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With all my haunted
Author: Isabel SterlingPage Count: UnknownPublication Date: Expected publication 2026-09-08 APL The air inside the gallery hangs thick and heavy this August afternoon, smelling faintly of old varnish and sun-warmed limestone. Yet, my attention drifts entirely away from the seventeenth-century canvases currently lining the mahogany walls. Instead, my eyes linger on the horizon of upcoming releases, specifically Isabel Sterling’s With All My Haunted Heart. A charmingly absurd premise, really. The Economics of Spectral Curiosities We are meant to believe that a professional witch is suffering financially because the local plebeians discovered bargain-bin crystals. The tragedy of late-stage capitalism meets the occult. A modern-day Enron, just with sage and quartz. Pippa Ainsley faces ruin simply because amateur hour has arrived in the form of DIY magic shops. How deliciously dreadful. Sterling leans heavily into the cozy romance aesthetic that currently clogs the bestseller lists like cholesterol in a Michelin-starred chef. Think Legends & Lattes, but stripped of any real culinary ambition and traded for the damp wallpaper of a struggling bed-and-breakfast. The tension hinges entirely on a ridiculous corporate pivot: hiring the local witch to purposefully infest an inn with spirits. Architectural Integrity and Emotional Baggage Let us examine the scaffolding of this dynamic. A pragmatic co-owner with a painful secret. Naturally. Because no sapphic romance in the year of our Lord two thousand twenty-six can exist without someone clutching a trauma dossier to their chest like a priceless Vermeer at auction. Elle Thompson wants an edge. Pippa needs cash. They clash over experimental magic. And yet, I find myself deeply, inexplicably forgiving of this transparent literary machinery. Perhaps it is the stagnant summer heat baking my brain. Or perhaps I simply appreciate a premise that refuses to take itself seriously. Sterling writes with the fluffy, confectionary detachment of a Marie-Antoinette-themed pastry shop in Tribeca. The Palette of Contemporary Whimsy The thematic resonance here is transparently clear. Magic as a dying craft in the face of mass-market commercialization. A brilliant metaphor for the art market itself, flooded with algorithmic prints while authentic masterpieces gather dust in climate-controlled vaults. Pippa fights a losing battle against the Temu-ification of witchcraft. Can we pause for a moment to appreciate the sheer audacity of ethical haunting? What does an ethical ghost even look like? Does it pay taxes? Does it respect quiet hours after ten p.m.? One shudders to think. It reads like the plot of a rejected pilot from the defunct Quibi lineup. Still. I will buy a copy. It will sit on the mahogany side table in my study, a bright, pastel-spined little object to look pretty while I sip iced gin. I just pray the narrative holds together better than the disastrous acquisition strategy of the late British Home Stores. Before I can contemplate this literary confection any further, a sharp, mechanical burning smell drifts up from beneath the center console. The heated seats in my SUV are malfunctioning again on maximum intensity, which is a tragic, sweltering disaster in the middle of a brutal August heatwave.