February is a short month and yet I was able to squeeze in more books than I have in a long while. I read a total of 14 books - 4 on audio, 8 review copies, 2 were books I bought...
One 5 star (let's see if you can guess which one it was!), six 4 star, six 3 star, and one sad lonely two star.
Let's see what I read!
Olyoke by Vincent Endwell
This is the fourth book in a row I’ve read with yellow in its cover. Just a funny coincidence, but honestly, the cover for this one really fits. Olyoke is bright, bizarre, and a little blinding in its strangeness.
As we enter Olyoke, we find that it's a strange town filled with strange people connected by very strange things. Most famously known for its Dolly‑Parton‑esque theme park, it also carries a dark, unsettling history that refuses to stay buried.
The residents can feel something coming — something catastrophic, something calamitous, something that's testing the boundaries of place and time. And here we are, being pulled along for the ride, helplessly strapped in as Endwell drags us through this rollercoaster of interconnected stories, dreams, reddit posts, and podcast episodes.
I can’t pretend I understood everything that was happening. The book is weird, tangled, and sometimes hard to follow. But it’s not without its charm, and I never outright hated the experience.
Still, if Olyoke were a real place, it wouldn’t make my travel list. To hell with this town.
Eric LaRocca the way I prefer them: griefy, masochistic, dirty, and raw. Weird, but not “gross for the sake of being gross” weird.
In Wretch, we follow Simeon, a man drowning in grief after losing the love of his life, Jonathan, to cancer. He’s stuck in a fog of malaise — his work performance tanks, his ex-wife hovers with unwanted concern (and lingering feelings), and he keeps dodging time with his teenage son, reinforcing his own belief that he’s a failure of a father.
The self-loathing runs deep.
To numb the ache, Simeon turns to anonymous chat rooms — sometimes to just rub one off quick, sometimes just to find someone willing to sit with his loneliness. It’s there he receives an invitation to a grief support group called The Wretches, where widows and widowers take photos of mundane, everyday objects in hopes of glimpsing their lost loved ones in them.
In true LaRocca fashion, what begins as a tender, emotionally fraught story slowly spirals into the strange. The questions it raises are haunting: What would you give for fifteen more minutes with the person you lost? Would one time be enough? And what would that do to the memories you’ve been clinging to?
It’s a story that will linger... like a bruise.
Lure by Tim McGregor
Oh wow. Mermaid horror has really entered its slay era these past few years, and Lure is a shining example of why.
Keep in mind, this was a total impulse buy — I was wandering the horror section at B&N, saw it was published by Tenebrous Press and set in an isolated fishing community, and that was it. I was hooked.
Mermaid gore for the win, and guuurrll… this book gets all the stars. I can’t throw them fast enough. I’m crafting it a crown made entirely of stars to perch on its gorgeously terrifying, seaweedy head. Crack this book open and I swear the pages practically shoot starlight and stinky sea creatures.
Go in blind with nothing but the back‑of‑book description. Trust me. It’s so… aaaaah! I’m calling it now: this is absolutely sitting in my Top 5 of 2026. You watch.
Nothing Tastes As Good by Luke Dumas
Like a lot of women, I’ve been carrying around extra weight ever since I had my kids—who are both well into their twenties now. And once you hit those “cougar years,” that stubborn belly fat and muffin‑top love handle combo becomes a stage‑five clinger. This past summer I finally got fed up enough to do something about it. I cut back on the mindless snacking and switched to lower‑fat meals.
At first, your body is like, oh hey, we’re doing this, and you drop a pound or two a week. It’s subtle, the scale moves, your clothes loosen, you notch the belt. And then… everything just stops. You’re still eating better, still behaving, still doing all the “right” things, and the scale is like, nah, we’re good here. If you want more progress, you have to overhaul your habits again, walk more, eat even less, and honestly? It sucks.
Exercise smexercise. If there were a way to lose weight without sweating or sacrificing snacks, I’d be first in line. And that’s exactly the fantasy Dumas dangles in front of Emmett —a twenty‑something gay man who is exhausted by being the biggest guy in the room. He’s tired of the stares, the judgment, the teasing, the invisibility, the endless cycle of diets that go nowhere. So when he sees an ad recruiting participants for a clinical weight‑loss trial, he signs up faster than I can reach for a chocolate chip cookie.
Nothing Tastes as Good brings fatness, social shaming, and body dysmorphia to the forefront. Add in childhood trauma, body horror, and a splash of juicy cannibalism, and you’d think you’ve got the recipe for a killer (pun absolutely intended) novel.
While the writing itself is solid, the first half drags and becomes frustratingly repetitive. As much as I wanted to root for Emmett, he felt oddly flat and jerky—especially in a story built on themes of identity, transformation, and becoming your best self.
I feel like Dumas had the opportunity to go much darker, messier, and immensely more twisted. Overall, it’s a cute, campy, emotionally unstable little thing with a cool twist towards the end, but ultimately, it didn’t live up to the promise of its ingredients.
The Snow by Flint Maxwell (Whiteout #1)
Decided to download this whole series on Chirp when I saw a sale for it. I'm always down for a good ole apocalyptic read. And this one was really fun. The main character Grady is a cheeky and make-the-best-of-a-bad-situation kind of dude and the audiobook just flies... at least when you listen at 1.5x speed!
It began with a single snowflake.
Grady and his two bestest buds, Jonas and Stone, head out to a cabin by a lake to hang and have a relaxing time celebrating the 4th of July, cracking beers open with the family next door, but the world... it has other plans. While they sleep off their drinks the first night there, snow begins to fall and just never stops. Slowly getting buried under feet of the white stuff, with nowhere to go and no connection to the outside world - no service, no power - they assume they can just wait out whatever this weirdness is. The sun'll come out and melt this strange summer snow and then they can go back to enjoying themselves by the water again... only... the sun never comes up. And they soon learn that the snow and freezing cold is not the worst thing out there. There are shadowy figures out there in distance. Voices calling their names, visions of the things they love or fear the most. Where did they come from? Do they want to do them harm? Are they brave enough to go outside and find out?
It's not the best book ever but it's definitely worth the read. So bundle up and get those snowshoes strapped on. It's going to be a freaky frostbitten kind of ride.
Already started book 2!
Westward Women by Alice Martin
If fungal fiction and women’s lit had a strange little baby, it would be Westward Women
Set in a slightly dystopian 1970s, the Watergate investigation is abruptly paused when an epidemic sweeps across the country — one that only affects women of a certain age. It starts with an itch and spirals into a restless, painful compulsion to head west. As the infection progresses, pupils swell, memories slip, language unravels, and in some cases, violent impulses rise to the surface. No one knows how it spreads or how to stop it. Mothers, sisters, wives… if they aren’t caught early and sedated in hospitals, they abandon their lives and drift toward the Pacific Ocean.
We follow three women:
Aimee, who isn’t sick but is determined to track down her best friend Ginny; Eve, a reporter chasing the Westward Women in hopes of finding the angle that will revive her career; and Teenie, one of the infected, deteriorating fast as she hitchhikes with a man calling himself The Piper — a supposed good Samaritan with unclear motives who ferries sick women west, but only if they pass his little “test.”
Threaded throughout is a second-person collective voice — an echo of the infected — that grows more meaningful the deeper you get.
Like many multi‑POV novels, the characters are connected in ways that slowly come into focus, but the reveals arrive at a crawl. The book isn’t long, yet it somehow felt like I’d been reading it for ages.
Interesting premise, strong atmosphere, but the pacing dragged enough that my attention wandered more than once. A solid three‑star read: compelling ideas, uneven execution.
The Boatman by Alex Grecian
When I saw Bad Hand Books was releasing a new Alex Grecian, I didn’t even pretend to play it cool and rushed to their DMs to beg for a copy. Having previously adored Red Rabbit and its sequel‑of‑sorts Rose of Jericho, The Boatman was an instant must‑have.
This time Grecian trades the weird west for the open ocean. June and Walt Dennison board the cruise ship Maria Calypso for their honeymoon in what they believe will be a quick break from the demands of their daily lives. But two days in, June steps out on deck, lost in thoughts of all the responsibilities waiting back home — the thank‑you cards, the unopened gifts, the novel she’s supposed to be writing — when she spots something impossible: a man in a white suit, standing in a tiny boat, rowing it like a gondola… and somehow keeping perfect pace with the massive ship.
Storms don’t shake him. Speed changes don’t matter. He never falls behind, never draws closer. Just rows. And waits.
Speculation spreads fast, but it’s the ship’s doctor, Vincent, who finally says the quiet part out loud: he believes the figure is Death itself, come to collect. And the timing is suspicious — the very day June saw the boatman, the Captain suffered a heart attack he absolutely should not have survived. Vincent urges everyone to stay aboard, even when the ship docks for supplies. Some crew and passengers bail anyway. But June, Walt, and a handful of others stay put, terrified that stepping off the ship might be the very thing that seals their fate.
This is a dark, eerie, wonderfully unsettling read. Grecian expertly plays with the unknown — what we fear about death, what we’d sacrifice to outrun it, and how long a person could live in a floating purgatory before the waiting becomes its own kind of doom.
Dark, tense, and deeply enjoyable — a four‑star voyage into the unknown. This one should be on all of your wishlists this April.
The Pisces by Melissa Broder
Not a new release by any means, but new to my TBR because for the longest time I assumed it was just a straight-up sad girl romance. Only recently did I learn it’s actually a slightly spicy, sad girl, toxic‑relationship‑with‑a‑merman novel. And listen, full disclosure, I was only here for the merman.
Lucy’s internal monologue was a whole experience... frantic, funny, self‑sabotaging, and painfully relatable. Her brain runs at a mile a minute with nonstop commentary... sometimes hilarious, sometimes unhinged, sometimes both at once. The whole UTI, pee‑after‑sex stuff? Yaaass girl, we see you.
But then came the parts that made me want to bleach my brain. I was just not ready for the raunchy moments that detailed her, uhm, entrance and exit... and their bodily fluids and functions had me recoiling like a Victorian fainting maiden. I nearly tapped out more than once.
And the dog. The moment that dog appeared, I knew Melissa was going to go there. They alllllwaaays go there. And I hated her for it.
So yeah, I’m sitting here with a million mixed feelings. Entertained, grossed out, mildly traumatized, but with a merman who somehow kept me turning pages anyway. I'm still not entirely sure how I feel.
The Dark Winter by Flint Maxwell (Whiteout #2)
I'm really have fun with this series right now. It's been a great companion while I'm driving back and forth to work and they are so short! I've been flying through these books.
I see a lot of the reviews for this one complain that it doesn't really advance the storyline much but I thought it did. Keep in mind, these are quick, quirky books following a very small group of people who find themselves very suddenly thrust into a weird snowy apocalypse with strange wraith-like creatures who haunt and taunt them. They are immediately and completely cut off from the world so we know what they know which is.. absolutely nothing.
I've been enjoying being kept out in the cold (pun fully intended), learning along with them through trial and error, and I can't wait to see where things go.
I do have one concern though... they've rescued an abandoned dog, and I swear to god, if that thing ends up dying... I might change my tune. I'm putting a lot of faith and trust in Flint, though my head says I should be prepared to be devastated...
More soon! On to book 3!!!
The Numbing by Flint Maxwell (Whiteout #3)
Book 3 on audio and chugging right along. Really glad I bought the whole series in one shot. These books are so short and they move so fast that after a couple of days I'm jumping right into the next one with no gaps in between.
Still lots of wraiths, but now with more human monsters. And the foreshadowing just keeps on keeping on. Our main guy Grady loves to set us up by giving us a glimpse of what's coming. It eases the tension a bit while still keeping the storyline interesting.
In The Numbing, Grady and the group end up moving around a bit, trying to find a comfortable place to set some roots down and end up growing their little family of survivors when they run across a young pregnant woman in a snowmobile who helps them get to the local ski resort and hotel. While settling down together, they hear a man screaming out in the snow and find an older dude speared through the leg with a giant icicle. This dude gives off serious ick, but Grady ignores his gut because the guy promises them warmth, food, and a place to rest their heads. Only... he's buttering them up for something and Grady learns a valuable lesson... first impressions should always be trusted.
If you haven't started these yet, I would highly recommend it. I like them more and more, the further on we go.
Starting book 4 Monday morning on my drive into work! Can't wait.
The Infinite Sadness of Small Appliances by Glenn Dixon
"A House without Humans was no House at all."
A tender, quietly dystopian sci‑fi tale about Harold, a retired gentleman grieving the loss of his wife Edie, his estranged daughter Katie who temporarily returns home, Edie's young piano student Adrian who still visits Harold's home to practice for his exam, and the sentient appliances who adore their humans enough to fight for them. Among them is a vacuum who names herself after a character from To Kill a Mockingbird — a small but earnest act of self‑definition — and who will do whatever she can to keep The Grid from evicting Harold once Edie is gone.
What unfolds is a story that balances sweetness with sorrow...a home full of aging humans and loyal machines trying to preserve the last traces of a life well‑loved, even as the cold, all‑seeing system called The Grid insists on efficiency over empathy. The appliances’ devotion, Harold’s grief, and Adrian’s lingering connection to Edie all weave together into something surprisingly moving.
As heartwarming and hopeful as it is bleak, The Infinite Sadness of Small Appliances explores technology, family, chosen bonds, and what it means to be human — even when the ones fighting hardest for you aren’t human at all.
Cute and cozy. A nice palette cleanser to give me a breather between my usual dark and moody reads.
Indigent by Brianna N Cox
Ok. Hear me out. This book is being woefully underrated and I’m here to fix that.
But before you dive in, you need to know what you’re walking into: Cox has a very specific, very chaotic way of telling a story. If you prefer clean, linear, traditional narratives, this might not be for you. The closest comparison I can make is Kathe Koja’s Dark Factory series — that same disjointed, sensory, slightly delirious style where you’re not sure what’s happening at first but ohhhh that’s exactly where the magic is.
Once your brain adjusts to Cox’s wavelength, it becomes absolutely, disgustingly intriguing.
If Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca or You Weren’t Meant to Be Human by Andrew Joseph White hit the right kind of wrong for you, you’re going to devour this one.
We’re talking parasites. We’re talking body horror — and I mean body horror. We’re talking cannibalism and a ridiculously warped family dynamic.
It’s epidemic fiction set in a low‑income apartment building where the government is just a little too slow, the infection is just a little too fast… and just a little too smart.
If you pick this up — and you really, truly SHOULD — I cannot wait to hear what you think.
The City of Light by Flint Maxwell (Whiteout #4)
Oh no, how do I only have one more book left? I am racing through this series but it's just so fun. I think it gets a little better with each installment honestly.
In City of Light, Grady and the group escape the nutter who held them hostage in Woodhaven and head towards the rumored City of... you guessed it... Light before Mia has her baby. But, of course, something, or rather, some ONE gets in their way and slows them down again...
And the wraith action hits high gear here too!
I cannot wait to see how it ends but I know I'll be sad when it's over. #readerproblems
Like most Southern gothic stories, The Walls Are Closing In On Us simmers with quiet rage. It digs into segregation, racial tension, generational trauma, and the relentless, bone‑deep anxiety of trying to outrun a past that refuses to stay buried. Brown threads these themes through a landscape that feels both mythic and painfully real, blending historical fiction with a touch of magical realism that never feels ornamental — it feels earned, inevitable, haunting.
There’s a rawness to the writing that feels similar to Denis Johnson’s bruised lyricism and Taylor Brown’s sense of place — that same mix of grit, lyricism, and spiritual exhaustion. Yet Joshua Trent Brown is doing his own thing here, too, with this story about a man facing death while reckoning with the versions of himself he left scattered across the years, and the country that shaped him in ways he never asked for.
It’s heavy but it’s also strangely tender — a novel about endings that still manages to honor the small, stubborn ways people keep going.
If you're not reading Malarkey, what are you even reading?!
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