A Decade of Angieville

I woke up this morning a bit flummoxed to realize that today marks my blog's ten year anniversary. How . . . how did that happen? The lovely thing is that the bemusement was almost immediately followed by a palpable thrill of wonder at the fact that I've been doing this thing—this thing that I have come to love, that has become an integral, limb-like part of me—for a decade. There are only a few other things I've been doing that long. I've been married to my husband for just a few years longer than that. I've been a mother for almost exactly two years more. In fact, ten years ago on this night I put my little boy (only had one then) down to bed after a satisfactory night of trick-or-treating, climbed into bed with my notebook, and Aaron sat down and started telling me about how he thought I should start a blog, how it would be a good place to . . . oh, you guys. Talking about this brings the emotions precariously close to the surface.

He told me he thought it would be a good place to talk about books.

Is it odd that I'm crying as I'm typing this right now? It doesn't feel odd. It feels like these tears are because it turned out to be exactly that. And more. That what started out as simply listing the books I'd read and reread that month became an extension of home, when I needed that so much as I was adapting to being a mother and trying to balance so many new and old aspects of my life. It became a forum and an outlet and a marvelous stepping off point into the virtual world of . . . you. All of you. You magnificent community of people who are so varied and so colorful and so vital to me now. You read and you write and you think so much, and you laugh and cry and rage about what you read and write and think about. And you share it with me. And you tell me what books you couldn't imagine living without, and I read them and they become mine, too.

It was a revelation when it all began, and it continues to be one of the brightest elements of my life. To know that when I, as Yeats wrote, "bring you with reverent hands the books of my numberless dreams," that they will be safe. With you.

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Angie's 2026 Must Be Mine

As ever, begin as you mean to go on. And so here are my most anticipated titles of 2026: And no covers on these yet, but I'm just as excited for each one: The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion, Volume 9 by Beth Brower Finest Kind of Fate by J.J. Mulder My Kind of Guy by Sarina Bowen Ravenous by Kresley Cole Mastermind by Sarah MacLean Game of Rogues by Julie Anne Long Grim Tidings by B.K. Borison Villain Edit by Rosie Danan What titles are on your list?

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Angie's Best Books of 2024

Looking back at it now, it was a really solid reading year. I mean, it did its usual (for me) thing and meandered its merry way, here and there, up and down, and in fits and starts across the span of all twelve months. But it really did shape up nicely. Which is a good thing, because it was—shockingly, I know—another year in which we so desperately needed the authors and books and words of the world to come through for us. And they did, didn't they? I am, as ever, so grateful for them and their willingness to push through every barrier and battle that I know must try to keep them from putting their visions on paper. And so, as has long been my custom, I record here my list of published books that saw me through the year. Gifts, every one. (listed in the order in which I read them) The Atlas Complex by Olivie Blake Bride by Ali Hazelwood You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian Once Persuaded, Twice Shy by Melodie Edwards Lucky Bounce by Cait Nary Lips Like Sugar by Jes...

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