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THE MYTHOLOGIES OF THE AMERICAS – A BOOK TRILOGY
Roberto S. Jimenez’s The Mythologies of the Americas is a sprawling, imaginative trilogy that reimagines ancient mythologies through a wildly futuristic and metaphysical lens. It blends legends, gods, interdimensional travel, and bedtime story warmth into a series of tales that center around gods like Razielle, the Three Fates, and the goddess Dharma. The stories are presented as part sci-fi odyssey, part mythic folklore, and part bedtime storytelling, complete with gentle closings like “a hug and a kiss, then soft footsteps walking away, then darkness.” It’s a mythological epic wrapped in the language of childhood wonder.
The writing style is surreal, even dreamlike. At times, it felt like I was reading an ancient scroll written by a cosmic bard who had just discovered a spaceship. Take “The Legend of Bi-Frost,” you’ve got a dying warrior being turned into a techno-robot guardian of the Rainbow Bridge by Razielle, the god of the Afterlife. It’s emotional, cinematic, and oddly tender. That moment when Razielle kneels before the fallen Bi-Frost and weeps, causing time itself to come to a halt, struck me deeply. The emotional stakes are often high, even if the delivery is otherworldly.
There’s a lot of repetition phrases like “the god of the Afterlife” and “spirit energy” appear constantly. The prose loves its asterisks, dramatic ellipses, and long, breathless sentences. I honestly had to pause sometimes and just let the phrases wash over me without trying to analyze them. But weirdly enough, that worked. Once I gave up trying to read this like a regular book and let it hit me like a stream of mythic consciousness, it clicked. In “The Heart of Darkness,” the high-concept ideas, like extracting “piezzo-electric data” from obelisks and the philosophical exploration of faster-than-light dimensions—become almost poetic. It’s wild and chaotic but in the best sci-fi-fantasy-pulp kind of way.
What I really loved, though, were the emotional moments and the childlike sincerity that lives under the surface of all the starships and spirit gates. When Dharma, the goddess of Dark Matter, meets her children—the Three Fates—there’s this powerful blend of divine awe and good old-fashioned family reunion. “She looks like any other Dark Phantom to me,” Razielle says at one point, before discovering her hidden potential. And when the Fates grow up, and Razielle tells them they looked cuter as gargoyles? It made me smile. These moments remind you there’s real heart here. It’s a mythology built on love, legacy, and the idea that bedtime stories can still hold cosmic truths.
The Mythologies of the Americas is for readers who are open to something different—something raw, earnest, and unapologetically strange. If you’re into ancient myth reboots, cosmic family sagas, or bedtime stories with gods and robots, you’ll find a lot to love here. It’s messy and heartfelt and absolutely bananas in the best way. Just don’t try to make too much sense of it. Let it wash over you. You’ll dream better that way.
Pages 461
The Wife’s New Maid
Amora Sway’s The Wife’s New Maid is a dark, slow-burning psychological thriller dressed up in luxury, suburban charm, and a heavy coat of emotional disarray. Told through the lens of Linley, a woman who trades her independent New York life for a marriage to a wealthy, controlling hedge funder named Dorian, the novel drips with passive-aggressive tension and subtle menace. It explores the suffocating demands of a picture-perfect marriage and how little cracks, like a too-sexy maid or a fading sex life, can deepen into full-blown chaos. It’s twisted, oddly funny at times, and uncomfortably real.
I was genuinely surprised by how compelling the narrative became. The writing style is understated, yet it carries a quiet precision and a strong sense of character throughout. Linley’s voice is vulnerable, cynical, and funny in that “laugh so you don’t cry” kind of way. Early on, there’s this scene where she props her legs up against the wall post-coitus like it’s a team sport, just trying to conceive before a four-year prenup clause kicks in. The blend of quiet desperation and dry humor is executed with remarkable precision. It made me squirm and laugh and then feel kind of bad about laughing.
What really got under my skin was how slowly and subtly the horror unfolds. At first, it’s just awkward silences, missing affection, and a husband who’s a little too into coasters and keto muffins. But then the porn browsing, the rigid control, and the maid’s “skimpy” outfits start to add up. One moment that hit hard was when Linley finds her husband masturbating to buxom brunettes online. She doesn’t scream or confront him; she freezes, tiptoes away, and quietly screams into a pillow. That broke me a little. It’s not about shock, it’s about how many women are trained to shrink themselves in real time, even when their world is burning.
The pacing dragged a bit in places. The prose leans repetitive, and some inner monologues circle the same idea over and over with Linley’s loneliness, Dorian’s emotional constipation, and the perfect wife act. But I’ll admit, it mirrors her rut perfectly. It makes you feel like you’re right there with her, smiling at dinner parties and dying on the inside. The book club scenes are particularly well-crafted, offering a sharp and memorable portrayal of social dynamics. The passive-aggressive wine-sipping suburban wives were both hilarious and horrifying. Everyone smiles with perfect teeth, but it’s all gossip and envy under the surface.
The Wife’s New Maid is for people who enjoy thrillers that simmer rather than explode. It’s for readers who want something psychological, layered, and eerily close to real life. For anyone who has ever maintained the illusion of a perfect life while quietly unraveling beneath the surface, this novel may resonate deeply, both unsettling and engrossing in equal measure.
Pages: 227 | ASIN : B0F1L6PQC2
As Long as We’re Alive, Problems Will Arise
Pandora’s Box follows a 14-year-old boy who discovers he is a demigod like his late mother. His life has become a whirlwind of magical schools, ancient mythologies, and adventure while he tries to prevent evil from taking over the world. What was the inspiration for the setup of your story?
My son was my inspiration. When I became a mother, a new fear was unlocked: what will become of my child if I am not here tomorrow? I wanted to write something that could speak to him, nurture him, and entertain him, while leaving him with the values I hope I will have the time and support to instill in him.
The MC’s name is my child’s name: Liam. His mourning is built on my biggest fear.
The chaos the MC faces is nothing but the chaos of life. We tend to think our problems are the biggest in the world—and for us, they are. But it’s important for children to see that everyone has problems, which, to them, feel just as big. As long as we’re alive, problems will arise, and that will be true for everyone. The realization of this fact gives them a sense of belonging, helping them step out of the victim mentality and see problems for what they really are: opportunities for solutions and growth. I was careful to reflect that on each and every page.
I find the world you created in this novel brimming with possibilities. Where did the inspiration for the setting come from and how did it change as you were writing?
My inspiration comes from the books I grew up with. I’m a huge Star Wars fan, which is why you’ll see a mix of Sci-Fi and Fantasy in my work. I also love The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit, and I read a lot of Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes as a child—this helped me develop my approach to building suspense, planting clues, and leading characters (and readers) toward discoveries.
Role-playing games have also been a major influence. I spent years as a Game Master for Vampire: The Masquerade and Dungeons & Dragons, which shaped my multi-perspective storytelling, worldbuilding, and rule-setting for magic and power. RPGs also helped me focus on character growth, much like players leveling up through campaigns.
Brazilian folklore played a big role in my childhood—it was mandatory in school and deeply woven into our culture. This sparked my curiosity about other mythologies, particularly Nordic folklore. Beyond that, I have a very poetic way of describing emotions, which comes from my younger years when I wrote poetry, competed in poetry contests, and attended poetry events as early as 12 years old.
On top of that, I love Greek mythology, Egyptian history, and the original versions of the stories that Disney adapted—many of which were quite dark in their European roots before being softened for children. That’s probably why my writing naturally leans toward darker themes.
Honestly? My writing style hasn’t changed much while writing. What has changed is my awareness of how readers perceive my published works, which influences what I choose to emphasize or tone down in future books. Since I haven’t read anything published in the last 20 years, my writing style remains uninfluenced by modern trends—it’s purely shaped by the stories I love.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
Self-discovery, the concept of character (discerning good from bad), cause-and-effect (accountability for our choices), and inner power were all central themes. I wanted to show that having flaws doesn’t make you incapable of achieving great things—nor does it automatically turn you into the villain. It’s important for teenagers to develop a fair sense of self rather than viewing themselves through extremes of “good” or “bad.”
Faith in something bigger also plays a key role. Throughout the trilogy, I touch on difficult topics, even taboos like suicidal thoughts, in hopes of helping young readers recognize that the voice telling them they’re not enough doesn’t come from them—and that they can (and should) break free from it.
Can you tell us more about where the story and characters go after book one?
Without giving too much away—because surprises are half the fun—the second and third books take the characters much deeper into the prophecy hinted at in Pandora’s Box. Relationships will evolve, secrets will come to light, and the stakes will grow far beyond what they imagined. You’ll see characters like Liam, Ada, and others struggle with even more challenging situations, both magical and personal. Also, expect to see new realms, powerful antagonists, and the consequences of choices made in book one. It becomes a story not just about stopping evil, but about understanding yourself and the cost of standing for what you believe in.
Author Links: GoodReads | X | Facebook | Website | Trilogy Website
Liam Hale gets a posthumous gift from his late mother, Bree, on his 14th birthday. It’s a holographic message that turns Liam’s life upside down: According to a projection of Bree, Liam is a demigod (as Bree had been), will attend a magic school, and will take over his mom’s role as keeper of the Seven Wonders (Earth and six other dimensions).
He will have to be “initiated” before claiming the keeper’s throne within 90 days, or the resultant fight for the position will trigger an intergalactic war (“It’s too much power”). As if that weren’t enough pressure, Liam must also complete Bree’s mission of finding “the Pandora’s Box,” an artifact that will restore the balance between good and (currently rising) evil. Luckily, he’s got help: His allies include his best friend Ada, mage student Benji, and perpetually bickering witch-twins Zac and Zoe.
With mythological creatures, a magic school, and dimension-hopping adventures, Liam and his friends must uncover the secrets of The Pandora’s Box before darkness takes over.
A Wee Problem
Katerina Langley’s A Wee Problem is a deeply emotional and gripping story told from the perspective of a young livestock guardian dog named Wee. The book follows Wee and her family as they struggle to survive on a neglected farm, navigating threats from humans and predators alike. As their small world collapses, the story blossoms into a powerful tale of resilience, sacrifice, and growth. It’s part coming-of-age, part survival saga—told with heart, teeth, and muddy paws.
What got me right away was how alive the writing felt. The opening chapter throws us into the harsh reality of Wee’s life. The author captures emotions—fear, hunger, loyalty—with raw, physical language. It’s not poetic. It’s not polished. It’s real. And that makes it powerful. Langley doesn’t just want you to read about these dogs—she wants you to feel the dirt in their fur and the ache in their bellies.
Then there’s the emotional weight of the relationships. Wee and her brother Fur bicker and play, but they rely on each other in a world that’s turned cruel. Their mother is a complex figure—loving, strong, but breaking under the weight of loss and danger. That moment when she sends Wee and Fur running while she stays to face the coyote was gut-wrenching. I had to stop reading for a second. And when she returns, bloodied and barely alive, it doesn’t feel like a victory. It feels like the cost of love. Langley’s writing in these scenes is at its best: urgent, heartbreaking, stripped bare.
There’s also a slow burn of hope beneath all the struggle. Wee’s growth from a frightened pup to a determined survivor is subtle but moving. Her decisions get braver. Her thoughts get sharper. This book makes you care. You don’t just want these characters to survive. You want them to be okay. And that’s what sticks with you.
I’d recommend A Wee Problem to anyone who loves stories about animals, survival, or family. Especially readers who can handle the raw stuff—the loss, the violence, the quiet despair. This isn’t a fluffy farm tale. It’s tough. It’s tense. But it’s also full of heart. Langley has written something that feels lived in and loved. It’s not just a story about dogs. It’s a story about fighting to hold onto what matters when the world stops caring.
Pages: 413 | ASIN : B0DS52P491
Real Aussies: John’s Heartbreak
At its heart, Real Aussies: John’s Heartbreak is a raw and emotionally intense dive into the life of John, a 24-year-old car salesman hustling through Sydney’s sun-soaked grit of the late ’70s. The story kicks off with John chasing the Australian dream—buying out the dealership he works for and giving his family a better future. But things unravel fast. There’s infidelity, identity struggles, explosive family drama, a deeply repressed past, and an unexpected romantic connection that challenges everything John thought he knew about himself. It’s set against a vivid Aussie backdrop of drag queens, classic Holdens, meat pies, and church pews. It’s heavy, hilarious, heartbreaking, and, at times, unhinged.
The dialogue snaps with authenticity, the slang hits just right, and the pacing is mad. One minute you’re laughing at a wild Monaro test drive, and the next you’re cringing through John’s brutal Sunday family lunch, dripping with micro-aggressions, classism, and suppressed rage. The scenes with his mum and Beergut Barry was spot on. Horribly accurate. You can feel the suffocation. That kitchen table tension isn’t just writing, it’s lived experience on the page.
But the emotional gut-punches land hard. The twist about John’s biological son genuinely winded me. And then, Jezbon goes further. That deeply disturbing assault scene with Peter was unexpected and so painfully real. It’s handled with unflinching honesty. It doesn’t glorify or overexplain, it just lets you sit in the horror of it. It messed me up a little. That’s powerful storytelling. Still, it’s not for the faint of heart. You have to be ready for it. But it shines a light on the complexity of male trauma, especially in a world that doesn’t give men like John the language or space to process it.
John is messy. He lashes out. He hits. He breaks. But Jezbon doesn’t romanticize it. He forces you to reckon with the choices people make when their lives implode. There’s nuance. There’s shame. There’s that desperate grasping for control when everything’s slipping. And then there’s hope, like a tiny stubborn weed growing through concrete. John’s care for his sons—especially Jason, his “little champ”—grounds all the chaos. The emotional rollercoaster is real, and I didn’t wanna get off.
If you like your stories emotionally charged, a little chaotic, and rough around the edges—this one’s for you. Especially if you’re into queer themes wrapped in raw masculinity, generational trauma, and the realest kind of love—the kind that’s flawed but refuses to give up. It’s not tidy. It’s not polished. It’s real. And that’s exactly what makes John’s Heartbreak stick. Jezbon wrote something that lingers.
Pages: 398 | ASIN : B0F3KDHH9R
Heroes of Another Age: A Guardian Prequel (The Guardian)
Heroes of Another Age is a fantasy coming-of-age tale that follows twin brothers Aaron and Aton, two young werewolves living a secluded life with their mother on a remote mountain peak. What starts as a quiet pastoral existence quickly unravels into a tale of magic, identity, and legacy when Aaron discovers he has mysterious healing powers and Aton’s supernatural abilities begin to surface. Their world, previously defined by sheep herding and cinnamon bread, begins to crack open with danger, secrets, and signs of a larger destiny.
This book completely surprised me. It starts off with such a calm, even cozy vibe. The early chapters, especially when Aaron talks to sheep who don’t fear him and worries about feeling ordinary despite being a werewolf, are honestly kind of adorable. There’s warmth in the writing, especially in the family dynamic. Their mother is tough but nurturing, and her presence anchors the story beautifully. When Aton climbs the peak to get their mom a flower, only to get badly hurt, I felt that mix of horror and love. The magical healing moment had me wide-eyed and flipping pages.
I really appreciated how this book handles magical discovery, not with flashy spells and big showdowns, but with quiet awe and genuine confusion. Aaron’s realization that he has healing magic comes not with cheers but with a panic attack and a desperate attempt to save his brother. And that scene where he wakes up and sees his mom casually cradling glowing green light in the kitchen? It’s magical but also intimate. That’s what this book does well; it makes the fantasy feel close to home. There’s a wonderful sense of scale: this isn’t a story about kings and kingdoms but about a little boy trying to understand who he is and how he fits into a world that might fear him.
It’s not all sweet family vibes and glowy hands. There’s darkness creeping in. The book doesn’t shy away from fear, especially fear of being different. When Aaron’s mom explains that people might kill casters just for using magic, it’s a terrifying thought. And Aton’s growing distance, his determination to protect his brother, and the way he starts carving a wooden sword, it all points to something bigger on the horizon. The tension grows slowly, but it’s there like storm clouds building behind a sunny sky. I genuinely loved how much emotional weight was packed into the little moments. Even small things, like the way the brothers bicker, felt so real. The writing doesn’t try to be clever; it’s honest and vivid, with a lot of heart.
Heroes of Another Age feels like the start of something special. It’s a small story, but it hints at big things. If you’re into slow-burn fantasy that puts relationships first, this book is for you. It’s perfect for readers who liked The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe but wanted more time in the wardrobe. Or for anyone who enjoys quiet magic, complicated families, and characters, you just want to wrap in a blanket. It’s a book that made me feel warm, then worried, then hopeful, all in a couple hundred pages.
Pages: 378 | ASIN : B0F395WJSQ
El legado de Nahia
El legado de Nahia, the third book in El Legado de las Hadas series, dives deep into a rich, multi-generational tale of family, loss, identity, and the eternal tug-of-war between the mystical world of the fairies and the grounding pull of humanity. Centered around Nahia, a fairy torn between love for her human-turned-family and her duties in the Soberanía de las Hadas, this story weaves together folklore, emotion, and a hefty dose of existential pondering. It’s got betrayal, longing, interdimensional drama, and a whole lot of heart.
I was pulled in by the elegance of Bossano’s world-building. That intro on the mythology of fairies is gold. Who doesn’t love the idea of a hidden, ancient race with a code of ethics more complicated than ours? The description of the glamour, their powers, and the strict structure of their matriarchal society sets the tone for a story that isn’t just fantasy—it feels like a believable, fleshed-out parallel reality.
What got me the most, though, was how human Nahia is. Her grief over losing Celeste felt raw and real. She’s not some shiny, perfect fairy—she’s messy, angry, petty even. When she talks about how unfair it is that Celeste died of old age while she, Nahia, still looks eighteen… oof. That bitterness, that jealousy—that’s the kind of vulnerability that made me root for her even when she did something awful.
There were moments when I wanted to shake Nahia. Her hatred for Alaia? It’s kind of intense. I get that Alaia’s a little uptight and maybe not the fairy-loving granddaughter Nahia dreamed of—but it goes beyond petty. Even Nahia’s internal struggle after stealing Calisto—like when she’s hit with the reality of caring for a baby who screams all night was funny and sad and brutally honest.
The writing is lush, poetic in places, and surprisingly down-to-earth in others. Bossano doesn’t shy away from waxing lyrical, but it never feels pretentious. Even when the fairies are flying around glowing like bioluminescent marbles, the story stays grounded in very human emotions: longing, regret, the desire to be remembered, to leave a legacy. That tension between the eternal life of a fairy and the brief, messy beauty of human life? It’s everywhere in this book, and it hits.
El legado de Nahia is about family—chosen, born, and lost. It’s about the ache of time, the price of decisions, and how love—real love—can stretch across worlds. I’d recommend it to anyone who’s a sucker for character-driven fantasy or who’s ever felt like they’re caught between two worlds and not fully at home in either. If you like your fairy tales with a side of real emotion and a splash of bittersweet, this book will resonate with you.
Pages: 305
LITERARY TITAN 