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 was recommended this book by a coworker many years ago and a combination of events this year, including AAPI Heritage Month, a book choice recommendation for a book club topically related to Mother’s Day, and prompt #15 for The Reading Women Challenge 2020 (a biography) finalyly had me picking this one up.
Wild Swans is an intergenerational look at a Chinese family from the very early 1900s through the early 1980s, after Mao’s death. The author, Jung Chang, begins the story with her grandmother’s life, first as a concubine to a warlord and later as a chosen wife to an honored doctor, though never accepted by his family. She continues to follow the family through her mothers’ life, navigating the world through many regime changes in her young life, from the Japanese to the Kuomintang and finally, the Communist Party – the Party which she idealistically supported, applied to join and, through which, met her husband. And then, Chang’s own story takes over. As she grows up throughout the time period of Mao and the Communist Party’s rule, from the Cult of Mao to the Cultural Revolution and beyond, the combination of privilege and ordeals she and her family suffer through due to her father’s high official role in the Party, and Chang’s own personal experiences with education (and lack thereof) and work as a peasant, “barefoot doctor,” steelworker, electrician and again as a student are astounding. To have lived through and seen so much, for herself and her family…I honestly don’t know how to really put it into words.
The scope of this novel is incredible, giving a personal and intimate vibe from the author sharing the story of herself and her own family, but simultaneously providing the reader a sweeping and first-hand account of almost a century of China’s history. It was intense and included some of the most consistent violence (physical, emotional, state, etc.) that I have ever read all in one place. And knowing that in many ways her family was still better off than many millions of others throughout the country is hard to conceptualize. But at the same time, Chang manages to infuse a moving testament to a people and a nation that survived; although much was lost (time, lives, youth, history, culture, tradition, and more), there is still a pulse the beats in the nation that is stronger than those who sought to subdue it. And the way the people fought to survive, and many continued to work and sacrifice for something bigger, for a better tomorrow for their country, throughout it all is, at the end of the day inspiring and hopeful. It really hit home for me, the message that both are ok – to be deeply disappointed in/disillusioned by your homeland, yet to know that fighting to make it what it could be is worth it.
I learned so much from reading this. The period of Chinese history related to Mao and Communism is something vilified by the West. I myself remember hearing about the “evil” coming from Communist countries, China included, and to this day, it is commonly used to incite nationalist feelings in the US. So, my only real knowledge of the truth of this time is, essentially, propaganda. And though, after reading this book, there can be no doubt about the evil perpetrated against Chinese citizens by its own government and, stirred up by internal inciting campaigns, against themselves, there is still, as always, more than one perspective that must be looked at. Vilifying and writing off the country as a whole is, of course, not the answer. And the honesty in the book, in addition to being a clear and searing indictment of Mao and his policies, shows a bigger picture, through the intimate experiences of Chang and her family. At the end, Chang speaks about Mao’s ability to take advantage of the common human traits of envy and resentment and, combined with the glorification of ignorance (and intentional manipulation and weaponization of words and information) that characterized his reign, allowed him to so fully subdue an entire country to fear and in-fighting to benefit whatever his own power-searching ends were. It’s a beautifully succinct summary of so much turmoil and tragedy and it must have been so difficult for her to think so deeply about her own painful past in order to reach those conclusions. This is just such an impressive piece of nonfiction.
I was fascinated by (in all the ways, good and bad) this sweeping view of the recent history of China was a personal lens. I admired the fortitude and perseverance of Chang, her mother and grandmother and loved that this tale of such great historical and personal significance took the perspective of being told through the eyes of the competent and impressive women who lived it. So often, women’s views are the ones that come second, while men take the proverbial and literal lead, so this “flip” of that script was so satisfying and unique. I also appreciated the honest way Chang talked through her own indoctrination into the Cult of Mao and the many horrible events and years that it took her to intellectually connect him with China’s woes and truly question him as a leader in her own mind. It was so genuine and really gives the reader an idea of what it was like to grow up, be educated through and survive these years. This was not an easy read, nor was it fast (I’ve been working through it in short chunks for about a month now), but it was eye-opening, enlightening and is a wonderful tribute to the power of mother-daughter relationships and I’m so glad I read it.
“If you have love, even plain cold water is sweet.”
“In this vast land, there was nowhere anyone could hide.”
“as the revolution was made by human beings, it was burdened with their failings.”
“The Cultural Revolution had taught me not to divide people by their beliefs, but by whether they were capable of cruelty and viciousness or not.”
“...boredom was as exhausting as backbreaking labor.”
“I could understand ignorance, but I could not accept its glorification, much less its right to rule.”
“…repression was at its worst when there was no complaint...”
I was recommended this book by a coworker many years ago and a combination of events this year, including AAPI Heritage Month, a book choice recommendation for a book club topically related to Mother’s Day, and prompt #15 for The Reading Women Challenge 2020 (a biography) finalyly had me picking this one up.
Wild Swans is an intergenerational look at a Chinese family from the very early 1900s through the early 1980s, after Mao’s death. The author, Jung Chang, begins the story with her grandmother’s life, first as a concubine to a warlord and later as a chosen wife to an honored doctor, though never accepted by his family. She continues to follow the family through her mothers’ life, navigating the world through many regime changes in her young life, from the Japanese to the Kuomintang and finally, the Communist Party – the Party which she idealistically supported, applied to join and, through which, met her husband. And then, Chang’s own story takes over. As she grows up throughout the time period of Mao and the Communist Party’s rule, from the Cult of Mao to the Cultural Revolution and beyond, the combination of privilege and ordeals she and her family suffer through due to her father’s high official role in the Party, and Chang’s own personal experiences with education (and lack thereof) and work as a peasant, “barefoot doctor,” steelworker, electrician and again as a student are astounding. To have lived through and seen so much, for herself and her family…I honestly don’t know how to really put it into words.
The scope of this novel is incredible, giving a personal and intimate vibe from the author sharing the story of herself and her own family, but simultaneously providing the reader a sweeping and first-hand account of almost a century of China’s history. It was intense and included some of the most consistent violence (physical, emotional, state, etc.) that I have ever read all in one place. And knowing that in many ways her family was still better off than many millions of others throughout the country is hard to conceptualize. But at the same time, Chang manages to infuse a moving testament to a people and a nation that survived; although much was lost (time, lives, youth, history, culture, tradition, and more), there is still a pulse the beats in the nation that is stronger than those who sought to subdue it. And the way the people fought to survive, and many continued to work and sacrifice for something bigger, for a better tomorrow for their country, throughout it all is, at the end of the day inspiring and hopeful. It really hit home for me, the message that both are ok – to be deeply disappointed in/disillusioned by your homeland, yet to know that fighting to make it what it could be is worth it.
I learned so much from reading this. The period of Chinese history related to Mao and Communism is something vilified by the West. I myself remember hearing about the “evil” coming from Communist countries, China included, and to this day, it is commonly used to incite nationalist feelings in the US. So, my only real knowledge of the truth of this time is, essentially, propaganda. And though, after reading this book, there can be no doubt about the evil perpetrated against Chinese citizens by its own government and, stirred up by internal inciting campaigns, against themselves, there is still, as always, more than one perspective that must be looked at. Vilifying and writing off the country as a whole is, of course, not the answer. And the honesty in the book, in addition to being a clear and searing indictment of Mao and his policies, shows a bigger picture, through the intimate experiences of Chang and her family. At the end, Chang speaks about Mao’s ability to take advantage of the common human traits of envy and resentment and, combined with the glorification of ignorance (and intentional manipulation and weaponization of words and information) that characterized his reign, allowed him to so fully subdue an entire country to fear and in-fighting to benefit whatever his own power-searching ends were. It’s a beautifully succinct summary of so much turmoil and tragedy and it must have been so difficult for her to think so deeply about her own painful past in order to reach those conclusions. This is just such an impressive piece of nonfiction.
I was fascinated by (in all the ways, good and bad) this sweeping view of the recent history of China was a personal lens. I admired the fortitude and perseverance of Chang, her mother and grandmother and loved that this tale of such great historical and personal significance took the perspective of being told through the eyes of the competent and impressive women who lived it. So often, women’s views are the ones that come second, while men take the proverbial and literal lead, so this “flip” of that script was so satisfying and unique. I also appreciated the honest way Chang talked through her own indoctrination into the Cult of Mao and the many horrible events and years that it took her to intellectually connect him with China’s woes and truly question him as a leader in her own mind. It was so genuine and really gives the reader an idea of what it was like to grow up, be educated through and survive these years. This was not an easy read, nor was it fast (I’ve been working through it in short chunks for about a month now), but it was eye-opening, enlightening and is a wonderful tribute to the power of mother-daughter relationships and I’m so glad I read it.
“If you have love, even plain cold water is sweet.”
“In this vast land, there was nowhere anyone could hide.”
“as the revolution was made by human beings, it was burdened with their failings.”
“The Cultural Revolution had taught me not to divide people by their beliefs, but by whether they were capable of cruelty and viciousness or not.”
“...boredom was as exhausting as backbreaking labor.”
“I could understand ignorance, but I could not accept its glorification, much less its right to rule.”
“…repression was at its worst when there was no complaint...”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
First, thanks to Libro.fm for the ALC of this contemporary romance. (If you are into audiobooks, definitely check out their librarian/influencer program!) I was really in the need for something light and sexy (contemporary romances have become some of my favorite escapist literature over the past few years) and this was sounded like it would fit the bill exactly, so I jumped in with excitement.
Samiah Brooks is enjoying an incredibly successful career in the tech industry, having reached and attained many of the goals on her checklist, but the one that eludes her is finding “the” guy. When a live-tweeted disaster date makes her realize the most recent guy she’s been seeing is shady AF, dating multiple women at a time, the resulting viral reach of her reaction changes her life. She becomes close friends with the other two women being scammed, Taylor and London, and the three of them make a pact…they will spend the next six months focusing only on themselves, finding a hobby or chasing a dream they’d been putting off, instead of spending that time trying to find a man. They call it the “Boyfriend Project.” But right away, Samiah’s pledge is tested by the new employee at her job, Daniel Collins…
This was such a fast and fun read, exactly what I was looking for! There was a lot to love about it, from the phenomenal representation of women, especially Black women, in high-powered and male-dominated fields, like tech, fitness and medicine. If this is a trend (I’m looking at you, The Right Swipe, then I am here for it.) Also, as a coach in the fitness industry (part-time/as a side gig), I don’t often, if ever, see [strong] women in these roles in literature, and I loved that here. (Samiah’s story was great, for sure, but I cannot wait to read Taylor’s story and get more of that!) To this point, I really appreciated how much time was spent on explaining how/why certain fields/jobs and careers in general are so challenging for women and, especially, Black women. The way Samiah explains how these struggles are unique to Black women is so important; it was great insight, as well as a reminder to not be that person in a workplace setting. Relatedly, the female friendships that were centered in this novel were wonderful. They were positive and supportive, while also challenging each other. It was wonderfully balanced and fleshed out. There are usually supporting female characters in these types of contemporary romances, but there was something about these three women and their friendship that took it a step farther and it was great to see.
As far as the romance itself, I thought it was paced out super well, realistically under the circumstances, with just the right amount of tension, push-and-pull, and fulfillment. On a steaminess scale, this was on the lower end of some I’ve read recently (not nearly a many, nor as “hot ” or compelling, sex scenes as in The Kiss Quotient, for example), but what it more or less fit the story as it needed to, so it wasn’t a deal-breaker for me. The attraction between Daniel and Samiah was strong and mature, which I enjoyed. They were supportive of each other, especially Daniel to Samiah, encouraging her to reach for her personal goals always, respecting her knowledge and skills verbally and often. Just generally, despite Daniel’s job-required secrets, their connection and interactions all seemed so healthy, an important representation point for me, in reading contemporary romances. And, always a make or break for me, the dialogue was chock full of fun and flirty banter – I loved that. As the “drama” goes, the formulaic “major challenge” that they have the get over in order to end up together, I thought this one was original and I enjoyed it. The entire white collar/financial crimes aspect to the book was something totally new for me, from vocabulary to an understanding of how that kind of investigation might play out, and I found it really interesting to read and a unique antagonist as far as not making the romance too easy/unbelievable. I felt like Samiah was perhaps a little too understanding t Daniel at the end, but they’re both adults and it was also refreshing to see them be able to think through situations and understand where the other was coming from and how sometimes, things have to be done and there maybe aren’t perfect options. I appreciated that maturity, though perhaps I’m not that mature, because I don’t think I would have forgiven quite as easily(?), fully(?) as Samiah. Haha. But who knows, with the right person...Samiah's probably the smart one to be so understanding and not lose something that important within the bounds of what is a, truly, understandable rock and hard place situation.
This was just, overall, a great contemporary romance, complete with a boss female lead (in all senses of the word) who never once equivocated about who she was or what she’s achieved (yes) and a great central relationship showcasing equal footing from both members. The way Samaih both learns to compromise because she cannot do everything with her limited time (and shouldn’t be expected to), yet does balance (by the end) her personal, work and special-passion-project lives in a way that works for her, is inspirational and was so satisfying to read. This novel was, in equal measure, realistic to life and full of the “relationship goals” I look for in a romance. A very satisfying read.
First, thanks to Libro.fm for the ALC of this contemporary romance. (If you are into audiobooks, definitely check out their librarian/influencer program!) I was really in the need for something light and sexy (contemporary romances have become some of my favorite escapist literature over the past few years) and this was sounded like it would fit the bill exactly, so I jumped in with excitement.
Samiah Brooks is enjoying an incredibly successful career in the tech industry, having reached and attained many of the goals on her checklist, but the one that eludes her is finding “the” guy. When a live-tweeted disaster date makes her realize the most recent guy she’s been seeing is shady AF, dating multiple women at a time, the resulting viral reach of her reaction changes her life. She becomes close friends with the other two women being scammed, Taylor and London, and the three of them make a pact…they will spend the next six months focusing only on themselves, finding a hobby or chasing a dream they’d been putting off, instead of spending that time trying to find a man. They call it the “Boyfriend Project.” But right away, Samiah’s pledge is tested by the new employee at her job, Daniel Collins…
This was such a fast and fun read, exactly what I was looking for! There was a lot to love about it, from the phenomenal representation of women, especially Black women, in high-powered and male-dominated fields, like tech, fitness and medicine. If this is a trend (I’m looking at you, The Right Swipe, then I am here for it.) Also, as a coach in the fitness industry (part-time/as a side gig), I don’t often, if ever, see [strong] women in these roles in literature, and I loved that here. (Samiah’s story was great, for sure, but I cannot wait to read Taylor’s story and get more of that!) To this point, I really appreciated how much time was spent on explaining how/why certain fields/jobs and careers in general are so challenging for women and, especially, Black women. The way Samiah explains how these struggles are unique to Black women is so important; it was great insight, as well as a reminder to not be that person in a workplace setting. Relatedly, the female friendships that were centered in this novel were wonderful. They were positive and supportive, while also challenging each other. It was wonderfully balanced and fleshed out. There are usually supporting female characters in these types of contemporary romances, but there was something about these three women and their friendship that took it a step farther and it was great to see.
As far as the romance itself, I thought it was paced out super well, realistically under the circumstances, with just the right amount of tension, push-and-pull, and fulfillment. On a steaminess scale, this was on the lower end of some I’ve read recently (not nearly a many, nor as “hot ” or compelling, sex scenes as in The Kiss Quotient, for example), but what it more or less fit the story as it needed to, so it wasn’t a deal-breaker for me. The attraction between Daniel and Samiah was strong and mature, which I enjoyed. They were supportive of each other, especially Daniel to Samiah, encouraging her to reach for her personal goals always, respecting her knowledge and skills verbally and often. Just generally, despite Daniel’s job-required secrets, their connection and interactions all seemed so healthy, an important representation point for me, in reading contemporary romances. And, always a make or break for me, the dialogue was chock full of fun and flirty banter – I loved that. As the “drama” goes, the formulaic “major challenge” that they have the get over in order to end up together, I thought this one was original and I enjoyed it. The entire white collar/financial crimes aspect to the book was something totally new for me, from vocabulary to an understanding of how that kind of investigation might play out, and I found it really interesting to read and a unique antagonist as far as not making the romance too easy/unbelievable. I felt like Samiah was perhaps a little too understanding t Daniel at the end, but they’re both adults and it was also refreshing to see them be able to think through situations and understand where the other was coming from and how sometimes, things have to be done and there maybe aren’t perfect options. I appreciated that maturity, though perhaps I’m not that mature, because I don’t think I would have forgiven quite as easily(?), fully(?) as Samiah. Haha. But who knows, with the right person...Samiah's probably the smart one to be so understanding and not lose something that important within the bounds of what is a, truly, understandable rock and hard place situation.
This was just, overall, a great contemporary romance, complete with a boss female lead (in all senses of the word) who never once equivocated about who she was or what she’s achieved (yes) and a great central relationship showcasing equal footing from both members. The way Samaih both learns to compromise because she cannot do everything with her limited time (and shouldn’t be expected to), yet does balance (by the end) her personal, work and special-passion-project lives in a way that works for her, is inspirational and was so satisfying to read. This novel was, in equal measure, realistic to life and full of the “relationship goals” I look for in a romance. A very satisfying read.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This collection has been on my radar for a while. With a title like that, it’s one that sticks out and sticks with you. But I am not often in the mood for story collections, so it stayed on the periphery for quite some time. However, I have to say, I think I am coming to appreciate short stories more and more. I had a conversation with someone about it the other day – how it’s so impressive when an author can grab you and impart lasting reactions in such a short space/time. And I think with that in mind, I’m opening up to collections more. It’s hard though, because I think in every collection there are some standouts and some that are just fine, and I end up struggling to give overall ratings. So, I will continue to do these little mini reviews for each story, which allow me to give more complete, specific reactions, to complement the “star” rating that they get.
This collection was a really unique mix of genres, some folktale-like, some futurism/magical realism (ish), some contemporary literature. The settings varied from present-day Nigeria to present-day America to futuristic African country-conglomerates and the protagonists featured a range of women of various ages and circumstances, all hailing from a version of Nigeria (despite current locations/situations). I don’t think I’ve ever read a cross-genre short story collection before and it was an interesting experience; a bit disjointed at times, but it allowed me to really get a feel for the breadth of the author’s skill and gave her the opportunity to really flex her creativity. At this point, here are my story-specific thoughts, and then I’ll end with some overall impressions:
The Future Looks Good – I really liked this short opening story. The cadence was fantastic and the stylistic “doesn’t see what came behind her” repetition device was used fantastically. The ending was abrupt, unexpected and striking in the best way. I gasped, a little, audibly. A solid first impression.
War Stories – This one was interesting. A quick look at the way memories stay with and affect us, as well as how they are both passed on to the next generation and simultaneously suppressed. I also thought the way “war stories” was applied both to legitimate war and childhood “games”/interactions that can equally have lifelong effects was presented in a sobering and impactful way.
Wild – A family snapshot, reinforcing the theme that everyone has problems, even if they outwardly appear not to, and that the grass is always greener on the other side. Also, a look at the different ways mother-daughter relationships can develop and play out, so the same even with different cultural expectations and so different even with similarities of disappointments and secret-keeping/putting on a show for the world outside. And a nice moment at the end about cousins/daughters coming together in support for each other under similar pressures, even through those differences.
Light – What a melancholy and poignant story about the many ways the world will dim a young girl’s light. Also, a touching story about family growing apart over distance/immigration. This one had a “before that” repetitive stylistic device that was similar to the one used in the first story and I really liked it again. Definitely one of the aspects of this collection and the author’s style that I am most appreciating.
Second Chances – This was more emotionally difficult to read than the rest, dealing with the loss of a mother, feelings of guilt related to that, and a mental health break. But it was a nice look at mother-daughter relationships, how they change with age, and how the way you interact might be something one or both regret when it’s too late. Not my favorite story of the collection though, to be honest.
Windfalls – The mother-daughter relationship at the center of the story was very unhealthy, really messed up, and my heart ached for the “you” this story was about and how she was used. So that was difficult to read. But the literary device in the story, the dark irony of the way it ended, was just too good. I loved that aspect. This was a super striking story.
Who Will Greet You at Home – Dang, there was a really creepy level to this story. Like, dolls coming to life levels of “fantastical” horror. And that was cool and different from anything in the collection so far. But I also read this with a deeper level (and maybe I was projecting something that wasn’t actually there, who knows?) that reflected some of the mother-daughter themes that are prevalent in this collection so far. There seemed to be some really interesting commentary on women’s roles as mothers: who “deserves” to be a mother, the expectations of women to be mothers and how they are prepared to be mothers, what women should “want” in a child, and a sort of magical-satirical look at what is required of women to sacrifice to be a mother and what kind of drain that is. Really a fascinating story that left me feeling quite unsettled (in a spine-chilling sort of way).
Buchi’s Girls – This one was hard to read in a more subtle way. A quiet exploration of loss and the way that loss has echoing effects through years, compounding that one moment of specific loss into something much greater and even more crushing. Also, a look at what mothers will endure for their children and the personal, emotional sacrifices they’ll make to create a more stable and safer and opportunity-filled life for them. “There was only so much a mother could ask a daughter to bear before that bond became bondage.”
What It Means When a Man Falls From the Sky – Whoa. I can definitely see how this story “won” the honor of titular for the collection. This is a dystopian/environmental-disaster version of the future, wherein a mathematician came up with a formula that allowed specialists to “fix the equation of a person,” including taking away the pain of traumatic memories to allow for faster “recovery” and forgetting. But there may be a flaw in the equation…and ooof that ending. This story deftly and existentially-horrifically explores the consequences of the build-up of a lifetime(s) of trauma, the dangers in the hubris of ranking traumas (comparing “meager hardship to unfathomable woes”) and the hypocrisy that is inevitable when ones faces personal trauma as opposed to objectively classifying others’. What an affecting story. Loved it.
Glory – An exploration of perspective and good luck vs bad luck and whether one is destined for either and if the path one’s life takes is based on decisions one feels propelled to make by a greater force for good or bad. Also, a look at how an initial interpretation of one’s life/future, and how that is communicated to a person, can affect one’s own outlook/decisions/interpretations moving forwards and therefore the way one experiences life. Interesting consideration of perspective, but definitely not one of my favorites of the collection. “If you can’t please the gods, trick them.”
What is a Volcano? – This is completely personal preference, but I love folktales and fairy tales (topically and atmospherically), especially ones that involve nature gods/spirits, so this story was definitely a favorite for me. A legend about the origin of volcanoes and the source of the sorrow that causes them to erupt (as well as, a bit, a bit of a myth about women that carry extra sorrow in their lives/bodies). A really fun short tale to read. “How, they wondered, can a body feel full to bursting with grief but also hollow?”
Redemption – What a finale. This story had a lot of fire in it, a lot of pent up fury and helplessness that are particular to women, especially women without financial means or a strong family support and, many times, even those women who do have those advantages. I think it was a great one to end on, as the topic and final words are definitely ones that will linger. (TW: child sexual assault, references and attempts) “Girls with fire in their bellies will be forced to drink from a well of correction till the flames die out.”
This collection is particularly difficult to give overall thoughts to, because of the variety within the pages. There were a number of snapshots of “normal” lives (of many types), that provided cultural insight and compelling portrayals of people that are similar to the “making the mundane into something more” that I saw in Bright (Duanwad Pimwana). Some of these were really touching and affecting, especially in regards to the mother-daughter relationships they detailed, while others were less impactful. Standouts there, for me, were: Redemption, Windfalls, and The Future Looks Good. My favorites of the collection tended to be those with a touch of the magical, like What is a Volcano?, Who Will Greet You at Home and the titular What it Means When a Man Falls From the Sky. This is very personal, I think, as I love fantasy and magical realism and folklore, but maybe that’s part of the benefit of a cross-genre collection: there is something for everyone. I really appreciated the way that mother-daughter and familial relationships, as well as the many ways the world tries to put out the light of vibrant young girls, were explored in so many ways throughout this collection. And I felt a deep personal touch/voice, culturally, as Arimah took on topics of immigration and family separation and cultural differences and expectations from Nigeria to America. I enjoyed this collection and a few of the stories (as noted) were quite chilling and affecting and original and will be sticking with me. I also thought the author’s voice was strong and the writing was great, so I will definitely be keeping an eye out for future works from her.
This collection has been on my radar for a while. With a title like that, it’s one that sticks out and sticks with you. But I am not often in the mood for story collections, so it stayed on the periphery for quite some time. However, I have to say, I think I am coming to appreciate short stories more and more. I had a conversation with someone about it the other day – how it’s so impressive when an author can grab you and impart lasting reactions in such a short space/time. And I think with that in mind, I’m opening up to collections more. It’s hard though, because I think in every collection there are some standouts and some that are just fine, and I end up struggling to give overall ratings. So, I will continue to do these little mini reviews for each story, which allow me to give more complete, specific reactions, to complement the “star” rating that they get.
This collection was a really unique mix of genres, some folktale-like, some futurism/magical realism (ish), some contemporary literature. The settings varied from present-day Nigeria to present-day America to futuristic African country-conglomerates and the protagonists featured a range of women of various ages and circumstances, all hailing from a version of Nigeria (despite current locations/situations). I don’t think I’ve ever read a cross-genre short story collection before and it was an interesting experience; a bit disjointed at times, but it allowed me to really get a feel for the breadth of the author’s skill and gave her the opportunity to really flex her creativity. At this point, here are my story-specific thoughts, and then I’ll end with some overall impressions:
The Future Looks Good – I really liked this short opening story. The cadence was fantastic and the stylistic “doesn’t see what came behind her” repetition device was used fantastically. The ending was abrupt, unexpected and striking in the best way. I gasped, a little, audibly. A solid first impression.
War Stories – This one was interesting. A quick look at the way memories stay with and affect us, as well as how they are both passed on to the next generation and simultaneously suppressed. I also thought the way “war stories” was applied both to legitimate war and childhood “games”/interactions that can equally have lifelong effects was presented in a sobering and impactful way.
Wild – A family snapshot, reinforcing the theme that everyone has problems, even if they outwardly appear not to, and that the grass is always greener on the other side. Also, a look at the different ways mother-daughter relationships can develop and play out, so the same even with different cultural expectations and so different even with similarities of disappointments and secret-keeping/putting on a show for the world outside. And a nice moment at the end about cousins/daughters coming together in support for each other under similar pressures, even through those differences.
Light – What a melancholy and poignant story about the many ways the world will dim a young girl’s light. Also, a touching story about family growing apart over distance/immigration. This one had a “before that” repetitive stylistic device that was similar to the one used in the first story and I really liked it again. Definitely one of the aspects of this collection and the author’s style that I am most appreciating.
Second Chances – This was more emotionally difficult to read than the rest, dealing with the loss of a mother, feelings of guilt related to that, and a mental health break. But it was a nice look at mother-daughter relationships, how they change with age, and how the way you interact might be something one or both regret when it’s too late. Not my favorite story of the collection though, to be honest.
Windfalls – The mother-daughter relationship at the center of the story was very unhealthy, really messed up, and my heart ached for the “you” this story was about and how she was used. So that was difficult to read. But the literary device in the story, the dark irony of the way it ended, was just too good. I loved that aspect. This was a super striking story.
Who Will Greet You at Home – Dang, there was a really creepy level to this story. Like, dolls coming to life levels of “fantastical” horror. And that was cool and different from anything in the collection so far. But I also read this with a deeper level (and maybe I was projecting something that wasn’t actually there, who knows?) that reflected some of the mother-daughter themes that are prevalent in this collection so far. There seemed to be some really interesting commentary on women’s roles as mothers: who “deserves” to be a mother, the expectations of women to be mothers and how they are prepared to be mothers, what women should “want” in a child, and a sort of magical-satirical look at what is required of women to sacrifice to be a mother and what kind of drain that is. Really a fascinating story that left me feeling quite unsettled (in a spine-chilling sort of way).
Buchi’s Girls – This one was hard to read in a more subtle way. A quiet exploration of loss and the way that loss has echoing effects through years, compounding that one moment of specific loss into something much greater and even more crushing. Also, a look at what mothers will endure for their children and the personal, emotional sacrifices they’ll make to create a more stable and safer and opportunity-filled life for them. “There was only so much a mother could ask a daughter to bear before that bond became bondage.”
What It Means When a Man Falls From the Sky – Whoa. I can definitely see how this story “won” the honor of titular for the collection. This is a dystopian/environmental-disaster version of the future, wherein a mathematician came up with a formula that allowed specialists to “fix the equation of a person,” including taking away the pain of traumatic memories to allow for faster “recovery” and forgetting. But there may be a flaw in the equation…and ooof that ending. This story deftly and existentially-horrifically explores the consequences of the build-up of a lifetime(s) of trauma, the dangers in the hubris of ranking traumas (comparing “meager hardship to unfathomable woes”) and the hypocrisy that is inevitable when ones faces personal trauma as opposed to objectively classifying others’. What an affecting story. Loved it.
Glory – An exploration of perspective and good luck vs bad luck and whether one is destined for either and if the path one’s life takes is based on decisions one feels propelled to make by a greater force for good or bad. Also, a look at how an initial interpretation of one’s life/future, and how that is communicated to a person, can affect one’s own outlook/decisions/interpretations moving forwards and therefore the way one experiences life. Interesting consideration of perspective, but definitely not one of my favorites of the collection. “If you can’t please the gods, trick them.”
What is a Volcano? – This is completely personal preference, but I love folktales and fairy tales (topically and atmospherically), especially ones that involve nature gods/spirits, so this story was definitely a favorite for me. A legend about the origin of volcanoes and the source of the sorrow that causes them to erupt (as well as, a bit, a bit of a myth about women that carry extra sorrow in their lives/bodies). A really fun short tale to read. “How, they wondered, can a body feel full to bursting with grief but also hollow?”
Redemption – What a finale. This story had a lot of fire in it, a lot of pent up fury and helplessness that are particular to women, especially women without financial means or a strong family support and, many times, even those women who do have those advantages. I think it was a great one to end on, as the topic and final words are definitely ones that will linger. (TW: child sexual assault, references and attempts) “Girls with fire in their bellies will be forced to drink from a well of correction till the flames die out.”
This collection is particularly difficult to give overall thoughts to, because of the variety within the pages. There were a number of snapshots of “normal” lives (of many types), that provided cultural insight and compelling portrayals of people that are similar to the “making the mundane into something more” that I saw in Bright (Duanwad Pimwana). Some of these were really touching and affecting, especially in regards to the mother-daughter relationships they detailed, while others were less impactful. Standouts there, for me, were: Redemption, Windfalls, and The Future Looks Good. My favorites of the collection tended to be those with a touch of the magical, like What is a Volcano?, Who Will Greet You at Home and the titular What it Means When a Man Falls From the Sky. This is very personal, I think, as I love fantasy and magical realism and folklore, but maybe that’s part of the benefit of a cross-genre collection: there is something for everyone. I really appreciated the way that mother-daughter and familial relationships, as well as the many ways the world tries to put out the light of vibrant young girls, were explored in so many ways throughout this collection. And I felt a deep personal touch/voice, culturally, as Arimah took on topics of immigration and family separation and cultural differences and expectations from Nigeria to America. I enjoyed this collection and a few of the stories (as noted) were quite chilling and affecting and original and will be sticking with me. I also thought the author’s voice was strong and the writing was great, so I will definitely be keeping an eye out for future works from her.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I know I don’t usually read children’s/middle grade books, and Woodson has written “adult” books, so I’m not really sure what made me feel like this needed to be the first one by her that I read. But there was definitely a reason, because I bought this a year or so ago and have had it on my shortlist since then. Granted, and clearly, it’s a very long shortlist. But I’m working on it!
In this memoir written in verse, Woodson gives the reader a glimpse at what her life was like growing up. From Ohio to South Carolina to New York City, Woodson recounts experiences with family, friends, school, dreams of becoming a writer, life before and during the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s (from the different perspectives of both the North and the South), and the way a child sees, interprets and learns to move in the world.
This was incredible. Like I said, I don’t read a lot of middle grade, so I can’t speak to it in comparison with other books for the age group, but I feel like this was a sensitive, moving, clear, emotional and educational memoir – completely accessible for middle grade readers and no less impactful for adult readers. Each poem is a wonderfully evocative snapshot of a moments in Woodson’s past. They read like snatched remembrances, wisps of memories, and are so succinct in their evocativeness; yet they come together to provide such a complete feeling of what Woodson’s childhood was like. In particular, the final poems, those in Part V as the memoir comes to a close, were all, for lack of a better term (or, to specifically use a term that truly encapsulates how strongly I reacted to them emotionally), lit. Two in particular from this section that I want to point out, in addition to some of the pull quotes/passages I’m including below (like always) are say it loud and every wish, one dream and what i believe. Also, I listened to the audio for this book, as I read, which Woodson herself narrates, and the cadence of her voice and words is absolutely mesmerizing.
There are a few themes that are particularly strong throughout this memoir that I want to touch on quickly. First, as Woodson grows, she realizes more and more that writing and making up stories is her calling, different from her siblings and perhaps harder to conceptualize for her family, but no less strong of a pull. The way she discovers and leans into that part of her is both sweet and strong and a really great message to young readers about following your heart. (Cute/fun side note – I loved when she talked about the butterfly books she wrote as a child. I totally wrote, and then made many copies of to “sell” to relatives, a book about butterflies as a kid. It just made me laugh to remember that when I read those poems.) Also, the poems when she touches on her experiences with her family’s life (especially on trips to/when living in the South) before the Civil Rights Movement (so, to be clear, Jim Crow) and then later, during the Movement itself (looking up to such leaders as Angela Davis) is just so profound. The way she so clearly communicates what that was like to navigate as a child, the parts she both objectively understood versus subjectively experienced, and the way she processed all that, along with overhead snippets from adults/news…it’s hard to fathom all the ways those experiences changed and shaped her, what and how she internalized without even necessarily realizing it. And yet, she is able to show how she moved though it, emotionally and logistically, in a way that young readers and understand and connect with. It’s really impressive writing and very important concepts and sentiments for today’s youth to recognize and empathize with.
In the Author’s Note at the end, Woodson talks about her family, the richness of their family stories and history and a generation-to-generation effort to work to make the world a better place for the next generation. This really struck me deeply, because you can tell throughout the memoir, her words honor the work of the generations before her and show how that shaped her own understanding of continuing that work herself. It’s a striking perspective difference from my own family mantra, growing up, that every generation should do better than the one before. At first blush they seem similar, but the outward look and civic motivations for Woodson’s family “motto” are in great contrast with the personalized and inner focus of my family’s. It’s a difference I’ve been sitting with since finishing, and will continue to sit with, as I deconstruct what privileges, or lack thereof, shaped those differing philosophical outlooks, and reconstruct a new perspective for myself. Anyways, just some personal reflection to end the review. But the important thing is, this was a fantastic memoir, the medium of verse was used perfectly, and I will definitely encourage any middle-grade youth that I know (not many right now, but lots of babies who are going to grow up and be old enough for it one day!) to read it. Oh, and I’ll definitely be picking up some of Woodson’s adult lit now.
“Somewhere in my brain / each laugh, tear and lullaby / becomes memory.”
“The empty swing set reminds us of this– / that what is bad won’t be bad forever, / and what is good can sometimes last / a long, long time.”
“I know / if I wanted to / I could write anything. / Letters becoming words, words gathering meaning, / becoming / thoughts outside my head / becoming sentences”
“I am in the world but not of the world.”
“I want to catch words one day. I want to hold them / then blow gently, / watch them float / right out of my hands.”
“And on those days, so much light and warmth fills / the room that it’s hard not to believe / in a little bit / of everything.”
“Already there are so many things I don’t understand, why / someone would have to die / or even fight for what they believe in. / Why the cops would want someone who is trying / to change the world / in jail. / We are not afraid to die, Maria and I shout, fists high, / for what we believe in. / But both of us know – we’d rather keep believing / and live.”
“I want to write this down, that the revolution is like / a merry-go-round, history always being made / somewhere. And maybe for a short time, / we’re a part of that history. And then the ride stops / and out turn is over.”
I know I don’t usually read children’s/middle grade books, and Woodson has written “adult” books, so I’m not really sure what made me feel like this needed to be the first one by her that I read. But there was definitely a reason, because I bought this a year or so ago and have had it on my shortlist since then. Granted, and clearly, it’s a very long shortlist. But I’m working on it!
In this memoir written in verse, Woodson gives the reader a glimpse at what her life was like growing up. From Ohio to South Carolina to New York City, Woodson recounts experiences with family, friends, school, dreams of becoming a writer, life before and during the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s (from the different perspectives of both the North and the South), and the way a child sees, interprets and learns to move in the world.
This was incredible. Like I said, I don’t read a lot of middle grade, so I can’t speak to it in comparison with other books for the age group, but I feel like this was a sensitive, moving, clear, emotional and educational memoir – completely accessible for middle grade readers and no less impactful for adult readers. Each poem is a wonderfully evocative snapshot of a moments in Woodson’s past. They read like snatched remembrances, wisps of memories, and are so succinct in their evocativeness; yet they come together to provide such a complete feeling of what Woodson’s childhood was like. In particular, the final poems, those in Part V as the memoir comes to a close, were all, for lack of a better term (or, to specifically use a term that truly encapsulates how strongly I reacted to them emotionally), lit. Two in particular from this section that I want to point out, in addition to some of the pull quotes/passages I’m including below (like always) are say it loud and every wish, one dream and what i believe. Also, I listened to the audio for this book, as I read, which Woodson herself narrates, and the cadence of her voice and words is absolutely mesmerizing.
There are a few themes that are particularly strong throughout this memoir that I want to touch on quickly. First, as Woodson grows, she realizes more and more that writing and making up stories is her calling, different from her siblings and perhaps harder to conceptualize for her family, but no less strong of a pull. The way she discovers and leans into that part of her is both sweet and strong and a really great message to young readers about following your heart. (Cute/fun side note – I loved when she talked about the butterfly books she wrote as a child. I totally wrote, and then made many copies of to “sell” to relatives, a book about butterflies as a kid. It just made me laugh to remember that when I read those poems.) Also, the poems when she touches on her experiences with her family’s life (especially on trips to/when living in the South) before the Civil Rights Movement (so, to be clear, Jim Crow) and then later, during the Movement itself (looking up to such leaders as Angela Davis) is just so profound. The way she so clearly communicates what that was like to navigate as a child, the parts she both objectively understood versus subjectively experienced, and the way she processed all that, along with overhead snippets from adults/news…it’s hard to fathom all the ways those experiences changed and shaped her, what and how she internalized without even necessarily realizing it. And yet, she is able to show how she moved though it, emotionally and logistically, in a way that young readers and understand and connect with. It’s really impressive writing and very important concepts and sentiments for today’s youth to recognize and empathize with.
In the Author’s Note at the end, Woodson talks about her family, the richness of their family stories and history and a generation-to-generation effort to work to make the world a better place for the next generation. This really struck me deeply, because you can tell throughout the memoir, her words honor the work of the generations before her and show how that shaped her own understanding of continuing that work herself. It’s a striking perspective difference from my own family mantra, growing up, that every generation should do better than the one before. At first blush they seem similar, but the outward look and civic motivations for Woodson’s family “motto” are in great contrast with the personalized and inner focus of my family’s. It’s a difference I’ve been sitting with since finishing, and will continue to sit with, as I deconstruct what privileges, or lack thereof, shaped those differing philosophical outlooks, and reconstruct a new perspective for myself. Anyways, just some personal reflection to end the review. But the important thing is, this was a fantastic memoir, the medium of verse was used perfectly, and I will definitely encourage any middle-grade youth that I know (not many right now, but lots of babies who are going to grow up and be old enough for it one day!) to read it. Oh, and I’ll definitely be picking up some of Woodson’s adult lit now.
“Somewhere in my brain / each laugh, tear and lullaby / becomes memory.”
“The empty swing set reminds us of this– / that what is bad won’t be bad forever, / and what is good can sometimes last / a long, long time.”
“I know / if I wanted to / I could write anything. / Letters becoming words, words gathering meaning, / becoming / thoughts outside my head / becoming sentences”
“I am in the world but not of the world.”
“I want to catch words one day. I want to hold them / then blow gently, / watch them float / right out of my hands.”
“And on those days, so much light and warmth fills / the room that it’s hard not to believe / in a little bit / of everything.”
“Already there are so many things I don’t understand, why / someone would have to die / or even fight for what they believe in. / Why the cops would want someone who is trying / to change the world / in jail. / We are not afraid to die, Maria and I shout, fists high, / for what we believe in. / But both of us know – we’d rather keep believing / and live.”
“I want to write this down, that the revolution is like / a merry-go-round, history always being made / somewhere. And maybe for a short time, / we’re a part of that history. And then the ride stops / and out turn is over.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I have realized over the last few years that the fairly new Aspen Words Prize (http://www.aspenwords.org/programs/literary-prize/), focused exclusively on fiction with a social impact, is one of my favorite literary prizes. I am by no means an expert in literary prizes, but what I can say is that their long and short lists are wonderfully diverse (even more so when compared to other literary prizes) and I have yet to read a book they have considered that I haven’t either really liked or loved. My reviews of the last few year’s winners Exit West by Mohsin Hamid and American Marriage by Tayari Jones, are on my blog. And here’s my review for the most recent (2020) winner!
The Beekeeper of Aleppo tells the story of Syrian refugee Nuri, who was a beekeeper in Aleppo before the war, and his wife, Afra, an artist. The violence and tragedy of Syria eventually cause Nuri and Afra to escape their homeland, on a perilous journey to try and reach Nuri’s cousin and business partner, Mustafa, who has made it to England with his own family and has started an apiary and is teaching beekeeping to fellow refugees. Nuri’s voice narrates the story, jumping in time from his and Afra’s current location (a temporary home in the UK while they wait for their asylum interviews) to the loss and dangers they survived during their trip across the world, searching for safety.
This is a moving and powerful story, and all the more so because of the calm and beautiful writing with which it is told. I read that Lefteri is a child of refugees and has spent time working in Greece with refugees there on multiple occasions, which is what prompted her to write this story. And you can feel her strength of emotion behind the compassionate words of this novel, as well as in the small details that she includes throughout. In particular, the images of the key in Nuri’s dreams, the marble that Afra constantly rolls in her fingers and the wingless bee that Nuri cares for so carefully in England have lodged themselves in my mind and I imagine that they’ll be there for a while. Although Lefteri writes clearly and without question about the many traumas and violences and tragedies that Nuri and Afra face, it never crosses a line into gratuitous imagery. I appreciated that while reading and feel that it is even more forceful now that I have finished and those small details are the ones stuck in my had, while the feelings of sorrow and loss and longing and…sort of a searching feeling…are the emotions that I am sitting with as I finish.
There are a few things I want to point out, in particular, about this novel and the writing. First, the juxtaposition with the way violence (snipers, bombs, dead bodies, destruction) becomes a normalized part of life, a constancy that makes it an almost desensitized backdrop, with the mental/emotional strain and PTSD that those who have lived it, is striking. It’s important, as a reader, to not let the overwhelming heart-breaking-ness of this story override that it is reality for many…and though they have experienced so much horror, and have created coping mechanisms to keep it “under the surface” (because what other options are there), the effects of that trauma are deep and wide and irreversible. In addition, and very related, Lefteri presents the way trauma affects the mind and perception, and how we adjust and react in order to cope, in a very affecting way. Looking at Afra’s physical-psychosomatic responses and Nuri’s “dreams” and flashbacks, as well as some of the responses from other refugees and asylum-seekers they meet along their journey, the reader is exposed to a number of these ways the body/mind can cope. And all are tragic in their own way. Lefteri also does a wonderful job creating a sense of mournful nostalgia for a homeland, highlighting the longing for a place that one knows is no longer what it used to be, and yet still holds that memory/place in the heart. Specifically regarding Nuri and Afra’s relationship, it is an insightful, though difficult, look at how we treat and interact with those closest to us when we suffer – the ways we might turn from them in order to avoid confronting the pain of shared experiences and the helplessness at not being able to spare or protect them. It’s not at all an uncommon coping mechanism, but overcoming that distance, to learn to process and, perhaps, start to heal together is a major focus of the novel and Nuri and Afra’s journey. Finally, there was some, if small, exploration of the asylum process itself, the hoops and length of process involved in escaping from such unsafe locations/circumstances, how easy this displaced population is to take advantage of and the complete lack of protections for them, and the way that refugees must constantly relive the most painful parts of their past in order the “prove” that they deserve to stay in a place where they are “safe.” This is such a disheartening setup for a system that is supposed to be there to help those who need it find asylum.
As I said at the beginning, this is an incredibly moving novel. It’s an emotional and difficult read, but handles the topic with what felt, at least for me, like great respect and nuance. As with many novels about populations that are overlooked or in need, or systems that are flawed, I find myself with an urge to do something after finishing. At the end of the audiobook, Lefteri provides information about a few organizations in England that are working in this area. I plan to find some local to me and figure out what types of donations or assistance I can provide. And I urge others to read this novel and then do the same.
“I wish I could escape my mind, that I could be free of this world and everything I have seen in the last few years. And the children who have survived - what will become of them? How will they be able to live in this world?”
“But in Syria there is a saying: inside the person you know, there is a person you do not know.”
“Sometimes we create such powerful illusions, so that we do not get lost in the darkness.”
“They communicated without words from the most primitive part of the soul. I remembered her laughing about this, saying that she felt like an animal, and how she realized that we are less human in our times of greatest love and greatest fear.”
“When you belong to someone and they are gone, who are you?”
“There is always one person in a group who has more courage than the rest. It takes bravery to cry out, to release what is in your heart.”
I have realized over the last few years that the fairly new Aspen Words Prize (http://www.aspenwords.org/programs/literary-prize/), focused exclusively on fiction with a social impact, is one of my favorite literary prizes. I am by no means an expert in literary prizes, but what I can say is that their long and short lists are wonderfully diverse (even more so when compared to other literary prizes) and I have yet to read a book they have considered that I haven’t either really liked or loved. My reviews of the last few year’s winners Exit West by Mohsin Hamid and American Marriage by Tayari Jones, are on my blog. And here’s my review for the most recent (2020) winner!
The Beekeeper of Aleppo tells the story of Syrian refugee Nuri, who was a beekeeper in Aleppo before the war, and his wife, Afra, an artist. The violence and tragedy of Syria eventually cause Nuri and Afra to escape their homeland, on a perilous journey to try and reach Nuri’s cousin and business partner, Mustafa, who has made it to England with his own family and has started an apiary and is teaching beekeeping to fellow refugees. Nuri’s voice narrates the story, jumping in time from his and Afra’s current location (a temporary home in the UK while they wait for their asylum interviews) to the loss and dangers they survived during their trip across the world, searching for safety.
This is a moving and powerful story, and all the more so because of the calm and beautiful writing with which it is told. I read that Lefteri is a child of refugees and has spent time working in Greece with refugees there on multiple occasions, which is what prompted her to write this story. And you can feel her strength of emotion behind the compassionate words of this novel, as well as in the small details that she includes throughout. In particular, the images of the key in Nuri’s dreams, the marble that Afra constantly rolls in her fingers and the wingless bee that Nuri cares for so carefully in England have lodged themselves in my mind and I imagine that they’ll be there for a while. Although Lefteri writes clearly and without question about the many traumas and violences and tragedies that Nuri and Afra face, it never crosses a line into gratuitous imagery. I appreciated that while reading and feel that it is even more forceful now that I have finished and those small details are the ones stuck in my had, while the feelings of sorrow and loss and longing and…sort of a searching feeling…are the emotions that I am sitting with as I finish.
There are a few things I want to point out, in particular, about this novel and the writing. First, the juxtaposition with the way violence (snipers, bombs, dead bodies, destruction) becomes a normalized part of life, a constancy that makes it an almost desensitized backdrop, with the mental/emotional strain and PTSD that those who have lived it, is striking. It’s important, as a reader, to not let the overwhelming heart-breaking-ness of this story override that it is reality for many…and though they have experienced so much horror, and have created coping mechanisms to keep it “under the surface” (because what other options are there), the effects of that trauma are deep and wide and irreversible. In addition, and very related, Lefteri presents the way trauma affects the mind and perception, and how we adjust and react in order to cope, in a very affecting way. Looking at Afra’s physical-psychosomatic responses and Nuri’s “dreams” and flashbacks, as well as some of the responses from other refugees and asylum-seekers they meet along their journey, the reader is exposed to a number of these ways the body/mind can cope. And all are tragic in their own way. Lefteri also does a wonderful job creating a sense of mournful nostalgia for a homeland, highlighting the longing for a place that one knows is no longer what it used to be, and yet still holds that memory/place in the heart. Specifically regarding Nuri and Afra’s relationship, it is an insightful, though difficult, look at how we treat and interact with those closest to us when we suffer – the ways we might turn from them in order to avoid confronting the pain of shared experiences and the helplessness at not being able to spare or protect them. It’s not at all an uncommon coping mechanism, but overcoming that distance, to learn to process and, perhaps, start to heal together is a major focus of the novel and Nuri and Afra’s journey. Finally, there was some, if small, exploration of the asylum process itself, the hoops and length of process involved in escaping from such unsafe locations/circumstances, how easy this displaced population is to take advantage of and the complete lack of protections for them, and the way that refugees must constantly relive the most painful parts of their past in order the “prove” that they deserve to stay in a place where they are “safe.” This is such a disheartening setup for a system that is supposed to be there to help those who need it find asylum.
As I said at the beginning, this is an incredibly moving novel. It’s an emotional and difficult read, but handles the topic with what felt, at least for me, like great respect and nuance. As with many novels about populations that are overlooked or in need, or systems that are flawed, I find myself with an urge to do something after finishing. At the end of the audiobook, Lefteri provides information about a few organizations in England that are working in this area. I plan to find some local to me and figure out what types of donations or assistance I can provide. And I urge others to read this novel and then do the same.
“I wish I could escape my mind, that I could be free of this world and everything I have seen in the last few years. And the children who have survived - what will become of them? How will they be able to live in this world?”
“But in Syria there is a saying: inside the person you know, there is a person you do not know.”
“Sometimes we create such powerful illusions, so that we do not get lost in the darkness.”
“They communicated without words from the most primitive part of the soul. I remembered her laughing about this, saying that she felt like an animal, and how she realized that we are less human in our times of greatest love and greatest fear.”
“When you belong to someone and they are gone, who are you?”
“There is always one person in a group who has more courage than the rest. It takes bravery to cry out, to release what is in your heart.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
From the moment I’d heard about this book, I’d added it to my TBR. That title, that (adorable) cover, the short description I’d read about small town prom and a queer love story…it was all right up my alley for a light, YA read (which I generally sprinkle into my reading throughout the year for an emotional break/reset and some fun). Anyways, I voted for this one quickly when it showed up as an option for my distance book club’s July read and I’m super glad it won because it was everything I was hoping for!
Liz is tall, Black and (secretly) likes girls…all things that make her feel like she sticks out just a little too much in her small Midwest town. She’s been counting down the years until she can leave, looking forward to attending the same elite college her mother went to – playing in their orchestra and studying to become a doctor. But when a scholarship she was counting on falls through, one of the only remaining ways to make that dream financially possible is to run for, and win, prom queen (and the attached 10k scholarship). So, Liz faces all her fears and comes off the sidelines and into the spotlight of her school’s (unbelievably intense) prom court competition. Along the way, she faces a lot of challenge and realizations about herself and her friends/classmates, but she also steps up into her own life and, just maybe, falls in love.
Well, this premise is just about one of the most fun ones I’ve ever experienced as a reader. I read a few interviews with the author, who said although this wasn’t her own prom experience, all the events are taken from things that really do happen at schools around the country for prom (if, perhaps, kicked up a notch for dramatic effect). That’s so outrageous to me! Like, prom was a big deal and we got all dressed up and stuff, but this entire competition level of getting onto court, and all the different events (bake-offs and volunteering and GPA and caution against drunk driving acting scenes) are a whole level that I can’t even imagine. Maybe they were exaggerated for effect, but still! Regardless, it was absolutely entertaining, to see what kind of ridiculous campaign moves the contenders would make or be required to get involved in next. Seriously, I enjoyed reading about it so much! True escapism in literary form. I also really liked reading about Liz’s group of friends. They were exactly who I was in high school (I actually highlighted a quote below that stood out to me because it was so dang accurate to my own experience) – someone who had a great/solid group of friends, and participated in a number of activities and had good grades, but was never in the limelight or envied or even, really, “known.” It definitely wasn’t a bad experience (I actually really enjoyed high school, which is definitely a bit different than some of Liz’s own experiences), but it wasn’t like any of the high school stereotypes that one usually sees (and is much more nuanced than those stereotypes capture). I love that YA literature is starting to represent that reality.
Anyways, back to Liz’s friends. They were, for the most part, oddball squad goals and I loved reading about them. I especially loved Jordan, once he was back in the picture more completely. His consistent and all-encompassing support was fantastic. And I appreciated the way he handled his own girlfriend’s situation so much (so much respect to him and to Johnson for writing in that small storyline). Plus, the very final scene, and what he does for Liz in that moment had the tears coming for real. (It was the perfect ending!) On a related note, I was frustrated with Gabi almost from the word go. I appreciate that Johnson made it clear that relationships are always very complicated, and especially because as adolescents that kind of complexity is often seen as if it doesn’t exist, like they’re too young for that level of complication. (Side note: I am here for authors who recognize the intricacies of being a teenager, allow them to be multi-facted, to contain multitudes and not be one-dimensional caricatures, because that’s real…and Johnson provided that recognition to a few of the major characters.) But anyways, Gabi just rubbed me the wrong way from the start and I wasn’t surprised to hear what she had done in the past. And through it was Liz’s choice to forgive or not, and her maturity in that respect does line up with her character, I think I might have been too petty for that. And as a reader I’m still over here mad for Liz. UGH. Kind of with that, there was a definite racist/homophobic character that for sure got some social comeuppance/loss of friends from her behavior, but I was disappointed that it wasn’t more outwardly challenged. I get that that’s probably (frustratingly) accurate to real life, but it seemed like she more or less got away with some truly abhorrent and hateful things that I hope would have been more strongly dealt with from official channels. Anyways, just some side rants there from me; overall, I loved the friend characters.
And of course, Mack, the lady-interest. I thought she was a great foil to Liz, with her very different background and comfort level with being out, etc. I thought the chemistry between Mack and Liz was solid, just right for a high school first love, and I enjoyed their getting to know each other development. The “snag,” if you will (trying to do no spoilers), in their relationship fits the story and also allows for a reasonable and sweet reconcile, as we got to see. I liked the dimension that brought to the story for both characters. And though I thought Mack could, maybe, have been flushed out a little more, I wasn’t disappointed by the romance aspect of this novel at all. It got my heart all aflutter with teen-angst-romance-first love feels and that’s exactly what I wanted from it.
One other thing about this novel that I want to point out was the more serious parts. There are a lot of intersectional issues that Johnson addresses through Liz’s character from race to sexuality to inherited and intergenerational marginalizations (specifically, in this case, financial strain and chronic disease – sickle cell) to the death of a parent, all within the context of small-town America, a place that is often (overtly) much less accepting and understanding of many of these differences. Now, take this opinion with a grain of salt, as I have never been a queer Black girl from small town America, but I felt like the author did a great job addressing these issues in a way that felt completely genuine. And while perhaps sometimes they threatened to, they were never able to overshadow Liz’s own personality, strength and (especially at the end) pure joy. In those interviews with the author I alluded to earlier, Johnson mentioned that was a balance she had hoped to find, including these points (because not including them would be disingenuous to Liz’s, to Black readers’, realities), but not over-focusing on them to an extent that took Liz’s self out of the story. In my this-book-wasn’t-written-for-me opinion, she did a fantastic job with that.
This book is everything I could have wanted out of a YA novel about a high school prom queen campaign story…and more! I loved the kind of fairy-tale themes that were included and the ways they were simultaneously flipped on their head and given to (a very deserving) Liz – she got the happily ever after ending she would have wanted, not by anyone else’s definition of what that ending should be. So cute and satisfying! And oh goodness, I cried like six times over the last 50 or so pages, for all sorts of reasons (family connection, best friends, support systems, bittersweet and super sweet moments). My heart swelled so freaking much it was almost uncomfortable in my chest and I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. I made a note partway through that this novel felt like a high school anthem, like those songs that everyone knew and jumped up and down to, belting out all the words super loud and off-key, when they came on the radio (or mix CD? – I was in high school before Pandora and Spotify so I can’t really say playlist…ooof, I’m getting old). Anyways, after finishing and sitting with this for a bit, I stand by that. This book is an anthem and I hope it gets big enough that we’ll all know the words.
“When you already feel like everything about you makes you stand out, it just makes sense to find as many ways to blend in as you can.”
“…despite everything, my hard work might not ever be enough.”
“High school is complicated, and the lines of demarcation that The Breakfast Club said divided us aren’t quite so clean-cut. The athletes are also the smart kids; the theater kids are also the presidents of the student council. But there’s still those outliers. The people who are everywhere but fit nowhere. People who are involved but not envied – present but imperfect – so the scrutiny pushes them out of the race.” (I identified really hard with this passage, on a personal level.)
“I’m never going to be the type of person who makes sense to other people. I’m never going to be able to own every part of myself.”
“I never needed this race or a hashtag or the king to be a queen. I was born royalty. All I had to do was pick up my crown.” (WHAT A LINE!!)
“Feeling special in a town that doesn’t feel special at all is worth all sorts of madness.”
“I’m genuinely, unabashedly happy to be in this place with these people on this night.” (I have felt this way a couple times in my life, these perfect moments, and there are no words for them. They’ll stay with me forever.)
From the moment I’d heard about this book, I’d added it to my TBR. That title, that (adorable) cover, the short description I’d read about small town prom and a queer love story…it was all right up my alley for a light, YA read (which I generally sprinkle into my reading throughout the year for an emotional break/reset and some fun). Anyways, I voted for this one quickly when it showed up as an option for my distance book club’s July read and I’m super glad it won because it was everything I was hoping for!
Liz is tall, Black and (secretly) likes girls…all things that make her feel like she sticks out just a little too much in her small Midwest town. She’s been counting down the years until she can leave, looking forward to attending the same elite college her mother went to – playing in their orchestra and studying to become a doctor. But when a scholarship she was counting on falls through, one of the only remaining ways to make that dream financially possible is to run for, and win, prom queen (and the attached 10k scholarship). So, Liz faces all her fears and comes off the sidelines and into the spotlight of her school’s (unbelievably intense) prom court competition. Along the way, she faces a lot of challenge and realizations about herself and her friends/classmates, but she also steps up into her own life and, just maybe, falls in love.
Well, this premise is just about one of the most fun ones I’ve ever experienced as a reader. I read a few interviews with the author, who said although this wasn’t her own prom experience, all the events are taken from things that really do happen at schools around the country for prom (if, perhaps, kicked up a notch for dramatic effect). That’s so outrageous to me! Like, prom was a big deal and we got all dressed up and stuff, but this entire competition level of getting onto court, and all the different events (bake-offs and volunteering and GPA and caution against drunk driving acting scenes) are a whole level that I can’t even imagine. Maybe they were exaggerated for effect, but still! Regardless, it was absolutely entertaining, to see what kind of ridiculous campaign moves the contenders would make or be required to get involved in next. Seriously, I enjoyed reading about it so much! True escapism in literary form. I also really liked reading about Liz’s group of friends. They were exactly who I was in high school (I actually highlighted a quote below that stood out to me because it was so dang accurate to my own experience) – someone who had a great/solid group of friends, and participated in a number of activities and had good grades, but was never in the limelight or envied or even, really, “known.” It definitely wasn’t a bad experience (I actually really enjoyed high school, which is definitely a bit different than some of Liz’s own experiences), but it wasn’t like any of the high school stereotypes that one usually sees (and is much more nuanced than those stereotypes capture). I love that YA literature is starting to represent that reality.
Anyways, back to Liz’s friends. They were, for the most part, oddball squad goals and I loved reading about them. I especially loved Jordan, once he was back in the picture more completely. His consistent and all-encompassing support was fantastic. And I appreciated the way he handled his own girlfriend’s situation so much (so much respect to him and to Johnson for writing in that small storyline). Plus, the very final scene, and what he does for Liz in that moment had the tears coming for real. (It was the perfect ending!) On a related note, I was frustrated with Gabi almost from the word go. I appreciate that Johnson made it clear that relationships are always very complicated, and especially because as adolescents that kind of complexity is often seen as if it doesn’t exist, like they’re too young for that level of complication. (Side note: I am here for authors who recognize the intricacies of being a teenager, allow them to be multi-facted, to contain multitudes and not be one-dimensional caricatures, because that’s real…and Johnson provided that recognition to a few of the major characters.) But anyways, Gabi just rubbed me the wrong way from the start and I wasn’t surprised to hear what she had done in the past. And through it was Liz’s choice to forgive or not, and her maturity in that respect does line up with her character, I think I might have been too petty for that. And as a reader I’m still over here mad for Liz. UGH. Kind of with that, there was a definite racist/homophobic character that for sure got some social comeuppance/loss of friends from her behavior, but I was disappointed that it wasn’t more outwardly challenged. I get that that’s probably (frustratingly) accurate to real life, but it seemed like she more or less got away with some truly abhorrent and hateful things that I hope would have been more strongly dealt with from official channels. Anyways, just some side rants there from me; overall, I loved the friend characters.
And of course, Mack, the lady-interest. I thought she was a great foil to Liz, with her very different background and comfort level with being out, etc. I thought the chemistry between Mack and Liz was solid, just right for a high school first love, and I enjoyed their getting to know each other development. The “snag,” if you will (trying to do no spoilers), in their relationship fits the story and also allows for a reasonable and sweet reconcile, as we got to see. I liked the dimension that brought to the story for both characters. And though I thought Mack could, maybe, have been flushed out a little more, I wasn’t disappointed by the romance aspect of this novel at all. It got my heart all aflutter with teen-angst-romance-first love feels and that’s exactly what I wanted from it.
One other thing about this novel that I want to point out was the more serious parts. There are a lot of intersectional issues that Johnson addresses through Liz’s character from race to sexuality to inherited and intergenerational marginalizations (specifically, in this case, financial strain and chronic disease – sickle cell) to the death of a parent, all within the context of small-town America, a place that is often (overtly) much less accepting and understanding of many of these differences. Now, take this opinion with a grain of salt, as I have never been a queer Black girl from small town America, but I felt like the author did a great job addressing these issues in a way that felt completely genuine. And while perhaps sometimes they threatened to, they were never able to overshadow Liz’s own personality, strength and (especially at the end) pure joy. In those interviews with the author I alluded to earlier, Johnson mentioned that was a balance she had hoped to find, including these points (because not including them would be disingenuous to Liz’s, to Black readers’, realities), but not over-focusing on them to an extent that took Liz’s self out of the story. In my this-book-wasn’t-written-for-me opinion, she did a fantastic job with that.
This book is everything I could have wanted out of a YA novel about a high school prom queen campaign story…and more! I loved the kind of fairy-tale themes that were included and the ways they were simultaneously flipped on their head and given to (a very deserving) Liz – she got the happily ever after ending she would have wanted, not by anyone else’s definition of what that ending should be. So cute and satisfying! And oh goodness, I cried like six times over the last 50 or so pages, for all sorts of reasons (family connection, best friends, support systems, bittersweet and super sweet moments). My heart swelled so freaking much it was almost uncomfortable in my chest and I wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. I made a note partway through that this novel felt like a high school anthem, like those songs that everyone knew and jumped up and down to, belting out all the words super loud and off-key, when they came on the radio (or mix CD? – I was in high school before Pandora and Spotify so I can’t really say playlist…ooof, I’m getting old). Anyways, after finishing and sitting with this for a bit, I stand by that. This book is an anthem and I hope it gets big enough that we’ll all know the words.
“When you already feel like everything about you makes you stand out, it just makes sense to find as many ways to blend in as you can.”
“…despite everything, my hard work might not ever be enough.”
“High school is complicated, and the lines of demarcation that The Breakfast Club said divided us aren’t quite so clean-cut. The athletes are also the smart kids; the theater kids are also the presidents of the student council. But there’s still those outliers. The people who are everywhere but fit nowhere. People who are involved but not envied – present but imperfect – so the scrutiny pushes them out of the race.” (I identified really hard with this passage, on a personal level.)
“I’m never going to be the type of person who makes sense to other people. I’m never going to be able to own every part of myself.”
“I never needed this race or a hashtag or the king to be a queen. I was born royalty. All I had to do was pick up my crown.” (WHAT A LINE!!)
“Feeling special in a town that doesn’t feel special at all is worth all sorts of madness.”
“I’m genuinely, unabashedly happy to be in this place with these people on this night.” (I have felt this way a couple times in my life, these perfect moments, and there are no words for them. They’ll stay with me forever.)
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
After reading and LOVING The Long Way to a Small, Angry Plant (and the follow-up books set in the same world, A Closed and Common Orbit and Record of a Spaceborn Few), I realized that “space opera” was a new favorite sci-fi sub-genre for me. Oh, and of course, Binti is amazing, but I still need to finish that trilogy! Anyways, the point is that I’ve been kinda keeping my eye open for space operas now and this one came across my radar last year. I had it on the backburner, but when I saw it at a used bookstore, I figured that was a sign to move it up the list.
Mahit Dzmare is a newly minted ambassador from a small mining Station send to the center of the Teixcalaan Empire. When she arrives, she discovers that the reason the Empire requested a new ambassador is because the previous is dead. And from the minute she arrives Mahit is thrust into a game of political intrigue, empire expansion and emperor succession…all while trying to figure out what really happened to her predecessor (she doesn’t for one second think his death was natural as claimed), adjusting to a completely foreign culture (and find allies in her new home), trying to survive what could be internal sabotage from her own people, guard an incredibly valuable technological secret and follow through on the “normal” ambassadorial duties.
Whoa. This book was nonstop from the very first page. And I mean that in regards to plot, sure, but also to the amount of foreign information that is thrown at the reader. There is definitely no “ease them in” period in regards to the language, culture, relationships or any other part of Mahit’s stationer life or Teixcalaanli lifestyle. I loved that “thrown them in the deep end to teach them how to swim” style of sci-fi/fantasy, because I appreciate not having to parse through an info dump sort of situation for the first quarter of the novel. However, it’s definitely an effort on the part of the reader to stay above water as info comes in – there’s no option to tune out a little or let attention flag at any point. It helps that the story is told through the eyes of an ambassador, educated but alien (“barbarian” to use the novels’ terminology) herself, so extra complicated points and procedures can be spelled out for her in a realistic way and that makes things just accessible enough for the reader to hang on to. I love being that invested in a story, but it’s a worth a warning if you are looking for something that requires a little less effort to enjoy. But if it’s what you’re looking for, then OMG this book has it in SPADES.
The political and lingual complexities of this novel are freaking amazing. They are precise, intricate, consistent and gorgeously developed. The subtle use and interpretations of subtext are fascinating – the cultural and political role wording and poetry plays in Teixcalaan is so unique and creative and you can feel the passion the author has for linguistics shining through so strongly and beautifully. You might get sick of me saying it, but seriously the language, the language, the language in this novel is something really special. Hand in hand with that, the political machinations are similarly complex and riveting. Every little speech, movement, decision, interaction held so much weight and meaning. This story unfolds with finesse and control (with some action-based drama interspersed) and that style may not be everyone’s preference, but I’ve almost never seen it unfold better than it did here. Perhaps this is partially because (as I’ve read in interviews with the author/in the Author’s Note) this story is based on her postdoctoral research on Byzantine imperialism in/around Armenia in the 11th century, particularly the annexation of the Kingdom of Ani and during her study of the Modern Eastern Armenian language. And the ending! I won’t lie, I was a little nervous as we got close and it seemed like there wasn’t enough book left to fully wrap everything up. I loved everything about this story and I didn’t want the ending to (proverbially) mess that up. I should not have worried. It was perfect: dramatic and unanticipated in a way that was a good surprise and also completely realistic and in line with the Emperor’s verbally stated goals and what we knew of him. So good, so smooth.
There were some other included themes that I enjoyed. Mahit’s foreigner exploration of Teixcalaanli culture, specifically as a “barbarian” who both loved and hated (i.e. – was confused by and didn’t necessarily “get” or agree with at times) Teixcalaan was such a great look at what immigrants and ex-pats and refugees feel. It’s a layered and multifaceted set of feelings and reactions and I thought Martine did a phenomenal job representing it. The imago technology was also a fascinating look at the way different circumstances and situations can breed such opposing ides of the same thing. Mahit’s stationer understanding of and need for imago tech versus the suspicious and harmful way the Teixcalaanli people (those who knew about it) saw it (and even some different reactions within those Teixcalaanli people, based on the individual lives/experiences) was a great singular example of that. Plus, it was just a cool sci-fi aspect of the greater story. And last, the general openness of all the characters and settings to sexuality/connection was fantastic. The fact that those types of accepting POVs were noticeable to me, the reader, but weren’t at all worth commenting on for the characters just goes to show how much of a social construct it all is. Loved that. There was one relationship in particular, between Mahit and her cultural ambassador Three Seagrass, which definitely left off with a lot of space for needed (and likely difficult) exploration, so I’m very interested to see how that develops. And one more small thing, I liked the little snippets of reports/poems/journal entries/news that started each chapter. I think I might just like that device (it was great in The Philosopher’s Flight and others as well) as a world-building technique, but I wanted to mention that it was particularly well-done in this case.
I loved this book. It’s further confirmed that space opera is a solid favorite genre for me. But more than that, I was just so impressed with Martine’s story-telling (great pacing), world-building and the way she was able to create such a compelling and accessible novel with such depth and complexity of politics and language and relationships. It was a whirlwind, the best kind, from start to finish and though it ended in a very satisfying and natural way, I’ll just be over here eagerly awaiting the next installment.
“Patriotism seemed to derive quite easily from extremity.”
“Walls did that. Walls kept out the visible signifiers of unrest.”
“the City rises marching / a thousand starpoints strong / released, we shall speak visions / uneclipsed / I am a spear in the hands of the sun”
After reading and LOVING The Long Way to a Small, Angry Plant (and the follow-up books set in the same world, A Closed and Common Orbit and Record of a Spaceborn Few), I realized that “space opera” was a new favorite sci-fi sub-genre for me. Oh, and of course, Binti is amazing, but I still need to finish that trilogy! Anyways, the point is that I’ve been kinda keeping my eye open for space operas now and this one came across my radar last year. I had it on the backburner, but when I saw it at a used bookstore, I figured that was a sign to move it up the list.
Mahit Dzmare is a newly minted ambassador from a small mining Station send to the center of the Teixcalaan Empire. When she arrives, she discovers that the reason the Empire requested a new ambassador is because the previous is dead. And from the minute she arrives Mahit is thrust into a game of political intrigue, empire expansion and emperor succession…all while trying to figure out what really happened to her predecessor (she doesn’t for one second think his death was natural as claimed), adjusting to a completely foreign culture (and find allies in her new home), trying to survive what could be internal sabotage from her own people, guard an incredibly valuable technological secret and follow through on the “normal” ambassadorial duties.
Whoa. This book was nonstop from the very first page. And I mean that in regards to plot, sure, but also to the amount of foreign information that is thrown at the reader. There is definitely no “ease them in” period in regards to the language, culture, relationships or any other part of Mahit’s stationer life or Teixcalaanli lifestyle. I loved that “thrown them in the deep end to teach them how to swim” style of sci-fi/fantasy, because I appreciate not having to parse through an info dump sort of situation for the first quarter of the novel. However, it’s definitely an effort on the part of the reader to stay above water as info comes in – there’s no option to tune out a little or let attention flag at any point. It helps that the story is told through the eyes of an ambassador, educated but alien (“barbarian” to use the novels’ terminology) herself, so extra complicated points and procedures can be spelled out for her in a realistic way and that makes things just accessible enough for the reader to hang on to. I love being that invested in a story, but it’s a worth a warning if you are looking for something that requires a little less effort to enjoy. But if it’s what you’re looking for, then OMG this book has it in SPADES.
The political and lingual complexities of this novel are freaking amazing. They are precise, intricate, consistent and gorgeously developed. The subtle use and interpretations of subtext are fascinating – the cultural and political role wording and poetry plays in Teixcalaan is so unique and creative and you can feel the passion the author has for linguistics shining through so strongly and beautifully. You might get sick of me saying it, but seriously the language, the language, the language in this novel is something really special. Hand in hand with that, the political machinations are similarly complex and riveting. Every little speech, movement, decision, interaction held so much weight and meaning. This story unfolds with finesse and control (with some action-based drama interspersed) and that style may not be everyone’s preference, but I’ve almost never seen it unfold better than it did here. Perhaps this is partially because (as I’ve read in interviews with the author/in the Author’s Note) this story is based on her postdoctoral research on Byzantine imperialism in/around Armenia in the 11th century, particularly the annexation of the Kingdom of Ani and during her study of the Modern Eastern Armenian language. And the ending! I won’t lie, I was a little nervous as we got close and it seemed like there wasn’t enough book left to fully wrap everything up. I loved everything about this story and I didn’t want the ending to (proverbially) mess that up. I should not have worried. It was perfect: dramatic and unanticipated in a way that was a good surprise and also completely realistic and in line with the Emperor’s verbally stated goals and what we knew of him. So good, so smooth.
There were some other included themes that I enjoyed. Mahit’s foreigner exploration of Teixcalaanli culture, specifically as a “barbarian” who both loved and hated (i.e. – was confused by and didn’t necessarily “get” or agree with at times) Teixcalaan was such a great look at what immigrants and ex-pats and refugees feel. It’s a layered and multifaceted set of feelings and reactions and I thought Martine did a phenomenal job representing it. The imago technology was also a fascinating look at the way different circumstances and situations can breed such opposing ides of the same thing. Mahit’s stationer understanding of and need for imago tech versus the suspicious and harmful way the Teixcalaanli people (those who knew about it) saw it (and even some different reactions within those Teixcalaanli people, based on the individual lives/experiences) was a great singular example of that. Plus, it was just a cool sci-fi aspect of the greater story. And last, the general openness of all the characters and settings to sexuality/connection was fantastic. The fact that those types of accepting POVs were noticeable to me, the reader, but weren’t at all worth commenting on for the characters just goes to show how much of a social construct it all is. Loved that. There was one relationship in particular, between Mahit and her cultural ambassador Three Seagrass, which definitely left off with a lot of space for needed (and likely difficult) exploration, so I’m very interested to see how that develops. And one more small thing, I liked the little snippets of reports/poems/journal entries/news that started each chapter. I think I might just like that device (it was great in The Philosopher’s Flight and others as well) as a world-building technique, but I wanted to mention that it was particularly well-done in this case.
I loved this book. It’s further confirmed that space opera is a solid favorite genre for me. But more than that, I was just so impressed with Martine’s story-telling (great pacing), world-building and the way she was able to create such a compelling and accessible novel with such depth and complexity of politics and language and relationships. It was a whirlwind, the best kind, from start to finish and though it ended in a very satisfying and natural way, I’ll just be over here eagerly awaiting the next installment.
“Patriotism seemed to derive quite easily from extremity.”
“Walls did that. Walls kept out the visible signifiers of unrest.”
“the City rises marching / a thousand starpoints strong / released, we shall speak visions / uneclipsed / I am a spear in the hands of the sun”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I saw this recent release in a couple book stacks on #bookstagram over the past month or two, but haven’t seen many, if any, full reviews of it. I have to be honest, the title is what really pulled me in an made me want to see what it was about. Those four words, You Exist Too Much, hold a lot of feeling in them. It’s a compelling title, full of force and suggestive that the book will be a difficult, but powerful sort of read. I’ve rarely seen (read?) a title that had that much movement and…command, maybe?...so I quickly added this to my TBR and jumped on the library waitlist for it.
Our narrator is a Palestinian-American, young (in her 20s and 30s) and bisexual. Her upbringing and identity have left her struggling to find a place where she belongs, physically and emotionally and in regards to love. The judgements of her mother, the turmoil of her homeland, her fraught interpersonal relationships have resulted in mental and emotional strain and various chronic issues, like eating disorders and love addictions. Moving in time and place (the US to the Middle East) and mental state (both in and out of rehab), our MC takes us on a journey with her as she explores and attempts to address her internal traumas and destructive impulses.
This novel is sinking further and further into my marrow the longer I think about it and with the more distance I get from the story itself. As I sit here thinking about what I want to say about it, my reactions to the story, the themes and topics is wove together, I am falling ever more into its depths and I am just so impressed by this debut. The writing and themes had philosophical (yet blunt) and irreverent (yet open/non-judgmental) vibes that reminded me of The Pisces and My Year of Rest and Relaxation (both of which were polarizing, though I enjoyed them). But there was something just a little more profound and interconnected about this narrative that really made it a stronger novel for me, and whereas I liked those two that I mentioned, I loved this one. There’s a pointed purposeful intensity to the vulnerability in Arafat’s writing that I just couldn’t look away from. And the author’s stylistic power with words is so exact and, you’ll see with how many quotes I included at the end of this review, I loved her perfect and precise turns of phrase that so succinctly communicated complex emotions and feelings. As is, or at least should be, clear from the way the title alone grabbed me, that concise lingual exactness is a skill that Arafat wields with considerable prowess. There were short sections/chapters with even shorter interludes that skipped the story through time and place without an exact pattern, but that staccato style really worked for me, under the circumstances, because the connections between the moments had a sort of flow that made it really feel like we were in the MC’s mind with her, as she makes her own associations and discoveries and remembrances.
In addition to the intelligent and stunning writing, there was an intense, and ambitious, combination of themes addressed in this book. I think it easily could have gotten too forced or heavy handed, but, at least for me, I feel like it worked to perfection. I have seen the two central themes, need for love and conflicts of country, explored many times separately and even in parallel, but Arafat took it a step further and the confluence of the two for our MC, both related to a search for validation, is a presentation like nothing I’ve read before. The convergence of the two, and the way they played with/against each other to create something even larger (more ominous and difficult to pin down) was original and so well executed. Relatedly, Arafat explores the idea of being “stuck between” in a variety of ways, from national belonging (or the lack thereof, for those raised between countries/worlds/languages) to familial expectation versus self-fulfillment to the erasure of bisexuality as a lie or trial (not being “correctly” truly gay or truly straight). This is all, in the case of our MC, exacerbated by a turbulent relationship with her own mother whose own foiled life expectations and cultural norms cause quite a few unhealthy patterns and boundaries to form in the interactions between the two. And this all foments into a cycle of relationships and sexual interactions that become (mostly unsuccessful) escapism, self-desecration/sacrilege, and attempts to find validation and belonging, on the part of our MC. All these individual issues are brought together in such a natural way, exactly the way I would expect of a “real-life” person dealing with it all, and never feels contrived or overdone, despite how easily that could have happened.
*Small Side Note: There is some concern, that I’ve seen, over the negative stereotyping of sexually promiscuous bisexuality in this novel. I cannot speak for anyone other than myself but, as I personally identify as bisexual, I wanted to throw in my thoughts here. Honestly, I thought it was very clearly shown how the issues related to the MC’s sexual interactions/obsessions related directly back to her relationship with her mother and search for real intimacy, not just because “bi people sleep with anyone/everyone.” So, I felt comfortable with the portrayal. Also, other recent reads for me, like The Pisces and How We Fight for Our Lives portray similar types of…unhealthy?...sexual interactions and obsessions for straight and gay, respectively, MCs or authors (in the case of the memoir). I recognize that that is not quite the same, as there is a history of misrepresentation of bisexuality in this way, but I didn’t see as many reviews criticizing those books on this front. I’m not sure what my point is, other than to introduce the question(s). feel free to take it or leave it, but that’s my perspective.*
There is quite a bit to warn readers about, the topics and mental health concerns in these pages are not easy to read, but there is a tenderness and desire and a small spot of dark humor, that makes it necessary, worth it and bearable. Arafat looks a plethora of suppressions – external/internal, nationality, sexuality, an adult/individual person versus a daughter, and more – right in the face, and creates a deeply human and enthralling novel. It’s subtle, slow-build sort of reaction, but by the end, I was completely taken in by this book.
“In acquiring my gender, I had become offensive.”
“Ambiguity was an unsettling yet exhilarating space.”
“Without the security of a relationship, longing felt less safe. It felt lonely.”
“I needed her to care. Worse than anger was indifference: her approval was my compass, even when that meant resisting it.”;
“We watched at a cool remote while enjoying the comforts of our American suburb, seemingly untouched, oblivious to the underlying trauma.” (This line resonated with me as something so insightful and more widespread that just this specific instance.)
“Nationality is partly a matter of convenience.”
“I was loved from a distance, the safest way to be loved.”
“If my mother was Hamas – unpredictable, impulsive, and frustrated at being stifled – my father was Israel. He’d refuse to meet her most basic needs until she exploded. Then he would point at her and cry, ‘Look what a monster she is, what a terror!’ But never once did he consider why she had resorted to such extreme tactics, or his role in the matter.” (This entire comparison has so many levels, and in such a succinct way. I read it like four times. Wow.)
“But did it count as deception if it was done in the name of self-protection? Withholding vulnerable information was a habit born of survival.”
“Worse than receiving rage was the ability to detect its remnants.”
"I’d been clinging to her I-love-yous like a refugee clings to a threatened nationality. They were the homeland that validated my existence.”
“It is a bizarre and unsettling feeling, to exist in a liminal state between two realms, unable to attain full access to one or the other.”
“Being limited was surprisingly nice. I took comfort in unambiguous priorities, in having no choice in the matter; certainty by default.”
“When you don’t want to lose someone, it’s so tempting to deceive them.”
“I’ve crystallized an illusion of […] that’s composed of an initial fantasy and the filter of distance.”
“Appetite is embarrassing enough; visibly trying to satiate it, utterly mortifying.”
“I sent her another essay a month later, about unattainable love as a quest for the familiar, a quest for home, for a homeland that may not exist. A quest for a mother.”
“how many stories have been penned for unrequited love? How many must I write to earn my existence?”
I saw this recent release in a couple book stacks on #bookstagram over the past month or two, but haven’t seen many, if any, full reviews of it. I have to be honest, the title is what really pulled me in an made me want to see what it was about. Those four words, You Exist Too Much, hold a lot of feeling in them. It’s a compelling title, full of force and suggestive that the book will be a difficult, but powerful sort of read. I’ve rarely seen (read?) a title that had that much movement and…command, maybe?...so I quickly added this to my TBR and jumped on the library waitlist for it.
Our narrator is a Palestinian-American, young (in her 20s and 30s) and bisexual. Her upbringing and identity have left her struggling to find a place where she belongs, physically and emotionally and in regards to love. The judgements of her mother, the turmoil of her homeland, her fraught interpersonal relationships have resulted in mental and emotional strain and various chronic issues, like eating disorders and love addictions. Moving in time and place (the US to the Middle East) and mental state (both in and out of rehab), our MC takes us on a journey with her as she explores and attempts to address her internal traumas and destructive impulses.
This novel is sinking further and further into my marrow the longer I think about it and with the more distance I get from the story itself. As I sit here thinking about what I want to say about it, my reactions to the story, the themes and topics is wove together, I am falling ever more into its depths and I am just so impressed by this debut. The writing and themes had philosophical (yet blunt) and irreverent (yet open/non-judgmental) vibes that reminded me of The Pisces and My Year of Rest and Relaxation (both of which were polarizing, though I enjoyed them). But there was something just a little more profound and interconnected about this narrative that really made it a stronger novel for me, and whereas I liked those two that I mentioned, I loved this one. There’s a pointed purposeful intensity to the vulnerability in Arafat’s writing that I just couldn’t look away from. And the author’s stylistic power with words is so exact and, you’ll see with how many quotes I included at the end of this review, I loved her perfect and precise turns of phrase that so succinctly communicated complex emotions and feelings. As is, or at least should be, clear from the way the title alone grabbed me, that concise lingual exactness is a skill that Arafat wields with considerable prowess. There were short sections/chapters with even shorter interludes that skipped the story through time and place without an exact pattern, but that staccato style really worked for me, under the circumstances, because the connections between the moments had a sort of flow that made it really feel like we were in the MC’s mind with her, as she makes her own associations and discoveries and remembrances.
In addition to the intelligent and stunning writing, there was an intense, and ambitious, combination of themes addressed in this book. I think it easily could have gotten too forced or heavy handed, but, at least for me, I feel like it worked to perfection. I have seen the two central themes, need for love and conflicts of country, explored many times separately and even in parallel, but Arafat took it a step further and the confluence of the two for our MC, both related to a search for validation, is a presentation like nothing I’ve read before. The convergence of the two, and the way they played with/against each other to create something even larger (more ominous and difficult to pin down) was original and so well executed. Relatedly, Arafat explores the idea of being “stuck between” in a variety of ways, from national belonging (or the lack thereof, for those raised between countries/worlds/languages) to familial expectation versus self-fulfillment to the erasure of bisexuality as a lie or trial (not being “correctly” truly gay or truly straight). This is all, in the case of our MC, exacerbated by a turbulent relationship with her own mother whose own foiled life expectations and cultural norms cause quite a few unhealthy patterns and boundaries to form in the interactions between the two. And this all foments into a cycle of relationships and sexual interactions that become (mostly unsuccessful) escapism, self-desecration/sacrilege, and attempts to find validation and belonging, on the part of our MC. All these individual issues are brought together in such a natural way, exactly the way I would expect of a “real-life” person dealing with it all, and never feels contrived or overdone, despite how easily that could have happened.
*Small Side Note: There is some concern, that I’ve seen, over the negative stereotyping of sexually promiscuous bisexuality in this novel. I cannot speak for anyone other than myself but, as I personally identify as bisexual, I wanted to throw in my thoughts here. Honestly, I thought it was very clearly shown how the issues related to the MC’s sexual interactions/obsessions related directly back to her relationship with her mother and search for real intimacy, not just because “bi people sleep with anyone/everyone.” So, I felt comfortable with the portrayal. Also, other recent reads for me, like The Pisces and How We Fight for Our Lives portray similar types of…unhealthy?...sexual interactions and obsessions for straight and gay, respectively, MCs or authors (in the case of the memoir). I recognize that that is not quite the same, as there is a history of misrepresentation of bisexuality in this way, but I didn’t see as many reviews criticizing those books on this front. I’m not sure what my point is, other than to introduce the question(s). feel free to take it or leave it, but that’s my perspective.*
There is quite a bit to warn readers about, the topics and mental health concerns in these pages are not easy to read, but there is a tenderness and desire and a small spot of dark humor, that makes it necessary, worth it and bearable. Arafat looks a plethora of suppressions – external/internal, nationality, sexuality, an adult/individual person versus a daughter, and more – right in the face, and creates a deeply human and enthralling novel. It’s subtle, slow-build sort of reaction, but by the end, I was completely taken in by this book.
“In acquiring my gender, I had become offensive.”
“Ambiguity was an unsettling yet exhilarating space.”
“Without the security of a relationship, longing felt less safe. It felt lonely.”
“I needed her to care. Worse than anger was indifference: her approval was my compass, even when that meant resisting it.”;
“We watched at a cool remote while enjoying the comforts of our American suburb, seemingly untouched, oblivious to the underlying trauma.” (This line resonated with me as something so insightful and more widespread that just this specific instance.)
“Nationality is partly a matter of convenience.”
“I was loved from a distance, the safest way to be loved.”
“If my mother was Hamas – unpredictable, impulsive, and frustrated at being stifled – my father was Israel. He’d refuse to meet her most basic needs until she exploded. Then he would point at her and cry, ‘Look what a monster she is, what a terror!’ But never once did he consider why she had resorted to such extreme tactics, or his role in the matter.” (This entire comparison has so many levels, and in such a succinct way. I read it like four times. Wow.)
“But did it count as deception if it was done in the name of self-protection? Withholding vulnerable information was a habit born of survival.”
“Worse than receiving rage was the ability to detect its remnants.”
"I’d been clinging to her I-love-yous like a refugee clings to a threatened nationality. They were the homeland that validated my existence.”
“It is a bizarre and unsettling feeling, to exist in a liminal state between two realms, unable to attain full access to one or the other.”
“Being limited was surprisingly nice. I took comfort in unambiguous priorities, in having no choice in the matter; certainty by default.”
“When you don’t want to lose someone, it’s so tempting to deceive them.”
“I’ve crystallized an illusion of […] that’s composed of an initial fantasy and the filter of distance.”
“Appetite is embarrassing enough; visibly trying to satiate it, utterly mortifying.”
“I sent her another essay a month later, about unattainable love as a quest for the familiar, a quest for home, for a homeland that may not exist. A quest for a mother.”
“how many stories have been penned for unrequited love? How many must I write to earn my existence?”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
After reading two of Adichie’s nonfiction pieces over the past few years, Dear Ijeawele and We Should All Be Feminists, and loving them, I knew that I was going to have to get around to reading some of her fiction sooner rather than later. I asked on bookstagram to see where I should start and it basically seemed like any of her books would be great. Like, seriously, it seems like everything she writes is gold. However, this one got mentioned more frequently than most of them (maybe just because it’s more widely read, for example, I know that it was the required reading book at UNC-Chapel Hill freshman a few years ago…). In any case, here’s where I chose to start by Adichie fiction journey!
This is the story of Ifemelu and Obinze, who meet in elementary school in Nigeria. They become close friends, and later more. When Ifemelu gets a chance to study in America for college, Obinze urges her to go, even though he won’t be able to join behind. Despite their plans, they drift apart. As the story follows them over the years, Ifemelu’s struggles with and adjusts to life in America, while Obinze spends years as an undocumented immigrant in London. When they both end up, years and years later, back in Lagos, they reconnect…and it’s impossible to deny the connection that still exists between them.
Well, first things first, I just have to say that I absolutely, completely and totally get the hype, both around Adichie’s fiction and for this book in particular. Her ability to succinctly and precisely put her finger on so many complex issues related to race, internationally and, especially in the United States, is beyond anything I have ever read before. This goes not only for her descriptive writing, but in her dialogue as well – there is a meticulousness and exactness to her word choices that makes it clear that each sentence was crafted with purpose. It’s incredibly impressive, stylistically.
As a non-American black person, she has a unique perspective on the way race exists in America, a perspective that really forces the reader to think about (if you are not/haven’t already) what and how value is assigned and exacted in America. The distances between the non-American black person, the American black person and white people in America are explored voluminously and powerfully. She does not shy away from any topic or population, which provides the reader with an insightful depiction of a variety of types of Americans. And she is able to speak deeply to the entrenched racial tension and inequality, in a way that provides true education along with observations that sometimes border on the humorous. It’s a fine line walked with delicacy. In particular, I loved the blog posts sprinkled throughout the novel. Ifemelu’s sharp, quick thoughts/observations/questions are incredibly perceptive, and the use of the blog post as a writing device allows for comprehensive look the important, difficult, questions related to race, without having to artificially force them all into the plot itself. In general, it’s a very natural way to make widespread genuine commentary in a fictional setting. As an addition to this, she is able to do very much the same for class/status in Nigeria. I, of course, do not have the personal/firsthand knowledge of Nigeria that I do of the United States (or, to be fair, even of London), but I feel like I can trust her portrayal of life there as an honest one, an even-keeled one, and so I feel as if I learned a lot about how those socioeconomic issues play out in a country where race is not as much of a factor as it is in the US. It is clear that, no matter what, a people will find a way to create hierarchy…only the “how” of it is different. It’s a fascinating cross-cultural comparative study.
As for the plot itself, while it was very solid, I felt like it was secondary to the greater concerns it represented. Ifemelu and Obinze were, themselves, very thoroughly written. They felt so real. As, truly, did many of the rest of the main characters that play roles throughout the years covered in the novel. Although they all represent a type of person larger than themselves, they still, mostly, felt true, not caricatured. And while I enjoyed the structural story, that of Ifemelu and Obinze’s relationship, and, again, felt that it was written authentically, I still came away from reading this was loftier thoughts than just where the two of them left off. Basically, the plot and characters are all great, but they were not, for me, the highlight of this reading experience.
I cannot recommend this novel enough. It’s so finely nuanced and expansively told. It’s both a poignant story of a romance across time and continents, as well as a profound exploration of racial and economic inequality. It’s about what it means to be Nigerian, what it means to be American, and what it means to be somewhere in the middle. And it’s about surviving the expectations and circumstances life throws at you, whether that be as an immigrant or in your hometown, whether you’re struggling with the day-to-day minutiae of living or dealing in the theory of widespread structural issues. Just gorgeous.
“America had subdued her.”
“In America, racism exists, but all racists are gone. […] Here’s the thing: the manifestation of racism has changed but the language has not. […] Or maybe it’s time to just scrap the word ‘racist.’ Find something new. Like Racial Disorder Syndrome. And we could have different categories for
sufferers of this syndrome: mild, medium, and acute.”
“Race is not biological; race is sociology. Race is not a genotype; race is a phenotype. Race matters because of racism. And racism is absurd because it’s about how you look. Not about the blood you have. It’s about the shade of your skin and the shape of your nose and the kink of your hair. Booker T. Washington and Frederick Douglass had white fathers. Imagine them saying they were not black. […] In America, you don’t get to decide what race you are. It is decided for you.”
“What Academics Mean by White Privilege, or Yes It Sucks to Be Poor and White by Try Being Poor and Non-White: …privilege is always relative to something else. […] Can’t we all just be human beings? …that is exactly what white privilege is, that you can say that. Race doesn’t really exist for you because it has never been a barrier.”
“She was no longer sure what was new in Lagos and what was new in herself.”
“…Third Worlders are forward-looking, we like things to be new, because our best is still ahead, while in the West their best is already past and so they have to make a fetish of that past.”
“This was love, to be eager for tomorrow.”
“I know we could accept the things we can’t be for each other, and even turn it into the poetic tragedy of our lives. Or we could act. I want to act.”
After reading two of Adichie’s nonfiction pieces over the past few years, Dear Ijeawele and We Should All Be Feminists, and loving them, I knew that I was going to have to get around to reading some of her fiction sooner rather than later. I asked on bookstagram to see where I should start and it basically seemed like any of her books would be great. Like, seriously, it seems like everything she writes is gold. However, this one got mentioned more frequently than most of them (maybe just because it’s more widely read, for example, I know that it was the required reading book at UNC-Chapel Hill freshman a few years ago…). In any case, here’s where I chose to start by Adichie fiction journey!
This is the story of Ifemelu and Obinze, who meet in elementary school in Nigeria. They become close friends, and later more. When Ifemelu gets a chance to study in America for college, Obinze urges her to go, even though he won’t be able to join behind. Despite their plans, they drift apart. As the story follows them over the years, Ifemelu’s struggles with and adjusts to life in America, while Obinze spends years as an undocumented immigrant in London. When they both end up, years and years later, back in Lagos, they reconnect…and it’s impossible to deny the connection that still exists between them.
Well, first things first, I just have to say that I absolutely, completely and totally get the hype, both around Adichie’s fiction and for this book in particular. Her ability to succinctly and precisely put her finger on so many complex issues related to race, internationally and, especially in the United States, is beyond anything I have ever read before. This goes not only for her descriptive writing, but in her dialogue as well – there is a meticulousness and exactness to her word choices that makes it clear that each sentence was crafted with purpose. It’s incredibly impressive, stylistically.
As a non-American black person, she has a unique perspective on the way race exists in America, a perspective that really forces the reader to think about (if you are not/haven’t already) what and how value is assigned and exacted in America. The distances between the non-American black person, the American black person and white people in America are explored voluminously and powerfully. She does not shy away from any topic or population, which provides the reader with an insightful depiction of a variety of types of Americans. And she is able to speak deeply to the entrenched racial tension and inequality, in a way that provides true education along with observations that sometimes border on the humorous. It’s a fine line walked with delicacy. In particular, I loved the blog posts sprinkled throughout the novel. Ifemelu’s sharp, quick thoughts/observations/questions are incredibly perceptive, and the use of the blog post as a writing device allows for comprehensive look the important, difficult, questions related to race, without having to artificially force them all into the plot itself. In general, it’s a very natural way to make widespread genuine commentary in a fictional setting. As an addition to this, she is able to do very much the same for class/status in Nigeria. I, of course, do not have the personal/firsthand knowledge of Nigeria that I do of the United States (or, to be fair, even of London), but I feel like I can trust her portrayal of life there as an honest one, an even-keeled one, and so I feel as if I learned a lot about how those socioeconomic issues play out in a country where race is not as much of a factor as it is in the US. It is clear that, no matter what, a people will find a way to create hierarchy…only the “how” of it is different. It’s a fascinating cross-cultural comparative study.
As for the plot itself, while it was very solid, I felt like it was secondary to the greater concerns it represented. Ifemelu and Obinze were, themselves, very thoroughly written. They felt so real. As, truly, did many of the rest of the main characters that play roles throughout the years covered in the novel. Although they all represent a type of person larger than themselves, they still, mostly, felt true, not caricatured. And while I enjoyed the structural story, that of Ifemelu and Obinze’s relationship, and, again, felt that it was written authentically, I still came away from reading this was loftier thoughts than just where the two of them left off. Basically, the plot and characters are all great, but they were not, for me, the highlight of this reading experience.
I cannot recommend this novel enough. It’s so finely nuanced and expansively told. It’s both a poignant story of a romance across time and continents, as well as a profound exploration of racial and economic inequality. It’s about what it means to be Nigerian, what it means to be American, and what it means to be somewhere in the middle. And it’s about surviving the expectations and circumstances life throws at you, whether that be as an immigrant or in your hometown, whether you’re struggling with the day-to-day minutiae of living or dealing in the theory of widespread structural issues. Just gorgeous.
“America had subdued her.”
“In America, racism exists, but all racists are gone. […] Here’s the thing: the manifestation of racism has changed but the language has not. […] Or maybe it’s time to just scrap the word ‘racist.’ Find something new. Like Racial Disorder Syndrome. And we could have different categories for
sufferers of this syndrome: mild, medium, and acute.”
“Race is not biological; race is sociology. Race is not a genotype; race is a phenotype. Race matters because of racism. And racism is absurd because it’s about how you look. Not about the blood you have. It’s about the shade of your skin and the shape of your nose and the kink of your hair. Booker T. Washington and Frederick Douglass had white fathers. Imagine them saying they were not black. […] In America, you don’t get to decide what race you are. It is decided for you.”
“What Academics Mean by White Privilege, or Yes It Sucks to Be Poor and White by Try Being Poor and Non-White: …privilege is always relative to something else. […] Can’t we all just be human beings? …that is exactly what white privilege is, that you can say that. Race doesn’t really exist for you because it has never been a barrier.”
“She was no longer sure what was new in Lagos and what was new in herself.”
“…Third Worlders are forward-looking, we like things to be new, because our best is still ahead, while in the West their best is already past and so they have to make a fetish of that past.”
“This was love, to be eager for tomorrow.”
“I know we could accept the things we can’t be for each other, and even turn it into the poetic tragedy of our lives. Or we could act. I want to act.”