In recent memory I cannot recall a book that vacillated between exceptional and disappointing. Unfortunately, for me, it ended on the later; with a strange metatextual writer’s group critiquing the piece. I always dislike this because it feels it should be tongue-in-cheek statements about some of the stylistic and distinguishing choices, but actually ends up just pointing out some legitimate flaws. It always ends up being more of a detractor than a foil to make things blatant to the reader—but that is just me.

However, it does have some soaring sights. Certain sections are wildly, keenly well-observed. The macro dynamics of the character arcs work well, I think—though, as short as it is, seems dragged out, at points. Profound to almost inane, back and forth. Safe to say I only really understood a portion of the author was intending. Though it could be that sour taste in my mouth from the ending, especially.

Not rating this because at 10%+ the authors, who are not very good narrators tbh, we’re still discussing what this book was or was not, and how messy it is and how it came about. Coupled with the poor narration I just cannot be bothered, despite really liking previous books by both of them. Maybe I’d pick up the physical copy but I have a lot of those in the TBR already and I know that for a while it sure wasn’t anything of note to me, so it’s probably never going to happen.

This started out very well, with an interesting, multi-perspective short story collection with campfire feel, but it starts to digresses from interesting concepts to a juvenile method of framing. Sex for literally no reason, or else a really, really stupid honeypot plot. Transgressing to stuff so out there in later chapters it undermines what it is actually exploring because it’s trying to be semi edgy and bombastic. It’s a really fun space opera, and not as vapid as it threatens to be, but Swingy is the word with this, including the prose work, which vacillates from great to eye roll worthy.

This was really great. Duel timeline, coming-of-age, poetic, soul-searching protagonists. Peppered with lots of history of the region, specifically in the timeline 300 years ago. I think it becomes a lot more comprehensive, dynamic, and compelling in this format. Things never get old. One chapter you’re with a family in an impossible situation, choosing whether to flee a new home, or to stay in a conflict zone—the next you’re being told historical information, realizing what, beyond the human cost, is being lost. To say nothing of understanding the conflict better, of course.

Really great narration helped propel this along too. Great stuff.

This was completely fine. More self aware than most, especially considering the intersections with war (which are never my particular bait), and has more agency for the women of the story than normal. Otherwise, though, I think the meat and bones of the thing are a Is What It Says On the Tin category for me. The red herrings weren’t particularly obfuscated and the story was wrapped up a little too snug. Won’t be continuing but can see why some would be into it, especially if they’re into war/military, and the politics of that.

This book wasn’t what I expected and that probably helped and hampered it, both. More than anything else, I think it’s helpful to think of it as an ensemble drama, and the sports angle as a way of interrogating masculinity. And, by proxy, queerness and homophobia in a particular time and place.

The messier this gets, and does it get messy quick, the more enticing I found it. It begins playing into the expectations of the reader: A phenom, young natural ball player intuitively good at basically everything, starts at a new school and a new team, and has a gay roommate that he strikes a fast friendship with. His parents are casually homophobic and so the first drama is introduced. When a freak pitch strikes said roommate it rattles our perfect pitchers confidence.

At the same time, the head of the school has a daughter come visit and become enmeshed in school life, tangling up with the captain of the team, who is directly, as you can imagine, involved with the shaken pitcher and what that’ll mean for the season. But also what the event does to confront the masculinity of all involved—some more directly than others. And what follows is, essentially, the fallout from that fateful event for all.

There are some waxing poetic around the game and around a presumably titular book, which is an esoteric philosophical breakdown of a player of baseball. The game is plenty important, but the book isn’t really too much about the game nor predominately a breakdown of each game. There are scenes where the game is being played, but far more is the drama that continues to spiral.

Actually, it’s a pretty fantastic way to examine masculinity in a way that isn’t expected at all, at least by me. There’s some interesting psychology that gets thrown in. Good ending. Solid, overall. It didn’t bowl me over though, as I think the pacing is somewhat off. But when the ensemble character study is hyper fixated on something, and the effects of that character are felt, it is positively entrancing.

Probably the most visceral punch in the gut I’ve had since A Little Life, probably. Mostly because in its quest for verisimilitude it is attempting to summon up some anger in the reader toward people generally portrayed as spiteful, hateful, and ignorant as they are conjured in these pages. Within the harsh culture there are people, such as Bone, who are inducted to a cyclical trauma that continues to ravage and affect white, poor families.

The author does a pretty amazing job of allowing you to understand the people who allow Bone to be abused in multiple ways, while also making it clear you can empathize only so much, and you ought to be so angry you remember. I can say this will stick in my head for some time, probably forever. It is a very hard read. There’s content warnings for just about everything. The fallout of the damage and trauma inflicted on an underage person is nuanced and not remotely shied away from. It is an absolutely heartbreaking read, and it’ll twist you up inside, if you’re anything like me.

I think every single thing I noticed early on that felt narrow or problematic, by the end, is all addressed. The structure of this is really satisfying and it is effective as a period piece, as a biography, as a character study. The prose work is great. Laurence Fishburne narrates it impeccably. The story of Malcolm X, I found completely riveting. The byproduct of which made me remember, vividly, the first time I watched the movie they used this as a basis, which was a formative experience for me as a young teen. You can tell from the text that you would have been a spectacular, self-taught orator.

The book is much more comprehensive and the arc of X’d later life, in particular, I don’t actually recall being in the movie all that much. If you have only seen the movie and enjoyed it, definitely check it out. I put this off for far too long thinking the larger points would have been captured in the movie. An excuse not to read nonfiction, of course.

What a pleasant surprise this was! I didn’t get along with the Ancillary series so was hesitant to pick this up. But this was just riveting, very compelling stuff. I think I’d describe it as soft worldbuilding masquerading as hard. The magic feels codified but actually has to be soft, because not even the raven god or the people really understand it that well. Whatever it is though, it’s the star of the show, for me.

Coupled with a second person narration and the conversations engineered through a form of scrying, basically, and you have a pretty damn unusual, and therefor unique novel. If you’re a plot driven reader it may grind your gears somewhat, as much of it is small/new gods just figuring out what the heck is going on as things that shouldn’t be happening, happen. So, maybe the best way to sell it is a fantasy novel with different narrative style and setting and characters, with a mystery at the heart of it, maybe?

The fact that it’s hard to pin down only makes me like it more. Though, the only analogous thing I had in my brain for it was a kind of Norse mythology, so that’s what I filled in the blanks with. Very Northman or Vikings, or something like that. I’m not sure that was particularly intention, which means it probably could have used more description. It leans pretty heavily on the reader doing so, otherwise it might have been a five star read.

Ophelia’s Great Aunt Violet sits down with her for a meal on the day of the 1977 handover ceremony transferring Hong Kong from British governance to China. Chronicling about a decade, from 1932 to ‘42ish, Violet recounts how two feuding families’ fates become entangled, as both houses struggle to find themselves with the fallout of the Japanese invasion and occupation.

Themes around colonization and tradition working together to remove Agency and put members of the family on self-destructive, completely avoidable paths—and the importance of equality, centering on the female characters—illustrate the complexity of harm done to a population by larger forces, solely driven by mad and wild ideals the men of both countries hold.

While not gratuitous, events that often happen in fiction intersecting wars like this do occur. Sexual assault and just heinous, horrible things happening on a macro and granular level. It starts off almost lighthearted, this feud between families; references of Romeo and Juliet are made. It’s really nothing compared to what comes in later years and the war breaks out, and what the women have to struggle through. So, buckle up for that aspect. Interestingly, the war time aspect intersects with Canadians in some ways I wouldn’t have expected either. I liked that a lot.

One thing that bothered me is always a personal gripe with stories like this: The storyteller, in this case Violet, is never diegetic when we are reading what she is ostensibly telling Ophelia, and that kind of stuff always bugs me. It digresses into third person granular abstractions with interjections from Violet in the first person. Not at all how someone actually telling the story would sound like or describe things, until the interjections. And even then it’s dicey, really. Why not just make the whole thing third person then? Always needles me.