The Tide Archive

Right from the opening line I was hooked — the city smells like lime and salt and the prose practically tastes like honey. The author manages a rare thing: an intimate YA voice that still feels cinematic. Tamsin’s rooftop rounds (gloved fingers skimming comb, the smoker tapping at her thigh) are some of the clearest, most tactile scenes I’ve read lately. I could feel the wax, hear the bees’ hush, and believe in memory-honey as if it were a real commodity. I adored the emotional core here — Eloise calling Tamsin her “honey girl” is such a quietly powerful moment that sets up everything: why Tamsin risks flooded tunnels and corporate warehouses to reclaim a summer. The worldbuilding hooks into those small rules (“Never open an amber jar when the tide’s dragging out”) in a way that makes the city itself feel like a character. The supporting cast is vivid without feeling crowded: the mentor’s old-world patience contrasts perfectly with the hacker’s sharp, risky energy, and that gull-like drone is a brilliant little piece of tech-world personality. Plot-wise, the theft-and-heist structure propels the story cleanly toward a satisfying, citywide reckoning — high stakes, but earned. If you like YA that mixes magic, environment, and heist energy with lush sensory writing, don’t skip this one. It stayed with me — like a jar of summer I keep wanting to open. 🐝

Okay, real talk: I devoured the first half, lingered in the rooftop scenes, and then got a little impatient. The writing is dreamy — I can still taste the propolis. But at times the author leans on YA tropes so hard it clicks into autopilot. The corporation’s motivations are paper-thin, the hacker is character typecast as the lovable, morally ambiguous fixer, and the mentor’s arc wraps up in a way that felt a bit pat. That said, certain scenes are excellent: Tamsin murmuring to the bees, Mrs. Osei’s admonitions about salt-blossom, and the moment the gull-drone rescues them in a narrow tunnel are proper goosebump material. The environmental commentary is earnest and effective. I’d say this is a 3-star for me: lovely atmosphere and a compelling main idea, but the middle needs more stakes and the antagonists need teeth. Still, I recommend it to anyone who likes emotional YA with coastal vibes and quiet rebellion. 🙂

I admire the concept but the execution left me wanting. The prose is often lovely — the amber comb image is great — yet the plot relies on a handful of clichés: the corporate villain, the hacker friend who can do anything, the mentor who turns out to be more than they seem. The flooded tunnels are atmospheric, but several beats felt telegraphed: I saw the betrayals and the twist coming. Also, there are a few plot holes: how exactly does the memory honey get stored and transferred? The book skates over logistics that, given the premise, should’ve been fascinating. And the citywide reckoning feels too tidy for the scale of the theft. If you want mood and imagery, this is a good pick. If you want tight plotting and originality at every turn, you might be frustrated.

I wanted to love this more than I did. The premise — memory honey, rooftop beekeeping, a flooded coastal city — hooked me immediately, and the opening paragraphs were gorgeous. Tamsin’s world smells real: resin, smoke, salt. But halfway through the book I kept waiting for the plot to surprise me and it never quite did. The corporation feels like a generic antagonist, and the heist to reclaim Eloise’s summer unfolds in ways I’d seen in other YA capers. Characters feel a touch underdeveloped: the hacker is witty but mostly exists to unlock doors and exposition, and the mentor’s backstory is hinted at then sidelined. There are moments of brilliance — the tide-warning motif, the drone’s gulllike voice — but too many scenes resolve on convenient beats. Pacing sagged in the middle; the final reckoning was satisfying but predictable. Worth a read for worldbuilding fans, but I expected bolder choices.

A restrained, lovely read. The world-building is economical: small spells like “Never open an amber jar when the tide’s dragging out” tell you everything about how fragile this city is. Tamsin is a quietly fierce protagonist — not loud, but resolute. The flooded tunnels sequence reads like a short, intense film; I could see the water, hear the gull-drone, feel the bees’ absence looming. The writing is precise and the stakes feel real: memory as commodity, summers sold to the highest bidder. The pacing is deliberate at times, which I liked — it allowed the quieter emotional beats to land. If you want YA that trusts readers to sit with silences and small moments, give this one a go.

I loved the atmospheric bits — the coppery honey, the salt-laced air, Mrs. Osei’s smoker tapping against Tamsin’s thigh. The author writes sensory details with confidence. The grandmother-granddaughter relationship is touching without being saccharine; that line where Eloise calls Tamsin her “honey girl” felt like a warm pivot for the whole plot. Stylistically, it’s lyrical but not overwrought. The moral questions about memory ownership and environmental decay land well — the corporation stealing a summer is a neat, resonant image. The hacker friend and mentor add needed warmth and cleverness. My only gripe: the reveal about how memory-honey actually works could have been leaned into more; I wanted slightly less suggestion and a little more explanation. Still — highly recommend for anyone who likes slow-burn YA with a strong sense of place.

This is the kind of YA urban fantasy that smells like salt and smoke — in the best way. The author’s prose is tactile: “wax shone like amber held up to the sun” is a line I kept underlining. Tamsin’s voice is believable and a little weary; she isn’t theatrical, she’s lived-in, which makes her choices in the flooded tunnels feel earned. I appreciated the blend of tech and old craft — the gull-drone is a smart, slightly uncanny companion, and the hacker subplot avoids being mere convenience by paying off in a clever data-retrieval scene. Themes of memory vs. commodification are threaded through naturally (the stolen summer hits hard). The book balances intimacy and scope: close rooftop moments and then a city shifting under the weight of reclaimed memories. Sharp, humane, and quietly radical.

I fell into The Tide Archive like stepping into warm water — the city’s salt and sun are practically a character. Tamsin’s rooftop beekeeping scenes are gorgeous: the way she checks frames “by feel,” the amber combs catching light, and Grandma Eloise calling her “my honey girl” made me ache a little. The memory-honey concept is so inventive; I loved small rules like Mrs. Osei’s warning about salt-blossom and the tide — those details build a believable magic system. The descent into the flooded tunnels is cinematic and tense, especially when the gull-like drone first swoops in. The mentor and hacker feel real, not just helpers, and the citywide reckoning at the end lands emotionally. Pacing picks up beautifully in the last third. If you like atmospheric YA with environmental stakes and quiet, stubborn heroines, this one’s for you. Would’ve loved one more scene with the bees after everything settled, but that’s just me wanting more of a world I already miss.