Bookishly Jewish

Epistolary is one of those forms that brings out strong opinions. You either love it or you hate it. As a writer, I’ve never attempted to go anywhere near it. I prefer to address my readers directly if I’m going to have any sort of narrative framing. As a reader, I find that I’m willing to give it a try but it takes more than usual for books written this way to hook me. When I picked up Get A Grip, Vivy Cohen by Sarah Kapit I was really curious to see how middle grade readers would interact with this particular format.

Vivy is an autistic girl that starts writing letters to her favorite pitcher, VJ Capello, as part of her social skills group. Although Vivy hates social skills group, she does enjoy writing to VJ and continues to send him letters even after the exercise is over. She describes how she wants to learn to throw a knuckleball just like VJ does and how she wishes she could play in a real game. Wonder of wonder – VJ actually writes back! With approval from Vivy’s father, the two become pen pals just as Vivy convinces her parents to let her play in the Orange League. Meanwhile, VJ struggles to recover from a devastating World Series loss that he refuses to discuss with anyone – including Vivy.

Although they are at quite different stages in their lives, Vivy and VJ share several things. As a Jewish, autistic, girl Vivy is facing some severe bullying from members of her team. VJ tells her he has faced a large amount of discrimination too as an ivy league educated, black, knuckleballer. They are also both having disastrous seasons. They want to support each other, but there are the usual miscommunications between an adult an a child, and both must learn to actually listen to what the other is saying for things to get back on track.

I find it a little frustrating to keep having to look at the dates and headers on letters to place myself in time and space. But that’s just me. I struggle with any form of nonstandard prose formatting, including verse. The children I surveyed generally said it was harder for them to get invested – mostly because it takes several of Vivy’s letters before VJ responds – but by the middle they were hooked. I also found that children enjoyed the baseball plot regardless of any prior experience, or lack thereof, with the sport.

There is a romance and coming out subplot, but it is not Vivy’s. She makes a terrific friend in her catcher and they remain firmly platonic even when teased by his sister. Instead, we see Vivy’s brother becoming more and more distant from her because he is dating someone. When he finally explains that this is because he is gay and was still deciding how to come out to his family, Vivy’s response feels so wonderfully encapsulating of how she relates to the world. Some small things, like having her hair pulled, cause a complete meltdown. Yet this knowledge doesn’t change the way she feels about her brother at all. She’s just glad to be seeing more of him.

Again, a poll of the middle graders on this topic was varied. For many, the whole thing whooshed right over their heads, or they skipped it because they aren’t into “the kissy stuff.” That’s fair enough, and the plot was largely focused on baseball, because I suspect Vivy is also not a fan of the kissy stuff. She wants to play ball and we spend the bulk of the story working towards that goal with her.

Overall, the format gave me some trouble due to my own limitations, but I was so intrigued by Vivy and VJ that I was able to read this book very quickly. The middle schoolers averaged 2 days from start to completion. I think that’s what we call a home run.

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I recently had the opportunity to renovate my room and include a small dressing table. The amount of teasing I received about this from friends and family was unanticipated. Everyone felt the need to remind me that I am not a fashion model, nor particularly chic or beautiful. I ignored them all. Because when I sit at that table and brush my hair or apply sunscreen, the power I experience is worth every annoying joke made at my expense. These are not just clothes and accessories. They are armor that I am applying for the day in the few moments of peace and quiet that I have before I go do battle with the world. I like to think that in this regard I resemble Isabelle Lira, protagonist of Felicia Grossman’s historical romance Marry Me By Midnight.

Isabelle has a spectacular sense of fashion. The descriptions of her outfits are gorgeous. They are also necessary. As a Sephardic Jewish woman in 1830’s London trying to salvage her place in her father’s business after he dies, Isabelle is in need of every piece of armor she can get. In order to avoid being forced out of the company by her father’s business partners, Isabelle must find a spouse that can provide her the power that only males in that society could wield. Yet she must also balance the need for this man to give her free reign over the business and not take advantage of her. It’s a tall order and she doesn’t have much time, which is why she hosts a series of festivals to which she invites all eligible men in the community so that they can vie for her hand.

Fashion isn’t Isabelle’s only weapon. She recruits Synagogue custodian, Aaron Ellenberg, to help her vet potential candidates. Aaron is an orphan who faces the age old dilemma of Jewish males – he’s neither a learner nor an earner. His position at the Synagogue has been given to him by the community as a form of charity. Despite his many other admirable qualities, due to his lack of wealth and Torah knowledge, he has no hopes of having a wife and children of his own. However, with the money Isabelle is promising to pay for his help he just might be able to change that. What he and Isabelle haven’t counted on is the attraction they begin to feel for each other.

If this sounds like a gender bent Cinderella story to you -that’s because it is! But it is also so much more. Isabelle is not only battling with societal mores of what women can and cannot do, she is also a Jew trying to advance herself in gentile society. She’s forced to concede to gentile views on modesty and propriety that are not necessarily held by her own community. Plus, many of her suitors are Asheknaz, a group that at the time was less accepted by British gentiles due to their being more recent arrivals in the country.

When it is suggested that Isabelle focus her search on Sephardic candidates, so as to appease the gentiles that patronize her business, her response is sheer perfection. I do not want to give away spoilers – please read it for yourself – but let me just say that her words regarding how outsiders relate to Jews are still valid today. Isabelle has a lot of wisdom to offer in terms of how to be true to ones self while putting up with the demands of society at large.

Isabelle is clever, determined, and rich. That still doesn’t mean she is going to get everything she wants. Because she is also a woman in 1830’s London and that comes with certain unchangeable limitations. The author is meticulous in providing period details and she therefore acknowledges this aspect of Isabelle’s life. Isabelle’s happily ever after cannot be obtained without some concessions on her part, but that makes it feel all the more real and all the more relatable.

Note for my romance readers who like to read on the train or at work – yes there are explicit spicy scenes. You will learn fun slang for genitalia used in the 1830’s Jewish community. But maybe save those scenes for when you are alone unless you want to get some strange looks from the commuter reading over your shoulder. (Yes, this happens to me. Why do people do this?)

When I sit at my dressing table and select the face I want to present to the world on any given day, I remind myself that women have been doing this for ages. Isabelle is a model of courage and ingenuity, but her character arc is also a lesson in how and when to reach out for help. Aaron’s character arc reminds me that I do not have to do this alone. That I am a member of a community, and that we should support each other always. Those feel like pretty decent lessons to take with me every morning.

Note: BookishlyJewish received an e arc of this book from the publisher after we asked for one.

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Comparison titles, often abbreviated to “comp titles” or “comps,” are the bane of my existence. They are used for different reasons by different people in the publishing industry, need to somehow sell work as unique while comparing it to something already existing, and take up way more space than I care to think about on QueryManager forms. Still, they do serve a purpose. Case in point – this review is largely being performed thanks to the author’s fantastic use of creative comp titles.

When writers are seeking an agent or publisher for a particular book, many will participate in pitch events where they throw up a brief description of the book on a social media platform – most commonly twitter. I met my own agent through such an event and enjoy networking and meeting new writers by supporting their pitches. However, we all know picture books are not my forte. It’s not a category I often browse or interact with much. Until I saw the pitch from Rebecca Klempner for her picture book How to Welcome an Alien.

Readers, she comped Parshat Vayera and then included a hashtag for science fiction. It was fresh and eye catching and something I just had to read in order to see what in the world this was about.

The book, which was eventually illustrated by Shirley Waisman, is due to come out on August 2023. It features a group of aliens crash landing in the yard of a Jewish family anticipating the arrival of their new neighbors. Although this is not the company they were expecting, they fulfill the mitzvah of welcoming guests to their best ability. Some language barriers and cultural misunderstandings ensue, but the group seems to have fun while managing to repair the space ship. Plus, when the new neighbors do arrive, there’s yet another surprise.

The comparison title was indeed accurate. How to Welcome an Alien is a cute and fresh take on the lessons learned from Abraham’s tent in parshat Vayera. Kuddos the the author for finding a way to catch the eye of even the most unlikeliest of picture book reviewers.

BookishlyJewish received an e arc of this book from the publisher in the hopes that we would review it.

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Every now and again I get asked where my family is from, only to receive a roll of the eyes when I reply “here.”  In casual contexts this occurs when people want to place me neatly on geographic maps in relation to their own ancestors. Annoying, but mostly harmless. In publishing contexts, this question comes in the form of well meaning, but frankly wrongheaded, gatekeepers trying to suggest I should look “in my ancestry” for material that I can mine to make my writing more “authentic” and “exotic.” Yes, the word exotic has really been used in relation to Jewish themes in my writing. But I digress. The main issue at hand is that these people have zero concept of what it means to be a forced nomad.

How can one claim a geographic heritage when their forebears have been compelled to move from place to place due to relentless persecution and government sponsored genocide? How can one express their culture when the descendants of those very same pillagers will accuse you of appropriation because you “couldn’t possibly be from here. You’re Jewish.” To be a Jew is to be from everywhere and nowhere all at once, because each place will refute your possibly belonging to them while instead insisting you must belong to whichever bogeyman they currently fear. 

This is the central problem faced by the title character of Elijah Kinch Spector’s Kalyna the Soothsayer. Kalyna is the first soothsayer of her line that cannot actually see the future, has been kidnapped by a merciless prince, and is also tasked with preventing the complete and total annihilation of the world as she knows it (which has been foreseen by her debilitated father, who actually can see the future). These, while thrilling plot points, are minor problems compared to the overwhelming refusal of everyone around her to actually see her for who she is rather than who they assume her to be. 

The book is a second world fantasy, and I have no idea what religion is practiced in the kingdoms Kalyna journeys through, but there is such a Jewish sensibility about her plight. Everywhere she goes she risks being run out of town by a mob that accuses her of poisoning the water or turning men’s heads. Every (fake) prophecy she gives is viewed in the context of her being “clearly foreign.” 

I have never felt so seen. 

Adding to the delightfullness of this book is the fact that Kalyna is very clearly bisexual or pansexual and she is allowed to be so, unabashedly, on the page. Spector does not fall into the terrible stereotypes of greediness or indecision that sometimes plague writers of bisexual characters. In fact, while Kalyna is free to experience her desires, she very rarely acts on them because she has bigger fish to fry. Namely the whole end-of-the-world issue. She shows great care and consideration towards both the feelings and ability to consent of potential partners, even if it means she is more often than not left alone. 

I won’t give any spoilers, but I’ll just say that when we do find out who Kalyna ends up with romantically, it is deeply satisfying. I may have read the epilogue some fifteen times simply for how happy it made me. If the author would care to write me some apocryphal fanfic of later events and adventures of these two, I would cherish it deeply. If anyone would like to let him know of this request, I would certainly be cool with that.

Kalyna finds power in her “otherness” by using it to help her navigate a tangled web of court politics and escape some tricky situations. At her core though, she’s not a courtier looking for advancement or a political schemer trying to control the throne. She’s an often hilarious wandering soothsayer trying to keep her family together in the face of those that would hurt them. I can’t imagine anything more Jewish than that.  

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There’s a type of extremely popular WWII book that, for personal reasons, I do not gravitate towards. You know the books I am referring to. There’s typically a woman in a wool coat on the front, standing before either a European landscape or coastline, wearing a hat that is meant to scream ‘I am historical fiction’, and a pair of pumps that are just sensible enough for the treacherous journey she is embarking on. She may or may not be holding a valise.

Have no fear. These books are not hurting for lack of my enthusiasm. There are entire agents and editors whose sole manuscript wish list item is “WWII literature of all genres.” They fill display tables at bookstores and airports where they sell better than ice cream on a summer day and I’m happy for both their authors and their readers that they exist in such numbers. However, BookishlyJewish tends to rely on guest reviews for them because WWII and its related atrocities is not a topic I am capable of consuming as casual entertainment for a variety of personal reasons. So if my review of Fugitive Colors by Lisa Barr shows an embarrassing lack of knowledge of the conventions of this genre I am hopeful you will forgive me. I have not, nor do I aspire to, write in this sphere. I do not even intend to further read it much. But this book, which actually does not contain any scenes that take place during the actual war, caught my eye because it focused on a unique angle- stolen art. The story details not just how Nazis used confiscated art to fund the war, but also how jealously over the ability to produce art and control culture fueled many Nazis and their collaborators towards a hatred of high profile Jewish artists.

The story features Julian, a formed Hassidic Jew from the U.S., who leaves the fold to study art in Paris where he meets the extremely talented artist Rene, his enthusiastic but ungifted friend Felix, and his fiancée Adrienne. What happens next is fairly run of the mill love and friendship triangle stuff – Julian falls for Adrienne, Rene relentlessly cheats on Adrienne with an artists model while Felix stews at them all due to his inability to score with the girls or produce art deemed valuable by the who’s who of art society that is constantly fawning over Rene. When Adrienne and Julian finally get together, Julian is struck with guilt for what he views as a betrayal of Rene and therefore follows him into what is quickly becoming Nazi Germany to help repair the relationship between Rene and Felix.

Putting aside our objections at Adrienne being treated as forbidden property because of a fiancé who has cheated on her, strung her along, and generally treated her like dirt, we must also contend with our hindsight leading us to scream at the absolute awful decisions these two Jewish artists are making by pursuing their Nazi sympathizing friend right into the heart of the Rhineland. This is not the last time in the book we will have to do so. The action is fast and furious and almost always caused by extremely awful decisions made by the main characters for dubious reasons. Since the book takes place in the period immediately prior to WW II during the radicalization of Germany, we also get a peek at a concentration camp that is being used to hold political prisoners before the war breaks out and it is full scale converted into a slaughterhouse for Jews. 

While all of the above is certainly stuff that will capture the eye of most readers of this particular genre, I stuck along not for the plot, but for the wonderful depictions of art and what it means to produce it. Equally captivating was the depiction of what failed artistic ambitions can do to a person. Felix, who has all the wealth in the world to comfort himself, is radicalized by his desire to be a great artist. He is constantly being turned away by those he would impress – many of them Jews. Adding salt to the wound is the fact that his friend Rene – also a Jew – seems to come to artistic acclaim so naturally.

This struggle to achieve success in a field whose rules are completely unclear and ever shifting, brings to mind thoughts I have had when combing museums and realizing I am clearly not a great art connoisseur because I often enjoy pieces on the street corner far more than those on display at auctions. If an artist isn’t reliant on gallery sales, remember Felix is extremely rich, why care what “people in the know” think about his or her art? Haven’t many great artists been mocked in their time only to be deemed masters by later generations? Who even are these supposed taste-makers, and who gave them the keys to the kingdom? 

It’s easy for someone on the outside to mock, but I’ve seen similar cycles in my own field. I have never been able to produce much in terms of visual art, but I do try and tell a good story, and I enjoy recognition for that as much as the next person does. Gaining access to readers often means convincing an insular group of “publishing professionals” to pick your story. Writers must make it through a barrage of gate keepers who will tell them they are worthless over and over again. Self publishing has evened out a small part of the playing field, but that wasn’t available in Felix’s time. Besides, he probably still would have been a Nazi. Because as much as those who perform unthinkable acts of hate would like to blame others for their actions, the fault usually lies deeply buried within themselves. A sense of both insecurity, self loathing, and entitlement leads them to think the world owes them something and that it is completely normal to use violence to obtain what has not been freely given. No amount of accolades is going to cure that.

Content warning: The book features a lovely prologue showing how Julian’s artistic talent is a gift from God, but then included what I found to be a cliched version of leaving an ultra religious community. From the authors note, it seems this addition was made at the request of a critique group. I wish the author had opted to discard that particular feedback. Stories of leaving an insular religious community are as varied as the people who choose to do so, yet we always seem to be given only one type of narrative. For me, this story had very little impact on the coming plot or character development. I would therefore encourage my readers who find such tales painful, to simply skip it. There’s been a lot of talk about the way such stories are depicted in media, by people more qualified than I am, but a lot of it occurred after the publication of this book. So simply consider this a content warning for those that need it. 

The cover of the edition of Fugitive Colors that I read did feature a European landscape, the Eiffel Tower, but there was no human figure. Instead it focused on intriguing shading. I could feel the intentions of the artist who created it. That’s a good match for the book. It was a worthy read for me because of how it allowed me to relate to art. I was able to suspend my disbelief at the egregious choices everyone seemed to be making for reasons I could not discern, because the art kept pulling me along. Hopefully, whatever way you choose to engage with art of any form, this book will provide some insights into that process for you too. 

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Jewish fairy tale retellings

As a Jewish reader, I have a complicated relationship with fairy tales. On the one hand, I love stories of beautiful princesses, clever heroines, and mythical creatures. On the other hand, it’s pretty hard to ignore that the villains being defeated in these tales are more often than not some form of antisemitic charicature. Even in modern retellings, the evil character is often just shy of Jewish coded and, as a bonus, often queer coded too. How to make ones peace with such heinous source material? A crop of books by Jewish writers seeks to do just that by inserting Jewish characters and viewpoints into tired old tales, thereby giving readers a new perspective.

Possibly the most commercially famous of this new brand of Jewish friendly fairy tale is Naomi Novik’s Spinning Silver. In this book, Novik takes the most egregious of antisemitic source materials, Rumpelstiltskin, and re-imagines it. There is a sympathetic Jewish heroine, but also a web of understanding and appreciation that spreads between all the viewpoint characters whether they are Jewish or Gentile. It is no surprise that my review of this award winning book is one BookishlyJewish’s most highly visited pages. There is something for everyone here, whether they identify as Jewish or not.

Picking up that mantle and diving further into the world of Jewish shtetl life is The Sisters of the Winter Wood, which takes another story rife with antisemitism, The Goblin Market, and uses it to showcase complex Jewish characters. The plot also depicts how fairy tales and other such bedtime stories are used to scapegoat Jewish people any time the local government needs a convenient way to distract the population over whom they rule. These tales sow the seeds of dehumanization and othering that result in later pogroms whenever something bad happens. There are goblins that are most definitely not Jews in this story, but also a hassidus with an interesting magical power of its own, and a reflection on conversion and the family bonds that keep us all together.

More recently, R.M. Romero’s The Ghosts of Rose Hill, features a BIPOC Jew fighting a long forgotten demon over the memory of the Jewish children that are also all but forgotten by the local gentiles that have taken over the once thriving Jewish community of Prague. The book is a YA novel in verse, and it’s musical theme reminded me of The Pied Piper as well as several eastern European demons, but the true power of this story, for me, was in its ability to remind us all that there is power in remembering. Much like the heroine, our current stories can be brought to bear on tales of yesterday to give them a more just resolution this time around.

Another tactic to reconcile a love of fairy tale with Jewish roots is to actively bring Jewish mythological characters to the forefront. Many books have recently started to feature Golems, Sheidim, and other characters from Jewish myth. Rebecca Podos’s YA fantasy, From Dust a Flame , read to me like a modern fairy tale, complete with a heroine undergoing a distressing bodily transformation while simultaneously attempting to unravel the mystery of her curse and rescue someone else. She has both a sibling and a Golem assistant, in addition to the intriguing love interest from down the road. The story acknowledges the person hood of these creatures, from the villlain to the newly minted Golem, by giving them motivations and goals of their own.

Speaking of allowing villains person-hood, in her adult fantasy Thistelfoot, GennaRose Nethercott gives flesh to that most hated of presumably Jewish witches: Baba Yaga. Not only does she make this bogeyman relatable, she uses her to remind us all about the power of the stories we tell. It is a welcome message in a field that has once told stories used to dehumanize Jews and justify their persecution. This is not your grandmother’s Baba Yaga and the wold is better for it.

Still, readers might wonder what all this terrible legacy has to do with the whitewashed, Disney-fied fairy tales we tell our children today. Certainly those are harmless? Yet, I would argue that they are just as perniciously anti-Jewish, bu in a different way. These stories push a christian ideology as the only way of viewing the world. They create societal norms that are so ingrained in the media group-think that they seep into other cultures, including Jewish ones, and change how we tell our own stories or view our own traditions. This can occur either through a subconscious acquiescence to Christian hegemony or through the more insidious insistence of traditional publishing on relying on standard story forms, only one form of morality, and content quotas which is only now beginning to change.

Two recent books that I have read take these more recent retelllings, and retell them once again, possibly for the thousandth time, but now with a Jewish twist. In My Fine Fellow by Jennieke Cohen, the story of My Fair Lady – originally based on Ovid’s Pygmalion – is retold with an added layer of complexity. The story is genderbent and the character being “improved” by his societal superiors is Jewish. This allows the reader to sit with some very uncomfortable thoughts about how society views people as other for various reasons – including poverty, and yes, being Jewish. The tale is otherwise lighthearted and yet it still managed to trigger that next level of thought for me.

Cinderella, possibly the most famous fairy Princess of all time, is also genderbent in Felicia Grossman’s Marry be Midnight. In this story, he is the Synagouge custodian and the object of his affections is the richest woman in the Jewish community of 1830’s London. The historical adult romance, while extremely charming and sizzling, does not shy away from both the divisions between Jew and gentile and between ashkenazi and sephardic Jew at the time. The romance is more nuanced and richer for the author having done so. The happily ever after feeling more earned.

I read these books with extreme pleasure, because they allowed me to touch base with pervasive story archetypes in a way that not only did not denigrate my religion, but actually embraced it. Jewish stories come with some necessary layers of complication. Far from getting bogged down, these authors embraced the difficulty of being a Jew at any period in time, by having their characters actively engage with their heritage. It creates a fairy story that is actually believable and far more meaningful for his reader.

Fin the books mentioned in this article by clicking the links below:

Spinning Silver: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

The Sisters of the Winter Woods: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

The Ghosts of Rose Hill: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

From Dust a Flame: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon | BookishlyJewish Review

Thistlefoot: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon

My Fine Fellow: GoodReads | Bookshop | Amazon

Unreliable narrators experienced a moment a few years ago, with everyone from big 5 editors to bookstagrammers gushing over them. With Thistlefoot, a Baba Yaga retelling involving two siblings and a traveling puppet show, GennaRose Nethercott takes this concept of shifting perspective to the extreme. Sure, people can curate their stories, but how about houses?

The house in question, a wonderful wooden creation that runs around on chicken’s feet, breaks the third wall repeatedly in the narrative by addressing the readers directly. The feisty house, named Thistlefoot, acknowledges that it is telling us only one version of several possible stories, holding its secrets close to its shingles, and even rebukes us at one point for not having patience. Thistlefoot is not messing around. It has its reasons and no reader quibbles will sway it from its intended purpose.

Those reasons soon become apparent as we follow Thistlefoot and its inhabitants, siblings Bellatine and Isaac Yaga, on an epic adventure. The siblings are an unlikely pair. Bellatine uses carpentry to stop herself from using her magical power which she fears. Isaac, on the other hand, uses his own gift to grift his way across the country. Thanks to this impasse, they’ve grown estranged, but when the mysterious house on chicken feet is bequeathed to them by a long lost ancestor, they form a tenuous agreement. They will use Thistelfoot as a traveling puppet theater. After one year of performances, Isaac will keep all the profits while Bellatine will retain sole ownership of the house.

Too bad neither of them knows Thistelfoot is being hunted by a shadowy creature known as the LongShadow man. As the siblings struggle to figure out how to protect Thistlefoot, they must dig deep and learn about their own ancestral history, no matter how painful. The individual story arcs of Bellatine and Isaac intertwine with Thistelfoot’s own story like vines on a trellis. The house and its memories form a scaffold onto which each individual can hang their own trauma, obstacles, and desires.

Who gets to tell a story, and how that viewpoint shapes future understanding of historical events, is at the root of all fables and folktales. This is never more obvious than when a house on chicken legs encourages two squabbling siblings to take control of their own narratives. It’s a lesson I will take with me into my own writing. Narrators are not necessarily unreliable, they simply each have their own agenda, which can often directly conflict with traditional Western story structure. Honoring that balance and saying true to oneself is at the root of every good story, no matter who tells it.

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BookishlyJewish received an e arc of this book after requesting one through NetGalley

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

King Solomon is a darling of Jewish education. Schoolchildren everywhere put on plays about the bee that allowed him to solve the Queen of Sheba’s riddles. High school students delve deeper, learning about how clever Solomon tricked Ashmedai, king of Sheidim, into helping build the Temple. But few are aware of the criticism of Solomon’s reign. Sure, we all know about the too-many-wives thing, but any other substantial debate is largely relegated to the halls of academia. The rest of the world simply sees what it has been taught to see.

In Ring of Solomon, author Aden Polydoros once again plays with the theme of societal perceptions and how people define monstrosity. Although this is his MG debut, fans of Polydoros will recall how his earlier YA fantasies feature characters discovering that classic definitions of ‘hero’ and ‘monster’ are not always accurate. Ring of Solomon is no different, although at a level appropriate for younger readers. It asks the reader to see more than what they have been preconditioned to see.

When the main character, Zach, accidentally acquires the ring that Solomon used to bind Ashmedai, he sets off a disastrous chain of events. Now, to prevent the apocalypse, Zach must team up with Ashmodei and defeat a roster of Jewish mythical beasts. His best friend Sandra and his tag along little sister Naomi are his only back up. Sheidim are Jewish demons with a reputation for trickery and evil, but Zach soon discovers there’s more to Ashmedai than the stories suggest. In fact, he finds himself weirdly relating to this centuries old creature.

Zach, who is queer and crushing on a classmate that has aligned himself with the class bully, is also misunderstood and an outcast. In an important side plot, Ashmedai helps him find the courage to stand up to an antisemitic bully. More impressive, by pivoting away from any traditional romance arc, the narrative allows Zach to become a fully realized character in his own right without his identity depending on validation from anyone else.

The action is fast paced and the social commentary percolating underneath adds some more personal stakes to complement the end of the world monster fighting. We all have our demons, both large and small, and fighting them isn’t always the answer. Sometimes a little deep exploration, a look beyond the surface, will reveal that the monsters are the ones that would shame us for simply being ourselves. Zach and Ashmedai learn that lesson together.

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BookishlyJewish received a free e arc of this book through Netgalley

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.

If someone had told me a year ago that they could find me in the basement of my house practicing my grand plié and demi plié postures, I would have pulled a muscle from laughing. Now though I’m only pulling muscles when I don’t stretch enough before ballet practice.

I won’t claim that Pas de Don’t by Chloe Angyal is solely responsible for convincing an out-of-shape former weightlifter in their 30s to point their toes and pretend they’re holding a giant beach ball out in front of them…but I also won’t claim that it didn’t play a large role in that decision.

You see when I received the ARC for this debut romance novel of Center Stage meets Under the Tuscan Australian Sun, I wasn’t totally sure that the title was a ballet pun. (Though the gorgeous cover helped clear that up.) I mean, I’ve watched — and enjoyed — a few ballets in my life, but the majority of my ballet references are about the darker side of that world: the restrictive eating, the injuries, the racial inequity, and the controlling companies.

Given that, normally I would have shied away from a romance set on such a stage. In Chloe Angyal’s hands though? I couldn’t wait to read it. Angyal is also the author of the nonfiction book Turning Pointe: How a New Generation of Dancers Is Saving Ballet from Itself. In Turning Pointe, she explores classical ballet’s history of racial, sexual, and class bias, as well as the tremendous work being done from within to change it.

So, on the surface Pas de Don’t is a fun ballet romance about Heather (a principal dancer from New York who is escaping a toxic engagement to a fellow ballet lead) and Marcus (a ballet dancer in Sydney recovering from a terrible injury). The meet-cute is memorable, the chemistry is instantaneous, and the conflict is believable: the Australian National Ballet has a strict rule against dancers in the company dating each other. To defy the rule is to lose your career at the company.

Underneath the fizzy romance, Angyal educates readers about the kinds of reforms that are desperately needed in the ballet world, and the people who are pushing for those changes. While the narrative doesn’t spend a lot of time diving too deeply into any one of the issue areas, it also doesn’t shy away from the darkest and most painful issues dancers face. (Readers, check the author’s note and content warnings Angyal helpfully supplies in the book.) Clearly informed by her personal knowledge and expertise, I came aware with a deeper understanding of the dance industry and a growing love of the potential of ballet.

Like so often happens when you invite something new into your life, ballet started appearing around me. While reading this gorgeous romance, I had the opportunity to watch an out-of-season performance by the outrageously talented Hiplet Ballerinas (which you should absolutely look up on YouTube if you aren’t familiar) and to start attending a “total beginner” ballet class for adults.

While I hungered for more Black dancers, Indigenous dancers, dancers of color, and queer characters — Pas de Don’t gets the romance job done and then some. I found myself rooting for Heather and falling a little in love with Marcus as he heals Heather’s bruised heart, even as his own injury slowly repairs itself. Their story felt believable and, in some small way, their joy made me eager to seek my own — to attend a dance show, to believe I could start learning something new. And isn’t that what marks a truly great romance? Not only does it make us feel something, but it makes us feel something beautiful about ourselves.

Mark me among the first row standing and cheering as the curtains closed on Heather and Marcus’s happily ever after.

Find it here: Goodreads | Bookshop | Amazon

An e-arc of this book was provided to BookishlyJewish after we asked the author for one.

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The Hereville series of graphic novels by Barry Deutsch is nothing short of miraculous. Not because it contains fantastical witches, monsters, talking pigs and trolls that like to knit. Not because these adventures are being had by an Orthodox Jewish girl who both loves her religion and the isolated orthodox community in which she lives. Nope, these books are magical because through the careful release of titles from the series to members of my family, they bought me two hours of peace on Passover school vacation.

Our heroine, Mirka, loves being Jewish. She loves her blended family which includes her stepmother Fruma, and her many siblings and step siblings. She also loves having adventures and dreams of fighting monsters. All this is the stuff of dreams until Mirka runs into a witch with a talking pet pig in the woods near her house. Suddenly Mirka is thrust into a series of adventures that show how very little about monsters she actually knows, and how that isn’t going to stop her!

The adventures are fun, but what is really beautiful is the family narrative that spans all three books. Mirka discovers that there is a whole lot more to her stepmother, Fruma, than she initially thought. She processes her own grief about her mother’s passing, complicated sibling relationships for both siblings that wish she was more traditional and the baby brother she seeks to protect, and how her religion fits into this all.

There are some beautiful scenes in which Mirka experiences traditional Jewish Shabbats but possibly the most meaningful comes in Book 3, when Fruma explains to Mirka that the entire point is keeping Gods commandments even when things are hard. Mirka and Fruma are rewarded for this devotion, and by the end of the book they have firmly bonded and figured out their step-parent and step-child relationship.

I recommend the entire series as a binge read. It will help you see Mirka’s journey and enjoy the recurrence of some very funny side characters. Plus, you’ll get those two hours of peace while everyone is happily reading.

Find it: Goodreads | Bookshop | Amazon

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E Broderick is a writer and speculative fiction enthusiast. When not writing she enjoys epic games of trivial pursuit and baking. She currently lives in the U.S. but is eagerly awaiting the day a sentient spaceship offers to take her traveling around the galaxy.