I wasn't entirely sure whether doing a TBR round-up every month would work for me. But by God, it does. Not only am I getting through my reading pile (which is still expanding with more good recommendations!), I'm also getting my home library in order bit by bit.

No theme this month, as I realized constantly attempting to theme my TBR run-downs would prevent me from grabbing whatever looked most interesting next in the pile. So we've got a combo of things: a book that inspired a movie I love, a Doctor Who novel by a friend, and a weird little puzzle box book from a friend whose recommendations remain solid. Normally I'd have kept it to that nice round five, but the end of the month sort of snuck up on me.

Thanks to everyone who lends and suggests me books. As much as I love penning reviews and helping people find new books, I love being able to escape into things that friends pick for me.

After seeing the movie and finding out it was based on a novel, I had to give the original a read. The book has been waiting to be read for about a year.

Nanao (a.k.a. Ladybug) is pretty sure he's the world's unluckiest assassin, and today's "simple" job isn't doing much to change that outlook. He had one job: grab a suitcase off the Shinkansen, ride one stop, and get off. But nothing is ever simple for Nanao—because it turns out that suitcase is at the center of another, bigger job. The brainy Tangerine and his Thomas the Tank Engine-loving "twin" Lemon are in possession of the suitcase, as well as a young man who needs to be delivered to his dangerous dad alive (and who currently isn't alive). Meanwhile, an innocent-looking schoolboy known as the Prince is torturing a man named Kimura while Kimura's son's life hangs in the balance. Throw in a poisoner known as the Hornet (who may be two people) and another dead body, and it's going to take more than one stop for Nanao to make his exit.

As the story continues, with the action's location on the Shinkansen pointed out at the beginning of each chapter, the story's many different threads get knotted together more and more tightly. Some simply get tangled up in each other; others have been connected for literal decades. Even if Nanao isn't fully sure what's happened by the end, the reader gets a neatly tied-up parcel of darkly comedic crime.

Originally released in Japan under the title Maria Beetle, Bullet Train is a cinematic read in and of itself. Even if you haven't seen the film, you will feel like you're watching a movie. Isaka blends twisted humor with tense action and moments of genuine contemplation. Sam Malissa's English translation is flawless; nowhere does the reader get the sense that there's any distance between us and the original story. The best part, though, was discovering that there are more books connected to this one. Isaka's writing is downright addictive, and the other two books in the Assassins trilogy are going right in my reading list.

Penned by a lovely man and lovely friend—I am a year late to the party on this one. Maybe someday I'll read the things my friends write in a timely manner.

When the Third Doctor and Jo Grant attend a presentation at the British Museum, the last thing they're expecting is to be teleported into a world where Greek mythology comes to life. But that's exactly what happens when the MythoScope is unveiled. The Doctor and Jo are just two of four people drawn into this mythical landscape. But things are going awry, and the stories aren't playing out as they should—possibly because the Doctor's old foe, the Master, is also there and intent on becoming even more powerful than the gods of Olympus.

It's those very gods that the Doctor and Jo must petition for help, and soon Jo finds herself recast in the role of Jason, leading the Argonauts to search for the Golden Fleece and set the world of myths to rights. As the world of the MythoScope slowly falls apart around them, the Doctor attempts to make sense of their surroundings. Is any of this real? If so, where are they? And what will happen if the stories don't play out as they should?

Paul Magrs is never afraid to fill his stories with the absurd and the fantastical, and Josephine and the Argonauts is perfect for this. The story blends Magrs's unique style with the tone of old Third Doctor Target novelizations (right down to dubbing the character "Doctor Who" on more than one occasion). He's also an expert at writing in the voices of classic characters. Observant readers may even notice a few familiar faces recast into legendary roles—including what certainly appears to be an eleventh-hour cameo by a Magrs mainstay. The book ends on a surprisingly contemplative note. This story is more about theme than rigid canonicity, which feels right for this miniseries. If you're looking for tidy answers you can fit into a Wikipedia article, you'll struggle a bit with this; if you're along for the ride and fully invested in the concept of "Doctor Who goes into storybooks," you will be extremely satisfied.

THE RAW SHARK TEXTS
by Steven Hall

Recommended to me by friend and Crunchyroll coworker Paul Chapman on account of my adoration of House of Leaves. I started this one a while back, dropped it when life got to be Too Much, and finally decided to pick it up again.

Eric Sanderson wakes up with no idea who he is. His therapist informs him that he's experiencing a sort of fugue state—a loss of memory following the tragic death of his girlfriend Clio Aames—but a series of letters from someone close to him informs him otherwise. Letters from "The First Eric Sanderson" spin a very different tale of living infohazards, quests gone wrong, and a deadly shark that swims through concepts and devours your very being.

Led by notes from his first self, Eric sets off on a dangerous journey, masking with the identities of others and traveling through the liminal spaces under the world he knows. With the help of a long-absent professor and a woman all too similar to his dear departed Clio, Eric learns the truth living in the words and thoughts of the world around him. The zen art of bringing words to life, the terrors of the Ludovician chasing him, and a growing thoughtform of a human named Mycroft Ward all spin together into a frantic, dream-like adventure.

By the end, there are two completely valid ways to read The Raw Shark Texts. One is for what it is: a nightmarish fantasy adventure that waxes poetic on the power of words and concepts to alter our reality in very real ways. The other is as a treatise on grief and a search for meaning and control within it—no matter how tenuous our grasp, no matter how hard we must deceive ourselves. To me, though, the answer is equal parts of both. Much like the encoded fragment at the center of this story, The Raw Shark Texts really is two stories superimposed on top of each other, both feeding off each other in order to be whole, both equally true in their own ways. On top of all that, this book makes stunning use of the printed page. It's not often I get a literal visual "jump scare," but that happened several times throughout the book. It feels like the sort of book that reads you as much as you read it, and I get the feeling every reader will take away something both unique and compelling from their experience with it.