Short Book Review: The Return of You Sexy Thing

Devil's Gun, by Cat Rambo (Tor)

At the end of You Sexy Thing, the crew of the space yacht found themselves on the run from a vengeful pirate king. Not only that, but each of them is left grappling with wounds old and recent. The most poignant of these is Talon, a teenaged were-lion whose twin brother was killed by the pirate, and who can barely function alone. A captain grieves the loss of a love, her second-in-command can’t forget his lost daughter, a cloned princess searches for meaning in her life, and the ship itself tries to figure out emotions. Their next step involves transit through an intergalactic Gate, or so they hope. The Gates, created by the mysterious, vanished Forerunners, are supposed to be eternal, yet rumors abound of them dying. When a xenoarchaeologist claims to be able to fix the problem, the captain suspects a con. Nevertheless, the Gate opens as promised, taking them to the most dangerous place known, the corpse of a gigantic space moth, where they might be able to find the one weapon that can put an end to the pirate king.

Rambo’s writing is inventive, sympathetic, and full of vivid imagery. Best of all, her characters invite the reader into their lives and thoughts, weaving together a diverse crew bound by respect, affection, and suspicion. This novel, like the one before it, is a joy from one page to the next.

But wait, there’s more…

Recommended.

Reprint: Whiteness and Gender Inequalities in Protest

 When civil rights protesters are killed, some deaths – generally those of white people – resonate more

Posters memorialize Renee Good and Alex Pretti, two white Minneapolis residents killed by federal agents. AP Photo/Ryan Murphy

Aniko Bodroghkozy, University of Virginia

Renee Good and Alex Pretti, two white Minneapolis residents killed in January 2026 by federal agents while protesting the Trump administration’s immigration policy, have become household names. National media outlets continue to focus on their deaths and the circumstances around them.

Neither of them was the first person to be shot and killed by immigration enforcement officials over the past year. There have been numerous shootings and some deaths.

In September 2025, Silverio Villegas González was killed in Chicago under circumstances similar to Good’s death. Ruben Ray Martinez was shot multiple times by Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents in Texas in March 2025, but their involvement was not revealed until nearly a year later. Neither Martinez nor Villegas González has become a household name, and their deadly encounters with federal agents have not drawn nearly the same level of media attention as Good’s or Pretti’s.

As a media historian, I’ve been struck by the similarities between the media’s coverage of Minneapolis and its coverage of Selma, Alabama, in 1965, when voting rights protests led to violence that left three people dead, including two white victims.

I’ve written about the Selma campaign, as well as the media’s treatment of white female activists killed during racial justice protests, in my books “Equal Time: Television and the Civil Rights Movement” and “Making #Charlottesville: Media from Civil Rights to Unite the Right.”

These two events reveal that the deaths of white activists often draw and sustain far more attention than the deaths of Black or Latino people in similar contexts. But the Selma and Minneapolis events also show that male and female white activist victims aren’t necessarily treated the same way.

Remembering Selma

Video footage of law enforcement beating and gassing marchers on Selma’s Edmund Pettus Bridge remains an iconic visual document of the Civil Rights Movement. John Lewis, who later became a congressman, was an activist at the head of the march on March 7, 1965, and was beaten in the head at the base of the bridge by Alabama state troopers. But he was not a household name in 1965, and media coverage at the time did not identify him.

Reporters also didn’t pay much attention to what had motivated the march: the killing of Black voting rights activist Jimmie Lee Jackson by an Alabama state trooper during a nighttime march a week earlier.

Martin Luther King Jr. delivers a eulogy in Selma, Ala., for James Reeb, a fellow minister who was beaten to death. AP Photo

Still, the prime-time television broadcast of footage from “Bloody Sunday” at the Pettus Bridge shocked Americans, just as footage from Minneapolis has similarly distressed and disturbed many people today.

In 1965, a small number of white Americans from around the country, including numerous members of the clergy, descended on Selma to stand with the brutalized voting rights activists. They included James Reeb, a Unitarian minister from Massachusetts, and Viola Liuzzo, a wife and mother of five from Michigan.

Reeb, following a second aborted march across the Pettus Bridge two days after Bloody Sunday, was viciously beaten by a group of white racists and left lying on the ground, mortally wounded. His beating and subsequent death received plentiful media attention.

President Lyndon B. Johnson contacted Reeb’s widow. She gave media interviews about her husband. Johnson also extolled Reeb at the beginning of his joint address to Congress calling for robust voting rights legislation, four days after Reeb’s death. Johnson never mentioned Jackson’s death.

Liuzzo was ferrying people back to Selma from Montgomery on March 25 after the conclusion of the final, successful march to the state capital when a carload of Ku Klux Klansmen, one an FBI informant, chased her down and shot her through her car window. Her death received even more coverage than Reeb’s, keeping Selma in the news.

The Voting Rights Act passed five months later.

Smearing the victim

Book Review: A Flirtatious Fae Queen Takes on a Straightlaced General

Enchanting the Fae Queen, by Stephanie Burgis (Tor)

Enchanting the Fae Queen is the second installment in Stephanie Burgis’s “Queens of Villainy” series. We met all three in the first volume, Wooing the Witch Queen. (Read my review here.) Now Lorelei, the temptress fae Queen of Balravia who showers glitter and rainbow-colored sparkles everywhere she goes without the slightest regard for good taste, decorum, or royal dignity, takes center stage. Her love interest is the Evil Empire’s most famous (and virtuous) general, Gerard de Moireul. Because of escalating tensions between the aforementioned Evil Empire and a consortium of smaller kingdoms ruled by the Queens of Villainy, Lorelei decides to remove Gerard from the political stage. The two have various adventures, including as partners in a Fae Tournament, grow to understand one another, and fall in love.

In true “enemies to lovers” style, Lorelei and Gerard could not be more different at the beginning of the story. She’s an unrelenting, promiscuous, no-holds-barred flirt, whereas he is highly disciplined to the point of forsaking emotion and physical pleasure for razor-sharp analytical intellect. This is one of the many qualities that make him a formidable general. Lorelei’s powerful magic and her unpredictability likewise make her a daunting opponent. As the story progresses, we see that the two are not nearly as different as they seemed. Both are still grappling with unhealed childhood rejection, and both have difficulty trusting others. But where Lorelei’s loyalty to her fellow Queens of Villainy is founded in respect and common purpose, Gerard harbors an unsuspecting, naïve allegiance to his Emperor.

One of the book’s strengths is the gradual revelation of the characters to the reader, to each other, and to themselves. The tournament is full of inventive detail and suspense, providing ample opportunity for Lorelei and Gerard to demonstrate the depths beneath the masks they show the world.

My concern arises from the initial scenes when Lorelei holds Gerard prisoner. Since I didn’t like Lorelei to begin with (from her appearance in Wooing the Witch King), it was uphill going to stay with her as a sympathetic character. She thinks she’s using playful seduction and bedroom banter as a weapon, and he’s doing his best to ignore the highly suggestive way he’s tied up and how his body is acting. In the current awareness of the devastating effects of sexual coercion and power inequality, these scenes held implications of rape, psychological if not bodily. Consent is fundamental for men as well as women, and a visceral response does not equal willingness, desire (or love). Readers who are survivors of sexual abuse might find this material disturbing and miss out on how the relationship develops.

Trigger warning.

Reprint in Honor of Valentine's Day: Love is a Virtue

 

More than a feeling – thinking about love as a virtue can change how we respond to hate

Seeing hate as a feeling tied to love, rather than being its opposite, might help us choose how to respond. Lusky/E+ via Getty Images

Tucker J. Gregor, University of Iowa

Love and hate seem like obvious opposites. Love, whether romantic or otherwise, involves a sense of warmth and affection for others. Hate involves feelings of disdain. Love builds up, whereas hate destroys.

However, this description of love and hate treats them as merely emotions. As a religious ethicist, I am interested in the role love plays in our moral lives: how and why it can help us live well together. How does our understanding of the love-hate relationship change if we imagine love not as an emotion but as a virtue?

The 13th-century theologian Thomas Aquinas is a foundational thinker in the history of Christian ethics. For Aquinas, hate is not the antithesis of love, or even opposed to it. In his most important work, the “Summa Theologiae,” he writes that hate responds to love. In other words, hate is a reaction to threats against what we love, or what we deeply value. We can better understand the experience of hate by getting clear on what it means to love.

Greek roots

Today, scientists know that feelings of love are related to biochemical processes that release chemicals in the brain, increasing pleasure and excitement. Beyond mere biology or even emotions, some philosophers and psychologists contend that love is also a practice.

Love can also refer to a virtue: a habit or settled disposition that increases the likelihood of people thinking, feeling and acting in ways that promote happiness and well-being. For example, the virtue of courage can help people endure and thrive in the midst of fear and uncertainty.

Audiobook review: A BnB murder mystery with occasional witchcraft

 In the Company of Witches, by Auralee Wallace (Berkley)

I listened to the audiobook version of this cozy mystery with great delight. Part cozy murder mystery, part family saga, part sweet urban fantasy (witches, ghosts, you know the drill), the story invites the reader to contemplate deeper issues of generational trauma, loss, and healing. I say “invites" because the process involves sitting down with a cup of tea and scones.

The Warren witches have used their powers to help their neighbors in the quiet New England town of Evenfall for four hundred years. Currently, sisters Nora and Izzy, along with their niece Brynn, run a bed and breakfast, complete with a secret garden of poisonous plants used in magic. Brynn, too, has a secret: she once was able to communicate with ghosts, but that talent disappeared with her husband’s recent death. And Brynn has no intention of ever using her magic again. So when an unpopular heir to a historic mansion is found dead (aka, murdered) in the bed and breakfast, Aunt Nora becomes the prime suspect.

The story moves along briskly, with plenty of offbeat characters, revelations, and plot twists. If I had to name a fault, it would be how the aunts kept nagging Brynn to use her magic again and her drawn-out reluctance to tell them why she can’t. Otherwise, an entertaining book.

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