This short novel's release felt like it went a bit under the radar, from what I could tell. I saw a few pub day reviews, but overall (to be horribly punny) it seemed to not have made too much of a splash. But right after reading that it had been shortlisted for the Costa Book Award for First Novel (which it has now won), it came across my personal radar as I checked it back in at the library. And in what is becoming a clear pattern, I turned around and checked it right out to myself (after making sure there weren't any holds on it, of course). 

 

Open Water is a story of falling in love. Two Black British young adults meet in a pub one evening in London and the spark of connection between them is immediate. Over time spent together, they learn all the things they share (having won scholarships to private schools - places they both struggled to find a sense of belonging - and having both become artists, trying to find their place spiritually in that world and physically-emotionally in the cities where they live) and that connection grows ever deeper. Despite the complications of how they met and the vulnerabilities inherent in creating a deep bond with another human, the two fall for each other...and must choose to face together or cave separately to the external violence and grief and fear of their daily lives. 

 

For all it's short length, this novel packed some deep emotions. And it began with the writing. Told in a sort of confessional voice, as the narrator looks back at the way their relationship began and blossomed, but as if it was being written/spoken to the "you" the he was falling in love with, a sort of clarifying of his perspective of the way things unfolded and an attempted explanation of his internal processes that he wasn't always able to share in the  moment. This second person style of writing is one that doesn't always work, but, for me, it really did here. Past that, the composition of the writing itself was gorgeous. There was a sort of urgency in Nelson's writing, conveyed perfectly with the rhythmic flow of the words and sentences. The inexorable pull between two people who fit so effortlessly is written so viscerally. This is poetry about intimacy in its less often celebrated forms, that of emotional and physical closeness, as opposed to (or before the onset of) sexual closeness. And then the dual sense(s) of contentment with that and a tense stalemate on the precipice of giving in to the desire for more (or for the sexual), is spectacularly communicated. Overall, the general, curshing, feelings of uncertainty and fear, in life and in love, and the questions about where and when one is free to feel/express those feelings, that create the emotional cornerstones of this novel, are potent. 

 

Additionally, this novel serves as an ode to Black artistry. With the careers of the MCs, photography and art, the myriad musical highlights and references, and the many references to Black art and artists, this is truly a nod to all this Black art. Nelson also uses art as a metaphor for the ways Black bodies move in the world, the way they are seen and treated indiscriminately and without regard to individuality, represented through the many callings-out of the difference between being looked at and being seen, within each personal relationship and in the world at large. The way he writes about the safety but distance in one, the comfort but vulnerability in the other, and how they interact, is...phew, phenomenal. This exploration goes hand in hand with the internal discussion of the narrator with himself (and "to" our unnamed love interest/co-MC), about the impossibility of being vulnerable when you have never had a chance to practice softness in real life, no freedom or safe space in which to do so. It's a heartbreaking commentary on navigating the world in a Black body, and the grief and effort and tiredness that come with that, to the potential exclusion of so much else. And so, where there is Black love and connection in these pages, it is that much meaningful.   

 

From the very first page, there is an air of inevitable sorrow laced throughout, and yet the hope builds, making the fall at the end that much harder to bear, emotionally. But it was such a stronger story for that. While short, the poetic writing style would have been tough for a longer book, so I appreciate it for what it was. Just a stunning debut, a gut punch of the highest order. In Nelson's own words, this novel is “daydreams and night reveries.” It is “a little breathless, a little ecstatic, a little sad” in its vibe. 

 

“Besides, sometimes, to resolve desire, it's better to let the thing bloom. To feel this thing, to let it catch you unaware, to hold onto the ache. What is better than believing you are heading towards love?” 

 

“You don’t talk here, but even if you did, the words would fail you, language insufficient to reflect the intense mess of being this intimate with each other.” 

 

“All you have wanted to do was hold each other in the darkness. Now, you have opened the box and left it unguarded in the night. You have both placed faith in the other that you will akw up intact. You have acted on a feeling. You are in a memory of the present. You are tumbling through a fever dream, surfacing only to plunge once more.” 

 

“What you’re trying to say is that it's easier for you to hide in your own darkness, than emerge cloaked in your own vulnerability. Not better, but easier. However, the longer you hold it in, the more likely you are to suffocate. At some point, you must breathe.” 

 

“Let’s ask: which came first, the violence or the pain?” 

 

“The songs are full of nostalgia, which is to say they are full of mourning; one remembers that which came before, often with a fond sadness, a want to return, despite knowing to return to a memory is to morph it, to warp it. Every time you remember something, the memory weakens, as you're remembering the last recollection, rather than the memory itself. Nothing can remain intact. Still, it does not stop you wanting, does not stop you longing.” 

 

“…doing nothing really, which is something, is an intimacy in itself. To not fill your time with someone is to trust, and to trust is to love. […] ...content in the absence of distractions, content in the presence of one another.” 

 

"It's one thing to be looked at, and another to be seen." 

 

“You know that to love is both to swim and to drown.” 

 

“There’s and anger you have. It is cool and blue and unshifting. You wish it was red so it would explode from your very being, explode and be done with, but you are too used to cooling this anger, so it remains. And what are you supposed to do with this anger? What are you supposed to do with this feeling? Some of you like to forget. Most of you live daily in a state of delusion because how else is one meant to live? In fear? Some days, this anger creates an ache so bad you struggle to move. Some days, the anger makes you feel ugly and undeserving of love and deserving of all that comes to you. You know the image is false, but it's all you can see of yourself, this ugliness, and so you hide your whole self away because you haven't worked out how to emerge from your own anger, how to dip into your own peace. You hide your whole self away because sometimes you forget you haven't done anything wrong. Sometimes you forget there's nothing in your pockets. Sometimes you forget that to be you is to be unseen and unheard, or it is to be seen and heard in ways you did not ask for. Sometimes you forget to be you is to be a Black body, and not much else.” 

 

“…lending this textile the feel of an official report equal to any document and standing as a poetic rebuttal to the anonymizing archives of slavery.” 

 

I'd seen this one on the "new books" shelf at our library, but didn't really have an idea what it was about. When it won the National Book Award for nonfiction this past year, I mentally moved it up my TBR. And I decided that Black History Month was the impetus I needed to go ahead and pick it up, meeting my very vague "sooner rather than later" reading goal for it. All that being said though, I have to be honest and admit that I still didn't really have a clear idea what the book was about; I mean I had a general understanding of it as a history of Black women in the Americas, ish, but nothing more than that, as far as central topics/focus. And I am sort of glad about that. It's not my usual style, to jump into a new book with so little information, but in this case, it made my reading experience that much more eye-opening, informative and compelling. 

 

In 1850s South Carolina, an enslaved woman named Rose gifts her daughter, Ashley, a cloth sack filled with a few precious items on the eve of her sale and their inescapable separation. Decades later, Ashley's granddaughter, Ruth, embroiders a message on that same cloth sack, telling the story of her great-grandmother's gift and immortalizing that history of her family in a tangible way. In All That She Carried, historian and scholar Tiya Miles uses that cloth sack to trace the faint impressions of this line of women throughout history, from what can be found about them specifically to inferences we can make based on accounts from similar women in similar times to how the items included can provide insight to the lives and realities of enslaved women more generally, all laced together with a deeply moving and tender humanity.   

 

My first impression, after finishing this book, was complete awe that so much information and meaning can be gathered and extrapolated from a single item like this, even one with layers of generations involved in its journey. Fascinating and astonishing. My second reaction, close on the heels of the first, was an aching sadness that came from the understanding that so much must be pulled from this one item because there is so little that survives (was allowed to survive) to represent this population, unfree Black women. Thinking about how much this one record carries puts an intense awareness on how little there actually is of these voices, how much is lost to history or told in voices not their own, yet there is profound inspiration in this surviving despite everything. It's a deeply emotional combination of emotions, nurtured by Miles' phenomenal writing, which is both educational and personal in style. All the horror and loss and cruelty mixed with the love and endurance and resilience of humanity all in a single message from a single item, is magnificent and moving. I can understand why this cloth sack, when observed by visitors to the museum(s) where it resides, moves the majority to tears. 

 

Miles explores every aspect of Ashley's sack, including the make/use of the original cloth sack itself, to the items listed as included in Ruth's recording, the threadbare dress and the handfuls of nuts and the lock of Rose's hair and the love it carries with it, as well as Ruth's choice of embroidery (and the colors used) to document the story/keepsake. In addition, Miles provides insight into her efforts in tracking down this specific Rose and Ashley mother-daughter pair, the daily reality that the lives may have looked like, using other primary sources from the time/area as clues, and delving into the various reasons why more records of enslaved peoples' lives do not exist (as in, the many ways they were suppressed or considered not deserving of that kind of legacy). I was fascinated by the variety of fields of study that Miles brought together to create this work, including, in her own words, environmental studies, African American studies, slavery studies, women's history studies, material culture studies, that allow for/give us such a fully detailed historical interpretation of the sack. It is all, the supposition and context clues and educated guesses and inferences, fascinating historical detective work with such little to go on. 

 

I have never really considered this deeply, or perhaps at all, the way that physical items can carry history and story and memory and connection; it's universal in concept and yet given such an individual face within these pages. Seeing the importance of cherished objects in memory and story and representation of incorporeal emotions/feelings, and how much we lose when they are lost (or not allowed to us), was quite affecting as a new idea for me. Specifically, the consideration of the history of women and fabrics as a method of preserving stories across the centuries, the role of “story cloths,” is such a constant, yet I'd never really thought about it in this way before, as a legitimate record of history in its own way, conveying the stories that would otherwise have no recording available (specifically, those stories of women and children and unfree peoples). Similar to the archival "gaps" in history that Clint Smith talks about filling in throughout How the Word Is Passed, in ways that give a individual and personal face to stories that can otherwise lose their humanity to generalities (to the "black-and-white/sepia-toned" aspect that makes history seem farther away than it actually is), Miles uses these types of “imaginative license” to give shape to Rose and Ashley's lives and relationships, using conjecture but basing it in the tangibles and truths we have access to. 

 

Miles presented and unpacked difficult questions of philanthropy and stewardship and conservation and preservation throughout this book as well. She talks about who, historically, has had the power to finance and keep those efforts (white people), even though the history is not their own (but rather that of BIPOC, enslaved, etc.). But she also recognizes the potential for a cooperative future in this shared interest in preservation, if we are purposeful. And that makes you wonder about whose stories we are doing the same suppressing of today (and by wonder I mean, we know) but  further forces us to examine what are we are going to do about it. 

 

I’ll repeat, again, how amazing it was that Miles found so much meaning in so few items, the way every single item meant that much more because the well to pull from is so shallow (literally and symbolically). The depth of history and potential meaning(s) behind each item in question (the nuts, the hair, the dress, the bag, the love, the importance of ‘movable’ property for women/slaves, the choice of textile/ embroidery to record history, being an unfree mother/female/child - separated from family like Rose and Ashley were, as well as abuses/humiliations suffered by those in their specific condition), conveyed hard truths and inspiring endurance in equal measure. They are the traumas and the treasures. This one unassuming object, the central focus of this (accurately) self-described “unusually meditative and evocative” piece of nonfiction, flies with grace and passion in the face of all efforts to repress the narratives of unfree peoples past and present. 

 

 

 

I might be one of the only people who hasn't/doesn't watch the Bachelor/Bachelorette series. Maybe that's an exaggeration, but it definitely feels like that sometimes. So I wasn't originally all that interested in this particular romance, set within the filing/production world of a reality dating show. But then I saw review after review talking about how freaking amazing it was! Like I haven't really seen that amount of universal (and extreme) review positivity for a romance since RWaRB (and maybe One Last Stop - McQuiston seems not to miss). Anyways, I am here for a great queer romance no matter the setting, so I had to see what the hype was about for myself. 

 

Dev had been working on the long-running reality dating show Ever After for six years. He got into it because he has always believed in fairy tales and his passion is writing the perfect "falling in love" story for the contestants. Unfortunately, his own love life looks nothing like his fairy tales dreams. Charlie agreed to be the next Prince Charming for Ever After because his public image needs a lot of help, and he's hoping this will help him get back to work in the tech world he loves. Effusively charming "fun" Dev is reassigned as awkward and closed-off Charlie's handler for the duration of the filming, to help him get through it. But as Dev and Charlie spend time together, they start to realize that there's something about their connection that they've never had with anyone else. And while it's too inconvenient (career-ending, possibly) to be what Dev thought a fairy tale would be, and Charlie has no expectations of ever finding love, whether on Ever After or not, this connection may be worth fighting for, even against the major powers of [scripted] reality tv, mental health concerns, and public opinion. 

 

Well, everyone was right. I loved this romance. It is one of the sweetest books I have ever read, like a cozy hug after a very long day. And not just because of the typical elements, like the building of romantic/sexual tension, all the fluttery feelings I experienced when the tensions finally broke and Dev and Charlie began opening up to each other phsyically (while things defintiely go further than this a few times, the kissing scenes were particualry) and emotionally. Which, for the record, were also wonderful. But one of the real highlights for me, from the very beginning and consistently throughout, was the focus on mental health: the challenges it presents, the constant work it takes to maintain, the myriad ways people react (negatively) to anyone struggling with it, and the absolute beauty in finding the people who accept you not despite, but because of, those pieces of yourself. The number of times Dev and Charlie said “I love you. All of you.” to each other was just....it had me all in my feels. Like, they were so transparently saying to each other exactly what they badly needed to hear themselves, and there was so much similarity in that need despite their very different experiences with mental illness. Incredibly heartwarming and aching in equal measure and that combination was perfect. It should, hopefully, be pretty clear now, but content warnings throughout for explicit mental health/illness content (including anxiety, panic attacks, OCD and depression). 

 

As for the setting/backdrop... Not being into the Bachelor/Bachelorette franchise (or really any reality tv) at all, I am sure that many of the  references/homages went over my head. However, I do have to say that it seems like Cochran really heads-on addressed a number of the toxic/BS aspects of the genre, especially the fake/scripted aspects of the "reality," the heteronormativity (veering into homophobia), and the "traditional" gender roles and expectations, among others. Bearing in mind that I have no legitimate frame of reference, I felt like the line between calling out the toxic elements, while still recognizing and celebrating the highlights that make shows like this so popular and loved. To that end, the way Cochran claims this fairy tale love story for the queer community, in a that's never been available to that community, on this scale in a real life setting, is magnificent. It's inspiring and hopeful and feels a bit like literary justice (if not real life justice) and I couldn't have loved that more.  

 

Well, this tender love story just swept me away. It hit right in the heart with its genuineness, the care with which it handles mental health and learning to love yourself (and believe yourself worthy of someone's else's love), the drama of the reality tv vibes, the fun and exotic locations, the sweet and thoughtful gestures between Dev and Charlie, and the fantastic queer rep (particularly of aro-ace spectrum identities) from characters main to side to background. The hype is real, and it's right. So glad I went for it and picked this one up - my cup is so full right now.  

 

“…some things are too spectacular for fear.” 

 

“I don’t think happily ever after is something that happens to you, Dev. I think it’s something you choose to do for yourself.” 

 

 

 

 

Another Aspen Words Literary Prize 2022 longlist read done! I've actually had El Akkad's previous book, American War, on my TBR (and actually on my physical bookshelf, as I own that one) for years now, but for some reason it has never quite made the jump from "TBR" to "currently reading." I felt a little guilty reading this new one first, with his backlist title staring at me from the shelf. But, ah well, here we are.  

 

On an unnamed/imaginary island, the remains of a dilapidated fishing boat wash up on the beach...along with the belongings and bodies of the passengers, Middle Easterners and Africans who had taken any chance available to them, desperate and treacherous as they may have been, to rescue themselves from the untenable realities of their home countries. In a miraculous turn of events, one young boy was a lone survivor of the boat's disastrous journey. Amir flees from the beach he washes up on and is found by a teenage girl who lives on the Island, Vanna. Though strangers, with no common language, Vanna decides to help Amir, to guide him through the island and deliver him to his best chance for a safer future. 

 

The story is told in alternating chapters, that of "before" and "after." The "before" follows Amir's prior life, how he ended up on that boat, and the details of the harrowing journey itself. The "after" follows Vanna and Amir and they traverse the island and attempt to keep out of sight of the military sent in to oversee the refugees' landings. It's really interesting because you know the "ending" of the before storyline already, and the after storyline is truly not that heavy on plot, but despite that, El Akkad manages to write the dual storylines with intensely rising tensions. The tension of each builds very differently, stylistically (due to a foreshadowed unpreventable tragedy or the being chased/time running out feeling), but in parallel, with the final result being a reading experience of incredibly claustrophobic dread, a sense of impending doom on every page. Long story short, it was a very heavy reading experience, a lot to process. But it was spectacularly written, to convey that depth of sense and emotion. Relatedly, in the words and interactions of many (really, all) of the characters (no matter their affiliation to the refugee crisis that the book is built around), there is so much deep-seated (and understandable) anger/rage and fear and resentment, born of myriad types of helplessness/lack of control, from the daily to the administrative to the governmental to the military/orders, to those more immutable reasons, like age and gender and country/language of origin, etc. The way El Akkad brings to life how hope has curdled for some and remains for others, yet all continue their fight(s) for a future/survival because, truly, what other option is there, is visceral. A profound reading experience. 

 

With perspectives that include Amir, Vanna, a refugee camp leader, a military law enforcement official with a long history of involvement in government-backed violence against civilians, and a number of snippets of other passengers on the boat with Amir, this novel covers a gamut of realities of the lives of those involved in refugee crises. This one has clear roots in and connection to the current Middle East/Syria/Turkey/Greece situation, there are shades of many in this one example. Some of the perspectives, at times, veer into a sort of satirical and sarcastic commentary while others border on an almost painful naivete/fragility, all while remaining entirely authentic. It was an emotional juxtaposition tough to grapple with at times, but in the way that makes for great contemporary and representative literature. Primarily, El Akkad deftly illustrates the predatory way governments (and in some ways, freelance smugglers, though with the grain of salt that they too are facing whatever challenges make human smuggling their best option) take so much advantage of those with limited options/opportunities. The way he writes how the law, the world, see and treat those struggling for just a chance at something even remotely better as less than human, the way that somehow their "law-breaking" becomes their dominant trait, as opposed to any more human characteristic, is heartrending. Relatedly, the commentary on the parallel morality of soldiers, who must "break" morals to "keep peace/other morals," is affecting in its calling out of so much hypocrisy.  

 

Finally, I cannot close this review without a quick note about the ending. I am willing to bet that the way it ended is a major reason it made this longlist. It was....so unexpected. I missed all the references in the titles and a few small moments/name references along the way that alluded to it, so it hit me right in the solar plexus. Like, for real knocked me breathless. I am going to try to keep this as vague as possible, so as not to spoil anything. But it was such a crushing feeling after the building of tension and hope throughout the rest of the novel, which is such a profound way of communicating the reality of this crushing tragedy to the reader through the medium of this fictional narrative. If you have read this one, let me know what you thought of the ending... Did you see it coming? Did you know the book was so "meta" going into it? Did you find it as affecting as I did or did it pull you from the narrative (as it kinda did for me before I went back through it in my mind and realized what had happened/what I had missed)? What a reading experience! 

 

"Every man you ever meet is nothing but the product of what was withheld from him, what he feels owed.” 

 

“She has seen so many over the past year: alone, malnourished; orphaned by war or by sea; made into the undercurrents of themselves, broken in ways that rendered them unable to continue as children and yet a part of them left childlike forever.” 

 

“Conscience, brother, is the enemy of survival.” 

 

“But the two kinds of people in this world aren’t good and bad - they’re engines and fuel. Go ahead, change your country, change your name, change your accent, pull the skin right off your bones, but in their eyes they will always be engines and you will always, always be fuel.” 

 

“One should try to believe in things [..] even if they let you down afterward.” 

 

“But it was clearer now, so much so that Amir could differentiate between the voices, and in doing so imagined those beneath him not as a single impossible organism but as individual people, bound by their confines but solitary in their fear.” 

 

“…like all soldiers, they maintain a subconscious ledger of who they are free to hurt and who they are obliged to protect…” 

 

“What beautiful rebellion, to feel into another, to feel anything at all.” 

 

I am not so much into nature writing, as you probably already know (or you can check out my reviews for books like The New Wilderness for a more detailed vibe on this front), but for some reason I have had this little collection on my backburner TBR for a while now. I don't know if it was the slim size, the author's background as a poet, the gorgeous cover, some combination thereof, or something totally unrelated, but I have been interested in seeing what it was all about. 

In this collection of short essays, Nezhukumatathil combines poetry, nature writing and memoir in a heartfelt way. Each piece (at least the majority of them) is titled after a plant/animal (common and Latin) and then the reader gets a chance to experience a few fun facts about that particular flora or fauna, as well as a memory or life lesson or event from Nezhukumatathil's life that relates to it in some way, all told with her gorgeously rhythmic writing. These natural life-personal life connections create such a phenomenally unique and captivating structure for a memoir. As a bonus throughout, the reader is treated to stunning illustrations of a selection of the natural wonders Nezhukumatathil writes about or refers to.

I really enjoyed the time I spent with this collection. Each was short and sweet (literally and figuratively) and that made for a perfect "taking a short break" or "unwinding before bed" read-one-or-two essays consumption style. The balance of natural science and literary vibes was perfect for me: enough to teach and enrapture and flow but never too much in either direction. While I really liked the way Nezhukumatathil incorporated and tied nature and natural phenomena back to her own life experiences and lessons, for the most part, I do have to say that a couple of the parallels and connections felt a bit strained, almost like trying too hard to pull things together. Regardless, and despite the at times serious observations about racism/sexism/extinction/environmental decay, there is an overall feeling of youthful exuberance to this reading experience. It reminded me of some of the juvenile nonfiction titles I see at work, books titled something like "weirdest nature facts," but for adults. And we could all use that kind of awe in our lives sometimes. 

I want to mention a few of my favorite pieces from the collection, for posterity purposes, I guess. But also, if you have read this, let me know if we have any favorites in common! Anyways, I particularly loved or was impressed by: "Touch-Me-Nots," "Dancing Frog," "Corpse Flower," "Potoo," "Questions While Searching for Birds with My Half-White Sons," "Southern Cassowary," and "Monarch Butterfly."

Overall, Nezhukumatathil's unfettered joy in and wonder at the world around us comes through with clarity and passion on every page of this book. She addresses the way nature can teach us lessons about getting through life's challenges in a way that is both uplifting and validating. And the writing itself has art and beauty in it, while remaining accessible. I have to say that this is unambiguously my favorite nature-writing that I've ever experienced (lingually and visually), meditative and marvelous, and I would definitely recommend it. 

“There is a time for stillness, but who hasn't also wanted to scream with delight at being outdoors?”

“Under a brilliant moon, and unbeknownst to us, the darkened world silvers and shimmers from pink and ebony wings, a small thunder. We can't possibly hear such an astonishing wind while we try to keep in step with our small dances on this earth. But we should try. We should try.”

“It is this way with wonder: it takes a bit of patience, and it takes putting yourself in the right place at the right time. It requires that we be curious enough to forgo our small distractions in order to find the world.” 

 

Y'all. I did it. What started as an impulse vacation read turned paranormal romance binge (to address being in a "meh' end of year mood) that ended with me being totally (and unexpectedly) invested in this series. And, fifteen books later, I have finished! I feel weirdly accomplished. This was by no means a strenuous reading experience, as the novels were all fast and easy reads, escapist to the extreme for me. But it was a three-ish month project, which is a legit time investment. 

 

This was a consummate wrap-up story. The first of the series that did not have a specific focal couple, but instead gave us final visits with the majority of the pairs that we'd met throughout the series. Although, to be fair, there were scattered letters from the past years that Father Xavier had written to his lost love, Nina, and we do get to see the way that couple's story ends (or re-begins, if you will) so I guess you could argue them as, if not a centerpiece, a connecting thread. Otherwise, we check in and get status reports, essentially, for many, along with a number of inter-species and intra-PsyNet concerns popping up that add that little bit of plot-structure/intrigue to this book, but mostly set up the primary conflicts for the next “season” in this series. 

 

I can’t say that this was a particular favorite of mine, of the fifteen, but it’s also one of those books that I am really glad was written and that I had a chance to read. It was almost like a really elongated epilogue, tying things up for us as readers, primarily with character/relationship details, and I am really satisfied by the chance to get that. This is a pretty big reading investment and I would have been frustrated to be left with loose ends, etc. I know myself. So, here we are. We get a big dose of Lucas and Sascha and baby Naya, which makes sense, as they began it all and, with Naya, have become a focal point for all species-mixing dissidents post-Silence. Seeing Lucas take lead on Trinity both makes sense and feels right. And while it’s all surface-level, because this is a “for fun” series, not a real political treatise series, there was some good and interesting discussion about the best ways to make the cooperation successful long term. I also, surprisingly, was into the insight we get into Nikita here – she ended up being a really compelling character. 

 

In addition, we get a culminating look at how far the DarkRiver/SnowDancer Alliance has come, which was super cool to see. It’s a case of having been inside something so long, you forget how it started – there really was a lot of development. And, with that, considering the adoptions of so many others into the pack(s) as mates, there is a real show of how interconnected they have all become. The many relationships and communications and trust that have formed over the years was kinda impressive in scope. Seeing it all come together in the end with the celebration for Mercy and Riley’s pupcubs was, if not high literature or writing genius, quite gratifying. (There were a couple moments during said party, one with Walker/Lara and one with Kaleb that most definitely had me tearing up – I’m emotional, #sorrynotsorry). 

 

Finally, the couple storyline/character integrations and introductions that show where the series might be headed next, in addition to the politics around Trinity. There is a major focus on the continued absence of the many kidnapped BlackSea pack members, as well as the cooperation from Human Alliance and Arrows to find them. There is the natural focus on Naya as a symbol – to be used/destroyed, mostly. There is more info given about some new Psy powers, like the Mercant family and Pax Marshall, as well as a new threat to the fabric of the PsyNet. There is more page time for the changeling pack we met in Aden/Zaira’s story, as well as some great cooperation (that we will hopefully see more of) between the Arrows and the Forgotten. 

 

Honestly, I can’t say I am not interested in reading more and seeing where this series/world goes from here. I was, have been, impressed with how much character development and world-building I ended up getting from what I figured would mostly be standalone romances. Although sometimes that meant the romance ended up second seat to the plot/drama, I was invested enough by that point to want to know what happens regardless. (And while there was a lot more death/violence/trauma than I had been expecting, I settled into that as a reader eventually as well.) However, I also am at a point where I am satisfied with where everything has been left and I think it’s a good time for a break from this and to get into other books/series (or romances that retain a little more steam, since there’s less extraneous stuff going on). But the next arc of this series will remain on my radar when I am looking for my next escapist binge. 

 

This is another book, I've had a couple of these recently, that I got as an ALC from Libro.fm without really knowing anything about it or having seen any reviews of it. In fact, in the couple months that I have had it before getting around to listening to it, I still haven't seen many (if any) reviews of it, though it has been featured in a few TBR stacks. Anyways, I was really surprised to see that it was so short! And not just short but, after getting the book at the library as well (I like to have a physical copy on hand while listening, if possible, and was very glad to in this case especially, as there were so many passages that I wanted to transcribe), physically tiny, like Adichie's Dear Ijeawele or We Should All be Feminists. However, do not let the size/length fool you, this little book hits like a ton of bricks! 

 

Assembly's unnamed narrator is a Black British woman, a millennial, a "model" citizen who followed the conflicting directions the world threw at her about achievement and being the best, but doing so in an unobtrusive way. As she travels to her boyfriend's family's country estate to prepare for a celebration his parents are hosting, she reflects on a recent job promotion, news about her health, and her life trajectory in general.     

 

I'm just gonna start this review with a repeat statement: this tiny book hits like a ton of freaking bricks. It's one that could easily be read/listened to in a single sitting, but that you purposefully want to split into shorter readings because you need the time to process and digest. Because somehow, in these hundred pages, Brown manages to address, and scathingly call out, everything from racism to sexism to capitalism to nationalism to classism. And she does it in a way that is both intelligently (mildly subtly) integrated, yet absolutely unmistakable. In addition to that, the words themselves have a phenomenal cadence to them, a sort of urgent poetry, in which you can feel the deliberate precision of every word chosen. You can almost literally feel the intensity; it is genius writing. 

 

As a millennial woman myself, though not Black or British (for full transparency for what I can relate to personally and what experiences are not my own), I have to say that I did identify with quite a few of the workplace/career/capitalist related commentaries. The way Brown speaks about the external expectations of reaching for an arbitrarily defined, supposedly universal “goal” to prove you’ve “succeeded” in the "proper” way - and the confines of those standard expectations - was deeply relatable. In fact, no literature I have ever read has so successfully and succinctly portrayed that most millennial of feelings. Similarly, Browns' existential questioning about purpose resonates. Taking it even further, she also speaks to race/class/sex issues surrounding “cultural capital," and the unattainable expectations on immigrants/racial minorities (and to some extent, though less applicable in her personal case, the poor). Her commentary on the never-ending requirements and owe-ing and assimilation as the only option for survival/advancement, despite incessant financial/societal payment already rendered, and the fact that nothing of the sort should be required to exist as a fully recognized human in the first place, is acerbic. 

 

A final note, because I was undecided by the end: if you have read this, did you think her health situation (keeping it vague to avoid any potential for spoilers) was real or a metaphor? I felt like it was addressed a few times as real in the story, but also functioned as a gorgeous and horribly real metaphor, and I just couldn't decide. I mean there is nothing that says it can't be both, but really, I'd love to hear your thoughts! 

 

Well, holy wow. This little book was sharply insightful in a way that comes across as satirical, but is too real to actually be satirical. It was mind-blowing in the profundity of its brevity. A pointed and cuttingly effective indictment. Overall, I really recommend this quick, and quite affecting, reading experience. 

 

There were so many passages and quotes that jumped at me (which should come as no surprise, if you read the rest of the review). Enjoy this selection...and then go pick this one up for yourself: 

 

“The familiar rhythms of our stacked lives have become a kind of closeness.” 

 

“It was survival only in the sense that a meme survives. Generational persistence, without meaning or memory.” 

 

“I’d traded in my life for a sliver of middle-class comfort.” 

 

“I knew these were the things to want, the right things to reach for. But I felt sick of reaching, enduring. Of the ascent.” 

 

“Dread. Every day is an opportunity to fuck up. Every decision, every meeting, every report. There's no success, only the temporary aversion of failure. Dread. [...] I repeat the day over, interrogate it for errors or missteps or - anything. Dread, dread, dread, dread. Anything at all could be the thing that fucks everything up. I know it. Dread. [...] I don’t remember when I didn't feel this.” 

 

“But there’s always something else: the next demand, the next criticism. This endless complying, attaining, exceeding - why?” 

 

“It’s disorientating, prevents you from forming an identity. Living in a place you're forever told to leave, without knowing, without knowledge. Without history.” 

 

“But what it takes to get there isn't what you need once you’ve arrive.” 

 

“Their culture becomes parody on my body.” 

 

“You cannot cut through their perception of reality.” 

 

“Be the best. Work harder, work smarter. Exceed every expectation. But also, be invisible, imperceptible. Don't make anyone uncomfortable. Don't inconvenience. Exist in the negative only, the space around. Do not insert yourself into the main narrative. Go unnoticed. Become the air.” 

 

“It’s evident now, obvious in retrospect as the proof of root-two's irrationality, that these world superpowers are neither infallible, nor superior. They're nothing, not without a brutally enforced relativity. An organized, systematic brutality that their soft and sagging children can scarcely stomach - won't even acknowledge. Yet cling to as truth. There was never any absolute, no decree from God. Just vicious, random chance. And then, compounding.” 

 

“How do we examine the legacy of colonization when the basic facts of its construction are disputed in the minds of its beneficiaries? [...] ...a deliberate exclusion and obfuscation within the country's national curriculum. Through this, more than records were destroyed. The erasure itself was erased.” 

 

“Surviving makes me a participant in their narrative.” (Holy fucking shit what a line, what an insight, what a realization.) 

 

 

“We get the world we have, not the one we want. But we can make this one better.” 

 

Choosing to read this one was a unique process for me. I had never heard of it, not seen any reviews of it, but had the option to get an ALC from Libro.fm a few months ago. The title caught my attention, so I decided to go for it. And for the first time in a long time, I went into a book with no idea what it was about (I never even read the blurb, actually) and having no frame of reference for what other readers thought of it. (What I learned from this experience is that I have spent years getting to know myself as a reader and curating my TBR accordingly, so while I am here to take a chance now and again, I will also probably not make this a new habit.)  

 

It's the late 1920s in Tennessee and Two Feathers is a young Cherokee woman who works as a horse-diver in one of Glendale Park Zoo's more popular attractions. When a disaster happens during one of her shows, Two ends up injured and having to take a break from her work from the park. However, they allow her to stay on, under the care and supervision of the boarding house-mother Helen, Glendale's lead zookeeper and WWI vet Clive, and her close friend on staff Hank Crawford, a fellow sort-of-sidelined employee, as a Black man in the segregated South. At the same time, weird things start to happen at the Park, like a hippo falling ill, spirits becoming visible (and acting on the environment), a creepy-mysterious admirer obsesses over Two, and more. The zoo employees and various community members come together to work to get to the bottom of what's going on, while working to protect the zoo, the animals, and the history/memory of the land they're on. 

 

Well, I don't usually read historical fiction, and I have never really been a fan of zoos (it's a whole thing, but I won't go into it here), so I'm glad I didn't know much more about this one going in, or I may not have picked it up. That being said, it was a very unique read. I have never read anything set in this region, during this time period, that I know of. And mayyyyyyybe something I read in high school would qualify, but if it did, it sure wasn't anywhere near as representative of the actual population as this was (more explicitly: it would have been written by a white man, with a typically white-male-author-of-the-time-period POV and fullness, or lack thereof, of representation). That being said, one of the biggest strengths of this novel is the fully rendered portrait of the historical time/setting. It's a nuanced and historically insightful look at race relations and social stratifications in the US south (past, even, the black/white that is most familiar, with Two Feathers' Cherokee background/family necessarily including an Indigenous perspective). The way Verble illustrated the way that segregation (in effect, racism) affected everyone and everything from small day to day life details to the realities of getting medical attention to all the interpersonal relationships, was complex and thorough. As the anthropological “science” beliefs of the time period about racial differences were liberally spoken of/referred to, it was illuminating to see things that I’d read about in nonfictional texts illustrated in fictional full life examples. 

 

A few other societal and cultural aspects were similarly well-developed and central to the novel. First, I had never heard of (or at least, not that I remember) anything related to the Scopes Trial before now. It was a fascinating historical detail about the ideas about evolution at the time. And really, it is ridiculous how much we are still how we’re still dealing with the same religious arguments 100 years later… *giant eye roll* In fact, the entire religious-based moral underpinnings of society that this novel explores were really interesting, from how it affected the outlooks on the argument of evolution to the support/practice of prohibition to romantic relationships. I had some idea about religious enmity, because I know the Catholic-Protestant tension was a serious familial issue for my grandparents, in their “mixed” marriage on that front. But I only understand it in overview, conceptually, not in the intensity that some of the details here show. There was also a visceral WWI PTSD portrayal – ooooof.   

 

A few other notes. There was a buzz of tension underlying the entire story. It was exhausting in its constancy, which is great, from a “well-written vibe” perspective. And really, it did build to something(s) pretty bad happening, so it’s not like it wasn’t warranted. But for some reason, it never felt as horrible on paper as I was expecting the “finale” to be. Like, it was upsetting and bloody, but also, the ugliest (as far as violence goes) part felt deserved, so I wasn’t upset in the way the tension build had me expecting. For some reason, that combination made the final reaction experience fall flat for me. And I was a little disappointed in that, after such a subtle but well-done build to it. I also had to put out quite a bit of effort in tracking characters – there were lots of them on and off the page quickly (all named and many really unimportant/ in the long run). There were also lots of zoo animals with very human-sounding names and since Two Feathers spoke to many of them as I they were human, I sometimes lost track of which was which. It was a bit annoying, a lot of effort on me as a reader, but possibly would have been fine if I didn’t wander mentally while reading (which I was doing, not infrequently, because while the setting and historical build and atmosphere were great, the plot itself moved slowly and didn’t keep my attention as much as I would have liked for a mystery/thriller-ish story). 

 

I did really like the “spirit” narrator, Little Elk, as his perspective brought historic Indigenous beliefs and traditions (lost to the everyday realities of the time, and well as much of today, due to colonization, forced assimilation, and genocide of Native peoples.) It didn’t always fit the story/plot development, but since the highlight of this novel was the breadth of the historical detail, I thought it was great. As a specific note here, I loved that Two Feathers “falling from the sky” is in parallel to some Indigenous origin folklore/beliefs (that I’ve read about in other places – it is not specifically described in that way here) in a very cool way. 

 

To sum up… This was a really unique historical fiction/mystery/magical realism sort of mashup. I loved the way Verble skirted that line of real or fantastical (the same way Once Upon a River did – if you read and enjoyed that, this one is worth a try). And the historical setting felt incredibly tangible and authentic, and really educational, if I’m being honest. I Googled a number of things while reading. But there was a slow pacing to the story itself that I wasn’t necessarily expecting or prepared for, especially after I started to recognize the feeling of the tension build that comes with a mystery plot, and that caused me to disengage a few times while listening. Overall, a really solid novel, but not a favorite for me.   

 The second to last book. This spur of the moment, vacation-inspired, three-month-long, paranormal romance binge is almost at its close. 

We get another Arrow story in this fourteenth book. Our male MC is Aden, the Arrow leader and, up until now, very mysterious character. Although he has the loyalty of all the major Arrows, we don’t know a lot about him or his power individually (though it’s been hinted he’s more than he seems). And our female lead is Zaira, another Arrow, and one who we haven’t seen much of until now, other than knowing that she leads the compound where Arrows who managed to escape Ming’s “elimination” protocols are being hidden. This novel opens with Aden and Zaira being separately kidnapped and waking up disoriented, separated from the PsyNet, and chipped, in a remote bunker. As they work together to both escape and track down the perpetrators, they reveal an insidious and far-reaching conspiracy threatening the fragile peace the world has found in the wake of the fall of Silence. They must work to both lead the charge against that invisible external enemy, in addition to the internal threats to the Arrows themselves, as they try to overcome decades of conditioning against feelings and emotion, a fight that Aden and Zaira face between themselves as well. 

This is clearly the first part in what I would call a dual episode finale, if it was a tv show. All the major characters we’ve been introduced throughout the series are starting to come together, as the barriers between and amongst species are starting to come down. And that budding cooperation and communication is put to an extreme test with a newly introduced destabilizing force – one that most of this book is dedicated to uncovering. I enjoyed seeing the ways these nascent connections managed to stand up against the threat – open communication is such a balm, in any situation. This was also much more a mystery/thriller than some of the other books, as a result of all the data gathering and sharing as the perpetrators were tracked. A different sort of vibe, but one that fit the moment in the series, developmentally, and allowed the space and opportunity for everyone to start coming together. Relatedly, the way the Aden works to bring species together to support the rehabilitation of the Arrows, emotionally/socially, is deeply satisfying and made my heart smile (and ache a bit). It was a great way to show that diverse groups can come together in harmonious ways, in addition to when they in danger/tragedy. 

As for Aden and Zaira, I liked them for their past and their story and their vulnerabilities/needs, they were a wonderful pairing in so many ways. They showed how much the outwardly strong need their own support systems (the circumstances of their meeting, the growth of their relationships, and the weight of both of their “childhoods” are deeply painful to read, so content warning for quite a bit of child abuse) for healing and recovery, which was great. But in comparison to many of the other couples from previous books, they just weren’t a favorite. I think in part it was because, since they were both Arrows, the “thawing” period was more complex, and both were high up in the command structure, which made it hard for there to be too many sexy scenes. Plus, considering how much else was going on (and what all was being set up for the finale), there wasn’t a lot of room for it here either. Overall, this was such a macro story that the micro got less attention. And that totally made sense under the circumstances, and I was/am invested enough at this point to want to see how this series wraps up regardless, duh. But this wasn’t one that had my heart racing or my palms getting sweaty or anything. 

This was definitely more of a set-up story than anything else, and as such was a bit all over. That being said, the pacing for the unfolding of the events was solid and the plot aspects did keep my attention. Plus, I really am totally here for the Arrows and their efforts for a better future for themselves – I’ve developed a major soft spot for them all – so I am glad we’re getting a full wrap-up and trajectory re-setting for them. Basically, this book did what it needed to and got me prepped, so I am ready for a full jump into the finale.   

  

 

 

 

This is the next book in my goal of reading through the 2022 Aspen Words Literary prize longlist. Or, in this case, listen through, as I went with the audiobook for this one. It's my fourth, of the sixteen, so I still have a ways to go, but as I mentioned, I'm making this year a more leisurely experience, as opposed to my attempt to finish them all prior to the shortlist announcement last year. Anyways, onwards to the review. 

 

The Five Wounds is a family saga, epic in depth and scale, if not in the traditional time-bound sense, as the events of the story all take place over a single year. It opens during Holy Week in a small town in New Mexico, as Amadeo Padilla plays the role of Jesus in that year's Good Friday procession. He has high hopes that this experience will help him turn around a life that seems marked by his failures. During the crux of his preparations, his 15-year-old daughter Angel, who he hasn't really seen or had contact with in years, shows up on his doorstep, pregnant. She's had a fight with her mother and is looking to stay with him. Although these two stories, and the way they intertwine towards a redemptive future for them both, are the main threads of the story, we also see the way other familial strands intersect as well. In particular, we meet Amadeo's mother, Yolanda, who is reeling after recent news about her health, Angel's mother, Marissa, who is trying to repair the relationship with her daughter, and Brianna, the educator for the adolescent pregnancy/parenting program that Angel is enrolled in. 

 

This novel is absolutely all about the characters and their development. There is minimal plot, really. And what plot there is can basically be guessed at, since you know that, eventually, Angel has to give birth and the health news Yolanda gets will progress. But other than that, as a reader, you are just along for the ride during this family's deeply transformative year. And what an intimate ride it is, with internal crises across the board, and numerous environmental factors, spilling over into external interactions. I mostly don't want to give too much away about the characters' arcs, since that's the bulk of the journey in these pages, but I do want to mention a few character aspects that gave me pretty vibrant reactions. Overall, these are all characters that are tough to read because of the (sometimes ugly, unlikable) recognizable truths of them, but are, of course, all the more compelling because of that. First, Amadeo's needy martyr-y thing really repulsed me, I have to be honest. The feelings of impotence that he carried evoked visceral feelings in me, and even though I did see the shame and lack of confidence (and his well meaning, if bumbling, efforts towards Angel and the baby) that made me empathize with him, I also really struggled to like him at all. A very well-written character though, and I loved that. Angel herself was an endearing character, as far as the effort and hopes she held as a young mother, despite and in the face of everything outside her control that threatened to shatter her carefully constructed, but still new/flimsy, scaffolding. While you want to scream at her unhealthy coping mechanism of pushing people away out of a need for people to fight to show they cared, an unfortunately self-fulfilling prophecy, it's also so understandable. Brianna was a fascinating and complex character, navigating the complexities of being boots on the ground and idealism for her work, with how real life can make success so difficult. As a public health professional, this is so real. And though you hate the way she handles certain things, there is also, as with all the other characters' unhealthy/questionable decisions, a personal understanding of how/why she does what she does. With Yolanda, the reader gets to see the way being too protective can sometimes lead to harmful outcomes, even when that wasn;t the intention. That kind of thing is, like the rest of these stories and realities, painful to read sometimes, but deeply recognizable. 

 

There are a number of other themes that I want to mention that were affecting (though this was a slower read and fairly non-plot, it was affecting on a lot of levels), but they don't have much flow, necessarily, so this paragraph is likely to be a bit choppy cause I'm going to just list them all out. The intergenerational family patterns, and the efforts to try to change that trajectory, and the successes and failures therein, were super emotional. Related, the way that parenthood at/for different ages changes one’s perspective to an extreme, while not something I personally have experience with, seemed very accurate. The way Quade illustrates how restrictions from the environment/world/community can push people into coping mechanisms so unhealthy for them that the consequences reach out and hurt/affect those around them as well…is was so heartbreaking. And even just within this small family unit, the way those harmful coping mechanisms put characters into so much conflict with each other shows with profundity how much more extreme the reverberations would get with an ever growing/wider population. There is an interesting exploration of sexuality, which combined with unrequited love, and how we can’t control who stays with us and who doesn’t, and why we can’t just make ourselves like/love the easiest option, was sensitive and stirring. The look at end of life pain and decision-making and grief hit right in the feels. Quade examines substance use and addiction prominently and realistically throughout, but never in the way that takes over the characters themselves, which is so impressive. One of the major, and most breathtaking, themes was the exploration of the many ways redemption can look, the paths it can take, the circle of starting and restarting one can find themselves in. And as a deep uniting force towards the end, the way tragedy brings people together and, within that, the way people can surprise you, the way their mark stays on you even when you don’t want it to. And finally, I must mention the overarching and intricately interwoven inclusion, central to this novel’s heart, of the decisions we make and the actions we take despite our better judgment, objective knowledge, and all indications to the contrary. 

 

The intricate family dynamics of this story, the story of a broken/damaged family and the love amongst them that tries its best anyways, are deeply recognizable, in all the good and the bad ways. This is a setting, a story, a family that is painted so clearly and genuinely that the anger and empathy you have in reaction, as a reader, matches, so well, the many emotions and confusion about emotions and navigating emotions that these characters themselves feel. It's a novel that is so tender and intimate and real that you cannot help it getting under your skin, completely burrowing in. And after all those blows to your emotional psyche, the ending leaves you with the perfect ache that comes with that ever present hope in, promise of the future.  spectacular piece of literature. 

 

“Having children is terrifying, the way they become adults and go out into the world with card and functioning reproductive systems and credit cards, the way, before they've developed any sense or fear, they are equipped to make adult-size mistakes with adult-sized consequences.” 

 

“Yolanda is an optimist. Yolanda considers herself a happy person. Her life is filled with love and family and friends. She likes people, believes they are basically good. But this doesn't change her simultaneous belief that the universe is essentially malevolent, life booby-trapped with disaster. [...] ...somewhere buried in their past someone committed the first act of violence, and every generation since has worked to improve upon that violence, adding its own special flourish. [...] Generations of injury chewed like blight into the leaves of the family tree..." 

 

“It’s amazing to her how the human body can stretch, and she thinks that if the heart can, too, maybe it can stretch big enough to fit them all.” 

 

“She expected, after all, that people would mistreat her - that people in general mistreat other people - and though she minded, really minded, what she wanted was the time after, when they would be closer for it. Even if [they] had lied outright [...], Angel would have believed them. Even in the face of glaring evidence, Angel would have believed them, because she needs them.” 

 

“It is so easy to cut people out, to make permanent rifts. She hadn't known this. She'd always thought there was room for fights, for cruelty, that things would work themselves out, given enough time, given enough honest conversation. She hadn't ever really wanted to push any of them away - she was only asking them to draw her close again, testing to see whether they’d let her go.” 

 

“…he pities his old self, the self that once believed there was a single, big thing he could do to make up for all his failings. He missed the point. The procession isn't about punishment or shame. It is about needing to take on the pain of loved ones. To take on that pain, first you have to see it. And see how you inflict it.” 

 

“What she means is that there were a million moments when events might have unfolded differently [...], when a word, a gesture, a smile from a caring adult might have changed her course, might still.” 

 

“Love: both gift and challenge.”