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

I was so excited when I saw this one on the new books shelf at my local library because I read Thorne’s first book, The Hating Game, last year and loved it so much. It’s definitely one of my favorite contemporary romances. Anyways, I was naturally super excited to stumble across this new release. And with the weather starting to warm up as we head into Spring, a little romance seemed perfect.

Darcy and her twin brother, Jamie, met Tom when they were 8 and he moved in across the street. Since then, he has been an integral part of both their family and their relationship as twins. And even though he’s technically Jamie’s best friend, and therefore romantically off-limits, Darcy has always held him up as the standard for the perfect guy. Now Darcy and Tom are spending a lot of time together, sans Jamie, as Darcy helps him with the renovations on a cottage she and Jamie inherited from their grandmother. The sparks are really flying and things get muddled as Darcy decides that, for sure, she can no longer stand Jamie having the greater claim on Tom. She wants more.

This little romance was just as quick and compulsively readable as Thorne’s first. I pretty read the entire thing in one sitting because once I was invested in the build-up to the *cough* climax of the story, I couldn’t put it down until I had gotten there (and by then, of course, it was almost over, so I may as well just finish). There was definite chemistry between Darcy and Tom that was both palpable and convincing, right from the start. I was into it. I also have to give big props to the author for Tom’s character. He is wonderful – so realistically conflicted and genuine, given his past with the twins and the current under pressure he’s under (both self-imposed and otherwise). Also, he is absolutely one of the healthiest examples of a man that I have ever read in a romance novel. His emotional openness, general honesty and the respect he has for Darcy is the model of what a good man should be. Mmmmhmmm, strong and sweet – a guy can be both. That…that I loved.

On the other hand, I was less enthused with Darcy and Jamie. They both seemed a bit more like caricatures than fully developed characters, extreme personalities that were just much less relatable. And though there were moments when they were given more depth (Darcy especially of course, because since she is the narrator, we are in her head a lot), particularly in the last quarter or so of the novel, it just didn’t feel like quite enough for me. To be honest, I actually really disliked Jamie. And again, I know the story is from Darcy’s POV, which may have been part of it...but he was just kind of a really shallow person, in my opinion; much too domineering/condescending. And really both of them were selfish to the point of unbelievability and un-redeemability with Tom. I struggled to get past that.

As far as the plot, it was a cute setting for a contemporary romance, as far as the ones I’ve read. The construction site environment left a lot of fun openings for creative interactions. It could have gotten really cliched, but I felt like the author skirted those pitfalls pretty well and set Tom and Darcy up with a number a really convincing conflicts and moments of closeness. Darcy’s heart condition was an interesting addition to the plot. I actually liked that being there – it definitely gave her character more depth and really explained the reason she was so into proving strength and independence, past just claiming that it was a “character trait” of hers. It also helped explain some of the dynamic between her and Jamie (and how it was shaped to be that way throughout their childhoods and onward)…though not perhaps enough to offset how much I didn’t like Jamie. Plus, it’s not something I’ve seen much before, so the way it was used as a plot device felt very original. And as a small note, Darcy’s friend Truly was a great side character and I laughed out loud at her small business, Underswears (it’s definitely a business I could see being successful in real life too). Great little details with that side-plot.

Overall, this was a really solid romance. I don’t think I liked it as much as The Hating Game, that’s for sure. First, I like an enemies-to-lovers trope more than a childhood-friends-turned-lovers trope. It’s just a personal preference; it is what it is. But in addition to that, I struggled more to empathize with these characters and so my investment in their outcomes was just…less. However, there were some great steamy parts, a fantastic build, and easy, fast writing. For sure Thorne remains a contemporary romance author whose books I will continue to pick up!

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

I saw this book around a lot when it was first published and the topic, the possible existence of a mythical serpent in Essex, is definitely one that struck my fancy. Plus, the detail in the cover is lovely in its delicacy. Which is, in fact, what prompted me to buy it. I saw it at Costco (dang those piles of books in the middle – I cannot make myself just walk past them, no matter how much I try). It was just such a pretty book and I couldn’t help but buy it. This, of course, was at least a year ago now. But I have finally gotten around to reading it!

As the blurb on the back of the book states, this novel is technically about Cora Seaborne, recently widowed and off to Essex to “get away.”. Cora has an interest in natural history and, while in Essex, hears rumors of the presence of a mythical sea beast that strike her fancy. So, she decides to investigate. She is introduced by a mutual friend to a local parish vicar, William Ransome, who both assists in and questions her “search” for the sea beast. As fear of the beast spreads throughout the town, Cora and William find that, despite their opposite temperaments and outlooks, they have an affinity for each other that is growing out of proportion to what is acceptable (for Cora is in “mourning” and Willliam is married with a family). By the end, the interpersonal and mythical situations all come to a dramatic-ish head.

The inside of this book matches, perfectly, the previously discussed outside. It’s lovely and delicate in the details. In fact, the beauty and grace in this novel are found, almost entirely, in the details. It’s fascinating to me, because based on the description, it seems like it would be more of an action-based story, but it is, in fact, incredibly philosophical and relational. The Victorian time-period and setting are clear both from the descriptions and from the writing itself, which absolutely calls to mind the style of the period (I mean, 19th century British literature is one of the most famous locations/periods, boasting authors from the Brontë sisters to Charles Dickens to Wilkie Collins). And Perry writes as though she actually studied under their tutelage. So, basically, if you are into those authors, their style, and the plot/character development of the time, then this is a modern book I definitely recommend you pick up. In any case, hopefully that gives you a better idea of what to expect from the pacing than the back of the book did. I know I was a little taken by surprise by the meandering and descriptive style and, though the plot did cover exactly what was promised, it was done differently than expected. And at least for me, in my current reading mood, it was not quite what I was hoping/looking for.

As far as the plot itself, I really enjoyed the general feel of it. The mix of myth/belief and science/medicine put me in mind of another recent read, Once Upon a River. In both, there is a drawn out “battle” (more like intense discourse) over whether certain events (deaths, disappearances, and the like) are caused by magical or natural means. And though in this case there is a clear answer at the end (and I liked the ambiguity in Once Upon a River a bit more), the same back and forth draw throughout the novel appealed to me in both cases. It’s a fascinating exploration of the power of mob-mentality and story-telling. And the air of melancholy mystery that juxtaposition created in this novel was wonderfully wrought. The development of the characters and their relationships with each other, which were quite a complex web by the end, were handled deftly. Each connection was unique and all were deep and realistic. Even though the blurb makes it seem as though the book centers on Cora and William, I really felt like some of the bonds between the supporting characters were just as engaging and elaborate. I particularly enjoyed the surgeon, Luke Garrett, and his friend George Spencer, as well as William’s wife, Stella, and Cora’s son, Francis. I also liked Cora’s companion, Martha, in general, and thus her interactions with most of the rest of the characters. Truly though, as I said, the web of interactions among them all was just impressive to read.

There are a few other random points that I want to make sure get mentioned. One, there are some amazing small things in this novel that fascinated me. First, the way that Cora’s son was, in my opinion somewhere on the Autism Spectrum. However, this was obviously not something that was known about or a real diagnosis for the time period, and how it was dealt with was so interesting. I am going to just trust that Perry did her research about it, before writing, and in that case, I feel like a learned something and appreciate the representation both in general and specifically in the time period in question. Plus, I love the way it was woven into the plot and other relationships – so smooth and creative and respectful. I felt similarly about the medical aspects of the book – I was completely absorbed by the medical details. The interplay with faith (and lack of general health education in the time period), along with Luke’s position on the forefront with surgery and the real beginnings of modern medicine…I really learned a lot. Relatedly, with William’s position as a vicar and Cora’s as a “natural scientist” there was quite a bit of back and forth philosophy about religion versus science. I’m not always into philosophical leaning books, so there were times where I zoned out just a little, but I respect the exploration of the topic – it was very well-researched and composed. And one more tiny thing – the “Strange News Out of Essex” pamphlet that is mentioned is historically real. You can Google it and see what it actually looked like, which is very cool, as it gives some great period context to the thread that binds this whole tale together.

Basically, this is a book for which the writing itself, and the ambiance it creates, is one of the main draws. The way small moments end up leading to, if not immediately dramatic at least slow-burn widespread, effects, is written very realistically. And the fact that many of those effects are, for all that they create permanent changes, invisible to the eye, as they take place internally, was also very natural. That is often the way of things, that the largest differences/growth are internal, so that despite that fact that people may be forever altered, there is no outward appearance of the change. This made me feel, by the end, that, even though I had read hundreds of pages and knew that nothing was the same as when I started, it seemed as though it was. It’s such a weird feeling to be left with as a reader. And I don’t dislike it, but I’m also not sure I was in the right mood for it. This is a book lends itself strongly to mood reading and I definitely recommend waiting until you’re ready to mire yourself in that melancholy Victorian-like state in order to truly and fully appreciate this novel. But then when you’re there, it’s phenomenally executed and there aren't many book that would be a better choice.

“There is nothing to be afraid of […] except ignorance. What seems frightening is just waiting for you to shine a light on it.”

“We cannot help it, if we are to live. […] Causing harm, I mean; how could it be avoided unless we shut ourselves away – never speak, never act?”

“That’s the great crime: that no one need be put in chains when their own minds area shackles enough.”

“You told me once you forget you are a woman, and I understand it now – you think to be a woman is to be weak – you think ours is a sisterhood of suffering! Perhaps so, but doesn’t it take greater strength to walk a mile in pain than seven miles in none? You are a woman, and must begin to live like one. By which I mean: have courage.”

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

A few months ago, this tiny book was everywhere and, while it really didn’t sound like anything particularly striking, people seemed to be really enjoying it. And, I am, as ever, a sucker for hype. Long story short, I added it to my TBR and, when it became available at my local library, I was genuinely excited to pick it up. (Side note, what is up with tiny books being pretty awesome right now – My Sister, the Serial Killer was also a wonderful literally little book. It’s an adorable trend I definitely am on board for.)

Keiko Furukura has never really fit not, not with her family or in school or even now as a grown-up 36-year-old woman. When she turned 18, she began working at a local branch of a convenience store where, for the first time, the structure and predictability of every day brought her a measure of purpose and place. She understood her role and appreciated being able to follow the scripted responses for each social interaction. To this day, she still works there. However, having never been in love (or in a relationship at all), never moved “up” in her job, and without ambitions to start a family, she is still feeling incompatible with “normal” life outside of the store. So, she decides to take a desperate step to get her friends/family out of her business.

This story was just wonderfully quirky, a subtly profound celebration of the beauty in difference. The exploration of society, conforming to its standards, and the mental/emotional price paid by those who, either by choice or not, do not subscribe to that conformation, is weighty, despite the brevity of the presentation. Keiko mentions often her lack of understanding of the need for many modern “normalities” like marriage and childbirth, and reflects on why her family so often talks about “curing” her. It’s actually quite sad to read how little acceptance and closeness she feels to them, because she truly cannot understand their perspective, and they make no move to understand hers. To be honest, I sometimes couldn’t tell how literally to take this book. I wondered whether perhaps it wasn’t just an extreme satire on society’s expectations and Keiko was supposed to be a more humorous response to it. However, I am choosing to believe the opposite…that this was a quite literal critique. That Keiko’s perspective is one of a woman who falls, undiagnosed, somewhere on the Autism Spectrum. (Side note: kudos to all the mainstream books that are bringing light to this life experience/voice – The Kiss Quotient is another great recent example.) I believe that this short novel tells the underrepresented story of all those who process the world differently, perhaps, in a basic sense, just more literally, and thus are made to feel as if there is something wrong with them. And, in that case, I love how much it ends with a message of self-acceptance – that owning who you are and choosing to be, to flaunt, that person in the face of the close-minded majority, is such a satisfying feeling to be left with. The way Keiko upends her life, everything she has built to create a comfortable, predictable and safe routine for herself, for the small chance that a hairbrained scheme may make her mother/sister/friends “understand” her and take their prying noses out of her life, is actually quite heartbreaking. And that they are all more willing to accept and support her in an unhealthy, but recognizable situation, rather than her previously healthy, but less “reasonable” lifestyle is even sadder. I was worried, during this section of the novel, that Keiko's differences in thought would cause her to lose herself/be taken advantage of in a way that would ruin her odd sweetness/sincerity and she would lose what sense of self she had managed to find, but I was wrong. I underestimated her and I'm so glad of that! Overall, the way that the author was able to so concisely and precisely convey such complex critiques and messages is remarkable.

This novel is just a weird little triumph of insight and social commentary, laced with some smooth, dark humor. I finished it feeling refreshed and, even though Keiko and I only have small things in common (not being interested in having children being, basically, the only one), quite seen. This gem is one of those books that…just speaks…volumes. Even though I spent such a short time with it. I will not soon forget Keiko and her striking and invigoratingly unique voice.

“The normal world has no room for exceptions and always quietly eliminates foreign objects. Anyone who is lacking is disposed of. So that’s why I need to be cured. Unless I’m cured, normal people will expurgate me.”

“This society hasn't changed one bit. People who don't fit into the village are expelled: men who don't hunt, women who don't give birth to children. For all we talk about modern society and individualism, anyone who doesn't try to fit in can expect to be meddled with, coerced, and ultimately banished from the village.”

“She’s far happier thinking her sister is normal, even if she has a lot of problems, than she is having an abnormal sister for whom everything is fine. For her, normality—however messy—is far more comprehensible.”“After all, I absorb the world around me, and that’s changing all the time. Just as all the water that was in my body last time we met has now been replaced with new water, the things that make up me have changed too.”

“It’s not a matter of what they will accept, it is what I am.”

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

In March of 2017, I saw Samantha Shannon Speak on her tour for The Song Rising at my local bookstore (shoutout to Flyleaf). I LOVE The Bone Season series, it’s one of my absolute favorites, and it solidified Shannon as one of my favorite authors after just the first book. Anyways, during her talk, she mentioned that she’d be postponing the next 4 books in the (total of 7-book) series, to work on another project. At first, I was horrified (I want more of my favorites…plus, this epic series is based on a heroine who shares my name, which is not something that I can ever remember happening before and I am very into it!). But as she spoke more about this new project, I was less and less upset. Shannon was writing A GIANT FEMINIST FANTASY NOVEL BASED ON VARIOUS ANCIENT MYTHOLOGIES ABOUT DRAGONS AND MAGIC WITH STRONG QUEER FEMALE HEROINES. Like literally, nothing could actually be better. And so, I waited. For almost two years, I waited. And, FINALLY, here we are!!

The East and the West are separated by a giant sea called the Abyss…while religious differences and a self-imposed quarantine keep them even further separated. In the East, Queen Sabran the Ninth faces the pressure to marry and produce an heir in order to keep her safe. Secretly, her lady-in-waiting Ead, sent by a secret society, protects her from assassins that are getting ever closer. In the West, Tané has spent years training to be a dragonrider, yet makes kingdom a decision that may lead to her disgrace. In the Abyss…and ancient evil, one thousand years contained, threatens the entire land. And thus, the scene is set for this epic fantasy.

I literally could not have asked for anything more from this book. It was everything it promised to be and then some. The world-building, both what I recognized from mythologies and lore that I know, as well as the parts that were new/unique for me, were spectacular. It was all so real. There was a lot to catch up on, so the beginning parts of the story were a little slower, as I worked to make a full picture in my head (and referenced back to the gorgeous maps at the beginning of the book). But it was immersive from the start and I loved every minute I spent with it. The characters were just as fully dimensional and lush. Each of their story-arcs and characteristics were deep and full. And I really enjoyed how realistic things were. Considering that this is a fantasy, I realize that using realistic to describe any of it may be weird, but that’s the only way I can think to put it. The ups and downs, challenges faced, curves in their fortunes…it all just rang so true to me. Also, the sheer number of fantastically strong, inspiring, leading women in this novel is literally everything. They are all flawed in their own ways, but work through everything facing them to rise above and succeed and find their own truths/paths and literally save the world. Plus, the relationship that grows between Ead and Sabran is so special, full of stomach flutters and eye sparkles, yet neither of them sacrifices their responsibilities and strengths and rough edges in favor of this soft side. It was so wonderfully developed. I couldn’t get enough of them! The one main male character, Loth, was great too. I really appreciated how, when all the chips were down and everything he had ever known was thrown into question, instead of digging his heels in and shutting down, he did everything he could to adjust, recover, and accept. He was so supportive and open. In fact, basically all the characters in this novel were fantastically open-minded when it really came down to it. I loved that aspect of the novel and the hope that was infused throughout it as a result. So uplifting. I also need to mention the writing. Oh my goodness it was just freaking gorgeous, stunning, writing. Detailed and lyrical, with fun vocabulary sprinkled throughout and phenomenal pacing. I literally cannot say enough about how good the writing was. And last, the dragons, the magic, the dragons and the magic: yes, yes, yes, YES.

So, to sum it up, this book was absolutely phenomenal. This review is one of the shortest I have ever written because there is nothing to critique (and I don’t want to give too much away because you should just go read it yourself). This is my favorite book of the year so far, and really, one of my favorites ever. I’ve never read a longer book that felt so short in my entire life and I cannot recommend it enough. It was just the most beautiful adventure of magic and dragons and heroines and messages of female power and I never wanted it to end.

“There is great power in stories.”

“Ead knew the scent of a secret. She wore it like a perfume.”

“Susa had risked everything for a dream that was not hers. That sort of friendship was something not found more than once in a lifetime. Some might not find it at all.”

“It was customary for the vows to be taken at midnight, during the new moon, for it was in the darkest hours that companionship was needed most.”

“In the story, she had no name, like too many women in stories of old.”

“No woman should be made to fear that she was not enough.”

“Childing is not always easy. It seems to me that this is the best-kept secret in all the world. We speak of it as thought there were nothing sweeter, but the truth is more complex. No one talks openly about the difficulties. The discomfort. The uncertainty. So now you feel the weight of your condition, you believe yourself alone in it. And you have turned the blame upon yourself.”

“She was lost and found and wandering, all at once. At the cusp of dreaming, yet somehow never more awake. […] …the kiss was hot and new and world-forming, the flare of starbirth on their lips. They were honeycombs of secret places, fragile and intricate.”

“Love and fear do strange things to our souls. The dreams they bring, those dreams that leave us drenched in salt water as gasping for breath as if we might die – those, we call unquiet dreams. And only the scent of a rose can avert them.”

“A feeling like dying and coming to life. The blood of the tree spreading over her tongue, soothing the blaze in her throat. Veins turning to gold. As quickly as it quenched one fire, it sparked another, a fire that torched through her whole being. And the heat cracked her open, like the clay she was, and made her body cry out to the world. All around her, the world answered.”

“My evening star. If the sun burned out tomorrow, your flame would light the world.”

“Death came for them like desert wind.”

“A woman is more than a womb to be seeded.”

“Some truths […] are safest buried. Some castles best kept in the sky. There’s promise in tales that are yet to be spoken. In the shadow realm, known only to the few.”

“You are your own shield.”

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

Wow, was it hard to get my hands on this book! This was the book chosen as the April read for my remote (Google Hangout) book club. And even though we’ve read some new releases in the past, this is the first time I was afraid I woudn’t actually get the book in time (and, in all fairness, I didn’t actually – I had to request that we move book club back a week…and I still almost didn’t make it). I was on the waitlist for the physical book, ebook and audiobook at both library systems where I have cards (one benefit of living in county with so much separate-ness between the main town and other areas is multiple library systems). Anyways, it wasn’t looking like anything was going to come through before the end of April. Literally, not a single version. And then, on a whim, I stopped by the library closest to home on my way back from the gym a week ago (I mean, I can’t say I don’t do this often, but still…it wasn’t on the plan for the day) and guess what book was sitting on the top of the “lucky day” shelf??? Spoiler alert: it was this one! Lucky day indeed! And thank goodness, because otherwise I would have had to request another week delay for book club and I would have felt really bad about that…

This book takes place on the Korean island of Jeju, taking us from the late 1930s and carrying us along on a journey through generations and to, more or less, the present day. Mi-ja and Young-sook, two young girls from completely different backgrounds meet and become friends. Together they become haenyeo, female divers who spend their days in the sea, collecting various shellfish and sea life to sell, supporting their families financially in (what is now) one of the most well-known matriarchal societies in the world. Over the years, they experience many parts of history together, from Japanese colonialism to WWII to the Korean War and on into the modern day’s technology. And although both suffer, and are victims, in their own terrible ways, the larger forces around them threaten their relationship and lead to a breaking point from which they may not be able to come back.

This was a phenomenally written and paced sweeping historical fiction. By following Mi-ja and Young-sook through the years together and apart, the author does a fantastic job bringing to life not only the island of Jeju and its culture (both in general and specific to the haenyeo way of life), but also the events and movements of the wider world that irrevocably affect and change the life of the island’s inhabitants. For me, this book was incredibly educational. To start, I knew little to nothing about haenyeo before reading this. And I was fascinated by the sociological aspects of their lives that See went into such gorgeous detail about. Reading about their hierarchies, training methods, ecological knowledge of and respect for the sea, traditional religious practices (for birth, mourning, general prayers, etc.), interpersonal lives, the non-traditional (and simultaneous quite traditional) roles and outlook of men and women in the society…it all had me completely engrossed. And, in reading the afterward from See, I really appreciate the time and effort that went into her research in getting the details right, even down to some of the conversations between the women during the rest breaks between dives. In addition, I’ve never really read a lot about the time period of the Korean War, in general and, specifically, in regards to what that experience was like for Koreans. And again, I feel like See really illuminated the daily realities on a personal level, while managing to still portray the presence of a greater power, if you will, running the events behind the scenes. I am embarrassed to say that I had never heard of the 4.3 Incident before reading this and, after reading, and horrified that something like that could happen with so little international awareness or (in the case of the American powers on-site at the time), outrage. It’s heartbreaking to think about, staggering in the scope of the tragedy (I mean, what a misnomer, to name a years-long murderous suppression after a single day), and so, incredibly difficult to read. (TW for many types of violence during that section.) And what was almost even worse was the lack of anything supportive in the aftermath – in fact, it was a crime to discuss or refer to the events – and I cannot imagine how painful it was not just to live those experiences, but to them not be able to fully process/mourn afterwards. It’s really no wonder at all the way Mi-ja and Young-sook fall apart. And, though as a reader you cannot help but urge Young-sook to forgive and allow herself to move forwards, as a person, I absolutely understand her perspective and reactions and cannot truly say I would handle it any differently. As a side note here, even with the acknowledgement that so many innocents were killed, the fact that the “guilt by association” thing still flourished down the family line is unreal to me. I mean, the idea, in the first place, of your family being punished for your mistakes it horrible, but for that to last even after its generally accepted that the original “guilty party” was probably innocent…unbelievable. And last, moving into present day, I enjoyed reading about way the island slowly became “modernized,” with tourists and technology, and the way the younger generations sought opportunities outside of island life. It was so complex, the way that this reaching beyond was encouraged by parents, was a source of pride, yet, at the same time, the inevitable leaving behind of island traditions and history was a sore spot between the generations. This is such an important concept in general, in the ever-more-connected modern world and, within the context of this greater story, was examined so appropriately and deeply.

The only issue that I have, really, is the present-day parts with Mi-ja’s grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Framing a historical fiction with present day flashes to pull it all together is, in my opinion, a very overused stylistic device. I do see how, with the way Mi-ja and Young-sook’s families intertwine and Young-sook holds onto her anger/blame even in the face of more loss, it is a powerful story-telling tool. And yet…I just wish there was a different (newer?, more creative?) way that authors could use to create fore-shadowing for the past other than using the present to cast it backwards. Anyways, this really shouldn’t have a bearing on your choice of whether to read the book or not, because it’s not bad necessarily, it’s just a personal thing. Also, I wasn’t really sure I understood why the book Heidi was such a big deal. I think I missed whenever/however it was explained. So, if you have read this and followed that part – could you explain it to me? Otherwise, basically, it seemed like an unnecessary detail that was only there as an extra connection between Mi-ja’s great-granddaughter (Clara) and Young-sook…and I didn’t feel that there was a need for any more fabricated connection than what was already naturally there.

Basically, this was just a wonderfully thorough inter-generational historical fiction. Though I’ve said it a few times already, I want to just really emphasize how much I learned from reading this. I know that it’s fiction, but truly, I had no idea about almost any of what this book covered before I picked it up. And I’m so appreciative of the education (and have since done some of my own basic research to learn more). In addition, See does an incredible job exploring the boundaries of friendship and family, the power of forgiveness (or lack thereof), the choices we make to survive and to protect those we love, and the guilt and blame all survivors must contend with. Mi-ja’s and Young-sook’s stories are both tragic, both full of their own unique suffering, and yet they choose to respond to it all in such different ways, both because they feel they have no choice and/or because they cannot see past their own experiences. Watching them live through everything is an emotional experience, up until the very last pages, but it is one that is very much worth it.

“We all suffered from memories. Nor could any of us forget the throat-choking smell of blood or the crows that had swarmed in great clouds over the dead. These things haunted us in our dreams and during every waking moment. But if someone was foolish enough to speak a single word of sadness or was caught shedding a tear over the death of a loved one, then he or she would be arrested.”

“Sometimes you must experience heartache to have a treasured result.”

“Sometimes everything you do is as pointless and as ineffective as shouting into the wind.”

“They did this to me. They did that to me. A woman who thinks that way will never overcome her anger. You are not being punished for your anger. You’re being punished by your anger.”

I really enjoyed this book. It was a wonderful exploration of a culture's myths and folklore that I previously had little to no experience with. I thought the story was very interesting and fun, with just the right amount drama and romance. Li Lan was a well written and believable main character - a girl who makes spur of the moment choices and is a feminine character (a bit sheltered/virginal, which would be unbelievable in another story or culture, but correct under these circumstances), but with just enough spunk to get her through everything she faces. And the development of her love choices with Tian Bai and Er Lang was well done...and of course I love the choice she made in the end. The interaction and juxtaposition of the real and spirit worlds, how the plot develops through both simultaneously and together, is a great device that I think the author manipulated nicely. I think there were a couple instances where the pacing was off, a little too fast versus a little too slow, and a few times that the voice seemed to change a little too much (maybe it was the different tenses used?). But all in all, I really liked the story and the culture. A wonderful, spiritual read and a fantastic first novel.

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

Years ago, like back before I started publishing my reviews on a blog (in 2014), I read Choo’s first novel, The Ghost Bride. I left a short review on Goodreads when finishing. It was generally positive and I feel like past me would not be surprised that current me picked up her second novel. However, for full disclosure, I did pick it up faster that I would have normally, since it was also this month’s book choice for my in-person book club.

The Night Tiger is told from dual perspectives. The first is Ji Lin, a young woman working in a dress shop and (secretly) in a dance hall. She has dreams of something bigger (perhaps nurse training), but is currently trying to help her mother pay of Mahjong debts. The other is Ren, a small boy whose master just died, but not before giving him one last task, to reunite a lost finger with his body, so that he can become whole in death. When Ji Lin comes across said finger accidentally, their two paths are destined to cross. And all the while, visits to the shadow realm, prowling tigers in the night, a string of mysterious deaths, and a completely unanticipated (and not entirely socially acceptable) romance cast shadows on our narrators’ lives.

This was quite the lush, lyrical novel. It’s a style very similar to Choo’s first novel, which is to be expected I suppose, with an overall eerie sort of tone. The mysticality of the writing creates an aura around the story that gives it a spectacular air of magical realism, despite the fact that, for the most part, the plot is explainable in realistic, non-magical ways (and a few more or less believable coincidences). It was the perfect style for this setting and storyline, but it also is one that lends itself to a slow-roll telling. So that, even though there was in fact lots of action (and death…so many deaths…in myriad fairly violent ways), it never felt like it. Relatedly, I felt that there were some moments (especially those of the dream sequences), when my mind sort of wandered away because things slowed down a little too much. It’s a style that isn’t for everyone, as readers, so bear that in mind as you go into this one.

I really enjoyed so many of the individual aspects of the book. Ji Lin’s relationship with her step-brother, Shin, was fun right from the very start. And I liked the way it progressed as well. Ren’s character was sweet and naïve in a very endearing way. As far as non-narrator characters, other than Shin, I felt like they were unique in their own ways (I had no issues keeping track of them or believing that their actions fell within their character/personality), but for the most part, none of them stood out in their own light. It’s sort of a weird assessment to make, but they all sort of existed on a very even-keeled playing field, as far as dominance in the story, and the way they all intertwined with each other (both in real life and in the shadow realm) was deftly developed. I thought it fit the writing and slower paced plot development very well, in this case. And the two “reveals” towards the end, of who is, in fact, responsible for the deaths throughout the novel, really did come as a surprise. Perhaps they shouldn’t have. The “matching set” of five Chinese names based on the five Confucian virtues that tied together all the main characters was a great big clue, but for some reason, the misdirection the author threw in worked on me. And I am glad of that, because it definitely made the end considerably more exciting! To that end, I was definitely not expecting the mystery aspect of this book when I started – that entire piece was an added bonus and I was glad for it. The rest of the novel could have happened without that, for sure, but the layer of intrigue it added was very beneficial to my overall final impressions.

In addition to the characters, and again in line with the parts of her first book I liked, the Chinese and Malaysian superstitions and traditions that were sprinkled throughout were absolutely fascinating. I loved hearing about all the different numbers and how they correspond to good/bad luck. I loved the way the entire novel was based on the idea of the five Confucian virtues and the importance of “complete sets.” I loved the beliefs about being needing to be buried whole and the titular “night tiger,” or men who can take the skin of the beast and terrorize people. Basically, I learned so much historical culture and lore for this area of the world and it was one of my favorite parts. In line with this, the historical fiction aspects of the novel were also very illustrative. Seeing the combination of colonial powers and local independence play out, both within the context of the plot and as a general setting, was educational. This is not an area of the world that is discussed much, in school-based history classes (at least in my experience), and the reality of what colonialism looked like, how it mixed with (and overtook, but that’s my lens…the author was very neutral/non-judgmental, in the way she spoke about both traditional superstition and foreign colonialism) local culture was developed and portrayed, taught me a lot.

Overall, this is one I would definitely recommend if you are looking to lose yourself in gorgeous writing, learn about foreign superstitions/beliefs, and enjoy a subtly complex historical fiction mystery on the side. Plus, as I mentioned, the slow-burn romance was a great one here – I really bought it. Just be aware that the pace never approaches anything that would be considered fast. Although quite a bit happens, the beauty is more in the telling than anything else.

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

I picked this up during a Book Outlet sale sometime last year, having seen it around with lots of positive reviews on bookstagram. Although the hype has sort of died down, since it’s now going on three years post-publication, I am firmly on the better late than never train (as per usual).

After secretly dating for months, Nadia Turner and Luke Sheppard find out they are pregnant. Nadia is a high school senior, mourning after her mother’s suicide. Luke is a few years older, working in a local restaurant after an injury ended his football career, and the pastor’s son. Nadia’s decision to get an abortion, and the related cover up, is a decision that will follow her and Luke for years. And, even worse, the consequences will spread, over the years, affecting not only Luke and Nadia, but also Nadia’s best friend, Audrey, and, in the end, their entire community.

This was a provocative, exploratory novel. Topically, abortion is an incredibly sensitive topic in the United States, especially in religious communities, like the one in focus in this novel. As an added layer, the focus was even more specific into faith-based black culture in America, with all the nuances inherent there. So, while this may be an uncomfortable story for many living within these types of religious and/or black communities to read, it is also that much more important as a result.
To that end, I appreciated the breadth of perspective with which the topic was covered – each person that was involved in the decision and act of the abortion itself reacted in different ways, some expected and some surprising (which was another aspect that I really liked – giving some stereotypes a real flip), to really give a full picture of the consequences of it. There is no easy answer, no “right” response, and, even when the best possible decision is made, the after-affects can still be painful and far-reaching. Relatedly, the way that relationships between people were written was, in my opinion, the highlight of this novel. Nadia and Aubrey’s friendship with each other, both girls’ interactions with Luke and the way they grew/changed, Nadia and her father, as well as both Nadia and Aubrey’s internal struggles with their respective mothers’ ghosts…they were all fully and poignantly developed. The one other thing that I really liked about this novel was the way that is so expertly portrayed how every person thinks (assumes) that others’ have their lives more together, are more successful/desirable. Both Nadia and Aubrey felt this way about each other. And even after learning everything about the other, and understanding the other’s pain/loss, they still vacillated between feeling sorry for the other and being (for lack of a better word) jealous of what they felt the other had that they might never have themselves. It was fascinating and felt so recognizably real.

The writing itself was interesting. The pacing was slower than one might expect for this kind of domestic drama, but that was partially due to the previously mentioned depth of relationship development, so those aspects balanced out in a nice way. There was, however, one stylistic point that just didn’t sit right with me. And, unfortunately, it was a big one: the titular mothers. Every section/chapter began with a sort of, chorus, from the voice of the old ladies of the church community. It was all very fore-shadowy and all-knowing, as far as tone, and, for me, just hit weirdly. I wasn’t into their voice and, really, I felt like the story was strong enough without them. They felt almost like an afterthought, or a framing device that the author really wanted to use and therefore sort of forced to fit. I mean, I understand, from the point of view that so much of this story was about different forms of motherhood: Aubrey’s mother’s inability to protect her, Aubrey’s sister’s stand in parenting, Nadia’s mother’s abandonment of her, both sides of a teen mother’s options (Nadia’s mother having her and Nadia’s decision to abort), Aubrey’s struggles to get pregnant, Luke’s mother’s actions to protect him…motherhood truly was the binding theme of this novel. But just…those old lady voices seemed discordant to the rest of the story-telling in a way I couldn’t get over. And since they were so consistently sprinkled throughout, it really affected my overall experience with reading this novel.

Altogether though, this was an emotional, tender, balanced and discerning first novel. I enjoyed reading it, was invested in the characters’ decisions and experiences, and truly felt like I learned about a type of community that I have absolutely no personal experience with…and isn’t that why we read?

“Suffering pain is what makes you a woman. Most of the milestones in a woman’s life were accompanied by pain…”

“Every heart is fractured differently…”

“…magic you wanted was a miracle, magic you didn’t want was a haunting.”

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

I’d heard a lot about this collection, both on bookstagram and listed in numerous online pop culture “top books” lists. The praise was wide and deep and, though I am not always one for shorts stories, convinced me fairly quickly that this was one I needed to experience.

Basically, I just want to say that all the praise was absolutely deserved. I have no qualms or reservations in saying that this is the best collection of short stories I have ever read. Although, as with all collections, there are one or two stories that just didn’t work as well as the rest, I’ve never been as altogether affected or impressed. And the opening (and titular) piece is, to the best of my memory, now my favorite short story of all time. This collection is just hot…in all senses of the word. The stories and characters jump off the pages, the topics are timely and intelligently explored, the writing is superb, and the tone is just as dark, biting, caustically humorous and harshly satirical as promised. Bottom line – everyone should go read this. It’s entertaining and insightful and just so good. Do yourself a favor and pick this one up asap.

And, as I always do for collections like this, please enjoy my little blurbs/reactions to each individual piece:

Heads of the Colored People: Four Fancy Sketches, Two Chalk Outlines, and No Apology - Damn. And I mean like, I literally said that out loud after finishing this opening and titular short story. I seriously don’t know if I’ve ever read a better short story, and it’s only the first one. It starts with some truly humorous satire and was sprinkled with nerdy and 90s references that spoke to my soul and mislead the shit out of me (which is the point, no?). And then, as soon as the expectations were set, the narrative was flipped completely on its head, the hammer was dropped, and it felt like you’d been hit with nothing so much as Thor’s fist to your chest. I finished breathless and affected, even more so than after reading such lauded books on similar topics as THUG, and it was only 14 pages. Just 14 pages and the author’s sketches painted a clearer picture of misrepresentation and co-opted narrative than I’ve ever experienced before. So yea, damn what a start.

The Necessary Changes Have Been Made – This was a really insightful critique of the way masculinity is treated, the impossible rock and hard place of emasculation and hyper masculinity. But it’s also presented in a really funny way, a satirically humorous tale of passive-aggressive childish tactics in a professional workplace environment that I feel like truly speaks to the soul of anyone who has ever worked in close proximity to others…so basically everyone. And the ending made me snort out loud, with its amusing recognition of the futility and unnecessariness of these disagreements.

Belles Lettres – This was SO SNIPPY – a very similar humorous satire of modern middle-class parenting (along the lines of Where’d You Go, Bernadette?). The level of snark and fake politeness is strong…and the interaction devolves so fast. So entertaining. But the author brilliantly manages to weave in real messages about kids learning to act the way they see their parents acting, overinvolvement of parents in their children’s lives, the shallowness of petty issues and how quickly the focus changes (even though lots of damage is done in the meantime) and subtle messages about how institutional racism causes fissures within the black community. So smoothly harsh. Also, this story starts a mini 3-story series in the middle of the collection that builds on characters in a very interesting way, creating a much fuller character than one normally gets in just a short story.

The Body’s Defenses Against Itself – Great introspection/commentary on the effects of cumulative stress due to systemic racism in the US, as well as exploring the struggles of female issues that affect everyday life mentally/physically in an unescapable and very under-understood way (in this case, endometriosis). “…with my virginity established, she could treat me like a person instead of just a body.” “Sometimes the enemy who looks like you is but a preparation for the enemy who is you. The violence directed inside mitigates the violence that comes from outside. It prepares you, creates calluses, fill holes.”

Fatima, the Biloquist: A Transformation Study - What an amazing subtle exploration of black identity through the eyes of those who don’t “look and sound the part,” yet are treated like the part anyways. Beyond that fact that it’s wrong to start, this is an even more insightful look at the way race/racism changes the way people interact with/treat each other. Also, a great look at the insidiousness of mass acceptance of racism as the norm in the US.

The Subject of Consumption – This was a really weird one. Honestly, this is my least favorite so far. The message I took away from it was that you can get away with things as a white parent that would get a child taken away from you as a black parent. And just in general, the things that are tolerated for white people are greater (even if it’s just not giving them weird looks in a grocery store) than for black people. I don’t know if that was supposed the be the message, but that’s what I got. And it’s true. And sad. And demonstrated to a terrifying extreme here. Also, it’s concerning what will get overlooked in order to make a good tv show (maybe not the point, but still, ugh).

Suicide, Watch – Oh damn this is some serious condemnation of social media and attention-neediness culture. Satirical and biting to an uncomfortable degree, but not altogether off base. Also, that ending though! My mouth actually dropped open. It was so darkly humorous, in the context of the story, but definite TW for suicidal thoughts/ideation. Dang this story hits hard. “…the bulk of her discontentment came from having very little about which to be discontented.”

Whisper to a Scream – Whoa. This was a beautifully subtle look into the disconnect between youth and adults today, and the particularly unique challenges to identity, self-knowledge/acceptance, and safety that come with coming of age in a digital age. It’s quietly harsh and heartbreaking. Also, I’d never heard of ASMR before – I love learning about new things from books! “Editing was the easiest part anyway; she worked best in short frames, quiet slivers, fragments. Everyone said so.”

Not Today, Marjorie – I struggled, from my own perspective, to connect with Marjorie. (I think that was due mainly to her religious leanings/explanations, and it’s my own thing.) I definitely respected the way the author showed how childhood trauma has lifelong affects, and the various ways people choose to deal with it, and what that means for their adult lives/relationships. It was sad, and I felt for Marjorie, truly. And it did a great job showing the inner processes of someone who outwardly pushes people away (and even scares people), which is such an important “put yourself in their shoes” empathy to create for such a difficult and nebulous thing as Marjorie’s negativity and “volatility.” But still, for some reason, I just felt more separate from this story than I did for many of the others.

This Todd – This one was creepy. A fetish for people with physical disabilities, and some kind of weird need to keep the focus on the fact that they are lacking and that our narrator is the one taking care of them, doing them a favor. It’s interesting to consider fetishes from this perspective, on disabilities, which I think universally would be looked down on, yet fetishes for black people, women in particular, are not necessarily seen in the same negative light. It’s calling attention to the issue is, as I said, a very creepy way that does not let the reader write it off as anything but wrong. It’s a nicely crafted message, and even worse in reality than it was icky to read here.

A Conversation About Bread – Wow. This one was amazing. Again, I liked the author’s nod back to the previous story with a repeat character (she uses this technique a few times throughout the collection). But really, this is a phenomenal philosophical exploration of ethnography and telling stories – how the one perspective the story is told from cannot possibly represent an entire group (even when being told by someone from within that group), but is often used to do so. It also explores how it can go so far wrong as to fetishize a person/group…again, building on the themes of the previous story. So smoothly critical in it’s questioning. “Didn’t every story provide a narrow representation at best ad fetishize somebody at worst?”

Wash Clean the Bones – This story is everything about the particular tragedy of being black, being a black woman, being a mother of a black child, a black son, in today’s America. It’s horrifying in a way that should (does) inspire sympathy, empathy, anger and action. The collection ended with the same intensity it started with. To end this review where it began: damn, what a finish. “…sometimes you suffered more the longer you lived.” “That was her life, the residues you could wash out and the ones you couldn’t.”

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

When I originally read the description for this book, I wasn’t sure it was for me. When it started making the rounds on bookstagram, I still wasn’t totally interested in it. But over time, I started to get intrigued by the love/hate reactions I was seeing in reviews. I am a sucker for a controversial novel. And, to be honest, I was really sold on adding it to my TBR after read My Year of Rest and Relaxation earlier this year. That was another recent release that had garnered a lot of love/hate reactions…of which I fell towards the love side of. Basically, all that added up to my curiosity getting the better of me and I decided it was worth giving this one a shot.

Lucy has been in Phoenix for nine years, working on her dissertation (on Sappho). But after a break-up with her boyfriend, she hits an emotional rock bottom and decides to accept her sister’s offer to come to LA and house/dog-sit for the summer. While there, Lucy starts attending a love-addition therapy group, having incredibly risky sexual interactions with men she finds online, and continues to flounder in writing her dissertation. When she sees, and ends up mildly obsessed with, an attractive swimmer on the beach, everything changes. Because he’s not a normal nighttime swimmer…he’s a merman. And their relationship, and Lucy’s understanding of love, gets even more complicated and messy.

Quite frankly, the adjectives that come to mind first, in attempting to describe this book are as follows: vulgar, bizarre, cerebral, experimental and, in many ways that I may not actually ever be able legitimately articulate, fascinatingly grotesque (in an artsy way). Although my original mental comparison to My Year of Rest and Relaxation was, actually, quite accurate in a variety of ways (primarily in the narrative voice/tone), I also got vibes that reminded me of The Argonauts (with the juxtaposition of raw language and deeply philosophical explorations), and then, truly, a whole lot of the reading experience was completely unique to anything I’ve ever had before. I’ve just finished and am still working to fully process my feelings and reactions, so I may present the collection of thoughts in this review in list form…

- I loved how tangible Lucy was as a character. I “felt” her from the very first page. For all her (many) faults, and at times very harmful choices, annoying inner monologues and whininess, she was so very vibrant and alive. She’s a wonderfully fully developed and written character.
- There was a deeply philosophical bent to the writing in this novel. I am not really a person that enjoys reading that kind of intellectual exploration at great length (i.e. in full length novel form), but for some reason, the introspection/questioning here felt accessible and digestible. I can’t necessarily pinpoint why, but I was engaged with it throughout the book, instead of it distancing me from the plot/characters like it has in the past. (As evidence of this, please note the number of quotes/passages that I’ve pulled at the end of this review – so many things struck me while I was reading.)
- Again, I want to point out the contrasting writing styles: crude and finessed language about love and sex flowed together so smoothly throughout the book. It takes a lot of skill as a writer to make something like that work and be jarring, but not gratuitous (thus, pulling the reader out of the space created by the novel).
- Broder presented such an insightful and no punches pulled look at the differences between expectation and reality in love, relationships, sex, etc. It’s direct and impactful.
- I have yet to decide, in any concrete way, whether I think Theo (the merman) was a real “person” or simply a manifestation of Lucy’s internal conflict/need that her mind created. I feel like it could go either way and I flip-flop back and forth every few minutes. I think I like that I’m left with that uncertainty!
- I did not like the entire storyline (and especially the ending) with her sister’s dog, Dominic. It’s horrible. And also seems like the most real thing that happens in the story…which is strange considering how many other very real issues (specifically regarding mental health, addiction and suicide) are not only part of the novel but are prominent plot and discussion points. I think perhaps it was because, of all the characters in Lucy’s life during this period, the dog was the most truly present?
- The “chorus” of women from Lucy’s therapy group were a fascinating collection of voices. Their stories bordered on the satirical, yet I read them as literal within the context of the greater story. I did like the way they were used as a device, and kind of pulled back in Lucy’s work on her dissertation, the parts where Sappho was discussed, and the general style of ancient Greek written art.
- There were definitely some parts of Lucy’s feelings of “nothingness,” general ennui/malaise/feeling lost, that I think most readers would be able to identify with at least part of. It’s a great articulation of a very particular, and difficult to capture, type of feeling. I’m very impressed with that aspect.
- Altogether, the parts about Sappho and Lucy’s explanations of her dissertation were my least favorite parts and I can’t lie, I think most of that theory went over my head. Thankfully it was a more minor section of the book.

I think, similar to my feelings on My Year of Rest and Relaxation, I’m going to end up coming down on the “love” side of the love/hate debate here. I enjoyed my experience reading this book. I liked a lot of the shocking straightforwardness of the “erotic” sections and I feel like it will be one I’ll continue to think about long after finishing (which is generally a marker I use to note a “good” read). However, I do see why the haters hated. There is a lot of unhealthy relationship obsession and dependency that, while it makes for a compelling read, is something that I wouldn’t wish for any woman, anywhere, to experience in reality. Some parts were very uncomfortable to read, for various reasons. And, as I mentioned, dealing with the really unlikable narrator is something that will come down to personal preference. Overall, this is one I would recommend, I think, only to very individual/certain readers - those who can handle reading something disturbing and be able to simultaneously appreciate the presentation, find the dark humor, and see beyond/inside it (and not, I don't totally know what I mean by that either...).

“There are good and bad ways of vanishing.”

“I looked out at the ocean. It was as though I hadn’t noticed it before, or hadn’t wanted to see it. I was scared of its wild ambivalence, so powerful and amorphous, like the depression itself. It didn’t give a fuck about me. It could eat me without even knowing.
But now I saw each of the waves individually, one after the other, and felt them to be in rhythm with ym heartbeat. They glimmered and splashed in the moonlight. Maybe the ocean was cheering for me after all? Maybe we were on the same side, comprised of the same things, water mostly, also mystery. The ocean swallowed things up – boats, people – but it didn’t look outside itself for fulfillment. It could take whatever skimmed its surface or it could leave it. In its depths already lived a whole world of who-knows-what. It was self-sustaining. I should be like that. It made me wonder what was inside of me.”

“The hunger in me suddenly felt bottomless. It scared me a little.”

“No one really wanted satiety. It was the prospect of satiety – the excitement around the notion that we could ever be satisfied – that kept us going. But if you were ever actually satisfied it wouldn’t be satisfaction. You would just get hungry for something else. The only way to maybe have satisfaction would be to accept the nothingness and not try to put anyone else in it.”

“To want what you had – now, that was an art, a gift maybe.”

“Did it take a mythological deformity to find a gorgeous man who was as needy as I was?”

“…so much of what our lovers do and say is imagined. We turn them into who we want them to be. We fill in their bodies and words for them.”

“That he wanted to protect me felt good. I didn’t want to be the weak woman, but really it had nothing to do with femininity or masculinity anyway. Simply as a human being, I liked that someone else was worried about me…”

“Falling in love with a Siren meant certain death, but perhaps this was the greatest love: to die in feeling.”

“Why were some sadnesses so much more permissible than others?”

“And every time, when what I thought was him would turn out to be only seafoam, or the wind blowing on the water, I wondered how much of everything I had seen or thought I’d seen in my lifetime had been only illusion like that.”

“‘Eventually you have to choose,’ he said. ‘That’s how the story has always been and that’s the way it will be forever.’”