Frogs & Fog: A Murkmire Mystery (Wordbound)

ARC Review
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Frogs & Fog: A Murkmire Mystery – Mr. Elex Icon

First things first: thank you, Mr. Elex Icon, for trusting me with an ARC. Truly appreciated. Especially because—full honesty—this is not the kind of book I’d normally grab off a shelf while whispering “yes, ruin me.”

And yet.
Here we are.

I don’t even know where to start, which honestly feels fitting for a book that drops you into a foggy, botanical, murder-soaked fantasy swamp and says, “Good luck, don’t trip.” At first, I struggled. A lot. Many names. Many very intentional names. My brain, which operates on caffeine, chaos, and vibes, does not love that. That’s a me problem. Entirely. The book itself is doing exactly what it’s supposed to do.

Because here’s the thing: this is brilliantly written.

Once it clicks, it clicks. The kind of click where you suddenly realize you’re no longer a reader—you’re a silent, morally questionable bystander inside two deeply intertwined families who absolutely should’ve gone to therapy generations ago. The List family. The Toes family. And the names? Sharp. Clever. Deliciously smug.
Stilet Toes. Ve Toes. Rea List. Natura List.
If you don’t grin at least once, check your pulse.

The deeper you sink into Murkmire, the more layers peel back—botanical, poisonous, magical layers—until you’re knee-deep in secrets, family rot, and the truth behind “the Will.” And at that point, I didn’t want answers anymore—I wanted everything. Every secret. Every plant. Every morally gray decision soaked in fog and bad blood.

This is fantasy, but it’s not cozy. It’s a murder mystery with magic in its veins and something dark growing under the soil. It’s clever, unsettling, and quietly sharp.

Four magical, poisonous stars from me.
I admire the hell out of the writing.
I respect the craft.
And even though it wasn’t my usual flavor, I’m genuinely glad I took the bite.

That said—and full transparency—my only issue is a me issue: I don’t love slow starts. Never have. That’s not a flaw in the book, that’s just how my impatient, chaos-driven brain is wired.

Just don’t expect this book to hold your hand.
It’ll hand you a flower instead.
And then quietly poison you with it.