This gorgeous, full, moving book follows the loosely connected lives of twelve Black womxn throughout England. I’d liken it a bit to the musical RENT, with a glorious cacophony of people existing in imperfect concinnity. 

What I found most mesmerizing about Evaristo’s novel is the way it deftly arouses empathy for each flawed, fully human character. The level of interconnectedness of each story varies, but ultimately highlights the validity of varied experiences, the truth that we cannot understand the depth of a single person’s life or internal narratives, and the need for radical compassion above most anything else. 

Stylistically, GIRL, WOMAN, OTHER is unlike any book I’ve ever read. Each chapter illuminates the life of a specific character, and is delivered in a train-of-thought style with nearly no punctuation. In a way, it felt like sitting at a loud dinner party with people who love each other actively reminiscing and telling stories simultaneously. Once I got into the flow of it, I found it perfectly fit the spirit of the book.

Naomi Klein is a masterful author who has a knack for distilling complex information into something digestible. In this book, she lays out the argument that capitalism — with its extractive mindset — is ultimately at odds with the fight to keep the planet habitable. The first half of the book will wreck you with its many examples of corruption, disdain for human life, greed, and misplaced faith in techno solutions meant to allow us to “carry on as normal” (as if that isn’t precisely what got us here). Klein effectively curbs any hope in a thoughtful government solution just magically materializing. Rather, she emphasizes the power of direct action, community coalitions, and intersectional advocacy that focuses on things like poverty alleviation, global reparations, and defense of Indigenous rights. In the end, she offers a glimmer of hope by talking about the rising consciousness the world over and how community-led efforts, that are rooted in love of land and home, are truly what will make the difference. 

This book is not for the faint of heart. It is long, chock full of facts, and really drives home the uphill battle that faces the climate movement in a world set up to prioritize profits over all else. I learned so much about environmental movements around the world, about the impact of free trade regulations, about the legal standing of Indigenous peoples, and about the deep need for our collective engagement. 

In a series of honest, uncompromising essays, author Mikki Kendall shares the ways that white feminism has failed by ignoring the basic bedrock needs of low-income communities and communities of color. With precision, Kendall lays out topics that should be included in feminist efforts ranging from housing to food security to education to gun violence. Each chapter contains an expert explanation about why a given area is relevant to the the success of women and girls and therefore why it must be part of the wider feminist narrative. Ultimately, she argues that until people are safe and adequately provisioned we cannot in good faith move on to more abstract things like “leaning in” in the workplace.

Part of what makes this book so powerful is that Kendall manages to write along a thin line between admonishment and inviting in. Her words are straightforward and unapologetic, offering the reader an honest assessment along with the opportunity to learn and grow. She does not shy away from calling out performative activism, the weaponization of whiteness, or the white feminists’ complicity in perpetuating white supremacy. Her anecdotes are powerful and her research is sound. It’d be impossible to come away from this book without an expanded imagination for what flourishing for *all* truly means and what it will take to get there. 

Set in the mountains of Asheville, North Carolina, The Ash Family follows a young woman named Beryl who ditches her flight to college and gets picked up at the bus stop by a man named Bay who convinces her to try out his homestead community. What follows is Beryl (renamed Harmony by the settlement’s charismatic leader) adjusting to life on the commune and evaluating her own motivations for being there. 

To be frank, I don’t have much positive to say about this book. The only reason it is a 2-star instead of a 1-star is that I was intrigued just enough to stick it out to the end.

My main critiques are around character development and the story’s resolution. Beryl’s backstory for joining a cult is very weak. She blames her poor, overbearing mother for pressuring her to go to college against her desires, but honestly the way her mom is described is definitely not “run-away-to-a-commune” worthy. Plus Beryl/Harmony’s personality is wildly inconsistent. She can somehow buck the desires of her mom and ex-boyfriend but is wholly impressionable and eager to please with the very, very obviously manipulative and abusive Ash Family. Additionally, the Bay character made little sense, with his personality vacillating dramatically in ways that were hard to follow. Finally, the story’s climax and conclusion left so much to be desired. There were nearly no answers, no redemption, and plenty of loose ends from foreshadowing earlier in the novel. 

this book is worth your time. Michelle Alexander wrote the foreword and Angela Davis endorsed it, so if you don’t take it from me, take it from them. 

“Innovation, in itself, is no guarantee of progress. I’m so many cases, reform is not the building of something new. It is the re-forming if the system in its own image, using the same raw materials: white supremacy, a history of oppression, and a tool kit whose main contents are confinement, isolation, surveillance, and punishment.” 

This well-written, thoroughly-researched book presents the argument that popular prison “reforms” are simply expansions of the prison industrial complex and do not ultimately make us any safer. In fact, for the most part, these alternatives reinforce existing narratives of criminality, personal responsibility, racism, and disdain for the impoverished. Schenwar and Law talk about electronic monitoring, house arrest, mandatory drug or psychiatric treatment, sex worker rescue programs, sex offender registries, probation, mother-baby institutions, child services and foster care, community policing, and school resource officers. They convincingly show that these solutions often cause more harm than rehabilitation, layering on penalties for poverty and systemic obstacles. Ultimately, the inclusion of these alternatives expands the net of incarceration, with a narrow, unimaginative focus on control and confinement over true justice and holistic healing. 

The book is rife with compelling examples. People are left with limited choices, no support, basic needs unmet, and significant stigma and then expected to rebuild their lives or maintain a functioning position in society. This paradigm is broken and unfair. To conclude, Schenwar and Law offer a broader vision for moving beyond alternatives. They ultimately champion the idea of community-based interventions and an updated outlook that shifts from being punishment-oriented to being liberation- and healing-oriented. 

The fourth installment of the Inspector Gamache series mixes it up with a new locale, the Manoir Bellechasse, were Armand and Reine-Marie are celebrating their wedding anniversary. Joined at the lodge by a tense & petulant family reunion, Gamache’s vacation is interrupted by the discovery of a dead body on the grounds the morning after a violent storm. He resumes his role as the Chief Inspector of homicide for the Sûreté du Québec and begins to uncover what happened. 

Though I love the original setting of Three Pines from the first three books, it was refreshing to have a new spot with the occasional incorporation of past characters. As always, Gamache is a calm, measured, observant presence amongst mystery and distrust. The Finney family added a Succession-esque element to the whole thing with a classic murder mystery vibe. Finally, despite being a murder site, the Bellechasse sounded utterly divine as a spot and made me particularly sad to have missed our annual summer trip to Canada.

I was listening to this on Libro.FM. I got a few hours into it, but fount Jenny tiresome and the content felt shallow without being sufficiently funny.

I don’t really have words for this remarkable book. Abulhawa weaves an engaging story complete with complex characters and gorgeous language. Readers are led through the narrative by Nahr who is recounting her life from an Israeli solitary confinement cell dubbed “The Cube.” Starting from her teenager years as the daughter of Palestinian refugees in Kuwait, Nahr makes impossible life choices in order to stay afloat in a culture that regularly displaces and devalues people with her background. Forced to relocate after the U.S. invasion of Iraq, she moves through life in Jordan and then eventually back to Palestine. All the while, Nahr slowly becomes more revolutionary, protective of her Palestinian heritage and her family’s desire to freely return to their homeland. 

Nahr is fiery and determined, complicated but relatable. Her relationships are intricately woven and believable. Further, Abulhawa writes with a commitment to emotional candor that gives the whole book a deep resonance that leaves you feeling both filled and emptied all at once.

On top of the affective, resonate writing and powerful characters, the story also serves as an education about a part of the world that is regularly flattened into a distant, violent abstract. I am disappointed at how little I knew about the Palestinian experience and the nuances of the Middle East. The book is prefaced with a thorough glossary which was so helpful.

I’ll wrap up with a quotation from the book that epitomizes to me both the emotional tenor and the beautiful writing style of the novel: “Can something expected still be a surprise? We knew that Israelis were especially menacing during the harvest season. They know olives have been the mainstay and centerpieces of our social, economic, and cultural presence for millennia, and it infuriated them — still does — to watch the unbroken continuity of our indigenous traditions. So they came with their big guns, and the colonial logic of interlopers about cannot abide our presence or our joy.”

“How can we have a pessimistic account of human political institutions — knowing that they are passing away and corrupted by sin — and yet still faithfully participate in politics?”

In this phenomenal book, Kaitlyn Schiess lays out the case for political engagement from Christians who have traditionally wanted to “keep politics out of it.” She makes a passionate, well-reasoned, thorough argument in favor of political involvement for the sake of our neighbors as embodiment of our faith. I honestly thought more than once, Rachel Held Evans would have loved this book.

I can hardly begin to enumerate the things I learned from this Schiess’s scholarship. A particularly interesting part is when she talks about how we are formed by the delivery (tone, emotion, etc.) of information along with the actual content and the implications that has in the midst our media-heavy, politically-charged culture. She argues that politics in the U.S. verge on a idolatry stoked by fear and a demand of loyalty. 

Ultimately, Schiess says: “The line between our political beliefs, our moral beliefs, and our theological beliefs is blurry, if not entirely invented.” Her book outlines the ways that churches can be a training ground for responsible political engagement and that it is indeed our biblical duty to do so. With supporting research and clear-eyed analysis, Schiess covers the ways churches need to reconsider their programming in order to be faithful political participants and similarly how spiritual disciples can be used both positively and negatively for this formation. In a very powerful closing she says, “A theology born out of resistance to political authorities from an oppressed position cannot result in private piety and political quietism unless it is read and practiced by the privileged.”

As further evidence of my appreciate for this book: I originally had an eARC of this book through NetGalley, but three chapters in I realized I wanted to have a physical copy so I promptly ordered one to keep.  

P.S. Schiess’s final chapter is on the Book of Revelation and it honestly blew my mind.

I enjoyed listening to this YA novel set in Arizona that follows 17-year-old Sia Martinez in the aftermath of her mom’s death attempting to cross the Sonoran after being deported. The story highlights her relationships with her dad, her best friend, and the new guy at school. When a mysterious thing happens in the desert when working on an astronomy project, Sia as sucked into a world of aliens and conspiracy theories. 

In typical YA style, this books gives a fair amount of focus to interpersonal relationships. Sia has to navigate feelings for a new guy and changes with her best friend, all while handling the racism of schoolmates and the grief of losing her mother. There is also a solid adventure component that arrives in the second half. 

Overall, I liked the book and thought the character development was mostly good (aside from two characters: River and Katia). I was definitely invested in the story. Sia was relatable and I really appreciated the spirituality incorporated with Sia’s garden and grandmother. 

My main criticism is around the last 15% or so. The story’s conclusion was unsatisfying to me and felt pretty rushed. A number of things where left unresolved while others felt tied up too cleanly. Finally, and this is specific to the audiobook, I was somewhat turned off by the narrator’s voices for the characters which came off a little overdone. All that to say, I’d still recommend it, especially if YA novels are your jam!