The Book Nook Chronicles

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Stepping back and taking a look at my reads for July as I got ready to write this Book Review Round-Up, I’ve come to realize I went on a bit of a rampage through my book club’s reads. It wasn’t by choice but simply because my Libby holds all came in at the same time (if you know, you know).

There’s nothing to complain about here seeing as all of the books I read in July were all really solid and helped me disassociate from life (something that was very much needed as I’ll explain in one of my reviews). In my dissociative binge, I listened to some classics, recent releases, favorite authors, and wonderfully informative books.

I also managed to finish a physical book too, which has proven to be my Achilles’ this year. All and all, when it comes to July, reading was my saving grace.

Water for Elephants Review

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5.0 on StoryGraph

Genre: Historical Fiction

Author: Sara Gruen

Page Count: 350

Publication Date: May 1, 2007

My elementary school best friend and I were OBSESSED with the movie, Big Fish. We watched it at almost every sleepover for at least a year, maybe two, completely engrossed by the whimsy that is Tim Burton’s production style.

Sara Gruen captures the same level of whimsy and magic in her historical fiction novel, Water for Elephants. She manages to explore the seedier side of circus culture during the 1920s, while also allowing her main character to see his youth through rose-colored glasses, a balance I hope to achieve someday as an author.

This was my book club’s pick for the month of July. It was selected to satisfy the prompt, “book turned into a movie” which I found ironic since I’ve avoided this movie because I never read the book.

I really loved how Gruen navigated the bittersweet nostalgia of aging and the humanity that is often overlooked in the elderly. While there were some truly dark moments in this novel (particularly when it came to animal and domestic abuse) there’s something about a 1920s setting that always feels a little magical.

I’m really glad I waited to watch this movie and got to enjoy Gruen’s story for the first time as she intended it. I’m not sure I’ll actually watch the film, but I might just re-watch Big Fish because of it.

5.0 on StoryGraph

Taylor Jenkins Reid does it again with yet another fantastic novel. I haven’t read a single book by her that I haven’t loved and this one touched a part of my heart I haven’t visited in a long time.

I played tennis in high school, not well mind you, but long enough to understand the thrill and joy of the game. This book took me right back to the breathlessness of match point, the exhilaration of an ace, and the devastation of a line drive you just can’t reach.

As Jenkins Reid manages in all of her books, she ties together the realities of life with the above average excellence of her main characters. Carrie Soto is no exception. She shows how challenging life can get, especially when you grow up striving for perfection. It’s a tale as old as time for daughters around the world. Do your best. Be your best. Be THE best. Carrie takes it further than most and pays the price for it in the end, particularly when it comes to her relationship with her father.

Carrie Soto is Back is a lesson in the struggles, compromises, and wisdom that comes with aging—both for a child and for their parent. And Jenkins Reid explores it all while celebrating the art of a great tennis game.

4.0 on StoryGraph

This book has wonderful LGBTQIA+ representation, focusing on the struggles of two different queer couples while also navigating the complexity of loving someone outside of your political party.

It was an honestly fascinating and relatable read, really hitting hard on the dynamics of what it’s like to have differing political views from loved ones in 2025. The further we get into the mess that is Trump’s second term as president, the more I think this book should be a must-read for anyone with family members still defending him.

The first story line in this book features the struggles of Gabe, a very liberal teacher, and his partner Ethan, a walking contradiction of a conservative gay man running for Senate. While completely fictitious, their relationship really highlights how your moral and political beleifs can blur into a single personal identity.

The secondary plot line, features Kate (Ethan’s sister) and her college girlfriend turned cis suburban housewife, Nicole as they find themselves back together in a steamy secret affair. Their story is a unique analysis of romantic relationships with Kate and Nicole’s husband playing perfect foils of each other. Kate and Nicole’s mess of a connection dives into how romantic partners can help you become more “you” or squash you into a pre-determined box, making the “you” you once knew unrecognizable.

While the novel’s two plots are linked together, each stands tall on its own. I highly recommend reading this book if you have a family member on the other side of politics or just need some good 2025 queer drama in your life.

God, this was the exact cozy magical read I needed in July.

If you loved Mandanna’s The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, this new stand-alone will make you just as warm and fussy on the inside. Her stories are Halloweentown meets English countryside and I’m so here for it.

There’s an evil witch, battles for magic, and mystic political turmoil for lovers of government intrigue. There’s romance and self-acceptance for those of us who need some feel-good nonsense.  And there’s a zombie chicken for those of us who love an absurd sidekick animal. 

If you’re in need of a Pumpkin Spice latte with a side of magical realism and a splash of adventure, you need to read this right now.

I’ve been putting off writing this review, not because of the book, but because of the reason I read it.

My husband and I experienced our second miscarriage at the end of June almost exactly a year after our first. We’ve been trying for our first child for just over 18 months and, while in the grand scheme of infertility it isn’t a long time, these have been some of the most trying months of my life.

I really like having control over the Big Things, like my career, my love life, my personal relationships. The biggest irony about the Big Things however is that they are often the most out of your control. The uncertainty of the last year and a half has been my own personal type of hell, so I’ve been using books as a coping mechanism (or a form of dissociation), probably, this entire year but definitely these last two months. I picked up The Art of Waiting in hopes that it would help me feel more at peace with the cards my husband and I are currently being dealt with our recurrent losses.

This isn’t the first book on conception and infertility that I’ve picked up. Some of the previous books sucked royally, written by people who have never experienced any form of infertility and just want to give their two cents on matters they really know nothing about (I DNF’d those). Others were thoroughly researched and gave great tips on lifestyle adjustments that may actually help (I skimmed those). The Art of Waiting is the only one I’ve read cover to cover.

When I opened this book, I thought I knew what I was getting into, but Belle surprised me. There’s something fragile about discussing such an intimate trauma like infertility. I wholeheartedly believe the only people who can truly honor that space are people who have gone through the ordeal themselves or are medical professionals trying to help. Belle does the journey justice and then some, diving into crevices I never thought needed exploring.

Belle Boggs balances personal experience and research flawlessly as she dives into the many avenues she and her friends have taken to reach their end goal of having a child. Belle tells her personal story with IVF while interviewing friends and strangers about their experiences with everything from adoption, surrogacy, and even involuntary sterilization. She finds a way to represent everyone, from same sex couples to POC and even people that don’t want kids. Every last one of the scenarios have one thing in common—they all have to wait—for societal acceptance, successful egg transfers, bureaucratic red tape, and more.

Not every story in this book comes with a happy ending and all of them face a level of stigma only people struggling to have children will ever understand. These stories do all end with hope. If you or someone you know is going through a hard time trying to have a baby, you should really read this book. It’s raw while factual and balances private struggles with objective thought beautifully. Grief is an odd thing—if I was living in a different timeline, this book may have earned itself 4 stars, but at this stage in my journey I couldn’t give the topic itself more than a 3.5.