The Sun and the Star: A Nico di Angelo Adventure (Book Review)

Is it possible to be a millennial fantasy fan without having been deeply into Percy Jackson and the Olympians? If it is, I wouldn’t know: as a kid, I was deeply into Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Correction: to this day, I am deeply into Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Even though I’ve supposedly aged out of the target audience, I still buy each new book as it is released. I think the only Rick Riordan book I’ve skipped is Daughter of the Deep, and even that I’ve not as much ‘skipped it’ as ‘haven’t gotten to it yet’ (the delay is because I didn’t care for 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea). I love Riordan’s world of sassy demigods and epic prophecies, and his deep roster of characters lets each story have a slightly different feel while still having a definite collective energy.

One of my favorite recent additions to the canon was The Hidden Oracle, the first of the Trials of Apollo series. In it, we see the god Apollo (in the form of a mortal teenager) team up with his son Will and Will’s boyfriend Nico, who has been a central character in the extended PJO universe almost from the very start. I loved Nico and Will in that book, and immediately wanted to spend more time with them. I was going to read the newest book regardless, but I was particularly excited by the prospect of a novel focused on those two because their opposites-attract energy was a major highlight of the Trials of Apollo and I was lightly disappointed that only a few of the books in that series capitalized on it.

Additionally, Rick Riordan’s obvious dedication to using his platform to represent underrepresented groups, particularly the LGBTQ+ community, is a huge point in his favor. There have been important queer characters in most of his recent books, but The Sun and the Star is the first one to focus on a gay character in such an upfront and obvious way. That was exciting enough in of itself, but Riordan’s decision to bring in Mark Oshiro—a queer Lantinx writer—as his cowriter seemed an especially promising sign: Oshiro is a talented writer with several novels under their belt, but they don’t have the platform Riordan does. Riordan could have told Nico and Will’s story himself. I suspect he would have done a good job of it alone, as he is a great writer and works very hard to represent minorities in honest and sympathetic ways. But he didn’t do that, because no matter his intentions or his research, he couldn’t understand that experience like an LGBTQ+ writer could. By teaming up with Oshiro, Riordan is both extending his platform to a minority voice and ensuring authentic representation. He’s a good egg in addition to being a good storyteller.

Is The Sun and the Star a standalone novel?

Yes and no. While The Sun and the Star is technically a self-contained story with a complete adventure in it, it builds off Nico’s existing story from the previous novels. For that reason, I’m attaching a spoiler warning here, not for The Sun and the Star but for the previous books. I don’t spoil much, but there is a significant sacrifice in The House of Hades and a major character death in The Tyrant’s Tomb, and any discussion of The Sun and the Star has to acknowledge them at least in passing.

The Sun and the Star’s plot is an extension of a storyline in the Heroes of Olympus series, and the emotional storyline—which is about Nico’s trauma and depression—reaches back even farther, all the way to Nico’s first appearance way back in The Titan’s Curse. There are repeated references to almost all of the most significant events in Nico’s story across all the previous books he appears in. I have listed all the books below in order and have indicated the ones which have significant and oft mentioned events on Nico’s timeline.

Here’s the order for the books/series:

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

1. The Lightning Thief
2. The Sea of Monsters
3. The Titan’s Curse (Nico’s first appearance)
4. The Battle of the Labyrinth
5. The Last Olympian (Will’s first appearance)

The Heroes of Olympus

1. The Lost Hero
2. The Son of Neptune
3. The Mark of Athena (this is the one Nico spends imprisoned in Tartarus)
4. The House of Hades (this is Bob’s big book, as well as being the one with the Cupid incident)
5. The Blood of Olympus (this is the one with Nico and Will’s first significant interactions)

The Trials of Apollo

Solitaire (Book Comparison 2015 vs. 2023)

Alice Oseman is one of my favorite authors, and I’ve been overjoyed to see the wider world come around to her work in the past couple of years due to the explosion of enthusiasm for Heartstopper. I first discovered Oseman through Radio Silence in 2019 and immediately sought out Solitaire which was, at the time, the only other book available in the US. It was only available for a brief window. By the time Heartstopper started gaining traction, Solitaire was missing from American shelves. Even as Oseman’s overall stock rose and their books started getting US releases with covers drawn by Oseman themself, Solitaire was not among them. It was mind boggling. I love Loveless as much as anyone, and I was Born for This may be my favorite, but Heartstopper—the popular one—is Nick and Charlie’s story, and Nick and Charlie are from Solitaire.

I have been very vocal about this for a very long time. I annoyed the heck out of my coworkers (I’m a bookseller) about it, because I was entirely incapable of having a conversation about Heartstopper without being incredulous about our inability to shelve Solitaire. “What,” I asked over and over and over again, “are the publishers thinking?” I have absolutely nothing to do with the fact that at long last Solitaire has made it back across the pond, but I feel justified anyway. 

I’d mostly been excited about the rerelease so I could share my enthusiasm with other readers. After all, I already had my own copy and had read it several times. Then I found out that Oseman had edited and updated the book. It made sense: she was seventeen years old when she wrote Solitaire, and her writing and her characters have changed since then, not to mention the world itself. I got very curious, so I picked up one of the new copies and opened to a page that I knew would likely reflect some of the biggest changes: Charlie’s introduction. Once I read that, I knew that I was going to have to do a deeper dive and ended up reading both versions side-by-side, chapter-by-chapter.

For the record, when I reference the “old” version, I mean the one I originally read, which is the one with the 2015 copyright. I believe that is the Americanized version and that the original original is the British one from the year before. I have not read the first edition.

These are the two versions I read. The newer version with Oseman’s original art is pictured left, and the 2015/”old” version is pictured right.

If you want to read a straightforward review of Solitaire, you can read what I wrote when I first read it. I still agree with everything I said then. It’s a beautifully crafted, emotionally powerful novel full of really flawed people who nonetheless are fascinating and lovable. That’s a review for the old version of the book, and the new version mostly lines up with it. I say mostly. The changes are mostly cosmetic, so the overall impression is largely the same, but a few of the changes do go deeper. 

Let’s break down the major changes. Spoilers incoming!

Charlie

Charlie and Nick were always going to have the biggest updates. I observed when I first read Heartstopper that they felt softer and more sanitized than they had when I was first introduced to them, a bit like fanfiction of their former selves. Still, particularly since it had been a few years since my last Solitaire reread, I assumed that I had mostly misremembered the characters and that they probably aligned more closely than I thought. Actually, my first impression was correct. Charlie and Nick have changed a lot.

The most obvious place to see these changes, of course, is in their introductions. We’ll look at Charlie first and at Nick a little bit later. Both versions introduce Charlie as nice and expound on how rare that is. They both mention that he refuses to throw out old things out of emotional connection. It’s the continuation that changes. 2015 Tori says:

“Mom and Dad got rid of most of that rubbish when he got ill last year—I guess he sort of got obsessed with it, and he got obsessed with a whole load of other things too (mainly food and collecting things), and it really started to tear him apart—but that’s all over now. He’s better, but he’s still the same kid who thinks everything is special. That’s the sort of guy Charlie is.”

Solitaire, 2015 (part I, chapter 3)

In the new version, Tori explains:

“He got rid of a lot of that stuff as he grew up, though, and things aren’t quite as happy as they were back then. Charlie’s had a really difficult time over the past few months. He has an eating disorder that got pretty bad last summer, and he’s had a couple of self-harm relapses too, but he spent a few weeks a psychiatric ward, which sounded terrifying at first but ended up really helping. He’s in therapy now and he’s working on getting better. And he’s still the same kid who has a lot of love to give.”

Solitaire, 2023 (part I, chapter 3)

While the new version largely hits the same beats, the vibe of it is different. The first version has a parental intervention and then a dose of Tori’s denial. Later in the book we see that this is all very much not all over yet, but Tori numbs herself to that. In the new version, Charlie is taking control of his own recovery…and he gets more focus right off the bat. He’s no longer entering Tori’s story as a secondary character. At this point, he is better known to most readers than Tori is even if this is his first appearance in this particular story. Here, Tori is aware that he’s not all better, but she knows that he is actively working on it, which takes the onus off of her. Charlie is Oseman’s most popular protagonist, so it makes sense that she would want to give him more agency with his own story and recovery, but Tori’s awareness of that agency changes her story because—rightly or wrongly—she originally feels so responsible for him. 

Heartstopper Bonus Books (Nick and Charlie & Heartstopper Yearbook Mini Reviews)

I’ve loved Nick and Charlie since I read Alice Oseman’s Solitaire in 2019. I love everything about that novel, but Charlie and Nick really stood out to me. Apparently I’m not alone in that, because Heartstopper—Charlie and Nick’s graphic novel spin-off—has exploded in popularity. I love that Alice Oseman is popular enough now that her books are widely available in the US. For a long time, that wasn’t true. When I first started reading their books, only Solitaire and Radio Silence were available here (and apparently I lucked out getting Solitaire when I did, because it has been unavailable for a while and is now scheduled for an American rerelease as it has been unavailable for several years) and I had to get I Was Born for This and Loveless from overseas. Even though I’d wanted to read Nick and Charlie (and This Winter), I never got around to it; I’ll go out of my way for a novel, but I didn’t want to bother with international shipping for something shorter than 200 pages. Now that Nick and Charlie are massively popular and making waves on Netflix, though, I was able to pick Nick and Charlie the novella from my very own Barnes and Noble, and I got The Heartstopper Yearbook shortly afterward from the library. 

I figured I’d review them together because they’re both effectively Charlie and Nick spinoff material, and they’re both so short that they don’t really warrant full reviews on their own. 

There’s no question that Heartstopper fans will love these two books. Nick and Charlie is a short, romantic little story about the awkward summer before Nick—who is a year older—heads to university. It’s cute and short and a bit fan-fictiony. Much like Mackenzi Lee’s The Gentleman’s Guide to Getting Lucky, Maggie Stiefvater’s Opal, or Becky Albertalli’s Love, Creekwood, it is basically a short vignette about a queer couple from a longer work that doesn’t have much of a plot beyond highlighting an established couple and letting them take a step forward together.

There’s art throughout the novella, which is very cute, and I liked that even though the book is called Nick and Charlie and is very much about them, it also has enough cameos from the other characters we all know and love—Tori, Aled, Tao, Elle—to satisfy the readers who love the full community. I will say that, for that reason, this feels slightly more like a spinoff for the novel readers than just for the Heartstopper readers. Tori and Aled are beloved of those of us who read Solitaire and Radio Silence, but they’re pushed pretty far into the background of the graphic novels.

Dear Evan Hansen (Movie Review + How to Fix It)

I haven’t been writing as much about musicals on this blog as I did during lockdown, but rest assured I’m still watching, listening, and obsessing about them IRL. I’ve still made the time to rave about Dear Evan Hansen here on several occasions, having listened to the cast recording on repeat for several years, read the novelization twice, and even getting the chance to see the show live on tour. 

It’s an incredible show, and it’s one that I have a very close emotional attachment to. Everything about it works onstage, from the depiction of mental illness, to the creative staging, to the delicate balance between darkly depressing moments and comic relief. I’ve seen lots of musicals, but this is one of my favorites; I own the OBC recording and have a necklace that says “you will be found” on it both because I love the show and because that’s an important message to remember. It’s therefore unsurprising that I was hotly anticipating the movie adaptation. I adored seeing the show live, and of course a movie couldn’t live up to that, but a great adaptation is something you can watch repeatedly, and it’s an easy way to introduce a show to a new audience. There are lots of people who can’t or won’t buy a ticket for a live performance, but who would rent a film.

Dear Evan Hansen looks like the sort of show that would make for a relatively easy transition from stage to screen, and I was confident that it was in good hands with Stephen Chbosky, who wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower and directed its adaptation. The Perks of Being a Wallflower is one of my favorite novels, and its nuanced depictions of sensitive subjects like abuse and depression made Chbosky seem like a qualified and natural choice to helm Dear Evan Hansen. Then I started hearing the reviews and got increasingly worried. While perhaps not as universally reviled as Cats, Dear Evan Hansen was not getting good reviews, let alone the Oscar buzz it was probably hoping for. I was reasonably sure that I’d disagree with some of the critiques—lots of people who hate musicals inexplicably like to watch movie musicals and then pan them for having characters who break out in song—and I’m not all that fussed about Ben Platt looking older than high school (what actor playing high school doesn’t? Look at Glee. Look at Grease), but there were things that did legitimately concern me. Why was Larry turned into a stepfather? Why was Julianne Moore, who as far as I’m aware doesn’t have much of a musical background, cast as Heidi Hansen? Then I heard that the movie had cut “Good for You,” and I reacted the way I did when I realized that Cats‘ Mister Mistofelees wasn’t being played by a dancer. 

The reviews almost universally harped on the fact that Evan’s actions are bad and that the movie has a bad message and I was like, “Well, duh. You cut the song that addresses that.” “Good for You” is the moment in the show that really takes a step back from Evan’s POV to look at how he is affecting the people around him. It’s easy to see how Evan gets swept up in the lie, and in the stage show you can see the bigger perspective. You understand how the ball got rolling and why it has to stop. You see the difficult positions that Heidi, Evan, Zoe, Cynthia, and Larry are in. You see how Evan’s actions are both irredeemably selfish and truly well-intentioned. You can see that Evan both harmed the Connor family and helped them, how his lies both erased Connor and built him a legacy. The Connor Project was built on fiction, but it turned into a real movement that helped thousands of people both in the world of Dear Evan Hansen and beyond the show. There is so much beautiful nuance in Dear Evan Hansen, but the people who watched the movie weren’t seeing any of it.

It’s been months since the movie was released, and I finally steeled myself and watched it for myself. It’s a far worse movie than it should have been, but it’s better than its worst critics would have you believe. The most disappointing part of it is just how easy the problems are to fix: increase the pace, reinsert the missing songs, and give Jared more screentime.

Stranger Things 4: Max and Vecna

Like the rest of the world I devoured Stranger Things this year. After discussing it obsessively with everyone who would engage with me, I realized how much I had to say and turned to his blog. Yes, this series is long and obsessive but in my defense you were warned. If you read my bio above, it says: “Basically, I talk about the books I’m reading and the shows I’m watching in a level of detail that is too embarrassing to do in real life.” That’s what this is. I had originally planned to do a straightforward review, but as I was writing his it turned into a series of mini character-focused essay akin to my I care too much about fictional characters series, so that’s what it is. The short version of the Stranger Things 4 review is: I really liked it and I’m really looking forward to season five.

The long version is… a lot longer. When I realized my thoughts were nearly 10k words I decided to split them up into more manageable chunks. If you follow me, prepare to get spammed with a lot of Stranger Things content.

Was Eddie’s death obvious and futile? That was last post. We’ve moved on to the season’s other sacrifice.

I care too much about fictional characters

Max Mayfield (and Vecna)

I’m sorry, Max. I hate that you have to share a section with Vecna because you’re great and he’s terrifying, but that’s just the way this season shook out. 

Max (Sadie Sink) really made the leap from secondary to leading character, didn’t she? She’s been important since she entered the show in season two, but she was never really a primary focus. She was just one of the kids, important enough and definitely a lovable character, but never the one you’d point to if you had to pick the main player from any given storyline. That absolutely changed this season, with Max becoming not only a focal point but arguably the emotional center of the season. The stakes of season four are almost entirely centered on Max. She is suffering PTSD and survivor’s guilt from the events of last season. After Billy (Dacre Montgomery)’s death, Max’s stepfather left Max and her mother, and they are now living in a trailer park. Max has closed herself off from her friends and broken up with Lucas. Her grades are slipping and she suffers from near-constant headaches. She’s struggling even before she becomes Vecna’s victim. It’s retreading everyone else’s ground to say that “Dear Billy” was one of—if not the—best episodes of the season, but everyone is saying it for a reason. It is the best marriage of fantasy horror with mental health subtext that Stranger Things has given us to date.