Kin deeply understands that longing isn't always dramatic. Sometimes it simply reshapes a person slowly over years until it becomes the architecture of their identity.

Anthea, in particular, anchors much of the emotional core. Their relationship isn’t dramatic or overtly declared, but it grows in quiet increments, like in shared knowledge, small acts of care, and the simple fact of being understood. It’s only much later that the narrator realises what that connection was. That perhaps it was love, or maybe something adjacent to it. The book resists naming it too neatly, which feels right.

And then, at the novel’s core, comes an unexpected relationship. It’s unconventional, built on sincerity and a refreshing lack of sentimentality. Communication isn’t instant or effortless—it’s painstakingly constructed through trial, error, and the stubborn refusal to give up when understanding seems just out of reach. It’s quietly profound. In a plot that’s ostensibly about saving humanity, it’s connection (not conquest) that matters most.

A Gift Before Dying by Malcolm Kempt has moved into that esteemed category and rating it five stars does it no justice. It's not even a ten-star read! It’s one of those rare novels that taps a finger to your forehead, looks you in the eye and says - ha! I've got you now, my new friend.

At the heart of this story is Stasya, a young woman who stands apart from her village—not because she’s been banished, but simply because she doesn’t quite fit. She’s the sort who listens before speaking, walks the woods rather than gossiping at the local pub, and, perhaps most notably, understands animals in a way that unsettles her neighbours.