Crown, Cards, Coven, Code — What I Read in February & March

February and March turned into an unexpectedly thematic reading months.

I didn’t plan it, but every book circled the same gravitational pull: power—who holds it, how it’s performed, and what it costs. From royal image-making and wartime espionage to witch hunts, tech-world manipulation, magical systems, and a futuristic homicide detective who never lets go of a case … the throughline was unmistakable.

Some books dazzled. Some frustrated me. A few did both in the same breath.

But all of them, in their own way, asked the same question: What do people do when they’re given or denied power?

Here’s what I read this month:

Stolen in Death by J.D. Robb

Full disclosure: the In Death series is my guiltiest of guilty pleasures. I own all 62 books — some in multiple formats. No shame.

So yes, I was counting down to release day.

This installment delivers exactly what longtime readers show up for: a brutal murder, a cache of stolen treasures, and a case that tangles past and present in classic Eve Dallas fashion. When an old adversary resurfaces — one who really got under Eve’s skin —the stakes feel personal in all the right ways.

It’s a tight blend of crime, money, and history, with that familiar rhythm Robb does so well: relentless investigation, sharp dialogue, and just enough emotional undercurrent to keep it grounded.

I downloaded it at 12:01 a.m. on release day … and finished it two mornings later. Make of that what you will.

Bottom line: If you’re already in this world, it absolutely delivers. If you’re not. . .well, you probably won’t start at book 62.

(And yes, I've already pre-ordered book 63 — Fury in Death. September can’t come fast enough.)

The Price of Honey A short story.

A tech billionaire’s widow sits with his three ex-wives at his funeral. Each woman once replaced the last. Each knows more than she should. And Barney Beckett, visionary genius and control enthusiast, may still have one final move left.

Boy howdy — there’s a plot twist.

To the author’s credit, the breadcrumbs are there. You may even feel that flicker of suspicion … right before realizing you missed what was in plain sight.

This is a clever, slightly wicked little story with a near-future tech edge. If you’ve ever spent time around “visionary” tech founders, you’ll recognize the type immediately. (Plural very much intended.)

The tech elements won’t land for everyone, but most readers will catch the AI implications without trouble. And honestly, the character dynamics are the real engine here: four women, one man, and a chain of betrayals that doesn’t end with death.

Bonus: It’s short. Perfect for that liminal space between heavier reads.

Bottom line: Quirky, sharp, and satisfying with a twist that rewards attention.

(Originally picked up as a First Reads bonus: a very solid one.)

Arcana Academy

A magical academy built on Tarot. Royal intrigue. A powerful orphan. A brooding prince with hints of redemption. Enemies-to-lovers tension.

On paper? Completely my catnip. And yet … this was a mixed read for me.

I almost didn’t finish it—then got pulled into the world enough to consider book two—only to land on an ending that felt a bit too predictable.

What hooked me was the premise: Tarot as a literal magic system. As someone who uses Tarot structurally in my own writing, I was very curious how this would play out.

This is where the book falters.

The cards come quickly, often referenced by name alone, and that creates a disconnect. Tarot is inherently visual and symbolic. Meaning lives in the imagery. Without that, the magic can feel ungrounded, almost improvised. Yes, The Chariot is intuitive. Others? Less so. More than once, I found myself wanting to pause, grab a deck, and decode the logic, which is exactly the kind of interruption I don’t want mid-story.

The concept of drawing Tarot cards like weapons—literally holstered at the hip—is clever, but the execution doesn’t always support the depth Tarot can offer.

And I say that as someone who wrestles with this exact challenge in my own work.

Bottom line: A compelling premise with strong genre appeal, but an underdeveloped magic system (and a predictable finish) kept me from loving it as much as I wanted to.

Fashioning the Crown

A fascinating premise: British history told through royal fashion, from WWI to 1960. Clothing becomes a form of soft power, shaping monarchy and nation alike.

Confession: I will read anything about the British Royal Family. No regrets.

That said, this isn’t a beginner’s book. If you’re not already comfortable with the eras of George V, Edward VIII (yes, the abdication guy), and George VI, you may feel unmoored. Despite the cover, Queen Elizabeth II is barely here; this is very much a pre-coronation world.

What worked for me? An unexpected gem: several royal designers doubled as WWII spies. That alone is worth the read. One designer’s reflection — that a lifetime of hiding his identity as a gay man gave him the tools to deceive the Nazis — is quietly stunning.

What didn’t work? The book struggles with focus. The blend of espionage, fashion history, and the author’s archival visits never quite gels. The tone can feel oddly split between part fairy-tale royal dressing and part wartime intrigue. And if you’ve read about Wallis Simpson before, there’s little new here.

Also worth noting: the Kindle edition does this book no favors. The images — arguably essential for a fashion history — are tiny and frustratingly non-expandable.

Bottom line: Intriguing concept, standout historical tidbits, but uneven execution. Best for royal history enthusiasts willing to dig for the good parts.

The Manningtree Witches

England, 1643. Civil war fractures the country, and Puritan zeal tightens its grip. In a village emptied of men, fear turns inward and toward women.

Rebecca West is poor, fatherless, husbandless, and restless. Her world is small, her desires smaller until the arrival of a man calling himself the Witchfinder General.

Yet another confession: I’m as obsessed with the English witch hunts as I am with the British Royal Family. There’s probably a connection there. I just haven’t named it yet.

If you’ve read widely on the English witch hunts — or know anything about Matthew Hopkins, the very real Witchfinder General credited with sending hundreds to their deaths, this book won’t offer any new historical revelations. The familiar horrors are all here: misogyny, opportunistic accusations, poverty as vulnerability, and prisons so foul they become a punishment in themselves.

What feels fresh is the perspective.

Rebecca doesn’t see herself as a clear-cut innocent in the way modern readers might. Instead, she wrestles with a more unsettling question: what if she is guilty? Not in deed, perhaps, but in spirit, in thought, in some unknowable way that might make her tempting to the Devil. That ambiguity gives the story a quiet psychological tension that lingers.

Matthew Hopkins is also handled with more nuance than expected. He isn’t softened, but he is humanized. It doesn't make his actions feel less monstrous, only more disturbingly plausible.

The result is a novel that doesn’t reinvent history, but deepens it emotionally.

Bottom line: A familiar story told with an unsettling interior lens. Worth reading for the atmosphere and the psychological complexity, even if you already know how the history unfolds.

Moby Dick progress:

Back on  January 15, I declared Moby-Dick my 2026 reading goal.

So … how’s it going?

I persist. I am not yet convinced.

Let’s just say: the “Great American Novel” and I are still in negotiations.

In the meantime, my Facebook feed served up a delightful bit of literary disruption: Maria Susanna Cummins, author of The Lamplighter, published just three years after Melville.

While Moby-Dick was quietly … existing …The Lamplighter exploded.

• 40,000 copies in eight weeks

• 70,000 in its first year

Allow me to put that in perspective. Google sez: Moby Dick was a commercial failure upon its release in late 1851, selling only around 1,500 copies in its initial release period. The first American printing was just 915 copies, and it sold fewer than 3,000–3,200 copies total during author Herman Melville’s entire lifetime.

Even today, The Lamplighter numbers are staggering. Roughly 0.7% of books sell between 50,000 and 100,000 copies in a year. Most books? Fewer than 100 copies—lifetime.

So yes, success leaves a paper trail.

The whole thing may have irritated Nathaniel Hawthorne just a bit—enough to reportedly refer to “that damned mob of scribbling women” in a letter to his publisher. Hawthorne was a good friend of Melville. His own classic, The Scarlet Letter, was considered a success, selling roughly 7800 copies during his lifetime.

Let me get this straight: 1500 and 7800 copies in a lifetime versus 70,000 in the first year?

It raises a question I can’t ignore, as a former English/Rhetoric major: Why don’t we hear more about Maria Cummins?

I found a free Kindle copy of The Lamplighter, and I fully intend to investigate.

Meanwhile, back on the Pequod…

Moby-Dick Meter

Progress: 81 / 135 chapters

Status: The voyage continues. The whale remains unconvinced of my devotion.

Now excuse me while I add three more books to my TBR … purely for research.