#BlogTour: The Library Of Fates by Margot Harrison

For this blog tour, we’re looking at a strong magical realism/ romance/ mystery combo that leaves off a discussion that could have taken this book from solid to transcendental. For this blog tour, we’re looking at The Library Of Fates by Margot Harrison.

First, the review I posted to the book sites (BookBub.com / BookHype.com / Goodreads.com / PageBound.co / TheStoryGraph.com) and YouTube:

Strong Magical Realism/ Romance/ Mystery Combo. This book had a lot of things for a lot of readers, but curiously, it only had a single line or two about a real world version of itself. But more on that in a moment.

The mysteries here are solid. There’s a dual timeline going on, mostly set in the world just before the collapse in 2020, with the “current” timeline being set in late 2019 and the “then” timeline being back in the 1990s. When the two different mysteries converge… things get quite interesting indeed, setting up one hell of a climax that will take your breath away. As in, if you go into that section just before bed… just plan to stay up a bit later than normal. Once you get there in particular, you’re not going to want to put this book down.

The romance plays out across both timelines as well, with some interesting complications due to the events of the mystery sides of the tale, and is reasonably paced throughout. Nothing overly spicy here, perhaps somewhere between a warm glass of milk and a jalapeno. Maybe somewhere around a Banana or Poblano pepper? Enough that the warm glass of milk crowd may get a little antsy, but also so little that the crowd that barely thinks a habanero is anything at all may not even think there is any spice to be had here at all. I mean, these are college students brought together in an unusual and magical circumstance. Yes, things are going to happen.

But the one thing that hangs over this entire book is the one thing that Harrison only devotes a line or two to – the fact that the very thing that is supposed to be magical about this book, tech in 2025 can already damn near do – and likely will be fully capable of within the next five years or so. While it may not be an *exact* analogue to the magical bit of this book – in that it won’t be a singular book for everyone – AI is largely already to the point that for many readers, particularly those who only read a few books a year or even a few books a decade, AI can already give them a book tailored specifically to their own interests that is largely compelling enough for those exact types of readers. And yes, this is going to be a problem for authors going forward. What happens when the tech gets good enough to satisfy even those of us who read hundreds of books per year? Harrison could have used even her magical version here to perhaps explore this possibility more in a “pre-AI” magical world, but instead uses this part of the magic as more of a macguffin or even an end game set piece than really exploring this idea in any real depth. Which, to this reader, is perhaps a lost opportunity to take a solid mystery/ romance and have it get that much deeper and more timeless.

Still, for what this story actually is and what it actually does, it actually does – *ahem* – all things – *ahem* – quite well within its world, and this is absolutely a book that a lot of different types of readers will be able to enjoy quite a bit.

Very much recommended.

After the jump, an excerpt from the book followed by the “publisher details” – book info, description, author bio, social links, and buy links.

Now
September 26, 2019, 1:15 p.m.

The Library of Fates lived tucked under the mansarded roof of a tall, charcoal- gray building in Harvard Yard. To a casual visitor, it was like any other library, lined with shelves for hours of pleasantly aimless browsing. But every student knew that if you came to the Library of Fates and asked for a book to guide you safely through turbulent times, the librarian would go straight to the shelf and put a book in your hands. And that book would change your life.

Eleanor Dennet was that librarian now, but the knowledge felt hollow. Her predecessor, Odile Vernet— her mentor, her guiding star, her best friend— had died suddenly three days ago, and she could barely process it.

Her throat still raw from crying, her brain still woozy from too much vodka, she stepped over the threshold of the library that had been her refuge for most of the past twenty-four years. On the surface, everything seemed the same: the dark oak paneling and moss- green area rugs and accents; the pearly glow that came through the recessed skylight; the sweet, faintly musty smell. The custodian had opened the curtains and blinds of the nine bay windows on each long side of the room. Sunlight bathed the books in a greenish haze and washed over the varnished seminar table and armchairs. The mural on the ceiling evoked the magic of stories.

But something felt different here. Something was wrong.

Then Eleanor saw him.

From his seat in a green brocade armchair angled toward the window, he didn’t seem to have noticed her entrance. Barely daring to breathe, she took in black hair sprinkled with gray on the headrest and long lashes outlined on his cheek as he gazed down at a sheaf of papers in his hand.

Daniel Vernet, Odile’s son.

The last time they’d seen each other, in 1995, they’d been standing here in the library. Eleanor’s view of Daniel had been clouded by tears, but she would never forget his dark eyes gazing back as if she were a stranger. The bland way he’d smiled, as if she meant nothing to him after everything they’d been through.
And here were more damned tears, rising and choking her. She would have to face Daniel eventually, to give condolences and make arrangements for his mother’s memorial. But not yet. She wasn’t ready for that. She darted to the window bay farthest from his chair, silent on the thick carpet, and slipped behind the ﬂoor-length curtain.

Daniel sighed heavily. The papers crackled. Frozen in place, Eleanor watched through a gap as he stood up. He didn’t look his age, the lines of his chin and cheekbones still ﬁrm.

A sharp click- clack of heels sounded on the stairs behind them. “Ready, Daniel?” asked a slightly accented voice that Eleanor recognized as Liliana, Odile’s housekeeper and close friend.

Daniel nodded, but his gaze was still on the papers. “What the hell is this?” he asked. “What the hell?”

As the older woman put a soothing hand on Daniel’s shoulder, Eleanor saw his body heave. Was he grieving his mother, then? Their relationship had never been smooth. Though Odile visited her son in Europe on occasion, it had taken her death to bring him back to the States for the ﬁrst time in decades.

Liliana gave Daniel a hug and led him toward the door. “Everything will work out. You’ll see. We don’t want to be late for our appointment.”

“I’m just so confused!” Eleanor heard him still exclaiming as their feet thudded down the stairs.

She emerged from behind the curtain and stood very still, waiting for the tension to dissipate and the atmosphere to settle. Listening for a faint but steady thrum on the edge of her awareness, a rumble that was neither pipes nor heating. Like Odile, Eleanor was attuned to the library’s vibrations, inaudible to most people.

But now, standing dead center in the library, straining her senses in the stillness, she detected no reassuring thrum. Nothing. As if the library were an immense machine that had stopped running.

Panic gripped her. It can’t be.

She hurried to the oak door at the far end of the room and unlocked it with trembling ﬁngers. Here in the librarian’s small office, The Book of Dark Nights was kept, secure in a safe, its pages alive with the power of the secrets trapped inside, for the library drew its power from the Book. As long as the Book remained there, the library would function.

On top of the safe, she found a sticky note in Odile’s strong cursive:

A place of pages,
A subterranean secret,
Where love is shared.
One book brought you together.
Start from there.

Eleanor stared at it for a dazed second. Odile often left literary quotes on sticky notes, but this didn’t seem like the style of poetry she would read— or write, if Odile had been a poet.

Then she knelt beside the safe to type in the code. Fumbling in her urgency, she had to enter it twice before the light turned green and she could swing the door open. Eleanor closed her eyes and said a silent prayer: Please let it be here.

The Book had been stolen only once, and the results had been disastrous. Eleanor tried not to think about them as she reached into the safe for the cracked calfskin of the Book’s binding, bracing herself to feel the usual tingle as her ﬁngers made contact. Needing to experience that uncanny suggestion that the Book was alive. To know that it was only Daniel’s presence that had made the library feel wrong.

But there was nothing.

She knew people saw her as Odile’s mousy, adoring acolyte, hidden away in the library like a relic herself. A perennial student who had never even ﬁnished her PhD. A wan spinster, a living history display. Here in the library was the one place Eleanor mattered. In these books is your future, Odile had told her long ago. In these books are all the tools you need to live your life to the fullest. But all that depended on the magic.

And as she ran shaky ﬁngers from corner to corner of the steel compartment, she found only shadows and a ﬁne, powdery dust that came off on her ﬁngertips.

The Book of Dark Nights was gone.

The Library of Fates
By Margot Harrison
On Sale: December 2, 2025
ISBN: 9781525804311
Graydon House Hardcover
Price: $30.00

Book Description:
When its librarian keeper mysteriously dies, two former classmates must race to locate a rare book from their college years that can foretell your future if you confess a secret from your past—but someone is intent on protecting what’s hidden inside.

It can write the story of your future… and hide the secrets of your past

The Library of Fates was designed to show you who you are—and who you could become. Its rarest book, The Book of Dark Nights, holds a secret: when you write an intimate confession on its pages, you’ll receive a prediction for your future, penned in your own handwriting.

For Eleanor, whose childhood was defined by a senseless tragedy, the library offers a world where everything makes sense. She’s spent most of her life there as an apprentice to the brilliant librarian, showing other people how to find the meaning of their lives in stories.

But when her mentor dies in a freak accident and The Book of Dark Nights goes missing—along with the secrets written inside—Eleanor is pulled out of the library and into a quest to locate it with the last person she expects: the librarian’s estranged son, Daniel, who Eleanor once loved.

Together, as they hunt down clues from Harvard to Paris, Eleanor and Daniel grow closer again, regaining each other’s trust. But little do they know that they’re entangled in a much larger web. Someone else wants the book, and they’ll go to dark lengths to get it…

Author Bio:
MARGOT HARRISON is the author of The Midnight Club and The Library of Fates. She is also the author of four young adult novels, including an Indies Introduce Pick, Junior Library Guild Selections, and Vermont Book Award Finalists. She grew up in New York and now lives in Vermont.