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calarco's Reviews (760)
V. E. Schwab is quite skilled at writing fast-paced, tension-filled stories. Vengeful is no exception, and reads like a dark, gritty version of X-Men.
My favorite part of the Villains series comes down to the morally ambiguous characters. There are often times very thin lines drawn between who is a hero, anti-hero, and villain. It ultimately comes down to the choices of characters, which are often chaotic and unexpected. Schwab is quite fond of employing entropy as a narrative tool. Marcella was an especially fun character; I'm a sucker for a fabulous, petty antagonist.
This was a solid sequel to Vicious. My only criticisms would lie with the anti-climactic ending (which I cannot get into without touching on spoiler specifics), and this book's classification as "sci-fi." While the narrative certainly has sci-fi elements, I was left wanting to know more about the underlying mechanisms of how the EO's powers worked. Mind you, I am one of those jerks that considers Star Wars to be fantasy (in space), not sci-fi, so take of this nitpicking what you will.
Overall, this is still a fun book; I would recommend the series if you like super heroes, thrillers, and/or good old-fashioned drama.
My favorite part of the Villains series comes down to the morally ambiguous characters. There are often times very thin lines drawn between who is a hero, anti-hero, and villain. It ultimately comes down to the choices of characters, which are often chaotic and unexpected. Schwab is quite fond of employing entropy as a narrative tool. Marcella was an especially fun character; I'm a sucker for a fabulous, petty antagonist.
This was a solid sequel to Vicious. My only criticisms would lie with the anti-climactic ending (which I cannot get into without touching on spoiler specifics), and this book's classification as "sci-fi." While the narrative certainly has sci-fi elements, I was left wanting to know more about the underlying mechanisms of how the EO's powers worked. Mind you, I am one of those jerks that considers Star Wars to be fantasy (in space), not sci-fi, so take of this nitpicking what you will.
Overall, this is still a fun book; I would recommend the series if you like super heroes, thrillers, and/or good old-fashioned drama.
History is an unjust, black comedy. With biting sarcasm, this is a point that Vine Deloria, Jr. makes crystal clear in Custer Died for Your Sins: An Indian Manifesto. Published in 1969, this is most definitely a product of its time. However, while advocating for the specific needs of Native Americans during the American civil rights movement, Deloria also writes here a piece of social criticism that was well ahead of its time.
In fact, a great deal of what Deloria writes still holds true in the present. He is one of the first writers I have found to denounce ‘race’ as a social construct, as well as layout the social pitfalls of ‘stereotypes’ for the Native American community. Without using this specific verbiage, the theory is clearly here. Deloria paints a vivid image, and his language is dry, angry, and quite funny at times. There is a profound emotional honesty in his rage and apathy. I can see why this work is so important to so many people.
Writing on a number of topics, the most important chapter for me was “Anthropologists and Other Friends.” To be clear, Deloria does not consider Anthropologists friends (or allies), and thoroughly criticizes how researchers in the field academically benefit from Native Americans without really giving anything in return. As someone who has one degree in Anthropology and a second in Archaeological Heritage, I can 100% understand where he was coming from, especially in the 1960s. While I think that anthropology (and archaeology) can today be used as tools to help underserved communities, the history of the field is one of Western hegemony. Plain and simple.
Furthermore, as a Peruvian American (a halfsies mestiza), I completely understand the emotional anger at the root of much of Deloria’s criticism. Ironically, I chose to study anthropology and archaeology as these were the only fields in which I could learn about my own heritage, as well as non-Western cultures. But as Anthropology, the most scientific of the social sciences, is a study of the ‘other,’ it certainly can contribute to issues of paternalism, hegemony, and even appropriation if researchers fail to understand the humanity of the people they are studying.
While it can warm my heart to hear about the real love and genuine appreciation of my people’s culture, I will still cringe when I hear about folks “Eat, Pray, Love” experiences in Peru. I can’t not be offended by those who use other humans as props for their own character development, or value a culture’s objects over the people who create them. So, when Deloria exclaims, “…it would be wise for anthropologists to get down from their thrones of authority and PURE research and begin helping Indian tribes instead of preying on them. For the wheel of karma grinds slowly but it does grind finely. And it makes a complete circle” (100), I find no fault in this reasoning.
For all that Deloria gets right on the money, I must criticize his lack of empathy for other minority groups active during the Civil Rights movement. Grant it, many of his observations and anecdotes are centered on explaining what would work (and not work) specifically for Native Americans. However, he is quick to belittle much of what African Americans were doing as thuggish, which is an unfair characterization both ethically and realistically. After writing such scathing denouncements of harmful Native American stereotypes, Deloria is still guilty of harboring similar prejudices against minorities different from himself. That was disappointing.
It would be intellectually dishonest of me to praise Deloria’s visionary social criticism, without denouncing his own short-sightedness. Still, I tried my best to understand this work within its contextual point in time and space, and found it to be fairly illuminating on the whole. I would recommend the book, especially if you have native heritage, work with indigenous people, or just want to see the world from a different perspective.
In fact, a great deal of what Deloria writes still holds true in the present. He is one of the first writers I have found to denounce ‘race’ as a social construct, as well as layout the social pitfalls of ‘stereotypes’ for the Native American community. Without using this specific verbiage, the theory is clearly here. Deloria paints a vivid image, and his language is dry, angry, and quite funny at times. There is a profound emotional honesty in his rage and apathy. I can see why this work is so important to so many people.
Writing on a number of topics, the most important chapter for me was “Anthropologists and Other Friends.” To be clear, Deloria does not consider Anthropologists friends (or allies), and thoroughly criticizes how researchers in the field academically benefit from Native Americans without really giving anything in return. As someone who has one degree in Anthropology and a second in Archaeological Heritage, I can 100% understand where he was coming from, especially in the 1960s. While I think that anthropology (and archaeology) can today be used as tools to help underserved communities, the history of the field is one of Western hegemony. Plain and simple.
Furthermore, as a Peruvian American (a halfsies mestiza), I completely understand the emotional anger at the root of much of Deloria’s criticism. Ironically, I chose to study anthropology and archaeology as these were the only fields in which I could learn about my own heritage, as well as non-Western cultures. But as Anthropology, the most scientific of the social sciences, is a study of the ‘other,’ it certainly can contribute to issues of paternalism, hegemony, and even appropriation if researchers fail to understand the humanity of the people they are studying.
While it can warm my heart to hear about the real love and genuine appreciation of my people’s culture, I will still cringe when I hear about folks “Eat, Pray, Love” experiences in Peru. I can’t not be offended by those who use other humans as props for their own character development, or value a culture’s objects over the people who create them. So, when Deloria exclaims, “…it would be wise for anthropologists to get down from their thrones of authority and PURE research and begin helping Indian tribes instead of preying on them. For the wheel of karma grinds slowly but it does grind finely. And it makes a complete circle” (100), I find no fault in this reasoning.
For all that Deloria gets right on the money, I must criticize his lack of empathy for other minority groups active during the Civil Rights movement. Grant it, many of his observations and anecdotes are centered on explaining what would work (and not work) specifically for Native Americans. However, he is quick to belittle much of what African Americans were doing as thuggish, which is an unfair characterization both ethically and realistically. After writing such scathing denouncements of harmful Native American stereotypes, Deloria is still guilty of harboring similar prejudices against minorities different from himself. That was disappointing.
It would be intellectually dishonest of me to praise Deloria’s visionary social criticism, without denouncing his own short-sightedness. Still, I tried my best to understand this work within its contextual point in time and space, and found it to be fairly illuminating on the whole. I would recommend the book, especially if you have native heritage, work with indigenous people, or just want to see the world from a different perspective.
While I finished this last night, I had to sleep on whether or not I actually liked it. I’m still not 100% sure, which probably means I do not, because it really shouldn’t be that hard. Anyways, I should preface all by stating Malinda Lo is a great author, and A Line in the Dark is a suspenseful read. Sadly, for me there was more to dislike than like.
Mostly, I did not like any of the characters. The series takes place through the eyes of Jess, a nerdy comic artist who is (not so) secretly in love with her best friend Angie. Jess is quiet and observant, and the first half of the novel follows events and characters from her passive perspective. Like a slow-motion train wreck, she watches as Angie falls for the rich Margot. This is hard to read, as Malinda Lo accurately captures the emotional turmoil of such an unfortunate adolescent scenario.
That said, while Jess is a well-rounded character, she comes off too much as that quintessential ‘nice guy.’ I can understand that it is hard to communicate feelings you yourself do not fully understand, but she constantly expects people to understand her while giving them little to go off, and she has this weird martyr complex. The others aren’t much better. Angie is dumb at best, and manipulative at worst; and Margot is pretty much just a mustache twirling villain, or the lesbian equivalent. I’m sure there’s a terrible joke (or pun) in there somewhere.
Anyways, the formatting also frustrated me, especially as it reminded me of better executed work. Jess’ use of relaying her feelings through her comics reminded me too much of Fangirl. The narrative split halfway through reminded me too much of Gone Girl. These are hardly original gimmicks in and of themselves, but they made for a story that did not feel overly original, even if the ending is a twisty twist.
Before I close out this review, for anyone out there who does not know, the ridiculous romantic comedy referenced at the beginning of the book is a real movie called Image Me and You. Piper Perabo has a comedically terrible British accent, but it does not matter because Lena Headey has so much charm, she could have on-screen chemistry with seagull. It’s beautiful saccharine nonsense, and if you did not like this book go watch that film instead. This is my gay public service announcement.
All said and done, I wanted to like this because I like Malinda Lo. Her debut novel Ash is amazing fun, and if you read this and didn’t enjoy it, I would say go read that instead.
Rating: 2.5 Stars
Mostly, I did not like any of the characters. The series takes place through the eyes of Jess, a nerdy comic artist who is (not so) secretly in love with her best friend Angie. Jess is quiet and observant, and the first half of the novel follows events and characters from her passive perspective. Like a slow-motion train wreck, she watches as Angie falls for the rich Margot. This is hard to read, as Malinda Lo accurately captures the emotional turmoil of such an unfortunate adolescent scenario.
That said, while Jess is a well-rounded character, she comes off too much as that quintessential ‘nice guy.’ I can understand that it is hard to communicate feelings you yourself do not fully understand, but she constantly expects people to understand her while giving them little to go off, and she has this weird martyr complex. The others aren’t much better. Angie is dumb at best, and manipulative at worst; and Margot is pretty much just a mustache twirling villain, or the lesbian equivalent. I’m sure there’s a terrible joke (or pun) in there somewhere.
Anyways, the formatting also frustrated me, especially as it reminded me of better executed work. Jess’ use of relaying her feelings through her comics reminded me too much of Fangirl. The narrative split halfway through reminded me too much of Gone Girl. These are hardly original gimmicks in and of themselves, but they made for a story that did not feel overly original, even if the ending is a twisty twist.
Before I close out this review, for anyone out there who does not know, the ridiculous romantic comedy referenced at the beginning of the book is a real movie called Image Me and You. Piper Perabo has a comedically terrible British accent, but it does not matter because Lena Headey has so much charm, she could have on-screen chemistry with seagull. It’s beautiful saccharine nonsense, and if you did not like this book go watch that film instead. This is my gay public service announcement.
All said and done, I wanted to like this because I like Malinda Lo. Her debut novel Ash is amazing fun, and if you read this and didn’t enjoy it, I would say go read that instead.
Rating: 2.5 Stars
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Ernest Cline's "Ready Player One" is a ton of fun, plain and simple. Of all the the cyberpunk I've read, this is easily the most jubilantly delightful, which is something I did not realize I needed. If you want to read a novel about a video game to find Easter eggs that is chock-full of actual Easter eggs of the best 80's nostalgia has to offer, then please do yourself a favor and read this book.
In addition to the fast-paced narrative, Cline offers some interesting explorations/dissections of the ego of a nerd. As the novel's premise hinges on players winning a game created by the brilliant programmer Halliday, the game reflects the inner workings of his own mind and tastes. In his life, Halliday was a recluse who struggled with most every form of IRL communication. By launching the game at his death, he kicks off a worldwide incentive for others to finally understand him. For those who anxiously struggle to connect with others, to be understood is everything.
So finally, knowledge of D&D, Monty Python, science fiction, vintage video games, and Rush are all superbly important. Being a nerd means, at least to me, that you have probably spent significant chunks of your life learning the most ridiculously specific details of (cooler) imagined worlds, to the point where you sometimes struggle with social interactions in the (lamer) real world. While Halliday was alone in life, in death he creates a world that validates and rewards like-minded, awkward souls, and this is kind of beautiful.
That all said, 80's pop culture is more than my favorite bar trivia category, so it was really fun playing along with protagonist Wade/Parzival. Furthermore, as much of modern-day 80's nostalgia is a bizarre longing of past imagined futures (i.e., Blade Runner, Neuromancer, etc.), it was fascinating to read of a dystonian future's stakes hinging on nostalgia of imagined dystopian futures. Talk about meta.
The only criticism I have is that while Wade is an underdog in many ways, he is also undeniably a Mary Sue. He is too inexplicably good at too many skills, and while it moves the plot in exciting and unexpected directions, it is a factor that leaves his character underdeveloped. Of the High Five, Aech was the most fascinating character, whose final reveal left me cheering and shooketh, as the kids say.
Overall, I would still definitely recommend "Ready Player One." It is an immersive page turner that will make you forget to do things like eat and go outside, not unlike a good video game.
In addition to the fast-paced narrative, Cline offers some interesting explorations/dissections of the ego of a nerd. As the novel's premise hinges on players winning a game created by the brilliant programmer Halliday, the game reflects the inner workings of his own mind and tastes. In his life, Halliday was a recluse who struggled with most every form of IRL communication. By launching the game at his death, he kicks off a worldwide incentive for others to finally understand him. For those who anxiously struggle to connect with others, to be understood is everything.
So finally, knowledge of D&D, Monty Python, science fiction, vintage video games, and Rush are all superbly important. Being a nerd means, at least to me, that you have probably spent significant chunks of your life learning the most ridiculously specific details of (cooler) imagined worlds, to the point where you sometimes struggle with social interactions in the (lamer) real world. While Halliday was alone in life, in death he creates a world that validates and rewards like-minded, awkward souls, and this is kind of beautiful.
That all said, 80's pop culture is more than my favorite bar trivia category, so it was really fun playing along with protagonist Wade/Parzival. Furthermore, as much of modern-day 80's nostalgia is a bizarre longing of past imagined futures (i.e., Blade Runner, Neuromancer, etc.), it was fascinating to read of a dystonian future's stakes hinging on nostalgia of imagined dystopian futures. Talk about meta.
The only criticism I have is that while Wade is an underdog in many ways, he is also undeniably a Mary Sue. He is too inexplicably good at too many skills, and while it moves the plot in exciting and unexpected directions, it is a factor that leaves his character underdeveloped. Of the High Five, Aech was the most fascinating character, whose final reveal left me cheering and shooketh, as the kids say.
Overall, I would still definitely recommend "Ready Player One." It is an immersive page turner that will make you forget to do things like eat and go outside, not unlike a good video game.
Malinda Lo's Adaptation is a pretty solid, fun read. While not quite for hardcore sci-fi fans, this book is definitely substantial escapist entertainment.
Perhaps what I like most is how the struggle of main protagonist Reese, coming to terms with her bisexuality, plays out. Even if such awkward self-reflection was not happening in the midst of Area 51 melodrama, the internal conflict is so authentically written that this dilemma alone could have made up the entirety of the narrative's dramatic tension. If there is one thing Malinda Lo does well, it's flesh out interesting characters. She also has excellent taste.
Now to pivot, sadly, it is Malinda Lo's taste that also brings me to my criticism of the book, especially with her references. Given the plot, it makes sense she would specifically mention The Birds or The X Files, but her brief mention of Ursula K. Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness was where things unraveled for me. Le Guin's book is perhaps one of the greatest sci-fi works ever written on the topics of gender and sexuality. It is the gold standard.
While I like when authors give nods to their influences, sadly, given how Lo is writing on similar themes, I spent the rest of the novel comparing what was tonally Lo's pop-corn flick to Le Guin's cinematic masterpiece. Does that mean Adaptation is bad? Not at all, I wholeheartedly recommend it. More so, for me at least, that move felt like writing a check that was impossible to cash.
My nitpicking aside, Adaptation is a good book. I would write more about why the plot is interesting, but the less you know, the more you will likely enjoy it.
Rating: 3.5 stars
Perhaps what I like most is how the struggle of main protagonist Reese, coming to terms with her bisexuality, plays out. Even if such awkward self-reflection was not happening in the midst of Area 51 melodrama, the internal conflict is so authentically written that this dilemma alone could have made up the entirety of the narrative's dramatic tension. If there is one thing Malinda Lo does well, it's flesh out interesting characters. She also has excellent taste.
Now to pivot, sadly, it is Malinda Lo's taste that also brings me to my criticism of the book, especially with her references. Given the plot, it makes sense she would specifically mention The Birds or The X Files, but her brief mention of Ursula K. Le Guin's The Left Hand of Darkness was where things unraveled for me. Le Guin's book is perhaps one of the greatest sci-fi works ever written on the topics of gender and sexuality. It is the gold standard.
While I like when authors give nods to their influences, sadly, given how Lo is writing on similar themes, I spent the rest of the novel comparing what was tonally Lo's pop-corn flick to Le Guin's cinematic masterpiece. Does that mean Adaptation is bad? Not at all, I wholeheartedly recommend it. More so, for me at least, that move felt like writing a check that was impossible to cash.
My nitpicking aside, Adaptation is a good book. I would write more about why the plot is interesting, but the less you know, the more you will likely enjoy it.
Rating: 3.5 stars
I am not someone who is overly sentimental, but if you want to feel something significant then even I have to highly recommend Rupi Kaur's milk and honey.
Reading this collection of poetry was like walking through a dream. Kaur's prose is impeccable. Her collection is presented in four chapters: 'the hurting,' 'the loving,' 'the breaking,' and 'the healing.' She starts by recounting the love and tragedy of her earliest years, which she then uses to help dissect her actions and feelings in the present. Except this description is pretty straight forward, and Kaur's meandering journey should not be mischaracterized as simple. It is anything but.
I think what I love most about this collection is that even though the milk spoils and the honey spills, Kaur still seeks an understanding of 'why' that is rooted in compassion over malignant retribution. So all and all, even if poetry isn't your jam, you still may very well still enjoy the powerhouse that is milk and honey.
Reading this collection of poetry was like walking through a dream. Kaur's prose is impeccable. Her collection is presented in four chapters: 'the hurting,' 'the loving,' 'the breaking,' and 'the healing.' She starts by recounting the love and tragedy of her earliest years, which she then uses to help dissect her actions and feelings in the present. Except this description is pretty straight forward, and Kaur's meandering journey should not be mischaracterized as simple. It is anything but.
I think what I love most about this collection is that even though the milk spoils and the honey spills, Kaur still seeks an understanding of 'why' that is rooted in compassion over malignant retribution. So all and all, even if poetry isn't your jam, you still may very well still enjoy the powerhouse that is milk and honey.
‘Did you know that Okoye is a brilliant playwright?’ is now my go-to opening line at gatherings and fancy shindigs, and The Convert is the reason why. This is such an amazing play, perhaps even better than the stellar Eclipsed. Admittedly, I have not seen any of Danai Gurira’s work performed live (yet), but her talent as a writer makes reading her scripts more than worthwhile.
Taking place in 1896 in what is now present-day Rhodesia, we are introduced to a community in flux. The story opens with protagonist Jekesai fleeing her uncle who wants to marry her off as the tenth wife to a much older man. With the help of her aunt Mai Tamba, she is able to find solace with Chilford, a man on a mission to spread Christianity to her village. In addition, she receives employment, education, and a new name – Esther.
Esther embraces Christianity, finding Chilford and Jesus to be her saviors. But in this time and place, Christianity arrived hand-in-hand with colonialism, so this dynamic is where the real narrative tension begins. More than anything, this is a story about navigating changing power structures. Whether adhering to African tradition or western Christianity, the only constant seems to be that there is no discernible place (or path) for an intelligent black woman.
Whether it be the traditionally resourceful Mai Tamba, or the extensively educated Prudence, the women in this tale are seldom respected or even acknowledged, neither by society nor the men in their lives. Not to over simplify though, Gurira’s characters are all vibrant and multilayered, and each one provides an important perspective that helps drive the story.
I’d write more, but instead I’ll just say you should read or see this play and decide for yourself.
Rating: 4.5 stars
Taking place in 1896 in what is now present-day Rhodesia, we are introduced to a community in flux. The story opens with protagonist Jekesai fleeing her uncle who wants to marry her off as the tenth wife to a much older man. With the help of her aunt Mai Tamba, she is able to find solace with Chilford, a man on a mission to spread Christianity to her village. In addition, she receives employment, education, and a new name – Esther.
Esther embraces Christianity, finding Chilford and Jesus to be her saviors. But in this time and place, Christianity arrived hand-in-hand with colonialism, so this dynamic is where the real narrative tension begins. More than anything, this is a story about navigating changing power structures. Whether adhering to African tradition or western Christianity, the only constant seems to be that there is no discernible place (or path) for an intelligent black woman.
Whether it be the traditionally resourceful Mai Tamba, or the extensively educated Prudence, the women in this tale are seldom respected or even acknowledged, neither by society nor the men in their lives. Not to over simplify though, Gurira’s characters are all vibrant and multilayered, and each one provides an important perspective that helps drive the story.
I’d write more, but instead I’ll just say you should read or see this play and decide for yourself.
Rating: 4.5 stars
Asimov's idealistic vision of a world made better by robots is truly a beautiful thing. In his collection I, Robot he explores the tragectory of robot development through the eyes of robo-psychologist Dr. Susan Calvin.
Dr. Susan Calvin is one of my most favorite characters in sci-fi. She's knowledgable, hardworking, pragmatic, and a bit robotic herself; truly a woman after my own (robo)heart. More so, Calvin acts as an advocate for robots both as utilitarian machines, as well as their moral superiority in regard to their adherence to the three laws of robotics. By her own admission,
"I like robots. I like them considerably better than I do human beings. If a robot can be created capable of being a civil executive, I think he'd make the best one possible. By the Laws of Robotics, he'd be incapable of harming humans, incapable of tyranny, of corruption, of stupidity, or prejudice. And after he had served a decent term, he would leave, even though he were immortal, because it would be impossible for him to hurt humans by letting them know that a robot had ruled them. It would be most ideal."
Admittedly today, in 2019, it has been found that code and machines are in fact capable of bias, and even prejudice. It's true that a robot is only as good and capable as the human(s) that create it. But Issac Asimov's robots are so great, because he was so optimistic. So if they ever came to be, I for one would welcome our robot overlords. Of course if they are robots of a Terminator persuasion, I would have to opt for a Sarah Connor approach, but I digress.
Of this short story collection, my favorite would have to be "Robbie." It is such a sweet tale, and one that is appropriate for all ages. In a world with dozens of (heartfelt) tales of young boys and their dogs, this one story about a little girl and her over-sized robot is more than welcome. No dog could ever replace Robbie.
So all that said, of course I recommend I, Robot. The only reason I do not rate this book higher is that I already read many of these stories (and more) in the later-published Robot Visions. This version is curated through Dr. Calvin, the other with Asimov’s nonfiction speculation and greater body of work. Both are excellent and deserve a shot.
Rating: I, Recommend
Dr. Susan Calvin is one of my most favorite characters in sci-fi. She's knowledgable, hardworking, pragmatic, and a bit robotic herself; truly a woman after my own (robo)heart. More so, Calvin acts as an advocate for robots both as utilitarian machines, as well as their moral superiority in regard to their adherence to the three laws of robotics. By her own admission,
"I like robots. I like them considerably better than I do human beings. If a robot can be created capable of being a civil executive, I think he'd make the best one possible. By the Laws of Robotics, he'd be incapable of harming humans, incapable of tyranny, of corruption, of stupidity, or prejudice. And after he had served a decent term, he would leave, even though he were immortal, because it would be impossible for him to hurt humans by letting them know that a robot had ruled them. It would be most ideal."
Admittedly today, in 2019, it has been found that code and machines are in fact capable of bias, and even prejudice. It's true that a robot is only as good and capable as the human(s) that create it. But Issac Asimov's robots are so great, because he was so optimistic. So if they ever came to be, I for one would welcome our robot overlords. Of course if they are robots of a Terminator persuasion, I would have to opt for a Sarah Connor approach, but I digress.
Of this short story collection, my favorite would have to be "Robbie." It is such a sweet tale, and one that is appropriate for all ages. In a world with dozens of (heartfelt) tales of young boys and their dogs, this one story about a little girl and her over-sized robot is more than welcome. No dog could ever replace Robbie.
So all that said, of course I recommend I, Robot. The only reason I do not rate this book higher is that I already read many of these stories (and more) in the later-published Robot Visions. This version is curated through Dr. Calvin, the other with Asimov’s nonfiction speculation and greater body of work. Both are excellent and deserve a shot.
Rating: I, Recommend
“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”
Reflecting on the U.S. civil rights achievements during 1963, the centennial year of the Emancipation Proclamation, Martin Luther King Jr. writes with elegance and urgency on the necessity of taking direct, nonviolent action in Why We Can’t Wait.
“The enemy the Negro faced became not the individual who had oppressed him but the evil system that permitted the individual to do so” (35).
Nonviolent protest is the famous method Martin Luther King Jr. employed in the fight for equality. In this volume he expressly details the bravery and sacrifice that such action entails, as well as why this Ghandian approach was most effective at achieving the goal of civil rights. Moreover, he stressed the importance of using this tactic in conjunction with legal action. With these forces combined, King lays bare how to impress the humanity of an oppressed people to their (participating and unwitting) oppressors. By attacking the system that oppressed, rather than individual agents, King made moves with lasting impact.
“When he seeks opportunity, he is told, in effect, to lift himself by his own bootstraps, advice which does not take into account the fact that he is barefoot” (16).
Perhaps my favorite part of this volume is how King speaks to socio-economic inequity. He makes clear that the root of the problem is cyclical, systemic oppression that renders the oppressed unable to escape poverty. One cannot use education and employment to lift themselves up when they do not even have access to the stepping stones leading to these avenues. I have always found ‘bootstrap’ philosophy particularly irksome for that particular reason; that and that the saying was originally meant as a sarcastic jab at affluent ignorance to working class woes.
Fitting into the bigger picture with nonviolent protest as the method and socioeconomic equality as the long-term goal, King’s calculated approach in Birmingham, Alabama is a brilliant example (blueprint even) of how to employ pragmatic process to meet idealized dreams. Considered the most segregated place in the U.S. at this time, King worked with a multitude of groups and strategically timed protests in accordance with current events.
“The ultimate tragedy of Birmingham was not the brutality of the bad people, but the silence of the good people” (51).
In this time and place where the KKK were quite active, King reflected that those who were ‘neutral,’ ‘moderate,’ or willing to remain silent were the largest problematic obstacles to freedom. Most considered King a radical at this point, dismissing him with the conviction that progress would come naturally if given time. What King correctly identifies is that time is neutral and progress is not inherently linear. Passive apathy crushed, while active protest pushed the Civil Rights Act up the docket in Congress.
“It was the people who moved their leaders, not the leaders who moved the people” (156).
Honestly, this book is amazing and it most definitely has my recommendation for pretty much everyone. No one inspires quite like Martin Luther King Jr. and his passion will always be relevant.
Reflecting on the U.S. civil rights achievements during 1963, the centennial year of the Emancipation Proclamation, Martin Luther King Jr. writes with elegance and urgency on the necessity of taking direct, nonviolent action in Why We Can’t Wait.
“The enemy the Negro faced became not the individual who had oppressed him but the evil system that permitted the individual to do so” (35).
Nonviolent protest is the famous method Martin Luther King Jr. employed in the fight for equality. In this volume he expressly details the bravery and sacrifice that such action entails, as well as why this Ghandian approach was most effective at achieving the goal of civil rights. Moreover, he stressed the importance of using this tactic in conjunction with legal action. With these forces combined, King lays bare how to impress the humanity of an oppressed people to their (participating and unwitting) oppressors. By attacking the system that oppressed, rather than individual agents, King made moves with lasting impact.
“When he seeks opportunity, he is told, in effect, to lift himself by his own bootstraps, advice which does not take into account the fact that he is barefoot” (16).
Perhaps my favorite part of this volume is how King speaks to socio-economic inequity. He makes clear that the root of the problem is cyclical, systemic oppression that renders the oppressed unable to escape poverty. One cannot use education and employment to lift themselves up when they do not even have access to the stepping stones leading to these avenues. I have always found ‘bootstrap’ philosophy particularly irksome for that particular reason; that and that the saying was originally meant as a sarcastic jab at affluent ignorance to working class woes.
Fitting into the bigger picture with nonviolent protest as the method and socioeconomic equality as the long-term goal, King’s calculated approach in Birmingham, Alabama is a brilliant example (blueprint even) of how to employ pragmatic process to meet idealized dreams. Considered the most segregated place in the U.S. at this time, King worked with a multitude of groups and strategically timed protests in accordance with current events.
“The ultimate tragedy of Birmingham was not the brutality of the bad people, but the silence of the good people” (51).
In this time and place where the KKK were quite active, King reflected that those who were ‘neutral,’ ‘moderate,’ or willing to remain silent were the largest problematic obstacles to freedom. Most considered King a radical at this point, dismissing him with the conviction that progress would come naturally if given time. What King correctly identifies is that time is neutral and progress is not inherently linear. Passive apathy crushed, while active protest pushed the Civil Rights Act up the docket in Congress.
“It was the people who moved their leaders, not the leaders who moved the people” (156).
Honestly, this book is amazing and it most definitely has my recommendation for pretty much everyone. No one inspires quite like Martin Luther King Jr. and his passion will always be relevant.
After hearing so many great things about Nnedi Okorafor, I still found myself pleasantly surprised by how great this short novella shaped up to be. Binti is the story of a brave, inquisitive girl who struggles to adapt to rapidly changing situations. A lot happens very quickly; Okorafor is brilliant at universe building in a way that raises both emotional investment and intrigue. I would write more, but given how short this novella is I’ll just stop and recommend reading it before I accidentally spoil something.
This is my first Okorafor book and at a time when I find myself running out of new Octavia Butler books to read, I am really happy to know about (and look forward to) her work.
This is my first Okorafor book and at a time when I find myself running out of new Octavia Butler books to read, I am really happy to know about (and look forward to) her work.