Last year I read two Luiselli novels, and was charmed by her experimentation, the playfulness of her storytelling, and the ways in which she approached writing as collaboration. I then read her non-fiction essay TELL ME HOW IT ENDS, and could feel an urgency that wasn't quite there in her fiction. I found that sense again in this novel, which reads like a masterwork to me.

"I think it's more about the impossibility of fiction in the age of non-fiction..."

LCA retains the experimentation (photographs, lists of box contents, a pages-long sentence, a book within a book) of her earlier work, and combines these effective mechanisms with the reality of living today. This work addresses non-fiction on historical and personal levels. Luiselli's characters are a family: a mom, a dad, and their two children. They're taking a family road trip from NYC to the Southwest borderlands, for projects related to the adults' jobs as sound documentarian / documentarist. The mother is unsure if her marriage and their family will survive the trip.

The structure and themes deal in echoes; Ma reads a book about children on a treacherous journey to another land, as the family drives closer to the child refugee crisis at the border. Pa imparts some history of the Apache people as they visit Geronimo's gravesite and the lands they lived on before being removed. Also, ghosts: echoes of people who lived. And the book's second half echoes parts of the first. The first half made me think. The second half made me weep.

The intricate writing is at times pensive and meditative, full of questioning about how one can create art based on these subjects. Then, the writing is frantic and feverish, nearly nightmarish. The first half of my copy is thick with dog-ears and the underlined sentences that made me pause to consider. The second half has less, as the change in perspective brings a change in pace, and there was no time to stop: I was worried about the children.

It's difficult to spend just a handful of words on a massive text. It's hard to get across how much it affected me. How it became the best book I've read this year, but trust me—it is.

For many us, music was a driving force in our teenage lives. Hearing a song can remind you of a time and place; you remember former selves, you remember what you were like and what has changed and also what has remained the same. For some, when you heard a certain band or album, you knew you'd found your people. Maddy Traeger's journey in A Million Miles is about finding yourself, and finding your people, and she does so through her life's soundtrack: by traveling with a band. Inspired by her own experiences in the music industry, Amy Fleisher Madden's wonderful, funny, sad, riveting tale does the same thing music can do -- take you to a time and place, and possibly remind you of your own journey.

Full disclosure -- I had the honor of reading this novel three times and helping to edit it before publication. I'm so proud of Amy and I highly recommend this book!

Re-read July 2019 in audiobook, still love <3 - full second-read review:

Years ago I met Amy Fleisher Madden backstage at a rock show. As these things go, I didn't know this casual conversation in a cramped green room would lead to a great friendship. When she started working on a novel, I was excited to be asked to edit it (or did I enthusiastically volunteer my services? One can’t always remember). We traded manuscripts back and forth and sat in sunny parks and discussed her characters and I would ask several questions about which parts were based in truth and which were not. Like, “did that guy really run through a glass door while high on acid?” type questions.

An effusive love story about the son of the President of the United States and the prince of England falling in love—boom, sold. Alex Claremont-Diaz is a headstrong young man who wants to follow in the political footsteps of his President mother, while Prince Henry most decidedly feels confined by the traditions of his royal lineage. Their first impressions and subsequent less-than-friendly interactions lead them to fake friendship for global diplomacy's sake. Ah, so many romance tropes, and yet so well done!

Alex and Henry's story made me smile for its fun, romantic build and at the same time hug myself for the moments of realizations and genuine heartache. The narrative plays on that pleasure/pain dichotomy quite well. The romantic view of the world brought me joy, too. Because, y'know, if this country is indeed living in a dark timeline, it's nice to experience the relatively optimistic timeline of RED, WHITE & ROYAL BLUE. There was some great wish-fulfillment near the end; honestly, it made me understand the limits of my happiness for dreaming of a world that does not exist.

I wanted to slow clap several times while listening to this audiobook. Not for the performances (though they were good! Even Marc Maron, someone I usually avoid!), but for the mind-blowing narrative Tamblyn cooked up that is such a cutting commentary on rape culture and gendered thinking. The book follows the (male) sexual assault victims of an anonymous (female) rapist known only as Maude. Tamblyn's architecture was far more complex than I expected, and I have to bow down to her brilliance. She writes eloquently and dials into the emotions of her characters so well, while make me think deeply about her message and themes.

Passionate and articulate, angering and funny—Tamblyn made a fictional tale that reflected something very real about today's society and social constructs.

"On the one hand, the joy of children. On the other hand, the misery of them. On the one hand, the freedom of not having them. On the other hand, the loss of never having had them."

A rumination, a wandering journey on a single question that spawns a series of other questions about womanhood, partnership, history, family, her own childhood and her mother's role in it. Heti's (her character's?) inner debate is laid bare for the reader, bouncing between reflections on her past, flipping coins to answer yes or no questions, discussing with friends and family, and at times seeming to decide one way before reversing. As she considers which path to take, her thoughts can veer callous or cruel, but it most likely resembles the reader struggling with life decisions in their head, too.

MOTHERHOOD is likely to fascinate some people and feel like tedium to others. I'm in the former camp, but I love a philosophizing book that takes me through many perspectives of the character's life. I didn't relate to everything (and I never need to or seek that out), but there were pure moments of understanding that seemed to reach from the page to my mind. I underlined a lot, and dog-eared a lot, and even read a few sentences aloud to a room full of moms on a baby shower trip to Asbury Park in July. It resonates as a woman, and though I'm not Sheila Heti, I understand why she decides on her beautifully rendered final answer. She let me into her thought process, and I could clearly see my life as hers.

My first Heti, and certainly not my last.

There is a great book within these pages, evident in stretches of beautiful writing and descriptive passages. However, as a whole, this book disappointed me. As I began this fiction book, I realized that the characters were based on real people—no names changed—made famous by the 1990 documentary PARIS IS BURNING, a seminal film about drag queen ball culture in 80s NYC, a wonderful window into the mostly African-American, Latnix, gay, trans people that banded together to form communities called 'houses.' I paused about a quarter into the book to watch it, and then came back to the book feeling less dazzled by comparison, since they are so similar. The vibrant, effervescent, humorous, and deeply layered quality of the real people depicted in the 78-minute film did not come through in the 15-hour audiobook. So, this may all be my own fault due to the context in which I read it.

THE HOUSE OF IMPOSSIBLE BEAUTIES feels like a cautious, safe attempt to write fiction about real people without tarnishing their personal legacies, and to the culture on which they left an indelible mark. I completely understand that, but it also somehow tamped the energy and made the dialogue particularly staid. I do think that there is a great ball culture fiction novel out there that I have yet to read; Ryan Murphy has brought a version of it to life in his excellent tv series POSE, but this book isn't quite it. It made me excited, though, for more fiction about this time and period and people that we see so little depicted. (Sidenote: I spoke about this with a friend and we both named the same author we'd love to see bring the warmth, love, camraderie, devestation, despair to this history in fiction.

In the second book of Cusk's Outline trilogy, the reader is back with Faye, a recently divorced writer and mother of two. She's just moved into a new house which she decides to renovate, and we follow her in this time of transition. A different angle than OUTLINE, but the same, indelible voice prone to observe rather than do, to be passive rather than react. Though I must say the character of Faye, almost ghost-like in OUTLINE, comes more into view in TRANSIT.

"Whatever we might wish to believe about ourselves, we are only the result of how others have treated us."

What a way to perceive the world, eh? Faye's not exactly likable, moreso in OUTLINE for not being totally knowable, but I think Cusk has a deep understanding of what's moving Faye from the beginning of this novel (where I underlined this) to the end. Glimmers of Faye start coming through as she becomes less static. Cusk's sentences are as thought-provoking and well-constructed as ever; they seem so unassuming but therein lies their brilliance. Her structure in this trilogy is often described as plotless, but I never feel unmoored or like the writing meandered.

At the same time, you don't know how the quote below felt explosive while reading. Cusk's writing lulls me into a trance, into Faye's quiet, observational world. And then, over halfway through the book:

"For a long time, I said, I believed that it was only through absolute passivity that you could learn to see what was really there. But my decision to create a disturbance by renovating my house had awoken a different reality, as though I had disturbed a beast sleeping in its lair. I had to started to become, in effect, angry."

This felt like a turn, as she uses words like 'awoken' and 'angry.' I smiled at the provocation; I smiled through the rest of the novel. Loving it as much as its predecessor. And wondering where Cusk will take me next, where I will find Faye, in the final installment, KUDOS.

I enjoyed reading this, and it seems an especially good time to read this as it fits right into the current zeitgeist. I'm not sure how well it will age, but like many books written about a time and a place, it will be a good example of what it was like for a set of people during the era. The characters are somewhat generalized... so it felt like they were very much Representatives rather than wholly deep and realistic, but I didn't mind that too much. Wolitzer writes so well; her observations stay with me long after I'm done reading.

Last year Acevedo wowed me with her debut THE POET X, a book that hit me on a lot of levels—to the point that I shared it with my mother enthusiastically. I was extremely excited for her sophomore effort, WITH THE FIRE ON HIGH. Given what a spectacular narrator Acevedo herself is, I wanted to listen to this on audiobook too, and it did not disappoint.

Emoni Santiago, our Afro-Latinx heroine, is a senior at a Philadelphia high school. She has a young daughter and they live together with her abuela. She's navigating motherhood, being a student, her love of food, and most warily, what her future holds. I loved that Acevedo doesn't use Emoni as some sort of moralistic emblem or cautionary tale. Emoni is not defined solely by being a teenage mother; she is not defined by one thing, she is a fully rendered character and a delight to follow on this journey. She has a defiant attitude that makes me smile, but an earnestness to do the right thing and to think of others. She learns a lot over the course of the book, and Acevedo's writing brings so much love and warmth to the good and the drama and the sadness AND the food descriptions! This will make you hungry to taste Emoni's magical culinary concoctions.

Like THE POET X, it's one I'm saving for my own daughter when she starts reading YA. Acevedo's extremely talented, in so many ways.

Do you have a list of books you borrowed from the library, loved, and want to own? I have a decent list going, and this was swiftly added—before I'd even finished. It was one of those impulsive moments at the library when I picked this up. I'd gone by on my way outta town to pick up my hold of AMERICAN SPY. As I was leaving, I saw this staring out at me. My brain sparked, recalling the loving reviews from some trusted friends and I grabbed it and went back to the checkout desk. I was supposed to finish AMERICAN SPY on that lakeside excursion, but instead I finished this one.

All this lead up only because I am *that* person that recalls the moment a really great book came into my life. Rosenwaike's short stories are all centered on women. The protagonists of each of her tight, compact stories are at various points of change regarding pregnancy, birth, parenting, and/or babies. She winds these tales through the characters' intimate thoughts—funny, genuine, heartbreaking—I had such a strong emotional reaction to various parts.

The story "June" contained a 'birth story' scenario that so closely resembled mine I had to put the book aside for a minute. I wondered: if I had read this story while pregnant or before ever becoming pregnant—would I have felt less fear in the situation? I've said this before, but I tend to learn more about the world and relate to it through fiction than through textbooks. I read (and was utterly bored by) a bevy of pregnancy and birth and parenting books. They did nothing for me. But, maybe, if I had read this collection before as my younger self, maybe I would have felt just a ~tad~ less anxiety (lol I mean, no, but). But regardless, it came to me when it did, and that was the right time, too. When I finished it, I sent a copy of the novel to my three friends in Los Angeles; we all had our daughters within two weeks of each other. I hope they recognize the beauty in Rosenwaike's collection as I recognize the beauty in each of them and what we share. I hope the last line sears through their hearts the way it did mine. I'm so glad this book exists; and I can't wait to own it.