hfjarmer's Reviews (394)

I rated Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents by Isabel Wilkerson 4.5 stars on StoryGraph but am rounding up to 5 stars here. It feels contraindicative of everything I learned while reading it to give it anything less. Annotations for days.

Wilkerson examines caste systems as we know them from India and Nazi Germany, then explores how the term provides a more accurate framework for understanding race relations in America than the language we’ve historically used. As she puts it, “Caste is the bones, race the skin”—a structural system that underpins American society, often invisible in daily life, which makes it all the more dangerous.

While some might categorize Caste as part of an "anti-racism starter pack," I found it to be a profound and insightful addition to my own education about the roots of racism and casteism in the United States. Wilkerson's writing is compelling and thought-provoking. She reminds us, “We are responsible for our own ignorance or, with time and openhearted enlightenment, our own wisdom.” She likens the responsibility of the dominant caste to inheriting a dilapidated house: even if you didn’t cause the damage, the house is crumbling around you—and you can’t simply ignore it.

Wilkerson skillfully blends research with personal anecdotes to illustrate her points. The researched sections were gripping, and many of the anecdotes strengthened her arguments. However, some anecdotes felt less productive in advancing her thesis, which was the primary reason for my half-star deduction. That said, I recognize the importance of lived experience in a social analysis such as this one; anthropological and sociological works inevitably weave together research and personal narratives, though I can see how some would be put off by this approach.

I won’t delve too deeply into the specifics of her arguments, as her work speaks for itself. But I found Caste deeply impactful and highly recommend it. This book reaffirmed my commitment to reading more works centered on social justice—a goal I began pursuing in late 2024 and look forward to continuing into 2025.

I don't know what I could say about this book that this book hasn't already said for itself, except that The Art of Libromancy has completely changed my perspective as a reader, consumer, and aspiring bookseller. Cook writes with such clarity and passion, it is obvious he loves what he does and is adamant about the things that need to change in the bookselling industry. He writes about American politics in a way that is accessible and easy to grasp but still profoundly meaningful. I think I highlighted over half the book. Between this and my previous read - The Bookshop: A History of American Bookstores - I will go off into the world with a new, honestly radicalized perspective as a reader. He really gives his readers the tools they need to be advocates for change. I will carry the contents of this book with me for a lifetime.

Friss paints a vivid and memorable picture of the historical context of the American bookshop (not, as he notes, bookstores). From Benjamin Franklin's Boston-based printing press/convenience store/bookshop/post office to modern day goliath's like Barnes and Noble and Amazon, Friss discusses the many notable bookshops in between which have shaped not only the way books are sold, but even what is printed and read today.

As Friss put it, "The power of the bookstore doesn't just emanate from the books, the architecture, and the staff. Customers also make the space. Neither home nor work, these 'third spaces' function as critical sites for intellectual, social, political, and cultural exchange. They nurture existing communities and foster new ones."

To be perfectly honest, I'd never really considered the bookshop to be an especially political place until I read this book. Sure reading can be political, but reading can so often be a solitary practice unless one goes out of their way to make it otherwise. I have long been an advocate for the idea of a bookshop being an important space in any community, a place for learning and comradery, but I'd never really stopped to consider that community building is inherently political. It makes a statement about the kind of community you want to live in, the values the shop and its patrons hold.

I learned so much about the important bookstores of our country's past which helped shape modern day - from Drum and Spear's work with the Civil Rights movement, to the Oscar Wilde Memorial Bookshop which we have to thank for modern day Pride following the Stonewall Riots nearby.

If you are a reader (and I'm inclined to say you are if you're reading this review), I'd highly encourage you to read this book to gain access to the beauty surrounding the literary landscape in America. If nothing else, it will help you appreciate your local bookshop just that much more.

Also a note - the page count is 400+ pages, however the last 75+ pages are notes and such, so if you're nervous about reading that long of a nonfiction book, don't be.

This translation of Days at the Morisaki Bookshop left much to be desired. I was really excited for a cozy bookshop read and was severely let down. The English in this translation felt simultaneously overly simplistic, robotic, and childish. The whole time I kept thinking "No one talks like this"- my reading experience did not at all match the age of the characters and the plot made little to no sense. While I felt we were headed in a fun direction of Takako rehabilitating her broken heart through a newfound love of reading, that was such a small section of the book. Part Two took an entirely nonsensical turn that felt completely out of left field, like I was reading two different stories between part one and part two that had only a vague connection to hold them together. The character's were one dimensional, and the whole thing read more like a first draft than an award winning book. It's difficult to see how this is an award winning novel, as almost nothing about it worked for me except for how short it was.

In a word? WOAH. This series is unbelievably good. I’m not sure if I enjoyed Golden Son more than the first book, but either way, I was completely hooked from start to finish and can’t wait to dive into the final book of the trilogy.

I loved delving deeper into the Ares movement and seeing how the groundwork Pierce Brown laid in Red Rising starts to pay off. The surprise reveals were expertly timed and kept me on the edge of my seat. However, my only gripe with this series at the moment is how often Darrow finds himself in life-or-death situations, only to narrowly escape. While I understand that he's a powerful warrior, his survival did start to feel a little too ""movie magic"" after a while. How many near-death experiences can one character survive before it begins to stretch credibility?

That said, Pierce Brown’s signature staccato writing style still works wonders, and I loved the development of the character relationships in Golden Son. The emotional depth of the characters really shines here, and I can’t wait to see where their journeys take them next.

A quick and lovely read with a big message - Small Things Like These tells the story of the Magdalen laundries in Ireland, which were run by the Catholic Church throughout the 20th century. These so-called "homes" were brutal work camps, designed to punish women deemed to have "questionable morals" or "personality issues," often as a result of having children out of wedlock. These women had their babies taken from them and were forced to work in grueling conditions, with little or no knowledge of what happened to their children. Many of the babies were sold for adoption, while others tragically died in the care of these institutions - all under the guise of Catholic charity.

The novel follows Bill Furlong, a kind-hearted, wistful log and coal delivery man who was born out of wedlock to a 16-year-old mother. Raised by his mother's employer, Mrs. Wilson, Furlong now has a wife and five daughters of his own. When he has a chance encounter at one of the laundries, Furlong feels a deep moral calling and begins grappling with the realization that he must take action. As he reflects on how lucky he is compared to the women he meets, he feels compelled to offer help, even in small ways.

Small Things Like These is a story about the power of kindness and the impact of small gestures. It reminds us that reaching out with even a small act of compassion can sometimes be enough to make a difference in someone's life. The novel beautifully illustrates how such acts can save both others and ourselves.

As I mentioned in my review of Foster (also by Keegan), the short story format isn't always my favorite. I'm often left wanting more. But perhaps that’s the magic of Keegan’s writing — she sparks an emotional fire within the reader and then leaves them to sit with the rawness of it, forcing us to carry something meaningful away even as her stories end.