abbie_'s Reviews (1.79k)

Thoroughly, thoroughly enjoyed this sad little book, I’m a sucker for a mental health narrative. This one is told through the eyes of a child, eight-year-old Claudia who lives with her parents in Colombia. Though she continually watches her parents, her mother who suffers from depression, and her overworked father, she often doesn’t fully grasp the complexity of the adults’ lives around her - but she understands enough. The depiction of depression and suicidal tendencies in this book are brutal, so do look after yourself if you read it, but it’s so well done. The imagery of that cliff road with the fog and the steep drop-off - glorious. Your heart will break for Claudia, ten times over, during the course of this book. 

Excellent translation by Lisa Dillman

It’s been a while since I ventured into a more intricate fantasy fiction novel, and I definitely didn’t make it easier on myself by choosing historical military fantasy fiction to boot! But it did have lots of queers so that made the initial confusion worth it. There was actually less fantasy more military action than I anticipated. Did I always know what was happening? Absolutely not, but I just carried on trooping through and caught up eventually! I LOVED the plot twists, loved the two MCs Zhu and Ouyang - honestly might love Ouyang more than Zhu, and will definitely pick up the sequel at some point.

Overall, seriously strong beginning and end, a few too many confusing battles in the middle, great character development all round!

My thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for my free digital ARC!

For such a slim novel, Dendrites forced me to take my time with it. It’s dense and the sentences lengthy, running on to create the rich inner lives of the characters. It follows a couple of generations of Greek migrants to America, from before world war two to the 1980s. I’ve not read much about Greek immigration to the US, and I’m always a sucker for novels that explore the American Dream - and how its seekers become disillusioned given the racism and classism they encounter. In this case, the tension between different ethnic groups was examined, with groups each marginalised in their own ways looking down on other marginalised groups - divide and conquer at play.

I really liked Leto and Minnie, and wish we had heard more from them. It’s quite a masculine narrative, with a lot of focus on the pressures of immigrant men to provide for their families and realise the dreams of those depending on them - both in America and back in Greece. Papadaki captures that desperation very well.

The translator Karen Emmerich did a great job with those run-on sentences, but the style was sometimes quite dry. 

Thanks to the publisher and Netgalley for my free digital ARC!

This was my third French-Canadian read in as many weeks, and definitely the most successful! I admittedly struggled for the first third or so, and given that it’s only 180 pages, this isn’t an insignificant chunk. But once I got adjusted to the characters, I was swept up in the beautiful melancholy of this narrative. It moves between three generations of women, as the youngest learns about her mother and grandmother’s lives, both of whom lost lovers to the water. When I got to the end, I almost wanted to skip right back to the beginning and start again, armed as I was with the context.

My main peeve was that it flits around too quickly. Some of the chapters are a mere page, and then we’re thrown back 70 years - if the storytelling wasn’t so poetic, I’d have whiplash. As it stands, it is a gorgeous little novel that just requires some patience. 

This was an ‘all vibes no plot’ kind of novel that probably would have worked better in print for me than audiobook. However, I did enjoy getting lost in the beautiful imagery, and there was an unexpectedly queer storyline which I also loved! But the rest of it, unfortunately for me, was just pretty words and French nursery rhymes (which were lovely to hear in French) which washed over me leaving me with little grasp of what was actually going on.

For women in translation month I read all WIT books including audio, and this (French-Canadian) and Blue (French, Haiti) were both not quite successful. Perhaps it’s the style, they’re both more books that would benefit from being slowly read with your eyes, maybe underlining as you go. Oh well, it was still pretty. 

I knew this one would be a heartbreaker and I wasn’t wrong. We Are Not From Here is the story of three young teenagers who undertake an unthinkable journey across borders, to escape the fear and violence of their home town in Guatemala. In her author’s note, Sanchez writes that every migrant story is different, but also that every migrant story is the same. It’s always important to remember when reading fiction about migrants that it’s impossible to pigeon hole all people who are forced to undertake such a brutal journey into one box - but also that if they didn’t *have* to undertake such a perilous journey, they wouldn’t. In the UK, rhetoric around migrants is as sickening as ever, right wingers claiming these people risk their lives just to come and sponge off the UK government - never thinking about what they’re fleeing. I wish I could force books like these into the hands of people with these views, to give them a piece of Pulga, Chico and Pequeña’s stories. 

While it’s brutal, there are some bright spots of hope, including the people who run shelters for migrants who need to rest in between the gruelling spurts of their journeys.

I listened to the audiobook, narrated by Marisa Blake, and I’d highly recommend that format. Thanks to Libro.fm for my free ALC!

I struggled with a good chunk of this book, almost calling it quits when a third of the way in I still wasn’t feeling compelled to pick it up, but ultimately I’m glad I stuck with it. It hits its stride somewhere near the middle, and the last third, where Stokely begins to have a say, had me captivated. It tells the story of Immaculata and Blanche, a mother and daughter, and through them examines the horrors of the Rwandan genocide. Immaculata remains in Rwanda, while the country struggles to pick up the pieces after thousands of Tutsis were massacred by Hutus, their countrymen. Blanche moves to France where she faces her own set of struggles, meets and marries her husband and has a child, Stokely. The arrival of the child is the start of an attempt to bridge the gap between Rwanda and France.

I almost want to read it again now that a first read has the story and characters established in my mind. Given the strength of the last part, I feel like my inability to connect with the first part was an issue on my end, not the book’s, and a second reading might be useful. 

Finally picked up one of the buzziest books of 2023 and it was definitely an engaging read that kept me on my toes. It was entertaining and rage-inducing, June was absolutely loathsome and I found myself both wanting and not wanting to listen to more to see what on earth she’d cook up next. It’s satirical but also not? I feel like I’ve genuinely seen drama/social media posts like the ones included in this book, and the racism of the publishing industry is likely as rampant as it is depicted here. However (and I know epic fantasy and contemporary fiction can’t really be compared), I couldn’t believe this book was written by the same author the Poppy War (I’m aware of the irony lol). The depth of the characters from TPW wasn’t anywhere to be seen here, and the writing, all told from June’s first person POV (truly agonising to read), was just straightforward.

Pacey and engaging, maybe too on the nose at times, June is despicable and we hate her, publishing is a hellfire industry. 

This was an odd little book. I’ve never read any of Belgian author Amélie Nothomb’s books, but I know of her reputation for being somewhat outlandish. This book is based on her real life experiences working for a large Japanese corporation, and is meant as a satirical portrayal of the huge role work plays in Japanese society. It was published in 1999 and by christ you can tell - it’s definitely a product of its time, and the casual racism and fatphobia made it a difficult read. It’s a shame, as there are some genuinely funny parts, but the sweeping generalisations of Japanese women, Japanese men, Japanese bosses just left a bad taste. 

Picked up this little book for a ‘read in one sitting’ prompt for the Queer Your Year 2024 challenge, and really enjoyed my hour with it. Liam Konemann writes in a really engaging way that makes it feel like you’re having a (one-sided) conversation with an old friend. Konemann’s original ‘Appendix’ was a document of every instance of transphobia he came across in ‘real life’ (so not deliberately sought out online), to document the rampant transphobia of the UK that wears down trans folks who are just trying to live their lives. Understandably, this project took a toll on his mental health, so Konemann decided to write about the joy of being trans for the 404 Inklings series, in the face of anti-trans attitudes that seem to be more and more acceptable every day.

I did expect a bit more on the subject of transmasculine joy but there were enough instances of it to lift the spirit amid reading about the hate so rampant in the British press. He writes about times as a kid, before even being aware of terms like trans, when people would mistake him for a boy and the absolute euphoria he would feel at being seen, and that just warmed my heart.

A must read for a quick dive into attitudes around trans folks in the UK today.