abbie_'s Reviews (1.79k)

This book’s been sitting on my shelf for over two years now, but I’ve made a pact with myself to tackle my oldest unread books. This one was actually great! It’s expansive, set in Thailand spanning from the 19th century and going into the future with some sci-fi nods towards the end. I don’t think those bits felt as carefully thought out as the historical and contemporary sections, but they were still intriguing and tied the story together nicely. Without trying to sound trite (Sex and the City-ish), Krungthep (as Bangkok is referred to throughout the novel) is the main character. The people passing through the city shift and intertwine, while the city remains. It certainly doesn’t remain unchanged - far from it. Traditions change, gentrification disrupts lives, climate change and catastrophic floods irrevocably mutate the landscape. I think the sense of place is the greatest accomplishment of the book, plus the prose which renders it beautifully. The characters aren’t bad by any means, but it flits about from perspective to perspective, so we’re not with any of them for huge chunks of the book. A definite recommendation if you like novels told in interconnected vignettes. 

This book’s main draw was its beautiful prose, heightened by the subject of it - earth. I’m definitely not alone in taking the planet for granted, and with so many terrible things happening daily, performed by humans, it’s easy to forget what a bizarre and beautiful thing Earth is. Seen from the perspective of six astronauts orbiting the planet, you’re reminded of what a miraculous thing it is - and it made me even more sad to think about what we as human beings are doing to it and to each other. 

It’s a slow read, and I did lose interest every now and again. But it did bring me back with its gentle musings and fascinating insight into what goes on during an astronauts day-to-day.

It’s not always gentle, and it evoked some strong feelings in me regarding the greedy, deadly touch of politicians. There’s not a thing on earth these days that isn’t touched by the hands of those small few in power; everything is political, and nothing is sacred to a world shaped by greed and want. 

Although I don’t have or want kids, I am still interested in seeking out books, fiction and nonfiction, which explore motherhood in various forms. This memoir by Dani McClain was a look into the challenges Black mothers face when raising children, particularly girls. It was a random find on my library’s audiobook platform, so I wasn’t sure what to expect - I loved it! It’s broken down into clear sections, and I appreciated how the author wove in her own experiences with those of friends, peers, and professionals. She discusses the challenges and advantages of raising Black children in more rural areas of the US, schooling options, options and choices (or lack thereof) for Black mothers during pregnancy, and how to involve children in politics and activism. The title, We Live for the We, brings in the idea that Black mothers are often the backbone of organising in the US, and so juggle mothering their own children with ‘motherwork’ in their community. In an individualistic society, this sort of community-focused mothering is radical and necessary.

A hugely enjoyable memoir which gives you a lot to chew on, academic but not inaccessible to the non-academic reader. 

My rating (as always tbh) is more indicative of my enjoyment level than the quality of the book, since I’m such a poetry rookie that I’m in no position to judge that. I really try - I read them out loud, trying to get into the rhythm of them, but I often just find them too nebulous. I liked the themes addressed in the poems, themes well trodden by Belcourt in his memoir & short stories, but they don’t feel in any way repetitive or stale. Indigeneity, queerness, Canada’s colonial past (and present), and relationships. Other reviewers have described these poems as ‘cerebral’ and I think that’s perfect. Perhaps a little too intellectual for my tastes, but gorgeous writing and evocative. 

This was a secondhand find that I recognised from the Women’s Prize longlist and nabbed for a few quid in Oxfam. It ended up surprising me - for a book about suicide it’s often funny, but of course often devastating. Jess’s head is not the easiest place to be, but a lot of her thinking mirrors mine in the way she frantically runs through scenarios and what-ifs, and I found it oddly comforting.

.

Jess is a scientist, studying cases of suicide in nature and trying to apply the principals of it sometimes being the ‘right’ thing to do to human beings. She recounts her own experiences with suicide - more than anyone should ever have to deal with (i.e. more than none). For instance, a friend of hers who was actually a predator, along with her father’s attempt when she was a child - who then went on to emotionally abuse his children and wife. It’s definitely controversial, and if you’re struggling with any kind of suicidal thoughts/ideation, go easy or avoid altogether.

.

.

Overall, a brave book which challenges a lot of taboo subjects that is warmly and wittily written. Will definitely pick up whatever Effie Black writes next!

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for my free digital ARC of this squirmy little collection! I did enjoy it, but I think some of the metaphors were too on the nose, like it was very clear at the end of each story what the ~moral~ was. Some worked, some not so much. We had personal ghosts, worm dads, brutal body modifications, final girls, and literal egg-laying women. The concepts were cool but some of them were definitely not fleshed out enough for my tastes. They could have been explored more and it would have been a much more impactful collection.

.

My favourites were Squirm (a woman looks after her dad following a bizarre transformation), Pineapple (a woman balances a new relationship and unique body modifications as art), and Eggshells (women lay eggs each morning whose contents can be manipulated via thoughts).

.

Promising as a debut, I just wanted a little more substance! 

Thanks to Libro.fm for my free ALC!

There was no need for this book to be 14 hours long… I don’t think I could tell you what happened for the first 12, all the action (as it is) happens in the last 2 hours. It’s a time travel/timeslip family saga, so perhaps audio wasn’t the best way to go for it. It got quite confusing with who was who and which time period everyone was initially from. But even if I’d read it in print, I still don’t think it would have held my interest much more. A good concept, just lacking in the execution for me. 

The first two stories in this collection had me thinking that this was going to be my new favourite short story collection. In In Kind, a trans man wants to conceive a child by himself, in the process reuniting with his estranged mother, while in Rock Jenny, in a world where people declare their own genders at 11, Jenny is someone who yearns for something greater than the gender binary. These two stories were art, seriously.

.

The other stories that followed weren’t bad by any means, but they didn’t live up to the ridiculously high standards set by those first two stories. As the title of the collection suggests, all stories explore transition, gender, and the natural world in one way or another. They’re strange and sad, hopeful and bizarre. I did also really like Congregation, which features a group of gender-bending nuns who spend part of the year as a woman, before morphing into men for the other half. But this story felt jumbled, as there was also a subplot which drew parallels to Canadian residential schools, and I had no clue how the two concepts were supposed to come together.

.

The collection did end on a high with another 10/10 story though - it’s the titular story, and follows a trans man who has been left a bizarre ‘museum’ by an uncle he never really connected with. Travelling to see his inheritance, he realises the town has succumbed to a strange disease causing eerie transformations.

.

The writing overall was very much my vibe, and despite some of the stories not managing to live up to others, it’s still a solid collection. Will be looking out for what Angus publishes next!

It took me a little while to get into this slim book, my first novel by Buchi Emecheta, but once I found a solid block of time to devote myself to it and settle into the rhythm of the older prose, it won me round! It’s a rare occasion when I read anything published before 2000 these days, so 1974 is practically a medieval classic for me. 

Second Class Citizen is a largely autobiographical novel following Adah as she moves from Nigeria to the UK in the 60s and encounters racism, classism, and domestic abuse within her own home. For most of the novel I realised I was reading Adah as a 40 year old woman, and I was genuinely surprised when her actual age (21) was brought up. Likely a product of the times, but also the hardships she suffers are likely to age a person prematurely. A lot of the racism Adah faces in the UK she internalises, so she can’t even escape the oppression in the privacy of her own mind. Given the way white Brits treat her, she comes to see herself as truly inferior, less deserving of decent living conditions and things most folk take for granted. Life in Britain grinds her down, worsened by Francis, her good-for-nothing husband.

.

I do have to agree with some other reviews I’ve read that Francis seems a bit one dimensional. He seems to stand for a generalised toxic masculinity, and there was nothing but badness to his character. There’s also some unnecessary stereotyping of minor Asian characters within the book. It’s overall a painful read, highlighting the lasting damage the UK inflicted on its colonies.

.

Will definitely be picking up more of Emecheta’s books in the future!

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for my digital ARC of Checking Out by Meryem El Mehdati, translated by Julia Sanches. I am a sucker for a workplace novel, and Checking Out hit pretty much all of my boxes! There are anti-tourist protests going on across the Canaries right now, and this book fits in with the discourse perfectly. The main character, Meryem, works for corporate for the largest supermarket chain in Gran Canaria, but her job is slowly sucking away her will to live. El Mehdati perfectly gets across the frustration the narrator feels at so many aspects of her life - seemingly pointless jobs, situationships, microaggressions at work and on the street, racism and xenophobia against her, a born and raised Canarian of Moroccan descent, while white British tourists are welcomed (though, not so much universally anymore).

.

Any book taking a blow at capitalism and its injustices is going to be a winner for me, and I LOVED the ending - bleak as it was. El Mehdati rails against the 40 hour work week, which isn’t really 40 hours since office workers are then expected to socialise outside of these hours with colleagues to get ahead, or always be on their emails - who has the energy? Not to mention the inequalities in pay at somewhere like a supermarket, with corporate staff versus supermarket workers. I was impressed with the way all this commentary is woven in to the narrator’s stream of consciousness, without it feeling like we’ve veered off into a nonfiction essay.

.

My one drawback - I know we cannot erase HP from the zeitgeist, but is it necessary to mention in every millennial novel? It always leaves a bad taste. But apart from that, this novel is well worth checking out (oop, sorry, couldn’t resist).