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calarco's Reviews (760)
Given the level of hype surrounding this book, I went in skeptical but still came out shell-shocked. I am a huge fan of speculative dystopian novels (especially those in the vein of Octavian Butler), and Margaret Atwood provides the reader with an insightful look at the dangers of complacency.
The main character is someone you could describe a regular person with no desires to stand out or rock the boat. Then a regime roles in that strips her and others of so many fundamental rights. She hopes for change, but does not march, does not protest, and generally complies with the newly imposed status-quo. There is no fundamental character arch where she becomes the change she wants to see in the world, and that is perhaps what makes this haunting narrative so believable.
The main character's latter interaction with Moira, was especially fascinating. While at her core Moira is a feminist lesbian who lives to stick it to the man, even in Gilead she too has been beaten down. Offred exacerbates, "I don't want her to be like me. Give in, go along, save her skin. That is what it comes down to. I want gallantry from her, swash-buckling, heroism, single-handed combat. Something I lack."
Most readers hope for these very morals and values in their main characters, but real people are complex, contradictory, messy, and far from heroic. Most people want to live in a society with the benefits of civil rights hard fought by "social justice warriors," without having to themselves put in the work or potentially end up conveyed as a radical dissenter.
Complacency is dangerous; we cannot just expect other, better people to safeguard our own civil rights. In this day and age, given the rise of xenophobic populism, no one should settle for complacency.
The main character is someone you could describe a regular person with no desires to stand out or rock the boat. Then a regime roles in that strips her and others of so many fundamental rights. She hopes for change, but does not march, does not protest, and generally complies with the newly imposed status-quo. There is no fundamental character arch where she becomes the change she wants to see in the world, and that is perhaps what makes this haunting narrative so believable.
The main character's latter interaction with Moira, was especially fascinating. While at her core Moira is a feminist lesbian who lives to stick it to the man, even in Gilead she too has been beaten down. Offred exacerbates, "I don't want her to be like me. Give in, go along, save her skin. That is what it comes down to. I want gallantry from her, swash-buckling, heroism, single-handed combat. Something I lack."
Most readers hope for these very morals and values in their main characters, but real people are complex, contradictory, messy, and far from heroic. Most people want to live in a society with the benefits of civil rights hard fought by "social justice warriors," without having to themselves put in the work or potentially end up conveyed as a radical dissenter.
Complacency is dangerous; we cannot just expect other, better people to safeguard our own civil rights. In this day and age, given the rise of xenophobic populism, no one should settle for complacency.
Toni Morrison is truly transcendent at capturing and expressing human sorrow.
In "Sula," Morrison creates these truly fascinating characters grounded within their family backstories. To know the stories of their mothers and grandmothers is to understand the contexts in which Nel and Sula make the choices that they do. These personal backgrounds are compounded by the realities of the time period (early - mid 1900's) and location ("Bottom") which further inform how these two women react and respond directly or indirectly to systemic oppression.
The vivid complexity of the two women also saves the narrative from deteriorating into a dichotomous (and boring) tale of the good girl v. the bad girl. Nel and Sula make choices that inspire, hurt, confuse, and reflect many facets of the human experience. They may not be traditional heroines, but they are viscerally real
In short, I'd recommend the novel.
In "Sula," Morrison creates these truly fascinating characters grounded within their family backstories. To know the stories of their mothers and grandmothers is to understand the contexts in which Nel and Sula make the choices that they do. These personal backgrounds are compounded by the realities of the time period (early - mid 1900's) and location ("Bottom") which further inform how these two women react and respond directly or indirectly to systemic oppression.
The vivid complexity of the two women also saves the narrative from deteriorating into a dichotomous (and boring) tale of the good girl v. the bad girl. Nel and Sula make choices that inspire, hurt, confuse, and reflect many facets of the human experience. They may not be traditional heroines, but they are viscerally real
In short, I'd recommend the novel.
I really ought to have liked this book; it is definitely a well written sci-fi dystopian future showcasing the dangers of censorship and muses on humanity's innately cyclical self-destruction.
But here is why I do not like Fahrenheit 451:
1. I liked the story of how Ray Bradbury wrote the novel more than the novel itself.
2. The narrative's society becomes illiterate and stupid because these things seem to lead to easy happiness. In his defense, Bradbury could have never predicted the future popularity of "50 Shades of Grey." The printed word is not inherently intelligent, nor is it the only way to spread ideas.
3. Explanations for the importance of literature are only provided with a heavy-handed form of pseudo-intellectualism. These elements could have been better developed.
4. Clarisse is the only interesting character, but to explain further would be a spoiler.
5. All other women seem innately vapid and dumb for mysterious feminine reasons. Boring.
6. Did I mention yet how much I hate the main character? He is this dumb guy who reads a book, thinks this makes him woke, and then he decides the world is full of inauthentic phonies. Boring.
7. The resistance's method for saving books is inherently flawed. The method itself seems to emphasize the importance of a living man's ego over information itself, thereby defeating the purpose.
But really, just read the damn classic and decide for yourself.
But here is why I do not like Fahrenheit 451:
1. I liked the story of how Ray Bradbury wrote the novel more than the novel itself.
2. The narrative's society becomes illiterate and stupid because these things seem to lead to easy happiness. In his defense, Bradbury could have never predicted the future popularity of "50 Shades of Grey." The printed word is not inherently intelligent, nor is it the only way to spread ideas.
3. Explanations for the importance of literature are only provided with a heavy-handed form of pseudo-intellectualism. These elements could have been better developed.
4. Clarisse is the only interesting character, but to explain further would be a spoiler.
5. All other women seem innately vapid and dumb for mysterious feminine reasons. Boring.
6. Did I mention yet how much I hate the main character? He is this dumb guy who reads a book, thinks this makes him woke, and then he decides the world is full of inauthentic phonies. Boring.
7. The resistance's method for saving books is inherently flawed. The method itself seems to emphasize the importance of a living man's ego over information itself, thereby defeating the purpose.
But really, just read the damn classic and decide for yourself.
I have to admit, even for Murakami, this one was pretty weird.
Mind you, this novel is filled with many Murakami standards - cats, (several) mysterious women, an emotionally detached protagonist, darkness, sheep, whiskey, hotels, existential transience, you get the idea. What makes this one stand out as especially odd is that while a typical Murakami novel interweaves the worlds of reality and dreams, "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" is a dream-like trance from start to finish.
Overall, this made for a strong novel. While like a dream (or nightmare) there are many elements that are left unanswered, the narrative twists and turns in an exciting manner, and the tone heightens the stakes of events in unexpected ways. Obtaining easily digestible answers is not really the point, but rather developing an understanding and acceptance of life's messiness seems to be closer to the core of it all.
If Vonnegut writes stories of people unstuck from time, Murakami writes stories of people unstuck from reality. I'd recommend it, just know what you are getting yourself into.
Mind you, this novel is filled with many Murakami standards - cats, (several) mysterious women, an emotionally detached protagonist, darkness, sheep, whiskey, hotels, existential transience, you get the idea. What makes this one stand out as especially odd is that while a typical Murakami novel interweaves the worlds of reality and dreams, "The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle" is a dream-like trance from start to finish.
Overall, this made for a strong novel. While like a dream (or nightmare) there are many elements that are left unanswered, the narrative twists and turns in an exciting manner, and the tone heightens the stakes of events in unexpected ways. Obtaining easily digestible answers is not really the point, but rather developing an understanding and acceptance of life's messiness seems to be closer to the core of it all.
If Vonnegut writes stories of people unstuck from time, Murakami writes stories of people unstuck from reality. I'd recommend it, just know what you are getting yourself into.
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I tend to be skeptical of books covering broad stretches of history, and this was then compounded by the number of groups Takaki sought to represent (e.g., Native Americans, African Americans, Chinese Americans, Japanese Americans, Mexican Americans, Jewish Americans, Irish Americans, etc.). That said, this collection was well executed and is definitely worth a read.
Due to Takaki's objective of re-examining deep American history through the lens of disenfranchised groups, everyone and their mother will probably draw comparisons to Howard Zinn's "A People's History of the United States." While that is valid, Takaki's approach is very much rooted in how ethnic minority groups both shaped and were impacted by prominent events such as the colonial period, the Civil War, World War II, and the 9/11 attacks. Here Takaki examines meanings of the social constructs that create the very concept of 'race,' as well as what it ultimately means to be 'American.' Identity is very much the name of the game.
Furthermore, by shinning a light each chapter on a specific ethnic group, he is able to address the stereotypes associated with them in set time periods. Every group mentioned overcame some manner of adversity, and were dehumanized or otherized in specific ways. Takaki lays out the context for each situation, subverts the narrative of passive victimhood, and zeroes in on the perseverance and agency of each group.
My only criticism would be that there were points of history that should have been mentioned or elaborated on. Specifically, cities are the major focal point post-Civil War, and I would have liked to have read more about rural history in the Jim Crow era. Also, while major discriminatory legislation is highlighted (e.g. 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act, Plessy v Ferguson, Immigration Act of 1924, etc.), I would have also been interested in reading more on the civil rights efforts prior to the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965, as well as their direct aftereffects.
Still, what is presented is ambitious in scope, and its largest strength is the due to the emotional earnestness of the delivery. The accounts of ethnic minority groups in the U.S. are not b-side stories, but American history itself. Ronald Takaki has a personal stake in making this point clear, being the member of a multi-ethnic family himself. This emotional core at the center of a well-researched body of work is what makes "A Different Mirror" worth reading.
Due to Takaki's objective of re-examining deep American history through the lens of disenfranchised groups, everyone and their mother will probably draw comparisons to Howard Zinn's "A People's History of the United States." While that is valid, Takaki's approach is very much rooted in how ethnic minority groups both shaped and were impacted by prominent events such as the colonial period, the Civil War, World War II, and the 9/11 attacks. Here Takaki examines meanings of the social constructs that create the very concept of 'race,' as well as what it ultimately means to be 'American.' Identity is very much the name of the game.
Furthermore, by shinning a light each chapter on a specific ethnic group, he is able to address the stereotypes associated with them in set time periods. Every group mentioned overcame some manner of adversity, and were dehumanized or otherized in specific ways. Takaki lays out the context for each situation, subverts the narrative of passive victimhood, and zeroes in on the perseverance and agency of each group.
My only criticism would be that there were points of history that should have been mentioned or elaborated on. Specifically, cities are the major focal point post-Civil War, and I would have liked to have read more about rural history in the Jim Crow era. Also, while major discriminatory legislation is highlighted (e.g. 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act, Plessy v Ferguson, Immigration Act of 1924, etc.), I would have also been interested in reading more on the civil rights efforts prior to the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Immigration and Naturalization Act of 1965, as well as their direct aftereffects.
Still, what is presented is ambitious in scope, and its largest strength is the due to the emotional earnestness of the delivery. The accounts of ethnic minority groups in the U.S. are not b-side stories, but American history itself. Ronald Takaki has a personal stake in making this point clear, being the member of a multi-ethnic family himself. This emotional core at the center of a well-researched body of work is what makes "A Different Mirror" worth reading.
"He really does not know. Men such as him do not have to clean up the messes they make, but we have to clean up our own messes, and theirs into the bargain. In that way they are like children, they do not have to think ahead, or worry about the consequences of what they do. But it is not their fault, it is only how they are brought up" (Atwood, 214).
While this piece of historical fiction does touch on some insightful speculation, I found this particular musing to be the most representative of the novel as a whole. Whether or not Grace is innocent or guilty, she is a woman. For this, she is constantly adjusting her actions and words in order to bypass or mitigate any potential dangers inherently related to being female. This is demonstrated well with small, reoccurring details such as Grace's need to lock the door before she sleeps.
The gender double-standards of the time (mid-1800's) are well illustrated with the consequences of Mary's actions, juxtaposed to the those of Dr. Simon Jordan. This narrative strength aside, because much of what is presented are Grace's testimonials to Dr. Jordan, the overall voice of the novel is eerie and uncomfortable. What we read is the character Grace has curated to extract sympathy from Dr. Jordan and others working to exonerate her. Grace's character is ultimately muted of nearly any individuality, and her lack of anger is truly frustrating.
Whether the reader is supposed to be unnerved in this manner to serve a greater purpose, I have no idea. The quotes at the beginning of each section do well to frame the prevailing feeling of the era, but the accounts from the titular unreliable narrator do little to evoke understanding beyond anger at the injustices of the 19th century.
While this piece of historical fiction does touch on some insightful speculation, I found this particular musing to be the most representative of the novel as a whole. Whether or not Grace is innocent or guilty, she is a woman. For this, she is constantly adjusting her actions and words in order to bypass or mitigate any potential dangers inherently related to being female. This is demonstrated well with small, reoccurring details such as Grace's need to lock the door before she sleeps.
The gender double-standards of the time (mid-1800's) are well illustrated with the consequences of Mary's actions, juxtaposed to the those of Dr. Simon Jordan. This narrative strength aside, because much of what is presented are Grace's testimonials to Dr. Jordan, the overall voice of the novel is eerie and uncomfortable. What we read is the character Grace has curated to extract sympathy from Dr. Jordan and others working to exonerate her. Grace's character is ultimately muted of nearly any individuality, and her lack of anger is truly frustrating.
Whether the reader is supposed to be unnerved in this manner to serve a greater purpose, I have no idea. The quotes at the beginning of each section do well to frame the prevailing feeling of the era, but the accounts from the titular unreliable narrator do little to evoke understanding beyond anger at the injustices of the 19th century.
My cheeks still hurt from smiling. If you are a fan of Tiffany Haddish's stand-up, this is a definite must-read. While unconventional for a book, and even a memoir, the prose crisply captures the cadence and rhythm of her comedic style and left me in stitches.
If nearly any other comedian said the same things she did, they would almost definitely come off as uncomfortable and cringe. While the content she touches on is certainly crude in nature, her accounts are always grounded in heart and compassion. She makes mistakes, reflects on those missteps, grows as a person, and incorporates these life lessons into her comedy. This is why she instantly comes off as both infatuating and authentic. Haddish dares to be raw.
Moreover, she has the soul of a survivor, and while she has undeniably suffered, she does not hold malice in her heart. "I want us to grow roses out of the poop" (276), these are the words of wisdom that she imparts to her readers, and that I will now hold close to my heart.
If nearly any other comedian said the same things she did, they would almost definitely come off as uncomfortable and cringe. While the content she touches on is certainly crude in nature, her accounts are always grounded in heart and compassion. She makes mistakes, reflects on those missteps, grows as a person, and incorporates these life lessons into her comedy. This is why she instantly comes off as both infatuating and authentic. Haddish dares to be raw.
Moreover, she has the soul of a survivor, and while she has undeniably suffered, she does not hold malice in her heart. "I want us to grow roses out of the poop" (276), these are the words of wisdom that she imparts to her readers, and that I will now hold close to my heart.