Hungry Hungry Wyrm's Book Club: September's Discussion and October's Theme

September's Gathering: Under the Harvest Moon

Welcome back, friends.

As always, there may be a few spoilers wandering around below. Nothing that should completely spoil the journey, but I'll be talking about characters, themes, particular moments, and some of the things that stayed with me after I closed the covers. If any of these books are sitting near the top of your TBR and you prefer to know absolutely nothing before you begin, consider this your friendly warning from the Wyrm.

Otherwise, pull up a chair. The coffee's hot, the tea's steeping, and apparently this month we're harvesting themes from books whether they intended to grow them or not.

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Under the Harvest Moon

The Harvest Moon rose this weekend and, once again, my phone camera valiantly attempted to capture the experience and produced something considerably less impressive than the actual Moon.

I tried.

The Harvest Moon is the full moon closest to the autumn equinox, which fell on September 26th this year. And its connection to harvest is more than a convenient seasonal name. Around the autumn equinox, the moon rises at unusually similar times for several evenings in a row. Historically, that meant farmers had extra moonlight after sunset to continue bringing in the harvest before winter.

Which makes abundance an interesting theme. Because a harvest isn't really about having everything. It's about gathering what has grown.

Sometimes that's plenty. Sometimes it isn't. Sometimes you planted one thing and got another. Sometimes something flourished unexpectedly while something you carefully tended refused to cooperate at all (like the onions I, for some reason, haven't been able to grow in two years of trying).

And apparently, sometimes you choose three books for entirely unrelated reasons and then sit down at the end of the month determined to explain how they all relate to abundance.

Welcome to the Hungry Hungry Wyrm's Book Club.

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Two Book Clubs, Three Books, and a Suspicious Number of Themes

My reading was a little scattered again this month. I'll try to make this post slightly less so.

Library books were overdue. Deadlines were looming. And because I also participate in my friend's Library & Libations (L&L) book club, I have developed a slightly chaotic habit of trying to make my reading work for multiple discussions whenever possible.

L&L's September theme was mental health. Other readers arrived with books like 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher, Morbidly Curious by Coltan Scrivner, Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, The Good Parts by Evann Normandin, The Midnight Library by Matt Haig, and Wind and Truth by Brandon Sanderson. I arrived with The Wishing Game by Meg Shaffer, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett, and Rewitched by Lucy Jane Wood.

Look, I never claimed to take the straightest path through the forest. In fact, why would you want to? But our discussion made me realize something I've continued thinking about ever since: Almost every story can become a story about mental health or abundance if you look at the people inside and around it.

Characters grieve. They lose people. They fall in love. They hate themselves. They doubt themselves. They carry childhood wounds into adulthood. They struggle to belong, to communicate, to forgive, to trust, to accept help, or simply to figure out who they are. And then there are the authors themselves. Why do we write the stories we write? Why are certain fears, relationships, personalities, and experiences the ones we return to? And, of course, the readers. Why do we choose to read certain things when we choose them?

Maybe a book doesn't have to be about mental health to have something interesting to say about being a person.

The Boxes We Put Around People

Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries gave us one of the most interesting conversations. There is plenty of discussion among readers about whether Emily is autistic. I can certainly understand where that interpretation comes from. But what interested me more was our desire, as readers, to make the diagnosis in the first place.

We seem to be living in an age with unprecedented access to information about mental health and neurodivergence. In many ways, that's wonderful. People have language for experiences they may once have struggled to explain. They can recognize themselves in others. They can find communities, resources, and help.

But I wonder if there is another side to that abundance of information. Have we become so accustomed to recognizing patterns that we sometimes feel compelled to categorize people, even fictional ones?

Emily can be socially uncomfortable, intensely focused, brilliant, blunt, independent, occasionally oblivious, and much more comfortable cataloguing faerie behavior than navigating human expectations. Does she need a label for those traits to matter? And perhaps more importantly, does recognizing ourselves in a character require the character to share our diagnosis, identity, or explanation? Maybe sometimes a character can simply be allowed to be complicated.

One of my favorite lines from Emily was:

"'It remains possible that I am wrong. A scholar must always be ready to admit this.'"

This may be one of the simplest tests of a good scholar I've encountered.

I also loved:

"'If you do not admit kindness from others, you cannot be surprised when they fail to offer any.'"

Emily spends so much time observing others that some of her most interesting growth comes when she has to allow herself to participate in the messy business of needing them.

And then, naturally:

"'One doesn't need magic if one knows enough stories.'"

I mean. You can't hand that sentence to a Bookwyrm and expect me not to keep it.

One unexpected delight was how much I enjoyed slipping back into my old scientific-reading brain. It took a chapter or so to adjust to reading scholarly observations, field notes, and footnotes when the subjects under observation were faeries and brownies, but once my brain found its footing, I thoroughly enjoyed it.

The Things Childhood Leaves Us

The Wishing Game required hardly any stretching to connect with mental health. Childhood experiences do not politely remain in childhood.

The book is full of people shaped by loneliness, rejection, fear, longing, and the desperate wish to belong somewhere. And it looks at those wounds from both directions: through children currently experiencing them and adults still carrying what happened years before.

There were also quite a few lines that earned themselves a place in my notes.

"'Don't ever break a heart on a Friday. Ruins the whole weekend.'"

Practical advice, really. If we're going to devastate someone emotionally, apparently we should at least be considerate of their Saturday plans. (Though, every rom-com I've ever read teaches a different lesson and you should always do it immediately or they'll find out on their own and it'll ruin everything...so take that advice with a grain of salt, I suppose.)

"'Would she ever stop waiting for her family to show up and take her home?'"

This one hurt a little more. Our childhood desires and fears don't necessarily disappear when childhood ends. Sometimes we simply grow around them, while some small part of us keeps waiting for the thing we needed back then to finally arrive.

"'...always be quiet when a heart is breaking.'"

Surprisingly solid advice for a time when most of us desperately want to do something. Fix it. Explain it. Find the perfect words. Sometimes perhaps the kindest thing we can offer is simply enough quiet for someone else to hurt.

"'And when you feel wanted for the first time in your life, you realize how much you've been starving for it.'"

And not wanted because of what you can provide, fix, accomplish, or contribute. Wanted simply because you're you. There is something particularly heartbreaking about realizing how hungry you've been only after someone finally feeds you.

"'Hate is a knife without a handle, you can't cut something with it without cutting yourself.'"

Another deceptively simple little line. Hatred may be aimed outward, but carrying it still requires us to hold onto something sharp.

"'Hindsight is twenty-twenty, they say, and they aren't wrong. We only know the right thing to do after we've done the wrong one.'"

Which feels unfairly accurate.

And there was one idea running through the book that wasn't so much a single quote as a little refrain I wanted to carry away with me: Be a little brave. Not fearlessly brave. Not heroically brave. Not change-your-entire-life-before-breakfast brave. Just a little brave.

Sometimes that's enough. Enough to ask. Enough to try. Enough to tell someone what you need. Enough to take the next step when the whole staircase feels impossible. Maybe we all need someone occasionally reminding us that we don't have to be brave forever. We just have to be a little brave right now.

I had other notes saved too. Unfortunately, those notes appear to have gone on an adventure of their own and are quite possibly still tucked inside the library book now sitting safely in the return bin. To the next reader: enjoy my supplementary materials.

And Sometimes You Just Want the Fall Vibes

Then there was Rewitched. Was this one selected because I had constructed an elaborate thematic connection between witchcraft and mental health or abundance? Absolutely not. I wanted autumn.

Actual autumn has been somewhat reluctant to cooperate, so I outsourced the job to fiction. But even here, the themes appeared anyway.

Belle struggles with inadequacy, self-doubt, comparison, and that particularly nasty little voice insisting that perhaps everyone else belongs here more than you do. Call it imposter syndrome. Call it insecurity. Call it being human.

What I liked was that Belle doesn't suddenly become worthy because other people begin believing in her. As she starts showing up for herself, trusting herself, and putting real work behind what she wants, she discovers that she isn't nearly as alone as she thought.

Her abundance isn't power (though, she has plenty of it). It's support. And perhaps some kinds of abundance only become visible once we're willing to receive them.

But the moment that hit me hardest had very little to do with magic. It was that inevitable, horrible realization that our parents are not unbreakable. There comes a point when the people who once seemed like permanent fixtures in the universe suddenly become human. Vulnerable. Aging. Temporary.

Apparently, even a world where witches can live for centuries can't magic away that particular terror. Although, considering magic appears to be a finite resource in this world, you'd think the good witches would actually want to pass it along rather than hoard it...but I digress.

One line that earned an immediate place in the Bookwyrm heart:

"'Anything of importance is always in the library, dear.'"

Obviously.

I was also struck by Belle speaking to her younger self. I think many of us imagine what we would say if we could sit beside the person we used to be, particularly once we realize that younger voice never completely disappeared.

And maybe growing older isn't silencing that person. Maybe it's finally becoming the adult they needed.

So...Where Is the Abundance?

This is where my two book clubs unexpectedly met. Because none of these books is obviously about abundance. But perhaps abundance isn't simply wealth, overflowing tables, enormous harvests, or getting everything we wished for.

In Emily Wilde, there is an abundance of knowledge and stories, but Emily slowly discovers that knowledge alone cannot replace connection. There are things we learn from books, things we learn by observing, and things we can only learn by allowing other people close enough to surprise us. And her abundance appears in all of the connections she unknowingly makes on her journey and the people willing to fight for her in the end, as unexpected as it may be to her.

In The Wishing Game, abundance looks almost like the opposite of wishing. The characters begin with enormous absences: safety, family, belonging, opportunity. The story asks what happens when people who have known scarcity finally encounter the possibility of enough. And sometimes abundance is just that...enough.

And Rewitched offers abundance through community. Belle begins from a place of feeling inadequate and disconnected from her own potential, only to discover how much support surrounds her once she begins tending her own little patch of ground again.

Maybe that is what I like about the Harvest Moon. A harvest isn't something that simply appears. It is what remains after planting, tending, losing, waiting, adapting, and trying again. And the abundance we gather isn't always what we thought we had planted.

Sometimes it's knowledge. Sometimes it's family. Sometimes it's confidence. Sometimes it's the ability to accept kindness. Sometimes it's simply discovering that the life you have been building contains more than you realized.

Sometimes it's the monarch butterflies and little frogs your garden brings instead of piles of produce.

And sometimes...

You really did just want a witchy autumn book because September refused to -ber and you needed some sweater weather vibes. That counts, too.

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Reading Between Book Clubs

I think I may keep trying to weave my reading between the Hungry Hungry Wyrm and Library & Libations.

It makes the themes a little stranger sometimes, but I rather like that. Books don't exist in perfectly labeled boxes any more than people do. The same story can become an entirely different conversation depending on who is sitting around the table.

So I'm curious: Are you part of more than one book club?

Do you ever use the same book for multiple discussions? Do you deliberately choose something that fits several themes, or do you simply read what you want and figure out the connections afterward?

Apparently, I've chosen Option B. Repeatedly.

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Looking Ahead to October's Hunter's Moon

October's full moon arrives right on cue for spooky season.

The Hunter's Moon will rise looking nearly full on the evening of 25 October and reach peak illumination just after midnight on 26 October. Traditionally, the Hunter's Moon followed the harvest season, when people turned from gathering crops toward hunting and preserving food for the winter ahead. It has also sometimes been called the Blood Moon or Sanguine Moon, giving us a wonderfully ominous name for October reading.

And that gives us several tempting directions for next month's theme. I know not everyone is into the dark sides of spooky season, so I'll leave a few options open for this month:

Option One: Hunt or Be Hunted

Predators and prey. Pursuit and escape. Monsters in the woods, killers in the shadows, dangerous quests, obsessive investigators, supernatural creatures, and perhaps the occasional character who discovers that they have been hunting the wrong monster all along.

Option Two: Gather Before Dark

The harvest is finished. Winter is coming. The nights are growing longer. What do we gather before the darkness arrives? Stories about preparation, survival, isolation, community, old secrets, ancestral knowledge, protecting home, and confronting whatever is waiting beyond the firelight would all fit.

Option Three: Into the Dark Woods

The Hunter's Moon historically illuminated the landscape after sunset. So let's wander in the opposite direction. Forests. Folklore. Things lurking beyond the path. Strange villages. Haunted houses. Ancient bargains. Witches. Monsters. Fairytales with teeth. Basically: October.

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Need Help Choosing?

Ask yourself:

Do I want to be scared, unsettled, enchanted, or simply surrounded by autumn?

Would I rather follow the hunter, the hunted, or something that doesn't fit neatly into either category?

What happens when a character has to prepare for something they know is coming?

What would I rather encounter this month: a haunted house, a dark forest, a witch, a monster, or a very suspicious little town?

Do I want something genuinely frightening, or something that lets me visit spooky season while remaining safely beneath a blanket with snacks?

What does the character need to gather before facing the darkness: supplies, courage, knowledge, allies, magic, or the truth?

What book has been lurking on my TBR that October finally gives me an excuse to read?

There really isn't a wrong answer.

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A Few Paths Into the Harvest

A few possibilities to get you started from different corners of our shelves:

Horror | The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson A classic haunted-house choice for readers who prefer creeping psychological unease to buckets of gore.

Gothic | Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia An isolated house, family secrets, an increasingly sinister atmosphere, and plenty to uncover in the dark.

Fantasy/Folklore | Slewfoot by Brom Puritan New England, witchcraft, wilderness, religion, vengeance, and the increasingly complicated question of exactly who the monster is.

Cozy Fantasy | The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches by Sangu Mandanna For anyone who wants witches, found family, magic, and autumnal coziness without spending October checking underneath the bed.

Mystery/Horror | The September House by Carissa Orlando A haunted house story with a surprisingly complicated look at what people learn to live with, what they normalize, and what finally becomes too much.

Classic Gothic | The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde Beauty, corruption, secrecy, morality, and the monster we may become while everyone else is looking at the mask.

Historical/Fantastical | A Night in the Lonesome October by Roger Zelazny A particularly fun October choice, structured around the days leading toward Halloween and populated by an assortment of familiar figures from classic horror and fantasy.

Paranormal Cozy Mystery | Bewitcher's Beach Paranormal Cozy Mysteries series by Emily Fluke Follow a single werewolf mom who runs the Mockbuster video-rental shop in a supernatural small town, complete with werewolves, ghosts, vampires, and a gargoyle sheriff. For those looking for some 90s nostalgia and a small community where the "monsters" are your neighbors.

Children's Classic | The Little House in the Big Woods by Laura Ingalls Wilder Harvesting, preserving, preparing for winter, seasonal rhythms, family, and the abundance found in making use of what you have.

Dark Fairy Tale | Nettle & Bone by T. Kingfisher There are impossible tasks, witches, a bone dog, a fairy godmother, and plenty of fairy-tale darkness.

Historical Horror | The Hacienda by Isabel Cañas Gothic atmosphere, supernatural dread, questions of belonging, and a heroine trying to determine what exactly is hunting her.

Literary/Folk Horror | Starve Acre by Andrew Michael Hurley This is for the reader who wants the October woods to feel ancient, unsettling, and distinctly uninterested in explaining themselves.

YA Fantasy | The Luminaries by Susan Dennard Hunters, monsters, dangerous woods, secret societies, and a heroine determined to prove herself all arrive neatly wrapped in one October-shaped package.

Classic Mystery | The Hound of the Baskervilles by Arthur Conan Doyle A family curse. A spectral hound. A lonely moor. Something apparently hunting the Baskerville heirs through the darkness.

Folklore/Fantasy | The Bear and the Nightingale by Katherine Arden Set against the approach of a brutal Russian winter, this story weaves household spirits, old folklore, family, wilderness, and gathering danger together. Winter is coming...quite literally.

Cozy Fantasy | The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst For readers who interpret the assignment as "I shall gather books, jam, plants, friends, and enough coziness to survive winter, thank you very much." Not spooky, but a nice counterweight to October's monsters, and I never pass up an opportunity to recommend this one.

The rule, as always, is delightfully loose:

Read what calls to you. We'll figure out why it fits later.

Apparently, we're getting quite good at that.

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The Moonlit Question

Before we wander off beneath another moon, we have one last bit of unfinished business.

Last month's Moonlit Question was:

Have you ever finished a book and wished there were just one more secret chapter? What book would it be, and why?

My answer?

I struggled with this one. There have been plenty of books where I've reached the end and simply wasn't ready to leave. I still had questions or wasn't ready to leave the friends I'd made along the read. But I think that's slightly different from wanting another chapter.

If I had to choose, I might go back to The Book Charmer again. Not because the story necessarily needed another chapter, but because Dove Pond feels like one of those fictional places where I don't necessarily need another adventure. I'd happily take one quiet, secret chapter where nothing terribly important happens. Let me wander into town, check in with Sarah Dove, browse the books, hear a little gossip, and find out what everyone is doing when nobody is busy being part of a plot.

Maybe that's the kind of secret chapter I want most: Not another ending, but a chance to see that the characters kept living after I left.

This Month's Moonlit Question is:

If your reading life had a harvest, what would you say you've gathered from books over the years?

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Until the Hunter's Moon...

And that's another month gathered safely onto the shelves.

Three books that weren't necessarily chosen for mental health. Three books that weren't necessarily chosen for abundance. And somehow, plenty to talk about for both.

Maybe that's part of the magic of reading. A book changes depending on when we find it, what we're carrying when we open it, who we're discussing it with, and what questions we bring to its pages.

So here's to the books that fit the theme perfectly, the books we have to squint at sideways until they fit, and the books we read simply because there was a witch on the cover and September wasn't being autumnal enough.

The Hearth will be waiting when the Hunter's Moon rises. Until then, keep reading, keep gathering, and leave a little room on the shelf for whatever finds you next.

The tea is steeping, and the book hoard awaits.

The Wyrm