy of the prose mirrors the compression of the horror: each story delivers its effect quickly and then stops, which is the right approach for short horror. Lingering would dilute the impact.

The voice varies across the collection, which keeps the stories from blurring together. Some are written in first person with a confessional quality, others in a more detached third person that creates a different kind of unease. Napier has a good ear for the rhythms of anxious thought, and the internal monologues in the strongest stories capture the spiral of irrational fear with uncomfortable accuracy.

Not every story hits the same mark. A few of the middle entries rely on twists that experienced horror readers will see coming, and one or two stories end just as they are building momentum. But the hit rate is high, and the best stories stay with you after the book is closed.

Pacing and Structure

The collection is well-sequenced. Opening with one of the strongest stories sets the tone, and the pacing across the thirteen entries varies enough to prevent fatigue. The shorter stories (some under ten pages) work best, delivering their effects with the speed of a slamming door. The longer entries are less consistent, with a couple that would benefit from being trimmed.

As a whole, the collection builds a cumulative atmosphere. Reading the stories in order creates a slow escalation of dread that the individual pieces do not achieve on their own, which suggests Napier thought carefully about the ordering.

Who Would Enjoy It

Hor fans who like their scares short, sharp and domestic will find plenty to enjoy. Readers who appreciate the work of Thomas Ligotti, M R James or Shirley Jackson will recognise the approach, though Napier’s voice is his own. It is a good collection for reading late at night, which is both its strength and its warning.

It is less suitable for readers who want novel-length horror, graphic violence or complex mythology. These are mood pieces, not world-building exercises.

Rating

4 out of 5 stars

A strong collection of domestic horror stories written with economy and a genuine understanding of what frightens people in their own homes. Not every story lands, but the best ones are genuinely unsettling, and the cumulative effect is powerful. Recommended for fans of short horror.

Maria E Schneider’s Under Witch Aura is urban fantasy with a detective’s heart. It blends the conventions of the genre: a world where the supernatural sits alongside the mundane, a protagonist with one foot in each, and a mystery that requires knowledge of both to solve. Schneider handles the material with a light touch and a genuine affection for the genre’s pleasures.

The Premise

The novel follows a witch who works as an investigator, using her magical abilities to solve cases that fall outside the scope of ordinary law enforcement. The specific case at the centre of the book involves auras, the magical signatures that witches can read and manipulate, and the mystery hinges on what happens when someone’s aura is tampered with. It is a clever premise that gives the book both a puzzle to solve and a magical system to explore.

Schneider’s handling of the supernatural is one of the book’s strengths. The magic has rules, costs and limitations, which gives the investigation a procedural feel. The protagonist cannot simply wave a wand and solve the case; she has to gather evidence, interpret readings and work through the logical implications of what she finds. This grounds the fantasy in a way that makes it more satisfying than a story where magic is simply a shortcut.

Writing Style

Schneider writes in warm, readable prose with a conversational quality that suits the first-person narration. The protagonist’s voice is engaging, with a dry sense of humour and a practical approach to the supernatural that keeps the book from becoming self-important. The dialogue is natural and the relationships between characters feel lived-in, with histories and tensions that are revealed gradually.

The descriptive passages are effective without being elaborate. Schneider has a good sense of when to pause for atmosphere and when to keep things moving, and the pacing reflects a writer who understands genre conventions without being enslaved to them. The supernatural elements are described with a specificity that makes them feel tangible, which is essential in a book where the magic system is central to the plot.

Pacing and Structure

The book is well-paced. The investigation unfolds at a steady rhythm, with clues distributed evenly and the stakes escalating as the protagonist gets closer to the truth. The middle section is particularly strong, with a balance of investigation, character development and supernatural action that keeps the reader engaged.

The climax is satisfying, with a resolution that depends on the protagonist’s magical knowledge rather than brute force, which is the right approach for a book structured as an investigation. A romantic subplot is woven through the main narrative without overwhelming it, though it follows a predictable arc that genre fans will recognise.

Who Would Enjoy It

Fans of urban fantasy who like a mystery element will find plenty to enjoy. Readers who enjoy Charlaine Harris, Jim Butcher or Ilona Andrews will recognise the territory, and Schneider’s more grounded approach to magic will appeal to those who prefer their supernatural fiction with rules. It is also a good choice for mystery readers who are curious about urban fantasy but wary of the more romance-heavy entries in the genre.

It is less suitable for readers who want epic fantasy, hard SF or graphic violence. The book is firmly in the urban fantasy camp and does not stray far from its conventions.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A solid urban fantasy mystery with a well-constructed magic system, an engaging protagonist and a mystery that depends on magical knowledge rather than muscle. The conventions are familiar but executed with care. A good read for genre fans.

Marva Dasef’s Ultimate Duty is a military science fiction novel that asks a question as old as warfare itself: what happens when a soldier begins to doubt the cause they serve? The book sits firmly in the tradition of military SF, with familiar elements of duty, honour and the chain of command, but it distinguishes itself through its focus on the internal conflict rather than the external action.

The Premise

The protagonist is a soldier in a future society where military service is the defining duty of citizenship. The plot follows a mission that gradually reveals the gap between the official narrative and the reality on the ground, forcing the protagonist to choose between obedience and conscience. It is a well-worn structure in military SF, but Dasef handles it with enough specificity to make it feel personal rather than generic.

The world-building is functional rather than immersive. The society is sketched in enough detail to make the stakes clear, but the focus is on the soldier’s experience rather than the political landscape. This is the right choice for a book driven by internal conflict, though readers who want detailed world-building may find the backdrop thin.

Writing Style

Dasef writes in straightforward, workmanlike prose. The sentences are clear, the dialogue is efficient and the exposition is delivered without fuss. There is no attempt at literary flourish, which suits the military tone, but it also means the book lacks the stylistic distinction that elevates the best military SF above the average.

The action scenes are handled competently, with a good sense of tactics and terrain. Dasef clearly understands the mechanics of military engagement, and the battle sequences have a clarity that some readers will appreciate. The quieter scenes, where the protagonist wrestles with doubt, are less assured. The internal monologue can be repetitive, and the book occasionally tells the reader what the character is feeling rather than showing it through action or detail.

Pacing and Structure

The book is well-paced for its genre. The mission structure provides a natural momentum, and the escalating revelations about the true nature of the conflict maintain interest. The middle section is the strongest, where the protagonist’s doubts begin to crystallise and the mission starts to go wrong. The climax is dramatic but slightly formulaic, resolving in a way that fans of the genre will find familiar.

The structure is conventional, which is both a strength and a limitation. Dasef knows what kind of book she is writing and executes it with confidence, but there are few surprises for readers steeped in the genre. The moral dilemma at the centre is resolved a little too cleanly, given the messiness of the questions it raises.

Who Would Enjoy It

Fans of military science fiction who are more interested in character than technology will find it a worthwhile read. Readers who enjoy the work of Elizabeth Moon or Tanya Huff will recognise the territory, and Dasef holds her own in that company. It is a good choice for anyone who likes their SF with a moral dimension and a protagonist who thinks as well as fights.

It is less suitable for readers who want hard SF, complex world-building or a protagonist who is more action hero than moral philosopher. The book’s ambitions are modest, and it delivers on them without reaching beyond its grasp.

Rating

3 out of 5 stars

A competent military SF novel with a solid moral dilemma at its core. The writing is workmanlike, the world-building is thin and the resolution is familiar, but the central conflict is genuine and the protagonist’s journey is well-tracked. A decent read for genre fans.

Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler’s The Future of Us takes a high-concept premise and uses it to explore something genuinely interesting: the anxiety of not knowing what your life will become. The novel is set in 1996, when Facebook does not yet exist, and two teenagers stumble upon a way to see their future selves through what will eventually become social media. It is a neat idea, and the authors handle it with more care than you might expect.

The Premise

Josh and Emma are neighbours and former friends who have drifted apart. When Emma gets a new computer and discovers a mysterious website that shows her Facebook profile fifteen years in the future, both teenagers are pulled into a compulsive loop of checking and rechecking their fates. Each time they make a change in the present, the future updates, which creates a feedback loop of anxiety and second-guessing that drives the narrative.

The premise is clever because it uses a technology that did not exist in 1996 to comment on a behaviour that is now ubiquitous. The compulsion to check, to compare, to curate a future self is exactly what social media enables in the present. By placing this behaviour in a pre-social-media era, the book makes the compulsion visible in a way that a contemporary setting would not allow.

Writing Style

Asher and Mackler write in alternating chapters from Josh’s and Emma’s perspectives, and the dual narration is effective. The voices are distinct enough to avoid confusion, and the structure allows the reader to see how the same events look from both sides of a relationship that is shifting under pressure.

The prose is straightforward and readable, pitched at a young adult audience without being patronising. The dialogue is natural and the emotional beats land with a simplicity that works for the genre. There are no stylistic fireworks, but the writing serves the story well, and the pacing keeps the pages turning.

Where the writing falters is in the treatment of the future glimpses. Some of the Facebook updates the characters see are too neatly symbolic, functioning as obvious plot signals rather than the messy, banal content that actually fills social media. This is a forgivable simplification for a YA novel, but older readers may find it convenient.

Pacing and Structure

The book moves quickly. The short chapters and the constant updates from the future create a natural momentum, and the compulsion the characters feel to check their futures is mirrored by the reader’s compulsion to keep reading. The structure is tight, with each new glimpse of the future triggering a new decision in the present, and the causal chain is maintained clearly.

The resolution is satisfying without being too neat. The characters do not solve all their problems, but they learn enough to make different choices, which is the right note for a YA novel about the uncertainty of growing up.

Who Would Enjoy It

Young adult readers who are interested in the social implications of technology will find this a quick, engaging read. Adult readers who enjoy YA fiction with a speculative edge will also find it worthwhile, particularly those who appreciate the way the premise comments on contemporary social media behaviour without being preachy.

It is less suitable for readers who want hard science fiction or a serious exploration of time travel mechanics. The book uses its premise as a tool for character development, not as an end in itself.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A clever, well-paced YA novel with a premise that earns its speculative conceit. The writing is solid, the emotional core is genuine and the commentary on social media is delivered without heavy-handedness. A good choice for a quick, thought-provoking read.

Delores Gordon-Smith’s Mad About the Boy is a historical mystery that manages to be both a whodunit and a period piece without one undermining the other. Set in the 1920s, it captures the post-war atmosphere of a society trying to rebuild itself whilst dealing with the scars of a conflict that reshaped everything. It is a well-trodden setting, but Gordon-Smith brings a specificity to it that makes it feel fresh.

The Premise

The story begins with a death that the authorities are quick to dismiss, but which the protagonist suspects is anything but accidental. The investigation that follows pulls at threads connected to the recent war, to old loyalties and to the sort of secrets that people will kill to protect. The mystery itself is well-constructed, with enough suspects and red herrings to keep the reader guessing without becoming convoluted.

What makes the book more than a standard period mystery is its engagement with the social aftermath of the First World War. Gordon-Smith does not treat the 1920s as mere wallpaper. The characters are shaped by their war experiences, and the society they move through is one where the old certainties have been shaken. This gives the mystery a weight that goes beyond the puzzle itself.

Writing Style

Gordon-Smith writes in clean, readable prose with a good period feel. The dialogue captures the cadences of the era without descending into pastiche, and the descriptive passages evoke the setting effectively without becoming travelogue. There is a warmth to the writing that keeps the book from feeling stark, even when the subject matter is dark.

The protagonist’s voice is the book’s anchor. Wry, observant and humanely sceptical, the narration carries the reader through the investigation with a confidence that makes the historical setting feel inhabited rather than researched. The secondary characters are drawn with enough individuality to function as genuine suspects, and the reveal depends on character rather than mere plotting, which is the mark of a good mystery.

Pacing and Structure

The book is well-paced. The investigation unfolds at a steady rhythm, with clues and revelations distributed evenly enough to maintain interest without front-loading the key information. The middle section, where the investigation broadens and the stakes rise, is particularly strong. The climax is dramatic and satisfying, though the resolution comes slightly quickly after a long, careful build-up.

The structure is conventional but effective. Gordon-Smith knows the genre and works within its traditions confidently, and the book benefits from not trying to subvert or reinvent the form. This is a classic mystery, and it is executed with skill.

Who Would Enjoy It

Fans of Golden Age-style mysteries will find much to enjoy here. Readers who like Jacqueline Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs series or Charles Todd’s Ian Rutledge novels will recognise the territory, and Gordon-Smith holds her own in that company. It is a good choice for anyone who likes their mysteries with historical depth and a protagonist worth following.

It is less suitable for readers who want fast-paced thrillers or graphic violence. This is a measured, character-driven mystery that rewards attention.

Rating

4 out of 5 stars

A well-crafted historical mystery with a strong protagonist, an engaging setting and a mystery that depends on character rather than coincidence. Gordon-Smith writes with confidence and a genuine feel for the period. Recommended for fans of the genre.

Jonathan Saville’s Curse of the Crystal Dragon is a fantasy adventure that wears its influences proudly. There is a touch of Robert E Howard in the muscular prose, a dash of Michael Moorcock in the cosmic scope, and a flavour all its own in the way it handles the relationship between myth and history. It is the sort of book that reminds you why people fall in love with fantasy in the first place.

The Premise

The novel follows a quest to break an ancient curse tied to a crystalline dragon, an artefact of immense power whose origins are shrouded in legend. The premise is classic fantasy fare, but Saville handles it with enough conviction to make the familiar feel fresh. The curse is not merely a plot device; it has a history, a logic and a cost, and understanding it requires the characters to engage with the world’s past in ways that deepen both the story and the setting.

The crystal dragon itself is a well-realised central image. Saville describes it with a tactile precision that makes it feel like a real object rather than a metaphor, and the mystery of its origins provides the book with its narrative engine.

Writing Style

Saville writes with energy and a strong sense of pace. The prose is direct and unfussy, with the occasional lyrical passage that elevates it above standard genre writing. Action scenes are handled particularly well, with a clarity that makes the choreography easy to follow and a visceral quality that gives the violence weight. The descriptions of landscapes and ancient ruins have a genuine atmosphere, suggesting an author who has either travelled widely or has a powerful imagination.

The dialogue is serviceable rather than memorable. The characters say what they need to say to move the plot forward, but few exchanges linger after the scene ends. The protagonist is the exception, with a voice that carries enough personality to hold the centre of the book, but even he is drawn in broad strokes.

Pacing and Structure

The book is well-paced. The quest structure provides a natural momentum, and Saville varies the rhythm effectively between travel, discovery and action. The middle section, where the party journeys through dangerous territory, is the strongest part of the book, with a balance of tension and character interaction that keeps the pages turning.

The climax is exciting but slightly rushed. The final confrontation resolves quickly, and some of the emotional payoffs do not land with the force they deserve. A longer denouement would have given the reader time to process what the characters have been through.

Who Would Enjoy It

Fans of classic quest fantasy will find plenty to enjoy here. It will appeal to readers who like their fantasy with a sense of adventure, a dash of horror and a willingness to take its own mythology seriously. Those who enjoy David Gemmell, Raymond Feist or the earlier works of David Eddings will feel at home.

It is less suitable for readers who want gritty, politically complex fantasy in the modern vein. This is not grimdark, and it does not pretend to be. The moral landscape is broadly drawn, and the pleasures are the traditional ones of the genre.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A solid, well-paced fantasy adventure with a strong sense of atmosphere and a well-realised central artefact. The characterisation could be deeper and the climax more measured, but the journey is consistently entertaining. A good choice for anyone craving an old-fashioned quest done well.

Thea Atkinson’s Anomaly is a dystopian novel that understands the genre’s core strength: the best dystopias are not about the future, they are about the present seen through a distorted lens. The book takes familiar genre elements and gives them a personal edge, focusing on the human cost of systems designed to eliminate difference.

The Premise

The novel is set in a society where conformity is not merely encouraged but enforced, and where deviation from the norm is treated as a threat to public order. The protagonist is someone whose very existence challenges the system, and the story follows their attempt to navigate a world that has no place for them. The specifics of the world-building are revealed gradually, which is the right approach. Atkinson trusts the reader to piece together the rules rather than front-loading the exposition.

What makes the premise effective is its familiarity. The dystopian elements are extreme, but the underlying impulse (the desire to categorise, control and normalise) is recognisable from any number of contemporary social pressures. The book does not need to draw the parallel explicitly. The reader makes the connection themselves, which is more powerful.

Writing Style

Atkinson writes in tight, purposeful prose. The sentences are short and the paragraphs are spare, which suits the dystopian atmosphere. There is a controlled quality to the writing that mirrors the controlled society it describes, and the moments where the prose loosens up coincide with moments of emotional release for the protagonist. This is a deliberate structural choice, and it works.

The internal narration is strong. The protagonist’s voice is specific and believable, carrying the weight of someone who has spent their life hiding. The secondary characters are less developed, and a few of them function more as symbols than as people. The antagonist, in particular, would benefit from more nuance. The system is the real villain here, but the human face of that system is drawn too thinly to leave a lasting impression.

Pacing and Structure

The book moves quickly. Atkinson does not linger on scenes longer than they need, and the short chapters create a rhythm that pulls the reader forward. The first half is stronger than the second, with the world-building and the protagonist’s situation established with real confidence. The second half accelerates towards a conclusion that resolves the immediate conflict but leaves the larger questions open, which is appropriate for the genre.

One structural issue: a subplot introduced in the middle of the book feels underdeveloped and is resolved too quickly to carry the weight it is given. It reads as though it was expanded and then cut back, leaving the seams visible.

Who Would Enjoy It

Fans of dystopian fiction who are looking for something character-driven rather than action-driven will find plenty to enjoy. It will appeal to readers who liked Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale or Kazuo Ishiguro’s Never Let Me Go, though it is less literary in ambition than either. The focus on identity and conformity gives it a relevance that transcends the genre label.

It is less suitable for readers who want high-octane action or complex world-building. This is a personal story set against a dystopian backdrop, not a comprehensive portrait of a future society.

Rating

3.5 out of 5 stars

A well-written dystopian novel with a strong protagonist and a timely premise. The world-building could be deeper and the secondary characters more nuanced, but the central story is compelling and the prose is sharp. A solid addition to the genre.