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.
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.’
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.
I flew through the first 1/3 of the novel because I love the video game RPG genre and this was my first experience reading about how LitRPG turns them into a linear adventure. But my opinion changed when I read two scenes that came quite close together.
Now, for the next three or four paragraphs, there are spoilers: Carl, up to this point, has been killing non-human characters to survive; it’s been very much attack-or-die. As a reader, I haven’t really expected him to have been deeply reflecting on the horror of the situation
But there were two scenes where Carl wasn’t immediately attacked and had a chance to interact rather than react to the ‘baddies’.
*** There are spoilers in the next two paragraphs ***
In one, a mutated human speaks Spanish, which shows his opponent is scared and confused. Carl doesn’t understand Spanish, and a translation isn’t provided to the reader. But he still acts with violence, despite the doubts he expresses about facing an almost-human character.
Matt doesn’t pause the action here; Carl moves on. He meets a group of goblins who don’t kill him on sight because they recognise his tattoo, which he received as a ‘bonus’ for killing another goblin group earlier. He doesn’t explain this. Instead, he uses it to gain access to their inner sanctum. They treat him with kindness, and he repays that by carrying out a mass killing.
I thought that it would set the tone for the rest of the book – kill indiscriminately, get loot, and level up.
But without the author exploring the emotional impact, it felt like it would be reductive and ultimately a hollow experience. I need to at least feel there is a point to the story, even if it makes me feel uncomfortable.
And when I reached this thought earlier last week, I closed the book, fully intending to DNF it.
I shared my disappointment on Bluesky, hoping someone would tell me I was wrong.
Ummm, at 1/3 in, I’m not sure that I like Carl or the cat in Dungeon Crawler Carl.
Some are grimdark for the sake of grimdark. Characters often lament never getting planes, the internet, mobile phones, etc. again, but they don’t contemplate the sheer horror.
It made me wonder if my reaction was the problem. Carl wasn’t supposed to care, and that was intentional and an expected trope because the genre as a whole focuses on the macro rather than the individual’s emotional impact.
I’ve previously said, way back in 2023, in the context of The Poppy War Trilogy:
I don’t plan on going back to grimdark consciously, at least not for a while, unless I read a series that is grimdark but I don’t realise it is.
And it seemed that reading Matt or the Clarke Award had ‘fooled’ me into reading it.
But both Somhairle’s framing and the fact that it’s up for a Clarke Award have me intrigued. I’m wondering if I can continue, knowing this will be the pattern from here on out.
The replies in the thread imply that Carl doesn’t suddenly become empathetic as the series goes on. Growth may kick in about book 4 or 5.
And the creator has said that it’s not what it first seems:
Every war, every social movement has multiple battlefields, and not every battlefield has to be the front line. I want people with different points of view to enjoy these books at face value. If I then manage to drill through their thick skulls and make them think about the broader themes and maybe grow an empathetic spark, all the better.
So, maybe I am having the reaction that the author is expecting. I went out of my way to translate the Spanish dialogue in that first scene, and I think that’s perhaps what led me to project a negative association between Carl and his creator.
I think the problem is that I don’t feel that I need the lesson.
Killing anything should come with awareness.
And I wonder if my curiosity would drive me to read through my own discomfort and dissociation, to complete my reading of the rest of the books. Given that I can’t even force myself to read the next book in the series that I LOVE, I highly doubt it.
By the way, I love how the RPG elements are integrated; it’s just the lack of empathy for the ‘Non-Playable Characters’ even if that makes readers think about the choices that Carl is and isn’t making.
And because of Kelly’s framing, I do want to go back to DCC with both the author’s intent and the type of genre it is.
I now want to read The Transcendent Green by Mati Ocha (https://matiocha.com) as it was recommended by Somhairle Kelly, as they described it as ‘respectful, authentically Gaelic, and depicts the horrors without callousness or apocalypse porn. And fundamentally hopepunk‘
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. Should I continue, or is this just not for me?
I managed the novellas, but burnt out on the anthologies.
So I have form, if not an entirely successful track record, with reviewing award shortlists. It does help me focus — giving me a deadline to aim for and pushing me to read books that might otherwise sit on the ever‑growing TBR pile.
I also did a ‘live’ reading of Annie Bot by Sierra Greer (at Dan’s request), which went on to win the Clarke Award.
That pushed me to read it more closely and think about it more deeply — and I think I saw some of what the Clarke judges did in it. A worthy winner.
So I’m wondering whether to set myself a new challenge: read the Hugo and Clarke shortlists before the winners are announced.
Despite having somehow forgotten, checking the list reminded me that they are all books I’m interested in.
Best Novel
A Drop of Corruption by Robert Jackson Bennett (Del Rey; Hodderscape)
Death of the Author by Nnedi Okorafor (William Morrow; Gollancz)
Shroud by Adrian Tchaikovsky (Tor UK; Orbit US)
The Everlasting by Alix E. Harrow (Tor US; Tor UK)
The Incandescent by Emily Tesh (Tor US; Orbit UK)
The Raven Scholar by Antonia Hodgson (Orbit US; Hodderscape)
I’ve only read one (The Incandescent), which isn’t a great start — especially as it’s currently at the bottom of the list, sorry. In theory, I have plenty of time to catch up on the other five before the winner is announced on Sunday, 30 August 2026, at 8:00pm Pacific (4am?!).
The good news is that I already have all of them, including special editions of Death of the Author and The Everlasting. I enjoyed Robert Jackson Bennett’s previous series, and The Raven Scholar has enough hype that it seems to be living up to it.
If that feels ambitious, I’ve checked the other categories, and the Best Novella looks much more manageable and should give me an easy and early win.
The River Has Roots by Amal El-Mohtar (Tordotcom; Arcadia UK)
The Summer War by Naomi Novik (Del Rey US; Del Rey UK)
What Stalks the Deep by T. Kingfisher (Nightfire; Titan UK)
I’ve read half of them — Automatic Noodle, Murder by Memory and What Stalks the Deep — all worth reading. I owe reviews of two of them. But if I had to rank them, I’d go Noodle, Deep, then Memory. I’m curious how that would change.
Dungeon Crawler Carl – Matt Dinniman (Michael Joseph)
The Dream Hotel – Laila Lalami (Bloomsbury Circus)
Luminous – Silvia Park (Magpie)
There Is No Antimemetics Division – Qntm (Del Rey)
When There Are Wolves Again – E.J. Swift (Arcadia)
The Salt Oracle – Lorraine Wilson (Solaris)
I bought The Dream Hotel and Dungeon Crawler Carl especially to read for this, so I’m committed in terms of TBR. The Arthur C. Clarke and Hugos always have a lot of debate, and I want to avoid FOMO and join in.
The winner of the Arthur C. Clarke Award will be announced on 12 August 2026, putting it just over two weeks before the Hugos. In order to meet both deadlines, I’d need to read 10⅔ novels plus three novellas in just over two months.
Should I commit to it? Would you do it? Have you read any? Who would you vote to win?
Spoilers: Mild (themes and setup only Genre: Fantasy Format: e-ARC Source: NetGalley (in exchange for an unbiased review) Rating: Liked
This is Carey’s take on a short story by Hans Christian Andersen, unsurprisingly also called The Tinderbox. He tells the tale of a soldier and a witch whose existence has been put at risk by the deeds of their rulers.
If you’re wanting an action/adventure you’re not getting that. What you do get is a slower examination of good, bad, wicked and truly evil.
Set in a small Eastern European country of Allesheim, where there is a seemingly endless war with its neighbours, Ehrlich and Pozhka, though it’s unclear what they are truly fighting about.
It’s implied that whoever wins this fight for control will ultimately make no difference to the lives of the citizens of each country. And while the rulers squabble, their citizens are starving and dying for the sake of a war that has no end in sight.
The tone of the book is set by Mag Tresti, as he describes his honourable medical discharge being conducted alongside the execution of his condemned comrades, who have been branded as faithless cowards and are to be executed in batches. Both events are carried out on behalf of, and in the presence of, the king.
The soldier notes that, despite the pending deaths and general unhappiness of the gathering soldiers being honoured, a semblance of approval has been conjured up for the king’s speech where there was none. This hints at the power of the adviser, which is both magical and political.
Mag, the now ex-soldier, is shunned by those he comes across on his search for new employment, but eventually finds himself asking a reclusive widow, Jannae Mirchella, for work. Surprisingly but brusquely, she agrees, initially with terms acceptable to both.
But the terms offered—payment on completion of work—are not fulfilled, as she is always finding work to be done. This doesn’t seem to matter until Mag is doing a dangerous task and comes into possession of a Tinder Box.
This event soon coincides with him leaving the widow’s employ; formerly a man without power, he now seems to possess something powerful, though he doesn’t know at the time that it contains three devils.
The widow, however, is a witch. One who has been waiting for some unspecified right moment to go back into the world. This is not the moment she was waiting for, but recovering the box is overwhelming.
While travelling she starts to remember her past, and becomes haunted by a key moment, forced to look back at this and other decisions her circumstances forced her to take. She examines the most important one—taking her revenge—and why she’s been putting it off.
We start with Mag’s narration, but the story demands we see into the heart of Jannae, so it is then told from her perspective. And we get to understand what she’s willing to sacrifice, and are challenged to believe that there might be some good in her cold heart.
We switch between the two as one hunts the other down.
We even get to see the world through the king’s adviser, though we see nothing redeeming through his eyes.
The limits of choice are a theme that cuts across our three main characters, and we get to see the world from each of them, which may be a bit disappointing to those who were enjoying the ex-soldier’s narration and were happy to see the world from his point of view.
Told from multiple points of view, this allows Carey to provide better commentary and insight. The slower nature of the story gives space for this. He examines women in this society, who are not well thought of; the role of soldiers, seen as replicable; the ambivalence of those who hold power, though it is really the people who hold it; how people can be oh so very petty, where telling tales really doesn’t have consequences; and overall the value of a life, which becomes about living in the moment.
Ultimately, it is the story of how life doesn’t like people who want to live outside the boxes that society puts them into, making sure they toe the line, which is literal in the case of the three devils.
The skill of Carey’s storytelling is shown in scenes where Mag tries to befriend the inhabitants of the Tinder Box – like Aladdin’s genie, they can seemingly grant any wish, but they are prisoners bound to the commands of their possessor, and unlike the genie they have no end to their sentence. Does he win them over? Are they actually wicked or have they also found themselves on the wrong side of an ambivalent ruler?
There are reflections from both the living, the meta-living, and the dead.
On what happens to the living after death, one of the prisoners of the box says:
‘That knowledge Elohim has not shared with any. I have always assumed that there is a mill where old souls are washed and made new, but if there is I’ve never seen it. Perhaps they only fade. Or perhaps there is another place somewhere in which they enjoy a different existence. In any event, their persistence on this plane is short’
It doesn’t matter to the god of this world (Elohim); like the King, both treat the world as if there will always be more people, and more souls, to do their bidding, and that’s how they inevitably become worthless.
Carey makes you feel that everyone is worthy, well maybe not the evil King or his court. But everyone else—yes, there is a cost, but aren’t things of real value worth the price?
I am trying not to say too much, because it’s not packed with events; it’s more thoughtful and meditative. I think this will frustrate some readers, which would be a shame.
But if they stick with it, it’s a story of making the best of things, with some unrequited love—or perhaps lust—woven in.
Overall, it’s a fairytale stretched into a novel, spending that extra time exploring the meaning of life and what can be achieved if you truly live.
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★).
Gav Reads 