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This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
As soon as I heard about this one, I had added it to my TBR: an intergenerational saga of a family living through the incredibly turbulent recent history of Vietnam, told by an author inspired by her own family’s stories. Plus, that cover is just straight up gorgeous. The library waitlist was long (which is great for the author, but less so for us poor readers waiting for it! Haha) and only made longer by the three-month COVID-19 closure in the middle of it. But the wait was worth it, both for public health safety reasons and because this novel was absolutely just as stunning inside as out.
I already sort of gave a synopsis of this one, but let me add a little more detail. The story plays out as narrated from dual points of view. Switching in time from the Great Hunger and Land Reform eras (1930s to the mid-1960s) to the Việt Nam War years (1970s), the story is primarily told and centered around Hương (fondly called Guava by her grandmother) who is living her adolescent years during the war. In alternating chapters, we hear from Hương herself, her experiences living through war and coping with absent and wounded parents/family and general daily fear and unknown, and from her grandmother, Diệu Lan, as she tells Hương the history of their family, the story of where they came from and how they got to Hà Nội.
There are so many ways to review and reflect on this novel, the story it tells…the human perspective, the historical perspective, the lingual perspective, the cultural perspective, the general perspective of underrepresented voices, and more. And for the record, the bottom line to whatever I have to say next is that each of these aspects was moving and spectacular.
Let’s see. First, the writing was absolutely gorgeous. It had a sort of understated essence of poetry to it that just sweeps the reader off their feet in a way so subtle that you may not even notice it’s really happening/happened until you turn the last page. I must have highlighted at least twenty passages (see the end for a sample of those) and each one had me breathing a soft sigh of admiration for both the wording and the messages. And in considering that this is the author’s second language…it’s just breathtaking. I can’t even write like this in English and it’s my mother tongue. Also, I cannot describe how much I loved the Vietnamese liberally included throughout: prayers, songs, dialogue, proverbs. It added so much to this story, especially since I listened to the audiobook while reading and omg the narrator was just perfect – a warm, inflective voice with perfect (I mean, to my ear, so take that for what’s it’s worth) accent and tonality.
Historically, I don’t have much knowledge around this time period, even in my own country. I mean, I am fully aware of the protesting against the Việt Nam War and the terrible soldiers were treated when they returned, along with some basic knowledge of the horrific tactics used (i.e. Agent Orange). But it’s such a taboo and contentious topic in American history (and too recent to truly be covered in history class), that that’s about it. In fact, I know more about it from reading about the beginning of the Black Feminist movement (How We Get Free) and how those activists got a lot of their political “starts” protesting the war, than from anywhere else. So, bearing my general knowledge limitations in mind, this is also, unsurprisingly, the first historical fiction about the time period that I have read from a Vietnamese perspective. And really, no wonder there was protesting. Yikes. Anyways, I learned quite a bit about the 20th century in Việt Nam, both from the experiences of these characters and the research I did on my own as a result. It’s remarkable how challenging (Is that too euphemistic? I want to say traumatic, in reality, but don’t want to reduce it to just that, as there is connection and support to be found in these pages, and in the history, as well.) this century has been on the country and its people – the turmoil both internal and international. The chorus of voices that are given air time in this novel truly show the individual human consequences and impacts of large/world events. The absolutely disparate experiences of Grandmother Diệu Lan’s six children allow for so many versions of the time period to be show and told. Being able to see the variety of experiences, the many different ways the same events played out for people, provided such a priceless insight into the country and the time period. And simultaneously, the commonality of suffering amongst them all, despite their “better” or “worse” outcomes is deeply affecting. The author was able to illustrate the realities of “individuals caught in the crossfire of history,” for both those on the front lines and those “left behind,” in a way that I find I don’t really have words for. Just amazing.
And last, I just want to point out the family aspects of this story. The political and geographical lines that split countries and land also split people and families. Though we can read in news stories and history books about how this played out on a large national/international scale, the author’s nuanced portrayal of the way it affected individuals is brilliant. And the way she weaves throughout it all the threads that still remain, however hidden and frayed, that connect these same people and families despite everything, is similarly brilliant. Every situation is rendered with a tender and understanding look and the complexities and dangers and hopes of each decision, the mental/social/emotional/physical costs of war, with a focus on the greys of humanity as opposed to the black & white of ideology and government.
There is pain in these pages. Loss and sorrow and ache and trauma. But there are also many moments and lessons of hope and compassion and love and forgiveness (mostly from Grandmother Diệu Lan, whose resilience and openness and *fighting* spirit I wish to emulate) and, even when those reactions feel impossible, there is a message to fight for them, to fight for moving into the future despite the pain of the past. This story crashed in delicate waves of emotional page after page and I was completely drawn into it from start to finish. I believe the Trấn family and their story will stay with me for quite some time.
“The challenges faced by Vietnamese people throughout history are as tall as the tallest mountains. If you stand too close, you won’t be able to see their peaks. Once you step away from the currents of life, you will have the full view...”
“Yet she had to appear strong, for only those who face battles were entitled to trauma.”
“I didn’t care what war meant. I just wanted it to return my mother to me, give me back my father and my uncles, and make our family whole again.”
“I used to think that we were the ones in charge or our destinies, but I learned then that, in time of war, normal citizens were nothing but leaves that would fall in the thousands or millions in the surge of a single storm.”
“But you’re old enough to know that history will write itself in people’s memories, and as long as those memoires live on, we can have faith that we can do better.”
“Sometimes something is so terrible that you need to pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“Around me, rice plants began rustling their tiny, green hands. They were offering me their most soothing rice lullaby. I realized that whenever humans failed us, it was nature who could help save us. I willed myself to be like nature, so I found myself singing, just like the rice plants.”
“Life is great, Guava, because whenever I was put down, there were always kind people who picked me up.”
“Would the ghosts of war ever release us from their grip?”
“Human lives were short and fragile. Time and illnesses consumed us, like flames burning away these pieces of wood. But it didn’t matter how long or short we lived. It mattered more how much light we were able to shed on those we loved and how many people we touched with our compassion.”
“But I’d rather die that live the life of the unwanted.”
“Squatting on the ground, I wrote for a uncle I’d been robbed of, who was a leaf pushed away from its tree, but at its last moment still struggled to fall back to its roots. I wrote for Grandma, who’d hoped for the fire of war to be extinguished, only for its embers to keep burning her. I wrote for my uncles, my aunt, and my parents, who were helpless in the fight of brother against brother, and whose war went on, regardless of whether they were alive, or dead.”
“The turbulent events of our history had not just ripped people apart, they’d imprinted on them a sense of guilt about things over which they had no control.”
As soon as I heard about this one, I had added it to my TBR: an intergenerational saga of a family living through the incredibly turbulent recent history of Vietnam, told by an author inspired by her own family’s stories. Plus, that cover is just straight up gorgeous. The library waitlist was long (which is great for the author, but less so for us poor readers waiting for it! Haha) and only made longer by the three-month COVID-19 closure in the middle of it. But the wait was worth it, both for public health safety reasons and because this novel was absolutely just as stunning inside as out.
I already sort of gave a synopsis of this one, but let me add a little more detail. The story plays out as narrated from dual points of view. Switching in time from the Great Hunger and Land Reform eras (1930s to the mid-1960s) to the Việt Nam War years (1970s), the story is primarily told and centered around Hương (fondly called Guava by her grandmother) who is living her adolescent years during the war. In alternating chapters, we hear from Hương herself, her experiences living through war and coping with absent and wounded parents/family and general daily fear and unknown, and from her grandmother, Diệu Lan, as she tells Hương the history of their family, the story of where they came from and how they got to Hà Nội.
There are so many ways to review and reflect on this novel, the story it tells…the human perspective, the historical perspective, the lingual perspective, the cultural perspective, the general perspective of underrepresented voices, and more. And for the record, the bottom line to whatever I have to say next is that each of these aspects was moving and spectacular.
Let’s see. First, the writing was absolutely gorgeous. It had a sort of understated essence of poetry to it that just sweeps the reader off their feet in a way so subtle that you may not even notice it’s really happening/happened until you turn the last page. I must have highlighted at least twenty passages (see the end for a sample of those) and each one had me breathing a soft sigh of admiration for both the wording and the messages. And in considering that this is the author’s second language…it’s just breathtaking. I can’t even write like this in English and it’s my mother tongue. Also, I cannot describe how much I loved the Vietnamese liberally included throughout: prayers, songs, dialogue, proverbs. It added so much to this story, especially since I listened to the audiobook while reading and omg the narrator was just perfect – a warm, inflective voice with perfect (I mean, to my ear, so take that for what’s it’s worth) accent and tonality.
Historically, I don’t have much knowledge around this time period, even in my own country. I mean, I am fully aware of the protesting against the Việt Nam War and the terrible soldiers were treated when they returned, along with some basic knowledge of the horrific tactics used (i.e. Agent Orange). But it’s such a taboo and contentious topic in American history (and too recent to truly be covered in history class), that that’s about it. In fact, I know more about it from reading about the beginning of the Black Feminist movement (How We Get Free) and how those activists got a lot of their political “starts” protesting the war, than from anywhere else. So, bearing my general knowledge limitations in mind, this is also, unsurprisingly, the first historical fiction about the time period that I have read from a Vietnamese perspective. And really, no wonder there was protesting. Yikes. Anyways, I learned quite a bit about the 20th century in Việt Nam, both from the experiences of these characters and the research I did on my own as a result. It’s remarkable how challenging (Is that too euphemistic? I want to say traumatic, in reality, but don’t want to reduce it to just that, as there is connection and support to be found in these pages, and in the history, as well.) this century has been on the country and its people – the turmoil both internal and international. The chorus of voices that are given air time in this novel truly show the individual human consequences and impacts of large/world events. The absolutely disparate experiences of Grandmother Diệu Lan’s six children allow for so many versions of the time period to be show and told. Being able to see the variety of experiences, the many different ways the same events played out for people, provided such a priceless insight into the country and the time period. And simultaneously, the commonality of suffering amongst them all, despite their “better” or “worse” outcomes is deeply affecting. The author was able to illustrate the realities of “individuals caught in the crossfire of history,” for both those on the front lines and those “left behind,” in a way that I find I don’t really have words for. Just amazing.
And last, I just want to point out the family aspects of this story. The political and geographical lines that split countries and land also split people and families. Though we can read in news stories and history books about how this played out on a large national/international scale, the author’s nuanced portrayal of the way it affected individuals is brilliant. And the way she weaves throughout it all the threads that still remain, however hidden and frayed, that connect these same people and families despite everything, is similarly brilliant. Every situation is rendered with a tender and understanding look and the complexities and dangers and hopes of each decision, the mental/social/emotional/physical costs of war, with a focus on the greys of humanity as opposed to the black & white of ideology and government.
There is pain in these pages. Loss and sorrow and ache and trauma. But there are also many moments and lessons of hope and compassion and love and forgiveness (mostly from Grandmother Diệu Lan, whose resilience and openness and *fighting* spirit I wish to emulate) and, even when those reactions feel impossible, there is a message to fight for them, to fight for moving into the future despite the pain of the past. This story crashed in delicate waves of emotional page after page and I was completely drawn into it from start to finish. I believe the Trấn family and their story will stay with me for quite some time.
“The challenges faced by Vietnamese people throughout history are as tall as the tallest mountains. If you stand too close, you won’t be able to see their peaks. Once you step away from the currents of life, you will have the full view...”
“Yet she had to appear strong, for only those who face battles were entitled to trauma.”
“I didn’t care what war meant. I just wanted it to return my mother to me, give me back my father and my uncles, and make our family whole again.”
“I used to think that we were the ones in charge or our destinies, but I learned then that, in time of war, normal citizens were nothing but leaves that would fall in the thousands or millions in the surge of a single storm.”
“But you’re old enough to know that history will write itself in people’s memories, and as long as those memoires live on, we can have faith that we can do better.”
“Sometimes something is so terrible that you need to pretend it doesn’t exist.”
“Around me, rice plants began rustling their tiny, green hands. They were offering me their most soothing rice lullaby. I realized that whenever humans failed us, it was nature who could help save us. I willed myself to be like nature, so I found myself singing, just like the rice plants.”
“Life is great, Guava, because whenever I was put down, there were always kind people who picked me up.”
“Would the ghosts of war ever release us from their grip?”
“Human lives were short and fragile. Time and illnesses consumed us, like flames burning away these pieces of wood. But it didn’t matter how long or short we lived. It mattered more how much light we were able to shed on those we loved and how many people we touched with our compassion.”
“But I’d rather die that live the life of the unwanted.”
“Squatting on the ground, I wrote for a uncle I’d been robbed of, who was a leaf pushed away from its tree, but at its last moment still struggled to fall back to its roots. I wrote for Grandma, who’d hoped for the fire of war to be extinguished, only for its embers to keep burning her. I wrote for my uncles, my aunt, and my parents, who were helpless in the fight of brother against brother, and whose war went on, regardless of whether they were alive, or dead.”
“The turbulent events of our history had not just ripped people apart, they’d imprinted on them a sense of guilt about things over which they had no control.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
“Strange that our isolation made the transition to a post Big Water world easier when before I’d only ever seen it as a punishment. But now I could see what a blessing it was.”
I read the first book I Roanhorse’s The Sixth World series (Trail of Lightning) last year and was so into it! I loved the world and the characters and the magic and the Navajo mythology and it was a wild ride from start to finish. So, when I felt a reading slump coming on a few days ago, this sequel jumped off the shelf at me as the perfect antidote.
Storm of Locusts picks up the story about a month after the end of Trail of Lightening. Maggie
knows Kai is alive, but he still hasn’t come to see her and Tah and they’re both sort of wallowing in the aftermath of destruction and loss. But when what seems like a normal bounty hunt goes badly, Maggie finds herself responsible for a young girl with a unique clan power. And then the Goodacre twins come find her because Kai and their younger brother, Caleb, have been kidnapped by the leader of a cult. Together the four set out to find and rescue Kai and Caleb from the cult leader, the White Locust. The search takes them outside the walls of Dinétah, where they encounter everything from body harvesters to mysterious (but helpful) old men and, eventually, the White Locust himself (who has some seriously intense clan powers and apocalyptic plans that they have to figure out how to stop).
Once again, this book delivers from page one with action and intensity and nonstop edge-of-your-seat pacing. While there was definitely a bit less gore in this one, the “heebie jeebie” factor was definitely increased (storms of locusts = horrifying!). I was pretty sure before, but can definitely confirm now, that I prefer reading about blood to reading about insects crawling everywhere. *shudder* Thankfully, there’s only a couple moments where the bug scenes get really bad. Anyways, outside of the insects, I thought the plot was really interesting in this one. The gods are still involved (heavily) as they were in the first, but the “big bad” is actually not one of them. In fact, some “lesser” Diyin Dine’é, actually got involved to help Maggie on her quest to face the White Locust. I loved the way they acted like typical deities (this seems to cross all belief systems) in that their advice was cryptic and borderline nonsensical until the moment it was needed and then everything clicked. I don’t know why I love that so much, but it's one of my favorite common aspects of human-god interaction. Related on this point, the way Maggie learns to wield Neizghání’s sword is super cool. And based on a bit of a cliffhanger (but not at all an intense one) at the end, I am definitely into seeing where that leads her next…
As far as characters and people, there is so much growth in this second installment, especially for Maggie, and I loved seeing that. The first book set up her dark and thorny person, and then started to break down some of the walls she put up. This book really allowed her to make big progress on that front. Seeing her open up and find “home” and trust with other people, like Rissa(!) and the new character, the young girl she finds herself caring for, Ben, is just really heartwarming. And the way she’s able to (finally) admit the depth of her connection with Kai, and take the big leap of trust with him after everything they went through/were tested with in book one…I loved it. There’re three different types of relationships that really help Maggie find her own space, give her the courage to redefine who she is and choose her own fate (in this case, owning her clan power but not letting it define her anymore), and show her the meaning of [found] family. It was wonderfully satisfying to read.
Basically, this book was great fun and excitement. A worthy successor to the first and absolutely the escapist, fast-paced, thrilling ride I was looking for. Although there are a number of salient topics that are addressed (attention is, of course, brought to environmental apocalypse/justice/protections, pipeline incursions onto Native land, childhood and general trauma – leading here to development of clan powers, exploitation by those to who have resources against those who don’t, and a touch on the exclusionary aspects of tribal land and family) and shouldn’t be ignored, the overall vibe is that of adventure and the fantastic. Truly a celebration of Navajo beliefs, mythology, culture and people (and badass, powerful women)!
“Strange that our isolation made the transition to a post Big Water world easier when before I’d only ever seen it as a punishment. But now I could see what a blessing it was.”
I read the first book I Roanhorse’s The Sixth World series (Trail of Lightning) last year and was so into it! I loved the world and the characters and the magic and the Navajo mythology and it was a wild ride from start to finish. So, when I felt a reading slump coming on a few days ago, this sequel jumped off the shelf at me as the perfect antidote.
Storm of Locusts picks up the story about a month after the end of Trail of Lightening. Maggie
knows Kai is alive, but he still hasn’t come to see her and Tah and they’re both sort of wallowing in the aftermath of destruction and loss. But when what seems like a normal bounty hunt goes badly, Maggie finds herself responsible for a young girl with a unique clan power. And then the Goodacre twins come find her because Kai and their younger brother, Caleb, have been kidnapped by the leader of a cult. Together the four set out to find and rescue Kai and Caleb from the cult leader, the White Locust. The search takes them outside the walls of Dinétah, where they encounter everything from body harvesters to mysterious (but helpful) old men and, eventually, the White Locust himself (who has some seriously intense clan powers and apocalyptic plans that they have to figure out how to stop).
Once again, this book delivers from page one with action and intensity and nonstop edge-of-your-seat pacing. While there was definitely a bit less gore in this one, the “heebie jeebie” factor was definitely increased (storms of locusts = horrifying!). I was pretty sure before, but can definitely confirm now, that I prefer reading about blood to reading about insects crawling everywhere. *shudder* Thankfully, there’s only a couple moments where the bug scenes get really bad. Anyways, outside of the insects, I thought the plot was really interesting in this one. The gods are still involved (heavily) as they were in the first, but the “big bad” is actually not one of them. In fact, some “lesser” Diyin Dine’é, actually got involved to help Maggie on her quest to face the White Locust. I loved the way they acted like typical deities (this seems to cross all belief systems) in that their advice was cryptic and borderline nonsensical until the moment it was needed and then everything clicked. I don’t know why I love that so much, but it's one of my favorite common aspects of human-god interaction. Related on this point, the way Maggie learns to wield Neizghání’s sword is super cool. And based on a bit of a cliffhanger (but not at all an intense one) at the end, I am definitely into seeing where that leads her next…
As far as characters and people, there is so much growth in this second installment, especially for Maggie, and I loved seeing that. The first book set up her dark and thorny person, and then started to break down some of the walls she put up. This book really allowed her to make big progress on that front. Seeing her open up and find “home” and trust with other people, like Rissa(!) and the new character, the young girl she finds herself caring for, Ben, is just really heartwarming. And the way she’s able to (finally) admit the depth of her connection with Kai, and take the big leap of trust with him after everything they went through/were tested with in book one…I loved it. There’re three different types of relationships that really help Maggie find her own space, give her the courage to redefine who she is and choose her own fate (in this case, owning her clan power but not letting it define her anymore), and show her the meaning of [found] family. It was wonderfully satisfying to read.
Basically, this book was great fun and excitement. A worthy successor to the first and absolutely the escapist, fast-paced, thrilling ride I was looking for. Although there are a number of salient topics that are addressed (attention is, of course, brought to environmental apocalypse/justice/protections, pipeline incursions onto Native land, childhood and general trauma – leading here to development of clan powers, exploitation by those to who have resources against those who don’t, and a touch on the exclusionary aspects of tribal land and family) and shouldn’t be ignored, the overall vibe is that of adventure and the fantastic. Truly a celebration of Navajo beliefs, mythology, culture and people (and badass, powerful women)!
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
“Let these women dance among your days and with your nights. Dream better lives.”
This isn’t a book that I’ve seen around or reviewed often. In fact, I had to request my library purchase it since they didn’t already have a copy when I went looking to borrow it. So, I had to wait for it to be bought and delivered before, excitingly, being the first person to borrow it. I’m glad I was able to encourage this purchase, but also definitely wish that more people knew of it and were looking to read it. Anyways, I cannot remember where I first heard of it or what prompted me to add it to my TBR, but here we are, I’ve finally had the chance to read it.
This collection of poetry is structured around a recognition of the history of violence, incarceration, assassination, injustice and political/legal discrimination against Black women in America. Combining short histories of their lives/work with poems that honor and mourn their experiences, as well as black and white photographs to give a visual edge to the impact, this is a chronicle of the bondage of Black woman, their experiences of confinement (mental, physical, emotional, intellectual, etc.) in the US from slavery to Reconstruction to Jim Crow to today’s mass incarceration and police brutality.
I’ve never read or had a reading experience like this before and it was an arduous one. And I mean that in a very specific way. It is, in fact, a very fast read. Short exposition about each highlighted woman followed by a poem or, in some cases, a series of poems that recognized and reflected on their story. I found that flipping quickly through the pages was almost too easy. So, I started taking a break after each piece to do some of my own research, to complement the mini bios provided by Hill (especially for those women I had not heard of before…about ¾ of the names mentioned, to be honest), and then rereading the poems again afterwards. This was an excellent decision. The extra details I picked up about their lives and trials from my own research gave considerable extra context to Hill’s poems and allowed me to get so much more from each one. The voice Hill gives these women and their experiences is just spectacular, and often some of the references were so subtle that I only got them after reading more on my own. I assume that was, in part, purposeful…to encourage the reader to look more into these inspirational and and/or underknown lives and situations. And I’m sure even then I still missed some things. Anyways, back to the arduous descriptor. When I say this was an arduous read, I mean in an emotionally taxing way. Each of these women fought against their respective types of confinement with the only weapons they had. It was hard to read about how little autonomy/power they were “allowed,” and what lengths they had to go to in order to take what little they could and, then, the myriad way they were further silenced afterwards. When there is no reasonable way to escape, the less “reasonable” options must be taken. So yes, the depth of feeling, the impact, of each piece/section hits heavy, like a repeated sledgehammer to the mind and gut.
A few of the women/poems that were extra affecting or really stuck out to me. The first is the maths, and translation of those maths, poem series that made up Ide B. Wells’ section. It was potentially the most creative, unique and stylistic communication of a concept of worth and cost that I’ve ever read. I don’t even know how to truly describe it, other than to say this collection is worth picking up just for that section. I was also particularly moved and disturbed by the poems for Sandra Bland, Gynnya McMillen, the disparate experiences of women in historic insane asylums based on skin color (this was particularly gut-wrenching because it’s not like they were safe, protective spaces for women of any kind, so to consider how much worse things were for Black women is…a lot). The short essay/monologue “Patriot and Prisoner,” in which Hill captures the conflicting spirits of her experiences both as a USAF service member and the mother of a Black son changed irrevocably by the trauma of simply living as Black man in America, was searing and harsh and unflinching and conveyed a profound strength of confusion and feeling. Finally, the series of poems for Assata Shakur were, in a bit of a change from some of the others, more inspiring in their emotionality – there was fire and passion in each of those that matched so beautifully with her legacy, especially, at least for me, the first one “Revolution: Assata in 1956.”
Hill situates herself, as the author, in a historical and personal context throughout this collection. The way it is structured and presented is educational, evocative and completely unique. Although there were some poems that I know I didn’t fully grasp or understand, the overall impact of this collection, the breathtakingness of it (as in, I was in a breathless state while reading much of it), the movement and power and message of these pages as they play witness to a violent, centuries-long struggle is brilliant. I had never heard of, or even considered the possibility of, a poet historian before picking this up and you can count me a believer of the combo after finishing this collection.
“Let these women dance among your days and with your nights. Dream better lives.”
This isn’t a book that I’ve seen around or reviewed often. In fact, I had to request my library purchase it since they didn’t already have a copy when I went looking to borrow it. So, I had to wait for it to be bought and delivered before, excitingly, being the first person to borrow it. I’m glad I was able to encourage this purchase, but also definitely wish that more people knew of it and were looking to read it. Anyways, I cannot remember where I first heard of it or what prompted me to add it to my TBR, but here we are, I’ve finally had the chance to read it.
This collection of poetry is structured around a recognition of the history of violence, incarceration, assassination, injustice and political/legal discrimination against Black women in America. Combining short histories of their lives/work with poems that honor and mourn their experiences, as well as black and white photographs to give a visual edge to the impact, this is a chronicle of the bondage of Black woman, their experiences of confinement (mental, physical, emotional, intellectual, etc.) in the US from slavery to Reconstruction to Jim Crow to today’s mass incarceration and police brutality.
I’ve never read or had a reading experience like this before and it was an arduous one. And I mean that in a very specific way. It is, in fact, a very fast read. Short exposition about each highlighted woman followed by a poem or, in some cases, a series of poems that recognized and reflected on their story. I found that flipping quickly through the pages was almost too easy. So, I started taking a break after each piece to do some of my own research, to complement the mini bios provided by Hill (especially for those women I had not heard of before…about ¾ of the names mentioned, to be honest), and then rereading the poems again afterwards. This was an excellent decision. The extra details I picked up about their lives and trials from my own research gave considerable extra context to Hill’s poems and allowed me to get so much more from each one. The voice Hill gives these women and their experiences is just spectacular, and often some of the references were so subtle that I only got them after reading more on my own. I assume that was, in part, purposeful…to encourage the reader to look more into these inspirational and and/or underknown lives and situations. And I’m sure even then I still missed some things. Anyways, back to the arduous descriptor. When I say this was an arduous read, I mean in an emotionally taxing way. Each of these women fought against their respective types of confinement with the only weapons they had. It was hard to read about how little autonomy/power they were “allowed,” and what lengths they had to go to in order to take what little they could and, then, the myriad way they were further silenced afterwards. When there is no reasonable way to escape, the less “reasonable” options must be taken. So yes, the depth of feeling, the impact, of each piece/section hits heavy, like a repeated sledgehammer to the mind and gut.
A few of the women/poems that were extra affecting or really stuck out to me. The first is the maths, and translation of those maths, poem series that made up Ide B. Wells’ section. It was potentially the most creative, unique and stylistic communication of a concept of worth and cost that I’ve ever read. I don’t even know how to truly describe it, other than to say this collection is worth picking up just for that section. I was also particularly moved and disturbed by the poems for Sandra Bland, Gynnya McMillen, the disparate experiences of women in historic insane asylums based on skin color (this was particularly gut-wrenching because it’s not like they were safe, protective spaces for women of any kind, so to consider how much worse things were for Black women is…a lot). The short essay/monologue “Patriot and Prisoner,” in which Hill captures the conflicting spirits of her experiences both as a USAF service member and the mother of a Black son changed irrevocably by the trauma of simply living as Black man in America, was searing and harsh and unflinching and conveyed a profound strength of confusion and feeling. Finally, the series of poems for Assata Shakur were, in a bit of a change from some of the others, more inspiring in their emotionality – there was fire and passion in each of those that matched so beautifully with her legacy, especially, at least for me, the first one “Revolution: Assata in 1956.”
Hill situates herself, as the author, in a historical and personal context throughout this collection. The way it is structured and presented is educational, evocative and completely unique. Although there were some poems that I know I didn’t fully grasp or understand, the overall impact of this collection, the breathtakingness of it (as in, I was in a breathless state while reading much of it), the movement and power and message of these pages as they play witness to a violent, centuries-long struggle is brilliant. I had never heard of, or even considered the possibility of, a poet historian before picking this up and you can count me a believer of the combo after finishing this collection.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
Last year, I read and loved Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, it’s quirky questioning of societal expectations and small celebrations about being different. In fact, it was one of my Top Ten Books of 2019. So, when I saw this most recent translation of one of her works available on NetGalley, I requested it immediately and was super excited was I was granted access to an eARC.
In Earthlings, we read about Natsuki, a girl that isn’t like anyone else… She has a secret talking stuffed animal friend who is an envoy from somewhere else (maybe another planet?) who has gifted her with a magic wand and mirror. And during the summers, she spends time at a family home in the mountains with the only other person she knows that isn’t like anyone else, her cousin Yuu, who claims he is an alien. Together, they make secret pacts and promises to survive, not matter what. But when Natsuki experiences a trauma and a pact with Yuu goes a bit too far, her life changes forever. Now, she’s an adult, and she and her husband are planning to visit Yuu in the mountains for a small getaway. But seeing him again re-sparks her own (and her husband’s) feelings of not fitting in to the “Factory” of human life/existence, and this time all three of them take things to an extreme.
Well, Convenience Store Woman was an odd book, exploring themes of societal norms and expectations and how people who don’t follow those are criticized, seen as “wrong,” and encouraged to conform, so I wasn’t surprised to find similar themes here. But this entire novel takes things to a level that seemed more than just critical or exploratory and jumped right into over the top satirical and downright outrageous. And, overall, this is a much darker story. In fact, before moving any further, I want to explicitly point out some likely triggering content, in case it applies to you: [child] sexual assault and manipulation, incest, murder, cannibalism. That list alone gives some pretty good insight into the wild ride that is this story. But let me give you a little more about my thoughts/reactions…
First, the “good.” I truly haven’t read any other works/authors who can expose the ridiculous in the expectations and norms of “everyday” life like Murata can. It is incredibly impressive to read her satirical commentary on these standards, in this case, with language related to factories and machinery imagery with, a bit, of metaphorical talk of a medicinal variety (i.e. infections). She is able to write a very unique “outsider” view of patterns that for most of us are so ingrained as to not be questioned, like working, creating families and having babies, and repeating that cycle over generations. And even when the way she interrogates these normalities reaches a level that becomes difficult to believe, the critiques at base are still incredibly valid. Specifically, to this point, the way Murata portrays the psychosomatic responses and mental/emotional coping mechanisms of a child who has been sexually and emotionally abused is spectacular. It is authentic to Natsuki’s developmental stage, heartbreakingly so, and the judgmental commentary on how society “reacts” to those who have been abused when they come forward (even and in particular as adults), with excuses and victim-blaming and looking the other way, is scathing, as it should be. There is quite a bit of repetition of these concepts though, so do not expect any subtlety in their communication to the reader. However, that is a stylistic device that carries over from Convenience Store Woman, so if you enjoyed that one, it should also be ok here. In relation to this theme of the novel, I want to say that this is one that I would recommend to anyone who has ever felt socially isolated, that has felt odd or left out of the “natural” cycle of life, made to feel “other.” While reading these thematic points, this novel really acted as a sort of homing beacon to those who have ever felt like an alien among earthlings (if you will).
And now…I hesitate to say “bad,” but perhaps the…unexpected, unbelievable? I was on board with (and supportive of, if that’s the right way to describe it) Natsuki’s imagination as a child, her actions with Yuu (they were children and she’d had traumatic experiences, so it makes sense), the radical (though not undeserved) way she handled the “witch inhabiting her abuser’s body,” as well as her non-traditional union and agreement with her husband as an adult (in an attempt to subvert the expectations of compliance on women’s bodies). But once Natsuki and her husband run away to the mountains with Yuu at the end, things take a turn for the incredible, using the “not-credible” definition of the word. I mean, within the context of each of their own life experiences, especially as children, and considering (and I am not an expert on Japanese tradition by any means, but from what I’ve read) the fairly strict societal expectations and regulations of their culture, it’s not completely out of reality that they would react in such an extreme way when they finally decide to “escape” from it all. And satire does call for and make its point through extremes. But this was the point where I, as a reader, definitely became unsure as to whether this was a contemporary literature piece of fiction or a “magical realism” type work. In the end, it doesn’t necessarily matter, as the messages are clear regardless. But I do want to make it known that the book takes a turn for the legitimately preposterous, the very taboo, and the “my stomach is churning uncomfortably,” by the end. And I don’t know exactly what that “teaches” us, but I see how the three characters do find their own salvation/escape from having to act as if they want the same things out of life as everyone else, so I suppose that means they achieved their goals? If you have read and enjoyed novels like The Vegetarian by Han Kang, this aspect of the novel will definitely appeal to you.
This novel was, in a word, surreal. It was a surreal reading experience. From start to finish. It was disturbing at times, but also carried great weight in its messages about the need to accept that there is not just one way to be, to love, to find fulfillment in life. Murata showcases with explicit detail the way the pressures of family and society to perform in a certain and “right” way, are unrealistic and should absolutely be questioned, because the alternative is permanently detrimental to those who don’t conform. And the more I sit with this story after finishing it, the more I think about it, the more powerful and important a statement this wildly unconventional story makes.
Some passages I highlighted:
“It’s really hard to put into words things that are just a little bit not okay.”
“Would I ever be able to live without constantly trying to survive?”
“Children’s lives never belong to them. The grown-ups own us.”
“Relief was winning out over pain. Our organs were blending together and making the sound of water. In our bellies, we were quietly eating each other’s body heat.”
“It was ludicrous. Grown-ups used children to satisfy their sexual desires, yet the very idea of children having sex of their own volition sent them into a total fit. It was laughable. They themselves were just society’s tools, after all! But my womb was still all mine. My body would belong to me alone until grown-ups killed me.”
“The grown-ups, who did what society wanted of them, were shaken by those of us who did not.”
“She’d grown up, but even now she still believed strongly in society. She had always been exemplary in learning to be a woman, truly a straight-A student. It looked excruciatingly exhausting.”
“If I asked myself what I was surviving for, I really couldn’t say.”
“Adults are expected to turn a blind eye to anything abnormal, aren’t they? That’s just the way it is.”
“On Earth, young women were supposed to fall in love and have sex, and if they didn’t, they were ‘lonely’ or ‘bored’ or ‘wasting their youth and would regret it later!’”
“People can easily pass judgement on other when they’re protected by their own normality.”
“What I’m really scared of is believing that the words society makes me speak are my own.”
“Staying alive is about coming up with ideas. Living on the ideas that we come up with.”
Last year, I read and loved Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, it’s quirky questioning of societal expectations and small celebrations about being different. In fact, it was one of my Top Ten Books of 2019. So, when I saw this most recent translation of one of her works available on NetGalley, I requested it immediately and was super excited was I was granted access to an eARC.
In Earthlings, we read about Natsuki, a girl that isn’t like anyone else… She has a secret talking stuffed animal friend who is an envoy from somewhere else (maybe another planet?) who has gifted her with a magic wand and mirror. And during the summers, she spends time at a family home in the mountains with the only other person she knows that isn’t like anyone else, her cousin Yuu, who claims he is an alien. Together, they make secret pacts and promises to survive, not matter what. But when Natsuki experiences a trauma and a pact with Yuu goes a bit too far, her life changes forever. Now, she’s an adult, and she and her husband are planning to visit Yuu in the mountains for a small getaway. But seeing him again re-sparks her own (and her husband’s) feelings of not fitting in to the “Factory” of human life/existence, and this time all three of them take things to an extreme.
Well, Convenience Store Woman was an odd book, exploring themes of societal norms and expectations and how people who don’t follow those are criticized, seen as “wrong,” and encouraged to conform, so I wasn’t surprised to find similar themes here. But this entire novel takes things to a level that seemed more than just critical or exploratory and jumped right into over the top satirical and downright outrageous. And, overall, this is a much darker story. In fact, before moving any further, I want to explicitly point out some likely triggering content, in case it applies to you: [child] sexual assault and manipulation, incest, murder, cannibalism. That list alone gives some pretty good insight into the wild ride that is this story. But let me give you a little more about my thoughts/reactions…
First, the “good.” I truly haven’t read any other works/authors who can expose the ridiculous in the expectations and norms of “everyday” life like Murata can. It is incredibly impressive to read her satirical commentary on these standards, in this case, with language related to factories and machinery imagery with, a bit, of metaphorical talk of a medicinal variety (i.e. infections). She is able to write a very unique “outsider” view of patterns that for most of us are so ingrained as to not be questioned, like working, creating families and having babies, and repeating that cycle over generations. And even when the way she interrogates these normalities reaches a level that becomes difficult to believe, the critiques at base are still incredibly valid. Specifically, to this point, the way Murata portrays the psychosomatic responses and mental/emotional coping mechanisms of a child who has been sexually and emotionally abused is spectacular. It is authentic to Natsuki’s developmental stage, heartbreakingly so, and the judgmental commentary on how society “reacts” to those who have been abused when they come forward (even and in particular as adults), with excuses and victim-blaming and looking the other way, is scathing, as it should be. There is quite a bit of repetition of these concepts though, so do not expect any subtlety in their communication to the reader. However, that is a stylistic device that carries over from Convenience Store Woman, so if you enjoyed that one, it should also be ok here. In relation to this theme of the novel, I want to say that this is one that I would recommend to anyone who has ever felt socially isolated, that has felt odd or left out of the “natural” cycle of life, made to feel “other.” While reading these thematic points, this novel really acted as a sort of homing beacon to those who have ever felt like an alien among earthlings (if you will).
And now…I hesitate to say “bad,” but perhaps the…unexpected, unbelievable? I was on board with (and supportive of, if that’s the right way to describe it) Natsuki’s imagination as a child, her actions with Yuu (they were children and she’d had traumatic experiences, so it makes sense), the radical (though not undeserved) way she handled the “witch inhabiting her abuser’s body,” as well as her non-traditional union and agreement with her husband as an adult (in an attempt to subvert the expectations of compliance on women’s bodies). But once Natsuki and her husband run away to the mountains with Yuu at the end, things take a turn for the incredible, using the “not-credible” definition of the word. I mean, within the context of each of their own life experiences, especially as children, and considering (and I am not an expert on Japanese tradition by any means, but from what I’ve read) the fairly strict societal expectations and regulations of their culture, it’s not completely out of reality that they would react in such an extreme way when they finally decide to “escape” from it all. And satire does call for and make its point through extremes. But this was the point where I, as a reader, definitely became unsure as to whether this was a contemporary literature piece of fiction or a “magical realism” type work. In the end, it doesn’t necessarily matter, as the messages are clear regardless. But I do want to make it known that the book takes a turn for the legitimately preposterous, the very taboo, and the “my stomach is churning uncomfortably,” by the end. And I don’t know exactly what that “teaches” us, but I see how the three characters do find their own salvation/escape from having to act as if they want the same things out of life as everyone else, so I suppose that means they achieved their goals? If you have read and enjoyed novels like The Vegetarian by Han Kang, this aspect of the novel will definitely appeal to you.
This novel was, in a word, surreal. It was a surreal reading experience. From start to finish. It was disturbing at times, but also carried great weight in its messages about the need to accept that there is not just one way to be, to love, to find fulfillment in life. Murata showcases with explicit detail the way the pressures of family and society to perform in a certain and “right” way, are unrealistic and should absolutely be questioned, because the alternative is permanently detrimental to those who don’t conform. And the more I sit with this story after finishing it, the more I think about it, the more powerful and important a statement this wildly unconventional story makes.
Some passages I highlighted:
“It’s really hard to put into words things that are just a little bit not okay.”
“Would I ever be able to live without constantly trying to survive?”
“Children’s lives never belong to them. The grown-ups own us.”
“Relief was winning out over pain. Our organs were blending together and making the sound of water. In our bellies, we were quietly eating each other’s body heat.”
“It was ludicrous. Grown-ups used children to satisfy their sexual desires, yet the very idea of children having sex of their own volition sent them into a total fit. It was laughable. They themselves were just society’s tools, after all! But my womb was still all mine. My body would belong to me alone until grown-ups killed me.”
“The grown-ups, who did what society wanted of them, were shaken by those of us who did not.”
“She’d grown up, but even now she still believed strongly in society. She had always been exemplary in learning to be a woman, truly a straight-A student. It looked excruciatingly exhausting.”
“If I asked myself what I was surviving for, I really couldn’t say.”
“Adults are expected to turn a blind eye to anything abnormal, aren’t they? That’s just the way it is.”
“On Earth, young women were supposed to fall in love and have sex, and if they didn’t, they were ‘lonely’ or ‘bored’ or ‘wasting their youth and would regret it later!’”
“People can easily pass judgement on other when they’re protected by their own normality.”
“What I’m really scared of is believing that the words society makes me speak are my own.”
“Staying alive is about coming up with ideas. Living on the ideas that we come up with.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
“Had there ever been a work of art that wasn’t laden with the expectations and prejudices of the viewer or reader or listener, however learned and refined?”
This is a backlist title that I had picked up at a used book sale or store awhile ago and it’s just been sitting on my TBR shelf since then. I always try to sprinkle in backlist reads with new releases (which is always harder towards the end of the year), and this one was up. Which is strange timing – I’m on quite a roll with gender-exploration novels, having finished The Left Hand of Darkness by Le Guin immediately prior to starting this one.
Harriet, or Harry, Burden is a female intellectual and artist who, for years, has been ignored by the critics and dealers of the art world. So, she embarks on a special and secret project, recruiting three men to serve as “fronts,” and present her work as their own in three separate exhibitions. However, after the completion of the third and final show, when Burden steps forward to announce the ruse and her own authorship of the works, the final artists “betrays” her, refusing to admit her role in the art. As Burden struggles for the recognition she has always craved, she becomes more and more obsessed with the lack thereof. And then that third artist, Rune, dies in an untimely and bizarre manner, leaving behind an art mystery that might never be fully resolved.
Hustvedt is a name that that I’ve seen around for years, mostly with glowing recommendations for literary reviewers, and I can see why. This is one of the most insightful and intellectual novels I’ve read in a long time. It’s told in manner that I have always enjoyed, a sort of dossier, with essays, interviews, art reviews, journal entries, and testimonies from friends and family collected by the novel’s “editor” after Burden’s death. I think this is such a fascinating way to tell a story, because it allows for complex and varied perspectives of the subject’s life and actions, untainted by that person’s own biases. Now, in this case, we do get to hear some of Burden’s own thoughts and actions in her own voice, through journal entries she made while living. However, since these journals were private, her personal reflections and explorations, and therefore theoretically uncensored, I feel that it still allows the reader to keep a primarily an objective outlook. Anyways, I just really enjoy getting to learn about characters in this myriad POV style. And even more than that, Hustvedt uses the technique to perfection. The voices that she chooses to use, and the way she is able to craft an outline of Harry Burden through these wildly different (and vocally opinionated) sources is incredible. She is able to show and capitalize on their individualities and internal partialities in a way that is both authentic to each of them (read: completely bias) and yet when all pieced together, end up giving the reader what seems like a very full portrait of what the real Burden was probably like. This extends from her personal peculiarities (which were many) to her interactions with each of her “masks” (the men who fronted her work at the three exhibitions) to her role as a wife/mother/lover to their own opinions of her fateful decision to work with Rune.
There are also a few sections that deal exclusively with Rune, his past and who he was as a person, and the interactions with Burden from his perspective. Since the great mystery of Burden’s life, left forever unknowable with Rune’s early death, really focuses on who, Rune or Burden, was responsible for that final show that they did together, the one what was so widely successful, this was a great addition to the novel. And it was truly fascinating to see the psychological and social impacts their collaboration had on each other, the people around them, and the greater world. In fact, the psychological aspects of this book are some of the most impressive. There are so many different “diagnoses” that Rune and Burden could have had, based on what I read, ranging from pathological lying to narcissism to bipolar disorder to borderline personality disorder and more. Honestly, this would be a great book to read in a psychology class, because the discussion for how to diagnose these main characters based on their actions would be long, intensive, and really interesting. And yet Hustvedt manages to write it all in a way that doesn’t throw it in your face, make anything seem unrealistic and never seems gratuitous. It’s phenomenally skillful.
Along those same lines, as I mentioned earlier, this novel is extremely intellectual in other ways as well: artistically, philosophically, and literarily. For every reference or name-drop that I caught, I know for a fact that at least seven more went over my head. I definitely don’t think that this affected my personal enjoyment of the story being told and the novel itself, in general. It didn’t take away from the way the relationships developed and the picture of Burden that was painted. Also, I understood almost all of Burden’s gender arguments and explorations (and there were many) – they were fascinating (though perhaps a bit long-winded, in her journal formats). And yet, I also knew there were small points and extra tidbits I was missing that may have heightened my reading experience or made my understanding even more nuanced, if I had fully recognized them. Sometimes, knowing that things are going over my head frustrates me, partially out of pride and partly because I feel like I’m not completely “getting” the points. But in this case, Burden’s gender observations and experiments were so well crafted and written by Hustvedt that I didn’t feel like my reading experience lost anything by not understanding as deeply, I just recognize that it could have been more profound if I had. I don’t know if that really makes sense, but basically, I would say it was like the difference between “light” philosophy and “hella” philosophy.
Overall, while I can't say I enjoyed this book, I definitely didn't dislike it. It was smart and thought-provoking and I, personally, always enjoy novels that explore gender as one of the themes. While I never really “liked” Burden (in fact, I wasn’t really sure I liked any of the characters in this novel) – her personal experiences and the way she handled them never endeared her to me - I appreciate and applaud the gender perception point she was trying to make. And really, that’s what matters. The way she acted is legitimate and not unrealistic, considering her life, and even though we would likely not be friends, that shouldn’t change the way I rate/respond to this story. I’m reading to learn and experience other perspectives and broaden my mind. And this novel definitely does that.
While the book description does objectively describe the books’ content, I think it misrepresents a little. There was a lot of tension and drama in these pages, but not in the way I thought there would be. It was more of a slow, internal, private-relationship burn (with occasional out-lashes) and less a public spectacle of artists fighting over whose work/intellectual product was whose. So, go into it ready for those more academic aspects, since they are a focal point. But also, know that it’s not (quite) the dry, cerebral text that it could have been - it’s accessible and colorful almost to a garish extreme while exploring the fine line between genius and insanity.
“Had there ever been a work of art that wasn’t laden with the expectations and prejudices of the viewer or reader or listener, however learned and refined?”
This is a backlist title that I had picked up at a used book sale or store awhile ago and it’s just been sitting on my TBR shelf since then. I always try to sprinkle in backlist reads with new releases (which is always harder towards the end of the year), and this one was up. Which is strange timing – I’m on quite a roll with gender-exploration novels, having finished The Left Hand of Darkness by Le Guin immediately prior to starting this one.
Harriet, or Harry, Burden is a female intellectual and artist who, for years, has been ignored by the critics and dealers of the art world. So, she embarks on a special and secret project, recruiting three men to serve as “fronts,” and present her work as their own in three separate exhibitions. However, after the completion of the third and final show, when Burden steps forward to announce the ruse and her own authorship of the works, the final artists “betrays” her, refusing to admit her role in the art. As Burden struggles for the recognition she has always craved, she becomes more and more obsessed with the lack thereof. And then that third artist, Rune, dies in an untimely and bizarre manner, leaving behind an art mystery that might never be fully resolved.
Hustvedt is a name that that I’ve seen around for years, mostly with glowing recommendations for literary reviewers, and I can see why. This is one of the most insightful and intellectual novels I’ve read in a long time. It’s told in manner that I have always enjoyed, a sort of dossier, with essays, interviews, art reviews, journal entries, and testimonies from friends and family collected by the novel’s “editor” after Burden’s death. I think this is such a fascinating way to tell a story, because it allows for complex and varied perspectives of the subject’s life and actions, untainted by that person’s own biases. Now, in this case, we do get to hear some of Burden’s own thoughts and actions in her own voice, through journal entries she made while living. However, since these journals were private, her personal reflections and explorations, and therefore theoretically uncensored, I feel that it still allows the reader to keep a primarily an objective outlook. Anyways, I just really enjoy getting to learn about characters in this myriad POV style. And even more than that, Hustvedt uses the technique to perfection. The voices that she chooses to use, and the way she is able to craft an outline of Harry Burden through these wildly different (and vocally opinionated) sources is incredible. She is able to show and capitalize on their individualities and internal partialities in a way that is both authentic to each of them (read: completely bias) and yet when all pieced together, end up giving the reader what seems like a very full portrait of what the real Burden was probably like. This extends from her personal peculiarities (which were many) to her interactions with each of her “masks” (the men who fronted her work at the three exhibitions) to her role as a wife/mother/lover to their own opinions of her fateful decision to work with Rune.
There are also a few sections that deal exclusively with Rune, his past and who he was as a person, and the interactions with Burden from his perspective. Since the great mystery of Burden’s life, left forever unknowable with Rune’s early death, really focuses on who, Rune or Burden, was responsible for that final show that they did together, the one what was so widely successful, this was a great addition to the novel. And it was truly fascinating to see the psychological and social impacts their collaboration had on each other, the people around them, and the greater world. In fact, the psychological aspects of this book are some of the most impressive. There are so many different “diagnoses” that Rune and Burden could have had, based on what I read, ranging from pathological lying to narcissism to bipolar disorder to borderline personality disorder and more. Honestly, this would be a great book to read in a psychology class, because the discussion for how to diagnose these main characters based on their actions would be long, intensive, and really interesting. And yet Hustvedt manages to write it all in a way that doesn’t throw it in your face, make anything seem unrealistic and never seems gratuitous. It’s phenomenally skillful.
Along those same lines, as I mentioned earlier, this novel is extremely intellectual in other ways as well: artistically, philosophically, and literarily. For every reference or name-drop that I caught, I know for a fact that at least seven more went over my head. I definitely don’t think that this affected my personal enjoyment of the story being told and the novel itself, in general. It didn’t take away from the way the relationships developed and the picture of Burden that was painted. Also, I understood almost all of Burden’s gender arguments and explorations (and there were many) – they were fascinating (though perhaps a bit long-winded, in her journal formats). And yet, I also knew there were small points and extra tidbits I was missing that may have heightened my reading experience or made my understanding even more nuanced, if I had fully recognized them. Sometimes, knowing that things are going over my head frustrates me, partially out of pride and partly because I feel like I’m not completely “getting” the points. But in this case, Burden’s gender observations and experiments were so well crafted and written by Hustvedt that I didn’t feel like my reading experience lost anything by not understanding as deeply, I just recognize that it could have been more profound if I had. I don’t know if that really makes sense, but basically, I would say it was like the difference between “light” philosophy and “hella” philosophy.
Overall, while I can't say I enjoyed this book, I definitely didn't dislike it. It was smart and thought-provoking and I, personally, always enjoy novels that explore gender as one of the themes. While I never really “liked” Burden (in fact, I wasn’t really sure I liked any of the characters in this novel) – her personal experiences and the way she handled them never endeared her to me - I appreciate and applaud the gender perception point she was trying to make. And really, that’s what matters. The way she acted is legitimate and not unrealistic, considering her life, and even though we would likely not be friends, that shouldn’t change the way I rate/respond to this story. I’m reading to learn and experience other perspectives and broaden my mind. And this novel definitely does that.
While the book description does objectively describe the books’ content, I think it misrepresents a little. There was a lot of tension and drama in these pages, but not in the way I thought there would be. It was more of a slow, internal, private-relationship burn (with occasional out-lashes) and less a public spectacle of artists fighting over whose work/intellectual product was whose. So, go into it ready for those more academic aspects, since they are a focal point. But also, know that it’s not (quite) the dry, cerebral text that it could have been - it’s accessible and colorful almost to a garish extreme while exploring the fine line between genius and insanity.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I first, and really only, saw this one posted about by @readingismagical on bookstagram. And there was something about the vibe of the title/cover/blurb, plus her super positive review, that made me feel like I was going to like it. Additionally, I don't think I've ever read anything by a native Hawaiian before. And now that my brother lives in Hawaii (and pending COVID-time rules we're going to visit him at the beginning of December) this seemed like the perfect time to fix that. AHHHHH, I just remembered, I read and LOVED Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls by T. Kira Madden. But that just reinforces me wanting to read this, I think, because that was SO GOOD.
This is a story of a family, a land and a heritage. When young Nainoa falls in the water during a family vacation and is rescued by sharks, his name, his family become famous across the islands. Noa's mother Malia, believes this rescue and later "special" abilities that Noa develops are signs of blessings from the ancient Hawaiian gods. But the pressure placed on Noa to continuously be special, along with the feelings of resentment from his siblings Dean and Kaui, despite their own skills/promise, drive the family apart. Years later, all three children are on the mainland but the legacy of Noa's abilities and presence, their connections (as a family) to the land and history of Hawaii, are still hauntingly strong. And when a tragedy forces the family to truly reckon with this legacy, their roles and relationships with each other will face some major changes.
This novel was incredibly spiritually touching. It highlighted the strength one can find in belief and connections to the past/the land, while also showing the pain and difficulty that such strong beliefs can cause for those around them. I loved that juxtaposition because I know how important faith is to many people (though I do not have that myself) and have also seen how that intense faith can be both comforting to them and harmful to others in myriad ways. It's difficult to recognize and discuss and Washburn handles that with aplomb. The other complexity that I thought was gorgeously portrayed here was family relationships, siblings specifically. The subtle interplays between the three siblings, the roles they hold internally and externally, as well as the way they feel about those roles, felt so genuine (and recognizable) to me. The familiarity of the dual annoyance and support, mixed with some resentment and complicated by parental treatment, that flows amongst them is so familiar and so beautifully described. It's clear but never over the top, emotional but never to an extreme or just to serve the greater plot/story.
Sort of hand in hand, I also want to mention the quality of the writing and the focus on honor for one's homeland and ancestors. There was a lyrical, magical, almost surreal quality to the writing. It had a current, a flow, to it that sort of folded you into its rhythm. I found large sections of this book went by so quickly once I picked it up, because I was carried by the words. And even though many tough topics were covered, many challenging moments of daily life and greater strife, the writing never lost that vibe, which I felt and appreciated deeply. Like I said, I feel like this really should be discussed alongside the way history and land were talked about, because the deep connection to Hawaiian heritage was such an important, focal, point of this novel. It is so clear through his characters that respect and love for Hawaii, Hawaiian culture, and being a part of something larger as a Hawaiian, is paramount for Washburn. That theme runs strong throughout this book, perhaps existing/emerging in different ways or at different times for each character, but present for each in their own way.
There was an understated and slow burn quality to the development of the characters over the length of the novel, but by the end this portrait of a family, with all its ugliness and harsh realities and strength and support, is seared into the mind of the reader. And I truly felt the life of Hawaii's landscape and history alive within these pages. What a debut!
“My time as a mother was the same as those last gasping breaths of the owl, and soon enough you’d have to gently set down my love, fold it up into the soil of your childhood, and move beyond.”
“‘We miss all of you,’ she said. And I said I did, too – and I did. But feeling it then, the missing was different than I expected. Less desperate, I guess. And getting smaller all the time.”
“But that’s the problem with the present, it’s never the thing you’re holding, only the thing you’re watching, later, from a distance so great the memory might as well be a spill of stars outside a window at twilight.”
“If god is a thing that has absolute power over us, then in this world there are many. There are gods that we choose and gods that we can’t avoid; there are gods that we pray to and gods that prey on us; there are dreams that become gods and pasts that become gods and nightmares that do, as well. As I age I learn that there are more gods than I’ll ever know, and yet I have to watch for all of them, or else they can use me or I can lose them without realizing it.”
“Sometimes you know when a day is going to stay inside you for a long time.”
“If someone were to ask me what money means this would be what I would say: The world feels like it will stay under you no matter what you do.”
“Long time I told myself things was gonna be different. Maybe all that was a dumb fucking dream from the start. Maybe it wasn’t never supposed for be anything but like this.”
“…something is turning in us. What we are to each other. After all this time away, the island can still never be anything but my home, and I can never be anything but her daughter.”
“…and I am the blood that pumps inside and I am the sand that was blown to life with the breath of all our gods and I am the wet mud of the valley and I am the green that grows from within it. I am the shore the drift of the world underwater and I am the shatter the wave throws over. I am the atmosphere that heats the thunderheads and I am the cool rain the thirsty soil reclaims. I am the flex that drives the arm of the wayfinder the planter the carver. I am the beat that drives the hips of the hula. I am the spark that starts the child’s heart and I am the last beat from the elder’s.”
I first, and really only, saw this one posted about by @readingismagical on bookstagram. And there was something about the vibe of the title/cover/blurb, plus her super positive review, that made me feel like I was going to like it. Additionally, I don't think I've ever read anything by a native Hawaiian before. And now that my brother lives in Hawaii (and pending COVID-time rules we're going to visit him at the beginning of December) this seemed like the perfect time to fix that. AHHHHH, I just remembered, I read and LOVED Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls by T. Kira Madden. But that just reinforces me wanting to read this, I think, because that was SO GOOD.
This is a story of a family, a land and a heritage. When young Nainoa falls in the water during a family vacation and is rescued by sharks, his name, his family become famous across the islands. Noa's mother Malia, believes this rescue and later "special" abilities that Noa develops are signs of blessings from the ancient Hawaiian gods. But the pressure placed on Noa to continuously be special, along with the feelings of resentment from his siblings Dean and Kaui, despite their own skills/promise, drive the family apart. Years later, all three children are on the mainland but the legacy of Noa's abilities and presence, their connections (as a family) to the land and history of Hawaii, are still hauntingly strong. And when a tragedy forces the family to truly reckon with this legacy, their roles and relationships with each other will face some major changes.
This novel was incredibly spiritually touching. It highlighted the strength one can find in belief and connections to the past/the land, while also showing the pain and difficulty that such strong beliefs can cause for those around them. I loved that juxtaposition because I know how important faith is to many people (though I do not have that myself) and have also seen how that intense faith can be both comforting to them and harmful to others in myriad ways. It's difficult to recognize and discuss and Washburn handles that with aplomb. The other complexity that I thought was gorgeously portrayed here was family relationships, siblings specifically. The subtle interplays between the three siblings, the roles they hold internally and externally, as well as the way they feel about those roles, felt so genuine (and recognizable) to me. The familiarity of the dual annoyance and support, mixed with some resentment and complicated by parental treatment, that flows amongst them is so familiar and so beautifully described. It's clear but never over the top, emotional but never to an extreme or just to serve the greater plot/story.
Sort of hand in hand, I also want to mention the quality of the writing and the focus on honor for one's homeland and ancestors. There was a lyrical, magical, almost surreal quality to the writing. It had a current, a flow, to it that sort of folded you into its rhythm. I found large sections of this book went by so quickly once I picked it up, because I was carried by the words. And even though many tough topics were covered, many challenging moments of daily life and greater strife, the writing never lost that vibe, which I felt and appreciated deeply. Like I said, I feel like this really should be discussed alongside the way history and land were talked about, because the deep connection to Hawaiian heritage was such an important, focal, point of this novel. It is so clear through his characters that respect and love for Hawaii, Hawaiian culture, and being a part of something larger as a Hawaiian, is paramount for Washburn. That theme runs strong throughout this book, perhaps existing/emerging in different ways or at different times for each character, but present for each in their own way.
There was an understated and slow burn quality to the development of the characters over the length of the novel, but by the end this portrait of a family, with all its ugliness and harsh realities and strength and support, is seared into the mind of the reader. And I truly felt the life of Hawaii's landscape and history alive within these pages. What a debut!
“My time as a mother was the same as those last gasping breaths of the owl, and soon enough you’d have to gently set down my love, fold it up into the soil of your childhood, and move beyond.”
“‘We miss all of you,’ she said. And I said I did, too – and I did. But feeling it then, the missing was different than I expected. Less desperate, I guess. And getting smaller all the time.”
“But that’s the problem with the present, it’s never the thing you’re holding, only the thing you’re watching, later, from a distance so great the memory might as well be a spill of stars outside a window at twilight.”
“If god is a thing that has absolute power over us, then in this world there are many. There are gods that we choose and gods that we can’t avoid; there are gods that we pray to and gods that prey on us; there are dreams that become gods and pasts that become gods and nightmares that do, as well. As I age I learn that there are more gods than I’ll ever know, and yet I have to watch for all of them, or else they can use me or I can lose them without realizing it.”
“Sometimes you know when a day is going to stay inside you for a long time.”
“If someone were to ask me what money means this would be what I would say: The world feels like it will stay under you no matter what you do.”
“Long time I told myself things was gonna be different. Maybe all that was a dumb fucking dream from the start. Maybe it wasn’t never supposed for be anything but like this.”
“…something is turning in us. What we are to each other. After all this time away, the island can still never be anything but my home, and I can never be anything but her daughter.”
“…and I am the blood that pumps inside and I am the sand that was blown to life with the breath of all our gods and I am the wet mud of the valley and I am the green that grows from within it. I am the shore the drift of the world underwater and I am the shatter the wave throws over. I am the atmosphere that heats the thunderheads and I am the cool rain the thirsty soil reclaims. I am the flex that drives the arm of the wayfinder the planter the carver. I am the beat that drives the hips of the hula. I am the spark that starts the child’s heart and I am the last beat from the elder’s.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I read Morganstern's first novel, The Night Circus, like 10 years ago (OMG time goes so fast!). Anyways, I freaking loved it. And, after joining bookstagram a few years ago, I realized that basically everyone else felt the same way. It's one of the most universally, positively-reviewed, posted-about backlist books. So of course I, like everyone else, did a legitimate happy dance when I saw that she had another book coming out. Plus, the title and cover are just stunning. The whole thing equaled me buying a copy as soon as I could. And I can now, finally, say that I've read it!
The Starless Sea is about Zachary Ezra Rawlins, a sort of nerdy, reader, gamer-type college student who falls into (or more like, walks through a door into) another world after finding a mysterious book in his university library that is about himself. A series of clues about bees and keys and swords, along with an impromptu trip to a book-themed masquerade ball, lead Zachary to this other place, full of books and stories and magic...and owl kings and the moon and pirates and lovers and story guardians and, of course, the Starless Sea. He ends up teaming up with Mirabal, a pink-haired protector of this other world, and Dorian, an attractive but mysterious sort of ally, to unravel mysteries of time and fate and find his own place in both the story and in his own life.
Well, the first and primary world that comes to mind to describe this novel is beguiling. This book is exactly what the word version of a very attractive but hard to pin down secret crush. Like, the kind that leaves a particular scent behind when they sweep past and don't notice you that just stays with you and makes it so you cannot forget them and any time you smell that scent elsewhere, you are immediately brought back to the moment you saw them first. Anyways, the point is, the highlight (far and away) of this novel as the atmosphere, the aura, the vibe, it gave off. I may forget things about the characters and plot (like, a lot of things, but we'll get to that), but I will always remember the completely enveloped way I felt while reading it. The writing is soft and enchanting, and there is such a comforting celebration of stories and gaming and other "nerdy" things. And the way those references and respect is consistent and proliferous throughout will appeal to many a wishful, geeky soul. I also have to say that there is a pretty similar appeal to this book and This Is How You Lose the Time War (one of my favorite books of the year), in the creative and sometimes just out of reach (from a comprehension perspective) ways stories are told and transmitted (in this case, through mints/candy, on scraps of folded paper and ribbons, in decks of cards, in the bubbles of sparkling wine, and more) - and again, like in Time War, that aspect was just so fun and intriguing to me. Also, side note, I listened to the audiobook as well as reading the physical version, and oh my goodness - the full cast narration was spectacular.
I have to say though, I was a little disappointed by a few things. First, the absolute wonderfulness of the atmosphere, and the clear attention paid to that, sort of came at the expense of the characters. I felt like they all seemed a bit flat. Like, the plot was sort of meandering and nonlinear, and between that and the indistinctness (and many metaphorical-nesses) of the characters, I often sort of lost track of who was who and what their individual stories/connections were. A bit less so with Zachary, as our MC, but the rest for sure. They just felt distant to me, even after almost 500 pages with them. The other thing is that I almost felt like Morganstern tried a little too hard with the fantasy elements? Like, there were too many symbols (bees, keys, swords, crowns, hearts, feathers, doors, honey) and metaphors (the moon, fate, time) and random pieces (owl kings, romance-ish, a conflict between protecting vs hiding the secret world and twisty machinations) that I just got a little overwhelmed. I like them all individually in general, but I feel like narrowing down the focus within this one novel might have helped clarify things a bit.
Overall, I would truly describe The Starless Sea as story-weaving (or sculpting, as they would say in the book) at its finest. There were so many threads and pieces twisted and developed together, through time and space and worlds, and if you are a reader that likes to get lost (almost literally) in a story, for whom the setting is of paramount importance, who can move past the details and get into the aura of a book, who loves the essence of a story, this is one I would completely recommend. And for those who are on the fence, I would still say to go for it. It was truly ethereal, mystical, otherworldly and magical AF. There were definitely some aspects that I would have preferred differently as far as execution, but the writing itself was impeccable and I was overall pleased with the time I spent in these pages.
“A boy at the beginning of a story has no way of knowing that the story has begun.”
“We are all stardust and stories.”
“A story is like an egg, a universe contained in its chosen medium. The spark of something new and different but fully formed and fragile. In need of protection. You want to protect it, too, but there’s more to it than that. You want to be inside it, I can see it in your eyes. I used to seek out people like you, I am practiced at spotting the desire for it. You want to be in the story, not observing it from the outside. You want to be under its shell. The only way to do that is to break it. But if it breaks, it is gone.”
“But the world is strange and endings are not truly endings no matter how the stars might wish it so.”
“She wove narratives of what would happen, what might happen, what had already happened, and what could never happen and blurred them all together.”
“It is easier to be in love in a room with closed doors. To have the whole world in one room. In one person. The universe condensed and intensified and burning, bright and alive and electric. But doors cannot stay closed forever.”
“Maybe all moments have meaning. Somewhere.”
“What’s the difference between a door and a cage? Between not yet and too late?”
“I think people came here for the same reason we came here […] In search of something. Even if we didn’t know what it was. Something more. Something to wonder at. Someplace to belong. We’re here to wander through other people’s stories, searching for our own. […] To Seeking. […] To Finding.”
“a paper star that has been unfolded and refolded / into a tiny unicorn but the unicorn remembers the time / when it was a star and an earlier time when it was part of / a book and sometimes the unicorn dreams of the time before / it was a book when it was a tree and the time even longer / before that when it was a different sort of star”
“Change is what story is...”
“A book is made of paper but a story is a tree.”
“And no story ever truly ends as long as it is told.”
I read Morganstern's first novel, The Night Circus, like 10 years ago (OMG time goes so fast!). Anyways, I freaking loved it. And, after joining bookstagram a few years ago, I realized that basically everyone else felt the same way. It's one of the most universally, positively-reviewed, posted-about backlist books. So of course I, like everyone else, did a legitimate happy dance when I saw that she had another book coming out. Plus, the title and cover are just stunning. The whole thing equaled me buying a copy as soon as I could. And I can now, finally, say that I've read it!
The Starless Sea is about Zachary Ezra Rawlins, a sort of nerdy, reader, gamer-type college student who falls into (or more like, walks through a door into) another world after finding a mysterious book in his university library that is about himself. A series of clues about bees and keys and swords, along with an impromptu trip to a book-themed masquerade ball, lead Zachary to this other place, full of books and stories and magic...and owl kings and the moon and pirates and lovers and story guardians and, of course, the Starless Sea. He ends up teaming up with Mirabal, a pink-haired protector of this other world, and Dorian, an attractive but mysterious sort of ally, to unravel mysteries of time and fate and find his own place in both the story and in his own life.
Well, the first and primary world that comes to mind to describe this novel is beguiling. This book is exactly what the word version of a very attractive but hard to pin down secret crush. Like, the kind that leaves a particular scent behind when they sweep past and don't notice you that just stays with you and makes it so you cannot forget them and any time you smell that scent elsewhere, you are immediately brought back to the moment you saw them first. Anyways, the point is, the highlight (far and away) of this novel as the atmosphere, the aura, the vibe, it gave off. I may forget things about the characters and plot (like, a lot of things, but we'll get to that), but I will always remember the completely enveloped way I felt while reading it. The writing is soft and enchanting, and there is such a comforting celebration of stories and gaming and other "nerdy" things. And the way those references and respect is consistent and proliferous throughout will appeal to many a wishful, geeky soul. I also have to say that there is a pretty similar appeal to this book and This Is How You Lose the Time War (one of my favorite books of the year), in the creative and sometimes just out of reach (from a comprehension perspective) ways stories are told and transmitted (in this case, through mints/candy, on scraps of folded paper and ribbons, in decks of cards, in the bubbles of sparkling wine, and more) - and again, like in Time War, that aspect was just so fun and intriguing to me. Also, side note, I listened to the audiobook as well as reading the physical version, and oh my goodness - the full cast narration was spectacular.
I have to say though, I was a little disappointed by a few things. First, the absolute wonderfulness of the atmosphere, and the clear attention paid to that, sort of came at the expense of the characters. I felt like they all seemed a bit flat. Like, the plot was sort of meandering and nonlinear, and between that and the indistinctness (and many metaphorical-nesses) of the characters, I often sort of lost track of who was who and what their individual stories/connections were. A bit less so with Zachary, as our MC, but the rest for sure. They just felt distant to me, even after almost 500 pages with them. The other thing is that I almost felt like Morganstern tried a little too hard with the fantasy elements? Like, there were too many symbols (bees, keys, swords, crowns, hearts, feathers, doors, honey) and metaphors (the moon, fate, time) and random pieces (owl kings, romance-ish, a conflict between protecting vs hiding the secret world and twisty machinations) that I just got a little overwhelmed. I like them all individually in general, but I feel like narrowing down the focus within this one novel might have helped clarify things a bit.
Overall, I would truly describe The Starless Sea as story-weaving (or sculpting, as they would say in the book) at its finest. There were so many threads and pieces twisted and developed together, through time and space and worlds, and if you are a reader that likes to get lost (almost literally) in a story, for whom the setting is of paramount importance, who can move past the details and get into the aura of a book, who loves the essence of a story, this is one I would completely recommend. And for those who are on the fence, I would still say to go for it. It was truly ethereal, mystical, otherworldly and magical AF. There were definitely some aspects that I would have preferred differently as far as execution, but the writing itself was impeccable and I was overall pleased with the time I spent in these pages.
“A boy at the beginning of a story has no way of knowing that the story has begun.”
“We are all stardust and stories.”
“A story is like an egg, a universe contained in its chosen medium. The spark of something new and different but fully formed and fragile. In need of protection. You want to protect it, too, but there’s more to it than that. You want to be inside it, I can see it in your eyes. I used to seek out people like you, I am practiced at spotting the desire for it. You want to be in the story, not observing it from the outside. You want to be under its shell. The only way to do that is to break it. But if it breaks, it is gone.”
“But the world is strange and endings are not truly endings no matter how the stars might wish it so.”
“She wove narratives of what would happen, what might happen, what had already happened, and what could never happen and blurred them all together.”
“It is easier to be in love in a room with closed doors. To have the whole world in one room. In one person. The universe condensed and intensified and burning, bright and alive and electric. But doors cannot stay closed forever.”
“Maybe all moments have meaning. Somewhere.”
“What’s the difference between a door and a cage? Between not yet and too late?”
“I think people came here for the same reason we came here […] In search of something. Even if we didn’t know what it was. Something more. Something to wonder at. Someplace to belong. We’re here to wander through other people’s stories, searching for our own. […] To Seeking. […] To Finding.”
“a paper star that has been unfolded and refolded / into a tiny unicorn but the unicorn remembers the time / when it was a star and an earlier time when it was part of / a book and sometimes the unicorn dreams of the time before / it was a book when it was a tree and the time even longer / before that when it was a different sort of star”
“Change is what story is...”
“A book is made of paper but a story is a tree.”
“And no story ever truly ends as long as it is told.”
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
I was looking for a lighter, fun contemporary romance type thing. I feel like I have been reading less/slower over the last few weeks, work has been so busy (like, SO busy) and it's getting colder (which never is great for my mental state) and just really, I needed a literary pick-me-up. This f/f romance has been on my radar since the summer and my library hold on the audiobook just came through and overall it was just meant to be.
Emma is a personal/admin assistant to Hollywood star Jo...and she loves her job. When Jo asks Emma to accompany her to an awards show, they find themselves in the middle of a storm of rumors that they're in a relationship; rumors that threaten not just Jo's new movie project and Emma's future job prospects, but also their actual relationship with each other. As they separately, and together, work through complications with family, teasing from friends, and workplace projects and stressors, Emma and Jo start to realize that perhaps the rumors aren't quite so off base.
Yup, this was the sweet, romantic escape that I needed right now. It was alternately narrated by Emma and Jo, which is probably my favorite format for romance novels. I love getting to see inside the heads of each of the players in the relationship and it makes the unfolding feelings much more fulfilling, for me, to watch how both characters deal with and go for it (or not) with the other. Things started out pretty fun right from the start, with the invite to and prep for the award show. I do love reading about fancy outfits and events! I also liked that the way the story was paced and played out was a bit different than the typical contemporary romance format. In this case, it wasn't "tension build-get together-drama/break-up/ending make-up," but rather tension build and drama consistently through (though coming in different forms) and ending with a great moment of finally (first time) and lasting "get together." It made the unfolding story more tension than steam, as far as level of sexiness, but I liked the mix-up and departure from the "normal" plotline. And it was nice to not have the roller coaster of emotions quite as dramatically... I mean, you know when you pick up a romance how it's going to end, eventually, (which is why I read them) and so the steady build and good-feels finale without extra ups and downs was perfect for my current mood. Last, I really loved some of the smaller details (well, not smaller, but more background, I guess), like the fact that Emma was bi (yay for what I felt like was pretty positive bi rep) and that Jo was open and confident about not wanting children (this is something that I almost never see, or at least never see without hedging or qualifiers, and I loved the strong and positive rep for that as well).
I also want to point out a few other really wonderful positive things that I found while reading, mostly related to power dynamics and consent. There were a number of places where this novel could have gotten…sticky…as far as those topics go. Jo is Emma’s direct supervisor, and reasonably older than her, which is a recipe for a very uneven power situation in a relationship, that could easily (and quickly) get unhealthy. And since this was meant to be a light read, I was bit nervous that that aspect would kinda just be brushed past, in favor of writing in the romantic tension and relationship development. Well, I judged too soon. This was handled so well. It was definitely a barrier, and their communication about it struggled, but you know, communication issues are central to romances, so that was expected. But Jo was so aware and so conscientious about handling that conflict from the start. Later, after Emma experiences a different sort of office sexual misconduct experience, Jo is the freaking perfect example of a supportive boss, going above and beyond to support Emma. And it makes her even more careful with her own position of power – she never takes anything for granted. Finally, at the end, when the two women are able to finally be together, they both verbally and consistently check in that the other is ok and wants to continue. I just…I really was here for the spotlight on consent and healthy romantic interactions! Relatedly, some great time was spent on the topic of the #metoo movement and how it plays out in Hollywood and how, even with best intentions, those who are there to help may still not be providing all the necessary resources to encourage and support victims coming forwards. It wasn’t a huge part of the plot, but shows promise for the future, and was also a balanced discussion of how it’s not so easily accomplished within the current structure of the industry. Anyways, I appreciated those deeper and more meaningful aspects that were thoughtfully included, but never overwhelmingly so (considering the genre).
I have a few small critiques as well, that I want to mention, to be even-keeled in my review. First, the writing was solid, but fairly basic. There wasn’t a lot of subtlety to it, but it was good enough that I’m definitely into seeing what Wilsner does next, with one novel already under their belt. Similarly, I felt that most of the side characters were quite one-dimensional, with the exception, perhaps, of Emma’s sister. Now, most romances are biased towards development of the primary MCs, but this one felt just a little too flat around Emma and Jo. Also, some of the miscommunications causing drama between Emma and Jo felt a bit too silly(?) to start. Like, they weren’t really things to take that personally or get that upset about. I know that they definitely had some hidden feelings for each other, which are sure to cause over-reactions, but it still felt a bit overblown for what happened. I thought the power dynamics and #metoo aspects would likely have been strong enough “conflict” on their own. The other situations did allow for a way to pull Emma’s sister more into the story, and allow for a little relief from a focus only on Emma and Jo, I see what the author was trying for, but it just wasn’t quite there. Another thing is that I got super annoyed at basically all the other friends, family, and characters for just how much joking there was about Emma and Jo dating – both made it clear so many times how they weren’t and were clearly uncomfortable with their friends making the paparazzi stories into something big even in their personal lives (not just the tabloids), but it just kept happening. I don’t know – I just feel like I’d want my friends to listen to me sooner, if I was clearly that uncomfortable with the way things were joked about. And last, I guess I just was looking for a little more…chemistry? I loved the way consent was a major focus, but I think perhaps some of the inter-personal steam was sacrificed on that alter. And it’s too bad, because I would love to see both healthy relationship communication and higher intensity sexy times (or at least a little more intensity in the tension-chemistry between the two).
All in all, I did enjoy this one. I thought it was a really solid debut and I super support LGBTQ+ romances being published by major publishers. It was thoughtfully and respectfully developed, I loved the film/tv industry setting, and some of my critiques (like wanting more steam) are definitely personal preferences and not a reflection on the author’s choices. I had a lot of fun reading this and will definitely be keeping my eye open for Wilsner’s next book(s). (For Goodreads purposes, I'm rounding a 3.5 star rating up to a 4, cause I support a LOT of this book in an overall sense!)
“I want to thank you [Jo said]. Thank you for being so strong in the face of a world that sometimes seems like it would rather you not exist. Thank you for being proud in the face of people who think you should be ashamed. Thank you for being here, in this world, for surviving. You are an inspiration.”
“...an inevitability. Not like fate, not like they didn’t have a choice, but like in a thousand different universes they would always make the choices that led them here.”
I was looking for a lighter, fun contemporary romance type thing. I feel like I have been reading less/slower over the last few weeks, work has been so busy (like, SO busy) and it's getting colder (which never is great for my mental state) and just really, I needed a literary pick-me-up. This f/f romance has been on my radar since the summer and my library hold on the audiobook just came through and overall it was just meant to be.
Emma is a personal/admin assistant to Hollywood star Jo...and she loves her job. When Jo asks Emma to accompany her to an awards show, they find themselves in the middle of a storm of rumors that they're in a relationship; rumors that threaten not just Jo's new movie project and Emma's future job prospects, but also their actual relationship with each other. As they separately, and together, work through complications with family, teasing from friends, and workplace projects and stressors, Emma and Jo start to realize that perhaps the rumors aren't quite so off base.
Yup, this was the sweet, romantic escape that I needed right now. It was alternately narrated by Emma and Jo, which is probably my favorite format for romance novels. I love getting to see inside the heads of each of the players in the relationship and it makes the unfolding feelings much more fulfilling, for me, to watch how both characters deal with and go for it (or not) with the other. Things started out pretty fun right from the start, with the invite to and prep for the award show. I do love reading about fancy outfits and events! I also liked that the way the story was paced and played out was a bit different than the typical contemporary romance format. In this case, it wasn't "tension build-get together-drama/break-up/ending make-up," but rather tension build and drama consistently through (though coming in different forms) and ending with a great moment of finally (first time) and lasting "get together." It made the unfolding story more tension than steam, as far as level of sexiness, but I liked the mix-up and departure from the "normal" plotline. And it was nice to not have the roller coaster of emotions quite as dramatically... I mean, you know when you pick up a romance how it's going to end, eventually, (which is why I read them) and so the steady build and good-feels finale without extra ups and downs was perfect for my current mood. Last, I really loved some of the smaller details (well, not smaller, but more background, I guess), like the fact that Emma was bi (yay for what I felt like was pretty positive bi rep) and that Jo was open and confident about not wanting children (this is something that I almost never see, or at least never see without hedging or qualifiers, and I loved the strong and positive rep for that as well).
I also want to point out a few other really wonderful positive things that I found while reading, mostly related to power dynamics and consent. There were a number of places where this novel could have gotten…sticky…as far as those topics go. Jo is Emma’s direct supervisor, and reasonably older than her, which is a recipe for a very uneven power situation in a relationship, that could easily (and quickly) get unhealthy. And since this was meant to be a light read, I was bit nervous that that aspect would kinda just be brushed past, in favor of writing in the romantic tension and relationship development. Well, I judged too soon. This was handled so well. It was definitely a barrier, and their communication about it struggled, but you know, communication issues are central to romances, so that was expected. But Jo was so aware and so conscientious about handling that conflict from the start. Later, after Emma experiences a different sort of office sexual misconduct experience, Jo is the freaking perfect example of a supportive boss, going above and beyond to support Emma. And it makes her even more careful with her own position of power – she never takes anything for granted. Finally, at the end, when the two women are able to finally be together, they both verbally and consistently check in that the other is ok and wants to continue. I just…I really was here for the spotlight on consent and healthy romantic interactions! Relatedly, some great time was spent on the topic of the #metoo movement and how it plays out in Hollywood and how, even with best intentions, those who are there to help may still not be providing all the necessary resources to encourage and support victims coming forwards. It wasn’t a huge part of the plot, but shows promise for the future, and was also a balanced discussion of how it’s not so easily accomplished within the current structure of the industry. Anyways, I appreciated those deeper and more meaningful aspects that were thoughtfully included, but never overwhelmingly so (considering the genre).
I have a few small critiques as well, that I want to mention, to be even-keeled in my review. First, the writing was solid, but fairly basic. There wasn’t a lot of subtlety to it, but it was good enough that I’m definitely into seeing what Wilsner does next, with one novel already under their belt. Similarly, I felt that most of the side characters were quite one-dimensional, with the exception, perhaps, of Emma’s sister. Now, most romances are biased towards development of the primary MCs, but this one felt just a little too flat around Emma and Jo. Also, some of the miscommunications causing drama between Emma and Jo felt a bit too silly(?) to start. Like, they weren’t really things to take that personally or get that upset about. I know that they definitely had some hidden feelings for each other, which are sure to cause over-reactions, but it still felt a bit overblown for what happened. I thought the power dynamics and #metoo aspects would likely have been strong enough “conflict” on their own. The other situations did allow for a way to pull Emma’s sister more into the story, and allow for a little relief from a focus only on Emma and Jo, I see what the author was trying for, but it just wasn’t quite there. Another thing is that I got super annoyed at basically all the other friends, family, and characters for just how much joking there was about Emma and Jo dating – both made it clear so many times how they weren’t and were clearly uncomfortable with their friends making the paparazzi stories into something big even in their personal lives (not just the tabloids), but it just kept happening. I don’t know – I just feel like I’d want my friends to listen to me sooner, if I was clearly that uncomfortable with the way things were joked about. And last, I guess I just was looking for a little more…chemistry? I loved the way consent was a major focus, but I think perhaps some of the inter-personal steam was sacrificed on that alter. And it’s too bad, because I would love to see both healthy relationship communication and higher intensity sexy times (or at least a little more intensity in the tension-chemistry between the two).
All in all, I did enjoy this one. I thought it was a really solid debut and I super support LGBTQ+ romances being published by major publishers. It was thoughtfully and respectfully developed, I loved the film/tv industry setting, and some of my critiques (like wanting more steam) are definitely personal preferences and not a reflection on the author’s choices. I had a lot of fun reading this and will definitely be keeping my eye open for Wilsner’s next book(s). (For Goodreads purposes, I'm rounding a 3.5 star rating up to a 4, cause I support a LOT of this book in an overall sense!)
“I want to thank you [Jo said]. Thank you for being so strong in the face of a world that sometimes seems like it would rather you not exist. Thank you for being proud in the face of people who think you should be ashamed. Thank you for being here, in this world, for surviving. You are an inspiration.”
“...an inevitability. Not like fate, not like they didn’t have a choice, but like in a thousand different universes they would always make the choices that led them here.”
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This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
“They call us monsters because it makes it easier to hurt us. But monsters are people, too.”
“There's more hunger in the world than love.”
Well, this is my first ever “real” graphic novel. I mean, I’ve read a couple others (Persepolis and Good Talk) but both were nonfiction/memoirs. So, while I really enjoyed them both, I feel like they didn’t full represent the medium completely. Maybe that’s a misperception on my end, but there it is. And the point is, I was still kinda nervous and unsure going into this traditional graphic novel reading experience.
Monstress starts the story of Maika Halfwolf, who has just survived a horrific wat between humans and Arcanics, during which (as we see during a few flashbacks throughout this novel) she suffered a number of traumas and losses. Although the war is over, the enmity is not, and Maika, a halfbreed finds herself hunted by all sides… Though she too is hunting for something, for answers, about both her past and the thing, the monster, that seems to be awakening inside her.
From a plot/story view, this is completely up my alley: matriarchal societies, magic, a “marked” MC with strong badass female vibes, monsters, steam-punk-ish setting and lots of the traditional fantasy tropes like human vs non-human conflicts and the search for a forgotten past and a major magical power struggle. There’s no treading lightly with regards to trauma and violence, which can be tough at times, but accurate to the story, so I appreciate that reality. And the exploration of monsters and humanity/inhumanity (and what that looks like) is a well-explored major theme. Also, if you are a cat person, the representation of cats in this world will definitely appeal to you.
From there, I think it kind of becomes impossible to speak more about my thoughts/reactions without addressing the medium. First of all, this volume was gorgeous. Takeda’s art is visually stunning, intricate, and truly brings to like the Asian steampunk setting and vibes. I loved the way the world-building and story creation is enhanced by the added visual aspects of the graphic novel style. I really felt like I was there – it was all so clear in my head because it was so completely portrayed there by the art – the atmosphere the reader finds themselves in is just spectacular and immersive. It was a bit of an adjustment for me to fully read and realize the story in this context though. There are many slides where the actions are “told” less by the dialogue and narration (which is necessarily limited by the format) and much more by the illustrations. I definitely had to adjust my normal “reading” to make sure I picked up on all the details in each scene. It wasn’t a difficult adjustment, just something that I did have to concentrate on for the first couple chapters. And then it really became impressive to me how much background and detail and world-building the reader gets with such a short volume and with so few words. I love what the visual creativity can do and what full/deep atmospheric affect it can have! (And oh my goodness, how long must illustrating these types of graphic novels take?!)
Relatedly, there were some points where the transitions weren’t as clear or the exposition felt choppy, but I think that’s more on me as an inexperienced graphic novel reader than it is on the graphic novel itself, so do take that with a grain of salt. Along those same lines, I think the character development, the depth of the characters, was, for me, what suffered the most in this context. Although the setting and action was enhanced by the visual pieces, the limited ability to convey inner thoughts/descriptions of the past/drawn out interpersonal interactions, etc. made me feel like all the characters were very surface-level, almost like caricatures. I found myself sort of filling in feelings towards/about them based on other fantasy that I’ve read, which perhaps is part of the point? I don’t know. And I know this is a series, so that’s part of it as well; I assume we get more about Maiko and her companions and antagonists as we read further volumes. And, for the record, I am absolutely invested enough in this story, and in further experiencing graphic novels, that I plan to continue reading the series to see what happens next.
So, basically, this first dive into the world of true, traditional graphic novels was a great experience. I was really into and appreciative of the visual aspect and I am looking forward to getting more character and story development in the next volumes of the series.
“They call us monsters because it makes it easier to hurt us. But monsters are people, too.”
“There's more hunger in the world than love.”
Well, this is my first ever “real” graphic novel. I mean, I’ve read a couple others (Persepolis and Good Talk) but both were nonfiction/memoirs. So, while I really enjoyed them both, I feel like they didn’t full represent the medium completely. Maybe that’s a misperception on my end, but there it is. And the point is, I was still kinda nervous and unsure going into this traditional graphic novel reading experience.
Monstress starts the story of Maika Halfwolf, who has just survived a horrific wat between humans and Arcanics, during which (as we see during a few flashbacks throughout this novel) she suffered a number of traumas and losses. Although the war is over, the enmity is not, and Maika, a halfbreed finds herself hunted by all sides… Though she too is hunting for something, for answers, about both her past and the thing, the monster, that seems to be awakening inside her.
From a plot/story view, this is completely up my alley: matriarchal societies, magic, a “marked” MC with strong badass female vibes, monsters, steam-punk-ish setting and lots of the traditional fantasy tropes like human vs non-human conflicts and the search for a forgotten past and a major magical power struggle. There’s no treading lightly with regards to trauma and violence, which can be tough at times, but accurate to the story, so I appreciate that reality. And the exploration of monsters and humanity/inhumanity (and what that looks like) is a well-explored major theme. Also, if you are a cat person, the representation of cats in this world will definitely appeal to you.
From there, I think it kind of becomes impossible to speak more about my thoughts/reactions without addressing the medium. First of all, this volume was gorgeous. Takeda’s art is visually stunning, intricate, and truly brings to like the Asian steampunk setting and vibes. I loved the way the world-building and story creation is enhanced by the added visual aspects of the graphic novel style. I really felt like I was there – it was all so clear in my head because it was so completely portrayed there by the art – the atmosphere the reader finds themselves in is just spectacular and immersive. It was a bit of an adjustment for me to fully read and realize the story in this context though. There are many slides where the actions are “told” less by the dialogue and narration (which is necessarily limited by the format) and much more by the illustrations. I definitely had to adjust my normal “reading” to make sure I picked up on all the details in each scene. It wasn’t a difficult adjustment, just something that I did have to concentrate on for the first couple chapters. And then it really became impressive to me how much background and detail and world-building the reader gets with such a short volume and with so few words. I love what the visual creativity can do and what full/deep atmospheric affect it can have! (And oh my goodness, how long must illustrating these types of graphic novels take?!)
Relatedly, there were some points where the transitions weren’t as clear or the exposition felt choppy, but I think that’s more on me as an inexperienced graphic novel reader than it is on the graphic novel itself, so do take that with a grain of salt. Along those same lines, I think the character development, the depth of the characters, was, for me, what suffered the most in this context. Although the setting and action was enhanced by the visual pieces, the limited ability to convey inner thoughts/descriptions of the past/drawn out interpersonal interactions, etc. made me feel like all the characters were very surface-level, almost like caricatures. I found myself sort of filling in feelings towards/about them based on other fantasy that I’ve read, which perhaps is part of the point? I don’t know. And I know this is a series, so that’s part of it as well; I assume we get more about Maiko and her companions and antagonists as we read further volumes. And, for the record, I am absolutely invested enough in this story, and in further experiencing graphic novels, that I plan to continue reading the series to see what happens next.
So, basically, this first dive into the world of true, traditional graphic novels was a great experience. I was really into and appreciative of the visual aspect and I am looking forward to getting more character and story development in the next volumes of the series.
This review originally appeared on the book review blog: Just One More Pa(i)ge.
This book was first on my radar long before it’s publication date by a couple reviewers on bookstagram whose opinions I highly value (@allisonreadsdc and @parisperusing) who both commented things along the lines of it being one of the most anticipated reads of the year and, then, absolutely destined to be one of their favorites. So, of course, I added it to my TBR. Shout out to @shelvesbookstore in Charlotte, NC for helping me get my hands on it. And here I am, managing to sneak it in during the last part of the year!
This is a tough book to give a description for. It’s basically about, and from the perspective of, Wallace, a graduate student in the Midwestern US. He’s originally from the South, quiet/introverted, queer, Black and, though he left the South to leave his past behind, the shadows of it follow him still. He’s kept a distance between himself and the group of friends he’s made during his years there, but the decision to “be involved” over one weekend’s events with them puts him front and center to a number of difficult confrontations, ugly exposures, complex realizations and relationship changes that both pull him out of his self-created shell and enforce why he had it in place to begin with.
Well hot damn. I can really only add to the various praise I’ve seen for this (debut!!) novel. It is stunning, powerful, emotional, visceral, meticulous and basically every other book review buzzword that I can think of. The entire plot, as it were, unfolds over the course of a long weekend and is really no more or less than what any typical three-day period of time might look like for a group of friends brought together by grad school. (Side note here: There were a lot of characters. Some of the side ones were there to fill a roll, less than being developed in their own right. Many were introduced at the same time and some only appeared for short moments once or twice. To be honest, I confused and conflated a few of them as I read, and I think that perhaps that might be my biggest, and only, critique coming out of this book.) Anyways, like, I went to grad school and it’s so recognizable, in so many ways, that it’s almost painful. And I both never thought any of it was interesting enough to create a novel nor interesting enough that I’d want to read someone else’s novel about it…and yet, there is something so freaking compelling about Taylor’s words and I honestly just couldn’t have been more invested. I love so much that the title really reflects the inside: this is, so truly, a story of real life (and it is so full of real life). It’s no more or less than that, but it is exquisitely that. And it is straight packed with tension, which was not necessarily something I expected. I felt completely wrung out after finishing, not just due to the general emotional responses to Wallace’s story and inner thoughts (like, the entire chapter about his back story is a massive gut-punch and most of the last quarter or so of the book is so taught with tension it's almost painful), but also because the inter-personal drama was written with such tightrope precision that I really felt like, at any second, a hammer could/was going to drop. It was exhausting and amazing all at the same time.
I also have maybe never read anything that so insightfully and minutely observed what I guess is called the “human condition,” but basically people’s interactions, emotions, choices, etc. Taylor skillfully and finely describes reactions and discomforts and “off-ness” that so many feel in life, but are so hard to put words to. And yet here, they are described exactly. There is a tangible tenderness and care and precision in the words, for the smallest of moments that they communicate. Relatedly, the way he is able to put into words the unspeakable and unrecognized inner realities, versus what we show the world, is just masterful. And finally, language-wise, Taylor wholly delivers on exposing deliciously uncomfortable truths that are easier to ignore. Some of these are recognizable for everyone, like relationship secrets, the boundaries of friendship versus something more, and an exploration of plans for and expectations of life versus dealing with what life actually turns out to be. And there are some specific to grad students, that unique mix of advancement/competition and escapism/removal from “real life.” But there is an extra (or a few extra) levels to this that speak directly to Black people, to queer people, to queer Black people. It’s so clear, from the depth of feeling in Taylor’s words (as well as too-numerous-to-count voices in “real life”), the commonality/constancy of these realities and interactions and discomfort…and how unescapable they are. This book is written for those who suffer this daily. Yet, as non-Black, non-queer readers (as applicable), there is much we can take from this, such insight into what we should/could be doing better in respect for the feelings of Black people in our lives, direct and clear ways that we are told we can be better and combat this reality that we could (clearly) more easily ignore and brush aside. So, let’s listen, and act on that, because we must.
This novel juxtaposes the hard, sharp corners of real life with the softness that can often be found in small moments in between. It looks into the dark corners we all would rather stay covered or unexposed, the ways we feel disconnected despite being surrounded by others, the seeming falseness of equality between what we want from life and what it turns out to be, with such gorgeous writing that you cannot help but want to read on, despite the fear that what you read next will be more than you can/want to handle. I was completely enveloped by Wallace, his turmoil and thoughts and history and discoveries and trauma and complaints and challenges and angers and solaces and hurt…his life…and I cannot recommend this novel highly enough.
I think I ended up marking or highlighting the majority of book with passages and moments that struck me strongly and deeply. It was impossible to cut the list down to a top few favorites, so here are many of them:
“...he didn’t know exactly what it was that bothered him. What could he say except that it was nothing?”
“He smiled because he was not sure how to meet someone’s sympathy for him. It always seemed to him that when people were sad for you, they were sad for themselves, as if your misfortune were just an excuse for them to feel what it was that they wanted to feel. Sympathy was a kind of ventriloquism.”
“It feels impossible in the way only possible tasks can seem, when you know that despite the scale of what you must do, it’s not really beyond the realm of possibility to do it, and so it feels impossible because you know you must.”
“He managed not forgiveness, but erasure. They seem so much the same to him.”
“The most unfair part of it, Wallace thinks, is that when you tell white people that something is racist, they hold it up to the light and try to discern if you are telling the truth. As if they can tell by the grain if something is racist or not, and they always trust their own judgement. It’s unfair because white people have a vested interest in underestimating racism, its amount, its intensity, its shape, its effects. They are the fox in the henhouse.”
“Wallace is tempted to catch it on his fingertips, to say, make a wish, but that doesn’t work for water. There are no wishes to be found in salt water, no magic there at all except, in some cases, the way it turns to stars when dispersed, as from the tip of a finger with a breath.”
“He swallows down what he wants to say: that a person doesn’t belong to you just because you’re in a relationship, just because you love them. That people are people and they belong only to themselves, or so they should. […] Love is a selfish thing.”
“This is why Wallace never tells anyone anything. This is why he keep the truth to himself, because other people don’t know what to do with your shit, with reality of other people’s feelings.”
“...but she won’t say anything either, can’t bring herself to. No one does. No one ever does. Silence is their way of getting by, because if they are silent long enough, then this moment of minor discomfort will pass for them, will fold down into the landscape of the evening as if it never happened. Only Wallace will remember it. That’s the frustrating part. Wallace is the only one for whom this is a humiliation. He breaths out through the agony of it, through the pressure in his chest.”
“There were days in all their lives when things went wrong and they were forced to ask themselves if they wanted to go on. Decisions were made every day about what sort of life they wanted, and they always answered the same: Only this, only this. But that was the misery of trying to become something, misery that you could put up with because it was native to the act of trying. But there are other kinds of misery, the misery that comes from other people.”
“She will refuse it. She will say that he’s pitying himself, that he’s not special. That he is not alone in his feeling of inadequacy. And this is perhaps a little true. And it’s that small truth of it that makes it dangerous to him. They do not understand that for them it will get better, while for him the misery will only change shape. She will say, get over yourself, Wally, and she will smile and put her arms around his shoulders, and she will love him and try her best to understand him, and he will accept this, and he will go quiet and she will sense that something has gone wrong, but he will not tell her. And it will be as if nothing has happened at all.”
“There will always be good white people who love him and want the best for him but who are more afraid of other white people than of letting him down. It is easier for them to let it happen and to triage the wound later than to introduce an element of the unknown into the situation. No matter how good they are, no matter how loving, they will always be complicit, a danger, a wound waiting to happen. There is no amount of loving that will ever bring Miller closer to him in this respect. There is no amount of desire. There will always remain a small space between them, a space where people like Roman will take root and say ugly, hateful things to him. It’s the place in every white person’s heart where their racism lives and flourishes, not some vast open plain but a small crack, which is all it takes.”
“There comes a time when you have to stop being who you were, when you have to let the past stay where it is, frozen and impossible. You have to let it go if you’re going to keep moving, if you’re going to survive, because the past doesn’t need a future. It has no need for what comes next. The past is greedy, always swallowing you up, always taking. If you don’t hold it back, if you don’t dam it up, it will spread and take and drown. The past is not a receding horizon. Rather, it advances one moment at a time, marching steadily forward until it has claimed everything and we become again who we were; we become ghosts when the past catches us. I can’t live as long as my past does. It’s one or the other.”
“There is so much trouble in the world. There are people suffering everywhere, at every moment. Who is happy, truly happy, ever? What is a person to do with it all? Except to try to slide laterally out of one’s life into whatever grey space waits for them.”
“That he wants to be alone. That he does not want to speak to anyone. That he does not want to be around anyone. That the world has worn him down. That he would like nothing more than to slip out of his life and into the next. That he is terrified, afraid. That he wants to lie down here and never move again. What he means is that he does not know what he wants, only that it is not this, the way forward paved with words they’ve already said and things they’ve already done. What he wants is to break it all open and try again.”
“This too is real life, he thinks. Not merely the accumulation of tasks, things to be done and sorted, but also the bumping up against other lives, everyone in the world insignificant when taken and observed together.”
“Ordinary acts take on strange shadows when viewed up close.”
“…he becomes aware of the way his body is both a thing on the earth and a vehicle for his entire life’s history. His body is both a tangible self and his depression, his anxiety, his wellness, his illness, his disordered eating, the fear of blood pouring out of him. It is both itself and no itself, image and afterimage.”
“How to wrangle the histories of our bodies, which are inseparable from the bodies themselves and are always growing?”
“That’s all culture is, after all, the nutrients pervading the air we breathe, diffusing into and out of people, a passive process.”
This book was first on my radar long before it’s publication date by a couple reviewers on bookstagram whose opinions I highly value (@allisonreadsdc and @parisperusing) who both commented things along the lines of it being one of the most anticipated reads of the year and, then, absolutely destined to be one of their favorites. So, of course, I added it to my TBR. Shout out to @shelvesbookstore in Charlotte, NC for helping me get my hands on it. And here I am, managing to sneak it in during the last part of the year!
This is a tough book to give a description for. It’s basically about, and from the perspective of, Wallace, a graduate student in the Midwestern US. He’s originally from the South, quiet/introverted, queer, Black and, though he left the South to leave his past behind, the shadows of it follow him still. He’s kept a distance between himself and the group of friends he’s made during his years there, but the decision to “be involved” over one weekend’s events with them puts him front and center to a number of difficult confrontations, ugly exposures, complex realizations and relationship changes that both pull him out of his self-created shell and enforce why he had it in place to begin with.
Well hot damn. I can really only add to the various praise I’ve seen for this (debut!!) novel. It is stunning, powerful, emotional, visceral, meticulous and basically every other book review buzzword that I can think of. The entire plot, as it were, unfolds over the course of a long weekend and is really no more or less than what any typical three-day period of time might look like for a group of friends brought together by grad school. (Side note here: There were a lot of characters. Some of the side ones were there to fill a roll, less than being developed in their own right. Many were introduced at the same time and some only appeared for short moments once or twice. To be honest, I confused and conflated a few of them as I read, and I think that perhaps that might be my biggest, and only, critique coming out of this book.) Anyways, like, I went to grad school and it’s so recognizable, in so many ways, that it’s almost painful. And I both never thought any of it was interesting enough to create a novel nor interesting enough that I’d want to read someone else’s novel about it…and yet, there is something so freaking compelling about Taylor’s words and I honestly just couldn’t have been more invested. I love so much that the title really reflects the inside: this is, so truly, a story of real life (and it is so full of real life). It’s no more or less than that, but it is exquisitely that. And it is straight packed with tension, which was not necessarily something I expected. I felt completely wrung out after finishing, not just due to the general emotional responses to Wallace’s story and inner thoughts (like, the entire chapter about his back story is a massive gut-punch and most of the last quarter or so of the book is so taught with tension it's almost painful), but also because the inter-personal drama was written with such tightrope precision that I really felt like, at any second, a hammer could/was going to drop. It was exhausting and amazing all at the same time.
I also have maybe never read anything that so insightfully and minutely observed what I guess is called the “human condition,” but basically people’s interactions, emotions, choices, etc. Taylor skillfully and finely describes reactions and discomforts and “off-ness” that so many feel in life, but are so hard to put words to. And yet here, they are described exactly. There is a tangible tenderness and care and precision in the words, for the smallest of moments that they communicate. Relatedly, the way he is able to put into words the unspeakable and unrecognized inner realities, versus what we show the world, is just masterful. And finally, language-wise, Taylor wholly delivers on exposing deliciously uncomfortable truths that are easier to ignore. Some of these are recognizable for everyone, like relationship secrets, the boundaries of friendship versus something more, and an exploration of plans for and expectations of life versus dealing with what life actually turns out to be. And there are some specific to grad students, that unique mix of advancement/competition and escapism/removal from “real life.” But there is an extra (or a few extra) levels to this that speak directly to Black people, to queer people, to queer Black people. It’s so clear, from the depth of feeling in Taylor’s words (as well as too-numerous-to-count voices in “real life”), the commonality/constancy of these realities and interactions and discomfort…and how unescapable they are. This book is written for those who suffer this daily. Yet, as non-Black, non-queer readers (as applicable), there is much we can take from this, such insight into what we should/could be doing better in respect for the feelings of Black people in our lives, direct and clear ways that we are told we can be better and combat this reality that we could (clearly) more easily ignore and brush aside. So, let’s listen, and act on that, because we must.
This novel juxtaposes the hard, sharp corners of real life with the softness that can often be found in small moments in between. It looks into the dark corners we all would rather stay covered or unexposed, the ways we feel disconnected despite being surrounded by others, the seeming falseness of equality between what we want from life and what it turns out to be, with such gorgeous writing that you cannot help but want to read on, despite the fear that what you read next will be more than you can/want to handle. I was completely enveloped by Wallace, his turmoil and thoughts and history and discoveries and trauma and complaints and challenges and angers and solaces and hurt…his life…and I cannot recommend this novel highly enough.
I think I ended up marking or highlighting the majority of book with passages and moments that struck me strongly and deeply. It was impossible to cut the list down to a top few favorites, so here are many of them:
“...he didn’t know exactly what it was that bothered him. What could he say except that it was nothing?”
“He smiled because he was not sure how to meet someone’s sympathy for him. It always seemed to him that when people were sad for you, they were sad for themselves, as if your misfortune were just an excuse for them to feel what it was that they wanted to feel. Sympathy was a kind of ventriloquism.”
“It feels impossible in the way only possible tasks can seem, when you know that despite the scale of what you must do, it’s not really beyond the realm of possibility to do it, and so it feels impossible because you know you must.”
“He managed not forgiveness, but erasure. They seem so much the same to him.”
“The most unfair part of it, Wallace thinks, is that when you tell white people that something is racist, they hold it up to the light and try to discern if you are telling the truth. As if they can tell by the grain if something is racist or not, and they always trust their own judgement. It’s unfair because white people have a vested interest in underestimating racism, its amount, its intensity, its shape, its effects. They are the fox in the henhouse.”
“Wallace is tempted to catch it on his fingertips, to say, make a wish, but that doesn’t work for water. There are no wishes to be found in salt water, no magic there at all except, in some cases, the way it turns to stars when dispersed, as from the tip of a finger with a breath.”
“He swallows down what he wants to say: that a person doesn’t belong to you just because you’re in a relationship, just because you love them. That people are people and they belong only to themselves, or so they should. […] Love is a selfish thing.”
“This is why Wallace never tells anyone anything. This is why he keep the truth to himself, because other people don’t know what to do with your shit, with reality of other people’s feelings.”
“...but she won’t say anything either, can’t bring herself to. No one does. No one ever does. Silence is their way of getting by, because if they are silent long enough, then this moment of minor discomfort will pass for them, will fold down into the landscape of the evening as if it never happened. Only Wallace will remember it. That’s the frustrating part. Wallace is the only one for whom this is a humiliation. He breaths out through the agony of it, through the pressure in his chest.”
“There were days in all their lives when things went wrong and they were forced to ask themselves if they wanted to go on. Decisions were made every day about what sort of life they wanted, and they always answered the same: Only this, only this. But that was the misery of trying to become something, misery that you could put up with because it was native to the act of trying. But there are other kinds of misery, the misery that comes from other people.”
“She will refuse it. She will say that he’s pitying himself, that he’s not special. That he is not alone in his feeling of inadequacy. And this is perhaps a little true. And it’s that small truth of it that makes it dangerous to him. They do not understand that for them it will get better, while for him the misery will only change shape. She will say, get over yourself, Wally, and she will smile and put her arms around his shoulders, and she will love him and try her best to understand him, and he will accept this, and he will go quiet and she will sense that something has gone wrong, but he will not tell her. And it will be as if nothing has happened at all.”
“There will always be good white people who love him and want the best for him but who are more afraid of other white people than of letting him down. It is easier for them to let it happen and to triage the wound later than to introduce an element of the unknown into the situation. No matter how good they are, no matter how loving, they will always be complicit, a danger, a wound waiting to happen. There is no amount of loving that will ever bring Miller closer to him in this respect. There is no amount of desire. There will always remain a small space between them, a space where people like Roman will take root and say ugly, hateful things to him. It’s the place in every white person’s heart where their racism lives and flourishes, not some vast open plain but a small crack, which is all it takes.”
“There comes a time when you have to stop being who you were, when you have to let the past stay where it is, frozen and impossible. You have to let it go if you’re going to keep moving, if you’re going to survive, because the past doesn’t need a future. It has no need for what comes next. The past is greedy, always swallowing you up, always taking. If you don’t hold it back, if you don’t dam it up, it will spread and take and drown. The past is not a receding horizon. Rather, it advances one moment at a time, marching steadily forward until it has claimed everything and we become again who we were; we become ghosts when the past catches us. I can’t live as long as my past does. It’s one or the other.”
“There is so much trouble in the world. There are people suffering everywhere, at every moment. Who is happy, truly happy, ever? What is a person to do with it all? Except to try to slide laterally out of one’s life into whatever grey space waits for them.”
“That he wants to be alone. That he does not want to speak to anyone. That he does not want to be around anyone. That the world has worn him down. That he would like nothing more than to slip out of his life and into the next. That he is terrified, afraid. That he wants to lie down here and never move again. What he means is that he does not know what he wants, only that it is not this, the way forward paved with words they’ve already said and things they’ve already done. What he wants is to break it all open and try again.”
“This too is real life, he thinks. Not merely the accumulation of tasks, things to be done and sorted, but also the bumping up against other lives, everyone in the world insignificant when taken and observed together.”
“Ordinary acts take on strange shadows when viewed up close.”
“…he becomes aware of the way his body is both a thing on the earth and a vehicle for his entire life’s history. His body is both a tangible self and his depression, his anxiety, his wellness, his illness, his disordered eating, the fear of blood pouring out of him. It is both itself and no itself, image and afterimage.”
“How to wrangle the histories of our bodies, which are inseparable from the bodies themselves and are always growing?”
“That’s all culture is, after all, the nutrients pervading the air we breathe, diffusing into and out of people, a passive process.”