Reviewed by Frankie Martinez

A powerful story of humanity, nature, and the fight for truth.

In a world where most of humanity has fled to live deep in Earth’s underground, Violet Murphy refuses to leave her family’s farm on the surface. Located in Fulminara, one of two habitable islands left on Earth, the Murphy estate is home to Violet, her horse Firestorm, and the relics of her family’s agricultural research.

Life is peaceful until one day, officers of the government’s Science Bureau arrive to conduct the annual census and invite Violet to visit their facility underground in the capital of Apricus. What is supposed to be a presentation on the Murphy family’s developments in food generation devolves into an unsettling interrogation—one which leaves Violet drugged and imagining the voices of what she believes are trapped animals in the stark hallways of the Bureau, pleading for help.

When Violet returns home and feels an unusually close sense of comfort from Firestorm, she is convinced that the voices she heard were real.

Meanwhile, there are others experiencing a strange connection with animals. Emily Steuben, an Earth preservationist, discovers ducklings at her home for the first time in three years after being led there by other animals’ insistence. Jack Collins, a retail director, is hunting a doe on the surface when he is suddenly struck with the deer’s fear, so much that he leaves and decides to swear off hunting for the rest of his life. Mason Agu, a computer programmer for the government’s Infrastructure Bureau, is spending a quiet evening at home in Apricus, until he gets a strong feeling from his cat that something has happened next door to his elderly, beloved neighbor.

The four strangers come together after responding to Violet’s vague online forum post about a “special connection to animals” and quickly become fast friends. As their bond grows, so do their questions about the government, especially after learning about Violet’s interrogation there.

The organization’s increasingly strange activities—starting with the census and leading to the announcement that they’d be evacuating Aprica permanently for an unknown, habitable land—lead the friends to start an investigation into the Bureau, one that leads them down a dangerous path to the truth.

Imber is about the light and dark in the world, highlighting both the comfort of the bonds between living things, as well as the strength to fight against overwhelming odds.

Mistina’s debut is filled with expansive, dynamic descriptions of nature and humanity. The novel’s quiet opening is moving and immersive—Violet walks through her family’s estate, remembering the day she found a dead hawk, only to find Firestorm peeking through the windows of the greenhouse in search of Violet’s mother after her untimely death.

Mistina is also playful with her portrayal of gestures and movement. Each character interacts with one another in unique ways: Jack can’t keep his eyes off of Violet’s freckles; Mason’s deep voice contains a childlike innocence when he’s around his cat or Firestorm.

Because descriptions are so detailed and plot details are so heavily focused on the government’s secret plans, the pacing of the story can be quite slow. There is something comforting about it, especially in the first parts of the novel that are more focused on worldbuilding and the friendship between Violet, Jack, Emily, and Mason, but it also does not quite match the content in the novel’s latter half with its somewhat shocking violence. A lot of information is jammed into the last half of the novel because of this. While Imber does reach a satisfactory, open-ended conclusion in the larger story about evacuating humanity from Earth, I longed for more important plot threads between the four friends.

But that’s also because I wanted to linger in Mistina’s world for just a little bit longer without the government’s evil plans. While lies, deceit, and the end of the world run underneath the surface of the novel, Imber is a gorgeous portrait of humanity, rich with the warmth between people and their chosen companions, whether they be family, friends, or animals.

Thank you for reading Frankie Martinez’s book review of Imber by Deborah Mistina! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post Book Review: Imber appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Warren Maxwell

Melding poetic forms, candid conversations, and calls against injustice, these poems are confessional, communal, rage-filled, compassionate, and above all, kind.

Melding poetic forms, candid conversations, and calls against injustice, these poems are confessional, communal, rage-filled, compassionate, and above all, kind.

“Dustin’s instinct is to argue against the compliment—that’s life with a narcissist parent. He (begrudgingly ) writes thank you.”

Zooming into the experiences, frustrations, and joys of modern life with a magnifying glass, the slim volume of poetry, Repeat As Needed, offers validation, commiseration, and critique of the way we live our lives.

In a fingerprint-like poetic voice that captures the unique cadences and peculiarities of the author, poems like “Things That Definitely Suck” list the myriad awfulnesses that one encounters on a day-to-day basis, or once in a lifetime, in one foreboding block of text .

“Stuck on a Ferris wheel with a full bladder. Missing buttons. Chipping a tooth. A dust allergy. Misogyny.”

Elsewhere, poems are minimalistic haikus, elegant villanelles, literal conversations traded back and forth with other poets, and quixotic repartees against the cliched comments that heterosexual people make about homosexuality. The diversity of form is thrilling, but it’s the poetic voice winding through each piece that makes this an enthralling read.

“Sob.
Sob until God fears
you’ll one up His flood.”

Each poem in Repeat As Needed is accompanied by a subheading that name-checks an inspiration or literary jumping off point. This in itself creates a beautiful sense of poetic lineage and history—it is a collection very much in touch with contemporaries and forbearers.

When viewed in combination with the two explicit conversation poems (“Dustin Wants To Write A Poem With Caridad” and “Dustin Wants To Write A Poem With Nicole”) that trade block paragraphs between Brookshire and another poet—each poet writing about themselves in the third person—this collection takes on the aspect of a community. Many voices are drawn into contact with Brookshire’s. The lively chatter between poets and thinkers actively performs some of the values that become apparent in the collection’s denunciations of homophobia, misogyny, and discrimination of all stripes.

“When I was straight,
my father would say,
I’d rather one of my sons
blow my brains out
than tell me he’s gay.”

Among the real pleasures of reading these poems is discovering the way poetic form and the uses of concrete space inflect a voice. Brookshire’s voice doesn’t falter in navigating brutalist blocks of text, slim lines of repetition, and meandering, minor epic stories of being frightened by religious tales as a child. Yet, each new structure on the page brings out another aspect of Brookshire’s language. There is the heavy potency of a poem that can simply declare “All we had was lust” and let those lines resonate alone on the page. Then there’s the prolix excitement of a voice that loves speaking and free associating as we see in “Things That Definitely Suck” and the conversation poems. Through different forms, the different faces of the poet come into beautiful relief.

A passionate, richly articulated snapshot of life, poetic community, and the many identities that are wrapped up in a single individual, Repeat As Needed is a gorgeous poetry collection.

Thank you for reading Warren Maxwell’s book review of Repeat As Needed by Dustin Brookshire! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post STARRED Book Review: Repeat As Needed appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Addison Ciuchta

An honest & raw look at one man’s experience with schizophrenia and mental health stigma

Karl Lorenz Willett writes with honesty and hope. More like a glimpse into his mind rather than the filtered experiences you’d expect out of a memoir, this book covers a range of topics that include his financial struggles, his relationship with his wife, and his experience tapering off his schizophrenia medication.

Willett’s writing is vulnerable, sharing his deepest thoughts and real actions even if they show him in a less-than-perfect light. Which, it seems, is the whole point of the book. In his introductory chapter, Willett says he hopes to teach readers more about the condition of schizophrenia, including the lows like the stigma from society and the side-effects of anti-psychotic medications and the highs like his family, his healing, and his successes, like publishing this very book.

Chapters come with great variety. They document his experience off medication but also reach to his views on religion and the minutiae of daily life. His strength and his positivity radiate from the page. Dealing with the administrative burden that comes with mental health issues and coming to terms with some of the other low points of his life since 2016, like a one-sided romantic infatuation, only heightens his sense of purpose—which is, he says, “to spread peace, love and happiness, to encourage people to live life to the full and help others to do the same.”

At times, the writing can get repetitive with Willett explaining why he wants to taper his medication numerous times. Chapters circle back to the idea and his progress, but this repetition also helps illustrate the way his brain works without a filter. The way he keeps reassuring himself of his dedication to taper off, to the benefits he sees in doing it and the risks involved too. He is not advocating for everyone to do what he did but instead simply documenting the hows and whys of his own decision to do so.

Many chapters or parts of chapters document Willett’s deep fear of our current moment in the world: shootings, climate change, natural disasters, the COVID-19 pandemic. But still, he has hope. He writes. “I have plenty of concerns about the planet, but there are reasons to be hopeful about the world’s fate for the first time in a long time.” Despite the struggles, the stigma, and the side effects, Willett’s deep hope in himself and in the world shines through.

This book is an interesting plunge inside an interesting brain, an opportunity to experience feelings, anxiety, and mental illness out in the open. It is a touching and hopeful memoir that will give readers a deeper understanding of how mental health affects those around us.

Thank you for reading Addison Ciuchta’s book review of A Good Life by Karl Lorenz Willett! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

Thank you for reading Addison Ciuchta’s book review of A Good Life by Karl Lorenz Willett! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post Book Review: A Good Life by Karl Lorenz Willett appeared first on Independent Book Review.

by Nick Gardner

Indie lit has always been counterculture.

It would honestly be nuts for a small press to open their door to submissions without the desire to fight the status quo. The very idea of indie lit is anticapitalist (small presses probably won’t get you rich), anti-establishment (the “Big Five” can eat it), and, for the most part, small presses like fiction that breaks the rules. But what makes a book punk-as-fuck goes beyond the author’s antiauthoritarian leanings. It must have some other pull. It needs music.

While this list is far from exhaustive, it focuses on books of literary fiction that don’t just have that punk fierceness, that blatant challenging of authority, but those that also have the music.

Think Bad Brains, Buzzcocks, Pere Ubu. You can get behind the lyrics, the message, the ethos, the power, but a punk group is nothing if the sound doesn’t make you want to mosh. That’s what makes these specific literary fiction authors stand out: not only the shared goal of challenging the way the reader sees the world, but also an understanding of the aesthetic necessary to keep a reader glued to the page. 

Here are 7 literary fiction books that challenge the status quo.

(Book lists on Independent Book Review are chosen by very picky people. As affiliates, we earn a commission on books you purchase through our links.)

1. Someone Who Isn’t Me

Author: Geoff Rickly

Publisher: Rose Books (2023)

Print Length: 258 pages

ISBN: 9798987581827

Asterism

Amazon

Okay, some can argue that he’s more post-hardcore than punk, but Geoff Rickly’s debut novel, Someone Who Isn’t Me, hums with musical prose that rivals the best lyrical writers of literary fiction.

A heroin addict and lead singer, the protagonist, Geoff, seeks sobriety through the psychedelic drug Ibogaine. His trip sends him on a psychic spiral through his guilt-laden past, forcing him to contend with the person he has become. Rickly depicts Geoff’s wild tour across the United States, not holding back on the bickering or the drugs. It’s a dirty novel in the way that addiction can be dirty. But it also breaks the trend of stories about addiction. Refusing to pause on the fallout, Rickly writes beyond into recovery and hope. 

2. No Names

Author: Greg Hewett

Publisher: Coffee House Press (April 2025)

Print Length: 352 pages

ISBN: 9781566897259

Bookshop

Amazon

Greg Hewett’s No Names is by far the slowest moving of the works of literary fiction in this list. Think Sleep’s Dopesmoker. Okay, maybe it’s doom metal. Whatever the case, punk is the root.

As Hewett skips around from POV to POV, a large focus is a punk band called, of course, The No Names, and the sketchy European tour that ended the band. But there’s also quite a bit of classical music in the background, as well as a long exploration of friendships entangled with sexual experimentation. Maybe the end drags on a bit longer than expected, but the prose holds up, a song that slowly diminishes rather than ending with a crash. 

Looking for more literary fiction recommendations? Check out our best books of 2024!

3. Earth Angel

Author: Madeline Cash

Publisher: CLASH Books (April 18, 2023)

Print Length: 152 pages

ISBN: 9781955904698

Bookshop

Amazon

Easy to read cover-to-cover in a single sitting, Earth Angel is all power chords, heavy and fast. Cash’s sentences are short and piercing and her endings cut to nothing rather than attempting a summation or even a meaning. Because everything is meaningless, right? 

Think Biblical plagues, Isis recruits, childless millennials and millennials with children that they’re not quite sure what to do with. Think designer drugs, broke city dwellers, homicidal fantasies, porn. Maybe Earth Angel is too modern to hold to the ‘80s DIY ethos, but it’s still counterculture AF. It still questions authority, culture, and god. It’s a witty collection for confused kids who definitely don’t want to grow up.

4. Scumbag Summer

Author: Jillian Luft

Publisher: House of Vlad Press (June 2024)

Print Length: 192 pages

ISBN: 9798320644059

Bookshop

Amazon

More sex, more drugs, more blood and fallout, Scumbag Summer explores smoky bowling alleys and dive bars, the crass scenery of Orlando. Though she’s a college grad, the protagonist seems intent on continuing her nihilistic young-adulthood, refusing to settle into any kind of square, middle class grind.

Orlando for her is No Doz and 7 layer burritos, and as she lodges herself more deeply into the dumpster fire, she spots the pages with social commentary, a distrust of wealth and power and an understanding of  “trash culture,” of those stuck in on the lower rungs of the social hierarchy who sometimes can’t even imagine the climb. Scumbag Summer also contains one of the most punk lines I’ve ever read: “Love is a friendly butcher.”

5. Ghosts of East Baltimore

Author: David Simmons

Publisher: Broken River Books (2022)

Print Length: 202 pages

ISBN: 9781940885544

Amazon

A Baltimore native with a deep understanding of the underground, David Simmons shrugs off the rules in his debut literary crime thriller. As with the other books on this list, there’s a unique and manic music behind Simmons’ prose. It’s rough music, blasted loud. I mean what’s more punk than a protagonist named Worm who gets out of prison to find that he’s the only one who can take out a drug ring smuggling dangerous chemicals into his community?

Simmons raises the bar for punk AF literature with his cutting social commentary, including “crack epidemic” history lessons and a deep understanding of Baltimore’s crime and corruption-ridden past. 

6. Hellions

Author: Julia Elliott

Publisher: Tin House Books (April 15, 2025)

Print Length: 272 pages

ISBN: 9781963108064

Bookshop

Amazon

Witches, Cryptids, Ghosts, and other supernatural entities plague the pages of Julia Elliott’s strange collection of longer short fiction. No flash stories here. But just like when you enter a DIY venue and feel surrounded by like minds, the pages of Hellions is a comforting place for those who have normalized the weird.

In “The Maiden,” a community trampoline allows a witchy girl to show up the popular kids with her otherworldly acrobatics before disappearing to her woodland squat. And in “Hellion,” a tough twelve-year-old tames an alligator. Elliott’s stories are filled with loners and weirdos outperforming their normative peers and youngsters challenging their parents’ conservative ideals. What’s more punk than that?

7. Hey You Assholes

Author: Kyle Seibel

Publisher: CLASH Books (March 25, 2025)

Print Length: 272 pages

ISBN: 9781960988393

Bookshop

Amazon

Seibel’s story of trying to publish this debut book of short literary fiction, Hey You Assholes is filled with almost as many bizarre twists as the book itself. It reminds me of a 21st century reenactment of ‘80s punk bands banging down doors to book a studio or distro a record. He couldn’t have found a better home for his book than Clash Books, a publisher of some of the strangest and most energetic fiction on the market. Energetic is the word, because even the longer stories don’t stop driving. ThinkLandowner Plays Dopesmoker 666% Faster and with No Distortion.

Hey You Assholes is a deep dive into the lives of unpopular people: soft-hearted alcoholics, wiley factory workers, and Navy veterans who feel forever lost at sea. None of Seibel’s characters have money or power and they definitely don’t have any respect for The Man. 

Want some thrills in your bookshelf? Check out the best indie thrillers!

About the Author

Nick Gardner is a writer, teacher, and critic who has worked as a winemaker, chef, painter, shoe salesman, and addiction counselor. His latest collection of stories from the Rust Belt, Delinquents And Other Escape Attempts, is out now from Madrona Books. He lives in Ohio and Washington, DC and works as a beer and wine monger in Maryland.

Thank you for reading Nick Gardner’s “Literary Fiction Books That Are Punk AF!” If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post Literary Fiction Books That Are Punk AF appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Andrea Marks-Joseph

Queer Black women float, grieve, steal, sweat, and fight back in this thrilling connection of stories that put us first.

“Daisy’s mother tells her ways to stay safe, but they all come off as futile superstitions… Don’t go anywhere silent and gentle; leave marks, bite marks, claw marks, anything that can be evidence later.” In the first and titular tale of this short story collection, we meet Daisy, a young woman who can’t shake the disturbing truth of being a potential victim of violence every day of her life simply by existing. She “thinks of every pair of eyes that could have ever possibly raked across her body,” and does everything she can think of to make herself undesirable, to make people turn away from her. She stops washing and begins avoiding eye-contact, attempting to inspire disgust and disinterest as a means of self defense. It’s a desire every woman faced with these truths has considered, incorporating preventative tactics into our lives—knowing that nothing will ever be enough to protect ourselves from the ever-present threat of gender-based violence, but desperately needing to do something to try. 

As I write this review, there’s a collective sense of fear and hopelessness settling over women of color in South Africa, where I live, because of a recent murder of a young woman. But we still have to go to work, buy groceries, make our parents proud, fall in love. This is a reality for Black women: the reality of dating, the reality of being a mother, a daughter, a wife, a teenager who has a crush, the reality of living life day to day against the already crushing backdrop of classism, racism, and the infuriatingly familiar “quirks” of being noticed in public as Black and queer and whatever specific quality is all your own. 

Author Demree McGhee said “society’s violence against us is hell, but we deserve great fiction”—and gives us twisted, twisting tales that pull us in and take us on a ride we couldn’t possibly see coming. These stories are all so soaked in queerness and Blackness that the identity of our protagonist is always undeniable while they’re on myriad fictional rollercoasters.

Sympathy for Wild Girls explores class consciousness in young people; the tormenting shades of toxic masculinity; the delicate folds of female friendship; and the concept of desire as danger, as a road to death (threaded firmly and fiercely into many of the stories but also captured brilliantly by this line: “I didn’t know what to do with my body when it wanted. I only knew how to smother and scream in place of desire.”) 

Demree McGhee captures the elusive truth behind conversations between teenage girls, both filled with awe and simmering with heavy notes of comparison. She conveys the visceral sensuality of another woman applying your makeup while unpacking the difficulty in seeing the true shape of your body and face after years of avoiding yourself. She also writes about the sense of wonder in seeing women who seem completely unburdened by such concepts: “She sat in her body as if she was the only one who ever had to look at it.”

Sympathy for Wild Girls does a great job on the politics of smell too, introducing us to realistic women who do everything they can to avoid their own bodily odor and those who go to extreme lengths so that the women around them will never know they sweat. There’s a dissection of femininity and wealth inequality in every mention of odor, the author exposing the sick influence of generations of impossible, nonsensical hygiene standards on Black women in particular. McGhee also writes insightfully (and disturbingly) about memory, dreams, and the role of scent in building our futures. “I had worked retail jobs since I was thirteen, and most of them left me with some new fear or sense of disgust. I associated the smell of sizzling meat with scraping spit-logged gum off the bottom of tables in my parents’ restaurant. I was a vegetarian until my freshman year of college.”

While occasionally leaning into the speculative, these stories are deeply rooted in reality, introducing us to women whose lives are as complex as our own, women who could very easily be our neighbor, our co-worker, the woman we recognize from the coffee shop every weekday morning, or the daughter of the family who suddenly stopped coming to church last year. 

In Sympathy for Wild Girls, runaways meet religious groups with a strong social media following and a strict idea of cleanliness in the eyes of the Lord. The author writes all of this so beautifully, offering up moments of contemplation on something otherworldly before turning the volume on real life all the way up again—I’m talking about lines that felt like a sledgehammer to my solar plexus: “My mother always wanted me to be grateful for things she didn’t do to me.” And phrasing like a mother describing the idea of her baby looking just like her with the words “She felt like a mirror I pulled from my body.”

In “She Is Waiting,” we meet Ava, who began to float (needing to constantly weigh herself down with rocks to stay on the ground) after she was kidnapped from the park and held captive for a week. She was rescued, but the kidnapper was never identified or caught. Ava, who “woke up in the air, the bedsheet draping her body like a tablecloth, haunting her own bed.” Ava, who is so lonely while grappling with the complexity of surviving the kidnapping, enduring flashbacks and feeling like she’s back in that moment years after everyone’s moved on around her. 

One of my favorite stories, “Butterfruit,” weaves together the stigma and societal shifts in the acceptable frequency of hair washing, depending on whether you’re white or Black, rich or poor. Demree McGhee brilliantly incorporates threads of the main character’s compulsive coping methods—which involves both cleanliness and inhaling cleaning products (“I didn’t have real faith in anything that didn’t have the power to physically change what it was touched, the way bleach made a room simmer with absence” “I sprayed my sheets until they were wet with Lysol. I drenched my windowsill in Fabuloso, wiped my fingerprints off every surface, and got dizzy off the scent of being washed away”)— and contrasts it against her counterpart, who is part of the church’s social media team, branded ‘clean’ in all the visible forums, but messy in her secrets that begin to spill over. This story should be taught in schools! I can’t help imagining the lively discussions that the many vibrant and vital topics this story touches on will inspire in students. There are many twists in this one, and there’s a reveal that made me gasp out loud.

I’ll be thinking about “Throwing Up in a Gated Community,” the devastating story about two girls of very different social and economic classes, who fall into an intimate friendship the way many teenage girls (and many, many queer girls) do, for a long time.

Sometimes McGhee hits these poetic and thought-provoking endings that feel wholly satisfying, while other stories are concluded midway through their unraveling—when things are about to turn inside out and collapse. It’s like someone closing the door on us right as the conversation we’re eavesdropping on gets really juicy. They are not necessarily abrupt endings that leave the stories feeling unfinished but ones that leave the reader with meaning instead of resolution. Even this is testament to McGhee’s immersive writing, because each time this happens, I sat for a few minutes with all the possibilities I was sure would happen next, imagining all the ways the protagonist would mess it up or get into trouble. I always wanted more.

One of the stories that provides a reflective yet mysterious conclusion, and certainly one of my favorites of the book, is “Exchange,” following a young couple who shoplifts regularly while grocery shopping. They fall into a sweet but blurry-edged domestic polyamorous relationship with a store employee who approached them to say she’s watched them steal for a full year and wants to learn their ways, wants to get to know them. Her presence reinvigorates their relationship with each other, and for a moment in time they are thriving as a trio. But then the temptation of stealing a big-screen TV comes between them and everything they were once sure of changes in a blink.

Sympathy for Wild Girls is a book about how “the men who seek girls’ bodies like flowers to yank from the ground” have shaped generations of women, young and old. These stories explore the systemic and inescapable violence Black women are born into and how it floods into every aspect of their lives, from their self-actualization to their friendships with other women. In addition to the difficult themes I’ve mentioned above, readers should note that many of these stories include descriptions of the both the actions and mindsets of characters who experience: suicidal ideation; child abuse and neglect; domestic violence; unwanted pregnancies; abortions; a kidnapping and time in captivity; and animals being killed and dismembered. 

Demree McGhee depicts the way grief climbs into your bones and reacts chemically with the core of who you are. There are multiple stories focused on compulsive behavior, exploring body dysmorphia and disordered eating, including anorexia, bulimia, and hypergymnasia: “I would excavate the weight from my body until the bones of my throat, my shoulders, my hips breached the surface of my skin. I would carve myself into something gorgeous from all angles.”

I highly recommend Sympathy for Wild Girls for readers of color and especially queer readers of color, who will find that reading it feels comfortable in a way that is so rare. It’s effective, electric storytelling that hits different because it’s you on the page. There’s a thrilling additional level of unsettling achieved in the way the author pulls at threads she knows will make us squirm. Sympathy for Wild Girls is a privilege, an honor, a gift to the community, and a captivating collection I’d be proud and excited to recommend to friends, family members, and fans of Dr. Ally Louks. 

Thank you for reading Dr. Ally Louks’s book review of Sympathy for Wild Girls by Demree McGhee! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post STARRED Book Review: Sympathy for Wild Girls appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Victoria Lilly

A collage of dreamlike, visceral images—an experimental arthouse movie in shifting literary form

VHS is an eclectic patchwork of forms, styles, and formats—an array of vignettes loosely tied to the narrator’s experience of growing up a second-generation immigrant in the United States.

The narrator’s father immigrated to the United States from Cuba in the wake of the Cuban Missile Crisis of 1961. His mother moved from socialist Poland to America, and the two met in a toothpaste factory in the industrial zone of Long Island City. The narrator, driven by a mix of ennui and homesickness for a home he never knew, drifts from career to career, town to town, on a vaguely planned trek east to his mother’s native Poland.

Among those chapters with defined settings, most take place in Berlin, Germany; another prominent locale is New York City. Over the course of the collection and the narrator’s journey, he shares snippets of his life—events, sensations, musings—and intersperses them with vignettes from the lives of his friends, lovers, acquaintances, parents, and absolute strangers.

The narrator is a great fan of the visual medium, so the microfiction-style chapters are named after movie classics, such as Only Lovers Left Alive, Total Recall, The Lives of Others, and more. The fragmented, stream of consciousness style blends the essay form with that of diary entries, letters, and poetry—often within the same short chapter.

Boundaries of said fragments are muddled—melted down, one could say—and pieced together without seams or needlework through the use of an even more dizzying array of techniques. Single-sentence paragraphs, graphically broken-up text, ellipses and enjambments, strikethroughs and caesuras, all are deftly utilized to create the stream of consciousness effect. And a stream it is, as the reader has no choice but to surrender to the meandering, confusing, language-breaking and language-loving voice of the narrator.

Some stories are funny despite the overall serious and contemplative tone of the collection. One such section is “Vision Quest,” in which the narrator obtains special newly tinted glasses which he dubs “Tinman Elite,” complete with a “heavy-duty double-lock ‘High Performance Resin Case'” with a handle on it. His students (in this chapter, the narrator is working as a college professor) remark that he looks like “the Matrix;” the narrator muses on the nature of vision and the (dis)advantages of having one’s eyes so concealed as he heads for a rave party in an East Berlin nightclub.

On the other end of the spectrum are dry, grey, melancholy stories such as “Only Lovers Left Alive:” a brief piece about a girl (presumably the narrator’s mother) waking before dawn in a windowless room with bare walls. The girl heads to the immigration office to present her “white card,” dreading the strangeness of the new country she found herself in, bereft among the unfamiliar language and unadorned walls.

As is always the case with experimental writing, summary of individual tales within VHS is a shadow of the true depth of the text, which lies in the playful use of language (even if the author has a sometimes overbearing fondness for the use of parentheses). The immigrant experience is a theme as old as time in American literature, but Campanioni breathes fresh life into this tradition through clever turns of phrase, surprising depths of the narrator’s inner life, and a steady hand with prose and genre alike.

VHS is not a rollercoaster but a contemplative train journey—a shifting, colorful, and surreal landscape of cities, persons, and memories going by—to bring you out of the grey dullness of everyday life.

Thank you for reading Victoria Lilly’s book review of VHS by Chris Campanioni! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post Book Review: VHS by Chris Campanioni appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Melissa Suggitt

A pirate captain with the soul of a poet. A mission born from vengeance that becomes something far greater.

Author Daniel McKenzie launches readers into a richly imagined, cross-continental epic that sails from the West African coast to the South China Sea in Silken Dragons, the third installment of the Seafourthe Saga.

Captain Lucien “the Wolf” commands the Vengeance, an Ottoman-built warship turned rogue, crewed not by mercenaries but by men of conviction. When the crew rescues a near-dead African chieftain, Azumah, adrift off the coast of Dakar, they are pulled into a mission of vengeance that soon expands into a sweeping campaign against slavers, colonizers, and the machinery of empire itself. What begins as a rescue spirals outward into secret alliances, midnight raids, and an audacious plan aimed at the Spanish stronghold in Maynila.

The novel unfolds in deliberate, sweeping arcs: a jungle-bound lagoon serves as a hidden pirate haven; a tense naval standoff gives way to an unlikely friendship with the clever and calculating Chinese pirate, Captain Hong Lim Ahn; and moments of battle are balanced with long passages of stillness and spirit. McKenzie’s writing is deeply immersive, carving space for both the epic and the intimate. A dolphin named Argos gets nearly half a chapter, and it works (somehow) beautifully.

Lucien is a commanding presence, not so much a pirate as a warrior-poet with a strategist’s mind and a soldier’s heart. He leads with quiet certainty, justice over ego, restraint over spectacle. And then there’s Lady Lynden Seafourthe. She may remain physically out of the action, but her presence is everywhere. She is Lucien’s spiritual anchor, the compass that keeps him from drifting into legend without purpose. She is not a passive figure, but rather the force that steadies his hand, the private devotion that allows him to move through public violence without becoming hollow. In a world of veils and shifting loyalties, her truth is the one constant he never questions.

McKenzie’s prose is often poetic, sometimes archaic, and fully committed to the world it builds. It doesn’t rush, but it never loses its sense of direction. Every chapter serves the story, even when it pauses for tea, or ritual, or a quiet conversation beneath foreign stars. A Chaldean seer named Nur-Mena drifts in and out of the narrative, offering visions, riddles, and a sense that fate—like the sea—is always moving beneath the surface. That tonal balance between the brutal and the lyrical, the playful and the profound, is one of the book’s greatest strengths.

Silken Dragons is for readers who want their adventures with bite, their heroes with depth, and their storytelling rich with both tension and tenderness. One note for readers: many characters go by multiple names or titles, which adds texture but may briefly disorient. It’s a minor hurdle in an otherwise engrossing read, and one that fades as the cast settles into rhythm.

This is not a book of easy heroics. It’s about the cost of honor, the weight of grief, and the quiet resilience of love. McKenzie delivers a tale that is as mythic as it is human and one well worth the voyage.

Thank you for reading Melissa Suggitt’s book review of Silken Dragons by Daniel McKenzie! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post Book Review: Silken Dragons appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Melissa Suggitt

Catch Me If You Can meets The Quiet American—a spy thriller filtered through a backpacker’s sunburn and a shot of Red Bull

Bert Mars is a sharp-tongued English teacher chasing big dreams in a small corner of Southeast Asia. What starts as a side hustle at a local TV station quickly pulls him into the orbit of powerful figures like Chiang, a larger-than-life tycoon, and Mike, a charming ex-marine with secrets of his own. Along the way, Bert navigates tangled romances, bureaucratic close calls, and a cast of fellow expats, each more jaded than the last.

In a Country with No Name is a story about ambition, misadventure, and the strange allure of a place where the rules are bendable, the stakes are murky, and survival might just depend on how fast you can run (or talk) your way out.

There’s something delightfully rogue about In a Country with No Name. This postmodern expat noir doesn’t so much grip you as it does jostle you along for the ride. The first in the Bert Mars series offers up a cocktail of bureaucratic chaos, casual espionage, and the unkillable optimism of a young Westerner who thinks rules are more suggestion than structure.

Ron Morris crafts his narrator, Bert Mars, as a kind of morally flexible Ferris Bueller dropped into a Graham Greene fever dream. The prose is light, fast, and often quippy. “I was pure ambition,” Bert tells us early on, “and that’s what Asia was—a place where anything was possible, and we were all going to be tycoons.” It’s the kind of line that sells you on the character’s delusion and charms you anyway.

And charm it does. While the writing occasionally leans on its momentum over its mechanics, the story barrels forward with the kinetic energy of someone perpetually running from visa trouble, and maybe himself. The pace is brisk, the stakes steadily escalate, and the tone stays tongue-in-cheek even as the plot brushes up against government coups and classified surveillance.

The worldbuilding, however, is quite light. You get the heat and the grime, the bustle and the street noodles, but a more immersive dive into the unnamed country’s culture and politics is missing behind the story’s darker turns. Readers are more tourist than resident in this world.

Still, there’s something refreshing about a book that doesn’t posture. It’s not trying to be literary; it’s trying to entertain, and it does. Especially when the story veers into spy thriller territory and suddenly you’re asking yourself, “Wait… was that a directed energy weapon?” The fact that it’s based on true events only adds to the strange, compelling texture of the novel.

Bert’s first-person narration keeps things brisk and full of bite, even when he’s confessing, dodging authority, or accidentally stumbling into international intrigue. “I would never interfere,” he says with the wide-eyed innocence of a man clearly about to interfere. It’s hard not to root for him, even when you suspect he might be the chaos he’s trying to escape.

Morris doesn’t try to impress with overwrought prose or meticulous detail. Instead, he invites you into the haze and hustle of Southeast Asia and lets the chaos speak for itself. In a Country with No Name is a fast, fun, and slightly feverish read that thrives on its unpredictability. It’s great for fans of fast-paced travel thrillers, morally ambiguous protagonists, and stories of accidental espionage. This is the kind of book you devour in a hammock and then recommend with a grin and a warning: “This is one wild ride.”

Thank you for reading Melissa Suggitt’s book review of In a Country With No Name by Ron Morris! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post Book Review: In a Country With No Name appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Samantha Hui | Content warnings: cancer

A vital memoir about the dangers of inheriting silence

S. L. Collins’ Stopping to Feel is an intimate memoir that explores the long-casted shadow of generational trauma, the complex ways we inherit emotional habits, and the courage it takes to unlearn them. At its heart, the book is an examination of grief and deep emotional suppression.

Through lyrical prose and poignant metaphors, Collins delves into the internal fractures that result when love and pain coexist unspoken. She invites readers to reflect on how much of our identity is shaped by what we avoid, and what we can become for others when we finally allow ourselves to feel.

“I was so grateful to have a dad who could fix up the physical wounds, but I wouldn’t realize for two more decades how bad he was at acknowledging and healing emotional ones.”

The memoir centers on Sasha’s relationship with her father, Boris Romanowsky, a devoted police officer admired by his community but emotionally distant at home. As a child, Sasha sees him as a strong and dependable hero, always willing to help others. But his strength doubles as a mask, hiding deep grief and a refusal to confront his own pain and past.

When he is diagnosed with a cancer that has taken the lives of many of his own family members, he faces the disease with a mix of stoicism and denial. As his illness advances, Sasha begins to recognize how his coping mechanisms of avoidance, emotional withdrawal, and constant busyness have shaped her own ways of dealing with life. In her effort to better understand her elusive father, she also uncovers troubling truths about his childhood that shed light on his behavior. The memoir follows Sasha’s path through burnout, therapy, and ultimately, forgiveness, as she strives to break generational patterns and build a healthier emotional legacy for her own children.

“I held on for dear life and kept pedaling–Dad was right, if I just kept moving, I wouldn’t crash.”

The structure of Stopping to Feel enhances its emotional resonance. Divided into four parts—Collins’ childhood and early brushes with family loss followed by her father’s colon cancer diagnosis, his recovery, and the cancer’s return—the book traces not just events but emotional evolution. Told mostly chronologically, the narrative allows readers to witness the slow unfolding of patterns that repeat over generations.

Collins’ talent lies in her ability to reveal, over time, how she and her father mirror each other, how his need to “just keep moving” becomes her own, and how both of them crash under the weight of avoidance. As the book spans decades, we also witness the cumulative effect of anxiety, showing how small emotional habits calcify into lifelong struggles. The structure allows the reader to not only see the cycle but feel how difficult it is to break.

“I remember the stories she told me, but otherwise, my memories come to me as feelings, rather than visions. Confusion. Disgust. Disbelief. Relief. Sadness. Fear. But most of all, shame.”

One of the book’s most powerful strengths is in Collins’ poetic storytelling. A particularly unforgettable image involves her father as a child landing on a stick that breaks off inside his foot, and never telling his parents out of fear of being a burden. Decades later, she wonders whether that fragment still lived inside him as he was cremated: “Did the piece of wood ignite, finally free after all those decades of being ignored?” It’s a haunting metaphor for the buried pain that defines this memoir; wounds left unspoken don’t disappear, they fester, they shape us, and sometimes they become our legacy.

“How could I parent small children and nurture their big feelings and emotions when I could barely understand my own? How could I be a loving parent and a distressed child at the same time?”

Ultimately, Stopping to Feel is about confronting grief, facing uncomfortable truths, and daring to feel in a world and a family where avoidance means survival. It’s a memoir for anyone grappling with emotional inheritance, caregiving, or the silent toll of trauma. Readers who appreciate honest explorations of mental health, family complexity, and emotional resilience will find themselves deeply moved by this story. More than anything, the book is an invitation to pause, reflect, and feel…before it’s too late.

Thank you for reading Samantha Hui’s book review of Stopping to Feel by S.L. Collins! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post STARRED Book Review: Stopping to Feel appeared first on Independent Book Review.

Reviewed by Joelene Pynnonen

A convention-breaking novel that explores the intricacies of human experience

During the COVID-19 pandemic, Paul, a young doctor working in an intensive care unit, discovers a piece of writing online. Touting itself as a New World Storyline, it grows and changes as people around the world interact with it.

In this New World book, an author, a musician, and the doctor begin a dialogue about the state of the world. They lament the formulaic nature of stories, bitterly reject the palatable scene that is now music, question the ethics of medicine, and discuss the state of the world.

As this novel progresses, more people arrive to partake in the discussion. Between shifts at the increasingly overrun hospital, Paul realizes that he is becoming a part of this strange new story. As others get caught up in the narrative, it becomes clear that the story is closer to his reality than he might have expected. And that it has the power to change everyone who encounters it.

The Other Book is an experimental work that draws on existing literature to showcase something new. Layers of rich intertextuality are woven through the discussions in this novel. It draws from sources that are both ancient and contemporary, from as far back as Gilgamesh, the Bible, and Norse Mythology to books like Sophie’s Choice.

The perpetual question posed in these pages is, what makes a book? Or, perhaps more specifically, what makes a story? Is a dialogue held by several people on the nature of the world, and of the Arts, considered one? This question permeates through the text, as there’s no clear answer.

While The Other Book is experimental, it builds on existing narrative forms. The novel within the novel is written in a similar way to a script but is more analogous to current online stories told through a series of screenshotted message exchanges. In a modern sense, this could be considered an epistolary. The characters within the pages write to each other, and the interactions become the body of the text. A perpetual, ongoing story that shifts to new characters but seemingly is without end.

The prose in The Other Book can be difficult. This is partially because the descriptive language is stylized, formal, and challenging rather than conversational. The issue this poses is that we need to comprehend the ideas being explored in order for the experiment to land. There’s also a white page problem happening in The Other Book —not much description to ground readers into the novel. There’s the feeling of reaching around in the dark, looking for a marker to orientate yourself. Instead, we find difficult to decipher dialogue happening in a vacuum.

This is a creative philosophical journey that probes at the heart of what makes us human. An ultra-modern take on traditional storytelling conventions, it opens readers to the possibility of seeing an old story with fresh eyes. The Other Book is a read that hosts a wide range of interesting discussions.

Thank you for reading Joelene Pynnonen’s book review of The Other Book by Alexey L. Kovalev! If you liked what you read, please spend some more time with us at the links below.

The post Book Review: The Other Book by Alexey L. Kovalev appeared first on Independent Book Review.