Sanibel

First time rereading in six years and what an excellent time to do so - June 2016 (if you read the book, you'll get the date). The book is still amazing. One day I need to read the second one in the series.

When I first picked up The Invention of Morel, I wasn’t sure what to expect. It’s sometimes called one of the first works of magical realism, but to me, it felt more like sci-fi or horror — haunting, imaginative, and eerily ahead of its time. Jorge Luis Borges, who wrote the prologue, called it a work of “reasoned imagination,” and I can’t think of a better description. The book is unsettling, thought-provoking, and honestly, perfect.

The story follows a fugitive hiding on an island, where strange things start happening. He notices a group of people—dressed like they’re at a fancy party—but they don’t acknowledge him. At first, it feels like a ghost story, but as the mystery unfolds, you realize it’s something much stranger. At the center of it all is a machine created by Morel, an invention that records and replays moments in time. The narrator becomes obsessed with one of the visitors, Faustine, and things spiral into a weird mix of obsession, longing, and questions about reality versus delusion.

What really struck me is how creepy and modern the book feels, even in 2025. Bioy Casares taps into themes like memory, loneliness, and immortality, but they also connect to things we’re grappling with today—VR, social media, parasocial relationships, AI, even darker topics like stalking or revenge AI porn. It’s amazing that a book from 1940 captures ideas that are still so relevant now. The narrator’s obsession with Faustine reminded me of how people get fixated on influencers or celebrities they’ll never meet, while Morel’s machine felt like an early vision of technology’s power to distort reality and relationships.

This isn’t just a story you read—it’s one you feel. The eerie atmosphere of the island, the narrator’s growing desperation, and the chilling questions about what’s real and what’s an illusion stick with you. It’s also a book that makes you think. Can you love someone who isn’t truly there? Is it worth giving up your life for an illusion? And what happens when we let technology blur the lines between memory and reality?

If you’re into stories that feel a bit like a Black Mirror episode or something out of a Kafka fever dream, The Invention of Morel will hit the spot. It’s eerie, thought-provoking, and unique. It’s short but dense, and you’ll want to sit with it after you’re done. For me, it was a surreal and unforgettable experience.

Daniel Silva’s Gabriel Allon books are my guilty pleasure. They’re like a bag of unhealthy snacks—no real substance, but I can’t resist them. Many years ago, while wandering around Barnes & Noble, I picked up The Messenger without knowing anything about Daniel Silva, the book or the fact that it was part of a series. I loved it, and since then, I’ve bought every book in the series. I’m a bit behind on reading them, but The English Spy was next on my list—or so I thought. As I made my way through the book, I realized that I’d already read it. But because all of Silva’s books follow such a similar pattern, I hadn’t remembered much of it. And honestly? I didn’t mind.

Gabriel Allon, the series protagonist, is an art restorer by cover and an Israeli intelligence operative by trade. Over the years, he’s tackled international terrorists, Russian oligarchs, and various enemies of the state, all while navigating the complexities of espionage and his own personal demons. The English Spy finds Allon on a mission to hunt down the assassin responsible for the bombing of a former British princess’s yacht. He partners with Christopher Keller, a former British commando turned contract killer, and together, they unravel a deadly conspiracy with ties to Allon’s long-standing enemies.

As always, The English Spy delivers Silva’s signature blend of espionage, action, and intrigue. The writing is crisp, the pacing relentless, and the plot full of familiar twists and turns. It’s exactly what I expect from an Allon book—nothing groundbreaking, but always entertaining. These are the kinds of books I pick up once in a while when I just want to enjoy the ride, knowing full well that by the time I finish, I’ll remember almost nothing about what happened. And that’s part of the fun.

I picked up Julie & Julia after falling in love with the movie adaptation. The film was such a delightful experience that I craved more—the kind of behind-the-scenes insight that only a book can provide. Before watching the movie, I hadn’t heard of Julie Powell or Julia Child, but after some quick online research, I became fascinated by both women and rushed to the nearest bookstore to grab a copy.

As someone who typically avoids non-fiction, especially biographies and autobiographies, I was initially hesitant. I spent some time flipping through the pages to see if it would truly resonate with me. Before I knew it, I was completely engrossed and couldn’t put it down.

What struck me most about Julie & Julia is how it doesn’t feel like a traditional autobiography. If I hadn’t known about Julie Powell and her blog beforehand, I would have assumed it was a work of fiction—light and captivating, much like an entertaining contemporary novel. The story flows so naturally that I devoured it in nearly a single day.

Some readers have described Julie Powell’s writing as hysterical, but I don’t agree. To me, her style is alive. Her honesty, vivid storytelling, and sharp humor make the book feel authentic and unfiltered. She doesn’t try to present herself as perfect or add qualities she doesn’t possess. Instead, she embraces her flaws and humanity, making her incredibly relatable and likable.

I’m enormously grateful to the filmmakers for introducing me to Julie Powell and Julia Child, two remarkable women with very different yet equally inspiring stories. I wholeheartedly recommend Julie & Julia not only to fans of autobiographies and cooking but also to anyone who enjoys witty, heartfelt narratives with a strong voice. Whether you’re drawn to the culinary world, personal journeys, or simply a good story, this book is a joy to read.

Robert Jackson Bennett’s Foundryside is a thrilling blend of heist, mystery, and inventive fantasy that grips you from the first page and doesn’t let go. Set in the city of Tevanne, where magic operates through "scriving"—a system of programming objects with written commands that alter their reality—the novel follows Sancia Grado, a skilled thief with a mysterious past and an unusual gift. When a high-stakes job puts her in possession of a powerful artifact, she becomes entangled in a deadly struggle between the city's ruthless merchant houses and something far older and more dangerous.

Bennett’s worldbuilding is top-notch. The magic system is both intricate and logical, offering fascinating possibilities while maintaining internal consistency. In fact, for me, this was both a strength and a personal frustration. The way scriving works is so well-explained, so systematic, that at times it almost felt more like science fiction than fantasy. I loved the book, but at the same time, I have complicated and contradictory feelings about it—while I admire the thoughtfulness of the magic system, I don’t necessarily want my fantasy to be so rational and well-explained, and I don’t want my sci-fi to have fantasy elements. I guess I might be discovering that I don’t like these two genres to mix too much. This isn’t a fault of the book at all, just a matter of personal preference.

That being said, Foundryside has so many elements I adored. The idea of objects "speaking" is fascinating, and Clef—the talking key—was an absolute highlight. I initially expected the story to take a very different direction with Clef, but I loved him (or it) regardless. The character dynamics are also strong, especially Sancia’s interactions with Gregor, Orso, and Berenice. Their contrasting personalities and complex relationships add richness to the narrative.

The pacing is brisk, with the novel reading like a mix of a cyberpunk heist and fantasy. The action sequences are well-executed, and the unraveling mysteries surrounding scriving and Sancia’s past keep the tension high. The story also doesn’t shy away from exploring deeper themes, including power, control, and the ethics of technology.

Despite my mixed feelings about how it straddles the line between fantasy and sci-fi, I loved Foundryside and will definitely be reading the second book in the series. Now that I know what to expect—a fantasy novel that speaks the language of sci-fi—I might enjoy the sequel even more.