Cables and Comrades

I wanted to love this more than I did. There are lots of lovely touches — the onion-scented curtain, the crooked Hamlet poster, Mr. Hux clattering in with the cue sheet — and the technical detail about knots and come-alongs is convincing. But the plot felt a little too tidy for my taste. Tess’s crisis at the waterfront plays out in a couple of charged paragraphs and then we’re immediately presented with the big choice about city opportunities versus staying; I wished the story spent more time on the fallout and the complexity of that decision. The mascots and absurd town rituals flirt with charm but sometimes read like shorthand for ‘quirky small town’ rather than fully realized community dynamics. Also, a few beats leaned on familiar YA tropes — the single intense proving moment, the symbolic object (the teapot), the hometown-or-city fork in the road — so while the writing is strong, the structure and character arcs could have pushed further into unpredictability. Still, enjoyable for its atmosphere and craft details, but I wanted more grit and less neatness.

I really enjoyed this one — lean, vivid, and full of character. The storm sequence had me on edge; the detail of Tess threading a slack line and wrapping it with impatient hands made the danger feel immediate. Mr. Hux is such a delight (a clockwork goose with a jammed crank? brilliant). My favorite image: Finn sitting under the rig like he’s presiding over a ritual, polishing a teapot while Tess does the dangerous work above. The ending’s choice between city opportunities and home ties didn’t come out of nowhere because the story had already shown what Tess would be leaving behind: a craft, a community, a history. Short but resonant — recommended for anyone who loves hands-on coming-of-age tales.

Cables and Comrades is the kind of YA story that rests on small, luminous sentences. The opening — Tess moving through a theatre that ‘smelled like a thing that had been lived in’ — had me immediately. The author writes the language of making: the exactness of knots, the rhythm of a rigging team, the nick on a wrench catching the light. I teared up in places: when Tess steadies the rig and you can almost feel every breath and rope strain; and when she looks at the faded Hamlet poster, remembering hands that both loved and ignored the place. The town rituals and absurd mascots are charming without feeling jokey; they underscore community stakes when the waterfront showcase threatens to go wrong. Beautifully atmospheric and respectful of craft and yearning.

Who knew rigging could be so romantic? 😂 Tess on the catwalk with a flashlight under her chin — I was fangirling over ropework. The clockwork goose (Mr. Hux!) is the kind of oddball detail that makes small towns feel alive. Also, the moment when she steadies the sliding overhead assembly with nothing but knots and muscle? Chef’s kiss. The story balances craft and coming-of-age in a way that feels genuine, and Finn’s teapot-polishing is a lovely, slightly ridiculous anchor amid the storm madness. Loved it.

This was quietly brilliant. The prose smells like theater — sawdust, old velvet, grease on a cue sheet — and the storm scene is visceral: Tess steadies the rig, uses a cheater bar and knots, and the whole town’s nervous rituals hum below. I loved Finn’s teapot polishing bit; it grounded the chaos. Short, intimate, and very satisfying.

As someone who’s worked backstage in community theaters, I appreciated the authenticity of the rigging work — the calluses, the cheater bar, the exact way Tess ‘threaded a slack line through a jaw.’ The author nails the jargon without making it a textbook: you understand come-alongs and turnbuckles by the way characters treat them. The storm sequence at the waterfront showcase is a standout — gusting wind, absurd mascots on the ground, and Tess clinging to an overhead assembly with raw human muscle and clever knots. Finn polishing a teapot while she climbs above is such a great small-town tableau; it contrasts ritual and chaos perfectly. The pacing overall is tight, with just enough downtime (the sagging Hamlet poster, the onion-scented curtain) to give the stakes emotional weight. A small quibble: I wanted a bit more on the aftermath of her choice, how leaving or staying would ripple through the town — but that’s a plea for a sequel, not a critique. Beautifully crafted YA with real heart.

I loved how tactile this story felt — Tess moving through the theatre reads like someone describing a second home. The details made it: the sawdust on the sash windows, the velvet curtain smelling faintly of onion, and that aching image of Tess with a flashlight tucked under her chin on the catwalk. The scene with Mr. Hux the clockwork goose waddling in with the grease-smudged cue sheet gave me a grin and then landed into one of the tensest moments: Tess bracing the sliding overhead assembly while the storm howls outside. There’s real craft here, not just in the rigging descriptions (come-alongs, knots, cheater bars — yes!) but in how the town’s small rituals and absurd mascots underscore what’s at stake for her emotionally. The ending — where she has to decide between the draw of the city and the pull of home — felt honest and earned, because we’d spent so much time inside her hands and choices. Warm, precise, and quietly thrilling.