This was the last book I read for #TheReadingWomenChallenge2021. I had initially planned to read 𝗠𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝗕𝗼𝗱𝘆 for this prompt, and then realized it was the third book in this series. A lot of reviewers said it wasn’t necessary to read the first two books to enjoy Mournable Body, but I’m glad I chose to. 𝗡𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 is the first book in the trilogy following 𝙏𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙪𝙙𝙯𝙖𝙞 (𝙏𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙪) 𝙎𝙞𝙜𝙖𝙪𝙠𝙚 from a young girl to a grown woman. 

The first book focuses on Tambu as a young girl, 20 years before Zimbabwe won independence from white minority rule. At 14 Tambu is given the opportunity to attend school at a mission where her uncle is headmaster. She leaves behind her family’s homestead to pursue her education, but over the years learns that 𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘦. 

This book is perfect. It deftly explores themes of 𝗰𝗼𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗺, 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻’𝘀 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 while also being a beautiful coming of age tale. Tambu also has strong and diverse female role models in her life that represent different aspects of who she wants to be. Her traditional but headstrong mother. Her educated and demure aunt. Her rebellious cousin. Her wild and independent aunt. The women in her life represent the different aspects and struggles of black, African, womanhood. 

“‘𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘦𝘯’ 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥. ‘𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘪𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘦? 𝘈𝘳𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘸𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯? 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴, 𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘸 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘹𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘞𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘥𝘦, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮.’”

This book wrecked me. This astounding memoir in essay speaks to love, loss, motherhood, violence, betrayal, loss of self, mental illness, but above all - survival. Terese Marie Mailhot is a wound or has been wounded and these essays are her medicine. They are deeply intimate, heart breaking, raw, unapologetic, fearless, and beautiful. In telling her story, Mailhot experiments with structure and language in a way that is absolutely hypnotic. This little book packs a punch that will leave you reeling for days. 

I loved 💕this book more than I know how to explain. 

𝗦𝗮𝗹𝘁 𝗛𝗼𝘂𝘀𝗲𝘀 by 𝗛𝗮𝗹𝗮 𝗔𝗹𝘆𝗮𝗻 is a multi generational family saga spanning half a century (1963-2014). It’s a story about 𝗣𝗮𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝗽𝗹𝗮𝗰𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁, war, family, and home. In the book we follow the Yacoub family as they relocate (often out of necessity) from Jaffa to Nablus, to Kuwait City, to Amman, to Paris, to Beruit, and to Boston. The narration alternates between 8 different members of the Yacoub family during different stages of their life. That sounds like it would be confusing, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴. 

While the Yacoubs are often forced to relocate due to war, war is not the main focus of the book. Instead the book focuses on the displacement from home and how that displacement affects the different generations. 

This is one particularly poignant passage that highlights this theme:

“𝘏𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘮 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘢 𝘤𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘉𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 7, 8 𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘒𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘴, 𝘵𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘳𝘵. 𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘮𝘢 𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘞𝘪𝘥𝘢𝘥, 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘕𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘴. 𝘕𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘔𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘧𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥. 𝘈𝘵𝘦𝘧, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯, 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘴, 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘈𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘢? 𝘉𝘦𝘳𝘶𝘪𝘵? 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘯?”

This theme is repeated again and again throughout the novel, as the older generations remark on how little Arabic the younger generations understand. As the younger generations note that while they are Palestinian they’ve never 𝗮𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 to Palestine. That there accents are more Lebanese than Palestinian. That they don’t know where their grand parents were born. They refer to themselves as 𝗺𝘂𝘁𝘁𝘀. 

There’s so much more I could say about this book. So many passages that just stuck with me. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮, 𝘵𝘦𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘰𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩. 

𝙁𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 is one of those books that just makes me adore the #ReadingWomenChallenge because I don’t think it would have been on my radar at all if not for the challenge. 

𝙁𝙧𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙋𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙣 is a collection of short stories by 𝙕𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙖 𝙍𝙚𝙞𝙙-𝘽𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙖 that follows Kara Davis, a second generation Canadian of Jamaican heritage, from girlhood to a young adult. It’s a 𝗯𝗲𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘆𝗮𝗹 of the tensions between mothers and daughters (and grandmothers) as well as between second generation Canadians and the expectations of their first generation parents. 

We watch Kara as she struggles to balance the the typical pressures of being a teenager (school, friends, boys, etc) with those of her mother and grandmother. She desperately wants to fit in and prove herself to her Caribbean friends from her neighborhood who think she isn’t a “𝘁𝗿𝘂𝗲 𝗝𝗮𝗺𝗮𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗻”. At the same time, she struggles to find common  ground with the kids (mostly white) she goes to school with. Add to that her desire to please her mother and grandmother and her need to live up to their expectations. Her mother, who became pregnant with Kara as a teenager, wants her to do better than she did. She wants Kara to do well in school, 𝘀𝘁𝗮𝘆 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝘀, and above all else respect her mother and grandmother. Her grandmother wants her to not embarrass her or the family. 

While this is technically a collection of short stories, reading the book as a whole leaves you with what feels like a complete story of Kara’s childhood. I adored this book (I read it in one sitting) and highly recommend it to anyone. Period. 𝗘𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀. 

I’ve been sick all week (not covid) which actually worked out nicely for my reading. I was able to finish up 𝙈𝙖𝙩𝙧𝙞𝙭 by 𝙇𝙖𝙪𝙧𝙚𝙣 𝙂𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙛, (which was the book club pick for @twofriendsbooks this month) and I think this was one of my 𝗳𝗮𝘃𝗼𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀 of the year. 

This is a feminist story about 12th century nuns. That sounds like it would be unbelievable, but in Groff’s hands it works so so well. The main character in Matrix, Marie, is based off of a real medieval author named Marie de France. This version of Marie is a 𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐬𝐬. She is a 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫, 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐝 that challenges the Catholic Church and the patriarchy after she is expelled from French royal court and sent to a slowly dying English abbey to serve as the new prioress. 

We follow Marie from a reluctant 17-year-old just trying to make it back to her beloved Queen Eleanor and the comfortable life she left behind to a bold leader absolutely devoted to the women she leads.

Marie is described as towering and manly with a deep, unladylike voice making her unsuited for marriage or royal court. But Marie uses these “faults” to lead the abbey into a brighter future, increasing its wealth and security and making a name for herself and her nuns throughout England. Marie leads the abbey for a half century and as she does so we witness 𝗴𝗿𝘂𝗲𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵𝘀 and 𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚. Marie is guided by visions from God, and those visions don’t always jive with the patriarchal version of the Bible lauded by the Church. 

The novel is also very 🌶 and 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝘆 𝗴𝗮𝘆, which made me love it more. I also loved some of the ways Marie flipped the traditional patriarchal reading of the Bible on its head. Marie teaches that 𝙢𝙚𝙣, 𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙬𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙣 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙭. That men are a dangerous temptation and as such are banned from the abbey entirely. I don’t want to give any more than that away, but Groff does such an amazing job using Marie to demonstrate 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝘄𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗻, 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗲𝗿𝗮 𝗼𝗿 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻. 

Alexis Wright’s 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗦𝘄𝗮𝗻 𝗕𝗼𝗼𝗸, is a devastating, politically and ecologically engaged, novel of climate change in a future where humans have pushed mother earth to her breaking point.

“𝙈𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙉𝙖𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚? 𝙃𝙖𝙝!…𝙋𝙚𝙤𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙤𝙖𝙙 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙈𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝘾𝙖𝙩𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙛𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙚, 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙡𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙖𝙧𝙙. 𝙏𝙝𝙚𝙨𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙬 𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙡𝙙 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙙.” 

Wright’s third novel begins in her ancestral country, the grass plains of the Gulf of Carpentaria, Australia. Its heartbreaking but also teaming with humor and political satire. It is literal but at the same time metaphoric.  It is grounded in reality but also steeped in folklore and myth. 

“𝙐𝙥𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙣, 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙘𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙣𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙪𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙡’𝙨 𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙚. 𝙇𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙤𝙣𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙚 𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙚𝙣 𝙩𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙠𝙡𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙡𝙮 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙘𝙧𝙞𝙨𝙥 𝙨𝙠𝙮. 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙯𝙮 𝙫𝙞𝙧𝙪𝙨 𝙟𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙠𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙨 𝙖 𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙦𝙪𝙞 𝙫𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙬 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙨.”

This virus, this ‘𝙣𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙜𝙞𝙖 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨’ is at the heart of the novel.  It’s a love story about an indigenous girl, her love for the northern skies, and her journey to control own (indigenous) mind and by extension her(indigenous) land.  It’s a novel about imagination and the ability of human stories to propagate across space and time. 

Oblivion Ethyl(ene) (aka Oblivia), a mute, indigenous, teenage girl, is the central character of this novel.  After a group of local young men high on gas fumes gang raped Oblivia, she fled to a hollowed tree. There she is discovered by an old, white woman named Bella Donna who is herself a climate refugee from the north.