Every Sunday, I post a walking reading recap over on Instagram where I take my blue heeler Link out for a walk and completely yap about all the books I’ve read that week. 🐾📚

Those videos are usually very chaotic, very unfiltered, and very much me trying to summarize five books before Link decides a squirrel is an immediate emergency.

But because those recaps are more high-level first impressions, I wanted this space to be where I share the slightly longer thoughts. The books that surprised me, frustrated me, taught me something new, made me cry, or completely consumed my brain for a few days.

And this week's reading lineup somehow included:

📱 former child influencers and internet obsession

💀 a saint's skull, folk horror, and the Thirty Years' War

🤖 a lonely AI war machine and the best cyborg dog ever written

🩺 a real-life eighteenth-century midwife solving mysteries

🏖️ complicated sisters, grief, and a beach house full of memories

Let's dive right in.

Tell Your Friends

This was one of those books where I loved the premise more than the execution.

The idea of growing up as content is fascinating to me.

Crystal has spent her entire life being filmed for her family's wildly successful vlog channel. Every milestone, every struggle, every tragedy has become entertainment for an audience. Meanwhile Alyssa has spent years watching from the outside, seeing the Shaws as something almost aspirational.

What interested me most wasn't the thriller aspect.

It was the question underneath it all: Who are you when your identity has been built for an audience?

As someone who works in content, I found that aspect genuinely compelling. The relationship between authenticity and performance online is something we're all navigating to some degree, and this book had the opportunity to explore some really interesting territory there.

Unfortunately, the mystery itself never quite reached the same level. I kept waiting for a twist that would genuinely surprise me or a revelation that would completely reframe the story, but it never arrived.

I also listened to this on audio, and despite having a single narrator, it was often really difficult to tell when the POV had switched between characters. That ended up being surprisingly confusing and pulled me out of the story more than once.

If you're looking for a fast audiobook with influencer culture, parasocial relationships, and internet fame at its center, you'll probably have a good time. Just go in expecting a character-driven psychological thriller rather than a jaw-dropping twist machine.

Bone of My Bone

This one is frustrating because parts of it worked incredibly well for me.

Specifically: the setting.

How have I gone my entire life without learning more about the Thirty Years' War?

An estimated eight million people died. Entire regions were devastated. Communities collapsed. And yet it feels like one of those historical events that rarely gets discussed outside academic circles.

That backdrop ended up being the most compelling part of the novel for me.

The landscape feels haunted long before the horror elements arrive. Everywhere the characters travel, they encounter evidence of what war does to ordinary people. Starvation. Loss. Fear. Desperation.

The horror isn't simply supernatural; it's historical. That's what stayed with me.

Ironically, the thing I was least interested in was the romance. I found myself far more invested in the folk horror atmosphere, the religious imagery, the relic at the center of the story, and honestly... the villain.

Johanna van Veen creates some genuinely unsettling imagery, and there were moments where I felt completely pulled into the dark fairy tale quality of the narrative.

I just wish the story had leaned even harder into the horror and historical elements because that's where it felt strongest.

Ode to the Half-Broken

This is the book that completely turned my reading week around.

I knew within the first few chapters that it was going to be special.

Not because of the plot, but because of the way it thinks.

Some books tell a story; some books feel like they're having a conversation with you. This felt like the latter.

At its core, this is a novel about loneliness. About grief. About the ways we isolate ourselves after we've been hurt. The science fiction framework is fantastic, but the emotional questions underneath are what made this work for me.

Be is an AI war machine carrying an enormous amount of emotional baggage, and watching him slowly reconnect with the world around him became one of my favorite character journeys of the year.

The found family elements are wonderful, but what I keep thinking about is the recurring theme of hope. The kind that sneaks up on you. The kind that reminds you healing isn't usually one dramatic moment. It's often a collection of small choices to keep showing up.

If your ideal reading experience is sitting on a porch with coffee while highlighting half the book and occasionally staring into space to process your feelings, this is the one.

The Frozen River

I love books that make me curious, and The Frozen River made me curious constantly.

Inspired by the real diary entries of Martha Ballard, an eighteenth-century midwife, this novel offers a fascinating window into a world that often gets overlooked in traditional historical narratives.

What stood out to me most was how much authority Martha possesses despite living within a system that consistently limits women.

She understands medicine, childbirth, and most importantly, her community, and because she moves through so many different households, she becomes a witness to both private and public lives in a way few people can.

The result is a story that feels incredibly immersive. I learned so much about women's rights, reproductive health, legal systems, and everyday survival without ever feeling like I was reading a history lesson.

This is exactly the kind of historical fiction I love: deeply researched, emotionally engaging, and rooted in the lives of people who actually existed.

Down with the Shipmans

There are certain books that feel like summer. Not because they're light, but because they understand nostalgia.

Down with the Shipmans is one of those books.

Three sisters. One beach house. A lifetime of memories packed into every room.

The plot itself is relatively straightforward. After their mother's death, the sisters return home only to learn that their father plans to sell the family beach house.

But the real story isn't about the house. It's about everything the house represents: family history, identity, childhood, and the versions of ourselves that only seem to exist when we're back home.

What I appreciated most was how complicated the relationships felt. Nobody is entirely right. Nobody is entirely wrong. They're simply carrying years of shared history and trying to figure out how to move forward.

The New Hampshire coastal setting adds so much warmth to the story, but beneath that warmth is a very honest exploration of grief and change. Because eventually every family has to answer the same question: How do you hold onto what matters while still letting life move forward?

The Common Thread

The more I thought about these books during my walks this week, the more I realized they were all wrestling with the same idea. Who are we when the things that define us begin to change? A family vlog. A religious calling. A war machine's purpose. A midwife's role in her community. A family home.

Every one of these stories asks its characters to reconsider who they are when the foundations they've relied on start shifting beneath them.