This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

Well this was a very satisfying book two. The story of Lada and Radu and Mehmed that was set up in book one was amazingly extended here. First, I love the change of focus, as the three end up separate and are able to develop as characters separate of their joint personality. It makes the pacing really interesting, because there are many moments of great drama and violence, but with the evolution of the roles and lives of the characters, it doesn’t seem too be faced paced drama and violence. Yet as I think back, and almost wrote that it was a slower read, I realize that for how much happened, that would not really be fair. I don’t even know how to describe it, but it was the right style for this part of the story, without doubt. For Mehmed, that means we actually just get a lot less of him in this book. I would have been disappointed in that, if you had told me before I started, but I actually loved the way things progressed and didn’t miss him as much as I would have expected. For Lada and Radu, the character development is just gorgeously thorough and complex. We see the vicious bloodiness really grow in Lada, to lengths that are so extreme but so true to her character and the history of Vlad the Impaler. And I LOVE that ruthlessness in a woman. It terrifying and refreshing to read. For Radu, his natural tenderness and intelligence is truly tested in this book, and we see that his exposure to kindness outside of Mehmed creates a complicated situation for him, emotionally, that maybe will break his heart, but also may give him the relief from his heart’s previously confining connections. As far as romantic relationships, I think the minimal explorations here are perfect for the story. Ignoring that part of “growing up” is disingenuous (in my opinion) but having it be completely central in a story like this one would also not be correctly representative. White walked that line with finesse. Additionally, the way she looks at some of the extra “lady” issues that Lada has that would for sure have to be dealt with (and plague her) are not ignored, which again, I really appreciate. But also they do not stop her discomfort with the topics or prevent her from following her dark path to power. Last, I am super interested in seeing where some of our new characters go from here, like Cyprian and Daciana. They were great additions to the story. And the ending was a great moment of closure and standing on the precipice of what comes next – I enter the last installment with excitement and apprehension in equal measure. These characters and their stories are fascinating and so fully developed and I am holding out hope for a fireworks-filled finale!

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

Well I got the spectacular conclusion I was hoping for! This was a brutal, bloody, nonstop end. And I loved the way the story concluded. As I had mentioned in the second book, the story really moved away from the “trio” as a single unit and looked at each of them separately. In this final book, the focus truly shifts to Lada and Radu and, while Mehmed still plays large role (both in the present and in relation to what the three of them were in the past), his story is more in how it relates to the Dracul’s development that on it’s on/from its own perspective. While I would of course have loved more from him, I felt like the shift was naturally done and I don’t feel like this particular story is missing anything because of it. And really, it makes sense. Lada and Radu were the story from the start, and thus everything needed to finish back with them. Probably one of my favorite things was the no holds barred ruthlessness of Lada. It is refreshing and strangely empowering to follow a female character like that – one who makes the hard choices for power without regard to personal consequence. And though we get to see how that affects her emotionally, of course, her strength to push through and continue to make those choices without capitulating to feeling was wonderful to see. I mean, horrifying at times too, but my respect goes to the author for creating such a bloodthirsty leading lady. Especially one for whom the acts, although they get ever more gruesome (and are perhaps partially exacerbated by personal feelings) are truly carried out in pursuit of the greater goal/the benefit of the people and country that Lada loves so much. She never loses sight of that end game. On the flip side, I loved Radu’s more tender personality. Although he works in service to/of Mehmed and Lada, he spends this book really growing into his own character, realizing where he must draw lines and where he is not willing to go. Also, I love how he comes to accept that his personality traits that are so different from Lada and Mehmed’s need for power and “do anything for it” attitudes, are in fact strengths in their own right, that they would be able to find the same end, if that were what he wanted. And I and so unbelievably happy that he gets the ending he gets. He deserves it more than anyone. Lada and Radu were just…phenomenal flipsides of the same coin, sibling opposites, yet so true to their own beliefs/wants with an unwillingness to change/bend that was the perfect connecting shared trait. And in the end, they way they leave each other is a beautiful illustration of them both having grown up/matured. They both made compromises, but never once looked away from their individual end goals. Their personalities matured, but never swayed. Although there were some sad losses, there were also some beautiful moments (both of which made me tear up a bit). And while perhaps some things seemed to fall out a little too perfectly at the end, I cannot lie and say I wasn’t hoping for that type of ending. I was too invested in the story to want something else (and it’s not completely unrealistic, by any means). Altogether I was very happy with this final installation and ending to the Dracul story. It was a thoroughly entertaining and fascinatingly detailed historical fiction trilogy from an author who did a wonderful job tossing some YA themes and gender stereotypes on their heads.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I’ve seen this one around, especially on bookstagram, for years, but was never overly interested in it until recently, when I heard about the Netflix movie coming out. Then the hype got out of control…and I totally fell for it. Plus, of course, you all already know that I cannot watch a movie without reading the book first. Call it a personality flaw if you want. In any case, it turns out falling for the hype was totally not a bad thing and now I’m super excited to watch the movie. I’ve heard it’s both perfectly adorable (who can resist that?) and a wonderful addition to the (finally) increasing amount of Asian representation in lead movie/tv roles.

The basic premise of this story is one that really only works in rom com type stories, but is cute as a button for all that. Lara Jean Song has for years written love letters to the boys she’s fallen for. They are secret letters. Letters that she uses to get all her feelings out…and then buries in a hatbox under the bed to forget about/leave behind. But then, somehow, someone sends these letters. And all the boys she’s loved before find out exactly how she used to feel about them. Cue: embarrassment, drama, and elaborate cover-ups to throw people off the real trail. Cue also: Lara Jean’s coming of age, learning to share her emotions in real life and finding out who she might, truly, be in love with.

This was such a sweet little story. I’m sure we can all list out a couple [secret] middle and high school crushes that we had, how we thought they were so real, and how totally and completely embarrassed we would be if the object of our affections had actually found out. It’s such an emotionally relatable situation and, as such, opens the door almost immediately for connection between the reader and the protagonist. I enjoyed that each person in the story was real, and thus flawed (except perhaps the dad, who was endearing to a degree that I wish was more realistic). There were no perfect characters, which is so true for high schoolers (and everyone). Each of the possible “loves” had some great qualities and some less attractive ones, while Lara Jean herself was the right mix of sure and insecure that you often see in high school ladies. There were definitely some stereotypes played throughout the story, like the asshole jocks, the bitchy pretty/popular girl, the best friend who’s super into sex/substances, etc. While those may be stereotypes because they are often true, I’m not always a fan of books that use them to an extreme. On the other hand, I loved the little glimpse into Korean culture, at least (in particular in this book) from a food perspective, and some of the insights from Lara Jean into the common issues/questions she faces like who to be for Halloween that’s “believable” and “where are you from?” I was also fascinated by the little details/ways that their father tried to keep Korean culture and influence in their lives after the death of their mother – it’s super sweet and, I can only imagine, probably difficult for him (emotionally and as far as effort/time, because it’s not his natural culture). Relatedly, I loved the relationships between Lara Jean and her sisters and their father and how those developed after their mother’s death. They were some of the most touching moments of the book.

As far as the writing, it was simple and unpretentious, in a way that fit the story well, allowing it to be told smoothly and without distractions from either overwrought or sloppy wording. And it was a quick read – I sped right through it because I couldn’t wait to see how each of the relationships played out and which ones looked like they might actually be “the real thing.” It only took me a couple hours to get through the whole thing.

I knew that this was the first book of a trilogy, but I was a little bit hoping that the end would be more wrapped up. The thing is, I’m not sure that I loved it enough to keep reading the series (or at least not right away). However, there was a little more open-endedness than I would have liked and so I’m not totally convinced that I won’t keep going, eventually, if just to see where things end. And believe me, I love that, being stretched out like that, the relationship building has a chance to be more realistically timed – there’s no insta-love, which I am here for, especially considering the way things stood at the beginning of the book. It’s just that this wasn’t blow-my-mind good enough to run to the library for the next book immediately, when there are so many other books on my TBR. At the very least though, I really enjoyed the reading experience. Plus, as mentioned earlier, I am super excited to see the film adaptation from Netflix, as every is saying it’s done SO well.

Bottom line, there is never a bad time for a heartwarming little rom com that leaves you smiling wistfully at the end. And this book delivers that, all wrapped up in a nice, neat package with a big bow on top.

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

This is being lauded as the modern gay classic. Which of course means I had to read it. Plus, it was just made into a movie and, now that I’ve finished the book, I cannot wait to watch it! I really don’t have anything else to say as an intro here. This might be my shortest one ever. I guess that’ll make up for how long and gush-y this review is going to be.

Elio is 17 when Oliver comes to spend the summer at his family’s Italian villa. Every summer, Elio’s family hosts a scholar at their home, providing him a place to live while he works on a manuscript or other scholarly pursuit. But his summer things are a little different than normal, because Elio and Oliver are drawn to each other with a desire that makes them both hesitant. But when their walls finally drop, the intimacy they find is such that, though short in duration, will mark them both for life.

For starters, let me just say that no words I can come up with here will do justice to the words of this novel. Aciman’s writing is…everything. It’s smooth, smart, evocative, precise, meaningful. The language of this book is a masterpiece all on its own, and would be regardless of the story it was telling. It conveys such a complete and insightful picture of young lust, capturing with finesse and deep understanding the wholeness and all-encompassing-ness of it, the recklessness of it, the total paralyzing self-doubt and unsureness of it. The capture of Elio’s thoughts and feelings rings with such truth, and is told with such care, that there is almost an air of nostalgia in the writing; nostalgia for a time in life when young love supersedes everything. And it’s mesmerizing because that kind of youthful passion is something we can all understand, remember, empathize with. And the build-up to the moment of realization for Elio and Oliver is phenomenal. For over half the book the back-and-forth tension of two young people unsure of the other’s feelings and too shy to ask grows and grows until we finally, character and reader alike, get our moment of release. And it is everything we would want it to be, full of relief and shame and yearning for more and regret. Again, all the markers of first love are there in spectacular illustration. Then, as the story moves forward, what I love most is that there is no let down of language or tension even though the “major moment” has already happened. With an expiration date on their time together, the strain of that impending good-bye plays perfectly against the live in the moment reality of new love. The tone and atmosphere of this novel start on point and remain so until the end.

In addition to my obvious awe of this masterpiece of fictional writing, I really want to try and get my thoughts out about the “gay” aspect of the story. Although this is, as I mentioned, being called a major modern day gay classic, it was not written by an LGBTQ+ author. That does not, in any way, take away from the beauty of what Aciman wrote, but I think, in light of the recent push for #ownvoices literature, it’s worth a mention and discussion. Although that doesn’t lessen what is in these pages, what does that mean for it as a symbol in gay literature? I don’t know how I feel about it yet… Having just finished, I need more time to think it through, but for now, suffice it to say that I wonder. Interestingly, I read an interview with the author in which he said he didn’t start out planning to write a homosexual romance, but that that’s where the story took him. In reading I find that I believe that; it’s so clear that he followed the passion in his words to the end they found for themselves…so how does that play into this discussion? In a related point, it felt, to me, that this book spoke more to love for other humans (in a bisexual or pansexual way, if it’s something you want to fully label), as opposed to a specifically “typical” male/male gay love. It’s even specifically mentioned, them being “just two beings,” in the moment when they first consummate their relationship. That’s something I really identify with and understand. And I also wonder why that’s not a more often talking about aspect of the story. Yes, I understand that the connection Elio and Oliver share that summer is one they never find again, with anyone else, and that makes it something particularly special. So, as the main relationship in the novel, I also understand the lean to call it a m/m focus. But for me, it seemed to be about a greater love, a human love, and I sort of wish that takeaway was more widely seized on.

One other thing, and probably the main reason that I’m not giving this book a full 5 stars, is that I a little bit wish the last section wasn’t included. I feel like the impact of the story would have been greater, and stayed in a nostalgic light (instead of starting to lean towards a sad or regretful one), had the last section not been included. If Elio and Oliver’s tale had ended at the end of their summer, I think that heartbreak would have been a perfect ending, and in line with the fleeting young love feel of the rest of the novel. Although the tone of the last section still fit with the rest, the timeline seemed rushed in comparison. We have hundreds of pages for their few weeks over the summer together, and only a few dedicated to flying through the next 15 years of their lives...their separate lives. And I guess that I see Aciman wanting to highlight the importance of these youthful relationships, these young loves, these first “falling” feelings – that just because we are young, that doesn’t mean the intimacy isn’t real, the connection isn’t genuine, and that it may not be replaceable or re-find-able. But I would have loved to be left mourning the vestiges of that summer love alongside Elio and Oliver, without having to find out immediately how separation can ring death to that kind of closeness.

Regardless of that last paragraph concern/wish, I will still call this novel a masterpiece. It is the most intellectual romance story I’ve ever read. And it’s beautiful in that singularity. I highly recommend it, but with that recommendation comes a warning. Be prepared to be swept away from the first words. Be prepared to want to visit the Italian Rivieria immediately. And be prepared to find yourself yearning to get in touch with your first love. Because those feelings are never truly forgotten. Gorgeous and intoxicating.

And now, get ready for an inundation of quotes. What, did you think after all that incessant praise of the writing I wouldn’t give you an over-abundance of examples?

“I’d waited and waited in my room pinioned to my bed in a trancelike state of terror and anticipation. Not a fire of passion, not a ravaging fire, but something paralyzing, like the fire of cluster bombs that that suck up the oxygen around them and leave you panting because you’ve been kicked in the gut and a vacuum has ripped up every living lung tissue and dried your mouth, and you hope nobody speaks, because you can’t talk, and you pray no one asks you to move, because your heart is clogged and beats so fast it would sooner spit out shards of glass than let anything else flow through its narrowed chambers. Fire like fear, like panic, like one more minute of this and I’ll die if he doesn’t knock at my door, but I’d sooner he never knock than knock now.”

“Everyone goes through a period of traviamento – when we take, say, a different turn in life, the other via. Dante himself did. Some recover, some pretend to recover, some never come back, some chicken out before even starting, and some, for fear of taking any turns, find themselves leading the wrong life all along.”

“But sleep would not come, and sure enough not one but two troubling thoughts, like paired specters materializing out of the fog of sleep, stood watch over me: desire and shame, the longing to throw open my window and, without thinking, run into his room stark-naked, and, on the other hand, my repeated inability to take the slightest risk to bring any of this about. There they were, the legacy of youth, the two mascots of my life, hunger and fear, watching over me…”

“His face, which seemed both to endure my passion and by doing so to abet it, gave me an image of kindness and fire I had never seen and could never have imagined on anyone’s face before. This very image of him would become like a night-light in my life, keeping vigil on those days when I’d all but given up, rekindling my desire for him when I wanted it dead, stoking the embers of courage when I feared a snub might dispel every semblance of pride.”

“My heart is beating like crazy. I am afraid of nothing, so why be so frightened? Why? Because everything scares me, because both fear and desire are busy equivocating with each other, with me, I can’t even tell the difference between wanting him to open the door and hoping he’s stood me up.” *This quote is like the first half of the book in a nutshell. I love it!*

“I was on the cusp of something, but I also wanted it to last forever, because I knew there’d be no coming back from this.”

“From this moment on, I thought, from this moment on – I had, as I’d never before in my life, the distinct feeling of arriving somewhere very dear, of wanting this forever, of being me, me, me, me, and no one else, just me, of finding in each shiver that ran down my arms something totally alien and yet by no means unfamiliar, as if all this had been part of me all my life and I’d misplaced it and he had helped me find it.”

“I smiled back faintly, knowing I was already clamming up, shutting the doors and windows between us, blowing out the candles because the sun was finally up again and shame cast long shadows.”

“Perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. But then perhaps this is what lovers are.”

“He came. He left. Nothing else had changed. I had not changed. The world hadn’t changed. Yet nothing would be the same. All that remains is dreammaking and strange remembrance.”

“In your place, if there is pain, nurse it, and if there is a flame, don’t snuff it out, don’t be brutal with it. Withdrawal can be a terrible thing when it keeps us awake at night, and watching others forget us sooner than we’d want to be forgotten is no better. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything – what a waste! […] But remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. Most of us can’t help but live as though we’ve got to lives to live, one is the mockup, the other the finished version, and then there are all the versions in between. But there’s only one, and before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to
come near it. Right now there’s sorrow. I don’t envy the pain. But I envy you the pain.”

“We had found the stars, you and I. And this is given once only.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

In trying to expand my reading horizons, I realized that I had read very little from Native American authors. I have, of course, read a few my Louise Erdrich (most recently Future Home of the Living God), who is well established as respected as a female writer of Native American descent. But that’s pretty much all I could name off the top of my head, which is sad. As someone born and raised in the United States I was taught and knew, but didn’t really understand or fully comprehend, the history of the country in relation to the first people and nations. At least not until going to grad school (as a reminder, I studied public health) and truly got to see the staggering inequalities in health outcomes (and pretty much all related measures of “successful” living) faced by Native populations in America. And that’s really unacceptable. Though perhaps I cannot large scale change how long it took me, or most people who have that moment of education, to get there, I can at least do a better job with continuing to broaden my own understanding. And to spread that as far as my reach is able. To that end, as always for me: reading. Conveniently, Tommy Orange’s debut novel just recently burst onto the scene and was truly exactly the book I needed to pick up with that goal in mind.

I usually give a little plot synopsis here, but I am really having a hard time writing one for this book. I mean technically there is a plot. The primary story line is around the Big Oakland Powwow. All of our characters are somehow connected with the powwow – from helping plan it to being the emcee to competing in the dance competition to having a booth. And then there’s a few more characters. Those that, for various reasons, have been pulled into a plan to commit an act of violence at said powwow. So that story thread pulls us along, but at the same time, that’s not really what the book is about at all. It’s a character drive story. Exploratory and connective. And though by the end, things culminate in a an intense and terrible few hours and you’re on the edge of your seat to read what will happen to these characters (simultaneously crying and yelling at them while reading), that still doesn’t paint the whole picture of the power behind this novel.

This is a multigenerational story told from multiple perspectives. Some sections are long, some short. Some character’s perspectives repeat a couple times, others maybe once. They are told from different literary points of view, from different points in time, with different language and outlook. But they are all stories of “modern” Native Americans. Mutigenerational and fluid, we get snapshots of so many different kinds of stories, but all share the same common thread: the current day reality for those who share Native American ancestry. Each character is flawed in some, or multiple ways. Some more deeply than others. But they are all real, and they all work to open your eyes to how things truly are, to expose the generational struggles faced by this group of people, tracing back to the original mistreatment, marginalization, massacres as their land and homes were overtaken by European (and then American) “settlers.” This novel moves past the assumptions and stereotypes about how Native Americans are seen or what they should be, and shows what they are in an uncompromising and diversely representative way. Many different types of stories are told here and many different themes addressed. The breadth of reality is richly portrayed through looks at themes like poverty, self-discovery, addition (and recovery), abuse, adoption, cultural pride and exploration, cultural confusion and loss, acceptance and rejection, family and loyalty, family and betrayal, unemployment, mental illness and the ever-present being “nonwhite” but also not identifiably specifically something else. They are all themes faced by many, regardless of ancestry, but here they a fantastically framed by that common theme, which adds an extra layer to the circumstances. And the way they weave together by the end is a great series of interconnections that, as you start to recognize them as the reader, give you a very fulfilled reading experience.

There are a couple other things that I really liked and want to point out but that don’t fit anywhere else. First, the way the book is written seems to me to have paralleled one of the characters’ stories in particular. That characters has gotten a grant to collect stories from city dwelling Native Americans in order to paint a picture of their lives and experiences…and to potentially create a film art piece from them. Essentially, this book seems to me to be the written version of that – the only difference being that Orange’s vignettes all somehow connect together in the end, while one can assume that would not naturally happen for our book character’s collected tales. Regardless, it’s very cool. And I do wonder how much that particular POV is inspired by Orange’s own experiences and feelings. Though in fact, I wonder how much of all of these stories are personal experiences for him, or people close to him. The emotion with which it is written definitely implies that kind of deeper investment and passion. It’s a small thing, but as we get closer to the violent end, I love the way the POV changes/sections get short and staccato, bouncing around quickly to mirror the way the plot is moving at the point. And last, the title. I read the section in the book it was named for, of course, but also more from Orange himself on the reasons, and I just…think it’s perfect.

This book has so much to unpack related to intergenerational trauma, as well as some amazing philosophical explorations of what it means to be Native American today. It’s both so sad, and so insightful. And it really makes you think. What does make you who you are? What makes a people who they are? And when you’ve had your culture and history stripped away and retold and refashioned without your input, and all you have left is blood, how can you identify with anything without feeling lost or like a pretender? It’s a lot to think about, regarding identity and authenticity, but it’s imperative to stay open to it, even when it’s difficult. And there is no holding back or euphemism to make it easier on the reader. But that’s what make it so impactful and important. To that, I love that this book starts with (and has as a short interlude) essays by the author that more or less details, to a rightful extremity, the history of [extreme] prejudice and loss faced by Native Americans in the United States. This introduction sets the scene with anger and clarity for a story that should make you angry as you gain your own clarity.

That, in the author’s own words, this book was written to address the fact that there is no modern and urban Native American representation in publishing and literature is a crime. But Orange took the responsibility for filling that void seriously and has created something viscerally profound and formidable with this first novel. I would definitely recommend this book!

“If you were fortunate enough to be born into a family whose ancestors directly benefited from genocide and/or slavery, maybe you think the more you don’t know, the more innocent you can stay, which is a good incentive to not find out, to not look too deep, to walk carefully around the sleeping tiger. Look no further than your last name. Follow it back and you might find your line paved with gold, or beset with traps.”

“We’ve been defined by everyone else and continue to be slandered despite easy-to-look-up-on-the-internet facts about the realities of our histories and current state as a people. We have the sad, defeated Indian silhouette, and the heads rolling down temple stairs, we have it in our heads, Kevin Costner saving us, John Wayne’s six-shooter slaying us, an Italian guy named Iron Eyes Cody playing our parts in movies. We have the litter-mourning, tear-ridden Indian in the commercial (also Iron Eyes Cody), and the sink-tossing, crazy Indian who was the narrator in the novel, the voice of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. We have all the logos and mascots. The copy of a copy of the image of an Indian in a textbook. All the way from the top of Canada, the top of Alaska, down to the bottom of South America, Indians were removed, then reduced to a feathered image. Our heads are on flags, jerseys, and coins. Our heads were on the penny first, of course, the Indian cent, and then on the buffalo nickel, both before we could even vote as a people—which, like the truth of what happened in history all over the world, and like all that spilled blood from slaughter, are now out of circulation.”

“The wound that was made when white people came and took all that they took has never healed. An unattended wound gets infected. Becomes a new kind of wound like the history of what actually happened became a new kind history. All these stories that we haven’t been telling all this time, that we haven’t been listening to, are just part of what we need to heal. Not that we’re broken. And don’t make the mistake of calling us resilient. To not have been destroyed, to not have given up, to have survived, is no badge of honor. Would you call an attempted murder victim resilient?”

“It's important he dress like an Indian, dance like an Indian, even if it is an act, even if he feels like a fraud the whole time, because the only way to be Indian in this world is to look and act like an Indian. To be or not to be Indian depends on it.”

“Some of us got this feeling stuck inside, all the time, like we’ve done something wrong. Like we ourselves are something wrong. Like who we are deep inside, that thing we want to name but can’t, it’s like we’re afraid we’ll be punished for it.”

“When you hear stories from people like you, you feel less alone. When you feel less alone, and like you have a community of people behind you, alongside you, I believe you can live a better life.”

“…shit’s broken but we can’t just leave it broken.”

“…I got a little hope in my chest. Not that it’s gonna get better. Just that it’s gonna change. Sometimes that’s all there is.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I cannot remember where I first heard about this book, but I do know that I ordered it as soon as I saw it/learned what it was about. On theme with the recent increase of YA literature that tackles important social and equality-based themes, particularly those that are violence and race related (i.e THUG), this is a very strong addition to the field. I have been very “pro” this move to get more diversity and depth into the field of YA lit. Although these topics are heavy and difficult, they are realities that many YA readers deal with every day and ones that other YA aged people should absolutely be aware of, even (an especially) if it’s outside their own lived experience. Willfully not addressing them because the issues are too “mature” for the age group is disingenuous and dangerous. And so, I choose to buy, read and share these titles, in order to do my best to support these authors, these issues.

Long Way Down opens with Will’s older brother being shot and killed in a gang-related crime. And Will knows the rules. He knows what comes next. Don’t cry. Don’t snitch. Get revenge. Passed down through generations, there is no getting around the rules. So Will finds his brother’s gun, hidden in the middle drawer of his dresser in their shared bedroom, and heads out to follow through on the third rule…getting revenge. But on the elevator ride down to the lobby of his building, he is visited by a number of faces [ghosts] from his past. And Will realizes following the rules may not be as easy as he thought.

First, I have to address the fact that this book is written in verse. And it’s literally perfect. It was axactly the right formatting choice for this story/author combination. I am just so impressed with the precision of the language…as it must needs be with such limited room for exposition. Each line, each turn of phrase, each word, is weighted so heavily. Every individual piece (poem?) is so expressive and communicates so much with so little. And they hold up strong and beautiful under the pressure, with no sacrificing of character or “plot” development. In addition, the themes and references that carry throughout the book feel so purposeful – neither pushed too hard nor hidden too deeply – circling back around exactly when they should. The depth of meaning, emotion and message coming out of this story is just insanely powerful. The entire book is an example of absolute mastery of language and intimate knowledge of what will resonate most.

As for the story itself, I know I already mentioned in the intro how it addresses such important and timely topics. And it’s done with such aplomb. It’s real and gritty, yet graceful and smooth at the same time. Will’s time in the elevator, everything he learns about his family and what The Rules have done to them, carries an almost oppressive significance (one that you can almost actually feel along with Will). Plus, the fact that pretty much the entire book takes place during a 60 second or so window is incredibly creative and striking. And the ending, those last two words. Reading them deals a blow so hard it’s almost physical. I can’t really say more, as I don’t want to give anything away, but just trust me that it’s worth reading the book to get to them. (To be fair, it’s way more than worth it, considering that, being written in verse, it’s an insanely quick read.)

Last thing to mention: the illustrations. They are exactly right for the atmosphere, perfectly on tone.

Don’t let the fact that this review is so short (at least compared to many of my others) minimize the importance and impact of this book. There’s just only so many times I can say how affecting it was. You just have to go read it.

“ANOTHER THING ABOUT THE RULES
They weren’t meant to be broken.
They were meant for the broken
to follow.”

“People always love people more when they’re dead.”

“…feeling like
I wanted to scratch
my skin off scratch
my eyes out punch
through something,
a wall,
a face,
anything,
so something else
could have
a hole.”

“BUT TO EXPLAIN MYSELF
I said,
The Rules are
The rules.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

This was the inaugural book for #readacrossinstagram, co-sponsored by @saltwaterreads, @litonhst, and @words.between.worlds. So essentially everyone who participates in any or all of those three #bookstagram based book clubs would be reading the same book, all together, this month. First, what a heartwarming use of technology and digital (book-related) community! And second, what an amazing book choice for us all to share and experience reading together. Honestly, this is one of the best nerdy moments that I’ve ever been a part of.

Cassandra and Chula live in a gated community in Bogotá, Colombia, coming of age during the height of Pablo Escobar’s reign. As kidnappings and violence abound, a close relationship begins to form between Chula and Patrona, a live-in maid from the one of the guerilla-occupied slums surrounding the city. Both girls and their families do their best to maintain stability and survive both extreme and everyday coming-of-age moments in an increasingly unstable country. While Chula struggles to come to terms with the fear she lives with every day, Petrona finds herself in an even more dangerous, uncompromising situation. And when faced with an impossible choice, she makes decisions that spell disaster for both herself and Chula.

The inside cover of the book describes Chula as willful and Petrona as achingly hopeful…which are both some of the most accurate descriptions of characters that I have ever read. Especially Petrona. I cannot top that, so I’m not even going to try. In fact, I am having a fairly difficult time getting any original thoughts onto paper about this book. It’s been days since I finished and all I’m really coming up with is how much I loved it and how much it resonated. The details of the war, the violence, the instability and how they affected each of the girls, in accordance with their own personalities, experiences, and ages, including (and especially) the cumulative effects of fear and PTSD and desperation are developed and portrayed with a finely detailed finesse. And not just in the moment, but in the days, months, and years afterwards, when each woman uses whatever skills and coping mechanisms she has to deal with the trauma. It is a finesse that betrays, in a horribly insightful way, the intimate knowledge the author has had with these types of situations. In addition, the way that class issues are simultaneously addressed, as we see the stories play out very differently for Chula and Petrona, and really Alma and Petrona, is interwoven so smoothly. The way that privilege can save you from many things, but nothing can completely shield you from loss and pain and fear, is a deeply and exquisitely explored theme.

As far as the writing, it was just lovely. The right mix of poetic imagery and get-down-to-it action that pulled me into the story and wouldn’t let me go. I finished this in two days. And the end…I won’t transcribe the entire last three paragraphs, because I don’t want you to read them before you’ve had the build-up over the rest of the book to prep you for it, but let me just say that it was one of the most moving-ly written close-outs that I’ve ever read. Full of heartbreak and futility, but still also with a hint of that aching hopefulness that is Petrona’s essence. I literally read the last page like four times. Also, I just want to point out how much I loved the title. The way the Drunken Tree was used to represent, at least as I saw it, the various ways people can lose their minds when faced with impossible circumstances was the perfect metaphor. Titles are something that I don’t always think I fully understand, as far as how/why they are chosen. But here, it was perfect. This novel is affecting and haunting, in the way that I will be thinking about these characters and their lives for a long time to come. And that’s the best thing you can ask from a story.

This book, though it centers on two characters in particular, is really a story about women in war. Old, young or somewhere in between. Rich, poor or otherwise. There is, truly, nothing that can protect you from its impact. And the fact that it’s told based, in part, on experiences the author herself went through as she grew up in Bogotá really only adds to the power of the story. And I cannot say enough how blown away I am with her courage in sharing these parts of her life with so many people. It's such an important, though I'm sure painful, sharing of [lesser known] recent history. This is an absolutely phenomenal novel, both in general and when one considers that it’s a debut. One of my favorites of the year for sure.

“…I felt a growing guilt over nothing bad happening to me. The guilt bore into my skin, into my lungs…” (Explorations of guilt, especially for subtle or less-easily-explained reasons, really get me…I identify with those types of emotions strongly.)

“…the mind could do astonishing things… Maybe the astonishing thing was how much nicer the things they imagined were compared to the real suffering of their bodies.”

“When a boy is interested, always make sure you are the one to remain in power. Men will want to take power from you – that’s who they are – but don’t allow it – that’s who you are.”

“I began to see the Spirit of Holy Fear everywhere. It lived in my dreams, in the pipes that didn’t bring water to the house, in the television that showed me Pablo Escobar. It lived in the deep sound of electricity leaving our home – the sizzle static of the television, the humming of voltage through walls and floors and ceilings – ebbing, unwinding, pirouetting into silence. It lived in the quiet after the electricity was gone: the dog’s bark, a grasshopper’s song, the howling wind rustling the leaves of the Drunken Tree. It lived as some kind of imminent sense, some kind of dark wingspan that slowly advanced on our house.”

“When there’s a tempest, it comes down on all sides equally.”

“Better to imagine the worst. At least then you could be prepared…Time was, I agreed, a space full of agreeable and disagreeable surprises.”

“It made sense to stop speaking, to say only what was necessary and nothing beyond. It was a way to survive.”

“Multiply me when necessary,
make me disappear
when warranted.
Transform me into light when there is shadow,
into a star
when in the desert.”

“Once I thought that when you have nothing your life stretches toward nothing. In our farm in Boyaca, when the paras started to come, Mami instructed us to not see, to not hear. If we did it right, we would come out of it alive. We made ourselves deaf and dumb, but we still lost. The story repeated itself, and we lost some more. We had no other choice.”

“Sometimes the less you know the more you live.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I’ve loved everything I’ve read by Victoria/V.E. Schwab. A Darker Shade of Magic is one of my favorite trilogies (it just gets better as it goes) and Vicious (tag review) was actually one of the very first reviews I ever posted on my blog. Also an amazing book and one of the best, most original, takes on “mutant” powers that I’ve ever read. If you like X-men but also kinda think it’s overdone, try this book! Plus, the next book, Vengeful, is finally here! Five years and I am definitely hoping (assuming) that it’s going to be absolutely worth the wait. In any case, onto the book at hand. This is a great month for Schwab lovers, because not only is Vengeful out, but City of Ghosts just came out as well. I don’t usually foray into middle grade books, but for Schwab, and considering that this book sounded perfect for this time of year (hello, Fall!), I went for it.

This is the story of Cassidy Blake, whose parents are ghost hunters, pretty well known for their books, who have just gotten a deal to make a ghost-hunting tv show. First stop: Edinburgh, Scotland, one of the most haunted cities’ in the world. Cassidy goes with them, of course, but is slightly less excited about the adventure than they are because she has a pretty big secret. Unlike her parents, she actually CAN see ghosts. In fact, her best friend, Jacob is a ghost. And she has the ability to cross over the “Veil” that separates the living from the dead. When Cassidy meets another girl in Scotland that can do the same thing, she realizes there is a lot about her “gift” that she doesn’t know. And she’s going to be under pressure to learn it fast because some of the ghosts in super-haunted Edinburgh are very dangerous.

This was the cutest spooky story I have ever read. I have a super low tolerance for scary things, so I was just a little nervous going in, but I should not have been worried. This had all the awesome atmosphere and lore of ghosts and death, but without the “keep you up all night” scaries. So, I guess if you are in the mood for something that will really get your heart beating fast, please be aware that this isn’t it. However, if you are looking for a little adventure, with a side of supernatural, this is exactly that. Personally, I found the history and folklore of ghosts in Edinburgh really fun to read about. If you have been there (and especially if you loved it there, like I did) than it’s even more interesting because you can picture all the places in your mind as Schwab takes you there. [As a side note, if you are a Harry Potter fan (and really, who isn’t?), then you’ll love all the references that are dropped throughout this novel, including a visit to the Elephant House, the birthplace of HP, where Rowling first created the characters and began writing.] The aspects of the story related to Cassidy and Jacob’s relationship are very sweet, with just a little bit of drama to make them more plot-worthy. And Cassidy’s discoveries about why she has the ability to cross the Veil, and what her purpose is, act as a great little twist on a normal coming of age tale. As a middle grade book, things move pretty quick and, though well-developed, are fast and easy to follow and definitely not overly profound. Also, because of target age for readers, this is quite a fast read. I finished in just a couple of hours, if that.

Overall, although this has not made me want to read more middle grade books, I have to say that I fully enjoyed this book. It was a very lively (if you’ll pardon the pun) reading experience. And if you are looking for a light ghost-y read this Fall, for you or for a child, this one would be perfect.

“You can feel their breath on your neck, and every second you don’t look, your mind just makes it worse because in the end, what you don’t see is always scarier than what you do.”

“Every heroine needs an adventure.”

“Sometimes help is a place and sometimes it’s a person, and sometimes it’s a bit of both.”

“You don’t think about how unnerving silence is until it’s everywhere.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

This recent release is one that I was highly anticipating. I was pulled to it immediately after reading the title and synopsis and actually ordered it before its release date (which is not something I normally do). I’m not sure what exactly what it was that grabbed me so much, but sometimes that happens. And after years of reading, I have come to just accept that and move those particular books right to the top of my TBR.

It’s a little hard to give a plot summary for this novel, as, though it has a plot, it’s a very character centric story. You find out right away that Phoebe has fallen in with a local cult-like group and was somehow involved in a domestic terrorist bombing that killed five people. And Will, who met her at college and was fascinated by her from the start, is trying to come to terms with the fact that his girlfriend might have played a part, trying to reconcile the Phoebe in his mind with this one in the news/that the authorities are seeing. Simultaneously, Will himself is struggling with a personal loss of faith, which adds an extra [complicating] layer to the interactions he has with Phoebe related to her own participation in this faith-based cult.

It seems like the bombing would be the culmination of the story, and though there is definite build as we go, there is no surprise that that’s the culmination we wait for. The story itself is in how Will is looking back over his time with Phoebe, how Phoebe is looking back over her own life, to try and illustrate, for the reader, how our characters got to this point. Interspersed are snippets of thought and perspective from John Leal, the cult leader, which give a riveting glimpse into the way his explanations and justifications work. Those particular parts are particularly religiously philosophical, which is not usually my cup of tea. But they were very short and woven into the rest the of the story in such a way that they added to the atmosphere and upsurge of action in a way that complimented but didn’t overwhelm. And I found myself really appreciating their presence. In any case, back to Phoebe and Will. This novel is about the way their relationship plays out. We already know how it ends, but how does it get there? We see how it starts. We perhaps see some writing on the wall even from the very start, but who can see that when they are living it. It’s only in retrospect that these indications are visible. And at the same time, we can see that Will didn’t know as much about Phoebe, her life, her inner thoughts and guilts, as he thinks. So maybe it’s no wonder he didn’t see anything coming. But even as he spends time with the cult, trying to support (or just understand) her interest in the group, he can’t see what she sees. And instead of trying to find some other kind of help for her, he watches things unfold, almost like a bystander. It’s a horrifying way to watch something happen, as a reader. But it’s probably even worse for Will, looking back and wondering what he missed or where he could have made a different choice that might have prevented everything.

Altogether it was totally absorbing to read these character explorations. That sort of mesmerizing train-wreck story creation, mixed with the short sections and staccato, almost stream of conscious writing style, all combined to have me on the edge of my set, heart rate steadily increasing, from the very beginning. I love when an author can do that. It’s even more impressive to be able to build that type of tension even when we already know how it ends! It was a really cool anticipatory style of writing. And for such a short novel, only about 200 pages, it packs an intense, deep character driven punch.

This novel addresses a topic that so many people, across history and the world, cannot get enough of. It addresses the why. Humanity cannot help it, we always want to know why. And the why behind a person’s choices to join a cult, to engage in terrorist acts, is one of the least empathize-able that most of us would be able to think of. But our inability to understand is also what makes us so morbidly attracted to trying. Kwon takes that dark allure and turns it into something special here. For Phoebe, we truly get to see how the power of guilt grabs her, how it grows out of proportion, obscures and tints everything else, twists her view of life and self, leads to vulnerability and susceptibility, and finally drives her to the point that she would rather chase a far-flung hope to remove it than attempt to address and live with it. And though that seems like a clear path, there is still nothing given about how she ends up where she does when so many other with similar feelings do not. In that way, even though we get as much of an explanation as is possible, we are still left with an ending that is realistically, but frustratingly unsatisfactorily inconclusive. That may throw some people off, but it’s one of the things I loved most about this book. There are no false promises, conclusions, elucidations.

After reading this, I was left feel ragged and haunted. Which perhaps sounds terrible, but was actually perfect. Anything else would have been disingenuous to the story. If you are ever in the mood for an exploration of a person’s inner thoughts, the way a person’s actions affect those closest to them, or to delve into the mysteries of the human psyche…you should give this novel a try.

“Light spilled through closed eyelids, and I was turning into gold.”

“To love, he said, is but to imagine well.”

“In pain, I wanted the world to feel as I did.”

This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.

I received this book as an ARC from NetGalley back in April, and am a little ashamed to say that it took me this long to get to it. Honestly, I completely drawn to the collection when I originally requested it, and was psyched when I was approved to receive it. And then, for some reason, I kept talking myself into reading other books first. Maybe because it was a short story collection and those are not always my favorite. But like I said, I was immediately into it when I first saw it, so who knows? Regardless, when it began making the rounds on social media with its recent official publication, I knew it was time to stop putting it off. And then, when we lost electricity for a little bit during Hurricane Florence a little over a week ago (which was really not bad at all for me, where I live in central NC, though my thoughts are with the parts of the state that were not so lucky), I knew it was a sign. If you aren’t sure how those things are connected: NetGalley does eARCs, so you have to read on a Kindle or other device, which is not my favorite format, but I was all charged up and ready to go in preparation for the likely loss of electricity. And thus…here we are.

For all that I put off starting this, I powered through it so fast; read it in less than a week and really enjoyed it. Overall, it was a fascinating glimpse into Jamaican (and a little bit, general Caribbean) life, culture, language and beliefs from a great variety of perspectives, experiences and relationships with the island. From frustration to nostalgia, lifelong residents to vacation visitors, Arthurs paints an incredibly vivid image of Jamaica. Knowing that the author herself is Jamaican, grew up partially there and partially in the United States, this book felt, to me, like an exploration of all the paths her life (and the lives of people she knows) *could* have taken…and some, perhaps, that it did take. That may not actually be accurate at all, but it’s what reading these stories felt like to me. And I was into it. One other general thing I want to mention is that I liked the idea of the mermaid theming throughout the collection, but in the end, it fell a little flat to me. It needed to be either more present, or less so, but the in between that it hit was not the right spot. On the other hand, I loved the mother-daughter dynamics represented throughout - they were complex and thorough, foreign yet familiar, and entirely authentic.

And now, as always for my collection reviews, I’ll give a little snippet of thought on each short story:

Light Skinned Girls and Kelly Rowland: This was an interesting look at differences within a race, based on upbringing and background (just as with any people), and how that plays out/the strife it can cause…even though the root issue is something beyond the control, decided on years ago and by other people, of those who are actual involved. It is particularly insightful and educational for those of other races, so, me. A really straightforward but wonderfully meaningful story to start the collection.

Mash Up Love: Ahhhhh the age-old saga of sibling rivalry. This was basically on theme with the idea of the prodigal son. Well written, but nothing special.

Slack: Wow. The little details are what make this one, the way you get just enough background to see how each little moment played together to lead, inevitably, to creating the moment of tragedy. And the seduction of the idea of mermaids, especially for imaginative youth, is used so well here.

Bad Behavior: A lovely and quick meditation on motherhood, the relationships between grandmother/mother/daughter/granddaughter, and the way reactions to each change the course of interactions for the others.

Island: Yes. Just yes. I loved the themes of this story, the feelings it conveyed. Also, I just get really absorbed into discussions of and emotions around sexuality (the realization and self-discovery of) and coming out. This one is particularly interesting as it addresses these themes within the very strict and specific Jamaican culture.

Mermaid River: Such a sweet story about the memories of a boy and his grandmother. The color of nosetalgia here is strong and permeating - it makes you stop and think back on your own moments with your own grandparents. And there is a wonderful little message about how even small and oft overlooked places are chock full of so much life.

The Ghost of Jia Yi: This is definitely one of the most layered stories in the collection. Exploring a girl far from home and depressed, dealing with being an outsider and making questionable decisions that haunt her because of it…and looking at it all through the lens of another foreigner as an incarnation of what could happen to her as a result (even though all those” bad” decisions are really just normal decisions for a person her age, but the consequences and expectations seem, and truly are, so much higher for her). I really felt a vibe from this story, deep and vibrating, that I hadn’t felt from another story in the collection to here and I liked it. Also, those last lines are really affecting.

How to Love a Jamaican: I don’t know how I felt about this one. I mean, I liked the reading of it. And the theme of “this is all one needs to be happy,” but then not being fully satisfied with it, and possibly ruining it, even after finding it…that’s universal and well rendered here. But to read it this way, in such a large secret between a long-settled couple - it hurts me to imagine it happening to me, is all. This is a perfectly told tale of that situation though.

On Shelf: Whoa that was depressing. This was like a one-stop shop for all the possible judgement a women could get for her choices: education/work over family, late/no marriage or children, having standards for a partner that are “too high,” and more. And then when she caves, choosing someone for no better reason than she feels like her clock is ticking (someone that she’s not actually interested in and can’t share her full self with and definitely doesn’t love and who isn’t honest with her at all)…it almost physically hurt me. And thought I guess it’s ok for her, in the end, because she feels that the daughter the situation gave her was worth it…it was just a depressing story to read.

We Eat Our Daughters: Loved this collection of vignettes on mother-daughter relationships. They explore issues and pressures that are specific to Jamaican culture but are also, achingly, universally recognizable.

Shirley from a Small Place: Just a really well developed look at the idea of yearning for a place and time when things were “worse,” even though you’ve “made it.” It really speaks to the power of memory and nostalgia. And again, this is one with a great depiction of a mother-daughter relationship.

Chock full of cultural insight, capable writing and at least one mother-daughter relationship that you are sure to identify with (that is, if you have even been a mother or daughter yourself), this is a great debut collection. Incredibly solid short stories across the board that, though I do have some favorites, do not fall into the trap of a few star stories mixed with a number of duds. Thematically on point throughout, I look forward to seeing what Arthurs writes next.