I love stories that see the lives of well-developed characters intersecting and that’s exactly what I hoped this novel would be based on the title. I was not disappointed. Nine people arrive at a health spa in the middle of nowhere in order to go through a ten-day transformative process – each carries a certain level of angst or trauma about them, and each responds differently to the rather bizarre processes at Tranquillum House.

A woman named Frances is (kind of) the main character. She’s a novelist who is worried about being washed up after her latest novel fails to attract any interest from publishers. She’s also just recently found out that her long distance partner was a scam artist. She’s a likeable and personable character and having her as the point-of-view character you see most often works well, because you get a bit of levity between the heavier chapters. Later on, her being a novelist leads to some extremely meta chapters, and I enjoyed that quite a bit too.

However, the most interesting guests in Tranquillum House are the Marconi family. Perfectly happy and healthy on the surface, but dealing with a terrible loss underneath. Their story is a terribly sad one. I won’t spoil the details, as they’re slowly revealed throughout the course of the novel, but these were the characters that I felt the most invested and I felt that they were all incredibly well written.

The other most notable character is Masha – she’s the founder of Tranquillum House and rather mysterious, vaguely sinister person. I actually found myself getting caught up in the things she was saying, which I thought was a pretty good way of showing how everyone there would as well. The developments with her towards the end were very unexpected, and made the latter portion of the book much more tense than I anticipated. It was perhaps slightly too over the top for me, but it did make for captivating reading – and there were various clever twist about everything not quite being what it seemed.

Not all of the characters were quite so captivating – such as Jessica and Ben, a young couple whose marriage is falling apart since winning the lottery. They still felt very real, and their presence still added to the story, but I was usually more interested to get back to a chapter from the perspective of one of the other characters whenever it was one of their POVs. I suppose that will inevitably happen whenever you have quite a big cast in a novel.

Altogether, if you like realistic, relatable human drama (with just a hint of the sensational) then this is a book is one that you will probably enjoy. I didn’t like it quite as much as the other Liane Moriarty book I’ve read (Big Little Lies) as that one felt like it had a little more to say, but nonethless, Nine Perfect Strangers shows that Moriarty is capable of creating a large range of different and believable characters and tying them together with a decent storyline.

Rating: 8.4/10

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For whatever reason, this volume is harder to come by than the others, so I didn’t read it for a long time – but fortunately, my housefriend secured a copy for me. I’m very pleased that she did too, as this is definitely one of the stronger volumes overall.

There are two main storylines in this one – the first concludes Principle Asano’s challenge to Koro-sensei. This is a great plot that makes Asano a much more interesting character, with a shockingly bleak flashback sequence that does a lot to explain his personality and motivation. I had started to like him more as soon as this arc started, but by the end of it, I thought he was a really cool character.

I’m going to sound quite repetitive here, but the same thing also happens with Kayano. Until this volume, though she has been a prominent character, she’s never been that interesting. She had her assassination attempt with the cake, which was kind of funny, but otherwise she was just there – and usually just getting unreasonably mad about boobs. As usual, I can’t say anything without spoiling it, but her appearance in this volume recontextualises a lot of her earlier behaviour, and it also reveals that she is much more important to the overall storyline than I ever would have guessed.

This is one of the few volumes that doesn’t really have any filler at all. It’s all giving important backstory and moving the plot along in meaningful ways. I loved every second, frankly, and the feeling of ominousness, as time runs out for the class, runs throughout the whole piece. The final cliffhanger has Koro-sensei promising to finally share his backstory – and I can’t wait to read it.

Rating: 9.7/10

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It is very common to hear people say that men and women are just ‘wired differently’ in terms of how their brains work. But how scientifically accurate is that? That’s the question that Gina Rippon tries to answer in this book, and in case you can’t guess – the answer is that it is not significantly backed up by science, despite popular belief.

People like to believe what they’ve been raised to believe, and for years the popular consensus has been that brains work differently – but that’s just born out of the patriarchy. The majority of media outlets then want to reinforce these older ideas, so will latch onto and report on any study that seems to confirm this worldview. The author looks at the studies that are most commonly pointed to as evidence of this difference, and highlights how they’ve either had severe issues with their methodology, or have had their findings enormously exaggerated or distorted to make clickable headlines.

Though it is undeniable that, as a whole, you can see certain behaviours more or less commonly found among men or women, but Rippon argues that these can be attributed to socialisation and the ‘plasticity’ of the human brain. I learned from this book that if we believe that we are supposed to be a certain way, our brain can and will change to become that way – a side effect of us being such a social species. She goes on to highlight how extremely widespread the social influences that reinforce gender roles are and how babies are effected by things we may not even realise. Their sponge-like brains absorb absolutely everything they see and this all plays a part in moulding the people they become. Sadly, the reinforcement of gender roles is so prevalent, that they will never not be exposed to it.

I’ve always felt that the idea that men and women’s brains are inherently different was a silly one. All of my experiences of relationships with men and women, to me, highlight that these differences do not really exist and I would argue that those who think they do probably don’t have close bonds with many people of both sexes. I also think that if it were as simple as that, there would be no examples of people defying traditional gender roles. With this in mind, I was always going to find this book agreeable, and as I am not a neurologist, it is essentially impossible for me to identify any inaccuracies in the way things are presented here. Having said that, it all seems very logical, fair and well argued. It’s a book that’s well worth reading for anyone with an interest in feminism or the way that the human mind works.

Rating: 8.1/10

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This is often described as being the first “lesbian novel” and while you could certainly question whether that’s true (and even what it means for something to be a “lesbian novel”) I think it’s probably true that this is the earliest novel that unambiguously shows same sex attraction between two women in an ordinary real world setting.

Although, to be fair, through a modern eye, you could question whether the story is really about a woman at all. The main character, named Stephen by her father who hoped for a boy, goes through their life wishing that they had been born a boy, and describes themselves as existing in the “no man’s land between the sexes” while dressing in traditionally masculine outfits. Though it is unlikely (though not impossible) to have been intended by the author, it’s very easy to read Stephen as somebody who would identify as trans or non-binary.

Nonetheless, interesting gender angle aside, the story of a gay character growing up in a world that is almost completely ignorant of the existence of gay people is both fascinating and heart-breaking. Stephen is a perpetual outcast, and one who is kind of awkward, but I found myself feeling quite strongly endeared to her, and felt for her even at the times when she made decisions that I didn’t think were so great.

This is one of those novels that spans years, starting when Stephen is just a baby, and continuing on into adulthood. There’s a great sense of scale that helped it feel very real. We later see her living in London, working as a nurse during the First World War, and living in Paris too. Though I wish that the war got a little more focus (that portion seems a bit too short), this is exactly the kind of structure I like for a novel. I always appreciate the opportunity to get a deeper look at the trajectory of a character’s whole life.

From difficult covert romances, to problems with an abusive parent, and a general feeling of isolation and “otherness”, Stephen’s story is often a very sad one. I really appreciate the way that the author tackled these problems – but, I didn’t quite like how it all came to an end. It was a bit melodramatic in a way that it didn’t need to be and I felt like the character deserved (and could have had) a better ending. Nonetheless, my overall impression is a very positive, and I admire this book for telling a very engaging, human story that was ahead of its time.

Rating: 8.5/10

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This autobiographical graphic novel describes the author’s life from childhood through to young adulthood and goes into detail about the journey e’s had in discovering eir gender identity and sexual orientation. Honestly, it’s one of the best and most beautiful books I’ve read in a while.

What I think is most appealing about this book, is Maia’s complete openness. To me, reading this feels like you’re having a heart-to-heart conversation with an old friend. Of course, I also love the fact that e’s sharing non-binary and asexual experiences too. So often, asexuals are shown to be cold emotionless Sherlock Holmes-type characters (not that I don’t love Sherlock Holmes) and often we’re only given a really surface level look at non-binary existence too. It’s so important for people to read about the experiences of ordinary people from these demographics, I’m glad this book offers an opportunity for people to learn.

Of course, it’s not all about gender and sexuality (though that is at the heart) and a big part of what I enjoyed about this book was Maia writing about fun times with eir friends. You don’t really find many books where authors write about being huge fans of different books, music, and TV show (or, I don’t, at least) and what I loved about this was how relatable it was. I particularly enjoyed Maia’s focus on books and reading – I guess as a hugely bookish person, I’ll always enjoy seeing that.

All things considered, when I was reading through this book, if something didn’t remind me of my own experiences, it reminded me of the experiences of those who are close to me. I think that it could be an incredibly valuable piece of work if it finds its way into the hands of young non-binary or asexual teenagers who are looking for a framework to understand themselves. The fact that its filled with hugely endearing illustrations just makes it even better. It’s sad that this is a book that’s so consistently banned (partly due to a few sexually explicit scenes), but most teenagers will have seen worse online anyway, and it’s really important that voices like this are not stifled, and that young people have access to books that document the experiences of those who are finding their sexuality for the first time.

Rating: 9.8/10

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I noticed quite a change in the second batch of twenty-five Archie comics compared to the first, and it follows a trend that I’d started to notice in what I’d already read. Here the comics start to become a lot more serious and delve more into the history and lore of Mobius – and while that is typically something that I love, it didn’t always hit the mark here.

One thing I really enjoyed was the history of Angel Island – the comics explain a lot about the highly advanced echidna civilization and how and why the created a floating island. One thing I didn’t enjoy so much was the information it provided on Sally Acorn’s father and the history of Mobius’s politics and royal family. Robotnik’s role in it all is kind of interesting, and I did appreciated it as an atypical interpretation of the character, but it wouldn’t be my preferred backstory for him.

I think part of the problem is that with the story’s that delve into the history, there’s very little humour involved, and I think that’s an important part of the Sonic recipe. While I enjoyed learning about the ususual lore of these comics (and still look forward to more), I was kind of bored sometimes because of how seriously it took itself. That’s not to say I don’t like a darker storyline (I love when in one of the story arcs, Sonic has to go on the run after being found guilty of murder), but when it’s not seriousness combined with high stakes drama, that’s when I find myself feeling less captivated…

The backstory is kind of convoluted too, and it doesn’t help that very often there are little cliff-hangers that are not resolved in the next issue of the Sonic comic, but in Tails, Knuckles, or Princess Sally mini series. Though I was still able to understand everything that happened without reading this additional comics, it did mean that there were gaps in my knowledge, and a few cliffhangers that didn’t have a clear resolution though. You’ve got to commit to reading (and finding) a lot of other comics to really get the full story.

Despite things getting more convoluted, I still quite enjoyed these comics . I like Sonic and his friends as Freedom Fighters coming up against Robotnik as an overlord and there are some really cool conflicts here. While the first twenty-five issues typically all had Sonic as the main character of every story, Knuckles, Sally, and even Sonic’s Uncle Chuck all get a lot more time in the spotlight here, meaning they get a nice bit of development, and the stories are more varied. There was less focus on parallel universes though, which was a shame.

I think a lot of dedicated fans of the games will enjoy these comics, but it is important to keep in mind that it’s very different to the current understanding of Sonic and his world. While there are definitely bits I didn’t like (e.g. Geoffrey St. John), I did generally enjoy it, and the last few in particular told a cool interconnected story which lead to what felt like a solid ending for the series as a whole – I look forward to seeing what happens next.

Rating: 7.4/10

The fifth Discworld novel brings things back to Rincewind (the star of the first two books) after changing focus in Equal Rites and Mort. Nonetheless, while there are very vague allusions to his previous adventures, it’s essentially a standalone novel that could be enjoyed without having read any of the others. Having said that, I wouldn’t recommend it as a first Discworld novel, because it’s been my least favourite so far.

It being my least favourite doesn’t mean it’s bad though. In fact, I’d say that the opening of the novel, where Death comes to collect an old wizard, is one of the most beautifully written things that I’ve ever read. If the entire book had been like this, it’d have been a contender for being a 10/10 book for me. Unfortunately, the rest of the book, was much less enticing.

The story is about the eighth son of an eighth son of an eighth son, who grows up to become a “Sourcerer” which means that he is someone who is a source of magic in the world. This character, named Coin, of course has the power go to his head, which prompts him to take over Discworld’s Unseen University for wizards and attempt to introduce a new magic order.

Rincewind, meanwhile, running away from all this, finds himself once again in the position of an unlikely hero after being swept up in an adventure by a woman named Conina. Ultimately, of course, they end up opposing Coin – and along the way there are a lot of laughs, and a lot of fun over the top actions sequences. I was decently entertained throughout, but I felt it lacked anything really profound and didn’t really have anything meaningful to say in the same way that Mort, Equal Rites, and even The Light Fantastic did.

The ending was pretty cool though, and quite a bit more serious than I was expecting it to be (which was a refreshing surprise). I just can’t say anything about it without spoiling it – but I will say that I liked getting more of an insight into the history of Discworld. The rest just mostly felt like fairly light entertainment – not bad, or boring, by any means at all, it’s a good book, I’ve just read a lot of better ones.

Rating: 6.9/10

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This book contains a selection of anonymous nude paintings of several women, non-binary people, and trans men. Alongside every painting, each model has written a short piece of writing about their relationship with their body – and you know what? I think this is one of the coolest ideas I’ve seen for a book in a long time. I absolutely love it.

If you’ve just read that description and find yourself thinking, well, what’s the point of that? The intention behind it was to help strive towards a broader notion of body neutrality. So often in our society, we’re encouraged to see nudity as inherently sexual, even though nakedness is the natural state of all our bodies – this then feeds into body image troubles and issues with self-confidence.

The pieces of writing that accompany each painting confirm this too – some are very positive, while others are really sad. However, one thing that they all have in common is that the models all experienced some kind of shame of self-consciousness about their body. I hope that those who struggle with these things will be able to take some solace from the fact that they seem to be universal among people of every different body type – if they aren’t currently dealing with it, it’s something that they have overcome in the past.

Aside from the statements alongside each one, I also really admire. The portraits are really, really good. I studied them closely for inspiration in my own art, and I have to say that the artist did a really good job of capturing the fact that every body really is a beautiful piece of art.

Of all the projects of this kind that I’ve seen, this is my personal favourite. It truly is a celebration of the human body and perfectly underlines the fact that we come in all shapes and sizes and no matter how someone looks, they have no reason to be ashamed of their body.

Rating: 9.5/10

Buy it here.