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

“But the problem with the rules, he reflected, was that they implied a right way and a wrong way to do things. When, in fact, most of the time there were simply ways, none of them quite wrong or quite right, and nothing to tell you for sure which side of the line you stood on.”

This one has been on my TBR for quite some time. I got it in a monthly book subscription box (Muse Monthly, which, sadly, has closed that part of their business), about a year ago. It’s been on my shelf since then. I read Ng’s first book, Everything You Never Told Me, a couple years ago now and, while I was really impressed with the family dynamics and the way everything subtly played together, it was also a slow-burn sort of read. As a result, I was waiting to be in the right mood for a book like that before picking it up. And then, of course, time got away from me. So, when this was one of the options for my in-person book club, you know I voted for it!

Little Fires Everywhere takes place in a perfect neighborhood outside Cleveland – one of those places where there are rules about what color your house can be and exactly where your trash needs to be placed on pick-up day for the best aesthetic. The Richardson family is a perfect example of the type of people that live there. Dad is a lawyer, mom writes interest articles for a local paper, and all four kids are on track for great things. But perhaps things are not as perfect as they seem. When Mia and her daughter, Pearl, arrive and begin renting the Richardson’s nearby “investment” property some cracks start to show. The relationships Pearl creates with each of the Richardson kids, as well as the way Mia steps in to help the daughters in particular ways, throws the family dynamics considerably off track. Then, there’s a custody battle over a Chinese-American toddler that causes everyone in the Richardson family to question strongly-held, previously black and white, beliefs. And when Mia’s past decisions are brought into sharp relief by these events, it causes some tough decisions, and consequences, for everyone.

Ng’s prose is so fast and smooth that this book was almost effortless to read. The pages flew by and, quickly, I was completely caught up in the incredibly tangled web she created for her characters. There were many universal themes that were explored throughout this novel, but between the flawless writing and fascinating drama, you almost didn’t even notice how complex the “philosophical” explorations were getting. It’s really quite an impressive feat. Though similar in substance to Ng’s first, I thought this was just a little bit better. It’s got a faster pace and even more intertwined plot, while not really sacrificing character development – which for me was perfect. And though that character development is particularly focused on just a couple of the characters, I liked what we got. The way that Pearl finds something in the Richardson household that she’d never had, while the Richardson children (especially the girls) found something in Mia/Pearl’s home that was eye and soul-opening, was a great way to illustrate a couple concepts. We really get to see “the grass is always greener on the other side” in action, while also appreciating that experiencing alternative life views is an important part of growing up and self-discovery. And I enjoyed the way that for some, like Pearl and the oldest Richardson, Lexie, it was educational but didn’t necessarily change their trajectory, while for others, like the youngest Richardson, Izzy, it was absolutely transformational and upended her life course. It was a nice balance of outcomes that seemed very realistic for each within their experiences and personalities. And one more line about Izzy – WHOA! I mean, I like where the story leaves her, actually, and I’d kinda love a spin-off book about her. But her final act before the end of the book is actually crazy! (If you’ve read this already – I’d love to know what you thought about it…leave me a comment!)

I also loved/hated the way Ng looks at the importance of appearances and the truth the what the outside sees is not always fully reflective of what is happening on the inside. When I say love/hate, I mean I really loved how deeply, and from how many angles/perspectives she addressed this and I hated the primary character it all revolved around. This topic is one that, at least in my opinion, is very close to the heart of many millennials (of which I am one), who struggle with the dichotomy of needing to look like you have it all together (in the vein of the “American dream”) yet see the BS behind all that, in regards to how limited access is to said dream, as well as how limiting the dream itself is. As a result, I really got into that aspect of this book. And, because of who I am, choices I have made, and my general values, I actually hated Mrs. Richardson. She stood for all the high-handed, condescending, self-centered, unilluminated privileged ideals that make you feel like you’re a good person, but comes from a place of self-congratulation and close-mindedness (specifically in regards to being willing to see why your world-view is not always, or ever, right) and is actually more dangerous than just straight up accepting being a bad person. Her actions were based off single-sided decisions/thoughts that caused so much pain/heartache that she truly had no idea about – I just could not stand her. And it’s because of all that that her daughters turn to Mia so clearly in general and in times of need, which truly sucks for both her and them, that their relationships were so paper thin. I realize I just went on a bit of a rant there…so I’m sorry. I know she had some of her own internal struggles and probably thought she was doing what was best for the people she cared about and usually I try to give characters (and people) the benefit of the doubt. But the path to hell is paved with good intentions and I just couldn’t get over it to try to like her…at all. Regardless, clearly Ng does a great job eliciting emotions and exploring this topic!

And the last thing that I want to mention is the custody battle. When reading the blurb about the book, this felt really out of left field and I struggled to see how it connected with the rest of the characters and the great story-line. But after reading the book and looking at Mia and Lexie’s decisions, then looking at how the custody battle plays out and makes people think about how they might act in similar situations (giving rise to a bit more thought and empathy than was in play at the beginning), I absolutely see how it all connects. And it acted as the perfect vehicle for the greater “educational” moments for all the youth in the book, and some of the adults, as they learn about how most things in life are not black and white, but instead myriad shades of grey. In addition, the consideration of race and cultural issues, and the importance of keeping one connected to their own traditions and history, is an important one. The way that “not seeing race” (a common and misguided refrain of these days) is explored from the lens of motherhood, a lens that is accessible for many, is an inspired way to teach about such an important topic. Credit to Ng for the insights and nuance in this facet of the book.

I have nowhere else to put this, so I’ll drop it here – I was really into the art aspects of this novel. Mia’s photography really brings together the different stories and is a great final “recognition” for each of the Richardson’s at the end. Plus, it’s just so creative in its own right! Overall, this was a fantastic family drama with a great message about how the “perfect” and most fulfilling life can, and should, look very different for different people. It was both a page-turning spectacle and an introspective examination, and Ng’s skill in pulling that juxtaposition off so smoothly is great. I can absolutely see why so many people have read and loved this book and I think you can count me among their ranks.

“How lost do you have to be to let the devil lead you home?”

I got sucked in by the hype on this one. Everyone was reading it. I put it on hold at the library and it took over three months for it to be available. And, really, the blurb really did make it sound fascinating. So it’s not like it took a lot of convincing to get me to add it to my TBR, but for sure the hype made me move it up the list.

This novel is basically a murder mystery, but with a crazy twist. Aiden Bishop wakes up at Blackheath Manor every morning in a different body. And every day at 11pm, Evelyn Hardcastle is murdered. Somehow, Aiden must solve the mystery of her death in order to escape the loop. But having a different body every day is making things hard, especially because some are much more useful than others.

This book is a really entertaining Dr. Who/Clue/Agatha Christie mash-up. There were so many parts of it that I absolutely enjoyed. Each of the characters Aiden inhabits are all wonderfully/horribly unlikable (and in some cases, downright icky) in their own ways. But mixing their personalities with Aiden’s own was a really unique way to parse out the unlikable from the usable/beneficial/not-so-bad and was actually a fascinating psychological exploration in its own right. The details of the story, as they must be in order to make a plot as complex as this work (think how many plot holes there usually are in time travel novels and you’ll have an idea what all Turton had to juggle here), were just phenomenal. The little clues and insights that pop up throughout each different “host’s” part of the story, and how they come back to play a role in all the other host’s perspectives, was incredibly intricate and impressively executed. I also felt like the general “whodunnit” part was well developed, with all the twists and turns you could possibly want out of a murder mystery. I thought a couple times I guessed things (and then it seemed like I had because Aiden reached the same conclusion) and then another dramatic change would happen and then we’d all be back at square one. This was made more complicated by the fact that sometimes we were actually right, but then one of Aiden’s hosts was able to change the flow of the day and things partially reset. It really was an engrossing plot.

There were, however, a few things I was less enamored of. This part may contain some small spoilers, but really vague ones and nothing that gives away any details of the murder mystery itself. Just be cautious as you read this paragraph. Basically, the entire “mental orison” part of the book felt distant to me. Anna was supposed to be some kind of terrible, awful, person in real life, but that reveal was so fast you could miss it if you blink. In fact, I read it twice just to be sure that isn’t what happened to me. Her past was described so quickly and vaguely that I just really didn’t feel it, especially since, in the context of what we were reading, she was essentially an unknown. Aiden’s knowledge of/relationship with her changed daily, based on his host body, and his mysterious knowledgeable contact, the “Plague Doctor,” gave lots of mixed messages about her than changed based on the day and also seem not to be related to anything Aiden was actually experiencing (at least in the present cycle that he was in that we were experiencing with him). Honestly, I just wasn’t emotionally invested in her past or her transition into somehow becoming a better person because it was all kind of background to the murder mystery and not given enough page time to develop into something that seemed real. I kind of felt the same about Aiden’s past, and what we learn about his connection to Anna, as well as most of the “outsider” characters, like the murderous footman – I just couldn’t get invested. I loved the murder and mystery part of the story and while I appreciate the attempt to explain what is, admittedly, a crazy situation that does need explaining, the depth of the sci-fi/futuristic side of things was just really underdeveloped compared to the rest of the story. I feel like too much was tried there without enough time/space to truly delve into it. I just would have appreciated a less complex, or more thoroughly developed, explanation. And that is a bit weird for me, since I do love sci-fi, and truly the concept of mental prisons is fascinating. It may have been better if we had multiple perspectives, and got to “know” what the Plague Doctor knew from inside his own mind, because that would have provided space for more details. But, since Aiden’s perspective(s) were the only ones we got, it was too much for this single novel. I think I just wish it was either addressed better or not included at all.

Overall, this was a super entertaining book. I was really into the mystery part and loved the concept of Aiden being in different hosts, with different knowledge and skills, and trying to piece together the story in that scattered way. It was such a creative framework and the clues and twists were masterfully carried out. If that’s all it was, this book was get a much higher recommendation for me. But Aiden and Anna’s backgrounds, and the distance I felt from the entire part of the story regarding why they were in this loop in the first place, really bummed me out. It’s like having to review and recommend two entirely different novels. So, I’m splitting the difference and going right down the middle. I can see why everyone loved it, and while it was a solid and diverting book, I just can’t get on the hype train for it.

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

I was intrigued by the title of this book before I even knew what it was about. I wanted to know who the girl who smiled beads was and what it even meant to smile beads. After reading the description, I realized it was completely different than what I was expecting (though I am not really sure what I was expecting instead), but was compelled to read it anyways, based on the subject matter. I am trying to read more nonfiction, to learn about different life experiences in a more real way (not that realistic fiction is not often equally as illuminating), and though I knew about the Rwandan genocide, it happened when I was very young, and is not really taught in basic schooling, so my details about it are vague and hazily horrific. This seemed like exactly the way to address this particular hole in my knowledge and understanding.

This is the story of Clemantine Wamariya. Although I had not heard of her before this, the publication of her memoir, she was a guest on an episode of Oprah Winfrey’s show in 2006, when she and her sister, Claire, were [briefly] reunited with the rest of their family (who they had last seen in 1994). In the time in between, Clemantine and her sister traveled in a years-long odyssey across Africa, from country to country, refugee camp to refugee camp, one trauma and degradation after another, after escaping the genocide in Rwanda. Interspersed with this story is another, of her and Claire after their arrival in the United States, granted asylum through a program set up for refugees of the genocide, and what that adjustment was like.

This was a profoundly affecting memoir, both in the ways you might expect and in ways that you might not. First, and obviously, the straightforward trauma of violence and war and dehumanization and refugee camps that Wamariya (then 6 years old) and her older sister experience in their flight from Rwanda and journey through Africa. It’s tangible and appalling, as it should be. However, if you are here for a voyeuristic glimpse at another’s pain, look for another book – this is not that kind of morbid literary tourism. Wamariya’s depictions are expressive and communicative in a different kind of way, one that is every bit as moving and disturbing, perhaps even more so, as she lived through all this as a young child, and her sister not much older. And then there’s the real meat and importance of the story, in my opinion anyways. Not to take away from the clear terror of war and deprivation, but the long-term consequences of that. The difficulty Wamariya has in processing what she experienced, how she learns not to trust anyone, how she loses her sense of self and place in the world, and the impossibility of emotionally dealing with any of this in a way that allows for “full” recovery.

There were so many parts of this read that really speak strongly to the reader. Wamariya’s explanations about the history of colonialism in Rwanda. In straightfoward and unequivocal terms, she places the blame for this genocide squarely at the feet of the Belgian powers and their completely arbitrary guidelines about and creation of superior and inferior sects of the population. She follows this up with a wider accusation at the world, who promised to never allow this again after the Holocaust, and then turned their backs completely, saying “We Africans could kill each other if we wanted. We were not anybody else’ problem.” And though it may be hard to read this, and the instinct is to get defensive, one truly cannot hide from the truth she speaks. Her sense of betrayal at this, and, closer to home, at the interpersonal experiences of abandonment/letdown from Claire’s husband makes it little wonder that she has such anger and struggle to allow people close throughout her life. In addition, her musings about losing herself and what that meant – becoming just another face in the crowd at a refugee camp, learning to just become the person everyone wanted you to be (one she got to the US), and more – is truly heartbreaking. To this end, the connection she makes with Elie Wiesel’s story, and later the man himself, is so important and touching, as it allows her the first steps toward claiming no claiming her rightful emotions, anger included and primary. She, and everyone who lives experiences like this, deserves that recognition and release.

One other thing that stuck out to me, personally, was actually more focused on her sister. Claire lives through all the same things, while also having the responsibility of caring for Clemantine, and never once gives up or settles for what they have. Even in situations that could be considered “better,” she does not fool herself into thinking that’s all they deserve/can achieve. She maintains her standards and is so creative and aggressive in reaching for them. Yet with all that, she still falls prey to so many traumas specific to women, particularly at the hands of her husband, yet culturally she accepts all that for so much longer than, at least as a reader, her demonstrated inner strength “should” have. The tragedy there is heartbreaking to read for so many reasons. Then, upon arriving in the US and being too old for mandatory schooling (as opposed to Claire) all that gumption and business-sense is wasted because the system places her in a position where there is no chance of using it. Claire loses not only her youth, during the conflict, but any of the chances Clemantine has afterwards, simply due to age during each individual circumstance. And it’s not like Claire is the only one with that kind of loss of life potential. On top of everything else…that’s such a universal loss for the world. Between that, and the clear mental health issues they both face in dealing with what they’ve seen, this book makes it clear, more than anything I’ve seen/read before, how woefully under-served/acknowledged/addressed this community, refugees’, needs are. And it’s an important lesson in the importance of not taking things (like Oprah’s reunion show or Wamariya’s good behavior at school after immigrating) at face value because trauma is persistent and insidious.

Wamariya speaks of physical, mental and emotional trauma with equally searing terms – expressive and sincere in their brevity and transparency. Speaking not just of the war and genocide itself, but the following years of dehumanization, violence, fear, mistrust and pain that continue in the aftermath, and forever, is the real power here. “Escaping” to America may be great, sure, but then what? What about the land and the people and the connections you’ve left behind; what about processing what you’ve been through; what about adjusting to a new country/culture/set of expectations? It’s not only the first survival, but every one after that that makes a person’s story. And Wamariya speaks of this in a way that makes it so clear the struggle is not over just because you “get away;” that the struggle simply changes shape. And that’s what struck me so hard about this memoir. The story doesn’t end where you’d think, assume, or want it to…that message, and its implications, are everything.

Wamariya’s struggle to comprehend and understand what all she has experienced, and what it means, are impossible to imagine but also so clearly articulated. This is an incredible story and a memoir I definitely recommend.

“Every human life is equally valuable. Each person’s story is vital. This is just one.”

“It’s strange, how you go from being a person who is away from home to a person with no home at all. The place that is supposed to want you has pushed you out. No other place takes you in. You are unwanted, by everyone. You are a refugee.”

“We failed, every day. How could we not fail? Our lives were structured for defeat.”

“I had never considered just smiling and being happy. It seemed like a useful skill. I wanted to do that.”

“I did not understand the point of the word genocide then. I resent and revile it now. The word is tidy and inefficient. It holds no true emotion. It is impersonal when it needs to be intimate, cool and sterile when it needs to be gruesome. The word is hollow, true but disingenuous, a performance, the worst kind of lie. It cannot do justice – it is not meant to do justice – to the thing it describes. […] The word genocide cannot articulate the one-person experience – the real experience of each of the millions it purports to describe. The experience of the child playing dead in a pool of his father’s blood. The experience of a mother forever wailing on her knees. The word genocide cannot explain the never-ending pain, even if you live. […] You cannot bear witness with a single word.”

“…I was – nothing, reduced to nothing, and yet still contained a galaxy of horrors.”
“The human mind is an amazing, resilient, self-deceptive thing.”

“To be a refugee was to be a victim – it was tautological. And not just a victim due to external forces like politics or war. You were a victim due to some inherent, irrevocable weakness in you. You were a victim because you were less worthy, less good, and less strong than all the non-victims of the world.”

“[Claire] thought lingering in a good camp was even more dangerous than staying in a bad one. We could not start to believe this life was okay.”

“Trying to circumscribe and commemorate the pain of the entire country is not really possible.”

“Life just kept shattering, the bricks of decency falling in a pattern both so illogical and so regular that we didn’t even try to trace the chain reaction of destruction back to any particular origin anymore. There was pain. People felt threatened. Someone inflicted a wound.”

“I’ve seen enough to know that you can be a human with a mountain of resources and you can be a human with nothing, and you can be a monster either way. Everywhere, and especially at both extremes, you can find monsters. It’s at the extremes that people are most scared – scared of deprivation, on one end; and scared of their privilege, on the other. With privilege comes a nearly unavoidable egoism and so much shame, and often the coping mechanism is to give. This is great and necessary, but giving, as a framework, creates problems. You give, I take; you take, I give – both scenarios establish hierarchy. Both instill entitlement.”

“All the things we do not say create not just space but a force field between us, a constant, energetic pressure. Two people in pain are magnets, repelling each other. We cannot or will not reach across the space to connect.”

“It’s truly impossible to hold all the single experiences of suffering in the world in your mind at the same time. The human brain can’t handle that much pain. You cannot differentiate and empathize with each of those distinct people. You cannot hear each of their stories and recognize every individual as strong and special, and continue on with your day.”

This one has been on my TBR since it was published. And even after it was starting to get mixed reviews, I still wanted to read it. Feminist dystopia is one of my favorite sub-genres. And I loved (in a literary-interest way, not in an actual real-life way because OMG NO) that the premise of this “dystopia” was so unbelievably close to something that could actually happen in the US today. That “just a hair off of reality” vibe is what truly makes this genre such a scary one. Also, it must be noted that the not-so-subtle message in the cover design/color really struck my fancy.

Red Clocks takes place in a remote, small town setting in Oregon. It’s essentially present-day, but a very conservative government/vote has recently pushed through the Personhood Amendment, which grants rights of life, liberty and property to every embryo – with a multitude of (perhaps not fully thought-through, or perhaps completely intentional) side effects for single-parent homes, adolescent pregnancies, and more. In addition, abortion has once again been made illegal and in vitro fertilization is now banned. This story focuses on five women struggling under and around these new laws and their implications. Ro, a single high school teacher who wants more than anything to have a child. Eivør, a little-known artic explorer from the 19th century, about whom Ro is writing a biography. Susan, a wife and mother of two, unhappy in her home and in her marriage. Mattie is 15 years old, an adopted daughter to loving parents and one of Ro’s high school students, who finds herself pregnant and alone. Gin is a local herbalist, who assists with general healing and rumor is that she can help if you find yourself with an unwanted pregnancy. In this novel, all their stories and lives overlap as the reader gets a full picture of the limitations on women, and the over-involvement of government in their lives/decisions, as a result of these new laws.

From the start, I want to be honest. I was not as enamored of this book as I thought I would be after reading the description. And I can completely see where the mixed reviews came from. First, I feel like the writing was a little all over the place. It was a very choppy style that, at least for me, didn’t totally work. I respect that the author tried to give each section, each voice, something a little different. But with five perspectives, it was a lot of jumping around to deal with. Also, multiple times, the characters trains of thought or narrative styles turned disconnected or erratic, which I think makes sense, given their stressful situations/frames of mind, but again, it made it really tough to get into a flow with the story. On a random note, I don’t really know why Eivør’s story was included in the first place…at least not as its own POV. Hers were the choppiest sections and, clearly, had the least to do with exploring the main themes of the novel in current day. I would have preferred either one more present-day perspective instead OR just four main voices. And last, the overall basis for the story. I actually loved that, in general. But there was something about the specific plots and stories that were told that, I felt, kind of fell short of fully unpacking the issues. Now granted, there is clearly way too much to unpack for a book this length to be able to do all of it. And I understand that. But I just think Zumas missed the mark with it a little. It seemed as though she tried to do too much (with so many points of view) that none of them were as fleshed out as I would have liked. Focusing in on any one of them more, though, may have meant missing one of the points she was trying to make though, so I see why she wanted to include them all. Honestly, it’s just that, at least for me, the outcome didn’t quite match the ambition. Finally, I’ve seen a lot of talk about the lack of diversity in the characters, partially racial, but especially gender-based. Though I absolutely do not disagree, I think, considering the setting, it’s also not entirely unrealistic. And, since one of my complaints was that the scope was already too ambitious…I don’t think more could have been added without diluting it further and, in the end, doing no justice to any of the included perspectives.

However, despite all that, there were still absolutely things about this novel that I loved. First of all, despite the style of writing being distancing, the language itself was exactly what I wanted. Let me explain, cause that’s confusing. I cannot say how much I loved the way she talked head on, no holds barred, bluntly, from start to finish, about women’s bodies. Everything, from talk about insemination to sex to periods to pregnancy to just body parts and pieces in general, was straightforward, told with no occlusion or euphemism. It was awesome. Women’s bodies, and what they can do, should absolutely and unequivocally always be talked about this openly. There is nothing gross or wrong about it. It’s biology and medical terminology. Rock on, Zumas, for doing your part to normalize that. I also was really into the individual stories themselves. I felt like every character POV (other than Eivør) that we interacted with had a very compelling story. In particular, I enjoyed reading Ro’s internal struggle with her strongly-held morals vs her personal wants in how she interacted with Mattie. In any case, perhaps my “want” to get more invested in them, since they were so gripping as base, was why I was so disappointed that they weren’t more expanded/developed. They were well chosen to give us a great wide-angle view of all the different ways, some obvious and some less so, that the new laws negatively impacted women’s lives, happiness, and well-being. And the side stories within them, like Mattie’s friend or Gin’s Lola, provided some nice extra points of view, as well. Last, I was really happy with the way the story-line(s) ended. Zumas’ choices were a great mix of luck (both good and bad) and hard reality and I greatly appreciated the authenticity in that. There were a lot of ways the plot wrap-up could have gone poorly, and I wasn’t disappointed in the way it played out.

Overall, I was really split about this book. There were parts I was really into, and other aspects that made it tough to fully fall for it. I guess, as a bottom line, the ideas Zumas presented (and the questions she asked) were fascinating, and they were explored widely, if not deeply. I think it’s incredibly important that things like this be published and read, considering the alarming precipice(s) we stand on in the US today. Talking openly about these issues, and delving into them head-on, is the only way to avoid many of the exact terrors in this novel from coming to pass. So, while this book may not be my first recommendation to anyone, I’ll say that, if it’s already on your TBR, don’t take it off.

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

Obviously, I wanted to read this. Everyone who reads is reading this. Even people that don’t read are reading this. Everyone, I repeat, everyone should read it. That is all.

Basically, this is Michelle Obama’s story, told by Michelle Obama herself. Starting with her family, their background and her youth on the South Side of Chicago, she tells us about her life from start to…present day. This includes everything from her experiences all the way through school (from elementary to law), her work at a large law firm (and meeting Barack), their decisions and struggles regarding starting a family, balancing parenting and work, lots of career changes and choices, supporting Barack’s decisions to get into politics and, of course, her time as First Lady. If you love her (and really, how could you not?) this book has literally everything you could want to know about her.

There are a million reviews of this book floating around now and I know I’m on the late side of the post-publication surge of readers. But I still want to share all my thoughts because this reading experience was absolutely phenomenal. Michelle Obama is an American Hero. The first ever black First Lady, she blazed a trail unlike anything that’s ever been done before, under more scrutiny than has ever been put on a person in that position before, and she did it all with grace and poise and good-feeling. I cannot imagine having no one to look at/up to for a role as big as this one, yet having to do it all perfectly, the first time, anyways. It’s so beyond inspiring that I truly have no words to describe it. And I just love the way she presents the experience here. For all that what she’s lived is completely unique, she nevertheless manages to be entirely relatable throughout the whole of this book. She is open and honest about everything, from the lowest of lows to the highest of highs, without holding back on parts that might not have been as “pretty” while also not downplaying the parts that were extravagant or elite. More than anything though, it’s just fascinating to read the trajectory of Michelle Obama’s life, to see how (despite all the plans she made) things ended up so drastically different from what she ever expected her life to be (whether she wanted it or not). She was born and raised as “normally” as anyone could be, struggled with many of the same things women across our county face daily (from making ends meet to major career decisions to raising her daughters to be good people) and did it all while transiting from a life of (relative) obscurity to the largest stage in our country. Not to mention all the work she did before, in between and during to address the massive disparities in our country – from working to get minorities and youth into positions with voice and power to medical/educational outreach to underserved populations in Chicago and beyond. I hope that I can develop a level of heart, empathy and courage that allows me to make even a percentage of the difference she has in her life to date. It’s all just…wow.

I want to point out a couple of the sections/points that I enjoyed the most, just for fun. Towards the beginning, she talks a lot about learning to play the piano from her great-aunt. It’s a sweet story about her own childhood stubbornness that is quite endearing, all on its own. However, she also talks about her first recital, where she goes from playing the old piano with chipped keys in her aunt’s apartment to a shiny, fancy piano on a stage in an auditorium, and cannot find middle C with all the keys looking perfect and the same. She makes the most gorgeous metaphor about disparities and privilege at this point that is then carried throughout her experience in assimilating into primarily white culture, in college, for the first time. Although that metaphor was introduced in the first chapter, it stuck with me so strongly. I also LOVED the commentary she had about her goal of becoming a lawyer versus actually practicing as a lawyer. I thought it was incredibly relatable when she talked about her disillusionment with the end result of all the work she put into getting there. There was such a wonderful recognition of feeling stuck in a position/job that you were pushed to achieve by societal/familial/personal expectations. This is something that, I think, is much more common than people are willing to admit and I love the message that you should not do something just because its what you think you should do. This is something I’m dealing/have dealt with in my personal life more than once, and I loved seeing that changing directions can still lead to success. I also truly appreciated the acknowledgement of the privilege she, and anyone with the luxuries of time/money to feel this way, have. Another section that personally touched me was how open she was about the struggle she and Barack had in getting pregnant. Although I personally do not want to have kids, I worked in the field of childbirth/breastfeeding for years and the amount of shame and guilt involved in so many aspects of pregnancy and motherhood are heartbreaking…and even more so for how “secret” they are often kept. These issues, fertility and miscarriage, are so common and should absolutely be addressed openly, for there is no other way to, healthily, emotionally process them. And finally, though having lived through the Obama’s time in the White House personally and therefore having already known a lot of this, I loved hearing about everything Michelle did while Barack was in office. Her work in creating a more open and inviting White House culture, in addressing youth nutrition and physical activity, and in empowering women and girls to learn and lead…these are all the things that are closest to my heart. I cannot imagine a First Lady’s projects being more in line with my personal beliefs and passions and I just loved reading about everything she worked for and accomplished on that front.

I really don’t have any more to say other than that this woman and this book deserve every ounce of glowing praise she (and it) have earned. I have nothing but respect for Michelle Obama and that feeling has only grown over my time spent reading this memoir. Her voice is so completely authentic, her feelings so genuine, the writing so intimate, I almost feel like we are friends now, after finishing this book. (The fact that I listened to the audiobook, so she read the entire story of her life to me, probably played into that feeling quite a bit. Haha.) And really, she is so wonderful, I wish we actually were friends! If you are one of the few people that hasn’t read this yet…go do it!

So many accessible and inspiring passages throughout this memoir. Here’s a few:

“If you don’t get out there and define yourself, you’ll be quickly and inaccurately defined by others.”

“Failure is a feeling long before it’s an actual result. It’s vulnerability that breeds with self-doubt and then is escalated, often deliberately, by fear.”

“Now that I’m an adult, I realize that kids know at a very young age when they’re being devalued, when adults aren’t invested enough to help them learn. Their anger over it can manifest itself as unruliness. It’s hardly their fault. They aren’t “bad kids.” They’re just trying to survive bad circumstances.”

“It was one thing to get yourself out of a stuck place, I realized. It was another thing entirely to try and get the place itself unstuck.”

“Even if we didn't know the context, we were instructed to remember that context existed. Everyone on earth, they'd tell us, was carrying around an unseen history, and that alone deserved some tolerance.”

“We were planting seeds of change, the fruit of which we might never see. We had to be patient.”

“Sameness breeds more sameness until you make a thoughtful effort to counteract it.”

“For every door that’s been opened to me, I’ve tried to open my door to others. And here is what I have to say, finally: Let’s invite one another in. Maybe then we can begin to fear less, to make fewer wrong assumptions, to let go of the biases and stereotypes that unnecessarily divide us. Maybe we can better embrace the ways we are the same. It’s not about being perfect. It’s not about where you get yourself in the end. There’s power in allowing yourself to be known and heard, in owning your unique story, in using your authentic voice. And there’s grace in being willing to know and hear others. This, for me, is how we become.”

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

It’s been awhile since I’ve reviewed an ARC and actually had everything read and written and out in the world before the publication date. Go me! Though to be honest, that has a lot to do with the fact that I was super duper pumped to be approved for an early copy of this through NetGalley and basically picked it up as soon as I had finished what I was currently reading (and, in at least one case, just paused in the middle of a current read...). Anyways, from the first description I read of this I knew I was going to be into it. It sounded contemporary and funny and was a new diverse voice in the writing world. Perfect. Plus, the cover is one of the more gorgeous and visually striking covers I’ve seen in awhile. And I don’t even really like orange.

This book is all about the titular Queenie. She’s your average Jamaican-British mid-twenties young adult person living in London with her boyfriend and working at a newspaper in an intro-ish level job. Basically, just making things work the best she can. But things start to unravel for Queenie and pretty soon she is single, jobless, living with her grandparents, and dealing with a number of traumatic health situations, self-destructive rebound relationships and dependent friendships in quite a short amount of time. It’s a fast spiral and she’s struggling to cope. When she starts having panic attacks, she decides that perhaps, finally, it’s time to seek help. But can she truly recover and learn to deal better in the future?

Literally, Queenie is one of the most relatable characters I’ve read in years. She has a wry and kind of inappropriate sense of humor that is present from the start (I actually laughed out loud like 3 times in the first few pages), as it her personality and attitude, which totally had me cheesing and wanting to be her friend. Though all that waned in the middle as she works through her mental health issues (naturally), it remains in undertone and starts to bounce back as she does herself…which is essentially perfect for the situation. I loved it. Also, what she is dealing with as far as jobs, relationships (friends and men both), living situation(s) and finances are all insanely familiar. And though I am not personally a minority, nor am I trying to live within two cultures at the same time, I still felt like we had a lot in common. As for the things I just mentioned that we don’t share, childhood trauma included, I thought the author did a fantastic job writing them in a way that made me deeply feel how those extra burdens made things exponentially more difficult for Queenie. That’s just great writing. Along these lines, I was very impressed with the way Carty-Williams dealt with such incredibly intense topics (mental health, childhood trauma and the following adult self-destructiveness, race/racism, fetishizing of black bodies, interracial relationships, and so much more) in a way that was both authentic, yet surprisingly light. Based on the seriousness of the concepts addressed, this book seems like it should be a real downer, but it’s really not. I mean, it’s not a comedy, for sure, but it’s got just the right touch of realism and almost satirical dark humor that to keep it from being overwhelmingly depressing. At the same time, that doesn’t prevent the reader from understanding the gravity of Queenie’s struggles.

I just want to really call out, again, how awesome this book is in the way it deals with mental health. First of all, I truly had no idea how intense that part of the book would be, based on the description. So, I’d like to include a minor trigger warning here related to that. But I also kind of liked that. It was such a surprise to see anxiety, panic attacks, and self-worth looked at from such a legitimately psychological perspective. And though Queenie clearly doesn’t want to see a therapist (and comes from a culture, the Jamaican half of her life, that traditionally severely frowns upon seeking counseling…more so than even the general public, which is clearly and genuinely portrayed here), I also love the way that they therapy is portrayed once it enters the picture. It’s useful and effective, but not immediately or universally so. And how that interacts with Queenie’s day-to-day life, in regards to her relationships with friends and family, as well as coping in a workplace environment, is also fully and openly developed. In general, recovery is very realistically written as a bumpy/winding path and, again, the authenticity of that representation is everything. I was not expecting the vulnerability and candidness this book had in dealing with mental health, how big a role that would play in the overall story, or how natural Queenie’s spiral would seem (bringing important light to a truth that has long been pushed under the rug – mental illness can strike anyone, at any time, regardless of background or situation). But I am here for it.

Although I was excited for this book, I did not know what I was really getting into. And I actually think I’m glad for that. The honesty and clarity in the writing, the relatability of our heroine, and the overall beautifully handled pacing and character development were all so much more than I was expecting. This was in no way the fluffy contemporary it sounded like, that’s for sure. Yet the depth of the story took me by surprise and made me love it even more than I thought I was going to. This is definitely a novel I’ll be recommending far and wide.

“…I asked, worried that the coil had maybe been absorbed into my womb, the way I still worried that every tampon I’d ever inserted was still knocking around inside me.” (Oh man, this was like, page 3, and I identified SO hard with this ridiculous worry – definitely my identification with Queenie started right here.)

“Maybe if all ah we had learned to talk about our troubles, we wouldn’t carry so much on our shoulders all the way to the grave.”

“Is this what growing into an adult women is – having to predict and accordingly arrange for the avoidance of sexual harassment?” (PREACH.)

“‘You’ll meet people who ‘don’t see race’ and are ‘color-blind,’ but that’s a lie. They do see it […] And people should see it. We’re different, and they need to accept our difference […] We aren’t here for an easy ride. People are going to try to put you in a mold, they’re going to tell you who you should be and how you should act. You’re going to have to work hard to carve out your own identity, but you can do it.”

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

I saw this book on a used book shelf years ago and was totally pulled towards the cover but, for some reason that I cannot remember, I didn’t buy it. Recently Alexander Chee’s name has been everywhere. And a wonderful book friend of my, Hunter (@shelfbyshelf) started a #bookstagram book club this year and this book was his January pick. So I figured that was a sign that it was about time. Now, please note that we are halfway through February while I am writing this review for a January book club book. Clearly, I didn’t quite make that deadline….

Lilliet Berne is an opera singer in 1800s Paris, famous for her unique and legendary voice. When she receives a request to accept an original role, one written specifically for her voice. However, the libretto seems to be based on her own history, a story that she thought was a secret, a story that only a few people know. So she sets out to find out who it was that gave away her secrets. And as she investigates, the full story of these connections, her past, emerges in dramatic fashion, spanning years and continents and all manner of lifestyles.

One of the very first things you notice about this book is that it is long. It needs to be, for all that it covers. However, I also feel that it bordered on too long. It was a slow-ish start for me. In fact, even a quarter of the way through I was still struggling a little with the pacing, which seemed a bit sluggish…especially considering how much craziness and drama we went through alongside Lilliet. Maybe it was the fact that there was a lot of present-day insight/foreshadowing, which always makes me want to rush through to see what major event is being hyped up next and/or how the narrator gets to where they are now, as they are telling the story. It also definitely stemmed from the extended recaps of opera librettos and philosophical wonderings into fate and how Lilliet’s life mirrored certain popular operas. I listened to this as an audiobook and, to be honest, I am not sure I would have made it through if I was reading. Or at least, it would have been an even slower journey. At the same time though, I truly appreciated the writing itself. It was smooth, elaborate, lyrical and evocative. And it fit the mood of the book, so I understand and respect the author’s choice to write it that way.

Regardless, even though the pacing felt slow for me, the story and setting completely got me. It is all incredibly atmospheric and a phenomenal period piece. The adventure and drama were over the top in the very best way, considering that one of the main plots points was opera and Lilliet’s singing voice. Opera is not something I know a lot about. However, I accidentally took an entire class on opera in college (seriously, I had no idea what I was signing up for and I still think the class was mis-described, but, in the end, I did learn stuff about a couple famous opera’s so…there’s that) and basically what I remember is that the drama is real. I mean seriously, they were like, the original telenovelas (which, now that I think about the fact that they are called soap operas in English, is all coming together). Anyways, back on track: drama. It is all here in this opera-based novel: orphans, runaways, circus performers, courtesans, empress’ mates, secret mutes, debut singers, illicit and doomed romances, tons of mistresses, curses, political intrigue, fate, hidden identities, siege and war, murder, cameos from multiple actual famous historical figures, and more. And literally, Lilliet was center stage for all of it. In fact, at one point or another, every one of those mantles was worn or experienced by her (minus the famous figures’ cameos, of course). It’s almost unbelievable that Chee was able to get it into one book (which, again, does explain the length). And his ability to weave the plots to various different operas all into this one longer production, with various common aspects/themes as the guiding and connecting threads, was a fantastically used plot device.

As far as character development, I have to say that I think this was much more a plot and writing based novel. I felt like the characters all played their roles well, and truly, but also exactly how they needed to in order to make the operatic level of drama possible. It all felt scripted. Which makes sense, as I said, considering the plot and opera storylines, but it also served to make the characters...too perfect at their roles, I guess. It’s a weird critique that I’m not sure how to clearly explain, but it’s just the feeling I had while reading. However, I did truly like where we leave Lilliet in the end. It’s perhaps not the great romantic ending one might hope for, but at the same time, I love how she broke the chains of operatic fate and decided on her own path, in her own way, for herself – something that was essentially denied to her for the entirety of her life, even during the “good” times (in line with soprano roles…as she intricately deconstructs for us throughout the novel). It was very satisfying in a non-traditional that I found refreshing.

Altogether this was a completely transporting novel, with enough intrigue and gasp-worthy moments to keep even the most experienced reader on their toes and guessing about what could possibly happen next. I did enjoy and would recommend this book, but only to someone who is ready to completely sink into another world, ready for the slow-burn and highly detailed unfolding that this novel offers. It’s not a book to be undertaken lightly or in the wrong mood, but if this is what you are looking for, I cannot (off the top of my head) think of one that fits the bill any better.

“Why was there never an opera that ended with a soprano who was free?”

“Love is never governed by reason.”

“The curse is not that we cannot choose our Fates. The curse, the curse we all live under, is that we can.”

“It is not love that drives us mad, I think, but all the rest of life around the love.”

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

As part of my goal of reading more diversely, I want to focus, this year, on specifically trying to read more Latinx authors. According to my reading stats for last year, only 3% of the books I read were by Latinx authors. I feel like, with the current political focus on immigration in the US, the growing percentage of the population that is Latinx, and considering that I majored in Spanish and Spanish literature as an undergrad, I should definitely be making a greater effort in this area. Anyways, this was one of the first ones on my list to get to this year and, even though I’ve had a slow reading start this year and am only now getting to it, I’m glad I picked it to be first.

Isabel meets Omar, her father-in-law, for the first time the day she marries Martin. But it’s not the way one normally meets their father-in-law…because Isabel and Martin got married on the Day of the Dead, and Omar is visiting as a ghost. However, Martin, and his entire family, have still not forgiven Omar for abandoning them years ago. So every year after that, when Omar returns to visit on their anniversary, it’s only Isabel who can (is willing to) see him. Omar asks Isabel to try and convince the rest of the family to “see” him so he can explain to them what really happened. And as the years pass and Isabel tries to get more information about the past, she and Martin also are dealing with family complications in the present, in the form of Martin’s teenage nephew, Eduardo, who has crossed the border from Mexico and is staying with them.

This is a great “everyday life” story, written in smooth and expressive prose, and focusing on a slice of life that most of us have not experienced, have no frame of reference for, or cannot imagine. These types of stories are, in my opinion, some of the most important because they are the ones that truly allow us to put ourselves in other people’s shoes and empathize with them. I loved the way that the past and present story lines allowed for multiple different perspectives and generations of the immigrant experience. With Omar and Elda’s (and Marisol’s, though to be honest I couldn’t really figure out the presence of her story-line - why it was added/what it did for the overall message that the rest of the perspectives didn’t already do in some way) journey over the border in the past, Sylvester shows how traumatic crossing the border can be and what sacrifices and challenges are faced/made upon arrival (and for every day after), with everything from finances to family. This is further elaborated through Eduardo’s present-day experiences with the same struggles, showing how the process repeats over and over from generation to generation, but expanding it to show how things are different for youth that make the journey. In addition, through Martin and Isabel’s present-day perspectives, we can see how their different backgrounds (one from an, originally, undocumented immigrant family and one from a family with longer established citizenship) affect the way they communicate with each other and handle certain issues, especially in regards to Eduardo. And through all of these pints of view, we are able to see how there are so many reasons that people choose to enter the US without documentation – and I really appreciate the way that the author makes it clear that while each decides to do so, there is a clear difference between that decision and truly having a choice in making that decision. It is such an important distinction that, in real life, gets obscured so often by other points and arguments that we lose sight of the people behind them.

Alongside the clear issues of immigration and the nearly impossible choices faced by many who are trying to make a better life for themselves, I also appreciated the “normal” drama faced by the characters in these books. Seeing the way they deal with things like teenage hormones, grief over illness/death of family members, how to keep communication, trust and respect alive within close relationships over the years, what we are willing to do/sacrifice those we love, forgiveness – these are more universal challenges that we can all relate to. It creates a bridge between the reader and the characters, encouraging connection on the topics we can all share. And it makes it so that when we then, as readers, consider the added stress of being undocumented, constantly under that mental/emotional strain, on top of everything else, much more poignant and impactful. Although I struggled at times with Isabel and Martin’s relationship (it definitely lacked a little something, which made me definitely less invested in them) and felt that Omar’s visits to Isabel were never quite wrapped up in a satisfying way (at least between the two of them), I overall felt that the characters individually were very well explored throughout the novel; and some of the “bonds between strangers with shared experiences” relationships were incredibly touching. Also, the women were all written with lovely strength and complexity. Last, I love the balance Sylvester strikes between optimism and realism in this plot. There are some wonderful and truly happy moments/outcomes and there are others than hurt so much, but they are juxtaposed in such a way that the presence of each makes the other seem that much more real.

This timely novel is really special in the way it portrays a very secretive, un-talked-about, life experience (undocumented immigration from an immigrant POV) in a way that makes it seem completely ordinary and relatable. Sylvester’s message, how the trying is worth it even if it might be doomed to failure or if there isn’t anything better waiting at the end, is incredibly impactful. And, as I mentioned before, creating such ordinary lives for our characters, outside of that one aspect, really highlights, for the reader that, at base, we are all the same (despite our places of birth or legal paperwork). That type of connection, on a human level, is exactly what is necessary for everyone to learn and internalize, as we work to fight for justice and humanity within our nation.

“‘…what if you’re with friends or family, and you get separated? How do you find each other?’ ‘Everyone knows you go home.’”“It seemed useless to pray. Who protects the invisible?”“What a fragile thing it was, to feel connected.”

“Patience is a process that births forgiveness.”

“Grief is never really gone; it is just a darkness you eventually adjust to.”

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

I have never liked Valentine’s Day. I am all for sharing feelings of love and celebrating that, but for some reason, the commercialization of the holiday has always sat poorly with me. And as I’ve told my husband a million times, I would rather he give me a surprise chocolate on a random day – much more exciting that way! Even in high school, I wasn’t into it. And thankfully I was super weird and nerdy in high school, so my boyfriend was also super weird and nerdy, SO he was really supportive of my feelings on V-Day. In fact, senior year her brought me in a bouquet of asparagus instead of flowers, to celebrate. So adorably strange! And then my mom was able to cook it with dinner that night – useful gift, too. Anyways, all that being said, I was still very into reading a romance novel this month to celebrate. And as I learned last year (after loving Love and Other Words), anything by Christina Lauren would be perfect to scratch that itch. Bonus: this adorable cover.

Josh and Hazel met years ago, in college, when Hazel got drunk at a party and threw up all over him. And things didn’t go up from there…Josh also walked in on her having sex with his roommate and Hazel sent him a very embarrassing email post-surgery once. Hazel may have had a thing for him then, but she knew they probably weren’t compatible. Then, their paths separated after school and she hasn’t seen him since. Fast forward: Hazel just got a new job and runs into Josh at a get together with her new colleagues. And she realizes that he is just as perfect now as her was in college. But he has a girlfriend now, and Hazel still thinks they’re incompatible (she’s eccentric and energetic and doesn’t want to have to hide that part of herself, while he is ordered and clean and always under control). So when circumstances bring them together again though, and Josh’s girlfriend breaks up with him, they decide to help each other by setting themselves up on double dates. As the dates get ever more disastrous though, they both start realizing that perhaps they are more compatible than they thought…

Well, this was the quick, adorable romance I was looking for. I was a little apprehensive to start, mostly with Hazel’s character. I am not always a fan of the overdone “manic pixie dream girl” type female character, which Hazel was kind of promising to be. However, as the story progressed, we definitely got to see her character develop and deepen, so it turned out to be ok. Other than that, I liked the way the “opposites attract” trope was used here. It was definitely central to the plot and relationship, but I liked that it wasn’t love at first sight at all. I appreciated that both Josh and Hazel realized that they were incredibly different and that it might make things difficult. Being friends first allowed them to learn about each other, how they work together, and let the other person be whoever they truly were without any added pressure. This made their declarations of love (and, more importantly, love with full acceptance of the other person, no modifications necessary) for each other, when they came, that much more believable. It was a really nice “twist,” if you will. Also, I liked the non-traditional way their real relationship started. No spoilers here, but it was great that they were so on the same page, comfortable with each other, and willing to take life as it came, no matter what. It was also a very modern road for the plot to take.

Overall, this was a great contemporary romance, with the right amount of tension building and moments of release (puns all intended). Although Love and Other Words was a bit more, for me, this was still right on par for what I’ve come to expect from Christina Lauren – charming and sexy and fun and entertaining, with some bonus quirk. I definitely recommend it.