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

Ok but just look at that cover!!!! That alone would have gotten me to glance twice at this book. But I also had this one at the top of my "contemporary romance TBR backburner" list, that I have constantly in mind, since I need to be ready when the mood hits! Which, it seems, is my very real state right now, as this is my second from the genre in as many weeks.

Jasmine and Ashton are set to be leads in a new streaming service's (think Netflix) mainstream take on a telenovela/soap (think Jane the Virgin). Jasmine is coming off a very public breakup with a popular singer, ready to break out as a "Leading Lady." Ashton is hoping that this is his chance to break out as a bigger, Hollywood-type, actor, with a private life that he is very intent on keeping out of the public eye. Although neither Jasmine nor Ashton is looking for romance, because it sure won't fit with their new plans/life goals, and despite a messy first meeting, it turns out they have some serious IRL chemistry.

Ohhhhh I loved this one!! It was so much fun and super creative and wonderfully steamy. Jasmine and Ashton were both really well-written and developed as characters, both separately and together, which I really appreciated. Ashton’s "Incident" and subsequent fears and anxieties is really realistic and understandable and so well written for sympathy. Although a slightly deeper exploration of it as PTSD would have been nice, it was recognized (and therapy was mentioned), and I'll take that. The way his family, and his treatment of them, was used to explore and deepen his character was done well (and for the record, I freaking loved his abuelos). Similarly, Jasmine’s evolving understanding of what her “Leading Lady” plans means, and how it can be applied to all of life, was a great “self-discovery” arc. And I truly loved that it was able to happen in a way that allowed her to keep her love of loving others, a hallmark and core of her character. It's important for readers to see that wanting to give love and be loved is a wonderful trait, when there is a healthy focal point and I love that message here because it's such a common and recognizable "want." In another parallel to Ashton, I liked that the potential pitfalls of this trait are recognized, and again therapy mentioned (a little more there would have been nice as well, but again, I feel ok about what we got). Family-wise, her cousins, and her relationship with them, was so warm and wonderful and, when necessary, the good kind of tough (especially in helping her come to the realization(s) that some of her reactions were a little...overdramatic, telenovela/sopa style!). Honestly, every time I read about close cousins (like I just read in Cemetery Boys as well), it makes me wish I had grown up closer to my own!

One last note about the leading couple that I want to mention. Well, kind of about them and kind of related to Daria's writing...I absolutely and totally loved the way the scenes when Jasmine and Ashton were acting together as Carmen and Victor were woven in. Seeing the way they interacted there, their feelings, reactions, dialogue, etc. played out in that fabricated setting, added such a fascinating and fun extra layer to the unfolding of their relationship in real life. Somewhat on this topic, one of the things that is so fun for me about reading in general and, often, especially in contemporary romance is learning all about the various jobs and industries that I have no personal experience with. Understanding that it all may not be exactly accurate to real life, I really do feel like I get a lot of insight through the variety of roles characters have. In this case, I loved reading about the behind the scenes of filming shows/soaps, like the work that goes into choreographing scenes, the filming schedules, the script-readings, etc. It was just all really fascinating. One thing that stuck out to me, and I don't think it's likely very common (that was alluded to even in the book), but was so great to see that it's at least something starting to be considered, was the focus on consent involved when filming/acting within a role itself. I hope that, if it's not widespread, it becomes more so as fast as possible!

One last thing before I wrap up. I was so into the Latinx rep in every aspect of this novel. Daria's pride in her Puerto Rican heritage, her roots in that culture, is just palpable and made reading about it throughout the book such a positive experience. It was so lovingly and perfectly present. Also, I appreciated the way she represented the way that language specifically is a marker and how it's passed in different ways to future generations. Jasmine and her cousins all speak Spanish with different levels of comfort/ability (which is clearly sometimes a point of discomfort/nervousness for Jasmine), while on the opposite side of things, Ashton is concerned that he'll never get rid of his accent enough to become mainstream. It's a complex and powerful exploration of a very sensitive area of culture and the way assimilation affects it.

Overall, I'm gonna end this review as I started it: reiterating that I loved this book! It was entertaining, well-paced and written, had well-developed lead characters and a great supporting cast (see what I did there?), was smart and original, and, as is always so important in this genre, had some fire in the sex scenes. There was chemistry and emotion and I sped right through, not wanting to put it down.

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

“Catherine promised its students a golden future, if we gave up a few things in return. […] No world except Catherine. That’s what everyone else gave up. But I didn’t give up anything. I was already a ghost.”

My interest in the genre of dark academia, and in fact my knowledge of that as a sub-genre of its own in the first place, is totally due to @kiara.in.the.stacks. So, shout out to her! But for real, I am really feeling this dark academia vibe. I have read The Secret History, which was good and I see the hype but also, I had some issues with. I freaking LOVE The Ninth House, which I read earlier this year, and Vicious (and Vengeful, though I think that moved past the academia aspect). And some years before getting into bookstagram, I read and was really into Special Topics in Calamity Physics (in fact, it may be time for a reread because I read it before I even started doing review blubs on Goodreads). Anyways, all this to say, send me your recs! One final note on this book before jumping into the review: thanks to @diaryofaclosetreader because I won my copy through a giveaway she hosted.

Ines is offered a position, a fully funded spot, as a student at the mysterious and prestigious school Catherine House, located in rural Pennsylvania and known for producing many world leaders, famous artists, etc. You know the kind of school we’re talking about here. But in order to attend, you must be totally cut off from the outside world for the three years of your education. In this isolated setting, Ines’ curiosity gets the better of her as, though she tries to make friends and succeed in school and settle in, she realizes there is an undercurrent of something “off” about the school’s highly exclusive and secretive specialty “major,” the study of new materials, a substance known only as plasma.

I know I started by saying that I’m totally into this new sub-genre of dark academia. And I definitely am. There are some common aspects of that that are present in this novel and that I absolutely loved. But I have to be honest and say that, on the whole, something here was missing for me. Let’s start with the good stuff. I thought the writing overall was really solid. There was sort of a choppy feel to the jumps between sections, the dialogue, etc. that fit the vibe really well. It was hard to get settled in/comfortable reading it and I liked that feeling in this context. Also, Thomas did a wonderful job creating the atmosphere. From the very beginning, things were weird. Ines’ roommate had a “pet” snail (like, huh?), the food they eat on campus is super strange (like all really rich, in weird flavor combos, and very dessert-heavy), the House itself had a super old/haunted/eerie feel (there’s a cornerstone of the genre that I love), and some of the teachers and characters acted in ways that really made me, as the reader, feel discomfited, but without really being able to put a finger on why. There’s definitely a suggestion of brainwashing (which fits the imposed isolation situation) right away and that never really goes away. And Thomas builds the suspense and mystery around plasma itself, what it actually is and what it does and what the students in that specialty actually do when studying and experimenting with it, so well. Overall, the aura of dread, of impending…something (even if it’s not as dramatic as “doom”), was a highlight for me.

On the other hand, I struggled with some other aspects of the book. To be honest, the plot itself was really lacking. It seemed to me that, for most of the novel, nothing really happened. And so, the pacing really dragged. Sometimes this is ok, actually, if the character development or other pieces balance it out, but for me that never really happened. Ines herself got a bit of backstory, as did her roommate Baby, and a little bit her friends Yaya and Theo. But for the most part, I didn’t really make many connections with these characters, Ines included. I never really got to a point where I was truly invested in their mystery or survival, which took a bit of the bite out of the “thriller” aspect of the novel. Additionally, I don’t think I ever actually understood the concept behind plasma. It was sort of ephemeral, so that even when I kind of got an idea how students were being taken advantage of in the study of its properties (in very unethical, “would never get pass an IRB in real life,” ways) that should have been chilling/terrifying, I didn’t react nearly as strongly as I would have liked. Since I couldn’t conceptualize the experiments/processes, it didn’t hit me that hard. Maybe this was because Ines herself never really understood, and she was our MC/narrator. But it still terrified her, so theoretically her terror should transfer to the reader, even if the facts/understanding don’t. But then, that goes back to me never getting invested in the characters themselves. And then, the ending. It just seemed…anticlimactic. Again, we’re back to the plot/pacing and nothing really actually happening.

Despite those things that bugged me, I have come up with an alternate interpretation of the story that, as I think about more, I get more and more excited about it, so I’m gonna share it here. I can find no evidence of this being at all accurate online anyway (not that I’ve looked too hard, so take that with a grain of salt), but… What if this whole story was an elaborate metaphor/dream/hallucination and Ines is someone dealing with a long-term mental health crisis, spending time in a mental health facility, and Catherine House was some kind of incarnation of the facility and how trapped she feels within her own head??? I haven’t thought through the entire thing yet, but I feel like that explanation fits a lot of the details, like why she is so separate from all the other students and why they’re so single-dimensional, the sense of dread and fear of plasma (without clear explanation as to what it really is), and a lot of the quirky little details as things from her life that made an impression (like from the doctor appointments, the food, the clothing/privileges allowances, etc.) and therefore get randomly added into the setting/plot. Plus, it adds a lot of depth to what the ending could potentially be referring to or representing. Anyhoo, that’s just me rambling and speculating (though if you’ve read this, I’d really love to hear your thoughts on my theory!).

This novel had some great gothic vibes, good writing, an ambiance that left me edgy and unsettled (in the good way), and a lot of potential. Unfortunately, I feel like overall, once plot and character development are included, it fell a bit flat for me (though redeemed slightly with my alternate explanation in mind). I will definitely be keeping my eye open for further works from Thomas though, because, like I said, the potential was definitely there with this one and I’m interested to see what she does next.

I just recently came across some information about Roanhorse and her writing, in regards to Trail of Lightning and Storm of Locusts, that I feel like I need to share here before reviewing Black Sun. I say this because, honestly, my reviews of those two novels in her Sixth World series are incredibly positive ones. And for many reasons I stand by that. But there is a major concern that I had not known about nor recognized that I want address. Roanhorse writes these novels based on Navajo culture and she is not, in fact, of Diné ancestry. It is too easy for non-Native people/readers to lump all Indigenous tribes together, as I did in those reviews, and not consider that Native peoples are not a monolith…and since Roanhorse is not, herself, Navajo, her use of their sacred traditions/beliefs (with some twisting and fantasizing and violation through sharing too much) in this public setting is very much a type of cultural appropriation. I highly encourage any of you that read my reviews of those prior works, and especially if you read those works themselves, to take a look at this article (https://indiancountrytoday.com/opinion/trail-of-lightning-is-an-appropriation-of-din%C3%A9-cultural-beliefs-4tvSMvEfNE-i7AE10W7nQg/?fbclid=IwAR2JWEtqnRlkFFc0sRh9OT8CxBz1CL6uGfhagO7qpGzOZq5_9GtMSdZeqkQ) from Saad Bee Hózhǫ́ that articulates the concerns about what Roanhorse did and interrogates the harm and why she chose to write from a Navajo lens rather than her own (Ohkay Owingeh Pueblo). I also want to share this article that sort of presents a number of POVs, including responses from Roanhorse herself, just to add some further context (https://www.vulture.com/article/rebecca-roanhorse-black-sun-profile.html), and because I think some good questions from those different POVs are raised. This is a complex issue, one that I want to make sure I do my level best to recognize and share fully about as I continue to read Roanhorse’s works. Basically, I don’t know if I would say to not read anything based on this, but I do caution against reading without considering it and keeping it in mind. And I also want to include a general apology here from myself, for only now addressing it, as I go into what will be a positive review for my third novel by Roanhorse. I will take this as a reminder to be more purposeful in my research about #ownvoices and authors’ perspectives moving forwards.

Black Sun is a very different sort of story than the two Sixth World novels, as it leans much more towards traditional fantasy/scifi, based in completely made-up world, and not a post-apocalyptic speculative-but-clearly-Earth world. I am going to just copy and paste the Goodreads blurb for this one here, because I think it does a solid job and also, honestly, I am struggling to give it a quick overview in my own words rights now and don’t feel like struggling through that if someone has already done a passable job: “In the holy city of Tova, the winter solstice is usually a time for celebration and renewal, but this year it coincides with a solar eclipse, a rare celestial event proscribed by the Sun Priest (current incarnation: a young woman named Naranpa attempting, with marginal success, to buck religious traditions) as an unbalancing of the world. Meanwhile, a ship launches from a distant city bound for Tova and set to arrive on the solstice. The captain of the ship, Xiala, is a disgraced Teek whose song can calm the waters around her as easily as it can warp a man’s mind. Her ship carries one passenger. Described as harmless, the passenger, Serapio, is a young man, blind, scarred, and cloaked in destiny. As Xiala well knows, when a man is described as harmless, he usually ends up being a villain.”

So, where to start with my thoughts about this epic-ish fantasy? First things first, I have to say that I really enjoyed reading this. There was, as with all fantasy, the requisite “I’m so lost” feelings of the first few chapters as I got used to the world, the language and the characters. This was not necessarily made easier by the fact that there are multiple POVs (one of which is told both in present day and in the past). Each section is marked with dates, of course, but they’re not “typical” days/years, because this is fantasy, so for the first little bit, that definitely didn’t help either. Basically, be prepared to really have to “try” when you first start reading. However, as I settled in and got accustomed to everything, I started to really fall for this book. First, the characters. I always love a rough-talking, aware, smart and competent lady protagonist. And in this case, I was particularly into Xiala, as she was very clearly and naturally bisexual. Woot! (Side note, the overall gender/sexuality rep in this novel was well done: there was a third gender/pronouns used throughout, flouting our ridiculous binary situation, and there were a number of fairly primary characters that showed flexibility of gender and sexual desire, all written casually in stride.) Plus, her “Teek” heritage, that sort of makes her sound like an Indigenous siren, was super cool. If you are a lover of mermaid-fantasy, you will love Xiala. The other primary character that was super interesting was Serapio. I was super into the way his destiny was not fated but created, which is contrary to many chosen-one stories. I was horrified and totally into the things his mother did to set him down his path towards (potential) god-hood and hopeful vengeance. The other narrators, the Sun Priest Naranpa and Carrion Crow warrior Okoa, were a little less compelling for me. Naranpa seemed uncomfortably naïve and tunnel-visioned and helpless, considering her backstory. And Okoa just wasn’t as central, so I don’t feel like I know enough about him yet. However, the way the novel ends makes it clear his larger role(s) is coming. So I’m excited to see where they both go/how they grow.

I also loved the world itself. It was based on pre-Columbian society/civilization and there were many aspects of that, from the large things, like the conflicting religious beliefs that pit light against dark and form the major conflict of the novel, to the small details, like the use of cacao as currency that were really well developed. It felt lush and real as I read about it all: the prejudices and ancient feuds and traditions and foods and business. This feeling of depth is definitely enhanced by the little sections at the beginning of each chapter from various cultural works and sayings, etc. I always have a soft spot for those as a device (as you may recall from my reviews of A Memory Called Empire and The Philosopher’s Flight). As complex as the world was though, it was interesting that the plot itself, the political and religious intrigues, felt pretty basic. Not that they weren’t interesting or unique or compelling, just that…it wasn’t particularly advanced or intricate. There is intrigue of many kinds, but it felt very straightforward (possibly predictable?) to me – I don’t necessarily mean this as a critique, just an observation of how I felt about it. I do want to say here that I did like the way Roanhorse writes in a way that shows an insightful critique/calling-out of the hypocrisy in many belief systems: that each believes they are the “one true” option, that one is divine and all others are blasphemous/witchcraft/fake, when in fact much of it comes down to the perspective and experiences that a person has lived within. With so many POVs in this novel, she was able to show this from many angles and did a nice job with it, especially because our protagonist/chosen one/(anti?)hero is from the “night/dark side of things, that which usually cast as the nameless evil, the antagonist. So that was super cool.

Last, the plot. Wow I was into the story. Roanhorse is so good with pacing and building tension/developing relationships and creating a gripping story. In fact, my only critique here is the cliffhanger ending. This is a very personal preference, but I freaking hate major cliffhangers. It is SO possible to give the reader a reasonably wrapped up ending that still leaves room for more story. When it’s all written well enough (which Roanhorse more than does) I will still pick up the next one because I want to know more about the world and the people. I don’t need an edge-of-your-seat, will-they-live-or-will-they-die ending to make me want to keep reading. A good writer/story does that on its own. I know I may be in the minority here, but it’s a literary pet peeve that just really eats at me. Ugh. So, I’m disappointed by that here. However, I did love that this is the clear start to a story arc that is meant to span multiple installations. I appreciate that Roanhorse recognizes this story, to be told right, needs more time/space, and she hasn’t rushed to get to a “stopping point” here. I just…there is some type of midpoint that I wish had been found.

Overall, this was a great start to a new fantasy series. I loved the pre-Columbian inspired setting, the magics and beliefs and mythologies, the budding relationships that are resolving and the promise for more amongst them all, the backstories of our characters, and was pulled along by great writing and smooth pacing. A great unique take on a number of common fantasy-genre aspects.

“There was magic in the world, pure and simple, things she didn't understand. Best get used to it.”

“She comforted herself with the fact that she had not done it for glory, or for power, but for the worst reason of all. Faith. Faith in this place she called her home.”

“‘Villian,’ he mouthed, liking the sound of it, the weight of the word on his bloodied lip. If protecting his crows make him a villain, then a villain he would be.”

“‘Vengeance, then. But what is vengeance if not justice?’ / ‘Vengeance can be for spite. It can eat you up inside, take from you everything that makes you happy, makes you human. Look at what it did to your mother. Would justice do that?’”

“Wherever [the gods’] blood was spilled or their bodies lay, great wonders happened. Mountain ranges burst from flat lands, rivers gushed like divine blood, stars were born in cataclysm. And in everything, they left bits of their power – the sun and stars, the creatures of the earth and air, the very rocks and rivers and seas.”

“And Grandfather Crow said to First Woman, tell me your stories so that I might know who you are and what you value. If your stories are of the glory of war, I will know you value power. If your stories are of kinship, I know you value relationship. If your stories are of many children, I know you value legacy. But if your stories are of adaptation and survival, of long memory and revenge, then I will know you are a Crow like me.”

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

Like many other people, I absolutely loved Homegoing. I read it a few years ago and was truly blown away. It’s actually one of the very first books I ever reviewed on my blog. (Also, looking back at the post to link it here, I had totally forgotten that I included recommendations for similar books at the end of some of my earlier posts and I’m kinda impressed with myself for doing that. I feel like it would be cool to restart that…but also a lot of extra work. Haha.) Anyways, the point is, I knew I was going to read Transcendent Kingdom as soon as I heard about it. Shoutout and thank you to Libro.fm for the ALC of the audiobook. Also, this is the third book of the 2021 Aspen Words Literary Prize longlist fifteen (that I’m trying to get through before February!) that I’ve finished/reviewed.

Transcendent Kingdom if Gifty’s story. Born in the US to immigrants from Ghana, she and her older brother, Nana, are raised in an Evangelical church community in Alabama. Her brother is a talented basketball player, but after a knee injury during a game, he becomes addicted to opiates and, after a few years grappling with that addiction, he dies of an overdose. Years later, Gifty is a PhD candidate studying reward-seeking behavior in mice while caring for her mother who is still struggling with depression since Nana’s death.

Goodness what a story. This is like, a distillation of American life in an affecting, family-focused, way that I have never experienced quite the same way before. Gyasi addresses such intense and profound concepts as immigration, addition, the contradictions of religion and science in such a fully developed way through a deeply human lens. In the background we get about Gifty’s parents, how they met and decided to come to America and their years together there and then separated, she paints a vivid picture of the way the US breaks down of immigrants of color from proud to shrinking, over years they spend here and are disabused of all hopeful conceptions of what the country could give them. With Nana’s story, Gyasi exemplifies the universality of and unbiased impacts of the opioid crisis. She unflinchingly reveals the shame and stigma (especially for family, as this story if from Gifty’s POV), the emotional pain and guilt and hurt of addiction for everyone, and the way no one is ever prepared to handle the permanency of that grief and loss, especially those without unlimited [financial] resources to help figure a way through it. And she addresses, with Gifty’s memories of her brother from when they were younger, the “waste” that it is when we lose the humanity of the person behind the addiction, when we separate a person from what they fully are and see only what they are on paper.

Bringing both of those together is the theoretical framework of religion science. Gyasi shows how Gifty’s path to studying reward-seeking behavior and the science of addiction from a neurological perspective was driven/shadow-guided by the health experiences of her mother (grief, depression) and Nana (addiction). Perhaps not in the reasoned way one would expect, but clearly related all the same. And combining this lens with that of her evangelical, God-fearing childhood, Gyasi shows the interactions of science and religion within a person’s life in such meticulous detail on such precise, minuscule levels, weaving them together seamlessly in the ways they are both used to interpret the same mysteries of the world depending on the mind/viewer in question. Despite all the implications of believing in religion or science, the assumptions made by people about each other on this front, the seeming reality that there is truly no room for both within a single person, the seemingly impossible task of compromising the entrenched conflicting notions of intellectualism/secularism/progressivism and the church/religion, Gifty continues to attempt it, to search the way to have both, to believe in both. In addition to all this, Gyasi recognizes how all of this plays out alongside [internalized] institutionalized racism, which plays an immeasurable role in reactions/decisions about who deserves saving, both through religion and the soul AND/OR science and medical treatment. And then, the way those without words for or an understanding of those decisions, like young Gifty, that internalization leads to enduring spiritual wounds and self-loathing.

Honestly, I have no idea how Gyasi was able to take all of this topically, gorgeously layered together, in a way that delivers universal, meaningful insight through the lens of an individual family’s experiences. All of these themes and concepts create a single narrative that ebbs and flows in time and focus (a style that I’m realizing is a favorite of mine), giving the reader endless small moments of clarity and observations about the reality of the way the world works that are simply breathtaking. It’s so freaking impressive.

I tried really hard to go into this book with expectations separated from my thoughts about Homegoing. After such a stunning debut, the danger for preset expectations to ruin a sophomore novel reading was high. And I had seen a couple reviews that had me feeling like that was possible. I’m glad I did that. While I still think I was more into Homegoing, it comes down to personal preference for me. One of the major concepts in this novel, the push and full of religion and science, is just not one that resonates with me; I don’t have the internal “crisis of faith,” if you will, that Gifty deals with…though I imagine it will resonate with many readers. However, that doesn’t change how absolutely spectacular the writing and or how profound the impact of Gyasi’s philosophical and moral explorations or how well she shows the way out lived experiences create who we become in a way we cannot escape or, even, predict. I am, again, really quite blown away by her writing and the way she captures her characters’ complex realities and experiences.

“The truth is that we don’t know what we don’t know. We don’t even know the questions we have to ask in order to find out, but when we learn one tiny little thing, a dim light comes on in a dark hallway, and suddenly a new question appears. We spend decades, centuries, millennia, trying to answer that one question so that another dim light will come on. That’s science, but that’s also everything else isn’t it? Try. Experiment. Ask a ton of questions.”

“...memories of people you hardly know are often permitted a kind of pleasantness in their absence. It’s those who stay who are judged the harshest, simply by virtue of being around to be judged.”

“But the memory lingered, the lesson I have never quite been able to shake: that I would always have something to prove and that nothing but blazing brilliance would be enough to prove it.”

“If I’ve thought of my mother as callous, and many times I have, then it is important to remind myself what a callus is: the hardened tissue that forms over a wound.”

“...he was making the face that I’ve only seen in young boys, a face that is the façade of a man, hiding a boy who has had to grow up far too fast. I have seen that faux tough look on boys as they pushed shopping carts, walked siblings to school, bought cigarettes for their parents who waited in their cars. It breaks my heart now, to see that face, to recognize the lie of masculinity sitting atop the shoulders of a young child.”

“‘What’s the point of all this?’ is a question that separates humans from other animals. Our curiosity around the issue has sparked everything from science to literature to philosophy to religion. When the answer to this question is ‘Because God deemed it so,’ we might feel comforted. But what if the answer to this question is ‘I don’t know,’ or worse still, ‘Nothing’?”

“We read the Bible how we want to read it. It doesn’t change, but we do.”

“They knew that there was risk involved, but the potential for triumph, for pleasure, for something just a little bit better, was enough to outweigh the cost.”

“I understood that the same thing that made humans great – our recklessness and creativity and curiosity – was also the thing that hampered the lives of everything around us. [...] I grew up being taught that God gave us dominion over the animals, without ever being taught that I myself was an animal.”

“It took me many years to realize that it’s hard to live in this world. I don’t mean the mechanics of living, because for most of us, our hearts will beat, our lungs will take in oxygen, without us doing anything at all to tell them to. For most of us, mechanically, physically, it’s harder to die than it is to live. But we still try to die. We drive too fast down winding roads, we have sex with strangers without wearing protection, we drink, we use drugs. We try to squeeze a little more life out of our lives. It’s natural to want to do that. But to be alive in the world, every day, as we are given more and more and more, as the nature of ‘what we can handle’ changes and our methods for how we handle it change, too, that’s something of a miracle.”

“I was thinking that I could never shake my ghosts, never, never. There they were in every word I wrote, in every lab, in every relationship.”

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

When I originally heard about this novel, for some reason, I thought it was fiction. I actually thought that all the ay through when my hold on it at the library came through and I checked it out and brought it home. I seriously don’t know what I thought it was about or why I knew I wanted to read it, but I was totally set on it. Anyways, I finally paid attention enough to reading the blurb on the inside cover and realized it was a memoir. I have read quite a few (wonderful) memoirs recently. It’s not really a genre I would ever have said I liked before this year. But after some standouts, like some of my favorite reads of the year are going to be memoirs (Know My Name, Long Live the Tribe of Fatherless Girls and In the Dream House, at least), I think I might be noticing a legitimate shift in my reading preferences here. Anyways, that’s enough about me for now…

In Children of the Land, Marcelo Hernandez Castillo shares his family’s story with the world. Looking across generations, with, of course, a particular focus on his own experiences, Castillo opens the door into the individually secreted away and purposefully hidden/downplayed realities of the trauma of immigration to the United States (from, in this case, Mexico). Castillo speaks to the mental/emotional strain of constant fear and vigilance, the relationships broken/lost to years of separation, the unreasonableness and arbitrariness of immigration law/rules, the complete dehumanization of the immigrations processes, and the way those processes have changed over the years as generations of his family have crossed from Mexico to the US and back again. He also shares many personal stories: of his own temporary blindness while crossing the border as a child to his father’s violence and distance to his relationship with his wife to his efforts to secure green cards for himself and other family members (particularly his parents) to his work as a poet and bisexuality to the efforts he expends to seamlessly fit it/to become invisible to the many incidents and pains of living (both the daily variety and the kinds with longer-reaching implications) and how those are different for people without formal documentation.

Well, the first, and most striking, thing I want to mention about this memoir is the writing. Oh my ever-loving goodness can Castillo put words on the page. It’s breathtaking. Every sentence is laden with…weight…in a way that makes reading this affecting, striking, hard and lyrical at the same time. It’s a book that is hard to read because topically it’s just so heartbreaking, and yet you cannot help but be awe-struck by the way Castillo is able to get such complex and contradictory emotions and situations into such beautiful language. Honestly, this trend of poets who turn to longer works is one that I am definitely in support of, because as with Ocean Vuong’s debut novel that I read earlier this year, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, the molding of words, the crafting of sentences, is simply stunning.

Topically, I’ll just give a short, slightly deeper, look at things, because the little summary I started with covers much of it. I feel like, as with many memoirs, the only way to really understand and appreciate what is in these pages, to truly be fully affected by it, you’ll have to read it yourself. In the meantime, I’ll just point out a couple aspects of Castillo’s work that really stuck out to me. First, the way he talks about and muses on the symbology of borders, their purposes both physical and metaphysical and what they’re presence can do to a person, to a soul, to a country/people. Just, wow. The way he is able to communicate the effects of there being no safe space, not even “home,” for a person without documentation. The way that there is nowhere to go where you don’t constantly feel watched/aren’t constantly on guard, and how exhausting and draining it is to live in that perpetual mode of fear and panic, sometimes literally, takes the reader’s breath away. Also, his reflections on the processes of immigration, the health screenings and costs (financially and otherwise) and the way stats/dates/numbers/names/histories, the “measurables,” matter more than the fears and longings and feelings and the things that actually make a person who they are, are so important. The expectations of what can/must be objectively “proven” (like, if a relationship is truly based on love and if it will last…because like, that’s impossible, who actually knows that???), the way even then things are so arbitrarily decided and followed-through on, the way that lack of ability to control or predict an outcome or have faith in the permanency of an outcome once it happens can affect a person’s mental health and sense of self and efficacy, the way that informs the continued internal conflicts he has and cannot escape from even after getting his green card – Castillo conveys all of it with such literary skill. The general dehumanization and ridiculous, unnecessary hoops/rules of immigration process, the inherent supposition that the US is better than all places outside it/the people coming from those places, the way Castillo must grapple with the need to show love for a country that has shown no love for him, the suppression and helplessness of the immigration process: the reader cannot escape or hide from the terrible reality in the same way Castillo, his family and untold thousands of other immigrants cannot escape the living of it.

As a final note, Castillo also spends a lot of time unpacking his family, their relationships with each other and the ways the immigration process [negatively] impacted those, combined with the aspects of them that were already unhealthy. He shows the effects both immediate and long term of the “emotional whiplash” of a parent’s sudden mood changes, the way fault-lines within families are cracked wide open under arduous circumstances. And through it all, you can read, in the tenderness with which he crafts the words he uses for these sections, how much he cares for them all, especially his mother and wife, Rubi. He recognizes an individual’s failings, but contextualizes it within the reality they live, and that care and consideration in treatment is beyond touching to read. Along these lines, he does this same unpacking and exploring within himself, showing the parts of who he is that were informed and worsened by circumstances, by the end, attempting to give himself the leeway and understanding that he gave the rest of his family but has trouble internalizing he also deserves. As with everything else in this memoir, there is a desolation about it, but his way with words makes you want to keep reading despite that.

If you are looking for an eye-opening, nuanced and representative but also deeply personal look at the horrific immigration situation in the United States and the contradictions of being trapped between two cultures/two lands (neither of which fully claim you, nor do you feel you truly belong), you won’t find much better than this. It wasn’t easy, these topics never are, shouldn’t be, easy to read about. And the writing, while gorgeous, doesn’t lend itself to a fast read. But this is a book that should be sat with, sat in, for a while – so that works out as it should. Just an exquisitely, tragically beautiful memoir.

And, as always with those books where I wax poetic about the writing, here’s an unreasonable number of quotes and passages that I marked while reading:

“We were young but could already turn off the parts of ourselves that hurt like a light switch.”

“It didn’t matter how good I was at hiding, I knew they would always find me if they wanted. It was useless to blend it, to not bring attention to myself – speak neither too loud nor too soft. It didn’t matter if I perfected my English – speak like a person who is wandering but not lost. It was useless to try to negotiate two worlds at once when only one of them was visible while the other one threatened to collapse. And yet I tried, but it came at a price. So much of my energy was spent trying to avoid getting caught. I wonder how much more I could have done with my life if I’d been spared the energy it took to survive.”

“Every act of living became and act of trying to remain invisible. I was negotiating a simultaneous absence and presence that was begun by the act of my displacement: I am trying to dissect the moment of my erasure. I tried to remain seen for those whom I desired to be seen by, and I wanted to be invisible to everyone else. Or maybe I was trying to control who remembered me and who forgot me.”

“In the act of immigrating, I was always looking for what I had lost, perhaps forever. And so part of me, even a microscopic part, was always looking back.”

“I ventured to believe that the function of the border wasn’t only to keep people out, at least that was not its long-term function. Its other purpose was to be visible, to be seen, to be carried in the imagination of migrants deep into the interior of the country, in the interior of their minds. It was a spectacle meant to be witnessed by the world, and all of its death and violence was and continues to be a form of social control, the way that kings of the past needed to behead only one petty thief in the public square to quell thousands more. The biggest threat to immigrants who succeeded in crossing was the fear that the apparatus was always watching you. It was the idea that was most menacing, that infiltrated every sector of a person’s life – total and complete surveillance.”

“We each had our own definition of joy and kept its secret hidden as if in a secret box. No one would share their key; no one would allow anyone else to see inside their box.”

“I wanted to approach questions as I would approach a large body of water, as things in which I could drown, knowing how easy it was to drown, knowing exactly the limits and dimensions of my body and what it would take to drown it.”

“I couldn’t possibly expect them to believe that love was a constant, that once you had it you had all of it forever, that it was like an object you could hold and call yours.”

“They wanted definite answers to the indefinite, beyond simply is your marriage real. They wanted the specific outline of love.”

“Getting the green card and all the benefits that came with it seemed like such a simple thing to ask for such a small price. All I was asking for was peace of mind, for protection, for basic human rights. And in return, for the duration of the interview at least, I was supposed to speak and look patriotic. I was supposed to show or prove an attempt at assimilation; that I aligned myself with undeniable American values – “values” that ensured the continuation of a system historically aligned against me. I had to align myself with a history of denial toward the violence committed on entire generations of people.”

“Would there ever be, in my lifetime, a point in which I could say absolutely everything about myself with complete abandon, without fear of judgement or repercussions?”

“I couldn’t give myself permission to have a past.”

“To say that the whole enterprise was a scam would trivialize it as petty theft. It was much more than that. It was an entire industry distilled into a few city blocks. There were hundreds, even thousands, of people moving between the embassy, the clinics, the hotels, and the mall across the street every day. They were all doing the same thing we were doing. They were paying into a system that was central to the engine of America – immigrants paying for immigration. In a way, I didn’t see how this was different than paying a coyote to cross; both seemed just as corrupt. Besides, in the end both would cost just as much.” - omg this observation is breathtaking and not in the good way

“It felt like we were at the beginning of a new era, as if from that day forward, our lives would be different. Anything that could have been would never be. Everything that was, would be forever.”

“I thought love could come out of his anger – bitter plants that make the sweetest honey. I confused each of his flowers with a small act of tenderness. There is a tender way we can confuse violence with love, trying to convince ourselves that it wasn’t so bad.”

“They wanted to see a spectacle, something quantifiably violent. But not everything happens like it does on TV. There isn’t always a musical accompaniment to underscore the emotional landscape of tragedies. There is pain that isn’t instantaneous, that is difficult to see, that spreads multiple generations, that doesn’t always have a clear cause, that can’t be measured but is nevertheless real. Sometimes it is more real because it is hidden, because you have to go through your life keeping it to yourself, unable to tell anyone the depths of your suffering.”

“…law told women like my mother how they should suffer and provided a checklist for correct forms of suffering.”

“My father learned about love from his father, who learned it from his father’s father. He learned that love was not something that you did, but something that you made sure someone remembered, for better or worse.”

“That’s what we wanted, to be at that place that time had healed without having to go through time.”

“My family, all we did for generations was leave each other. To depart was in my blood, to live longing in the absence of another was ingrained into me. And yet.”

“Things never really stayed fixed for long. Our life was dedicated to the unbreaking of things, and things kept wanting to stay broken.”

“I still thought I could control the outcome of our lot; I still had the gall to think that anything I said or did cold make a difference.”

“I policed my body to the point that I could do nothing without consulting the voice in my head first – ‘Is this a good idea? Have you said too much?’ It was exhausting just to live like that.”

“But I want to experience love the way I experience drowning – never coming back to the surface, never finding relief. Always just a click away from dying, which I admit is selfish, because it’s easier to be desired than to go on with the work of desiring.”

This is a romance that was on my TBR for quite a while before its pub date – I was the first on hold for it at the library after it was purchased. Honestly, there was very little about this fake-dating setup, f/f relationship, astrology-themed story with a swoony-worthy cover design that didn’t call out to me. I have always sort of had a soft spot for astrology, though I don’t know a lot about it beyond that I’m an Aquarius (similarly, tarot cards, in case you were wondering). About halfway through this book, I totally found a site that gave me more info on my natal chart and have definitely been actually looking into it more – the way Elle talks about it as getting to know yourself better, and checking in on that periodically, really spoke to me. So, I see related library books in my future. I love when reading fiction can do something like that.

Back to this novel. Elle is an astrologer and, together with her friend Margot, head up the popular Oh My Stars business/social media. Darcy is a logical, practical, getting-over-a-breakup actuary. When Darcy’s brother Brendon (creator of the OTP dating app) brings Elle and Margot on as consults to add a new layer to his app, he sets Elle and Darcy up on a blind date…it goes disastrously. But awkward as it was, Darcy proposes a fake-dating arrangement to get Brendon off her case about “getting out there” and Elle figures it couldn’t hurt to show her high-pressure family that she’s got herself together. But, of course, fake dating turns into real feelings.

Wow I loved a lot about this book. There was great physical chemistry between Elle and Darcy. The tension and build-up were spectacular and when it finally developed into something more real, things got steamy in the best way. The growth in attraction in other “opposites attract ways” (as introduced during the escape room scene, which btw was so fun to read) was pretty well developed as the book went along. I also, no surprise, loved the astrology aspects. They were both plot-important and super fun (like the lists for each sign, from breakfast food to breakup songs), which was a great combination for something that is taken very seriously by some and dismissed by others, but belief in which should be respected in those we love. I also loved the lifestyles shown, the way that not every life journey is cookie-cutter or in certain form, that the best way to measure success is the happiness of the individual, and again, that each person’s “perfect” should be respected in its own right, even if it goes against conventional or personal expectations, and that beyond the public view of who we are, there are many hidden/secret depths. To this point, the family struggles of both Darcy and Elle were really wonderfully relatable. For me, Elle’s situation was recognizable in many ways (if not, perhaps, quite as extreme) and it felt lovely to be seen and validated in that way. On the flipside, the relationship of Darcy and Brendon felt familiar to me in many ways and I loved that (human in their mistakes, but supportive despite/because of that). And I have to say that, truly, I loved how the family issues were about such universal topics, that the sexuality of Darcy and Elle (positive bi rep – always gets a “yay” from me, more so in this case even because Elle is seriously the character type I am mostly “into” – I think because she is so much of what I wish I was more of) never once entered the picture as a point of contention anywhere. It was refreshing and perfect for this story, as it is, above all else, a romance.

There were, however, a few things about the story that I was marginally less into and, while nothing that turned me off completely (not even close), I think they’re going to prevent this from being a new favorite… The one big thing, that plays a bit into the other, actually, is the contrived reason for the “fight” at the end that led to the formulaic “break-up before we get together for good” trope of romance novels. Now, to be fair, this is almost always my least favorite part of the formula, so take my reaction with a small grain of salt. But I felt like Elle’s reaction was incredibly over the top and, even if that’s how she acted in the moment (cause you know, impulsiveness and emotions get us all sometimes), why the assumption from both sides that it was over, full-stop, instead of an issue they needed to discuss and work through? I mean, especially cause Elle was eavesdropping when it happened…and after Darcy was so supportive of her with her own family, it felt disingenuous (and actually a bit out of character for Elle) to not give her a little more leeway considering she already knew Darcy and her mom had a strained relationship. Anyways, see what you think and maybe let me know. But I feel like it could have been a normal confrontation and not a break-up level one – it may have been “light” for the romance formula in that part of the story, but would have been more true to the characters. On this note, expanding a bit, I tend to think Elle was right…she deserved more from Darcy, had been clear with Darcy from the start. But Darcy had been equally clear and, despite some proverbial “thawing” on her part, there hadn’t really been much time for her to grapple with it all, process it past a physical connection and deal with what that really meant for herself/her life, much less communicate it clearly to Elle. I don’t know, it just, like I said, seemed a bit too forced altogether at the end.

Bottom line, I binged the crap out of this novel and truly struggled to put it down in order to go bed. The key thing, and I’m not trying to be punny here, is Bellefleur can write that “stars in your eyes, flutter in your belly” feeling better than almost anyone I’ve ever read. (See some noted passages below for examples). I fell headfirst into Elle and Darcy, their opposites attract vibe, the sweet moments they shared as they supported each other in their own ways (market research and second-hand ornaments – swoon), and the entire set-up of the novel. This novel was just about everything I wanted it to be (and after my personal interest and all the hype reviews, it is no joke that it hit that close to expectations). Overall, this one gets a pretty glowing, feeling all happy in my heart after finishing, rec from me.

“No, this feeling was magic, like glitter rushing through her veins.”

“What she wanted, what she hoped…so much hope her bones ached, her body too small, almost bursting with holding it inside. Her skin was too tight, hot , itchy, and she wanted to strip it off, strip herself down, let Darcy see the full shape of her heart, messy and imperfect and with a space carved out, a space she’d been aching to fill for so long but no one ever fit, their angles too sharp, too rough, puzzle pieces never lining up right with hers. Elle had been waiting, waiting or the right person to come along who fit inside the space, that space inside her heart carved out just for them. For her person, not a perfect person, but a person perfect for her.”

“There was no word that existed in the English language that meant the opposite of lonely. Some came closer than others, but nothing did justice to the feeling of someone looking into your eyes and connecting with you on a soul-deep level.”

“Champagne fizzing and shooting stars, fireworks and late nights riding in the back of a too fat car, lights of the city whizzing past, the bridge of her favorite song blaring. None of it held a candle to this moment, this feeling burning in her veins and warming her chest, bubbling in her stomach and erupting goose bumps along her skin. Magic.”

This is the fourth book I’m getting to on the Aspen Words Literary Prize 2021 longlist! In all honesty, this is one of the books on the longlist that was lowest on my “interested in reading” list. I had “meh” feelings about the synopsis and even though the reviews I’ve seen have all been quite glowing, I just wasn’t sure it was for me. I may, in fact, not have picked it up if it hadn’t been on this list. But here we are and, as a small spoiler for the rest of the review, I ended up being really glad I read it! Also, thanks to Libro.fm for the ALC from a month or so ago – having the audio version really pushed to pick it up sooner (plus, for anyone else considering the audio, the narrator did a great job.)

Amanda and Clay, along with their children Archie and Rose, are heading to a remote AirBnB in the upstate/out of the city area of New York for a summer vacation getaway. Leave the World Behind follows them as they set out on the drive to the home and over the start of their vacation. A few days in though, the home’s owners, an older Black couple named G.H. and Ruth, show up unexpectedly, “escaping” the city after a blackout hit. The two families, strangers to each other, spend the next days in a forced, discomfited, proximity learning about each other and trying to deal with the unknown and fear in their own disparate ways, each trying to decide what the safest option is for their own family.

Yea so even I couldn’t make that synopsis sound like a book I would really want to pick up. I don’t think it’s the fault of the blurb writers or marketers or anything…it just sounds like a novel with so much potential to fall flat. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to risk it. So, bearing in mind those reasonably low expectations…I was so freaking impressed with this novel. The writing was biting and intelligent from the very first page. Alam’s ability to find the little moments, the quick inner thoughts, that deeply and concisely provide insight into the nature of our characters specifically and, then, human nature in a greater sense is…spectacular. Each and every observation made has a meaningful bent to it. Not a single line or thought or event is superfluous. In particular, I loved the small differences in perception – in what is said/done versus what is thought/meant – that Alam communicates with the short asides(?) inserted after most movement/dialogue. We get to see what each character’s internal truth is, different from what they chose to share externally, and it’s such a smart look at the reality of human conversation and interaction. I don’t think I am communicating it really well; you may have to read the book to really understand, but I tried.

The other highlight of the novel was the atmospheric tension. Even from the opening chapters, there is a sense of uneasiness, of foreboding, even though nothing has yet gone wrong and there’s really no indication that it ever will. This is masterfully built throughout the book with small “odd” moments or sightings that are unexplainable (and thus, kind of terrifying, especially when considered together), but individually are nothing particularly of note. And even when these moments of oddness grow in proportion (strange animal sightings, teeth issues – which are a big no item for me and I cringed heavily and tried not to listen through that, sounds), many are still nothing that should inspire such panic under “normal” circumstances. Plus, the well-placed short interjections with hints at what’s happening in the wider world that these families aren’t aware of at all…it puts their fear into a greater perspective for the reader, making it seem more justified than it should, considering what little they actually know, which simultaneously throws the isolation they’re in into sharper relief. Alam’s skill in writing the build-up of fear, the way not knowing plays into that, the interactions of these two families who are total strangers but now have no one but each other to lean on…it’s all fantastic. I know there is a bit of a debate about the ending, some love/hate reactions and I feel like I missed something. I didn’t love or hate it, I just felt like it fit. How else would things have gone? Much more would have turned it truly post-apocalyptic, which isn’t actually what this novel was (at least in my opinion). And more importantly, for me, the goal I felt in the writing was for the reader to question and examine how we might react in unknown circumstances like this. Which I did. For sure. Also, I’m now over here trying to figure out if I’d rather be in the middle of something worse but know what’s going on (in front of your face terror) OR be that isolated with no information but be arguably physically safer (the terror in the unknown) – and I love a book that makes me consider/confront things I’ve never thought about before.

Overall, this is such an eerie, chilling, page-turner…which is fascinating because it’s also much more character/development driven than plot driven. What an impressive literary combination. Alam’s sharp explorations of humanity and human nature, the assumptions we make about others and how we act on that, the decisions we make when truly faced with an unthinkable situation (versus those projections we make about how we think we’d act), and the things that really matter, that we turn to for comfort, when it comes down to it are all meticulously exemplified scarily prescient.

“The key to success was having parents who had succeeded.”

“The relief of light and its safety.”

“That parochial one-upmanship New Yorkers think their own, special remit, but everyone is possessive of the places they inhabit.”

“There was no real structure to prevent chaos. There was only a collective faith in order.”

“The only things people ever wanted were food and home.”

“No one could plead ignorance that was not willful.”

“You told yourself you’d be attuned to a Holocaust unfolding a world away, but you weren’t. It was immaterial, thanks to distance. People weren’t that connected to one another. Terrible things happened constantly and never prevented you from going out for ice cream or celebrating birthdays or going to the movies or paying taxes or fucking your wife or worrying about the mortgage.”

“However much had happened, so much more would happen.”

“If they didn’t know how it would end [...] well, wasn’t that true of every day?”

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

I haven’t seen this one around much and I’m not sure I’ve seen any real reviews of it, but for some reason, I found myself drawn to it. I didn’t even really know what it was about, to be honest, other than a vague idea that it was a sci-fi standalone (a rare thing, and one that I tend to enjoy…This is How You Lose the Time War is a favorite of mine from this year). So after passing by it in the library a couple times, I finally decided to go for it.

In a story that spans years, decades, centuries (if you look at it from the actual start to the actual finish, time-wise), The Vanished Birds introduces us to a few key characters. Nia Imani, a women who travels outside of time across the universe and back, distanced from her past and most of the people she meets. A mysterious, silent child with a traumatic past, who ends up in Nia’s care. Fumiko Nakajima, a brilliant scientist who creates the technology that allows humans to survive the end of Earth and, centuries later, brings Nia and the boy together in an attempt to control the next big technological breakthrough. Nia and the boy develop a connection through found family and music that, though Fumiko’s plans are horribly shattered, may help them survive and find each other again at the end of it all.

Alright, first things first: peeps are SLEEPING on this book. Holy sh*t this novel was WONDERFUL. I finished days ago and have put off writing this review because I know there is no way I will be able to do it justice or fully put into words how strongly I felt about it. I truly am so impressed by the entire scope of the plot, the breadth of time it covers, the connection I felt for the characters and their roles/realities, the blunt intensity of the messages it conveys about the dangers (to human life, human lives) of unchecked and monopolistic capitalism. Phew. Deep breath. Let me just try. Ok.

First, the sci-fi elements. What a freaking fascinating, totally original combination of traditional sci-fi elements. There’s the “end of the Earth-world” situation, the venturing of humans into space as “the only option left after the planet is destroyed,” the clear and inflexible class/privilege lines that are drawn through those events (related to access, primarily), the distortion of time that comes with interstellar travel, the creation of new worlds/systems/societies and world-building that accompanies that, advanced technology that (in some cases) borders on the magical but is firmly based in science, a sort of special/“chosen-one” aspect, and all the things one loves about spaceship based found families (think Firefly and The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet). But while all these recognizable elements are included, they are combined in a way that is completely unique, that I have never read before. And I am not sure how the author did it, but despite the fact that literal decades passed while reading, I never felt rushed through the story, my connections to the plot/people never suffered as a result, and I truly felt like I lived the real passing of time. Amazingly written pacing. In addition, despite the myriad settings, I felt like the world-building was full enough to be understood and pictured without spending so much time developing that aspect that I got bored of lost touch with the rest of the pieces of the story. This may in part be due to the variety of perspectives that we get as each part of the story is told. Jimenez chose the perfect voices/narrators to convey each piece as we move through the novel, which was key as far as connecting me to it all and allowing the story to be deeply and insightfully told over the (substantial) time periods it covers. Perfectly chosen in each case.

I know I already sort of started in on the writing, but most of what I’ve mentioned so far is technical. But there was something deeper in the writing, harder to describe, that really struck a chord with me as a reader. It pulled me in and made me feel the story, experience it, and not “just” read it. There’s a sort of melancholic aura to the story from the start – not the kind of melancholy that makes you sad (though little about this novel could be considered happy), but the kind that weighs you down and settles deep into your bones. I’ll remember these characters and their stories, yes, but even more than that, I’ll remember the way I felt while reading about them – and that’s a way to leave a reader with a lasting impression of a story. Sort of related, there is such a lovely thread of connection throughout the book that weaves memories and music and love in a very emotional way. It’s just divine.

And a final short note before I wrap up. There is a passionate, severe judgement on colonialism and capitalism that is mostly slow-burn/back-burner throughout the earlier portions of the novel, but comes on with a vengeance in the last quarter. It’s set up perfectly for an impactful delivery and I was completely stunned by it. The unexpected parable of morality, of sacrifices for a financially-defined “greater good,” of the behind-the-scenes costs of advancement of the privileged masses. Shrewd and sharp, delivered in a forceful way that is impossible to miss, impossible to condone, and (hopefully) directly applicable to our world today.

GAH. This story is so tragic and poignant and emotionally no-holds-barred, with a slow-build ending your straining, dying to get to and both hits like a dump-truck in the moment and unfolds/settles slowly into your mind over days. Like I said, I’ve been sitting with it and thinking about it for days since finishing, getting more and more worked up about how amazing it was and feeling farther and farther away from any ability to convey it. Just…stop sleeping on it and go read this one!

“What more is there to say in the face of truth than silence?”

“In the plaza of the Painted City, below the triad moons, his eyes rolled back and his hand clutched his chest and he let it take him. He gave his body up to the dancers and the moons, the black ocean and the roar. Time inhaled its breath and stopped the movements of this world. The dancers were pinned to the air and the drinkers held in their kingly repose of goblets tipped into open mouths, while above them all the glittering streamers were glued to the sky, his last thought a guttural recognition of how beautiful it was, this frozen sea of love and action, before the power within him, that old stranger, returned, and upon a blast of light he fell away from this world; his body gone, between the celebratory beat of their drums.”

“‘They still believe memories are citizens of the mind. But memories also live in the bones, and the blood.’”

“Once in a rare while, there is an alignment. Moments that, to some, reveal the workings of God, and to others are simple fortune. But there is no known explanation for this communion of events. It only is.”