An adult fiction fairy tale from a beloved YA author, described as "a sumptuous, gothic-infused story about a marriage that is unraveled by dark secrets, a friendship cursed to end in tragedy, and the danger of believing in fairy tales." Yes, please. And bonus, I had access to the audiobook thanks to Libro.fm, which had a full cast (does it count as "full cast" if it was just two narrators, one for each POV?) narration with just the right vocal ambiance.  

 

Once upon a time...a man and a woman meet and get married. The man has researched myths and fairy tales for years, after a childhood memory (or was it a dream?) leaves him believing in the magical and unseen. The woman, Indigo, is an heiress with a dark secret, who, in exchange for her love, made the man promise to never dig into her past. Sounds like a fairy tale, no? As with all fairy tales though, secrets come out and promises are broken. After happy years together, the unnamed groom and Indigo must travel back to her childhood home, the House of Dreams, to say good-bye to the dying aunt who raised her. Within the grand and ancient halls of the House, the shadows of Indigo's past lurk, and despite his best efforts, the dying aunt, Tati, lures the groom into finding the truth of Indigo's secrets, and discovering what happened to her closest childhood friend, Azure, who disappeared suddenly and without a trace years ago. And his discoveries threaten to unravel not only the balance of their marriage, but perhaps even their lives. 

 

Phew, this was atmospheric AF. Like, everything else (characters, plot, etc.) was fine, solid. Nothing spectacular, but definitely enjoyable. But damn, Chokshi casts a spell with her words. This novel is haunting from the very first page, even before you have any idea why/how you feel that way, and it never lets up. It's darkly mysterious and vibrantly magical. It's creepy and manipulative and gaslighting undertones slowly become overtones as the reader's anticipation of the finale(s) grows. And this is only enhanced by the way that Chokshi gorgeously blurs the lines between fantasy and reality, making the reader ask over and over if there is *real* magic in this story or if it all stems from an internal hope and childlike imagination and the power that people can have over one another. The writing and way the story unfolds left me on the edge of my seat straining for a conclusion/answer to this "is it magic or not" question up until the very end and I am so impressed by the way that line was walked with such perfect literary tension.  

 

There is an incredible infusion of fairy tale references throughout, from myriad cultures and periods, and all of the darker variations and varieties. It was interesting because some references were explicit, naming stories and characters (some of which I knew and some of which required me to do some Googling, which I love), and some of which were more reflections on fairy tales as a genre/literature in general. I really enjoyed some of the literary theory and analysis included, as Chokshi explores some connecting themes in fairy tales, like the nature of oaths, where does the power of love come from (happiness and smiles or screams and fear), the casual cruelty of fairy tales juxtaposed with with the careful distance the story-tellings tyle keeps you at (which allows you to not be overly affected by it), and more. Plus, as the plot comes to a head - the reveals of the dark secret of Indigo's past, Azure's story, and the truth of the magical event in the groom's history that made him believe in fairy tales to begin with - we are treated to a front row seat unfolding of how fairy tales are our way of escaping reality, both for fun and as a refuge (for when we must escape reality in order to protect ourselves). 

 

Like I said, the plot and character development are good - very much like a fairy tale in the way they are paced and built - a solid foundation, if not spectacular, foundation for an unfolding novel. But this book truly shines in the spirit and aura. If you are looking to fall completely into the energy and ambiance of a novel, to get lost in it and leave the "real" world behind, then let this be the one. 

 

 

“Some individuals are like portals, the knowing of them makes the world a far vaster place.” 

 

“…the lightless space between what you cannot believe is a truth and what you know must be a lie.” 

 

“I have since learned that marriage is nothing more than a spell strengthened by daily ritual.” 

 

“If you combed through enough fairy tales, untangled their roots, and shook their branches, you would find that they are infested with oaths. Oaths are brittle things, not unlike an egg. Though they go by different names depending on the myth - troths and gels, vows and tynged - there is one thing they all share: they must be broken for there to be a story. Only a shattered promise yields a rich, glittering yolk of a tale.” 

 

“Only grief can make time change its tempo like that, expand seconds to centuries, with only our eyes marking the distance crossed.” 

 

“There is always a peculiar distance to fairy tales. They are denuded of urgency, rinsed of true horror even as the words relish in gore. Love is presented to us as something that must be as vast as a horizon  and just as unreachable.” 

 

“Sometimes you are lured not by the promise of safety but the safety of knowing that here lies a sure thing.” 

 

“That’s why magic kissed our bruises, coddled our hearts, and then sent us on our way. Magic hoped we would carry its echo out into the world, for we were never meant to stay here.” 

 

“In the end, a fairy tale is nothing more than a sense of hope. Hope lures and tricks. It tempts with shining thrones, exquisite nectars, and loving arms. It whispers to us that we are extraordinary. Exempt. Thus lured, we follow its path. Sometimes we are led to riches. Other times, we are led astray. But this hope never hides its shape, and for its honesty we reach for it and pull its sweet and stinking furs up to our chins, for to live without it means living without magic.” 

 

Look, I'll be honest, the description of this book really didn't sound that interesting to me. But then it made a ton of awards lists and I saw some glowing reviews from trusted readers and really, I ended up wanting to see what it was really like for myself. Plus, sometimes it's the unexpected books that end up being new favorites, because my enjoyment of them is more of a surprise. And so, I found myself (after a long wait on the holds list), in possession of an audiobook and ready to see for myself. 

 

In Trust, the reader experiences the story of Andrew Bevel and his wife, Mildred (or Benjamin Rask and his wife, Helen) from a number of perspectives. First, a fictional novel that may or may not actually hold some seeds of truth. Next, a first attempt at retelling the story the way he wants it to be understood, from Andrew himself. Followed quickly by some insight on that "autobiographical" point of view from the ghost writer hired to assist in the project. And finally, in her own fractured words from her final months, Meldred Bevel herself. Although technically all four narratives are telling the same story, the differences in presentation and bias create four unique, yet deeply intertwined, variations of the lead up to, moment of, and recovery (or not, as it were) from the stock market crash of 1929, Black Tuesday, and the role the Bevel's may or may not have played in that infamous historical moment. 

 

The opening of this novel, the novel within a novel, reads very much like Patrick Raden Keefe (based solely on my experience with Empire of Pain). It is deeply researched information about the market trends and stock exchange and the build and crash of the 20s that I appreciated in theory and skimmed in reality because...personal interest is lacking there (props to the audio for pulling me through this part). On the other hand, the intricacies of mental health care and treatment of this first part I found fascinating. Moving into the second part, the change in tone is astounding - a blowhard memoir that screams with satire that is subtle enough to be missed, if one agrees with it on surface, highlighting the classism and misogyny of the early 1900s and the BS exceptionalism of the “my profit is for the betterment of this country and it’s just convenient that I get rich too but if other people do it too, they’re irresponsible and bringing the country down.” I also enjoyed the unique ‘memoir in progress’ outline kind of format. The third section brings a very opposing perspective, with light caricaturing on the other side of the economic and political landscapes as well. Seeing such a stark presentation of the way a person can rewrite their own memories was psychologically fascinating. And really just getting a "normal person" view of the proceedings and trappings of wealth to contrast the first two in tone was a nice literary touch. And finally, the short final section was about what I suspected it would be, but in a very satisfying/confirming sort of way. And it was more nuanced than it might have been with the mental illness actuality and/or potential, that created just enough of a question of reliability to keep it from being too easy an ending. 

 

Overall, I was super impressed with how distinct the voices in each section were. It was really incredible writing, with well-layered narratives that had aspects from each narrative interwoven throughout the others, in ways both explicit and more subtle, that provided continuity and the suspicion of (at least some) truths in each. As I kept reading, this feature of the novel just kept on impressing me, as I experienced the way each of these records is played with and repurposed by the others, twisted based on the teller, until the truth of the memories are so far buried as to be undiscoverable. Not only was it great in a literary sense, it reflected reality so effectively in the examination of the way different people and perspectives see the same story. And it did so in a way that wasn’t repetitive or too obvious. 

 

While the focus of this novel, for me, was definitely the characterization pieces, it is worth noting that there were also some fascinating philosophical musings about the nature of money. And Diaz also painted a great historical fiction setting, in all aspects of "world-building," in the way these characters moved through the world they lived in, and alongside the worlds they were not fully a part of. This was especially ture along lines of sex and class. This is also reflected in the commentary he makes on who has the power to control the narrative (and the insecurity to falsify it), and how that affects the popular view/opinion (and therefore the future knowledge and interpretations available for mass consumption and understanding). These are important questions we must remember to ask when considering both historical and present day popular narratives, and this novel is a superbly crafted communication of that point. 

 

Diaz demonstrates how easily we can manipulate others' words, and even our own minds, to make ourselves see/believe what we wish reality was with precision and deep intelligence, that nevertheless remains completely accessible. While this is perhaps not a favorite read of mine, I am coming away with a deep appreciation for Diaz's craft and respect for the story (stories?) he told in these pages. I see why it has received such praise.   

 

“Most of us prefer to believe we are the active subjects of our victories but only the passive objects of our defeats. We triumph, but it is not really we who fail - we are ruined by forces beyond our control.” 

 

“The developments of the market reached him only as 'news,' which is how the press refers to decisions made by other people in the recent past.” 

 

“Some people, under certain circumstances, hide their true emotions under exaggeration and hyperbole, not realizing their amplified caricature reveals the exact measure of the feelings it was meant to conceal.” 

 

“Fiction harmless? Look at religion. Fiction harmless? Look at the oppressed masses content with their lot becasue they have embraced the lies imposed on them. History itself is just a fiction - a fiction with an army. And reality? Reality is a fiction with an unlimited budget. That's what it is. And how is reality funded? With yet another fiction: money. Money is at the core of it all. An illusion we've all agreed to support. Unanimously. We can differ on other matters, like creed or political affiliations, but we all agree on the fiction of money and that this abstraction represents concrete goods. Any goods.” 

 

“There was a bizarre sort of violence in having my memories plagiarized.” 

 

“I know my days are numbered, but not every number is a real number.” 

 

“God is the most uninteresting answer to the most interesting questions.” 

 

This memoir first came across my radar when it was a ALC offered by Libro.fm (months ago). But really, I have been getting more and more into memoirs over the past few years, especially on audio (as, even though this one wasn't, they are often narrated by the author, which I think adds a nice depth to the reading experience). It took me a while to get to it, but during that time I also picked up a physical copy (at the Barnes and Noble half off hardcovers end of year sale), to help me remember to get to it. And see - it kind of worked! 

 

In The Last Nomad, Shugri Said Salh tells the story of her life, in the storytelling tradition of her nomadic Somali tribe. When Salh was young, she was sent from the city to live with her maternal grandmother in the desert, learning a nomadic way of life that used to be much more prevalent. Her time in the desert was spent learning the intricacies of travel, caring for goats and camels, finding and preparing food and water, surviving drought and staying safe from predatory animals, learning and following community stories and beliefs and traditions and lineages. After years, she returned to Mogadishu and, along with her siblings, lived in a foreign-run orphanage, learning and maturing, until civil war broke out in Somalia to an extreme that forced them to flee to Kenya as refugees. And from there, Salh moved to Canada and, finally, the United States. 

 

This memoir reinforced why I have been getting more and more into them. I was enthralled by Salh's life, and the way she told her own story, from beginning to end. Her writing communicates each part of her life, schooling and nomadic life, escape and refugee, family and immigration, life in new countries, in such clear and descriptive prose. It’s evocative and emotional but not overdone. And it’s impossible to not be pulled into her story and the stages in which it unfolds. My absolute favorite parts to read were at the beginning, as she describes the nomadic lifestyle. I don't think I have ever read anything about nomad life before and I was fascinated by everything I learned, like the goats/sheep/camels and water as central tenets, the cycle of drought versus rainier seasons and survival tricks and tactics, the importance of oral tradition and poetry and storytelling, the clan structures and traditions and gender roles, the scaffolded responsibility and education of nomadic youth, all of it was totally engrossing to read. One caveat here... While it was important to include with the insight and perspective that Salh gives, the chapter about FGM, and her experiences undergoing the procedure, are extremely difficult to read. She does give a warning, but be careful with that section. 

 

Speaking of perspective, I thought the way Salh contrasts the realities of growing up between nomadic life in the desert and city life (the focus of acquiring food and water versus other things when that was no longer so time consuming, what children did in their spare time - helping or in play/messing around, differences like the disabled population or lack thereof depending on if they were somewhere they could survive) and/or similarities (like the importance of hospitality), was quite discerning. Another theme that cropped up throughout was the importance of forefathers/ancestors in common as a connecting thread. The way tribes use that for considering allegiances and support, is really interesting ( it’s a familial/community aspect we don’t see as much of in the individualistic US). And the oral tradition of memorizing these ancestral lines for generations back is so impressive. Of course, as with everything, it can be used in misguided ways, as it was within the context of the civil war in this case, but still just a really cool cultural tradition.  

 

There were a number of more difficult topics covered as Salh got older and war broke out - the violence in general, the horrifying stories of the civil war human rights atrocities, the gender inequalities and the way women were shamed and repressed in a number of sexually-related ways - so I do want to make sure readers are aware of that going in. But as I mentioned earlier, I thought she covered it all in an expressive and graphic, but never gratuitous way. It just really felt like the focus was on authentically portraying her life. And I truly loved the end, when she acknowledges about how she is both proud of and recognizes where her culture has failed her as a woman - it’s a fine line, one that can be difficult to find and hold, and her ability to do so speaks volumes about her (and gives me hope that I'll be able to do the same for my own country, which, too, can be wonderful and is also failing me as a woman in so many ways). 

 

The only other book I have read about Somalia (to date) is When Stars are Scattered, which was fantastic, but as a juvenile graphic novel, a much different experience. I loved how, here, I got to see more of the nomadic and “normal” life in Somalia, pre-civil war, and a more adult (or at least older than a child's) surreal experience of the descent into conflict and violence and what came next putting pieces of a life back together. With many content warnings, I really recommend this memoir. 

 

“Nomadic children only let their needs be known if there is a true emergency, such as threatening wild animals or a deadly snakebite [...] We simply lived with the certainty that if there was water or food, we would be cared for. Life was predictable that way.” 

 

“The irony of the situation was depressing. I was terrified of people finding out that I was almost raped, and my brother was proudly boasting about having sex with my friend. This is how it feels to live in a culture where women are shamed, overburdened with guilt and blame, and men are empowered, guilt-free, and valued above women.” (not to highlight the negative, because there was a lot of other unique and lovely cultural things, but also this summed up the negative aspects really well) 

 

“I am very proud of my ancestors, my home country, and my past. I have just learned to leave out the parts that don't serve me as a woman, a mother, a human.” 

 

This little novella is one that was an ALC (thanks Libro.fm) that I got a few months ago, and I put myself on hold for the physical book at the library (I am really getting into having access to both reading options these days) after seeing a glowing review from @booksnblazers. 

 

Helen is a (magical) private investigator in 1940s Chicago, working within the darker side of the city. Almost exactly 10 years ago, she made a deal with a demon, trading her soul to save her brother's (Teddy) life. The end date on her deal, when her life is forfeit, is looming...and Helen is dreading leaving behind the women she's fallen in love with, Edith, and their dreams of a future together in San Francisco. When she is offered one final job, to find the White City Vampire (a notorious serial killer), with the payout of winning her soul back if she succeeds, she takes it. But things are more than what they seem, including Edith, and a number of divine powers have a vested interest in the outcome of her investigation. 

 

My goodness, the noir vibes in this book were great. Between the time period and writing, it was like reading in sepia toned melancholy. The seedy, underbelly descriptions of the settings (including the underground gay bar, since that was the only option for them), and the grisly aspects of the murders, and the short time we spent in a women's asylum institution (for mental health "treatment," but with a horrifying glimpse at conversion therapy realities of the time as well), contributed to this vibe as well. Otherwise,  do find reading this time period hard, and so I do it sparingly, because the misogyny and patronization of women is something I find infuriating and difficult to read too much of.  Anyways, I am always a fan of a "sell your soul" and "deal with the devil" storyline, it's a favorite supernatural trope of mine. And while I do not always love the personification of angels and demons in paranormal stories, I thought it was well done here. I actually specifically thought the importance, in faith, of continuing to believe without evidence (and how hard that actually is) was explored in a way that I don't see often and I commend the author for. 

 

The theme of not accepting fate is also always a classic, and is explored with deep personal emotion here. Polk explores what people will sacrifice/exchange in order to change fate, to save someone they love. But they also do a nice job introducing the complicating factor of, even if it hurts you (cause love does hurt), is it not worth considering that a person may not want or make the same choice as you about their fate? And what is selfish, or not, and how do you know, and is that just part of the weakness of humanity? However, in the end, I LOVED the message that love is love, it’s about a generous and open heart, and anything past that is irrelevant. 

 

Speaking of love, let me talk about the relationships between Helen and Edith. For such a short novella, and being introduced to them already comfortably together, I was quickly deeply emotionally invested in them; they really warmed by soul and I was cheering hard for their *happy* ending right from the start. And as I read, their relationship got better and better. The understanding of secrets and separate lives and communicating through and accepting that is a level of emotional maturity that is usually skipped in favor of drama-by-miscommunication in romance situations, and I’m thrilled by the way it’s done here; so refreshing. On the other hand, the other major relationship (between Helen and Teddy), felt nowhere near as well done to me. It seemed shallow and the choices that each made, as well as their emotional reactions and connections, just felt too easy and just plot-device-y, after so many years apart. 

 

I love the way the title works, the recognizable feeling of the building of hope for the ending every time you hear/see/read a familiar story, even though you already know what it will be. And the ending, oh it hit the heartstrings, that choice for at least some time, because some time is better than no time. It's a knowledge we all have, in choosing love, that there will be an ending, and it will hurt, but we choose love in the time we have anyways, because that pain is worth it.  

 

This was a great, quick read. Emotional and entertaining and full of time period, magical, noir-ish vibes. Anyone who enjoyed Addie LaRue and/or fans of Supernatural, would like this book a lot. 

 

This is the fourth Aspen Words Literary Prize 2023 longlist read that I've gotten around to this year. Even though the shortlist has already been announced, I'm still planning to read the ones that have seemed most interesting to me, regardless of whether they moved on or not. I don't think I have it in me to read it in full this year, but I had seen a lot of great reviews for this one, so I knew this would be one I would pick up. And since this one did, in fact, make the shortlist too, I was that much more excited to experience it myself. 

 

Through a multigenerational story-telling voice, Calling for a Blanket Dance takes us through the story of Ever Geimausaddle's life. From traumatic childhood events to his father's failing health and his mother's struggle to support the family, from his time spent in the military to his experiences as a single father to children whose mother struggles with addiction, from his second partner and their struggles starting their own family to his work with at-risk indigenous youth, from his own issues with rage to his re-connecting with his Oklahoman and tribal and Mexican family and roots, Ever fights to create a life that is, for him (if no one else), full...of stability, of helping others, of family and a place to call home.  

 

Well, this was a really interesting written format and style. Each chapter is narrated from a different perspective, all but telling a sequential story of the life of the focal character, Ever. Even more unique is that, for many of them, they are telling a story of Ever, but in relation to or in observation of a third person or perspective; so each piece of Ever's life that that we get is even once more removed, with the narrator being more minimal/tangential in comparison to the story they're relating. Though as time passes and the chapters continue, the narration becomes closer and closer to Ever himself, or interactions with Ever himself, until the final chapter, which brings the book to its finale with a chance to speak of himself in his own voice.It was so cool how, by the end, I really did have such a full understanding of Ever, even with hearing most of his story from a this remove. It really does a great job showcasing how our relationships with others, the way we treat and interact with them, are the most truthful way to see who a person actually is (an incredible "actions speak louder than words" message) I don't know if I’ve never read a character portrayal like this before. 

 

Thematically, Hokeah addresses a number of difficult topics, like intergenerational memories of trauma and addiction, the way that changes genetics, and the way memories from before you actively remember live in the bones/body. This is then compounded by the way violence and addiction and job/housing insecurity and other traumas are often an everyday reality in indigenous life. There were a few moments at the end, particularly Ever's final chapter, that I found particularly compelling to read after just having finished Evicted - the incredible focus on housing as the point around which family stays stable and centered and together hit a lot harder in that context. There was also, threaded throughout, a subtly affecting look at the efforts people are making to help change things and create better spaces and environments for future generations than they had. I find that often, reasonably and understandably, stories like this one focus on how the previous generation's trauma irrevocably harms the next in un-overcomable ways and the cycle continues. And while this novel recognized that too, it also provided a touching look at the way even the most individual, the smallest (on a population scale, not as far as their impact on a person), changes/choices/efforts can make such an incredible difference in the direction the future takes. And I loved that. 

 

As I was reading, I thought this was a solid read. Good writing, absorbing content, but (at least for me) not particularly special or standout. But then, the second to last chapter, when the cultural and societal connections, the community support and paying it back/forward, the effort and importance of lifting up family and tradition came to the center stage, mixed with a full circle narrative in a very touching and filling way, and my feelings about the quality of this book took a big jump. It highlighted the best of this indigenous community (that’s always there, if not always used or see in the positive light it could be), shifting the focus in a way that gave needed depth to the impact of the novel. While this is probably not a new favorite, in general or of the Aspen Words long/shortlist, I that late shift really brought things together in a satisfying way and made this book so much more, for me.  

 

“One day, he always told her, over and over. But 'one day' said everyday sounded more like 'never.'” 

 

"When we’re faced with our own mortality the only strength we have left is laughter.” 

 

“There was only one thing worse than wasted potential: the people who didn't give potential any expectations.” 

 

“I suppose Ever was right about small expectations: they rise like water.” 

 

 

This was an ALC from Libro.fm, which is what had me picking it up so quickly, if I'm being honest. But also, after I read that it was tarot cards and divination...that had me fully interested in seeing what it was all about more deeply. Because I have a weird soft spot for books with that kind of focus. Samantha Shannon's Bone Season series an obvious fav, and Steifvater's The Raven Cycle is also great. I even love when it shows up in supporting roles, like in H.E. Edgmon's The Fae Keeper, or when it is other forms of divination, like astrology in Written in the Stars or the variety of weirder things (like haruspex) in my absolute fav This is How You Lose the Time War. So anyways, the point is, I was interested in this story. 

 

Ann Stilwell leaves her small town in Washington state for a summer internship with the Met in NYC, only to discover that there's been a mix-up and she is now going to be working at the Cloisters, a gothic Renaissance museum and garden. Either way, she gets to stay in the city, so she jumps in. Within days, she is pulled into a small group of mysterious and passionate researchers: the curator, Patrick, and his assistant, Rachel, as well as the gardener, Leo. Patrick is convinced that there is more truth to tarot than we've previously believed, and that finding (up until now) hidden histories of tarot decks/readings will unlock the secrets of actual future-telling. Ann may or may not believe quite that much, but she is all too happy to leave her own troubled past behind and jump on board with some of the more questionable research choices the Cloisters employees are making. And as her personal and professional life with this small group of friends/coworkers gets ever more tangled, and the manipulations and secrets at work seem more and more oppressive, Ann finds herself in some really untenable positions. 

 

My first impressions as I began reading this were definitely...iffy. The "woe is me/I’m hard done by" vibe from Ann that hits hard and fast at the beginning (not rich, not pretty, not useful or special) was not my favorite. Like, it was just really extreme. Now, as the story went, I could see how that feeling of inadequacy played into how she was so easily drawn into nefarious-ish things, and further in, how she justifies some of her choices and actions. So within the context of the story, I settled into it a little bit. And I generally do like an unlikable narrator, but this one grated extra on me for some reason. So if that's a "thing" for you too, be aware. 

 

The creepy "something is off" feelings that unfolded throughout this novel, that are really a cornerstone of dark academia and gothic lit, are strong here. The vibes of the arcane and mysterious, the classic mix of desire, power, work/pursuit, and the occult/mysterious, are all over and (I felt) more or less pulled off well. Hayes smoothly writes tension into the descriptions of many normal everyday events and interactions, adding a high level of intensity and eeriness. In particular, the relationship between Ann and Rachel, as it developed had that unhealthy aspirational kind of aura, where Ann kind of was in love with and wanted to be Rachel at the same time, while Rachel sort of uncomfortably took Ann under her wing and "mentored" her in a way that isolated her from everything else. If you have read Tangerine or Magic for Liars, there were some very similar qualities. Their combined personalities and outlooks - the danger of wanting to believe something too badly, seeing suspiciousness everywhere, high level access/finances/entitlement, emotional instability (working through grief), *so much* ambition - really had me on the edge of my seat waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

 

And drop it did! Interestingly, while some parts of the drop I did suspect or anticipate, other parts were a surprise. There were quite a few twists and reveals at the end, way more than I had expected. It explained a lot of things, and did really add some nice depth to the exploration of the primary push and pull theme: needing to believe in faith because the alternative can drive you crazy versus still retaining some level of power over your choices and future. I can see why Ann (and Rachel too, really) had constructed a belief in the hand of fate the way they had. And I kind of liked the low key (and sometimes high key) ruthlessness and mercilessness they showed. Although for some reasons that I cannot fully explain, I just didn't think that this book was as good as it could have been (or maybe as good as I was hoping it would be), there were a lot of really solid writing and thematic aspects throughout. I don't know, perhaps it just felt a little too formulaic for what it was supposed to be? 

 

I have to end by saying that, even though my overall feelings about this book were more lukewarm than I would have hoped, the tarot and divination aspects were spot on and I loved all of that. The focus on "unpopular" Renaissance art and artists, and the way that was used to delve into the history of tarot, both as a game and as it became something more, as well as an introduction to a number of other popular (and somewhat creepy) divination methods of that time period, was fascinating. In addition, the combination of divination and fate and religious/belief, how they tied together and how historically people could justify believing in both, was really interesting. The way this too was connected with the philosophical discussions of fate and choice that Ann, Rachel, Patrick and Leo all grapple with (and manipulate) in the present day was really well done. 

 

“Wasn’t that, after all, why we had become academics and researchers in the first place? To discover art as a practice, not just as an artifact?” 

 

“We are, you see, both masters of our fate and at the mercy of the Moirai--the three Fates who weave our futures and cut them short. And while I still believe we can control the little things in life, those small decisions that add up to the everyday, I think, perhaps, the overall shape of our life is not ours to decide.” 

 

After reading the first volume, I quickly got my hands on this second volume to see where the story goes next. 

 

This is a really interesting way to consume a story, like old school serial stories published in parts in local newspapers. There is not the “opening-buildup-conflict-denouement-possible cliffhanger” that one gets with full books in a series, but rather just a single story unfolding, but told over multiple installations.  It’s not a style I am used to, so it’s taking some adjustment. Like, these volumes each end in what feels like a random place, and pick up right after each other in sequence. It’s definitely making me a bit on edge, because I just want to know what comes next and I never feel like I’m in a good ending place in which to wait for the next one. Anyways, that’s sort of an aside, but just a thing I’m working through as I decide if Webtoons are a media for me, or not. 

 

So obviously, this story picks up where the last one left – with Hades and Persephone talking after Persephone’s horrible sexual manipulation/assault situation with Apollo. It covers both the next steps in their relationship (their growing feelings for each other that Hades tries to tamp down and Persephone is unsure how to handle), as well as covering some interference from Hera, jealousy from Minthe, and a few other side characters, like Hestia’s expectations for Persephone and Hecate’s role within Hades’ Underworld (I do love Hecate in every retelling of this mythology, and this version is no different). 

 

I remain enchanted by the graphics, it’s stylistically unlike anything I’ve read in graphic novel format before. Bubbly and fun in a semi-structured way, but with some great dark edges. I still sometimes struggle following characters, as the coloring and features aren’t super consistent between panels, but I like to style enough to work though that. And knowing the story and some of the connections already is helping me parse the details here. 

 

Watching Hades and Persephone interact is great. Hades falling fast and hard is honestly just adorable; I love a dark hero. And Persephone is a lovely example of a sweet, naïve female romance lead, but she does start to come a bit more into her own here (like challenging Hades to a wager and giving some trash talk) which I was glad for, to save her from being too cloying. If you’re a dog person, this retelling will be a good one for you, the doggo scenes in this volume were all fantastic. And while I am never a fan of Minthe in any iteration, I actually really like the chapters that gave her background more detail here. I always appreciate an antagonist who gets their due depth. 

 

Overall, I remain mostly neutral on this retelling, in a general sense. It’s entertaining and enjoyable, but not a standout or groundbreaking. So, while not a TBR priority, since each volume is such a fast and escapist reading experience that, as my holds on the next volumes continue to come in at the library, I’ll definitely continue reading them. 

 

I'm not actually sure how this one came across my radar. I don't think I've seen anyone else review it, which is normally how I find books. Nor has it been on any lists, I don't think. Perhaps this is one that I talked to a patron at the library about? Usually book recs go the other way, from me to them, but sometimes that switches up. Either way, I haven't read anything by a Tibetan author before, that I can remember, nor anything even set in/around Tibet, so I was very interested in this one. 

 

We Measure the Earth with Our Bodies is an intergenerational family story, focusing entirely on the women of the family. Opening with the 1950s, with China's invasion of Tibet, Lhamo, her younger sister Tenkyi, and their family, are forced to flee their home for a refugee camp in Nepal. Although the sisters survive the trip across the Himalayas, their parents do not. Over the next years, as they adjust to life in the camp, the differences in daily life and survival there, they each make goals and plans for the future, while also doing their best to cope with their losses and grief. Decades in the future, the sisters are separated by an ocean, as Lhamo has stayed in Nepal while Tenkyi has traveled to live in Canada. Lhamo has sent her daughter, Dolma, to live and study in Toronto with her aunt. Through her studies, Dolma is pulled back to her roots in Tibet, a country she has never seen, as she struggles to learn more about and come to terms with the turmoil of her land and family that is pervasive through all their relationships, even though her mother and aunt speak very little of it. 

 

There is a deep thread of mysticism throughout this novel. That's probably the biggest vibe I took away from this reading experience. From the exploration and role of female oracles in Tibetan/Buddhist society to the statue of the Nameless Saint that is thread woven across generations and continents to the general sort of transcendent connections between the women of Lhamo's family and the spiritual connections with their homeland, it was ubiquitous from start to finish. This definitely lined up with the belief-base upon which this story was built. I loved reading about the traditions and systems Lama shares in these pages: of prayer flags, of the respect for life (all life, especially demonstrated by the parts sections with the ants, for me), of the importance of (yak) butter in daily food and life, nomadic traditional practices, and the general rituals around death and mourning. Lama writes of it with such a deep feeling, it was incredibly touching. I really appreciated the opportunity to learn this history (ancient and contemporary, both - as I had very little knowledge of the Chinese annexation of Tibet and the continuation of that offense against the country and its people to this day) and culture. It was fascinating and educational, and also inspired me to do quite a bit of follow-up research of my own on many of the topics. 

 

On both an individual and a population level, this is a crushing story, heavy with tragedy and loss and doing whatever one can to make the best of circumstances one has little control over. The way that colonialism is innate in every part of the world, that belief in superiority that is so universal and deep-seated, is as heartbreaking here as it is anywhere. Watching, in this novel, how much is lost to that imperial reality, between generations (culturally and within families) because of externally forced "leaving behind" combined with the way that older community members hold trauma close, doing what they must to survive and move past (often purposefully forgetting or compartmentalizing) - the way that leaves younger generations without the chance to hear the stories of their ancestors, or feeling otherwise disconnected from their heritage - is so horribly tragic and heart-rending. Lama does an exceptional job imparting the way that feels on the reader, with Dolma's perspective. Her meditations on who she is, when she's thrust into a land she doesn't know, that isn’t hers (whether it's meant to help her escape from or to something), even with the goal of surviving/thriving, it’s still not her true homeland. Reading how she is unable to go back, cannot re-enter Tibet, and yet she cannot make somewhere else (whether Nepal or Canada) the same kind of "true" home is so emotionally intense. 

 

Lama's writing in this entire novel is spectacular. I highlighted so many passages. The way she is able to convey both sorrow and hope in equal measure is almost too much at once. As it ends, and she writes of the land that remains, how it holds the memories of those who once inhabited it, even though they are gone, and how that can carry their presence on and on is so affecting. As I mentioned earlier, the sort of otherworldly aspect that Lama is able to bring to such an agonizing story is a very unique style, one that was perfect for giving the reader a real impression of both the incredible loss and the remaining affinity of the Tibetan people and traditions. I loved how it allowed me to be emotionally invested, but in a sort of necessarily ephemeral way. It made for a slightly slower-than-normal reading experience for me, but I think that was right for the story this novel was telling. And again, as this carried through, thematically, with the focus on (almost) all female characters, especially a spiritual/holy type of woman, and the thread of the ku (the Nameless Saint) as a symbol for the everlasting tie to one's heritage, despite everything, it was very moving.  

 

“It’s no small matter to leave, [...] Our homes are here. our gods are here, in our mountains and rivers that we know so well. We are tied to this land and this land is tied to us, in every way possible.” 

 

“My mother was not just an idea. She was made of a body, and a body is not simple or plain. It has its own will and its own memories. When it gives up, no song, no prayer can bring it back.” 

 

“How ragged and tired we seem. Like old prayer flags strung across a hillside, the colors have been stripped from our bodies  over many hard days. What would peace do for us? Would it make us new again? Would it stitch us back together?” 

 

“Have you ever felt a cool pocket of air around you? [...] You don't know it's there until you touch it, but it's always there. All you have to do is hold out your hand. That's what it's like to receive a terma. To lay a hand on a rock and recognize verses of metaphysics. To grind an herb and discover a moment of wisdom that unleashes entire teachings. or to look up at the sky and see a symbol right there that unlocks a transmission from a thousand years ago. Imagine how that feels. To come up against something so ancient, which was left there just for you.” 

 

“The world has forgotten us. To the vast majority, we do not matter. How else could they pass around our gods as possessions, display them in the sterile confines of museums and private collections, as though we were already long gone?” 

 

“But the occupation doesn't begin and end on the edges of my country. It lives in the words you select when you write about us.” 

 

“Please overlook our present degradation. You should have seen us before the invasion, when our country had kings and gods and an unbroken thread of history from a time before time.” 

 

“How many people are doing this right now? Making their way from place to place, countless ants crossing the planet, some on boats in the middle of the ocean, some in mountain passes, others hidden in the kitchens of city restaurants, or tucked inside a dark box. […] All these journeys. Already fated to succeed, no matter how many lifetimes they take. From far away, we may look like we're standing still, but we are all traveling great distances, forging our fates.” 

 

“It’s strange, isn’t it, how a few slivers of the past seem to swell in the mind while so much else falls away?” 

 

“In the end, this may be how we survive. Collecting the shards of ourselves and offering them with honesty to someone else.” 

 

“But I suppose we must all make peace with the things we cannot have.” 

 

“What I do know is that survival is an ugly game, and our objects are all the world really values of our people. Our objects and our ideas. But not us, and not our lives.” 

 

“Nothing here lasts for long, not even the past.” 

 

“Yes, this is how you break a heart. With a wire fence that shows everything that cannot be touched.” 

 

“For now, we must leave. But we will continue to circle this land. In this life and the next. That is our sorrow and our hope.” 

 

Back to Thistle Grove! These books are just refreshingly magical and fun. And the town of Thistle Grove is such a cozy place to keep returning to. So, I'm always happy to pick up the next book in this witchy romance series. 

 

This third book in The Witches of Thistle Grove series is the first that focuses on a Blackmoore. Nineve in the middle child of the Blackmoore family (younger sister to the horrid Gareth we all loved to hate in book one...and two, really). And although she does love the finer, and more organized, things in life, she is pretty chill by her family's standards. Coming off an unexpected breakup from a long term relationship, just days before the wedding, Nina is struggling to get back to herself. Her bestie, Jessa, suggests she try a date with someone she *knows* isn't a good match, because there will be no pressure, and Nina figures it can't hurt. Enter Morty, who just took over the Shamrock, one of Thistle Grove's cooky-est bars, from their father. A bar that Nina's family has been trying to buy from them...without success. After a spectacularly terrible first date, Morty and Nina end up connected by some outside events: Morty suddenly developing magical powers, Nina's own magic busting out of her control in a way it never has before, and an intense connection between them that is both a surprise and a comfort. 

 

Well, I loved Payback's a Witch, and enjoyed (but didn't love quite as much) From Bad to Cursed, and I'm back to loving here with Back in a Spell. This started so well, imo. I often feel like the bad first date trope is overdone or exaggerated, but the way this one went...it felt so legitimately possible. Like, not realizing who the other is (because of nicknames/app handles obscuring full identity awareness), plus misconceptions about the other based on their family (and other more superficial judgemental means), and it all came out as bad feels and vibes? That is so real. But also, not so bad that it cannot be "bounced back" from. And then, the way the magical connection between Morty and Nina happened...I was into it. Although their deeper level of understanding and sensation and feeling isn't necessarily new, in the "bonded" trope of magical romance, it was just different enough (in general and especially in an erotic way!) that I was very into. Plus, I really liked the way it was used to move past the holding back/self-conscious communication stuff that is the hallmark of "conflict" in romances (a personal *deeply* not favored point of conflict). It allowed the actual conflict to be something more meaningful and profound, which I thought added a lot to the depth of this story and I really appreciated that. The emotional connection there too, when it came time for vulnerability, was fantastic - it was great and it hurt and it was so much better for that depth. I also thought that, considering the "insta" vibe of it all, due to environment and circumstances, it was handled in a very full and convincing way and I liked that. Morty and Nina were an opposites attract pair that I felt a lot more invested in/sure of than I did for Isadora and Rowan in the last book. 

 

As for the rest, the magic and the plot, I was here for that as well. As always, learning more about Thistle Grove (and in this case, the magical lake and what dwells within) was a highlight. And magically, Nina's specialty of portal magic was very cool; the description of the “opposing convictions” of individuality and oneness with the universe required for that style of magic feels instinctually wonderful to me, just a concept that I thought was really cool. The major plot/conflict was also great. Honestly, it was almost like a villain origin story except (and maybe this is a spoiler, but also this is a romance series so like, you know the ending is happy before you start) then Nina made the moral call, and it turned into a kind of "villain origin story gone wrong," which was creative. And since the miscommunication tropes weren't there, like I said, it made that conflict that much better. It was a really well done moment of a person standing with their morals, and expecting something equally moral/good from the other, holding fast in themselves in case it didn’t happen, and then being immediately accepting by/open when it did. What a genuine, like no feelings of fabrication, conflict. Both true and difficult.   

 

As a small side note, I had not heard of the show Lost Girl before reading this, but I have now added it to my "to watch" list! It feels like just my style. But for real, this whole book was my style. A great mix of whimsical magic and heavier themes, in a way that was both emotionally intense and also fully still escapist comfort reading. And it didn't hurt that some long-standing "bad guys" of Thistle Grove got their comeuppance, as we also watched unlikely alliances(?), friendships(?), trust(?) start to form in younger generations - always a progressive and satisfying ending that I can get behind. Just a lovely addition to the series.   

 

“Then I glanced over my shoulder to see Morty's face, rapt and delighted, flickering with my own magic-made light as he laughed into the sky. And I knew that I couldn't possibly do anything that would compromise that pride, risk losing that faith and joy in me.” 

 

This backlist nonfiction has been on my TBR for awhile, so when I saw it as a used bookstore, I grabbed it! And having gotten to it just now is great timing, since Desmon just this year has a new publication (Poverty, by America) that it seems, at least to me, to expand on some of the research and ideas from this first book. So I am happy to have had the chance to read this one first. And I hope to pick up Poverty, sooner rather than later, as Desmond's reframing of the realities of housing instability and poverty felt insightful and useful and importantly new, so I'm very interested in the next steps he takes. But let me start by reviewing Evicted. 

 

In Evicted, Desmond follows a few families, all residents of Milwaukee, as they face myriad challenges related to finding stable housing. The complexities of their families and relationships, mental health and traumas, community violence, parenting struggles, financial barriers, and legal/bureaucratic nuances are all intertwined in a way that highlights not just their entanglement with housing (and the prevailing perspective that those issues cause eviction/houselessness), but flips the script to suggest not only that maybe we have some of the cause and effect backwards, but that having stable housing would actually ameliorate many of the aforementioned issues as well.      

 

Honestly, this was tough to read in many ways. Desmond is clear and graphic, though never gratuitous, in his descriptions of the living conditions and daily challenges of the families he interviewed and followed. It's heartrending. He does not hold back on how terrible some realities are, and the way that there are very few resources to help people break the cycle of poverty and eviction once it has begun. And that aspect is even harder to read because he also doesn't hold back on how much of it is unnecessary - a purposeful manipulation and exploitation of the poor to keep the middle and upper classes in the "style to which they have become accustomed." I was deeply unaware that there is significantly more money made on landlording in poor areas than there is in more well-off areas, and while I'm saddened to say that doesn't surprise me as much as one would hope, it's also enraging to see it spelled out like Desmond does. The many ways that *so much* money is made on evictions (like moving companies, sub-prime loans/mortgages, storage units), purposefully (and like, pretending that's not what is happening) is gross. And just really, in general, this system is so effed up. There’s no incentive for landlords to make things easier on tenants (in fact, it often costs them a lot to do so) or vice versa (like taking care of the place you’re living in or asking for repairs that might get you kicked out instead of get things fixed), and every move made by a landlord for their own financial benefit screws over a tenant. And there’s like, nothing being done anywhere to fix this clearly broken system (fixes that would legitimately benefit almost everyone involved). Plus honestly, in general, the arbitrariness of enforcing eviction is ridiculous (yet another example of how the system is broken and senseless) and it really calls out all the condescension and complaints so many make about the people who “game the system,” because this book did nothing if not show how impossible that actually is, even if someone wanted to, because of how complicated and unpredictable it all is. 

 

There were numerous other moments while reading that I jotted down impressions, things that especially surprised or moved me, or for whatever reason stuck out just a little more than the rest. I have no real rhyme or reason to those notes, other than there being something about them that made me take extra notice. I think I'm just going to combine all those reactions or occasions here, for "brevity's" sake. The way eviction has evolved to be used to do what other social services should be there for (like “dealing with” domestic violence situations and other “nuisance” 911 calls) is infuriating, especially because of the way it inordinately affects women and even further women of color. Like, how does forcing someone to choose between help from police/eviction and keeping a home but continuing to experience abuse address anything?! Obviously, it does not. And obviously helping people is not even close to the goal. The exploration of riding under the radar, remaining in substandard conditions instead of complaining, because calling for maintenance could lead to inspections with could lead to condemnation of the building and eviction or losing care of one's children to CPS for conditions at least in part outside of one's control - and those inhumane conditions are better than homelessness or splitting up your family - was excruciating to read. Again, there are no good/viable choices available! Along these same "choice" lines, I also really appreciated Desmond breaking down the concept of choosing to spend “unwisely” in order to “live in color.” This is a common accusation I hear, that people who receive governmental financial support aren't able to break out of that need because they're making bad decisions about how they spend that money. But Desmond shows clearly how, since many people have resigned themselves to a situation that it’s impossible to see a way out of (after they, in most cases, have tried very hard to do so), they take control and create agency in the only way they can figure: to try to live on their own terms. This was a very affecting portrayal to read and I do wish it was a psychological concept more widely addressed/understood. 

 

The look at how the sexes handled eviction notices differently (confrontational versus avoidance: going straight to the source/landlord to request deals and working off debt with small tasks versus approaching nonprofits and family that might not come through or approaching landlords but having to pay rent off with sexual favors) is fascinating and a frustrating reminder of the powerful roots of patriarchy. The extra nudge here, that men can more easily "escape" seeing their failures of poverty, the way they "let their families down over and over," reflected because they can leave a family and kids behind in a way that women cannot necessarily, adds a further layer to the unequal effects of poverty and houselessness. And this is without even taking any exploratory steps into looking at how transgender or other gender non-conforming people may experience even further inequalities on this front. I learned a lot about the social and legal history of housing in the US from reading this book, like the development of property management as a business/primary job and the regulations for what qualifies as allowable housing options. And I would be interested to see how any of this has (or has not really) changed since this was written and in this "post" COVID time. Good grief the racism separating people whose circumstances should unite them is a gross and tragic byproduct of very purposeful separation (I recommend The Sum of Us if you want to read more on this specifically). There are a lot of tough moments watching the intergenerational transmission of poverty, as these characters raise their children as best they can, but pass on the trauma even if they don’t mean/want to. And really just, again, the excessive hoops of poverty (to try and get public assistance that there isn’t enough of anyways) are truly unbelievable to see combined and spelled out in one place like this. 

 

I really appreciated the final two chapters, where Desmond moves past the individual stories he highlights here in this book to talk a bit about the larger picture, his own research, and his suggestions for how we as a nation can address and ameliorate these conditions of housing distress and poverty. Reading Desmond's recounting of his process and research - and how open he is about what his personal identity made possible/impossible throughout was an important set of notes to include. And it was stunning how much of this research didn’t exist until this project, when Desmond had to do it himself after realizing it was nowhere to be found. What an important labor he has undertaken here. 

 

Desmond also finished by philosophically and psychologically exploring the meaning of home, of having one (and a stable one at that) as a cornerstone of a healthy and successful life (and vice versa). The substandard living conditions of dangerous neighborhoods and housing that the subjects in this book experience send clear, constant messages about where society says they belong. And there is no getting around the major psychological effects there (which again Desmond highlights to spectacular effect). The importance of home as a centerpiece of identity and community and personhood is something we all have experience with and can agree on, if we take a moment to consider it, and thus we must also recognize that its lack takes so much from us (not to mention the time and money spent to regain it that could be better and more productively used elsewhere). 

 

I mentioned this right at the beginning of the review, and I will bring us back around to it here at the end because, at least for me, this was one of the primary points (arguments, really) at the center of Desmond's work. The reframing of eviction as a cause of poverty (due to all the trickle down effects of its happening), not a consequence of it, was a massive perspective shift that I think, if it could be made at a policy/population level, would make all the difference. This was an eye-opening, demanding, and formidable work of nonfiction. 

 

“When people began to view their neighborhood as brimming with deprivation and vice, full of ‘all sorts of shipwrecked humanity,’ they lost confidence in its political capacity. Milwaukee renters who perceived higher levels of neighborhood trauma – believing that their neighbors had experienced incarceration, abuse, addition, and other harrowing events – were far less likely to believe that people in their community could come together to improve their lives. This lack of faith had less to do with their neighborhood’s actual poverty and crime rates than with the level of concentrated suffering their perceived around them. A community that saw so clearly its own pain had a difficult time also sensing its potential.” 

 

“But equal treatment in an unequal society could still foster inequality.” 

 

“The home is the center of life. It is a refuge from the grind of work, the pressure of school, and the menace of the streets. We say that at home, we can ‘be ourselves.’ Everywhere else, we are someone else. At home we remove our masks. The home is the wellspring of personhood. It is where our identity takes root and blossoms, where as children, we imagine, play, and question, and as adolescents we retreat and try. As we grow older, we hope to settle into a place to raise a family or pursue work. When we try to understand ourselves, we often begin by considering the kind of home in which we were raised.” 

 

“The persistence and brutality of American poverty can be disheartening, leaving us cynical about solutions. But […] a good home can serve as the sturdiest of footholds. When people have a place to live, they become better parents, workers, and citizens.”