Review: The Keeper of Magical Things, by Julie Leong

The Keeper of Magical Things is a cozy fantasy novel. It is set in the same universe as The Teller of Small Fortunes, but it doesn't share any characters or plot, they're not marketed as a series, and so far as I can remember neither book would spoil the other. It is Julie Leong's second novel.

Certainty Bulrush is a novice mage with one reliable magical ability: She can talk to objects and occasionally convince them to do small things. This ability is clearly magical, which means Certainty is indeed a mage, but this appears to be all that her magic can do. The Guild has requirements for the level of magical ability required to become a full mage that go beyond talking stained quilts into unstaining themselves, which is why Certainty has been a novice for six years.

This by itself is a problem, since Certainty's cohort keeps passing her by. Worse, though, is that she was counting on the wages of a full mage to pay for her brother's training to become an apothecary. The thought of failing him is extremely upsetting. Certainty therefore jumps at an offered mission to take a cartload of excess magical objects that are causing a dangerous build-up of energies in the Guildtower to safe storage in the small and very unmagical village of Shpelling. Successful completion of that mission will earn Certainty a promotion to Deputy Keeper and therefore to a full mage.

This is the opportunity she didn't know to hope for. The only drawback is that she will have to work with Mage Aurelia, the famously off-putting farspeaker and magical scholar the other novices refer to as the ice witch.

Aurelia is every bit as icy, formal, and condescending as Certainty was afraid she would be, Shpelling grows nothing but garlic, and the inhabitants are suspicious and hostile. The mission could be a disaster if it weren't for Certainty's stubborn good nature.

It's arguably a spoiler to say that there's an enemies to lovers romance, but it's hinted at on the cover, mentioned in the publisher's blurb and, honestly, if you aren't expecting an enemies to lovers romance by a few chapters in, you probably haven't read many books of this sort.

I found The Keeper of Magical Things quietly enjoyable but extremely predictable. If you're in the mood for what it's offering, the predictability may not be a problem, but it was the kind of book where the direction the plot was headed was so obvious that I got a bit bored waiting for it to arrive. Certainty has a good heart, humble origins, limited but specialized magical ability, and a self-esteem problem, and if you've read much fantasy, you've probably read two or three or a dozen other books with variations of this protagonist. You know how they generally turn out, and that is indeed what you're going to get after the obligatory setbacks and tragedies and looming catastrophes.

Aurelia, similarly, is a variation on a character you've probably met before. Certainty discovers, not long into the book, that the brilliant over-achieving mage wears a necklace (supposedly to help her focus) that constantly whispers to her how inadequate she is and how much harder she needs to work. The necklace was given to her by her parents. This book is not exactly subtle.

That said, there's nothing wrong with the characterization. Both Certainty and Aurelia are interesting characters with rounded-out personalities, although it takes a while before Certainty (or the reader) is allowed to see Aurelia's. Their interactions with the inhabitants of Shpelling are fun to watch in the same way that it can be fun to watch people play PowerWash Simulator. You're not in overwhelming suspense about what's going to happen, but the details are amusing and it is satisfying to watch people with good intentions slowly fix things. There is a plot, and a villain, and a not-subtle message about how everyone deserves acknowledgment and respect, and the hours I spent reading about these characters were enjoyable.

The problem with this book isn't that there's anything wrong with it, but that it may not give you more enjoyment than another book you could have been reading. I quite liked The Teller of Small Fortunes in part because it surprised me in a few places and the main character felt a bit different than the typical fantasy protagonist. The Keeper of Magical Things felt less original and a bit more obvious and predictable. It was still quietly good-hearted and occasionally charming, and I think I'll still remember Certainty in a few months, but I'm not feeling the urge to push it into anyone's hands.

If you're in the mood for a gentle fantasy about finding solutions to people's problems and waiting out the prickliness of people who desperately need a friend, you may enjoy this a great deal. Just don't expect unpredictable twists and turns or a surprising plot structure.

An apparent third book in this loose series, The Isle of Lonely Monsters, is currently scheduled for publication in 2027.

Rating: 6 out of 10

Review: Unwinding Anxiety, by Judson Brewer

Unwinding Anxiety is a non-fiction self-help book about how to reduce anxiety. The author is a board-certified psychiatrist specializing in addiction and substance abuse, who has subsequently done clinical and research (and commercial, more on that later) work in anxiety. His previous book, The Craving Mind, was a pop science treatment of addiction research. This book is more deliberately structured as a self-help guide.

(The cover will assure you that he has an M.D. and a Ph.D. I don't include honorifics and degrees in author listings as a small protest against the weird social rules about which degrees count and which don't.)

There are a lot of self-help books out there about anxiety. There are a lot fewer that say something relatively original. I think this is one of the latter, but I certainly have not done a survey of the subgenre, and it's possible the ideas here are only new to me. Brewer makes three basic claims in this book, all of which I found personally useful:

1. Anxiety can be usefully analyzed as a habit. The rumination loop and other related anxiety behaviors such as excessive analysis, reassurance-seeking, and negative anticipation take the form of deeply ingrained habits triggered by stimuli.

2. Raw willpower is not a useful way to break habits in general and anxiety habits in particular. In order to displace the habit, you have to retrain the part of your brain that runs habits on autopilot. Attempting to override it with willful effort is exhausting and likely to fail.

3. Habit loops in general, and anxiety loops in particular, can be defused and replaced using mindfulness techniques.

This is not the way Brewer lays out the book. He goes to some effort to lead the reader slowly through three techniques for handling anxiety (for which he uses the metaphor of "gears," like for a bicycle or car) by introducing them one at a time and encouraging the reader to become thoroughly familiar with each one before moving on to the next. Since this is a book review, I'm going to give you the whole argument at once so that you know where this book is going. This may be less helpful in practice; if you're trying to use this technique on your own anxiety, you may want to read the book instead and not jump ahead.

Brewer's three gears are:

1. Identify your habit loops and recognize when they're happening. (This part felt the most similar to traditional cognitive behavioral therapy to me.)

2. Focus on how those habit loops make you feel. Rather than trying to force the habit loop to stop, let it happen but pay very close attention to the outcome and its effects on you.

3. Find and focus on a different reaction that provides better rewards than the anxiety habit loop. Brewer suggests curiosity.

For me, the point where I thought "okay, you have my attention" is when Brewer described the way many people, particularly people without anxiety, tell people with anxiety to "just stop thinking about it" or "just do the thing you're anxious about anyway and you'll see it will be fine" and then described in detail why he believes that doesn't work. This is one of the few discussions of anxiety I've read where the author goes out of his way to stress that you cannot simply think your way out of anxiety and that repeatedly trying to do so and failing is exhausting and demoralizing.

Everyone is different and I know some people find cognitive behavioral therapy very helpful, but I find the constant effort to challenge cognitive distortions more draining and demoralizing than useful. His second gear, of not directly confronting the habit loop but instead watching its effect and thinking about its outcome, feels so much more approachable to me. Assuming, of course, it works.

Brewer's approach is essentially just mindfulness, although he mostly avoids the (to me at least) somewhat off-putting typical introduction to mindfulness via religious practice or general well-being and instead ties it to a theorized model of how habits work in the human brain. His contention is that habits, including anxiety, exist because at some point they provided a reward that was sufficiently compelling to make the habit-following part of your brain seek that reward. You were getting some benefit (a sense of control, a sense of being prepared, temporary reassurance, etc.) out of the anxiety reaction, which is why the anxiety habit formed in the first place. Once that habit is in place, it can continue without the reward. (Although in my experience there is probably still some short-term reward.)

Rather than trying to force yourself to stop following the habit, Brewer instead suggests letting the habit happen but then focusing (via mindfulness) on how following the habit makes you feel, whether it improves your sense of well-being or worsens it, and whether other actions produce different feelings. The goal, in other words, is to undermine the assumption of reward and to challenge any short-term reward with the long-term discomfort that made you want to stop being anxious.

This avoids using your conscious brain to exert direct willpower, which is exhausting and usually unsuccessful since the habit-following part of your brain is stronger (for various evolutionary psychology reasons he explains and that I found at least partly credible). Instead, you are using its strengths of observation and classification. You pay close attention to the ways in which the habit loop makes you feel bad, which in theory provides feedback to the habit-following part of your brain that can dislodge the habit. If the habit is recognized as no longer rewarding, it will weaken.

Brewer's background is in addiction treatment, so he is predisposed to see addiction in everything and one should probably be a bit cautious about his enthusiasm. He claims a great deal of success with this approach in clinical settings, mostly with addiction but also with anxiety, but this is always hard to verify. (Few doctors who write self-help books rigorously document their failures.) He apparently also has a company that produces various phone apps that assist with this technique. I'm rather cynical about anyone who talks about products their company has produced in self-help books of this type, and I'm also rather cynical about anyone who calls himself "Dr. Jud," but the book doesn't seem to be a sales pitch and there's no direct information in it about how to get the apps.

For me, the first two parts of the book were the most useful and the conception of anxiety reactions as habits made a surprising amount of intuitive sense. I thought the third part of the book, where he tries to describe a better in-the-moment reaction that you can try to build into a more beneficial habit, to be the weakest. It's mostly stock mindfulness advice that I've seen in other places, and you will be entirely unsurprised to learn that Brewer meditates and has studied meditation. I think it's clear that, for him, a feeling of curiosity works as an anxiety replacement; I'm not sure that's universal and I'm not sure it works for me.

That core idea that anxiety reactions are a type of addictive habit that have outlived their useful rewards but continue because habits are hard to change felt both useful and at least a little bit true, though. Your mileage may, of course, vary, but I've been trying out various ideas from this book since I first started reading it, and I think it's helping. If any of this clicks with you and you're also prone to anxiety, it might be worth a read.

One warning, though: Brewer's previous work on addiction includes binge eating, and while it's not a primary focus, he uses several weight loss and disordered eating examples and has a very traditional medical attitude towards weight. I'm somewhat dubious of the addiction model of weight gain in general, but more to the point, it's rather off-putting in a book supposedly about anxiety. It's something I was able to skim over, but be aware going in if you're likely to find this obnoxious.

I do think this book is a case of an addiction researcher seeing everything through the lens of addiction, and I'm a little dubious this is the right model for everyone's anxiety. But this is one of the good reasons why there are a lot of books about anxiety: Different approaches suit different people. This one made more sense to me than most; maybe you are similar.

I can't really recommend or not recommend a book like this, since I think so much will depend on whether you are one of the people for whom this specific explanation will click, but I'm glad that I read it and I think it's good to know that this model of anxiety exists.

Rating: 8 out of 10

Review: Full Speed to a Crash Landing, by Beth Revis

Full Speed to a Crash Landing is a science fiction novella and the first of a series. Beth Revis made the New York Times bestseller list for an earlier series of young adult science fiction novels, but somehow I had not heard of her before this series.

Ada Lamarr is a salvager. She picks up material from crashed or dead ships for resale. As the story opens, she has a large hole in the side of her ship, she's running out of oxygen, and the other ship nearby is refusing to answer her distress call. By the time they finally respond, there is barely enough time to get aboard before she is entirely out of air.

Ada's first-person narration drops hints that she may not be entirely what she seems. But then, neither is the Halifax, so it's only fair.

The captain of the Halifax treats Ada with a great deal of suspicion and wants her out of the way of their ongoing salvage operation. However, the captain does not appear to be entirely in charge. Ada is immediately struck by the mysterious Rian White, who seems to have some authority over their mission and is more thoughtful and calculating than the rest of the crew. He's also handsome, which doesn't hurt.

I was tempted to keep writing about the plot, but given the short length of this book, I should stop there and let you enjoy the twists and turns for yourself. This is a fun science fiction action romp: lots of banter, lots of tense moments, and a cagey first-person protagonist with an irrepressible sense of humor and a knack for brazening her way through conversations. It's not long on world-building (there isn't enough room), but Revis works in enough details to be intriguing and to set up some interesting motivations.

This is the sort of book that lives and dies by how much you like the protagonist, something that you will easily figure out by the end of an ebook sample if you're the sort of reader who uses those. Ada is irreverent, talkative, and very adroit at diverting attention (entertainingly) onto anything other than the critical piece of information other people are missing. If you want to, I suspect you could easily figure out most of what Ada is up to before the book reveals it explicitly. It's not that complicated, and the book isn't really trying to hide, although it doesn't give you all the necessary information in advance. Personally, I was happy to sit back and enjoy the ride.

There is no romance in this book beyond frequent comments from Ada that she would have liked there to be a romance in this book under different circumstances, but I will be surprised if that romance doesn't show up later in the series. Ada and Rian are clearly being set up as a pair. I didn't like Rian as much, mostly because he's less memorable as a character, but he comes into his own in the appendices after the plot proper.

I thought those concluding appendices were the best part of the novella and question the Kindle formatting decision to treat them like supplemental material. They purport to be a series of government memos, fill in a lot more of the backstory and world building, and have the best footnotes. Don't skip them!

This isn't the sort of book that I am inspired to immediately push into everyone's hands, but it's a fast, well-paced story that delivered a few reading sessions of entertainment. I'm not sure the political philosophy in the background makes a lot of sense, but at least not a standard stereotype of current politics seen in so much science fiction. It's going to set up some interesting character conflict in later books. I'm certainly intrigued enough to keep reading.

Recommended when you're in the mood for some fast-paced fun that's short and undemanding.

Followed by How to Steal a Galaxy.

Rating: 7 out of 10

Review: What We Are Seeking, by Cameron Reed

What We Are Seeking is a bit hard to classify beyond science fiction. I think I would call it anthropological science fiction, but it's also a first contact story and a planetary colony story. It is a standalone novel (well, so far as I know; see later in the review for caveats). This is Cameron Reed's second novel after the excellent and memorable cyberpunk novel The Fortunate Fall, first published in 1996 under Reed's former name of Raphael Carter.

John Maraintha is a doctor from the world of Essius. He took what he thought was a temporary job on the Free Ship Edgar's Folly, where he's endured considerable culture shock. As the novel opens, John learns that the colonists on Scythia have requested a translator to talk to one of the native life forms, and a doctor since they're down to only one. John will be that doctor. The captain has decided, and by the rules of the free ships, John does not get a choice in the matter.

The Scythian colony is about four hundred people, now located in a desert climate since the complex native life forms destroyed their previous settlement. The colonists are a split between Ischnurans and Zandaheans, two other human civilizations from the scatter of colony worlds left after Earth embraced AIs (aiyis here) and turned inward. Both of those groups marry, something John considers a moral abomination. Neither of them seem likely to understand Essian sexual ethics. More devastatingly, John had intended to spend some time as a ship doctor and then return home to a new place in Essian society. Once he lands on Scythia, the chances of that are gone; it is highly unlikely any ship would pick him up again and take him home.

I have been trying to find the right books to compare What We Are Seeking with ever since I read it. The best I've come up with are Ursula K. Le Guin (particularly The Dispossessed), Eleanor Arnason's A Woman of the Iron People, and Becky Chambers's To Be Taught, If Fortunate. The start of the book felt like an intentional revisiting of an earlier era of science fiction, with somewhat updated science and politics, but the last half of the book, where the action picks up considerably, is a meditation on gender, social systems, religion, and small-group politics. All of that is mixed with biological exploration and a first-contact story with some quite-alien aliens.

This is the sort of novel where the protagonist's culture is as foreign to the reader as any of the other cultures he counters, so the reader is assembling several jigsaw puzzles at once. John is dropped into an established colony with its own social norms and established hierarchies. The one other outsider, the translator Sudharma Jain, is, as his name implies, a Jain who keeps very strict religious observances. Half of the colony is from something akin to a fundamentalist Christian religious sect that practices patriarchy and strict marriage codes. The other half is more gently sexist (but still sexist) and has its own tradition of a third gender that becomes central to the story. John, meanwhile, is a strong believer in the Essian approach to social organization: Any two partners of any gender freely have sex by mutual consent and without obligation, and family is based solely on blood relations. These beliefs do not fit comfortably together, even when people are trying (as they mostly do) to be welcoming.

The first half of this book is very slow. This gives all of the characters space to breathe and become comfortable, and the characterization is superb, but it is a book to start when you're in the mood for something slow and observational. There is a plot that gradually becomes apparent, or rather there are several plots that are intertwined, but tension and urgency are mostly reserved for the second half of the book. Instead, the book opens with a lot of close observation of alien flora and fauna and the untangling of subtle social dynamics among the Scythians.

There is also a visitor from earth, much to the distress of the Scythians. Earth presence means the ships will not return and the colony may be cut off from any sort of technological resupply. Despite speaking a common language, that visitor is as mutually alien to the other groups as they are to the native flora. Her life is fully integrated with aiyis, giving her essentially godlike powers and the ability to turn off inconvenient emotions and disregard anything she doesn't want to see. What she and the Earth aiyis are doing on the planet is one of the early mysteries.

The dialogue in this book is truly excellent. Each characters has their own voice, there are fascinating digressions on different words that lead to tidbits of world-building, and some of the culture-specific idioms are delightful.

"I'm making a mess of this. None of that matters. Let me fall out the window and come in the door again. This is how my story ought to start:"

The challenges for the characters in this story are slow but deep ones: belonging and self-definition, the conflict between cultural tradition and personal circumstance, and the sacrifices required to live with small groups in situations where civil war is viscerally attractive. It has one of the most comprehensive and fascinating treatments of transgender issues that I've read in science fiction. Its commentary on current politics is subtle and estranged in the way that science fiction does best, but still pointed and satisfying. And, well, there are passages like this that I absolutely adore:

"I wouldn't go that far. It could be they are right, the universe we see exists because a mind like ours created it — at least, a mind enough like ours that we can say it wants one thing and not another, and when it acts it does so with intent. That's as good an idea as any. But it is certainly not plausible that such a being believes that people everywhere should marry, or that men should never visit men, or no one should become a jess. Look at what they have created. The universe could have been nothing at all, or one atom of hydrogen floating in a void, or a diamond crystal infinite in all directions, if their mind cared for simplicity or tidiness. Instead we have stars and planets and black holes and nebulas. It could have all been cold and dead, but there is life. They could have made one species for each world, or just a few, which could have stayed the same forever, but instead we have millions and millions, all of which are changing every moment, varying among themselves and boiling off in all directions. Such a god is like an artist who fills up a library of sketchbooks with their drawings of strange creatures, and when every scrap of paper in the place is used up, goes back with a different color ink and scribbles over them again. They are obsessed with variation — they gorge themselves with it and never grow full. Do you really think a mind like that could want us all to live in the same way?"

I had one problem with this book, though, and for me it was a big one: There is no ending. Reed effectively builds tension, gets me caring about all of the characters, sets up several problems, starts down a path towards resolution, and then the book just... ends.

Long-time readers of my reviews will know that I'm a denouement fanatic. I want the scouring of the shire, I want the chapter set in the happily ever after, I want the catharsis of an ending. This made me so grumpy!

To be clear, this is not sequel bait (at least so far as I can tell). I can write a philosophical defense of the ending. The types of problems and lives that Reed set up don't have clear endings; this is, to some extent, the point. We muddle through, and then those who come after us muddle through some more, and the cumulative effect is called human civilization. And there is some denouement; Reed doesn't leave the reader at a cliffhanger or anything that egregious.

But still, I wanted the happy ending, even though that was unrealistic for the style of story this is, because I'm a happy ending reader. This is not an ending sort of book; it's the sort of book where I get a sinking feeling at the 95% mark because there aren't enough pages left for the number of remaining unresolved problems. I've gotten less annoyed in the days since I finished the book, and I can appreciate the thematic point made by how the book ends, but I still feel like it's worth an advance warning if you're a reader like I am.

I would be delighted by a sequel, but it didn't feel like that was the intent.

Apart from that, this was both excellent and rather unlike a lot of current science fiction. I think the closest comparison I can make among recent novels I've read is Sue Burke's Semiosis. What We Are Seeking has a similar sort of world-building, but I liked these characters so much more. It felt like a classic literary science fiction novel, but very much written in 2026. Highly recommended, just beware of the lack of closure.

Content notes: Sexism, homophobia, stomach illness, and some religious abuse.

Rating: 8 out of 10