2025 read #4: Kids on Bikes: 2nd Edition by Jonathan Gilmour & Doug Levandowski.

Kids on Bikes: Strange Adventures in Small Towns, 2nd Edition by Jonathan Gilmour & Doug Levandowski

Includes “The Horror in the House on Hook Hill,” written and designed by Sen Foong-Lim and Alara Cameron

180 pages

Published 2023

Read from December 25, 2024 to January 7

Rating: n/a

The only game system books I’d read in their entirety before this were the Dungeon Master’s Guide and Player’s Handbook from the 5th edition of D&D. With Wizards of the Coast doing everything in their power to alienate their audience and burn years of goodwill to the ground, it’s time to learn some new systems!

Thanks to my partner R for gifting me this one. <3

What I like about this book: The wealth of thought that went into its discussions of how to play a mutually respectful game with others. I feel like the DMG and years of being the forever-DM taught me less than this book offered about the topics of table safety, collaborative storytelling, prompting players, backpedaling when the story goes places it shouldn’t, and ways to make failing a roll both interesting and an opportunity to move the game forward. Whatever system I use in the future, I appreciate having these role-play tools at hand.

What could have been better: Just like the Player’s Handbook, Kids on Bikes buried the rules of play within some sub-optimal formatting. I like the choice to foreground ethical gaming, but perhaps the core rules could be highlighted with an edge color for easy reference. More pertinently, the book explains what to do with a particular game condition before it defines the game condition, e.g. we get told we can spend Adversity Tokens several pages before we learn what they are or how we get them. It felt slightly disorganized.

I’m excited to (someday, hopefully) be able to play a Kids on Bikes game. This book also joins E.T., Stranger Things, The Goonies, Now and Then, Super 8, and a general cultural awareness of IT (which I haven’t read, or watched in full) on my meager list of inspirations for the kids-on-bikes novel I began writing this week.

2025 read #3: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum.*

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum*

Illustrated by W.W. Denslow 

122 pages

Published 1900

Read from January 6 to January 7

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

* Denotes a reread.

My partner R introduced me to the film version of Wicked the other night, a movie so enjoyable it rekindled my interest in the book version. I’m not sure I’ll ever follow up on that; I attempted to read Wicked back in 2014, got seventeen pages in, and gave up. It isn’t a good novel. Still, I might try again someday. And in either case, I thought it might be fun to revisit The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, perhaps even work my way into the later Baum books.

Having grown up on the 1939 musical, Wizard of Oz was a disappointment to my childhood self, who expected the same technicolor pageant in book form. The prose is weightless, as was so often the case with early chapter books. The story flits between wacky encounters and creatures at a bedtime story pace, and its ironies are about as subtle as a tornado. The Wicked Witch of the West, for instance, is Dorothy’s antagonist for just one chapter. In comparison, the movie is polished and tightly plotted. I can’t exactly criticize a book for doing exactly what was expected of it in its time, but that doesn’t mean I have to enjoy it, personally.

I’d be curious to read a gloss of Oz that illuminated the turn of the century political satire underlying everything here. No publisher ever seems to bundle this book with commentary, sadly.

2025 read #2: bone by Yrsa Daley-Ward.

bone by Yrsa Daley-Ward

Foreword by Kiese Layton

145 pages

Published 2017 (expanded from original edition published 2013)

Read from January 4 to January 5

Rating: 4 out of 5

When it comes to poetry, I’m a dilettante. I only know my old circle of poets, plus maybe a handful of household names. My library has a modest collection of poetry books; one of my reading goals this year is to expand my poetry horizons.

bone is a mesmerizing introduction to Daley-Ward. Poems of love, of grief, of queerness, of god and violations too vast to outline, of negotiations within oneself to remain alive — all of them weave around one another, short stings of free verse that feel like the wisdom of aphorisms followed by epics hundreds of lines long. “Love is not a safe word,” she explains in “things it can take twenty years and a bad liver to work out,” then adds, “But it’s the safe things that kill you / in the end.”

2025 read #1: Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle: 1 by Kagiji Kumanomata.

Sleepy Princess in the Demon Castle: 1 by Kagiji Kumanomata

Translated by Tetsuichiro Miyaki

168 pages

Published 2016 (English translation published 2018)

Read from December 31, 2024 to January 1

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

In 2024, I read 157 books, the most I’ve ever read in one year as an adult. It was also the very first year I read at least ten books each calendar month. Many, possibly most, of the books I read were quick reads: manga, magazines, novellas, poetry collections. Some might sniff at that, but a record is a record, and who cares what others think? It’s not like anyone but plagiarism bots reads these reviews anyway.

Moving into 2025, I want to read more deliberately, instead of for big numbers. I want to read less overall, to free up time for writing. So naturally the first book of 2025 is… a volume of manga.

I learned about this series thanks to an ad in the back of a volume of Frieren. I’m always open to charming high fantasy manga, especially now that I’ve finished Delicious in Dungeon and I’m all caught up with Witch Hat Atelier. Sleepy Princess looked promising, an adorable tale of a kidnapped princess who, safe and bored inside a castle of monsters, goes to great lengths to get quality sleep. As a fellow princess-and-the-pea sleeper myself, I could relate. The manga pretty much delivers on that premise, and does so adequately. The way Princess Syalis hunts through the demon castle for her various bedding needs is pleasantly reminiscent of Delicious in Dungeon, if you replace food with sleep.

Unfortunately, at least in this initial volume, Princess lacks characterization, and the princess’s nocturnal side-quests quickly become repetitive. This slim tankōbon is packed with thirteen chapters, each of which is fairly self-contained. As a result, the story is episodic, and never develops much substance. I don’t think I’m intrigued enough to continue spending money on this series.

Also discouraging any investment: the binding error in this copy (most of chapters nine and ten are replaced with repeats of chapters four and five). Bad luck, or a shoddy press? I’m not shelling out more to find out.

2024 read #157: Emperor of Rome by Mary Beard.

Emperor of Rome: Ruling the Ancient Roman World by Mary Beard

479 pages

Published 2023

Read from December 21 to December 25

Rating: 4 out of 5

The follow-up to Beard’s SPQR, Emperor is an examination of the office of Roman emperor, and the popular perceptions of the autocratic edifice, more than it is a biography of any particular caesar, or (worse still) a recitation of names and dates. This is Beard’s familiar approach, and a solid example why she’s one of the few popular historians I would trust to write a book on Rome. This is no “Big Man” history. As Beard writes in her prologue:

Working on the Roman empire for so long, I have come increasingly to detest autocracy as a political system, but to be more sympathetic, not just to its victims, but to all those caught up in it from bottom to top….

Accordingly, she works to populate the palace with glimpses of the women, slaves, laborers, functionaries, poets, doctors, diviners, entertainers, children, and the other essential-but-ignored foundations of the Roman state. The office of emperor is a lens, bending the apparatus of ancient society into our line of sight. Ancient propaganda regarding “good” and “bad” emperors is treated not as historical fact, but as a means of assessing attitudes and fears held by the elite (or, when we can access them, the ordinary people) toward the autocrats above them.

Beard’s thesis could be summed up with a line in chapter five: “Can we ever see a human being through the spin, the propaganda, the praise and denunciations?” It’s a salutary perspective, especially in our contemporary culture, where the loudest voices are paid shills for authority, and mediocre white men think about “the Roman Empire” multiple times a day.

Like the rest of us, Beard sounds more exhausted than she did in 2015. Emperor lacks some of the sparkle and dry wit of SPQR, but remains a thoroughly engrossing history, with something important to say about our own era of looming autocracy.

2024 read #156: Hexagon Speculative Fiction Magazine, Winter 2024 issue.

Hexagon Speculative Fiction Magazine, Winter 2024 issue (19)

Edited by JW Stebner 

49 pages

Published 2024

Read December 22

Rating: 3 out of 5

Rounding out the year with another current issue of Hexagon. This one is labor and workplace themed, which my socialist heart can appreciate in the abstract, but it doesn’t exactly excite me as a reader. If past issues of Hexagon are any guide, though, most of the stories should be solid enough.

“Let the Bright Woods Glow” by Colin O’ Mahoney. This one is a charming repudiation of white collar capitalism in favor of spilling blood for the Bright Witches of the Woods. Quite enjoyable.

“Incorporation” by Raina Joines. The current wave of capitalist-mandated “AI” — which usually turns out to be an energy-sucking, carbon-spewing autocomplete, augmented by underpaid and unacknowledged labor in the Global South — has nearly killed the classic AI subgenre of science fiction. This story is an exception, an optimistic tale of truly intelligent AI that emerges and evolves and surpasses its capitalist origins. I liked it.

“This Job Is Turning Me into Something I Don’t Like…” by J Wallace. The uncanny nature of the job turns a realtor into a vampire. It’s a clever enough conceit for a story, and a solid metaphor, using the tools of speculative fiction to say something about our society. Naturally enough I enjoyed the prolonged middle finger to developers and real estate speculators and the whole class-based hierarchy. Unfortunately, I felt the story itself was a bit flat. Not bad by any means, it just didn’t do much for me beyond its central allegory.

“Recruitment Drive” by Aurelien Gayet. This story applies delightfully dated cyberpunk tropes — our protagonist JSON goes into “virtual” to inject code into the cyberspace environment — to our own, much less sexy cyberpunk dystopia of AI-filtered job applications. Cheeky and fun, with a burn-it-all-down ethos that we all can appreciate.

“Paid Time Off” by L.M. Guay. Vividly written exploration of corporate dystopia, a satisfying arc full of grotesque allegorical detail. Excellent.

And that’s it! This is perhaps the most consistent issue of Hexagon I’ve read yet. Solid!

2024 read #155: And Chaos Died by Joanna Russ.

And Chaos Died by Joanna Russ

189 pages

Published 1970

Read from December 18 to December 20

Rating: 2-ish out of 5

This book is a strange, often off-putting experiment of a sophomore novel. What opens as a fairly standard space opera gets filtered through the literary affectations of the New Wave. The text revolves from impression to impression with all the logic of an acid trip. An old man eating plums in the moonlight leaps into somersaults at the lightest touch, flames at his heels. Russ’s prose is sweeping and ambitious, but even after I’ve read the whole thing, I’m still not sure whether it was supposed to make sense or not, or if it was meant as a suite of vibes.

I momentarily got excited when Russ revealed that main character Jai Vedh is gay — rarity of rarities in 1970 sci-fi! — but then on page 23 he muses, “I wish I knew what it feels like to be a man who loves a woman,” and by page 51 he’s dream-fucking one of the women from a putative “lost colony.” Later, “homosex” is lumped in with the “exports” of a decadent, sickly dystopia, while Jai ruts through various heterosexual encounters, many of dubious consent. All of which is in keeping with the mores of this era, but it feels like a particular letdown. (You mean to tell me this is the same Russ who would later publish We Who Are About to…?) There are also some deeply uncomfortable passages that I assume (or rather, that I hope) are a feminist critique of the pedophilia at the root of patriarchal heterosexuality.

If you persevere through Chaos’ deliberate opacity and its unfortunately antique construction of sexuality and gender, it turns out to be just another Social Statement sci-fi novel making a contrast between the “natural,” vaguely Taoist society of the colony’s outer space telepaths, and the polluted, listless, technocratic dystopia of future Earth. The book’s main effect was to make me wish I were rereading The Dispossessed instead. Every now and then, though, Russ turned a phrase that made me concede it was worth reading:

Evne, like a woman of salt, fled into the walls in metal crystalhood, where he followed her, turned into a bee (all eyes), a fountain (all mouth), wrapped herself around her own bones inside out, spread herself one molecule thick along all the lines in the ship: the two of them, pulsing miles across, breathing with the lungs of incurious strangers, seeing through other eyes, petrifying in flashes, pursuing each other in the shapes of walls, floors, volumes of contained air. He followed her.