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It brings me no pleasure to write that I did not like Six of Crows. So many people I know have recommended it, and while there were some enjoyable elements in this tale, overall there was ultimately more bad than good.
In terms of what I thought did work well, the book has what I would call good 'readability.' This novel is not a literary epic by any means, but it is the movie equivalent of a 'popcorn flick,' which is easy enough to digest. I also quite liked the character Nina; she was easily the most developed and multi-layered of the main six. Sadly, I cannot say I liked much else.
For starters, more than half of the plot takes place in flashbacks. While this mode of storytelling might work well enough in a screenplay adaptation, it made for uneven pacing and awkward narrative backtracking in novel-format. And I have enjoyed paralleled timelines in other stories, but as the flashbacks were presented here to provide individual character exposition (for five of the main six), by halfway through the novel this shifting began to feel like a cheap plot device employed to superficially up the emotional stakes.
On that point, this story had far too much ‘telling’ and not enough ‘showing.’ This is best exemplified with the main character Kaz. We are told numerous times throughout the novel that he is remarkably clever and intelligent, an effective leader. Yet throughout the novel he does not really do a whole lot to warrant this reputation; we never actually see him doing anything beyond the obvious. Instead, he is quite narrow-sighted in his planning, and at most every turn he fails to take a number of apparent variables into account.
This brings me to my final annoyance, which is that this book’s heist plot is pretty 'by the book,' to the point that it was super predictable. I should not be yelling at the ‘intelligent’ leader, who often acts on arrogance over insight, about an impending menace. A twist cannot shock if you anticipate it 10 pages in advance. Without getting into spoiler specifics, I’m also frustrated that beyond Nina and Matthias, the remaining characters felt super underdeveloped. I have a vague notion of what they are about, but everything else I know about them reads like the summary of a police report.
Overall, this was a bit of a disappointment. Of course, one person’s opinion does not constitute fact, so feel free to read it and decide for yourself. Just because I was bored doesn’t mean you will be too, especially if this book’s popularity is any indication.
In terms of what I thought did work well, the book has what I would call good 'readability.' This novel is not a literary epic by any means, but it is the movie equivalent of a 'popcorn flick,' which is easy enough to digest. I also quite liked the character Nina; she was easily the most developed and multi-layered of the main six. Sadly, I cannot say I liked much else.
For starters, more than half of the plot takes place in flashbacks. While this mode of storytelling might work well enough in a screenplay adaptation, it made for uneven pacing and awkward narrative backtracking in novel-format. And I have enjoyed paralleled timelines in other stories, but as the flashbacks were presented here to provide individual character exposition (for five of the main six), by halfway through the novel this shifting began to feel like a cheap plot device employed to superficially up the emotional stakes.
On that point, this story had far too much ‘telling’ and not enough ‘showing.’ This is best exemplified with the main character Kaz. We are told numerous times throughout the novel that he is remarkably clever and intelligent, an effective leader. Yet throughout the novel he does not really do a whole lot to warrant this reputation; we never actually see him doing anything beyond the obvious. Instead, he is quite narrow-sighted in his planning, and at most every turn he fails to take a number of apparent variables into account.
This brings me to my final annoyance, which is that this book’s heist plot is pretty 'by the book,' to the point that it was super predictable. I should not be yelling at the ‘intelligent’ leader, who often acts on arrogance over insight, about an impending menace. A twist cannot shock if you anticipate it 10 pages in advance. Without getting into spoiler specifics, I’m also frustrated that beyond Nina and Matthias, the remaining characters felt super underdeveloped. I have a vague notion of what they are about, but everything else I know about them reads like the summary of a police report.
Overall, this was a bit of a disappointment. Of course, one person’s opinion does not constitute fact, so feel free to read it and decide for yourself. Just because I was bored doesn’t mean you will be too, especially if this book’s popularity is any indication.
If I could describe Nnedi Okorafor’s writing in one word it would be “vivid.” She creates really vibrant worlds that draw the reader in and leaves them wanting more. Home continues to build on the universe introduced in Binti, answering some questions and posing some new ones.
Binti, in addition to adapting to a new university (and planet) as a space immigrant, finds herself having to deal with the trauma of her last journey, as well as grasp with the implications of her new Meduse physiology. That’s a lot to deal with, especially for a young person just trying to navigate the typical pitfalls of formative adolescence, a period when anyone really begins to form and understand who they are.
When she returns “home” to Earth to reunite with her family and go on a pilgrimage to cleanse/sort herself out, things go awry. This return also forces Binti to reckon with (at least) two elements of her identity as her buddy/former captor/classmate/Meduse ambassador Okwu accompanies her on this journey. So much drama. I won’t get into spoiler specifics, but the only constant in Binti’s life seems to be change, with her character ultimately being defined by how she deals with that change. Now that is pretty human.
My one critique would be that this book really only works as the middle entry of a trilogy, needing its prequel to provide essential exposition and its sequel to tie up loose narrative ends. That said, it is still pretty solid so if you have read Binti I would definitely recommend Home.
Rating: 3.5 stars
Binti, in addition to adapting to a new university (and planet) as a space immigrant, finds herself having to deal with the trauma of her last journey, as well as grasp with the implications of her new Meduse physiology. That’s a lot to deal with, especially for a young person just trying to navigate the typical pitfalls of formative adolescence, a period when anyone really begins to form and understand who they are.
When she returns “home” to Earth to reunite with her family and go on a pilgrimage to cleanse/sort herself out, things go awry. This return also forces Binti to reckon with (at least) two elements of her identity as her buddy/former captor/classmate/Meduse ambassador Okwu accompanies her on this journey. So much drama. I won’t get into spoiler specifics, but the only constant in Binti’s life seems to be change, with her character ultimately being defined by how she deals with that change. Now that is pretty human.
My one critique would be that this book really only works as the middle entry of a trilogy, needing its prequel to provide essential exposition and its sequel to tie up loose narrative ends. That said, it is still pretty solid so if you have read Binti I would definitely recommend Home.
Rating: 3.5 stars
In 1962, a scientist named Rachel Carson wrote Silent Spring detailing the hazardous environmental effects of pesticides and herbicides being used in the United States. She wrote with factual accuracy that urgently detailed the horrific implications of prolonged chemical use, and with beautiful prose that framed this work in her undeniable love of nature. And the kicker is that people actually listened to her. Reading this book in 2019, it seems sadly nostalgic to look back at a time when the general public actually gave credence to the work of researchers and scientific fact. Wacky.
Rachel Carson undeniably succeeds in reporting objectively unromantic evidence (scary stuff really), with an execution conveying a soft aesthetic style rarely seen with popular science authors. She expresses beautiful sentiments such as, “in nature nothing exists alone,” (51) that will appeal to anyone’s inner hippie. Then in the same paragraph, she will also account how arsenic leached in the soil and water will have detrimental effects the public’s health for generations to come (aka: cancer). All things are connected, which is both beautiful and horrifying when you think about it, and Rachel Carson will really make you think about it.
Overall, this book is pretty great, I definitely recommend it.
Rachel Carson undeniably succeeds in reporting objectively unromantic evidence (scary stuff really), with an execution conveying a soft aesthetic style rarely seen with popular science authors. She expresses beautiful sentiments such as, “in nature nothing exists alone,” (51) that will appeal to anyone’s inner hippie. Then in the same paragraph, she will also account how arsenic leached in the soil and water will have detrimental effects the public’s health for generations to come (aka: cancer). All things are connected, which is both beautiful and horrifying when you think about it, and Rachel Carson will really make you think about it.
Overall, this book is pretty great, I definitely recommend it.
In a world with countless teeth-chattering, dystopian, post-apocalyptic thrillers, Ling Ma bravely asks - 'But what if you just kept going to work like nothing was wrong?'
This is the setup of Ma's debut novel Severance, which follows detached millennial Candace Chen during her final days in New York. Oscillating between the 'present' end of the world and Candace's 'past' memories, this dual story line meanders in such a way that adeptly allows the severity of Shen Fever to creep into full view. I can also vouch that it accurately depicts the disillusionment with working in Manhattan in your early 20's (the commute alone is a horror).
The only reason I do not rate this higher is that while I am thoroughly horrified of what Shen Fever does to people (on various levels), by the final page I still do not fully understand what it is. To further complicate things, this novel feels like it is trying to be too many things in too short a book. At times it's an office comedy, at others it's an anti-coming of age story, and sometimes it really is a dystopian horror, while at others it's maybe a psychological thriller?
Even if disjointed at times, there are still plenty of good elements to make for an enjoyable read. Ling Ma wrote a good book, and I look forward to reading more as she grows and sharpens her perspective.
This is the setup of Ma's debut novel Severance, which follows detached millennial Candace Chen during her final days in New York. Oscillating between the 'present' end of the world and Candace's 'past' memories, this dual story line meanders in such a way that adeptly allows the severity of Shen Fever to creep into full view. I can also vouch that it accurately depicts the disillusionment with working in Manhattan in your early 20's (the commute alone is a horror).
The only reason I do not rate this higher is that while I am thoroughly horrified of what Shen Fever does to people (on various levels), by the final page I still do not fully understand what it is. To further complicate things, this novel feels like it is trying to be too many things in too short a book. At times it's an office comedy, at others it's an anti-coming of age story, and sometimes it really is a dystopian horror, while at others it's maybe a psychological thriller?
Even if disjointed at times, there are still plenty of good elements to make for an enjoyable read. Ling Ma wrote a good book, and I look forward to reading more as she grows and sharpens her perspective.
As summer approaches and the hot humidity creeps in with the atmospheric pressure, the tenseness of reading Jesmyn Ward's Salvage the Bones felt all the more real and vibrant.
This is a book that opens with tension and only builds on the unease like a breath held in suspense. And that's just the human conflict before Hurricane Katrina strikes. This tale is relayed from the viewpoint of Esch - a teenage girl with three brothers, an alcoholic father, and a deceased mother - and it's easy to feel her love for her family contrasted to a terrible sense of loneliness.
Esch can be a frustrating perspective to read in that while she has a strong spirit, she allows so much to happen to her and struggles to exert much sense of agency. But she is still a child herself, so I was left feeling angry at how her family's state of poverty and society's willingness to overlook her lead to her emotional isolation. If I have learned anything about Jesmyn Ward, it is that she is quite talented at writing fully realized characters.
"The sun is bearing down on me, burning, evaporating the sweat, water, and blood from me to leave my skin, my desiccated organs, my brittle bones: my raisin of a body. If I could, I would reach inside of me and pull out my heart and that tiny wet seed that will become the baby. Let them go first so the rest won't hurt so much." (122)
It is also worth nothing the unexpected surprise of how much this book reminded me of Of Mice and Men. Now while Ward's prose could not be more different from Steinbeck's, there were a number of thematic similarities between the two works. Notably, the focus on vulnerable and imperfect characters, an exploration of the cruelty of poverty on the American family, as well as the use of animals (specifically dogs) employed as an allegory for human struggles.
In Of Mice and Men, Lenny's development is paralleled with Candy's older dog, each demonstrating how loyalty can end with the cruelest type of compassion. In Salvage the Bones, the story opens with the China birthing puppies, which is then juxtaposed to the memory of the family's deceased mother and Esch's revelation of her pregnancy. China becomes a symbol of motherhood and femininity, elements met by malignancy bred of both man and nature.
While this is all written with beautiful and visceral prose, for me this type of content is really challenging on a number of levels, specifically in terms of seeing human conflict personified in an animal that is synonymous with service and unconditional loyalty. While I am aware that this is a literary device, in many ways this comparison felt patronizing and belittling to the female characters, and not just by the male characters but by the author as well.
A lot of this comes down to personal preference, and all that said, I still enjoyed Jesmyn Ward's writing. This was my first read of one of her books and I look forward to reading her other work.
This is a book that opens with tension and only builds on the unease like a breath held in suspense. And that's just the human conflict before Hurricane Katrina strikes. This tale is relayed from the viewpoint of Esch - a teenage girl with three brothers, an alcoholic father, and a deceased mother - and it's easy to feel her love for her family contrasted to a terrible sense of loneliness.
Esch can be a frustrating perspective to read in that while she has a strong spirit, she allows so much to happen to her and struggles to exert much sense of agency. But she is still a child herself, so I was left feeling angry at how her family's state of poverty and society's willingness to overlook her lead to her emotional isolation. If I have learned anything about Jesmyn Ward, it is that she is quite talented at writing fully realized characters.
"The sun is bearing down on me, burning, evaporating the sweat, water, and blood from me to leave my skin, my desiccated organs, my brittle bones: my raisin of a body. If I could, I would reach inside of me and pull out my heart and that tiny wet seed that will become the baby. Let them go first so the rest won't hurt so much." (122)
It is also worth nothing the unexpected surprise of how much this book reminded me of Of Mice and Men. Now while Ward's prose could not be more different from Steinbeck's, there were a number of thematic similarities between the two works. Notably, the focus on vulnerable and imperfect characters, an exploration of the cruelty of poverty on the American family, as well as the use of animals (specifically dogs) employed as an allegory for human struggles.
In Of Mice and Men, Lenny's development is paralleled with Candy's older dog, each demonstrating how loyalty can end with the cruelest type of compassion. In Salvage the Bones, the story opens with the China birthing puppies, which is then juxtaposed to the memory of the family's deceased mother and Esch's revelation of her pregnancy. China becomes a symbol of motherhood and femininity, elements met by malignancy bred of both man and nature.
While this is all written with beautiful and visceral prose, for me this type of content is really challenging on a number of levels, specifically in terms of seeing human conflict personified in an animal that is synonymous with service and unconditional loyalty. While I am aware that this is a literary device, in many ways this comparison felt patronizing and belittling to the female characters, and not just by the male characters but by the author as well.
A lot of this comes down to personal preference, and all that said, I still enjoyed Jesmyn Ward's writing. This was my first read of one of her books and I look forward to reading her other work.
Ray Bradbury’s unique style and voice shines through in The Illustrated Man. This collection is comprised of a series of short stories that are tied together on the back (literally) of the Illustrated Man, an enigmatic figure who is covered in tattoos. Look closely, and the inked images spin into tales of even stranger inklings.
Building on the lore and intrigue of The Martian Chronicles, Bradbury further adds to the cannon storyline of his peculiar multiverse. My favorite entries, including: “The Veldt,” “The Fox and Forest,” as well as “Marionettes, Inc.” all truly felt like stories etched onto the body of a mysterious vagrant. It is also this type of elevated, vivid, visually-driven horror that I could easily see being adapted into a Twilight Zone or Black Mirror esque creation.
Departing from the horror, tales like “The Other Foot” and “The Rocket” that play with tension but are ultimately hopeful and sweet, are also worth mentioning. Perhaps they are indicative of the Illustrated Man’s softer inclinations? That’s hard to say. After all is said and done, I was still left a bit frustrated at not really knowing who the Illustrated Man really was at heart (or gaping blackhole where a heart should be located). Thematically diverse, these stories ultimately do not add up to a greater sum as eloquently as The Martian Chronicles, though nitpicking aside are still quite entertaining.
Ultimately, The Illustrated Man is a good collection and has my recommendation. Bradbury wrote wholesome horror just as well as Agatha Christie wrote wholesome (murder) mystery, which is a tonally challenging milieu to pin down. Good stuff.
Rating: 3.5 stars
Building on the lore and intrigue of The Martian Chronicles, Bradbury further adds to the cannon storyline of his peculiar multiverse. My favorite entries, including: “The Veldt,” “The Fox and Forest,” as well as “Marionettes, Inc.” all truly felt like stories etched onto the body of a mysterious vagrant. It is also this type of elevated, vivid, visually-driven horror that I could easily see being adapted into a Twilight Zone or Black Mirror esque creation.
Departing from the horror, tales like “The Other Foot” and “The Rocket” that play with tension but are ultimately hopeful and sweet, are also worth mentioning. Perhaps they are indicative of the Illustrated Man’s softer inclinations? That’s hard to say. After all is said and done, I was still left a bit frustrated at not really knowing who the Illustrated Man really was at heart (or gaping blackhole where a heart should be located). Thematically diverse, these stories ultimately do not add up to a greater sum as eloquently as The Martian Chronicles, though nitpicking aside are still quite entertaining.
Ultimately, The Illustrated Man is a good collection and has my recommendation. Bradbury wrote wholesome horror just as well as Agatha Christie wrote wholesome (murder) mystery, which is a tonally challenging milieu to pin down. Good stuff.
Rating: 3.5 stars
In life I’ve been lucky to have had great teachers; I’ll never forget first reading [b:A People's History of the United States|2767|A People's History of the United States|Howard Zinn|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1494279423s/2767.jpg|2185591] in my high school U.S. history course. Even when he was cracking jokes, Mr. Sheehan always encouraged an active questioning of the historic record, and wanted us students to familiarize ourselves with a number of perspectives. I imagine this is how Howard Zinn entered the lives of many an impressionable or disaffected young person.
So what is this book? Well, it is more or less what it boasts to be: “A People’s History,” Zinn looks at U.S. history through the lens of the working class—the people. He also criticizes those in power that benefit off the exploitation of this group, as well as systems of control used to maintain this status quo. This includes re-examining the prevailing understanding of what American democracy entails. Starting at the very beginning, Zinn boldly asserts:
“The Constitution…illustrates the complexity of the American system: that it serves the interests of a wealthy elite, but also does enough for small property owners, for the middle-income mechanics and farmers, to build a broad base of support. The slightly prosperous people who make up this base of support are buffers against the blacks, the Indians, the very poor whites. They enable the elite to keep control with a minimum of coercion, a maximum of law—all made palatable by the fanfare of patriotism and unity.” (99)
If it’s not readily apparent, those who hold dear the ideas of “American exceptionalism” or extreme free-market capitalism will probably hate this book. Ingrained in the earliest version of what we conceptualize to be the United States, Zinn will challenge most notions of perceived greatness. This is after all a country built by the labor of enslaved blacks and on land stolen from Native Americans.
Zinn does not pull any punches when it comes to bluntly stating how racism, misogyny, fear, and other vain forms of division have been used to maintain America as a caste system of sorts with little room for social mobility. He makes a good case for how this is facilitated by a deeply entrenched and prevalent narrative:
“Control in modern times requires more than force, more than law. It requires that a population dangerously concentrated in cities and factories, whose lives are filled with cause for rebellion, be taught that all is right as it is. And so, the schools, the churches, the popular literature taught that to be rich was a sign of superiority, to be poor a sign of personal failure, and that the only way upward for a poor person was to climb into the ranks of the rich by extraordinary effort and extraordinary luck.” (262)
Taking a step back, it must be noted that the vast majority of published history adheres to a distinctly American form of story-telling that upholds rugged individualism and prioritizes the roles of esteemed individuals. Do you have a favorite president? Well, Zinn is going to do his darndest to kick out the pedestal upon which you view that guy. In this volume, no leader that upholds any system of inequality is free of criticism, which sometimes results in flippant quips such as this hot take on FDR in WWII:
“Roosevelt was as much concerned to end the oppression of Jews as Lincoln was to end slavery during the Civil War; their priority was policy (whatever their personal compassion for victims of persecution) was not minority rights, but national power.” (410)
It is important to contextualize that during World War II, FDR signed Executive Order 9066 which resulted in the unjust internment of Japanese Americans. Nearly a century earlier, Lincoln passed the Homestead Act to appease expansionists at the expense of Native American’s homes and lives. These are objectively bad things. Still, if pressed, I myself would be inclined to cite FDR and Lincoln as two of America’s most impactful presidents, but is important to remember the totality of a leader’s legacies, which are often more complex than an overly simplistic, feel-good narrative.
What Zinn most advocates for in this volume is that people must organize, not blindly follow a charismatic savior. ‘Be the (organized) change you want to see in the world’—or something to that effect. The socio-economic underpinnings that enables the preservation of power, affluence, and influence of the wealthiest elite can only be effectively challenged by the many, not the exceptional few.
“One percent of the nation owns a third of the wealth. The rest of the wealth is distributed in such a way as to turn those in the 99 percent against one another: small property owners against the propertyless, black against white, native-born against foreign-born, intellectuals and professionals against the uneducated and unskilled. These groups have resented one another and warred against one another with such vehemence and violence as to obscure their common position as sharers of leftovers in a very wealthy country.” (632)
If you think that’s chilling, in 2019 the Washington Post has since reported that the top 10% now own more than 70% of the nation’s wealth, with the top 1% having more than the bottom 80% of the population combined. So if these statistics upset you, please vote if you do not already do so.
Howard Zinn did his part by creating this accessible, pop-history of sorts that could be easily digestible by the working class, and change the conversation. On that note, while he does properly cite and contextualize his historical quotes, sadly, to my personal chagrin, he does not include detailed footnotes. If I have any criticisms of this work, they mostly boil down to this irksome observation. But that said, even if history isn’t your jam, this book is still easy enough to understand and a good learning tool.
Overall, I would still definitely recommend this book as a well-argued resource (and/or effective paperweight). Rather than an end-all be-all source on the subject matter, however, I would consider it more as an excellent launch point for further study. By Zinn’s own (refreshing) admission in the Afterword, his conception of the working class is hindered by the constraints of his own lived experience. So if you are interested in reading more, I would also recommend:
- [b:A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America|37564|A Different Mirror A History of Multicultural America|Ronald Takaki|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1439467571s/37564.jpg|37420] by Ronald Takaki
- [b:The History of White People|6919721|The History of White People|Nell Irvin Painter|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1349005576s/6919721.jpg|7147568] by Nell Irvin Painter
- [b:An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States|20588662|An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States (ReVisioning American History, #3)|Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1395003842s/20588662.jpg|39861426] by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz
- [b:The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism|1237300|The Shock Doctrine The Rise of Disaster Capitalism|Naomi Klein|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1442590618s/1237300.jpg|2826418] by Naomi Klein
- [b:The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness|6792458|The New Jim Crow Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness|Michelle Alexander|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1328751532s/6792458.jpg|6996712] by Michelle Alexander
If you have any other must-read suggestions please leave your recommendation in a comment! In the spirit of Howard Zinn, and plucky high school history teachers everywhere, let’s keep the conversation going. Or don’t, you know, you do you.
So what is this book? Well, it is more or less what it boasts to be: “A People’s History,” Zinn looks at U.S. history through the lens of the working class—the people. He also criticizes those in power that benefit off the exploitation of this group, as well as systems of control used to maintain this status quo. This includes re-examining the prevailing understanding of what American democracy entails. Starting at the very beginning, Zinn boldly asserts:
“The Constitution…illustrates the complexity of the American system: that it serves the interests of a wealthy elite, but also does enough for small property owners, for the middle-income mechanics and farmers, to build a broad base of support. The slightly prosperous people who make up this base of support are buffers against the blacks, the Indians, the very poor whites. They enable the elite to keep control with a minimum of coercion, a maximum of law—all made palatable by the fanfare of patriotism and unity.” (99)
If it’s not readily apparent, those who hold dear the ideas of “American exceptionalism” or extreme free-market capitalism will probably hate this book. Ingrained in the earliest version of what we conceptualize to be the United States, Zinn will challenge most notions of perceived greatness. This is after all a country built by the labor of enslaved blacks and on land stolen from Native Americans.
Zinn does not pull any punches when it comes to bluntly stating how racism, misogyny, fear, and other vain forms of division have been used to maintain America as a caste system of sorts with little room for social mobility. He makes a good case for how this is facilitated by a deeply entrenched and prevalent narrative:
“Control in modern times requires more than force, more than law. It requires that a population dangerously concentrated in cities and factories, whose lives are filled with cause for rebellion, be taught that all is right as it is. And so, the schools, the churches, the popular literature taught that to be rich was a sign of superiority, to be poor a sign of personal failure, and that the only way upward for a poor person was to climb into the ranks of the rich by extraordinary effort and extraordinary luck.” (262)
Taking a step back, it must be noted that the vast majority of published history adheres to a distinctly American form of story-telling that upholds rugged individualism and prioritizes the roles of esteemed individuals. Do you have a favorite president? Well, Zinn is going to do his darndest to kick out the pedestal upon which you view that guy. In this volume, no leader that upholds any system of inequality is free of criticism, which sometimes results in flippant quips such as this hot take on FDR in WWII:
“Roosevelt was as much concerned to end the oppression of Jews as Lincoln was to end slavery during the Civil War; their priority was policy (whatever their personal compassion for victims of persecution) was not minority rights, but national power.” (410)
It is important to contextualize that during World War II, FDR signed Executive Order 9066 which resulted in the unjust internment of Japanese Americans. Nearly a century earlier, Lincoln passed the Homestead Act to appease expansionists at the expense of Native American’s homes and lives. These are objectively bad things. Still, if pressed, I myself would be inclined to cite FDR and Lincoln as two of America’s most impactful presidents, but is important to remember the totality of a leader’s legacies, which are often more complex than an overly simplistic, feel-good narrative.
What Zinn most advocates for in this volume is that people must organize, not blindly follow a charismatic savior. ‘Be the (organized) change you want to see in the world’—or something to that effect. The socio-economic underpinnings that enables the preservation of power, affluence, and influence of the wealthiest elite can only be effectively challenged by the many, not the exceptional few.
“One percent of the nation owns a third of the wealth. The rest of the wealth is distributed in such a way as to turn those in the 99 percent against one another: small property owners against the propertyless, black against white, native-born against foreign-born, intellectuals and professionals against the uneducated and unskilled. These groups have resented one another and warred against one another with such vehemence and violence as to obscure their common position as sharers of leftovers in a very wealthy country.” (632)
If you think that’s chilling, in 2019 the Washington Post has since reported that the top 10% now own more than 70% of the nation’s wealth, with the top 1% having more than the bottom 80% of the population combined. So if these statistics upset you, please vote if you do not already do so.
Howard Zinn did his part by creating this accessible, pop-history of sorts that could be easily digestible by the working class, and change the conversation. On that note, while he does properly cite and contextualize his historical quotes, sadly, to my personal chagrin, he does not include detailed footnotes. If I have any criticisms of this work, they mostly boil down to this irksome observation. But that said, even if history isn’t your jam, this book is still easy enough to understand and a good learning tool.
Overall, I would still definitely recommend this book as a well-argued resource (and/or effective paperweight). Rather than an end-all be-all source on the subject matter, however, I would consider it more as an excellent launch point for further study. By Zinn’s own (refreshing) admission in the Afterword, his conception of the working class is hindered by the constraints of his own lived experience. So if you are interested in reading more, I would also recommend:
- [b:A Different Mirror: A History of Multicultural America|37564|A Different Mirror A History of Multicultural America|Ronald Takaki|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1439467571s/37564.jpg|37420] by Ronald Takaki
- [b:The History of White People|6919721|The History of White People|Nell Irvin Painter|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1349005576s/6919721.jpg|7147568] by Nell Irvin Painter
- [b:An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States|20588662|An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States (ReVisioning American History, #3)|Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1395003842s/20588662.jpg|39861426] by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz
- [b:The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism|1237300|The Shock Doctrine The Rise of Disaster Capitalism|Naomi Klein|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1442590618s/1237300.jpg|2826418] by Naomi Klein
- [b:The New Jim Crow: Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness|6792458|The New Jim Crow Mass Incarceration in the Age of Colorblindness|Michelle Alexander|https://images.gr-assets.com/books/1328751532s/6792458.jpg|6996712] by Michelle Alexander
If you have any other must-read suggestions please leave your recommendation in a comment! In the spirit of Howard Zinn, and plucky high school history teachers everywhere, let’s keep the conversation going. Or don’t, you know, you do you.
[b:Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body|26074156|Hunger A Memoir of (My) Body|Roxane Gay|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1448064366i/26074156._SY75_.jpg|42362558] is one of the most honest and emotionally raw memoirs I have read in a while. Reading this book was a truly visceral experience, to put it succinctly. It is so great; I cannot believe I have not read Roxane Gay before this, but oh man am I glad I have now.
“That’s a powerful thing, knowing that you can reveal yourself to someone. It made me want to be a better person.”
Trauma is a difficult subject matter to speak/write on especially as it is so deeply personal. The aftermath can be especially daunting; around the corner lurks the very real fear of not being believed, being belittled, having your perspective gaslit, or being shamed and told it was your fault. For Roxane she is blunt; she writes without euphemism about her sexual assault as a child, her experiences with trauma, and how this directly (and indirectly) led to her obesity. This is the story of her body, and she is here to share it.
“Sometimes we try to convince ourselves of things that are not true, reframing the past to better explain the present.”
One of my favorite elements of this narrative is how she interfolds her present day reality with her memories of the past. She concedes that, “There is no rhyme or reason to what I can and cannot remember. It’s also hard to explain this absence of memory because there are moments from my childhood I remember like they were yesterday”. While this is inevitable with age, it is especially true for people with PTSD—as a means of survival the brain will compartmentalize and build fortresses to allow the person to cope.
“I worry that I can’t be happy or feel safe anywhere.”
I must confess that reading this was both difficult and cathartic in that I also live with PTSD. Like Roxane my trauma occurred when I was a child, though the nature of my own dark seed is different. I have never dealt with weight gain the way she has, but if there is one thing I have learned over years it is that there is no single, standard response to trauma. When Roxane says she equates bigness with safeness, I believe her. When she discusses her internalized feelings of worthlessness, I feel her. When she talks about how her body can feel like a cage, I wept. [Side note: some solid advice—be careful reading this book in public if you are prone to feeling-type emotions.]
“I am hyperconscious of how I take up space and I resent having to be this way, so when people around me aren’t mindful of how they take up space, I feel pure rage.”
Roxane does not hide her annoyance (and loathing) of the very real societal pressures put on women to perform femininity, which includes being thin. Living in a larger body already comes with the baggage of logistical planning to make sure she will be able to fit and exist in smaller spaces (e.g. chairs, airplanes, stairs, etc.). So when she then has to deal with people commenting on her weight, or blaringly obvious double standards in treatment, I think her anger is warranted. I will never understand seeing a person struggling and not wanting to help or offer the slightest forms of dignity and compassion. That’s like, the bare minimum for being a decent person.
“For so long, I closed myself off from everything and everyone. Terrible things happened and I had to shut down to survive. I was cold, I’ve been told. I often write stories about women who are perceived as cold and resent that perception. I write these women because I know what it’s like to have so much warmth roiling beneath the skin’s surface, ready to be found…I am not promiscuous with my warmth, but when I share it, my warmth can be as hot as the sun.”
Overall, I am really happy Roxane shared her story in a way that was real for her, and that was not compromised by a fear of making the reader uncomfortable. For her, her trauma and weight gain were innately uncomfortable subjects, so I’m glad she wrote candidly. If I were to offer any criticism, it would be that at times she does repeat herself, though that makes sense as the narrative follows an almost stream of consciousness rhythm and flow.
I definitely recommend this one and look forward to reading more of her work.
Rating: 4.5 stars
“That’s a powerful thing, knowing that you can reveal yourself to someone. It made me want to be a better person.”
Trauma is a difficult subject matter to speak/write on especially as it is so deeply personal. The aftermath can be especially daunting; around the corner lurks the very real fear of not being believed, being belittled, having your perspective gaslit, or being shamed and told it was your fault. For Roxane she is blunt; she writes without euphemism about her sexual assault as a child, her experiences with trauma, and how this directly (and indirectly) led to her obesity. This is the story of her body, and she is here to share it.
“Sometimes we try to convince ourselves of things that are not true, reframing the past to better explain the present.”
One of my favorite elements of this narrative is how she interfolds her present day reality with her memories of the past. She concedes that, “There is no rhyme or reason to what I can and cannot remember. It’s also hard to explain this absence of memory because there are moments from my childhood I remember like they were yesterday”. While this is inevitable with age, it is especially true for people with PTSD—as a means of survival the brain will compartmentalize and build fortresses to allow the person to cope.
“I worry that I can’t be happy or feel safe anywhere.”
I must confess that reading this was both difficult and cathartic in that I also live with PTSD. Like Roxane my trauma occurred when I was a child, though the nature of my own dark seed is different. I have never dealt with weight gain the way she has, but if there is one thing I have learned over years it is that there is no single, standard response to trauma. When Roxane says she equates bigness with safeness, I believe her. When she discusses her internalized feelings of worthlessness, I feel her. When she talks about how her body can feel like a cage, I wept. [Side note: some solid advice—be careful reading this book in public if you are prone to feeling-type emotions.]
“I am hyperconscious of how I take up space and I resent having to be this way, so when people around me aren’t mindful of how they take up space, I feel pure rage.”
Roxane does not hide her annoyance (and loathing) of the very real societal pressures put on women to perform femininity, which includes being thin. Living in a larger body already comes with the baggage of logistical planning to make sure she will be able to fit and exist in smaller spaces (e.g. chairs, airplanes, stairs, etc.). So when she then has to deal with people commenting on her weight, or blaringly obvious double standards in treatment, I think her anger is warranted. I will never understand seeing a person struggling and not wanting to help or offer the slightest forms of dignity and compassion. That’s like, the bare minimum for being a decent person.
“For so long, I closed myself off from everything and everyone. Terrible things happened and I had to shut down to survive. I was cold, I’ve been told. I often write stories about women who are perceived as cold and resent that perception. I write these women because I know what it’s like to have so much warmth roiling beneath the skin’s surface, ready to be found…I am not promiscuous with my warmth, but when I share it, my warmth can be as hot as the sun.”
Overall, I am really happy Roxane shared her story in a way that was real for her, and that was not compromised by a fear of making the reader uncomfortable. For her, her trauma and weight gain were innately uncomfortable subjects, so I’m glad she wrote candidly. If I were to offer any criticism, it would be that at times she does repeat herself, though that makes sense as the narrative follows an almost stream of consciousness rhythm and flow.
I definitely recommend this one and look forward to reading more of her work.
Rating: 4.5 stars
Helen Oyeyemi is a talented author with a particular shtick—adapting fairytales into modern day contexts. In [b:The Icarus Girl|139724|The Icarus Girl|Helen Oyeyemi|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1320554010i/139724._SY75_.jpg|1010571] she draws from Nigerian mythology playing with the notion of doppelgangers, in [b:Boy, Snow, Bird|18079683|Boy, Snow, Bird|Helen Oyeyemi|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1391384454i/18079683._SX50_.jpg|25386975] she presents the tale of Snow White to explore colorism, and in [b:Gingerbread|40634915|Gingerbread|Helen Oyeyemi|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1549556368i/40634915._SX50_.jpg|63138438] she spins an acid dream out of the story of Hansel and Gretel.
Could I even summarize what Gingerbread is as a piece of literature? Not really, no, which at times is entertaining and others frustrating. Even though elements of Hansel and Gretel are at the forefront, exploring the world(?) of Druhástrana (which may or may not exist) is more like falling into a meandering tale in the vein of Alice in Wonderland. Just as in a dream, meaning is highly contextual and subject to an everchanging stream of consciousness. Though in true Oyeyemi fashion, she does use Druhástrana to share some thoughts on current events:
”..the need for Druhástrana’s Great Referendum (the one that divorced it from all formal international relations and most informal ones too) had been brought about by a general taking of umbrage against all the foreigners who kept coming in and trying to propagate distracting inequalities, stuff about physical appearance and who people should and should not fancy and places of prayer that were better than others, or notions that the best people don’t pray at all … Druhástranians didn’t need any of that. What Druhástranians wanted was to keep things simple and concentrate on upholding financial inequality.” (102)
I think it’s safe to say that Oyeyemi probably voted “Remain,” but I digress. While much of the plot leaves a great deal up in the air for interpretation, the one thing that stands is that Druhástrana is a place of chaos, which is the best way I could even try to explain this book. This is also Gingerbread's greatest strength.
Overall, I recommend it, though I would recommend her earlier works first.
Could I even summarize what Gingerbread is as a piece of literature? Not really, no, which at times is entertaining and others frustrating. Even though elements of Hansel and Gretel are at the forefront, exploring the world(?) of Druhástrana (which may or may not exist) is more like falling into a meandering tale in the vein of Alice in Wonderland. Just as in a dream, meaning is highly contextual and subject to an everchanging stream of consciousness. Though in true Oyeyemi fashion, she does use Druhástrana to share some thoughts on current events:
”..the need for Druhástrana’s Great Referendum (the one that divorced it from all formal international relations and most informal ones too) had been brought about by a general taking of umbrage against all the foreigners who kept coming in and trying to propagate distracting inequalities, stuff about physical appearance and who people should and should not fancy and places of prayer that were better than others, or notions that the best people don’t pray at all … Druhástranians didn’t need any of that. What Druhástranians wanted was to keep things simple and concentrate on upholding financial inequality.” (102)
I think it’s safe to say that Oyeyemi probably voted “Remain,” but I digress. While much of the plot leaves a great deal up in the air for interpretation, the one thing that stands is that Druhástrana is a place of chaos, which is the best way I could even try to explain this book. This is also Gingerbread's greatest strength.
Overall, I recommend it, though I would recommend her earlier works first.