This is one of those books that I knew I wanted to read. Both of the previous books I've read by Solomon (An Unkindness of Ghosts and The Deep) have been phenomenal. But I also knew it was going to be pretty heavy, as all their books have been, and also this one in particular leaned into horror (according to the blurb), which is a genre I usually steer clear from, as I am so easily scared. So I knew I wanted to read it, but I had to wait until the right time - and as the days have been getting warmer and longer, I felt like I was finally ready to take it on. 

 

At seven months pregnant, Vern escapes the strict (cult-like, really) religious compound where she has been raised, fleeing into the woods. These woods are the place where she gives birth to twins, determined to raise them far from the world, despite the lurking presence of the dangerous Fiend. But the community she escaped from refuses to let her go, and that, along with a strange physical metamorphosis that is giving her some intense powers (and causing some intense pain). In order to figure out what is happening to her, and create a safe future for her twins, Vern will have to face her past, confront the compound she escaped from (and it's deeply buried secrets tied to the dark sides of recent American history), and learn to harness her anger and power for both destruction and hope. 

 

As expected, this was dark, emotionally intense, incredibly socially...exposing (for lack of a better word there), and, as far as the fantasy-horror aspects are concerned, creepily tense and perfectly weird. It begins as a sort of dreamy (or nightmare-y) surreal woodsy horror (though with a scarily familiar basis), that slowly blends right into a present day that does a most spectacular job highlighting the horror of our actual history/reality. Like I said, I don't really read horror (I'm a scaredy-cat...and value my sleep too much), but this particular style of horror does seem reminiscent of the one other horror novel I"ve read in the past like, five years: The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones. Both touch on the real terrors of colonization and intergenerational memory and trauma and current day white ignorance and interweaves it beautifully with a supernatural (and sort of psychological) terror built around nature and animals. Overall, a very well-written combination of speculative/magical realism and real-life style fiction. 

 

A few other notes/themes that stuck out to me while reading included the mythologicalization/mystification, in a folklore-like way, of the strength and endurance that mothers, Black mothers specifically, have been forced to have, throughout American history. I also loved the various ways that intergenerational and historic trauma was portrayed, both with the memories that come through, for Vern, as "hauntings," as well as the physical manifestation of the deformation and resilience this caused/required for survival with the "passenger. And although we do eventually get a more "solid" explanation for said passenger (in a horrible, but also sort of poignant way), I am still here for the metaphorical interpretation of it that I first landed on. Additionally, there was such a focus on the calling out of government neglect and taking advantage of the most vulnerable for their own ends - a pattern throughout American history, and not at all better in the present day, that deserves all the calling out that can be leveled at it. Solomon does a lot to recognize the many ways this manifests itself in Vern's life, as a Black woman/mother, as well as through her friend Gogo, who gives voice to the Indigenous populations of this land. (Solomon also recognizes those first peoples in her acknowledgements and notes that appear at both the start and finish of this novel.) There is quite a bit of violence in this story, of the institutional and interpersonal varieties, from those we trust and those we don’t, and it is often quite a bit to take it. Along with all the other potentially triggering topics mentioned up to this point, please be aware of that. However, after some peak violence/loss and Vern's final confrontation with her original "home," there is also a slight message of hope in the ending, which is particularly meaningful, after everything heavy this story holds. Overall, the vibe and messaging in this novel are the definitive highlights. While I was into the story the whole time, I have to say that the plot and character development are not as robust, and wouldn't hold their own, in my opinion, without the rest. Like I said, still quite an engrossing read, but I wanted to just make note of that, so readers come in with correct expectations of where the genius in this piece of literature lies.  

 

A final thing I want to note about this novel, and I feel like it deserves its own paragraph because of how wonderful it is: the representation aspects. In general, there is just a glorious queer vibe to this entire novel, but the way that Solomon specifically addresses (or doesn't address, as it were) gender is special. Firstly, there is such a breadth of gender rep, including both trans and intersex (not something I often see/read), as well as an overall purposeful dis-clarity on characters' genders that is both disconcerting (as sometimes the pronoun play is so smooth/subtle that it makes you question your reading comprehension) and refreshing (becuase then it helps you realize it wasn't your comprehension, but your assumtpions, that were the issue). The fact that Vern raises her twins in the woods, where there is no arbitrary societal expectation/standard to bump up against, provides a powerful setting to illustrate how much gender really doesn't matter (in general and especially to/for children). And I love the way that makes you question all the thinking/assumptions about gender that you were raised to think of as natural and normal. I also liked the interesting parallel of physical “baggage” and keeping the body hidden, the ways it is both different and the same for Vern and Gogo with the passenger and being trans. There is also a great look at disability, in this case visual impairment, that is not something I have often read. I appreciated the exploration even more as someone who is visually impaired myself, and how modern technology has made it *almost* not even considered a disability anymore, so that it makes one wonder what else could have that kind of progression towards "normal disability" if only we cared enough as a society.   

 

At one point there is a passage that refers to “constant vigilance and pathological distrust” and the toll it takes on the mind and body. I feel like a major tenet of this novel is to illustrate that in ways both literal and figurative, real and magical, for Black women/mothers in America. I let out a *big* breath and “wow” after finishing, letting my shoulders finally release their tension. This is a spectacular piece of literature, transcending genre and social justice commentary to become something greater with messages that ring deep and loud and queer, full of horror and just enough hope and resilience to convince you to keep living in, fighting, that horror. 

 

“…Vern preferred this obvious malevolence to the covert violence of life beyond the trees. To be warned of bad happenings afoot was a welcome luxury.” 

 

“Better not to belong at all than to belong in a cage.” 

 

“Obstinately still, Vern had made a pact a long time ago to do the opposite of whatever was expected of her as often as possible. [...] Going against tended to end more rightly, more justly, than going with. People were wrong. Rules, most of the time, favored not what was right, but what was convenient or preferable to those in charge.” 

 

“There were a thousand ways to defile perfection.” 

 

“When you can’t fill a hole with goodness, fill it with filth. Paint it over.” 

 

“To believe too much in anything was to sacrifice your faculties.” 

 

“Society demanded a certain level of lying about oneself.” 

 

“If it was so unnatural to feel this way, then why did Vern exist? She was part of nature, too, wasn't she? Humans and their proclivities were as much a part of the earth as trees, as rivers. Loving and fucking and kissing and nuzzling and bucking were more commonplace than sunrise.” 

 

“…but bravery was a finite resource. Like a piece of thread, it frayed in time when tested too heavily.” 

 

“Ollie and those like her wanted people to think their power was eternal, but even gods died. Empires, too. Continents shifted. Nations came. Nations went. Castles became ruins.” 

 

“Maybe it was hard to give the world your best when the world always gave you its worst.” 

 

“…it was the world, not the people, who were broken. People believed whatever they needed to, to maintain a thread of power in a society that systematically stripped them of it.” 

 

“Loving, worshipping, and bowing to folks who harmed you was written into the genes of all animal creatures. To be alive meant to lust after connection, and better to have one with the enemy than with no one at all. A baby's fingers and mouth grasped on instinct.” 

 

“The United States was a catalogue of known wrongs. […] Who cared who knew if the knowing didn't prevent future occurrences?” 

 

Ahhh the comfort of a good romance (and a lady romance at that), during a stressful few weeks of life cannot be overestimated. I had this one on my radar thanks to @booksnblazers and my library hold came in at exactly the right time, helping get me through the final few weeks of "busy season" with the end-of-school-year health education field trip rush. Much. needed. 

 

As soon as she could after graduating from high school, Delilah Green got the heck away from Bright Falls and the stepmother and stepsister who always made her feel unwanted. She's now living in NYC and *almost* making it as a photographer. However, she isn't making it quite enough that she can turn down a very lucrative job offer, from said stepmother, to come back to Bright Falls to photograph three weeks of events for her stepsister, Astrid's, wedding. Claire Sutherland has managed to make very solid life for herself in Bright Falls as a (mostly) single mother and bookstore owner. When Claire hits on Delilah her first night back in town, Delilah figures there might be some fun to be had in Bright Falls after all, while Claire has maybe found an ally in her efforts to derail Astrid's wedding (her fiancé is horrible!). And all their forced time together is leading to some sparks between them that might be too big to fight. 

 

Well, this romance hit all the right spots of sexiness, sweetness, and emotional growth. I was really impressed with the depth of the interpersonal development throughout this novel. Delilah has some deep-seated resentment towards her stepmother and stepsister, and the ways she reacts around them as a result of the many childhood years she felt left out by them is totally understandable. And yet, as she sees how truly terrible Astrid's fiancé is, she still has pangs of sympathy and the inclination to help...maybe? As for Claire, her attraction to Delilah is at deep odds with her support of Astrid as a friend, remembering back to childhood when Delilah disappeared into herself when Astrid needed her most. Seeing, now, the reasons for that from Delilah's point of view (and the way Delilah is great with her moody middle-school aged daughter) has her in a tough spot, pulled between the two. Plus, there's the reappearance of her unreliable ex/father of her daughter, who promises he's here to stay this time. But Claire has been here before, and been let down, and her instinct to protect herself and her daughter from the emotional pain of him leaving again is so strong as to overwhelm rational thought. And then there is Astrid herself, who acts the same distant and snobbish way towards Delilah as she's always done, and yet there are small cracks in her perfect demeanor now and then, that give Delilah, Claire and their friend Iris (the final character in this childhood "friends" group), that give them glimpses of her own inner unhappiness. The reasons Claire, Iris and Delilah come together to stop the wedding might be different, but the relationships that form as a result are very real. 

 

All that to reiterate, as I mentioned, the emotional growth in all these characters (except perhaps Iris, who plays less of a primary role), is phenomenal. I was so appreciative of the way they each had really real flaws, the kind that go past “cute in a story” and really get into “but actually I know people like this” and “it’s not always easy but it's worth working through it in order to be with them.” And the flaws themselves were so...relatable. Like, overprotectiveness in situations where you know there's deep potential for yourself (or someone you love) to be hurt or the difficulty in moving past long-held resentment or seeing things from childhood in a different way now as an adult. These are not flashy or unique problems, but they are absolutely insidious and long-lasting and we can all see ourselves in some of them and that just made these characters feel so authentic. As Blake says at one point, there is such “a tangle of complicated histories” and I couldn't think of a better way to describe these women, and also relate to what they're dealing with.  

 

I have another few short notes to add. First, this was pretty steamy, and I was here for that. I loved the back and forth between Claire and Delilah; they were a wonderful opposites-attract that I was really rooting for and enjoyed seeing them work through (smoothly and not-so-smoothly) their issues together. Lots of vulnerability on display. And their dialogue (really, all the dialogue) was amazing - I feel spoiled by all the great romance dialogue I have read recently! The cover!!! It's the full sleeve tattoos for me. Swoon. The on-page bi rep was everything! There was so much of it, in so many forms, and so fully developed (more than just a casual on-page reference) and I loved loved loved it. 

 

Wow. This romance was so full. It had the well-loved tropes of forced proximity, single-bed, opposites-attract and some wonderful sexual tension and release. And it also addressed, with full dimension, lots of themes of family and friendship and coming home and co-parenting and self-love/acceptance, and how to handle dealing with past grief that you’ve buried for years and are now realizing you never worked through. Plus, it touches on, in a very poignant way, the realization of how much childhood misperception can hinder/affect your life, so do you accept your own self and flaws or do you double down and lose potential for future happier-ness? I had such a full heart seeing all these characters find some peace, love or otherwise self-accepting path forward and just really enjoyed my time with this book. 

 

“It didn’t feel desperate or like a distraction or something they both needed to relieve some stress. It didn't feel like a spillover of pent-up lust. It felt like it was on purpose.” 

 

Book thirteen in my Aspen Words 2022 longlist read-through. And one of the few that I had really been exposed to prior to the release of the longlist, as I received an ALC of the audiobook from Libro.fm. Which is why it's ending up as one of the last books I'm getting to, since I knew I had access to listen whenever I was ready, and didn't have to plan around library waitlists, etc. 

 

Libertie is the coming-of-age story of the titular Libertie Sampson, a young Black girl living in Reconstruction-era Brooklyn. Her mother is a doctor with a very particular dream for the future, of herself and her daughter jointly practicing medicine together. She even figures out a way to send Libertie to medical school to further prepare her for that planned joint future. But at school, Libertie, who was already chafing at her mother’s strictures for her life and questioning this "one" way to life a life of freedom and purpose, finds herself drifting away from medical studies and into a friendship with two women studying music, and the magic and poetry in that study. When a Haitian man she meets on a visit home to her mother proposes, promising a life of freedom and equality together if she joins him on the island, Libertie says yes. But upon arrival, she realizes that, while there is more than one way to live a life in freedom, there is also more than one way to live a life of boundaries and subservience. And Libertie struggles to find her own definitions, and path towards freedom, for herself and future generations. 

 

I have such conflicting feelings about this book and I honestly hardly know how to rate or review it. I feel like, let me just start with the positive. Libertie is the kind of authentic MC that a reader love-hates reading. Her choices are so relatable in their questinableness. She is so often getting in her own way, in a "I'm my own worst enemy" style, and yet, that's what makes her so human, because who among us hasn't also made choices that, looking back, we cannot explain? Especially in this coming-of-age sense, where she knows that what she sees of her mother's life and the reality of life as a free Black woman, in the North and during the closing days of the Civil War, but still a Black woman, are limiting in a way she cannot abide. Libertie's anger and chafing are so understandable, as is her inability to figure out how to break free and follow her own path (or even to know what she might want that path to be). So, when she makes decisions to spite her mother, while simultaneously not speaking her truth when the moment arises for it, and she ends up with myriad regrets (that the reader can definitely see coming, in general, if not with specificity), I was both cringing and applauding the truth in the storytelling. It was also strange though, because this whole novel was so internally told, from Libertie's perspective and feelings, that despite the unique-ness of the story, her like as a free Black woman in the post-Civil War time period in Brooklyn and Haiti (places that are not usually highlighted from that time), the setting seemed distant and background. And I would have loved a bit more of it. 

 

I want to also highlight that Greenidge has written about a time period, place(s) and lived experience that I cannot remember ever having read before. I'm going to list a few of the themes that sort of stood out to me, but the basic point that I want to make, before getting into particulars, is that she did a phenomenal job bringing together so many complex situational details into a narration that is both thorough and accessible. The novel opens with a rudimentary/first-steps exploration into understanding the workings of mental health as similar to a disease of the body, but of the mind, with an in-practice example of physical freedom [from slavery], but the mental chains that will not let go. It was absolutely spectacular in concept and my only complaint there is that it was only at the start, and the related medical were left behind as the novel progressed. Related, Greenidge shows the heaviness and tiredness of those who live everyday with racism large and small, exemplifying it in ways that are so deeply tangible. And she does so in great thematic juxtaposition with the choices to find a way to survive in the world the way it is, the want (the rage, in Libertie's case) to ask more from the world you were given, and the push and pull of those personal priorities in each person and intergenerationally. Speaking of generations, the opposition of dreams between Libertie and her mother, the way their different hopes for the future cause such a rift; the power of hope for the future that is children, and the connection we re-find with our own mothers when we bear our own children, is a set of themes deeply and strongly investigated. Literarily, the back and forth in the letters between Libertie and her mother demonstrate that distance between them, each concentrating on their own internal wants and hopes, but not pausing to listen or understand the other’s, was a well-used device. 

 

Finally, Greenidge interrogates the intersection of social (and religious) race and gender regulations and expectations (highlighting, of course, the way they don’t make any logical sense) with phenomenal depth through Libertie's options, interactions and internal dialogue. The intensity of shame and judgement around “virtue” I know is realistic to the time, and often still now despite wishes that we've come farther since then, but it’s so hard to read. And it was so frustrating to see how society’s expectations caused a mother to doubt/mistrust her daughters' word so easily and quickly, without a pause to consider or listen to her own testimony. In a move to subvert these expectations, I loved the low-key inclusion of queer relationships in some of Libertie's music college friends. 

 

And now, the reason I have mixed feelings and am struggling to fully convey how I felt about this book... I just could not get into it. I felt distant and struggled to keep my attention on it from the very start. And while objectively, as I read, I knew how well done the character development was, and how eye-opening the historical setting was for me, I just couldn't connect. There was something about the storytelling style that never quite hit right for me; it felt, perhaps, disjointed in some way, uneven. So, despite my objective interest and knowledge of its quality, I think I would have struggled to finish it without the audiobook to push me through. And it's just going to end up one of my least favorites of the longlist this year. 

 

I want to close out back on book-theme. This novel gives the reader a profound look at many forms of being trapped: parental expectations and filial piety, religious and cultural, the limits of the past on both the present and our creativity in imagining the future, the role(s) of being a woman in society, the arbitrary and fear/power-based structures of race and colorism, parenthood, and likely more. Greenidge shows us, through Libertie's coming-of-age, the way that we must each find our own path to and definition of freedom for ourselves, and that no matter how much we may wish to, we cannot do it for anyone else. It's a lovely story that, if it sounds like a fit for you, I'd really encourage you to try for yourself. I think my disinterest in this novel comes down to a reader-book mismatch, and not at a reflection of the caliber of the book itself. 

 

“We cannot live in freedom if we are not well.” 

 

“I do not have a way with words, like you do. […] The only good poem I’ve ever written is you. A daughter is a poem. A daughter is a kind of psalm. You, in the world, responding to me, is the song I made. I cannot make another.” 

 

“And how good was a rule, how strong, how sensible was it to obey, if it lost all meaning as soon as you left your front door?” 

 

“It is a difficult thing, to be told something is beautiful by someone who already loves it best.” 

 

“Perhaps there is bravery in being a wife. Certainly, there is bravery in being a mother.” 

 

“Being a mother means being someone’s god, if only briefly. This is known, I think. But they are my gods, too. They are my country now.” 

 

Radiant Fugitives is another of the Aspen Words 2022 longlist books, my 12th of the longlist (I'm three quarters of the way there)! I had very little idea what this one was about before starting it, though I had a vague idea of it being about undocumented immigrants (I blame the title), which turned out to be patently false and also, if I'm being honest, I still don't really know if I understand the relation of the title to the rest of the novel. However, while not *quite* as good, IMO, this one makes my personal shortlist of "books that I would not have picked up otherwise and was really impressed/totally absorbed by." The Five Wounds currently tops that list, with Bewilderness as another entry. 

 

Seema, a political activist living in Obama-era San Francisco, is nearing the end of her pregnancy. After not seeing her mother, Nafeesa, and sister, Tahera in many years, the three women come together to help Seema through the last days of her pregnancy, childbirth and everything that life change brings. It would seem to be a wonderful, celebratory visit. And yet, the three women are grappling with quite a bit amongst themselves. Seema harbors resentment at her mother for not standing by her when her beloved father disowned her for her sexuality and emotional distance from Tahera from so much time spent apart. Tahera, an OBGYN living with her family in Texas, is harboring anger at Seema for disappearing years ago without a word, and at the assumed judgement from her regarding her own decisions to deepen her practice as a Muslim. Nafeesa, traveling alone from Chennai and dealing with her own failing health, is hoping to reconcile the sisters and apologize for her years of (as she sees it) failure as a mother, especially to Seema. At the same time, she struggles not to judge and comment on either daughters' lifestyle choices, Seema's sexuality and choices in friends/partners and Tahera's seemingly self-imposed strictures and limitations. In the week before Seema's delivery, the time the three spend together is that of complex emotional dependency, conflicting wants and beliefs and a history of misunderstandings warring with the unifying love of sisters, mothers and daughters.  

 

So, like I said, this is not one I would have picked up if it hadn't been on this longlist. I had nothing against it specifically, it was just that the blurb wasn't quite enticing enough and there are so many books I want to read! However, yet again, I am grateful to this award longlist reading challenge for making me give it a go. I was completely engrossed in these characters; Seema, Tahera and Nafeesa were so vivid and complex, individually and in relation to each other, and I was so impressed with this reading experience. From a literary perspective, the voice telling the story, that of Seema's unborn/newly born son Ishraaq, was quite unique. It was sort of fascinating, in a creative and off-putting way simultaneously to read. I would be totally lost in the unfolding interactions and then randomly be snapped out of it by this unborn child directly addressing (mostly in the second person, like talking right to them) these characters, or referring to himself as “me.” It was jarring, but I didn't hate it. It wasn't my favorite stylistic device ever, but it did sort of fit this novel in a way I can't quite put my finger on. Perhaps it gave some shock to what is otherwise a very thorough character development/exploration style read, helping to balance out the lack of real plot, as it were. Overall, I really enjoyed the flow of the novel, the writing was simply gorgeous. And though I am not personally a fan of poetry, and therefore tended to skim the sections that were focused on the words and themes of Wordsworth and the reflections on the parallel meanings of poetry and life, I did respect the place they held and what they added to the novel. 

 

The cornerstone and shining achievement of this novel is absolutely in the characters, introspectively and interpersonally. Oh the depth of the complexity of the sisters' yearning and love and resentment, and the impossibility of their mother's efforts to move them past it, after it's been left to simmer in distance and lack of communication since childhood and their travels so far in different directions since then. My heart cracked as their facades cracked. Ahmed also deftly displayed the way(s) we all all have blind spots and fear and frustration for the lifestyles we don’t understand, showing with stunning nuance the ways that happen even within shared families and cultures. That portrayal is both remarkable in its own right, as well as carrying a great (as in strong and profound) message about how much bigger it must then be to those outside the family/culture. To be fully transparent, for content warning purposes, in the specific lifestyles that push and pull at each other in these pages, Ahmed hones in on being queer and out in opoosition to strict religious doctrine (that of Islam in particular), and the vastness of the ways these interactions can play out and affect people's lives and influence the how and why they make major decisions. It is difficult to read at times, in a variety of emotional ways, but is handled with thoughtfulness and care. 

 

Another major theme within this novel is the search for the sources of happiness during childhood (that happiness that you don’t have to work/fight for). Ahmed details with detailed emotion the different paths each sister, and their mother, follows in that attempt to refind that as an adult. I also found it sort of fascinating to read this kind of recent past historical fiction. Having lived through it (specifically referring to Obama's first run/campaign for presidency), but in such a different way (a different age, life experience, part of the country, racial/cultural background, etc.), it was just very compelling. And also made me feel a little old, to have "life" I've lived through being long enough ago to warrant a past reflection in a novel form like this. 

 

There is such an aching sorrow and heartbreaking sense of yearning in the love in these pages. The peaks and dips, the ebbs and flows, of support and expectation within families and society, especially within sibling rivalries and needs, are visceral. I usually try to use my own words for these reviews, but I have to end with this blurb about the book from the Goodreads page, because I don't think I can make it any better or more personal: "Radiant Fugitives is an operatic debut from a bold new voice, exploring the tensions between ideology and practicality, hope and tradition, forgiveness and retribution for one family navigating a shifting political landscape." 

 

“For what world handicaps a child at the same time it receives him?” 

 

“Is it too much to ask to be held, to be consoled, to be loved? Is it too much to ask that she not end up where she started - on the outside looking in?” 

 

“Change you can believe in. What if you didn't - couldn't - believe in change? Change as something that took you someplace new, and lasting, not something that brought you back to where you;ve already been: three continents, three countries, six cities, multiple homes, myriad loves, the ceaseless struggle, but still the same inescapable tragedy of her self: still seeking approval, still seeking some way to make her father proud of her again.” 

 

“Wordsworth is a prophet. Like all prophets, he describes what should be, while at the same time admitting to what is, what cannot be, and what is beyond his understanding. Like all prophets, he has been blessed not with the whole truth but with that part of the truth he can grasp and convey. Like all prophets he is beset with self-doubt. But even speaking half-truths, he points us towards the whole. The light he casts flickers, illuminating some part of the picture of life for one moment, only to cast it into shadows and doubt the next. But that flickering gives us a glimpse of the truths that mark our lives. This is the best any human being can do in the face of the complexity of the universe, and most of us will do much worse.” 

 

“…Nafeesa’s remorse, Tahera's fears, Bills' disillusionment, Arshad's anguish, Seema's optimism. America’s turmoil.” (This little summary of observations does so much to sum up this book's characters and representations.) 

 

“How to explain in a moment what has taken a lifetime to accrue?” 

 

“I’m a blank slate at birth, with an infinity of futures available to me. With each neural connection that is made, that my brain fails to make, that is pruned, the futures are whittled down, until if I were alive long enough, there's only one life I could possibly live. Call it fate, call it destiny. Call it qismat, call it the will of Allah. Call it following the laws of nature, call it acting in accordance with our natures. Say it's been decided by evolution; say it's in our genes, in the secretions from our glands, in the pathways in our brains. Say we're the products of our environments, our upbringings, our histories. Aren't our lives circumscribed, in any case, by powers over which we have little control?” 

 

 

It's been a while since we've been able to get ourselves together (2022 has been a busy year so far!), plus the last couple picks I had actually already read: The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue and When the Moon Was Ours (both great choices), so this is my first long-distance-book-club read this year. It is definitely not one that I would have gone for without the group impetus, but for how long it was, it went by so fast once I got into it. 

 

When Ryland Grace wakes up in what appears to be a long-term medical lab facility with no memory of who he is, how he got there, or any sight of another (at least not another living) human being present, he is, understandably, very confused. But as the days go by, his memories (and his innate knowledge of science and ability to logic through clues around him), he realizes he's essentially on a last-chance mission to save the Earth, and all of humanity, from certain doom. No pressure. As he begins to work through the impossible task facing him, the daunting prospect becomes ever more hopeful as he finds a (very unexpected) ally with the exact same goal. Together, they just might be able to solve this interstellar ticking time bomb of a scientific mystery (and themselves, in the process). 

 

This is a very, what I would consider, typical/traditional sci-fi thriller type story. I know it won the Goodreads Choice Award for SciFi last year, and I can see why. It's very grounded in the world we know, sci-fi in a speculative sense (environmentally and scientifically) with a human MC and Earth-centered plot, not necessarily in the world-building/space opera style of sci-fi (which is my personal preference). So, while there is quite a bit that is not the normal, everyday human reality, everything that happens is adjacent to or compared to that recognizable reality in some way, making it much more widely accessible topically. It also has a very linear plotline, clearly delineated science and parameters, and a plot that has a major drama/thriller build that does keep the reader turning pages. All that being said, while it felt really solid and kept my interest (I did truly want to know how things played out, how the story would be wrapped up, and how our MC found alone himself in space as humanity's last hope to save the Earth), I was never really blown away by it at any point. 

 

Let me give you a little more of what I liked about this novel. It was smoothly written; nothing spectacular in the writing, but nothing cringe-y either. And Grace's internal (and at times external) dialogue had a nice touch of humor to it, which was necessary to help cut what would otherwise have been an (only) incredibly tense and likely quite depressing story. Similarly, the back in forth from Grace's flashbacks as his memories of his pre-spaceship days return and his present-day race to find answers to Earth's alien dilemma helps give more movement to what would otherwise have been a very dull story (like, being alone on a ship doing science experiments and getting one's memory back seems exciting, but in reality gets quite repetitive as far as "telling" about it goes). As we did get more and more of Grace's history, and actually the "reveal" at the end about how he ended up as part of this elite crew in the first place, I appreciated how human and real he was, the recognizability that came with some of his uglier self-realizations and recollections. It helped keep the story grounded (pun intended!). The alien lifeforms we were introduced to were creative, and very scientifically grounded. In fact, all the science was very real. Now, I am not at all a science person, but from biology to mathematics to physics to chemistry to astronomy, this novel felt incredibly well researched on that front. In fact, I cannot lie to you, there were a few points (especially towards the last third) where I definitely skimmed some of the science aspects. I don't feel like they were actually ever too much, I just got to the point where I wanted to know how the story ended and I was just fine taking the science for granted as I got there. Personal preference, but I want to be transparent about it. 

 

Finally: the ending. I was really happy with it. It did not end at all like I had expected and honestly I was into that. It was unexpectedly sweet and poignant, while still being as realistic as it could be, by which I mean not too perfect or with too much closure under the circumstances. While maybe that was an easy out for the author, as far as not having to give the reader all the details, I was still happy with it because I felt like any more and it would have bridged into either the unbelievable or the "right" ending, which no one would have wanted to read (it would not, should not, have been an "all wrapped up in a nice happy bow" situation). Sort of along these lines, I liked that the ending included Earth NOT finding out too much (re: Grace's extracurricular discoveries while in space), because there’s no way we would handle that knowledge well; humans as a species suck too much for that. However, the interactions and decisions of our one MC are much more understandable and believable in an individual sense. So, while that’s vague, I know, it felt right. 

  

A few things that felt less right included some of the borderline commentary from our MC that has some uncomfortable judgmental implications. I mean, I know I said I liked that he was messy/human, but still, when his first reaction to realizing he had lived in a bachelor-style apartment was that he must have been single or gay (like gay people can’t be clean or decorate or live together), just came across a little iffy. There was also some uneven pacing that kind of made it hard to get a real feel for the timing of the plot and also had me skimming more or less in varying patterns. Though overall things happened at a fast enough clip to keep me mostly invested.  And, of course, there was the overall feeling that while this was a good book, it never tipped over into really good, great, or spectacular…it was creative, but never inspired, at least for me. 

 

All that being said, I was definitely entertained by this story. And I am excited to discuss with my book club, because I think there are some very interesting concepts raised, especially about questions pertaining to morality versus survival and priorities as a species. I’m curious to hear what the others thought! 

 

“When the alternative is death to your entire species, things are very easy. No moral dilemmas, no weighing what's best for whom. Just a single-minded focus on getting this project working.” 

 My 11th Aspen Words 2022 Longlist read. And it was such a short one! Which was an especially stark contrast considering that this was the first one I picked up after The Love Songs of W.E.B. Du Bois, which was the longest by far. This was also a jarring choice due to the content, in the context of the current legislative/judicial situation in the US related to the (likely, but still pending as of this writing) overturning of Roe v Wade. I had no idea that's what this book was about prior to starting it, and though I am not sure it was the best move for my mental stability, I kept reading once I realized that abortion was the primary theme, because seriously it is so short, I figured I could power through. 

 

The unnamed narrator of A Lie Someone Told You About Yourself takes the reader on an intimate journey of a very specific parenting choice made by himself and his wife, the decision to choose to abort their pregnancy after testing shows a high potential for a catastrophic childbirth outcome. What follows is a second pregnancy, a healthy birth, and yet another round of tests and testing and the related trials. The narrator and his wife grapple in their own ways with both the decision they made together to not have a child, and the following decisions about how to handle the health of their second child. 

 

This was a really unique reading experience. Because of the brevity of the novel itself, there is a sort of poetry to the writing, taking us through the narrator and his wife's decision-making considerations and emotional consequences with both depth (as poetry is known for its emotional depth) but with a conciseness of words that is powerful in its complete focus on the considerations at hand. There is very little superfluous or extracurricular development or description, yet I never felt like I was missing out on quality and profundity of emotional exploration. That sparseness of language also added an urgency to the novel, giving it a vibe of crushing, stressful, anxious, looming. There was also an incredible balance of tone, between the absolute intensity and seriousness of the decision to have, or not have, a child and a comedic edge, of dark humor, parental humor (dad jokes, if you will, but with a literary style), and combined dark parental humor.   

 

There was also quite a bit of philosophy in these pages, a sort of scholarly consideration of chance and theory, focused around a thought experiment that unfolds throughout the novel comparing a having baby, or abortion, with Schroedinger’s cat (and similarly witht later testing the specter of the testing itself and the simultaneous knowing and not-knwoing of the results). It was fascinating, a perspective and idea that I had never considered (nor had any reason to put together, conceptually) before.There were threads of coin flipping and chance and fate, both theoretically and lingually, throughout as well. I appreciated both for their theory, though that type of philosophy is not usually a favorite of mine, in literature. I was glad to experience it, and similarly glad that it was in a short work of fiction. I did really like that, for all its brevity, the book really explores the many reasons a woman chooses abortion (or it chooses her, as it were) and the myriad potential reactions to that decision. It felt like a survey of possibility, in the same way that Brown Girls felt like a survey of life choices/realities for brown girls, presented with a solemn "this is how it is" objectivity (so different than how this the choice of abortion is treated IRL, where judgement and shame and guilt from strangers abound, a theme that is also explored thoroughly, through our narrator's personal experiences though others' eyes in his time volunteering at a women's health clinic). I also loved how the author explores the regrets (grief?) of both having the baby and not, abortion and not, to the point that there is, perhaps, no "winning."  

 

I have to say, I had misgivings for at least the first half of the book, if not longer, about the role and feelings of a man being central to this discussion. But, it takes two to make the baby, so it does make some sense to explore the way taking two to decide not to have it would affect both (especially for those whose relationships are, in fact, real partnerships). Plus, I felt much better about it when, as the perspective progressed, as it at times veered into the unaccepting and shaming and savior-ness, the author took the chance to question and call out those unfair reactions (the reactions that are the exact reason arguments are made for those who don't have a female reproductive system to not be allowed to make decisions regarding those who do have one). As it rightly should be questioned. So there was some literary redemption there for me. This is second book about non-neurotypical kids on this longlist, which I think is a representation of our nation's preoccupation with how best to help and support those kids/families, and also maybe partly in condemnation of the lack of acceptance that bears the need for testing and diagnosis in the first place. Interesting focal concept for this year's prize options. 

 

This was an intense little read. I can see why it made the longlist, as a brilliantly communicated, compact look at one of America's most publicly vilified and polarizing, yet most deeply personal and private, decisions. Although it was not a personal favorite of mine, of the longlist specifically or even really more generally, I also have not read too much fiction in which abortion takes such center stage, and is so comprehensively (in a fictional sense, of course) explored. This is a necessary, especially now, discussion, and a choice that very much needs to be humanized, because the demonization of it has and will continue to unnecessarily cost people their lives and mental health, if no changes to the national discourse are made, no more personal bodily autonomy allowed. It was a tough read, in general and in particular right now, and I caution readers to be careful going in, knowing the content, but to also know it's dealt with openly and honestly and mostly objectively.   

 

“Abortion is shameful, because pregnancy is shameful, becuase sex is shameful, because periods are shameful.” 

 

“Do our children turn us into our parents?” 

 

“One of the gifts of fiction, he tells students, is the cover it provides. A story can be 1% true and 99% made up, or 99% true and 1% made up, and the reader won't know the difference, the writer doesn't have to declare. It means he can tell the truth and take the Fifth simultaneously.” 

 

“They’ve so many strangers calling them names, judging them. Not just here - online, on TV, out there. It means something to have another stranger say it’s ok.” 

 

“Asking for sympathy is just another way of asking for permission.” 

 

“All the doors he’s held for women down the years. A tiny gallantry still appreciated by many. Now the gesture makes him think of how he'd told her it was her choice, told her he'd support whatever she wanted. How saying those things was like holding a door. After you. So fucking polite. It's a woman's right - no question - but a part of him thinks that lets men off the hook, spares them something. It was her choice. But if you hold a door open, aren't you ushering someone through it? This way, please... She never liked the term "choice" anyway. Says it smacks of capitalism, the market. Choose a phone, choose an outfit. Like shopping. It's nothing like shopping! It's not a choice, if there’s no other choice.” 

 

“But why shouldn’t they be relieved? This isn't the trauma - this is the trauma averted. Next to an unwanted conception, an unwanted birth, what's an abortion? A dread lifted. Freedom to get on with life. [...] 'Abortion is life changing, sure, but also life not changing. That's the point. That's why people do it. It's something that happens, but also something that doesn’t happen.'” 

 

“If only a mercy killing involved some mercy for the killers.” 

 

“Parents keep secrets from children; children are not supposed to reveal their parents’ secrets.” 

 

This was an ALC offering from Libro.fm a few months ago that intrigued me, so I grabbed it. Then I requested the physical copy from my library (I do like to have both on hand while reading, if possible), but between the delays in the library getting our copy (these printing/shipping delays affect libraries too, y'all) and the couple people who were on the waitlist for it before me, I honestly forgot about it until I got the notification that it was ready for pickup. A pleasant surprise that I rearranged my TBR list to get to. (I am a mood reader, but also have a weird thing about library books: once they're on the holds-shelf for me/I have checked them out, I have a complex where I need to read them because if I return a book unread, I never try it again. I'm not sure if this is a mental thing or just coincidence, but it is a very consistent reality for me...thus, the TBR re-arrange.) 

 

Spanning the decades from 1917 to 1965, Beasts of a Little Land follows two primary characters through this tumultuous recent history in Korea. Jade is a young girl sold by her impoverished family to a courtesan school, an introduction to a life that takes her from her rural town to the big city of Seoul. At the same time, a young boy named JungHo also finds his way to Seoul, after his father's death. After a chance meeting, these two weave in and out of each other's lives over the next half-century, connected by the deep thread of childhood friendship, as they forge their separate paths: Jade as a famous performer and JungHo a leader in the fight for Korea's revolution for independence.    

 

I am only intermittently into historical fiction, but I have to say that this one was really great. I loved the way that we were able to get glimpses of so many perspectives and styles of life through Jade and JungHo's eyes and the variety of connections they had, thanks both to chance and to the fluid, between-the-lines sort of lives they each lead. This was also the perfect literary device through which to watch this conflicted period of Korean history unfold and get, in the literary context, of course, a more full, cross-cutting portrait of the day-to-day of human lives throughout, from the politically and financially favored to the margins of society (those without family prestige or money and those who make a living through less "savory" means, like the gangsters and courtesans). Though I have to say, I wish it had all stayed from the same written perspective, consistently all the way through; there was a single chapter from JungHo's voice and having that just once felt weird and a bit jarring (I would have preferred to not have it at all or to have more of them). Anyways, I also really appreciated the way the romances, or lack thereof, played out. Based on the way the description for the book was written, I was expecting a sort of star-crossed couple situation with Jade and JungHo, which is not at all what I got. I don't want to give any specifics, to avoid spoilers, but it was an incredibly refreshing relationship to read about, if deeply tragic in romantic and non-romantic ways both clear and subtle.    

 

This novel explores major themes of love, both for other humans and for one's country. These are nothing if not well-traveled paths, but Kim does a great job keeping them fresh, showing the many types of love a person can have for another, past the basic parental and romantic, as well as the many ways it can be shown, the flashy and the quietly sustaining, or denied. I did enjoy seeing the variety of mother-daughter relationships, and choices made one for the other. As far as love of country, there was a lot that happened here. Although JungHo espoused a particular outlook (communism), so we saw that one the most, it was also from the perspective of someone living in the southern part of the country (where that governmental form did not ever hold the upper hand). It was interesting to see how that played out for him individually, but also within the context of revolution for the country in general, as the myriad political ideologies of Korea were all working together at one point to fight for the country's independence from Japan's colonialism, then splintered back out as that independence became reality. 

 

The last thing that I want to mention are the connections amongst all the characters. I have spoken mostly of Jade and JungHo so far, as they are the MCs, but there was a strong cast of supporting characters as well, who showed up in various ways throughout the novel and throughout each other's lives. Kim handled that weaving together of stories deftly, in a way that was believable in its coincidence, frequent enough to keep interest but not so intertwined as to be unbelievable. I liked how some of them came to realize the moments the others overlapped, and sometimes these connections of connections happened without anyone else finding out. Similarly, the recurring mentions of the cigarette case and the silver ring, the way they too are carried from beginning to end, connecting stories and lives with a sentimental symbolic object coming back around, was a device well-used. I particularly liked that for one, the connection behind it (a surprise to both when it happened) came to light for everyone involved, but the other remained unknown (the actual provenance of the item wasn't known to the characters but added an even stronger bittersweet emotional response for me as a reader).  

 

Overall, a wonderful story of interconnected lives and the turbulent recent history of Korea through the eyes of various individuals who lived it, survived it, in whatever ways they could. This is the kind of historical fiction that pulls heartstrings and inspires further (nonfiction) research on the part of the reader - a wonderful combination. 

 

“In prolonged destruction, there was no spirit of unity such as the one they shared in the face of a quick and heroic death.” 

 

“Love was defined by how much one could suffer for another, by what you were willing to do to protect this person. It was a question of choosing the person with whom you'd like to hold hands on your last train ride.” 

 

"Now that I'm older I know that life is not about what keeps you safe, but what you keep safe, and that's what matters the most." 

 

“Time had the effect of muting everything, but it could never erase something real.” 

 

“Everyone dreams, but only some people are dreamers. The nondreamers, by far more numerous, are those who see the world as it is. Then there are the few dreamers, who see the world as they are. […] The world feels like an oil painting rather than a photograph, and the dreamers are forever seeing hidden colors where others just see the top shade. The nondreamers look through glasses, and the dreamers through a prism.” 

 

“Life is only bearable because time makes you forget everything. But life is worthwhile because love makes you remember everything.” 

 

My 10th Aspen Words Longlist read done! And the one that was most intimidating, size-wise. I had actually bought this one for myself a while ago, I think before the longlist was even announced, actually. But I waited til I could get the audiobook from the library to go with it, because I knew I was going to need the dual media to keep myself steady reading through it. And while I was right about that (I think I'm becoming deeply dependent on audiobooks to move me through longer or more slower paced reads, both nonfiction and fiction, now), I also did not want to stop reading/listening. I found myself pulling it up even when I only had 10 or 15 free minutes because I was just that invested in the characters and their development. Anyways, onwards to the review! 

 

Ailey Pearl Garfield, of Georgia, is descended from enslaved persons and tenant farmers. Although she herself is raised in the City, where her father is a doctor, she spends the summer with her mother's family in the rural town they've lived in for generations. From childhood, Ailey has felt the burden of her family's expectations, especially the women of her family, on her shoulders, from the distant ancestors she hears in her dreams to her mother and older sister. As both Ailey's own childhood trauma and the historical trauma of her family are revealed on page through alternating past and present story-telling, a portrait of her family's complex and interwoven past - Indigenous, Black, white - comes into focus, in a way both intimate and representative. Throughout, all the motifs Jeffers and Ailey uncover together are pulled together in thematic and literary fashion by passages from (and stories of) the great W.E.B. Du Bois. 

 

This is the most sweeping saga of a novel that I have read in a while; incredibly ambitious in scope of both time and character. With novels like this, I am not even sure where to begin, because the fact that the blurb focuses solely on Ailey does nothing to show the breadth of family development we get throughout the novels, from the generations of ancestor and the stories of these people whose only legacy is in the memories of the bones of their descendants to Ailey's direct family, like her mother and grandmothers, her older sisters Coco and Lydia, and especially her Uncle Root. They are all so robust, as much Ailey herself, and their on-page voices deserve the justice of having a greater voice in the book blurb. And they experience so much in these pages. Which sounds obvious, but considering how many novels are told about just a single character, and this is an entire family tree over two centuries, it's almost too much to comprehend. That being said, I was deeply impressed with the way Jeffers was able to distill their voices down to the aspects that most defined them, that made them the most human, giving them full-throated life with what she chose to narrate, from the smallest daily details to the largest historical contexts. And while overwhelming at times, because of course it must be, it never felt too bogged down or too rushed; a most impressive handle on pacing for a book of this size. 

 

Using Ailey as the centerpiece for this family epic was a lovely literary device, allowing us to see in dual ways how history unfolded for those who lived it (during the "Song" portions of the novel), and the myriad ways that that history impacts present day circumstances, both individually and in general. Getting the many perspectives of other members of Ailey's family also allowed for a wonderful exploration of how many different ways people have chosen to deal with and survive (or not) the lives handed to them by history and other forces outside their control. The obvious primary themes in this novel center around the Black experience throughout the history of America, from the first days of slavery through the (more or less) present day. This is very closely intertwined, at least in the earliest parts of the story, though these family threads are lost to knowledge over the generations (due to being purposefully hidden and otherwise), with Indigenous, Creek specifically, histories and ancestry in both the Georgia area and Ailey's own family. In parallel with that, the idea of trauma was closely knit into the fabric of this book. There is a fascinating parallel/mirrored look at inter-generational trauma alongside repeated childhood sexual abuse (major CW here), the way that both follow a person like a shadow throughout life that cannot be escaped, only coped with. Seeing Ailey move through the complicated task of dealing with each of these, and the ways they affected her both tangible and intangible, was incredibly affecting...and effective. There was also a lot of material gaslighting (like, a lot), as well as an elaborate look at colorism within the Black community, and quite a bit of heavy-handed morality about sex and morality. These were very insightfully addressed topics, but were at times intense in a way that could be triggering.  

 

As always, I want to highlight the nuanced sibling relationships, as these are always highlights for me when done well. I loved the way Ailey, Coco and Lydia shared uncompromising love and also trauma, closely held secrets and absolute support, and the different ways they each handled and showed these things. It was just perfectly complex in its dual tragedy and joy. I also want to highlight Ailey's relationship with her Uncle Root, a primary thread throughout the novel and the most strong, heartwarming and wholesome relationships I have read recently. Overall, I loved basically everything about the intricacy of Ailey's stories and relationships, from the family to the romantic, but I want to also say that that was where I learned about her, through the way she was with others. I am not sure Ailey ever developed, at least what I felt like, was her own voice... She always felt a bit more like a representation or archetype than an individual, despite the overall story revolving around her, as those around her seemed to steer her and she tended to follow the paths laid out for her. Perhaps this was purposeful, to show that our history and our relationships are the guiding forces in the options we have and who we become, but Ailey consistently felt most real to me through others' eyes, rather than in her own right. 

 

What a saga this was; of family, of Black history, of both intertwined. This is history come alive. It’s an intensity of individual and personal experience through which to experience such a swath of time. It’s such a pervasive sense of voice and illustration of both that history and the way it insidiously, both obviously and subtly, structures and influences our present day, and the many, many ways that people process that reality of oppression and resistance and resilience and tragedy throughout the years. Brilliant. 

 

“Some places make you feel good for a while, but you can’t stay.” 

 

“He didn’t know that you could ache for a place, even when it had hurt you so badly.” 

 

“How to explain what it was like to be Black to this white woman who wasn't even southern? That a Black child didn't have a right to hate their Black mama? Hatred was not allowed against your parents, no matter what had happened. You had to forgive your parents for whatever they had done even if they'd never apologized, because everybody had to stay together. So much had been lost already to Black folks.” 

 

“Even in a place of sorrow, time passes. Even in a place of joy. Do not assume that either keeps life from continuing, for there are children everywhere.” 

 

“Every lover lies to herself, in small or large ways.” 

 

“When we speak about history, we speak about somebody’s life.” 

 

 

I loved the title of this collection from the moment I first read it. I remember, even as a native English speaker, not even getting a clear explanation for words like knife (or pterodactyl!) and those ridiculously unnecessary silent letters. And then after studying multiple languages throughout college (including Arabic, Russian, Chinese and, of course, Spanish), it really came home to roost in how complicated these weird lingual tics are for second-language speakers, so matter how hard one tries. Anyways, the title alone made me want to read it, even though I’m not always a short story person. So, I kept it on the back burner til I was ready for that type of reading experience. Plus, I have never (to my knowledge) read anything by a Laotian author, and I always love expanding my reading horizon in this way. 

On the whole, this collection seems to pull from memories or experiences or stories that Thammavongsa herself may have had or heard, as a Laotian born in a refugee camp in Thailand and then raised for the most part in Toronto. I’ll give my overall thoughts at the end (so feel free to skip there if you want), but in between I have done my customary jot-down-quick-reactions/thoughts-on-each-story-for-posterity style review. So that’ll come first:     

How to Pronounce Knife – An extra short story with an extra big punch to open us up. This titular tells of a child whose father’s lack of knowledge about the silent “k” in knife makes her question, at an incredibly young age, how much more there is to the world that he doesn’t know, how much she’ll have to learn on her own. Ooof – feels. 

Paris –  Not sure what the title has to do with this one, but it’s a understated rumination on how the effort to be beautiful, based on arbitrary standards of whatever society/eyes hold power, is often more a burden than a boon. However, there’s a lovely message, too, about the burdens of loneliness that come from not having it, even as one accepts that reality. “To know someone’s dislikes was to be close to them.” 

Slingshot – A ships passing in the night sort of romance, a fling as one person’s life is closing and another’s is only partway through. The way two people who only overlap for moments can have lasting impacts on each other’s lives. And a gorgeous commentary on how really living has no age limit. “ You can do that with a joke, hide how you feel and mean what you say at the same time, and no one will ask you which it is.” / “Old is a thing that happens on the outside. A thing other people see about us.” 

Randy Travis­ – There was a subtle power to this story, the family at its center brought to life in their own quiet way. Mournful and yearning, tender and sweet, a portrait of people doing their best to live, grabbing onto whatever hope they can, in a place that is both home and not. “People die sometimes, and there doesn’t have to be a reason why. That’s just the way life is.” 

Mani Pedi – A very interesting juxtaposition in this story: boxing, which makes the outside ugly but can leave the inside in a better place, and working at a nail salon, where the outside is beautified but the inside can remain ugly. There’s musing about the way that is the same for people, and the way different people react to the promise, or lack thereof, of hopes and dreams. Touching brother and sister relationship here too. “That I can dream at all means something to me.” / “Hope […] meant it wasn’t there for you, whatever it was you were looking for.” 

Chick-A-Chee! – The sweetest little story about two young siblings getting dressed up and going trick-or-treating. Nothing extraordinary here, but so tender in the way it gives the reader a chance to see such “normal” traditions from new eyes, eyes that have never experienced it before. 

The Universe Would Be So Cruel – This one hits the reader with some bittersweet emotions on the reality of love, the way it can be cruel and the way it does whatever it can to protect. Also, I loved all the little details about Lao lettering and superstitions related to wedding invitations. “…sometimes what felt like love only felt like love and wasn’t real.” 

Edge of the World –  A sad one about the way being a refugee, the things one experiences in the “life before” can affect a person. And the way it can create a gulf between one and the people in the “new” life, in this case, a mother and their child/family. “To lose your love, to be abandoned by your wife was a thing of luxury even – it meant you were alive.” 

The School Bus Driver­ – Oh wow, this one is the type of quietly sad that really hurts to read. And another example, this time a couple, being pulled apart by the experiences in a country foreign to them both and the actions they each take (or don’t take). 

You Are So Embarrassing – This is like, the opposite of Edge of the World, the gulf between two people after immigration, but from the mother’s perspective this time. But with the added tension of normal teenage pulling away, it’s a gulf that where just one of those two obstacles could have been overcome with time, perhaps both cannot. Heartstring-jerking story. “When you’re a mother, you create a life and then you watch it go on its own way. It’s what you hope for, and want, but when it happens, it happens without you.” 

Ewwrrrk – Ahhhh the no-filter wisdom of grandparents and great-grandparents. Hilarious in its special way. And then a closing paragraph takes pops the sweet bubble the rest of the story created, when the “you’ll see” snark of a grandmother’s insight/prediction is shattered in an extra unfulfilling way. 

The Gas Station – Whoa. This one was weird. Kinda grotesque, but also kinda awesomely feminist, and a bit of a unique take on finding what you need where you can get it. I don’t know. It had a bit of a different feel from a lot of the other stories, so maybe that’s why I’m feeling like I didn’t like it as much. But also, it shocks you out of the comfort of the collection, so that makes it stand out even more. “What was the difference between someone who lied about love and someone who didn’t love you? Nothing.”    

A Far Distant Thing – This story perfectly captures that childhood feeling of having that one perfectly best friend, and the way that life generally leads to you growing apart, but you know you can always look back on what was with the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia. Just, a spectacular rumination on that nearly universal experience.  

Picking Worms – What a closing story! Loved the thematic juxtaposition of a real, legit worms and the euphemistic human kind. Insight into a job/industry that I had no idea existed (or why…all I can think of is fishhook bait?). And the emotional impact of such a clear example of the patriarchy/white supremacy/western superiority complex in action to the always-diminished immigrant/refugee/brown-skinned person.   

In reading blurbs and other reviews of this collection, I have to agree with the majority opinion. While these stories appear understated on the surface, there is a deep well of emotional power behind them. They bring the insides of life, the things we don’t tell or show others, alive in a precise way that reverberates deep in one’s soul, like the way a deep bass note from a speaker vibrates your body. Told from perspectives that run the gamut on age from under ten to over seventy, and in emotional depth from the sweet to the heartbreaking to the every-day normal, from the universal human experiences to the refugee/immigrant experience, the voices in this collection bring the narrative power that comes through the sharing of truths. Sophisticated yet accessible, with a quietly devastating open rawness, Thammavongsa’s storytelling is powerful. 

 

 

Finished my 9th Aspen Words 2022 Longlist read! This is another that I would absolutely not have picked up without it being on the longlist, as really nothing from the cover to the description really grabbed my interest. (Though I'm always here for a book set in NC, and this author even currently teaches at my twice alma mater, UNC-CH, so that did raise my interest marginally after I found it out.) And again, my goal to read this longlist is proving to be well-made, because I absolutely couldn't put this down. 

 

Luce and Irene meet while working at a pool hall in rural North Carolina, and a spontaneous joint road trip venture to get revenge on a creepy customer brings them together. It also introduces them to the world of pills, with its incredible highs...and incredible lows. The two girls become fast friends, sharing the experiences of endless nights working in restaurants and hustles to get their hands on more drugs. It's just the two of them, a wonderful friendship...until Luce meets a guy and together, they make plans to get clean and start fresh Florida. Irene will do anything for Luce, so she joins her in quitting, going to meetings, fighting the cravings, saving money while continuing to work in restaurants. But then tragedy strikes and Irene and Luce find themselves sliding back into addiction. 

 

Like I said, nothing about the blurb for this book called out to me originally, but oh my goodness, the connection between Irene and Luce pulled me in from the very first pages. Their friendship is absolutely stunningly written, just as dazzling and wild and wonderful as book description describes. They came to life in these pages, with a recognizable spark of female friendships that lights up everything about this book. And even as their relationship changes over time, morphs with drug use and increasing codependence, and sometimes causes just as much sorrow as it does joy (particularly for our narrator, Irene), it burns strong and bright. And phew, that made the whole story hit different, harder, unexpectedly relatable in a way that cuts deep if you've ever had a close [female] friendship like that. Along those lines, if you have ever worked in a restaurant, the representation of that is...spot on. This is like an entire ode to the restaurant industry, in all its infamy and glory. 

 

There's no way to review this book without talking about opioids and addiction. If this is a topic you find it hard to read about, then I recommend being very careful about picking up this novel. The discussion of drug use, specifically opioids and primarily focusing on misuse/abuse of prescription pharmaceuticals, is graphic. And the way addiction mentally affects a person, in all aspects of life, as well as the struggle and pride and pain and constant effort involved in recovery is equally graphic. There are a few particular aspects, involving an overdose and fuzzy recollection of humiliation after being rufied and (very much) the end of Luce's part of the story, that were quite difficult to read. I do not have any direct experience with the majority of the details on these topics, so with that caveat in mind, this read like a very accurate and precise account, recounting the reality without overdoing/theatricalizing it. Tucker really hones in on the cycle of addiction and sobriety, the way desire for escape or something better is the reason for both, and how they play off each other in increasing magnitude, that for our characters can feel impossible to face. 

 

A few context notes here. This was a great book to pick up so soon after reading Empire of Pain, because it provided fascinating juxtaposition, one covering the rise of the opioid industrial complex and the family behind it, the other focusing on the lives of the people so deeply affected by that selfish and arrogant family. I was especially captivated by Luce and Irene's perspective: not knowing all the details and truths of the opioid epidemic, though knowing on some level(s) that things are rigged against them; interacting with and manipulating the systems around them in the day-to-day, while never realizing how effectively they’re being manipulated in turn by systems taking advantage of vulnerable populations on a large scale. Also, I cannot not mention the way the author writes the everyday-ness in the  harassment women face, in regular life (restaurants) and within less legal (drug/addiction) situations. Always, always it’s ubiquitous, and worse, for them (and, as noted a few times, even more so for people/women of color).   

 

This was a distinctive read for me, in that it was so difficult, topically, while also being an easy (in a page-turning sense), read. Tucker balances gallows humor in perfect proportion with more serious reality. I was really cheering for Irene and Luce. They were so messy and human and honestly, if that’s not worth hoping to see success in, I don't know what is. Although I recognize that the impact of this one is not as intense as some of the 2022 long-listers that made the final five, I definitely see why it made the longlist in the first place and applaud the incredibly compelling characters that Tucker crafted in these pages. 

 

“Believe me when I say that if someone you love ODs and doesn’t survive it, more than anything you’ll want to medicate yourself out of that particular torture – even if it means dosing yourself with their exact same poison. There’s more than one way to get close to someone.” 

 

“You believe what you want to believe. I guess it was just another hustle, is what I’m saying, except this particular hustle was one we pulled on ourselves.”