My second to last of the 2022 Aspen Words longlist books! I brought this one on a trip with me and almost finished it on a single flight from Denver to Raleigh; once I started it, I just couldn't stop. Also, if we're keeping track, this is another one (which at this point is at least half of the reads) that I would not have picked up without them appearing on this longlist. So, my gratitude to the exposure this reading challenge is giving me remains strong. 

 

 In Swimming Back to Trout River, we follow a few main characters as they navigate recent history in China (including survival of the Cultural Revolution) and immigration to the United States in a variety of ways. Dawn is a musician who must give up the violin to survive the attack on arts and the bourgeois within China. Momo embraces the changes communism brings, at least to start, which causes a lifelong rift between himself and his college friend, Dawn. Cassia is struggling to deal with a traumatic personal experience, leaving Beijing to get away from the memories as soon as she could. Junie is Momo and Cassia' daughter, born in the late 1970s and mostly raised by her grandparents, after her parents' immigration to the United States. But Junie's life faces some major (unwanted) changes when a letter arrives informing her that her family will be brought together again, in America, to celebrate her 12th birthday. This novel unfolds these four stories, interwoven together, until the conclusion where we see how they all, in finale, intersect. 

 

So first, like I said, once I got into this book, the story-telling just carried me along with it. I was swept up by the characters and their individual developments, which all felt very fully dimensional, considering that this isn't a very long novel. Momo and Cassia take center stage, as they are developed both as individuals and as parents, but Dawn is almost equally central, and Junie holds as much space as a sheltered 12-year-old can. Basically, my point is, the character development is wonderful. Along with that, I was subtly blown away by the story itself. As I was reading, I was just moving along with the storytelling, which had a very understated vibe to it. But after finishing, and sitting with my immediate thoughts/reactions, I realized that there was a very impressive depth of humanity in these pages, unearthed and brought to the light, that I didn't even fully register until after it was over. The intermingling of memories of the past, the choices in the present, and the interplay of those realities on the way a life unfolds, is an affecting framework of this story. 

 

I loved the look at the power of art (specifically music) and the way that it inspires and gives purpose and connects people in a way that nothing else can imitate. It is a touchstone, a cornerstone, of culture across generations and space and I love the way it endured throughout this novel, even in the places where all efforts were put not only into ignoring it, but actively quashing it. As my partner always says, the art is what is remembered about past civilizations, more than anything else it is what leaves an indelible mark. I also loved, and this harkens back to my earlier point about the understated tone of the writing, the many kinds of courage and following dreams that don’t make always make as big a splash as far as a dramatic telling, but still are life-changing, routine shattering, extraordinary, for those who act on them. Feng writes, so meticulously, the way these decisions render the characters both recognizable and completely foreign unto themselves, their ideas of who they are and their expectations of who they would be. This is such a universal pattern/ truth and it's so recognizable, despite how different these characters' lives may seem. 

 

I have a few other random thoughts that I'm just gonna collect here at the end. There was physical disability rep that I have never seen on-page before, with a really interesting way of adapting, based on the setting (rural China). A beautiful take, one that I am going to work to internalize, that Feng wrote on this topic, was along these lines: without the rest of us (looking differently from her), she’d never know anything was missing. I mean, what a way to reframe disability (a deeply needed and necessary way). This was also the second AAPI-authored novel that mentions the idea of "yuanfen," the sort of universe-guided connections between people, that I've read in the past couple months. The other, if I am remembering correctly, was Beasts of a Little Land. And it's a concept that I really appreciate because truly there are so many times in real life that connections appear that would almost seem overdone/cheesy in fiction, so reading examples of this cultural explanation for it was really cool. Finally, my two iffy spots. First, I can't decide how I felt about the foreshadowing of Junie's (seemingly big) future, without ever getting any fulfillment on details. I'm not against it, I just can't decide if I'm unsatisfied in a good literary way or in an actually unfinished way. Second, the end of Momo and Cassia’s story. I won't give spoilers, becasue it's a big one, but I just felt like it was too fast/abrupt for the rest of the writing style. I wish a similar endpoint could have been reached with a plot point that better fit the vibe. 

 

Overall, this was such a quietly and tenderly handled telling, considering the amount of grief and trauma that it covered (on this note, I have to mention the content warnings for loss of a child and accidental-injury death, as well as the generall repressive regime of Mao's China). I sped through the compelling and nicely paced story and, while it's not a favorite of the 2022 longlist bunch, it is a very solid addition and deserved the spot and recognition. If you are looking for a well-balanced, multi-POV, character-developed novel, with an insight into finding your place in unforgiving/unaccepting worlds, the connective power of music, and a bit of family drama, then I would definitely recommend this one.  

 

“After all, wasn't it true that to love someone is to figure out how to tell yourself their story?” (I noted this one right away, when I started reading and then it was actually especially mentioned in the author's acknowledgements.) 

 

“It didn’t occur to her that he might have been lonely, and that sometimes the lonely used things to fill up the space vacated by people.” 

 

“In physics, there were always boundary conditions, and you could understand a great deal about a problem by thinking of its two extremes. Music, it seemed to him, lacked such boundaries. One could go on and on in any one direction without ever coming back.” 

 

“He was impatient for time to pass, so that in his life, there would be less yearning and more having, less becoming and more being.” 

 “It’s in our nature to give things value, and there are times [...] when we have to give these things up in order to stay whole, in order to keep going.” 

 

“But there are certain decisions that seem so right in retrospect that they irreversibly erase thoughts that any alternatives ever existed.” 

 

“She knew that the universe had a way of surprising you with its murkier logic. In this logic, you could give birth to one child and end up raising another. As atonement. Or remuneration. Or however that otherworldly accounting worked.” 

 

“Vocabularies we’re simply impoverished when it came to obscure sorrows.” 

 

“How strange was the ebb and flow of resilience in the space between two people!” 

 

“He knew he was sometimes driven to hopes that were the wrong size for this world.” 

 

In my (mostly failing but ever effortful) attempt to read the backlist books on my shelves at home between the myriad newer releases and library holds that just keep coming, I present this success! This was part of a used bookstore haul a while ago; the concept (which I feel like I have also read about in other books/shows as well, though none of them are coming to mind now) of transferring emotions from one person to another is one that I find really interesting, so I wanted to see this take on it. 

 

This novel opens with Marisol and her younger sister, Gabi, having just arrived in the US hoping to achieve asylum after escaping from a dangerous situation, one that caused their brother's death, in El Salvador. When Marisol is presented with a "choice" that would make their case for asylum stronger, by participating in a trial for a new technology that would take someone else's grief into her own body, she agrees to it. It's a risk, but Marisol would do anything to protect her younger sister, especially since she feels like it's her fault Gabi was put in such a terrible situation to begin with. Life in America isn't quite like Marisol has seen in her favorite tv shows, but as she bonds with the person she's been paired with for the experiment (Ray) even past what the trial should include, and their feelings for each other grow, Marisol and Ray find that they might be able to help each other move past their griefs together. 

 

I felt like this was a YA novel that read very young. Gabi specifically felt younger than twelve to me, though in fairness, the story was written from Marisol's POV, so that could be her voice projecting onto her "baby" sister. But overall, there was just a very naive vibe to the writing that felt a bit off, considering the life experiences of the sisters. By the end, the writing did morph into something that felt more age-appropriate, but having that transition over such a short time period then just seemed too fast. To clarify, it's not at all that the writing was bad, but just that my biggest "iffy" feeling over the entire reading experience was that the maturity of the writing seemed like it didn't match the character's ages/experiences, nor the tone of the book, until towards the end. 

 

Other than that, this novel did a great job addressing some incredibly serious and intense YA topics with the sincerity and gravity they deserved, but with an understanding of the way they may be experienced differently for youth, as opposed to adults. Which, first off, let me say how frustrated (and by that, I mean truly *angry*) I was, reading about the ridiculous level of manipulation that Marisol (and Gabi) experienced at the hands of US officials. The way they made it seem like she had agency and was able to make a choice, whole in reality everyone knew there was no actual choice, had me hot. Especially because how is crossing the border underage (and knowing what happened to her brother!) not enough trauma to already have to disqualify Marisol from participating?! That aspect of manipulation continued as a theme throughout, even as we learn more about what Ray was told related to the experiment as well. I appreciated that examination of how easily, and in how many ways, this type of technology (even with best intentions) can be harmful and used inappropriately. 

 

Obviously, based on the story itself, there was quite a bit of time devoted to exploring grief and trauma and the myriad ways people can experience and handle it. There were, on this note, quite a few really tough topics that were addressed throughout this novel including siblinghood and siblings as parents, coming of age and sexuality, homophobia (including both physically and psychologically violent ways), grief (and guilt over the lack of it), refugee/asylum seeking, and death (fairly traumatic, sibling deaths). While I felt that these were all addressed with accessibility for a YA audience, they were also addressed with straightforwardness and dimension, so please beware if any of this content could potentially be triggering for you to read. With all that in mind, the ending was perhaps a bit too “wrapped up in a bow,” emotionally, but it’s hard to not having been cheering for that kind of hopeful ending. 

 

I loved the way that Marisol’s older sister perspective was written, as well as Gabi’s beginning-to-push-back younger sister characterization, that felt so accurate to me. And honestly the normality of that protectiveness/pushing boundaries that comes with youth and sibling interactions was a great “normal” background, bringing the more intense themes of loss and border-crossing and trauma into even sharper relief. I felt like the romance piece wasn’t super believable, not necessarily liked strained or trying too hard, but more like I never felt more than a friend vibe between Marisol and Ray. And really, I feel like their connection as friends could have played the same role in the story that the budding romance did. However, that being said, I did love the message that finding connection with others is critical for dealing with depression and grief. And I’m here for a sweet YA f/f love story situation. 

 

This was a pretty fast read for me, interesting and well-paced. Although I feel like it was on the easier side for a YA read, writing-wise, the topics it addressed were clearly mature and handled well within the context of the story. Perhaps this isn’t a new all-time favorite read, but if it sounds at all like you’d be interested in it, I would definitely recommend picking it up. 

 

“We believe in luck. The good kind and the cruel. The kind that graces and the kind that cripples. The kind that doesn’t care what you deserve.” 

 

“People handle grief in different ways. It isn't the same for everyone. Some people can manage with help, and others lock themselves into grief. Still others become stronger by it. And it isn't only grief. It's trauma. [...] Victims of terrible assaults, soldiers who were damaged in body and in spirit. That's a kind of grief that is even more entrenched, when it is augmented by guilt and fear.” 

 

“She’s been through the same thing that millions of other people have been through. What makes her pain more unbearable than anyone else’s?” 

 

“But when you don’t have a good choice, you make a bad choice.” 

 

“La Suerte isn’t only Mala. She is two-faced. How beautiful and balanced, how terrible and cruel La Suerte is.” 

 

 

 

This is one of those books where the title is the reason and that's all there is to it. I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to read such a fabulously titled book, and in this monumentally horrific time to be a person with a uterus in the United States, this kind of whimsy was exactly the escape I needed (and, if we're being fully honest, one of the only types of stories I could really handle attention-wise).  

 

Cecelia Bassingwaite has been training since childhood to be a member of the Wisteria Society, an elite class of proper British lady pirates. They follow a strict training regimen of proper manners, high tea, and the particulars of assassinations and robbery and blackmail. When a dangerous(ly charming) assassin is sent to take Cecilia out, and her estranged father, Captain Morvath, kidnaps her aunt and other members of the Wisteria Society in a devious plot to take down Queen Victoria and restore men to their "rightful place" in power, things get complicated. Especially since the assassin, Ned Lightbourne, seems not only to be unsuccessful at killing Cecila, but is perhaps starting to make her feel some very improper feelings. Together Cecilia and Ned must face down flying gothic abbeys, deeply horrible poetry, quite a few attempts on their lives, and their own hot and bothered feelings. 

 

This was one of the *most* incredible, in the literal "lack of believability" use of the word, stories I have ever read. The combination of magic (like, flying houses and incantations everywhere), piratical violence (swords and guns and poisons and "ship" hijacking), and soap opera level drama (evil fathers, unknown parentage, double agents, betrayals), with a snarky dose of Victorian etiquette (the great evil of sun exposure/freckles, being sure to bring a side dish to share at a social event, interrupted tea time) created an ambiance of arbitrary propriety that was just...hilarious. Like, all the quality off-the-wall, humorously satirical, entertainment one could want. Plus, it served that "touching a small piece of exposed skin on one's wrist/ankle" sexual tension that is wonderfully unqiue to historical romance, while also giving readers some kissing and one more "full" sex scene to satisfy on the release of said sexual tension front.  

 

Slightly more seriously (though only by a little), I want to recognize a few other things I really enjoyed about this reading experience. First, the chapter titles. They were spectacular, totally original. I had fun guessing what they were talking about, and then after finishing each chapter, I went back to revisit them and confirm what they were referring to, with appreciation for the wordplay in them. They, along with the rest of the writing (including the dialogue) was all really impressively clever. There were a few times the language got caught up/twisted in itself, but overall, I was into it. Also, there were a few nuggets of depth and real social commentary within the ridiculousness, not as much serious moments in themselves, but sarcastic callings out of inconsistencies in gender-based expectations (that was the social theme in focus throughout this novel, though never in an intersectional way), that did hit home. 

 

Was this novel deep/profound in any way? Absolutely not. Was it delightful, rolicking, absolutely bananas and with a funny and irreverent feminist vibe that was a balm to the soul? Yes. Yes it was. If you need that in your life, then give this one a try.      

 

“…The Wisteria Society, a noble coterie of ladies who were virtuously open about their crimes.” 

 

“'It is violence that best overcomes hate, vengeance that most certainly heals injury, and a good cup of tea that soothes the most anguished soul'; thus ran the motto of the Wisteria Society of Lady Scoundrels.” 

 

"Although she had been brought fairly late to propriety and self-restraint, she found they suited her. Indeed, if she were a bird, she would happily allow a net to ensnare her. Granted, she might cut that net with her dagger, fashion a hammock from it, and lie in said hammock reading books and drinking lemonade someplace no one would bother her, but that is beside the point.” 

 

“…but the world makes love impossible for women sometimes, leaving us no choice but loss and grief. [...] Or rampant piracy.” 

 

 

Friends, you may notice that this book is incredibly unlike anything I've read before. I mean I did read that spy novel that was one of Obama's fav's one year, American Spy, but mostly because Obama recommended it. (And really I don't see that many spy novels by Black women from major imprints..so I was all about supporting that). In any case, it's probably not a major surprise that I only picked this one up after a recommendation from a friend. (In a very on-brand turn of events, I spent quite a bit of time at a bachelorette party a few months ago, albeit a nerdy one, discussing books with the other attendees.This one was recommended by the maid of honor.) After finishing up Hidden Figures last week, I just felt like being on a roll with Cold War era nonfiction, and decided to give this one a chance. And here we are. 

 

For over a decade in the 1970s-80s, Oleg Gordievsky, descended from a KGB family and a high-ranking KGB officer himself, acted as a spy for MI6. During the height of the Cold War, Gordievsky passed internal information about the Soviet state-of-mind and the KGB structure to Britain, helping prevent armed conflict, political catastrophe, and, in all likelihood, saving thousands of lives. In 1985, his cover was blown and he activated the exfiltration plan to help him escape from the heart of Soviet Russia, that MI6 had had in place since the start of his service to Britain...and the improbable extraction was on. 

 

While I can say for sure that I am not suddenly a convert to the spy-game narrative, I also have to be honest and tell you that I got way more invested in this particular tale than I had expected to be. I mean, considering the topic, I assumed it'd at least be interesting, but I also found myself doing quite a bit of additional Google-ing and making my partner listen to my highly-detailed recaps of the myriad nigh-on-unbelievable aspects of this story (usually a very clear indication that I'm really enjoying a read). So yes, this true spy story was riveting. This is clearly the story (or at least one of a few such stories) that has inspired an untold number of spin-off book series and movies. It's the kind of over-the-top-complex-secret-codes, perfectly-timed-actions, almost-everything-comes-down-to-luck-or-coincidence, that makes real life sometimes even less believable than fiction (and sometimes would even be disbelieved in fiction). There are cloak-and-dagger "lose your tail" situations, double-crosses, suspicion and paranoia, unnecessarily complicated signals and communication methods, betrayals, difficult decision making and enough secrets to satisfy even the most jaded spy-thriller-reader. There was so much tension and it was all real! Like, truly incredible. 

 

 Within the greater story that was just overall fascinating, there were a couple specific points that stuck out to me, for a variety of reasons. First, and hilariously, I laughed so hard at the “tried to turn him by blackmail cause he was caught buying gay porn magazines mostly out of surprise that it was legal and then didn’t fall for the ‘bait’ cause he wasn’t actually gay” anecdote. Like seriously, high quality ridiculous (unintended) humor. I loved the focus that Macintyre put on the unprecedented decisions towards cooperation by MI5 and MI6 internally, as well as to slow burn the output of Gordievsky's intelligence internationally/externally, that set this situation up to be the unique (and not "end in disaster") success situation that it became. I want to hit all government officials over the head with it: see how cooperation and patience and care and seeing a bigger picture are rewarded! In addition to the general instrumental de-escalation of Cold War tensions, I think the most impressive (and unacknowledged, world-changing) role he played, at least for this reader, was the invisible hand mediating the first meeting between Gorbachev and Thatcher. He, essentially, scripted the meeting from both sides, providing the chance for these two leaders and their countries to chart a newer, less hostile, course forwards. Absolutely amazing. Finally, on a less inspiring note, I heaved a great sighing "of course" of disappointment (but sadly, not surprise) to read that the person who blew Gordievsky's cover (along with many other agent deaths) was a mediocre white man in America who felt he deserved more (in general and financially) just by...existing as a mediocre white man in America. UGH. 

 

Towards the end, when Macintyre reflects on his interviews and time spent with Gordievsky during the information gathering phase of writing this book, he says something along the lines of Gordievsky seeming to be the "bravest and loneliest" man he'd ever met. And that felt just right. With so much secrecy in his life, he was unable, for many (and formative) years to be fully open with his wife and daughters and there is truly no way to overcome that kind of gap. He paid such a large personal price in his pursuit of living his ideals and morals, and showed immense, unimaginable, bravery while doing so. This biography kept my attention from start to finish, an absolutely page-turning life story that I sometimes couldn't believe was real. Very solid bachelorette party book rec. 

 

“Paranoia is born of propaganda, ignorance, secrecy, and fear.” 

 

“Everyone rehearses their recollections, believing that the more often an event is remembered, the closer we come to its reality. This is not always true. Most people tell a version of the past, and then either stick to or embellish it.” 

 

One of my comfort genres is Jane Austen retellings (and movie rewatchings), especially Pride and Prejudice. I had seen mixed reviews for this one, so it wasn't at the very top of my TBR list, but I was recently feeling ready for a revisit to this story and decided to give it a try.

Trisha Raje is a rockstar neurosurgeon, and she knows it. Though she's on rocky terms with some of her family over a youthful mistake, she is still close with the rest of her tight-knit (and very well-off) family. DJ has just quit his high-profile chef's position in order to move and support his sister in-person as she faces a debilitating choice about treating a brain tumor. A friend of his from culinary school has given him a shot at regaining income after the move by catering a political event from her cousin, who happens to be Trisha's younger brother. And as it turns out, Trisha herself is the only surgeon with a chance of successfully operating on his sister's tumor. So before they ever meet, DJ and Trisha's lives are deeply intertwined. When they finally bump into each other, and before realizing who the other is, their first impressions are...less than stellar. And the misconceptions and assumptions only grow from there. But, of course, those unfriendly exteriors are hiding some soft hearts, and with time DJ and Trisha realize maybe they were both wrong about the other.  

This is a really solid retelling. I loved that it leaned more "inspired by" than "strict retelling," which I know not everyone enjoys, but for me is a great mix of familiarity with a little originality, and tops it off with a (satisfying) scavenger hunt for recognizable details. So, for example, I loved the gender swap of Trisha being the judgmental/arrogant and very financially stable character, while DJ was the lower socioeconomic status and defensive character. Dev wrote them both spot on - they had all the right vibes. And the surgeon and chef careers fit those respective personalities so well, and the ways they ended up brought together were very realistic (no contrivance here, which is a major pet peeve of mine in romances, so I was glad for that.) Because of the ingrained social understandings that they each grew up within, as well as vastly different family situations, their inclination to distrust and assume the worst intent from each other makes sense. In addition, I really appreciated the more modern look at prejudice, related to race as well as wealth, and the way they intersect and interplay with each other. It is vastly more relatable to a present-day audience, and in a necessary way considering the diversity of the characters on both fronts.

Other aspects that harkened back to the original that I loved included the big family/lots of siblings of the Raje family, which had a very "Bennett" vibes to it. Within that, I also caught some foreshadowing to the other characters and their relationships that could be the basis for other familiar Austen stories throughout the rest of this series (and I'm definitely now interested in reading those too). I thought the "Wickham" character, the way they played their role in a more modern sense and caused inter-family drama (as well as other interpersonal distance) was well done. And the overall romance plot, with the rude and spurned original confession of love from Trisha (the Darcy character), and the final coming around from both after secrets about Wickham and other risks taken on behalf of the others' loved ones, was the perfect ebb and flow following the original. Speaking of which, oh my goodness there were so many secrets that Trisha was holding and protecting for everyone around her - it was super stressful and I have no idea how she managed it for so long! But when the tension finally let go and it all came out and Darcy and Trisha get their moment together in the end, it was all the romantic relief and comfort that P&P builds to. 
 
Overall, I enjoyed this retelling. I get the mixed reviews, as it's not a draw-dropper, but it is absolutely the comfort read that I wanted it to be. It did a great job honoring the original storyline, while plotting its own course a bit as well. Once I got into it, I flew through it, happily ensconced in this familiar tale.

“The syntax of prejudice - threaded into conversation with the perfect pauses and facial expressions - was like ciphers and spy codes. The meaning clear to those it was meant for. To everyone else, it was harmless scribbles. Easy enough to deny.”

"The thing about human beings is that they heal [...] We're nature's creations, we regenerate like the seasons. We just need someone to let us know that we're worthy of healing. […] But the healing itself, the changing, that you can only do yourself. No one else can do that for you.”

 

I've been meaning to pick this book up for awhile. And my recent read of The Tenth Muse got me all inspired to read more about female mathematicians, so it seemed like the time to finally read this piece of nonfiction on that exact topic. 

 

This glorious work of historical nonfiction illuminates the true story of the Black female mathematicians (and engineers) that, working for NASA in the pre/early computer days, were the pen-and-paper mathematical equation solving force behind the success of America's space program. These women, known as "human computers," were the calculating power that moved airplane flight proficiency forward in WWII through the success of Neil Armstrong's first steps on the moon, and beyond. The book follows five Black women in particular, who not only played this momentous (and under-recognized) historical role, but did so while also being on the workplace front lines of desegregation/the civil rights era and the (in their case, intersectional) feminist movement. 

 

In the "Acknowledgements" at the end, Shetterly says the title of this book is actually a bit of a misnomer, as the "figures" in question were just more secret, waiting to be dug back out of history and shared widely with the world, as opposed to hidden. But either way, I want to make it clear that none of this behind-the-scenes story of aviation and space race math was ever known to me. Worth mentioning: is that when I was in school, history class sort of "ended" around the Cold War/Civil Rights Movement, so this period was not really covered in any kind of depth. However, based on the way the rest of history was taught, I can only assume even with more time/attention, I still wouldn't have gotten any of this story. All that being said, this was fascinating and, considering that I know (knew) most of the framing "story" already, surprisingly inspiring.  

 

I loved the human face(s) this book put on these major recent history events that, for the most part, kind of blur into one big moment (or big, but separate, moments) when I think about them. Like, I have a conceptual idea about the effort and propaganda of the space race, but having not lived through it, my perception is mostly of the "we were in a fight against Russia and won and it was big for national morale" vibe. Similarly, in my quick/distant consideration of the time, the civil rights era focuses in on Rosa Parks and MLK Jr's speech and the marches and sit-ins, and the feminist movement boils down to women having to fight to be allowed to hold the same titles and pay as men. (Side note: eye roll that so much of this seems to not have made enough progress since then.) Anyways, while those are definitely highlights, the way this novel shows the way those major/well-known events played out for "normal" people living then, in an everyday sort of sense, was really fascinating and eye-opening to read about. The focus on this five (among many others) primary women's stories allowed that personal feel to really shine, and seeing their varied paths to a similar "end" was just super interesting. 

 

It was at times deeply frustrating, the way America's institutional insistence on inequality was essentially shooting our own progress in the foot, and at times deeply motivating, to see the way that on a more individual (and intermittent) level, people's skill/merit was recognized and given the space to shine. To this end, I appreciated, deeply, the way Shetterly wrote about the interplay of the events/movements of the time. Considering the complexity, presenting it in the succinct and accessible way she does is very impressive. A primary example of Shetterly's slotting this story into its historical context: covering the protests of excessive government spending on the space race, while myriad people are still living in poverty at home (a theme that, again, still remains a deep thread in our country today and is not one I'd ever heard/read about in the context of us "beating" the Soviets). 

 

I feel like this review is either really repetitive or wildly unorganized, but I'm just gonna keep pushing forward making sure I cover all my feelings/reactions. This is sort of related to the depth of context Shetterly provides, but this is not the first place where I did read about the internal reactions of Black Americans to the national pride/defense and the fact that their nation is not providing them all the democracy it purported to stand for. Starting with WWII, she notes the national contradiction of condemnation of German treatment of Jews while having no cognitive dissonance about the exact same racist/segregationist policies enacted against Black people in America. (I also loved that she started the story here, to give readers a full vision of how these “human computers” were integrated into the scientific/mathematical workforce in such an invaluable way.) Shetterly follows that up with the progression of growing international contempt for US internal policy related to systemic/policy-based racism during the Cold War/Red Scare era, the way that we needed to address our own demons in order to be more fully accepted with respect abroad. It’s a long road that, as I’ve said already and will continue to point out, we have traveled some ways on, but are nowhere near reaching the end of. And then towards the end, there is a short but important recognition/critique of this first break in racial/gender based opening of the workforce and power dynamics in the country (with the WWII and following years *need* for workers), followed by many dashed hopes of continued and consistent forward movement on those fronts. Devastating to read about, especially considering how much we are shorting our own overall progress as a result of digging our heels into this “need” to maintain marginalization. 

 

Overall, this was just a really compellingly written nonfiction, a deft mixing of individual human stories into groundbreaking historical achievements/moments, with the honorable goal of finally giving deserved recognition to these “hidden” American heroes. I have to admit that, while I love sci-fi in the imaginative/fictional sense, I am not necessarily one for the intensity of “real-life” space science and math, but Shetterly made this reading experience approachable and engrossing. I am glad it got the attention (and movie adaptation) that it did, because it’s a story that deserves all that and more. 

 

“Ideals without practical solutions were empty promises.” 

 

“They knew democracy’s every virtue, vice, and shortcoming, its voice and contour, by its profound and persistent absence in their lives. The failure to secure the blessings of democracy was the feature that most defined their existence in America.” 

 

“Newly independent countries around the world, eager for alliances that would support their emerging identities and set them on the path to long-term prosperity, were confronted with a version of the same question black Americans had asked during World War II. Why would a black or brown nation stake its future on America’s model of democracy when within its own borders the United States enforced discrimination and savagery against people who looked just like them?” 

 

“Throughout the South, municipalities maintained two parallel inefficient school systems, which gave the short end of the stick to the poorest whites as well as blacks. The cruelty of racial prejudice was so often accompanied by absurdity, a tangle of arbitrary rules and distinctions that subverted the shared interests of people who had been taught to see themselves as irreconcilably different.” 

 

“…they had to get over the high hurdle of low expectations…” 

 

“The decision to prioritize a victory in space over problems on Earth was the most widespread criticism of the space program. But even those voices in the black community who expressed admiration for the astronauts, who supported the program and its mission, took NASA to the woodshed for its lack of black faces.” 

 

“There’s something about this story that seems to resonate with people of all races, ethnicities, genders, ages, and backgrounds. It’s a story of hope, that even among some of our country’s harshest realities – legalized segregation, racial discrimination – there is evidence of the triumph of meritocracy, that each of us should be allowed to rise as far as our talent and hard work can take us.” 

 

“That even Katherine Johnson’s remarkable achievements can’t quite match some of the myths that have grown up around her is a sign of the strength of the vacuum caused by the long absence of African Americans from mainstream history. For too long, history has imposed a binary condition on its black citizens: either nameless or renowned, menial or exceptional, passive recipients of the forces of history or superheroes who acquire mythic statues not just because of their deeds but because of their scarcity, The power of the history of NASA’s black computers is that even the Firsts weren’t the Onlies.” 

 

 

So I found this novel at a used bookstore a few months ago and grabbed it because the title sounded familiar. Honestly, I thought it was about an early glass-ceiling breaking female mathematician, and I was into reading it just for that. But as I got farther and farther into the book, I realized how much more it involved than that. Like, so much more. Also, I am not sure where to add this, so I feel like this intro serves as well as anywhere else, but from the very beginning, I felt like this was the perfect adult companion novel to Malinda Lo's Last Night at the Telegraph Club. I can't say exactly why. I mean both feature Asian-American female MCs who are into STEM, but that's really it, as far as what they have in common. Many of the other themes in each are quite different. I think perhaps it was just an overall vibe, but I feel like if you liked that (or this), then you should give the other a try! 

 

Even as a young child, Katherine loved (and was good at) math. As she grows up, she fights myriad types of sexism and racism in (60s and 70s) educational environments to continue studying and working with the numbers that she loves. While in graduate school, she turns her attention to the Riemann Hypothesis, one of the most well-known unsolved mathematical problems of her time. In her quest to solve it, she decides to use a theorem with roots in WWII era Germany. But there's more to the theorem than just its own mysterious origins, and in the journey to make her name as a mathematician, Katherina also uncovers a completely hidden (purposefully obscured/kept secret) personal ancestry/history. 

 

Alright y'all. This was such a fascinating and dramatic and convoluted (but in a way that is so deeply believable/followable) story. Like I said in the intro, I was wanting to read this even when I thought it was (just) a sort feminist mathematician tale...and I honestly don't even like math. And I got that. But I also got a page-turner of a historical fiction family legacy mystery plot, with writing that was compelling and smooth and walked me through the math aspects with enough to make it feel real but not so much that I got bogged down/bored (the perfect mix, for me). I was completely invested in Katherine's quest for making her own name (with her own work and in her own right) in the world of academic and popular mathematics. And as we started to hear more about her family history, first with her father's revelations about her mother and further, as the even more deeply buried truths of her parentage and ancestry came to light, I was having trouble putting the book down. Katherine's drive for success, her shock and hurt as she learned about the lies she grew up believing, the betrayals from those closest to her in academic/work settings, her sacrifices for friends and what she lost by being unwilling to bend...all of it created such a robust and fully dimensional narrator. (A small side note, although many of the side characters' depth paled in comparison to Katherine's own development, they held their own enough to support/move her story forward, so I was more or less able to move past that.) 

 

Thematically, this novel covered quite a bit, but the absolute highlight, for me, was the way it addressed legacy and heritage. This look at the aftermath of how youth/children "survive" in times of war, and the way conflict causes such depth of loss of records/memories/people, is something I haven't seen explored too much in literature. Many WWII stories (especially with the boom in the genre recently) cover the drama of war itself, the fight to "win" it and survive, but end when the official war does. This novel looks at the years-after effects, the lost generation of youth who lived but have no idea where they came from, whether because those records were lost or because they were never told for their own safety. It was absolutely fascinating. And of course, in so many ways, deeply tragic. There was also a very important (and again, under-addressed) exploration of the legacy of the war and the way the bystanders pretend to have…not forgotten, exactly, but sort of pretend to have nothing to remember, because it’s easier than facing their own guilt. This included an attempt to reckon with the complacency post-conflict, the way that many people benefitted from what was left behind by those who were taken and murdered and have never come clean. Intense questions were raised in a literary context that gave them an individual face around which to consider them, making them, if not easier to contend with, at least more accessible. 

 

This novel was just utterly captivating storytelling. There was so much unexpected drama, twisty and mysterious, as well as deep historical reflection and an introspective look on legacy and what makes one's identity. I feel like it flew under the radar when it was published and that's such a shame because its a truly unique combination of recent history, feminism and family, as well as page-turning plot. 

 

 

“Still, I wonder now why it had to be necessary, and why my teacher disliked me so much – whether it was because I was a girl, or y family wasn’t from New Umbria, or because I was half Chinese. But it occurs to me now that even if those were not the reasons she treated me badly, they were the conditions that made it possible to do so.” 

 

“How are they [intelligent men] so sure of themselves, and why are so many people so eager to listen? I’ve always wished I had the confidence to speak with half the conviction on subjects I’m actually competent to discuss.” 

 

“There is the story you think you are living in, and then there is the invisible, secret, unguessed-at core of the story, around which everything else revolves.” 

 

“I was so used to my perpetual status of outsider that I’d stopped questioning in each situation whether this time it was my femaleness or my Asianness or the combination of both that branded me different. Even now, I feel impatient when asked about what being these things means to me – the expectation that because my race and my gender are often the first things people notice about me, they must also be the most significant to me.” 

 

“And here’s the kicker: it all makes sense when you consider how folktales were mostly told and passed along orally by women, but that the written versions have universally been set down and altered by men, that in the women’s version the girl gets away by her wits, and in the men’s version she’s saved by a hero. Two very different lessons, wouldn’t you say?” 

 

“Everyone who remains benefited from the exiles and murders of Jews, don’t you see? We all did, we citizens of this country, whether we wrung our hands and regretted what was happening or openly celebrated when they were cast out of their jobs. We took whatever came out way and pretended it was ours to have by right.” 

 

“The tyranny of history […] is that it’s always too late for justice, the price always too high.” (re: reparations) 

 

“Every story I knew about a woman, it occurred to me, involved a story of theft.” 

 

First, thanks to the publisher (Flatiron Books) for the eARC of this novel. I was quite excited about being asked to participate in a blog tour for a book that was being marketed as "A Dickensian X-Men.” I mean, if that's not my reading vibe, then idk what is? (I mean, it's lacking the Victorian aspect, but Vicious and Vengeful anyone? We all know I loved those!) I am also kind of glad I got it as an eARC, even though I will die a "physical book" reader, because it meant I didn't know how long this was before starting. And not that I'm afraid of big books or anything, but this 600+ page chonker might have intimidated me more if I'd seen it in IRL before starting. That being said, I absolutely got on hold for it at the library too, so that I could legit eventually hold it in my hands too. 

 

Ordinary Monsters is the first book in a trilogy about a group of children called Talents, those who are born with special skills (kind of like the X-Men). As the story progresses, we meet, among others, a girl who can become invisible (Ribs), a boy who can heal himself (Charlie), a girl who can manipulate dust (Komako), and a particularly special boy who glows blue (Marlowe). All of these children have been brought together from their respective original homes (as it were) to an estate in Scotland called Cairndale, a refuge and gathering place and educational home for the Talents of the world. However, there are secrets at Cairndale that make it not *quite* the safe space for Talents that its proprietor Dr. Berghast and assistant Mrs Harrogate advertise (and believe). There is a power threatening to breach the walls of Carirndal and unleash the world of the dead into the world of the living, assisted by a "turned" Talent, Jacob Marber. The children, Mrs. Harrogate, and two grizzled old detectives (Coulten and Alice Quicke), must work to save themselves and the world from this dark power incarnate. 

 

Well, this book was all about the vibes. From the very first page, the reader is plunged into a deeply gritty, violent underbelly of the world we think we know (starting with a murder and rainy night escape and foundling babies). From Victorian London streets to a midwest traveling circus and the deep south in Reconstruction-era United States to Meiji-era Tokyo to the countryside outside Edinburgh, this novel served atmosphere. It was in the seedy settings, gloomy descriptions, mysterious Dr. Berghast/Mrs. Harrogate and hidden purpose behind Cairndale, in the creepiness of the monsters (all the unnaturally pale skin and skittering-crawling movement, ooof), the slow reveals of true intent and covered-up details, in the quality of the Talents gifts, the gory violence, the small details like the clockwork bonebirds, and the bleeding through of the world of the dead into the world of the living. All in all, just a wonderful dark and gothic supernatural feel that, despite how long the novel was, I couldn't get enough of. 

 

As far as the plot....I mean wow, this novel covered a lot of ground. For all that it was over 600 pages, I never once felt like things were dragging. Getting the backgrounds of all the characters and gathering of them all together, along with the setting of the scene, as it were, was a large chunk that spanned a great deal of both time and distance.  And at not infrequent intervals, there were scenes of conflict and violence and drama that kept the reader on their toes, including a very fun (in the "I enjoyed reading it" sense) train battle scene and quite a bit of build to the mystery of Cairndale and our secretive Dr. Berghast's motivations. I was expecting was expecting a sort of “dark magic school” situation and while Cairndale did act as that, it did not spend much time in that role, specifically, within the plot. I actually loved that misdirect, as magic schools are a trope for a reason, it definitely fit this story better to hold space as more of a setting for other conflicts, as opposed to the "education" taking place there as its primary role. I was also into the kind of winding path to get to the bottom of the real "big bad." First, because for the most part our character perspectives are just as clueless as us as readers, like Alice Quicke (new to her role with Cairndale) and the young Talents, so it made sense for their puzzling through the details they have and dawning understanding to be slower. Second, because that sort of high action, slow mysterious reveal, fit the book's overall vibe spectacularly. Related, I loved the guessing of who was actually the “bad guy.” That so many things happened to make picking any side mean rooting for some level of bad/evil...big yes. I am so here for those grey spaces and morally questionable characters. Spot on plot-character development in combination. 

 

I have to be honest here and say that there were a few points from which I wanted more. This may sound contradictory because I just said that I liked the slow unrolling of the "truth," but I have to say that a few times, I felt like more background/detail was necessary. There were a few times that characters, particularly Mrs. Harrogate and Alice, went from being confused and knowing nothing to being confident and in control over the space of one scene/POV transition. I just felt like their seemingly sudden understanding and capability felt a little too easy at times, without what even felt like enough time passing "off-screen" for them to have worked through/tested what it seemed like they had figured out. This was particularly apparent in regards to the keywrasse (who, as a character, I deeply hope we see more of, though that is not the point at hand here.) Also, while I felt that all the characters were individually really well developed, I wish I had been able to buy into their connections with each other a bit more. Perhaps this is because I was just reading so fast that the time passing didn't seem like long enough for robust connections to grow. However, though the book was long, there was also a lot of action and I am not sure that much objective time actually passed. Anyways, I felt like it was worth mentioning, to be transparent. (And because based on where it ended, with a reasonably wrapped-up cliffhanger situation, I'm hoping the next book is able to delve even deeper into this off-the-wall, found family, interpersonal connections aspect.) 

 

Well, this was a fantastically unique and entertaining mix of old-school penny dreadfuls, X-Men, and found family. There were twists and turns, myriad locations and action scenes, mysteries raised and solved, and a great supernatural dark gothic atmosphere in this (unexpected for its length) page-turner of a start to a trilogy. If you like a novel that serves major vibes and enjoy getting lost in a story, then I would definitely suggest giving this book a try. 

 

“Justice is just a bucket with a hole in the bottom, as my father used to say.” 

“She’d seen too many kids in that chair, hurt over and over by the world, until their hurting and their being hurt no longer seemed shameful at all. Those were the ones that worried her.” 

“Scared is just your head telling your heart to be careful. It’s not a bad thing. It’s what you do with it that matters.” 

“Your Dr. Berghast wishes to preserve the world as it is, the powerful in their interests, the meek in their place. But I…I do not believe it has to be the way it is. Do you know why the dark talents are called dark, Jacob? Oh, it is nothing to do with good or evil, with righteous or its perversion. It is because they make it possible for the weak to conceal themselves, to live like the strong.” 

“Difference, children, is not monstrous. It is nature at work.” 

“Anything different from the normal appears monstrous. But it is not. It is not.” 

“If you live long enough, you cease to be human, you cease to understand anything that fills the human heart. For the heart is made of time, and consumed by time, by the knowledge of its own eventual death, and Berghast could not die.” 

“Thing is […] you waste al this time dreaming of where you came from, cause you know no one comes from nothing. And you tell yourself, if only you knew, then maybe you could see a reason for how you got to be the way you are. Why your life looks like it does. But there isn’t any reason, not really.” 

“Tick-tick-tick went all the gears in all the clocks in all the world.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I would never have picked this one up without seeing a review from @irisbooklist - and even then it was a chance library shelf encounter and spur of the moment "grab it" decision that put it in my hands this soon. 

 

In this work of nonfiction, Hernández combines a bit of memoir, research into public health and infectious disease, and journalism (in the form of interviews), to provide readers with a fully dimensional introduction to Chagas, or the kissing bug disease. Growing up, Hernández knew that her aunt was sick, but it was just a part of who she was. Years after her aunt's death though, Hernández began to research more into the disease, learning that it is, in fact, even more prevalent in the US than Zika, and considerably less known. And she decides to investigate further, interviewing doctors, public health and military health specialists, and patients, to learn more about this parasite: its history, the "kissing bugs" that carry it (found only in Latin America and the US), the experiences of people that have the parasite (with varying levels of being affected), and how/why it is not covered more fully in preventive testing/medical classes/general knowledge. 

 

First of all, I am always amazed, any time I pick up nonfiction, at how much I still don't know. Like, I feel generally well informed and educated, but until picking this up, I had never heard of Chagas or kissing bugs. And I know there are a lot of niche diseases, but just in a general sense, I just feel like the more I learn, the more I realize I don't know. There's a graph for that somewhere...I know I've seen it. Anyways, I do remember Zika, as it jumped into public awareness during the years I was getting my MPH, and I appreciated the comparisons to it here, for context. Hernández explores why diseases like Zika, which actually affects less people in the US than Chagas, got more awareness and public concern (spoiler: they're more visually impactful). This shouldn;t come as a surprise, considering the way we handle mental health issues in this country as well, but is still an important reminder. 

 

Relatedly, I really appreciated the way Hernández brought together poverty, parasitic infections, migration and access to health services and stigma (in the overlap of disease and race/ethnicity) in a way I’ve never seen before. In talking to individuals affected by the disease, she not only gave insight into the variety of ways people can be infected and experience the disease, but also the lack of knowledge or education about how it's passed, why/how getting tested is important, or the ability to afford or access the early treatment of the parasite that can prevent the deadly longer-term effects on the heart. The way the affected populations, mostly low-income, Spanish-speaking populations, have had to just accept this disease, the bug bites that pass it and the potential that they have it, as a natural/unavoidable part of life, is quite upsetting. Hernández focuses in on this idea even further in the chapter about the “great epi divide,” detailing the way public policy/public health often consider a disease contained, even when it remains a concern for marginalized populations, who said policy chooses not to treat or provide services too, because they can be ignored/are less able to speak up for themselves/concern for their own health. And in a thematic parallel to the concepts in McGhee's The Sum of Us, she also demonstrates how that approach, slashin services to certain populations, ends up hurting us all in the end (it's not a zero-sum game!).   

 

This book was a quick, fascinating read. It covered a lot of ground with accessible detail (on the medical/scientific front) and relatable stories (on the individual experience/memoir front). I enjoyed how much I learned, informationally, as well as the succinct, but thorough, commentary on the social justice aspects of infectious diseases, the confluence of racial politics, poverty and for-profit healthcare. And I am also not not freaking out about every new bug bite I get right now. Haha. But for real, this was a really interesting read, and I would definitely recommend it.  

 

“This, however, is where medicine and science trip into racial politics, raising weighty questions about whom we choose to take care of and when and how and for what reasons.” (Especially when diseases are seen/external, like Zika, or unseen/internal, like mental health or the kissing bug.) 

 

“The phrase 'the great epi divide' makes me think of old paper maps and signs about who is allowed to enter and who has to stay out. It is a phrase that points to an American reality: some people are taken care of and others are not. A choice is made. The 'great epi divide' sounds more accurate to me than the more ubiquitous 'disparities in health care,' which suggests that a terrible thing has happened, but without active participation on anyone's part. Disparities arise. Inequalities exist. These words trouble but, at the same time, offer reprieve: no one is implicated. The same is true of the word 'poverty,' that knife of an abstraction. A phrase like 'diseases of poverty' obscures the degree to which we have made choices about funding for public health.” 

 

Another Aspen Words 2022 longlist read down (my 14th, I believe). And this is one I have seen nowhere and heard basically nothing about until it showed up on this list. So, I went into it basically blind and with no bookstagram reviews to rely on for vibes about it. Which is a position I very rarely find myself in these days. 

 

Henry and his son, Junior, are living in Henry's pick-up truck after being evicted from their trailer. Barely making it day-to-day, Henry has high hopes for this particular day, as it's Junior's birthday and he has just enough to treat him to a small gift, a meal at McDonald's and a night in a real motel room. Plus, Henry has an interview tomorrow, and is feeling good with the promise of reliable income on the horizon. But despite all his best efforts and hopes, Henry's plans are thrown off course by an opportunistic front-desk clerk, an altercation in the morel parking lot, and Junior developing a fever, throwing the pair back into imminent despair and the brink of disaster.    

 

Well, this shouldn't come as a surprise, since this award recognizes books that address urgent social issues, but this was a very heavy read. From start to finish, there is such a weight in Henry's voice, story, and life. Stylistically, it was presented in an incredibly unique way, with each chapter titled as the sum-total amount of cash that Henry currently has to his name. It's a very unique literary way of measuring a person's time, life, the space they take up, through the reality of their credits and debits, the large and the small, and the constant flux they're in. And it's a visceral commentary on (and condemnation of) the way a person's economic value is the most salient and important thing about them, in our current capitalistic world. Even as we get to know Henry on a much more intimate level, his past and hopes and dreams and failures and efforts and relationships, his external worth is still measured solely in a dollar amount. The story itself unfolds in two timelines, the first detailing Henry's adolescent years and how he got to the point where he and Junior are living moment-to-moment out of his truck, the second spanning the less than 24-hour period between Junior's birthday dinner and getting picked up from school the next day. 

 

It's all an incredibly tense reading experience, as in both timelines there is a lot of hopelessness, a tunnel of it, the inevitableness of "failure" that comes with poverty. It’s an intense downward spiral towards rock bottom that hurts to watch unfold. And Guanzon leans into that with his writing style, sort of short and choppy, a kind of kaleidoscope fever dream of everyday poor, rural(ish) life. The language of description for the smallest details, the things we’d normally overlook, were so precise, really making the quotidian literary. At one point Guanzon uses the phrase “gloom in technicolor,” and I felt like that was truly a spot on descriptor for the entire novel. My one caveat is that that vibe sometimes hit quite right and sometimes felt like it was trying a bit too hard. 

 

This is one of the few fictional accounts of post-incarceration life that I have ever read (other than An American Marriage, I think...another Aspen Words book, the 2019 winner, actually) and, in addition to the financial/economic social commentary of this novel, jumped out at me as the reason it made this longlist. The way Guanzon highlights the complete lack of options, opportunities and resources for reintegration post-incarceration, the way the system makes it almost impossible to "get back on one's feet" and find a bit of stability (and then blames it on the individual's character when they are unsuccessful), is really affecting. It's in the little details, the small steps that seem insurmountable under the circumstances. The job interview prep sessions, the phone card/deodorant purchases, and the poignant moments like the constant call of the memory of Henry’s mother with visual reminders/appearances of her shawl, were particularly gutting. Also, the youthful naivete and hope in Henry as he considers the future possibilities after the interview is almost tangible and that just...hurts...to read. This focus on the difficulty of coming back to "real life" after incarceration is paralleled with a look at addiction and recovery as well.  

 

Overall, the way this book explores the gulf of difference in financial security in this country (and how out of one's control the circumstances of birth and opportunity are that determine which side of the gulf you're on), as well as the exploration of the reality of the razor's edge between disaster and opportunity, with moments of breakthrough hope, are heartbreaking. There is a study of primal themes like sex, hunger, addiction and the urge for stability, with a focus on the confluence of circumstance and loss of self-control related to them. Honestly, there was so much about this book that was great, and I wanted to like it more than I did, so I can only put down my "liked, but not loved" vibe about it to a mismatch of reader and book (or a mistimed reading experience), which is too bad. 

 

“If fatherhood has taught him anything at all, it is helplessness.” 

 

“Their everything is so little and they’ve gathered it all…” 

 

“His life sentence to the status of an untouchable seems both cruel and unusual.”