Previously reviewed: 27 November 2018
Rating: 4/5

There’s this small bike race happening at the moment. It’s called something like… Le Tour de France. Ever heard of it? It’s a bit niche, so don’t feel bad if you haven’t.

Of course, I jest. However, with Le Tour rolling around our screens at the moment, it got me thinking about a book I read and reviewed back on the previous version of TaleInferno: The Rider by Tim Krabbé.

So, what better time than to do a throwback book review on it? Let’s get into it.

It’s really fascinating looking back at my old review and reflecting on it now. From 2018 to now, so much has happened in my life, and I’ve swayed along a bumpy but enlightening journey.

I mean, we also can’t forget that there were a couple of years between 2018 and now where the whole world looked quite different.

And yet, there are many things from the review I did in 2018 that are still so current, and it’s actually quite startling (and comforting, to a point) that while so much has changed, some things are so similar.

Back in 2018, I had my finger on the pulse on a few sports I really enjoyed. Tennis and AFL were the primary two for me, and I also heard quite a bit about what was happening in the world of cycling as my then boyfriend (now fiancé) was an avid cyclist.

It was through him that I was introduced to this 150-page book, which told the story of Tim Krabbé’s experience during the 150-kilometre Tour de Mont Aigoual. For those who don’t know what that is, a quick Google will tell you that it’s a famous and challenging cycling route located in Cévennes National Park of southern France.

Aka. A Big Climb.

For those of you who aren’t aficionados in the cycling world (of which, I am definitely not), cyclists can be categorised into certain ‘types’. Now, I’m not going to list them all, and there’s every chance one I reference is going to be incorrect and I’ll look like an idiot, and that’s OK. But, these types include General Classification (GC) riders, Domestiques, Sprinters, Time Trialists, and a whole lot more.

The type of rider we’re interested in, though, is the Climber.

Now, I don’t know about you, but when I watch any cycling—even snippets of highlights on the news—and there’s some massive climb involved, all I can think is “well, none of them look like they’re having a great time” as it’s all gritted teeth or pained expressions as they push themselves to the absolute limit to get to the top.

Back in 2018, I pondered about what it would be like to be experiencing what they’re experiencing. To feel how they feel and to know what they think.

Back then, and even now, the storyteller in me was always curious to know more about people’s experiences and story. When it comes to sport, there’s so much intricacy in what a person has to learn and commit to, and the sacrifices they endure to get to the pinnacle of their sport.

We now have brilliant documentaries and docuseries that give us that insight, like Drive to Survive (yes, I am one of those girlies) and Tour de France: Unchained. But, before then, I experienced The Rider by Tim Krabbé.

This story provides a fantastic insight into the mind of not only a rider, but a climber, experiencing that teeth-gritting suffering.
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When I read it, I was surprised by it. I realised that, really, anything can go through a rider’s mind to distract themselves from that suffering. From life experiences of riding in different races and meeting other riders, to general passing thoughts—both philosophical and simple.

It makes this story really authentic and personal. It made me feel, at the time, connected to Krabbé in some weird ‘author to reader’ but also ‘passionate cyclist to passionate writer’ kind of way.

This book put my passions into perspective. While they have nothing to do with cycling, it highlighted that no matter the activity, we all connect to each other based on the feeling of passion.

This is enveloped in this story, which is shown in the constant suffering or the thought-provoking passages which continue to push you, as well as the rider, onwards on this journey.

And that’s exactly what this book is: a journey. We experience the ride. If we’re cycling savvy (which, as mentioned earlier, I most certainly am not), we might even be able to picture the exact parts of the road race that are being described. We start feeling the same feelings as Krabbé does, like the worry he feels as he cycles downhill.

The story also has this neat way in capturing when the rider is trying to distract themselves when they are suffering, and then shifting to when they need to concentrate on what they’re doing. The reader is transported into memories when the suffering is really kicking in, and then back to the real world when something complicated is happening.

Ultimately, to me, I think this is a great book. However, I can understand if people don’t enjoy it. It helps if you are interested in the subject of cycling, or even sports in general.

Nonetheless, there are parts in this story which are incredibly thought-provoking and can be connected back to anything in life. With an open mind, you can start to form the cycling stuff into your own passions.
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A particular passage on page 89 stood out to me that really captured this:

Back in 2018, I related this back to why I’m passionate about reading, writing and storytelling. And, now, I’m still moved by that passage and how it comes back to that passion piece and how I see myself fit in it.

Yes, I’m still passionate about reading, writing and storytelling, but there’s more now.

I have passion about helping the community and providing meaning through the job that I have. I have passion in sharing the knowledge I have gained to help guide and support others. I have passion to help others make sense of the reality we live in, and transition to the new normals when crisis and disaster hit, or when change occurs, through the power and art of writing and storytelling.

The question I asked myself in this reflection back in 2018 was: Am I shaped by the books I read and the work I do, or am I shaped by my passion and drive in search of the next story?

On looking back at this old review and this passage from the book, I think my question would be similar now, but expanded: Am I shaped by the books I read, the videogames I play, and the work I do, or am I shaped by my passion, drive and intent in searching for and sharing stories, in giving meaning, and in empowering others to feel and see it to?

Now, with all that reflection done, what did I like? I think you can get the gist from this throwback book review that there was quite a bit that I liked about this book back then, and I still do. I like how thought-provoking it is. I like seeing the switch between deep, philosophical thinking and reliving memories, to then suddenly being in the moment and feeling like I’m on the bike with Krabbé.

And, I really like the end. I won’t spoil it, but it’s not what I expected. I mean, if you know your cycling history, then it probably doesn’t come to much surprise. However, as I’ve said before, I’m not a cycling aficionado, so I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

The ending, however, hits home about what we do with our passions and why we do what we do.

And, what didn’t I like? Well, I’ll be real with you, I can’t really think of anything specific. I read and reviewed this back in 2018, and unlike other books that I have deep agonies over (looking at you One Hundred Years of Solitude), there isn’t anything coming to mind.

However, with that being said, it wasn’t until I looked through my old review that I recalled the events of the book and some of the feelings I had. So, I can say with confidence that it was one of those books that, yes, it has stuck with me, but not as powerfully as others. So, the rating for this book is high, but doesn’t quite make that 5/5.

That draws the end of this throwback book review of The Rider by Tim Krabbé. I would definitely recommend this book. Yes, it may be difficult to read if you’re not sport-inclined, but still… give it a go! You may find yourself having some deep-thinking moments with yourself about your passions and experiences like I did!

Have you read The Rider by Tim Krabbé? Did it make you feel the same way? Let me know in the comments!

Reading timeline: 11 June 2024 – 26 June 2024
Overall rating: 4.25/5

A two-part series, the Black Death duology by Minette Walters explores human behaviour, social hierarchy, gender stereotypes and religion in the face of a terrible sickness: the plague (aka. the black death, hence the series name).

Set in England during the 14th century, this is a series that begins with the choices and actions of the people of Develish as they try to survive the early stages of the plague, and finishes up with them charging forward into the future in a changed landscape for themselves—socially and healthily.

I have tried to limit spoilers in this series wrap up. However, there is every chance a spoiler or two may slip through the cracks as part of this review. Proceed with caution if you have yet to read this series.

Want to read the individual book reviews? You can find them below:

• The Last Hours
• The Turn of Midnight

The Last Hours
We begin this journey with The Last Hours. And, let me tell you, it is crazy to read this book a few years after the global pandemic.

This book was first published in 2017. While I understand the plague ran through England way-back-when and we’ve learned a great deal about sickness and preventing diseases over the many years since then, it is freaky to read about the characters in this book isolating themselves for 14 days after potentially being exposed to the plague before returning to the rest of the group to prevent the spread of the disease.

Honestly, Minette Walters… are you psychic?

When I first began reading this book, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the writing style and direction. But, the second I started to see the plague showing up and how people were reacting to it in the book, I was sucked in.

There is just something so interesting to me when it comes to human behaviour and people’s reactions in the face of a disaster.

On top of that, this book also dives deep into societal expectations on rank, gender and religion. Considering this, and the fact the ‘leader’ of this group of people in Develish is Lady Anne (a woman!) we get to see an incredible story built up that challenges these expectations to ensure the safety and health of the people of the demesne.

This book is a fantastic set up and first half of the series, highlighting the ‘survive now’ frame of mind all while interweaving the cultural environment and expectations back in the 14th century. All while introducing us to brilliant and complex characters, including Thaddeus Thurkell, Eleanor, the serf boys, and a whole lot more, all building a rich story to sink right into.

So, all in all, I gave this book a 4/5.

The Turn of Midnight
We then head on over to the second and final book, The Turn of Midnight, and let me tell you, this was a fantastic closer for the series.

This book starts immediately where we leave The Last Hours where there is conflict as the outside world tries to get in on the successes that Develish is reaping due to taking progressive steps in keeping the plague away from their people.

It’s after the conflict the reader sees the flip on the direction of the book. It’s no longer about surviving right now, but about securing the future.

The characters are framed slightly differently in this change of direction.

Lady Anne’s leadership becomes a whole lot more strategic as she continues to step further into the role of leading this demesne for good. Eleanor… well, it’s tragic, but an important perspective on political threats when it comes to a world where privilege and merit only exist due to birthright.

Which, contrastingly, we see Thaddeus embody that merit can come without birthright as he continues to step into leadership while mentoring the serf boys to build a new generation of serfs in the demesne.

This book finishes the series brilliantly, and received a well-deserved 4.5/5 from me.

Series review summary
The Black Death duology by Minette Walter provides a great experience through a deep and thoughtful story about a group of people in the face of a deadly plague, and humanity’s reaction to this catastrophe.

The depth and complexities of each character are so interesting. After experiencing the global pandemic, the reactions in the books from each character should not have been that surprising. And, really, they weren’t.

It is just hard for my brain to comprehend that a story set in 14th century England about a plague can showcase both the best and worst in humanity, which is something we still see now in the face of terrible events. Reading this series emphasises the “strength in community” vs “individual needs” conflict we see in how people react and act in the face of an emergency and crisis.

And, ultimately, it showcases which mindset usually comes out on top in those situations.

This is only highlighted more by the fact that some of the actions and reactions of the characters in the books actually made me so frustrated, there were times I wanted to just close the books and not continue reading them.

Now, this isn’t really a negative—it’s an example of good writing. However, don’t get me wrong, there’s only so many times I want to feel like that when reading a book, and this series did push me a few times too far in that direction!

Ultimately, as mentioned earlier, I give this whole series a 4.25/5. A really solid rating, and a series I would totally recommend anyone to read.

However, if the global pandemic is still too fresh in your mind and you don’t want to be reminded about it, maybe give this a skip until you’re ready. As I mentioned earlier, it’s a bit creepy how similar some of the scenes in this series are compared to what we actually saw and experienced globally.

So, keep that in mind when picking up this book! I wonder if anyone will write a series like this duology about COVID-19…
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What did you think of this duology? Did you enjoy it as much as me? Were there elements that maybe didn’t gel with you? Were you as freaked out about its similarities to the COVID-19 experience? Let me know in the comments!

Finished reading: 26 June 2024
Rating: 4.5/5

The second book in Minette Walters Black Death duology, The Turn of Midnight continues immediately after the ending of The Last Hours. And, let me tell you, this book is a fantastic second and final book to this series.

The people of Develish remain quarantined away from the plague, however more trouble erupts when the outside world gets word of the success of Develish, which is where we find ourselves leaving book 1 and entering book 2.

And, let me tell you, this follow up really elevates the game, changing the focus from surviving now to securing the future.

Since this is the second book in the series, there is every chance there will be spoilers in here, so if you haven’t finished the first book or still making your way through the second, proceed with caution! You’ve been warned.

You can tell I was really locked into this book as I was able to pick it up and finish it within 48 hours of closing the first book. I also was on holiday, so that helps getting through a book quickly!

The shift to 'securing the future' in The Turn of Midnight is really impressive. As I mentioned earlier, we’re faced with a lot of drama early, but you can see character’s evolution and growth from the first to the second book.

From the beginning of The Turn of Midnight, we see the desperation of the outside world start to influence the isolated and safe group on the demesne. After the confrontation, it becomes clear that there is a need to long-term plan.

It feels almost like a boiling point. There’s the establishment of the group, understanding themselves and their internal order, and how they will keep themselves safe and isolated from the damage and devastation of the plague beyond the demesne.

Then, it’s turning this forming and storming group (mind my leadership/team management terms here… recently came out of a training about this!) into a norming and performing group. Aka, how do you re-establish and rebuild the people of Develish to then transform them and forge a new society that isn’t exploited by external forces of law and politics.
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You know… a really easy goal to achieve.

Clearly, this isn’t the case as we’ve got a whole-lot-of-book to get through. But, it’s so interesting to read the way people behave in this directional change of the series, which is probably my favourite part of this book.

So, I find myself incredibly intrigued and impressed by the shifts and transformation in the characters, and how we see their developmental arcs move with the shift in focus in this book.

Take Lady Anne for example. This woman not only breaks down the whole ‘women can’t lead’ business in the first book, but as it becomes more noticeable that they need to start establishing themselves to secure their futures, her leadership shifts to become far more strategic, considering how this can be done legally.
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All while trying to navigate her very… emotive daughter.

Eleanor, Lady Anne’s daughter, is such an interesting character. It is so easy to be frustrated in her, particularly due to her spoiled nature and need to be recognised as superior to others due to her father.

Her pregnancy highlights such an interesting disruption to the legal fight that the community faces, particularly as it’s Sir Richard’s child. Yep, you read that right… her own father. Not. Good.

The political threat of the child, which is then wiped away in tragedy, embodies the death of the world that this community doesn’t have to live in anymore. One where privilege and merit only exist due to birthright.

Which is further enhanced by our boy, Thaddeus Thurkell. Thaddeus is such a straight-forward, practical thinker, which is quite refreshing to read. However, his moments in this book highlight how we are not born to be one way, but can rise to the challenge and show our merit over birthright.

He is already a leader in the first book, but this is only enhanced in the second. And, through him and the expeditions, we see the serf boys mature and grow, mirroring the transformation and growth of the community. The new generation that will ensure the security of the future.

Honestly, this book really forces us to analyse and consider human behaviour and attitude in the face of catastrophe, and shows us what our societies can become after catastrophe in a morally better way—underpinned by education and fairness, not cruelty, privilege and discrimination.

I mentioned in my The Last Hours review that my enjoyment for this book came from both the omniscience but also the tango between societal expectations and keeping people healthy. This is definitely still the case in this one, however it changes from ‘keeping people healthy’ to ‘keeping the community thriving’ in the face of the law and politics.

Which makes me think of the brain-tango that happens at the end of the book, which I won’t go into much detail about. However, the brain waves and connectivity between Lady Anne and Thaddeus is just… *chefs kiss*.
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Ultimately, I really enjoyed this book. It’s very different in its style compared to other books I have read, but it showed me that sometimes trying out a genre and style I’m not used to (or, historically, not ones that I like) can actually provide a really awesome experience through a deep and thoughtful duology about the plague, and humanity’s reactions towards catastrophe.

 So, what did I like? As I’ve alluded to earlier, the character development and arcs. And, honestly, just the characters themselves.

As I mentioned in my The Last Hours review, it is crazy to pick up a book like this one which is published before the recent pandemic and read it with such a historical moment fresh in my own memory and experience.

While it’s not surprising to see the way these characters act—also considering the time the story is set in—I’m still drawn in to the complexities of human behaviour in the face of logic and morality. I think Walters does a fantastic job in showing this in her writing.

I also liked how this book shifted the focus from the first one. Being a duology, it makes it very clear when the change happens. And, I think that ‘survival now’ vs ‘securing the future’ also highlights the shift from subjugation to freedom.

The serfs of Develish are just that. However, with such a big disrupter like the plague and the death of Sir Richard in the first book, there becomes an opportunity to overcome the subjugation and create a new system that is acquired both ethically and legally.
It’s really cool to read and is part of why I really liked this book.

But, what didn’t I like? For a book rated 4.5/5, not a whole lot. Similar to The Last Hours, nothing necessarily jumps out at me as a clear ‘dislike’ in this book.

And, while I really loved the transformation of the community and the character development, there were definitely some challenging perspectives and scenes in this book. Again, like the previous book, there were some perspectives or scenes that had me frustrated.

To make it clear, I wasn’t frustrated at the book, and I can appreciate why the characters thought and acted the way they did, but that doesn’t mean that there weren’t times I wanted to yell at the characters.

With that in mind, I don’t know how much that reflects a ‘not liking’ moment as it really highlights good writing! Ultimately, I was locked into this book, and I’m really happy with how it closed off this series.

Have you read The Turn of Midnight by Minette Walters? Did you also enjoy the shift in direction like I did? What are your thoughts on the characters and how they’re portrayed? Let me know in the comments!

Previously reviewed: 2 August 2017
Rating: 2/5

It’s time to jump into another throwback book review, turning our attention to one of the most—if not the most—difficult books I have read.

And before I get too far into it, please excuse the condition this book is in. I believe there was an unfortunate accident on a train that involved a sudden stop and someone falling over (aka. me), resulting in the front being torn.

Originally titled Cien Años de Soledad, Gabriel García Márquez’s book was one I picked up as part of one of my university subjects to read, analyse and produce a literary analysis essay on.

What began as a challenge I thrust upon myself turned into quite the journey, and it is burned in my mind as a book that introduced me to the world of magical realism, and a text I will never pick up and read again.

So, this is the perfect throwback book review as I get to look back and relive my trauma while sharing it with you.

​Before I get into it, I do also want to note that this is one of those historically significant books that has huge depth, and there is every chance I’m going to analyse or refer to something incorrectly due to the time that has passed since I read this book. I apologise in advance if I refer to something incorrectly.
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Now, Let’s get into it.

I want to preface this throwback book review by providing some context as to why and how I came to find myself reading this book. As mentioned earlier, a university subject I was taking required the group to read and analyse a post-colonial text, or a text written by a non-Anglo-Saxon author. We were given a list of the books we could read, which included texts like The Motorcycle Diaries by Che Guevara and The Color Purple by Alice Walker. And, of course, One Hundred Years of Solitude was on that list.

Here’s the kicker: when receiving the list of books, my tutor strongly encouraged that no one pick One Hundred Years of Solitude due to its complexity, noting that—with the time we had—it would be difficult to read the book and effectively analyse it for the essay.

If there’s one thing you may come to learn about me: when someone says “hey, I think you might struggle doing that”, I’m always up for the challenge. It’s not the first time I had been given similar advice from a teacher. Back in my final year of high school, one of the essays (I think it may have been one of the higher percentage essays we had to complete for our grades) involved students taking two books and doing a comparative literary analysis on them.

Again, students received a list of books, and there were some books that were recommended against. I decided I would read and compare 1984 by George Orwell and A Clockwork Orange by Anthony Burgess. To cut a long story short, I was recommended not to do that due to the complexity and time I had, but I did any way.

History repeating itself, in a kind of way.

And, for those who are wondering, I got pretty high grades on both these essays, so like… you know. Challenge not only accepted but delivered very well, if I don’t say so myself!

Anyway, one key lesson I learned in all that is sometimes it is best to listen to your tutors because it was hard.

One Hundred Years of Solitude gives an insight into post-colonialism in Colombia. It’s regarded to be a difficult text to read, both in its style and its subject matter, and is a pinnacle text that popularised the style known as magical realism.

It’s a story that follows the Buendia family in the fictional village of Macondo, and is a record of events that occur from the founding of the village to—you guessed it—100 years after.

It’s written with an omniscient narrator. Now, you know I’m a lover for omniscience, but I most certainly was not a lover of it in this instance. Why? We’re guided to see the perspectives of all the Buendia family members, which there are many, and just to make it all the easier, they all have repeated names and it’s never clear when you shift from one to another.

What I can appreciate about this, however, is what it’s meant to represent. By repeating names throughout the generations of the Buendia’s, it’s emphasising the cyclical nature of life. If there’s one thing about this book that sticks in my head is the whole idea of ‘revolutions’. Now, this will be a huge simplification, but ultimately a revolution is a full circle. You start at one point, go through a motion, and end up back where you began.

A cycle. A rotation. A generation.

As we watch the Buendia family move along this storyline, we find the younger family members thinking and acting similarly as their parents or grandparents, and their actions result in similar consequences. The repetition of history, so to speak.

Speaking of history, while a fictional town, Márquez does parallel the story to some hugely historical moments in Colombia—such as the Banana Massacre—highlighting the post-colonial elements of this story.

So, with those concepts in mind, it’s a pretty significant book to read, but one area that can’t be missed to talk about—which I mentioned earlier—is the style in which it’s written: magical realism.

Magical realism is this middle-ground between the real and the fantastical. It distinguishes the ‘us’ vs ‘them’ in the story, or as some analysts call it the ‘first-world’ and ‘third-world’.

It takes things we may classify as normal—say ice—as something that is classified or viewed as an extraordinary invention, and it will be described in a whole lot of detail as such. Then, in contrast, a scene where someone floats off with the washing and disappears forever is framed almost as if it’s normal, like it’s something that just happens and everyone accepts it, and there’s not a whole lot of time given in the story to that scene.

It’s through this that the reader sees the significance of colonialism. The people of Macondo only know what they themselves have experienced, so when foreigners come along with their ice and the like, it’s extraordinary and different, and therefore magical in their eyes.

It is this separation from the familiar that can cause some difficulty in reading this text.

It’s not just the ‘extraordinary inventions’ like ice that convey the magical realism in this text either—it’s also the staggered timeline.

​We begin the story with the perspective or Aureliano Buendia, the son of the founder of Macondo, and he looks back at his time as a child. It then diverts to the perspective of Jose Arcadio Buendia, the founder of Macondo, and then later it goes back to when Macondo was first discovered.

These jumps through time and perspective, particularly when it’s not obviously clear, makes this book challenging to know what part of the timeline you’re reading, adding to the layers of difficulty when reading this book.

Or, at least, that’s how it felt for me. I’m sure there are people out there that love this book to death and its layers of complexity and symbology, and how it all comes together in the way it does.

It is a complex book with a whole lot of depth, and I can appreciate that. A lot can be learned from it, and it is powerful in portraying the destruction that occurs from colonialism. Like many other post-colonial texts, this book is a powerful one that provides a perspective that might be missed or unrecognised in western societies.

And, ultimately, this book's dislocated style of magical realism is what popularised the style for other writers, making it a hugely influential text for a multitude of reasons.

With that in mind, what did I like? Look, I’ve rated this book a 2/5 for a reason—it’s not a book I’m jumping up and down about with excitement for people to read it. Did I enjoy it? No. But, was it an effective story? Absolutely.

One Hundred Years of Solitude enlightened me to the style of magical realism, a style I’d never been exposed to before—or at least if I had (it’s possible I’ve forgotten), not in a way like this.

I can also appreciate the techniques used in the text as well as the themes, symbolism, and what the book represents. Reading a story of 100 years of one family where names, actions and decisions are repeated was a way of truly emphasising how history is so easily repeated, and honestly, while confusing at times, it was really powerful too.

And, if there’s one thing I do really like about this book, is how it depicts colonialism. I was truly in awe of the power in some scenes, and the subtleness of the progress of change and destruction shifting to an all-consuming wave was really impressive.

However, what didn’t I like? It would be very easy for me to sit here and just say that I “just didn’t like it”, but there’s a bit more to it than that. 

Yes, the book is challenging, but I can find a lot of joy in challenge. The story and its themes are challenging, and they’re supposed to be, but that’s not what I didn’t like.

The main reason I didn’t like this book, and what was the most challenging part about it, was the structure of how it was written. We’re talking about a book where a single paragraph can last for multiple pages. Without breaks in the text, it’s really overwhelming to read, particularly with the amount of information provided in each, and how important it is to soak in and understand that information.

Taking the dry text, staggered timeline and quick (and sometimes unclear) changes in perspective with eye-watering long paragraphs meant it was just… not a great time in reading it.

This could have been the most exciting, plot-twisty story and I still would have rated it low because no one's eyes deserve to have to deal with these pages and pages of no text or line breaks.

Ultimately, this book will go down in history for me as the most difficult book I have ever read. This book took me around two or more months to read, probably longer if I'm being honest.

It requires a lot of time and focus to really understand and take in what it’s trying to say. I would absolutely recommend taking your time with it because it’s critically important to understand what it’s trying to say otherwise you’ll miss the significance of it.

If you want to give yourself a challenge, read a powerful and significant post-colonial text, or experience and learn more about the style of magical realism, then I would recommend this book. It’s one of those books that, even though I don’t rate it highly, it’s still a book I think people should take the time to read to open their minds to this style of writing and to the way colonialism is depicted.

That draws the end and closure of this throwback book review about One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, and honestly, looking back at my old review and bringing it back to life now has really opened my eyes to how it is still burned in my brain.

I know this only scratches the surface of this book, and I don’t remember all the detail of it, so there’s every chance I’ve misinterpreted something or forgotten something, but it is still one that I have big feelings about due to what it shifted in my brain—for good or for bad!

Have you ever read One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez? Did you feel the same as me, or did you experience it differently? Is it one of your favourite books? Let me know in the comments as I would love to hear about other’s experiences with this book!

Finished reading: 24 June 2024
Rating: 4/5

You ever wonder about a world where people get really sick, and so healthy people cut themselves off from the sick and isolate to stay healthy? What if there were like… time limits where a person exposed to an illness had to isolate away from the healthy to make sure they didn’t have the sickness, and then they could mingle with the healthy?

I guess most of us don’t have to wonder, but here’s the thing… I’m not talking about that pandemic we had in the haze of 2020-2022. I’m talking about the plague.

The Last Hours by Minette Walters is the first book in the Black Death series and explores a group of people of Develish who, through the choices and leadership of the Lady of the demesne, isolate themselves to not become ill with the plague. And, let me tell you, this is a great book to read after the pandemic.

I want to note really early in this review how crazy it was for me to read this book and be able to find likeness between the actions undertaken by the characters in this book to avoid getting the plague and what we did to prevent the spread of COVID-19.

What was even crazier was that this book was published in 2017. Now, I understand the plague ran through England back in the 14th century and that we’ve learned a great deal on sickness and preventing the spread of illness over the many, many years since then.

But some of the actions—like making sure anyone potentially exposed to the plague had to isolate themselves for 14 days—was a bit freaky.

Minette Walters… are you a psychic or something?

Anyway, this was a book I really enjoyed, which surprised me a little bit. Why? Prior to reading this book, the only historical fiction book I had read and enjoyed was The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory. Others had been ‘forced’ upon me to read and analyse in high school, and I just never meshed with it as a genre.

Loe and behold, this book comes along, and I am swept right into it.

I’ll be honest, when I first started reading it, the tone and style of writing wasn’t something I was used to. I also went straight from Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros into this one, so the writing styles were very different. It was something I needed to get used to, and for the first chapter or two, I found it difficult to read because it was so different.

Then, after a few chapters, and when the plague really starts kicking into gear, is when I found myself really locked in, and I found the book really hard to put down.

There are a couple of key elements of this book that I think contributed to my enjoyment of this book:

• The omniscient perspective—y’all know I LOVE an omniscient narrator
• The tango between society’s expectations on rank, gender and religion in the 14th century, and doing what is best for people to stay healthy.

Lady Anne of Develish, one of the main characters, is an incredibly progressive woman in this book (much to the woe of some of the men in this story). She’s highly compassionate and is able to establish really key hygiene practices within her demesne even before the plague, setting up the area for the most success.

I really enjoyed her strength as a character, able to stand strong in her beliefs in the face of many men who would think differently. Even her own daughter—Eleanor—who was spoiled by her father and has grown immature and resentful towards her mother increases the tension within the story while everyone tries their best to stay healthy, all while pushing Lady Anne to stay strong in the face of it all.

Honestly, Lady Anne’s character was empowering to read. And seeing the power and social hierarchy struggle in the face of her leadership was so interesting to read, with men of power trying to stay on top of it all while showing how incompetent they are in the face of crisis.

And I specifically state ‘men of power’ because we also have a really interesting character in Thaddeaus Thurkell. He’s a serf on the demesne and very close to Lady Anne, and in the midst of this crisis is able to rise above the challenge of his birth and show—once again—how leadership and intelligence don’t sit within a person because of birthright and nobility.

Thaddeus’s leadership and the challenges he faces with his identity is also highlighted in his expedition to see the extent of the plague and the dangers of it. He’s accompanied by a group of young male serfs from the demesne, who we watch either step up to the challenge or crack under pressure due to their naivety, immaturity and resentment.
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All in all, a really enjoyable book to read, taking a significant moment in history regarding a terrible illness and disease, and interweaving it with deep characters that strengthen the plot and tension due to societal values and religious beliefs in the face of sickness.

​So, what did I like? I’m always intrigued by stories about crises and how people react to said crises. There’s something interesting about people’s behaviours, thoughts, and values, and how they come to the fore during times where lives are on the line.

The moment where Lady Anne’s husband—Sir Richard of Develish—passes due to the plague (it’s right at the beginning, so not really a spoiler), it sets this story into quite the interesting journey. And, the moments leading up and after this moment really showcase how being noble does not mean you’re above everything or competent.

The depth of the characters is also really interesting, and I had moments where I would literally gasp when certain characters would make choices, say something, or think in a certain way, even when in the face of a deadly disease.

It shouldn’t be that shocking, we’ve had plenty of moments in the last few years that have highlighted the worse in humanity in the face of terrible events. It just still stuns me—whether reading it in a book or seeing it on news broadcasts—how people can react or act in certain ways towards people in the face of an emergency or crisis. It highlights the 'strength in community vs individual needs' duology of humanity.

Another theme of this story that I enjoyed was the ongoing push and pull of superstition and religion in the face of rational decisions regarding hygiene and isolation to ensure the safety of the community.

Having this rational decision making coming from a lead female character as well really showcases the societal values regarding women in this time, and it became an incredibly interesting plot point for me.

But, what didn’t I like? I’m going to be honest, there’s nothing in particular in this book that I ‘disliked’ so to speak. I felt the first couple of chapters were a bit of struggle to keep me engaged but, as I mentioned before, this may be due to such a voice and tone shift after finishing Iron Flame by Rebecca Yarros before reading this book.

And, while I noted earlier that I’m intrigued about stories to do with people and their behaviours during crises, there were times where I got so frustrated by the characters in this book. Yes, some decisions and thought processes make sense due to the time this book is set, and yes, my frustration had me wanting to read on because I wanted to know the outcomes.

However, some of the frustration was not necessarily a fun or pleasurable experience, and I felt like I wanted to skip past some perspectives just to get out of the situation. I didn’t, but there were times where it got close.

And that’s where I’ll draw my review of The Last Hours by Minette Walters to a close. A really enjoyable first book in the Black Death duology, leaving us on a cliffhanger for the future of Develish at the end, leading us beautifully into book 2: The Turn of Midnight.

Have you read The Last Hours by Minette Walters? Did you read it before or after the pandemic, and how did this make you feel about your experiences with it? Let me know in the comments!

​Finished reading: 26 May 2025
Rating: 3.75/5

We’re onto book 3 in The Empyrean series. Onyx Storm continues to build in terms of corruption, betrayal, sacrifice, and, of course, the power of love in the face of it all.

But, the real question is: is love powerful enough to overcome the darkness that came to be at the end of Iron Flame? 

As this is book 3 of the series, there will be spoilers. You’ve been warned!

Right off the bat, I want to address that I don’t think Onyx Storm hit at the same level of Iron Flame. I don’t know whether if it had something to do with the break between books while I was waiting for Onyx Storm to be published, but what I do know is that while I really enjoyed it, it didn’t quite hit like Iron Flame.

Now, with that out of the way, after that ENDING in Iron Flame, Violet Sorrengail, our protagonist, is now facing a future where her mother is dead and the love of her life—Xaden—is transforming into a venin.

Yeah, if you didn’t heed my spoiler warning, get dunked on.

Anyway, with the loss of General Sorrengail and the risk of venin attacks at an all-time high, everything is quite turbulent. And I mean that quite literally—Violet’s mother could wield storms, and without that power, Navarre is plagued by storms.

It’s quite a funny thing really. Mummy Sorrengail had the power to wield storms, and Violet has the power to strike with lightning. While signets are drawn from the dragons, maybe it also runs in the genes?

I digress. The storms are a really interesting part to this as it highlights the instability of the war, as well as the inner turmoil that Violet is feeling. As I mentioned earlier, Xaden is in the midst of transforming into a venin after channelling too deeply during the battle at the end of Iron Flame.

Heroic, but stupid. But that’s just how it is with these fantasy studs, am I right?

Violet is determined throughout this story to find a cure, or something that will stop Xaden’s transformation. However, the temptation to feed into his shadow magic and channel just a bit too much threatens to tip him over the edge to becoming a full venin.

If you’ve played Baldur’s Gate 3, I feel there’s some similarities between Xaden and Gale, only because Gale likes to eat magical items, and Xaden likes to channel from items until those items have lost their ‘life’ so to speak.

Maybe it’s not much of a similarity, but some scenes in Onyx Storm made me think of it, so I’m sticking with it.

While Xaden isn’t full venin, our ol’ mate Jack Barlowe is. He’s captured, and Violet uses him to get information about Xaden’s transformation. And, with him hanging around Basgiath as a prisoner, you bet your bottom dollar he becomes a prime target for venin looking to free him.

So, yeah, the risk of venin has reached all time heights. Not only that but Violet ends up being of particular interest to one—Theophanie. With Violet being very powerful with her signet, the venin (Theophanie included) are very interested in her and the power she could wield for them.
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I mean, think about it, channelling like venin do gives them an edge and stronger power over normal dragon and gryphon riders, so imagine Violet’s power but like… on steroids.

In an amongst the threat of the venin, Xaden’s transformation, and the political betrayal and corruption we’re so used to at this point, we also have another major plot point: the irid dragons.

It is hypothesised that the irid dragons—the seventh breed—hold the key to defeating the venin for good. There is also a personal connection to this breed and the storyline. Andarna is identified as one after the events in Iron Flame, and being a bonded dragon to Violet, the emotional desire to find this breed is deepened. 

I really like the name given to this breed, by the way. Iridescent is such a cool way to describe them.

Interweaving with this expedition to find the seventh breed is also the information that is stored in Violet’s father’s journal. Basically, before the war, her father had been investigating the links between the dragons, wards and venin.

And, boy, do we start to really dig into the layers of corruption outlined in this series through the entries of this journal.
It’s also really interesting to compare the fact that:

1. Violet loses her mother at the end of Iron Flame
2. Violet gains her father’s knowledge in Onyx Storm

As we know right from the beginning of this series, Violet had envisioned her life to be a part of the Scribe Quadrant, just like her father. However, in a turn of events in the first book, she ends up part of the Rider Quadrant.

It’s her intellect and connection with the Scribe Quadrant that makes her character stick out compared to the rest. When faced with brute force, Violet comes at it with a different angle—one of intellect and wit, which usually ends up being the factor that leads her and her friends to winning most conflicts.

When we have the loss of the huge military legacy that is General Sorrengail, Violet is suddenly caught up in the turmoil of the gap that leaves, and yet it’s through her father and his journal that she is still able to make the difference and step up when it matters most.

And, as a lover for all things books, writing and storytelling, I love the fact that this journal—a book—holds so much power and wisdom that influences and shapes how the story goes.

Honestly just *chefs kiss*.

Anyway, to wrap this review up, Onyx Storm highlights the layers that is the political betrayal and corruption, the strength and destruction that is the venin, and the complexities and heartbreak of love when the one you love is lost in darkness, quite literally.

Oh, and did I mention Violet’s second signet? No? Oh, well, you better read the book for that plot twist because… wow, what an interesting turn.

What did I like? I have said it many times, and I’ll say it again: I am a sucker for political betrayal and corruption in books. And, Onyx Storm, alongside all the other books in The Empyrean series, just continues to drive home this plot point.

It also manages to unfold more and more layers in this space as well. Like, you’d think after two books there wouldn’t be more political bullshit to uncover but, hey, go figure—seems like an endless supply to dig up!

I really liked the journey into the southern islands and the cultural differences we see and experience. To journey to locations that have no power whatsoever and see how they work compared to what we’ve experienced in Navarre and Basgiath, the people’s response to the dragons, and the politics that are in play is really fascinating.

And then you add in the layer of Violet’s heritage? The silver-haired peoples and how Violet may not be fully of Navarre? Talk about a case of identity crisis.

Anyway, all these layers and encounters make up for a really gripping and devastating journey, particularly as we make it to the final moments. Now that’s what I call an ending!

But, what didn’t I like? This may be controversial, but the whole “I can find a way to stop Xaden from transforming” thing really didn’t do it for me.

Xaden channelling too much, starting the transformation process, and the threat of him becoming full venin are really cool plot points, but the decisions that Violet makes in a bid to get him to ‘get better’ really irk me.

Not only does it risk other people she loves, but like... it’s just a bit stupid at times, and I really don’t like it when it’s very clear when someone’s making dumb decisions ‘in the name of love’. Like, don’t be selfish. Particularly when you don’t tell everyone else that he may be transforming, putting them at more risk due to their unknown ignorance.

Ultimately, I hate it when characters don’t openly communicate, and that’s pretty much what’s going on here. So, yeah, not a fan.
I also continue to grapple with the writing style. I don’t mind first-person point-of-views—there are plenty of books that I’ve read that I’ve adored that have been written like that—but sometimes it just doesn’t sit with me well, and this is one of those books where I’m not connecting with it 100%.

However, with all that being said, the plot itself pushes past those issues. The irid dragons, the disastrous politics, and all that jazz—it cancels out a lot of the negative feelings I have, giving it a solid rating. Just not as good as Iron Flame.

How did you feel about Onyx Storm? Did you like it as much or more than Iron Flame or Fourth Wing? Or, do you feel the same way as me? Let me know in the comments! 

​So, what did I like? As I mentioned in the review for Fourth Wing, institutional betrayal is something I love in books when it’s done well. This takes it to a whole new level as we learn more about dragons’ sacrifice, how the wards and wardstones work and come to be, and the erasure of history.

It’s also so interesting to read these powerful entities within Basgiath and Navarre just… not acknowledging their fragility, and how the suppression of truth and rewriting history only sets them up for failure.

I also really like the exploration of loyalty vs morality. Violet continuously chooses the truth over anything else, and I think that it really highlights the qualities she brings as a character that was initially going to go down the Scribe Quadrant path. The journals she steals and the truths she learns, she champions these things all while flipping two-fingers to those who would choose blind loyalty to the leadership/machine that is so often found to be corrupt and toxic.

There’s this power in honesty and transparency. As I’ve gotten older, I have grown to value these wholeheartedly and embody those values as I’ve seen and experienced the consequences of lies and ambiguity. When the truth is hidden, or history is rewritten or erased, by the powerful for their own gain or control, it only benefits the powerful, not the people.

The power of the stories we tell is immense, and I love it when books delve into this by showing how removing the truth of stories, or changing those stories, can have lasting and devastating impacts to the world as we know it.

But, what didn’t I like? Hey, a 4.5 is a really good rating, and I did truly enjoy this book. And, while I mentioned before that I feel like the writing had elevated a bit and become a bit more mature, it’s not a writing style I deeply gel with.

It’s hard for me to explain how I feel about it. Ultimately, the tone of voice in the writing is not my favourite. However, this story is truly lifted with all I’ve mentioned before: The story is unique. I love the inclusion of dragons. And, the themes are so, so good, that the writing is something I can quite happily push past to eat up the lore and conflict.

What did you think of this second instalment to The Empyrean series? Did you find this a good follow up to Fourth Wing? Let me know in the comments!

Previously reviewed: 22 November 2018
Rating: 5/5

We’re back to another throwback book review, this time looking at the inspiring story by Paulo Coelho: The Alchemist.

You ever have those moments where you hear a reference to something, and then for the next few days it seems like everyone’s talking about it. Your social media is feeding you ads about this specific thing, and you just feel like its following you around?

That’s what happened with me back in 2018 when it came to The Alchemist. I had never heard the book before until I heard it in a Macklemore lyric. Then, I kept on hearing people talk about this amazing little story that was inspiring them. Before I knew it, I had someone at the place I worked at in 2018 recommending me to read it.

Why do I want to return to it now? Strangely enough, there’s been some things happening in my life that have had me thinking about this book. So, I thought it only right to come back to it and reflect on how I feel about it now after all these years, and why it’s been on my mind.

We all—or at least I know I do—dream about what it would be like if the stars aligned and we were able to work and live doing the things we love. If you sat down with yourself and thought about what it is you want the most, would it be what you have now? 

Luckily for me, I do really enjoy my job and love what I am able to achieve through it and its connection with community. However, there are many things I am very passionate about that my job doesn’t include—This is kind of where TaleInfero steps in, and I’ll get into that later.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho takes the above and really puts it into perspective by asking the question: What is my Personal Legend?

Your first question may be ‘what do you mean by Personal Legend?’. Basically, this is another way of saying your ultimate goal, or what brings the most joy in your life—like what you’re destined to do that brings about a deep joy. It provides purpose, and if we stray away from it, we find ourselves feeling empty or lost.

This is explored through the story of a young shepherd, Santiago. He keeps having this reoccurring dream, so he talks to a fortune teller about it who directs him to go search for treasure by the Egyptian Pyramids.

This journey takes him to a strange man called Melchizedek, the King of Salem. This is where Santiago learns about the notions of the Personal Legend and the Soul of the World (which pretty much means that everything is connected). 

It’s also through Melchizedek that we begin to consider how we control our own fates, and that through this we must identify our destinies to achieve true happiness. This is also emphasised further with the use of a white stone and a black stone that Melchizedek provides to Santiago—Urim and Thummin—that provide a physical reminder of “yes” and “no” for Santiago on his journey, and the power that comes with decision making.

As Santiago sets out on his journey with this newfound wisdom from Melchizedek, he meets many people along the way. We can see ourselves in these people as they’re really just like us—they’re working in jobs that help pay the bills and put food on the table. They’re content with life, although they acknowledge it could be better.

Through Santiago and his influence, dream and passion, he is able to transform their thinking in getting them to consider what their Personal Legends are. What have they missed out? What haven’t they done?

It’s through these moments and scenes that the reader pictures themselves in the characters and begins asking themselves the same questions. We could be the candy maker, the crystal merchant or the would-be alchemist. Whoever in the story, we are able to connect with them on some level.
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This book is incredibly spiritual, not just in the themes explored in this story, but also in how it makes us feel. The ongoing reminder about Personal Legends in this book stems from this spiritual feeling of purpose and destiny. The book’s title—The Alchemist—stems from one of the characters, but the essence of alchemy is also a loop back into the theme of Personal Legends.

If you’re unaware, alchemists are people who practiced alchemy, and generally were in the pursuit of purifying or perfecting materials, such as turning metal into gold or creating the elixir of immortality (think the Philosopher’s stone, for example).

With this in mind, alchemy is, in itself, taking a metal and moving it through its own Personal Legend by turning it into gold.

What is also an important theme to note throughout this book is in regard to our feelings of fear. The crystal merchant, for example, exhibits a fear of pursuing their dreams and Personal Legend due to the safety of their routine and the foreboding feeling of ‘what next?’ once that dream is complete. As a result, the crystal merchant continues their life unhappy.

It’s through this, plus other scenes throughout the story where we’re faced with the fears that the characters feel, that we’re faced with the concept that fear of pursuing our Personal Legend results in us being unfulfilled and not truly happy.

As someone who personally tangos with fear quite often in my day-to-day decisions and choices, it really does hit home to be reminded that the fear I feel can actually hold me back from truly being happy and fulfilled.

By the end of this book, Santiago finishes his journey and finds what it is he’s been looking for. However, it’s different to what he originally thought it would be. It’s in this moment we consider: was it the journey that was fruitful, or the result? It’s the age-old adage: it’s the journey, not the destination.

However, it’s also incredibly relatable to consider that when we pursue our goals and push past our fears, the end result may not be exactly what we were looking or hoping for. And that’s OK.

When I first read and reviewed this back in 2018, I reflected on how people reacted to this story and how they felt about it. The common theme was that people were actually quite upset because they didn’t know what their Personal Legend was, or if they missed the chance to follow it.

It was interesting to hear those responses back then. It shows how powerful and thought-provoking this book is, and how it forces us to really consider when or how we should follow our dreams while truly highlighting the fear we hold in pursuing these dreams.
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Thinking about this book now, I find myself in a really unique position in feeling like I’m on the right journey in pursuing my Personal Legend.

Back in 2018, I had reflected in my review my connection with the story, in particular the notion that we figure out our Personal Legend when we are younger but lose it when we’re older. Back then, I noted my love for reading and writing when I was younger, and how all I wanted to be when I was growing up was a writer and to be surrounded by stories.

And, while I was working on TaleInferno back then, I hadn’t quite found my feet in the world, and I still held a lot of fear the unknown, so much so I paused TaleInferno when it felt like to was getting a bit too much on top of all the scary adult things and decisions I was facing at the time: finishing university, work, buying a house.

Now, it feels like things have fallen into place in a nice way, and while there is still an ongoing, subtle fear of ‘should I be doing this? Am I doing it right?’, right now, I have never felt more fulfilled.

I have found myself in a really nice position where I can find a nice balance between my day-to-day work (which I do really love) and sharing my love for storytelling and experiencing new stories through TaleInferno. I’ve also found myself taking more time to actually sit down and write creatively—something I don’t get to do very often and brings me a whole lot of joy when I do.
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I’m not sure exactly what my Personal Legend is. However, I think I’m on the right path towards it.

So, what did I like? Everything. This book isn’t complicated—it’s quite simple and short. It’s not full of extravagant passages of fancy descriptions that make me go ‘wow, how impressive and profound’. Instead, it’s to the point, and provides a really clear, inspiring story about listening to our hearts and pursuing our Personal Legends.

While I read this back in 2018, it still holds a significant place in my mind and is something I keep coming back to from time to time. However, it may surprise you to find that I don’t think I’ll read it again any time soon. Hence the throwback book review.

Why? It’s not because I don’t like the book—as I mentioned before, I liked everything about it. However, it’s not a book that I need to read multiple times. Once feels enough for me right now as it still sits so prevalently in my mind. It’s not to say I won’t eventually go back to it—it just won’t be for a while.

And, to keep this review consistent with others, what didn’t I like? Nothing. This is a very easy 5/5 rating for me. No criticisms on my side. It says what it needs to say and does so in a beautifully simplistic way.

So, with that, I want to finish this review off like I did back in 2018—with a quotation that I really connected with then, and I still connect with now.

If a person is living out his Personal Legend, he knows everything he needs to know. There is only one thing that makes a dream impossible to achieve: the fear of failure.

What are your thoughts on The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho? Did you find it as inspiring as me? Has it helped you discover your own Personal Legend? Let me know in the comments!

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