BIEN LEIDOS LIMITED EDITION MERCH IS LIVE!

Not only do you as Lectores and Libritos get the exclusive FIRST LOOK to shop Bien Leidos t-shirts, but you also get an exclusive 15% off coupon code.

While we're only launching t-shirts right now, I made sure to get them in an array of styles AND colors, including sweatshirts and hoodies!

Your official discount code is:

LECTORLIBRITO15

There are only as many discount codes as there are members at this level, so please don't share this code with anyone, as you'll be taking away a discount from another Lector or Librito member.

My goal isn't just to release merch, but to raise as much as I can for the Immigration Legal Resource Center, who is doing tremendous work with provided resources for immigrants all over the US during this time of crisis.

This initial merch launch is limited and ends on September 30th, so get your shirt SOON!

Finally, I've heard your call for washi tape of stickers. Requests have been noted for future merch launch!

xoxo,

Carmen

When the page meets the screen, which version tells the story best?

Welcome back to The Page Ladies Book Club's Page vs. Screen!

For this month's deep dive, we're trading our cozy reading chairs for 1920s China and taking a closer look at W. Somerset Maugham's The Painted Veil and its 2006 film adaptation starring Naomi Watts and Edward Norton.

And let us just say…

This is not your typical "the book was better" situation.

Because while the book and movie tell the same basic story, they each bring something different to the table.

One gives us the messy inner workings of Kitty's mind.

The other gives us sweeping landscapes, complicated glances, emotional performances, and a whole lot of atmosphere.

So grab your copy, queue up the movie, and let's get into it.

📖 FIRST UP: THE BOOK

The Painted Veil by W. Somerset Maugham

At first glance, The Painted Veil might look like a story about a troubled marriage.

And it absolutely is.

But underneath that marriage is a much bigger story about pride, betrayal, consequences, personal growth, forgiveness, and discovering who you really are when the life you've built suddenly falls apart.

Kitty Fane isn't exactly the heroine you immediately want to cheer for.

She's privileged, concerned with appearances, emotionally immature, and makes some very questionable decisions.

Then again…

That's kind of the point.

Kitty is a character who has to earn her transformation.

After her affair is discovered, she finds herself accompanying her husband Walter to a cholera-stricken area of China. Suddenly, the comfortable world she understands is gone.

And that's where things get interesting.

Because Kitty is forced to look beyond herself.

The novel gives us plenty of access to her thoughts, insecurities, resentment, guilt, and gradual awakening. Maugham doesn't rush her transformation or make it particularly comfortable.

And honestly?

We appreciate a messy character arc around here.

🎬 NOW LET'S TALK MOVIE

The Painted Veil — 2006

If the book lets us live inside Kitty's head, the movie lets us see her transformation unfold.

Naomi Watts brings an incredible amount of emotional nuance to Kitty, while Edward Norton gives Walter that quiet, restrained intensity that makes it difficult to figure out exactly what he's thinking.

And then there's the setting.

The movie is gorgeous.

The sweeping landscapes and beautiful cinematography create a striking contrast with the devastating cholera epidemic happening around the characters.

There's beauty.

There's suffering.

There's isolation.

There's tension.

And there's a marriage that is basically hanging on by a thread.

The film also makes the relationship between Kitty and Walter feel somewhat more emotionally romantic and accessible than the novel does.

And that brings us to one of our favorite parts of any Page vs. Screen discussion…

🔍 WHAT CHANGED?

Because, Page Ladies, this is where things get interesting.

👩 Kitty: Same Woman, Different Emphasis

The Kitty we meet in the book is deeply flawed, and Maugham spends considerable time allowing us to understand her thoughts and motivations.

The movie can't give us the same amount of internal narration, so much of Kitty's transformation has to come through Naomi Watts's performance.

And she makes that transformation surprisingly easy to follow.

We can see Kitty begin to recognize the world outside herself.

We can see her change.

We can see her question the person she has been.

The book lets us understand her transformation.

The movie lets us watch it happen.

🏆 Page wins: Kitty's inner thoughts

🏆 Screen wins: Kitty's emotional performance

🧊 WALTER: THE COMPLICATED HUSBAND

Walter is another character who becomes particularly interesting when you compare the two versions.

In the novel, his bitterness and emotional restraint can feel especially sharp.

He's intelligent, wounded, complicated, and not particularly interested in making himself easy to love.

The movie retains much of that emotional distance, but Edward Norton brings a vulnerability to Walter that makes the relationship feel more emotionally accessible.

And suddenly we're sitting there thinking:

"Okay… I have feelings about this man now."

Which was perhaps not the assignment.

But here we are.

🏆 Page wins: Walter's complexity

🏆 Screen wins: Walter's emotional presence

💔 THE ROMANCE: BOOK VS. MOVIE

This might be the biggest conversation for romance-loving readers.

The novel isn't really a conventional romance.

It's much more interested in human nature, marriage, betrayal, personal growth, and what happens when two people are forced to confront the truth about themselves.

The movie leans more heavily into the emotional relationship between Kitty and Walter.

That doesn't necessarily mean the movie makes their relationship "better."

It simply makes the romance more visible.

And depending on what you want from the story, you may prefer one approach over the other.

📖 The book says:

Let's examine these complicated people.

🎬 The movie says:

Let's make you FEEL these complicated people.

🌏 THE SETTING: A CHARACTER OF ITS OWN

One thing both versions do particularly well is make the setting important to the story.

The cholera epidemic isn't simply something happening in the background.

It changes the characters.

It isolates them.

It forces them into situations they would never have experienced otherwise.

The movie, however, has an obvious advantage here.

We see the landscape.

We see the villages.

We see the devastation.

We see the contrast between the breathtaking surroundings and the suffering taking place within them.

It's one of those adaptations where you can understand why filmmakers were drawn to the material.

📝 WHAT DID THE MOVIE GET RIGHT?

Quite a bit.

✨ The atmosphere
✨ The historical setting
✨ Kitty's emotional transformation
✨ The complicated marriage
✨ The emotional weight of the story
✨ The sense of isolation
✨ The themes of forgiveness and personal growth

Most importantly, the movie doesn't turn The Painted Veil into a simple happily-ever-after romance.

There are still consequences.

There is still grief.

There is still regret.

And there is still the uncomfortable reality that changing doesn't erase the mistakes you've already made.

📚 WHAT DID THE BOOK DO BETTER?

The psychology.

Hands down.

The novel has more room to explore Kitty's internal world and the complicated motivations behind her decisions.

Maugham gives readers the opportunity to sit with uncomfortable thoughts and emotions instead of immediately moving past them.

The book also feels more morally complicated.

It doesn't necessarily tell us who to forgive.

It doesn't hand us an easy answer.

It lets us sit with the mess.

And honestly?

The mess is what makes the story memorable.

🎬 WHAT DID THE MOVIE DO BETTER?

The atmosphere and emotional immediacy.

The cinematography adds another layer to the story, and the performances give the characters an emotional presence that works differently from Maugham's prose.

The movie makes us feel the loneliness of the setting and the growing distance and eventual connection between Kitty and Walter.

It's a very different experience from reading the novel.

And that's exactly why we love doing these deep dives.

☕ THE PAGE LADIES' TAKE

Here's where we're putting down our very serious literary analysis hats for a second.

Do we think the movie replaces the book?

Nope.

Do we think you need to choose one?

Also nope.

The book and movie work best when you experience them as two interpretations of the same story.

📖 The book gives us the deeper psychological exploration.

🎬 The movie gives us the visual beauty and emotional immediacy.

The book asks us to examine Kitty.

The movie asks us to watch her change.

And somehow, experiencing both makes the story feel fuller.

🏆 PAGE VS. SCREEN SCORECARD

Okay, Page Ladies, let's settle some scores.

When it comes to character psychology, the book takes the win. Maugham gives us much more access to Kitty's thoughts, motivations, insecurities, and gradual transformation.

For Kitty's character arc, we're also giving the point to the book. Her journey feels more complicated and psychologically layered on the page.

But when it comes to emotional performances, the movie wins. Naomi Watts and Edward Norton bring a depth and vulnerability to Kitty and Walter that simply can't be replicated in the same way through prose.

For atmosphere, we're handing the crown to the screen. The cinematography, landscapes, villages, and overwhelming contrast between beauty and suffering make the setting impossible to ignore.

Historical setting? Movie. Seeing the world of the story brought to life adds an entirely different layer to the experience.

Internal character exploration? Book. No contest. Being inside Kitty's thoughts gives the novel an advantage that even the best performance can't completely replace.

Romance? Movie. The film brings the emotional connection between Kitty and Walter closer to the surface and gives their relationship a more romantic quality.

Moral complexity? Book. The novel is messier, more uncomfortable, and less interested in giving us easy answers.

And finally, for visual storytelling? That's another win for the movie. There are moments when the setting, performances, music, and cinematography communicate something that pages simply can't.

So where does that leave us?

Honestly…

We're calling it a tie. 📖🎬

The book wins when we want to dig into the characters and understand the complicated psychology behind their choices.

The movie wins when we want to experience the atmosphere, emotions, performances, and visual beauty of the story.

And maybe that's exactly what makes The Painted Veil such an interesting Page vs. Screen choice.

Neither version completely replaces the other.

They simply give us two different ways to experience the same story.

💭 WOULD WE RECOMMEND IT?

📖 Read the book if…

You love literary fiction, complicated characters, psychological depth, morally gray relationships, and stories that aren't afraid to make you uncomfortable.

🎬 Watch the movie if…

You love historical dramas, beautiful cinematography, emotional performances, complicated relationships, and atmospheric storytelling.

📖🎬 Do both if…

You love arguing with yourself about which version you liked better.

Obviously, this is our preferred option.

🪞 THE BIG QUESTION

At its heart, The Painted Veil asks whether people can truly change and whether forgiveness is possible after we've hurt someone we love.

And that question hits differently on the page than it does on the screen.

The book makes us think about Kitty's transformation.

The movie makes us feel it.

And maybe that's the real magic of a good adaptation:

It doesn't have to recreate the book perfectly.

Sometimes it just needs to give us another way to see it.

💬 PAGE LADIES, YOUR TURN!

Which version of The Painted Veil would win your vote the book or the 2006 movie? And when an adaptation changes a character or makes a story feel more romantic, do you consider that a good change or does it make you miss the original?

Tell us in the comments because you KNOW the Page Ladies are going to have thoughts. ☕📖🎬

#PageVsScreen #ThePaintedVeil #BookToMovie #BookClubDiscussion #ThePageLadiesBookClub

Chapter 9

Dáire had been a man once. Tall, lean, dark hair too long, green eyes too rich. What lived in his skin could still pass for him at first glance, until that glance lingered. The changes were subtle as if the creature inside him still shaped him. His brow was thicker than his forehead supported, nose a little flatter in its transformation into slits. Upper jaw top-heavy with more teeth than it could support, the lower unable to fully close around the thick extra canines he now possessed. Nothing about his face matched what Icarus’s animal instinct said it should.

He was broad-shouldered and muscular in a way that looked forced upon him--lumpy, misshapen, born of speed instead of deliberation. The man was taller than Icarus expected. He stood a head or so above most, but Dáire was a little over eye level to him. Skin pale, blotchy, covered in a lace of grey veins that pulsed with a faint perversion of light in time with whatever remained of his heart.

Icarus kept his eyes fixed on the creature, watching the unnatural shine in them. There was no iris or pupil, just an ink-black marble set in gray-veined sclera. In his periphery, he saw the perversion of its hands. Elongated fingers tipped with nails twice the length of any man’s he had ever seen--an ombre of white fading into a rotten brown-black. The way the lamplight bounced off of them whispered of their sharpness. 

Dáire straightened, then bent into a crouch. He snarled and scanned his opponent in haste. Calculating, he stepped back. His head cocked one way, then another, examining the priest poised before him. Thin, bloodless lips curved into a vicious predator’s grin and he straightened again to his full height. One of his disfigured hands reached and flexed towards the dark alley beside them. 

When it spoke, its voice came in a discordant whine. Two tones locked in combat, strangling each other in his speech, “The boy would like to play with swords? Then we shall play with swords.”

Icarus adjusted his grip. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Shadows. Undulating and writhing like snakes trapped in a bag. They reached and stretched into the creature’s hand, reforming and reshaping until Dáire had the shape of them he wanted. 

A lightless black sword. Straight-edged, cross-hilted, all its edges blurred where it touched the low lamplight. The creature shifted its stance into one Icarus did not know, but the threat of it was clear. It spoke again, making his ears ring.

“I have learned the art of blades for hundreds of years,” it moved, testing the edge of the perimeter. “Let us see if you might say the same.”

The abhartach launched itself at him, a striking adder. Icarus half expected the shadow blade to pass right through his until the two met in a blocking arc. Metal sang, sigils flared, and Icarus shoved hard. Dáire ground his sword when he withdrew, sparking the metal. He carried the momentum into a backhanded swing that met Icarus’s defenses again. He pressured the priest forward in a hail of fluid strikes--one after another, step after step, shoving him closer and closer to the edge of the salt ring. 

Icarus counted his steps--one, two, three, four--and ducked a hard vertical slash, darting to the side away from the edge. Dáire hissed and came for him again, a never-ending hurricane of motion. Icarus blocked again and again, stuck in a defensive loop. His arms burned furiously, a dull ache setting into his thighs as he absorbed blow after blow. He grit his teeth and pulled a hand off the hilt, flexing his palm. Blue flames coiled and he thrust the barely-formed handful of fire towards the creature. 

It scorched across Dáire’s middle and he let out a howl of surprise. It created an opening the span of two breaths. Icarus did not waste it. He rolled his wrist in an upward slash, carrying the motion into a backhanded arc. Dáire parried, Icarus spun and feinted before lashing a thrust towards him. Metal met papery flesh that parted around the thing’s shoulder. The sigils steamed, threads of ghostly blue-white light rising and straining towards their target. 

Dáire brought his sword of shadows down like a hammer against the flat of Icarus’s enchanted blade. The force of it jerked the priest nearly to his knees, tearing it free from the bloodless muscle. Dáire’s hand shot out to chase the blow, knife-sharp nails raking towards his face. Icarus dodged--barely--and felt the sting when his skin opened along his cheek. He followed the dodge into a roll in an attempt to regain his footing. 

The abhartach chuckled. The sound came out alien, something pulled out of a rift torn in the concept of noise. Its posture straightened, shoulders shrugging out tension, head rolling as if warming up for the next match. Icarus rose to his feet and kept his guard in front of him. He took a moment to glance outside the circle, seeking Maren at its edges. 

Her face was tight, drawn, glittering with sweat even in the dim light along the street. Her hands moved in a complex series of twists and patterns, then something seemed to fight back and forced her sigil to unravel. He had never really understood how it worked for her. Now, however, was not the best time to wonder. 

He flicked his attention back to the creature with a scowl, “Don’t tell me you’re tiring out already, old man.”

To his surprise, it gave him a throaty laugh that felt bizarre and genuine. It actually found him amusing. That was disconcerting. “You are a lad of impertinent countenance. I do so enjoy a spritely human.”

Icarus was very sure of the grim implication of “enjoy” in this context. Dáire lifted its hand and examined the nails it had raked across his face. To emphasize the point, a too-long tongue--thick, charcoal, a grayscale abomination of what should be a blood-flush appendage--lazily cleaned blood off. 

Icarus made a noise in disgust, “You don’t bathe often enough for that.”

The monster stiffened. So did Icarus. It stared at its fingertips as if listening to something they said in confidence. Its eyes widened, mouth arcing in what passed for a grimace of surprise. It turned its head towards him and examined him as if it had not quite seen him until that moment. 

Icarus adjusted his grip. His heart was suddenly audible in his ears. He glanced at Maren again, uncertain and unwilling to let it show. The way it watched him made his skin ripple in discomfort. It was seeing something he could not, observing a new factor that was not there before. 

It moved with blinding speed, so fast it dawned on Icarus how much it had been toying with him thus far. Irritation flared white hot before it died just as suddenly. He gasped in surprise when its face was directly in front of his. 

He threw himself back over the edge of the salt line with a second to spare. Dáire’s face was level with his, as close as the thing could get it against the barrier a toe’s width between them. Its nostrils flared, inhaling him. Icarus decided he did not enjoy being inhaled by a fae demon or whatever this thing was. 

Its face was a mask of concentration before it straightened again, shadowy sword tip dropped toward the stones. It reached towards the barrier and tapped it. Magic crackled and arced from the place it touched like lightning along the horizon, “Blood of the Deceiver.”

Icarus froze and lowered his sword, his voice barely above a whisper, “What did you say?”

The abhartach took a step back to get a better look at the priest. His appraisal was sharp, simmering with what could be rage or respect depending on what he found, “You are not him. But you carry him in you. You are of his blood.” Dáire bared sharp teeth, “Tell me where he hides and I will spare you.”

“What are you talking about?” His pulse was thunder in his ears, “Do you mean… do you mean Daedalus?”

Dáire growled and slammed a fist into the barrier, sending muted blue light spiderwebbing outward, “Speak no more of the cursed Deceiver! Tell me where he is and I will spare you, violent Father.”

“Icarus,” Maren warned from across the circle, her concentration frayed when she split her attention and the blue threads in front of her shuddered. “Do not engage him.”

He ignored her, “What of him? What do you mean by Deceiver?”

The once-man growled low in its chest and pointed the tip of the sword at the priest, “The son of the Deceiver speaks lies as his father did. We will not entreat with you. Tell me where he is!”

Icarus could not think. Twice in as many weeks his father’s name had left the mouths of fae. Not in fifteen years had he heard Daedalus’s name spoken so often since the investigation closed. It was not a coincidence, he was not foolish enough to believe in those. His hands were numb, he was too aware of his breathing. He calculated the risks before he replied. 

“I don’t know where he is,” he tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Why are you looking for him?”

It laughed, low and throaty and wrong, “I do not hunt the Deceiver, but if I happen upon him or his kin I am keen to extract a toll of revenge.”

“Why?” Icarus knew better than to speak to these things, but his head was foggy and spinning. He thought of his fruitless board, that pointless box from Father Reed, the bodach that taunted him in the end. All of it had resulted in helpless nothingness. No clues, no information, no forward momentum. Until now. Maybe. 

It studied him, frowning over its parted mouth. He could sense it gauging him, testing his sincerity. Then, unfortunately, it smiled. Vicious, violent, full of menace. It chuckled grimly, “The son does not know the father. Interesting.”

“Speak plainly!” Icarus snapped. His patience with whatever games were afoot in his father’s ghostly footprints had long since worn thin. He brandished his sword and let the sigils burn a little brighter, “Speak and I will make your death swift and painless.”

The thing waved a dismissive hand and shook its head, “You are as a gnat to a bull, priest. Step beyond your cowardly salt and I shall show you your insignificance.”

It stepped back towards the center of the salt circle and spread its arms wide. Blood boiled in Icarus’s veins. Heat crept along the back of his neck, radiating out of his stampeding heart. He clenched his teeth so hard he tasted iron. 

Pale God above, I am so fucking tired of this.

Dáire turned away, as though no longer perceiving Icarus as a threat to be concerned with. It made the rage and fury worse. As it paced the edges of the ring, a strangled cry so human it startled him out of his fugue. He honed in on its source. 

Eilonwy. 

He had forgotten about her. Now she stood at the edge of the circle--too close for his comfort for a person untrained in exorcism magics. She covered her mouth, eyes wide in terror. She trembled so violently he could see her fiery red curls tumbling free of their ribbon. The monster stared at her, a flicker of something like recognition in it. Its face contorted, the twisting, unmolded shape of it seemed to writhe as if in conversation with the thing living inside it.

She managed to find her voice enough to lower her hands, “What have you done to my brother?”

It exhaled hard and let out a low rumble from its chest, “I have done nothing which was not invited.”

“Invited?” Her expression shifted from terror to revelation, “Dáire asked you for this?”

“Dáire invited me. It seems he felt the power I might give him was worth the sacrifice,” it bared its teeth in a smile and studied her a few moments longer. 

Icarus seized the moment of distraction and stepped inside the barrier. He sprinted and launched himself at the creature. He slashed wildly and felt the blade bite into dead flesh. He threw a hand towards the monster and drops of faefire landed in a blistering hail on its skin. It snarled and grabbed his wrist, yanking hard, and kicked his feet out from under him. Icarus let out a cry when it twisted just at the edge of breaking bone. It slashed once, angry and unfocused. The shadow blade carved deep into Icarus’s shoulder and he howled at the sear of pain.

“Maren!” 

The abhartach let out an inhuman sound from a mouth that opened too wide, even for its offensive jaws. It held him at its mercy and whirled back to Eilonwy, eyes alight, “What would your mother say about all of this, little maiden?”

Despite the pain in his captive wrist, Icarus managed to look at the young woman. This was all going so terribly awry. And where the fuck was Maren’s sigilwork?

Everything happened in a matter of seconds. Recognition. Fear. Confusion. Outrage. 

Eilonwy’s eyes shifted to Icarus for just a split second. A moment. Enough. He saw the movement like a premonition. Her foot moved. Subtle, shielded by her heavy skirts. She reached out with the toe of her sturdy shoes. 

Then--to his horror--she scuffed the salt. 

Icarus let out a roar caught between words and sound. He thrashed his sword towards the monster, cutting deep into its thigh. It drove the thing to one knee, both of them tumbling sideways onto the cobblestones. 

Maren cried out, “Icarus, now!”

She cast the intricate, winding sigil like a net of blue light into the broken circle. It seared into the stonework. Icarus wrenched his arm free and scrambled when the thing clawed furiously for him. Blue threads rose up from the stone in tendrils of light and snared its arms, wrapped around its middle, its throat, its legs. The sword of shadows evaporated when the abhartach clawed at the magic choking its airway. It made a strangled sound when the sigil drew taut and forced its arms to its sides. 

Chest heaving, shoulder throbbing, Icarus got to his feet. He turned his face to the clouded night sky overhead and closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Maren grunted, straining as she wrapped the other end of the threads around her wrists. Her heels dug into the uneven ground while the abhartach struggled against her hold.

“Do it, Icarus! For God’s sake, I had to improvise! It won’t hold!” She shouted. 

He ignored the pain and hefted his sword into one hand, looming over the restrained creature thrashing on its knees. He studied its broken, irregular face with a sneer, “Why did you call my father the Deceiver?”

“We don’t have time for this!” Maren screamed at him and tried to recenter her hold. 

The abhartach snapped its teeth at him and glared, its voice a rasp against its bonds, “Because he deceives.”

“How?”

“If you want answers, priest,” it spat the word at him, “you shall not get them from me. Ask the Inquisitor your ilk love so much.” Icarus’s face must have betrayed his ignorance. It let out a hoarse laugh, “I do not answer to you the way your Order’s chained dog does. Kill me and be done. You will have no more.”

True to its word, it went silent and Icarus knew he would not get anything else from it. His mouth twisted in frustration. So many secrets. So much obscurity. So many half-truths and obfuscation. So much of his father and so few answers. 

Before Maren could cry out again, Icarus raised his sword and sliced into the neck of the thing that had once been Dáire Callahan. Metal cleaved through muscle and bone, hitching once at the vertebrae. Its body stiffened. Head--severed at the shoulders--hit the ground with a hollow thump. The rest of it followed. 

Maren gasped and the sigil’s light evaporated in a white-blue mist. She doubled over, hands on her knees, and gulped in air like a desert would rain. He stared down at the collapsed, headless corpse. Its otherworldly features faded back into the man he once was. No blood poured from the wound, just flesh and bone that looked as though it had died some time ago. He was not really looking at Dáire, though. His attention was fixed someplace in the middle distance, lost in his own anger and swirling maelstrom of thoughts. 

Startled out of his contemplation, Icarus whirled on Eilonwy. 

Only to find nothing. She was gone.

He opened his mouth, the sound of his scolding caught in his throat and replaced with something perplexed. He turned to Maren. She stared down the darkened road for a moment, then met his eyes with a shrug. He looked back one more time and blinked like that might give him clarity. He sheathed his sword and went to his fellow heretic priest, offering a hand when she straightened. Of course, she declined. 

“I don’t know exactly how,” he stared into the dark, “but I feel like we’ve just been played.”

She rolled her shoulders with a thoughtful nod, “I’d be inclined, Father Icarus, to agree.”

I just finished Picnic at Hanging Rock by Joan Lindsay and am currently going on deep deeeep dives. The book was written in the 1960s and takes place at a girl's boarding school in Australia in the year 1900. The girls go on a picnic to, you guessed it, Hanging Rock and three of them disappear without a trace.

The story is slow and odd and unsettling but most importantly, it is unresolved. The book is only about 200 pages and I highly recommend reading it before looking into the ending but the author did in fact write one in her original draft. Her editors told her to leave it out and it left us with an unsettling story I will be thinking about for a long time.

Once you read it and you're curious...you can actually read the unpublished final chapter online or in certain published editions. It's bizarre to say the least.

If you want a sticky slow summer read filled with gorgeous nature, some dark humor, and some haunting scenes, I recommend!

Has anyone else read this classic? Have you read the original ending?

✨ Being an Indian girl, it is refreshing to read a book with lead characters having Indian roots. I could relate to the family dynamics and the character thought process. Hence, firstly, thank you Naina Kumar for the representation.

✨ Reading the book feels like taking a road trip in Scotland. 2 strangers meet each other, thinking the first time they meet might be the last time. But fate has different plans for them. Both Neelu and Jacob have a their own baggage that they needs to overcome to finally be free of the past. I think a lot of thought is put into the character development - especially Neelu's. I would have liked some more light upon James and Jacob's relationship.

✨ But overall despite the books name being "Just a Highland fling", it was quite the romantic relationship for me.

✨ Thank you @booksparks and @nkumarwrites

#TheBookOdyssey
#SRC2026

Hi there book besties,

The wait is over! Here's the link and password to the November Historical Fiction Look Ahead. There aren't as many big names on the list this month, but there are some fun mysteries and fantasies, plus a few names you'll recognize. 😜

I'm super eager to hear from you: which of these books are you adding to your library hold list?

https://shesbecomingbookish.com/new-historical-fiction-books-november-2026/

password: leaves

Happy reading!

xoxo

c

Hello everyone!

Tor Publishing has offered to cohost a giveaway with us for Mathilda Zeller's new book IT LOOKS LIKE YOU IN THE DARK!

The only people who know are the people who have gone. Those people no longer have throats to tell us.

Tapeesa is newly out of high school and working in a fish processing plant in the Inupiat village, Chukchi, where she’s lived her whole life. Maybe that’s why people tend to assume she isn’t that bright―or maybe her mama is right and she does have bad blood. Either way, she knows the legend, and she knows the history. Her Ahna told her that the hungry creature―the kushtuka―appears to us in the form of someone we love. It will try to get us to follow it. Follow it where? Those who have gone no longer have throats to tell us.

The Kobuk River Valley of remote Alaska draws greedy white men time and time again. But whenever they come, death comes too. This time the white men are here for the long term, to create an open pit, a rare earths mine just north of the village. When her sister Esther goes missing, Tapeesa will do anything to get her back. Seeking justice, Tapeesa must track down the kidnapper in the darkening Arctic. What awaits beyond the warmth of her village is more horrible than she could imagine and closer to her than she knows.

In order to enter the giveaway, please follow the rules below. You've already completed one! Submissions close Monday (9/14) night and the winner will be announced on Tuesday (9/15). If you don't win, you can always purchase the book through Bookshop.org or Libro.fm, and you can request it at your local library. Best of luck to everyone!

1. Be following us and Tor Publishing on Instagram

2. Be signed up for any tier on our Bindery (link in bio)

3. In the comments tell us what your favorite horror book is

4. For an extra submission, tag a friend

What new releases in the last 2 months do I want to make sure you don't miss? These are all AT LEAST 4 stars for me and I can't wait to discuss them with others!

Sunrise by Tea Obreht (8/11 release) 5/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you like your plot to serve the themes and characters.

The Salt King by Natasha Pulley (8/18 release) 5/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you appreciate a slow burn story that explores belief. This is currently my top read for the year.

The Birthing Tree by Amanda Peters (9/1 release) 5/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you enjoyed The Berry Pickers or the exploration of reclaiming traditions from colonization.

She's a Doll by Barbara Truelove (9/8 release) 5/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you enjoy your female rage with laugh and heart.

The Lord of the Wood by EM Anderson (7/28 release) 4.5/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you enjoy a later-in-life queer awakening in a fantasy setting.

Reputation by Amanda Coreishy (8/30 release) 4.5/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you enjoy supporting indie authors who explore religion and patriarchy.

Beginning Middle End by Valeria Luiselli (7/28 release) 4.25/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you enjoy stories centering mother-adult daughter relationships.

These Walls Remember by Del Sandeen (8/18 release) 4.25/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you would enjoy a haunted house story that explores grief.

Meet Me in the Garden by Nina LaCour (8/4 release) 4/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you want a story set in the Great Migration centering familial and queer love.

Plant Lady by Minyoung Kang (8/4 release) 4/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you think men would make for good fertilizer.

Etna by Paul Yoon (8/4 release) 4/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you want to see the absurdity of war through an animal's eyes.

Jacaranda by Gael Faye (8/25 release) 4/5 stars

Put this on your TBR if you want a story exploring how we tell family stories.

Happy Friday everyone, hope you are all having a great reading week!

As all members know, we completed voting for our last quarter of book club reads for 2026. There were so many great choices, and any combination would have been amazing! That being said, here are our Q4 book club picks, and a short description of each:

• October: Japanese Gothic by Kylie Lee Baker

  • In this lyrical, wildly inventive horror novel interwoven with Japanese mythology, two people living centuries apart discover a door between their worlds.

• November: The Demon Star by Jesse Aragon

  • The otherworldly religious conflict of Dune, the cosmic strangeness of Gideon the Ninth, and the heart-pounding action of Red Rising converge in this horror-tinged epic science fantasy debut

• December: Scion by James Islington

  • John Wick meets Ghost in the Shell in this fast-paced cyberpunk thriller by the #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Will of the Many and The Strength of the Few.

This is a great mix of authors, styles, and genres, and even a fun spooky book for October! Hopefully you will join us for one or more of these great picks! Also, if you are interested in the in person discussions, you can check out the event calendar on our Discord page for dates and times!

Hope to see you in the club!