I love a good retelling, so I'm here for the overall boom in feminist classic mythology retellings. The Witch's Heart and The Silence of the Girls are both great, and of course Circe is an all-time favorite of mine. So I was super excited to delve into this feminist retelling of a non-Western epic, the Ramayana. 

 

The titular protagonist, Kaikeyi, is, in essence, Rama's (step)mother. In the original epic, the story focuses on Rama's exile to the forest at Kaikeyi's urging, and his battle with Ravana after he kidnaps Rama's wife, Sita, and his eventual crowning as king. Patel takes this original story as the scaffold, but turns the focus to Kaikeyi, building her characterization and the unfolding of events that explain why she urged Rama's exile. We follow Kaikeyi through her youth, as she realizes that, as a woman, she has nowhere near the power and position of the men in her world, and that despite all her prayers to the gods (as urged by society and tradition), they seem to have forsaken her. And yet, Kaikeyi makes a life with what she can, forging forward with a bit of magic, a bit of manipulation, a bit of secret training with her twin brother, and a whole lot of effort to create a better world for herself and the women of her nation. When the will/plan of the gods for the human world clashes with her own, threatening her family, her status, her relationships, her life's work, she must make an impossible choice between averting war (saving her homeland and her new land) or preserving the public legacy of her years of diplomacy and advocacy (and her familial ties). 

 

Well, I loved this retelling. Kaikeyi became such a fleshed out and fully developed character in Patel's hands. I loved reading about her youth, both the difficult parts of finding her own ways without a mother or the gods to guide and help her, and the sweet and fun parts, like her relationships with her brothers, especially her twin. This is one of the only books I have read that goes into the art of charioteering (the Nevernight trilogy is the only other one I can think of), and I was fascinated reading about it. Plus, I am a sucker for a lady in battle, historically (I was weirdly obsessed with Joan of Arc as a kid, and loved Tamora Pierce's Alanna series), so the entire "Kaikeyi winning over Dasharath and Ayodhya through her horse/weapons prowess" really hit the spot for me. As Kaikeyi got older, I really enjoyed reading about her mind-opening about how she could help the women of her nation. There was some great insight into how being raised in one way (within a powerful family/court life) can limit one in the ways a person thinks about potential for change or how to make it happen, but with a little looking outside oneself, there are many creative and roundabout ways to affect change. As for her role as a mother, it was well-written, but not as much the highlight for me personally. I was much more into the ways she found to influence and act as a diplomat and use her small magic to create connections. And finally, I was so here for the ace spectrum coding on Kaikeyi’s character; it was smooth and natural and just....felt so right. 

 

The writing itself was perfect for the genre, that sort of the folklore-y narrative voice that feels like classic fairy-tale story-telling. It's narrated by Kaikeyi herself, sort of looking back on everything after it all played out, so there is some fairly heavy-handed foreshadowing, with (short) reflections on what decisions could have been different or moments might have been altered to change the way things happened (just as a heads up, in case you, like myself, are not the biggest fan of that stylistic device). There were a couple other common plot devices that were recognizable, but well used, like the dangers of open-ended promises/boons as repayment/gift/in recognition. Also, and you can see it coming from a mile away but can't look away from it, the inevitable finale due to Kaikeyi keeping secrets (because she is a woman and grew up with little power/support/trust) leading to making decisions for the best possible outcome...but the lack of confiding in others about her knowledge plays a major part in her downfall of status/trust with those closest to her (because they didn’t understand her reasoning for having to make the decisions in the first place and felt taken advantage of and strong armed). That was a long description, but I was trying to convey the vibe while staying vague. The point is, it's a pattern I've definitely read before, but the confluence of situations/events built to Kaikeyi's tragedy in a wonderful way. Finally, I want to mention that the magic/gods aspects were in great balance to the rest of the novel (plot and character development - which were well-balanced and paced in their own right - and feminist themes); present, but never overpowering. 

 

This was a cinematic, adventurous and spectacular retelling. The female gaze and centering was spot on and, as it always is, so refreshing. I always go into these retellings hoping for a happier story, even though I know that the women in these classics are tragic characters, the ones that suffered. So though these retellings are their perspectives, they are not happier for it, just given their own voice to tell it. Regardless, the forceful (though subtle within the plot itself, as necessary) feminism of historical, "powerful" women, was reminscient of Signe Pike's Langoureth (The Lost Queen and The Forgotten Kingdom) in all the best ways (I personally love that vibe/style). All in all, I just really enjoyed this reading experience and definitely recommend this book.  

 

“I could not stop thinking about Ahalya, doomed to remain a stone statue in a forest, slowly eroding while her husband continued to wander the world. If a woman crafted by the gods themselves could be consigned to this fate, what hope was there for a woman born of a woman?” 

 

“I had long thought of Ahalya as the foremost example of how a man might devastate a woman, but as I saw more of the world, I was realizing there were many ways to ruin a person's life. Most women were not cursed by their husbands, but they suffered all the same.” 

 

“In helping another woman, I had in fact helped myself.” (love love love) 

 

 “I did not wish to bring a daughter into this world of men, into a world that would silence her thoughts before she could even speak them. I wondered how many women had felt this same fear, deep in their bones. [...] I had to build a world where [...] her opinion could be valued…” 

 

“If the gods had already ordained my evil deeds, then I had nothing to lose by defying them now. So, I would defy them.” 

 

“It is not weak to avoid war [...] It is the strongest thing you could do, to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.” 

 

“'Then why do I feel wicked?' / 'Because those who are good question themselves. Because those who are good always wonder if there was a better way, a way that could have helped more and hurt less. That feeling is why you are good.'” 

 

“Before this story was Rama’s, it was mine.” 

 

At long last, my final Aspen Words 2022 longlist read is done. I'm feeling very accomplished and enjoying that satisfied feeling of crossing the last thing off a "to-read" list. Go me! Plus, I ended on a high note, since this was also one of the five shortlist picks. And goodness I can see why. This was absolutely one of my favorites of the bunch and completely worth the wait to get my hands on it. 

 

The Arsonists' City is the story of a family, the Nasr family, and a city, the city of Beirut. The story opens in present time with the family patriarch, Idris, deciding to sell his family home in Beirut. Despite the fact that the family hasn't spent time there in years, everyone unites against him, strongly disagreeing with his decision and descends on the house. The oldest daughter, Ava, takes her children (leaving her possibly cheating husband behind in Brooklyn). The middle daughter, Naj, is already living in Beirut and dreads the family coming to town, invading her "privacy" and space, though her bandmate is thrilled to see them all again. The youngest, Mimi, brings his new fiance, Harper, to visit from Austen for the first time (though is maybe not ready to deal with them all after recently giving up on his own dreams of musical success). And their mother, Mazna, agrees to come back to Beirut for the first time since tragedy struck for her there almost a lifetime ago and she left for America with Idris and her own dreams of stardom. The collision of memory and regret and passions and grief and politics/religion and secrets and love and shame and family that follows is fiery. 

 

The star of this novel is the characters. They are incredible: complex and so human in all their perfect imperfections. And despite the gorgeous level of complexity in their development on the page and their interactions both large and small, there is no need for complexity in describing it. It was stellar. I was so invested in each of them. I loved their foibles and their great loves and their passions and their internal dialogues. I loved reading both the vulnerable parts of them and the ugly parts that in real life are, in fact, hard to love. They were just so...real. And recognizable because of it. And I couldn't get enough of them. I think I would have read a book twice this length to get more of both their drama and their everydayness. 

 

There was also a fair amount of plot buoying the character development. It developed in two time periods. Although we start in the present, we also get the background on Mazna and Idris' relationship in the past, how it began and how it brought them to America. The tragedy of lost love (of the romantic and platonic kind, respectively) that set them up for their life together, how they grew into their present partnership, and the massive secret of it all unfolds as we read. And then in the present we get Idris and Mazna coming to terms with the Beirut of their memories, plus all their children's lives (Ava's family and relationship, Mimi's career and relationship, Naj's music and...relationship?), and all their interactions with each other. The way Mazna's secret from the past builds to its peak, and though it seems like it should take down the family in a greater way in the present, ends up just being...the way it is...when it finally comes out, feels the exact right amount of genuinely anti-climactic. I loved it. 

 

And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the nuances of conflict of politics and religion and nationality (and sexuality) in the Middle East that are addressed throughout the years of this story. Alyan handles the intricacies, the ebbs and flows of it all, with sensitivity, but with an unflinching recognition of the realities. The way the upheavals of the region are paralleled in the (emotional) upheavals of the lives of this one family is so well done. And it carries a lovely larger message with it, if the reader chooses to see it: that this is just one story of upheaval among many, that even in the daily uncertainty of conflict, there will always still be the daily drama of lives interacting.      

 

This could easily have been a very "chick lit" (for lack of a better phrase) type story, with the present day and past dual stories, family secrets and lost loves and infidelity told through connections between times and families, all brought together with a cathartic family moment (at a concert) at the finale that brought me to tears. But with the thoroughness and depth of the characters and the gorgeous portrayal of a region (Syria/Lebanon/Palestine) that is overly maligned and misrepresented, the humanity in these pages makes it something so much more. This family's life, their lies and grudges and forgiveness and grace, were just stunning. Like I said, I loved this book. 

 

“I’d rather be misunderstood by what I say than what someone says for me.” 

 

“How can people bear it, she wonders, loss upon loss?” 

 

“Grief will make you do crazy things. It will electrify the elegant, flower-stem neurons in the amygdala of your brain, will pluck them like an instrument. In ancient Rome, grief made men twirl in their thing, leather sandals and pirouette until their feet bled; in India, it walked widows into pyres waiting for fire. The Persians gave the bodies of their deceased beloveds to dogs; the Egyptians buried them with servants. Grief will make you laugh at the funeral, weep over the cereal bowl; it will buzz your feet until they start dancing in the middle of the night. It's grief that inspires the unlikeliest of bedfellows.” 

 

“If you live a life long enough, it becomes yours.” 

 

Well, I haven't watched the Netflix adaptation show yet, but after speeding through this 4th installation in the Heartstopper series in one sitting (insert links to earlier blog posts/reviews here), I think that's going to be a "sooner rather than later" situation. This began as, and remains, one of the sweetest series I have ever read. And there is really never a time when I don't want that kind of vibe added to my life. 

 

This 4th book focuses, for the most part, on Charlie and his struggles with mental health, within the greater context of he and Nick's strengthening romantic relationship (and all the attendant drama of teen first love). We got a quick look at it in one of the earlier books, when Nick has worries about Charlie's eating habits and potential eating disorder, but things come to a head in this one, as Charlie faces a relapse of self harm and chooses to spend time as an inpatient at a psych ward to get help. There's also a sub-plot of Nick finally having the chance to come out to his (mostly absent) father, as well as cameos from many of Nick and Charlie's friends as they spend summer break together and head back to school. 

 

There is just something so "breath of fresh air" about these graphic novels. Oseman doesn't shy away from intense topics of young adulthood, like first love and mental health and sexuality/being outed/bullying and all levels of supportive (or not) family situations. It's real, necessarily so. And yet at the same time, there's a sweetness and tenderness to the stories that keep them, overall, as a sort of comfort read. It's a cozy feel that comes from the combination of being both authentic (re: anxiety and drama) and having an "I know there will be a happy ending" reassurance. 

 

I want to point out, specifically, that I loved the way Oseman dealt with the codependency that I remember so clearly from high school first love situations. There is a real learning curve to having room in your life for both romantic and platonic relationships, and there is a tendency for romance to win at the beginning (this is so recognizable when I think back on myself and my friends in high school). The way that mental health was dealt with was also nicely done - open and honest. The ups and down of Charlie's days and reactions to therapy are very real. And Nick's conversation with his mother was particularly heartwarming and wonderful, as she helped him see that he can wholeheartedly support and be there for Charlie, but he's only 16 and must also understand that Charlie needs more help, qualified/professional help, and it's not fair to either of them for Nick to shoulder so much of the burden himself. I also *so* appreciate the way that when Nick comes out to his father, Charlie is there for him, showing that while he may have his own mental health struggles, he is not useless or invalid and can still be a supportive partner. A really nice example of the fluidity, the ebb and flow, of the direction of support in relationships. 

 

Visually, this graphic novel series remains great. I love, as I have before, the level of expression in Nick and Charlie's features, in the panels where there are no words and yet their feelings come across so strongly. Oseman has a knack for those little details that add so much; the panels of Nick and Charlie's feet as they make out are so full of emotion! 

 

I do feel like, as the character list is growing and there are more and more side stories (the budding teacher romance, the many friends in relationships), there is a bit of jumpiness coming into the overall story. It's like Oseman is trying to at least mention everyone once and, unfortunately, that's causing there to be a bit of a trying too hard feel to some of the panels/mentions. I mean, I love them all and I'm not mad about getting the updates, but they did sometimes interrupt the flow.  

 

This was such a touching story within the greater series, really adding depth to Nick and Charlie's relationships with each other. There were cameos from many favorite side characters (I was particularly into Charlie's sister, Tori, in this installation). The nostalgia-tinted trip back to high school is strangely comforting, from my adult perspective, and I just have so many soft feelings towards these characters and am always happy to return to their world and the assured happiness, for the reader, within it. 

 

“Love can’t cure a mental illness.” 

 

“Standing by his side, even when things are hard - But also knowing that…sometimes people need more support than just one person can give. That’s love, darling.” 

 

Until about two months ago, neither Faleeha Hassan nor this book were anywhere on my radar. But a representative of the publisher (Amazon Crossing) reached out and asked if I was interested in receiving a copy in exchange for participating in a Blog Tour. I've gotten pretty picky about which of these requests I say yes to, because honestly there are just so many books I want to read that I have to ration my time. And I am, for the most part, a reviews-centric blogger, so each book is a significant effort of time to read/write the review. But this one sounded really interesting and I was immediately interested in reading about the life of this female Iraqi poet - the first published female poet from her hometown. So I accepted. And now for the disclaimer: all the thoughts in this review are mine alone, in no way reflective of or influenced by the publisher. 

 

Hassan grew up in Najaf, Iraq, as part of a large, but close, working-class family. She was in middle school in 1980 when the Iran-Iraq War began, and she spent the rest of her time in Iraq (until she was forced to flee in 2011 after becoming a target on a militant group's death list for her writing) under the shadow of constant war. Despite this, all the terror and loss and tragedy that war entails on a day-to-day basis (and the compounding strain of its seemingly never-ending reailty), she continued to work towards her edicational and career goals, including earning a Masters in Arabic Literature and becoming a published poet. This memoir follows Hassan from her youth through starting her own family and ends with her arrival in the United States after her asylum application was approved.  

 

Let me start with the major issue I had while reading. I cannot write this review without addressing it, but I also want to get it out of the way and end with the positive, because there is a lot of it. It's just unfortunate that the big issue was such a pervasive one. I hate to say this, especially because I myself cannot speak/read Arabic well enough to translate it, but I really felt like this was an iffy translation. I know enough of the language to understand that this was likely quite poetic/flowery in the original language, but a lot of it seemed to have been translated too directly for that to carry over, and the phrasing often felt stilted and clumsy in English. And then, despite my wish (often) that the translator would used some more natural and flowing phrasing/language in English, the couple times he did try to add in colloquialisms felt poorly chosen and jarringly out of place (for example, when he used "any Tom, Dick or Harry"). Anyways, there is a chance that part of this was some immature/jumpy writing in the original, as Hassan's writing background is more short-form. But there are definitely elements of the awkward language that I feel confident come back to the translation. 

 

I want to make the point here that the content, Hassan's life, is still absolutely worth reading. It took me some time to get over some of the writing flow issues, but it is worth doing. Obviously, knowing the history that Hassan lived during, it should go without saying that there is *a lot* of trauma and triggering content here, so much (familial) death, violence and injury, missing/loss/unknown fates, domestic (emotional/psychological) abuse, and grief. Hassan does a lovely job presenting the events without holding back on the emotional and life impacts, while also not dramatizing anything. It's a lot to read, thematically, and it’s impossible to imagine and comprehend living it, but I am grateful for the opportunity to witness through Hassan's words. There were also many important points made about the politics surrounding everything that has happened to the Iraqi people in the last decades; the way the "normal" people suffered so much as a result of dictators and international (UN) sanctions alike - there was little day-to-day difference in the difficulties for people regardless of the source. An important point for all (western) readers to remember. 

 

I loved reading about Hassan's experience and process of writing and publishing her first collection of poetry, and the reception it received (based often on her gender and not the quality of the writing itself, though popular nonetheless). It was so interesting to see how the process worked, and where the strong support for her work was coming from. Relatedly, her family's and friend's support for her education across the board was such a highlight. Especially when put in such sharp relief to her experiences with her husband and mother-in-law, when that part of her life unfolds. 

 

Overall, this was a difficult but worthwhile read. It's hard to really conceptualize the everydayness of mortar fire in the streets, the way people go to work and children to school through it because that's just...life. It’s just nonsensical, what people are forced to endure, and thus adjust to enduring. And how Hassan managed to write and publish during it all, to chase her dreams and fight to protect and love her family despite everything, was a beautiful bright spot throughout it all. 

 

“I realized then that places retain no magic once they're stripped of the people associated with them.” 

 

“How can you say you live with your family if you lock yourself and your secrets away from them?” 

 

“Nothing around us grew and multiplied save fear…” 

 

“And if you wished to find some relief, you were forced to search for it. Otherwise, your only refuge was in a dream, which might drag you to destruction as you fell into the snares of thorny reality.” 

 

“Wars occasionally require very convincing, massive lies if we are to escape death, even if only temporarily.” 

 

“When the fire of war flares up, even if it suddenly subsides, that does not mean it has been extinguished - not even if it lies dormant for a long time. Instead, it means that any airborne spark can cause it to flare up again.” 

 

 

First off, this cover is damn gorgeous. Stunning. Second, though this hasn't *yet* taken the world by storm, it should...because it has gotten such comprehensively stellar reviews and after reading it myself, I find I can only add to that praise. Whether it actually is groundbreaking (which it does seem to be, based on the dearth of existing details/research around this type of trauma, alongside Foo's intersectional representation of it throughout this writing), or just seems to be based on my personal (lack of) previous knowledge of the topic, this book feels groundbreaking. In ways both personal and universal. I took so many notes while reading it, so get ready for a hefty, but glowing, review. 

 

Alright, a quick synopsis, though to be honest, the subtitle " A Memoir of Healing From Complex Trauma," really sums it up. Foo opens this book with a first section detailing, explicitly, the physical, verbal, emotional and psychological trauma she experienced at the hands of her parents growing up. It starts young, and it is violent in all the ways that violence can be interpreted, so please, be aware of that before reading. (To this end, Foo has a lovely content warning at the start as well, so I recommend reading her words directly too.) She then continues through the myriad ways that that childhood trauma affected everything from her work life to her personality to her relationships (how it truly did and how she was only perceiving that it did, in balanced measure). Then, the experience of getting her diagnosis of Complex-PTSD and the following years of working through what that means for her. She details the therapies and therapists she tries, the research she delves into and learns from, and the process of learning to come to terms with it all, as well as learning to love herself (and let herself be loved). As Foo says herself, this story has a "happy ending." So, while it is a journey to get there, and a constant work of effort and awareness to maintain, it does happen. 

 

I want to just start by reiterating what I said in my little intro/opening paragraph: this book absolutely blew me away. It was extraordinary, incredible. It is such a nuanced look at trauma, from a combined journalistic/research and memoir/individual approach, with Foo using her professional background to bring clarity to the science and health aspects, while providing examples of how it looks "in real life" with an unbelievable bravery in the openness with which she shares her own life. Absolutely amazing. There are so many factors that can affect a person's mental health, from environmental experiences (like childhood trauma) to brain chemistry to intergenerational elements to access to support/intervention, and Foo weaves them all together here flawlessly, showing how each aspect can, depending on the situation, both negatively and positively impact mental health. 

 

To be more specific about some of these components of this reading experience, I want to go ahead and mostly just transfer over many of the reactions I noted down as I read. So, this next section might be a little all over the place, but each of these thoughts was important enough for me to pause reading (listening, in my case) to record them, so I want to keep them all here for posterity. 

-          If you haven't already had this in mind, or it's been relegated to somewhere on the backburner, this book will make you (re)consider the kids that “act out,” and what they must be dealing with to cause it and/or what they are trying to protect themselves from. Because wow, wow this childhood hurts so much to read about. I'm glad Foo has been able to comfort her child self a bit, because that's all I wanted to do while reading. 

-          As Foo tries to find the line of where her C-PTSD symptoms are, versus her own personality and humanity, there is such a clarity of anger and confusion and frustration and, also, tenderness, for what she lost/what was taken from her (and her future) as a child. 

-          Connecting her triggers/psychological symptoms with the chemistry and electricity of the body, the nuances therein and how to tease them apart from one another, while recognizing the ways they are inextricably intertwined, was so fascinating. 

-          The stress and barriers and daunting-ness of finding the right therapist were…ooof…overwhelming. And on top of an already overwhelming mental health situation (reminiscent of themes in other books about mental health that I've read, but especially The Collected Schizophrenias.) Why does this remain such a barrier?! I mean, I know why, but also would like to scream a rhetorical "whyyyy?" into the void, because come on, America, do better already. 

-          Such an insightful commentary on the intergenerational trauma aspect. Foo balances a condemnation of the originating source for much of it ( American violence and colonialism and imperialism and war) with an equally critical look at the tendency towards secrets and obfuscation, the cultural and traditional and belief-based and psychological (purposeful forgetting) reasons behind the Asian (-American) family approach to silence about traumatic events, that can be just as harmful. Foo speaks to the way the body remembers trauma, even when it's been buried it's still coded in our bones/DNA, and makes a clear and strong call for talking about and bringing it out into the open, as the only chance for healing and breaking cycles. 

-          Foo gives a well-rounded, but approachable, overview of the mind-body connection and how mental health/childhood trauma are related to physical health (in this case especially women’s reproductive/sexual health). Related, her detailing of the sexism of PTSD as a connection to men/war and not women/abuse against women, and the resulting lack of knowledge/research about how it affects male and female bodies differently, is striking. 

-          The power (and terror) Foo describes in advocating for herself in a medical setting (both mental and physical health), because as an individual YOU know your body better than anyone else, is so deeply (and too widely) necessary. One of the most inspiring parts of this book for me. 

-          I mentioned that I did the audiobook version (which Foo reads herself, and it's wonderful). Well, there are also actual clips of her therapy sessions that are absolutely stunning, and a profound addition to this reading experience. 

-          So much of how we see things and how others see things does not line up, and learning to balance and work through that, as a part of the overall journey Foo took, was phenomenal to be able to witness as a reader. 

-          OMG, the wedding story at the end is *oh my heart.* 

-          I really appreciate consideration of the perspective change the pandemic gave people, in being more understanding about certain mental health issues, etc., as well as from a more personal POV for Foo about herself and the way her survival adaptations were a boon in these circumstances. 

 

I LOVED the way this ends with such a positive take. Foo shows herself and the reader the ways her C-PTSD adaptations made her better in certain circumstances, that they are part of who she is for bad and good. It is aching, but in a beautiful way. Overall, what a journey; not just of healing, but the self-discovery that comes with it. There’s a message there for everyone, even those of us without this level of trauma, about how worth it it is, the effort of finding what grounds and steadies you, what allows you to be present and alive. It's worth it, to pinpoint where the love in your life truly comes from (and that you deserve to have it, even through fuck ups), in order to really, fully, live. And Foo does this while also recognizing that how that looks/happens is different for everyone, and you cannot “fix” it for someone else with what has worked in your own experiences. I just...if you are able to read this, I cannot recommend it enough. 

 

“Hatred, I learned quickly, was the antidote to sadness. It was the only safe feeling. Hatred does not make you cry at school. It isn't vulnerable. Hatred is efficient. It does not grovel. It is pure power.” 

 

“When we say someone is resilient, we mean that they adapt well to conditions of adversity - they are strong, in possession of 'emotional toughness.' But how do you measure someone's emotional toughness exactly? [...] Resilience, according to the establishment, is not a degree of some indeterminable measure of inner peace. Resilience is instead synonymous with success.” 

 

“Just because the wound doesn’t hurt doesn't mean it's healed. If it looks good and it feels good, it should be all good, right? But over the years I'd smoothed perfect white layers of spackle over gaping structural holes.” 

 

“San Jose is America’s consolation prize for those who lost Saigon and Seoul.” 

 

“Being healed isn’t about feeling nothing. Being healed is about feeling the appropriate emotions at the appropriate times and still being able to come back to yourself. That’s just life.” 

 

“These negative emotions only become toxic when they block out all other emotions. When we feel so much sadness that we can't let any joy in. When we feel so much anger that we cannot soften around others. True mental health looks like a balance of these good and bad feelings.” 

 

“Here’s a theory: Maybe I had not really been broken this whole time. Maybe I had been a human - flawed and still growing but full of light nonetheless. [...] Perhaps the only real thing that was broken was the image I had of myself - punishing and unfair, narrow and hypercritical. Perhaps what was really happening was that, along with all of my flaws, I was a fucking wonder. And I continue to be a fucking wonder.” 

 

I, like many (I am sure), do love a heist movie. There is something so satisfyingly escapist about them and I revisit classics like Ocean's 11 and The Italian Job any time I'm looking for a comfort watch. Plus, I am a *huge* fan of the entire Fast and Furious franchise, #sorrynotsorry. (Which, after reading the Acknowledgements, it seems I have that in common with the author, so...take that world!) Anyways, the point of all that was, I was very intrigued in this combination heist and "reclaiming from colonist powers" plot and was excited to receive an eARC from NetGalley (which I am only a little late, in consideration of the publication date, in getting to).  

 

Portrait of a Thief follows five Asian and Asian-American college students from across the US, who come together to form a team (bank-rolled by a mysterious nouveau riche Chinese benefactor) to steal back five sculptures, scattered at museums across the globe, that were looted from the old Summer Palace in Beijing years ago. Will Chen leads the group, a senior at Harvard with a passion for art and a view at claiming a place in history for himself. His sister, Irene Chen, is the perfect daughter, a public policy major at Duke who has the personality and charisma to talk anyone into (or out of) anything. Alex Huang dropped out of MIT to work at a company in Silicon Valley to bring more income to her family, joining the team as the "hacker." Lily Wu is a friend of Irene's from Duke, a car racer in her free time who acts as the getaway driver. And last in Daniel Liang, a childhood friend of Will and Irene, pre-med at Stanford, whose father works for the FBI as part of an art crimes division. Together, they battle familial and intergenerational expectations of success, individual life goals of greatness, and the long history of western colonialism and cultural theft. 

 

My first impression, and possibly the strongest overall impression, that I had of this novel was the reflective writing style and (very-not-breakneck) pace of the story. I feel like this is an important place to start because, while it wasn't bad, it was definitely wildly different from the internal expectations I had and I had to adjust to it as a reader. I read "heist" and expected fast moving. But this had a sort of dreamy, spacey quality to the writing. As I got farther into the story, and realized that this actually fit the story really well. Li really nails the "existential dread of getting close to the end of college" feels, that fear of what comes next, mixed with the dread that this is all there is. And with all five of the main characters struggling with their own variations of that, as they decide whether or not to get involved, to take a risk like this with their future ahead of them versus the stagnant ennui of young adulthood, as well as dealing with the complex emotions of being split/not-belonging to two different countries/cultures (who deserves/gets one's allegiance and how does one prove it?), that contemplative and evaluative tone does fit with the reality of these characters. Overall, it's more an artsy, ethereal, philosophical take on a heist, which I started skeptical of, considering the high stakes subject matter, but in the end appreciated as an interesting and unique choice. 

 

Other than that primary point of pacing and stylistic choice, I was, from the start, very much into this story. Honestly, it does seem a little too convenient that all these young people with the exact necessary, specific skills already were acquainted. However, I was totally willing to suspend disbelief to see how it plays out, for entertainment purposes and, a little bit, to watch a fantasy that I'd be way too chicken to ever take a chance on myself, play out. And I know I said the overall pacing was slower than expected, and there was less action than I'd thought (though that makes sense, with college-aged protagonists with somewhat limited financial resources), but the tension in the plot development did build in a tangible way during and after the first heist, as the "waiting for the other shoe to drop and we get caught" feelings start to hit and grow. This is mirrored by the rising burden of expectations the team puts on themselves in finishing and getting away with their mission, the weight of their potential success and the hopes they've each pinned on it, and how it's come to symbolize something greater both culturally and individually. It makes you feel, as the reader, that they are fast approaching precarious levels of risk-taking because they are unwilling to admit defeat, and that's a lot of well-developed literary tension-building.  

 

And then: the ending. I loved it! What a phenomenal "twist" that allowed for everything to be wrapped up with a positive outcome (the one you're cheering for, as the reader), and yet within a more or less believable, realistic way considering the overall lack of resources and preparedness from this naive-ish (in the not-yet-disillusioned-and-still-sort-of-hopeful way) group of young adult thieves. And really, Li crushed it with the perfect "sepia toned, promise of the future, heist movie ending" vibe too. So satisfying, on so many levels. 

 

And so, though I started out fairly hesitant, by the end, I would call myself a fan of this one. It was really entertaining, the right amount of tense, relatable (if you've ever felt family pressure, an existential un-surity of the future, or that cultural in-between of children of immigrants), and a phenomenal *pop-culture* way of calling out imperialist cultural theft and reclaiming it back to its origins in a really satisfying way. 

 

“Who could determine what counted as theft when museums and countries and civilizations saw the spoils of conquest as rightfully earned?” 

 

“And how to explain this – the ache he felt when looking at the lines of a sculpture, how history could be found, made, left behind by an artist’s deft hand?” 

 

“For all that she loved it, she had wanted nothing more than to leave.” 

 

“…the empty space it had carved within her. How it felt to search and never find. All these years, and Lily had never known how to love a place and not leave it behind.” 

 

“An experiment, he called it, and what else was it but the five of them trying to control every variable they could and live with the outcome?” 

 

“How could he explain how it felt to know, with a terrible and unflinching certainty, that you were not enough for your dreams? There was so much he wanted, so much that would always be out of reach.” 

 

“Art could be beauty, but it was also power.” 

 

“…they talked not of the future but of the past. Immigration stories and unfamiliar history, what it was like to grow up knowing you had more than all your ancestors combined. Privilege, responsibility, all those words that sometimes had a weight too heavy to bear. In the end, that was what this heist was: a way out. If they could do this, it might be enough.” 

 

“All parents leave their own scars. We’re the ones who have to heal from them.” 

 

“It might have been inevitable. But it still hurt.” 

 

“…[she] was learning what it was like to be proud of where she came from. Galveston, China, all these places that were hers, by birth and by blood. They were not all she was, but they were a part of her. She would claim it at last.” 

 

“They had always dreamed of the same things. How to make this life their own, how to love a country that had left them behind.” 

 

“Once, he had thought the diaspora was loss, longing, all the empty spaces in him filled with want. […] But diaspora was this, too: two cultures that could both be his, history that was waiting to be made.” 

 

My very first ever book that I posted a review of on this blog was Greenwood's novel All the Ugly and Wonderful Things. It was (is) a pretty controversial read, but it emotionally devastated me, so I loved it. And, as my first review, I really did not have the frame of reference or general practice in critically thinking about what I was reading, so at the time, that emotional response meant I loved it. And while I absolutely still deeply respect it, and would recommend it (with content warnings), I am also now able to consider it with a bit more...nuance...both appreciating the intensity of the response it provoked, while also better recognizing the problematic aspects. All that to say, I bought this book when it was published a few years ago, because I loved Greenwood's first novel so much, but delayed in starting this one after reading the blurb because I was nervous about the content. But, in the end, I just wanted to see what she did with it. And goodness, did Greenwood write another complex doozy for a novel here. 

 

Tall, redhead-tempered, and chronic-pain-suffering Zee is plagued by a long list of worries: a hoarding and housebound mother, caring for her 5-year-old nephew when her sister isn't around, the never-ending bills that come with adulthood...and more. Years ago, while in PT for the accident/injury that causes her now-chronic hip pain, she met Gentry, a young, shy, autistic man who, as an actual knight (sword, armour, castle, language, and all) pledged himself to be her champion. When Zee's sister is abducted and the fragile structure of her life comes crashing down around her, Gentry steps up to help her deal with detectives, reporters, estranged family, and a (mostly hair-brained) rescue attempt that threatens to change the whole course of their lives, their futures, and their connection to each other.  

 

Let me start with the warnings(?) I have for readers about this book. It is just as morally grey as Ugly and Wonderful, well maybe not *quite* as grey, but grey enough that you should go into it prepared for that. I found myself reading and cheering for outcomes and people that, honestly, I don't think I would in real life. I mean, there are still the "big bads," like the KKK and racism and that overly aggressive toxic masculinity of rural white America, and I had no mixed feelings/qualms about hating them. (On this note, there is one section in the middle, mostly all concentrated together, with some very explicit racist language and ideology - so be careful picking this book up if that isn't something you want to read. I honestly was a bit frustrated because I think the points could have been clearly made without that, but regardless, it's there.) And yet, there were some other characters (if I'm being fully honest, most of the characters, other than Gentry) who were just plain dislikable in a number of ways, for a number of reasons, and yet Greenwood's writing manages to give them a perspective and a understandability that kinda, almost, mostly makes you cheer for them. The thing is, so many of the terrible/hurtful decisions made, are made for reasons that are universally recognizable, like love, protecting those you love, the (sometimes blind) blood ties of family, and (though these were also the hardest ones to admit the recognizability of) self-preservation. There was so much self-preservation, but these characters also find themselves in complicated situations that don't always have clear, easy (or even right) answers, based on their life experiences and exposures to date. 

 

So, basically, I don't know how she does it, but yet again, Greenwood takes horrible and sometimes icky situations (like kidnapping and hoarding and tragic outcomes of *unnecessary* sacrifice and dashed beliefs in family goodness and some of the underbelly aspects of society) and makes them...kind of sweet? Having the story told from multiple perspectives (though Zee was the primary), was a major contributing factor on this front, I believe. Zee, especially, made many decisions that hurt people, and yet being able to see why she made them, the motivating factors and her goals of saving her sister and protecting her nephew, did stir a lot of empathy that otherwise I would have been hard-pressed to find. Plus, the way she accepted Gentry exactly as he was (despite definitely making selfish decisions when it came down to his involvement), was endearing. 

 

This was really just such an original story and situation. I have never read a book that is partially (though not overwhelmingly) narrated in "Middle English." And the entire prison break and kidnapping and off-the-books rescue storyline, with quite a bit of the characterization focused on those with ties to prison (whether because family had spent time there, they spent time there themselves, they volunteered there, etc.), and the resulting "underbelly of the midwest" society,  made for a compelling (and very drama-filled!) plot. I honestly cannot speak to the way Gentry's autism was portrayed - it's such a complex disorder that can manifest in so many ways, both on its own and in combination with other disorders/disabilities - so I don't want to write any opinion on that. I felt, for the most part, that it was accepted in stride by the majority of the characters, which was refreshing. And there was some acknowledgement about navigating the world as an autistic person and how Gentry felt ready to do so, but his guardians perhaps did not, which I do believe is an important and common (as it is a universal aspect of coming of age to look for independence) conflict. How it played out exactly, I am sure will be a polarizing aspect of the story, but the one bright spot is that Gentry took his own agency and made his own choices. Another thing that I anticipate being a bit polarizing, as it was in Ugly and Wonderful, is the nuanced way that Greenwood looks at young people in impossible situations. This time, Zee's young nephew, Marcus. She details the family/trust connections Marcus has that may not be as healthy or have as much opportunity/security, versus the less known extended family with more resources/safety but less connection. It’s such a great look at the complicated situation of child welfare and why those with resources find it easier to take the child out of the familiar to be safe, as opposed to using those resources to make the familiar safe. It's a loaded conversation, likely controversial, but also addresses deeply important questions. 

 

I am having a hard time giving this book a rating. I was invested in the unique and dramatic story, the well-developed characters (I kept wanting to pick it up to see what happened next, which is always a good sign), and the writing quality was high, flowing easily and compellingly. Plus, like I said, Greenwood includes some polarizing aspects, and that always makes for gripping reading, for good or bad. And yet, there were some cringey parts. Some that I knew could have been done differently and still gotten the point across, some that were just your standard unlikable-character cringe (not a thing I automatically dislike in a book, since that's very genuine characterization), and some that I'm just still not sure about. So...I would recommend it, but with reservations and the caveat that if any part of it sounds like it might not be right for you, to steer clear for sure. 

Well, y'all, the ‘rona got me. The day before I was scheduled to work at the library and planning to pick up this hold...which I was so hype for. So I sent my partner in to get it for me, because what is better sickbed reading than a queer Regency romance?! (Answer: nothing.) But apparently when he got there, everyone gave him a hard time (on my behalf), saying he didn't have to come in and pick up my holds cause I work there and they'd hang on to them for me til I got back, and he should stay home to take care of me. Which is so sweet. But I just really wanted my hands on this book. All in all, lots of warm fuzzy feelings about my coworkers, as well as a public recognition of thanks to my partner. Haha. 

After being presumed dead on the battlefields at Waterloo, Viola Carroll leaves behind her old life (her name and title and wealth) to finally live life as herself. She figured that her closest friend, the Duke of Gracewood, would mourn her, but move on with the rest of his life too. But when their families reconnect years later, Viola realizes how lost in pain and memories Gracewood has become, and, in her guilt and sorrow, takes it upon herself to bring him out of it. Their time together stirs up feelings in Viola though, feelings that were impossible before...and maybe only differently impossible now. 

This is my third novel by Hall, and both the first two (Boyfriend Material and Rosaline Palmer Takes the Cake) were phenomenal. He is fast become a "auto-buy" (or "auto-read," since I'm an avid library patron, obvs) author. This was no exception, and possibly my favorite so far? I don't know - it's a bold statement because they are all so good! The important part is, I loved this. It was the perfect sickbed reading, but would really have been perfect at any time. I LOVE Hall’s writing. OMG. It's so quick and smart and, as always, some of the very best dialogue. I thought the premise/set-up was great, as far as the time-period-realistic way that Viola was able to transition into and live as her true self. I also loved the point at which we come into the story, after all that, and get to know her only as that true self. She would love that framing. 

And speaking of Viola and her true self, I also loved the connection and romance between her and Gracewood. It was the perfect mix of sweet and bittersweet. Their story was so tender and intense from the very start and I cried like three times in just the first 75 pages. But like, in the best way. I was so invested and was cheering so hard for them from the start! This was a connection of souls romance in a wonderfully devastating way, to a level I have rarely read before. So. Good. 

Also, I read a bit more about Hall's goals in writing this novel, in which he points out wanting to portray a trans love story in which "trans" was not the conflict. And what a way to do it! He shifted (or really, just kept it true to the genre) the focus to be on the ability and propriety of the age, with the reason the two couldn't be together coming down to their (now) difference in social station/title, reclaiming this very hetero genre for the queer community with aplomb. There were insecurities from both sides related to how Viola's trans identity may affect other life goals, like having a family/passing on the Gracewood family name, but no different than they might be if infertility was an issue for a hetero couple. And Viola's last concern, her lack of sexual experience, lines up with any other historical fiction "maiden" character, so that fit the vibe perfectly. (And definitely didn't prevent some fantastic steamy scenes either. Phew.)

A few other notes about things I loved, because I'm gonna overwhelm you with gushing in this review. First, Hall addresses PTSD really well, exploring how it affects some more than others, especially from the perspective of how ‘real men’ should not be experiencing it at all (*eye roll*), and the ways that makes it even harder. Similarly, Gracewood's disability, from a war wound, and addiction issues, are also handled with depth and respect, while still allowing Gracewood's personal reactions to be authentically written (based on my conjectures of the time period, anyways). I also loved the supporting characters. Viola's sister-in-law, Lady Marleigh, is phenomenal - I love a strong female character who is unapologetic about her talents and faults and owns her space in the world. In addition, Gracewood's younger sister, Mira, was a delight. She was perfectly odd and a great addition to strengthen both the character-base and, towards the end, the plot (I won't give any spoilers here, but things do get quite entertainingly dramatic towards the end.) There was also some really nice, understated but very clear, other queer rep (wlw specifically) that I feel like could go under the radar, but deserves to be recognized! 

Even with how long this novel was, I wanted more, I wanted it to never end. The pull between Gracewood and Viola, at a bone and soul deep level, was so lovely and tender it hurt. I cried and I smiled and my heart was squeezed with so many feels and it was a reading experience of emotional wreckage that I would choose over and over. 

“There are so many forces that would shape us, or break us, or twist us, or re-make us: friends, family, ‘what is done,’ duty, history, expectation.”

“Weakness is hard enough to bear when it isn’t the first thing everyone sees when they look at you.”

“It had never occurred to him to question beauty before. He’d always assumed it was obvious, fine eyes or a trim figure, rosebud lips or hair of whatever colour was currently fashionable. But it wasn’t. It was details. The way you could wait forever for the dimple to appear beside someone’s mouth, unable to imagine ever growing tired of seeing it.”

“My point […] is that I don’t see what use we can be to others if we must deny our own most fundamental selves. We all have the right to be recognised for who we are.”

“Small acts of defiance, he well knew, could become great acts of rebellion, and little intimacies could become alliances or passions that shaped lives and worlds.”

“Having spent so many years dwelling on yesterday, it would be the height of folly to dwell instead on tomorrow, when there was so much joy to find in today.”

“I am not sure love unshown is really love at all. What good does caring for a person do if you're never there when they need you?”

“‘Where is your logic now?’ / ‘At your feet, clearly.’” (OMG the SWOON)

“Strength is not the capacity to hurt. Or the capacity to remain unhurt. It is…what we let ourselves feel. And how truly we love.”

 

Another home-shelf backlist read - go me! Honestly, the synopsis for this one, a sort of detective story in a magic school setting, felt absolutely up my alley, so I was psyched to find this is the used section at a local bookstore. I grabbed it so fast...and then got around to reading it a bit slower. Haha. I tried to recommend it for my long-distance book club at one point, but it didn't win the popular vote. Regardless, I got there... Also, I know that Gailey has a number of unique and interesting-sounding (and standalone!) novels that I for sure will be looking into more of now. 

 

Years ago, Ivy Gamble and her twin sister, Tabitha’s, lives diverged in a way they’ve never overcome. Tabitha was invited to attend a prestigious magical boarding school and, despite all her efforts, Ivy remained decidedly…not magical. But it’s ok. Ivy doesn’t even want that. She has a successful business as a private investigator. However, when she is hired to investigate a gruesome murder at the very same academy that Tabitha now teaches at, Ivy’s lives – the one she has and the one that could have been – collide in a way that will force her to face the estrangements of her past and, perhaps, embrace a new kind of future. 

 

I have seen a few mixed reviews for this book and I can sort of see where they are coming from. To be honest, this started, and mostly stayed, much slower than I had expected considering the content of the blurb. It’s not misleading, as it is exactly what they book is about, but I can definitely see where a reader might anticipate a faster paced story, with potentially more explosive(?) magic. And this definitely reads as a more purposefully-paced, noir-style murder mystery. However, once I realized that’s what I was getting, and adjusted my expectations to match, I settled into the story nicely (which apparently not everyone was able to do). Regardless, I ended up really enjoying the more character-study murder mystery vibe, psychological in the way that reading personality types/profiling is, with some very dark undertones. To that point, there is quite a bit of foreshadowing with a unique “omniscient/looking back” narrative voice, along with a sort of tightrope winding and unwinding of tension, that was reminiscent (for me) of the vibe from Plain Bad Heroines. All in all, it may have been less immediate drama and magic than the story description might suggest, but compelling all the same. 

 

As I got further and further into reading this, I found that, a few times, I totally forgot about the overarching murder-solving plot. And in this case, since the book was so much more about setting and character and vibe (and because things were definitely happening to keep my attention outside of that primary storyline), I feel like that might be a credit to the writing? I haven’t decided on that yet. But I can say, I didn’t dislike it, the jolting feeling every time we can back to the main thread and I was like “oh yea, the murder!” Because Gailey does a wonderful job exploring other themes and stories here as well, and many were more compelling to me than the primary. For example, the intensely high level of sibling rivalry and anger and deeply seated resentment, honed over years of separation and assumption, was written spectacularly. (A note here: though it was accurate, be aware that there is a heavy-handed “coming to terms with my own feelings of jealousy and inadequacy” from Ivy that felt very juvenile. It makes sense, because the adult she is never got over feeling them as a child, plus this took place in a high school so the perspective fit the setting, but it was sometimes aggravating to read.) 

 

Speaking of the [magic] high school setting, I loved that Gailey poked fun at some classic “magic-school” and “chosen one” fantasy tropes in a way that was not too overdone but gives the reader cause to smirk a few times. And at the same time, mixed in actual high school aged issues (like secret relationships and dalliances) with the much darker sides they sometimes have (major content warning here for abortion and medical trauma and, while I’m at it, cancer/terminal illness). The way this was all combined to show that many un-dealt-with emotions, when combined with power, can become a profound cautionary tale, but in a unique way that gives both youth and adult examples, as well as showing that even successful over-powered-ness can get out of hand. It was an intense combination, one that made the book much heavier (and more heartbreaking) than I has anticipated it being. But at the same time, the gravitas made the book something more than the “fun escapist” read I’d thought it would be, and I can’t help but appreciate that.  

 

Honestly, a high school setting for an adult coming of age is ironic in a darkly humorous way (though this is not at all a humorous book, so don’t be misled) and I tip my hat to Gailey, for that fits the vibe they created here exactly right. This was a fascinating combo of real-world, gritty detective story and theoretical (and mostly incomprehensible, considering the narrators lack of it) magic. A slow burn noir, light gore and horror, mystery/thriller, and I was….pretty into it.