Take a photo of a barcode or cover
1.55k reviews by:
just_one_more_paige
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I had never heard of Bernardine Evaristo before this novel won the Booker Prize this past year (and yes, I am going to choose to believe that she won it singularly, for many reasons…agree or disagree, that’s my stance). In any case, I knew that I wanted to support Evaristo, so I went ahead and bought this one as part of my “treat yourself” Holiday book-buying splurge. It took me a few months to pick it up, and then it took almost a month for me to get through it, but for the best reason…because I savored every minute I spent reading it.
This novel is a collection of vignettes about women, primarily Black and of a variety of LGBTQ identifications, who live in London. It intergenerational and, while each story can really be read individually, they are interconnected in many ways, great and subtle, and finish up nicely tied up by the end.
I have so many things I want to say about this book, but I’m going to start with an overall: it was STUNNING. I see why it won such a prestigious award and I am so glad that that brought it to my attention. The writing is absolutely superb. I didn’t realize this before starting, but Evaristo wrote this entire novel without punctuation, which actually would have made me nervous, had I known ahead of time, but in actuality was not only a perfect style for the novel, it actually allowed the novel to really grow into its own in a way that traditionally punctuation might not have allowed. The way it provided a clear stream of conscious reading experience allowed for a really wide breadth of character development in a way that was both profound, but never got bogged down in itself. It was a natural way to present all the jumping ideas and insights from Evaristo, and was just so compelling – it pulled you in fast and deep and the momentum of the words kept pushing you ever forward. I’m glad for the different characters chapters/vignettes that allowed for natural breaks because otherwise I am pretty sure I would never have been able to put this one down.
As far as what this book is about…I honestly feel like a description wouldn’t give it the lauding it deserves for what it accomplishes. Like, just reading that it illustrates a vast array of Black, sexually-diverse British women, and their lives over the a few generations, I’m not sure that does it justice. It is that…but in such a dynamic way. The range of perspectives and experiences is so wide, looking at first-, second-, third-generation, a spectrum of age and socioeconomic statuses, those who’ve experienced childhood trauma and sexual assault, who’ve experienced domestic abuse/IPV as adults (strong TWs for both of those), many types of healthy relationships, political alignments and feminist perspectives of all kinds – Evaristo’s characters run the gamut. And they all ring so authentic! Which is amazing to me. I mean I know that it’s the mark of a great writer to be able to do this, but it makes Evaristo truly great in the way she is able to so realistically write such different characters, that all pulse with life and individuality and, though some perspectives I agreed with and some made me so angry, they were just all so convincingly real. And it’s always eye-opening to see how different lived experiences are under each person’s own choices/reactions and the outcomes that result. This is just a fantastic portrayal of (relatively) modern British life and Evaristo’s characters shine bright as they show the reader how truly diverse experiences are even within an objectively “small” sub-population.
I know one concern/critique is that there were just so many characters that it was tough to keep track of their connections. Honestly, I can see that. Some of the connections were slight, some were complex, some were far apart from each other throughout the novel, and the details (the many details, all beautifully crafted) were myriad. But the thing is, you either care about that and figure a way to track it that work for you, or…you don’t, and you just go with it. I enjoyed spotting the connections when they came up, like a kind of game, and the really big/important ones were revisited clearly enough to make them easier to follow. As for the rest, as I’m sure that I missed some, I don’t feel like not catching them negatively affected my experience. Like I said earlier, each of these vignettes paints a picture of a character (or in some cases, a caricature) that I felt could easily stand on its own. Even if their individual stories and messages were all I got, without the links, I still would have felt this was an incredible and worthwhile collection. The greater context just made it that much better. And the big ones like I said, come together in a pretty easy to track and satisfying way at the end. So basically, if you’re a person who has concerns about that aspect, I say just don’t worry about it and enjoy the reading experience!
UGH, clearly, I just loved this one. I have nothing but praise for it, from the writing to the plot (as it were) to the character development to the overall reading experience. It was just so, so VIBRANT! I’ll be recommending it widely as both a gorgeous novel and an important cultural exploration.
“privilege is about context and circumstance” (this could basically be a tagline for the entire novel, and the many perspectives it allows the reader to experience)
“she even contemplated having her womb taken out to eliminate periods altogether, which would surely be her greatest possible career move, a tactical hysterectomy for ambitious women with menstruation problems” (what a powerfully hyperbolically satirical line)
“be a person with knowledge not just opinions”
“the truth is that hierarchies of power and privilege won’t disappear, every historian knows this, it’s innate to human nature and inherent in all societies in all eras and equally manifests in the animal kingdom, so I can’t pretend otherwise”
“we all just wanna be ourselves and make sure we’re okay in the world”
“gender is one of the biggest lies of our civilization”
I had never heard of Bernardine Evaristo before this novel won the Booker Prize this past year (and yes, I am going to choose to believe that she won it singularly, for many reasons…agree or disagree, that’s my stance). In any case, I knew that I wanted to support Evaristo, so I went ahead and bought this one as part of my “treat yourself” Holiday book-buying splurge. It took me a few months to pick it up, and then it took almost a month for me to get through it, but for the best reason…because I savored every minute I spent reading it.
This novel is a collection of vignettes about women, primarily Black and of a variety of LGBTQ identifications, who live in London. It intergenerational and, while each story can really be read individually, they are interconnected in many ways, great and subtle, and finish up nicely tied up by the end.
I have so many things I want to say about this book, but I’m going to start with an overall: it was STUNNING. I see why it won such a prestigious award and I am so glad that that brought it to my attention. The writing is absolutely superb. I didn’t realize this before starting, but Evaristo wrote this entire novel without punctuation, which actually would have made me nervous, had I known ahead of time, but in actuality was not only a perfect style for the novel, it actually allowed the novel to really grow into its own in a way that traditionally punctuation might not have allowed. The way it provided a clear stream of conscious reading experience allowed for a really wide breadth of character development in a way that was both profound, but never got bogged down in itself. It was a natural way to present all the jumping ideas and insights from Evaristo, and was just so compelling – it pulled you in fast and deep and the momentum of the words kept pushing you ever forward. I’m glad for the different characters chapters/vignettes that allowed for natural breaks because otherwise I am pretty sure I would never have been able to put this one down.
As far as what this book is about…I honestly feel like a description wouldn’t give it the lauding it deserves for what it accomplishes. Like, just reading that it illustrates a vast array of Black, sexually-diverse British women, and their lives over the a few generations, I’m not sure that does it justice. It is that…but in such a dynamic way. The range of perspectives and experiences is so wide, looking at first-, second-, third-generation, a spectrum of age and socioeconomic statuses, those who’ve experienced childhood trauma and sexual assault, who’ve experienced domestic abuse/IPV as adults (strong TWs for both of those), many types of healthy relationships, political alignments and feminist perspectives of all kinds – Evaristo’s characters run the gamut. And they all ring so authentic! Which is amazing to me. I mean I know that it’s the mark of a great writer to be able to do this, but it makes Evaristo truly great in the way she is able to so realistically write such different characters, that all pulse with life and individuality and, though some perspectives I agreed with and some made me so angry, they were just all so convincingly real. And it’s always eye-opening to see how different lived experiences are under each person’s own choices/reactions and the outcomes that result. This is just a fantastic portrayal of (relatively) modern British life and Evaristo’s characters shine bright as they show the reader how truly diverse experiences are even within an objectively “small” sub-population.
I know one concern/critique is that there were just so many characters that it was tough to keep track of their connections. Honestly, I can see that. Some of the connections were slight, some were complex, some were far apart from each other throughout the novel, and the details (the many details, all beautifully crafted) were myriad. But the thing is, you either care about that and figure a way to track it that work for you, or…you don’t, and you just go with it. I enjoyed spotting the connections when they came up, like a kind of game, and the really big/important ones were revisited clearly enough to make them easier to follow. As for the rest, as I’m sure that I missed some, I don’t feel like not catching them negatively affected my experience. Like I said earlier, each of these vignettes paints a picture of a character (or in some cases, a caricature) that I felt could easily stand on its own. Even if their individual stories and messages were all I got, without the links, I still would have felt this was an incredible and worthwhile collection. The greater context just made it that much better. And the big ones like I said, come together in a pretty easy to track and satisfying way at the end. So basically, if you’re a person who has concerns about that aspect, I say just don’t worry about it and enjoy the reading experience!
UGH, clearly, I just loved this one. I have nothing but praise for it, from the writing to the plot (as it were) to the character development to the overall reading experience. It was just so, so VIBRANT! I’ll be recommending it widely as both a gorgeous novel and an important cultural exploration.
“privilege is about context and circumstance” (this could basically be a tagline for the entire novel, and the many perspectives it allows the reader to experience)
“she even contemplated having her womb taken out to eliminate periods altogether, which would surely be her greatest possible career move, a tactical hysterectomy for ambitious women with menstruation problems” (what a powerfully hyperbolically satirical line)
“be a person with knowledge not just opinions”
“the truth is that hierarchies of power and privilege won’t disappear, every historian knows this, it’s innate to human nature and inherent in all societies in all eras and equally manifests in the animal kingdom, so I can’t pretend otherwise”
“we all just wanna be ourselves and make sure we’re okay in the world”
“gender is one of the biggest lies of our civilization”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This new release was one of the books I managed to grab on my last giant library haul trip before they shut down to the public (so like, two weeks ago or so?). I, like many other readers, thought this (the shelter in place/coronavirus distancing situation) was going to be a great time to read and am quickly discovering that the anxiety and lack of normality is actually making it harder for me to concentrate on reader than it usually is. Super sad. However, though it took me way longer than normal to get into this one, I have to say that one the hook finally caught, I was a goner. I read for like 4 hours straight to finish it up and ended up staying awake much past my normal (but like, what is normal, now?) bedtime.
This is basically a modern-day retelling of Anna Karenina. Now, I have actually read Anna Karenina (I, unsurprisingly, thought it’s be fine to sign up for a grad level Russian lit class as an undergrad. It was not fine…but I have now read a lot of Tolstoy and I’m proud of that.) and it is absolutely by fav Tolstoy novel. So, it already had that going for it. But adding in the high Manhattan society adolescent scene that is the setting for this retelling and the entertainment and drama value just skyrocket! And a quick plot synopsis if you don’t know anything about Anna Karenina: a married woman embarks on a fantastic love affair that basically ends with her original life in shambles and causes a tragic ending, while all around her, friends and family members are simultaneously experiencing the joys and sorrows of love and heartbreak. I mean really, its classic literature soap opera (but side note: historical and cultural setting is also quite important). In this retelling, Anna K has long been dating the star of old Greenwich society, but when she meets playboy Vronsky, who is smitten by Anna in a way he’s never been before, his attempts to win her over lead them both down a path of passionate love that neither has experienced before. Plus, fantastic side-plotlines (that legit held their own against the blinding spotlight that is Anna and Vronsky’s relationship) retold with Anna’s brother (who cheated on his girlfriend but wants her back) and their friend Dustin (a guy with his heart in the right place who’s shooting way out of league for his dream girl).
First of all, and most importantly, this book was just plain fun. Absolutely, dizzyingly entertaining. Lee’s writing is just right for this type of book: smart, quick and snarky in a way that keeps you enthralled and emotionally invested in the story while also sort of able to recognize how ridiculous parts of it are. The pacing is also fantastic, with short chapters, switching perspectives and spectacular romantic tension build-up that all make it almost impossible not to turn another page (which I clearly demonstrated). Honestly, it just feels like Lee was able to take the best parts of the original (I respect that this is arguable, but I’m not writing a dissertation, so I’m not here for the academic side of things), like the love and drama and relationships, and re-present it all in a modern way that’s less cumbersome and really just highlights those human aspects that make a story relatable. Plus, the change in age to a YA novel made me feel so much better cheering for the relationships that were truly about that rush of first love and real connection, because the characters were young enough to make those path switches without causing too much harm (which is very different in the originally version, where all parties are adults and the stakes are objectively much higher). It was a freer setting to read in and, honestly, I challenge anyone to legitimately say that they don’t get swept away in the tidal wave of young and first love (and/or heartbreak) when reading…it’s the best! And this novel had it in spades.
Other things that I loved about this novel include: the cover (so fresh!), the fantastic and overall really positive sibling relationships throughout (I love a good healthy and supportive sibling relationship), the addition of some character diversity, and some of the extra modern-day additions, like addiction and sex tapes (I’m leaving how they feature vague on purpose to avoid spoilers), that really bring the story to the reader where we’re at. Also, I want to just talk about the retelling aspect. For the majority of the novel, the storylines follow the original pretty closely, plot-wise, and I was really enjoying that but also (and if you’ve read it or seen the movie, you know what I mean) I can’t say I wasn’t really hoping for a different ending from the original. Well, I technically got what I asked for, though not at all the way I was hoping. It was still emotional, stunning, surprising…I cried and I gasped out loud and I was mad. But also, I really want to say that I loved it. I loved the twist on the original that Lee made, keeping the spirit of the ending but re-arranging it so that our heroine, our young Anna K could get a 21st century feminist makeover. It was a great way to close out a tumultuous, eye-opening, blindingly love-filled chapter of her life (a romantic coming of age) without any need to have her compromise or lose who she was. I mean, it was horrible and tragic but so was the original, and at least in this case, the girl has a chance to win (and by win, I mean find her second timeless love, hopefully in a healthier set of circumstances). Anyways, the point is, I am here for the way this retelling played out.
Bottom line, I just really needed this story in my life right now. I was completely captivated and that escape was exactly what I was looking for. This is classic literature meets Gossip Girl meets the Crazy Rich Asians series (I know, I have since seen that other people said this too, but I promise I made this note on my phone while reading before I saw any of that!) that works to perfection because of Lee’s fantastic writing. Loved this one!
This new release was one of the books I managed to grab on my last giant library haul trip before they shut down to the public (so like, two weeks ago or so?). I, like many other readers, thought this (the shelter in place/coronavirus distancing situation) was going to be a great time to read and am quickly discovering that the anxiety and lack of normality is actually making it harder for me to concentrate on reader than it usually is. Super sad. However, though it took me way longer than normal to get into this one, I have to say that one the hook finally caught, I was a goner. I read for like 4 hours straight to finish it up and ended up staying awake much past my normal (but like, what is normal, now?) bedtime.
This is basically a modern-day retelling of Anna Karenina. Now, I have actually read Anna Karenina (I, unsurprisingly, thought it’s be fine to sign up for a grad level Russian lit class as an undergrad. It was not fine…but I have now read a lot of Tolstoy and I’m proud of that.) and it is absolutely by fav Tolstoy novel. So, it already had that going for it. But adding in the high Manhattan society adolescent scene that is the setting for this retelling and the entertainment and drama value just skyrocket! And a quick plot synopsis if you don’t know anything about Anna Karenina: a married woman embarks on a fantastic love affair that basically ends with her original life in shambles and causes a tragic ending, while all around her, friends and family members are simultaneously experiencing the joys and sorrows of love and heartbreak. I mean really, its classic literature soap opera (but side note: historical and cultural setting is also quite important). In this retelling, Anna K has long been dating the star of old Greenwich society, but when she meets playboy Vronsky, who is smitten by Anna in a way he’s never been before, his attempts to win her over lead them both down a path of passionate love that neither has experienced before. Plus, fantastic side-plotlines (that legit held their own against the blinding spotlight that is Anna and Vronsky’s relationship) retold with Anna’s brother (who cheated on his girlfriend but wants her back) and their friend Dustin (a guy with his heart in the right place who’s shooting way out of league for his dream girl).
First of all, and most importantly, this book was just plain fun. Absolutely, dizzyingly entertaining. Lee’s writing is just right for this type of book: smart, quick and snarky in a way that keeps you enthralled and emotionally invested in the story while also sort of able to recognize how ridiculous parts of it are. The pacing is also fantastic, with short chapters, switching perspectives and spectacular romantic tension build-up that all make it almost impossible not to turn another page (which I clearly demonstrated). Honestly, it just feels like Lee was able to take the best parts of the original (I respect that this is arguable, but I’m not writing a dissertation, so I’m not here for the academic side of things), like the love and drama and relationships, and re-present it all in a modern way that’s less cumbersome and really just highlights those human aspects that make a story relatable. Plus, the change in age to a YA novel made me feel so much better cheering for the relationships that were truly about that rush of first love and real connection, because the characters were young enough to make those path switches without causing too much harm (which is very different in the originally version, where all parties are adults and the stakes are objectively much higher). It was a freer setting to read in and, honestly, I challenge anyone to legitimately say that they don’t get swept away in the tidal wave of young and first love (and/or heartbreak) when reading…it’s the best! And this novel had it in spades.
Other things that I loved about this novel include: the cover (so fresh!), the fantastic and overall really positive sibling relationships throughout (I love a good healthy and supportive sibling relationship), the addition of some character diversity, and some of the extra modern-day additions, like addiction and sex tapes (I’m leaving how they feature vague on purpose to avoid spoilers), that really bring the story to the reader where we’re at. Also, I want to just talk about the retelling aspect. For the majority of the novel, the storylines follow the original pretty closely, plot-wise, and I was really enjoying that but also (and if you’ve read it or seen the movie, you know what I mean) I can’t say I wasn’t really hoping for a different ending from the original. Well, I technically got what I asked for, though not at all the way I was hoping. It was still emotional, stunning, surprising…I cried and I gasped out loud and I was mad. But also, I really want to say that I loved it. I loved the twist on the original that Lee made, keeping the spirit of the ending but re-arranging it so that our heroine, our young Anna K could get a 21st century feminist makeover. It was a great way to close out a tumultuous, eye-opening, blindingly love-filled chapter of her life (a romantic coming of age) without any need to have her compromise or lose who she was. I mean, it was horrible and tragic but so was the original, and at least in this case, the girl has a chance to win (and by win, I mean find her second timeless love, hopefully in a healthier set of circumstances). Anyways, the point is, I am here for the way this retelling played out.
Bottom line, I just really needed this story in my life right now. I was completely captivated and that escape was exactly what I was looking for. This is classic literature meets Gossip Girl meets the Crazy Rich Asians series (I know, I have since seen that other people said this too, but I promise I made this note on my phone while reading before I saw any of that!) that works to perfection because of Lee’s fantastic writing. Loved this one!
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
Y’all – I was feeling stressed and anxious from all this pandemic situation and I was looking for something to take me away a bit, in a nice happy way. And I can’t believe it took such a drastic situation to pick up this third installation in this series, because I LOVED the first two (Every Heart a Doorway and Down Among the Sticks and Bones) SO much. Like, SO much. But as I was browsing my shelves for the right unread book to pick up, this cotton candy cover jumped out and I knew – I knew it was time and I knew that the reason I had waited so long was because it was holding out for the exact moment I needed it most to call out to me. (Alright, maybe not, but I can tell you for sure that it was, in fact, exactly what I needed.)
So, this novel (novella?) continues the series about children/adolescents who found doors into other worlds, worlds that gave them something they were missing in this, their “own” world, and have since, for whatever reason, been sent back. They are all “collected” at Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children, as they readjust and wait for their doors to open back up. In this installation, Rini falls out of the sky from the world of Confection (a Nonsense and Reason world) into this one. She has come on a quest to find her mother, who needs to be brought back to save the world of Confection. But her mother, Sumi died back in the first book, and Rini is blindsided by this discovery – and refuses to believe it. So she convinces a group of the Wayward Children, including favorite returners like Christopher and Kade and Nancy, along with a wonderful newcomer, Cora, to help her bring Sumi back. And they must move quickly, because Rini is disappearing a little bit at a time and, if they can’t get Sumi back, she’ll cease to exist altogether
McGuire has done it again! This particular book was a little lighter overall than the first two, since they focused, respectively, on a murder mystery and a door to a particularly dark and twisty world. Plus, the setting for this one could only be so intense, as Confection is a world made completely out of baked goods and sugary treats (every child’s dream, right?!). Plus, as a Nonsense world, the “rules” are pretty fast and loose (like it only takes a day to get to and from anywhere in Confection, no matter how far apart the locations actually are), so that keeps things pretty light as well. But, like I said above, this was the perfect time for a happier reading setting, so I was feeling it. Plus, especially for people who bake as a coping mechanism and for self-care, this little novel will speak right to you. The “magic” of baking is highlighted in both a literal and metaphorical sense, and I can see people identifying hard with that aspect. And there was still definitely a deeper level to some aspects, like clear messages about how some things that a sugary on the outside can be bitter/bad inside. Plus, the ever-present lessons about what every person is called to (and how its different for everyone, but no less right or wrong for being so different) and the components/features that make us who we are.
The plot was not something particularly ground-breaking, similar to the first novel (where the murder mystery was more perfunctory than anything else). But it was a fun one and kept the story moving forward and gave the reader a chance to get to know all the characters better and explore these “worlds” a bit more. Because this is the first time the characters, and the reader, get to travel through door to worlds that aren’t “theirs.” First, the group all visits Nancy (our original MC) in the Halls of the Dead and then they all travel together to Confection. It was really interesting to see the way each person, even though they were so unhappy in their first world that a door opened to take them somewhere else, could be even less happy in one of the other worlds. It put people’s personal preferences and needs into a great perspective. And with that, yet again, part of McGuire’s genius and the beauty of these books is the way she is able to perfectly distill down the feeling a “not belonging” somewhere and the comfort of knowing that somewhere out there is a world exactly right for you, where you belong. I always feel filled up and seen and understood after finishing these books, as someone who has definitely felt like they don’t belong before. It’s a feeling that I (and I’m sure many others) identify with deeply and I’ll never get over the way these books feed that part of my soul.
It was also really cool how, in this installment, we got to learn even more about the way these doors and worlds intersect and overlap and work. With each book, I feel like we get a little more about it and the way it’s slow world-building across each, developing further in each story, is a great aspect that makes these more than just standalone tales, albeit heart-warming, embracing, courageous, meaningful tales. And, in this particular book, there was an addition of body positivity (specially weight-based, and, towards the very end, a small piece with physical disability) that was a uplifting and, I felt, well-presented and handled. One more beautiful side-note, the few illustrations sprinkled throughout are stunning.
I am really just a sucker for this series. This particular one was probably not my favorite of the first three, but I still could not put it down. It delivered on everything I was looking for when I picked it up and I love everything about the way McGuire writes, in general and in this format/series in particular. There’s something to fairy-tale and fable-like about these books, and yet they are also so much more than that in a way I struggle to describe. They have deep meaning for me, a profound effect on me emotionally and psychologically, and I just couldn’t love or recommend them more.
“We’re all puzzle boxes, skeleton and skin, soul and shadow.”
“Everyone’s lives prepared them for something different.”
“Cheating was always a matter of perspective, and of who was giving out the grades.”
“Cake and candy and fudge and gingerbread don’t all follow of the same rules, so how can anyone make rules that work for everyone at the same time?”
“…shared differences, which became their shared similarities when held up to the right light. They had all survived something. The fact that they had survived different somethings didn’t change that fact that they would always be, in certain ways, the same.”
“I like my sugar in skull form, and my illumination to come from lanterns hung in the branches of leafless trees.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can do. Just keep getting through until you don’t have to do it anymore, however much time it takes, however difficult it is.”
“…everyone who found a door – understood what it was to spend a lifetime waiting for something that other people wouldn’t necessarily understand. Not because they were better than other people and not because they were worse, but because they had a need trapped somewhere in their bones, gnawing constantly, trying to get out.”
“There is kindness in the world, if we know how to look for it. If we never start denying it the door.”
Y’all – I was feeling stressed and anxious from all this pandemic situation and I was looking for something to take me away a bit, in a nice happy way. And I can’t believe it took such a drastic situation to pick up this third installation in this series, because I LOVED the first two (Every Heart a Doorway and Down Among the Sticks and Bones) SO much. Like, SO much. But as I was browsing my shelves for the right unread book to pick up, this cotton candy cover jumped out and I knew – I knew it was time and I knew that the reason I had waited so long was because it was holding out for the exact moment I needed it most to call out to me. (Alright, maybe not, but I can tell you for sure that it was, in fact, exactly what I needed.)
So, this novel (novella?) continues the series about children/adolescents who found doors into other worlds, worlds that gave them something they were missing in this, their “own” world, and have since, for whatever reason, been sent back. They are all “collected” at Eleanor West’s Home for Wayward Children, as they readjust and wait for their doors to open back up. In this installation, Rini falls out of the sky from the world of Confection (a Nonsense and Reason world) into this one. She has come on a quest to find her mother, who needs to be brought back to save the world of Confection. But her mother, Sumi died back in the first book, and Rini is blindsided by this discovery – and refuses to believe it. So she convinces a group of the Wayward Children, including favorite returners like Christopher and Kade and Nancy, along with a wonderful newcomer, Cora, to help her bring Sumi back. And they must move quickly, because Rini is disappearing a little bit at a time and, if they can’t get Sumi back, she’ll cease to exist altogether
McGuire has done it again! This particular book was a little lighter overall than the first two, since they focused, respectively, on a murder mystery and a door to a particularly dark and twisty world. Plus, the setting for this one could only be so intense, as Confection is a world made completely out of baked goods and sugary treats (every child’s dream, right?!). Plus, as a Nonsense world, the “rules” are pretty fast and loose (like it only takes a day to get to and from anywhere in Confection, no matter how far apart the locations actually are), so that keeps things pretty light as well. But, like I said above, this was the perfect time for a happier reading setting, so I was feeling it. Plus, especially for people who bake as a coping mechanism and for self-care, this little novel will speak right to you. The “magic” of baking is highlighted in both a literal and metaphorical sense, and I can see people identifying hard with that aspect. And there was still definitely a deeper level to some aspects, like clear messages about how some things that a sugary on the outside can be bitter/bad inside. Plus, the ever-present lessons about what every person is called to (and how its different for everyone, but no less right or wrong for being so different) and the components/features that make us who we are.
The plot was not something particularly ground-breaking, similar to the first novel (where the murder mystery was more perfunctory than anything else). But it was a fun one and kept the story moving forward and gave the reader a chance to get to know all the characters better and explore these “worlds” a bit more. Because this is the first time the characters, and the reader, get to travel through door to worlds that aren’t “theirs.” First, the group all visits Nancy (our original MC) in the Halls of the Dead and then they all travel together to Confection. It was really interesting to see the way each person, even though they were so unhappy in their first world that a door opened to take them somewhere else, could be even less happy in one of the other worlds. It put people’s personal preferences and needs into a great perspective. And with that, yet again, part of McGuire’s genius and the beauty of these books is the way she is able to perfectly distill down the feeling a “not belonging” somewhere and the comfort of knowing that somewhere out there is a world exactly right for you, where you belong. I always feel filled up and seen and understood after finishing these books, as someone who has definitely felt like they don’t belong before. It’s a feeling that I (and I’m sure many others) identify with deeply and I’ll never get over the way these books feed that part of my soul.
It was also really cool how, in this installment, we got to learn even more about the way these doors and worlds intersect and overlap and work. With each book, I feel like we get a little more about it and the way it’s slow world-building across each, developing further in each story, is a great aspect that makes these more than just standalone tales, albeit heart-warming, embracing, courageous, meaningful tales. And, in this particular book, there was an addition of body positivity (specially weight-based, and, towards the very end, a small piece with physical disability) that was a uplifting and, I felt, well-presented and handled. One more beautiful side-note, the few illustrations sprinkled throughout are stunning.
I am really just a sucker for this series. This particular one was probably not my favorite of the first three, but I still could not put it down. It delivered on everything I was looking for when I picked it up and I love everything about the way McGuire writes, in general and in this format/series in particular. There’s something to fairy-tale and fable-like about these books, and yet they are also so much more than that in a way I struggle to describe. They have deep meaning for me, a profound effect on me emotionally and psychologically, and I just couldn’t love or recommend them more.
“We’re all puzzle boxes, skeleton and skin, soul and shadow.”
“Everyone’s lives prepared them for something different.”
“Cheating was always a matter of perspective, and of who was giving out the grades.”
“Cake and candy and fudge and gingerbread don’t all follow of the same rules, so how can anyone make rules that work for everyone at the same time?”
“…shared differences, which became their shared similarities when held up to the right light. They had all survived something. The fact that they had survived different somethings didn’t change that fact that they would always be, in certain ways, the same.”
“I like my sugar in skull form, and my illumination to come from lanterns hung in the branches of leafless trees.”
“Sometimes that’s all you can do. Just keep getting through until you don’t have to do it anymore, however much time it takes, however difficult it is.”
“…everyone who found a door – understood what it was to spend a lifetime waiting for something that other people wouldn’t necessarily understand. Not because they were better than other people and not because they were worse, but because they had a need trapped somewhere in their bones, gnawing constantly, trying to get out.”
“There is kindness in the world, if we know how to look for it. If we never start denying it the door.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
“You can’t keep the world from changing…”
I have read a number of things by Isabel Allende over the years, starting with Zorro, when I was really probably to young to appreciate Allende’s prose, because my brothers and I were obsessed with the movie The Mask of Zorro, starring Anthony Hopkins, Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. I cannot tell you how many times we watched that movie. Anyways, one year one of us got the novel as a gift from our parents and it, too, made the rounds. Well, probably just me and one of my brothers read it, as the other one is less of a reader. Regardless, when I saw that one of the “bonus” prompts from The Reading Women Challenge 2020 was to read a book by Allende, I was excited to pick up something new by her. But when I realized that I had still yet to read this one, her first published novel and, arguably, one of the most well-known of her titles, I knew this had to be the one I read.
This novel tells the story of three generations of the Trueba family, starting with the patriarch, Esteban, and his wife, Clara’s, early lives and following them through the tribulations of their marriage, with Clara’s otherworldliness and Esteban’s “traditional” points of view and political aspirations. It follows the forbidden romance of their daughter Blanca and Pedro Tercero Garcia, and the escapades of their twin sons Jaime and Nicolas. And it finishes with the life and trials of Blanca’s daughter, Esteban’s beloved granddaughter, Alba, as their South American homeland races into a future of revolution and dictatorship.
This novel is told through the voice of a narrator from the “present” day, looking back over the generations of the family and the changes time has wrought both upon them and their country. Bear with me here a bit, because I know it’s not everyone’s favorite and I’m super biased, but I seriously LOVED the magical realism in this story. Magical realism is one of my favorite genres/styles and no one does it like the South American authors do. Honestly, it’s been quite some time (too long, if I’m being honest) since I read something like this and I did not realize how much I needed it in my life. (If you’re paying close attention, yes, I did recently read Like Water for Chocolate, which absolutely is magical realism in this style, but also it seemed childish and choppy to me, whereas Allende’s prose is smooth and smart.) Anyways, even though the novel covers turbulent years and myriad types of violence (TW: rape and torture of political prisoners), the style of the writing allowed for me to get swept into it, recognizing and bearing witness to those aspects, but in a way that allowed me to keep moving and not get overly weighed down. I loved all the female characters in the novel. Their mysticality was individual, yet bound them all together in strength and resolve over the years. Each woman was unique, faced her own struggles and used her own power/capability in moving through her life, yet each managed it all with a grace that transcended and passed from one to the next in its own way.
Relatedly, but sort of on the flipside, we get to see/hear parts of this story from Esteban’s own mouth…and I am not sure how I felt about that. His words were so grounded and absent of that mysticality and strength that I was pulled from the beauty of the rest of the story. Now, to be fair, that may have been the point, as his voice and personage clearly represented the rampant classism/sexism/racism/colonialism and general right-wing “fanatical, violent and antiquated” points of the view in this story and throughout South American (and global) history. (And, frighteningly, can still be seen quite clearly, in the right-wing fight for “family and tradition and low and order” that certain political parties and leaders that has turned to an extreme repressive and oppressive level. *cough* Trump/alt-right *cough*) Anyways, perhaps that’s what bothered me so much…that so little has progressed and changed since the time of this character that is clearly meant to be a caricature of these, what should be (and yet are not), obsolete opinions. However, it’s an important point of view for the story and its presence does make a necessary sort of sense. Plus, one can only hope that the regrets of his old age are indicative of the possibility the future holds.
All that being said, there are also many moments of hope and deep/lasting/abiding love sprinkled all throughout this tale. During this historical study of a region and a people, the reader watches the cultural change over years and can see the cyclical (but progressive) nature of it. As a side note here, the one constant point from start to finish is the presence of sex-workers, and the message that they will always hold influence, which I enjoyed as a point of commentary. Well, that and the particular and titular House itself -and I am always a fan of a structure or other similar inanimate “observer” over time in a novel like this. But anyways, it is not just a cycle on a large scale that we see, but on a smaller one as well. We see Esteban Trueba’s horrific treatment of women (both strangers and those close to him) comes back to “haunt” him in the way his granddaughter suffers towards the end. And on some level, that chain of revenge makes sense. Yet, the ending of the novel holds a perfect message about breaking that cycle, that chain, and learning to heal from the past so that the future can be a better place. It’s a gorgeous lesson, though a difficult one to swallow and accept. I applaud the way that Allende brought such an extensive story to such a satisfactory and believable end.
This is a spectacular and comprehensive intergenerational family saga that traces not just the story of the family itself, but also the complex political tapestry of a country, over decades. Written with the magical realism that is a hallmark of great South American literature, Allende clearly pulls from her own experiences and knowledge to create a story with powerful authenticity and compelling development. If you are looking to learn about a people and a way of life and a recent history (in a technically unnamed South American country, but presumably Chile, as that is the author’s home country), as well as become invested in individual romances and hardships, all through the lens of the macro/political and the familial/personal simultaneously, then this is the novel for you. Get ready to be swept off your feet.
“You can’t keep the world from changing…”
I have read a number of things by Isabel Allende over the years, starting with Zorro, when I was really probably to young to appreciate Allende’s prose, because my brothers and I were obsessed with the movie The Mask of Zorro, starring Anthony Hopkins, Antonio Banderas and Catherine Zeta-Jones. I cannot tell you how many times we watched that movie. Anyways, one year one of us got the novel as a gift from our parents and it, too, made the rounds. Well, probably just me and one of my brothers read it, as the other one is less of a reader. Regardless, when I saw that one of the “bonus” prompts from The Reading Women Challenge 2020 was to read a book by Allende, I was excited to pick up something new by her. But when I realized that I had still yet to read this one, her first published novel and, arguably, one of the most well-known of her titles, I knew this had to be the one I read.
This novel tells the story of three generations of the Trueba family, starting with the patriarch, Esteban, and his wife, Clara’s, early lives and following them through the tribulations of their marriage, with Clara’s otherworldliness and Esteban’s “traditional” points of view and political aspirations. It follows the forbidden romance of their daughter Blanca and Pedro Tercero Garcia, and the escapades of their twin sons Jaime and Nicolas. And it finishes with the life and trials of Blanca’s daughter, Esteban’s beloved granddaughter, Alba, as their South American homeland races into a future of revolution and dictatorship.
This novel is told through the voice of a narrator from the “present” day, looking back over the generations of the family and the changes time has wrought both upon them and their country. Bear with me here a bit, because I know it’s not everyone’s favorite and I’m super biased, but I seriously LOVED the magical realism in this story. Magical realism is one of my favorite genres/styles and no one does it like the South American authors do. Honestly, it’s been quite some time (too long, if I’m being honest) since I read something like this and I did not realize how much I needed it in my life. (If you’re paying close attention, yes, I did recently read Like Water for Chocolate, which absolutely is magical realism in this style, but also it seemed childish and choppy to me, whereas Allende’s prose is smooth and smart.) Anyways, even though the novel covers turbulent years and myriad types of violence (TW: rape and torture of political prisoners), the style of the writing allowed for me to get swept into it, recognizing and bearing witness to those aspects, but in a way that allowed me to keep moving and not get overly weighed down. I loved all the female characters in the novel. Their mysticality was individual, yet bound them all together in strength and resolve over the years. Each woman was unique, faced her own struggles and used her own power/capability in moving through her life, yet each managed it all with a grace that transcended and passed from one to the next in its own way.
Relatedly, but sort of on the flipside, we get to see/hear parts of this story from Esteban’s own mouth…and I am not sure how I felt about that. His words were so grounded and absent of that mysticality and strength that I was pulled from the beauty of the rest of the story. Now, to be fair, that may have been the point, as his voice and personage clearly represented the rampant classism/sexism/racism/colonialism and general right-wing “fanatical, violent and antiquated” points of the view in this story and throughout South American (and global) history. (And, frighteningly, can still be seen quite clearly, in the right-wing fight for “family and tradition and low and order” that certain political parties and leaders that has turned to an extreme repressive and oppressive level. *cough* Trump/alt-right *cough*) Anyways, perhaps that’s what bothered me so much…that so little has progressed and changed since the time of this character that is clearly meant to be a caricature of these, what should be (and yet are not), obsolete opinions. However, it’s an important point of view for the story and its presence does make a necessary sort of sense. Plus, one can only hope that the regrets of his old age are indicative of the possibility the future holds.
All that being said, there are also many moments of hope and deep/lasting/abiding love sprinkled all throughout this tale. During this historical study of a region and a people, the reader watches the cultural change over years and can see the cyclical (but progressive) nature of it. As a side note here, the one constant point from start to finish is the presence of sex-workers, and the message that they will always hold influence, which I enjoyed as a point of commentary. Well, that and the particular and titular House itself -and I am always a fan of a structure or other similar inanimate “observer” over time in a novel like this. But anyways, it is not just a cycle on a large scale that we see, but on a smaller one as well. We see Esteban Trueba’s horrific treatment of women (both strangers and those close to him) comes back to “haunt” him in the way his granddaughter suffers towards the end. And on some level, that chain of revenge makes sense. Yet, the ending of the novel holds a perfect message about breaking that cycle, that chain, and learning to heal from the past so that the future can be a better place. It’s a gorgeous lesson, though a difficult one to swallow and accept. I applaud the way that Allende brought such an extensive story to such a satisfactory and believable end.
This is a spectacular and comprehensive intergenerational family saga that traces not just the story of the family itself, but also the complex political tapestry of a country, over decades. Written with the magical realism that is a hallmark of great South American literature, Allende clearly pulls from her own experiences and knowledge to create a story with powerful authenticity and compelling development. If you are looking to learn about a people and a way of life and a recent history (in a technically unnamed South American country, but presumably Chile, as that is the author’s home country), as well as become invested in individual romances and hardships, all through the lens of the macro/political and the familial/personal simultaneously, then this is the novel for you. Get ready to be swept off your feet.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I grabbed this one at a used book store last year. I’d seen it around a little bit and knew it was apocalypse-ish themed but that was about it. I know I live that genre though, so I figured I’d grab it for when I was in the mood later. I started it about one or two weeks ago (it was a slower read for me - I’ll talk through why later in the review) and then all of a sudden coronavirus through this country (and the world) into a tailspin that made this novel seem entirely too realistic. However, I was too far in to put it down and re-start later so, I powered through.
On a random afternoon at a market in India, a man loses his shadow. And what starts as a scientific phenomenon that no one can explain turns into a much scarier turn of events. The loss of a shadow precipitates a new power, a sort of magic, for that person. But it comes at a price: the loss of memories. And as this phenomenon spreads across the globe like a plague, a dystopian, end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it situation arises. Years later, Ory and his wife Max, are managing to survive together at a run-down mountain resort, until the day Max’s shadow disappears…and then, she runs away to protect him. But Ory doesn’t want to give up on her, and sets out on a journey to find her. On the way, Ory faces roaming bandit groups, warring factions in the ruins of the nation’s capital and a terrifying cult who actually worship the “shadowless.” At the same time, Max finds a group of shadowless who are traveling to find someone named “the one who gathers,” who is rumored to be able to help the shadowless…and they race to make it to his stronghold in the south before they forget what they are doing/where they are going.
So, like I said, the beginning of this one was particularly difficult to read, under the present-day circumstances. My anxiety was real, as this book walked through day-by-day the world shutting down, borders closing, hoarding and rioting, governments falling to pieces. It felt very familiar. And I really did wonder if I should keep going. But then, about a third of the way in (ish) things kind of changed up, and I started to settle both into the story and into the more fantastical aspects that allowed to me to separate this plot from the current-day existence. Anyways, what I really liked about this novel was that the development of everything, from plot to characters to world-building to the “science” of shadow-loss, was just so thorough. I mean, the fact that it was based in a recognizable world (the southeastern states of the US) definitely helped with the world-building part, but past that, the way Shepherd created such an authentic atmosphere of lawlessness and chaos and fear, both of other people and of the threat of memory loss…it was just tangible on every page. So well written.
However, I do have to say that it was at the same time, a little too dragged out. There were a few points throughout the novel where the pacing stalled out for me a little bit. There ended up being a lot of players coming together by the end that, though all their presences made for a more sweeping and inclusive conclusion, in a way that I did like, cause the rest of the novel to get bogged down during the introductions and weaving-in. Plus, some convenient coincidences that felt too easy. But it wasn’t that I didn’t want to know about them all (and I liked the many perspectives/examples of reactions to the end of the world – a diverse look at the way people handle trauma and adversity)…I guess I just wanted to know about them faster. I also really loved the “science” beyond the magic production and memory loss that came from shadowlessness. It was a quite interesting and the details we got, while also slowing down the overall pacing at times, were intellectually stimulating in a way I enjoyed. There are definitely some holes in the way the two processes, magic-usage and memory loss, played against each other (in the same way that I feel like all time travel stories had holes) – that you can vaguely feel, but can work through with a willing suspension of disbelief (which I totally had here). As a personal side note here, the entire thing with the reason for fighting over and collecting books, which I liked in theory and the way it was used in the end, was just too flimsy for me to believe – like they needed to be there by the end but the rumors and motivations that caused them to be a point of contention earlier on just didn’t seem believable.
In addition, I thought that the overall exploration, in a theoretical and philosophical sense, of memory and the nature of remembering and the aspects of memory and self that make a person that person, was spectacular. It was intricately examined and really did make me think deeply on it. Which I always appreciate, as a reader. And last, that ending! I thought I knew exactly what was coming, and to be honest, I was ready to be slightly disappointed. It was setting up to be a little too perfect and predictable for me, under the circumstances. And all signs as I read pointed to that ever more and more. And then, just when I thought that was it, there was a spectacular and totally unforeseen twist! I would never have guessed it and, though it was small in overall plot meaning, it was jaw-dropping and perfect in context. Plus, it left me with so many thoughts and questions (in a good way!) about what happened that we might never know about and, again (and the biggest thing coming out of this read for me, as mentioned) what actually makes a person a person… What is the exact combination of memories and physicality that make a person who they are? I’m left with some really cool metaphysical reflection to think through.
This was a unique and philosophically fascinating post-apocalyptic novel. It had lots of action and intrigue and mystery and mythology and “science” and relationship development. But there were also points where it lost me a little with travel sections that seemed to drag and/or explanations that felt just a smidge too far out of my grasp. Definitely a good read and a nice addition to the dystopian/scifi genre. If it’s a genre you love reading, and read widely within it, I’d say to give this one a try. If not, and you are looking for just a single representative of this sub-genre to sample, I don’t know if this would be the one I’d suggest.
“You can’t miss what you don’t know you had, can you?”
“…there’s a difference between when the mind forgets and the heart does.”
“But even if I never say it, it’s still real, because a thing does not have to be said to be real. It just has to be remembered.”
I grabbed this one at a used book store last year. I’d seen it around a little bit and knew it was apocalypse-ish themed but that was about it. I know I live that genre though, so I figured I’d grab it for when I was in the mood later. I started it about one or two weeks ago (it was a slower read for me - I’ll talk through why later in the review) and then all of a sudden coronavirus through this country (and the world) into a tailspin that made this novel seem entirely too realistic. However, I was too far in to put it down and re-start later so, I powered through.
On a random afternoon at a market in India, a man loses his shadow. And what starts as a scientific phenomenon that no one can explain turns into a much scarier turn of events. The loss of a shadow precipitates a new power, a sort of magic, for that person. But it comes at a price: the loss of memories. And as this phenomenon spreads across the globe like a plague, a dystopian, end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it situation arises. Years later, Ory and his wife Max, are managing to survive together at a run-down mountain resort, until the day Max’s shadow disappears…and then, she runs away to protect him. But Ory doesn’t want to give up on her, and sets out on a journey to find her. On the way, Ory faces roaming bandit groups, warring factions in the ruins of the nation’s capital and a terrifying cult who actually worship the “shadowless.” At the same time, Max finds a group of shadowless who are traveling to find someone named “the one who gathers,” who is rumored to be able to help the shadowless…and they race to make it to his stronghold in the south before they forget what they are doing/where they are going.
So, like I said, the beginning of this one was particularly difficult to read, under the present-day circumstances. My anxiety was real, as this book walked through day-by-day the world shutting down, borders closing, hoarding and rioting, governments falling to pieces. It felt very familiar. And I really did wonder if I should keep going. But then, about a third of the way in (ish) things kind of changed up, and I started to settle both into the story and into the more fantastical aspects that allowed to me to separate this plot from the current-day existence. Anyways, what I really liked about this novel was that the development of everything, from plot to characters to world-building to the “science” of shadow-loss, was just so thorough. I mean, the fact that it was based in a recognizable world (the southeastern states of the US) definitely helped with the world-building part, but past that, the way Shepherd created such an authentic atmosphere of lawlessness and chaos and fear, both of other people and of the threat of memory loss…it was just tangible on every page. So well written.
However, I do have to say that it was at the same time, a little too dragged out. There were a few points throughout the novel where the pacing stalled out for me a little bit. There ended up being a lot of players coming together by the end that, though all their presences made for a more sweeping and inclusive conclusion, in a way that I did like, cause the rest of the novel to get bogged down during the introductions and weaving-in. Plus, some convenient coincidences that felt too easy. But it wasn’t that I didn’t want to know about them all (and I liked the many perspectives/examples of reactions to the end of the world – a diverse look at the way people handle trauma and adversity)…I guess I just wanted to know about them faster. I also really loved the “science” beyond the magic production and memory loss that came from shadowlessness. It was a quite interesting and the details we got, while also slowing down the overall pacing at times, were intellectually stimulating in a way I enjoyed. There are definitely some holes in the way the two processes, magic-usage and memory loss, played against each other (in the same way that I feel like all time travel stories had holes) – that you can vaguely feel, but can work through with a willing suspension of disbelief (which I totally had here). As a personal side note here, the entire thing with the reason for fighting over and collecting books, which I liked in theory and the way it was used in the end, was just too flimsy for me to believe – like they needed to be there by the end but the rumors and motivations that caused them to be a point of contention earlier on just didn’t seem believable.
In addition, I thought that the overall exploration, in a theoretical and philosophical sense, of memory and the nature of remembering and the aspects of memory and self that make a person that person, was spectacular. It was intricately examined and really did make me think deeply on it. Which I always appreciate, as a reader. And last, that ending! I thought I knew exactly what was coming, and to be honest, I was ready to be slightly disappointed. It was setting up to be a little too perfect and predictable for me, under the circumstances. And all signs as I read pointed to that ever more and more. And then, just when I thought that was it, there was a spectacular and totally unforeseen twist! I would never have guessed it and, though it was small in overall plot meaning, it was jaw-dropping and perfect in context. Plus, it left me with so many thoughts and questions (in a good way!) about what happened that we might never know about and, again (and the biggest thing coming out of this read for me, as mentioned) what actually makes a person a person… What is the exact combination of memories and physicality that make a person who they are? I’m left with some really cool metaphysical reflection to think through.
This was a unique and philosophically fascinating post-apocalyptic novel. It had lots of action and intrigue and mystery and mythology and “science” and relationship development. But there were also points where it lost me a little with travel sections that seemed to drag and/or explanations that felt just a smidge too far out of my grasp. Definitely a good read and a nice addition to the dystopian/scifi genre. If it’s a genre you love reading, and read widely within it, I’d say to give this one a try. If not, and you are looking for just a single representative of this sub-genre to sample, I don’t know if this would be the one I’d suggest.
“You can’t miss what you don’t know you had, can you?”
“…there’s a difference between when the mind forgets and the heart does.”
“But even if I never say it, it’s still real, because a thing does not have to be said to be real. It just has to be remembered.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This has been on my TBR since the moment I heard about it. And that was only reinforced by all the reviews I saw of it. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy though, for so many reasons, personal and otherwise. But important and necessary. Originally, I was nervous when my hold came up at the library for it though, thinking maybe quarantine isn’t the best time for something like this. But to be honest, it turned out to be perfect. I had the time and flexibility to listen to it (yup, I went with the audiobook) at a pace and on a timeline that felt right to me, taking my time and pausing whenever I needed to, because there were very few other demands on my time. It also allowed to freely express all the emotions I felt while listening, without having to worry about how it would affect me in any other parts of my life (personal and work both), because so many aspects of that are on hold. Really, the timing turned out to be a blessing in disguise and I really couldn’t be more grateful for that.
As a quick background, if you don’t already know, Chanel Miller was originally known only as Emily Doe, after she was sexually assaulted by Brock Turner on Stanford’s campus in January and underwent all the medical and legal processes to bring charges against him. It was a years-long, disruptive process, that caused incredible suffering for Miller and her family and friends, despite the fact that, in so many ways, it was a “clear cut” case. As the book blurb says, and I can’t summarize better than this so I’m grabbing it: “Her story illuminates a culture biased to protect perpetrators, indicts a criminal justice system designed to fail the most vulnerable, and, ultimately, shines with the courage required to move through suffering and live a full and beautiful life.”
I had so many thoughts, feelings and reactions while reading this, across a spectrum so vast that I actually think it would be harder to name a feeling I didn’t feel. My heart swelled and it was shattered, over and over again. It was hard, so hard, from start to finish. It’s been days since I finished. I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this. And I’m not sure I can. I took what turned out to be three pages of single-spaced notes (after I transferred it into a word doc from the notes on my phone) while reading – stopping so many times to write down a quote/passage or furiously type out my reactions to certain parts. Normally I take all that and try to put it together in a more intelligent and measured and linear way, but in this case I think…I may just bullet point my notes and leave them all here for you, unorganized as they are, because these are my true, in the moment, thoughts. And I don’t know if I have it in me to create anything more from them. Which honestly just makes it that much more impressive, that Miller was able to take her own scattered experiences and create something as eloquent, emotionally intense, relatable, scathing (where it should be), affirming, simultaneously individual and universal, insightful, reflective, healing, intelligent, equally strong and soft as this memoir.
So, I guess, here you have it:
• Miller reflects that a whole system was set up (i.e. victim care and provisions within the hospital setting) knowing there would be countless others like her - this, this right here. Like, let’s focus a little more on prevention so those resources aren’t necessary!
• The fact that for so long SHE didn’t even know what happened to her is horrifying and scary and heartbreaking
• Safety was always an illusion quote - this hit HOME as a female. I live in the woods and when my husband works overnight, I always have a knife or something close at hand when I unlock the back doors to let our dog out before bed. That’s just...sad.
• Being cautious versus being afraid. Miller’s internal struggle and fear and mental strain to need to be above reproach/perfect so that she would be a “good” victim so there’d be no action she took that might cause her to be “blamed.” This intense focus on what it means to move as a woman in this world is such ridiculousness... The fact that her personal “character” or “flaws” have any bearing, much less are as important and central as they are, takes the focus away from the actual issue in a way that is infuriating, especially when later his multiple characters references were considered “legit” witnesses on the stand - the double standards are unbelievable. Miller’s work to flip the script, the way we look at “what could she have done differently” to “why should that matter” is affecting and important.
• The complete and total upheaval of her life, the inability to do anything else (both because of her mental state and logistically because of the way the court system worked - dragging it out and re-scheduling constantly but unpredictably). No wonder so few people chose to go through all that.
• The guilt she had to shoulder for how this affected the lives of her close family and friends - knowing it wasn’t her fault but still feeling bad and then angry because the REAL person to blame didn’t know any of them, never considered them when he was making his choices and wasn’t available (in any real way) to shoulder it himself. But also, her family and friends and boyfriends and their unyielding support – I love them all for it.
• How much of herself was lost/put on the back-burner throughout the process...it’s too much to comprehend.
• How much she had to study for her days in court. Like, she had to relive over and over and over those moments that changed her life irrevocably and traumatically so that she didn’t say the “wrong” thing in court because people’s memories are not perfect and she couldn’t risk not knowing every little detail and allowing the opposition to “take advantage” of her humanity to get her attacker off. Like, over and over and over. Again, no wonder people chose not to pursue this route – it’s horrific and so re-traumatizing.
• The verdict wasn’t the end, but at the same time, her feelings about having “won” and what more could she want? And then, if that’s not the end, what (and when) is that expected outlook/anticipated “finish” point? So much to deal with, mentally, emotionally, altogether.
• When men are upset/lonely/neglected, “we were killed” – I mean, I even have fears about that and between her experience in this case and in surviving a school shooting, her strength in holding it together is unbelievable.
• Her erasure - being categorized as white, as an assumption, in addition to everything else, like the idea of the “moderate” level of sexual violence she went through, and the slurs on her own character and the upheaval of her entire life. It’s a miracle she didn’t completely lose herself in that, in a way that cannot be even partially recovered from. It’s a shrunken mini-cosmos of so many things women and minorities face over a lifetime, but smushed into such a shortened time period.
• When she says she faced a never-ending series of hurdles and hollow apologies, that just really hit me deeply. It’s so sad on such a profound and telling level.
• In a sentencing statement from the judge, he says “If we punish him, we would hurt his community too” - but isn’t that legit what happened to Miller’s whole community?! Like seriously WTF Is this double standard?!
• Relatedly to above, Miller’s assessment about his potential being more important than her pain… Or, clearly, her potential, considering what she had to give up while fighting for justice and overcoming the trauma and how that never came up. That, that makes me angry. And then the way she extrapolates that thought to his privilege to be viewed that way, to be seen through the lens of what he could be because that’s what background he came from, instead of what he is/did, and how that courtesy would not be extended to many others accused of similar crimes. Looking a bit deeper at the more structural issues of who is disposable in this system and who is protected.
• I know I said this before, but like, seriously, why do victims have to be flawless to be considered worth not being assaulted?! Especially when he had a lit a previous questionable decision making (put in the best terms) and that didn’t affect the way his character was judged, clearly. His clear pattern of previous interactions and substance use and sexual slurs prior to Miller - like seriously? This isn’t even an isolated event; it’s a freaking pattern and it still didn’t matter. And again, it was his choices that were the crime, not hers…so why does she have to suffer both her choice being taken away and her character being impugned?!
• Denying darkness doesn’t help anyone get closer to light - re: her point of being honest over offering platitudes to other survivors. I felt this was a really important point about healing.
• The focus on art as a saving outlet was phenomenal. I loved it and I’m so glad she had it available to her. Also, her time spent talking about her talents, and how she shown as a comedian, did so much to give dimension to her person, as more than just this victim, and it was beautiful. The importance in expressing and sharing is magnificent.
• All this that she went through, all her “success”...and it’s still “more” than most victims get.
• The number of “current events” that are triggering for a survivor is UNREAL as I read Miller go through and experience them in real time. It adds a whole new perspective to situation(s) that should already have been considered reprehensible.
That was a lot. Sorry (but also not sorry). I just want to end by talking here a little bit about her letter, the victim impact statement, that was originally published under the name Emily Doe. OMG that letter. Her words. I read it. I read it during the time in the days after the publication when she was watching the views/readers tick into the millions. And knowing that I was one of those millions, and what those readers meant to her…it was a real moment for me. To finish this audiobook experience listening to her actually read that statement herself. I had heart palpitations, had to keep pausing, was crying really big and ugly…and hearing the emotions in her own voice as she read it, her own tears and the palpable anger, it was almost too much. But also, it was everything. And I am grateful.
There is so much more I want to say, so much more that I am feeling, but I’ll call it here. If you want all that, you can ask me. Or, even better, go read the book yourself. I absolutely wouldn’t trade the difficultly of reading this, of watching Chanel Miller take back her name and her life on the grandest public scale, for anything. No matter how hard it was. And I cannot recommend this book highly or widely enough. But knowing what it’s about, please only read it if you are in a safe mental space to do so, and make sure to take care of yourself while doing so. Thank you for sharing this with the world Chanel, thank you.
I think I would have highlighted and reproduced half the memoir here, if I could have. I tried my best to be solicitous in my passages/quotes to share, but I think I was only marginally successful:
“Gone is the luxury of growing up slowly. So begins the brutal awakening.”
“They seemed angry that I had made myself vulnerable, more than the fact that he had acted on my vulnerability.”
“How quickly victims must begin fighting.”
“I learned the divide between unthinkable violence and ordinary life was paper thin.”
“Safety was always an illusion.”
“Why should I carry the shame for the things that were done to my body?”
“I felt punished for showing up. It was exhausting to be under constant review, the judgement I always feared confirmed.”
“What we needed to raise in others was this instinct, the ability to recognize, in an instant, right from wrong. The clarity of mind to face it, rather than ignore it.”
“This was no longer a fight against my rapist. It was a fight to be humanized.”
“We are taught assault is likely to occur, but if you dressed modestly, you’d lower the chances of it being you. But this would never eradicate the issue, only redirecting the assailant to another unsuspecting victim, offloading the violence.”
“Somehow it had become all of our faults, except his.”
“Why is it that we’re wary of victims making false accusations, but rarely consider how many men have blatantly lied about, downplayed, or manipulated others to cover their own actions?”
“Bad qualities can hide inside a good person. That’s the terrifying part.”
“I was tired of living as an object of observation, powerless as my narrative was written for me.”
“It’s not ok, never ok, for someone to hurt you. There are no asterisks, no exceptions, to this statement.”
“What I meant was, take note of his mental health, because in my experience, when men were upset, lonely or neglected, we were killed.”
“Rage activates, but too much of it cripples.”
“I’d make them hear the hurt beneath the fury.”
“Is an apology valid without change?”
“My pain was never more valuable than his potential.”
“How to distinguish spontaneity from recklessness? How to prove nudity is not synonymous with promiscuity? Where’s the line between caution and paranoia? This is what I’m mourning. This is what I do not know how to get back.”
“You were just attacked? Here’s some information on how you can enter a multi-year process of verbal abuse. Often it seems easier to suffer rape alone than face the dismemberment that comes with seeking support.”
“This is not about the victims lack of effort. This is about society’s failure to have systems in place in which victims feel there’s a probable chance of achieving safety, justice and restoration, rather than being re traumatized, publicly shamed, psychologically tormented and verbally mauled.” (Basically, ALL OF CHAPTER 12!)
“Denying darkness does not bring anyone closer to the light.”
“Healing is not about advancing, it is about returning, repeatedly, to forge something.”
“I survived because I remained soft, because I listened, because I wrote, because I huddled close to my truth, protected it like a tiny flame in a terrible storm. Hold up your heads when the tears come, when you are mocked, insulted, questioned, threatened, when they tell you you are nothing, when your body is reduced to openings. The journey will be longer than you imagined. Trauma will find you again and again. Do not become the ones who hurt you. Stay tender with your power. Never fight to injure, fight to uplift. Fight because you know that in this life, you deserve safety, joy, and freedom. Fight because it is your life, not anyone else’s.”
This has been on my TBR since the moment I heard about it. And that was only reinforced by all the reviews I saw of it. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy though, for so many reasons, personal and otherwise. But important and necessary. Originally, I was nervous when my hold came up at the library for it though, thinking maybe quarantine isn’t the best time for something like this. But to be honest, it turned out to be perfect. I had the time and flexibility to listen to it (yup, I went with the audiobook) at a pace and on a timeline that felt right to me, taking my time and pausing whenever I needed to, because there were very few other demands on my time. It also allowed to freely express all the emotions I felt while listening, without having to worry about how it would affect me in any other parts of my life (personal and work both), because so many aspects of that are on hold. Really, the timing turned out to be a blessing in disguise and I really couldn’t be more grateful for that.
As a quick background, if you don’t already know, Chanel Miller was originally known only as Emily Doe, after she was sexually assaulted by Brock Turner on Stanford’s campus in January and underwent all the medical and legal processes to bring charges against him. It was a years-long, disruptive process, that caused incredible suffering for Miller and her family and friends, despite the fact that, in so many ways, it was a “clear cut” case. As the book blurb says, and I can’t summarize better than this so I’m grabbing it: “Her story illuminates a culture biased to protect perpetrators, indicts a criminal justice system designed to fail the most vulnerable, and, ultimately, shines with the courage required to move through suffering and live a full and beautiful life.”
I had so many thoughts, feelings and reactions while reading this, across a spectrum so vast that I actually think it would be harder to name a feeling I didn’t feel. My heart swelled and it was shattered, over and over again. It was hard, so hard, from start to finish. It’s been days since I finished. I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this. And I’m not sure I can. I took what turned out to be three pages of single-spaced notes (after I transferred it into a word doc from the notes on my phone) while reading – stopping so many times to write down a quote/passage or furiously type out my reactions to certain parts. Normally I take all that and try to put it together in a more intelligent and measured and linear way, but in this case I think…I may just bullet point my notes and leave them all here for you, unorganized as they are, because these are my true, in the moment, thoughts. And I don’t know if I have it in me to create anything more from them. Which honestly just makes it that much more impressive, that Miller was able to take her own scattered experiences and create something as eloquent, emotionally intense, relatable, scathing (where it should be), affirming, simultaneously individual and universal, insightful, reflective, healing, intelligent, equally strong and soft as this memoir.
So, I guess, here you have it:
• Miller reflects that a whole system was set up (i.e. victim care and provisions within the hospital setting) knowing there would be countless others like her - this, this right here. Like, let’s focus a little more on prevention so those resources aren’t necessary!
• The fact that for so long SHE didn’t even know what happened to her is horrifying and scary and heartbreaking
• Safety was always an illusion quote - this hit HOME as a female. I live in the woods and when my husband works overnight, I always have a knife or something close at hand when I unlock the back doors to let our dog out before bed. That’s just...sad.
• Being cautious versus being afraid. Miller’s internal struggle and fear and mental strain to need to be above reproach/perfect so that she would be a “good” victim so there’d be no action she took that might cause her to be “blamed.” This intense focus on what it means to move as a woman in this world is such ridiculousness... The fact that her personal “character” or “flaws” have any bearing, much less are as important and central as they are, takes the focus away from the actual issue in a way that is infuriating, especially when later his multiple characters references were considered “legit” witnesses on the stand - the double standards are unbelievable. Miller’s work to flip the script, the way we look at “what could she have done differently” to “why should that matter” is affecting and important.
• The complete and total upheaval of her life, the inability to do anything else (both because of her mental state and logistically because of the way the court system worked - dragging it out and re-scheduling constantly but unpredictably). No wonder so few people chose to go through all that.
• The guilt she had to shoulder for how this affected the lives of her close family and friends - knowing it wasn’t her fault but still feeling bad and then angry because the REAL person to blame didn’t know any of them, never considered them when he was making his choices and wasn’t available (in any real way) to shoulder it himself. But also, her family and friends and boyfriends and their unyielding support – I love them all for it.
• How much of herself was lost/put on the back-burner throughout the process...it’s too much to comprehend.
• How much she had to study for her days in court. Like, she had to relive over and over and over those moments that changed her life irrevocably and traumatically so that she didn’t say the “wrong” thing in court because people’s memories are not perfect and she couldn’t risk not knowing every little detail and allowing the opposition to “take advantage” of her humanity to get her attacker off. Like, over and over and over. Again, no wonder people chose not to pursue this route – it’s horrific and so re-traumatizing.
• The verdict wasn’t the end, but at the same time, her feelings about having “won” and what more could she want? And then, if that’s not the end, what (and when) is that expected outlook/anticipated “finish” point? So much to deal with, mentally, emotionally, altogether.
• When men are upset/lonely/neglected, “we were killed” – I mean, I even have fears about that and between her experience in this case and in surviving a school shooting, her strength in holding it together is unbelievable.
• Her erasure - being categorized as white, as an assumption, in addition to everything else, like the idea of the “moderate” level of sexual violence she went through, and the slurs on her own character and the upheaval of her entire life. It’s a miracle she didn’t completely lose herself in that, in a way that cannot be even partially recovered from. It’s a shrunken mini-cosmos of so many things women and minorities face over a lifetime, but smushed into such a shortened time period.
• When she says she faced a never-ending series of hurdles and hollow apologies, that just really hit me deeply. It’s so sad on such a profound and telling level.
• In a sentencing statement from the judge, he says “If we punish him, we would hurt his community too” - but isn’t that legit what happened to Miller’s whole community?! Like seriously WTF Is this double standard?!
• Relatedly to above, Miller’s assessment about his potential being more important than her pain… Or, clearly, her potential, considering what she had to give up while fighting for justice and overcoming the trauma and how that never came up. That, that makes me angry. And then the way she extrapolates that thought to his privilege to be viewed that way, to be seen through the lens of what he could be because that’s what background he came from, instead of what he is/did, and how that courtesy would not be extended to many others accused of similar crimes. Looking a bit deeper at the more structural issues of who is disposable in this system and who is protected.
• I know I said this before, but like, seriously, why do victims have to be flawless to be considered worth not being assaulted?! Especially when he had a lit a previous questionable decision making (put in the best terms) and that didn’t affect the way his character was judged, clearly. His clear pattern of previous interactions and substance use and sexual slurs prior to Miller - like seriously? This isn’t even an isolated event; it’s a freaking pattern and it still didn’t matter. And again, it was his choices that were the crime, not hers…so why does she have to suffer both her choice being taken away and her character being impugned?!
• Denying darkness doesn’t help anyone get closer to light - re: her point of being honest over offering platitudes to other survivors. I felt this was a really important point about healing.
• The focus on art as a saving outlet was phenomenal. I loved it and I’m so glad she had it available to her. Also, her time spent talking about her talents, and how she shown as a comedian, did so much to give dimension to her person, as more than just this victim, and it was beautiful. The importance in expressing and sharing is magnificent.
• All this that she went through, all her “success”...and it’s still “more” than most victims get.
• The number of “current events” that are triggering for a survivor is UNREAL as I read Miller go through and experience them in real time. It adds a whole new perspective to situation(s) that should already have been considered reprehensible.
That was a lot. Sorry (but also not sorry). I just want to end by talking here a little bit about her letter, the victim impact statement, that was originally published under the name Emily Doe. OMG that letter. Her words. I read it. I read it during the time in the days after the publication when she was watching the views/readers tick into the millions. And knowing that I was one of those millions, and what those readers meant to her…it was a real moment for me. To finish this audiobook experience listening to her actually read that statement herself. I had heart palpitations, had to keep pausing, was crying really big and ugly…and hearing the emotions in her own voice as she read it, her own tears and the palpable anger, it was almost too much. But also, it was everything. And I am grateful.
There is so much more I want to say, so much more that I am feeling, but I’ll call it here. If you want all that, you can ask me. Or, even better, go read the book yourself. I absolutely wouldn’t trade the difficultly of reading this, of watching Chanel Miller take back her name and her life on the grandest public scale, for anything. No matter how hard it was. And I cannot recommend this book highly or widely enough. But knowing what it’s about, please only read it if you are in a safe mental space to do so, and make sure to take care of yourself while doing so. Thank you for sharing this with the world Chanel, thank you.
I think I would have highlighted and reproduced half the memoir here, if I could have. I tried my best to be solicitous in my passages/quotes to share, but I think I was only marginally successful:
“Gone is the luxury of growing up slowly. So begins the brutal awakening.”
“They seemed angry that I had made myself vulnerable, more than the fact that he had acted on my vulnerability.”
“How quickly victims must begin fighting.”
“I learned the divide between unthinkable violence and ordinary life was paper thin.”
“Safety was always an illusion.”
“Why should I carry the shame for the things that were done to my body?”
“I felt punished for showing up. It was exhausting to be under constant review, the judgement I always feared confirmed.”
“What we needed to raise in others was this instinct, the ability to recognize, in an instant, right from wrong. The clarity of mind to face it, rather than ignore it.”
“This was no longer a fight against my rapist. It was a fight to be humanized.”
“We are taught assault is likely to occur, but if you dressed modestly, you’d lower the chances of it being you. But this would never eradicate the issue, only redirecting the assailant to another unsuspecting victim, offloading the violence.”
“Somehow it had become all of our faults, except his.”
“Why is it that we’re wary of victims making false accusations, but rarely consider how many men have blatantly lied about, downplayed, or manipulated others to cover their own actions?”
“Bad qualities can hide inside a good person. That’s the terrifying part.”
“I was tired of living as an object of observation, powerless as my narrative was written for me.”
“It’s not ok, never ok, for someone to hurt you. There are no asterisks, no exceptions, to this statement.”
“What I meant was, take note of his mental health, because in my experience, when men were upset, lonely or neglected, we were killed.”
“Rage activates, but too much of it cripples.”
“I’d make them hear the hurt beneath the fury.”
“Is an apology valid without change?”
“My pain was never more valuable than his potential.”
“How to distinguish spontaneity from recklessness? How to prove nudity is not synonymous with promiscuity? Where’s the line between caution and paranoia? This is what I’m mourning. This is what I do not know how to get back.”
“You were just attacked? Here’s some information on how you can enter a multi-year process of verbal abuse. Often it seems easier to suffer rape alone than face the dismemberment that comes with seeking support.”
“This is not about the victims lack of effort. This is about society’s failure to have systems in place in which victims feel there’s a probable chance of achieving safety, justice and restoration, rather than being re traumatized, publicly shamed, psychologically tormented and verbally mauled.” (Basically, ALL OF CHAPTER 12!)
“Denying darkness does not bring anyone closer to the light.”
“Healing is not about advancing, it is about returning, repeatedly, to forge something.”
“I survived because I remained soft, because I listened, because I wrote, because I huddled close to my truth, protected it like a tiny flame in a terrible storm. Hold up your heads when the tears come, when you are mocked, insulted, questioned, threatened, when they tell you you are nothing, when your body is reduced to openings. The journey will be longer than you imagined. Trauma will find you again and again. Do not become the ones who hurt you. Stay tender with your power. Never fight to injure, fight to uplift. Fight because you know that in this life, you deserve safety, joy, and freedom. Fight because it is your life, not anyone else’s.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I picked this novel up at a used bookstore a few years ago and never got around to reading it. It just sounded sweet and the cover is super cozy looking, but for some reason it never called out to me as my “next read.” During the last meeting for my long-distance book club, I was excited to tell my fellow members that I was officially offered a job with my local library (I am so psyched to work more with books)! And it’s part time, so I still get to teach puberty and other health classes around the state and coach CrossFit – my perfect set-up. Anyways, to celebrate we decided to read a book about books (or readers or libraries or writers) and this was the winner. What a fun reason and way to get a backlist TBR book read.
Monsieur Perdu is a self-proclaimed literary apothecary, a bookseller from Paris “prescribing” reads to his customers to fix their various ailments. And yet, for the last twenty years, he has ignored his own needs. Still in mourning over a lover that left him, an encounter with a new neighbor rekindles his emotional investment in other people and prompts him to open a letter from his lost love…a letter sent twenty years ago, but never read. What he learns prompts him to set off on a sudden journey to the south of France to, hopefully, make peace with his loss and his own failings. Along the way, he meets a number of companions, some who join him for parts of the journey, and he begins to re-open his heart to feeling the pain of living, but also the joy, and maybe even love, of life as well.
This was a lovely little adventure/fable of a story about grief and love. Perdu starts this novel alone and all boarded up against feelings and connections and by the end, he’s traveled through all the hurt and come out the other side ready to accept that as part of life and choosing to continue living with/despite it. That’s such a universal and important message. And, of course, the role that books and words play in this journey, from his job to his relationships with other people to his personal quest of finding the secretive author of his favorite book to his friend Max’s career as a writer to his lost love’s diaries, is deep and pervasive and very recognizable to anyone who also loves books. In addition, one my absolute favorite things about this book was the many forms of love it celebrated, without prejudice or judgement. Perdu’s all-encompassing love for Manon, Manon’s polyamory, Perdu and Catherine as each other’s “second” loves (with full acceptance of the role of the firsts), Salvo’s pining/searching love, Perdu and Max’s sort of adopted father-son situation, the mother for child love that Manon displays, Perdu’s parents exasperated and tumultuous (but in the end, accepting) love for each other, Samy and Salvo’s bright/sudden/strong love, Max’s first/young love (no spoilers for who it’s with though)… Honestly, they were all wonderful and this aspect of the book was definitely a highlight for me. Plus, the ending, the way many of the characters and stories all came together to create a new kind of adopted/adapted love and family, it was such a warming finale.
There were also some things that I felt didn’t quite fit or sit right, as I read. The main thing was the writing. At the beginning, it just felt like it was trying to hard to be magical and mystical and instead came off as choppy. It took me longer than I wanted to find a flow and that prevented me from getting truly invested in the story and characters for too long. It evened out (or I got used to it) eventually, but it took too long. (Note: there is potential for this to be due to the fact that the book was translated, but it could just as likely be a stylistic choice by the author.) And yet, even with that, there were some absolutely gorgeous and spot on passages and moments, where the words described things I felt deeply, so I appreciate those moments mixed in. Another weird thing, for me, was the way many aspects (Perdu’s ability to “read” others) and connections (Samy and Salvo) just…fell off…was strange and also, when they came back towards the end, seemed a bit forced maybe? Maybe no one else noticed or cared about this. The whole novel was written in a sort “bigger than normal life”/”not real” way – perhaps allegorical or perhaps just escapist – about overcoming grief and the adventure of doing so and the characters that help along the way, so maybe it fit the style. I’m just not sure about it. Also, I was marginally disappointed in the “literary apothecary” situation and how big (or lack thereof) a role it played in the story. Like, I love that kind of magical realism and I wanted more. Instead, this book starts almost right in line with when Perdu stops working in that role. And I get that this was about the “doctor” finding/taking his own medicine, and that’s all good, but I can’t help my personal reactions about it.
In the spirit of Monsieur Perdu’s own literary apothecary abilities, I would prescribe this book to anyone looking to, truly, travel through the stages of loss and sorrow and come out on the other side with a little hope and a definite readiness to start living again. It’s not a cure for that grief, but it is definitely a balm, and a heartwarming opportunity to experience that the way through, while painful, is worth it to get to the acceptance and open-heartedness on the other side. And, I’d recommend it to anyone who is looking to read a book that is a love letter to books, who wants to be assured that there are so many others out there for whom books have been a comfort, a lifesaver, a constant.
“I wanted to treat feelings that are not recognized as afflictions and are never diagnosed by doctors. All those little feelings and emotions no therapist is interested in, because they are apparently too minor and intangible. The feeling that washes over you when another summer nears its end. Or when you recognize that you haven’t got your whole life left to find out where you belong. Or the slight sense of grief when a friendship doesn’t develop as you thought, and you have to continue your search for a lifelong companion. Or those birthday morning blues. Nostalgia for the air of your childhood. Things like that.”
“…books, the only remedy for countless, undefined afflictions of the soul.”
“He wanted her to sense the boundless possibilities offered by books. They would always be enough. They would never stop loving their readers. They were a fixed point in an otherwise unpredictable world. In life. In love. After death.”
“And old emotions always linger for a while among the new ones. That’s just how humans are.”
“We cannot decide to love. We cannot compel anyone to love us. There’s no secret recipe, only love itself. And we are at its mercy – there’s nothing we can do.”
“When the stars imploded billions of years ago, iron and silver, gold and carbon came raining down. And the iron from that stardust is in us today – in our mitochondria. Mothers pass on the stars and their iron to their children. Who knows, […] you and I might be made of the dust from one and the same star, and maybe we recognize each other by its light. We were searching for each other. We are star seekers.”
“Loving requires so much courage and so little expectation.”
“Death doesn’t matter. It makes no difference to life. We will always remain what we were to one another.”
I picked this novel up at a used bookstore a few years ago and never got around to reading it. It just sounded sweet and the cover is super cozy looking, but for some reason it never called out to me as my “next read.” During the last meeting for my long-distance book club, I was excited to tell my fellow members that I was officially offered a job with my local library (I am so psyched to work more with books)! And it’s part time, so I still get to teach puberty and other health classes around the state and coach CrossFit – my perfect set-up. Anyways, to celebrate we decided to read a book about books (or readers or libraries or writers) and this was the winner. What a fun reason and way to get a backlist TBR book read.
Monsieur Perdu is a self-proclaimed literary apothecary, a bookseller from Paris “prescribing” reads to his customers to fix their various ailments. And yet, for the last twenty years, he has ignored his own needs. Still in mourning over a lover that left him, an encounter with a new neighbor rekindles his emotional investment in other people and prompts him to open a letter from his lost love…a letter sent twenty years ago, but never read. What he learns prompts him to set off on a sudden journey to the south of France to, hopefully, make peace with his loss and his own failings. Along the way, he meets a number of companions, some who join him for parts of the journey, and he begins to re-open his heart to feeling the pain of living, but also the joy, and maybe even love, of life as well.
This was a lovely little adventure/fable of a story about grief and love. Perdu starts this novel alone and all boarded up against feelings and connections and by the end, he’s traveled through all the hurt and come out the other side ready to accept that as part of life and choosing to continue living with/despite it. That’s such a universal and important message. And, of course, the role that books and words play in this journey, from his job to his relationships with other people to his personal quest of finding the secretive author of his favorite book to his friend Max’s career as a writer to his lost love’s diaries, is deep and pervasive and very recognizable to anyone who also loves books. In addition, one my absolute favorite things about this book was the many forms of love it celebrated, without prejudice or judgement. Perdu’s all-encompassing love for Manon, Manon’s polyamory, Perdu and Catherine as each other’s “second” loves (with full acceptance of the role of the firsts), Salvo’s pining/searching love, Perdu and Max’s sort of adopted father-son situation, the mother for child love that Manon displays, Perdu’s parents exasperated and tumultuous (but in the end, accepting) love for each other, Samy and Salvo’s bright/sudden/strong love, Max’s first/young love (no spoilers for who it’s with though)… Honestly, they were all wonderful and this aspect of the book was definitely a highlight for me. Plus, the ending, the way many of the characters and stories all came together to create a new kind of adopted/adapted love and family, it was such a warming finale.
There were also some things that I felt didn’t quite fit or sit right, as I read. The main thing was the writing. At the beginning, it just felt like it was trying to hard to be magical and mystical and instead came off as choppy. It took me longer than I wanted to find a flow and that prevented me from getting truly invested in the story and characters for too long. It evened out (or I got used to it) eventually, but it took too long. (Note: there is potential for this to be due to the fact that the book was translated, but it could just as likely be a stylistic choice by the author.) And yet, even with that, there were some absolutely gorgeous and spot on passages and moments, where the words described things I felt deeply, so I appreciate those moments mixed in. Another weird thing, for me, was the way many aspects (Perdu’s ability to “read” others) and connections (Samy and Salvo) just…fell off…was strange and also, when they came back towards the end, seemed a bit forced maybe? Maybe no one else noticed or cared about this. The whole novel was written in a sort “bigger than normal life”/”not real” way – perhaps allegorical or perhaps just escapist – about overcoming grief and the adventure of doing so and the characters that help along the way, so maybe it fit the style. I’m just not sure about it. Also, I was marginally disappointed in the “literary apothecary” situation and how big (or lack thereof) a role it played in the story. Like, I love that kind of magical realism and I wanted more. Instead, this book starts almost right in line with when Perdu stops working in that role. And I get that this was about the “doctor” finding/taking his own medicine, and that’s all good, but I can’t help my personal reactions about it.
In the spirit of Monsieur Perdu’s own literary apothecary abilities, I would prescribe this book to anyone looking to, truly, travel through the stages of loss and sorrow and come out on the other side with a little hope and a definite readiness to start living again. It’s not a cure for that grief, but it is definitely a balm, and a heartwarming opportunity to experience that the way through, while painful, is worth it to get to the acceptance and open-heartedness on the other side. And, I’d recommend it to anyone who is looking to read a book that is a love letter to books, who wants to be assured that there are so many others out there for whom books have been a comfort, a lifesaver, a constant.
“I wanted to treat feelings that are not recognized as afflictions and are never diagnosed by doctors. All those little feelings and emotions no therapist is interested in, because they are apparently too minor and intangible. The feeling that washes over you when another summer nears its end. Or when you recognize that you haven’t got your whole life left to find out where you belong. Or the slight sense of grief when a friendship doesn’t develop as you thought, and you have to continue your search for a lifelong companion. Or those birthday morning blues. Nostalgia for the air of your childhood. Things like that.”
“…books, the only remedy for countless, undefined afflictions of the soul.”
“He wanted her to sense the boundless possibilities offered by books. They would always be enough. They would never stop loving their readers. They were a fixed point in an otherwise unpredictable world. In life. In love. After death.”
“And old emotions always linger for a while among the new ones. That’s just how humans are.”
“We cannot decide to love. We cannot compel anyone to love us. There’s no secret recipe, only love itself. And we are at its mercy – there’s nothing we can do.”
“When the stars imploded billions of years ago, iron and silver, gold and carbon came raining down. And the iron from that stardust is in us today – in our mitochondria. Mothers pass on the stars and their iron to their children. Who knows, […] you and I might be made of the dust from one and the same star, and maybe we recognize each other by its light. We were searching for each other. We are star seekers.”
“Loving requires so much courage and so little expectation.”
“Death doesn’t matter. It makes no difference to life. We will always remain what we were to one another.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I’d seen a couple reviews for this memoir that said it was very powerful, and I was interested in reading it, but I can’t necessarily say it was super high on my TBR, objectively. However, it was one of the books I managed to grab in my last library haul before the closures for COVID-19. I basically grabbed any books that I had heard good things about, and figured better to have them and not read them than not have them and wish I had grabbed them. I was very right.
Jones’s short memoir covers some time in his youth as he realized and grew into his own sexuality, as well as his time working through exactly what that meant for him as he went through college and became an adult. In addition, it speaks to his reliance on poetry for grounding him and providing hope and connection. And there is quite a bit of this book dedicated to his mother, his relationship with her and his experiences with her illness and grief during/after her passing.
The first thing I want to address in this memoir is the language. And bottom line, it’s wonderful. Piercing and precise, as I have come to find is common for poet’s who shift into prose. (Ocean Vuong’s first novel, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, has a very similar writing style and flow.) In any case, the writing itself was definitely a highlight for me. It was visceral and evocative, cutting to the quick with immediacy and conciseness. Also, I found that it moved very fast. Every time I picked up this volume, I found that I had read a larger chunk than I had thought, in less time that it would normally take me. The words were urgent and compelling and I was amazed at how quickly and easily it pulled me forwards without me even noticing.
As far as the topics covered, there are two main essences that leapt out at me. One is the way that Jones talks about his experiences, the way he moves through the world, in his body…his black, gay, man’s body. There were a number of descriptions of these experiences that were incredibly graphic and emotionally fraught, but the intensity of the words Jones uses are important, because they convey to the reader the level of intensity to his experiences. And it’s true, as a reader, I really felt the many layers of questions and trauma and exploration and acceptance and stereotyping that Jones faced and had to process. His willingness to show the full messiness and fear in that process seems so brave to me. And the other primary essence of this memoir is Jones’ relationship with his mother. And in the same way, he shows a lot of strength in his honesty in talking about it. It is so clear, on every page, that the love and respect he has for his mother is paramount. In fact, so many small moments and phrases he uses in these sections melted my heart in ways I am not sure I have words for. And yet, he was also willing to show the cracks they had, the ways they avoided talking about certain topics, and the skirting of major issues in their lives. It’s a very recognizable combination of emotions and actions in mother-child relationships and it was just beautiful in its simultaneous uniqueness and recognizability. Also, his portrayal of how his grief was felt and manifested during her final days and after her death was one of the best overall insights into the process of grief that I have ever read. On par, if a shorter part of the overall narrative, with Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking.
The only small issue I had, and that’s not really the right word, but I can’t think of a better one, is that I finished the memoir feeling like I had, almost, read two different things. There was a bit of a lack of cohesiveness for me between those two main themes, of Jones’ physical bodily experiences and his relationship with his mother. I objectively understand that it’s all tied together because it’s all his life. And I also want to say that both pieces separately were so well conveyed and presented, so there’s no issue there. I just felt a general sense of separateness when I finished. Maybe that was purposeful, as his mother died before there was too much of a chance for him to fully define his body for himself (something I am sure he is still working on, in any case, as it’s for sure not a clear cut or finite process) and therefore the chance to more fully communicate about it with his mother was never, and now will never be, an option. So those two parts of his life were very disjointed. All I’m saying is that it was a strange sensation to be left with, for me. Not necessarily bad, but definitely unexpected.
Overall, this was just as powerful a memoir as other reviewers have claimed. It was tense and intense and raw and candid. I think Jones’ insight into the things we do to try and really become who we are is phenomenal. And his way with words definitely has me feeling like I need to pick up some of his poetry in the future.
“Just as some cultures have a hundred words for “snow,” there should be a hundred words in our language for all the ways a black boy can lie awake at night.”
“People don’t just happen. We sacrifice former versions of ourselves. We sacrifice the people who dared to raise us. The ‘I’ it seems doesn’t exist until we are able to say, ‘I am no longer yours.’”
“Of course I wanted to see the world, to experience its fullness. I wanted to be a real part of it, rather than the passing shadow I so often felt like. I wanted to devour the world.”
“Being black can get you killed. Being gay can get you killed. Being a black gay boy is a death wish.”
“Everyone has a lie we’re quietly waiting to believe.”
“However many masks me invent and deploy, in the end, we cannot control what other people see when they look at us.”
“We both clung to self-assured masks that actually allowed us to cause ourselves more unseen harm.”
“Standing in front of the mirror, my reflection and I were like rival animals, just moments away from tearing each other limb from limb.”
“If America was going to hate me for being black and gay, then I might as well make a weapon out of myself.”
“Boys like us never really got away, it seemed. We jut bought ourselves time. A few more gasps of air, a few more poems, a few more years. History hurt more than any weapon inflicted on us. It hit back harder than any weapon we could wield, any weapon we could turn ourselves into.”
“I was proud of my exhaustion, as if the darkness circling my eyes was proof of my adulthood.”
“Time cascading and crashing in on itself, each memory pushing me back toward the beginning of my grief.”
“Our mothers are why we are here.”
I’d seen a couple reviews for this memoir that said it was very powerful, and I was interested in reading it, but I can’t necessarily say it was super high on my TBR, objectively. However, it was one of the books I managed to grab in my last library haul before the closures for COVID-19. I basically grabbed any books that I had heard good things about, and figured better to have them and not read them than not have them and wish I had grabbed them. I was very right.
Jones’s short memoir covers some time in his youth as he realized and grew into his own sexuality, as well as his time working through exactly what that meant for him as he went through college and became an adult. In addition, it speaks to his reliance on poetry for grounding him and providing hope and connection. And there is quite a bit of this book dedicated to his mother, his relationship with her and his experiences with her illness and grief during/after her passing.
The first thing I want to address in this memoir is the language. And bottom line, it’s wonderful. Piercing and precise, as I have come to find is common for poet’s who shift into prose. (Ocean Vuong’s first novel, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, has a very similar writing style and flow.) In any case, the writing itself was definitely a highlight for me. It was visceral and evocative, cutting to the quick with immediacy and conciseness. Also, I found that it moved very fast. Every time I picked up this volume, I found that I had read a larger chunk than I had thought, in less time that it would normally take me. The words were urgent and compelling and I was amazed at how quickly and easily it pulled me forwards without me even noticing.
As far as the topics covered, there are two main essences that leapt out at me. One is the way that Jones talks about his experiences, the way he moves through the world, in his body…his black, gay, man’s body. There were a number of descriptions of these experiences that were incredibly graphic and emotionally fraught, but the intensity of the words Jones uses are important, because they convey to the reader the level of intensity to his experiences. And it’s true, as a reader, I really felt the many layers of questions and trauma and exploration and acceptance and stereotyping that Jones faced and had to process. His willingness to show the full messiness and fear in that process seems so brave to me. And the other primary essence of this memoir is Jones’ relationship with his mother. And in the same way, he shows a lot of strength in his honesty in talking about it. It is so clear, on every page, that the love and respect he has for his mother is paramount. In fact, so many small moments and phrases he uses in these sections melted my heart in ways I am not sure I have words for. And yet, he was also willing to show the cracks they had, the ways they avoided talking about certain topics, and the skirting of major issues in their lives. It’s a very recognizable combination of emotions and actions in mother-child relationships and it was just beautiful in its simultaneous uniqueness and recognizability. Also, his portrayal of how his grief was felt and manifested during her final days and after her death was one of the best overall insights into the process of grief that I have ever read. On par, if a shorter part of the overall narrative, with Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking.
The only small issue I had, and that’s not really the right word, but I can’t think of a better one, is that I finished the memoir feeling like I had, almost, read two different things. There was a bit of a lack of cohesiveness for me between those two main themes, of Jones’ physical bodily experiences and his relationship with his mother. I objectively understand that it’s all tied together because it’s all his life. And I also want to say that both pieces separately were so well conveyed and presented, so there’s no issue there. I just felt a general sense of separateness when I finished. Maybe that was purposeful, as his mother died before there was too much of a chance for him to fully define his body for himself (something I am sure he is still working on, in any case, as it’s for sure not a clear cut or finite process) and therefore the chance to more fully communicate about it with his mother was never, and now will never be, an option. So those two parts of his life were very disjointed. All I’m saying is that it was a strange sensation to be left with, for me. Not necessarily bad, but definitely unexpected.
Overall, this was just as powerful a memoir as other reviewers have claimed. It was tense and intense and raw and candid. I think Jones’ insight into the things we do to try and really become who we are is phenomenal. And his way with words definitely has me feeling like I need to pick up some of his poetry in the future.
“Just as some cultures have a hundred words for “snow,” there should be a hundred words in our language for all the ways a black boy can lie awake at night.”
“People don’t just happen. We sacrifice former versions of ourselves. We sacrifice the people who dared to raise us. The ‘I’ it seems doesn’t exist until we are able to say, ‘I am no longer yours.’”
“Of course I wanted to see the world, to experience its fullness. I wanted to be a real part of it, rather than the passing shadow I so often felt like. I wanted to devour the world.”
“Being black can get you killed. Being gay can get you killed. Being a black gay boy is a death wish.”
“Everyone has a lie we’re quietly waiting to believe.”
“However many masks me invent and deploy, in the end, we cannot control what other people see when they look at us.”
“We both clung to self-assured masks that actually allowed us to cause ourselves more unseen harm.”
“Standing in front of the mirror, my reflection and I were like rival animals, just moments away from tearing each other limb from limb.”
“If America was going to hate me for being black and gay, then I might as well make a weapon out of myself.”
“Boys like us never really got away, it seemed. We jut bought ourselves time. A few more gasps of air, a few more poems, a few more years. History hurt more than any weapon inflicted on us. It hit back harder than any weapon we could wield, any weapon we could turn ourselves into.”
“I was proud of my exhaustion, as if the darkness circling my eyes was proof of my adulthood.”
“Time cascading and crashing in on itself, each memory pushing me back toward the beginning of my grief.”
“Our mothers are why we are here.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I read Dennis-Benn’s first novel, Here Comes the Sun, just over two years ago now. And while I’m terrible at remembering details from all the books I’ve read (which is actually part of why I started writing reviews in the first place), I do usually manage to hang onto feelings. And I know after I finished it, I felt heavy and my mind was running fast to react to everything. I also remember that the writing was something special. Anyways, when I saw that Dennis-Benn had written a second novel, I knew that I’d eventually pick it up. However, the speed at which I did so was increased by rave reviews from a few very trusted sources for literary and LGBTQ fiction on bookstagram (@readingismagical and @allisonreadsdc). Of note, I do this this second novel was even better that the first (and I'd give it 4.5 stars if that were an option on here).
This story follows two main characters. Primarily, we have the titular Patsy, who, as a young woman, finally gets her long-awaited visa to travel to America. She dreams of reuniting with her first love, Cicely, who has been there for years now. The fact that she must leave behind her super-religious mother and 5-year-old daughter, Tru, is difficult, but a necessary part of following this long wanted path. The other is Patsy’s daughter, Tru, who remains behind in Jamaica and grows up in her father’s home, with her half-brothers, waiting year after year for her mother’s promised return…or at the very least, a phone call. Even as Tru grows into a young woman herself, struggling with discovering her own attractions and figuring out how to make the world accept the kind of girl she is, she still holds on to a hope that her mother will finally reconnect.
This is such a sweeping, non-traditional, story about mothers and daughters and the costs and expectations of those relationships. I say non-traditional because one thing that I loved is that it wasn’t the rose-colored glasses version of motherhood, but it also wasn’t version that one could dismiss as completely dysfunctional and harmful either. I really appreciated the nuance with which Dennis-Benn wrote these relationships. The loss of protection and trust between Patsy and her own mother, and the consequences there, cast a shadow over everything that followed in Patsy’s life. And the way that spilled over into her own motherhood of Tru was both heartbreaking (for them both) and could have been easy to judge harshly, if Dennis-Benn was any less adept a writer. However, the way she built Patsy’s past, her background and her own mother’s expectations and the way that Tru was conceived in the first place…it all served to allow a softer interpretation on Patsy’s actions and choices. Plus, I deeply appreciate the focus on the fact that becoming a mother does not, should not, supersede the mother as a person, in her own right, with her own hopes and dreams. And while Patsy didn’t always handle that perfectly, who among us hasn’t dealt with a relationship/situation in a way that we regret and don’t know how to fix? Anyways, that was a perspective I don’t see often and I was feeling it. Also, as a side mother-daughter relationship, that of Tru and her father’s wife, Marva, was also really interesting to read. It really serves to highlight some of the contemporary expectations of mothers for girls vs the individual desires/identities of those girls…and what that can do to them both. Plus, in this case, it’s all even more heightening by Patsy’s parting “advice” to Tru and subsequent (basically) abandonment. Honestly, I really felt for Tru throughout the novel. And though I think perhaps her story wraps up slightly too neatly (and quickly, considering how long the rest of the novel and character/’plot development is), I cannot honestly say that I didn’t want that kind of ending for her.
As far as the immigration aspect of the plot, I really got shades of Americanah, as far as the lushness of the writing, the intricacies of the characterization and circumstance development, and, at a very basic level, the contrasting way that two very different experiences of immigration played out (Cicely vs Patsy). However, that’s where the comparisons end, at least for me. I mention it only to say that I think, if you liked Americanah, you should definitely pick up Patsy. Anyways, it provides piercing and unforgiving insight into life in America without “papers,” and the minimal options available to anyone in that situation, despite the promised land it is held up as, for those wanting to immigrate. It’s not a new message, but it’s still an important one. Relatedly, by focusing on both Patsy and Tru (and in multiple other small ways throughout the novel), the author is able to highlight the disconnect between the reality of immigration and the “picture of success” that is relayed back to those at home, as well as ideas about which world, the new or the old, is “better.” This particular distance between reality and what we tell/show people struck me hard and was one of the most affecting pieces of the book for me. One other point here, the added aspects about the costs of neighborhood gentrification on these “hidden” populations seemed unique to me, not something I have heard/read much about before.
Woven in along with all of these themes is an exploration of Patsy’s own internal struggle with her feelings and motivations, related to sexuality, and the way others perceive/react to it (or, in some cases, how she feels others perceive/react to it). There is just so much depth to these characters and their lives and the things they’re dealing with. And this particular additional facet is one that, as we reach the end, creates a wonderfully poignant “moment to come” for Patsy and Tru, though it doesn’t actually happen in the book itself, it’s a vision of the future the author lays the groundwork for, so that as a reader, we can appreciate what it will mean to them both when it happens. And that, potentially more than anything else, is a testament to how well-written this entire novel is – that we can have an emotional reaction to an interaction between characters that doesn’t even fully happen within the context of the novel itself. But yea, back to my main point, a subtle addition to the overall plot is both Patsy and Tru’s sexualities and/or gender identities. It’s an added consideration in most major interactions and decisions, but never takes a center stage role. It just is. As it should be (because that’s how it is in real life). Which is a lovely, realistic, variation on LGBTQ characters in literature.
Basically, there isn’t much I didn’t appreciate or respect in this novel. To be honest, other than a bit of a slow start (in regards to my personal full-on investment in the story) and an ending that felt just slightly rushed, this was a gorgeous novel. All of the most important things, from plot to characters to dialogue (verbal and otherwise), were written to perfection. And in fact, the rhythm and expansiveness of the writing itself is perhaps the jewel of this novel. Spanning years, from the streets of New York to the streets of Jamaica, this was a vibrant and deeply connecting novel about characters whose circumstances and worlds have set them up to have to fight tooth and nail for every inch they gain. Compelling and real and inspiring in a bleak-ish way.
These quotes may not be exact, as I listened to the audiobook, but they were impactful enough that I really wanted to add them anyways. Any mistakes of wording or punctuation are my bad.
“There’s a difference between wanting to die and not wanting to live.”
“How is it fate if you have control over it?”
“Life’s scars make us warriors.”
I read Dennis-Benn’s first novel, Here Comes the Sun, just over two years ago now. And while I’m terrible at remembering details from all the books I’ve read (which is actually part of why I started writing reviews in the first place), I do usually manage to hang onto feelings. And I know after I finished it, I felt heavy and my mind was running fast to react to everything. I also remember that the writing was something special. Anyways, when I saw that Dennis-Benn had written a second novel, I knew that I’d eventually pick it up. However, the speed at which I did so was increased by rave reviews from a few very trusted sources for literary and LGBTQ fiction on bookstagram (@readingismagical and @allisonreadsdc). Of note, I do this this second novel was even better that the first (and I'd give it 4.5 stars if that were an option on here).
This story follows two main characters. Primarily, we have the titular Patsy, who, as a young woman, finally gets her long-awaited visa to travel to America. She dreams of reuniting with her first love, Cicely, who has been there for years now. The fact that she must leave behind her super-religious mother and 5-year-old daughter, Tru, is difficult, but a necessary part of following this long wanted path. The other is Patsy’s daughter, Tru, who remains behind in Jamaica and grows up in her father’s home, with her half-brothers, waiting year after year for her mother’s promised return…or at the very least, a phone call. Even as Tru grows into a young woman herself, struggling with discovering her own attractions and figuring out how to make the world accept the kind of girl she is, she still holds on to a hope that her mother will finally reconnect.
This is such a sweeping, non-traditional, story about mothers and daughters and the costs and expectations of those relationships. I say non-traditional because one thing that I loved is that it wasn’t the rose-colored glasses version of motherhood, but it also wasn’t version that one could dismiss as completely dysfunctional and harmful either. I really appreciated the nuance with which Dennis-Benn wrote these relationships. The loss of protection and trust between Patsy and her own mother, and the consequences there, cast a shadow over everything that followed in Patsy’s life. And the way that spilled over into her own motherhood of Tru was both heartbreaking (for them both) and could have been easy to judge harshly, if Dennis-Benn was any less adept a writer. However, the way she built Patsy’s past, her background and her own mother’s expectations and the way that Tru was conceived in the first place…it all served to allow a softer interpretation on Patsy’s actions and choices. Plus, I deeply appreciate the focus on the fact that becoming a mother does not, should not, supersede the mother as a person, in her own right, with her own hopes and dreams. And while Patsy didn’t always handle that perfectly, who among us hasn’t dealt with a relationship/situation in a way that we regret and don’t know how to fix? Anyways, that was a perspective I don’t see often and I was feeling it. Also, as a side mother-daughter relationship, that of Tru and her father’s wife, Marva, was also really interesting to read. It really serves to highlight some of the contemporary expectations of mothers for girls vs the individual desires/identities of those girls…and what that can do to them both. Plus, in this case, it’s all even more heightening by Patsy’s parting “advice” to Tru and subsequent (basically) abandonment. Honestly, I really felt for Tru throughout the novel. And though I think perhaps her story wraps up slightly too neatly (and quickly, considering how long the rest of the novel and character/’plot development is), I cannot honestly say that I didn’t want that kind of ending for her.
As far as the immigration aspect of the plot, I really got shades of Americanah, as far as the lushness of the writing, the intricacies of the characterization and circumstance development, and, at a very basic level, the contrasting way that two very different experiences of immigration played out (Cicely vs Patsy). However, that’s where the comparisons end, at least for me. I mention it only to say that I think, if you liked Americanah, you should definitely pick up Patsy. Anyways, it provides piercing and unforgiving insight into life in America without “papers,” and the minimal options available to anyone in that situation, despite the promised land it is held up as, for those wanting to immigrate. It’s not a new message, but it’s still an important one. Relatedly, by focusing on both Patsy and Tru (and in multiple other small ways throughout the novel), the author is able to highlight the disconnect between the reality of immigration and the “picture of success” that is relayed back to those at home, as well as ideas about which world, the new or the old, is “better.” This particular distance between reality and what we tell/show people struck me hard and was one of the most affecting pieces of the book for me. One other point here, the added aspects about the costs of neighborhood gentrification on these “hidden” populations seemed unique to me, not something I have heard/read much about before.
Woven in along with all of these themes is an exploration of Patsy’s own internal struggle with her feelings and motivations, related to sexuality, and the way others perceive/react to it (or, in some cases, how she feels others perceive/react to it). There is just so much depth to these characters and their lives and the things they’re dealing with. And this particular additional facet is one that, as we reach the end, creates a wonderfully poignant “moment to come” for Patsy and Tru, though it doesn’t actually happen in the book itself, it’s a vision of the future the author lays the groundwork for, so that as a reader, we can appreciate what it will mean to them both when it happens. And that, potentially more than anything else, is a testament to how well-written this entire novel is – that we can have an emotional reaction to an interaction between characters that doesn’t even fully happen within the context of the novel itself. But yea, back to my main point, a subtle addition to the overall plot is both Patsy and Tru’s sexualities and/or gender identities. It’s an added consideration in most major interactions and decisions, but never takes a center stage role. It just is. As it should be (because that’s how it is in real life). Which is a lovely, realistic, variation on LGBTQ characters in literature.
Basically, there isn’t much I didn’t appreciate or respect in this novel. To be honest, other than a bit of a slow start (in regards to my personal full-on investment in the story) and an ending that felt just slightly rushed, this was a gorgeous novel. All of the most important things, from plot to characters to dialogue (verbal and otherwise), were written to perfection. And in fact, the rhythm and expansiveness of the writing itself is perhaps the jewel of this novel. Spanning years, from the streets of New York to the streets of Jamaica, this was a vibrant and deeply connecting novel about characters whose circumstances and worlds have set them up to have to fight tooth and nail for every inch they gain. Compelling and real and inspiring in a bleak-ish way.
These quotes may not be exact, as I listened to the audiobook, but they were impactful enough that I really wanted to add them anyways. Any mistakes of wording or punctuation are my bad.
“There’s a difference between wanting to die and not wanting to live.”
“How is it fate if you have control over it?”
“Life’s scars make us warriors.”