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

I am not completely sure how/when I first heard of this collection. It’s very outside of my normal genre/style for reading, as a sort of graphic illustrated mini essay reflection memoir sort of thing. But, I am trying to branch out a bit in my reading, just a little bit at a time, and this seemed like a very unique way to do so.

This short collection is by a Somali-American brother-sister duo, one who wrote the essays and one who illustrated them. According to the blurb on the back, it is supposed to be a sort of memoir about their time growing up in America in the 1980s. Each essay/story is titled after a different kind or species of monster, with reflections that somehow tie into their life experiences. Now, I am a fantasy/sci-fi person at heart. I love a good escapist/imaginative story and am generally willing to suspend disbelief and give benefit of the doubt much farther than the average person. And from that perspective, I absolutely loved the creativity in the different types of monsters, what they represented or how they were created/developed, that were included in this collection.

But there was definitely also a large disconnect for me throughout this reading experience. I really struggled to understand the essays/stories in the context that they were, theoretically, describing. There were a few moments where the messages were very clear, a few pieces where I was hit with meaning like a punch to the gut (I’ll point out some of those moments/passages/quotes specifically at the end of this review). Also, I did, from somewhere, get the general sense that these monsters were all meant to be personifications of the “deformities”/monstrousness/otherness these authors either saw in themselves or were seen by other people. But for the most part, I feel like I really didn’t “get” most of this collection, writing-wise. It was incredibly abstract, esoteric, erudite (as far as the number of references to people/quotes throughout that I knew I was missing eliciting deeper meaning from), in a way that made me, as a reader, feel very distant. Maybe that feeling was purposefully fostered, but I ended up ending up too disconnected, I think. *As a heads up to future readers, there is a section of “Notes” in the back that explains many of the references throughout the pieces and, after looking through that and then rereading a number of sections, I definitely feel like I have a slightly better grasp of the collection. So, make sure you look back/use that to begin with, if you decide to read this; the clarification it provides is really helpful.

The high point, for, was the illustrations of the monsters. They were, simply put, breathtaking. The amount of detail in each was astounding and I think I spent more time looking at each of them than it took for me to read the corresponding essays. The visual enhancement that they granted to each written piece was phenomenal. Just…stunning graphics.

This was less of a “read” and more of an “experience.” It was unique and creative and stirring and super intelligent and an artistic treat for the eyes. And it was short, so if you feel like any part of the above review speaks to you, I’d say go for it. Definitely worth the time to see what it’s all about. But, it’s hard for me to truly say I liked/enjoyed reading this, because of the effort it took to stay intellectually invested. (Emotionally I was present though, because like I mentioned, a few sections hit quite hard, and those kept me waiting/looking for the next one.) Overall, this successfully got me out of my comfort zone!

The Green Lady - Even though it was right at the beginning, the started as, and remained, one of my favorite stories and favorite illustrations, all together.

“Strangers, gods and monsters: interpreting otherness.”

The Clan of the Claw ¬¬– Another favorite. It had so much tangible-ness to the feel of it.

“I feel myself in the clan of immigrants and hyphens.”

“She said she had claws on the inside too. Her heart bore a pair of claws that were useful for nothing, she told me, but scratching at itself.”

The Early Ones – Wow. My second favorite overall, and probably the most realistically (understandably) striking.

“But to see us run on the great plain at dawn is to see the landscape return to itself, beyond plastic and smog, returned to its archaic splendor, the panoply of acacia shadows, the thousand and one varieties of blue. We run. Sometimes we are fleeting and sometimes dancing.”

“All monsters, I thought, express relationships: not the ones we dream of, but the ones we have.”

“Who hasn’t ever wondered: am I a monster or is this what it means to be a person?”

“The monster evokes, in equal measure, both compassion and its opposite.”
Everyday Monsters – One last full essay that I want to point out. This one was really striking and did one of the best overall jobs helping me really feel what these siblings felt while growing up, and the challenges/suffering they faced growing up.

“Light is a thing but lighting is a relationship.”

“Try as much as possible to conform and you will be saved by a wily grace. Imperfection is your genius.”

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

I have had this one on my TBR, and on my shelves, for months now. One of my favorite bookstagrammers, Christine (@readingismagical), has recommended this one over and over as a favorite of hers, so I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was going to be my pick for the May prompt of the Just One More Pa(i)ge Reading Challenge (Asian Pacific Islander author). However, this month was crazy busy and time really got away from me so I’m super pushing the envelope with getting this book finished and the review posted. In fact, to be honest, the review will be a day late. But I finished the book on the 31st and that’s what counts (or at least that’s what I’m telling myself)!

Although there are two short sections from other points of view, this book is primarily told by and about Hero, a nickname for Geronima. She was born and raised to a wealthy family in the Philippines, but was basically disowned by all but her older cousin, Pol, when she chose to leave medical school and join the New People’s Army. After spending 10 years as a camp doctor, then 2 years in a camp after being arrested, Hero heads to America to live with Pol...suffering from difficult memories, loss of self and serious injuries to her hands. In California, Hero sort of settles in with Pol’s family, forming a particularly special bond with his daughter Roni (also a nickname for Geronima…she was named after Hero), but still struggling emotionally. Over time, she forms some relationships with others in the Bay Area’s Filipino community and maybe, just maybe, starts to find reasons to enjoy life again.

To start, this was written in a very distinctive way. There was something very lifelike in the writing, with purposeful imperfections scattered throughout that truly made the story feel real. Similarly, the flow was very unique. It started with a section written from the second person POV (which is already very unique) and then switches to third person (from a totally different person’s perspective). Most of the story continues in that third person narration, with the exception of one more second person section, this time from another totally different character’s point of view. It was a gamble, on the author’s part, I think, to make such bold leaps and changes, but it worked. The two choices for the second person narrations (Pol’s wife, Paz, and Hero’s friend and lover, Rosalyn) really added some extra insight into two of the main female presences’ in Hero’s life in America and helped paint a more detailed background for the reader, as far as their interactions in the way the lived in and around Hero. Like I said, a gamble that I felt paid off. One other thing about the stylistic choices that I as really into was the smooth way that Hero’s current day life, her memories from childhood, her time with the NPA and her time in the camp, were all intertwined during her narration. The way that these flashbacks were fluidly interspersed with the present-day plot, as musings/memories that Hero flowed in and out of (in some cases, even recognized and commented on by present-day characters) was such a natural and authentic way to tell her whole story. And I loved that.

As far as the rest of the novel, I have to say, I learned so much. I think this might be the only book (well, let’s say first book) that I’ve ever read by a Filipina author and/or about Filipino life/culture. I was constantly looking up the meanings of phrases/words, what food dishes were and looked like, what the referenced cultural celebrations meant/entailed, and general history of the Philippines. I’ve noticed that many Latinx authors are now throwing in full, untranslated, phrases/conversations into their English-language novels, and I’ve always been into that, but this is the first time I’ve experienced it in a language that I don’t speak. It added a gorgeous layer of authenticity, but definitely required work on my part to use context clues (and the internet) to figure out meaning. This, along with basically everything else I had to look up and learn about, is exactly why I read. Exposure to anything outside of what we know is beyond important, especially in our global society today, and I appreciate the push to research that books like this give me. Relatedly, I loved how central food was to this story. As we all know, food is so important to all cultures and traditions, but this novel took things even a step further. There were full, deep, important moments that happened not just over/around food, but through it. These moments actually happened mostly without words or any other interaction, other than food being used as an offering/symbol/understanding for the peace, forgiveness, togetherness, that was being shared. It was fantastically portrayed and so very genuine.

Last, I just want to acknowledge the vast humanity that is this book. The relationships within these pages are both profound and simple, in the way that real life relationships often are. I particularly loved reading about Hero and Rosalyn, not just because of the candidness of their relationship (for both good and bad), but also because it felt so real. The challenges they faced both internally and externally (from each other and form community/family) were spot on, but not overdone. And, truly, it’s not often that I encounter really great bisexual characters (protagonists, even!), which is particularly of value to me, as I also (as announced in my previous review for Queens of Geek), identify as bisexual. So, thank you, to the author, for this much needed and appreciated representation. It is easy to tell that this storyline in particular is one that comes from your heart. In addition, the idea of what makes a family, those you are stuck with, those you choose, and those who have chosen to leave you behind, is an important theme here. Hero and Roni’s relationship development is sweet and comforting to read, along with many of the relationships Hero forms with Rosalyn’s family and friends. And in general, I thought Roni was perfectly written for her age, experiences, etc. (and it’s hard to write believable children).

Last, and honestly, at least for me, least, in this novel, is the topic of immigration. Obviously, Hero’s immigration to the United States, and the way the Filipino community there has created their cultural and traditional home together, is a central theme. Yet, at the same time, the adjustments of immigrant life in the US was not, for me, as central as the relationships were. That’s not to take anything away from the novel, and the affects of immigration are clear throughout, at times playing a very important role in characters’ decisions, etc. but while it gave structure and foundation to the whole, it was more from a backseat position. I liked it that way here – acknowledged but not center stage. Similarly, I liked the way Hero’s past, her time with NPA and in the camp, which could easily have become a gratuitous focal point, was handled. Important, never-forgotten, fundamental to Hero’s person/personality, but again, never seeming to take over. Both topics were impressive in their ever-present subtlety.

Overall, this was a spectacular novel. I honestly cannot believe that it was a debut. There was so much truth and life in these pages and though it wasn’t a fast read for me (what with all the stopping to look things up online) it was more meaningful because of that. I absolutely agree with Christine’s recommendation on this one (and from her perspective, can totally see how it would resonate even more with someone of Filipino ancestry/descent) and add my voice of support to hers!

“You already know that the first thing that makes you feel foreign in a place is to be born poor in it […] You’ve been foreign all your life.”

“There was a difference between having friends, and having a friend.”

“Tragedy could be unsensational.”

“The gift of the small world was that it was small. The curse of the small world was that it was small.”

“Hero had known for years what it was like to want something that nobody in the living world could ever give you, and she wouldn’t have wished that feeling on anyone – especially not on the woman in front of her now, face shucked bare, luminous, and so crushingly lovely that Hero’s whole body ached to be far from her, starting deep in her chest and radiating out into her arms, circuiting through all the long ago shorted-out nerves and the staggery veins, lighting up the thin webbing between her fingers, sinking into all the hurt-hard places where for years only pain had come to settle, and gather, and home. Hero ached to be far from her, knowing that nearness would present a yet more grievous and enduring ache. She stepped forward.”

This was the May choice for my distance book club. I won’t lie…I did not vote for this one. So take this review with that grain of salt in mind (though, also know that my opinion was shared across the group, so it may not be all personal bias). In any case, for a number of reasons, I am feeling the need to break from WW2 literature for quite some time. It feels, to me, as if the prolific number of books coming out on this time period/subject is really moving into the gratuitous. There is very little, I feel, that there is left to cover, as far as exploring the atrocities of that time. And there are many others that are less known about/sympathized with and many that are, in fact, currently happening, so something could actually be done about them. I don’t know, perhaps this is just me, but those are just my feels – the genre is overdone and leaning towards the voyeuristic now.

Anyways, this book takes place in WW2 era Britain and France, and then immediately post-WW2 era in the United States. It’s told from 3 perspectives. Eleanor, a Polish immigrant to England who is charged with starting/leading a program for female field agents in occupied Europe. Marie, a British citizen who is recruited into Eleanor’s program and trained in spy-like tactics and radio operations before being deployed to France. Grace, an American who husband died during the war and who is now working in New York and trying to reframe her life. Grace finds a suitcase in Grand Central Station that has a bunch of women’s photographs in it, one of them Marie’s, and, after finding out that the suitcase belonged to Eleanor, but that Eleanor can no longer claim it/answer questions about it, sets out to “solve the mystery” of who the girls are and what happened to them during the war.

I feel like there was definitely some promise to this premise, based on its female operative perspective and such, but (and here is where to bear in mind my personal bias against the plot in the first place), I think it fell drastically short of what it could have been. First, the writing itself was quite poor. It was very surface-level, telling not showing, and the number of repetitive inner monologues from each character’s narration was grating (and unnecessary). Also, despite that repetition of thought processes, the characters then repeated acted in ways that completely contradicted their inner thoughts…over and over and over. For example, Marie was constantly worrying over abandoning her daughter and if she was doing the right thing and staying alive to return to her daughter, etc. and then every time she was presented with a choice, she chose the option that would be least likely to lead to that safe reunion (in many cases, against direct training/orders/common sense). It bordered on ridiculous and the unbelievability of it was a major part of why I wasn’t into this book. In fact, the reality of the entire situation was questionable. Like, not that women could be field operatives or anything like that, but the actual structure of the story and plot points, like Grace and her “man interest” being able to find their way into classified files in the Pentagon without clearance. Like, come on… There were a number of other major coincidences and “too easy” moments, as well as too many predictable moments. Last, and really, biggest: the insta-love. OMG, how implausible can you get? Grace literally can only think about how rude/scary Vesper is and then, in the snap of her fingers, she’s choosing him over (possibly) her daughter? And Vesper is all like “I’ll never forget long my family.” And “I love you.” In the same breath. And in the present day, Grace and her dude. It was better, at least, but I still did not feel it. Basically, I was completely uninvested in either one, which really didn’t help me get into the story, as those were 2/3 of the perspectives. And even though I objectively liked the way Grace makes her decisions for herself in the end, I subjectively couldn’t, because everything leading up to it rang so false for me.

The one good thing that I would say about the entire story is that the “mystery” building was well done. I felt a growing tension as Eleanor and Marie did, and was truly compelled, in Grace’s present-day story, to get to the end and figure out the reveal. And then…there wasn’t really a reveal. Now, as far as the “realistic-ness” of that, I bought it completely. The choices of the government totally make/made sense under the circumstances and really Eleanor’s reaction to it all is what seemed unreal to me – it was war, people die, they all knew what they signed up for, and they were nowhere near the only casualties. I totally understand mourning and perhaps even self-blame, but just…that’s life during war and there are never “good” decisions under those circumstances, only better-ish ones, with competing negative consequences weighted against each other. Maybe I’m being callous. But it bugged me. So even the one piece that I felt like was the saving grace of the novel really ended up, at least for me, not being that at all. To be fair, I did appreciate that the “big thing” (and even some of the smaller things) that the female operatives were working on in Grace’s group was so small, in the greater scheme. That their missions were small disruptions, instead of one big “save the day” type event...that, at least, felt realistic to me. Oh, and the audiobook narrators were on point. So there’s that.

Bottom line, I would totally have been more into reading about Grace’s boss and his work with refugees from Europe coming into the US than anything else that happened in this book. That tiny piece of this story was by far the most interesting and compelling. I feel bad about this review, because I completely respect an author’s time/effort in writing and research, but I just cannot in good conscious recommend this one. So, I will not be going out of my way to share this anywhere else, but I feel that it needs to be recorded, in the same way that I always record positive reviews – it’s fair and true to my reactions.

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

“Because while it is a truth universally acknowledged that a single Muslim man must be in want of a wife, there’s an even greater truth: To his Indian mother, his own inclinations are of secondary importance.”

A few months ago, I got approved for this ARC through NetGalley and, though it took me quite some time to finally read it, I am still so glad I got it. Plus, and this is the important thing, I think, I’m still done ahead of the official publication date!

Ayesha is old to be unmarried, according to tradition in her Muslim community. She’s independent and outspoken and her mother’s grief when her husband passed years ago has made her wary of love. Khalid is conservative and traditional, living with his mother and ready for/trusting her to arrange his marriage to the right woman. They are each dealing with their individual life stressors, Ayesha with her spoiled younger cousin’s dealing with/rejecting marriage her many proposals and finding her own dreams, Khalid with a horrible boss and an estranged sister. When they meet and end up planning a conference for their mosque together, their first interactions are less than smooth, but then…the proverbial sparks start to fly.

This was marketed as a modern-day Pride and Prejudice retelling (the obvious reason why I first requested to read this, because as we all know, I love retellings of my favorite classics). And it delivered on that front perfectly. There were some gorgeous parallels to the original story – Ayesha in particular was a phenomenal Elizabeth Bennet. And I loved the way her four cousins mirrored Elizabeth’s sisters; it was a great little spin. Hafsa, in particular, was a nice stand-in for Jane and Lydia combined: similar in closeness/camaraderie, yet with a spoiled brashness. Again, I liked that spin. Khalid was also a fantastic Mr. Darcy, I thought. Similar to the original, he was too fast to judge, austere and spare with his words/feelings, yet the manner of his judgement, religious/traditional, was a little different than the class/social judgements we saw with Darcy. The last character parallels I really want to point out are that Khalid’s mom was the perfect Lady Catherine de Bourgh and Masood was a hilarious Mr. Collins. And I enjoyed the added stories of Ayesha’s friend Clara – her boyfriend troubles and her workplace interactions with Khalid – and Khalid’s workplace “friend,” Amir. Those storylines added some nice extra layers and modern twists to the storyline.

As far as other elements go, I loved the diversity in this romantic comedy/drama. There are very few big publisher contemporary romances that focus primarily on minority characters. However, I do feel like this is changing, moving in the right direction, with big recent releases like The Wedding Date by Jasmine Guillory and The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang (both of whom have since published follow-ups, but I haven’t had a chance to read them yet!). Anyways, this was not only diverse based on race, but also explored a really controversial and misunderstood/judged religious tradition, Islam and arranged marriages. I actually just recently read another contemporary romance that explored this topic, The Matchmaker’s List by Sonya Lalli. However, if you read my review, I definitely had some mixed feelings about that novel. This one, on the other hand, was so much more. It looked at arranged marriages with a critical, but even-keeled eye, really giving the reader insight to a much-maligned cultural practice. One thing I actually liked better than the original is that we get this story in multiple perspectives, both Ayesha and Khalid, as well as, for short parts, Ayesha’s grandparents. One of my biggest complaints with the original P&P, and many books from that time period (i.e. Jane Eyre), is that we don’t get any “inside Darcy’s/Rochester’s head” sections. Seeing what all the characters are thinking/experiencing was definitely a perk for me. Anyways, speaking of Ayesha’s grandparents, they were adorable. I loved them both. Her grandfather was just the cutest ever – his obsession with Shakespeare and the way he has a quote for advice in every occasion was absolutely a fun little quirk/affectation.

Basically, this loose P&P retelling, set in a Muslim community in Canada, was everything I was looking for. Fast and light, with comedy and drama, fun obvious (and subtle) references back to the original story, and some great cultural insight. I really enjoyed reading it…so much so that I was done in almost one day. I definitely recommend this one as a summer contemporary romance (the season for that type of novel if there ever was one), which is perfect because it comes out in June! Keep your eyes open for it.“You don’t need to be married to matter, you don’t need a man’s attention to be loved and you don’t need to run away to teach us a lesson.”

“Sometimes there were no words, only sunshine on your heart.”

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

This has been a big month for me as far as sequels. And not just any sequels…but such GREAT ones. I just recently posted my review for Vengeful, the follow-up to Schwab’s amazing X-men-ish novel Vicious. It was just as good as the first! And now I’ve finished reading A Closed and Common Orbit, the second book in Becky Chamber’s scifi/space opera Wayfarer series. This one too was SUCH a good follow-up to The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, which I read just about a year ago now and LOVED. It was one of my favorite books of last year, for so many reasons, and has one of my most favorite relationships ever (Rosemary and Sissix – YES). Anyways, the long story short is that the sequels I’m getting to this year and legit and I am digging it, this one being no exception.

At the end of Small, Angry Planet we leave the crew of the Wayfarer after their ship has taken serious damage and they ship’s AI system, Lovey, has had to do what is essentially a hard reset. This risked her losing all her memories of what her…her. And that is (tragically as hell, let me tell you) exactly what happened. This next installation picks up with Lovey’s AI system transplanted into a body (totally illegal tech) and transported off the ship to stay with Pepper (the tech who helped secure said illegal body) at Port Coriol.

Although these characters are ones introduced in the first book, their stories, the ones that we follow in this book, are completely separate from the stories of the opening installation. Both books can, truly, be read as standalones. But I definitely think reading them in order helps, as the world-building is impressive and in depth, and having the background knowledge of Small, Angry Planet (where the basic things are explained a bit more, since it’s the first intro anyone has to this new world) made adjusting to the species and cultures of Closed and Common a little smoother. In any case, this book is told in two timelines, from two perspectives, until we reach the end when everything comes together. The first, of course, is present tense, as Lovey adjusts to her new body, her new surroundings, and the challenges of simultaneously hiding who she is and discovering who she is. Paralleling this is Pepper’s backstory – her “escape” from the planet she was created on and her own adjustments to learning of the wider universe and discovering who she is. Along this journey, her one ally/friend is an outdated AI system. And as their relationship is built, we start to learn why her feelings for helping Lovey run so strongly.

There are so many reasons I loved this book. First, I just have to say that the amount of love in the book is overwhelmingly sincere and inviting. Like, Pepper’s love for Owl (her AI “growing up”), and Owl’s for Pepper, is a perfect balance of parental and sibling from both sides. Since both had something that the other didn’t, or knew/could do things that the other couldn’t, their complementary skills and hopes were beautifully matched and, as they developed together over the years, the loyalty between them (that never disappeared, no matter how long they had to wait) is something so precious. It’s hard to describe how warm and fuzzy it made me feel. The ending had me all happily teary-eyed. As for Lovey (who renames herself Sidra) – her journey to self-discovery is equally fulfilling to read. Honestly, the discussion of AI rights and autonomy and sentiency in this novel is one that so clearly closely mirrors many of the minority rights’ campaigns and revolutions in the history of humanity. It’s easier to step back and look at it objectively in this case, since it’s something so innately foreign, but the baseline ethics and morals are ones the should be more consistently paid attention to in our own world. It’s fascinating and the social commentary aspect in brings into play is important. In addition, I love the role that Tak plays, being at first scared and (at least partially) repulsed by Sidra’s AI-ness. But over time, as they share openly (respectfully) and spend time together, those prejudices are overcome. Again, what an important and open-hearted message that is.

In addition, I want to just point out that the continued openness in regards to gender and sexuality that was one of my favorite things about the first book is continued in the same vein here. The intricacies of each species’ (including AI) beliefs and traditions and communication, as well as the creativity therein, remains phenomenal. As a personal favorite, I loved reading more about the Aeluon’s color-based communication system – colors attached to feelings is one of my most favorite things. And again, it teaches so much about being open-minded and overcoming preconceptions and assumptions. The depth of detail present in all aspects of this novel is incredible. This definitely extends to the amount of thought that went into creating the synthetic body that Sidra inhabits…there are so many things I never would have considered and some of the minutiae (like her “memories”) were just mind-bogglingly awesome. To be honest, the overall scifi-ness of this book, this whole series and world, is just so fun to learn and explore. I cannot get
enough!

And though I did miss some of my favorites from the Wayfarer crew, I think I am bought into the standalones-in-the-same-universe concept after reading this. I was hesitant at first, but it’s such a wide world to explore that I loved seeing new parts of it through different eyes. Plus, we left the Wayfarer in a solid, if somewhat mournful, spot. And it’s easy to imagine where things go from here, now, for them (any loose ends were trifling enough to not justify much tying-up). As I mentioned in my review for Small, Angry Planet, I enjoyed that we were seeing space from a “normal” POV, and not the “save the world hero” POV that we normally get. With that understanding, the next steps for the crew should be mundane, the sort of daily normal that, now that we know them all, wouldn’t be that interesting to read. So, from that perspective, the switch in focus, to two other “small in the grand scheme of things” stories is warranted and in line with the feel of the opening novel. I respect, and in the end really like, the author’s decision on that front.

I recommended Small, Angry Planet to anyone that has watched and loved Firefly and I stand by that. This is a very different type of setting and story. Still many similar aspects: full (and quirky) characters, fantastic sci-fi details, and the same liberal-minded approach to rights/relationships, but a completely different setting within the same world. It would be like getting Inara’s or Book’s backstory as a spin-off of the main show/ship crew, if you will. So, I don’t think I would recommend Closed and Common based solely on that same love of Firefly. But I will say for sure that, regardless, if you read and loved the first one, you will love this one too.

“No offense to you or your species, but going into the business of creating life with out any sort of formal prep is… […] It’s baffling.” (This, and the entire following section on all the respect and honor given to parenting in Aeluon culture, really spoke to me, having done childbirth education for years.)

“…tresha. Someone seeing a truth in you without being told.” (I think I pointed out this term in the first book as well, but what a gorgeous concept to put a word to.)

“…that doesn’t mean you have to abandon what makes you unique. You’re supposed to own that, not smother it.” (THIS.)

“Life is terrifying. None of us have a rulebook. None of us know what we’re doing here. So, the easiest way to stare reality in the face and not utterly lose your shit is to believe that you have control over it. If you believe you have control, then you believe you’re at the top. And if you’re at the top, then people who aren’t like you…well they’ve got to be somewhere lower, right? Every species does this. Does it again and again and again. Doesn’t matter if they do it to themselves, or another species, or someone they’re created.” (I mean, damn. Check out that universal truth right there.)

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

This was recommended to me by a friend after she picked it up because it was a Reese Witherspoon book club choice. It took me longer to get to it than I had intended…but isn’t that always the case? Haha. I have to say though, so far, Reese’s choices have been pretty damn solid. I thought Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows was fun and charming and culturally educational. Little Fires Everywhere was a realistic and entertaining suburban drama. The Night Tiger was an atmospheric and lyrical historical fiction/mystery. I’m sure I’ve read more, but those are the two I remember off the top of my head. The point is, I have yet to dislike one of her book club choices. And this one is not only no exception, but I think it is my favorite of her choices so far.

Penn and Rosie already have four boys when Rosie becomes pregnant with Claude. He’s the perfect addition to their brood of boys. Until he turns five and tells them he wants to grow up to be a girl. What follows is an emotional story of each family member trying to navigate the complicated waters of gender dysphoria. When they move, in order to give Claude a chance at a clean slate, to restart her life as Poppy, the entire family ends up keeping Poppy’s secret until the time is right. But, life never goes as planned, and when the secret comes out all on it’s own, the fallout is complex, scary, unexpected, and maybe even a little wonderful.

Before I get into my feelings about the story itself, which are strong and multi-faceted, let me just address the writing itself. Basically, it was spectacular. It was incredibly smooth and intelligent and the flow was gorgeous. Some of the most polished writing I have read in a long time.

Now, the story. Oh my goodness. This was a “pull at your heartstrings” type novel, in all the best ways. But it was spectacularly combined with exploration of a subject that is both very under-represented in literature and very disdained (to put it lightly/nicely) in real life. There were so many parts of this book that I loved. First, the entire look at being transgender/gender dysphoric, what that can mean/look like, how it affects an individual and their family, the decisions people make to keep the people they love safe, and how truly difficult parenting can be (even for those with all the time, money, privilege and inclination to do everything they can to support their children). The insight into the way being transgender can be so challenging, the various ways to navigate that, and really, how even that label (which is something that must be quantified and addressed, event to accepting parties, in order to make is understandable and relatable) is unnecessarily restrictive. If you are looking to learn more about being transgender, especially in relation to how to handle that as a parent, I do recommend this novel. It’s obviously fictional, but I feel like there are very few resources for this kind of parenting and, for anyone like the author, who just wants to be helpful/supportive, there are some fantastic perspectives explored and questions raised here. And though the author has said that this story in no way parallels her own journey thought parenting a transgender child, I am sure many of the emotions and challenges are based on her own experiences because there is such a feeling of authenticity behind many of Penn and Rosie’s concerns/questions/conversations. In any case, even if you are not a parent or don’t really want to learn more, but are perhaps uncomfortable with the idea of transgender (or gender dysphoric) people, I still (and probably even more so) recommend this read. It truly helps you see from a POV outside your own into a situation you may never (as I have not) have personal experience with, and no matter what your incoming empathy might be, there’s a good chance you finish this book feeling even more empathetic than before. And, like I said, this is still a story of a unified, educated, socioeconomically well off, and supportive family, Penn as a fiction writer (imagination-minded) and Rosie as a medical doctor (scientific-minded), are perfectly poised to guide Poppy and their family through all the changes they face, and still they struggle and suffer. So, just take a moment to imagine every child/person/family without those resources and what leaping into this proverbial unknown might be like in that case. Just…think about that.

Anyways, as far as other things that I liked, the interactions of Poppy with her brothers, as well as their interactions with each other, and with other people regarding Poppy, are fantastic. I have two brothers myself and so well/realistically written sibling relationships are some of my favorites to read. Although these 5 are unique, of course, there were absolutely some recognizable moments and I just loved that entire aspect of the novel. I also really loved the social worker that Penn and Rosie use as their main source of support in helping Poppy navigate life, Mr. Tongo. He might be a bit of a caricature, with his incessant and unerring positivity, but I loved it. He was important for Rosie and Penn, and us as readers, helping to reframe circumstances that could so easily lead to suffering and depression into something to be celebrated. His worldview really helps balance the rest of the ones we see throughout the novel and I appreciated his ability to flip the script on its head and embrace the unknown and the unknowable as full of potential instead of full of fear. Inspiring! In addition, Penn’s ongoing fairy tale about Grumwald and Princess Stephanie, that began when he pursued Rosie and grew/developed along with their family was a fantastic device. First, it was such a wonderful way to teach lessons to Poppy, as she grew up and had to make/face difficult choices, in a way that was understandable and palatable. Also, it was just such a sweet parallel for everything happening in Rosie and Penn and all their children’s lives, and, as it was woven throughout the entire novel, a great way to tie everything together.

There were also a couple things that were a little off, at least for me. For example, there were a number of chapters that ended with foreboding lines like “it was closer than anyone thought” in referencing Poppy’s secret coming out, that I felt were a bit heavy-handed. The plot development itself was more than enough to indicate to the reader that something was going to give, that a secret-spilling moment of reckoning was coming (because how could it not?). Also, I totally understood that this was a parent-heavy perspective novel (and the points they raise between themselves are great and through-provoking for us as readers), and that Claude/Poppy was very young throughout the majority of it, but I just felt like there could have been a little more inclusion of her. There were many “what’s best for her” discussions/disagreements, but very rarely was Poppy included and that rang slightly false, or at the very least, concerning. I thought the inclusion of the “foreign perspective,” when Rosie and Claude/Poppy travel to Thailand, was a little too simplistic and coincidentally perfect. It was an important device, as far as pulling the characters (and us, as readers) out of the mindset and narrative that we are comfortable with here in America, and showing that there are so many other views of “normal” or “acceptable” or just, in general, alternative paths that are available to take. And I liked that cognitive dissonance that was forced on us. But it just seemed to perfect within the context of the story and what other places they could have gone to that would have been even more harmful. It was just…a bit too lucky. And last, the ending. I think perhaps it was too happy? Not within the family, I loved that. The way the older brothers all handle everything throughout, and in the end, is spot on. As well as, really, Rosie and Penn and how things go for them. Unfortunately, though, as far as all of Poppy’s friends, neighbors, etc. it just seemed too good to be true the way they all worked out. But maybe I’m wrong…in fact, I hope I’m just being overly cynical. It would be great if I were wrong.

Overall, this was a masterfully written and executed story of family, parenting (and how all kids are super different in their own ways, so how come some of those ways are more ok than others?), the challenges of change, and the power of secrets. And, in the end, the messages of acceptance, of owning who you are, and of taking things as they come, are just phenomenal. This is an important story, highlighting an under-represented voice, full of so many lovely morals. And you even get carried along through a magical fairy tale at the same time. It’s a single perspective to be sure, not a universal voice on a topic, but an essential one all the same. A great rec from a friend that I intend to pass on!

“You never know. You only guess. This is how it always is. You have to make these huge decision on behalf of your kid, this tiny human whose fate and future is entirely in your hands. Who trusts you to know what's good and right and then to be able to make that happen. You never have enough information. You don't get to see the future. And if you screw up - if with your incomplete contradictory information you make the wrong call - nothing less than your child's entire future and happiness is at stake. It's impossible. It's heartbreaking. It's maddening. But there's no alternative."

“Just because it’s made up, doesn’t mean it isn’t real […] Made up is the most powerful real there is.”

“Wider ranges of normal make the world a better place for everyone.”

“But if you made yourself up, you got to be exactly who you knew yourself to be.”

“You can’t tell people what to be, I’m afraid […] You can only love and support who they already are.”

“Dispelling fear. Taming what was scary not by hiding it, not by blocking it or burying it, not by keeping it secret, but by reminding themselves, and everyone else, to choose love, choose openness, to think and be calm.”

“Story is the best magic there is.”

“You know what’s even better than happy endings? Happy middles.”

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

I’m on a mini roll lately with reading lesser known books that I can’t remember where/how I heard about them. I finished Monster Portraits a few weeks ago and this is another, similarly experimental/unique-style memoir-based-ish novel (though without the accompanying illustrations). In any case, this fairly recent release (Feb 2019) is not one that I have seen around often, if at all, so I’m happy to see that I can/do still choose books for reasons other than general hype. Social media has not won yet! Haha.

After our narrator moves with her family from Atlanta to the suburbs, she faces daily interactions/struggles that call to mind her childhood – basically proving that even though years have passed, there is no difference in the way America treats people that look different, even though, as the daughter of Bengali immigrants, she was born in the US. When an unfounded police raid on her home ends with her being shot, the narrator finds herself looking back on her life, everything from growing up with her younger sister to visits to family in India to meeting her husband, what her job was like, and her time as a mother to her three daughters.

It’s a little hard to say what this story is actually about. It’s more a compilation of related experiences than anything else, but along with that, there are kind of memoir-like vibes to the telling. Which, after reading a little more about the novel, makes sense, since the plot (as it were) is based on her an understandably traumatizing personal experience with a raid on her home. The entire story is framed by that moment. The book opens with her lying on the ground, feeling the awkward splay of her limbs and the concrete on her face. And from there, we read through myriad incredibly short chapters, some just a line or two, as her mind skips and flashes from past to present and everything in between in short bursts of remembrance. It’s an incredibly experimental type style, both as far as structure and in the staccato lyricism of the words/sentences. It’s choppy and fragmented in a poetic sort of way, which did not necessarily make for an easy read of the narrator’s life, but did fit perfectly considering the circumstances she’s “telling” it under. There were other interesting stylistic choices as well, like the fact that not a single character was ever named, but was instead referred to by short descriptors or monikers, like “mother” for herself and “her hero” for her husband and “her presently nonexistent sister” for her younger sister. Well, I take that back slightly, her dog, Greta, was named and reference throughout…but none of the primary human characters had names. Another peculiar thing was the inclusion of sections all the way through about Barbie: the company behind Barbie, the changes to Barbie over the years, and even as social consciousness worked to affect the doll/toy industry, the fact that Barbies of color came/are coming so late and minimally (in comparison to other issues, like body healthier standards, which were/are still, to be honest, quite slow). It was interesting, but also odd. I understood the message and role in the story that it took, and appreciated it objectively…but subjectively, I am not a doll person and I think they’re a bit creepy, so it sat a little weird for me personally. As a side note, and because I’m not sure where to put this, I’ll just drop it here, the author grew up outside Chapel Hill, NC (which is where I live now) so it was very cool to recognize the town and street names that she specifically references, and be able to picture them in my head. I don’t think I’ve ever read another book set, or even partially set, here, so that was fun!

As far as the topics covered, this is definitely correctly billed as an exploration of what it’s like to be a second-generation immigrant to America. To constantly be asked “Where are you from?” or told to “Go back where you came from.” (especially post 9/11), despite the fact that you are American, born in America, never lived anywhere else but America. It’s disheartening to the extreme to see how pervasive this was and remains, as it’s not just for our narrator but her daughters, third-generation Americans, who continue to experience this trauma and outsider-ness as well. One of the most heartbreaking aspects of this, I felt, beyond the obvious, is the way that she, and her daughters kept everything they were going through a secret from their “hero”/father, who presumably was white (based on context clues). In addition to the fact that he traveled so often for work and wasn’t around enough to truly support them through it, it’s like they didn’t want to worry him, because it’s an issue that’s private and embarrassing and, clearly, not one he would understand or be able to usefully help deal with. That divide caused even within the family, stemming from the way America treats the “other,” is just so quietly tragic. The insight into that here is spectacular and eye-opening and affecting. Also, the look at general societal norms, through the narrator’s experiences at work/with her boss, the interactions with her daughter’s schools, the continuous profiling by law enforcement, the petty mistreatment from new neighbors, and what that says about the overall mindset of Americans about who “belongs” here, is also quite distressing. One wants to hope, to think, that we can progressed as a nation, but it’s clear from so many instances/examples that we have not. And the literature like this that helps bring that to the forefront of our minds, especially when the media is not usually doing its job to that same end, is beyond important.

Although the writing and presentation style of this novel makes it a bit inaccessible to the reader (I felt distant from, and partly confused by, everything happening for the majority of the novel), perhaps that’s the point. Maybe that feeling of being disconnected, of being an outsider, is the one the author wanted us to feel…just as she has. If that’s the case (and, truly, even if it’s not), my heart goes out to her and everyone who has experienced similar things. And I appreciate her sharing her story. This is a fascinatingly written and unique novel that tells an important and emotional story. While it is not a favorite for me, I do not regret my time spent reading it.

For June, my distance book club decided to read a book about/themed around social media. There were some really interesting choices. And such variety! I can’t believe how long social media has been around! I remember when Myspace first started and now I’m feeling crazy old. Anyways, this one stuck out to me because I haven’t read a thriller in so long, at least a year. It’s mostly because it’s not my favorite genre, but I was feeling one, so I was excited when this book won the vote.

Louise Williams is just working on getting through life as a self-employed divorced mother when she receives a Facebook friend request out of the blue from an old high school friend, Maria Weston. The only problem is, Maria died when they were still in school. Or at least Louise thought she had. And she’s spent the years since then struggling to overcome the memories and guilt about the role she played in the tragic events. And now she’s afraid all those cruel high school decisions are about to come out into the light for everyone to see…because someone seems to know her secret(s).

I was a little worried going into this one after seeing that neither of my libraries had it in any form, not physical book, ebook or audiobook. Now, I know that’s not a reason to judge a book. I mean, objectively I know that obscurity does not equal lack of quality. But I’ve never had a problem finding a book, in some from, at my libraries before. So I can’t lie, I went into this book with low expectations. With that in mind, my expectations were definitely exceeded. This was a fairly absorbing thriller. I enjoyed the way it was told, in alternating time periods, but all from Louise’s point of view. With the exception of a few italicized sections, also written in first person, whose narrator was not identified (and you don’t find out who it is until the end). And I liked the misdirection that those short sections added – my suspicions about the voice for those changed a couple times, so I count that well done. Anyways, the pacing was pretty solid, plot-wise. I do think there was just a bit too much repetition of Louise’s inner thoughts/questions. I mean, I understand she was trying to work through things, but it dragged just a little at times and I found myself skimming. (Also, can I just take this moment to talk about how frustrating Louise’s character is? I was never that popular in high school either, but like, she made so many bad decisions and then continues to make them as an adult, but based on her insecurities left over from/about high school. It’s super sad, but also annoying. I mention this only in relation to her issues with trying to be popular, not anything else. And, though I realize those insecurities play a great role in other decisions/situations as well, please don’t read this as victim shaming in any way – for the moments related to when she truly in a victim – that’s different.) But I felt like clues/revelations were dropped at reasonable intervals and while I was always ready for the next one, I was never overly exasperated by the wait between them. As with all thrillers, I found myself speeding through, probably missing some details or writing style, to get to the next big thing, but, again, that’s just how thrillers read. Basically, the writing was just fine for the type of novel this was.

As to the plot itself. I did really like how it unfolded in a general sense. I enjoyed the way social media was used a lot. It was creepy and really (as it probably should) makes you take a second to think about how much of yourself you share online. Now, the “moral” related to that was perhaps slightly too explicitly stated at the end, during the first of the two big reveals…but still a good message. I also liked that first of the two reveals a lot. I can’t say that I totally didn’t see it coming, but, still, it fit into the story really well. And I liked the way that the “revenge” situation was carried out well within the means of the person behind it – even if it wasn’t the most dramatic unveiling ever, I really appreciated the reality. And the feels were all strong, in relation to the goals/endgame of the perpetrator. I also liked quite a bit about the second reveal. It definitely caught me way more off guard, but that makes sense, in the end, considering the POV that is telling this story. And I liked the explanations and the why and all that. It was horrible and disgusting and made a lot of pieces fall together in the right way. Very solid. However, post the final “villain speech,” if you will, I was less than pleased with the final denouement. I mean…how likely/realistic is what happened, because on that perpetrator’s personality? Not likely, at lease IMO. Ah well. Last, and randomly, I want to note that I really like how this story is written from the POV of a high school “mean girl,” if you will. Although perhaps she didn’t feel like it at the time, that’s definitely what it was. And it’s a perspective I have need seen written from, but I appreciated it. For all the bullied POVs we get, there are absolutely not enough opposing insights into those who do the bullying, and why, and how that affects them later. So props to the author for that.

The last thing that I really want to mention, and this is more of a general commentary on the genre and not of this book alone, but why oh why do thrillers need to have so much violence against women in them?! Like, is there not a single other way to create suspense and tension and fear than to use physical/sexual assault? And I know that’s a huge fear factor for women, but like, it’s so explicitly spelled out and used in so many of these types of books and it seems like it borders on the voyeuristic. Am I overreacting? I mean, I get that you can’t create a thriller without the “thrill” of something. But between that and the mental/emotional assault about how “but you liked it” or “it wasn’t like that” or “she’s lying” or whatever – I mean women don’t get believed as it is, without multiple books reinforcing that stereotype.

Regardless, if you made it through my soapbox rant, haha, I have to say that this was a solid page-turning situation. Nothing spectacular, but definitely entertaining and well executed. If you’re looking for “light” (read: quick to read and not so scary that you can’t sleep at night) thriller with a modern media twist, it fits the bill.

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

“How easy it is, to waste a life.”

I got this book a few months ago in a Books that Matter (https://www.booksthatmatter.org.uk/) subscription box. I had seen it around, but it hadn’t necessarily been towards the top of my list. And honestly, I’m glad I didn’t jump on it and buy it here, because the UK version of the cover is freaking GORGEOUS. Though that’s besides the point. Anyways, I am not really sure what made me pick it up now. But here we are.

George Washington Black, or Wash, is born on a slave on a plantation in Barbados. After a violent first decade or so of life, the plantation owner dies and when the new one arrives (even more brutal than the last) his younger brother, Christopher Wilde, or “Titch,” comes along Titch is an amateur naturalist/inventor and before long has brought Wash under his tutelage as a sort of apprentice. When an accident causes Titch and Wash to flee Barbados, an adventure starts that will take Wash farther than her ever dreamed. First, to the Americas and then to find Titch’s father in the Arctic. Then, when Titch disappears there, on to a free colony in Nova Scotia, then to London as the guest of a marine zoologist and his daughter, and, in a journey to relocate Titch, to Amsterdam and, finally, Morocco.

Honestly, I don’t know what I expected of this book, or what it was about, but what I got was absolutely not what I had anticipated. And I feel like I may have been a bit dense, to be honest, because the cover has a hot air balloon ship thing on it (at least, the UK softcover that I own has that), which should have been a major clue. Regardless, this book was a much greater adventure than I was ready for. To give you a feel for the style of this book, it was a bit of a mix of The Philosopher’s Flight (Tom Miller) and The Essex Serpent (Sarah Perry), with a little be of She Would Be King (Wayetu Moore) mixed in. It’s a strange and unique novel, mixing historical fiction, natural sciences, a little bit of the magical, and a large dose of social conscious in a way that I have definitely not experienced before. I love finding distinctive books like this. It’s so amazing to me what authors can do, how original and creative they can be, despite the number of books that have already been written. It’s really something else. Anyways, the narrator, Wash himself, was on point – emotional and insightful within the bounds of his ability, yet limited by his experiences and treatment. It’s a fascinating voice to speak from and really made the wonder of the story come alive. I also liked the inclusion of information about “old school” aeronautics, marine zoology, photography, drawing, travel and abolitionist movements – it was a wide array of topics, ones that I have limited knowledge in myself, and they all kept my interest.

However, since there was so much going on, topically, at any given time, I did find a lot of it to be very surface-level, and perhaps the story itself suffered a little bit for that. We moved from location to location, acquaintance to acquaintance, arae of interest/study to area of interest/study at a fairly speedy rate. That is not to say that there weren’t focal points – locations and people and studies that took more center stage when it was their time, and which developed throughout the novel to gain real depth, but there just seemed to me to be a little too much in addition to those major points. I was fascinated by, but never felt truly connected with, the story. Perhaps that was the point…the entire novel felt a lot like a fable to me, in the way that it seemed to be unreal, but also carrying important messages. Yet I could never put my finger on exactly what the author wanted us to take away, or if she just wanted to entertain us. That lack of knowledge left me feeling vaguely unsatisfied when the book was over. There were, also, a number of coincidences and unbelievable crossings of paths, etc. that I found really strained credulity, which, as a style, just didn’t fit, for me, with the way the story was told/unfolded.

This novel was nominated for, and I believe won, a number of awards. In fact, it was even a nominee for the Man Booker Prize in 2018. So there was a lot of hype for it – both from literary representatives and, in fact, through a number of popular bookstagram accounts. And I do see where the hype comes from. As I said, this is such an original piece, covering many interesting topics in an incredibly creative way, with adept (in not spectacular or unusual) writing. But, at least for me, it fell a bit short of the hype. I am not sure I see what exact qualities made it so popular and well-received. That is to say, I didn’t note anything transcendent about it that would lead to quite the amount of praise and elite popularity it got. However, I enjoyed reading it and was thoroughly entertained. And if you are looking for an adventure, this book will absolutely give it to you.

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

Here we go, the third and (as far as what’s been published to date) final book of the Wayfarers trilogy. If you’ll recall, the first on The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet was the first space opera I had ever read and now one of my all-time favorite novels. I literally could talk for hours about how amazing it is. Check out my review, if you want an idea of my feelings. The, last year, I read the second book, A Closed and Common Orbit, which was so very different from the first, and yet had all the same phenomenal insights into humanity through alien eyes (like truly, how does Chambers do it?!). Again, I loved it. So here we are, with me closing out my experience with this universe…and yet again Chambers delivers.

This third installation takes place primarily in the Exodan ships. Now, if you’ll recall from the first two, the Exodans are the remnants of Earth’s human population that escaped the planet’s destruction and have been living in space ever since (they’re Spacers, as it were, having never lived planetside). Anyways, as with all the rest, this novel is told from multiple perspectives. Isabel is an archivist, Kip is a young teen trying to find his path/future (either in orbit or planetside), Tessa is a mother and basic laborer, Eyas is a caretaker of the dead, Sawyer is a young human living planetside who chooses to try and revisit his roots/restart his life as an Exodan, and Ghuh’loloan is a Harmagian scientist spending some time living among the Exodan people to write an anthropological study of their lifestyle. Although they all lead different lives/experiences, they are all brought together with the same questions about the realisticness of the Exodan fleet’s existence in a world where there are now better resources/opportunities available and, at base, the purpose for/meaning of life and the roles of tradition, practicality, sentimentality and memory in that purpose.

This third novel took place in a much smaller scope than the first two (much smaller) and yet still Chambers managed to infuse it with philosophical questions and explorations of the future, technology, integration with others and what all that means for a particular way of life (as well as how those outside influences can, in some ways, irrevocably change a way of life and, in others, not touch it at all) is deep and meaningful and masterfully communicated. It was truly fascinating to read more about the background and history of humans in space and the role they play at the bottom of the metaphorical intergalactic totem pole. The way we are, the most powerful and intelligent species in the world we inhabit, it takes great imagination to convey what things would be like if we were the least evolved/experienced. It was a very thought-provoking exploration that, while it’s presented in an interspecies way, carries lessons that we could (and should) take away and apply to our current social/economic/race based hierarchies…and it really draws attention to the fact that, as humans, we have far more in common than we have differences. Overall, a very thorough sociological (and opposite-colonial) exploration of humans as a species. I also liked the look at the way a true system of equality (or, traditionally speaking, socialist utopia) could be possible. Now granted, the conditions of it’s founding were extreme, but still, it was super interesting to read the logistics/specifics of. To that end, the background Chambers gives of Exodan history and the way their traditions developed and function is equally note-worthy. I particularly loved the idea of human composting as a funerary practice (so creative and, actually, quite cool) and the place/respect for jobs that are, in our own world, looked down on, like sanitation and sex work. And really, the entire look at death and mourning, how it is so culturally based and individually specific, what it means (or could mean) and how those left behind deal with it, is captivating. And I am not really someone that is usually into reading deep philosophies behind death/the meaning of life, etc – Chambers just writes it all so uniquely and accessibly.

As with her first two books, the interpersonal relationships are complex, fully rendered, and, after the world building, the highlight of these novels. Even with so many narrators, each one still felt real and nuanced and multi-dimensional. They faced their personal demons or challenges and worked through, often with help from the others, the best path for them to follow, even (and especially) when best is not synonymous with easiest. Although there were some tough moments to read, I have to say that I loved the way each of the characters ended up, too. Each of their endings were perfect for their stories and development and spot on sentimentally. Personally, I think Eyas’ self-realization was probably my favorite, but I also really loved the way Isabel and Kip ended up, both separately and together. Last, and I have no idea where to say this, so I’ll add it here, I love the section titles and how they all add up to a greater statement: “From The Beginning. We Have Wandered. To This Day, We Wander Still. But For All Our Travels. We Are Not Lost. We Fly With Courage. And Will Undying.” SO. COOL.

Overall, this book, like the others, was just chock full of intergalactic awesomeness. If I’m being honest, I think this was my least favorite of the three Wayfarer’s novels, but even then it far surpasses most other sci-fi/fantasy that I’ve read. Chambers’ ability to create such depth and reality in both the universe and the characters she has created is something so special. And her ability to deal with such complex topics like race, gender, sexuality, status/hierarchy, etc. in a completely foreign setting, yet in a way that is so perfectly recognizable/applicable to our own world here on Earth, is, for me, unmatched (so far, anyways). It’s the perfect mix of escapism and making you think about your own reality. I have so much love for Chambers and this series, I cannot even tell you.

“From the ground, we stand. From our ships, we live. By the stars, we hope.”

“Perhaps none of us can truly explain death. Perhaps none of us should.”

“We’re meant to go. And we’re meant to stay. Stay and go, each as much as the other. It’s not all or nothing anymore. We’re all over the place. That’s better, I think. That’s smarter.”

“We destroyed our world and left it for the skies. Our numbers were few. Our species had scattered. We were the last to leave. We left the ground behind. We left the oceans. We left the air. We watched these things grow small. We watched them shrink to a point of light. As we watched, we understood. We understood what we were. We understood what we had lost. We understood what we would need to do to survive. We abandoned more than our ancestors’ world. We abandoned our short sight. We abandoned our bloody ways. We made ourselves anew. […] We are those that wandered, that wander still. We are the homsteaders that shelter our families. We are the miners and foragers in the open. We are the ships that ferry between. We are the explorers who carry our names. We are the parents who lead the way. We are the parents who lead the way. We are the children who continue on.”