3.5

This book was difficult to process. There's a switch pulled late in the novel that shifts the book into completely new territory. SPEAK NO EVIL is primarily about a Nigerian American high schooler learning he's gay and navigating that identity between two cultures: that where he lives (Washington DC), and that where his parents are from (Nigeria). It's compelling and vivid in the voice of the narrator Prentice Onayemi.

And then... the perspective changes and it's another example of first-person storytelling from a woman's POV written by a man. I laughed out loud when I heard Julia Whelan's voice, hearing the perspective (from a very talented narrator!). I was laughing at myself: of course, it's happening in the very next audiobook after I struggled with the last one. And while I think Iweala's perspective worked a bit better for me than HOW TO BE SAFE, I was still taken out of the writing a lot because I can't get my mind to relax about how the story was crafted.

This final third of the novel, written from the perspective of the protagonist's white best friend Meredith, turns the story into a different kind of persecution. An important one, but I don't think this book was wholly successful because the characters are paper-thin and don't help drive home the heavy and critical message. There are moments of depth, and there is a lot of moving writing and emotion, but it fell flat with the last third. It provides so much to be curious about, I wish the 200-page novel had been a 600-page exploratory epic. Still, a good book, and deserving of all the time I've spent thinking about it.

Where to begin? This intensely readable novel is easy to digest in mere days, as the plot provides a blistering page turner. There are three perspectives within, and they flash between modern day and 1970s London: Daphne, an adolescent girl who was in a (criminal) sexual relationship with 30-year-old Ralph in the 70s, and Jane who witnessed the events. The story starts with these three in modern day, remembering the times, their thinking, and themselves. The novel is concerned with the rapid fire unveiling of truths against nostalgic emotions and memories.

And despite the urge to reach the end quickly, I am glad to have read this in four distinct sections as scheduled by a buddy read. It gave me time to think about each section before learning more. Because living in the same realm as the unreliable narrator is the withholding author. This kind of author ekes out evidence slowly over scenes and chapters, letting the reader come to their judgments and conclusions as the end comes nearer. It's ultimately up to the reader to decide how moved or manipulated the author might have left you. I think it's a novel that not only explores its characters, but seeks to examine the reader's own prejudices.

I'd recommend PUTNEY, but it does have flaws in some details, in portions of its culmination, and that niggling feeling of coming out the fool in the end. Still, there's a propulsive, mesmerizing quality here that I enjoyed.

I love a book that shifts something in your brain. That you look up from and the world seems just a little bit different, or it's almost like you can see more clearly things that blurred before. Orange starts doing that right from the beginning of THERE THERE, with a prologue about Indians--about Natives not just to America but Canada and Central America. He then spins his tale of the urban Indians in Oakland, California, through the perspectives of several characters. Most are trying to understand their personal identities against what history and their families and communities tell them they are (or are not).

The characters are all wonderfully realized; the book made me equal parts laugh and cry, but mostly think. The novel culminates in its fourth and final section as all these characters come together for a powwow in an Oakland sports stadium. The build to this event was fraught with tension, and I was clinging this book to my chest after I finished it, learning the fates of these favorites.

I am immensely impressed with Orange and his ability to craft a story that's rich in its details of history but set precisely in today's world. And it makes me look at my world with that prism, too. When I watched the new Coen Brother's movie 'The Ballad of Buster Scruggs,' I thought of THERE THERE. At Thanksgiving, I looked around at my family's 50+ person family reunion in new light. A few months ago, when my mom's ancestry.com research showed that her mother came from Natives Panamanians and her father came from Spaniards, I didn't really think of what that meant, historically, until THERE THERE.

A paradigm shift; a new look at an old world.

I love a good anti-heroine. Polly is not quite Amy Dunne, but she's cool and collected and knows how to get exactly what she wants. She's a planner, and she has the patience to wait as long as it will take for her prize. SUNBURN is a delicious noir novel that is plotted perfectly, revealing little by little about Polly and the private detective named Adam who starts to get a little too close. Just delicious. The mysteries within are great, and the high tension throughout the book paid off in the end--it's rare for me to be satisfied by a thriller, but here we are.

This page turner was also wonderful on audiobook, and left me with my mouth agape in public places more than once. There was just one bit that dragged a little, but in retrospect I think it was necessary. Susan Bennett has a great voice that inhabits the highwire suspense and quiet purrs of the novel superbly. As the audiobook ended, I wanted to clap--but I'm not sure if it was for Lippman's masterful story, Bennett's narration, or the character of Polly herself. Most likely, it would be for all three.

Definitely recommend on audiobook, though the print book is probably just as taut. It's more of a summer read, though I felt the flames of that small town in Delaware even in the dead of winter.

This has to be one of the most-read books of the year, and I liked reading it a lot. It's a page-turner kind of book because it’s a true story. Well, a true story to one person: the one writing it. This history belongs to Tara Westover, who details her life growing up in a family who shunned the government and medical establishment. Without attending public school, she finds herself with a different kind of education and embarks on a life in academia starting with college. What's compelling is the horror of her memories and her dazzling journey into formal education and society.

Westover delicately lays out her memories and constantly advises on what may or may not be true based on the tricks of our minds. She tries to paint as full a picture as possible, and notes where the memories of other witnesses (usually her brothers) varied and therefore, the reader must understand that these things are close to true, and there are facts (someone was burned, he has scars), but they are shrouded by the haziness of remembered details (how immediately were the burns treated, who helped, how exactly it happened). And in doing so, Westover kind of admits she's an unreliable narrator. Just as we are unreliable in our own memories, no matter how clearly we think we remember something from years ago. I found this quite fascinating.

So I read this skeptically, but not in a way that this book felt like lies. It felt like Westover was saying, here's the best that I could do. And hell, she did it. She escaped an abusive family (several times) and wrote a bestseller. Where my skepticism was most loudly ringing was her detailed ascent in formal education. She had so many mentors who helped her academically, mentally, and financially. She was lucky AF, this woman. She doesn't deny it, either. Doesn't mean I can't side eye how easily she climbed these academic milestones. The question of 'how' is easy to answer, especially in light of other narratives about overcoming odds.

A poignant and powerful memoir that brought me a new perspective on a lot; things I didn't think about before in-depth. I learned a lot. Gay continues to be an exceptional voice in contemporary writing.

4.5

Washington Black is a slave born on a Caribbean plantation in the 1820s and this novel is told from his point-of-view, starting around age 11. His master's brother Titch brings him into his scientific endeavor to build a 'cloud cutter' contraption and after being witness to a death, Wash has to flee. And so an adventure begins across countries and years. Edugyan explores what it means to be owned, to be part of a family (or not), and Wash's coming of age in a world that barely sees him as a person.

There are a couple of things about this book that I wouldn't normally be into: it's an adventure story and the writing style is reminiscent of Dickens. If I'd heard either of these things before going into it, I might've passed. I'm so glad I didn't! Edugyan is a wonderful storyteller, and the novel is rich with detail and Wash's struggles with humanity.

I was enraptured by Graham's narration on this audiobook, which brought Wash to life and kept me wired throughout the story. After reading some other reviews, I wonder if this was the way to take in this book--the Dickensian prose might have bored me, though it was so classic and lovely to hear. The acting didn't let me ponder too much about events that felt a bit too fortuitous (another Dickensian trait) and yet simultaneously there were a lot of parts in which I probably would have paused and thought deeper about. Double-edged sword, I suppose. Graham infused Wash with such emotion and heartbreak, I often found myself saying things like "oh no" out loud.

This is a book that came to me via the Tournament of Books shortlist, as well as being in the NYTimes best books of the year. It's a wonderful ride, though the ending left me exhilarated but baffled. I think I wished for something more concrete, but I was sad to say goodbye to Wash all the same.

When the Two Girl Book Party chose this book for their December book club, I was surprised to learn it had been a Pulitzer Prize finalist and I'd never heard of it. It ended up being the perfect wintry read; a great book to cozy up with and feel its warmth while outside may be cold and dreary.

Set in 1920s Alaska, Mabel and Jack are an older married couple looking for solitude after tiring of Pennsylvania society amid personal loss and all the questions and pitying looks that come with it. What they find on their Alaskan homestead is unexpected: a chance at happiness they thought would never come, its foundation built upon what may very well be magic. The couple and the reader must grapple with truth, and have faith in a world in which not everything can be known.

Ivey does such a wondrous job of creating beautiful atmosphere and scenes for her characters--people I came to love as if they were real. And cannot love exist even if the object of love does not? I think this is central to Ivey's story, that love is necessary and can take many forms, though we may not recognize it as such while it's happening, or how much we needed it.

The novel is based on an old Russian fairytale of the same name, and its existence in the book is referenced. It was interesting to see the events of a fairytale set among the realism of the Alaskan wilderness. It works so well! Ivey threads a loving story with suspense that kept the pages turning, and allows magic to seep in and take hold--if you believe. I adored this book, and gave it to three family members over Christmas, hoping they will find the magic, too.

An interesting debut novel that really took me by surprise. The unnamed narrator is the teenage daughter of Ethiopian immigrants in Boston. She is witty and sardonic in her observations; it makes the reading of the book enjoyable, but there's also an uneasy feeling of unreliability. Especially when she talks about the titular attendant, a man named Ayale who seems to be the leader of a network of Ethiopians, and may have malicious cult-like intentions.

At times it was difficult to perceive reality from the narrator's perspective. There was an ebb and flow to the storytelling, and the last section ramped up the suddenly very real danger that seemed to only have lurked in the background through most of the book. The last lines gave me chills.

As a Tournament of Books contender, I'm eagerly anticipating the judge's commentary and decision about this book. It's a book, I think, that warrants further discussion.

This was a great novel to end the year! Sylvester is able to weave a tapestry of time, secrets, and love in the Bravo family alongside Isabel, who marries into the family on the first page. And then her dead father-in-law shows up. Here, I'll just quote the great first sentence since I loved it so much:

"They were married on the Day of the Dead, el Día de los Muertos, which no one gave much thought to in all the months of planning, until the bride's deceased father-in-law showed up in the car following the ceremony."

WELL THEN. And the story never loses pace from there; it jumps between the past and present, the latter showing Isabel trying to understand her place in her new family, navigating the turmoils of marriage and relationships, and holding it together despite what the universe directs their way. In the past timeline, we see the events that molded her husband and his family, and several that they don't know about (and not knowing, that void of understanding, can be so shaping as well). The revelations are often heartbreaking. I loved this family and was sad to say goodbye to them as it ended. The end was bittersweet, but fitting.

Sylvester's prose is lyrical and poignant. I took my time reading this one because of the beautiful sentences. I'm looking forward to seeking out more Sylvester, and for more of her works in the future. I highly recommend this novel.