The Brass Meridian

Well, this hit my steampunk sweet spot. Iris is basically Katniss with cogs — someone who's half mapmaker, half mechanic, and all stubbornness. The opening describes the city like it's breathing and grumbling at the same time, which is wonderfully gross and vivid. Hamid barges in like the best kind of sidekick: coal hands, bad timing, good heart. If I have one cheeky complaint: I want more of the clockwork raven immediately. That creature is promised like dessert and I'm staring at a plate of gears. Still, the sextant scene where she reads wind veins? Brilliant. The writing's got grit, wit, and charm. Count me in for the ragged crew and the showdown with the councilor — bring on the airships. 🚀

Tight, sensory, and cleverly constructed. The excerpt does three important things quickly: it establishes Iris's skills and loss (her grafted arm), situates us in a dense, mechanical world (the city's breathing and the airships), and drops an inciting political-mystery (the missing Meridian Key). I'm impressed by small touches—the sextant as a hybrid of artistry and utility, the wind veins as a new kind of map—and by how the prose makes machinery feel almost organic. Pacing in the excerpt is deliberate but forward-moving; the knock from Hamid and the half-torn headline function as necessary jolts. If the rest of the novel matches this blend of technical imagination and human stakes, it's going to be a standout YA steampunk. A couple of lines verge on purple at times, but overall the voice is confident and engaging.

I fell in love with Meridian City in the first paragraph. The way the city is described—"a million vented lungs," trains wheezing, the Great Pipe exhaling steam—made the whole place feel alive. Iris waking to that chorus, reaching for her filigreed sextant, and flexing her brass arm is such a visceral, human introduction to a character who is both wounded and brilliant. I especially loved the scene with Hamid and the torn headline — the sudden tilt of the room when she sees "MERIDIAN PILLAR STABLE? QUARTERED KEY MISSING?" had me holding my breath. The author balances small domestic moments (Iris and her workshop, the smell of oil and molasses) with high stakes (a missing Meridian Key, a scheming councilor) beautifully. Characters feel tactile: Hamid with coal on his fingers, the sextant that reads wind veins, and the clockwork raven teased in the blurb promise so much charm. This is steampunk done with heart and sharp detail; I can't wait to see Iris assemble her ragged crew and face the councilor. Highly recommended for fans of atmospheric adventure and inventive protagonists.

There is something almost musical about how this excerpt is written—the city as an orchestra of industry, the sextant as a delicate instrument, Iris as both soloist and conductor. I adore how the author lets you in on the little rituals of the world: the way wind veins are mapped like veins on a palm, the "hand that remembered her father's touch," the clockwork hum through the floor. Those moments make Iris feel lived-in rather than merely plotted. The stakes arrive organically with Hamid's knock and the headline that threatens the city's balance. I appreciated the social texture hinted at—the guild's notices, the councilor's hunger for power—and how the missing Meridian Key reads as both a literal object and a symbol of the city's damaged equilibrium. The prose balances lyrical description with workable mechanics (inventive sextant! prosthetic arm!) so readers get the wonder without losing narrative momentum. On a character note, Iris's tenderness toward instruments and maps suggests a protagonist who will grow not just in courage but in moral vision: someone who must choose how to "reshape the future." This is an ambitious YA steampunk with a strong female lead, a vivid setting, and a plot that promises both heist energy and political consequence. I can't wait for the captain and the ragged crew to show up and complicate everything.

I wanted to like this more than I did. The setting is well-rendered—the city breathing, the brass and molasses smell—but the excerpt leans heavily on classic steampunk tropes without doing enough to subvert them. Prosthetic arm? Check. Inventor heroine? Check. Ragged crew and a scheming councilor? Predictable setup. There are some striking lines (the sextant filigreed like a thief's patience), but too much of the writing prefers atmosphere over momentum. My main problem is pacing: the opening luxuriates in description for several paragraphs before handing us the central mystery, so if you're after an action-driven launch the slow build might frustrate you. Also, the politics hinted at (guild notices, councilor's ambition) feel a bit generic so far—I'm not convinced the stakes will be anything other than personal revenge or a moralistic speech from Iris. That said, the author can write, and Iris's tactile relationship with her craft is a nice hook. If the middle tightens and the crew gets distinctive voices, this could still come together. Right now it's promising but not yet fresh.

Absolutely hooked. The imagery — "airships hung like bruised moons" — sold me in one line. Iris feels real: inventive, scarred, stubborn, and tiny bits of her life (the filigreed sextant, the grafted arm that smells of oil and ozone) are painted with love. Hamid's entrance is charming and grounding; that torn headline gives the excerpt an immediate punch. This reads like an invitation: come aboard the airship, meet the clockwork raven, try not to fall for the old captain's gruffness. It's YA in the best way—fast enough to keep teens glued, smart enough to satisfy older readers. Also, the worldbuilding is practical and tactile, which I adore. Please give me the ragged crew's banter and the councilor's plotting ASAP. 😍

Delightful. The sensory world here is the real draw — I could practically taste the molasses in the steam. Iris is immediately sympathetic: an inventor who reads the city's "invisible cartilage" and who carries her father's memory in a prosthetic arm. The detail about the sextant filigreed like a thief's patience is a lovely, precise line. The opening does enough to hook: domestic familiarity (Hamid's grin, coal on his fingers), a sudden threat (the missing key), and the hint of larger forces (the guild, the councilor). It's young adult steampunk that trusts its readers to enjoy craft and atmosphere rather than explain every gear. Looking forward to the airship scenes and the clockwork raven — hope the ragged crew gets as much personality as Iris.