Keepsong

The first paragraphs smell wonderfully of lemon oil, and I appreciated the tactile detail of Mira sorting gears and winding the songbird — but that care for craft doesn’t make up for how predictable and oddly bumpy the rest of the book feels. The central device that extracts memories is treated like a neat plot shortcut rather than a disruptive technology: we’re told it exists and then it conveniently supplies the evidence to tie the factory to Mira’s missing mother. That linkage reads a bit too tidy and familiar — small-town cover-up, grieving protagonist, community split — all clichés that could have been subverted. Pacing is another problem. The opening lingers on repair-shop minutiae (the filigree lid and drilled socket are lovely images), yet when the stakes kick in the narrative rushes, glossing over how the town actually reacts and why only certain people are affected. There are also unanswered practical questions about the memory device’s mechanics and legal/ethical fallout — plot holes that undermine the moral debate the story wants to have. If the author tightens the structure, clarifies the tech’s limits, and gives secondary characters more oomph, the atmosphere here could support a sharper, less predictable moral puzzle.

I didn’t expect to get teary-eyed over a music-box repair shop, but here we are. Mira’s hands doing tiny, precise work is the steady heart of the story — the contrast to huge, messy truths about the factory and what it took from the town. The writing has a lovely dry wit (love the line about mechanical confessions) and the moral tug-of-war over memory vs. forgetting is handled without melodrama. Fast enough to keep teens turning pages, thoughtful enough to stick with adult readers. Loved it. Also: that filigree lid scene? Gorgeous.

This is a tightly written YA mystery with an ethical spine. The premise — a device that extracts and plays memories — is handled with restraint rather than gimmickry. I appreciated the way everyday detail (the drilled socket in the music box, the filigree lid) grounds the speculative element, giving the tech a lived-in, almost domestic feel. Mira’s restoration work provides elegant symbolism throughout: you repair what you can, you catalog what you can’t, and you decide when something is irreparably changed. The town’s fracture after the factory secrets leak is convincing; people behave like people do when livelihoods and reputations collide. If I have a quibble, it’s that a couple of secondary characters could have used more development, but overall the pacing and moral dilemmas hold together well.

Keepsong wrecked me in the best way. Mira’s bench — the tins, the lemon oil, the tiny springs — felt like a person I wanted to sit with and listen to. The scenes where she winds the songbird automaton and when she first turns the device on to play someone’s memory were beautiful and quietly terrible. I loved how the author used restoration as a metaphor: fixing gears, sorting grief, deciding which memories deserve to be kept. The small-town politics after the factory cover-up felt painfully real — neighbors who’d been family suddenly weighing loyalty against truth. The reveal about Mira’s mother landed with enough ambiguity to sting; it didn’t spoon-feed answers, which made it linger. Emotional, atmospheric, and morally complicated — a YA read that trusts its readers’ intelligence and feelings.

Short, sharp, and sad in all the right ways. I adored the sensory writing — the smell of metal filings and lemon oil, the bell over the shop door feeling like a confession. The memory-player device raises fascinating ethical questions without getting preachy, and Mira as a restorer is a perfect YA protagonist: skilled, grieving, stubborn. The scene where she turns the key and listens to someone else’s past is unforgettable. Felt like a cross between small-town literary fiction and a speculative mystery. Would love a sequel focusing on Ruth and the automaton! 😊

I wanted to love Keepsong more than I did. The central idea — a device that plays memories — is compelling, and the shop details (tins, songbird) are nicely rendered, but the plot felt a bit formulaic at times. The factory cover-up and the town’s fracture come across as convenient catalysts rather than fully earned consequences; some townspeople flip loyalties quickly for dramatic effect. Mira is sympathetic, but certain reveals about her mother felt rushed and underexplored, as if the author was in a hurry to get to the moral. Also, the device’s origins and mechanics are skimmed over in a way that left plot holes (how does evidence from memories hold up legally? who controls playback?). Still, the prose has warmth and there are memorable scenes — just wished for deeper, less tidy resolution.