Alright, everybody was doing it, so I did too. But for real this book topped all the popular-vote-based "best of" lists for 2022. And you know I always want to see for myself what the hype is about. Plus, I had a few people that I know well recommend it to me (from a variety of sources, not always the usual ones), so I really felt like I needed to make it happen. Shoutout to Libro.fm for the ALC. 

 

Sam and Sadie meet as kids in a hospital. Sam is there for a long term recovery from a car accident he was in. Sadie is there becasue her sister is undergoing cancer treatment. The two strike up a friendship built around playing computer/video games. As the years pass, this friendship sees ups and downs, years where they don't speak at all mixed with periods where they spend more time with each other than anyone else. And together, along with the third of their close-knit triangle, Marx, they launch a business partnership that catapults them into gaming stardom. As they deal with the creative pressures of game-building to relationship complexities to health and disability concerns, the three will find refuge over and over in the endless possibilities of gameplay. 

 

I can see why this book was so popular. What a story! Zevin writes the nuances and complications of friendship and love (platonic and otherwise) with such attention to detail and passion for the small things that might get overlooked normally, but truly create the backbone of connection. That was, for me, the absolute highlight of this novel. The portrayal of the intersections of friendship and love, and the different ways they manifest, as well as how we can be fine, even good, without them, but with them comes the potential to be great, was on point. It renders, gorgeously, the way experiences and interactions with others makes us who we are, pushes us to try and achieve more. Sam and Sadie and Marx are an interconnected threesome that is so fully dimensional and I loved reading their stories, both separately and coming into and out of each other's lives (or the waxing and waning of the importance of the role they play in each other's lives). 

 

I also want to highlight the pure fun I had with all the games nostalgia, like Oregon Trail and Tomagochi. I mean, I would not even really consider myself a gamer, as it were, but these are like, millennial staples, and I loved seeing it. If I'm being honest, I actually was really interested in all the details of game-building, the story-telling and artistics aspects, and how those interacted with the tech capabilities, and all the ways they built off of or limited each other, as well as the progression of gaming over the years. It was creatively fascinating to me, even without a very extensive background in gaming. That was a really pleasant surprise. 

 

In another moment of honesty, I really wanted to *love* this book. And I definitely enjoyed it; I really did. But I just didn't love it. I was so invested in the whole thing the way it was that when a certain traumatic event happens, the way it was handled pulled me all the way out of things. And to be clear, not the event itself, though it was unexpected and jarring. I am referring to the couple of sections right after the event, where the narrative perspective and style both changed. The vibe of the reading changed so much during those two sections, and they were not super short sections, and I just...I lost my flow with the story. However, the sweet and full-circle healing poignancy of the ending itself was nicely done. 

 

Finally, in addition to the full relationships and characters, as well as the fun of the gaming aspects, Zevin weaves in a number of difficult and polarizing topics. I found it interesting that, in most cases, they were presented in the way(s) the characters experienced or understood them, without any in-depth attempts anywhere to grow themselves, and only marginal movements to affect change (though with a heartbreaking example of how even that little amount of taking a stand can be risky to a person's well-being, yikes.) I don't feel like Zvevin's writing was, anywhere, a calling out or call to action for any of these topics covered, but rather an observational lens of the ways they affect people. Touching on childhood illness, physical disability, sexism in gaming/tech industries, the inhumanity of long-term dealing with the healthcare system, racial and interracial nuances, cultural appropriation, sexuality/lgbtq+ rights, and more, these characters live out their realities on page, as the reader watches those realities inform their game-building (and how they find refuge from said realities in gaming). I think Zevin's efforts on this front, throughout the book, are solid and thorough, if not especially groundbreaking; they affect the story as they would IRL, but are not really addressed in any way past that.    

 

Like I said, on the whole, I definitely enjoyed my time with this book. Once I started reading, I was fully invested and was always excited to pick it back up. As a person who loves the possibility in fantasy, that aspect of gaming and virtual worlds - the chance to restart or replay (which came up a few times, for different reasons, across the novel) - really spoke to me. Thematically, it was one of my favorite things. And while I came in with super high expectations because of the extreme hype, and perhaps that's why it didn't *quite* live up to what I was hoping for the novel to be, I would still, for sure, recommend it to others. 

 

“To design a game is to imagine the person who will eventually play it.” 

 

“This life is filled with inescapable moral compromises. We should do what we can to avoid the easy ones.” 

 

“Life is very long. Unless it is not.” 

 

“You aren’t just a gamer when you play anymore. You're a builder of worlds, and if you're a builder of worlds, your feelings are not as important as what your gamers are feeling. You must imagine them at all times. There is no artist more empathetic than the game designer.” 

 

“What, after all, is a video game's subtextual preoccupation if not the erasure of mortality?” 

 

“And this is the truth of any game - it can only exist in the moment that it is being played. It's the same with being an actor. In the end, all we can ever know is the game that was played, in the only world that we know.” 

 

“[…] felt a swelling of love and of worry for him - what was the difference in the end? It was never worth worrying about someone you didn't love. And it wasn't love if you didn’t worry?” 

 

“What does love even mean when you can find it with so many people and things?” 

 

“Illness could not be defeated, no matter how hard you fought, and pain, once it had you in its grasp, was transformational.” 

 

“Long relationships might be richer, but relatively brief, relatively uncomplicated encounters with interesting people could be lovely as well. Every person you knew, every person you loved even, did not have to consume you for the time to have been worthwhile.” 

 

“'What I believe to my very core,' he concluded, 'is that virtual worlds can be better than the actual world. They can be more moral, more just, more progressive, more empathetic, and more accommodating of difference. And if they can be, shouldn’t they be?'” 

 

“'What is a game?' Marx said. 'It's tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. It's the possibility of infinite rebirth, infinite redemption,. The idea that if you keep playing, you could win. No loss is permanent, because nothing is permanent, ever.'” 

 

I was already on the library waitlist for this one when the 2023 Aspen Words Longlist was announced and this one was on it! Love when that happens. As I said in my review for How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water, I am not sure if I’m doing to full longlist reading challenge this year yet, but I am at least tracking the ones I do read, so here is my second longlist review for this year. 

In an unnamed “anytown” or “everytown” suburbia, Andrés has returned home from the city to help his aging parents after his father has a surgery. With no reason not to, he ends up attending his twenty-year high school reunion while there. And in doing so, is brought right back into the same relationships and patterns with people he hasn’t seen in, well, twenty years, including his first love. Trying to find, or redefine, the space he takes up, as a gay Latino professor from a big city coming back to the place where, as a youth, he tried to hide or downplay everything that made him…himself, from his sexuality to his race to his interests and opinions. 

This book is absolutely fascinating to me, in the way it takes an, essentially, cliched concept (coming back home once you’ve left and gone on to “bigger and better” things), mixes it with a totally mundane premise (a high school reunion and catching up with old friends) and makes it something fresh and brilliant and incredibly captivating. It shouldn’t have been this good. But it was! A major part of that comes down to the writing itself. It is truly exquisite. I read so many passages more than once, not a thing I normally do, just to appreciate the deftness of the language. The language is exacting, in the precision of the sentences and word choices and the calling out of so many contradictory and arbitrary and ridiculous small/quotidian details and realities of inequality in the US. Everything from the littlest details of life, like the interactions of siblings and the hierarchies of school life, to the major framework things, like the strain the social systems in this nation put on certain populations, are so cleverly and perfectly and *concisely* detailed. The contradictions of suburban American life are portrayed with a cutting and darkly humorous pen. It’s just phenomenal. And what a weirdly, but perfectly, random poignant final lines. 

Past that, thematically, I was equally impressed with what Varela covers in this novel. Taking on topics from physical health and nutrition, immigration and assimilation, sexuality, mental health, race, and access to education and other social resources, in ways that are fully examined, but still very accessible. He is able to recognize, and call out, the complex and overlapping causes of so many societal standards/capitalistic/health-based realities as basic but unentangle-able truths, in a way that is both angering and darkly humorous. It’s surprisingly approachable, conceptually, even within the high-brow literary writing. He also examines why there is a trope of leaving suburbia for the big city (though those have their own problems, of course), to interesting effect. And his look at the many being “between worlds” that people (in this case, our MC, Andrés) face – neither immigrant nor American, not white but lighter skinned, neither rich nor destitute – and how those myriad neither/nor realities combine to make Andy both part of some oppressions on one side and marginalized in other situations, is such an important, nuanced examination of the roles we all have in this country.  

 

On a very personal note, the way studying public health insinuates itself into everything Andrés does and says – every conversation and thought and interaction – is viscerally relatable. Once you study and know it, it’s impossible to separate the knowledge from anything, or see anything not through that lens. And that definitely leads to an internal tornado of “is it ok in this case/is this an exception” or “should I speak up/is this crossing a line” that you can get caught up in over and over again. And in the end, you maybe never know what the “right” answer is because no situations are that easy/straightforward, so you end up stepping on toes or being unnecessarily confrontational or letting someone down, no matter what your (anxiety-inducing) best intentions are. Ooooof.  

 

Part of the magic in these pages, I think, is Varela’s choice to leave the town Andrés is from unnamed. It gives the reader the chance to make his observations and insights both intimate and universal, in a very unique way. Overall, if “wry” came to life in a major way, this book would be it. It’s funny in the “observations of terrible and hard truths that we all know about but can only laugh to get through it” kind of way. Just a truly special reading experience.   

 

“I often get worked up about these things and later realize that I haven't left sufficient room for the fullness of humanity or for the consequences of history. It’s my way.” (Well, I identify with that.) 

 

“…this was a country that practiced a religion of lofty expectations and unattainable goals.” 

 

“I know he’s right, but somehow I can't assimilate into my own experience what I know to be a universal truth.” (Phew, again, so relatable.) 

 

“Succeed while hiding in plain sight. Be better in order to be equal.” (What a succinct phrasing of this concept that insinuates itself into every aspect of non-white existence.) 

 

“As far as I can tell, the suburbs are where people go to preserve their ignorance, in service of a delusion they've mistaken for a dream.” 

 

“Instead of deflecting the world's hatred, it'd pierced her, until she'd withstood all that she could, until it began to come out of her and pierced the very ones she'd sought to protect.” 

 

“I worry about how aging makes humans more conservative. I think it has something to do with fear. Fear for one's own safety, fear of damage to one's property, fear of new and unknown things. Adult-onset conservatism is also just exhaustion. A lifetime of being optimistic about life's unsolved problems fosters disappointment and, eventually, pessimism. But no one wants to believe they're pessimistic, so they switch perspectives and move the goalposts. The injustices that could have been remedied with more resources or more empathy transform into intractable dilemmas that we can then argue must be addressed with austerity and hard knocks, when the truth is that we never pumped in enough resources or empathy to have truly solved anything. Boom: conservative. Or maybe it isn't a consequence of fears, but a fear in and of itself. The very fear of examining the past and our complicity in that past.” 

 

“We are, after all, a society that mistreats people to the point of damage so that we can then use the damage as a pretext for more mistreatment.” 

 

“And how long would he need to be this happy and free before he could actually be a happy and free person? The person he would have been if the world were as it should be.” 

 

“But if the past festers still, isn’t that the present?” 

 

“Periodically she'd reminded herself that a life spent proving people wrong wasn't a life at all.” 

 

“The American immigrant experience has been a mash-up of The Godfather and Toy Story set in a factory full of crisscrossing conveyor belts, where the only possible endpoints are a gilded throne or an incinerator.” 

 

“Being outnumbered, it seems, takes a physical and psychological toll.” 

Apparently, I decided to start this year's reading on an intense note. Not on purpose, but this is when my hold on this novel came through and honestly, I have heard only good things about it, so I was super ready to see for myself. It should be clear from the jacket blurb that this is not an emotionally easy or light-content novel, but it is worth mentioning here to be extra sure you are in the mind space to read about sexual exploitation, interactions with law enforcement and incarceration, drugs, child death, and myriad forms of violence. That being said, if you are ready for it, this debut is as impressive as promised. 

Kiara and her brother, Marcus, are just barely managing to make it through each day in their East Oakland home, struggling to find work after dropping out of high school and dealing with the general fracturing of their family after death and prison have left the two of them alone. While Marcus attempts to find solace in music, and "make it" as a rapper, Kiara is left trying to pay the bills (including their ever increasing rent under new apartment ownership) and keep their nine-year-old neighbor, Trevor, safe, after his mother abandoned him. After an interaction with a drunk stranger, Kiara falls into an unexpected (and unwanted), but seemingly only option in her desperate situation, nightcrawling. This in turn leads her into a situation where she is servicing law enforcement officers, and when her name is mentioned in an internal investigation (a massive scandal within the Oakland PD), Kiara's world crashes down around her even further. 

This novel burst onto the literary scene, as it were, with a lot of hype because of the (super young) age of the debut author and he way it deals, head on, with numerous complex, raw, issues that have been (and if they aren't for you, should be) at the forefront of American consciousness. I had both the physical and audiobook versions for this one, and I was glad of it (so I could reread certain parts and because the narrator for the audio was fantastic). I was about a quarter of the way through the book before I wrote my first reaction/comment in the Notes on my phone (where I track my thoughts while reading for use in these reviews later), and that reaction was: "I am a quarter of the way through and haven’t written a single note - this novel is mesmerizing. Something about the tone of the narration is unlike anything I’ve read, in its grounding in a very specific contemporary perspective that is often discussed and called out in news and public health arenas, but never with its ability to speak for itself like this, in this format, on this stage, with this kind of full individuality." I usually try to just incorporate these things into my overall review, but this one felt to me like I needed to give it its own space attention like this. Only a quarter of the way in and I could already tell this novel was both something that special and so well written that I was almost too pulled in to even recognize it. What a feat. 

After that, I had *so many* thoughts that my feelings (and my notes about them) are now a bit overwhelming. In fact, I have put off writing this review for over a week because I'm a little intimidated by the prospect. This story is crushing, in the way that it shows how deeply children can be failed by their parents, because they were failed by their own before them, and the cycle continues and the system makes no space for breaking it, for change or redemption. Like, what kind of world have we created (and looked away from) when a 17-year-old girl legit feels like the choices she makes in this book are the only ones she has (in some cases naive to what those choices might truly mean)? How much has everyone and everything that is supposed to protect her, failed her? How does a person as young as Kiara get to this "nothing left to lose" kind of place and where are the nets meant to prevent that? It’s immeasurable, soul crushing. 

The way that Kiara sees herself and her choices and how (by whom) she is taken advantage of may be different than which parts each reader would feel are “worst” or “the key message.” I love that she gets to tell these experiences in her own voice, to tell the world which parts are ok and which are not, because everyone deserves to define that for themselves. But at the same time, the reader must remember that she is still so young, that she is still absolutely coming of age, just having to do so within a framework and situations that make her seem like a much older person. Maturation happens the same, biologically, no matter the social environment; one cannot forget that adult situations do not magically make an adolescent older. Kiara is so young, naive in knowledge of bigger life patterns, if not in day to day life realities. And Mottley writes that combination/ juxtaposition to perfection, with a deft literary device of the names Kiara chooses to use with different people/situations, as she separates out these different aspects of her life and which represents the person she most wants to be. It made this novel a coming of age, of finding who you are and what you want out of life, independent of others' needs pulling on you, in such a unique way.

In the same vein, this situation with Trevor (Kiara's young neighbor), and the two of them being all each other has, even though it's not completely healthy nor fully what either needs, pulled so deeply on my heartstrings. When social services finally makes a move, the fact that it may be totally necessary doesn’t make it easier for them (or me as the reader). And it begs the question, how can we make the system better so they get what they need from both the system and their natural "community" at the same time? How can they remain in each others lives, but in a way that allows them to get the other things they need, the things that they are too young to have to be responsible for themselves? Just...my heart broke during that part almost more than any of the other heartbreaking things in this book. 

There were a few other major themes or moments that particularly spoke to me, or made me angry, that I want to call out in this last section of the review. They may feel scattered, but it is what it is. UGH (specifically in relation to the actions/commentary of the female police officer and interim police chief), why are women always hardest on each other and why is the default that the victim will be punished and the perpetrators will get away with it (and that reality is actively threatened)?! I mean the way that power protects itself is enraging, in general and in the way that Mottley reflects that reality in this novel. Another UGH, why is sexual exploitation always seen as a moral failing of the victim (mostly female)?! Whether it is a purposeful and freely made choice or a last ditch effort from a population with little autonomy and control grasping at thinking they’re making this decision for themselves (because what is the benefit, in the struggle for survival, of thinking another way and admitting that loss of control?), why TF are people like Kiara the ones vilified, and not the people using her services?? A final UGH, what a real and horribly unsatisfactory ending - the “justice” system sucks (especially in bringing said justice to its own ranks). But oh, the promise and potential for renewal in the ending, amongst Kiara and Trevor and Ale, is....despite everything it leaves behind a sense of wholeness. And from start to finish, the metaphor of the apartment complex's shit pool is spectacular writing. 

This is such a long review, but there was no way to make it otherwise. This book is just, alive, with the kind of lyrical burning that lulls you into mesmerized submission and then blinds and leaves permanent scars. In the Author's Note, Mottley speaks about her goal of writing a story of the city of Oakland, and of giving this "pulled from the headlines" story the chance to be told from the perspective, and within the control of, the survivor. She speaks of her own experiences with how Black women end up caring for and holding up everything around them, and are left with an emptiness around who they are and what they want and deserve, and she wanted to give a fullness and nuance of a life to the person behind the name in the papers. And wow was she beyond successful. 


“Death is easier to live through unseen.”

“It ain’t my place to have a problem with somebody else’s survival.”

“Mama used to tell me that blood is everything, but I think we're all out here unlearning that sentiment, scraping our knees and asking strangers to patch us back up. […] …my brother asked me to do the one thing I know I shouldn't [...]: hollow myself out for another person who ain't gonna give a shit when I’m empty.”

“School's got as many potholes as the streets, always chipping, always leaving us to trip.”

“It ain’t that I’m not scared. I am. But I know we'll lose so much more if I don't keep us afloat…”

“There are consequences to surviving out here, just 'cause you too young to know it yet don't mean I gotta apologize for the truth. I spent every day for years apologizing, praying up some heaven that might forgive me. I don't got no breath left for that.”

“I have a body and a family that needs me, so I resigned to what I have to do to keep us whole…”; 

“It is me and Cop and car now. Ain't it funny to be so scared of being saved?”

“Street money still money.”

“...art is the way we imprint ourselves onto the world so there is no way to erase us.”

“I wonder if they’ll ever chant about the women too, and not just the ones murdered, but the particular brutality of a gun barrel to a head. The women with no edges laid, with matted hair and drooping eyes and no one filming to say it happened, only a mouth and some scars.”

“That’s sort of what this feels like: the helplessness of it. Like standing on the road that leads to here and noticing a path you didn't know existed and not being able to take it. Like the road that leads to here was never the only road and time made me forget that until these sobbing moments when I remember, when the fog clears and I'm looking back and there's a fork on the ground, another way.”

“Don’t help me to fight a life I'm stuck in.”

“We both know that pretty soon we will have to contend with what it means to have lost it all and still have each other. To have lost a roof and found a home.”

 

“It felt funny to hear Kelly call her a girl – but in a good way, like a tickling in her stomach that reminded her she was real.” 

I don't read a lot of middle grade/juvenile fiction. But every once in a while, I feel like I need to, because I have to see what the fuss or hype is about. And here is a big one. I have been hearing a lot about Melissa (previously published as George), as the wave of ridiculous book-banning has swept the conservatives of the United States. And while I vehemently disagree with book banning on principle, I also like to form my own opinions (shouldn't we all??). This led me to read Genderqueer a year (ish) ago, and I thought that was *amazing.* So when I noticed the updated publication of Melissa (with the new title) enter my library's collection, I went ahead and checked it out. 

 

Though her family and all her friends in school know her as George, that isn't who she truly is. She is a girl and her name is Melissa. As her class prepares to put on a play of Charlotte's Web, Melissa wants, more than anything, to play Charlotte. But her teacher won't let her try out for the part...because it's a girl's role. Melissa is devastated, and even more jealous when her best friend, Kelly, gets the lead role. When Melissa confides in Kelly about her true self, together they hatch a plan where Melissa can not only play Charlotte, but also show everyone who she really is. 

 

Well, this was absolutely freaking adorable. A pox on anyone who wants to ban kids from reading this wholesome, heartwarming story about a young girl showing the world who she truly is, despite bullies and some clueless adults, with the help of the most wonderful best friend and a (surprisingly, because usually he's obnoxious - though aren't all brothers like that?) supportive older brother. There were a few more heart wrenching moments, when Melissa is trying to figure out how to tell people who she is and just...cannot find the words. It hurts to read how badly she wants to tell people, wants them to see her, but can't get it out. And then, even when she finally does, she has to say it more than once to really make those people understand what she means. And while some eventually get it and are fine, enthusiastic even, like Kelly and her brother, some are less immediately supportive (notably her mother). It just sucks to know that if this was just more talked about/accepted, there wouldn't be elementary school kids (and older youth and adults too, of course) in this kind of traumatic social-emotional bind, acting as someone they aren't to keep those around them happy/comfortable. People could just be whoever they are. This is especially poignant when considering that Melissa's mother's major concern is how hard things will be for Melissa, and wanting to make things easier on their children. And yet, Melissa points out that living as someone she is not is *just* as hard, if not more so. This is such a hard, but important and necessary, lesson for adult readers whose hearts are in the right place, but need to redirect how to be a support. On this note, one more shoutout here to siblings and friends who are in touch enough to be like "oh yea, that makes sense" and move on. 

(Sibling support alwaysssssss gets me right in the feels, ugh. And that last chapter, when Kelly and Melissa go to the zoo together: oh my heart.)          

 

One of the things I appreciated most about this middle grade story is the way it was written. Everyone else using he/him pronouns and calling Melissa "George," while the narrator (Melissa's internal voice) never waivers from referring to herself as she/her, is a lovely delineation and communication of what being trans means/feels for young kids. I thought it was such a great and accessible way for younger readers to understand what that means and feels like. Also, again, important for adults, as we see how Melissa reacts internally to things said by her mother and teacher, to remind them that comments that may feel light and throwaway to them may not be interpreted that same way for the youth around them. Totally random additional note: I too have some really fond memories of reading Charlotte's Web  in school, both around this age and later again, in high school, in Spanish class. So that was a sweet throwback aspect to this reading experience. 

 

Just, how can anyone possibly be upset about this gorgeous and pure story about a young person moving past the limitations to who they are "allowed" to be, stepping into their own truth, and finding such bliss in the opportunity to choose who they are, for themselves, and show everyone their real self. What Melissa does is brave, life changing, life saving, and just plain inspiring. What a quick, refreshing, moving reading experience - and how important that books like this are available to children/students who need, and deserve, to see themselves in literature like this.  

 

 

So, I read A Touch of Darkness (in one sitting) on Xmas Day, as I was (happily) home alone and relaxing. It was exactly what I wanted it to be. And I was in the mood for more like it as New Year's Day approached. However, I also had been good with where that one finished and wasn't interested in more from Hades and Persephone, at least right now, so I decided to give St. Clair's new book/series a try instead, since the vibe on the first one had been so right. And let me tell you, not only did this hit the spot, it was even better! And honestly now I'm frustrated (in a good way) because I do want more from these characters, but the rest of the series isn't out yet! Gahhhhh! 

 

King Adrian and his vampire army are on the doorstep of Isolde's kingdom and she would do anything to save her people from their vengeful conquering. So, when her father invites Adrian in to treat with him, and his offer of peaceful power transfer is contingent on Isolde becoming his wife, she agrees. Her secret plan, of course, is to use this opportunity to get close enough to kill him, but when her assassination attempt fails, she realizes she may need to get to know him better to really uncover any weaknesses. Over the time she spends with him traveling back to his home country of Revekka, and the weeks with him there, Isolde starts to realize that there may be more to his monstrousness than she'd originally thought. And there is absolutely no denying the physical pull between them, the sexual tension (and lots more than tension!) are real. 

 

Y'all, there was nothing deep about this book. Nothing. And I loved every flipping second of it. First, and most importantly, there was so much sex. And it was so good and so steamy. I saw a review of this one on Goodreads that said "This might be for you if your first priority is vampire sex." And while that was a one-star review...it was also exactly right. And since I went into it with vampire sex as a priority, I'm giving it a very high star rating for the exact same reason. Moral of the story: know what you are getting into because it's exactly what you get. And for me, it was exactly what I wanted. Related, there was some light, interesting, reflection on how desire and lust are often coated in shame (especially for women) and it does not have to and should not be that way (and the recognition of love and sex not having to exist hand in hand, even if they eventually do). 

 

Other than that, I have to admit that I am also a sucker for the "good monster" trope. Like, in this world, vampires are expected to be terrible and, in fact, are not, it's a lot of misinformation and misconception. I am particularly drawn in by this when it's in contrast or juxtaposition with a "bad human" alternative, as it was here. Great messaging around how looks/assumptions can be so deceiving. Another thing I was totally here for was Isolde's bloodthirstiness. I mean IRL, I obviously vote for the "trial and proven guilty" and whatnot. But in this fantasy setting, I’m *down* with all the immediate stabbing of icky men (and Adrian's unrepentant support of it). 

 

Plot-wise...this is where I was surprised. There was a lot more to the world-building here than I had expected. The story behind Adrian's "curse," the connection that Isolde has to his past, the history of witches and magic and how that ties in with Adrian's current-day conquest(s) and his interest in Isolde was all way more interesting than I had anticipated. And then that ending, with Isolde's father's visit - shocking! - along with a bit of a cliff-hanger that definitely makes me want to know more. I also appreciated that, while this was mostly entertaining and fun and sexy, this plot gave it a bit more complexity as it introduced/intertwined the concept of perspective in history, and the dominant voices being the ones whose story persists, even when that story is not, in fact, the "factual" truth. 

 

This novel had a bit of everything you want in an escapist read: magic and magical creatures (yea, I love vampires, I blame Buffy), drama (political and interpersonal), fantasy-style fighting and violence, and spectacular (quality and quantity) sex scenes. Like I said, I thought I'd be "one and done" with this series because I was with A Touch of Darkness, but the fantasy and surrounding world here grabbed me so much more and I want to see where everything goes next (plus I need more of Adrian and Isolde together, *sweating* thinking about it). So, here I am now, unexpectedly having to wait for the next book to be published. Haha.   

 

“There was a difference between a monster and someone who could be monstrous.” 

 

“History is just perspective. It changes depending on your side.” 

 

“Secrets only make the world curious. Better to display than to hide.” 

 

“What have you learned? \ Things that scare me, I said. \ Do you mean that you have learned the truth? he asked.” 

 

“I did not want to die a hero. I wanted to live as a conqueror.” 

 

 

 

This recent release is one that mostly made it onto my TBR list after being offered as an ALC from Libro.fm. Once that got it on my radar, I did see a couple reviews for it pop up here and there, everything really positive, but it just seems like the proverbial publication splash it made was small. I hadn’t read a lot of short story collections this year – I mean I don’t usually read that many, but I was due for one is more the point – so I figured why not give it a try. 

In this collection, a series of vignettes of inter-related characters, the reader gets a number of glimpses into the lives of members of the Penobscot tribe, on a reservation in Maine. So many aspects are universally recognizable, addiction and drug misuse, grandparents suffering from Alzheimer’s, poverty and lack of access to quality services, money-making schemes, the made-up games of young friends, etc. And yet, each story is also presented to the reader within the unique framework of living in tribal land, the intergenerational traumas that are unique to this population, and the traditional beliefs around curses and medicine and healing of the Penobscot. 

So, everything about this work made it seem like short stories, even the subtitle is “stories,” and I understand that most of them we published separately in multiple publications before being brought together here. But I have read books advertised as novels that are less connected than this. It took me a bit to catch on, but the MC in every story was the same, just his age (and what people nicknamed him) changed. That being said, this is a number of vignettes without a specific plot-unfolding, I guess, and yet they build to a final two chapters that, as the “before” and “after” of the previous stories converge, give us both a “what happened to delineate the before from the after” and a “looking back from a far future perspective” that really do wrap things up with a fairly traditional denouement. All that to say, the structure and presentation was slightly different than anticipated, and I will be giving a normal “altogether” review, as opposed to blurbs about each individual story like I normally do for collections. 

Because these are vignette-style, they are able to give really impactful snapshot insights to different relationships or interactions or moments, that highlight the key aspects of these characters and their identities, without the pressure of having to overly connect them to each other. This allows each chapter/story to be particularly striking, ether emotionally or in observation, and makes the overall impact of the book that much greater. Included in these topics of great impact are: addiction and mental health/illness (in general and specifically related to the experience as a indigenous person), the way the youth see and interpret said struggles with mental health, the varieties of casual violence of life on/off/adjacent to the reservation, the way that getting older makes you view and understand your parents in such different ways, the specific tragedy of memory loss/Alzheimer’s, the choices related to how and with who we spend our time, trauma of all varieties (inherited, experienced, observed), and more. 

Talty also really delves into the complexities of pride in your heritage and who you are, juxtaposed with a world that contradicts that with messages of your worthlessness constantly, and how one deals with that. It really comes as no surprise that mental illness and addiction as a result. There are many forms of addiction/substance misuse represented, but in particular, the role of smoking/cigarettes in everything - all interactions and relationships and daily life - it’s was repeated to a point of literary excess. Other than (obviously) being a baseline daily reality, I felt sure that it meant something more (in context, as a metaphor, etc.), but I am not sure I could ever get a handle on what it might be. It just felt like…more. IN addition, there is a great and consistent juxtaposition of contemporary life and traditional beliefs, some touching and poignant, some demoralizing/upsetting, and some just observational, but all crafted with a deft hand. 

Lastly, I want to address this being categorized as horror. The reference/implication of the title definitely makes that feel stronger than it actually comes across on page. There are a few creepy sort of moments, with the curse in a jar and dead caterpillars sections, and I guess you could argue the pugwagees mythology (one of my favorite little sections to read – I love cultural fantasy/mythology) in the titular story quality as a sort of “story told to scare kids” situation, but for someone as big a scaredy-cat as me….it felt pretty chill on the horror front. I will say, the ending (final story) came as a (big!) surprise to me (cw: child death), and I guess after that I could see how it might tilt the overall collection over into horror.  

There was a deep, smoldering sort of feel to this collection, a banked – never extinguished but never with enough time/energy to bring it to full flame – sort of anger at the inevitability David’s life. I actually wished, as this was presented as a story collection, that we had a chance to get a few other perspectives, particularly those of David’s mother and sister, or his grandmother, or his friend Fellis’ mother. And this feeling only grew as we read the last story and find out what the major/defining event in David’s young life was – based on what happened, and how David’s family chose to handle it, I would really have appreciated more from the (older than David) female characters. Other than that, the deep ring of truth within each of these stories, and nuance of the characters, and the lovely writing of it all, was very high quality. 

 

“…I sensed that even though their problems were their own, there was no escaping how these problems shaped us all, no escaping the end, like the way the ice melts in the river each spring, overflowing and and creeping up the grassy banks and over lawns, reaching farther and farther towards the houses until finally the water touched stone, a gentleness before the river converged on the foundation, seeping inside and flooding basements, insulation swelling, drying only when the water has receded.” 

 

“I wonder if How’d we get here? is the wrong question. Maybe the right question is How do we get out of here? Maybe that's the only question that matters.” 

 

“Maybe even wishing I was a winooch and didn't live on a reservation whose history was in a little museum and could be stolen for a buck. Didn't make any sense that parts of us were worth so much and at the same time we were worth so little.” 

 

 

This is one of those books that caught enough low-key buzz upon publication to get me interested. I can’t say that it would have been enough to get me to pick it up without the ALC from Libro.fm on hand as well, so shoutout to them for that. And shoutout to me too, for fitting in this one last read of 2022. Haha. 

 

Vladimir is narrated in whole by an unnamed MC, a middle-aged (ish) English professor at a small liberal arts college in New England somewhere. When numerous accusations of a sexual nature are brought against her husband by former students, she is faced with her own dilemmas: how (and if) she should stand by him, judgement and condemnation from her own daughter, and a conflation of her own guilt/accomplice with her husband’s from colleagues and students alike. This is all framed within her own inner turmoil over her body’s aging, expectations of women in the eye of the public, and a burgeoning sexual obsession with a new professor at the school, Vladimir, that is bright, burning, invasive, and potentially overtaking her ability to make rational decisions uncolored by that relationship. 

 

Well, I want to begin by saying that I really don’t know how I felt about this book, and I took a lot of notes while readings, so this review may seem long and a little all over the place…maybe it’ll help me organize my feelings and I’ll have a better idea of where I stand at the end. Hopefully. 

 

To start, let me just say that I was absolutely stunned, in the very good sense of that phrase, by the writing. Jones’ prose is academic in a way that is both compulsive and intellectual – a fine line to walk I think (I don’t often run into academic writing that feels this approachable). The narrator’s voice is incredibly sincere, in the “this sounds exactly like I’d imagine the inner thoughts of this person to be, in the intelligence, self-assuredness, worldliness *as well as* the contradictive, unsurity, self-denial and self-deception. I was fascinated by the detail in her fantasies (the more erotic and the completely mundane, both) and how they fed her budding obsession, helping her convince herself that so many steps she took were ok even when they were really, really not ok. And there was a rather interesting self-awareness of internalized sexism and fat phobic/unrealistic beauty standards, yet without any move that I can parse to attempt to address it past basic recognition of it. (To this point, there are visceral descriptions of everything, but especially her own body, where she is especially cruel about her age and herself.) Anyways, our narrator seems imminently proud/looking for applause for that simple acknowledgment alone. Not a positive trait, perhaps, but a recognizable one. Similarly relatable, and in a similarly depressing way, the juxtaposition of her elite education/position and the walking on eggshells and careful awareness and management of every word/action of being in the world as a female. 

 

As far as the plot goes, my impression before starting was that the people accusing our MC’s husband were younger, and though there is for sure a power dynamics situation at play with a professor-student relationship, I was happy at least that all the women were college aged and therefore of legal age. Honestly, I had in my head that the titular Vladimir was a young student too, but, while almost 20 years younger than the MC, he was around 40, so a very mature age too. Overall, this was an unexpected plot point that really helped me “enjoy” this reading experience more and I was grateful for it. Anyways, for the majority of the novel, this obsession with Vladimir was one of internal lust, in the narrator’s mind only, and it was riveting to see how all-encompassing it become even “just” mentally. And then oooooof, when things take a turn into real life action and she makes a move, it felt super creepy, in a way that I don’t think it would have needed to be, if she’d gotten out of her head for a second. How she mentally justifies each step, or doesn’t because she doesn’t feel she needs to, is very disconcerting to read. But I will say, it was literarily interesting, in juxtaposition with what her husband is accused of/in a hearing for, as commentary on how the world perceives male versus female predators. 

 

A few other themes were explored in depth as well, and were done in a way that combined nicely with the that that our MC is an English professor and, therefore, her narration includes many literary references and comparisons and analyses (though mostly short and quick and easy to follow or move past, if you want). A lot of these additional themes involved discussions who authors can/can’t (or should/shouldn’t) write from the perspective of, what is the role of taking advantage of your own or other people’s traumas to create great works of art, and an intriguing exploration of morality in art (does/should it exist within or outside the bounds of normal mortality). Jones mentions, through her MC’s voice, conversations with students about the use of racist/anti-feminist works, either to represent as a product of their time, to understand a period worldview, or as simply damaging/harmful. Where is the line and who decides? It was also nice to see her mention the ways different generations, especially Millennials and Gen Z, have forced new critiques and considerations on that front. And of course, she’d be remiss if she didn’t address individual agency versus unequal power, and how to balance them, in light of the accusations against her husband. Of note, nothing is necessarily preached or decided…just…questioned and explored conceptually. 

 

And now we come to the crux of my issue with this novel…the ending. I just, I don’t know about it! There was a spectacular literal and figurative conflagration as a result of this kind of obsession. And I see how it’s used as a device within this context, and acts as a nod to a few great literary moments (from Bronte and du Maurier to name a couple), and I do appreciate (and it softens the blow of things) the self-recognition of the heavy-handedness of it all. But, really, but after the depth and complexity of each thought/fantasy prior, the abrupt change in tone and overall turn was…too jarring, too maladroit, and maybe too easy, for me. 

 

Ugh, I think I’m just going to have to land middle-lane on this reading experience. The narrator was so deeply wrapped up in her own imagination/justifications/mind and I loved that. It took all the mundanity of life (and the ways we each try to deal with it) and threw it in shocking contrast to her fantasies (and later extreme actions) about Vladimir, in a way that was just mesmerizing. And yet after the final pages, I was left feeling like I was built up to expect something more than I got, as far as literary greatness. And I’m just having a tough time getting past that. If you had a different experience or take, I would love to hear it! And if you aren’t sure whether to try this one or not, the writing itself is worth giving it a try to see if you feel differently than me about how it wraps up. 

 

 

 

"I still feel the thrill of excitement in a university library. I still feel the potentiality—the students working toward becoming something, the stretching, searching minds, the curiosities of what will become of oneself buzzing at the study tables and between the rows of books. I find being among all that to be far more energizing than an enclosed and solitary space. Here I feel as though I’m engaged in the knowledge project." 

 

"People said this crop of youth was weak, but we knew differently. We knew they were so strong—so much stronger than us, and equipped with better weapons, more effective tactics. They brought us to our knees with their softness, their consistent demand for the consideration of their feelings—the way they could change all we thought would stay the same for the rest of our lives, be it stripping naked for male directors in undergraduate productions of The Bacchae, ignoring racist statements in supposedly great works of literature, or working for less when others were paid more. They had changed all that when we hadn’t been able to, and our only defense was to call them soft. " 

 

"I understood not only the bonding that comes out of complaining but also the incredible sense of identity that comes with discovering why you think something is wrong. I wanted them to feel that fire, that was what college was for. They were enacting a right of all young people, unearthing what they felt were the systemic wrongs of the world." 

 

"We had wanted to live unconventionally, in a new way, invented unto ourselves, and now I was playing the most timeworn part." 

 

"We lit a couple of fires in unexpected places, but we weren’t willing to burn it all down." 

 

 

 

The second book in the four novella Tensorate series, and of course a reminder to everyone following along that this is the current read-out-loud-before-bed books/series that my partner and I jumped into. So they are slower going than they might normally be, since we can only move forwards when we are home together at night to do so, but we are still enjoying this new-to-us-both experience (really the first of its kind, on that front, so far). 

 

The Red Threads of Fortune picks up what seems to be a few years after the finish of the previous book. Mokoya has gone a bit off on her own, having not at all emotionally dealt with the loss of her daughter. Akeha is working alongside his now-husband with the Machinists rebels (against his and Mokoyea's mother, The Protector). I am not entirely sure what Thennjay has been up to, but he comes back into Mokoya's life in this story and plays a leading role again. And while we left them all having made big moves/choices against the Protectorate at the end of the last story, here the focus turns a bit, and we meet some new characters from other areas of the world, outside the Protectorate, and the primary story turns to...naga hunting, essentially? Mokoya meets a new lover, Rider, who is intriguing and gives her a new chance to reckon with her past/grief, as well as access to some new magical/tensing powers that make her question the uncontrollability of the "visions" she has always had. 

 

This was a real thematic change from book one to two. From insurrection to more introspective forward movement, plus, of course, the naga hunting. It was brought back around a little bit by the end, when Mokoya makes some realizations about what she's learned about her power/visions. She really has a lot of adjusting to do, emotionally - she's really kind of a loose cannon of wild speculation and accusation and needy grasping - but, it is an interesting conversation introduced about the weight of knowing the future/visions (the curse of having that knowledge versus whether or not you have the power to change it). So, I'm interested to see how the third and fourth installations combine it all. Other than that, there was a cool concept introduced about the imprinting/projecting of a conscious/being onto another, with some narrative paralleling about loss and grief and mothers/daughters, which all provides some insightful reflection on the complex combination of PTSD and grief. 

 

As we met people from outside the Protectorate, the holding of other genders outside a binary is more natural, which was a consideration I had while reading the first novella, and I got some vibes about it being a bit of a (subtle) commentary on colonial/imperial imposition. Along the same lines, I was a really big fan of the open acceptance and positivity around polygamy and multiple partners, with a person's needs being met by their partner(s) being more important than societal rules about who fills said needs. And we get some new insight into tensing and the magic system, which is always one of my favorite aspects of any fantasy world-building, so I was happy with that. 

 

Finally, the language remains an absolute gem. Yang's lyrical precision with words is something really special. It's the kind of writing that makes you have to read slower, and want to reread sentences, to experience the full impact. A few examples that I wanted to call out in full are below (as per usual) but also, take this one right now: “pomegranate-ripe and slow as salt.” I mean, how gorgeous is that? 

 

So yea, still not really blown away by this series, but invested enough to keep going for sure, to see how everything plays out and is brought together. And, of course, to experience more of Yang's writing! 

 

 

“Straight lines were the precinct of creatures that knew their destination. 

 

“Peace sat languid and unfamiliar in her chest: not the peace of familiar comforts, of old beddings and well-worn grooves in stone, but a clear kind of peace, like an ocean with stones at the bottom, its surface jade-blue and throwing off sunlight.” 

 

“If truth had a shape, her words fit its boundaries." 

 

“In another version of the world, where the threads of fortune had woven a different braid, they could have sat down together and fileted out a sensible truth, exposing the spine of reality that had to be buried within the slippery flesh of lies and narratives.” 

 

“Violence is the fault of the one enacting it. Always.” 

 

I had checked this one out from the library on impulse (having enjoyed Cruz's first novel, Dominicana, and having seen a number of great reviews for this one). And literally while I had it checked out, the Aspen Words 2023 longlist got announced and this was on it! I haven't decided yet if I am planning to read the full longlist like I have the past couple years, but I'm thrilled that a number of the books this year are already ones I want to read (it's a great looking longlist, as always!). So, just in case I decide to go for this reading challenge for a third year, here's the first. 

 

Cara Romero is in her mid-50s when she loses the job she's held for years becasue the lamp factory she worked in closes down. She is set up with a job counselor for "seniors" to help her find another employment opportunity and over the course of 12 sessions with this counselor Cara tells the story of her life. From gossip about her up-and-down relationships with all her neighbors in her rent-controlled housing in NYC, to her complicated relationship with her sister Angela, to the story of how she came to immigrate to America from the Dominican Republic, to her deepest, darkest secret(s) and the reasons her son, Fernando, is now estranged, Cara tells it all. 

 

Y'all, this narrator! Cara is a force of voice from the very first page, her charisma and feisty personality hit you hard and fast and you cannot help falling in love with her. And even as, the further you read, the more you see that Cara spins her words/actions so as to never be her own fault, and it absolutely does make you angry, you still cannot help being drawn in by her perspective. You still want to give her the benefit of the doubt, when considering everything in light of her personal experiences and circumstances. By the end, all the reflection time her monologuing with the career counselor offers her gives the space to legitimately try to make changes. And you are back to feeling good about cheering for her (or the most part). And honestly, the tangibility and strength of her voice are so strong, and the emotional responses I had as she went through her story-telling, it was just...incredibly compelling as a result of Cruz's masterful writing. One final note on the writing, the flow of the Spanglish was rhythmic and lovely and one of my favorite things. (This was highlighted in a selection from a couple years ago as well, Fiebre Tropical, and I loved it then too.) 

 

There were quite a few concepts and themes addressed in this novel, despite its short length, and they were all intertwined in such a smooth and authentic, and fully developed, way. A number of these could be emotionally fraught to read about, so please keep that in mind going into this as a reader. There was a really touching reflection on the way that a mother's trauma can be passed to a child, even as their only goal/thought is to protect them from whatever that trauma was happening to them too. In this case, it was mostly acted out as a conflating of homosexuality with softness, and a need to quash it in order to make a child strong enough to survive. It was  tough and angering to read but a reality for many (especially, I think, in this first generation population - though that is absolutely a stereotype, and not always the case, either way, of course). It was heartbreaking in the way that that level of “love,” the fine lines of paranoia and protection, can cause such a rift. From a parental perspective, this MC, an older immigrant parent of adult-aged children is not one that I often see represented (usually we get their children's POVs), so that was original and I appreciated it, in both its peculiarities and universalities (like a parent's joint disappointment and relief when a child is just fine without them). And really, what a message about how the ties of family [traditionally] trump all else, even when it's not healthy or it looks like supporting someone unhealthy or that you'd rather not support...but you do it anyways because you feel like you must/have no choice (and maybe sometimes out of guilt/repayment). Phew - that was a lot. 

 

There was an absolutely spectacular highlighting of the key role women play in their communities, that is, essentially, unpaid labor, without which communities and families would flounder/fail. However, it often goes unrecognized and the time/effort it takes is not considered in governmental definitions/expectations of “work.” This is even starker against the backdrop of financial hardship, access barriers, family dynamics and intergenerational differences, and the environmental concerns of gentrification and political landscape that Cara is portrayed within. Finally, I want to note what a gorgeous and subtle message this book holds on the importance of the role therapy can play (and healing it can provide), even/especially for the reluctant. 

 

Just, really, what a tour de force of narrative voice Cruz has created in this novel. Cara Romero is compelling, humanly flawed, and genuinely trying - in short, absolutely and universally recognizable. And you literally cannot help but love her exposition. An understated and short novel that hits with an unexpected amount of emotional impact. 

 

“When you need each other to survive, you forgive. That's the way it is.” 

 

“You can plan all you want, but nature will always show you who's el jefe.” 

 

“I learned the difficult way that you have to be gentle with your children, or you can lose them forever.” 

 

“Anyway, I try not to think about the past, because what can we do about it?" 

 

“Who wants to live in a lie? Freedom is being able to live your truth without having to apologize for it.” 

 

“It is difficult to be happy for others when you have many problems.” 

 

“Talking to you, all these weeks, has been very good for me. I have learned a lot. Talking always reminds me that no matter how difficult my life is, I have always found a solution to my problems. When I think about this, I am not afraid. We can do this. I can do it. Write this down: Cara Romero is still here, entera.” 

 

 

The book was nowhere on my radar until it was an ALC option from Libro.fm. And really I haven't seen too many reviews for it around, so I am not sure it was (is) really on many other people's radars either. Regardless, the mood reader in me decided on this one over the Winter Holiday time off, so I jumped into it. A side note here, the Author Bio on the inside jacket says the author's dog is named Karate Valentino and that is just...awesome. (As is the rest of his bio - what an amazing list of places he has grown up and lived in!) 

 

The Ballad of Perilous Graves takes place in a magical New Orleans...or really, two parallel magical New Orleans'. When nine powerful songs that are the lifeblood of Nola escape, and are being picked off one by one by a dangerous Haint, young Perry and his sister, Brendy are tasked with finding and recapturing the songs to save the city. They team up with their neighbor, Peaches, who is blessed with super-strength and who Perry maybe (definitely) has a crush on. And as they travel through their quest, they are helped along the way by a trans artist named Casey, whose graffiti comes to life, advice and guidance from the ghost of their grandmother, and a few magical family heirlooms from the days when their ancestors were trafficked from Africa and enslaved. Can they save New Orleans from the storm(s) brewing?! 

 

Whoa - this was an overload of paranormal southern urban fantasy - with haints and ghostly music (and ghosts!) and graffiti that comes alive and parallel cities and magic sacks and stones and more. In these pages, all the magic and fantasy of New Orleans are brought to life in a tangible way. I mean, songs gone rogue (escaped into the city!), graffiti that works on people like drugs, historical haints trying to bring the city down, ghosts and traveling between the parallel Nola's. I love it! Plus, the weaving of historical and Nola-based cultural ghosts/haints/zombies and more is so well done. And the integration of post Katrina loss is poignant. In general, it's just absurd, disquieting, chimeric, ominous, and absolutely, totally entertaining. I was head over heels into the story very quickly. I do feel it's important to note here that the narration of the audiobook definitely had a role in that. Gralen Bryant Banks does a phenomenal job, phenomenal, and there is music and other sounds/voice effects that just add to what is a true listening experience. 

 

As far as the plot...I am not sure I really followed it all. Like I said, I was all in on the atmospheric aspects and voice and characters from the beginning, but the further into it I got, the less I felt like I knew what was going on. I think, at a point around halfway in, there were too many characters and time frames and simultaneous stories and I got lost in the muddle of how we were tossed from one scene/character POV to another without (at least for me) enough differentiation. Which is too bad because I was so into it and dearly wanted to love it and be understanding everything. (On this note, please share any explanations or clarifications you have with me - I still want to grasp what I read!) Other than that there were aspects I was into all the way through. Peaches' (and Brendy's, honestly) childlike logic that is flawed, but also impossible to argue with is just, so endearing to read. And both their voices were fantastically written. This was such a uniquely magical coming of age. And though plot details may have escaped me, the general themes of both physical and mental strengths playing important roles in coming of age and how it happens earlier for some than in others (and that's ok!). Also, the exploration of becoming an adult and being treated as an adult, when you reach a point in life when you can no longer be protected (as a child), and everyone must recognize that new level of responsibility no matter how much they are scared or wish it was otherwise, was very affecting. I also have to mention one more time the concept of art taking on a life of its own (both visual and audio), and the way it endures past the existence of its creator, but in a very real way, as opposed to metaphorical, was so cool. 

 

Overall, this was a completely dreamy and phantasmagorical and sinister story. I was vivid and alive and energetic in every moment, but meandering/scattered to an extreme that lost me. All "vibes for days," atmosphere you can almost feel and definitely lose yourself in...but caution that you may also lose the thread of the plot. 

 

“There ain’t no such thing as normal people. Anybody paying attention to anything know that.” 

 

“How could a thing be itself - tangible, factual, of-the-world, but at the same time more?” 

 

“There are thoughts so powerful, so freighted with meaning, that the moment one thinks them, one is forever changed. Sometimes a man or a woman - even a boy or a girl - can sense themselves on the verge of one of these changing thoughts, and on rare occasions, can try not to think them. (Which never, ever works).” 

 

“You don’t make music, you ax it to come on through.” 

 

“You searched in vain for a way to free yourself. You schemed and lied. You did everything but try. Nothing and no one can make you free.”