Gav Reads

A Web Log of Reading

  • Novel Review: There is No Antimemetics Division by qntm [2025]

    Spoilers: None
    Genre: Weird/Cosmic Horror
    Format: Hardback
    Source: Bought
    Rating: Inducted (4.5–5★, Recommended)

    What if something was eating your memories? You were also aware that it was happening but didn’t know what it had taken, or what you were doing to stop it, because it wasn’t just your memories it was taking, but everyone else’s too? And what if it wasn’t just one thing but lots of ‘things’ that could affect people’s memories? Then what would you do?

    We are used to ideas (memes) breaking containment.

    …an internet meme is a concept or piece of media that spreads via the internet. It could be anything – a video, hashtag or image…They can come from social interactions, pop culture, or political views.

    Source: MEMES: WHAT ARE THEY?

    Memes change the world, and anti-memes do too. qntm’s There Is No Antimemetics Division explores what happens when ideas don’t spread, but instead resist being remembered and slip from the mind.

    An antimeme is an idea with self-censoring properties; an idea which, by its intrinsic nature, discourages or prevents people from spreading it.

    Source: Antimemetics Division Hub – SCP Foundation

    It opens with Marie Quinn walking into a meeting that feels wrong, and from there, everything feels out of place.

    qntm takes the weirdness of VanderMeer’s Area X novels, combines it with the government bureaucracy of Stross’s The Laundry series, and puts it in a pressure cooker, releasing the results in a series of intense, interlinked sections.

    As a novel that plays with memory, it has its own logic, but it also has jarring moments. It takes what you’ve been told from earlier scenes and twists and changes them, which doesn’t automatically mean you’ve misremembered them.

    It originated as a web serial, and I wonder if that’s why it occasionally feels fragmented. Whether the fragmentation is accidental or deliberate, they add to the uncertainty and enhances the creeping horror signposted throughout.

    As a reader, I don’t think you’re expected to ‘keep’ up with the changes, but you do need to accept that the reality you now see is the one in that moment.

    Cosmic horror is, at its heart, about the uncaring nature of the universe and the entities who are bigger than us, but qntm makes this personal for Quinn, and by extension, the reader. Quinn is perhaps cruelly given back memories she’d lost, only to have them taken away again.

    This is a clever novel; it may frustrate and infuriate, but it builds toward a moment via the mantra:

    No, this is not your first day.

    Recommended for readers interested in the 2026 Arthur C. Clarke Award shortlist and for fans of Jeff VanderMeer, Charles Stross, and creeping existential horror.

  • Review: When There Are Wolves Again by E. J. Swift [2025]

    Spoilers: None
    Genre: Speculative Climate Fiction
    Format: Paperback
    Source: Bought
    Rating: Inducted (4.5–5★)

    Is this Arthur C. Clarke Award-winning book worth your time? Yes. 100% yes.

    When There Are Wolves Again is a climate-focused speculative fiction novel that shows how our choices can nudge the world toward a different, hopefully better, place.

    I’ll let you decide whether Swift is giving us a what-if, making a prediction, or whether her words can become a manifestation?

    Decades from now, two women sit by a fire and speak. Lucy tells us directly how she has fought for nature. Hester reports on her life as if she were an outsider looking in. Lucy uses direct action to force change, while Hester records her observations and shares documentaries of those moments to shift her audience’s perspective.

    It might seem like they’re recounting a fantasy, but the story challenges the current world’s assumption that we can’t respond radically enough to climate change. Instead, it offers an alternative future in which we let nature return and be wild. Their stories empower the reader by showing how something dramatic can be achieved through the choices and sacrifices of just two people.

    I did start to worry that the time-leaping format would feel like a biographical run-through, which would leave me with an ‘oh well’ feeling at the end, but Swift doesn’t just wander aimlessly back to the fireside chat that frames this tale.

    The leaps ahead in time feel deliberately random, and they work. The reader just needs to trust that it will all make sense because it builds an emotional jigsaw that pays off when the last piece clicks into place.

    This is because Swift is willing to pause and examine who we are in those moments; that’s what makes it meaningful.

    The message is that grief, sadness, and regret are part of life, but it’s what we do afterwards that matters.

    Hester leaves home and turns that into an observation of the world, using her camera lens to give nature a voice and, unintentionally, exposing herself. But only after Lucy’s actions for wider change do we understand the cost.

    In contrast, Lucy is an outsider from the start. She takes that rejection and pain, and it fuels her as she shouts and screams for a better deal for nature.

    The author’s skill emerges best in the scenes where the characters are with their family, friends, and enemies. These moments aren’t forced; they’re where Lucy and Hester process their feelings. I got emotional more than once because of how they have to face themselves through their past decisions, present circumstances, and inevitable futures.

    And there is a realisation, followed by discomfort as a reader, that they might not have had a happy life. But their happiness has always been and will remain secondary. The question raised here is: was that worth it? Swift argues, through the changes their lives make to nature, that it is.

    It’s a novel that sticks your hand in the dirt and forces you to look at nature, free to live and die without human constraint or interference. The challenge is to go outside, stick your hand in real soil, and help change things.

    This is for anyone who cares about our future and wants to see a hopeful one made possible by the sacrifices of two remarkable people.

    My Ratings

    • Loved / Inducted (4.5–5★)
    • Passing Through (3.75–4.25★)
    • Impactful but flawed / missed swings (2.75–3.5★)
    • Not for Me / Back on the Shelf (1–2.5★ or DNF)

  • Review: The Somewhat Wicked Witch of Brigandale by C. M. Waggoner [2026]

    Spoilers: None
    Genre: Fantasy
    Format: Hardback
    Source: Bought
    Rating: Adored (6★)

    I impulse-bought The Somewhat Wicked Witch of Brigandale after tylersshelf posted a TikTok review saying, ‘This book is so silly, so campy. It gives you all those fairy-tale vibes but with adult themes.’ Given the heavier reading I’d been doing, I bought it and bumped it right up my TBR. It’s rare that humour works for me in a novel.

    His review was spot on — I loved it for being fun, and now I’m keen to read another of his recommendations, The Lost Story by Meg Shaffer.

    It’s a 6/5 ⭐️ read that has set the bar high for the rest of my 2026 reading.

    It’s brilliant. Waggoner takes the leave-a-baby-that-is-probably-a-king-with-a-witch-to-raise trope and has fun with it. Drawing on humour and concepts that feel schooled by Pratchett’s approach to fairy tales and witches (with their practical approach to problem-solving combined with keen-eyed observations on human nature), Waggoner cranks up the narrative snark and uses it to tell the story of a mother (Gretsella) who will bring down a kingdom just to see her son (Bradley) happy. 

    The playfulness begins in the chapter subheadings and extends into the footnotes and descriptions, all of which are carried by the narrator’s voice, which reminds me of a sassy magical mirror.

    The characters have substance, the cast is varied, and Waggoner sticks with fairy-tale‑like scenarios, adds twists so they feel fresh, and it works. The key reason for picking this up was the queer love story, which is sweet, doesn’t dominate, and lets it be just two people in love. It is utterly cosy.

    The pacing, with the interludes and asides, feels like it’s always moving things forward or giving you fun snippets. It’s smart, charming, and cosy, and at 210 pages, it doesn’t outstay its welcome. The ending hints that further tales of Gretsella and Bradley may follow. I, for one, vote they do.

    As you can tell, I was charmed — maybe enchanted — by it. Regardless, I now feel compelled to enjoy it all over again, as I’ve never giggled this much at a book, and I hope you do too.

  • Review: Harbour of Hungry Ghosts  by Eliza Chan [2026]

    Spoilers: None
    Genre: Fantasy 
    Format: e-ARC 
    Source: NetGalley (in exchange for an unbiased review) 
    Rating: Mixed

    Together, Kiamling and her grandmother fight ghosts, spirits, and other monsters who threaten the citizens of British Colonial Hong Kong. No one appreciates the work they do. Everyone believes that the pair brings bad luck. 

    When her grandmother is spirited away, Kiamling continues to scrub pots by day and fight monsters by night, while trying to keep her sister untainted by association with her ‘bad luck’ so her sister can have a happy married life. 

    To Kiamling, this is a loving burden to carry, but to her sister, it comes across as resentful.

    And initially, I thought her personality was just a reaction to her grandmother’s constant corrections. But after seeing her solo encounters, I think Chan wants to heavily reinforce that her sister is the light and Kiamling is the shadow – and went full grimdark to prove it. 

    Chan piles on the pressure. She relentlessly places the main character’s acerbic, headstrong personality in situations that shouldn’t cause conflict for anyone else, but of course for her that’s exactly what happens. Kiamling doesn’t build relationships, so her jobs don’t go well. She generally upsets people. The love triangle feels forced and painful, though maybe with good reason. She’s not a likeable person; she keeps showing herself up. She’s like a grimdark Buffy, and that made reading it feel like a slog.

    I think I’m too old for it. I think its audience is younger, or people who like grim late-teen/early-twenties characters grumping around while doing the right thing.

    And what makes me grumpier is that this is obviously what the author wants and intends: to make the characters and the world grim and to give the reader an exhilarating yet grim time. 

    Chan shows how the British are there for profit and exploitation, and they believe they are superior. Because of this arrogance, they have no regard for local traditions, which goes against everything she and her grandmother represent.

    This sets up some great action scenes, including the opening, where a soldier almost kisses a corpse; an event for the dead, where the British don’t realise the consequences of their actions until fires start burning buildings; and another, where Kiamling has to bring stone statues to life to save the day. More generally, it felt like a real place. All this shows what the author is capable of.

    There are also some structural issues. The pacing and urgency don’t seem right, and if the character grated less, I think I could have forgiven it more. It is mostly me, despite the issues. Maybe book 2 will smooth things out.

    Throughout, Chan presents ‘tests’ for Kiamling, culminating in the final exam question, ‘Will she grow as a person?’

    If you can stand an annoying MC, then read it and decide for yourself. 

    Note: I rate on a four-tier scale: Loved (4.5–5★), Liked (3.75–4.25★), Mixed (2.75–3.5★), and Not for me (1–2.5★).

  • Review: Dungeon Crawler Carl by Matt Dinniman [2020]

    Spoilers: Mild (premise, themes, and early plot developments)
    Genre: Science Fiction, LitRPG
    Format: Hardback
    Source: Bought
    Rating: Liked

    On my copy of Dungeon Crawler Carl (DCC), under the dust jacket, it says, ‘You Will Not Break Me’. Whatever else you think of Carl, this sentiment holds true through book one and, based on what happens here, through the series as a whole.

    DCC is one of the most popular titles in the relatively new genre label of LitRPG, and it deserves that status.

    It focuses on Carl and his ex-girlfriend’s cat, Princess Donut, who just happen to be outside in the right place when the game commences and wipes out most of humanity.

    As a reward for surviving this near-extinction-level event, all new players, Crawlers, must survive a series of puzzles, skirmishes, and occasional boss battles against “things” that are solely there to kill them. Their survival mostly depends on getting stronger and killing “things”, even if those things turn out to be their fellow humans. 

    I had to pause reading DCC around 1/3 of the way in, as I grew uncomfortable with Carl’s initial portrayal.

    I am very much a ‘I care about the people more than the system’ person. Carl kills a confused, mutated woman and a crèche of goblin babies, showing little reaction to either his actions or his foes’ deaths.

    I may have prematurely concluded that ‘I understand what DCC is trying to do, and I don’t think finishing it will change that—but maybe I’ll come to like it.’

    But thinking more about the fact that it falls within the system-apocalypse microgenre, and reading around the subject, I wanted to push on and see if I was getting the full picture. 

    After picking it back up and reading more, I did. I saw Carl as stoic and practical in his response — he later reflects that they are all there to die. Given Carl’s background as a Coast Guard veteran, I wondered if that’s just how they make them. His cat does act like an arsehole. But that’s a cat for you, especially one with trophies and rosettes, though even she acknowledges that Carl is trying to do the right thing in challenging circumstances.

    Given his mantra of ‘You Will Not Break Me’, I started taking notes on when Carl was sympathetic or heroic in the face of everything he’s been pitted against. I feel the evidence shows he’s a ‘good guy’ in a bad world, and it makes you wonder what you would do. Just wait to die? Or try to survive and hope?

    The ‘cleverness’ of this work, and perhaps of the genre, is that it takes the core mechanics of an RPG and reveals the brutal reality behind them. The system is against him—he’s there to kill and, ultimately, to die, in an entertaining way.

    And that’s what video games do: they work in the abstract; they are pixels on a screen, and now there’s blood on the dungeon floor.

    This isn’t a game. It’s real life, with all the complexities and the games within games that we all experience.

    Carl gets to see that as he’s introduced to more than one of the Wizards behind the curtain. And in later scenes, Matt draws Carl into what the game represents: the politics, the promises and the control it exerts over everyone, because almost everyone is a victim. 

    As a video game-to-page adaptation, I can’t fault it. The explanations of weapons, bosses, and other baddies are good, and the AI overseer is funny, often inappropriately so. It feels like a video game experienced through all five senses.

    You have to assume that everyone is going to die, including the crawlers and the NPCs (non-playable characters), even if they themselves might not know it. It’s a story told against that injustice, focusing on a character who’s trying his best, given his upbringing and background.

    There is a lot to enjoy. The interactions, the characters, the system, the politics, and the backdrop against which it’s set. 

    Am I going to read the next one? Yes. And the one after that. I’m told that books 2 and 3 need to be read together to get the point Dinniman is trying to make. 

    I don’t think it’s a celebratory story; it’s brutal and shows the reality of RPGs while trying to satirise late-stage capitalism, which values money and entertainment over anything an individual might experience. 

    Do I expect it to soften its use of problematic gazes (see below)? Hopefully. I hear that it does as the series continues. 

    I guess we’ll see. 

    Addendum:  

    As a satire on capitalism, it’s complicated. Carl and probably the author, Matt, see the world through a white male gaze. I know more about the anatomy of his encounters with women than I wish. I’m not sure he ever mentions the guns, pecs, and thighs of any of the men he encounters.

    As other commentary has pointed out, it’s great to call out what capitalism represents, but it might still rely too heavily on the language and framing of the worldview it’s trying to satirise, which makes it hard to distinguish between commentary and ingrained bias.