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brianreadsbooks's Reviews (820)
Luiselli presents multiple layers of story: a family on the verge of splitting up, a highly abstracted idea of migrant children lost in the desert, later a narrative of their journey north across the Mexico-U.S. border, and disjointed stories of “lost” Apache tribes of the Southwest U.S.
I want to acknowledge thoughts by other reviewers that helped me think about the Native American representation more critically. The father in the story is obsessed with documenting the “echoes” of the “lost” Apache tribes. I’m uncertain how much of what we read, through his voice, is factual vs. mythologised or shaped by his (or Luiselli’s) worldview. But the tribes who made up the Apache have not been lost, and are real, living communities today. There was even one point where the father is going to talk with a descendent of Geronimo, but we don’t hear his voice, and Luiselli reverts back to gravestones and echoes. Meanwhile, the family give each other “warrior names” and behave in very appropriative ways in a several spots. As such a major theme of the book, it’s hard to separate this problematic representation, which Luiselli doesn’t seem to be conscious of.
The writing style is fascinating. Luiselli used the structure to bring you into her themes. The majority of the book is written in short bursts, each with a label, all safely contained for later consumption. In a word: archived. These story pieces are contained in sections of the book she labels “boxes”. Only later do we get a very dream-like, stream-of-consciousness chapter, one that reflects the state of the narrators at that time.
The impossibility of trying to record, photograph, archive, to capture, to remember, the living breathing world is the most important message. It’s a shame that Luiselli didn’t use the MASSIVE OPPORTUNITY she had to reflect that idea through the voices of Native American storytellers who continue the tradition of oral history and learning to this day. Not lost, not archived. Still here, and available if you care to listen.
Follow me on #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
I want to acknowledge thoughts by other reviewers that helped me think about the Native American representation more critically. The father in the story is obsessed with documenting the “echoes” of the “lost” Apache tribes. I’m uncertain how much of what we read, through his voice, is factual vs. mythologised or shaped by his (or Luiselli’s) worldview. But the tribes who made up the Apache have not been lost, and are real, living communities today. There was even one point where the father is going to talk with a descendent of Geronimo, but we don’t hear his voice, and Luiselli reverts back to gravestones and echoes. Meanwhile, the family give each other “warrior names” and behave in very appropriative ways in a several spots. As such a major theme of the book, it’s hard to separate this problematic representation, which Luiselli doesn’t seem to be conscious of.
The writing style is fascinating. Luiselli used the structure to bring you into her themes. The majority of the book is written in short bursts, each with a label, all safely contained for later consumption. In a word: archived. These story pieces are contained in sections of the book she labels “boxes”. Only later do we get a very dream-like, stream-of-consciousness chapter, one that reflects the state of the narrators at that time.
The impossibility of trying to record, photograph, archive, to capture, to remember, the living breathing world is the most important message. It’s a shame that Luiselli didn’t use the MASSIVE OPPORTUNITY she had to reflect that idea through the voices of Native American storytellers who continue the tradition of oral history and learning to this day. Not lost, not archived. Still here, and available if you care to listen.
Follow me on #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
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The Book of Dust is a planned prequel trilogy that tells the story of the years before His Dark Materials trilogy (The Golden Compass, The Amber Spyglass, The Subtle Knife) begins. It’s a favourite series of mine and before I listened to this audiobook, I also listened to the original series again. The narration for all of them is fantastic.
Pullman’s writing sucked me into the alternate world of Oxford and London, just like the original series. The characters and story were equally as enjoyable, and he found ways to expand on the fictional science and history of this world that kept the new story interesting. I was glad it wasn’t just a rehashing of what we read in the first three, which I’ve seen before with very popular series.
This is still a YA series, and the book was on par with that. But there are plenty of very real, frightening moments in the book that serve to bring the characters and the reader into adulthood. I love the use of the flood as a metaphor for how the whole world, including the protagonists individual life as an adult, will be different when it recedes. Very biblical and fascinating choice since the series overall seems to take a stance very much against organized religion.
I did struggle with the last third of the book in which Pullman sends the characters on what seems like a tangent “side quest” (if you’re a gamer - a “Tom Bombadil” for LOTR fans), and then almost immediately follows it with another weird scene that felt out of place in the mythology and history he had developed in this series. But he managed to close it strongly, and given there are two more books yet to come, I’m hopeful they’ll shed light on why those bits were important to the arc.
This review is not a super analytical one, because this book is a pure pleasure read. It’s for people looking for a fantasy/alternate history YA series. The next book is due out in October 2019.
Follow me on #bookstagram at @brianreadsbooks
Pullman’s writing sucked me into the alternate world of Oxford and London, just like the original series. The characters and story were equally as enjoyable, and he found ways to expand on the fictional science and history of this world that kept the new story interesting. I was glad it wasn’t just a rehashing of what we read in the first three, which I’ve seen before with very popular series.
This is still a YA series, and the book was on par with that. But there are plenty of very real, frightening moments in the book that serve to bring the characters and the reader into adulthood. I love the use of the flood as a metaphor for how the whole world, including the protagonists individual life as an adult, will be different when it recedes. Very biblical and fascinating choice since the series overall seems to take a stance very much against organized religion.
I did struggle with the last third of the book in which Pullman sends the characters on what seems like a tangent “side quest” (if you’re a gamer - a “Tom Bombadil” for LOTR fans), and then almost immediately follows it with another weird scene that felt out of place in the mythology and history he had developed in this series. But he managed to close it strongly, and given there are two more books yet to come, I’m hopeful they’ll shed light on why those bits were important to the arc.
This review is not a super analytical one, because this book is a pure pleasure read. It’s for people looking for a fantasy/alternate history YA series. The next book is due out in October 2019.
Follow me on #bookstagram at @brianreadsbooks
The book centers around a large Mexican-American family in San Diego. Urrea’s writing was at first a bit hard to follow, switching between narrators in uneven rhythm. It leaves you wondering whose thoughts you’re reading. Every character also has at least two names, depending on whose POV you’re in, which adds to the confusion. But ultimately, I came to appreciate these stylistic choices. They intentionally immerse you in the center of the crazy, swirling motion and emotion of this family.
These fathers, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, tías and tíos make up group of people who struggle to stay together while still creating their own sense of individuality. It highlights how important it is to maintain a sense of “us” in a world that calls you “them”. But also touches on the burdens of expectation to stay part of the family unit, when your own identity doesn’t match the family’s norms. Urrea also uses the novel to explore aging, both of those coming to the end and of those just finding adulthood.
The book was written by a straight man. It comes from a male POV, even when he places us “in the heads” of characters who aren’t male. I loved the interwoven stories, the family of tragic, funny, sad, happy, included and excluded characters. But the end really surprised me with an event that, even with foreshadowing, seemed outside of reality in how it unfolded, and really played up the importance of masculinity in a very specific form as a way of redeeming multiple characters.
All that said, I really enjoyed the book. The story helped me really *feel* for brief moments how some Mexican-American folks have described what family means in their lives. I loved the characters, even if the resolution of the story arc felt off to me personally. I’d recommend this as a perfect example of a fun and moving family-centered, character-driven novel.
Follow me on #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
These fathers, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, tías and tíos make up group of people who struggle to stay together while still creating their own sense of individuality. It highlights how important it is to maintain a sense of “us” in a world that calls you “them”. But also touches on the burdens of expectation to stay part of the family unit, when your own identity doesn’t match the family’s norms. Urrea also uses the novel to explore aging, both of those coming to the end and of those just finding adulthood.
The book was written by a straight man. It comes from a male POV, even when he places us “in the heads” of characters who aren’t male. I loved the interwoven stories, the family of tragic, funny, sad, happy, included and excluded characters. But the end really surprised me with an event that, even with foreshadowing, seemed outside of reality in how it unfolded, and really played up the importance of masculinity in a very specific form as a way of redeeming multiple characters.
All that said, I really enjoyed the book. The story helped me really *feel* for brief moments how some Mexican-American folks have described what family means in their lives. I loved the characters, even if the resolution of the story arc felt off to me personally. I’d recommend this as a perfect example of a fun and moving family-centered, character-driven novel.
Follow me on #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
This is one of the most beautiful books I’ve read. Vuong is a poet, and his first novel reads almost as a thread of poems woven together to form one boy/man’s life. But it’s still highly readable as a narrative and the story is deeply human and viscerally real.
On Earth centers a young Vietnamese man, Little Dog, from an immigrant working-class family. Vuong masterfully adds layers upon layers to this story, interweaving themes of the immigrant experience, racism, intergenerational and immediate family trauma, and the opioid crisis in America. No one is left unscathed, but no one is left without joy and humanity. These are fully developed characters.
I’m glad I read this so close to Call Me By Your Name and Lie With Me, as it made me re-evaluate those two stories entirely. While this was an entirely different book in many ways, all three centered around a young man’s coming of age and sexuality. But suddenly it becomes so clear that CMBYN is a privileged tryst, a dream world for a perfect fantasy romance between white men. Lie With Me begins to touch on class divisions, but stops short of any deep meaning beyond the individual. I don’t want to diminish those books, but it’s valuable to remember what they are.
Vuong makes sex simultaneously scary, sensual, exciting and filthy. His depiction of coming into your sexuality as a gay teenager is much more true to reality. It’s a central part of Little Dog’s growth into manhood, and Vuong isn’t embarrassed to focus on it, but isn’t the only aspect that defines him. The masterful way he lays sex on top of, beside and inside the rest of this life is an example of what sets Vuong apart as a writer. I can only repeat the word “human” again.
I hope you’ll read this one. I learned and felt so much from it.
Cross-post from #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
On Earth centers a young Vietnamese man, Little Dog, from an immigrant working-class family. Vuong masterfully adds layers upon layers to this story, interweaving themes of the immigrant experience, racism, intergenerational and immediate family trauma, and the opioid crisis in America. No one is left unscathed, but no one is left without joy and humanity. These are fully developed characters.
I’m glad I read this so close to Call Me By Your Name and Lie With Me, as it made me re-evaluate those two stories entirely. While this was an entirely different book in many ways, all three centered around a young man’s coming of age and sexuality. But suddenly it becomes so clear that CMBYN is a privileged tryst, a dream world for a perfect fantasy romance between white men. Lie With Me begins to touch on class divisions, but stops short of any deep meaning beyond the individual. I don’t want to diminish those books, but it’s valuable to remember what they are.
Vuong makes sex simultaneously scary, sensual, exciting and filthy. His depiction of coming into your sexuality as a gay teenager is much more true to reality. It’s a central part of Little Dog’s growth into manhood, and Vuong isn’t embarrassed to focus on it, but isn’t the only aspect that defines him. The masterful way he lays sex on top of, beside and inside the rest of this life is an example of what sets Vuong apart as a writer. I can only repeat the word “human” again.
I hope you’ll read this one. I learned and felt so much from it.
Cross-post from #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
In the immortal words of RuPaul, “Meh.”
This book wasn’t horrible. It’s a family epic set across 2+ generations of a wealthy family in Mexico. I love a multi-generational epic. And the book had the checklist of magical realism moments and mysterious characters with occasional supernatural powers. I also loved the character of Simonopio a boy with a cleft palate who lives his life surrounded by bees.
Unfortunately it was only this one character that kept me moving forward to finish the book. In my opinion the story would have come through more if it had a strong editor working with the author. There were a lot of extra words that neither moved the story forward, nor were particularly beautiful prose. And the class privilege of the family this story centered on was regularly acknowledged but ultimately the author took the stance of “these are kindly landowners and some servants are loyal and others bad.” At no point did the servant characters get any real development. The translator even used the word peons to describe them. Possible she was using this as a pseudo channeling of how the characters themselves thought but it didn’t come across as clearly intentional.
I hadn’t read magical realism in many years and I was excited by this translation that was released earlier this year and an author I hadn’t read before. But ultimately this one didn’t capture me as much as I’d hoped.
Cross posted from my #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
This book wasn’t horrible. It’s a family epic set across 2+ generations of a wealthy family in Mexico. I love a multi-generational epic. And the book had the checklist of magical realism moments and mysterious characters with occasional supernatural powers. I also loved the character of Simonopio a boy with a cleft palate who lives his life surrounded by bees.
Unfortunately it was only this one character that kept me moving forward to finish the book. In my opinion the story would have come through more if it had a strong editor working with the author. There were a lot of extra words that neither moved the story forward, nor were particularly beautiful prose. And the class privilege of the family this story centered on was regularly acknowledged but ultimately the author took the stance of “these are kindly landowners and some servants are loyal and others bad.” At no point did the servant characters get any real development. The translator even used the word peons to describe them. Possible she was using this as a pseudo channeling of how the characters themselves thought but it didn’t come across as clearly intentional.
I hadn’t read magical realism in many years and I was excited by this translation that was released earlier this year and an author I hadn’t read before. But ultimately this one didn’t capture me as much as I’d hoped.
Cross posted from my #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
I’d heard great things about this book when it came out. And I’m happy to say it lived up to the praise!
At first, I wasn’t sure it would. A good part of the beginning was spent setting the scene: people doing things, telling facts of a story, introducing the characters. I was worried the writing was going to be dull.
But Satyal quickly pulled all of that together and showed his intention with it. He begins to reveal what’s going on a layer deeper and the histories that brought each character to the present. You start to see their feels and understand them as individuals with stories. This layered approach was an awesome storytelling technique.
This book is about how every person has a story. How the surface view belies the depth of the person. It’s about how all our narratives interconnect, sometimes in meaningful ways and other times just fleeting. And how friendships and community come together to bring out the best in each of us.
Also, this book is 100% gay and 100% about the experience of Indian American immigrants and their families. I adored this intersection and learning from these characters.
I’m excited about Satyal, and fully plan on picking up his first book Blue Boy.
Cross-posted from my #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
At first, I wasn’t sure it would. A good part of the beginning was spent setting the scene: people doing things, telling facts of a story, introducing the characters. I was worried the writing was going to be dull.
But Satyal quickly pulled all of that together and showed his intention with it. He begins to reveal what’s going on a layer deeper and the histories that brought each character to the present. You start to see their feels and understand them as individuals with stories. This layered approach was an awesome storytelling technique.
This book is about how every person has a story. How the surface view belies the depth of the person. It’s about how all our narratives interconnect, sometimes in meaningful ways and other times just fleeting. And how friendships and community come together to bring out the best in each of us.
Also, this book is 100% gay and 100% about the experience of Indian American immigrants and their families. I adored this intersection and learning from these characters.
I’m excited about Satyal, and fully plan on picking up his first book Blue Boy.
Cross-posted from my #bookstagram: @brianreadsbooks
