Like the Moon We Rise (The Poisoner's Moon, #1) Book Review and Summary
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Marco Conti - 01 Sep, 2026 22:26
Author: Annabelle Cormack
Page Count: Unknown
Publication Date: Expected publication 2026 APL
The synopsis for Like the Moon We Rise is a glittering mess of political intrigue and witchy revenge fantasies—like if The Poisoner’s Daughter by Kristin Harmel met up with The Cruel Prince by Holly Black in a back-alley deal gone wrong. The premise is so ripe for a slow-burn courtroom drama where the real poison is the kind that seeps into the bones of the reader’s patience—because the setup is too neat, too conveniently tied to prophecy, and too eager to throw Auriel into a role that feels less like a subversive act and more like a poorly written fanfic trope.
But let’s cut to the chase: the book’s biggest sin is its vagueness—not in the way of a mystery, but in the way of a plot that’s been sketched in Sharpie on a napkin. We have a poison maiden, a prince with a grudge, a friend who’s definitely hiding something, and a witchcraft that’s either a gift or a curse depending on who’s paying the rent. The problem? None of this feels like it’s been thought through. The Empress isn’t just a villain—she’s a blank slate, a placeholder for whatever political allegory Cormack wants to slap on later. And Ambrose? He’s not a prince, he’s a checklist: young, vengeful, obviously hiding something. The synopsis treats him like a character in a YA romance where the guy’s backstory is just “he’s hot and he’s got issues.”
The real gold here is in the tone—a mix of The Lies of Locke Lamora’s sharp wit and The Cruel Prince’s courtly tension, but with the emotional temperature cranked up to “slow-burn until someone snaps.” Auriel’s position as a poisoner isn’t just a job; it’s a metaphor—one that could’ve been so much sharper if the synopsis didn’t reduce her to “forced to kill for a living.” That’s the kind of line that makes you wonder if the author’s ever read The Poisoner’s Handbook by Deborah Blum, where the real horror isn’t the killing, but the science of it, the precision, the way poison becomes a language all its own. Instead, we get “sweetest poisons,” which is so 2010s fantasy—like if a TikTok trend about “dark academia” got pregnant with a court intrigue novel.
Faolan’s role is the most interesting part of the synopsis, not because of what he does, but because of what he implies. He’s the wild card, the one who’s been in on the plan from the beginning—except the synopsis doesn’t tell us why. Is he a traitor? A lover? A business partner? The ambiguity is deliberate, but it’s also dangerous—because if Cormack can’t commit to his role, the reader’s going to be left flailing like Auriel in a room full of knives. And don’t even get me started on the “dark presence within her.” That’s so vague it could mean anything—is it a literal demon? A metaphor for trauma? A plot device? The synopsis treats it like a punchline, but in a book this layered, it should feel like a threat.
The biggest red flag? The way the synopsis assumes the reader will buy into the prophecy nonsense. Prophecies are dead in modern fantasy—unless they’re subverted, unless they’re lies, unless they’re tools. But here, they’re just there, like a deus ex machina with a crown. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder if Cormack’s read enough actual political history—because prophecies don’t save people, they destroy them. Look at The Lies of Locke Lamora: the real magic isn’t in the prophecy, it’s in the people who believe in it. Here, the prophecy feels like a cheat code, and that’s a problem.
But—and this is a big but—if Cormack can pull off the balance between Auriel’s internal struggle and the courtly machinations, this could be something. The synopsis is too eager to hand Auriel a mission, but if she’s allowed to question it, if the court feels like a prison rather than a stage, then maybe the book will live up to the hype. Right now, it’s just waiting to see if the author can turn “sweetest poisons” into something more than a gimmick.
My prediction? This is going to be the kind of book that divides readers—either they’ll love the courtly tension and the witchy undertones, or they’ll be left scratching their heads at the lazy execution of the prophecy. It’s so close to being a gem, but the synopsis makes it feel like it’s still in the rough-cut stage. And in fantasy, rough cuts are fine—as long as they’re not the final product.
Now if you’ll excuse me, my tailor’s waiting to fit me for the gala, and I’ve got a date with a very expensive suit that’s definitely not on sale. #BookTok #FantasyFails #ProphecyProblems
