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The Song of War
The Song of War brings the Dybbuk Scrolls Trilogy to a breathless finale. The story opens with Asmodeus rallying his monstrous army and stepping out of the shadows to wage open war. Carrie, Mikhail, Lindsay, Rebecca, Emilia, and Ferne are pulled straight into danger as the conflict breaks across their worlds like a storm tide. Weddings, dreams of the Angel of Death, burning theatres, massed armies at the palace gates, and the chaos of a full-scale magical invasion all collide in a story that moves fast and hits hard. The book pushes every character to their breaking point, and it never stops reminding you that the cost of this war will be steep.
Reading this one felt different from the first two. I felt that there was a heaviness hanging over everything, and it’s hard not to feel that weight with Carrie. Her fear, her guilt, her frantic hope that she can keep the people she loves alive made me tense in a way I didn’t expect. The writing leans into emotion without getting flowery. Scenes swing from warm and funny to terrifying in a heartbeat. The wedding was especially emotional for me. It was sweet and soft and full of love. Then the dread crept in. Then the drums started. Then the world fell apart. I felt that shift in my gut.
The battles are messy and personal and frightening. Characters panic, stumble, run, freeze, and sometimes find a burst of courage they didn’t know they had. The story doesn’t pretend everyone suddenly becomes a warrior. It shows fear for what it is. It also shows love and loyalty in a raw way. Emilia’s struggle to reconcile her lineage with her future, Mikhail’s desperation to save his father, Lindsay’s reckless bravery, and Carrie’s mix of fear, anger, and determination gave the whole book a steady emotional heartbeat.
By the time I reached the end, I felt wrung out but satisfied. This book doesn’t hold back. It gives the trilogy a strong, emotional finish that feels earned. If you like fantasy stories where magic mixes with real-world problems, or if you enjoy character-driven adventures filled with danger, heartbreak, and stubborn hope, this is a series worth picking up. The Song of War is especially fitting for readers who love finales that swing big and don’t shy away from loss or triumph.
Pages: 217 | ASIN : B0FR2RBDDS
The Song of Vengeance
The Song of Vengeance picks up right where the first Dybbuk Scrolls adventure left off and wastes no time throwing Carrie back into danger. The book follows her struggle with loneliness at university, the eerie disappearance of her two closest friends, and the creeping feeling that something magical and malicious is once again closing in. When the dybbuks return with a new plan for revenge, Carrie is pushed back into Hadariah and into another fight she never asked for. The story blends modern life and fantasy in a way that feels quick and tense, and the mystery of what happened to her friends drives the plot with a steady pull.
I was rooting for Carrie in a very personal way. Her stress, her self-doubt, her frustration when no one believes her, all of it hit with surprising force. The writing is clean, direct, and often emotional in a quiet way. There were moments when I felt that knot of worry she carries, especially when the people around her begin forgetting Lindsay and Rebecca as if they never existed. That idea is simple, but it’s creepy, and the book leans into it with confidence. The dialogue feels natural, and the scenes that shift from the normal world into the magical one have a dreamy snap to them that I really enjoyed.
I also liked how the book digs into friendship. The bond between Carrie and her friends is the heart of the story, and even when the plot slows down, that emotional thread pulls everything forward. I do think some moments move a little quickly, especially when new characters show up or when the story jumps between worlds, but the emotional beats are strong enough that I didn’t mind much. The fantasy elements feel familiar, yet the author gives them a warm, human frame. Carrie is not a hero because she’s chosen, she’s a hero because she’s stubborn and loyal and scared, but moving anyway. That made the story feel real to me, even when magic was swirling everywhere.
If you’re a fan of series like Percy Jackson, The Mortal Instruments, or The School for Good and Evil, The Song of Vengeance will feel like a fresh but familiar ride. It blends ordinary life with creeping magic in a way that scratches the same itch as those stories, and it leans hard into friendship and courage just like they do. The world of Hadariah has its own rhythm, its own rules, and its own emotional pull, and readers who enjoy character-driven fantasy with real heart will settle into it easily. If you like your adventures tense but personal and your heroes a little messy and human, this is a great next read.
Pages: 271 | ASIN : B0FR2QTN4C
Believable Dark Fantasy
The Siren’s Daughter follows a young, spirited girl, drawn irresistibly to the sea, who finds a mysterious conch shell that lures her away from her family. What inspired you to retell this story in this manner?
I was working on another project, making cultural heritage cards. When researching CHamoru legends, I found that the Marianas had their own sea siren lore. Because of my Latino heritage, I know that “sirena” is Spanish for “siren.” While “Sirena” is a beautiful name, I started wondering if maybe the legend wasn’t actually about a girl named Sirena, but was a warning based on what happened to a girl claimed by a siren. A Spanish word for a warning instantly placed the story in Spanish colonial times, and I imagined that it was a priest who wrote the warning and did not care to keep the girl’s name. The details of the rest of the story just fell into place as I imagined it more. I really liked the whole premise of a siren claiming the girl as her own, and the details being lost to time because of colonial control. I liked it more and more as I kept developing the story.
What were some themes that were important for you to explore in this book?
The legend of Sirena is a Guam legend, but I wanted to make it more of a general CHamoru legend by integrating it with siren lore in the other Mariana Islands.
As with my other works, I want to share CHamoru heritage with readers everywhere. In The Siren’s Daughter, I saw an opportunity to share with audiences another part of CHamoru history – Spanish colonization. I wanted to mention the wars against the Spanish. I also wanted to mention the loss of spiritual and traditional knowledge because the Spanish killed off traditional healers.
What were some goals you set for yourself as a writer in this book?
My main goal was to create a believable dark fantasy that shares CHamoru heritage with readers. I wanted to give a glimpse of life under Spanish rule. But to be honest, I really liked the story that I had imagined, and I was excited to write it.
What story are you currently in the middle of writing?
I am currently working on Books 2 and 3 of what I am calling The Yo’Åmte Trilogy. The Makana’s Legacy is Book 1. I like the outlines that I have, and I wish I had the time to devote to these stories. These next two books will actually bring up topics that even many CHamorus might not have thought about. Because these stories delve deeper into the role of Yo’Åmte (traditional healers) in CHamoru society, I will be consulting with an expert on the topic of Yo’Åmte to help me stay accurate and respectful in my portrayal of Yo’Åmte.
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After the wars, Hagåtña fell hushed. Tasi – restless and bright – slipped to the reef where a siren waited with a black opal conch. At home, her mother’s patience frayed; her grandmother warned that spirits were listening. One bitter outburst became a curse, and the sea answered.
Sailors spoke of a girl in the foam. Priests spread a warning about la sirena – the siren. The word traveled farther than the truth – until it swallowed the girl’s name.
The Siren’s Daughter is a haunting CHamoru retelling set just after the Spanish-Chamorro wars: a tale of mothers and daughters, desire and duty, and what the ocean keeps while history erases.
Includes a traditional telling of the Sirena legend and an Author’s Note.
The Siren’s Daughter
The Siren’s Daughter is a haunting retelling of the CHamoru legend of Sirena, set in the turbulent period of Spanish colonization in Guam. It follows young Tasi, a spirited girl drawn irresistibly to the sea, her mother Marisol, burdened by loss and duty, and her grandmother Benita, who clings to the old ways. The story blends folklore with history, showing how faith, colonization, and myth intertwine. As Tasi’s fascination with the ocean deepens, a mysterious conch shell and a spectral sea woman lure her away from her family and into the depths, transforming the familiar legend into something darker and more tragic. By the end, what was once a story of disobedience becomes one about possession, inheritance, and the ocean’s unrelenting claim on those who love it too much.
Author M K Aleja’s writing is steady and clear, then suddenly crashing with emotion. The rhythm is almost hypnotic, and I found myself swept along, just like Tasi. The dialogue feels natural, the imagery rich but never overdone. The story’s pacing has the quiet patience of an island tide, moving slow in places but always purposeful. What struck me most was how Aleja breathed life into the CHamoru world, its language, spirituality, and pain under Spanish rule. The historical setting isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a living force pressing on every choice the characters make. It reminded me that legends aren’t made in peace, they’re born from suffering, from people trying to make sense of what they’ve lost.
This is an emotionally stirring novel. There’s a deep sadness running through it, a mother’s guilt and a child’s longing wrapped in superstition and love. I kept thinking about how easily a wish, spoken in anger, can turn into a curse. The siren scenes are chilling yet beautiful, a strange blend of horror and tenderness that left me uneasy in the best way. I loved how the book questioned the version of history we inherit, how the colonizers’ telling of events erases the truth beneath them. By the time I reached the end, I didn’t just see Tasi as a victim; I saw her as a symbol of something older than the Church or the Empire, something that refuses to be forgotten.
I’d recommend The Siren’s Daughter to readers who love stories that feel ancient yet new, mythic yet human. It’s perfect for those who enjoy folklore with teeth and heart, fans of writers like Silvia Moreno-Garcia or Neil Gaiman will find much to love here. It’s a story that is equal parts sorrow and wonder.
Pages: 52 | ASIN : B0FSF9P6LD
The Song of Hadariah
The Song of Hadariah follows Carrie Eisen, a seventeen-year-old caught between the ordinary pressures of finishing high school and the extraordinary call of magic. When she encounters a talking fox named Adom, her world is turned upside down. Alongside her two best friends, she’s drawn into Hadariah, a realm where music and spirit are one, and darkness has silenced its heart. Together, the girls set out to retrieve enchanted violin strings stolen by the demon king Asmodeus, hoping to restore harmony to a dying world. What starts as a whimsical fantasy quickly becomes a story about friendship, belief, and courage.
Reading this book felt like stepping back into the kind of story I would’ve loved as a teenager. The writing is vivid and heartfelt, full of warmth and charm. Goldenberg’s voice has this nostalgic rhythm to it. It moves like a bedtime story told by someone who truly believes in the power of magic. Sometimes the pacing slows a little, especially in the early chapters, but once the girls enter Hadariah, the world blossoms with texture and wonder. I liked how the author blended Jewish folklore with classic fantasy elements; it made the story feel both familiar and fresh. The dialogue among the girls felt genuine too, full of the easy banter and affection that comes from years of friendship. Their bond grounded the magic, made it feel real.
There were moments when I wanted to see a little more from the story’s darker side. Asmodeus, for instance, comes across as more symbolic than menacing, and the conflict feels gentler than I expected. But the real struggle isn’t only against a demon, it’s about growing up and finding the courage to believe when the world makes it hard to do so. I loved how Carrie wrestled with doubt and faith, logic and wonder. It reminded me that magic isn’t always about spells or creatures, it’s about trust, bravery, and the invisible threads between people. And that hit home for me.
The Song of Hadariah is a lovely, thoughtful fantasy that captures the ache of adolescence and the pull of imagination. It’s ideal for readers who miss the sincerity of early young adult fantasy, those who grew up on Narnia, Inkheart, or His Dark Materials, and still look at the world hoping to find a hidden doorway somewhere.
Pages: 212 | ASIN : B0FR2MLTMR
Fairy Lights: Bed Time Poems & Gallery of Fairytale Art from Yesteryear
Fairy Lights is a wonderful collection of bedtime poems interwoven with fairy lore, myth, and timeless art. Moving through the seasons of the year, the book gathers stories of spirits, shape-shifters, ocean dwellers, elven royalty, and everyday enchantments. It draws from Irish, Nordic, Greek, and New World traditions, blending them into verses that feel both ancient and freshly spoken. Each section carries its own mood, from the playful revels of spring to the melancholy mysteries of autumn and the haunting stillness of winter. Alongside the words, the author curates a gallery of fairytale art from past centuries, which adds a lovely echo of history to the poetry.
What struck me most was the way the poems refused to be pinned down. They could be lyrical and delicate in one breath, then strange, even eerie, in the next. A piece like A Piece of Amber felt tender and tragic, like a whispered legend by firelight, while something like The Baallad of Blaackie Coal made me grin with its folkloric humor and Scots cadence. I loved how the writing carried me away from reason into a place where fairies still dance, seashells sing, and even the smallest bird is mourned with reverence. The language is musical and sometimes unpredictable. At times, I found myself rereading lines not because I needed to but because I wanted to savor the rhythm.
The author clearly delights in layering metaphor upon metaphor, which creates a rich tapestry. This very quality also gives the book its dreamlike atmosphere. It reminded me of wandering through a forest at dusk, you don’t always know what you’re seeing, but the mystery is the point. I also appreciated how personal some of the poems felt. Knowing that pieces like To Wee Russet Tuft came from real experiences gave the collection an intimacy that balanced out the more mythic material.
Fairy Lights feels like a gift for anyone who still listens for magic in the quiet hours. I would recommend it to readers who love fairytales, folklore, or poetry that doesn’t mind breaking free from neat structure. It’s especially suited for those who want to share stories aloud, whether with children at bedtime or with the inner child who still believes in hidden worlds.
Pages: 181 | ISBN : 0473742454
The Wisdom of Wood Volume 1 – Hazelnut
The book unfolds as a mythic tale woven through time, place, and spirit. It follows Samuel Alexander and his descendants as they become entangled with Glastonbury’s mysteries, sacred symbols, and the haunting legacy of a ring unearthed at Bride’s Well. The story moves between dream and waking life, myth and history, layering Celtic lore, Druidic traditions, and Arthurian echoes into a generational saga. Characters are guided by visions, by voices from the otherworld, and by trees themselves, whose spirits carry wisdom and warning. The narrative blends myth with personal struggle, and family with fate, to create a tapestry that is both mystical and relatable.
What struck me most was the style of the writing. It has a rhythm that feels almost incantatory. The sentences often unfold like chants, looping and layering symbols until I found myself immersed in the cadence rather than just the plot. At times, I’ll admit, I felt adrift, as if the story cared less about holding my hand and more about pulling me into its current. Yet I also liked that sense of surrender. It mirrored the characters’ own confusion when faced with forces larger than themselves. Some passages soared with imagery that felt cinematic. Others slowed down, but always with a sense that something sacred was just out of reach.
On a more emotional level, I found myself unexpectedly moved by the family thread running through the myth. Samuel’s death and the passing of his journal and ring to Eleni and Sophie gave the narrative a raw anchor in grief and legacy. The mystical voices, priestesses, and mythic archetypes would have been too abstract for me without those human losses at the center. That’s where the book hit hardest. It made me think about how much we inherit without knowing, and how myths are not just stories but shadows we live under. Still, I sometimes wished for a bit more grounding in the everyday. The dreamlike prose was beautiful, but it could also feel heavy.
I think this book is best for readers who enjoy being swept up in myth and who don’t mind when the line between story and symbol blurs. If you like Joseph Campbell or Marion Zimmer Bradley, you’ll probably find yourself right at home. For me, it was enchanting. I’d recommend it to anyone willing to slow down, sink into layered imagery, and let the wisdom of wood whisper its way through their imagination.
Pages: 381 | ASIN : B06XCPG7W1
Resurrection, a Beyond the Faerie Rath Novel
Resurrection is the second book in Hanna Park’s Beyond the Faerie Rath series, and it plunges straight into a lush, myth-soaked world of Irish folklore, family secrets, and otherworldly battles. The novel follows Calla, a young woman caught between two identities. She is both the adopted daughter of mortals and the blood-born child of Finvarra, King of the Faeries. This duality drives the story as Calla confronts her strange visions, her tangled sense of belonging, and the weight of her destiny. Alongside her, we meet Colm, Ciarán, and a host of mortals and immortals whose lives tangle in love, grief, betrayal, and the ever-thickening shadows of war between worlds.
Reading Resurrection reminded me of Sarah J. Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses, but with a sharper mythological backbone and a darker and more haunting atmosphere rooted in Irish folklore. What struck me first was the writing itself. Park has a way of spinning language that feels alive, almost like it breathes. Her descriptions of the Otherworld are thick with sensory detail. At times, the imagery is overwhelming, but I found myself drawn to it, letting it wash over me like waves. It added to the dreamlike quality of the book. The dialogue is what anchored me. Calla’s sharp tongue, her refusal to bow to anyone, even a faerie king, gave the story a grit that balanced the lyrical flow of the prose.
Beyond the style, it was the ideas that resonated with me. Family, choice, identity, these aren’t new themes, but Park gives them an edge by setting them against myth. Calla’s push and pull with Finvarra felt both ancient and painfully modern. Who hasn’t wrestled with the weight of family expectations, or the question of whether blood defines us? The battles, the shape-shifting, the omens of doom, they’re grand and dramatic, but they all circle back to something intimate: a young woman figuring out who she is and what she’s willing to fight for. That hit me harder than I expected.
The author doesn’t hand over tidy answers. She leaves you standing with Calla, teetering between two worlds, unsure which one feels more like home. I’d recommend this book to readers who love fantasy rooted in myth, who want their escapism tangled up with questions that bite. If you’re willing to wander through mist and shadow, to wrestle with beauty and terror in equal measure, then Resurrection is well worth the journey.
Pages: 268 | ASIN : B0FKDLGSFN
LITERARY TITAN 