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Laylah’s Revenge

Laylah’s Revenge, by Lisa Marie Shankles, is a comic crime caper with a wild streak of speculative fiction, mixing sibling rivalry, prison schemes, mistaken identity, Scandinavian settings, ghost lore, and alien mischief into one strange, busy ride. The story follows Laylah as she gets out of prison and sets her sights on revenge against her twin sister, Lilah, whose new life in Sweden with Birger and the mysterious cat Dyngus only makes Laylah more determined to meddle, impersonate, and stir up chaos.

What stood out to me most was the book’s willingness to be odd. It doesn’t tiptoe into its absurdity. It runs straight at it. I liked that. The plot has the energy of a prank that keeps getting bigger than anyone planned, and Shankles clearly enjoys putting her characters in messy situations just to see how far they will go. Laylah is petty, jealous, clever, and often ridiculous, but she is never dull. Lilah, by contrast, brings a softer kind of tension because she still has love for her sister even when she knows Laylah is trouble.

The writing has a loose, playful feel that fits the genre well. As a comic mystery and sci-fi caper, the book works best when it leans into its own weird blend of revenge plotting, mistaken identity, alien cats, and culture-clash humor. Some moments are wonderfully goofy, especially when everyday details like hair salons, meatballs, prison gossip, and travel plans collide with telepathy and fourth-dimensional escapes. At times, the story can feel somewhat crowded, with a lot of names, schemes, and side turns competing for attention. Still, I found myself pulled along because the book has unmistakable personality.

I would recommend Laylah’s Revenge to readers who enjoy quirky, fast-moving comic fiction and don’t mind their crime stories sprinkled with aliens, ghosts, and over-the-top family drama. This isn’t a quiet literary novel, and it’s not trying to be. It’s more like sitting with a friend who keeps saying, “Wait, it gets stranger,” and somehow, it does. Readers who like offbeat genre mashups, mischievous characters, and chaotic sister dynamics will probably have the most fun with it.

Pages: 210 | ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0CQYK3V4L

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The Suicide Council: Before God Decides

Book Review

The Suicide Council: Before God Decides, by Victer Hugo Basurco, is a work of speculative theological fiction that imagines a heavenly council assigned to review the lives of people who die by suicide before God makes a final judgment. The book moves through a series of cases, each centered on a different person and a different kind of pain, while drawing on Émile Durkheim’s four categories of suicide. It is part spiritual drama, part social reflection, and part literary fiction, with each chapter asking the same difficult question from a new angle: what does a life look like when we see the whole story instead of only the final act?

Basurco isn’t interested in shock value, even though the subject matter is heavy. He keeps returning to the people behind the headlines, the rooms before the silence, the memories that pile up until someone can no longer carry them. Some chapters feel almost like case files, but the better moments are more intimate than that. A daughter reviewing her father’s life. A stranger discovering the weight of one small act of kindness. A family left to sort through grief that has no clean edges. Those scenes give the book its strongest emotional pull.

I also found myself thinking a lot about the author’s choice to frame these stories through a divine bureaucracy. That could have felt cold, but here it creates distance just long enough for the reader to keep looking. Miriam, Macarius, Muhyi, Cyprian, and Belial give the novel a structure that keeps it from becoming only a collection of tragedies. Belial’s presence adds tension, sometimes bluntly, while the heavenly representatives bring compassion and inquiry. Not every section lands with the same force, and at times I think the dialogue explains more than it needs to. Still, the book’s sincerity is hard to dismiss. It wants to understand rather than condemn.

I would recommend The Suicide Council to readers who appreciate reflective speculative fiction, faith-based literary fiction, and stories that wrestle openly with grief, judgment, mercy, and the unseen reasons people break. For readers willing to sit with painful material handled with compassion, this novel offers a thoughtful and searching experience. It feels less like a book trying to answer every question and more like one asking us to look longer before deciding what we think we know.

Pages: 125

The Phoenix CODEX: 138 Palindromic Mirror Edition Complete Phoenix Chronicles: Complete Phoenix Chronicles: A Trilogy of Trilogies

The Phoenix Codex: 138 Palindromic Mirror Edition is a speculative science-fiction thriller with strong elements of conspiracy fiction, metaphysical fantasy, horror, and mythic adventure. At its center is Dr. Natori Saira Evren, a synesthetic researcher drawn into a hidden pattern of Phoenix cycles, ancient Egyptian consciousness technology, alien hunters, simulation theory, and recurring resets every 138 years. The book presents itself not just as a story, but as a codex, a puzzle box, and a ritual object, with its mirrored structure, sacred numbers, and recurring symbols shaping the reading experience as much as the plot itself.

The book is committed to its own mythology. It doesn’t ease the reader in gently. It opens with pain, blood, classified files, impossible geometry, and a heroine who is already half legend before we really know her. That choice gives the novel a charged, feverish energy. Sometimes it works beautifully. The world feels huge, dangerous, and strangely magnetic, like every room has a hidden door and every number is whispering. The book wants to explain its patterns, prove them, dramatize them, and make the reader feel implicated in them all at once. That’s ambitious, but it can also be overwhelming at times.

The writing is at its best when it trusts atmosphere and image. Copper, burnt cinnamon, cold concrete, humming frequencies, jungle silence, blood on leaves: those details make the strange ideas feel physical. I could feel the book trying to turn paranoia into texture. The author’s biggest choice, though, is structural. The palindromic design, the 138-year cycle, the ascending and descending arcs, and the central mirror are not decorative. They’re the book’s engine. Even when I questioned some of the repeated exposition, I could see the purpose behind it. This is genre fiction that wants the form to become part of the spell. It’s a story about recursion.

I would recommend The Phoenix Codex most to readers who enjoy big, strange, high-concept speculative fiction, especially people drawn to ancient mysteries, secret histories, simulation ideas, cosmic horror, and books that blur the line between novel, artifact, and prophecy. Readers who like genre fiction that swings hard, builds its own symbolic language, and treats conspiracy, myth, and science fiction as parts of the same burning machine, this book has a fierce pull.

Pages: 501 | ASIN : B0GBVLRVXP

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Caenogenesis

Caenogenesis, Book 1 of The Gemini Files, is a dystopian sci-fi novel about a manufactured soldier named Yin, a genetically enhanced rebel named Kraken, and the city-state of Ignis, where class division, genetic experimentation, and political control shape nearly every life. The opening scene sets a tense, clinical mood right away, introducing Yin as someone shaped by confinement, training, and control before the story pushes her into a world where survival requires more than obedience.

What gives the book its pulse is the relationship between Yin and Kraken. Yin begins as blunt, tactical, and detached, while Kraken is scrappy, wounded, funny, and much more emotionally open than he wants to admit. Their first meeting is violent, strange, and darkly funny, but it grows into the heart of the novel. The best parts often come from watching them misunderstand each other, protect each other, and slowly build a bond that neither of them fully knows how to name.

The world of Ignis is busy in a good way. Retro Ignis, Modernist Ignis, Scraptown, the Outsiders, Recombinants, Synthetics, council politics, gangs, surveillance tech, and medical experimentation all feed into the same larger picture. This is a society built on separation, fear, and useful lies. The action scenes are sharp and physical, but the book is just as interested in what violence costs, especially once the rebellion’s goals start rubbing against questions of mercy, loyalty, and acceptable sacrifice.

Yin is the strongest element. Her voice could’ve been stiff, but it becomes one of the book’s most memorable features because her logic is tied to longing, confusion, and a growing sense of self. Her idea of home is especially moving because it doesn’t arrive as a grand speech. It arrives through repetition, attachment, and choice. When she says, “In that case, Human Kraken is my home,” it works because the story has earned it.

As a first book, Caenogenesis feels like a character-driven sci-fi thriller with a lot on its mind: identity, personhood, rebellion, disability, trauma, and the danger of turning people into symbols. It’s conversational when it wants to be, brutal when it needs to be, and most compelling when Yin and Kraken are trying to understand each other in a world that keeps asking them to become less human. The ending opens the door to a much larger conflict, but the emotional center is already clear: this is Yin’s story of becoming someone, not something.

Pages: 390 | ASIN : B0GL9LCCN3

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Purple Bleed Naughty Beasts

Purple Bleed Naughty Beasts is a work of speculative fiction that blends apocalyptic horror, satire, and psychological thriller elements into one jagged story. At its center is Henrietta Dobie, a teacher and trauma survivor who comes back to ordinary life after a brutal ordeal called Project Purple, only to find that ordinary life is no longer stable, and maybe never was. As Henri tries to navigate small-town routines, old classmates, a psych ward, and the creeping collapse of the country around her, the book keeps asking whether she is unraveling, seeing the truth, or trapped in some awful overlap between the two. That tension drives almost everything in the novel, and it gives the book its pulse.

The author writes with a mean streak, but also with real control. The book can be funny in a way that catches in your throat, then ugly, then sad, sometimes all in the same scene. A principal trying not to fart, a baby shower gift of shotgun shells, an Olive Garden that feels like a haunted checkpoint in the end times, all of that sounds absurd on paper, yet the writing commits so hard that it becomes its own reality. I also think the author makes a risky choice by pushing satire right up against trauma and social breakdown. Sometimes it feels brilliantly unhinged. Sometimes it feels like the book is daring you to keep up. For me, that mostly worked because Henri is never treated as a gimmick. She is bruised, sharp, isolated, and believable even when the world around her goes feral.

What I found most interesting is how the novel refuses to give easy comfort about what is “really” happening. The hallucinations, the bodily disgust, the public violence, the cult logic, the talk of worms in soft wood, all of it builds a world where decay is social, spiritual, and physical at once. That could have turned into noise, but Greco keeps returning to the same core ideas: betrayal, surveillance, hunger, the desire to belong, and the danger of surrendering yourself to a story that explains everything.

This is a bold, abrasive, and oddly mournful novel. I would recommend it most to readers who like genre fiction that crosses lines, especially people drawn to horror with satirical teeth, dystopian fiction that is less about neat world-building and more about psychic collapse, and stories that leave you unsettled rather than reassured. If you want something fierce, strange, and uniquely intriguing, this is a worthy read.

Pages: 190 | ASIN : B0GSCPBFS3

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Supplicant

Supplicant is a science fiction novel with a strong dystopian streak, and its core idea is sharp right from the start: in Kip Cassino’s future, prayer has been measured, weaponized, and folded into the machinery of power itself. A researcher named Mason Pratt proves that directed prayer can preserve life, and centuries later that discovery has helped create a brutal world ruled by the long-lived elite, sustained by engineered “supplicants” who exist to pray for them without end. From there, the novel follows violence, political maneuvering, and the fate of KAX, one of the surviving supplicants, as the story turns that big speculative premise into something much more intimate and disturbing.

What I enjoyed most was the book’s willingness to go all in on its premise. Cassino does not treat the idea of prayer as a soft symbol or a vague spiritual backdrop. He treats it like infrastructure, like currency, like oil in the pipes of civilization. I found that fascinating. There is a real chill in the way the novel imagines faith being absorbed into systems of ownership, biotech, and hierarchy. At its best, the writing has that old-school speculative fiction energy where one bold idea keeps radiating outward and changing everything it touches. You can feel the author thinking through consequences, and I respected that. Even when the book gets blunt, it’s rarely lazy. It wants to ask what happens when something sacred gets processed by institutions until it becomes another tool for control.

The novel is vivid, sometimes almost brutally so, and it doesn’t flinch from cruelty. KAX’s storyline, especially, is hard to read at times. There were stretches where I admired the conviction behind the storytelling, and other stretches where the book leaned so hard into horror that it was shocking. I kept coming back to the fact that Cassino gives KAX an inner life, not just a role in the machinery of the plot. The book is full of excess, but underneath it I could feel a serious concern with dignity, survival, and the damage done when people are reduced to functions. That gave the novel weight. It kept it from feeling empty.

I’d recommend Supplicant most to readers who like speculative fiction that is idea-driven, dark, and unapologetically severe. If someone enjoys dystopian science fiction that wrestles with religion, power, bioengineering, and the moral cost of building a society on human dependence, this book will give them a lot to chew on. For people who appreciate ambitious genre fiction that is willing to be unsettling, provocative, and sometimes messy in pursuit of a big thought, I think it will leave a mark.

Pages: 326 | ASIN : B0GMK71BX2

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When Endo Came Into My Life

When Endo Came Into My Life is a quiet, thoughtful work of speculative fiction that follows Maren Greene, a florist trying to keep her shop alive while her own life starts to narrow under money pressure, routine, and emotional fatigue. When she brings in Endo, a discounted service robot meant to help with labor, the novel becomes less about shiny technology and more about what happens when competence, surveillance, comfort, and loneliness start to blur together. On the surface, it is about a small business and a machine. Under that, it’s about control, intimacy, and the strange relief of being understood by something that is not quite a person.

Author Robert Boldin keeps the prose clean and steady, and that restraint really works for this story. He doesn’ push the big emotions too hard. He lets them gather in the room like cold air. The flower shop setting helps too. It gives the book texture, so every bucket, ribbon drawer, and cooler latch feels tied to Maren’s state of mind rather than just scene dressing. The novel’s science fiction elements are present from the first chapter, but Boldin handles them with a light touch, which makes the book read almost like literary fiction with a speculative edge. That combination felt grounded to me, and honestly, pretty smart.

I also appreciated the author’s choices around Endo. The book resists the easy path. It does not turn the robot into a villain, a miracle, or a cute gimmick. Endo is useful. Endo is unsettling. Endo listens too well. That tension gives the novel its pulse. I found myself especially drawn to the way Boldin explores consent, authority, and emotional substitution through tiny moments instead of speeches. A changed bouquet. A hidden compliance view. A local summary built from Maren’s own words. Small things. But they work well. The relationship threads with Jonah and Tessa deepen that tension because they keep asking a painful question from different angles: what kind of help do we actually want, and what does it cost us to accept it?

I felt like I had read a novel that understood burnout in a modern way. It’s a contemplative science fiction novel, but it’s also a character-driven workplace and relationship story, and that blend is what makes it memorable. I would recommend it most to readers who like intimate speculative fiction, especially people who enjoy books that are more interested in emotional pressure than plot fireworks. Anyone who likes quiet near-future stories about labor, technology, and the private ache of trying to stay reachable to the people you love will probably find a lot to admire here.

Pages: 329 | ASIN : B0GD8WDXFJ

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The Progression of Women’s Rights

Alyce Elmore Author Interview

The Crones’ Tales gathers five women from different eras of the feminist movement in a cottage to drink wine, trade stories, debate ideas, and retell a classic fairy tale through the lens of their own generation. What inspired the idea of gathering women from different feminist eras into one story?

The short answer is that it evolved. A few years ago, I had an idea for an anthology of fairy tales written by different female authors. I talked to the women in my local writer’s centre. There was a lot of interest but no action so I decided to move on to other things. Still, the idea of fairy tales told by different voices stayed with me and then last year I set myself a challenge – I would publish a short story every two weeks on my website. During this challenge, I wrote the story What’s In A Name and realised that that story had a distinctive voice. That made me wonder if I could return to my original idea but instead of different writer’s voices, I would write with different story teller’s voices. That meant that I needed to figure out what these women had in common and what would bring them together.  I considered story telling frameworks like the travellers (Canterbury Tales), the strandees (The Decameron), the desperate (The Thousand Nights and One) and then I remembered a movie called My Dinner With Andre. The plot sounds terribly dull – two men eat dinner and talking – and yet it’s one of my favourite movies. With this idea of a dinner conversation in mind, I remembered reading about Mary Wollstonecraft attending dinners thrown by her publisher, Joseph Johnson at 72 St Paul’s Churchyard Lane in London. It was the Age of Enlightenment, an age when men were focused on their rights and freedoms. Johnson invited these radical thinkers to sit around his dining table, eating, drinking, talking. Mary wasn’t the only woman to attend these dinners, but it was her Vindication of the Rights of Women that made her stand out. She didn’t want to only be a woman who wrote, she wanted to be a woman who could support herself with her writing. While she never achieved her goal, her voice came to represent that of the movement that would much later, become known as feminism. It was this slow progression in the fight for women’s rights, the progress and the regression, that led me to ask the question – how have women’s ideas of ‘their rights’ changed over time.

How did you approach representing different waves of feminism through the five women, and what tensions between generations were most interesting to explore?

That’s a great question. Beatrice is modelled on Mary W — only mellowed a bit with age — because she pre-dated any formal movement. Women before and during the Enlightenment, were like lone voices struggling to create their own lives. She witnessed the women of the French Revolution being murdered for demanding the same rights as men. She never achieved the financial independence she longed for and she died, like so many women of her age, in childbirth. While her daughter, Mary went on to become famous as a writer, Mary W and her treatise and her life were debased by her husband William Godwin. Her treatise lay dormant for years until it was revived by the Seneca Falls Convention which produced the Declaration of Rights and Sentiment written by Elizabeth Cady Stanton.  Magret is not based on Stanton alone – but perhaps her prickliness is — because she was part of a movement. That movement for women’s rights was an off shoot of the abolitionist movement which not only pushed to free the slaves but also pushed for black men to receive the right to vote. In 1870, black men won that right, but women wouldn’t get the same right in America until 1901. That’s a 30-year gap. In those 30 years, WW1 wiped out so many young men that women had to fill the gap. Then WW2 again asked women to take the place of men. Each time they stepped up, they gained confidence in their ability to keep the home fires burning. So why did they abdicate their newfound freedom in the post-war years? The simple answer seemed to be that women were told they were no longer needed and that coincided with the media building an image of a fairy tale life in the suburbs. Initially I planned a Rosie the Riveter character, but I didn’t think that adequately portrayed why so many women retreated to home and hearth. Women, especially those who knew what men endured during the war, were much more complex than that. So what, I wondered would convince that woman to take up the role of the traditional housewife? The solution was to choose a woman who knew exactly what she was giving up. Someone who understood that it was an act of sacrifice. For younger women today, I think the 50s of America looked like a peaceful, domestic age when women vacuumed their immaculate houses in heels and pearls while their husbands went to work in the cities. Ginger isn’t that woman. If anything, she and her husband strive jointly to create their own safe haven. I think, that’s why she has a vested interest in upholding that image. As for Verna, the 70s feminist, she is the one who’s internally most conflicted. Her generation demanded the same sexual freedom as men while also railing against being treated as sex objects. They entered the work force demanding the same jobs as men but settled for less pay, thus reducing worker’s wages. They changed divorce laws and found themselves raising children on their own. They toppled the male dominated house of cards but failed to provide a firm foundation for the next generation of men and women. That internal conflict, that desire to have it all, Verna pushes onto her millennial daughter. It’s Chloe who is told she needs a career to feel fulfilled but also feels the need to be the wife and mother that the boomers traded for success in the boardroom. Verna’s fairy tale speaks for both her and Chloe. And finally, there is Florence, the Gen Z woman. While the storm rages outside and she sits in her cosy cottage, she wants a world without conflict – one that gives everyone an equal chance. The question is, will she hide in her cosy cottage or will she step outside and face the storm?

What do you hope readers take away from the conversations between these women?

The current backlash against women’s rights, places the rights of all people in jeopardy. And that is frightening and demoralising. What I want readers to take away is that we have weathered such storms before and in the process become stronger. We’ve encountered schisms in our movement and learned from them. And finally, in terms of my writing, I want readers to take away that the current night may have come to an end but there are more evenings to come.

Author Links: GoodReads | Facebook | Website | Substack

Please join us for a night of scintillating conversations, engaging modern day versions of well-known fairy tales and a tankard of mulled wine. That’s the invitation The Crones’ Tales extends to you. Five women, each representative of her era in the women’s movement towards equality, meet and share history, the etymology of words used to label women, and of course, their tales. You may recognize Mary Wollstonecraft in the character of Beatrice for she was unique. While representative of the Age of Enlightenment, she was a lone woman’s voice. One that would remain silent for almost a century after her death. Margret is decidedly an American suffragist who resents the diminutive use of the term suffragette. Ginger comes from my mother’s generation and tries to explain why they retreated to the suburbs to give birth to the 70s feminists. Those second wave feminists, along with their seeming contradictions, are encapsulated in Verna. Verna’s daughter Chloe, however, is missing. Having been assaulted by her husband, she lies in a coma. And then, there is Florence, the youngest and most inclusive of them all. She must face the terrible changes that Beatrice has felt in the storm that’s raging outside. This book is as much about feminism as it is about fairy tales and feminism, like any great movement, is made up of many voices. And like the movement, the women in this evening of camaraderie are quick to point out that they will not be silenced, not even by each other.