A little gay necromancy, a little crying over ancient epics.
Gideon the Ninth by Tasmyn Muir: Talked about this in my last post. I thought it was ok, and I quite liked the characters. This book was a lot spookier than I had imagined it’d be! It’s a bit of a closed-house murder mystery vibe, which was quite fun. Hercule Poirot if he was a repressed lesbian necromancer in space and her militant ward in skull face paint.
Gilgamesh by Herbert Mason: Because I do not like being happy, apparently. Herbert Mason wrote this in the throes of long-term familial and friend grief. I read it as gay longing every time. It makes me cry and I wish it were 300 pages longer.
Booklots! 