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The Haunted Purse
Kimberly Baer’s The Haunted Purse tells the story of Libby, a teenage girl who stumbles upon an old denim purse in a thrift store, an object that quickly proves to be anything but ordinary. What begins as a quirky tale about misplaced homework turns into a strange, emotional journey, blending the everyday struggles of adolescence with eerie, supernatural twists. The purse makes things vanish and reappear, leading Libby to uncover pieces of another girl’s life while also grappling with her own fractured family, fragile friendships, and the heavy weight of being far more responsible than a 15-year-old should be.
What I really liked about this book is the way Baer balances the supernatural element with the gritty realism of Libby’s life. Right from the first chapter, when her history report goes missing only to reappear later in the depths of her purse, I was hooked. The purse feels almost like a character itself, playful, mysterious, and sometimes cruel. But what kept me reading wasn’t just the magic. It was Libby herself. She’s sharp, sarcastic, and quietly hurting, and her voice feels completely authentic. When her mom breezes back into her life for a night of fake promises and cigarette smoke, the ache in Libby’s words made me want to both hug her and cheer her resilience.
Another standout for me was the friendship between Libby and Toni. It’s messy and complicated in exactly the way teenage friendships usually are. Toni is bossy, dramatic, and sometimes dismissive, like when Libby finally confides in her about the purse’s supernatural powers and Toni just laughs it off as “woo-woo crap”. Yet, despite all their friction, the bond is real. Their arguments over school dances and borrowed clothes feel so grounded, and it’s through these moments that the story explores deeper themes, loyalty, envy, and the fear of being left behind.
And then there’s the haunting itself. I loved how Baer keeps the paranormal subtle and slippery, never giving us easy answers. Objects vanish, like the bottle of perfume or Toni’s brand-new jeans, and sometimes they reappear, sometimes not. The uncertainty adds tension, but it also works as a metaphor for Libby’s unstable life. She’s constantly holding on to things, friends, family, dreams, that seem to slip through her fingers no matter how tightly she grips them. The purse is magical, yes, but it’s also heartbreakingly symbolic.
By the end, I was both unsettled and moved. The story never veers into outright horror, but it carries a steady undercurrent of dread, softened by the warmth of Libby’s determination to keep pushing forward. Baer’s writing is vivid but unpretentious, full of small, sharp details that make the characters and their world feel lived in.
I’d recommend The Haunted Purse to anyone who likes their coming-of-age stories with a supernatural twist. It’s perfect for readers who appreciate strong, flawed teenage voices, or for anyone who remembers what it felt like to navigate the messy in-between of adolescence, when friendships, family, and self-identity all feel like they could disappear at any second. For me, it was equal parts strange, sad, and hopeful, and that combination made it a book I won’t forget anytime soon.
Pages: 265 | ASIN : B0FLWK2DQM
Cascadia’s Call
Neha Hewitt’s Cascadia’s Call is a heartfelt coming-of-age story about Ari, a fourteen-year-old girl uprooted from Boston after her father’s death and sent to live with relatives in Portland while her mother pursues a demanding journalism career. The novel moves through Ari’s grief, her rocky adjustment to a new city, and her clashes with cultural expectations, all while weaving in mysterious symbols tied to her family’s heritage, most notably a necklace that seems to carry an uncanny power. It is both a portrait of adolescence and a meditation on family, loss, and belonging.
I found myself drawn into Ari’s raw anger and aching loneliness. Hewitt captures the turbulence of being a teenager so vividly that I often felt like I was back in my own messy adolescence, stumbling through identity and yearning for control. The writing is crisp and accessible, yet it carries real weight, especially in the quieter scenes where Ari longs for her father or struggles with the heavy silences between herself and her mother. At times, the dialogue made me laugh in recognition, and at other times it brought a lump to my throat.
I’ll admit there were moments when Ari’s stubbornness grated on me, and I caught myself wanting to shake her into patience. But that’s part of why the story works. She feels like a real teenager, with sharp edges and contradictions that make her alive on the page. I also admired the way Hewitt didn’t shy away from difficult conversations about culture, tradition, and feminism. Those scenes felt risky, sometimes messy, but honest. The supernatural hints with the birds and the necklace added just enough mystery to keep me guessing without overwhelming the emotional heart of the story.
This book would be a strong recommendation for teens navigating change, parents trying to understand their children, and anyone who appreciates stories that blend culture, grief, and a dash of the mystical. Cascadia’s Call is the kind of novel that keeps you thinking, not because it resolves everything neatly, but because it captures how uncertain and yet hopeful growing up can be.
Pages: 242 | ASIN : B0FJF5VC19
The Phoenix Experiment
Aaron Ryan’s The Phoenix Experiment is a sweeping, futuristic tale that follows a group of orphaned teens conscripted into life aboard The Origin, a sentient science vessel orbiting Earth in the year 2471. At its heart, the book blends classic coming-of-age themes with science fiction, grief, and resilience. The Phoenix Experiments themselves are a chilling yet fascinating invention: a way for the bereaved to reconnect with the dead in dreamlike states, designed to ease loss and build future warriors called Speakers who can pacify banshees haunting Earth. The story unfolds through the eyes of Jax Hutson, a sharp and restless boy who longs to see his parents again, and it grows more tangled as the destruction of The Zephyr, the sister ship carrying girls, upends their isolated lives.
I found myself pulled in quickly by Ryan’s voice. The opening chapters do a good job of setting up the claustrophobic yet strangely wondrous life aboard The Origin. I loved the mix of sterile science fiction trappings with messy teenage emotions. Jax is both likable and frustrating, which feels honest for his age. His sarcasm and longing made me root for him even when he was being immature. I also appreciated how Ryan handled the Phoenix Experiments themselves. They are eerie, tender, and sad all at once, and that blend of emotions kept me hooked.
What I liked most was the way grief underpins everything. These kids are essentially being raised to weaponize their pain, and that idea is both fascinating and unsettling. Ryan doesn’t shy away from showing how loss shapes them, but he also weaves in humor and teenage banter that lightens the mood. The balance mostly works, though there were moments where the dialogue felt a little too modern, almost like kids from today had been dropped into a far-off future. Still, I can’t deny that it made them feel relatable, and that relatability deepened the impact of the darker themes.
I walked away feeling like The Phoenix Experiment was a story that mattered more for its emotional core than its sci-fi trappings. It’s a book about kids searching for connection, about finding ways to rise out of ashes, both literal and emotional. I’d recommend it to readers who enjoy character-driven science fiction, especially younger readers or anyone drawn to stories of grief and resilience wrapped in an imaginative premise. If you like your sci-fi less about hard technology and more about the human heart, this one’s for you.
Pages: 315 | ASIN : B0FNLY8YW3
Santa’s Last Ride
Santa’s Last Ride tells the story of a family at the North Pole where Santa Claus is nearing the end of his career. His son, Chris, is expected to take on the role of Santa, but he has little interest in reindeer or flying and harbors a deep fear of heights. His daughter, Kristy, however, adores the reindeer and dreams of soaring through the skies. The story unfolds with humor, family tension, and a lot of heart, exploring tradition, expectations, and the possibility of change in a world bound by old rules.
I found myself grinning through the opening chapters. The playful back-and-forth between Kristy and Chris had the messy, real feel of siblings who know exactly how to get under each other’s skin. What struck me most was how ordinary family dynamics were woven into this magical setting. The North Pole felt less like a faraway fairy tale and more like a farm kitchen or workshop down the road. The dialogue often landed with warmth. I liked that it didn’t shy away from showing Santa as tired and even vulnerable, weighed down by age and pain.
The story leans on familiar Christmas imagery, but the book is charming. I would have liked more moments where the tradition of Santa collided with the modern world. Kristy’s longing to step into a role she’s told isn’t hers felt both funny and frustrating, and I caught myself cheering her on. The writing had a cozy rhythm that made the chapters fly by.
This is a story about family, tradition, and courage dressed up in the glitter and frost of the North Pole. I would recommend it to middle-grade readers who enjoy holiday tales that mix humor with heart. Kids who love Santa stories will find a lot to laugh at, and adults might smile at the way it reflects the small struggles of growing up and letting go. It’s best suited for anyone who wants a warm, lighthearted read in the glow of Christmas lights.
Pages: 105 | ASIN : B0DD4LR8QP
Allie’s Adventure on the Wonder
When I first picked up Allie’s Adventure on the Wonder, I thought I was stepping into just another quirky retelling of Alice in Wonderland. But it’s not that at all. The book blends the dreamlike strangeness of Lewis Carroll with the raw reality of a teenage girl navigating life with Auditory Processing Disorder (APD). It shifts between surreal, wild adventures underground and painfully real moments in Allie’s home, school, and therapy sessions. At its heart, it’s a story about what it feels like to live in a world where words don’t always connect the way they’re supposed to, and how exhausting and isolating that can be.
In the opening nightmare sequence, Allie tumbles through chaos, waves, monsters, riddles she can’t answer, and it all echoes the frustration of not being able to “get it right” in real life. I couldn’t help but feel that panic when she’s spinning in circles with the rabbit yelling orders she can’t possibly remember. That scene struck me deeply, as it reflects how APD later manifests in Allie’s school life, particularly when she misses instructions and experiences humiliation in her English class. The dream world and the real world bleed together in a way that feels both clever and painful.
The writing is sharp, sometimes biting, and it doesn’t sugarcoat Allie’s experience. The way Adams writes Allie’s inner voice, confused, looping, sometimes self-deprecating, feels so authentic. I liked how her thoughts zigzag all over the place, because it makes sense for someone whose brain struggles to process in a straight line. At times, it was almost hard to read, but in the best way, because it felt like stepping into her head.
Another thing I appreciated was how Adams wove in little moments of humor and softness. Allie’s relationship with her rabbit doll, Leiya, absolutely melted me. She talks to it like it’s alive, apologizing when she thinks she was rude. That cracked me up but also made me ache a little, because it’s such a tender survival mechanism, clinging to something safe when the real world feels harsh and unpredictable. Even when Allie is frustrated with her therapist or shut down by her mom’s distractedness, those small moments show that she’s still fighting to stay hopeful.
By the time I reached the middle chapters, I realized the book isn’t just about APD or even Wonderland. It’s about identity, how it feels to be constantly misunderstood, how you start to doubt yourself, and how badly you want to belong. It left me both frustrated and inspired. Frustrated because Allie gets such a raw deal at times, but inspired because she keeps trying, even when she thinks she’s failing. I especially loved the contrast between her disastrous Shakespeare reading and her quiet pride in her art contest drawing. It made me want to root for her even harder.
Allie’s Adventure on the Wonder feels like a strange mix of fairy tale, diary, and survival story. I’d recommend it to readers who like reimagined classics but want something deeper, especially teens (or adults) who’ve ever felt out of step with the world. It’s not always an easy read, emotionally, but it’s the kind of book that sticks with you, because it makes you sit with discomfort and then find beauty in it.
Pages: 204 | ISBN : 1643435264
All She Knew
All She Knew tells the story of Charity, a twelve-year-old girl whose world turns upside down after the sudden death of her mother. In a voice that feels both tender and raw, the book walks us through her grief, the disorienting changes of moving in with relatives, and the awkward navigation of friendships and school life in the shadow of loss. The narrative is intimate, almost like leafing through Charity’s private diary, showing her memories of her mother, her inner thoughts, and her small moments of joy and sadness as she tries to make sense of a life she didn’t choose.
The writing is simple but honest, which makes the emotional weight even heavier. There’s no filter on Charity’s feelings, her anger, her loneliness, her confusion, and it hit me how rarely we allow young people that kind of space in real life. I found myself protective of her, frustrated with the adults who clearly cared but sometimes didn’t know how to show it, and touched by the fleeting, sweet moments that gave her hope. The book doesn’t rush her healing, and I liked that. Grief is messy, and the author lets it stay messy.
Some scenes linger in places that are uncomfortable, but those moments are often the most truthful. I appreciated how the book showed the push and pull between wanting to hold on to the past and needing to step into something new. It’s not a dramatic, twist-heavy story. It’s a quiet one, built on small shifts in emotion, and that’s where its strength lies.
All She Knew is for anyone who has had to start over after losing someone they love, especially teens and young adults trying to figure out who they are without that person. It’s heartfelt, gentle, and painfully real. This isn’t a book you race through. It’s one you sit with, maybe with a box of tissues close by, and let it remind you that even when the shape of your life changes completely, the love you carry stays with you.
Pages: 157 | ASIN : B0CZJT6HDT
Beyond the Paddock
Beyond the Paddock is a coming-of-age novel that weaves together street racing, foster care, and elite equestrian sport into a powerful story of brotherhood and transformation. Set against the vibrant and chaotic backdrop of Inglewood and the tranquil horse farms of Kentucky, the book follows foster brothers Julian and Cameron Taylor, two Black teens navigating a world stacked against them. After a brush with the law, they are unexpectedly placed in the custody of their court-appointed attorney, Reign Brooks, and sent to rural Kentucky to live under the eye of her estranged father, a horse trainer embroiled in scandal. What begins as punishment slowly transforms into purpose, as the boys discover their unlikely talent in show jumping, ultimately rewriting the legacy of their upbringing.
What struck me most about Beyond the Paddock was how seamlessly Kimberly Ann Harrison blends grit and grace. Her writing is rich with texture. The dialogue pops, especially between the brothers. It’s fast, funny, and raw. The emotional tension never lets up, but it doesn’t feel heavy-handed. Harrison balances moments of fear and heartbreak with humor and hope, creating a rhythm that feels like real life. I appreciated the details of the world she built, from the foster system’s red tape to the unfamiliar traditions of equestrian sport; every element felt lived-in and personal.
What really got me, though, was the heart. This story isn’t just about fast cars and fancy horses. It’s about found family, second chances, and fighting like hell to stay together. Julian’s fierce protectiveness over his brother resonated with me. His desire to rise above and still cling to his roots is painfully relatable. And Cameron is a spark, sometimes reckless, always real. Watching him fall in love with horses, despite himself, made me feel like I was falling too. The arc they travel together is bumpy and full of bad decisions, but it’s never without love. Harrison makes you root for them, even when they’re messing up big time.
Beyond the Paddock is a story about rewriting the rules and reclaiming your place in a world that never expected much from you. It’s gripping and full of swagger, but it’s also soft where it counts. I’d recommend this to anyone who’s ever felt out of place, especially teens and young adults who crave stories where street smarts and heart collide. If you loved The Hate U Give or Friday Night Lights, this one’s for you.
Pages: 447 | ASIN : B0FBHCXKGQ
Where the Mountains Whisper
After reading Where the Mountains Whisper by Jenny Rose Cafaro, I found myself deeply moved. The book weaves a story that’s part memoir, part novel, but all heart. It follows Flora, a nurse and mother with a hard past rooted in Appalachian poverty, addiction, family trauma, and grit. Told through her present-day journey and memories, plus a memoir-within-a-memoir of her late sister Vera, the story unfolds like an old quilt, stitched with love, loss, and hard-won wisdom. At its core, this book is about surviving pain, facing the past, and carrying forward the voices of those who never got to tell their own stories.
Cafaro doesn’t hold back. Her voice is raw, real, and steeped in the sound and soul of Appalachia. The chapters bounce between timelines, but it never feels confusing, it feels alive, like memory does. The dialogue sings with honesty, the descriptions are full of grit and grace, and the emotion hits hard. One minute I was laughing at little girls using their daddy’s socks for gloves, the next I was crying over the quiet devastation of abuse or addiction. There’s a line in the book that says, “Some places never truly fade. They follow.” That stuck with me. Because this story, and the way it’s told, follows you.
But beyond the writing, it’s the ideas in this book that make it linger. Flora’s journey isn’t just personal, it’s a love letter to the forgotten, the misunderstood, the silenced. It’s about breaking cycles and honoring stories that others would rather stay buried. There’s pain in these pages, yes, but also forgiveness, resilience, and a fierce kind of hope that refuses to be snuffed out. I came away feeling like I’d not only read someone’s truth, but seen pieces of my own reflected back. It reminded me that healing isn’t neat or pretty; it’s patchwork, but it’s still powerful.
I’d recommend Where the Mountains Whisper to anyone who loves stories about complicated families, faith that wavers but doesn’t disappear, and the beauty that can rise from broken places. It’s for readers who crave realness, who’ve wrestled with their pasts, or who simply want to understand someone else’s a little better.
Pages: 323 | ASIN : B0DT2LDJQN
LITERARY TITAN 