Manning's story is harrowing and impactful. Her life was a series of bad-dealt hands buffered by her impressive resolve. I am very glad that she is able to tell her story, an interesting one in the fight for trans liberation and against the government and military complexes. This is a solid memoir in its content but fairly mediocre in its writing. This being said, I did not come away bored or awaiting its end, and it was constructed logically and understandably. 

I have a fondness for Machado and her brutal and deeply felt style but this isn't her strongest work. Most concepts were intriguing but faltered on their feet. Some were stronger than others and it's clear she has promise in the genre. Themes felt repetitive in a way one could argue was to facilitate a cohesive work, but was in practice a little tiring. Lots of potential, shaky execution. 

This book was a thought-provoking exploration of gender and sexuality and its interplay with the construction of family. As someone who considers pregnancy a bit of a terrifying body-horror concept, the tender yet fierce way Nelson explores her pregnancy was refreshing and endearing. This was a sturdy, magnetic, and somewhat novel way to structure a memoir. It didn't strike home with me as much as perhaps it could've, but I'm glad I read it.

This is a clever book built of a lot of concentric circles, stories upon stories layered and commingling. Rakel is a complex but consistent character, equal parts prodigy and victim of youthful naïvete. The interplay of innocence and self-possession reminded me of "My Dark Vanessa" more so than the teacher-student relationship in its conceit. I found both books devastating and engaging. The main characters are two phenoms beset by circumstance, fighting to keep their heads above water when partners have kicked out their legs. It's not a tragedy or a woe-is-me tale, but it is undeniably frustrating. I found this book slightly less engaging than my comparison but this is still a very solid book.

Alexander does a great job of keeping you engaged. There's limited legalese and statistic-vomiting. There are a bit of both but they're interwoven in an accessible and worthwhile way. Her thesis is strong throughout and the meanderings rarely feel pointless. This is a solid work of theory, with some brushed over bits that don't quite fit.

This could easily be a work that wallows in tragedy and self-pity, or one that soars with false assuagements and platitudes. It is neither. It is horrifying and transcendental, pulling you into a world of the coldest of snows, the thickest of fogs. Hornbacher is both victim and perpetrator. People think of eating disorders as something that drops out of the sky, ferreted down on beauty magazines onto the poor unsuspecting heads of teenage girls readying for prom. This book unpacks that, drags you along for the ride. To make yourself so sick over and over again is truly madness. It's simply impossible to grasp if you haven't undergone it. Hornbacher is writer first and featurette second and it shows. Her prose is raw and skillful. She's a biting writer.

I read this book because of Stephanie Foo's "What My Bones Know". I was always aware of it, but that book was the impetus to pick this up. I listened to it on audiobook, and it was captivating, revelatory, and heartening. I found Van Der Kolk's voice a kind ferryman on the journey. He expertly interwove stories of such tumult and horror with a salve of reasoning and solutionizing. He never indicated he thought people's maladaptive coping mechanisms were their own fault, that their reactions to trauma were their own fault. It brought me near tears to hear such compassion and space to exist. The more sciencey parts of the book were equally intriguing and offered a lifeline, both to those in the book and myself as a reader. I gobbled this book up in a few days. It was such a relief. 

As any self-respecting young queer, I have a profound interest in LGBT history. The label of "history" is contentious because many people were alive 50 years ago so how is that history? But, because of AIDS, many are dead. History is the shit we tell ourselves so the future doesn't forget: forget friends, forget lovers, forget injustices. This book is a work of history. It was quite dense, but most everything felt necessary. It should be a staple in the radicalization of every LGBT person, for how can you read something like this and not feel righteous indignation.

This book exposed me to a lot of new concepts and information in a beguiling way. Immerwhar is a talented writer who weaves together a fully fleshed argument that has you enraptured. He writes with deft metaphors, small silly details, and a persistent throughline. I never felt lost or aimless in his chapters. Most everything served a purpose.

This book is important, and important books don't need to be artistically written, but its quite a relief when they are. I found this book to be a slog to read, which dampened its importance because I wasn't engaged. That being said, Native American removal was and is a series of actions big and small that aren't thrilling but are critical to understand. This book reads like a textbook, one you should read but one that perhaps you set down a few times before powering through.