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

Alright this was my second ALC from Libro.fm that I have gotten to. There were so many great choices that I wasn’t sure where to go next, but @diaryofaclosetreader had recently reviewed this one and spoke so highly of it. Plus, her blog post interview with the author was super fun. So I figured those were as good of reasons as any to make this my next listen.

This is a fake dating romance trope novel. Luc O’Donnell’s parents are both famous (now sort of aging) rock stars, so he’s grown up tangentially in the spotlight. And recently, his highlights in the tabloids have been…less than complementary. So much so that, in order to save his position at work (through some highly questionable pressure that really only works because his self-esteem is so low), he is “forced” to find a fake boyfriend to make him look more respectable. A mutual friend introduces him to Oliver Blackwood, an uptight and “normal” barrister, the perfect stand-in to make Luc more reputable. They strike a mutual deal, wherein they each will accompany the other to an important social engagement as a fake boyfriend. But their time together, getting to know each other to make the ruse believable, takes an unexpected (for them anyway) turn when the feelings start to get real.

Alright HOLY SH*T I LOVED THIS BOOK. I can almost assuredly say that it will be a top ten read for me this year. (And apparently I need to look into more m/m romances because last year Red White and Royal Blue made that list for me as well!) Anyways, this review is likely to be a lot of gushing and adoration and encouraging everyone to freaking read this. Let me see…let me just list a couple things that stood out to me the most, as far as why I was so into it. First, and VERY importantly, the writing is freaking incredible. It’s fast and smart and current and witty and flowed so well and was just so easy to read (or, in this case listen to…related to which, let me say for the record, the narrator was freaking great – totally crushed it). The banter was fantastic and the commentary (internal and external dialogue from in-story observers) was so good. It was real and sarcastic in all the best ways (and the dry British sort of way), with wonderful tone and, honestly, was some of the funniest I’ve ever read. With the exception of the emotional parts (and even sometimes then, to be honest…again, in a good way) I don’t think I have ever laughed or smiled or smirked or snorted so much while reading. It was the best experience. Luc was a phenomenal main character, the exact perfect realistic mix of messed up and vulnerable. And I enjoyed that as the story went, Oliver got more complex and Luc (who really grew a lot throughout) ended up being able to help Oliver back, as far as helping him work through shit and being supportive. I thought it was great that both had issues, and both got their “moment,” if you will, to get support as needed. And it was all reasonable and genuine and still, insofar as it was possible and the clear end-game of it getting to a better place becoming clearer once things started to get legitimately serious between the two, pretty healthy.

Looking at some supporting characters, their friends were all pretty great characters as well, especially Luc’s (I truly loved Priya), and their involvement in the final scene(s) got me in all the happy/funny feels, but still, again, in a way that felt truly supportive and, when necessary, serious. Luc’s coworkers made me laugh so much, definitely they were perhaps more stereotype-y than others, but their comedic additions were super enjoyable to read. Also, a favorite character that deserves her own special mention and fan club (IMO): Luc’s mother. She was a gem and I was so excited every single time she made an appearance. There were also, of course, some moments of seriousness, as I mentioned, especially with Oliver’s family (and a bit with Luc’s as well). And these were handled with respect, acknowledging the different kinds of family challenges one can face, and really doing a nice job focusing in on the more subtle types of trauma that aren’t always easy to display or explore or, really, even showcased as much, in fiction.

All in all, as should be incredibly obvious by now, I loved this book. I haven’t had so much fun, or been so…truly entertained…by a story in a while. I was totally sucked in, was compelled to just keep listening (like literally I couldn’t make myself press pause on this and binged like 80% of it in one day, which is, to be clear, a solid 7 or so hours of listening). I was so invested in Luc and Oliver and their relationship and their friends and Luc’s narrative voice (so, like, Hall’s writing) and just the whole thing was fantastic and hilarious and sexy-sweet and exactly what I wanted/needed!

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

This recently released YA memoir jumped onto my TBR because everyone seemed to be reading it! It was the Libro.fm audiobook club choice for June (hosted by @absorbedinpages) and really the hype for it was real! Also, that cover is just stunning. Luckily, I was a very early request on it at the library and got it almost as soon as things re-opened for curbside holds pick-up. Yay!

In this memoir and manifesto, George M. Johnson writes about growing up as a Black queer boy*. Covering topics including being bullied and trying to fit in elementary through high school in New Jersey, their time at and joining a fraternity in college in Virginia, their first sexual experiences (the good, the uncomfortable, the non-consensual and predatory), their relationships with family and especially a beloved grandmother, and more, Johnson opens up about their life in an effort to help create a sense of community for the marginalized, mistreated and often hidden population they are a part of: Black queer boys*. (*As of a few days, Johnson came out as non-binary, with preferred they/them pronouns, on social media. So, I will use those pronouns in this review, but will refer, as it comes up, to their childhood as a boy because that’s the way it’s discussed in the memoir itself. If there is a better or more respectful way to handle this, please let me know and I will edit accordingly.)

I’ve seen some discussion about memoirs written by “young” people, those in their thirties and younger, and read some critiques of whether someone that age could/should be publishing memoirs. And I agree, there is much of their life left to live. But at the same time, as we get older, it becomes harder to remember what being young, and the feelings/experiences from those years, was like. And young people today, young people of any time really, face many very real challenges and discrimination…and I feel like they too deserve to have the chance to read about others like themselves, people who dealt with and survived similar things, and still remember the way it felt and can provide applicable and generationally sensitive advice. They shouldn’t have to wait and only read an elderly person’s remembrances of a distant past. Johnson describes this perfectly, and repetitively, in this book. They say over and over how they hope that reading this book will help just one person feel less alone or more understood. Johnson even specifically calls out a favorite quote from Toni Morrison, “If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it.” For Johnson, there was not a book like this that was available to them when they needed it, and so here they are, writing it for someone else to have. In any case, this is not super related to the memoir or a review of its content/writing at all, but just my thoughts on a topic I’ve seen debated recently and couldn’t help but add my two cents to.

On to the “real” review. It’s likely to be pretty short and sweet, because this was a great read, and that’s close to all there is to it. Johnson speaks with matter of fact statements about accepting others and dealing with trauma and what society should do/provide, especially to youth, and the many ways in which it doesn’t (especially for Black and/or queer youth). They also provide a straightforward, no obfuscation or beating around the bush, understanding of context and history and consequences of/trauma from appropriation for a YA audience. It’s done in a way that is clear and expressive and absolutely accessible and recognizable for a young adults and still holds great weight and messages for adult readers. Each chapter ends with a note of suggestion or empowerment or action step or question or statement of support for anyone marginalized by race and/or sexuality and gender, which I loved and, I hope, do what they are meant to in regards to helping young readers, like Johnson’s past self, feel fully seen. And those same notes/statements can and should be read by anyone not marginalized in those ways as a challenge, a calling out for allyship and support in stepping up to oppose those systems of oppression. They state that as one of their goals in writing this memoir manifesto, as I mentioned, very openly, and you can feel the emotion and effort they put into that aspect come through in the writing on every single freaking page. For me personally, I loved the sections that were written as letters and notes to/about his family members. They were incredibly touching and emotional and fantastically vulnerable (YES to that effort to fight Black male stereotypes!). And the general way they weave the negative effects of their constant masking, the difficulty of not fitting gender stereotypes, on their mental health, and the general focus on how important and necessary it is to address mental health issues, throughout the memoir also really stuck out to me. Finally, one of the most important themes of the book, and one the Johnson does a spectacular job staying consistent to and transparently unpacking, is the binary gender and sexuality norms and expectations of culture (in general), the way that affects anyone who doesn’t completely fall in line, and how it intersects specifically with Black cultural norms and expectations. Very powerful.

There is such a personality in Johnson’s writing. Their self shines through from start to finish, from what they challenge to who/what they love to how they speak and act and their general journey to discover and fully own who they are. It is, clearly, a journey that continues and will likely never “end,” but the way they so openly shared about these most vulnerable moments as they started into said journey is so admirable. Their passion and sensitivity (in all the ways that term can be interpreted, internally and interpersonally) in sharing how much they’ve learned and grown, how much is still left to discover, and how committed they are to helping those coming after them is beautiful.

Here are a few passages I book-marked while reading:

“As an adult, I have gone through the unlearning to understand that my community’s treatment of Black queer children is in fact a by-product of a system of assimilation to whiteness and respectability that forces Black people to fit one mold in society, one where being a man means you must be straight and masculine. I didn’t have the ability to separate my Blackness from my queerness. The loss of my smile was just as much a denial of y Black joy as it was my queer joy. When I did smile, it was a coping mechanism. My smile was a mask that hid the pain of suppressing who I was. Masking is a common coping mechanism for a Black queer boy. We bury the things that have happened to us, hoping that they don’t present themselves later in our adult life. Some of us never realize that subconsciously, these buried bones are what dictate our every navigation and interaction throughout life.”

“Unfortunately, the creativity of children often comes under fire when It doesn’t meet the acceptable standard or gender performance.”

“Sometimes you just don’t have the strength to carry the burden and do the job. Navigating in a space that questions your humanity isn’t really living at all. It’s existing. And we all deserve more than just the ability to exist.”

“I use my history as a tool to fight against my marginalization. The greatest tool you have in fighting the oppression of your Blackness and queerness and anything else within your identity is to be fully educated on it. Knowledge is truly your sharpest weapon in a world hell-bent on telling you stories that are simply not true.”

"No amount of money, love, or support can protect you from a society intent on killing you for your blackness, and shows that a community that has been taught that anyone "not straight" is dangerous."

“When I think about the number of queer people in my family I remember the argument people have about whether you are born queer or grow into it. I think the funniest part about that argument is that it doesn’t matter if queerness is by birth or by choice. It is who you are, and no one should have the right to change that.”

“You don’t know what you like or who you are if you allow yourself to be fit into a box that society has made for you. Learn what you like and don’t like. Create the sexual environment that works best for you. Sex is a part of growth as a human regardless of gender or sexual identity. No one have the right to deny us the resources we need to properly engage with one another.”

“Time waits for no one, and for Black queer people, there are too many trying to steal the little bit of time we have. So, live your life.”

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

I’m not sure what pulled me to this book. Perhaps the title? I think the idea of someone’s mother having lots of lovers was really fascinating to me, as generally once people become a mother, they sort of lose an individual personality and start to get characterized only in their relationship to someone else, their child. Regardless, I was pulling holds at the library when this one came across my desk and I was like, “oh yea, I wanted to read this.” But as I went to fill the hold officially, I realized that whoever had asked for it must have since cancelled the hold, because nothing popped up. So, there I was, sitting and holding this book that I was interested in reading and no one else wanted it first? I took it as a sign and checked it out to myself then and there. (Hopefully this isn’t a too common occurrence because otherwise it’s going to turn into a “wayyyyy too many books checked out” problem very quickly.)

When Maggie gets a call from her brother out of the blue one afternoon and hears that her mother had died suddenly and unexpectedly, she drops everything to travel home for the funeral. But the complicated relationship she had with her mother, and the overwhelming grief she still feels at her loss, is a bit too much for Maggie to process. So when she finds some letters that Maggie’s mother’s will requests be sent out in the event of her death, Maggie decides to run out on her brother and father, leaving them to handle shiva alone, and deliver them in person. What she finds out on this mini finding-oneself road trip journey, about her mother, her parents’ relationship, her mother’s feelings towards her, and her own personal struggles with intimacy (in general and specifically with her current girlfriend, with whom things feel different, more intense) would definitely qualify as life-changing.

That description totally makes this book sound a bit like a hallmark movie or something. I don’t know a better way to describe it, because that is absolutely the plot, but in no way does it feel cheesy or overdone or scripted or fake. And though it is nowhere in the description, the blurbs about this book that call is a “queer tour de force” absolutely felt true for me. Maggie’s sexuality is clear from page one, but the considerable “more to it” that makes up the queer aspect of this book runs much deeper than that. However, I also feel like I can’t (shouldn’t?) go too much deeper into it in my own descriptions because I don’t want to ruin that part of the reading experience for anyone because they know too much going in. The fact that I had no idea how deep that vein would run, or in what way, or how seamlessly, is a large part of what made this such a successful read for me. So, I guess, take that baseline summary with a grain of salt and know there’s more, with some fantastic rep of relationships and sexualities represented that I don’t frequently see in contemporary literature. And I did appreciate her full “showing” of a concept that is often referenced in books, but mostly with “telling,” that “queer people have always been here.” It’s an important lesson for younger generations, queer and otherwise, and is respectfully done.

What I can also say, or am going to whether I should or not, is that I loved the way Masad portrays how a person’s inner life is not necessarily what they show the outside world, sometimes not even their direct family (even though it felt a bit rushed, at the end). And the way that plays out in Maggie’s own relationship with her mother, their reactions to and assumptions about each other that we learn about as the plot unfolds, is particularly poignant in the authenticity of the complexity of their relationship. It is a brilliant portrayal of how complicated and nuanced parent-child and mother-daughter relationships can be, compounded by the disjointed and expressive layers of reaction that make up grief and grieving, and it rang incredibly true. Also, as sort of side note, there are many parts of Maggie’s life, existence, experience, friends, etc. that were very recognizable to me personally, which made her character that much more genuine (and genuinely frightening, at times, due to the proliferous flaws…we all have them) to read.

I also want to comment quickly on the writing itself. Yes, the representation and concepts were really well communicated, but it was a bit more than that too. The words, phrases, sentences themselves were wonderful. Masad’s writing has a tangibility to it that pulls the reader along quickly, with clear strength. In addition, her concisely worded descriptions of large concepts shows an impressive command of language. For example, I really understood, but never would have been able to describe so succinctly, the concepts of how being back with family and childhood home brings out those aspects of who you were, even if you’ve grown past that or resent it being brought out or how you can’t understand a person’s reaction to you because it doesn’t match with their other experiences/reactions would suggest or the specific fears that come with being completely vulnerable in a relationship when you’ve never done that before. The descriptions, internal monologue and external presentations for these concepts and more, were all really well done throughout the novel.

There were a few more things that I at least want to mention. First, the premise was really interesting and worked well the way it developed, but it also was a bit kitschy (it could have been worse and Masad handled it well, but the danger was there). There was also one plot point towards the end that really bugged me because I felt it was perhaps too over the top, too coincidental, within the story. I don’t want to give spoilers, but it’s a pivotal moment that breaks Maggie’s dad out of his own grieving space and it just felt too abrupt, maybe too easy. Also, some of the interactions with the letter’s recipients may feel unsatisfying to some readers. However, I liked how real they seemed. The spectrum of responses from recipients had a strong feeling of truth to them and I appreciated that within the story. And last, I think I could have done without the section from Maggie’s mom’s perspective. It’s not that they were bad. Honestly, her mother’s voice and thoughts and internal insight was actually quite well done. And, sure, they added a bit to the understanding the reader has of Maggie’s mom and their mother-daughter relationship. But there were more than enough other ways for the reader to see and understand that POV without handing it to us that easily, most of which were already included, even, so we wouldn’t have missed much, if anything, without those parts. Maybe if the book was more evenly split between those voices it would have been better? However, this is a situation of author’s prerogative, I suppose.

Overall, I really enjoyed this novel. It was a compelling story of family, grief and how the people we know best can still hold depths and mysteries. Plus, as I said, I do think the queer aspects, and those moments where Maggie takes risks in being vulnerable, were powerful. If you’ve been thinking about trying this one, I’d say it’s definitely worth going for it.

A few pull-quotes, for your enjoyment:

“...a little elated, a little melancholy, that space of in-between that she felt was becoming more and more a part of her life as she aged.”

“She isn’t out of breath, but she feels she has to catch it. She isn’t dizzy, but she needs everything to stop spinning. She isn’t jet-lagged, has never been jet-lagged, but she feels like daylight savings has just happened and that she’s flown across the Atlantic to boot.”

“But what she’d thought then was confidence was just size – adults were simply, for the most part, bigger than she was at ten or eleven. But now that she’s a grown-up herself, she knows that there’s no innate dignity, only people more or less competent at playacting.”

“She looks back at the photos in her hands, these images of a woman for whom Maggie is years and years in the future. It’s an odd sensation, looking at them, the first images of her mother’s face she’s seen since her death – but it isn’t her mother’s face, at least not yet.”

“Grief, she realizes, is selfish. It’s about what she’s losing, not what her mother lost, not what her mother still had time or desire to do in her life—and surely there was a lot. Iris was young, as old people go.”

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

Irby’s collections have been on my radar since I started getting more into short story/essay collections. Everything I’d read about them was unanimous in commentary on how funny she was and honestly, if there was ever a year/time that needed more comedic relief, it’s this one. So, as you all know by now is normal procedure for me, I went ahead and put myself on the waitlist for this one at the library. Considering that this is either her first nor most recent collection, I cannot tell you what made me want to pick it up first, but I was to say that title really spoke deeply to the introvert in me, and that was likely the subconscious deciding factor.

This collection covers quite a bit, breadth-wise, from Irby’s life. We learn about her (tumultuous) childhood and parents, the few years she spent in college, her stable (but not very glamourous) post-not-finishing-college job in a vet clinic, her love of tv binges and unhealthy foods, her attempts at dating and being a “less trash” person, finding and making big moves (like literally, to different states and lifestyles) with her now-wife, and more.

My first and main reaction is that Irby is absolutely and completely as humorous as advertised. There’s something about the balance she strikes in cutting cultural insight, personal honesty mixed with self-deprecation, and a perfectly snarky delivery (with very well-used profanity) of what could be pretty good stories that makes them into fantastically entertaining essays. I laughed out loud a few times, including at the opening piece (a sarcastically “real” Bachelorette application), various devil-inspired names she has (had) for her cat Helen, her description of eating all the hors devours at a wedding (let’s be honest, we all do it), the cost-benefits analysis of the internet’s top tips for saving money, and the “skills” she describes in her application for a new job (based on her very specific experiences at the vet hospital). There is also, as I’ve come to recognize as a pretty frequent staple of humor collections/comedian memoirs, the requisite awkward sexual encounter and poop-related stories. They were good, and honestly some of the most unique iterations of that topic that I’ve read yet, but are never a personal favorite for me. I also recognized quite a few things we had in common, like preferring to look at the beauty of nature rather than be in it and a wish to be able to mainly just spend time alone at home binging tv (or books, for me) and never put on real pants.

I also want to mention some of the moments where things get more real. Irby does a phenomenal job addressing some really difficult topics alongside the funny, in a way that makes you really consider and empathize, but doesn’t quite overtake the hilarity. In that respect, it’s very similar to another essay collection that I loved, Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson (who, incidentally, blurbs this book on the back cover). Anyways, I love love love the way that Irby’s bisexuality is so naturally woven into the essays – it’s just so…normal…and that’s not something that usually happens and definitely not with this kind of straightforward casualness. That was great. She also really is able to focus in on some long terms affects of the trauma of her childhood instability (poverty, parents with chronic illness and substance misuse/addition) and more pervasive traumas (like being a Black woman in America), like her (lack of) financial awareness and self-control, her diet, lots of anxieties and interpersonal relationship issues, health and mental health struggles, and more. The way she draws a clear but subtle line between what in public health we call ACEs (Adverse Childhood Experiences) and the increased likelihood of health and other issues in adulthood is spectacular and heart-breaking. Irby also makes the realities and difficulties of living with chronic illness understandable in, again, a very humorous and accessible way. Also, there was one essay with a beautiful message about not having to ever be grateful for sex, no matter what you weigh, what you look like, etc. – that one just really got me with what an important and, really, never-addressed point it is.

Long story short: again and again the way Irby intertwines legitimate laugh out loud humor (and IDGAF self-acceptance) with serious topics and legit messages and heartfelt realities (and genuine attempts to be a “better” version of herself) made this a wonderfully entertaining and feeling reading experience. If you are looking to lighten the mood but still experience some emotional stirrings, this book is exactly what you need.

“I prefer to admit my inadequacies to assholes who can relate.”

“I have always been sexually attracted to both men and women, although the sex part is more of an afterthought for me.” (I’ve never, literally never, read anything that so succinctly and accurately captures my personal relationship with sex and sexual attraction.)

“Real love [...] feels safe and steadfast and predictable and secure. It’s boring as shit. And it’s easily the best thing I’ve ever felt.” (THIS. I LOVE THIS SO, SO MUCH.)

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

The title of this book put it solidly on my radar as soon as I heard about it (I mean, it’s a fantastic freaking title…so much imagery just from that single phrase!). And once I read the description, the deal was sealed. I had hoped to get to it during #ReadCaribbean (as hosted by @bookofciz in June), but I just didn’t quite make it. My proverbial reading eyes are always bigger than my proverbial reading stomach. Haha.

Audre is heartbroken when her mother finds out about her relationship with her secret girlfriend and sends her away from Trinidad to live with her father in Minneapolis. Mabel is spending her summer trying to figure out what her feelings for one of her friends/not-feelings for her ex-boyfriend mean while helping her dad in the family garden. When Mabel’s dad announces that his friend’s daughter is moving in with him, all the way from Trinidad, Audre and Mabel become fast friends. Mabel is determined to help Audre settle into American life and Audre finds herself caring for Mabel in a deeper way after she gets some startling and difficult medical test results. As their romance deepens, they both have to learn to adjust to the many unexpected challenges life can bring, but with each other’s support, they’ll be able to.

So, the first thing I have the say, and the overall biggest impression I am taking from this book, is that the narrative voices are AMAZING. They are individual, evocative, authentic and just, so good. And the audiobook narrators crushed it as well – they were so unique to each perspective, had phenomenal inflection, and they brought all three characters (Mabel, Audre and Afua) to life so vividly. There were so many other things about this novel that I loved as well. The poems for each astrological sign season that helped mark the passage of time throughout the novel were gorgeous. In fact, they were maybe my favorite parts, writing wise, in the book – so lyrical and thematically appropriate. And speaking of, I loved the way that astrology and cosmology and, in general, multiple types of mysticism and spirituality were woven into this novel. It was such a unique theme and philosophical-ish mix of explorations and explanations that really fit with the major serious concepts addressed (death sentences of health and the penal system, long-term incarceration, finding one’s own way in love, etc.), as well as being really fascinating on just a surface level for me, since I don’t know too much about it all. With that, I loved the many different ways the title was worked into the story.

There were a lot going on in this novel. Lots of characters backgrounds and personalities and stories that were covered. And though I was a bit nervous about them all around the middle of the novel, when things seemed a bit scattered and inconsistent, but I have to say, they really were (almost) all brought to a reasonably well-developed close by the end. I got super emotional a couple of times, as things unfolded, and I always have to credit when authors are able to do that. I will say though, I do still have a few reservations about some of the stylistic elements, hearing Queenie’s story through Mabel’s dreams and Afua’s through his own writing (again, in Mabel’s section)…it all tied in, but somehow those two voices in particular felt a little strange coming through in their own words/memories but in Mabel’s voice. And there were some weird jumps in time (that the sign poems helped move between) that felt a bit too abrupt. I don’t know…like I said, it just felt a bit all over the place, narratively, at times. But the overall impression I had, by the end, was solid. And then the last thing I need to mention, and I wish it wasn’t the case, but I just can’t help it, was that ending. It just did not do it for me. I know there was a lot of mysticism in the book, but it was still all grounded in reality and the constraints of what is believable. I really want to believe it was meant metaphorically, and maybe it was, but it happened to suddenly and then it was just…over. It wasn’t clear that it was or wasn’t meant metaphorically and, being the only truly “magical/magical realism” thing that possibly happened, it just felt like it didn’t fit the rest of the novel and left me with an unsatisfied feeling, which really sucked after the emotional build-up the rest of the book provided. (If you’ve read this, please let me know your thoughts/interpretations on it!)

Overall though, this was a deeply touching spiritual introspective exploration of the devastating effects of death sentences (in the various ways they can be applied, which were woven together beautifully and in a way I’ve never seen before), as well as a beautiful coming-of-age for learning to love who you love and be accepted for exactly who you are. It was emotional on so many levels and was voiced super genuinely. Plus, like I said, the astrology sections were super interesting. I really enjoyed the time I spent with this book – there is true literary (and some “real”) magic in its pages.

“Our bodies / levitated by the stardust of the ancestors in our bones. / Our ecstasy / got divined in limitless existence.”

“the moon shines on you / you are floating on her waters / she is pleasure immersive and she soaks you to heal / and rocks you to sleep / she is the constellation / of the armored warrior / of water and sand”

“Healing is like falling in love, but deeper. You unite with someone so that you can work alchemy with they soul. So that they might elevate and revive them and heal not only them but their ancestors. And like love, if you don’t know how to protect yourself, it could consume you.”

“Dying is the loneliest feeling I didn’t even know could exist.”

“On death row, in some ways, I feel like I did become the astronaut of my childhood aspirations. I live suspended, distant and hyperaware of all existence. I’m alien, yet affiliated, living like a satellite, away from all that I have ever known.”

“Remember that you are from the stars and that you can return to them. Remember you are a sacred being of love, no matter the darkness of an earthly life. Remember you come from light and return to freedom. Remember you are the healing of your ancestors, that you are Chiron the wounded healer. You heal through the compassion you give to yourself. Remember you are an astronaut of the soul. May you find solace in your travel to another star.”

“All the old heads will say that there ain’t nothing new under the sun (or moon or stars), which is true in a way. But still your life is new for you. How you deal with something for the first time and the way you feel about it is new and yours and sacred.

“It’s weird to see something written in a book that feels real to your heart.”

“embedded under every new civilization is an earth that never forgets”

“You are safe. Universal. Limitless. Sacred. Sensual. Divine. Free.”

“We are what life makes us; even if it’s a tragedy, sometimes you can still blossom something fruitful from it.”

“And we was infinite and knew how to love.”

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

“You are never too young for democracy.”

I’ve had Colbert’s novel Little and Lion on my TBR for years because I’ve heard only great things about it. I still haven’t managed to get to it yet, but when I saw this one as an option as an ALC from Libro.fm, I still knew I was going to pick it to read ASAP. It’s the season for this type of civic responsibility novel and I was feeling a (hopefully uplifting, “for the future”) YA take on the concept.

Marva Sheridan has been working for years lading up to this election day, canvassing and calling and registering voters, and she cannot wait to vote for the first time. Duke Crenshaw wants to get voting over with to make his family happy and then move on to the big gig his band has tonight. But when Marva sees Duke turned away at their polling place, she steps up to help him make sure his vote gets counted. Over the rest of the day, the two of them deal with myriad challenges, from registration mix-ups to runaway cats to boyfriend drama to family confrontations to interactions with police, to make sure Duke gets his chance to vote. And though it’s a long and stressful day, by the end of it, Marva and Duke realize that perhaps all the trouble was worth it, not just because Duke finally gets to vote, but also because they got to know each other better…and there’s a special sort of connection there.

Well this was an incredibly sweet and timely YA novel. I loved reading about Marva’s strength of conviction about the importance of voting and making your voice heard. It’s important for everyone, but especially for new voters, to realize that their vote truly does matter. In particular, I love how clearly Marva connects voting with the actions we can take to truly affect change in areas that we know are oppressive/suppressive in this country (like police brutality and racial profiling, access to healthcare, women’s reproductive rights, Black people having to navigate spaces in a white-dominated environment and political landscape and so many more). This direct line drawn from knowing something is wrong and wanting to affect change to how to make that change, is strong and accessible for a YA reader. Plus, a major important point throughout it that it’s important for all voters, especially those from a background of privilege, to understand that, like Marva says, even if there are parts of the system you don’t agree with, it’s a privilege to choose not to vote as a way to protest that. In addition, there is a great highlight for younger readers (and older, privileged readers) of many of the barriers to voting in this country, even though we’re taught that it’s a right for everyone and is accessible to everyone. Colbert does a lovely job highlighting voter suppression issues like not having long enough lunch hours and/or inflexible bosses and work, closed polling locations (without notice), running out of ballets or other supplies, long wait times (especially when considering other important time demands like work and picking up kids, etc.), states without same day registration, transportation challenges or restrictions, and more. All in all, the way civic responsibility is shown as a necessity from everyone and encourages especially young voters to get involved, is fantastic (and, of course, timely, as we face a huge national election coming up this November).

As side stories go, I thought the little romance between Marva and Duke was adorable. It was wholesome and natural under the circumstances. And though we only got to see them for the one day, it unfolded in a really cute and supportive way. I also thought Marva’s cat Instagram situation was pretty funny and very relatable for a current-day audience and it added some great levity both to the story and to Marva’s very serious character. On Duke’s side, his band situation was also a fun situation and I enjoyed the way it grew out of him learning to drum as a coping mechanism. It allowed the story to stay pretty light while still addressing serious themes like loss of a sibling, mental health, and more. I liked that we got the story in alternating viewpoints. It was a good way to see from both Duke and Marva’s perspectives. And I enjoyed the different narrators for their sections on the audiobook; it was a nice to have clearly separate narrators (though I have to be honest and say that Marva’s narrator voice was a smidge grating, so having the break for Duke’s narrative sections was appreciated, by me, from that perspective as well.) Colbert also did really well with the pacing, considering this was a story that all happened in a single day. It moved well, but never felt rushed, and she used the “About _____” sections as a great device for filling the reader in on family and relationship backgrounds in a way that made the characters the most developed they could be, considering we only get to know them over a less than 24-hour period.

I have to be honest and say that, overall, I felt like this was a little on the juvenile side, considering the characters are both seniors in high school. I mean, I understand it’s YA, but it read, writing-wise, a bit closer to middle grade for me (minus the swearing, of course). I do read a fair amount of YA, so I feel like this is a pretty fair “in comparison to others” critique. The relationships were all chaste and most were pretty “surface-only.” That could be due to the “all in one day” way the story was told, but that didn’t feel like it to me, to be honest, it felt more like writing style choices that made it that way. It was a great intro to many important social justice and civic duty concepts, and that part being “beginner” felt fine, just…the writing itself seemed too young. It wasn’t bad writing, it just seemed juvenile for the characters and plot. And though it sucks, that kind of made me, altogether, a bit less invested in the characters and story. I mean, I still think the messages are important, the plot was a fun one, and it was a good reading experience, but it wasn’t amazing…I never jumped completely into it, as far as how much I cared.

Despite my personal feelings about the writing, like I said, I think there is so much that is important and necessary and lovely about this book. (To that end, for “rating” purposes on Goodreads – I’m bumping this from a 3.5 to 4 star review…because it’s cute and important and while I’ve personally read YA that feels more adult than young, I also am no longer in that age group, sooooo, I’m giving it the benefit of the doubt.) I’ve never read a YA novel that highlights voting like this one and I can only hope that it helps create and spread enthusiasm to get out there and have their voices officially heard in a current (likely and reasonably disillusioned) YA-reader generation. It’s a story that must be told, needs to get out there, will *hopefully* inspire, and I would recommend it to a younger audience of readers for sure.

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

I have put off writing this review for like, two weeks now. I took so many notes while reading, and marked so many passages, but in the end, I’m really struggling with my overall thoughts and reactions. I don’t really know how I felt about this one, nor how to eloquently (or even roughly but accurately) those feelings I did have. It’s been a long time since I have felt this intimated by a book and how to write a review about it. I think I may end up just giving you a bullet-point list of all little things I wrote down as I read and maybe that’ll give the best picture possible and you can draw your own conclusions at the end.

Before I start, a quick synopsis, as per usual. In Lost Children Archive, a mother, father and their two children set off on a cross country road trip, from NYC to the Southwest. Traveling there as a part of the father’s most recent job, relating to Apache history, the family’s time in the car is spent in stories, conversations, audiobooks and radio stories about the “immigration crisis” and the children who don’t make the desert crossing of America’s Southwestern border. The parents are drifting apart and the children feel that schism grow as they travel. And the trip culminates with what is described as “a grand, harrowing adventure – both in the desert landscape and within the chambers of their own imaginations.”

So, here are my scattered feelings:

- I love a book with short little snippets/sections, that jump in topic/time/perspective and this one is using that device to perfection. Told in snippets of musings and moments and conversations and reflections, it’s a jumpy style that ends up reading a lovely flow.
- A fascinating base concept for a novel - I had no idea sound jobs like this existed and the focus on the sounds/audio of life and the way they create memory and archive is so cool and unique and such a different view of what makes up a life than I’ve ever read/considered.
- The writing is beautiful - philosophical and lyrical.
- I loved the commentary and questions and insights from the children’s’ points of view. They felt really authentically written.
- There’s a lot of deep philosophy in this novel about documenting (visual and auditory) and whether it’s really possible and how we mess up or misrepresent moments/stories by trying and it’s sometimes hard to follow but when I can grasp the concepts, they are profound thoughts.
- Related to that last point, there are so many unique viewpoints and observations of life and people and moments, all perspectives or things noticed that I wouldn’t have seen at all, or at very least made in the same way.
- One more related comment: this is the most literarily intellectual and deeply introspective/philosophical book I have read in a long time. I have to say, I was a bit intimated by this one and never feel like I got that much more comfortable with it/adjusted to it. I know I missed a lot while reading but don’t even know where to start regarding how to address what went over my head. It never got “easier” to read.
- The stark landscape of the story and expressive writing are a wonderfully created juxtaposition.
- There are SO MANY narrative arcs and themes, visual and auditory repetition, that are woven together so smoothly that I’m sure I didn’t even catch them all but was so impressed with what I did recognize.
- In the last section, when the pages long run stream of consciousness on pulls you in its tide and the reality (the sound mirages in the heat exhaustion of the desert) mix with the echoes of ancient, and more recent but still lost, sounds coincide with the structural formation of the book around recording and archiving these sounds - and the interplay of the lost children in the literal and representative sense - it’s really cool stylistically and thematically.
- And a follow-up related to that last section’s style being very cool but so different from the rest of the book. I think perhaps there were too many styles and point of view types in this novel. By the end I kind of felt like I had read three different books or three different authors that had written this book.
- The primary themes of Apache history and child immigration were both handled with respect and gravity, as well as being done in a very original way. I appreciate the heaviness of both and feel like the book gave the “correct” intensity to them – it felt like there was a weight on me, as the reader, from the very start of this book.
- The ending, the whole last section that is the “grand, harrowing adventure” felt a bit contrived as it unfolded, the way the separate stories all came together/paralleled/overlapped, and the ostensibly “happy” ending to it…it all just rang a bit weird to me, though I cannot exactly put my finger on why.

After organizing all those, I still can’t tell you any final thoughts on this book. I was so impressed with so many things (the writing, the structure, the main topics, the thematic arcs), and yet there were some “plot” points and stylistic choices that didn’t always hit right for me. Plus, I think there were many times that theories and musings went over my head and it feels disingenuous to judge something like that. Bottom line, this book took me on a journey, in a number of ways, that is reflected in the road trip of the family at the center, and that was an experience from start to finish. If you are looking for a literary voyage, then this may be the book for you.

“New families, like young nations after violent war of independence or social revolutions, perhaps need to anchor their beginnings in a symbolic moment and nail that instant in time.”

“Our mothers teach us to speak, and the world teaches us to shut up.”

“Conversations, in a family, become linguistic archeology. Theybuild the world we share, layer it in a palimpsest, give meaning to our present and future.”

“The sound of everything and everyone that once surrounded us, the noise we contributed, and the silence we leave behind.”

“We drive onward, southwest-bound, and listen to the news on the radio, news about all the children traveling north. They travel, alone, on trains and on foot. They travel without their fathers, without their mothers, without suitcases, without passports. Always without maps. They have to cross national borders, rivers, deserts, horrors. And those who final arrive are placed in limbo, are told to wait.”

“I suppose that someone who is fleeing is still not a refugee. A refugee is someone who has already arrived somewhere, in a foreign land, but must wait for an indefinite time before actually, fully having arrived. Refugees wait in detention centers, shelters, or camps; in federal custody and under the gaze of armed officials. They wait in long lines for lunch, for a bed to sleep in, wait with their hands raised to ask if they can use the bathroom. They wait to be let out, wait for a telephone call, for someone to claim or pick them up. And then there are refugees who are lucky enough to be finally reunited with their families, living in a new home. But even those still wait. They wait for the court’s notice to appear, for a court ruling, for either deportation or asylum, wait to know where they will end up living and under what conditions. They wait for a school to admit them, for a job opening, for a doctor to see them. They wait for visas, documents, permission. They wait for a cue, for instructions, and then some wait some more. They wait for their dignity to be restored.” (so evocative and poignant)

“I suppose that words, timely and arranged in the right order, produce an afterglow. When you read words like that in a book, beautiful words, a powerful but fleeting emotion ensues. And you also know that soon, it’ll all be gone: the concept you just grasped and the emotion it produced. Then comes a need to possess that strange, ephemeral afterglow, and to hold on to that emotion. So you reread, underline, and perhaps even memorize and transcribe the words somewhere – in a notebook, on a napkin, on your hand.”

“Whenever the boy and girl talk about refugees, I realize now, they call them “the lost children.” I suppose the word “refugee” is more difficult to remember. And even if the term “lost” is not precise, in our intimate family lexicon, the refugees become known to use as “the lost children.” And in a way, I guess, they are lost children. They are children who have lost the right to a childhood.”

“Perhaps I should say that documenting is when you add thing plus light, light minus thing, photograph after photograph; or when you add sound, plus silence, minus sound, minus silence. What you have, in the end, are all the moments that didn’t for part of the actual experience. A sequence of interruptions, holes, missing parts, cut out from the moment in which the experience took place. Because experience, minus a document of the experience, is experience minus one. The strange thing is this: if, in the future one day, you add all those documents together again, what you have, all over again, is the experience. Or at least a version of the experience that replaces the lived experience, even if what you originally documented were the moments cut out from it.”

“They were all there to claim their disappeared, there to protest silently against a bigger, deeper silence.”

“Hard to explain why two complete strangers may suddenly decide to share an unbeautified portrait of their lives.”

“His stories are not directly linked to the piece I’m working on, but the more I listen to the stories he tells about the country’s past, the more it seems like he’s talking about the present.” (the cycle of violence and suppression in our country runs deep and continues)

“Fear – in daytime, under the sun – is something concrete, and it belongs to the adults: speeding on the highway, white policemen, possible accidents, teenagers with guns, cancer, heart attacks, religious fanatics, insects large and medium. At night, fear belongs to children. It’s more difficult to understand its source, harder to give it a name. Night fear, in children, is a small shift of quality and mode in things, like when a cloud suddenly passes in front of the sun, and the colors dim to a lesser version of themselves.”

“...the right way of telling the story, knowing that stories don’t fix anything to save anyone but maybe make the world both more complex and more tolerable. And sometimes, just sometimes, more beautiful. Stories are a way of subtracting the future from the past, the only way of finding clarity in hindsight.”

“Euphemisms hide, erase, coat. / Euphemisms lead us to tolerate the unacceptable. And, / eventually, to forget. / Against a euphemism, remembrance. In order to not repeat. / Remember terms and meanings. Their absurd disjointedness.”

“Also, writing is slower and reading is slower, but at the same time listening is slower than looking, which is a contradiction that cannot be explained.”

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

I cannot believe it’s been like, two years, since I read Binti. I really enjoyed it too! But for some reason it just took me forever to pick up this second book. I don’t know. My husband has always been annoyed with me because I can totally leave a show in the middle of a series/season if I’m getting bored or done with it…and never come back to finish it. I’ve never done that with books though. Or at least, I don’t think so. Maybe there are just so many books to read that times goes by and even though I intend to keep going, I get distracted. But I’m back now. And even though I had to look up a summary of the plot in Binti to make sure I was up to speed on all the details, before starting this one, I’m ready to go!

It's been about a year since the events of Binti – when Binti was able to use her harmonizing skills, and general communication and compromise, to prevent an inter-species war. She’s been studying during that year at Oomza University, alongside her friend Okwu, and has been successful. But Binti feels that the time has come to revisit her family on Earth, the family she essentially ran away from, without a word, to attend university. She is excited and nervous to be back, and to be bringing Okwu with her, the first of his people to visit Earth in generations (and the first to ever come without intending to start a war). Homecoming ends up very different than Binti imagined though, and she ends up learning quite a bit about her own family history, while also facing the start of a new conflict between humans and Okwu’s species (Meduse).

I have to start this with similar thoughts as I had with the first novella. I am so impressed with how much Okorafor is able to pack into such a short number of pages. I honestly, still haven’t read any novellas other than this series, so I have very little to compare to, but the culture, emotionality, conflict and world-building that if covered with enough depth to really invite connection, is just…something else. Settings this foreign usually take so many more words to convey understandably, but not for Okorafor! Same as before, I loved so much about it that I would have loved more: a longer piece that would provide more background and exploration of all the peoples, cultures, magics and technologies mentioned. It would be a lie to say I didn’t want more. And yet, again, I still felt like the glimpses I got gave more than enough to be invested in the plot and characters. Since that’s the limitation and the specialty of this shorter medium, and I went into it knowing that, it was spot on.

I did love that, with Binti returning home, we had a chance in this second novella to learn more about her, like what her life was like before leaving for Oomza University, the traditions (and prejudices) of her people, and what her family had expected of her and how they’re reacting to her non-traditional choice of lifestyle/path. With this return to Earth, the Afrofuturism aspects of the novella become even more central than in the first. The interplay of family roles, societal expectations and hierarchies, inter-tribe relations and more all mirror (in a recognizable way) a compilation of African politics and lifestyle features and traditions. But of course, the differences of added alien species, tech-magic communication and a deeper dive into the fascinating math-based energy system Okorafor created, add that fantastic layer of fantasy to it all.

I also want to add a few thoughts about the themes of aliens/others and the limitations of home that Okorafor explores as two of the main themes. When Binti returns home, she faces quite a bit of anger for her tradition-breaking decision to run away to University, as well as disgust/fear about the way her braids (okuoko) have morphed to be like the Meduse tentacles, with a sort of life and movement of their own, and completely foreign (and enemy) to her own people. Okorafor captures the particular pain/sadness of aching for home and returning to find that it’s not quite all you want it to be or remembered it being. In Binti’s case, she has seen and lived so much more than the rest of her family and the distance that creates between her and their more insular lived experience, is difficult for her to understand and adjust to. I think, for many who have left home and grown beyond its confines, that’s a feeling they can deeply empathize with. This same theme sort of bleeds over into the next, which is the numerous and specific prejudices and untruths that people can believe about each other, and be taught to believe, when there is no exposure to another possibility. I love the way it’s written here, where Binti is actually on both sides: frustrated with her family for their treatment of her new “look” and the rest for their reservations about Okwu, while also coming to the realization that she herself still holds many preconceptions/stereotypes about the Desert People. It’s a wonderful and important lesson to readers, that the work of openness of perspective, acceptance, recognizing similarities, celebrating differences, and un-learning/re-learning is lifelong…for us all.

One last thought: I want to recognize Okorafor’s recognition of trauma – the effects it has despite the resilience of people (and, in this case, Binti). In the first novella, she witnesses her entire cohort, new friends, get slaughtered. And even though she perseveres and saves everyone from an inter-planet war, her “heroine” status is not a complete protective shield against the tragedy she experienced. It would have been so easy for the author to move on with the story in this second installation and not address that, but instead, we are able to see a more real picture of the way Binti must deal with flashbacks, panic attacks and other side effects consistent with trauma survivors. It’s so important to see all strong people, all heroes, in this real way…and encourage talking about, treating and coping healthfully with these mental health issues. So just, yea, that was wonderful to read.

This short trip back to Binti’s world was a short whirlwind of a trip, but a great one. I enjoyed learning more about Binti, both from her and alongside her, and I’m excited to see how the build-up from this second installment comes to a conclusion in the final novella, as Binti brings together all the different backgrounds she now holds within herself: the Himba, the Meduse and the Enyi Zinariya. The mini cliffhanger this novella ended with (that typical middle book trick), plus the remaining mystery about what Binti’s mysterious edan technology actually is/does, are pushing me to pick up the finale post haste!

“Three days passed, as time always does when you are alive, whether you are happy or tortured.”

“‘You people are so brilliant, but your world is too small. […] One of you finally grows beyond your cultural cage and you try to chop her stem. Fascinating.’”

“How different my life would have been if my parents had just let me dance.”

“Having curiosity is the only way to learn.”

“I felt a sting of shame as I realized why I hadn’t understood something so obvious. My own prejudice. I had been raised to view [the Desert People] as a primitive, savage people plagued by a genetic neurological disorder. So that’s what I saw.”

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

This book is intimidating – it is heavy and thick – but I knew as soon as I saw the IG-hosted readalong from @melanatedreader, @_pagesgaloree, and @booksteanhenny that that was the community to read with and the time to pick it up. (As an exciting addition, my college roommate messaged and wanted to join as well, so we are doing some discussion calls as we read as well!) Plus, I’d like to note, that being intimidated by something is never a reason not to do/try it and, in fact, should rather be an impetus to do so. In that case, I’d like to thank these wonderful bookstagrammers for hosting (despite the fact that I fell behind the schedule, it still encouraged me to start in the first place), and recognize in myself why I was nervous to read this before/on my own.

Before I started, I made this note in my phone and I want to share it here as well, for context and transparency and so you can see where my head was at before I had even cracked the book open. It is a direct copy and paste, so bear that in mind with grammar/punctuation, but I felt that was the best way to get my thoughts and vibe across: “what I can tell you, and make no mistake, is that what I learned in US History in high school was WHITE history, and make no mistake, to be even more specific it was white economic history, because cash is king in this capitalist society, and anything not in line with that, be it other political ideologies, sexuality, and ESPECIALLY race was not discussed unless it was to be denounced or in some way serve the greater white narrative, and I didn’t realize it then, but I’m older know and I recognize it was a privilege not to realize it then, and it is past time to correct that BS.”

I had originally planned to write this review in sections that lined up with the Five “guided” Parts within Stamped: Cotton Mather, Thomas Jefferson, William Lloyd Garrison, W.E.B. DuBois and Angela Davis. And I took copious notes, jotted down so many thoughts, marked a ridiculous number of passages, recorded all my reactions as I read, all in line with my normal reading techniques and original plan. However, I realized that, after noticing that all those notes are almost 10 pages long, perhaps I needed to rethink my normal review-writing, in this case. No one needs my myriad specific thoughts and reactions to everything in these pages or a transcribed quote section at the end that is basically half the book rewritten…if you are even remotely interested, I would recommend you just read it…learn for yourself and note your own reactions to it all. I mean yes, of course, I’m going to give you some overall words, because I just can’t help it. But I feel like this is a book that needs to be read widely, by as many (US-based) people as possible, and should (in my opinion) be a parallel text/educational tool for any US History classes. Or, at the very least, synthesized concepts need to be included in other US History texts, in order to make them more legitimately representative of the true history of this country.

In the prologue, Kendi describes a theory that he bases this whole book around: the theory that racist ideas/people do not lead to racist policies, as we commonly think and are taught, but rather that the opposite is true. Kendi posits that racist policies, that are created by those in power to benefit their own self-interest/gains, lead to a need for racist ideas to support their implementation…and therein lies the origination for all the race-based assumptions and stereotypes of the general public. It’s mind-bending, mind-opening and, as he spends the entire 500 pages of this book showing, absolutely sensical.

Now, a few common threads throughout this book that I noted and want to include for, I don’t know, posterity? Whatever. They don’t really flow/go together, but it is what it is. First, the fact that any public advances that were made in this country related to race were done so for reasons of self-interest or from outside pressure and in no way because they were the right thing to do (i.e. – Lincoln freeing slaves not because he cared but because it was the best option for “saving the Union,” or Civil Rights Act in the 60s being championed because the US was losing face/reputation internationally for our internal inequality) AND because of that, often these advances, though they first lead to better situations, ended up also leading to even more covert/subtle pushback that actually further ingrains the systems o inequality in potentially even more damaging ways, but, like at least the optics were better? Ugh. A number of illustrations of how our Constitution is not infallible and its flexibility/vagueness that allows for change (which generally would be considered a good thing) is incredibly limited by the *many* (moral, single-view education, self-interested) limitations of those with the power to actually do the interpreting. The open-ness of the Constitution is not equally applied if those with different backgrounds (in this case especially, Black people, Black women, queer Black people and women) are not allowed to participate in the interpretation/application of its guidelines. Something that struck me that I hadn’t considered is how many leading antiracists in their time, in the past and today (Garrison, DuBois, MLK, Obama) espoused and supported and spouted many assimilationist and segregationist and class racist ideas, often potentially without necessarily even realizing it, because they too were raised in this racist society/education system – it’s a mark of the terrible insidiousness of racism that it flows so deeply as to be internalized by those it belittles. The focus on the false idea/narrative of “uplift suasion” (individually successful Black people) and the concept of educating away racism have been touted for years and have never been successful – a greater level of change and shift is needed to eradicate racism – was a strong and important theme throughout. And last, the power and inclusiveness of Black women, and Black queer women, in the fight for equality is something that is so often underplayed and ignored. I first was truly introduced to this concept when I read when they call you a terrorist (about the three Black queer persons that began the #BlackLivesMatter movement and whose names should be, but are not, household names the same as MLK and Malcolm X), and it’s been further engrained and enforced as I read How We Get Free and now here, in Stamped From the Beginning, in the look at Angela Davis as out final (and only female) guide.

Honestly, reading this taught me so much, guided me as I un-learned/re-learned so much, and really opened my eyes. And, honestly, it made me really angry. As it should have. To center myself briefly, I am at least partially angry at how many misleading explanations and straight lies I was taught, and completely swallowed, over my lifetime (both in school and outside of it). It's a terrible feeling to know that my education was so wildly manipulated and how privileged I was to be able to swallow and believe it all because nothing in my own life/experiences was truly contradicting that worldview. But to bring it back to where the issue should be centered, that’s not the point. It’s terrible, and it’s super hard and embarrassing to admit to being duped and complacent for so long and about so much, but that’s literally the point. It’s not about that feeling. So, I need to get over that and move onto the fact that now that I do know (or at least know how much more work there is to be done as I continue to address past failings), what else am I going to do about it? How am I going to help address this history of racism that my country, my fellow white people, prefer to pretend doesn’t exist to the extent/depth that it so clearly does? And what am I going to do to, as I move forwards, to continue to center the correct voices and perspectives (i.e. – not my own)? Well, I don’t have all the answers to that yet, but that’s my own journey. I’m sure it will at least include more antiracist reading, donations, voting and (now much more confidently based in knowledge and research, as opposed to vague feelings of right/wrong) discussions/arguments with family and friends. In the meantime, I want to encourage anyone who was taught US History in the US to read this and start to rearrange your own view of reality, to relearn all the “Lincoln saved the slaves and the 1960s Civil Rights Movement ended racism” history that we were taught and understand that that narrative serves a select few, those with the power to write history/policies/ideas to fit their own purposes, and take advantage of anyone else (and especially Black people). As this book clearly explains in the epilogue, it’s not only absolutely the right and altruistic thing to do to fight against that legacy, but it’s also in the self-interest of us all (with the exception of those select few) as well. The momentum is already there, let’s not lose it.

Anyways, my overall thoughts after reading can basically be summed up like this: “OMG this was such an incredibly deeply-researched, comprehensive and intellectual nonfiction time that somehow manages, at the same time, to be completely accessible!” I mean yes, it’s long, it took me three months to read, but that’s because I wanted to take my time to process and add additional research of my own on the side, not because I felt actually overwhelmed or confused by the content. It’s an amazing literary and scholarly accomplishment.