Mariella Hunt

The Tearoom

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  • ‘Prudence Marsh Is Not a Nobody Anymore’ by Emily Krempholtz

    ‘Prudence Marsh Is Not a Nobody Anymore’ by Emily Krempholtz


    Some fantasy novels ask readers to save the world. Others simply invite them to enjoy a delightful adventure with memorable characters, a touch of romance, and enough magic to leave a smile behind. Prudence Marsh is Not a Nobody Anymore by Emily Krempholtz falls into the latter category.

    Although it is the second novel in the series, I was surprised by how approachable it was as a standalone. The story provides enough context that I never felt lost, something I always appreciate in a continuing series. New readers can step into this world with confidence while longtime fans are rewarded with another charming visit.

    The novel follows Prudence “Pru” Marsh, an aspiring bard determined to make a name for herself through her music. Armed with little more than her beloved violin and a dream, she leaves her quiet village of Dragons Rest in search of her own epic story.

    Her journey takes an unexpected turn when she crosses paths with a band of thieves. During the chaos of a heist, her treasured violin is accidentally destroyed by Callum, one of the thieves. Rather than disappearing into the shadows, Callum promises to replace the instrument—a promise that binds their paths together.

    As Callum and his companions prepare for an ambitious attempt to rob the Queen’s vault, Pru sets her sights on auditioning to perform at the upcoming Royal Wedding. Their separate ambitions eventually converge, raising questions about loyalty, redemption, and whether love can flourish between two people whose lives began on opposite sides of the law.

    One of my favorite elements of the novel was Bartleby, a man who has been magically transformed into a houseplant. What could have been a simple comedic side character instead becomes one of the book’s greatest delights. Watching a leafy pothos accompany the group—crafting a flute, hiding stolen knives among his leaves, and even using those same leaves for self-defense—provided some of the story’s funniest and most memorable moments.

    Like Morgan Elizabeth’s cozy fantasy novel Meet Cute Magic, this story hides thoughtful themes beneath its playful surface. While the tone remains light and optimistic, the novel explores several meaningful ideas.

    Pru’s journey reminds readers that there is value in pursuing one’s own dreams instead of living solely according to the expectations of others. Her decision to leave home in search of a musical career requires courage, uncertainty, and a willingness to embrace the unknown.

    Callum’s character also offers an important lesson in accountability. After breaking Pru’s violin, he could have walked away without consequence. Instead, he accepts responsibility for his mistake and works to make things right. His willingness to keep his promise becomes one of the strongest indicators of his character.

    The novel also presents a nuanced view of family. Loving families may be separated by distance, yet genuine affection remains constant through time apart. At the same time, Krempholtz acknowledges that not every family is healthy. Sometimes creating distance is an act of self-preservation rather than selfishness. It is a compassionate reminder that we rarely know another person’s full story.

    Despite featuring thieves, royal vaults, and magical dangers, Prudence Marsh is Not a Nobody Anymore never loses its hopeful spirit. The adventure is exciting without becoming dark, making it an enjoyable choice for readers looking for a comforting fantasy escape. The romance develops naturally alongside the adventure, while the humor keeps the story engaging.

    By the final pages, I found myself wanting to return to this world—not only because of its whimsical magic but because of Krempholtz’s warm, inviting writing style. It’s the kind of fantasy that leaves readers feeling lighter than when they began.

    This story is a reminder that becoming somebody rarely begins with fame. It begins with the courage to leave home, pursue the work that calls to you, and keep believing that your story is worth telling. For readers who enjoy cozy fantasy romances with heart, humor, and meaningful themes, Emily Krempholtz has crafted another charming adventure.

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  • ‘This Is Not About Us’ by Allegra Goodman

    ‘This Is Not About Us’ by Allegra Goodman


    Allegra Goodman’s This Is Not About Us is a literary family saga that explores grief, sibling rivalry, family estrangement, and the ways unresolved conflict can echo across generations. Rather than relying on dramatic twists or fantastical settings, Goodman finds extraordinary depth in ordinary lives, creating a novel that feels both intimate and universally recognizable.

    The story begins with the death of Jeanne Rubinstein, the youngest of three sisters. Her passing reopens decades-old tensions between her sisters, Helen and Sylvia, revealing how long-held resentments have shaped not only their own lives but also those of their children and grandchildren. This Is Not About Us is ultimately a novel about the lasting consequences of poor communication—and the hope that younger generations can choose a different path.

    One of my favorite storylines follows Sylvia’s granddaughters, Lily and Sophie. Although they are still children, they recognize the pain their family’s divisions have caused and make a promise never to become estranged from one another. It is a quiet but powerful reminder that family patterns do not have to be repeated. Compassion, forgiveness, and reconciliation are choices every generation can make.

    Goodman tells the story through multiple viewpoints, gradually building a rich portrait of the Rubinstein family. While I occasionally found the large cast difficult to follow in the audiobook, I imagine the novel would be even more rewarding in print. The opening chapters, in particular, are unforgettable. Even after Jeanne dies, the family cannot agree on how she should be buried, raising questions about faith, memory, and what we owe the people we love. Goodman captures how grief has a way of magnifying even the smallest disagreements until they become impossible to ignore.

    I also loved Lily’s perspective. As an aspiring writer, she fills notebooks with wildly imaginative stories, reminding me of my own childhood composition books. Goodman beautifully captures the joy of discovering storytelling for the first time, making Lily one of the novel’s most memorable characters.

    If you enjoy literary fiction about families, emotionally nuanced character studies, or novels that examine grief and reconciliation with compassion, This Is Not About Us by Allegra Goodman is well worth reading.

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  • The Greatest Journeys Are Sometimes Found on the Page

    The Greatest Journeys Are Sometimes Found on the Page


    Summer is a popular season for journeys. The warmer weather invites excursions, and students enjoy a break from their studies, giving families the chance to gather and create new memories. Camping trips, beach vacations, road trips, and visits to historic places all become part of the rhythm of summer.

    Yet among these groups of travelers, there is often one person who can be spotted carrying more than a suitcase: the reader. They are the ones who cannot seem to choose just one book for a week away. They bring a dog-eared paperback into historic buildings, tuck novels into beach bags, and read beneath the shade of trees. Their message is clear: while journeys across the world are wonderful, there is another kind of travel that cannot be rivaled — the journey into a book.

    The good news is that adventure is not reserved only for those who can afford distant destinations. Some people cannot travel far from home; others simply find joy in the comfort of familiar rooms. This does not mean they are unable to explore. Within the pages of a good novel, it is possible to take a beautiful holiday from the comfort of a favorite chair, wrapped in blankets with a cup of tea nearby.

    In books, the imagination travels. Novels allow us to take vacations through both time and space. They carry us into dreams as well as reality. Through their pages, we meet people who lived centuries ago, visit places that have disappeared, and experience worlds that exist only because someone dared to imagine them.

    Who, then, is on the greater adventure — the person boarding an airplane, or the person lost in an excellent novel during a long flight? The traveler stepping onto a train, or the passenger quietly writing notes in the margins of a paperback? The truth is that both are embarking on journeys. But books have a special gift: they can transform even the quietest moments into unforgettable adventures.

    Not everyone can board a plane whenever they wish, but novels are among the most accessible forms of exploration. They are affordable, they wait patiently on our shelves, and they can be passed from one generation to the next. They cross borders and languages. They remind us that adventure is not always found by leaving home.

    Sometimes, it is found by opening a book.

  • ‘Taipei Story’ by R.F. Kuang

    ‘Taipei Story’ by R.F. Kuang


    Learning a new language is often described as opening the door to another world. But what happens when that language is also part of your own heritage?

    That is the question at the heart of R.F. Kuang’s Taipei Story. While many readers know Kuang for her sweeping historical fantasy and literary fiction, this quieter novel turns its attention inward. It is less concerned with epic events than with the complicated process of discovering who we are when our family history spans more than one culture.

    College student Lily Chen travels to Taiwan with the goal of improving her Chinese. Like many language students, she imagines that immersion will quickly solve the problems that textbooks cannot. Instead, she discovers just how exhausting it is to live every day in a language she does not fully understand.

    Simple tasks become difficult. Reading street signs gives her headaches. Ordering food requires concentration. Conversations move too quickly. Every mistake reminds her that she is an outsider, even in a place connected to her own family history.

    Kuang captures this frustration remarkably well. Anyone who has studied another language—or moved somewhere unfamiliar—will recognize the constant mental effort that accompanies everyday life. There is a particular kind of loneliness that comes from understanding just enough to realize how much you still do not know.

    Yet Taipei Story is about much more than language.

    As Lily adjusts to life abroad, her relationships begin to unravel. A misunderstanding involving a mutual crush creates tension with her roommate, Anna, until their friendship nearly falls apart. Then tragedy strikes when Lily’s grandfather dies unexpectedly.

    His death becomes one of the emotional centers of the novel.

    Although Lily was never especially close to him, she had quietly imagined that learning Chinese would one day allow them to know one another better. Without fully realizing it, she had postponed those conversations, assuming there would always be more time.

    There wasn’t.

    The novel explores a painful truth that extends far beyond this particular family. Many of us postpone difficult conversations. We tell ourselves we’ll ask our grandparents about their childhoods next holiday, call an old friend next month, or finally pursue a dream after life becomes less busy.

    Life rarely waits for us.

    One of the strengths of Taipei Story is that it refuses to present cultural identity as something that can be mastered through effort alone. Lily often feels guilty for not speaking Chinese as naturally as someone who grew up surrounded by it. She worries that she has somehow failed her family or become disconnected from her roots.

    But the novel gently challenges that fear.

    Late in the story, Lily realizes that many Taiwanese students spend years learning English, experiencing the same frustrations she does while learning Chinese. They stumble over grammar, mispronounce words, and worry that they will never sound fluent.

    The struggle belongs to everyone.

    That realization transforms what initially seemed like a story about one woman’s heritage into something much more universal. Whether we are learning another language, beginning a new career, moving to another country, or simply trying to understand another person’s perspective, we all experience the awkwardness of being beginners.

    The novel argues that this awkwardness is not evidence of failure. It is simply the cost of learning.

    Reading Taipei Story also reminded me of another recent novel I enjoyed: Whale Fall by Elizabeth O’Connor.

    Both books explore the barriers language can create, though from opposite directions. In Whale Fall, outsiders believe they understand another culture while distorting its stories to suit their own expectations. In Taipei Story, Lily fears she understands too little, placing impossible expectations on herself until she forgets why she wanted to learn in the first place.

    Together, the novels suggest that genuine understanding requires humility. Neither certainty nor perfection brings us closer to another culture. Curiosity does.

    One of the aspects I appreciated most was the novel’s patience. Rather than offering dramatic revelations about identity, Kuang allows Lily’s understanding to develop gradually through ordinary experiences. Walking unfamiliar streets, making mistakes, grieving a loved one, and repairing damaged friendships all become part of the education she could never have received in a classroom.

    That quiet approach makes the novel feel deeply authentic.

    Perhaps the greatest lesson Taipei Story offers is that identity is not something we solve once and for all. It continues to evolve throughout our lives.

    Our family history shapes us, but so do our choices. We inherit languages, traditions, and memories, yet we also create new ones. Complete understanding—of a culture, another person, or even ourselves—may always remain just beyond reach.

    That is not a failure.

    It is simply part of being human.

    If you enjoy thoughtful literary fiction that explores family, language, grief, and cultural identity with sensitivity and intelligence, Taipei Story is well worth reading. Rather than offering simple answers, it invites readers to embrace uncertainty, remain curious, and extend themselves the same patience they would offer anyone learning something new.

    Sometimes the greatest journeys are not the ones that take us across the world, but the ones that help us understand where we came from—and who we are becoming.

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  • The Most Important Email I Ever Sent to an Author

    The Most Important Email I Ever Sent to an Author


    The Tearoom on Substack has grown into more than a newsletter. Over the past few months, it has become my refuge and the creative project I am most proud of. There is something deeply satisfying about meeting new readers every day, watching the community grow, and laying a foundation that I hope will endure for decades. I fully intend for this little corner of the internet to still exist when I am old.

    Not long ago, I wrote about myself as a young girl—how growing up surrounded by books and slowly building a library gave my life a sense of purpose. That girl could never have imagined creating a place where readers gather to celebrate literature together. She certainly could not have imagined one day corresponding with the authors who wrote her favorite books. Even now, it still feels a little unreal.

    It all began earlier this year, after I finished reading Girl with a Pearl Earring for the second time.

    The novel has always been special to me because I first discovered it through my grandmother. Returning to it years later made me feel close to her again, as though we were sharing the same story across time.

    On a whim, I decided to write to the author, Tracy Chevalier.

    I had no expectation that she would ever read my email, much less respond to it. I simply wanted to tell her how I had found the novel, why it had become such a meaningful connection to my grandmother, and to ask whether she might be willing to answer a few questions about the book.

    Then I pressed Send.

    After that, I forgot about it.

    The weeks slipped by while I buried myself in novels and reviews. Reading has a curious way of altering time. Some books make the days stretch wonderfully long, while others disappear so quickly that you look up and realize an entire month has gone by.

    Then one afternoon, while I was working at my desk, an email notification appeared.

    It was from Tracy Chevalier.

    My heart leaped.

    I had been brave enough to reach out, but I had never truly believed that a genuine conversation might come from such a simple email.

    That reply changed something for me.

    It reminded me that authors are not distant figures living behind the covers of their books. They are people who spend years wrestling with ideas, revising chapters, questioning scenes, and wondering whether anyone will care about the stories they are trying to tell.

    As someone who hopes readers will one day cherish my own books, I should have understood this already. Yet I had unconsciously placed published authors on a pedestal, forgetting that they began exactly where every writer begins: with an idea, a blank page, and the determination to keep going through draft after draft.

    Since then, I have written to several authors whose work I admired. Many have responded with remarkable generosity, answering questions, sharing their creative process, and making time for conversations they certainly did not owe me.

    Those conversations have become one of the greatest joys of building The Tearoom, and they have reminded me that every beloved book begins with a person who once wondered whether anyone would read it.

    It also changed the direction of The Tearoom. What began as a place where I wrote about books slowly became a place where I could introduce readers to the people behind them. Interviews with authors became one of my favorite features—not because they made the newsletter seem bigger, but because they reminded me that literature is a conversation. Every novel begins with one person writing alone, but it finds its fullest life when readers respond.

    I know that if someone wrote to tell me my work had mattered to them, I would treasure that message. Why would authors be any different?

    They may not always have the time to reply, and no reader should expect one. But I have come to believe that sincere appreciation is rarely unwelcome.

    If there is an author whose work has stayed with you, tell them. You don’t need to ask for anything. Simply tell them what their book meant to you. They may never reply—but they will almost certainly be glad to know their words found a home in someone else’s life.

    Sometimes the most important opportunities begin with an email you never expect anyone to answer.

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  • ‘Remarkably Bright Creatures’ by Shelby van Pelt

    ‘Remarkably Bright Creatures’ by Shelby van Pelt


    Some of the most charming novels are those that feature an animal as a protagonist, spinning their viewpoint of the world and the humans living in it. My first favorite book series was Warriors by Erin Hunter, in which a house cat runs off into the woods to join one of four clans of wild cats. It was a long series, one I intend to revisit one day.

    Remarkably Bright Creatures does something even more unusual, as it features the viewpoint of an old octopus named Marcellus. He has been trapped in a tank at an aquarium for four years, and can feel that his life is nearing its end. The only human he has grown to like is Tova, the elderly cleaning lady who comes in at night and takes the time to greet all of the creatures in the aquarium when she arrives. Marcellus sees her kindness compared to other humans, and appreciates it.

    Marcellus has grown understandably bored in his tank, so he begins to escape on nightly excursions to wander the aquarium. Tova realizes what is happening, but sympathizes with him — so much so that she prevents the aquarium’s owner from clamping the tank shut.

    When the collapse of a stool gives Tova a sprained ankle, her doctor tells her that she needs to rest in order to recover. The aquarium hires a young man named Cameron to replace her during this time. Marcellus notices immediately that there is a biological link between the lonely old lady and Cameron — Cameron, it turns out, is looking for his biological father, having fallen on hard luck and finding himself in need of money. He gets the job at the aquarium, and ends up finding more true fulfillment there than he expected; success earned honestly is so much more memorable.

    Knowing that his days are numbered, Marcellus makes a plan to reveal the connection between Tova and Cameron, as a gift to Tova for her kindness. But humans can be incredibly dense. The octopus knows it will be a challenge to make them both understand before his time runs out. He welcomes the challenge, and soon his nightly adventures have a purpose other than entertainment. Among the stunts he pulls is stealing Cameron’s license so that Tova can see his surname. Tova, for her part, must also learn to accept help from the people who care about her — we are not meant to live this life completely on our own.

    Marcellus’ personal mission is charming because many people never stop to consider that animals can understand us. We make the mistake of believing that other species are unintelligent. While an animal in real life will not have the insight and understanding of Marcellus, it is a mistake to believe that they do not feel love, longing, grief, or excitement — a mistake to assume that they do not have souls.

    The person who spends real time with animals soon realizes that we’re not so different. They also understand that this similarity is not a bad thing. We might have minds that work differently than a dog’s or a bird’s, but we still learn much about the world around us by observing them and their behaviors. There are things in this world far greater than us and our ambitions. A bird sees the world differently than we do, and can sing songs that we could never replicate. When we begin to understand the strength and wisdom of these creatures, we achieve a new sort of freedom — the closer we come to taking off in flight ourselves.

    Tova’s bond with this octopus might have been fictional, but it is still possible to become best friends with another creature — be it a beloved pet or an animal we meet outside. We are on this planet to help one another through difficult times, and when friendship with an animal exists, it can be a source of joy beyond description. We need only be able to walk outside with open hearts.

    Remarkably Bright Creatures is a tale of loss, found family, and powerful friendship. It is a comforting novel as well as a perfect summer read. Let it inspire us all to be open to connections with hearts in the wild as well as at home.

    A Personal Reflection

    We are healthier in many ways when we allow ourselves to connect with animals and nature — it is good for our mental health as well as our physical health. If it isn’t possible to go outside (in my case, for example, seasonal allergies sometimes prevent it), there are other ways to benefit from nature, such as drawing it, writing about it, and studying it. The world is so vast that I cannot understand how a person could not love it or take any interest in it.

    Reading this novel reminded me of the memoir Grayson, which tells of its author’s adventure bonding with a baby gray whale one afternoon while out on a swim. Grayson and Remarkably Bright Creatures remind us that, with patience and a lot of love, different species can come to understand one another. Love is a language I consider to be universal. And with humility comes understanding and wisdom — a person cannot learn without first admitting that they do not know.

    A person who can find meaning in a flower or a leaf has truly learned to see nature as a source of joy, of less stress, and of imagination. It is another way we remain healthy, and always have something to create. Nature has much to offer us. It can never be fully known, but it provides a quiet wealth worth spending a life pursuing.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • ‘Meet Cute Magic’ by Morgan Elizabeth

    ‘Meet Cute Magic’ by Morgan Elizabeth


    Romance novels are sometimes dismissed as light entertainment, but I have long believed that every genre is capable of telling meaningful stories. A good novel does more than entertain—it offers readers a chance to recognize themselves in its characters and to reflect on experiences they may never have in their own lives. Meet Cute Magic by Morgan Elizabeth is a charming reminder that cozy romance can carry surprisingly thoughtful messages beneath its whimsical premise.

    From its opening pages, the novel evokes unmistakable Gilmore Girls energy. Set in the idyllic town of Hartwood Hollow, the story immediately recalls the warmth and eccentricity of Stars Hollow. It is filled with quirky personalities, community traditions, and the comforting atmosphere of a small town where everyone seems to know one another. Although this is not a genre I usually gravitate toward, I never believe that a book is “bad” simply because it is not written for me. Every story has its audience, and I suspect readers who enjoy cozy romance will quickly feel at home in Morgan Elizabeth’s magical world.

    One of the novel’s greatest strengths is its emotional sincerity. Rather than relying solely on romance or magical hijinks, Meet Cute Magic quietly explores themes of healing, responsibility, and personal growth. It suggests that heartbreak and disappointment, painful as they may be, often teach us lessons that no magical solution ever could. The novel never pretends that life can be fixed with a spell. Instead, it argues that growth comes from enduring difficult experiences and allowing ourselves to be transformed by them.

    Another message that stood out to me is the reminder that we are not responsible for the choices of other people. We cannot control another person’s actions, feelings, or decisions; we can only control our own. That simple truth appears throughout the story and gives the novel an emotional maturity that elevates it beyond a conventional romantic comedy. It is a lesson that feels especially relevant today, and one I have noticed appearing in several recent novels.

    The relationships throughout the story also emphasize the importance of compromise. Characters with very different personalities and interests discover common ground not because they become identical, but because they choose to move toward one another. Shared goals, mutual respect, and a willingness to compromise prove far more important than superficial similarities. The novel gently reminds readers that successful relationships are built through intention rather than coincidence.

    Equally meaningful is the book’s treatment of loneliness. Meet Cute Magic argues that no one can truly thrive in complete isolation. Even those who are naturally introverted need friendship, companionship, and moments of genuine human connection. The story encourages readers to reach beyond their comfort zones without suggesting that everyone must become an extrovert. Instead, it recognizes that meaningful relationships often begin with small acts of courage.

    The supernatural elements add warmth rather than spectacle. Phillip, the ghost who quietly influences much of the story, became one of my favorite characters. Although he initially manipulates Rosie into casting a spell that serves his own purpose, his motivations ultimately come from compassion rather than selfishness. His desire to help his aunt’s grandson Jack find love gives his actions emotional weight, and he also becomes instrumental in helping Rosie confront her fears. His presence adds humor and heart while reinforcing the novel’s larger themes of generosity and personal transformation.

    The seasonal atmosphere deserves special mention. Morgan Elizabeth captures the scents, colors, and flavors of autumn with remarkable affection. Cozy cafés, crisp air, and small-town traditions make the novel an ideal companion for a quiet fall afternoon. While the magical premise is intentionally unrealistic, the emotional experiences feel authentic enough that readers can easily lose themselves in the setting. It is the sort of novel that can be read in a single day but remembered for much longer.

    Perhaps the message I appreciated most is the novel’s insistence that asking for help is not a weakness. Many of the characters discover that healing begins only when they admit they cannot solve every problem alone. There is quiet strength in acknowledging uncertainty and accepting support from others. Likewise, happiness often comes not from controlling every outcome but from allowing life to unfold in unexpected ways. That message resonates far beyond the romance genre.

    Ultimately, Meet Cute Magic succeeds because it understands that romance is about more than finding love. It is about becoming the kind of person who is capable of loving and being loved. Morgan Elizabeth blends humor, fantasy, heartfelt emotion, and autumnal charm into a story that celebrates trust, vulnerability, and the freedom to change.

    Readers looking for literary realism may find its magical premise a bit whimsical, but those willing to embrace its cozy atmosphere will discover a thoughtful story beneath the enchantment. Meet Cute Magic is an inviting reminder that even the lightest romances can leave readers with lasting truths—and that sometimes the greatest magic is simply learning to trust ourselves, accept help when we need it, and welcome the person we are becoming.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • ‘A Founding Mother’ by Laura Kamoie and Stephanie Dray

    ‘A Founding Mother’ by Laura Kamoie and Stephanie Dray


    We have recently celebrated the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, making this an especially fitting time to revisit the people who shaped the earliest years of the American republic. Abigail Adams may not be the most famous figure of Revolutionary America, but I came away convinced that she—and the entire Adams family—were indispensable to the nation’s founding. Even so, she remains far less discussed than she deserves.

    I wasn’t entirely sure what to expect from a novel centered on Abigail Adams. Historical fiction often walks a fine line between fact and imagination, especially when its subjects are so familiar that they almost feel like monuments. We tend to view the Revolutionary era through a carefully polished lens, shaped by generations of retelling. Yet it is worth remembering that, to those living through it, the future was anything but certain.

    One of the book’s greatest strengths is its portrayal of that uncertainty. The founders were not building a nation whose success was guaranteed. They were simply trying to create something they hoped would endure. Even Washington, D.C., now the symbolic heart of the United States, appears as a hot, unfinished city that pales beside Philadelphia. These details remind us that history was once ordinary life, filled with inconveniences, doubts, and difficult decisions.

    The Founding Fathers have long occupied a central place in the American imagination, but works like A Founding Mother remind us that the Founding Mothers also helped shape the republic. Women were deeply invested in the cause of independence, even if they were denied many of the rights they hoped the Revolution would secure.

    Abigail Adams stands apart because she refused to remain silent. Her famous request that John Adams “remember the ladies” has become one of the defining quotations of the era, but this novel shows that it reflected a lifelong conviction rather than a single memorable phrase. She understood that liberty would remain incomplete if women were excluded from the nation’s future.

    What surprised me most was not simply Abigail’s political intelligence but her practical independence. She educated herself largely through her father’s library, cultivating opinions that were unusual for women of her generation. John Adams clearly trusted her judgment, often seeking her advice while serving his country abroad.

    Yet Abigail’s influence extended well beyond politics.

    The novel highlights her remarkable financial skill during John’s diplomatic service in France. Wartime shortages made ordinary household goods unexpectedly valuable, and Abigail learned how to use scarcity to her advantage. She collected pins and sold them for profit while asking John to send fashionable goods from France—lace, shoes, handkerchiefs, and other luxury items—which she could sell once they reached America. Not every shipment arrived safely, but enough did for her to build an impressive personal estate.

    These episodes reveal a woman who understood economics as well as domestic management. Abigail was determined not to depend entirely upon her husband for financial security. Through careful investments, discipline, and business sense, she accumulated wealth that she ultimately chose to leave to the women in her family. It is a striking reminder that independence can take many forms.

    The novel also captures another side of Abigail that deserves attention: her devotion to family life. She believed deeply in the education of all her children, including her daughter Nabby, who received an education that allowed her to participate in political conversations with her brothers. At a time when many girls were denied such opportunities, Abigail quietly insisted upon higher expectations.

    She recognized the inequalities surrounding her without allowing them to diminish her vision. She believed women were capable of intellectual achievement and civic responsibility, even if the law had not yet caught up with that belief. Reading these passages, I found myself appreciating more fully just how urgent these questions were during the nation’s earliest years.

    What makes A Founding Mother particularly rewarding during America’s 250th anniversary is that it broadens our understanding of what “founding” truly means. Founding is not only the work of generals, legislators, and presidents. It is also the work of women who managed households through war, preserved families during uncertainty, educated the next generation, and quietly insisted that liberty should one day include them as well.

    Abigail Adams planted seeds whose harvest she would never live to see. Her intelligence, resilience, and conviction helped shape the character of the young republic long before women possessed political power of their own.

    That, perhaps, is the lasting message of A Founding Mother. Nations are built not only by those whose names appear in constitutions, but also by those whose influence is woven into everyday life. Abigail Adams belongs among them, and this novel offers a compelling reminder that America’s story has always been larger than the men who signed its founding documents.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • ‘Whale Fall’ by Elizabeth O’Connor

    ‘Whale Fall’ by Elizabeth O’Connor


    Some stories are about ambition. Others are about the cost of ambition when it is pursued without compassion. Elizabeth O’Connor’s Whale Fall is both.

    At its heart, this is a story about the choices people make when they want something badly enough—and the regrets that follow. But it is also a powerful examination of how vulnerable communities can be misunderstood, misrepresented, and transformed into something they are not. When people are not given the opportunity to tell their own stories, they can become characters in someone else’s narrative: reduced from human beings into curiosities, symbols, or caricatures.

    Whale Fall asks difficult questions about who gets to tell a story and what happens when outsiders seek to understand a community for the wrong reasons. Is it possible to document a people’s history without exploiting them? Can we revisit and preserve a culture’s place in the world without turning that culture into something foreign and strange?

    Elizabeth O’Connor explores these questions through Manod, a young woman living on a remote island off the coast of Wales in 1938. The island is home to a small fishing community that has slowly begun to disappear. As younger generations leave in search of opportunities on the mainland, the village becomes increasingly isolated, its way of life fading with each departure.

    Manod has watched many of her friends leave, and she dreams of doing the same. She longs for a different life, but leaving is not simple. Her father and younger sister depend on her, and the island—despite its hardships—is still the only home she has ever known.

    Then a whale washes ashore.

    The arrival of the whale becomes a strange kind of invitation, drawing attention from the mainland and bringing two visitors, Joan and Edward, to the island. The scientists claim they want to study the community and preserve its story. They want the world to know that these people exist, recording their lives through photographs, interviews, and written observations.

    Because few people on the island speak English, Manod becomes their translator and their connection to the villagers. At first, she is excited by the opportunity. The visitors represent everything beyond the island: education, travel, and the possibility of another world. For a young woman who has spent her life wondering what exists beyond the horizon, their arrival feels almost magical.

    But gradually, Manod begins to recognize the truth behind their interest.

    Joan and Edward are not preserving the islanders’ story out of respect. They are searching for something they can sell. They are fascinated not by the complexity and humanity of the people they meet, but by how different they appear from their own world. They turn the villagers into an object of study, presenting them as strange and primitive rather than as individuals with their own traditions, knowledge, and dignity.

    The tragedy is that Manod becomes part of this process.

    She watches as the words of her community are altered and reshaped. She realizes that the stories she helped translate are not being shared honestly. Instead, they are being transformed into something more sensational—something that will attract attention but erase the truth.

    Her guilt becomes one of the most moving parts of the novel. Manod never intended to betray her people. She was simply a young woman caught between two worlds, eager to experience something beyond the limits of her island. But Whale Fall understands that harm is not always created by cruelty alone. Sometimes it happens through ambition, curiosity, and the desire to be part of something larger.

    O’Connor’s novel is a reminder that stories carry responsibility. A person’s history, culture, and identity cannot be separated from their humanity. When we take stories from people without allowing them ownership over those stories, we risk creating a version of them that is easier for others to consume—but far removed from the truth.

    There is a quiet power in the way Whale Fall explores this idea. It does not simply condemn outsiders for their curiosity, nor does it portray the island community as helpless. Instead, it examines the complicated space between wanting to understand others and failing to truly see them.

    The novel suggests that truth has a way of surviving, even after it has been distorted. False narratives may spread, but eventually the mist clears. The voices that were ignored find their way back into the story.

    Whale Fall is a beautifully written and deeply thoughtful novel about ambition, identity, and the importance of allowing people to define themselves. It is a story about a disappearing community, but more importantly, it is a story about what happens when we forget that every community is made up of individuals with dreams, fears, and lives as complex as our own.

    Want more reviews like this one? Find them at The Tearoom on Substack.

  • Capital Advice for Reading Classics


    How to Read Classics With Thoughtfulness & Ease ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡

    Reading classic literature can be a challenge, but well worth the time required. This post offers excellent advice.

  • A Linnet and a Sparrow

    A Linnet and a Sparrow


    “A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for.”
    – John A. Shedd

    The Year of Reading Religiously

    My thirties have made me a different person.

    I used to find the thought of being heard and seen on video terrifying. Now, I am fascinated and excited by the idea of starting a vlog – most likely through TikTok, though I have also been looking at the benefits of a more serious BookTube channel.

    I used to despise the sound of my voice, thinking it too soft, thinking it obnoxious. I am still uncomfortable with the sound of my voice, but know that my ability to speak will improve with practice.

    If you are on TikTok and would like to say hello, follow me by clicking here.

    It will be a wonderful adventure to meet new friends there. I have been working like a bird in the spring, gathering the bits and bobs necessary to create a cozy reading corner.

    A microphone, a cookie-shaped pillow, a string of fairy lights. Everything must be perfect.

    Learning to Speak in Different Tongues

    Something in me is awake, and wants to branch out to different forms of media. I’ve spent my life cultivating my writing style, burrowed in the comfort of the written word, letting it fill me like a warm cup of vanilla chai tea.

    Now, I want something different. Now, I want to be heard. But I couldn’t expect to grow a serious following if I did not take the project seriously, so I have gone to a thrift store. There, I found the lighting that I need. I arranged a corner of my library to be the spot from which I will address the world.

    There is so much that I want to say. I don’t even fully know what it is yet. I sincerely think that, when I sit down on that chair and open my mouth, I will discover things about myself that I did not know.

    I hope that you will join me.

    What’s New at the Tearoom

    In other news, there is quite a lot going on at the actual Tearoom – the one on Ensorcell Avenue, which can only be found on Substack. This week’s free post just went live, and I would love to discuss with you.

    I have written an article for my newsletter about a matter that’s been present in my heart for a while. I answered the question: why do books make me so nostalgic?

    Why do I feel, when lost in a story, that I miss something I once knew?

    What is the reason for this bookish nostalgia?

    Perhaps you have answers of your own to these questions. Read the article and leave a comment; I would love to read your input.

    What I’m Reading

    I have just finished reading The Blue Flower by Penelope Fitzgerald.

    Having written a lengthy review of that excellent novel in my reading journal, I then reached for The Book Club for Troublesome Women by Marie Bostwick.

    I am also reading, on the side, The Elements of Marie Curie by Dava Sobel.

    What are you reading? Comment and let me know!

    -Mariella

  • An Invite to the Tearoom

    An Invite to the Tearoom


    Writing has always been the pastime that I was most passionate about. In particular, I was fascinated by the concept of the serialized story.

    What is a serialized story? A long time ago, when periodicals were still popular, authors such as Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray would write novels, releasing them weekly, chapter-by-chapter, for an eagerly expectant audience.

    These chapters would eventually be gathered into the format of a novel, and usually (like in the case of Dickens), these novels would be enormous. They are investments of time to read, but worth every moment.

    Time passed, and the world of publishing evolved. Now it is easier than ever to publish a novel: more authors are choosing to take their stories into their own hands, publishing them on their own terms.

    Self-publishing is often spoken of as if it was inferior. I disagree. I have always favored the idea of being in control of my work, though it requires extra effort with regards to editing, formatting, and promotion.

    You’re Invited

    I am celebrating today because the proof copy of my short story, The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue, has arrived at last. You can preorder it on Amazon by visiting this link.

    What is The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue?

    For almost two years now, I have been publishing stories serially on Substack. The first story I shared in this manner was called The Graveyard House. It’s the first of a series, and needs a bit more work, but I plan to publish it, as well.

    The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue is different. Somehow, it became a self-contained world. Somehow, it became the beating heart of my newsletter – of my creative life – of who I am as a storyteller.

    Where to Find It

    Tales from the Tearoom is what I call it on Substack, and a Table of Contents can be found here where all of the published chapters are available for perusal.

    Unlike The Graveyard House, I made Tales from the Tearoom a feature exclusive to paying subscribers. Writing involves so much mental energy; I knew that I could no longer prepare a new chapter every week, publish it for free, and expect to feel fulfilled.

    Artists deserve to be paid for their work.

    But I still wanted casual readers to know what The Tearoom was about. So I decided to release Season 1, which includes the first four posts of Tales from the Tearoom, on Amazon. On May 30, you’ll be able to buy it for your Kindle, or order a paperback.

    (I’m holding a paperback in this photo. They’re adorable. Less is more; I certainly believe that to be the case with this story).

    If you would like to join the Tearoom Circle and read Tales from the Tearoom on Substack, with new episodes posted every week, click here!

    Leaving Comfort Zones

    I’m so excited by this project that I dared try something I’d never done before. I’ve taken to TikTok, because I love these characters so much – and the world that I have created – that I just need to talk about it.

    Follow me on TikTok: @TearoomPress

    If you want to hear me talk about The Tearoom on Ensorcell Avenue, using my actual voice, watch the following video. I’m awkward. I’m trying a new medium, and not fully comfortable with it yet.

    But I’m having fun.

    I hope that you visit Ensorcell Avenue. I’ll be posting more about it here. My heart is full – my imagination working at full speed – and I can’t wait to share this story with more people.