~more to come after book club~
but I will say that I really loved this book and it surprised me in many ways <3

I barely knew how to approach this review. So here's how Anna Burns might write about me reading her book. (To be sure: I will never be half as talented as Burns with words. Also: I AM SORRY.)

Bookish woman picked up the prize-winning novel not understanding how it had taken her an hour to read ten pages, how the pages and the words on those pages were self-deemed enjoyable, and yet had left her quite confused simultaneously, though she decided to persevere because there seemed to be an inkling of genius here or was it just madness—who is to say, except the others in her booktalk group. Ah yes, delicious future dystopia, that's the ticket, this kind of bomb-ridden, terror-filled, malarkey-suffused place doesn't exist, has indeed never existed, so... oh, our protagonist's 18-year-old stream-of-consciousness just informed readers that it's the seventies, and bookish woman realizes author person is from that country across the water but also the northern area, and the lightbulb shone greatly from bookish woman's mind at that moment and then she felt dim in the realization that this took place, it happened, it was history, and maybe it was still happening these forty years later, so she forged on. Troubles, they were. That sunset scene though, the reason for that cover, the metaphor laid out by author person was brilliant, beautiful, and bookish woman still considers it days, weeks after finishing the novel. She sees the colors of the sky differently even though she always knew they were more than blue. The scenes that enraptured her about middle sister, said book's protagonist, were about her enlightenment to how the world worked and didn't work, how she navigated her life in such a world, and what men and women are supposed to do or not do in that town with many parts. Middle sister is stalked by milkman, helped by the real milkman, has fraught thoughts about her maybe boyfriend and the maybe-ness of their relationship, maybe-boyfriend's lukewarm and abandoning parents who are ballroom dancers traveling the world, wee sisters wanting chips, being of the wrong religion or the right, Jason, and don't forget tablets girl. And bombs and cat heads due to bombs and tablet girl's sister and third brother and Somebody McSomebody, the loutish poser who wishes he was milkman, but really is just another embodiment of patriarchal mentality and proprietorship (in bookish woman words, she would call him "reasons #banallmen is a thing"), but at least women can band together occasionally, eh? Booktalk group provided even more translation and insight than bookish woman could hope to have understood on her own, what with their immigrated or traveling parents, their visits viewed through this violent prism of the author person's imagination but also history. Vascillating between confusion and love and outright praise of her words and structure, bookish woman hesitates to recommend such a novel novel to just anyone, but if you could, or did, perhaps, get something out of this, then maybe, you could try. It's loads better than this, anyway.

In THE OVERSTORY a character says, "The best arguments in the world won't change a person's mind. The only thing that can do that is a good story." This line leapt out at me due to the narrative in the book—how humanity is destroying trees without full recognition of the consequences—and also how Powers himself is doing that with said book. I also thought about me, a person who enjoys a good story, who learns more through fiction than through non-fiction. Give me someone to empathize with and I will go headlong into that journey and grapple with its challenges... but give me facts on a page and I will not feel much at all, so removed a number feels to me. I know it's a gap about myself. I don't learn much from a statistic, but I learn a lot from perspective, and that's why I love novels—I learn so much, all the time.

I did learn a lot from THE OVERSTORY's message. The first part of this novel is a series of short stories of seemingly unconnected people, and it is masterful. The prose, the people, and storytelling are impressive. And then, the message, through the next three parts, is repeated... a lot. There are elements of wonder and distress. There are points in the plot that don't make sense—or do they? Are we to consider opposing outcomes to one decision? The fact that someone may be the child of a couple that falls apart because they cannot have children? This points to magical realism. And there's lot of great info about trees! So many trees! I look at trees differently now! WHO AM I?

A neighbor mentioned enjoying this book, but then not liking the end. And I agree. I felt it treated humanity negatively (mostly deserved), though for a 600+ page book didn't touch on some other issues. It really was just TREES. And yet, here I am, strapped with this new knowledge, and telling my dad that the tree that got knocked down by the wind in his backyard yesterday should remain where it is, as it is likely communicating with the other trees and that it will be ecologically advantageous to the living things in said forest. Again, who am I? I suppose, someone who learned a thing or two. Touché, Powers.

I was a little hesitant to read this, given my love of music and my lukewarm feelings on the one TJR book I've read. Then my friend Bailey said I must read it and sent it to me, and she was f*ck*ng right!

Some context: I'm married to a touring musician. Well, he used to tour, but his band disbanded a couple of years ago. We met at a bar in 2007, and I knew who he was (#fan), and then I was flying out to tour dates from Lawrence, KS to Osaka, Japan. I know tour buses and sound checks and songwriting and recording and ambition. I know the fun and the monotony. I know that it's rare for a fiction book to get the feel of that lifestyle. But TJR does a splendid job of depicting a slew of talented musicians in the 1970s LA rock scene.

It's so refreshing to read several women depicted in great, varied ways within. Like real people! No catty wife, no demoralized groupies. More than ONE woman who is a musician in the book. There was so much heart dedicated to our sometimes strung-out protagonist. The story is told in an oral history format, which plays real, real well—for the interpretations of the same events, for some late (surprising!) reveals, and for immersing in each character. It was a completely enjoyable ride, and I'm not embarrassed to admit I cried on the last page. I connected a lot with the character of Camila for obvious reasons, and I'm so SO happy with how all the characters' stories landed through time. I will remember Daisy, Camila, and Karen for a long time. Incredibly, intensely impressed.

I highly encourage you to check this out, because even a cynical doubter like me was won over. I cannot deny the FUN of (fictional) DRAMA, friends. Particularly enjoyable if you like Stevie Nicks.

And so begins my journey into Baldwin. This was my first book by the writer, and I was immediately carried away by his beautiful, emotional, and at times eviscerating prose. I knew immediately, within pages, that I was a fool for sleeping on Baldwin, that I'll be reading much more of his works. However, right before that moment, I was probably holding my breath when I realized this was a book written by a man from a woman's perspective, something that always puts me on edge. And yet, for much of the book, Baldwin inhabits the protagonist Tish so well for being written in 1974. I was impressed, and I think Baldwin creates a true sense of a character through her voice and strong relationships with her fiancée Fonny and her family.

The tragedy is that this novel remains relevant 45 years later. It's no surprise that it was adapted into a movie in 2018. New York City has changed, but what Beale Street represents hasn't. There were notes in the book that were subtly updated for the film given the passage of time, but there was no need to change the central plot: black men are still going to jail because of pervasive racism in all facets of society.

I do think it's a hopeful novel, though. The choice to tell this love story through Tish's perspective adds humanity to tragic statistics, then and now. Innocent black men going to jail doesn't just affect that black man; it affects communities—and for generations. The anger comes across on the page, but it's cut with a tenderness that made me tear up at times.

This novel takes a greater focus on the character I liked most in The [b:Girl with the Dragon Tattoo|2429135|The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo (Millennium, #1)|Stieg Larsson|http://photo.goodreads.com/books/1275608878s/2429135.jpg|1708725] - Lisbeth Salander. I read earnestly - wanting to keep learning about her past as well as cheering her on against the powers that be. There were many a twist and turn, making this a great summer read! Far better than the first book, in my opinion, and really do love the characters.

Sidenote: Regarding Blomqvist - unsure as to why he sleeps with nearly every female character in both novels? Seems Larsson deeply represented himself in this character; I wonder if this was just a projection of some sort of fantasy. "Not totally unattractive dude manages to bed every woman he wants to." Kind of eye-rolling and unnecessary acts by the character, in my opinion.

There's something truly human about enjoying the reflection of yourself in a story. Is there something else, though, about feeling TOO seen? I LOVE books that speak to something innate in me, like Cristina Henríquez's writing that features Panamanian Americans. However, there's something uncomfortable about seeing inner thoughts splayed on a page; a little devastating, to be honest.

I like relating to characters, but sometimes the reflection of myself I see is too damning. Not as in, this character is bad, and I am therefore bad. Nothing so blunt as that. With THE GOLDEN STATE, I was taken back to a time when my husband went on his final tour with his band and I was left in our two-bedroom Los Angeles apartment with our infant daughter. It was a challenging time for many reasons—and a lot of them are explored in THE GOLDEN STATE. I felt itchy. I felt TOO SEEN. I wanted to hide. I wanted to throw up. At times, I was literally wringing my hands around the nearest object as I listened to this book.

Should I tell you more about the book? HA. The protagonist of THE GOLDEN STATE, Daphne, has an 18-month-old named Honey. Daphne's Turkish husband has been unable to return to the United States due to a 'click-of-the-mouse' error with his green card. He's been stuck in Turkey for months, and Daphne is at her wit's end with her job, so she takes Honey out of daycare and drives to her late mother's mobile home in northern California. The minutiae of daily life with a toddler is detailed, the inner workings of Daphne displayed. It all provoked such feelings in me that I felt unable to get beyond it, and that's on me.

Maybe, given all I've said here (quite inarticulately), this should be a five star read? But in the end, I felt a wave of relief when I said goodbye to Daphne and Honey and the memories they conjured up in me.

Coming-of-age novels are pretty ubiquitous—and for good reason. When you're young and figuring out the next decision, your choice is likely to affect the trajectory of your life. There is something arresting about that, given that I often reflect on my own choices and where I am and who I am today. Yet, I found THE DICTIONARY OF ANIMAL LANGUAGES mesmerizing because it's a, as the author calls it, coming-of-death novel.

Ivory Frame is 92 years old and has devoted her life to art and science in the titular project. Each chapter is titled an animal with a note (assumed to be Ivory's field notes) on that animal’s language. We inhabit her in first person, vacillate between her work, inner thoughts, conversations, and most of all her memories over the decades of her life. Those years encapsulate studying art, a steadfast friendship, heartache, war, and devastation. But it's a quiet novel for all of this. THE DICTIONARY is eloquent and beautiful, and as the memories are revealed to form the person we first meet at 92, I came to love Ivory deeply.

My copy is full of dog-ears and underlines. Like: "In order to forget one life, you need to live at least one other life. The young can withstand the shock of love because another life is still possible. It is only the old who die of heartbreak." I loved the line because I thought of it again later, three books later, in which a much younger character reflects on the many lives she's already lived by 35, due to choices and circumstance. Sopinka has a gift for lovely sentences that stay with you.

I have a profound love for this book, but wouldn't recommend to everyone. It's a writerly book, one that is full of poetic prose and sometimes abstractly woven narrative structures that may prove a challenge to some readers, or boring. It's slow and takes time but I found it incredibly rewarding.

I love when an author can craft a tale with an economy of words. When studying journalism, there were editing projects about how to break down a paragraph into one sentence but still retain the full meaning. Morrison may be the queen of telegraphing entire worlds and characters within as little space necessary. Someone might've written SULA as a 600-page epic, and yet, it's still epic within its <200 page proportions—perhaps moreso because of those proportions.

A book that I will likely reread in years to come, one that read fast and left me gasping trying to keep up, SULA is set in a small Ohio town called Medallion, but really centers on the hillside areas called The Bottom with a black population. Here we meet several characters, including Eva Peace, who will live on in my memory forever. And into view comes Eva's granddaughter, Sula and her friendship with Nel. The novel spans years of their lives and considers how their shared origin and diverging adulthood affected them as individuals.

I have a love for the novel that examines women's friendships, and SULA does it wonderfully. Its deft use of language against such a wide array of important subjects marks it as something truly special. There are not too many unsentimental books about this kind of friendship, so realistic and precise.