“A young girl who is empowered, capable, and smart…the Enola Holmes book series convey an impactful message that you can do anything if you set your mind to it, and it does so in an exciting and adventurous way.”–Millie Bobby Brown
Enola Holmes is back! Nancy Springer’s nationally bestselling series and breakout Netflix sensation returns to beguile readers young and old in Enola Holmes and the Black Barouche.

Enola Holmes returns in her first adventure since the hit Netflix movie brought her back on the national bestseller lists, introducing a new generation to this beloved character and series.

Enola Holmes is the much younger sister of her more famous brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft. But she has all the wits, skills, and sleuthing inclinations of them both. At fifteen, she’s an independent young woman–after all, her name spelled backwards reads ‘alone’–and living on her own in London. When a young professional woman, Miss Letitia Glover, shows up on Sherlock’s doorstep, desperate to learn more about the fate of her twin sister, it is Enola who steps up. It seems her sister, the former Felicity Glover, married the Earl of Dunhench and per a curt note from the Earl, has died. But Letitia Glover is convinced this isn’t the truth, that she’d know–she’d feel–if her twin had died.

The Earl’s note is suspiciously vague and the death certificate is even more dubious, signed it seems by a John H. Watson, M.D. (who denies any knowledge of such). The only way forward is for Enola to go undercover–or so Enola decides at the vehement objection of her brother. And she soon finds out that this is not the first of the Earl’s wives to die suddenly and vaguely–and that the secret to the fate of the missing Felicity is tied to a mysterious black barouche that arrived at the Earl’s home in the middle of the night. To uncover the secrets held tightly within the Earl’s hall, Enola is going to require help–from Sherlock, from the twin sister of the missing woman, and from an old friend, the young Viscount Tewkesbury, Marquess of Basilwether!

My Thoughts

What a charming read!

I must admit… I’ve been seeing the name ‘Enola Holmes’ floating around both the book community and on TV but I never gave it a second thought. Sherlock Holmes’ sister?? Sounds like a cash grab gimmick. It can’t possibly be any good. Boy was I wrong.

I picked up Enola Holmes and the Black Barouche and immediately fell in love with the sibling relationship between Enola and Sherlock. Filled with humor and a bit of mystery in the case of a missing sibling, Springer is able to keep the Victorian Who-Done-It genre fresh with this new story in her Enola Holmes saga. 

Enola Holmes and the Black Barouche is suitable for both new and returning audiences. Weather this is your first Enola Holmes book, or just the latest in your favorite series, you will not be disappointed.

You can order your copy here or at your favorite bookseller!

About the Author

NANCY SPRINGER is the author of the nationally bestselling Enola Holmes novels, including The Case of the Missing Marquess, which was made into the hit Netflix movie, Enola Holmes. She is the author of more than 50 other books for children and adults. She has won many awards, including two Edgar Awards, and has been published in more than thirty countries. She lives in Florida.

Be sure to follow Nancy on Twitter 
For more updates on Enola Holmes and other titles, follow Wednesday Book’s Twitter and Instagram

I received an arc copy through Novl and Little Brown Young Reader. All thoughts are my own.

Release Date: May 11, 2021 by Little, Brown Books for Young Readers 
Rating: 4/5 Stars

When we hit rock bottom, we tend to make limitations for ourselves. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t do that. I can’t I can’t I can’t. There were a lot of ‘I can’t’s’ in The Other Side of Perfect. After Alina’s bad break, she shut down and locked herself in her room with a dark cloud of ‘I can’t’ hanging over her head. I can’t dance again. I can’t talk to by best friend again. I can’t be happy anymore. I can’t talk to my sister without blowing up in her face.

Slowly, with the help of her new friends, Alina finds the answer she’s always needed( which I think is the main theme in the book). Why not?

I can’t dance anymore.. Why not? Instead off continuing to be self deprecating, Alina learns that the world didn’t stop turning. She could still do the thing she loved. Maybe not as a career, or in the way she wanted to pre-accident, but she didn’t have to give up everything she loved. She didn’t have to create such low limitations for herself. She could still be happy.

So, next time the world is weighing down on you, and you say to yourself, “I can’t”; take a breath and ask yourself, Why not?

A Golden Fury

Thea Hope longs to be an alchemist out of the shadow of her famous mother. The two of them are close to creating the legendary Philosopher’s Stone—whose properties include immortality and can turn any metal into gold—but just when the promise of the Stone’s riches is in their grasp, Thea’s mother destroys the Stone in a sudden fit of violent madness.

While combing through her mother’s notes, Thea learns that there’s a curse on the Stone that causes anyone who tries to make it to lose their sanity. With the threat of the French Revolution looming, Thea is sent to Oxford for her safety, to live with the father who doesn’t know she exists. 

But in Oxford, there are alchemists after the Stone who don’t believe Thea’s warning about the curse—instead, they’ll stop at nothing to steal Thea’s knowledge of how to create the Stone. But Thea can only run for so long, and soon she will have to choose: create the Stone and sacrifice her sanity, or let the people she loves die.

A Golden Fury is available for purchase at your favorite retailers October 13th.
You can order your copy here.

Read the first chapter below.

My mother was screaming at the Comte. Again.

I slammed the front doors behind me and walked down the carriageway, under the dappled shade of the pop- lars that lined it. A hundred paces away, I still heard her, though at least I could no longer hear the Comte’s frantic endearments and low, rapid pleading. He should know by now that wasn’t the way. Perhaps I should tell him. Adrien was the first of my mother’s patrons I had ever liked, and I did not want to leave Normandy just as spring was break- ing. Just as we were beginning to make progress.

Though perhaps we were not. Mother would not be screaming at the Comte if the work were going well. She would not take the time. Alchemy was a demanding sci- ence, even if some scoffed and called it charlatanry or magic. It required total concentration. If the work were going well, the Comte would scarcely exist to her, nor would I, now that she would not let me be of use. The com- position must have broken again. This was about when it had, last round. I could not be certain, since she had taken away my key to the laboratory. She could hardly have de- vised a worse insult than that if she had tried, and lately she did seem to be trying. The laboratory was mine as much as it was hers. If she did succeed in producing the White Elixir—which turned all metals into silver—then it was only because of my help. She had found Jābir’s text languishing in a Spanish monastery, but it had been I who translated it when her Arabic wasn’t nearly up to the job. I had labored for months over the calcinary furnace to make the philosophic mercury the text took as its starting point. I had the scars on my hands and arms to prove it. And now that success might be close, she wished to shut me out and deny my part, and claim it for herself alone.

But if she was acting ill and cross, it meant she had failed. A low, smug hum of satisfaction warmed me. I didn’t want the work to fail, but I didn’t want her to suc- ceed without me, either.

A distant smashing sound rang out from the chateau. My mother shattering something against the wall, no doubt.

I sighed and shifted my letter box to the crook of my other arm.

I knew what this meant. Another move. Another man. The Comte had lasted longer than the rest. Over two years, long enough that I had begun to hope I would not have to do it all again. I hated the uncertainty of those first weeks, before I knew what was expected of me, whether Mother’s new patron had a temper and what might set it off, whether he liked children to speak or be silent. Though I was no longer a child, and that might bring its own problems. A chill passed over me, despite the warm afternoon sunshine. God only knew what the next one would be like. My mother had already run through so many of them. And with the recent changes in France, there were fewer rich men than ever looking to give patronage to an expensive alchemist, even one as beautiful and famous as Marguerite Hope.

I veered off the carriageway, into the soft spring grass, dotted here and there with the first of the lavender anemo- nes. I sat by the stream, under the plum tree.

There was no screaming here, no pleading, no signs that my life was about to change for the worse. I inhaled the soft, sweet scent of plum blossoms and opened my letter box. If this was to be my last spring in Normandy, I wanted to re- member it like this. Springtime in Normandy was soft and sweet, sun shining brightly and so many things blossoming that the very air was perfumed with promise. Everything was coming extravagantly to life, bursting out of the dead ground and bare trees with so much energy other impos- sible things seemed likely, too. I had always been hopeful in Normandy when it was spring. Especially last spring, when Will was still here. When we sat under this very tree, drank both bottles of champagne he had stolen from the cellars, and spun tales of everything we could achieve.

I took out his last letter, dated two months ago.

Dear Bee,

This is my address now—as you see I’ve left Prussia. It turns out that everything they say about the Prussians is quite true. I’ve never met a more unbending man than my patron there. One day past the appointed date and he tried to throw me in prison for breach of contract! He thinks alchemy can be held to the same strict schedule as his serfs.

Laws against false alchemists were very harsh in Ger- many, as Will knew full well when he sought patronage there. I had begged him to go somewhere else, though he had few enough choices. He was my mother’s apprentice, with no achievements of his own to make his reputation. His training had been cut abruptly short when Mother found us together under this plum tree, watching the sun- rise with clasped hands and two empty bottles of cham- pagne. She’d seen to it that Will was gone by noon. It was no use telling her that all we’d done was talk through the night, or that the one kiss we’d shared had been our first, and had gone no further. He had behaved with perfect re- spect for me, but she wouldn’t believe it. My mother had imagined a whole path laid before my feet in that moment, and scorched it from the earth with Greek fire.

I turned to the next page.

I blame myself, of course, Bee, for not heeding your advice. I can picture your face now, wondering what I expected. It would almost be worth all the trouble I’ve caused myself if I could come to you and see your expression. You must be the only woman in the world who is never lovelier than when you’ve been proven right.

The keen thrill of pleasure those words had brought me when I first read them had faded now, and left me feeling uncertain. Should I write back knowingly, teasing him for his recklessness? I had tried this, and was sure I sounded like a scold no matter what he said about my loveliness when proven right. I took out my latest draft, which struck a more sincere tone. I read the lines over, saying how I worried for him, how I missed him. I crumpled it in my hand halfway through. Too much emotion. It didn’t do to show such dependence on a man. My mother had shown me that. I didn’t wish to emulate her in everything, but I would be a fool to deny her skill at winning masculine devotion. I tried again.

Dear Will,

I am sitting under the plum tree where we had our last picnic. I know how you feel about nostalgia, but I hope you will forgive me this one instance. I fear this will be our last spring in Normandy—perhaps even in France. Many of my mother’s friends have left already, and though you may well condemn them as reactionaries, the fact remains that there are very few good Republicans with the ready cash to pay for our pursuits.

I sighed again and crumpled the page. Somehow I could never seem to write to him about the Revolution without a touch of irony creeping in. I didn’t want that. Will had put his hopes for a better world in the new order, and even though I was less hopeful than he, I loved him for it. At least he wanted a better world. Most alchemists simply wanted better metals.

I tried to imagine he was here. It wouldn’t be difficult then. He was so good at setting me at ease. His admira- tion was as intoxicating as wine, but unlike wine it sharp- ened my wits instead of dulling them. I was never cleverer than when Will was there to laugh with me.

My chest constricted at the memory of Will’s laugh. I didn’t know anyone who laughed like him. The Parisian aristocrats I had known all had so much consciousness of the sound they made when they did it. The Comte wasn’t like them, but he was a serious man and laughed rarely. My mother didn’t laugh at all.

But Will. He laughed like it came from the loud, bursting core of him. Like he couldn’t have kept it in if he wanted to, and why would he want to? And when he was done laughing, he would look at me like no one else ever had. Like he saw only me, not as an accessory to my mother, but as myself. And not as an odd girl whose sharp edges would need to be softened. Will liked the edges. The sharper they cut, the more they delighted him.

“Thea!”

I threw my letters into the letter box and snapped it shut. I looked around for somewhere to hide the box, and noticed too late that one of my crumpled drafts had blown toward the stream. My mother appeared on the hill above me, the late afternoon sun lighting up her golden hair like an unearned halo. She walked down the hill with measured steps and stopped a few yards above me, I assumed because she wished to enjoy the experi- ence of being taller than me again for a few moments. Her eye moved to the crumpled paper. I ran to it and stuffed it into my pocket before she could take it, though my haste in hiding the failed letter told her all I didn’t wish her to know.

“Oh dear,” said my mother. “I do hope you haven’t been wasting your afternoon trying to find the right words to say to that boy.”

My mother was tolerant of my letter writing these days, perhaps because she was confident I would never see Will again. She had smiled when she heard of Will’s contract in Prussia. He won’t find it so easy to charm his way past the Prussian alchemy laws. In Germany, one must deliver results, not pretty smiles, or end in prison.

“I wouldn’t have an afternoon to waste if you would let me into the laboratory,” I said.

“Don’t be pitiful, Thea,” said my mother. “Surely you can think of something worthwhile to do when I don’t happen to need your assistance.”

I clenched my teeth so tight that my jaw ached. Shut- ting me out of the laboratory, ourlaboratory, was the great- est injustice she had ever committed against me. Worse than all the moving about, worse than sending Will away, worse than any insult she could think to level at me. Before she had done that, I believed we were together in alchemy at least, even if nothing else. That she had raised and trained me not simply to be of use to her, but to be her partner. Her equal, one day. Throwing me out of the lab- oratory just when we might achieve what we had worked for told me that Will was right. She would never let me claim credit for my part of the work. She would never ac- cept me as an alchemist in my own right.

And yet she described it as though she had simply let me off my chores. As if I were no more necessary than a servant. There was no point in arguing with her, but even so I could not let it stand.

“I am not your assistant,” I said.

“Oh?” she asked. “Do you have news, then? Have you found a patron on your own merits? Do you intend to strike out on your own?”

“Perhaps I will,” I said, my face growing hot. “Perhaps I will stay here when you are finally finished tormenting the poor Comte.”

My mother had a perfect, deceptively sweet beauty: golden blond and blue-eyed with a round, doll-like face. It made the venom that sometimes twisted her expression hard to quite believe in. Many men simply didn’t. They preferred to ignore the evidence of their minds for the evidence of their senses. I, of course, knew her better than they did. I tensed, preparing.

But instead of lashing out, my mother turned aside, a hand to her chest. A tremor passed over her; she bowed her head against it.

Mother had been strangely unwell for weeks. At first I responded to her illness as she had taught me to, with distaste and disapproval, as though falling sick were an ill-considered pastime of those with insufficient moral for- titude. But if she noticed how unpleasant it was to receive so little sympathy when unwell, she did not show it. She had locked herself away in the laboratory every day until late at night, ignoring my silence as much as she ignored the Comte’s pleas that she rest. I had not thought much of it until this moment. Any pain great enough to turn her from chastising me for thinking I could do alchemy with- out her must be serious indeed.

“Mother?” I asked.

“You will go where I tell you.” Her voice was low and breathless, almost a gasp. “For now, that is to dinner. Wear the green taffeta.”

“The robe à la française?” I asked, perplexed. I hadn’t worn that dress since before the Estates General met. Its style was the hallmark of the ancien régime: wide pan- niered hips, structured bodice, and elaborate flounces. “But it’s out of fashion.”

“So is our guest,” said my mother.

She went up the hill again, then turned back to me at the top.

“Thea,” she said, all the sharpness gone from her voice. “I know you do not believe it any longer, but everything I do is for you.”

It was the sort of thing she always said. Before this year, I had always believed it, more or less. At least, everything she did was for the both of us. She had considered me an extension of herself, so that doing things for me was no different than doing them for herself. Why else take so much care to train me, to see to it that I had the tutors I needed to learn every language necessary—more even than she knew? To take me with her in all her travels to seek out manuscripts? She was an impatient teacher at times, but a good one. A thorough one. And in turn I was a good student. The best.

Until we were close to our goal. Then, suddenly, I was a rival. And my mother did not tolerate rivals.

“You are right, Mother,” I said. “I don’t believe that any longer.”

About the Author

Samantha Cohoe writes historically-inspired young adult fantasy. She was raised in San Luis Obispo, California, where she enjoyed an idyllic childhood of beach trips, omnivorous reading, and writing stories brimming with adverbs. She currently lives in Denver with her family and divides her time among teaching Latin, mothering, writing, reading, and deleting adverbs. A Golden Fury is her debut novel.

Be sure to follow Samantha on Twitter and Instagram
For more updates on A Golden Fury and other titles, follow Wednesday Book’s Twitter and Instagram

I received an arc copy from Novl. All thoughts are my own

Release Date: September 15th 2020 by Little Brown
Rating: 5/5 Stars

This book! As I was reading, I was thinking about how I was going to write my review. Then the ending slapped me in the face and I just lost it all.

This is definitely a slow-burn horror, and it is deliciously slow. I’m talking barely holding the marshmallow to the fire slow. We’re given very little introduction to the main characters, and later on we learn that both Ruth and Jane are unreliable narrators (even though this is written in third person). We are given little snippets into Jane’s past and see that she doesn’t have the cleanest record when it comes to controlling her anger, something that her mother had trouble with too.

Another thing I love is the house. When we first see North Manor, we see it as anyone else would. It’s a big, creepy house with smashed in windows, and drop cloths over all the furniture, showing that the house hasn’t been maintained in quite some time. But as the story progresses, it becomes just a normal house with the occasional creepy ‘settling’ noise. Leno doesn’t give us any more descriptors that it could be a ‘haunted’ house, at least in the pop-culture, ‘horror movie’ haunted house ways. Until Jane’s friends visit. Then we see their reaction to the ‘Creep House’ around them. Things start to feel a little different because they’re visibly unsettled. It’s now more than a regular house. It possibly could be haunted. Now things aren’t so normal.

I don’t want to get too much into the details about the ending, but everything starts to line itself up and then falls into a massive pile. Things you weren’t quite right now have a reason why they felt off. an then BAM!!! The marshmallow doesn’t only catch fire, but melts off the stick in a gooey blaze, leaving you with nothing but a broken heart and a craving for more marshmallows.

This one gets a solid 5 stars from me. Tell me what you thought of Horrid.

The Lost City

Amanda Hocking, the New York Times bestselling author of The Kanin Chronicles, returns to the magical world of the Trylle Trilogy with The Lost City, the first novel in The Omte Origins—and the final story arc in her beloved series.

The storm and the orphan

Twenty years ago, a woman sought safety from the spinning ice and darkness that descended upon a small village. She was given shelter for the night by the local innkeepers but in the morning, she disappeared—leaving behind an infant. Now nineteen, Ulla Tulin is ready to find who abandoned her as a baby or why.

The institution and the quest

Ulla knows the answers to her identity and heritage may be found at the Mimirin where scholars dedicate themselves to chronicling troll history. Granted an internship translating old documents, Ulla starts researching her own family lineage with help from her handsome and charming colleague Pan Soriano.

The runaway and the mystery

But then Ulla meets Eliana, a young girl who no memory of who she is but who possesses otherworldly abilities. When Eliana is pursued and captured by bounty hunters, Ulla and Pan find themselves wrapped up in a dangerous game where folklore and myth become very real and very deadly—but one that could lead Ulla to the answers she’s been looking for.

The Lost City is on sale now at your favorite book retailer!

My thoughts:

This was such a refreshing read. I am a little familiar with Amanda’s writing, but this was the first book I’ve read in the world of Trylle. It was easy to fall into the Troll world, and I loved how the Trylle world overlapped with our own. It almost felt like reading a Trollian contemporary novel with our main character, Ulla, finding her way in the Mimirin while caring for her ‘little sister’, navigating life with her new roommate, and figuring out her feelings for Pan.

This novel is full of representation, and is a very fast paced read. With plenty of laughs, and mysteries, this novel will keep you guessing till the very end. Thankfully there’s only short wait till the second book in the trilogy comes out in August.

About the Author (From Goodreads)

AMANDA HOCKING is the author of over twenty young adult novels, including the New York Times bestselling Trylle Trilogy and Kanin Chronicles. Her love of pop culture and all things paranormal influence her writing. She spends her time in Minnesota, taking care of her menagerie of pets and working on her next book.

Several of her books have made the New York Times Bestsellers list. Her zombie series, The Hollows, has been adapted into a graphic novel by Dynamite. She has published over twenty novels, including The Kanin Chronicles, the Watersong quartet, My Blood Approves series, the Valkyrie duology, and Freeks .

Her next books are the Omte Origins, a trilogy set in the world of the Trylle and Kanin. The first book The Lost City will be out July 7, 2020, and the second book The Morning Flower will be out August 5, 2020. 

I received an arc copy through Goodreads and Wednesday Books. All thoughts are my own.

Release Date: September 1st 2020 by Wednesday Books 
Rating: 5/5 Stars

I have to whole heartedly agree with Shea Ernshaw’s review on the back of Fable. This seriously is Adrienne Young’s best work. I fell in love with her storytelling in Sky in the Deep, and watched her characters grow in The Girl the Sea Gave Back. But now with Fable, she has effortlessly pieced together what’s great about her first works to write a beautiful story.

Young is able to paint a beautiful backdrop for the lives of these sailors, and you can’t help but be pulled under in the tide of her writing. With a diverse cast of characters, and a slow burn romance that will make anyone swoon, Fable will be sure to leave your lungs burning, waiting for the next breath of salty air that is Namesake.

I received an arc copy through Novl and Little Brown Young Reader. All thoughts are my own.

Release Date: June 9th 2020 by Little, Brown Books for Young Readers 
Rating: 3.5/5 Stars

What an amazing take on dystopian sci-fi! I absolutely loved Agnes’ growth as she learns that there is something wrong with her way of life inside Red Creek, and begins to venture forth to find her own path. Kelly McWilliams brings fresh take on feminism while keeping to its core values. It’s a great read about learning to think for yourself, and to use your own experiences and research to make your own path when the world tells you “NO”.

Foul is Fair by Hannah Capin

Elle and her friends Mads, Jenny, and Summer rule their glittering LA circle. Untouchable, they have the kind of power other girls only dream of. Every party is theirs and the world is at their feet. Until the night of Elle’s sweet sixteen, when they crash a St. Andrew’s Prep party. The night the golden boys choose Elle as their next target. 

They picked the wrong girl. 

Sworn to vengeance, Elle transfers to St. Andrew’s. She plots to destroy each boy, one by one. She’ll take their power, their lives, and their control of the prep school’s hierarchy. And she and her coven have the perfect way in: a boy named Mack, whose ambition could turn deadly. 

Foul is Fair is a bloody, thrilling revenge fantasy for the girls who have had enough. Golden boys beware: something wicked this way comes.

Foul is Fair goes on sale February 18th. Reserve your copy today!

My thoughts:

OH MY GOD. This is the perfect story of revenge and ultimate girl power. 

Foul is Fair is a beautiful retelling of Mabeth, and it brings the classic play straight to the 21st Century. This novel is extremely dark, with luscious imagery and thousands of Easter eggs.

The novel dives into the mind of a young girl who desperately grasps for power after one night of feeling utterly powerless, and what that power does to her already fragile mind. Please do yourself a favor and read the source material before you read Foul is Fair, you will fall in love with the story even more.

This book is also full of possible triggers. Personally I’m not affected by triggers, so they didn’t bother me, But I know a lot of todays readers are sensitive to certain topics. Without giving away the plot or revealing any of the twisty turns, please know this is a very dark story of revenge and power, and what lengths a girl would go to to right a wrong. Please read at your own discretion.

About the Author (from Goodreads)

Hannah Capin lives in Tidewater Virginia. She ​holds degrees from the Indiana University School of Music and Columbia University. When she isn’t working on her next book, you’ll find her sailing, singing, or scheming with her friends. She is the author of THE DEAD QUEENS CLUB and FOUL IS FAIR (2020).

I received an arc copy through Novl and Little Brown Young Reader. All thoughts are my own.

Teeth in the Mist was a very interesting read. Spanning three different centuries, it follows three women connected in their struggle with the man Fostos. Filled with mystery, ghosts, demons, and just a touch of necromancy, this book will be sure to keep you guessing till the final page. One thing I can’t wait to see in the final copy is all the illustrations and photos. We were teased in the arc with only a few illustrations in the first fifty pages, but I know the finished copy will be beautiful.

I only rated it 3/5 stars because at times it was a little hard to follow. There seemed to be time jumps between the chapters, but that could also be due to the 19th century voice. A few plot points didn’t seem to make too much sense, and a few felt thrown into the story at the last minute.

With that being said, it was still a very creepy read just from the imagery alone. I’m sure the photos and art design will only enhance the reading experience. a