The Sword and the Sophomore

I’ll admit, I rolled my eyes at first. *Another* teen discovers magic at school? But *The Sword and the Sophomore* disarmed me within chapters. Sweany’s protagonist isn’t just fighting dark forces—she’s battling the kind of loneliness that clings after loss, the kind that makes you snap at friends or cling to the wrong crush. The magic system is ingeniously tied to emotional truth: spells require facing memories you’ve locked away, which means the climactic battles aren’t just about fireballs but about finally *saying* the things you’ve swallowed for years. It’s messy, and it’s brilliant. Tami Stronach’s performance is a masterclass in restraint. She doesn’t overplay the angst; even at the story’s most melodramatic (and yes, there’s a *little* too much navel-gazing in the middle act), her delivery keeps it grounded. Her pacing is particularly smart—she lingers on the quiet moments, like the protagonist staring at her dead mother’s sweater, but clips the dialogue just enough to keep the social dynamics snappy. My only real critique? The sound design is *too* subtle. A few more atmospheric cues (a whisper of wind during spells, a distant hum for the villain’s presence) could’ve elevated the immersion. Still, this is one of the few YA fantasies that left me *thinking*—not just about the world, but about my own high school scars. If you’ve ever felt like an outsider in your own life, this one’s for you.