Tales by the Tide

Reading Find Me felt like standing in a familiar landscape after a long absence — the light is the same, the shadows fall in roughly the same places, but something’s shifted. The ache is still there. So is the beauty. But the rhythm has changed.

This sequel to Call Me By Your Name isn’t quite what I expected. Rather than simply picking up Elio and Oliver’s story, it’s divided into four movements, spanning decades and perspectives, beginning with Elio’s father, Samuel. The prose is unmistakably Aciman’s, languid, philosophical, intimate, but the emotional centre feels more diffuse this time.

The first section, “Tempo,” is where I struggled most. Sam’s whirlwind romance didn’t resonate with the same depth or poignancy I found in CMBYN. It’s wistful, yes - full of longing and sudden intensity but it didn’t quite earn my attachment.

And yet, there were moments when the writing shimmered. Elio’s section, especially, brought back that familiar melancholy and introspection. And Oliver, always a little unknowable, returns with his own weight of memory and yearning. There’s something undeniably moving about the quiet gravity of their final section, even if it doesn’t land with the same ache.

Find Me is more abstract than its predecessor. More meditative. It plays with time and memory and the lives we might have lived. It’s about second chances, and also about never quite escaping the pull of a single summer. For me, it didn’t fully recapture the magic of Call Me By Your Name - but it did offer a soft echo of it. And sometimes, an echo is enough.

Favourite quote:
"People never talk about the almost moment. Yet it’s the almost moment that gets you in the end."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐✨ (3.5 stars)
A quiet, longing sequel — imperfect but reflective. Best read with soft music, a slow heart, and the memory of peaches still in reach.

“Secrets have a way of simmering beneath the surface, like herbs steeping in a hidden brew.”

The Lost Apothecary is a compelling historical thriller that weaves together two timelines - the 18th-century story of Nella, a secret apothecary dispensing poisons to women seeking justice, and the present-day narrative of Caroline, a museum curator drawn into unraveling the apothecary’s mysteries.

Sarah Penner crafts a richly atmospheric tale filled with intriguing characters, shadowed alleys, and the scent of herbs and danger. The alternating perspectives provide a layered experience, as past and present entwine around themes of power, revenge, and female agency.

What I especially appreciated was the attention to detail in the historical setting, which brought 18th-century London vividly to life, along with the nuanced exploration of women’s choices in a patriarchal world. The mystery kept me turning pages, and several moments of suspense and revelation felt genuinely satisfying.

That said, there were times when the pacing faltered - particularly in the present-day storyline, which occasionally felt slower and less gripping than Nella’s arc. Some of the secondary characters could have been more fully developed, and a few plot threads felt a bit predictable.

Still, The Lost Apothecary is a solid, engaging read with a unique premise and a compelling emotional core. It’s a story that lingers, much like the scent of an herbal remedy - subtle but persistent.

Favourite quote:
"Even the smallest potion, brewed in secret, can change a life forever."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐¾ (3.75 stars)
A well-crafted blend of historical intrigue and modern mystery - not perfect, but definitely worth the journey.

Reading This Is How You Lose the Time War feels a little like wandering into a half-remembered dream — vivid and poetic, but with moments where you’re not quite sure where you are or what it all means. And yet, that’s part of what makes it so special.

This novella follows two rival agents, Red and Blue, as they leave secret letters for one another across the strands of time. What begins as taunting and tension becomes something intimate and tender, tangled with longing, wit, and eventual rebellion. Their love grows in stolen words, in coded messages, in the cracks between timelines.

The prose is lush, experimental, sometimes bordering on opaque — but often achingly beautiful. At its best, it reads like a love poem disguised as science fiction. I adored the sharpness of the voices, the elegance of the metaphors, and the sheer feeling it managed to evoke through language alone. There were lines I reread just to feel them again.

That said, it’s a book that asks for a lot of trust. There were moments I felt unmoored, wishing for a little more grounding in the plot or world-building. But perhaps that’s not the point — this isn’t a book about systems or settings; it’s about connection. About language as an act of love. About finding your person even in the unlikeliest timeline.

This isn’t quite a forever favourite, but it is unforgettable. A book I’d recommend to anyone who finds magic in words, who’s ever wanted to fall in love through letters, or who’s drawn to stories that feel like puzzles and poetry all at once.

Favourite quote:
“I want to meet you in every place I ever loved. Listen. Listen: Time is not a river. Time is a tree. We climb it together.”

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐¾ (3.75 stars)
A strange and stunning novella — not always easy, but utterly worthwhile.

“Sometimes, the end of a path is just the beginning.”

Every now and then, a book comes along that quietly but irrevocably shifts something in you. The Salt Path is one of those books — gentle and unassuming on the surface, but full of deep, tidal emotion that carries you somewhere unexpected.

Raynor Winn tells the true story of how she and her husband Moth, newly homeless and reeling from his devastating diagnosis, decide to walk the 630-mile South West Coast Path from Somerset to Dorset. With nothing but a tent, meagre funds, and a fierce sense of love and determination, their journey is both a physical trek and an emotional reckoning — with grief, with resilience, with the raw edges of the natural world.

What struck me most was the simplicity and strength of Winn’s writing. There’s no pretension, only honesty — about exhaustion, about shame, about the beauty of a windswept cliff at sunset. Her words are carried by the rhythm of the waves, the call of seabirds, the relentless forward motion of walking. And through it all, her bond with Moth is achingly beautiful — quiet, unwavering, and filled with the kind of tenderness that feels rare and vital.

This book is not just about a walk, or a hardship overcome. It's about choosing life — deliberately, doggedly, even when life seems to have turned its back on you. It’s about rewilding yourself in the face of ruin. And it’s about hope — not the shiny, surface kind, but the real, salt-stung kind that comes from the ground up.

If you’ve ever found solace in nature, questioned what it means to “have enough,” or needed reminding of the small, sturdy things that carry us through — The Salt Path will find its way into your heart and stay there.

Favourite quote:
"To carry on, to make a new home in the light, not the dark. To live. To live the best life we could."

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Raw, restorative, and deeply human — The Salt Path is a quiet triumph of spirit and landscape alike.