At first, all I knew about THE OLD DRIFT were the raves of a couple trusted friends, so I was definitely intrigued in the seemingly gargantuan book. After seeing Serpell at the Brooklyn Book Festival for a panel on 'Decolonized Epics: History, Fantasy, and Futurism in African Writing and its Diaspora,' in which she read a passage from the 'future' Zambia of her book, I knew I had to read it, and SOON. Luckily, I found it in paperback

WE CAST A SHADOW opens with a set piece that recalls the visceral, intense opening scene of Ralph Ellison's INVISIBLE MAN, a book I'm so glad I read last year. While listening to the wonderful voice-actor Dion Graham inhabit the Black narrator in the beginning of SHADOW, describing a party held by the law firm he works for, as he vies for a promotion in a ceremony... of sorts, my mouth dropped open. Agape much in the same way I was when listening to INVISIBLE MAN, hearing that narrator vying for a scholarship to college. Ruffin evokes the classic work in many ways, and does a fascinating job of updating the satire of the nearly 70-year-old earlier novel, into a possible near-future of the United States. There's an absurdist bent to the narrative, but when taking a moment to think, realize the absurdity is to believe that this *couldn't* happen.

The narrator lives in the South, likely New Orleans, and he's the only Black man in his neighborhood. It's a world in which society has turned its back on the progress of the civil rights movement and 'demelanization' medical procedures are being used. The narrator, married to a white woman, has a son named Nigel who appears white except for a brown birthmark near his eye that the narrator fears is growing. This paranoia fuels his entire existence; he wants a promotion so that he may pay for the procedure and save his son from living life as a Black person. This book is bold and ambitious, and I was surprised to find out it was a debut. Ruffin manages to create such a sharp commentary on modern society. With the sometimes frenetic, first-person narration, the reader learns about this future state in snippets, and has to often step back from being in his head to see what's happening. It's a marvel, really. Funny and biting, depressing and caustic, this book is a worthy successor to Ellison, and that is high praise.

Every year the Tournament of Books makes me pick up a book I never would've chosen on my own. So I was happily surprised as Marin Ireland's Tennessee-twanged voice led me to discover Lillian, unlikely (modern day) governess to two flammable children. Two children who burst into flame when their emotions run too... hot. And as bizarre as that premise is, the endearing qualities of Lillian and her straight-forward conversation, skeptical observations, and humor really held it all together for me.

And it's an immediate story: as it was being told I was laughing out loud and smiling and occasionally flinging that accent into my own voice. But, once stepping back and breathing after the end, there is something a little one-note and missing in the central friendship, something that remains shallow about the narrative. Regardless: an entirely enjoyable audiobook. In the ToB, it's up against my current read of GIRL, WOMAN, OTHER and I fail to see how it will be able to conquer that already.

If you need something fun and weird and endearing, I recommend NOTHING TO SEE HERE.

I was very surprised at the end of December when a few book club members said they would love to put THE STARLESS SEA in the vote for when I hosted the meeting in January. Even after sending a synopsis of the fantasy novel, it got the most votes. I did not want to read this book. I made sure everyone who voted for it planned to read it (it may have involved a threatening e-mail three weeks before the meeting about how this was a 500+ page book so they better have started already

I decided to download this book from my library's app on a whim, since seeing good reviews for it, and needing a break from the heavier reads I was juggling in print. I certainly got a break! Listening to this audiobook on public transit was very... blush-inducing. I'm not one to shy away from frank depictions of sex, but y'know, with a cover like this, I wasn't expecting a romance with a sex worker. I was a little turned off by the premise at first, but it really came around for me as Hoang develops Stella and Michael into three dimensional characters.

Analytical Stella, our econometrician protagonist, is great with numbers, has Asperger's, and has trouble relating to most people. She believes it's time to understand how to be in a relationship and therefore (she thinks) to know how to have good sex, something she feels she's faltered at in the past. So she employs Michael, a half-Vietnamese escort, who has reasons for taking on such work that are revealed as the story unfolds. They enjoy instant chemistry, and for a romance, I liked being surprised by some of the turns of events—it doesn't happen a lot in the genre for me. I really, really enjoyed getting to understand Stella's perspective, and the fact that the author is also on the autism spectrum. It allows the reader to perceive what it's like navigating relationships and interactions as Stella.

The novel felt genuine in so many respects; she touches on family and Vietnamese culture, but also money, expectations, gender roles, and what constitutes 'good sex.' There were still parts that felt a bit corny, but that was probably because I was listening to the book, and would've been easier to read in print. Hearing the word "c*ck" repeatedly just, uh, well, y'know, depends on the reader I guess...........!

I like when a sexy romance is fun and offers a little more to think about as well.

Woof. Definitely not for me. Longer review to come.
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I was prepared for a light, fluffy, perhaps melodramatic book about a young woman navigating the world of book publishing. And yet I found myself constantly annoyed by the characters and plotlines. This is one of the most dated books I've read recently; and I don't mean because it's set in 1987. I feel like it was written in the '80s and then published in 2019 without an edit, or anything meaningful to say.

You can certainly set something in the past and use the setting to comment about contemporary life, perhaps about drastically things have changed—or they haven't at all. TRUST EXERCISE did this really well (also set in the '80s for a large portion). THE LAST BOOK PARTY has no commentary, even when the protagonist Eve is propositioned more than once by men in powerful positions—that she works with. You'd think there'd be a very clear connection to modern times; but there is not. Instead: romance!