hfjarmer's Reviews (394)

Frankly, I don’t have a ton to say about this book other than that I broadly enjoyed it. The diverse cast of characters and McBride’s careful writing style paint a lovely and vivid picture of Chicken Hill and the surrounding area of Pottstown, PA in the mid-1930s. It is a fast-paced story by virtue of McBride’s writing structure, which takes on an almost stream-of-consciousness-like storytelling, really keeping the story moving along.

There are lovable characters in Chona, Moshe, Dodo, Nate, and Alice, alongside some less likable or downright deplorable characters such as Doc Roberts, Son of Man, and, frankly, Fatty for me (I thought he was kind of thick-headed and annoying, honestly).

The story flows through so many perspectives that it can be hard to keep up, and in some parts is nearly impossible to see how the whole story comes together. This leads me to my main and probably only true critique of the book: I just didn’t like the ending, which brought down the rest of the book, in my opinion. Given the numerous POVs and storylines, for the ending to be

Spoiler

Doc being accidentally killed by a gangster to whom Gus owes money

just didn’t fit the story for me; it kind of felt like an 11th-hour out, and there was so much that McBride left hanging. We basically hear nothing on the Moshe side, and we barely get any resolution on what happens with Nate and Dodo considering how much of the book focuses on their respective storylines.

I really enjoyed McBride’s writing and would be curious to read more from him; however, The Heaven and Earth Grocery Store had a lot of the elements of a great story, with just a mediocre overall execution.

*The Final Empire* is a political high fantasy that offers a unique twist on the classic trope of ‘chosen one’ or ‘rags to riches’ (sort of) narratives. This is my first Sanderson novel, and it wasn’t quite what I was expecting.

Initially, I found this book to be an incrediblyyyyy slow start, to the point where I almost gave up at at 25% because I just wasn’t gripped. I found myself reading without much interest in where the story was headed, but pushed through because I promised a friend I’d give it a go.

Ultimately, I’m glad I stuck with it, though this isn’t my favorite fantasy read. I was surprised by how much this book read like YA fantasy compared to my expectations. The simplicity of the syntax and dialogue made it an easy read, albeit a slow one.

Sanderson’s allomantic magic system is unlike any other I’ve read, and while at first I struggled to keep track of which elements allowed for which actions, once I gained a good grasp, his writing of action scenes became even more impressive. He has an incredible grasp on his own magical system and that really shines through in his writing - the Mistborn scene’s in particular.

There were, however, a few things that didn’t really work for me in this book.

Spoiler

Firstly, I wanted more character depth from Vin. She had three moods - distrustful and reluctant participant, enamored by life as a noblewoman, and powerful Mistborn who is ready to challenge the Lord Ruler. Given how many times it was mentioned that she had raw Mistborn talent, I really feel like we should have seen more of Vin in action as a Mistborn, and a little less of her at balls and worrying about Eland.

Next, I really could have done without the “romantic” subplot entirely. The chemistry between Elland and Vin felt one-sided, with Vin’s feelings driving the supposed romance. Elland’s sudden change of allegiance “for her” didn’t work for me, ad I think their relationship could have been portrayed more plausibly as friendship. Given how little interaction the two really had on the page, their dynamic just felt inauthentic and unrealistic to who those characters are.

Lastly, I wanted so much more from Sazed’s character. Considering what we discover about the Lord Ruler’s abilities as both an allomancer and a feruchemist, I would have appreciated a deeper exploration of the Terrismen and their Keeper and feruchemical practices. By the end of the novel, I felt somewhat unsure how the Lord Ruler’s powers really worked.

Overall not a bad read, but I’m certainly not itching to read the rest of the series.

I can’t shake the feeling that this book was written specifically for me. Much of my life has been spent contemplating my own spirituality, perhaps since I first grasped the concept of religion. Despite my desire to do so, I could never compel myself to believe. I felt out of place at church services and found myself uncomfortably agreeing with the "they’re in a better place" rhetoric at funerals, knowing deep down that I didn't share the sentiment. However, over the past year or so, I feel I've really grasped my personal spiritual beliefs, and I only wish I had read Sasha Sagan’s book much, much sooner.

Having attended Catholic school, I often heard the argument that belief in God doesn’t require evidence; that’s why it's called faith. However, as someone who has always been very logically and scientifically minded, with a compulsive need to understand everything, this argument didn’t hold up for me. Sagan writes that the more fervently we believe in something doesn’t make that thing demonstrably true. In this first bit of early wisdom alone, I was hooked on Sagan’s narrative.

Sagan writes for those of us that can’t separate out the illogical aspects of religion and spirituality. She discusses her own upbringing, rooted in facts and data, and her family’s Jewish heritage, which led to intriguing holidays and rituals. The book, equal parts memoir and spiritual exploration of ritual across cultures, reminds reader that while these diverse cultural practices exist, they all seem rooted in similar celebrations of seasons, death, birth, marriage, puberty, etc. We are all tied together as humans by our inclination towards ritualization, which is a beautiful, unifying aspect of humanity. This ritualization, we then begin to learn, can take shape in truly any way imaginable.

While the author is culturally Jewish, she and her parents were not religiously Jewish. Her husband was raised in a more Christian tradition, and Sagan discusses how they have built their lives together taking bits and pieces of ritual from their respective upbringings to form their own. She discusses her skittishness of using the “language of belief” - sacred, holy, miracle - to describe things in her life. But most importantly she discusses how to find meaning in your own way and, more importantly for me, how she uses what she knows to be true about our world to develop her own beliefs. For instance, even though she fasts for Yom Kipper that does not mean she believes her sins need to be brought before God, because she doesn’t believe in God, but instead she has found meaning in the ritual of fasting in her own way, a sort of way to check her privilege and be grateful for the food on her table. As someone with a highly logic-seeking mind, her frequent references to “I don’t do this because I believe it has mystical meaning, but rather because it is a creature comfort and a time to hold space for a specific moment” reframed the idea of ritual and spirituality in a way I had not previously considered. Quoting her late father, Carl Sagan, “Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence” and that alone contributes significantly to what she “believes” in.

I could go on about this book likely forever, but I will just leave with this key takeaway: Ritual is subjective. It is about finding personal meaning and creating space for what matters to you. If you want to celebrate the blooming of the flowers each spring, throw a party for your daughter’s first period, make up your own Christmas traditions, or just enjoy coffee in bed with your partner on Saturday mornings, well that is your prerogative, all of this is made up anyway by animals who happened to evolve to seek patterns and mourn their dead. All of this, as Sagan often reminds us, has happened because of a random chance, and I personally, find that incredibly comforting and extremely lucky.

3.5 Stars

I found "Paganism: An Introduction to Earth-Centered Religions" to be an enlightening exploration of spirituality, particularly for those drawn to practices rooted in nature.

The authors, the Higginbothams (whose name could hardly sound more fittingly Pagan), convey Paganism as a deeply personal path that celebrates individuality in spiritual expression. While there are a few fundamental beliefs shared among Pagans, such as a profound reverence for the interconnectedness of the universe, much of the faith is open to interpretation and personal preference. The book emphasizes the intrinsic bond between all aspects of existence, with a profound respect for the natural world at its core. It's refreshing how the authors ground Pagan concepts in scientific understanding, presenting Magick not as a defiance of physical laws but as a manifestation of will and energy flow.

However, some aspects of the book might be better suited to an academic audience. For instance, the guided meditations and reflection questions at the end of each chapter felt somewhat detached from my reading experience. Additionally, the authors often assume a reader familiar with organized religions like Christianity, incorporating Christian themes as reference points for discussing Pagan concepts such as the afterlife.

Nonetheless, I found immense value in the book and believe it lays a solid foundation for personal exploration of Paganism. As someone revisiting the subject since my college days, it has reignited my interest and provided me with renewed inspiration for my own spiritual journey.

4.5 ⭐

“It is a philosophy of treating the world’s creatures, its gifts, as of equal importance to us. This begins by recognizing that trees and plants have agency. They perceive, relate, and communicate; they exercise various behaviors. They cooperate, make decisions, learn, and remember—qualities we normally ascribe to sentience, wisdom, intelligence.”

Not to be dramatic but this book may have changed my life? *Finding the Mother Tree* is a beautiful work of nonfiction that is equal parts science expose and memoir. Simard takes the reader along her journey of scientific discovery in her quest to understand if and how fungi and roots facilitate communication and interaction between trees and plants of an ecosystem while simultaneously giving us insight into deeply personal aspects of her life along the way. From breaking through the “boys club” of early forestry efforts to motherhood to battling cancer and so much in between, Simard takes us through it all, and quite beautifully.

What I loved about this book as someone with a research background was the way Simard walked the reader through her scientific process. From early hunches through full-fledged peer reviewed publications in her field, Simard seemingly leaves nothing out. My research background is exclusively in the field of microbiology and as such I am intimately familiar with “small scale” experimentation as a result of my subject matter, but what was fascinating to me about Simard’s research is the sheer scale of it all. Simard’s research is conducted in forests and greenhouses alike, and it was so interesting to read about a side of research about which I know very little. I enjoyed walking through her experimental design, and seeing how each discovery opened the door for a whole slew of additional unknowns, prompting even more research. Research is positive feedback loop.

Simard’s discovery that trees “talk” to each other and to other species, as she points out, is information that many indigenous cultures have “known” for generations, and now with scientific support from Simard and other scientists across the globe, my view of forests will never be the same. Simard discusses the spirituality she holds as a result of her life long relationship with the forest, and it has brought many interesting thoughts about my own spirituality. This book is quite dense, but was so worth the read.

If you are a dog lover, this little set of poems will punch you in the gut and have you soaking in every precious moment with your pup. I love the way Oliver personifies her dogs, and gives odes to each of her previous pups in a way that encapsulates their unique personalities, because if you’ve ever owned a dog you know each one is truly different. This will make you want to hug your babies tight and savor every moment with them, appreciate your time together because it is far shorter than you realize. Thank you so much to my friend Chris who gave this to my fiancé and I as an engagement gift, it was beautiful <3

This is a beautiful little book about the importance of simply paying attention. Even as a nature lover, I’ve read very few books like *The Comfort of Crows*, which is at once poetic and educational, urgent yet tranquil. Renkl writes 52 essays, one for each week of the year, focusing on the wildlife in her backyard, the changing seasons of her life, and our evolving world. Throughout each chapter, Renkl stresses the importance of paying attention to the natural world and all it’s beauty, embodying the old adage ‘stop and smell the roses’. I know this sounds cheesy, but oftentimes everyone is so busy; it feels like no one has time to stop and appreciate how awe-inspiring natural life can be. As Renkl points out, “The world will always be beautiful to those who look for beauty.”

Something that really resonated with me about Renkl’s approach is how she does not ignore the way the world feels as though it is burning every which way you turn, but rather holds that two truths can be acknowledged at once - that there is beauty, comfort, and peace in nature alongside climate change, political unrest, and pain. Renkl provides a framework for setting aside news and the weight it brings to those who pay attention, just for a moment, just long enough to stop and come back to what is still good, whole, and wondrous in the seemingly mundane world of our own backyards.

“The world is burning, and there is no time to put down the water buckets. For just an hour, put down the water buckets anyway. Take your cue from the bluebirds, who have no faith in the future but who build the future nevertheless, leaf by leaf and straw by straw, shaping them into the roundness of the world. Turn your face up to the sky. Listen. The world is trembling into possibility. The world is reminding us that this is what the world does best. New life. Rebirth. The greenness that rises out of ashes.”

This quote perfectly sums up Renkl’s overarching theme of this book - pay attention, there is so much to see if only you take the time to look. This lesson is hard to learn, and it is one I struggle with personally on a consistent basis. There are days where it feels like my personal responsibility to be bogged down by the news, to listen and hear the atrocities that are happening around the world, if only so that those suffering these atrocities in real-time know that someone is listening. Most days, listening to their stories is as much a part of me as I can play, however small; their stories are being heard. What Renkl proposes is not to set aside all that is going wrong to look at a butterfly, but simply that all things are a balance.

Aside from the more philosophical aspects of this work, Renkl provided me personally with a lot of great ideas for my own backyard, a space I have been trying to cultivate since we moved in. She teaches the reader much about what is lurking in our own backyards, from the declining monarch population to the young rearing habits of bluebirds, the types of bird feed for attracting different species, and much more. She validated my desire to “leave the leaves,” a topic of much debate in my household come autumn. Every living thing relies on some other previously or currently living thing; the earth knows what she is about, if only we leave her be to do it. Even as someone who spends a lot of time outside in my yard, this book made me wonder what kinds of things I’d see if only I knew to look or would take a moment to pay closer attention to the minutia of my yard.

*The Comfort of Crows* is about to send me on my Walden journey, and I’m not mad about it.

I didn’t love this book, and I think it's equally my own fault and the author’s. I approached it with the expectation, led by the book's description, that it would offer a balanced blend of academic exploration and anecdotal advice on engaging with art created by individuals society deems "monstrous," whether due to questionable morality or outright crimes. However, the book didn't meet these expectations. Claire Dederer assumes a predominantly memoirist role in "Monsters: A Fan’s Dilemma," posing a myriad of rhetorical questions to prompt moral reflection between her own critiques, opinions, and personal anecdotes.

She delves into the impact of an artist’s biography on their art, questioning whether one can still appreciate and consume the work of individuals guilty of rape, pedophilia, or alcoholism. Yet, despite posing these questions, the book doesn’t provide definitive answers. At the end of each chapter, I anticipated some form of conclusion or resolution, which never materialized. Readers are left to draw their own conclusions, which, while not inherently negative, didn't match the analysis I anticipated.

Amidst Dederer’s plethora of opinions, there are a few nuggets of wisdom scattered throughout the text. Early on, she explores the concept of "genius" and the absolution often associated with it. Dederer argues that those labeled as "genius" often learn to trust their impulses, citing impulsivity as a source of creativity. This trust in their instincts can lead to a belief that yielding to all impulses, regardless of their nature, is essential to maintain creativity—a feedback loop with potentially dire consequences. She provocatively questions whether the creator's moral failings overshadow their artistic achievements or vice versa.

Dederer also addresses the audience's dilemma of conflating personal feelings with moral truths. She contends that we as a society (and she makes many a point to discuss how ‘we’ becomes an absolution of the ‘I’) tends to equate personal feelings with incontrovertible moral standards, perceiving any challenge to these feelings as an attack on individual morality. After all, we are what we consume, she argues. Dederer critiques society's growing obsession with obsession itself. There is no longer just liking something. “I’m obsessed with this mascara”, “I’m obsessed with Harry Styles”, “I’m obsessed with Trader Joe’s”, what we like becomes who we are. This raises further questions about complicity in consuming art created by morally dubious individuals, as well as the impact of parasocial relationships on self-perception and capitalism's influence on our consumption habits.

Personally, I found Dederer's writing style repetitive and disjointed. She often introduces new topics abruptly, leaving readers struggling to discern the connection with preceding discussions. There was many a moment where I was thinking "how on earth did we get here??", and forcing me to double back through previous pages in search of the connection.

Additionally, conflating crimes as severe as child rape with topics like working motherhood struck me as both absurd and harmful. While she eventually concludes that "we're all just people," this assertion, after hundreds of pages of rhetorical questioning, feels trite and dismissive. In my opinion conflating rape with working motherhood by even using the same question of “monster” is absurd and harmful. She states late in the book that she has come to the personal conclusion that “we’re all just people” which after 200+ pages of rhetorical questioning feels lazy and dismissive of the point we are getting after.

I felt this book to be a bit self-serving, simply a platform on which Dederer could air out her personal moral quandaries rather than a comprehensive exploration of ethical consumptions. While it raises thought-provoking questions, it fell short for me. It was a lot to read just to come to the author’s conclusion of “no ethical consumption under capitalism”.