Reputation reads like Jane Austen set in a CW universe. Think of Jane Austen’s naive, thoughtless, and self-centered heroine Emma, in a fish-out-of-water situation like Austen’s other heroine Catherine Morland, except instead of the mostly decent Tilneys, we get a cast full of Wickhams. It’s a bit of a mish-mash of a novel that seems to be going for witty social commentary, but ultimately (to me anyway) falls short. The humour isn’t quite sharp enough to bite; the more earnest explorations of deeper social issues like rape, sexist double standards, and sexual assault aren’t quite developed enough to really land its mark; and with the exception of a few scenes, the characters feel more like roles than fully developed human beings. The romance subplot between Georgiana and Thomas is a highlight, mostly because of their witty banter over letters, and because Thomas seems genuinely sweet, but it was a minor thread in a more glossy story that never quite find its heart.

Middle-class heroine Georgiana Ellers gets drawn into a world of parties, drinking, and drugs when she meets the beautiful and charismatic Frances Campbell. Frances and her friends are all super wealthy; while enjoying a bit of snuff, one of them enthuses about how much better “peasant drugs” are, because the misery of poor people’s lives require much stronger doses to escape from. One of Frances’ friends Jane bluntly tells Georgiana that she doesn’t belong; all the super wealthy people at the parties can get as hedonistic as they want because their wealth will protect them from consequences, but Georgiana’s circumstances don’t offer her the same protection. A rude remark, but actually with a kernel of truth, and it’s a shame the story didn’t quite explore that as much as it could have. There’s a shopping scene where Georgiana feels the stark difference between her and Frances’ finances, but mostly, we don’t see much of how Georgiana’s partying affects her any worse than it does Frances.

That shopping scene was also a bit meh for another reason: the narration makes a big deal of how Georgiana gives what little money she has to a beggar, while Frances buys a million new outfits. And then Georgiana suggests they help the poor and Frances kinda brushes it off. Because of the novel’s confusing tone, I’m not quite sure how to read that scene: this is probably the only time Georgiana shows any interest in a social conscience, and despite giving alms to the beggar, it’s not like she suddenly goes off to volunteer at soup kitchens afterwards. So: is this scene meant to be satirical, poking gentle fun at Georgiana’s faux-conscience? Or is it meant to be earnest, like, look how much more superficial Frances and her friends are. I wasn’t sure, and so the scene just made me roll my eyes, but had little impact otherwise.

I think part of the confusion as well is that in many ways, the novel reads like a contemporary. The characters’ dialogue, their attitudes, even so much of how they approach things, feels contemporary. I know it’s Regency-era because of some nominal scenes where Georgiana’s aunt and uncle mention marriage and reputation, and because of how formal Thomas and Georgiana are with each other. But I can’t help feeling that we could transplant this novel into the 21st century without changing much. And it’s not that I don’t think heroines in the Regency era can have modern values. But I’ve read lots of historical romances where those modern values were portrayed really well within the atmosphere of the time period. I’m thinking of Courtney Milan and Tessa Dare’s books as examples, and there are lots of Harlequin historical romances that have forward-thinking heroines and on-point social commentary, while still very much feeling like a historical novel. In the case of Reputation, it feels like a CW adaptation where the CW elements took over.

All that being said, there are some things I did really like about this novel. I already mentioned enjoying the romance between Georgiana and Thomas; it’s sweet, it’s clever, and I looked forward to any scene where Thomas appeared. I also really like that Frances was bisexual, and that we actually see her in a romantic moment with another woman. The ending to Frances’ story was coyly done, but also really nice.

And finally, the cover art is fantastic! It’s the kind of art that I can imagine will translate very well to a poster, if this book does get picked up for a show.

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Thank you to St Martin’s Press for an e-galley of this novel in exchange for an honest review.

Okay, Netflix needs to turn this into a mini-series, stat! First of all, it’s a murder mystery set at an annual Scrabble championship. How absolutely nerdy-awesome is that for a setting?! Even better, clues are revealed in word puzzles. (Are they called anagrams if the mixed-up letters don’t really form words?) Watching protagonist Najwa Bakri look at a jumble of letters and figure out what they spell: what I would give to see that play out on screen! And finally, it’s set in Malaysia, with Malay words casually integrated into characters’ dialogue. As a word nerd who loves mysteries and who grew up in Southeast Asia, this is a book I wish so badly I could have read as a teen, and I am so thrilled today’s teens get to experience this for themselves.

Queen of the Tiles is a word nerd’s dream of a murder mystery. Beyond the clues being word puzzles, the story also shows us glimpses of the Scrabble games. Just like The Queen’s Gambit showed non-chess-players how awesome chess strategies can be, Queen of the Tiles introduces us to a world where placing one word immediately below another can unveil multiple combinations of two-letter words that end up doubling or tripling your score. It shows us how a player may put in a made-up word on purpose, to force their opponent to do something on their turn that will open up an even bigger opportunity for the first player to score. Seriously: I would watch a documentary on this; I would watch a CGI sequence of these Scrabble tiles clicking into place while teens eye each other and plot their next move.

The central mystery revolves around Najwa’s best friend, Trina. Trina was beautiful, brilliant at Scrabble, and Instagram-famous. She was adored as a superstar Scrabble player, which, honestly is awesome in itself to imagine such fame, and widely known as the Queen of the Tiles. She dies suddenly in a match against long-time opponent Josh, and her death was deemed to be due to natural causes. A year later, Najwa returns to the Scrabble tournament circuit to compete in the same tournament. Trina’s death the year before casts a pallor over the tournament, but most of the buzz is around how the title of Monarch of the Tiles is now up for grabs. Then Trina’s long-dormant Instagram account posts an update, hinting that there was something suspicious about her death. And Najwa, along with some of Trina’s other friends, investigates her final hours.

Najwa is a fantastic protagonist. I love how the author incorporates Najwa’s Scrabble brain into her regular thinking: Najwa often thinks in Scrabble tiles. Her reflections on events include a single-word summary of the situation, along with that word’s Scrabble score. She also says each person can be encapsulated in a single word, and then drops complex words with such nonchalant chill that I wish my vocabulary had such range. I also like how the author explores her trauma over Trina’s death, and her complicated feelings about having been in Trina’s shadow. We see a bit of Najwa’s experiences in therapy, and some of the skills she learned to cope, and I love how natural the author makes all of it feel. There’s still so much stigma around mental health, that it’s good to see the value of therapy portrayed in this novel.

I also absolutely adore the cast of characters. Most of Trina and Najwa’s friends, who also happen to be prime suspects in Trina’s death, are amongst the Scrabble elite. (One of them, Ben, is known in the community as Singapore Ben, to differentiate him from KL Ben, who is much lower ranked.) As brilliant as Najwa is, these other characters stand toe-to-toe with her on the Scrabble field, and it’s just a joy to see all these teens chat about love, dating, family, and other teen topics, while casually also doing word games over snacks.

Honestly, I can gush about this book all day. It’s probably my favourite read of the year so far. I highly recommend it on so many levels, and if it ever does get turned into a mini-series, I would binge it that very weekend. I devoured this book in a single day, and already I want more!

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Thank you to Simon and Schuster Canada for an e-galley of this book in exchange for an honest review.

Looking for Jane is about motherhood, and women’s rights over our own bodies. It follows the story of three women across three timelines: Evelyn Taylor in 1971, who was forced to give up her baby for adoption at St Agnes, a Catholic home for unwed mothers; Nancy Mitchell in 1980, who learns she’s adopted, and that her parents have kept it secret all her life; and Angela Creighton in 2017, who works at an antiques shop and discovers a letter from Nancy’s adoptive mother, mailed when she died in 2010.

The lives of all three women intersect over the years, and the crux of the story lies in the Jane network. Abortion wasn’t legalized in Canada until 1988; before then, many women were limited to underground, and often dangerous, means to end unwanted pregnancies. After one such procedure sends Nancy’s cousin to the ER, Nancy learns that if a future need arises, they can simply “ask for Jane.” Jane is a codeword for an underground network of courageous women, including some doctors and nurses, who use legit medical knowledge and resources to provide safe abortions.

The three characters’ stories converge around the theme of motherhood and women’s rights over their own bodies: In the 80s, Evelyn has grown up to be a doctor, and she and her nurse Alice become key members of the Jane network. Nancy uses their services in the 80s, then, in a desire to give back, becomes a volunteer Jane as well. And in 2017, Angela and her wife are undergoing fertility treatments. Angela’s investigation reveals that Nancy’s mother may be Margaret, who was Evelyn’s best friend at St. Agnes.

The Jane network may be fictional, but the author’s afterword tells us many similar underground networks did exist before abortion was legalized. I love that this story was set in Toronto, and that it featured familiar places like Ossington subway station and St Joe’s Hospital. I’m not very familiar with these parts of history, so it was really cool to step back several decades in time and see how the city may have been.

The St Agnes home where women were forced to give up their babies is also fictional, but like the Jane network, is based on an amalgamation of similar homes. I especially love that in her afterword, the author acknowledges the racist underpinnings of such practices, and encourages readers to self-educate about events like the Sixties Scoop, where Indigenous children were forcibly taken from their families. So much of historical fiction is about white people’s experiences, and while Looking for Jane does feature main characters who are white, I like that the author acknowledges how similar policies were implemented differently for Indigenous persons.

Wherever you stand on the topic of abortion, I doubt this novel will change your mind. As someone who’s very much pro-choice, I came away from this novel with so much sympathy for all the women who were forced to rely on unsafe means to end their pregnancies, and so much admiration for those who, like the fictional Janes, helped give women safer options. I’m fortunate enough to live at a time and a country where such safe options are readily available to me, but I recognize that’s not the same everywhere in the world, and my heart goes out to women who don’t have that kind of access.

In her afterword, the author says she once thought this story was about abortion, but then realized it’s really about motherhood, and I think that’s very accurate. The novel does include characters who make the choice not to be mothers at all, and the narration does present this choice as equally valid. But mostly, through its three narrators, the novel shows how much richer an experience motherhood could be when this state is freely chosen. Evelyn wanted to be a mother; her baby was a product of true love. Her friend Margaret’s baby was a product of rape, but Margaret wanted to keep the baby as well. Both their choices were taken away by the nuns who forced them to sign adoption papers. Nancy’s story shows the contrast between an unwanted pregnancy, and one that happens when the person is ready and eager to be a parent. And Angela’s story of fertility treatments forms yet another piece of the spectrum, where someone actively wants to be a parent, yet biology may not make that possible.

The anti-abortion debate often presents the topic as an all or nothing dichotomy — either women want to be mothers or they don’t. But reality is much more complex than that. Many women who get abortions may already be mothers, or may choose to become mothers later on. Looking for Jane doesn’t quite show the full spectrum of that complexity, but it does show multiple facets of it, which I liked. More than the dichotomy between motherhood and non-motherhood, Looking for Jane frames the dichotomy around choices — do you have a choice over your own body, or is someone else (the state, the Church, your family) taking that choice away from you? In all cases, the novel very strongly supports you having the right to choose for yourself, and provides us with sensitive and textured examples of how such stories can play out.

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Thank you to Simon and Schuster Canada for an e-galley of this book in exchange for an honest review.