Y'all - I love Samantha Irby. I read we are never meeting in real life last year, my first of her collections, and it was just...so good! Wonderfully hilarious with that tempering mix of some more serious (though still delivered with Irby's perfect comedic tone) topics. But yea, it was great. So I knew I'd be reading more from her as soon as as possible and a six hour drive for work was the perfect moment to dive into this one. I am a huge fan of author narrated memoirs/essays on long solo car trips - it makes me feel like someone is there with me, keeping me company. Plus, the humor in this collection was spot on, keeping me awake and invested! 

 

This is Irby's most recent publication, so she's a little older now, around 40 at the time of the writing (as per her essays), and the topics she speaks to are accordingly more "mature." And by mature, I definitely mean the types of things that happen and matter and you have to deal with as you get to that middle age, not necessarily (in most cases) that her handling of said situations was more mature. Which is good, becasue that combination of "adult" situations with "non-adult" responses is, in fact, incredibly relatable and very much a signature trait (which I feel comfortable saying, now that I've read a second of her collections). 

 

In these essays, Irby covers topics from home repairs (where/how do people learn that?) to making friends as an adult (it's basically impossible) to step-parenting (not a thing I've experienced, but as a person, like herself, who doesn't want to have kids, her reactions seem reasonable and understandable) to being totally connected to her phone in a way she won't apologize for (yup, I feel that). There was also a smattering of other things, just some generally funny essays about ridiculous things that are better than sex or worth calling 911 for, some of the wierdest things she's done as a result of financial issues (as in, lack of them), the story of how she was basically dragged into being published for the first (and second) time, relationship insight/advice (ish), and some actually really interesting essays about being optionjed for tv and staff-writing for a short-run tv series. This collection felt a little all over, but Irby's writing style and humor are so approachable and comical that I didn't really mind the lack of greater cohesion or arc. I honestly was all-in for the high level entertainment value...and was not disappointed on that front.       

 

If I'm honest, I think I liked wow, no thank you ever more than we are never meeting in real life. Maybe it's because it spoke deeply to my getting-older soul. Maybe it's because I listened to this one (and Irby's narration is fucking spectacular) instead of traditional reading a physical copy. Maybe Irby is just aging into/with her writing like a fine wine. Regardless, this was laugh out loud funny (for real), incredibly relatable, chock full of lovely casual bisexual and disability rep, and basically everything I was looking forward to it being. 

“As I pondered a pronoun change, I began to think of gender less as a scale and more as a landscape. Some people are born in the mountains, while others are born by the sea. Some people are happy to live in the place they were born, while others must make a journey to reach the climate in which they can flourish and grow. Between the ocean and the mountains is a wild forest. That is where I want to make my home.” 

 

Alright so I have been on the top of the library waitlist for this one for months because whoever checked it out right before me never brought it back! So, I had to wait for it to be considered a full-on loss and for a new copy to be ordered and shipped and processed, etc. But now...I have to say I kind of get it, because I don't really want to give it back either. 

 

This graphic memoir (see me again, loving these graphic memoirs!) chronicles the journey of the author, Maia Kobabe (e/em/eir), through the complex and meandering journey of figuring out who e is, somewhat in general but also, more specifically, in regards to eir gender and sexuality. And then, as that starts to fall into place for eirself, e also details the difficult and lifelong task of attempting to communicate something that layered to...literally everyone e interacts with. 

 

This was spectacular, both in medium as a graphic novel and in content as a memoir of gender and sexuality. I feel like I'm starting to have read enough graphic memoirs (and a smattering of fiction/novels) to be able to reasonably comment on pacing and "technical" stuff like that, and this one nailed it. The panels were so clear, the perfect mix of text and visual communication, each building off and complementing the other in ways that they couldn't have done alone, and the style and color scheming of the illustrations themselves fit perfectly with the "story" being told. I was never confused about who/what was who/what (like I was, a bit, with The Times I Knew I Was Gay). And overall I just flew through reading this. 

 

Looking with a bit more detail at the content... Basically this book is (wonderfully) a low-key indictment of the incorrectness and limitations of the binary system of gender that we've [mainstream] culturally backed ourselves into, from both a personal identity and (a little bit towards the end) biological perspective. Kobabe's confusion, in trying to find who e is in a society that will not talk, teach or consider other (read: not the binary) options of sex/gender/sexuality - which leads to zero exposure - is open and honest and deeply personal and tender. Eir way of communicating that “what is happening in my head” was particularly incredible and insightful, really showing the reader how disconcerting it is to not have the vocabulary to describe who you are, not just with other people, but also not even for yourself. Just...it's almost beyond imagining how hard that must be. Even harder when, after managing to figure some things out, society continues to cause struggle by telling you what you're feeling internally isn’t possible. All that being said, it definitely made for a number of heart-filling moments, reading Kobabe's own times of clarity and realization about eirself (along these lines, the quote at the top, about the gender landscape, was just such an impactful reading moment). 

 

Every "blurb" of this book I've seen has used the word "cathartic" to describe the vibe and content. Based on some of Kobabe's own words, I can see why, and that it may truly have been so, at least on some levels, for em. But I also think there's more to it than that. It's inspiring and wonderful, but also frustrating and unnecessarily confusing (for Kobabe, and any other gender non-conforming persons). Eir experience did not have to be this complicated. It shouldn't be for anyone. So I applaud, with deep emotion and awe, Kobabe's strength and vulnerability in sharing this journey, in general and in the hopes it could help someone else's journey be a bit easier. But wouldn't it be better if it didn't take such incredible displays and constant (never-ending) educating/coming out on the part of anyone to make it possible. 

 

 

 
 

 

Well, this is just one of those big-name recent releases that I knew I needed to read. And then I actually read an interview with Kendi and Blain and the audiobook producer (does anyone else that works/spends time in a library read Book Page?) where they talked about matching the full cast of narrators to easy essay/chapter and how important the voice/vibe/topic match was. Which happened around the same time that Libro.fm offered the audiobook as an ALC...and here we are! 

 

Well, the subtitle of this fairly epic collection, A Community History of African America 1619-2019, pretty well sums up the contents. This is a collection of close to one hundred essays and poems that tell the history of Africans in America, retelling the history of America within the frame of this perspective. With authors whose backgrounds range from historian to sociologist to lawyers to journalists to artists and more, this chronological look at four hundred years of African-American history (from first arrival through slavery, segregation, migration, general cultural and systemic oppression and violence, along with resistance, art and creativity, and myriad examples of the constant pushing of boundaries) is stunningly successfully ambitious in scope (which should come as no surprise, considering the curators).   

This is a really unique book to review because it was so...all-encompassing. I think it's going to be tough to speak to anything individually, since this was such a sweeping history, and each of the essays felt like it covered so much in such a short time. Reviewing it all seems like a nigh-on impossible task. That being said, I'll kind of give some broad sweeping thoughts/reactions, perhaps add a few more specific comments (for flavor!), and then just close out with a recommendation to read (or, really, listen - the full cast audiobook narration was a spectacular experience) to it yourself. 

 

Starting with a personal note, I have to say that, as a twice-graduate of UNC-Chapel Hill, starting this right after their recent self-inflicted BS bad rep post the non-tenure-granting to Nikole Hannah-Jones, was stark and poignant, since the opening essay (the arrival in 1619 of the first Africans to this land) was by her (and the "not" reason for her not-tenure was most definitely related to her involvement with th 1619 Project). As a good friend said, "truth hurts, UNC." 

 

Moving forwards from there, this was a beautiful compilation of Black voices telling the stories of their history centering them, which is a huge, and necessary, departure from the "conventional" history taught in schools (the authors of which textbooks are, pretty much all, white). It was such a cool way to look at such a large chunk of time too, getting snippets of individual stories that illuminated so many different periods and lives, working together to make a full historical picture. I also absolutely loved the way that so many nuances were added to that picture, with perspectives not commonly considered (like the concept of myriad separate African identities before African American became a "single" thing) and non-mainstream perspectives of common/popular figures and moments (like reflections from a descendant of Plessy from Plessy v Ferguson). Along these same lines, these moments did a really great job exemplifying how often historical figures, whether deserved/beneficial or not, get defined by the time period and not by their person. I also really enjoyed reading from contributors whose other work I know/have read, like Heather McGhee, Kiese Laymon, Angela Davis, Isabel Wilkerson and more, because it was fascinating to see what they felt was most important to highlight in such a short space, in comparison with their longer/other works. Overall, the creative breadth of narrative style was so well executed and curated. And though for some reason in my head this was more a creative nonfiction/fiction collection, rather than a strictly nonfiction/educational collection, in the end it was amazing and it didn't matter what I had expected, because what I got was spectacular. 

 

One benefit to going through these pieces of history so quickly, even though sometimes I definitely wanted more, was that there was a great opportunity to see patterns unfold. For example, watching the evolution of the purposeful dehumanization of Black people (and even more specifically, the differences in the way Black men and Black women were societally stereotyped and/or degendered) and how those socially-created parameters have been codified and accepted as truth today is hard, but so important, to witness. It's a comprehensive look at how we (white people, specially, white politically/economically powerful people) created, for the benefit, the racism that led to slavery and the society we have today. It did not start out that way and so clearly didn't/doesn't have to be that way. 

 

The chance to experience these years in such quick succession emphasized how, over and over, history's pattern of racial disenfranchisement in America has repeated itself. This is particularly striking in juxtaposition with realizing that we accept so many things as "fact" right now that were fabricated so recently as to be within my lifetime (or just before…). Really, this was just such an incredible reading and learning experience. 

 

“This omission is intentional: when we are creating a shared history, what we remember is just as revolutionary as what we forget.” 

 

“It was a womanhood synonymous with market productivity, not motherhood; and with promiscuity rather than modesty or a heightened moral sensibility.” 

 

 “A recovery of the earthly and spiritual equality of all people, both in theory and in practice, is the only way to redeem religion from racism.” 

 

“The 1688 Germantown petition is a model of, if nothing else, a quality that Black people need in white Americans – the uncompromising belief that what is wrong with racism is not that it inhibits full access to American goods and treasures but that it is an affront to the human standing of Black Americans. Black people don’t need allies. We need decent people possessed of the moral conviction that lives matter.” 

 

 “Time and again white racism produced Black resistance. It is one of the longest-running plotlines in African American history.” 

 

“While some nations vow never to forget, our American battle has always been over what we allow ourselves to remember. Our historical record, we know, is subjective. Not every account is written down. The distinction between equity and injustice, riot and uprising, hinges on whose hand holds the pen. So often, it seems, our history is hiding from us, preventing the possibility that we dare look back and tell the truth – afraid of what doing so may require of us now.” 

 

“But true equality cannot be left to the whims of the electorate – it is the predicate for democracy and the vote, not their product.” 

 

“What happens to the person when they become a symbol? Can they be recovered? Can they exist beyond what they embody? In this wrestling over symbols, the individual is sacrificed. They become the unknown.” 

 

“When it comes to our democracy, and who we determine to have the right to vote – our most sacred of rights – patience is no virtue. We must never be patient when someone else’s rights are in the balance. We cannot wait on laws, or elected officials, or anyone else. The only virtue when it comes to the right to vote is impatience.”  

 I read my first book by Hall, Boyfriend Material, last year and I freaking LOVED it. I wrote a spectacularly gushing review. It was so good - the writing/dialogue especially. So, despite the fact that, to be honest, this one didn't sound quite as much up my alley (as far as set-up), I went ahead and added myself to the library waitlist for it as soon as I could. Because I can be talked into enjoying reading almost anything if the writing is solid. And let me just say, I made the right call. 

 

Rosaline Palmer is a single-mother whose main support system(s) are her impossible-to-please parents and a spiky (in the interpersonal relationship sense) ex-girlfriend. Having dropped out of college to raise her daughter, Amelie, she's barely (as in, definitely leaning on her very financially stable parents) making ends meet with her job in a local shop. As a sort of desperate attempt to turn things around, she applies for and gets a spot on the nationally-beloved baking show Bake Expectations. Winning the prize money would be life-changing, and Rosaline does love baking. Things start out pretty rocky for her, if we're being honest, but she does (right away) meet Alain Pope, the sort of self-possessed, well-off, successful man her parents approve of. And he seems really interested in her. But as the competition progresses and Rosaline makes friends with some of the other contestants, including shy electrician Harry Dobson, she starts to realize that, although her dreams for herself look different than her parents dreams for her (and very different than Alain's dreams for her)...and that that's ok. In fact, it's better than ok, and she has the right to follow her own heart and her own plan for her own life. 

 

Alright people, the first and primary and most passionate point I have to make here at the start of this review is OMG Hall has absolutely cemented my unwavering hype in his writing, It's perfect. It's fast and sarcastic and witty, from the descriptions to the dialogue (oh goodness the dialogue - and we all know I'm a sucked for great back-and-forth) and I basically inhaled this novel in a single 4-hour sitting because I couldn't imagine putting it down for a single second (which, for the record, also happened last year when I listened to Boyfriend Material). Like, I'm not really a baking show person and that's the entire plot (I mean, minus the romance, of course), and I was still riveted to the story. Just...GAH. Aas a small extra note there, I really loved the little epilogue/ending with the "where they are now" for the contestants on the show to close out the book. It was a spot-on little touch. 

 

Secondarily to that, and only by a small margin, was the way he wrote Rosaline's sexuality. I have been loving the bisexual MC movement in romance (I see you, Dani Brown and RWARB), but also just in general. I feel like I'd have been able to figure myself out much earlier if this literature had existed years ago, but that's besides the point. I'm glad it's at least here now. So yea, Rosaline's bisexuality plays a major role throughout the novel, in the way others react to her when they find out. Ranging from full acceptance to denial to the (incredibly dangerous) bisexual-as-promiscusous trope and more, Hall does a phenomenal job representing the way a bi person moves through and experiences life and relationships, the good and the iffy and the horrible. There were frustrating moments (like Rosaline's early encounter with her daughter's teacher - which, btw, is an entire argument for teaching openly about LGBTQ+ in schools at an early age given and won with record time), difficult moments (like most of the ones involving Rosaline's parents), wonderful moments (like most of Harry's reactions, tbh), and the literal worst (like, real fear/trauma/sexual assault - on that note, content warning there). 

 

As a follow-up to the content warning point, there are a few other things to beware of before reading this book as well. I have to say, I had a real love-hate reaction to a couple of the relationships in this book because they were terrible, but also, Hall wrote them flawlessly. First, Rosaline with her parents. His depiction of the way parental and societal expectations can so devastatingly mess up what you think you’re looking for and lead you to unhealthy relationships/choices as a result. Second, Rosaline and Alain. The way he showed the slide into an unhealthy relationship, the incremental-ness and nuance to it that makes it so hard to see happening in real time, is spectacularly realistically written and terrifying to read. Altogether, the amount of gaslighting Rosaline endures is heart-wrenching (and made me cheer for her success and standing up for herself - her life and goals and daughter - all the harder).  

 

To end on a happier note, I loved the way Rosaline and her daughter were together (Amelie's quirky 8-year-old self was a highlight of the read for me) and Anvita's personality was just wonderful added fun. Also Harry's quiet humor and openness and steadiness, as well as the way he slowly showed his own vulnerabilities, was cozy and heartwarming. I also truly loved the overall message of the novel - that your everything/enough is different than everyone else's. And that's more than alright. Harry's guidance as Rosaline figures that out for herself and then follows through on it (vehemently, in the best way) had me internally cheering. Her final conversation with her mother, about the privilege of having choices means making those choices for yourself, was really profound and hit me deeply. 

 

While I don't think I'm fan-girling this one like I did for Boyfriend Material, I still enjoyed every second of Hall's mesmerizingly smart, funny, sarcastic story-telling. This book tackles some really tough topics, but also has so much heart and humor (and mouth-watering baked goods), and you can count me in for reading the next in this reality tv baking show romance series when it comes out! 

 

 

“In Rosaline’s experience this was what victory over institutional prejudice looked like: nobody actually apologizing or admitting they’d done anything wrong, but the institution in question generously offered to pretend that nothing had happened.” 

 

“There was, Rosaline thought, something captivating in hearing somebody talk about their passions – it felt intimate, like they were giving you access to some slightly tender part of themselves.” 

 

“No one can have everything. You’ve just got to figure out what matters. And then not let stuff what don’t matter get in the way of stuff what does.” 

 

“Or maybe even wasn’t the point at all and you didn’t have to keep a constant record of who owed what to whom. Because most people, at least more people you wanted in your life, wouldn’t be out to use it against you anyway. It was a strange thought, but a comforting one.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 I’ve really gotten into educational nonfiction over the past few years. I’m not sure what really started it, but honestly, I have enjoyed and appreciated, to a degree I didn’t anticipate, learning and un-learning. I always felt like reading was educational, even fiction (and I stand by that), from a “perspectives different from your own” standpoint. But reading more diversely in a fictional sense has made me want to straight up learn more too, in a nonfictional sense. So, here’s the most recent iteration of that in audiobook, of course, because while I’ve gotten into it, I still need that push through, if you will (and in this case, read by the author, it was absolutely the right call – wonderfully narrated).   

 

Heather McGhee, with a background in the American economy and the myriad inequalities within it, spent years traveling across the US and interviewing people and communities that have somehow managed to succeed within the context of widespread financial crisis in this country. She finds that the root of so many of these economic issues are based in racism, and she examines the fallacy that that structure is based within, the zero-sum paradigm that says progress for some of us might come at the expense of others.  

 

So, I read Stamped From the Beginning last year and un-learned/re-learned so much of what US History in high school told me. It was amazing, but overwhelming, and definitely more than a little crushing. There was just so much there, so much wrong, so much to overcome, and I finished it feeling eye-opened, but kind of defeated. Well, enter this book. It feels like a natural and much-needed continuation that takes the history lessons Kendi gave us, adds even a little more contemporary context, and shows us the path forward. With incredible research and evidence-base, as well as tangible examples, from partnerships and communities who have overcome centuries of ingrained prejudices and come together to find a better situation and future for everyone in a way they could never have achieved in a racial vacuum, McGhee brings action-steps and hope to the table. 

 

This work is based on two major tenets, the fallacy of the zero-sum outlook and what McGhee calls the solidarity dividend (the way we will all benefit the most when we choose to work together over racial differences). These theories are applied across many areas of life from housing to public works to education to unions/jobs to general interactions and more. This is one of those books where I took a ton of notes while reading, so I’m going to kind of just bullet point my thoughts and reactions, as I often do with intense and super informative nonfiction. I’ll end with a little (as much as possible) summary, so feel free to skip right to that as well, haha. 

 

-          I had heard of zero-sum, but the details about how much of a disillusion it is was honestly a bit shocking. The policy level misdirection, using zero-sum as a baseline, that distracts the public from the fact that no progress is being made for all of us (which is the end goal of the solidarity dividend) is astounding.  

-          Related, it was horribly frustrating to see, time and again, how manipulated white people have been/are for generations by the elite/powerful and how we’ve suffered for it. But we can’t even see it past what we’ve been conditioned to believe. 

-          The false narrative of race solidarity being chosen over a class solidarity that, if it existed, could do so much good – causing people to actually side against their own interests in favor (most obviously during segregation practices and people preferring to close their pools rather than open them to Black people, but it continues in myriad and less obvious ways). 

-          On this note, the pattern of predatory racial practices (the economically powerful “practicing” harmful policies populations whose disenfranchisement will be unheeded, and perfecting them in that setting) foretelling the (fully preventable) future downturns for wider racial populations is ignored over and over. 

-          I personally learned so much about unions. I had never really heard anything good about them, in a present-tense way, but this outlining of their advantages for a solidarity dividend (and a recognition of how, like everything, they too can face corruption) in both a historical and a contemporary context, was really eye-opening. It really goes to show how the pattern of race and dog-whistle politics in the US has infiltrated and “ruined” so many positive institutions. 

-          I learned new vocabulary for a concept I totally have felt before, the idea of “last place aversion.” I have experienced this in a sports competition settings (“well, at least I didn’t come in last”), but seeing it play in “real life” is scary. McGhee’s psychological explanations for much of the way that white immigrants sided with white elites against POC and their own interests – because at least they weren’t at the bottom – really illuminates. 

-          I mean, I’ve read a few things that describe and show this, but McGhee is a truly gifted writer, in terms of clarity, and following her explanations of the intertwining of politics/laws, voter suppression (ummm, that that whitest states have easiest voting access…we should definitely be asking more questions there…), economics, property ownership, education (and more) with racism over the centuries is just…wow. 

-          Another note on voting because like, it made me so angry. If I heard anything growing up, it was that the US is an amazing place because we all have the right to vote and it’s a civic duty, etc. etc. And every time I learn more about the many ways that right is withheld and manipulated, the non-representative electorate with voter suppression and the underhanded ways this country strips people of this “inalienable right,” I just…it’s just…I cannot. 

-          Climate change, that politically divisive buzzword. It’s just the most obvious. There’s no way it cannot affect us all – you cannot shut yourself off from or put a barrier between you and the environment. And yet still, the fight to disbelieve it is so strong. The ridiculous ways people think they’re safe enumerated in this chapter are just ridiculous. 

-          I was deeply fascinated by the studies and discussion in the Hidden Wound chapter that talked about the psycho-emotional damage of racism on white people. I realize that completely centers white people (not the goal in a general sense), but that was partially the point for its inclusion and it’s definitely something I hadn’t really considered or been exposed to before. It hit pretty hard to think about having to acknowledge the way you’ve participated in and benefitted from interpersonal/social fear-based racist interactions, over centuries IRL, that you’ve always been able (and put effort into) ignoring/pretending doesn’t exist…how one’s own place in that could cause moral/cognitive distress once you’re committed to addressing it. 

-          In line with the above point, I had never before seen research like what McGhee talked about, how [white] youth’s ability to learn, within a system that contradictorily teaches justice and morality while practicing extreme prejudice in reality, actively results in non-adaptive/violent/bucking authority reactions from students. And it wasn’t new research. Like, how are people not more aware of/concerned about that? Again, white people are hamstringing ourselves based on centuries of divisive BS being fed to us from an elite few.  

 

I want to close out here with another term I learned: targeted universalism. I loved this. It takes into account that success in the face of our challenges will only come when we join across race lines, choosing against the divide-and-conquer tactics of generations. But it also continues to center Black and brown people, those most harmed by this history. Because yes, we have all been harmed, but the most acutely affected are those groups of people of color. McGhee addresses it early on, but the danger in her approach here, the illumination and shifting blame to white political/economic elites is that then we (we in this sense being “regular white people”), can feel relief in doing less to move for change towards racial equality. So, it’s important to be able to feel a bit of relief from guilt and still continue to fight for better. To this end, targeted work must be included within that universal effect to take into consideration those varied situations and backgrounds. What a beautiful and important concept. It helps guide us towards the solidarity dividend that McGhee structures this book around, the idea that we can be more than the sum of our parts. It’s an inspiring and hopeful message, with clear and tangible steps to achieve it. And in the face of centuries of instilled fear and separation that seem impossible to overcome…I needed that and this book. 

 

“I didn’t set out to write about the moral costs of racism, but they kept showing themselves. There is a psychic and emotional cost to the tightrope white people walk, clutching their identity as good people when all around them is suffering they don’t know how to stop, but that is done, it seems, in their name and for their benefit.” 

 

“Yes, the zero-sum story of racial hierarchy was born along with the country, but it is an invention of the worst elements of our society: people who gained power through ruthless exploitation and kept it by sowing constant division. It has always optimally benefitted only the few while limiting the potential of the rest of us, and therefore the whole.” 

 

“White society had repeatedly denied people of color economic benefits on the premise that they were inferior; those unequal benefits the reified the hierarchy, making whites actually economically superior. What would it mean to white people, both materially and psychologically, if the supposedly inferior people received the same treatment from the government?” 

 

“When the people with power in a society see a portion of the populace as inferior and undeserving, their definition of “the public” becomes conditional. It’s often unconscious, but their perception of the Other as underserving is so important to their perception of themselves as deserving that they’ll tear apart the web that supports everyone, including them.” 

 

“If growing cynicism about higher education is the result of this sudden and total shift from public to private, then our entire society will bear the cost.” (I have heard a number of times from people I’ve met/know, “I wish I had never gone to college; it wasn’t worth it.”) 

 

“That’s a late-stage benefit of a forty-year campaign to defund and degrade public benefits; in the end, they’re so stigmatized that people whose lives would be transformed by them don’t even want them for fear of sharing the stigma.” 

 

“Our research showed that color-blind approaches that ignored racism didn’t beat the scapegoating zero-sum story; we had to be honest about racism’s role in dividing us in order to call people to their higher ideals.” 

 

“What is racism without greed?” 

 

“But the systems set up to exploit one part of our society rarely stay contained.” 

 

“To a large degree, the story of the hollowing out of the American working class is a story of the southern economy, with its deep legacy of exploitative labor and divide-and-conquer tactics, going national.” 

 

“In a hierarchical system like the American economy, people often show more concern about their relative position in the hierarchy than their absolute status.” (re: last place aversion) 

 

“Or perhaps, as the sociologists argue, it’s deeper than that: a zero sum between the winners of the hierarchy today and those who are just fighting for air.” 

 

“Denial leaves people ill-prepared to function or thrive in a diverse society.” 

 

“It’s the moral upside down of racism that simultaneously extolls American virtues in principle and rejects them in practice. America’s symbols were not designed to represent people of color or to speak to us – nonetheless, the ideals that signify have been more than slogans; they have meant life or death for us. Equality, freedom, liberty, justice – who could possibly love those ideals more than those denied them? Africans Americans became a people here, and our people sacrificed every last imaginable thing to America’s becoming. The promise of this country has been enough to rend millions of immigrants from their homes, and for today’s mostly of-color immigrants, it’s still enough, despite persecution, detention, and death, to keep them dreaming of finding freedom here. The profound love for America’s ideals should unite all who call it home, of every color – and yet America has lied to her white children for centuries, offering them songs about freedom instead of the liberation of truth.” 

 

“Five Discoveries: solidarity dividend, refill the pool of public goods, one size never fits all, we truly do need each other, a new story together.” 

 

“It’s a powerful, liberating frame to realize that the fallacy of racial hierarchy is a belief system that we don’t have to have.” 

 

 

Oh, my goodness. Honestly, and this is bold, I think Wayfarers might be my favorite series. I mean, I’m bias towards fantasy/sci-fi anyways, so that likely plays a role, but there is truly something so unique and profound and gorgeously recognizable in these characters and their stories. Each of these four novels – The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet, A Closed and Common Orbit, Record of A Spaceborn Few and, finally, The Galaxy, and the Ground Within – takes place in the same (wonderfully diverse and totally original) world, but has such individualistic settings and types of character development (that are, in a way I cannot possibly give enough hype to, so extraordinarily “everyday” despite their extreme foreignness). All that being said, I am heartbroken to hear that this is the final book in this series (and I am totally not giving up hope that we might one day get more – it could happen). 

 

Ouloo and her son, Tupo, run the Five-Hop One-Stop – a way station on the planet Gora, where long-haul travelers can stop to break and stretch their legs, etc. She prides herself on offering something that will make every species comfortable during their stay. When a random tech failure strands her current visitors there for days, these strangers get to know each other and expand their own awareness. Pei, a cargo runner (who readers will recognize from earlier books as the Aeluon who is in a secret relationship with Captain Ashby) gets some personal news that puts her at a major crossroads during this time. Roveg is a Quelin with a very time-sensitive and emotional appointment he needs to keep. Speaker, an Akarak (a mysterious and not-very-well-understood species), finds herself making friends and standing up for her species in a way she never really has before, living mostly on the fringes. And finally, Tupo, the young Laru whose enthusiasm and youthful vibe bring a lightness to the otherwise potentially very somber group, and when xe makes a decision that puts xyrself in harms way, brings the group together in unexpected ways. 

 

As I said in my intro, Chambers has done it again. I cannot freaking get enough of this series: the world, the characters, the perfect diversity, the language, and the incredible social commentary that applies in so many ways to our own Earth-bound reality. And it’s so incredible because it is all so impressive and immersive that I couldn’t put this book down even though, in all honestly, it really had no plot. This was just the most wonderful character-building and interaction-based novel. Chambers can write species coming together in a foreign yet totally familiar way like no one else. The nuances of learning and willingness to communicate and prejudices and defensiveness are written so well. And as a nerd-reader, I love love love the details we get about each species’ traditions and livelihoods and beliefs and histories and the way those are more or less well known, accepted, understood, included within the greater Galactic Commons. I cannot fathom the amount of background work and imagination that went into creating all that, because the skill and depth with which its written, the clarity with which it comes through to the reader, can only be that way as a result of serious unseen scaffolding on Chambers’ part. 

 

In particular, as always, I have to highlight the lingual explorations, from the greater detail into Aeluon colors to the Quelin double-script for denotation and connotation to the Akarak words that are based in culture and therefore have no translations, I was fascinated. The language creativity, from the start, has been one of my favorite things about these novels and that remains true here. Along these lines, what really stuck out for me thematically in this volume was the way Chambers included and addressed universal concepts like colonialism and xenophobia and the different (but equally strong) fear inherent in both. It was profound and, like I said, has many clear interpretive readings that have clear parallels and implications in our own world and dealings with those different from ourselves. It just really shows the breadth of culture and makes one wonder how much could be under different, more open/willing, circumstances. 

 

One more thing. Chambers hits the heartstrings in this one with the unyielding yearning for home because it’s home, even if you objectively know all the flaws it also holds. It got me right in the feels and the traveler-stop setting, with an external threat that allows each character to really delve into their reasons for wanting to go back to/fin/redefine “home” for themselves, was the perfect backdrop to develop those insights and self-reflections. The endings for each of the characters, on this note, truly (and pun sort of intended) hit home for me and for two of them I definitely teared up a bit.  

 

Ugh – the creativity and uniquity that I’ve come to realize is Chambers’ norm is strong in this final installation in the Wayfarers series. I could read her writing, writing from this world in particular, all day every day and still not get enough. And I remain in awe of the way she takes the “normal” people and gives them such compelling stories. Every single book and character in this series is just a regular person, going about their lives and jobs under regular life circumstances, just like anyone else – there are no chosen ones or world saving or catastrophic apocalypses to be found. And yet these books freaking captivate me. I have no words. Just…spectacular. 

 

“The universe was not an object. It was a beam of light, and the colours that it split into changed depending on whose eyes were doing the looking. Nothing could be taken at face value. Everything had hidden facets, hidden depths that could be interpreted a thousand ways – or misinterpreted in the same manner. Reflexes kept a person safe, but they could also make you stupid.” 

 

“…she found herself wrestling between two truths until she realized neither was a zero-sum: This wasn’t the worst that could happen. It was a bad thing all the same.” 

 

“He’d been taught that if one person had more than another, feeling guilty about it was the least productive reaction. The only proper way to approach such inequities was to figure out how best to wield them, so as to bring others up to where you stood.” 

 

“There was no law that was just in every situation, no explanation that accounted for every component. This did not mean that laws and rules were not helpful, or that explanations should not be sought, but rather that there should be no fear in changing them as needed, for nothing in the universe ever held still.” 

 

“Well…to have your own planet means that despite knowing the universe is edgeless, that everything is relative to everything else you feel there’s one place that’s the true centre of it. I don’t mean the true centre in an astronomical way, or a topographical way, I mean the true centre. It’s the anchor, the…the weight that holds the weaving together. It’s not the true centre for everyone, but it is for you. And that knowledge reframes all that zooming in and out. You’re not drifting. You’re attached, somewhere. It may be far, but you can always feel it. And ti reminds you, when you go back, that it’s yours.” 

 

“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept a lesser evil for the sake of it being lesser.” 

 

“This one choice didn't answer everything for her, not even close. How could it? Life was never a matter of one decision alone. Life was just a bunch of tiny steps, one after another, each a conclusion that lead to a dozen questions more.” 

 

 

“I think the answer to too much isn’t nothing, it’s balance.” 

 

The literal second I saw this on @booksnblazers feed, I added it to my TBR (and put myself on the library waitlist) so fast. Honestly, I think I might have put myself on the waitlist before the library even had it on-site and I was the first person to get the copy once we got it. So, yea, that’s how excited about it I got. 

 

 When Ruth Elgin dies, she leaves her financially insolvent store (and life, really) as a “project” for her friend and protégé Selena and her niece Cade. Selena has been living with Ruth and helping her run Satisfaction Guaranteed, a sex toy (and other oddities) store, after an unhealthy relationship leads her to leave art school, stop painting, and take a vow of celibacy in order to “get her shit together.” Cade comes from an incredibly eccentric family (just look at her Aunt Ruth’s dying wish), but went a totally different direction, doing all the accounting for and essentially running her parent’s high end art gallery in NYC, while having no time to invest in relationships or her own pleasure. Can this opposites-attract couple save Ruth’s store? And maybe find something more in each other?  

 

Ummm, this was everything I wanted and more! I loved Selena and Cade. They were the best opposites attract situation, the exact right mix of filling in each other’s needs and helping the other get out of their own (self-imposed) boxes and comfort zones, but not so much that it’s hard to believe. And the forced proximity trope was played to perfection, with a great set-up from the beyond by an eccentric aunt/benefactor(?) that was just super fun. The interpersonal and sexual chemistry was really solid as well; the tension and build-up was so well-done. I appreciated the genuine-ness and recognizability in the fact that the distance between them was due to internal issues that they struggled with, ones that affected their ability to communicate how they really felt about each other, as well as physical distance, and that there was no weird fabricated “break-up” right before the grand “we’re together” finale (my least favorite romance trope). It all felt very natural and I loved it. As a sort of side note here, but on the theme of relationships, I loved the best friends’ unconditional support that was written in for both Selena and Cade. 

 

Taking time to recognize one of the major settings, the sex toy store, I want to just mention the glorious sex positivity in this novel. First, Selena – knowing and naming and appreciating, loudly and publicly and proudly, her own body is just, lady goals. And Cade – being self-conscious of her own lack of knowledge of her body and sexual experience, who is definitely the more recognizable life situation for me, if I’m being honest. And even though there were some stops and starts with their communication in general, their communication regarding their sexual interactions was spot on top to bottom: open and honest and accepting, from Cade’s complete respect for Selena’s vow of celibacy to Selena’s total support for Cade’s different levels of experience than her own. It was truly wonderful and encouraging to read such clear and unabashed conversation about topics that are so taboo in our society. In a less uplifting, but similarly important way, Stetz-Waters’ representation of an abusive wlw relationship (something that Machado talks about in depth, as an unrecognized reality, in her memoir In the Dream House) is handled with care and necessary awareness of the harm any abusive relationship can have on a person’s life and mental health and self-image. Definite CW for other readers here, but I do think it was handled well, all things considered.    

  

All in all, this was sweet and sexy (though definitely not the steamiest romance I’ve ever read, despite the potential for it to be so) and fun. There was a lovely irreverence in the setting and plot, as well as a more meaningful awareness of the pleasure gap for women and the lack of knowledge about our own bodies that many of us have. I enjoyed the flirting and banter between Cade and Selena, all the talk of and focus on art, and the pacing with which it all played out. Their falling fast for each other combined with a number of personal discoveries and coming-of-self moments were balanced smoothly. Plus, I feel like it ended in such a right way – it made my heart all fluttery. I definitely recommend this one! 

 A couple years ago, a friend of mine read this for a book club they were in and, when they mentioned it to me in passing, for some reason I thought it was about a team that rowed TO the Olympics, not IN the Olympics. That mostly doesn't mean anything, but it's kinda funny. Anyways, my current long-distance book club wanted to read something about the Olympics this month, since THEY'RE COMING (I am HYPE - I love the Olympics)!! I honestly haven't looked that much into Olympics-based nonfiction, but I was a bit surprised by how few options there were. So, this single book I've heard about before re: Olympics, is the one that we voted to read. 

 

The Boys in the Boat tells the story of the University of Washington's 1936 eight-oar men's crew team that traveled to Berlin on the eve of WWII representing the United States in the quest for a gold medal. This team, made primarily of the sons of blue-collar workers (loggers, farmers, shipyards workers, etc.), was in stark contrast to the teams from elite eastern universities (and British universities) that had long dominated the sport. The author focuses the story on a few key people, including team member Joe Rantz (a teen with little family and even litter means whose emotional turn as he become one of the boys in the boat made for a great "heart" of the story), gruff coach Al Ulbrickson, and the eccentric/visionary British rower and boat-builder George Pocock (who found a racing-shell-building home at the University of Washington and became an integral part of the team's equipment and moral strength). In addition to these main characters, if you will, Brown also gives insight into the backgrounds of all the 9 men on the team, including their reasons for getting into rowing, the way they all ended up in this varsity boat together, and the ups and downs they faced coming together as a tight-knit single-unit of rowing perfection and interpersonal connection. 

 

Honestly, I went into this one expecting it to be…dry. Although I use a rowing-erg a lot with working out, I was struggling to imagine how I could be kept interested in hundreds of pages of writing about it, even with having an actual frame of reference. Well, on that front, I have to give the author a lot of credit (and a shoutout to the audiobook, which was also very helpful). He did a wonderful job crafting a story that felt compelling to read. Including history of the United States of the time (during and immediately post the Great Depression), a general history/background of rowing as a sport, the popularity of rowing within the US at the time and the rise in prowess of rowers from the West coast, as well as a leadup to the Olympics from an international point of view (specifically, the rise of Hitler in Germany – I actually learned quite a bit I hadn’t known before about the propaganda efforts of the Nazi’s) and within the context of internal and global anti-Semitism. Brown set the scene(s) with detail and explicit clarity that really added depth and nuance to the story. Weaving in the personal stories of the athletes and coaching team, particularly the ones I mentioned above, gave this work a nice mix of the personal and the more expansive, the individual meets history. Plus, who doesn’t love an emotional story with a triumphant ending, especially when it’s against the odds? 

 

There were a few points that I was less interested in and/or could have used more of. I think, and I get that this was the basis for the book, a few times I got a little annoyed by the level of preachiness that I felt in talking about the difficulty of rowing and the way it was often paralleled with life. I mean, it was a good arc and some aspects of it felt fine, I just think it might have been a little overdone. Also, I know I mentioned the “scene setting” as a major “plus,” but I think some things were missing. It leaned heavily into the “Germany = BAD” trope, as well as the savior complex of America in the time period. Obviously I am not saying that Hitler/Nazism/anti-Semitism aren’t absolutely not ok, but it just felt too simplistically presented, considering the clear depth of the research and the recoginition (but heavy glossing over) of similar sentiments within the US. Like, one of the (American) boys “finds out” he’s Jewish right before leaving because his family kept it a secret from him because they felt they needed to… Plus, there were a couple instances where feminist and racist realities were similarly, if not more so, glossed over. I mean, I know that wasn’t necessarily the focus of the book, but giving the rest of the context (like socio-economics of the Great Depression), without similar recognition of other issues of the time is really an unfair and not realistic setting. And the options were opened up, with mention of Jesse Owens and a “colored” restaurant owner and the dismissal of a female from the Olympic team for “immoral” actions. I just felt like, either mention them and call it all what it was, or focus solely on the boys in the boat and leave out the rest. Just my two cents. 

 

In the end, I really did find myself enjoying this book. I was surprised by how interested I was in the unfolding drama of how the team came together and what their gold-medal race represented on an international scale. Although I think I would have gotten bogged down by the physical book (though I did have it on hand for reference and to see the photos that were included!), I really felt pulled along by the audio and was genuinely into picking it back up every time I had a moment. Some context pieces could definitely have been more honest and representative, but the titular story was told so well. An unexpected/underdog sports story has the power to move hearts on a grand scale like few other things do, and I think Brown captured that emotion perfectly.  

 

 

 

 While not prolifically popular, this one came highly recommended from the couple #bookstagram reviews I saw for it. Though, in typical fashion, I didn’t save the posts about it and now totally have no idea where the recs came from. So, I’m back to sending my thanks to the universe and hoping it finds its way. Because I do owe thanks to whoever put this one my radar. I would never have picked it up on my own and I’m so glad that I read it! 

 

Tiến's lives in the Midwestern US with his parents, attending school and dealing with adolescence just like any other kid his age. He spends his evenings reading stories together with his parents, practicing English with them between their full work schedules, and learning about his family and their personal stories in Vietnam. Tiến loves his family and his friends, but feels separated from them all by a heavy secret he's carrying. Tiến is gay, but isnt' sure hwo to tell people, especially his parents, because he doesn't even know the words in Vietnamese to explain it to them. 

 

Well, if you are looking for a heartwarming (and, bonus, visually stunning) coming-out story, one that will make you feel weepy and warm in all the best ways, then run, don't walk, to pick up this graphic novel. I cannot say how touching it was, from the support Tiến got from his friends to the sweet interactions with his parents throughout, the relationships were just such a highlight. Even with the painful realities in the communication challenges from each side, with Tiến wanting to talk to his parents but not having the words and Tiến's mom knowing there's something he wasn't saying and wondering how to make a space for him to feel comfortable coming to her, the emotional impact of their yearning to be open with each other was deeply affecting. Of note here, as a content warning, I want to recognize that there were some external adult interferences (from one of Tiến's teachers, as well as a religious leader) that were harmful, adding to Tiến's indecision and piling further guilt onto his already present emotional trauma. It was not a highlight, nor was it drawn out, but it was tough (and infuriating) to read. 

 

The fairy tales themselves deserve an entire paragraph, if not more, to themselves. I'm actually not sure I can say enough about how absolutely gorgeous the illustrations are - they're literally perfect. They fit the vibe and the stories exactly, and I loved the color tone changes to assist in indicating changes in who the "narrator" is and when we are reading a fairy tale versus Tiến/his family's stories. Also, of course, the primary theme of this graphic novel is the power and connection of stories and fairy tales. They are central both in their own right and in Tiến's coming out, intertwined smoothly in all aspects of his immigrant and queer “on the outside” experiences. And I know I already said it was done exactly right, but I feel like I just need to say again that the ending, Tiến's moment with his mom, just hit all the big and most wonderful feels buttons. 

 

One more thing I want to mention here is the myriad of Author's Notes and additional content at the end. Nguyen talks about how stories act as both an escape from and an anchor in real life in a way that I identified with deeply. I also loved his ruminations on the changing nature of fairy tales, the way common threads span continents and cultures, universally recognizable, and yet the small details are adapted to fit within those geographical and traditional regions. You can so clearly see that happening within this graphic novel. Nguyen also mentions the way the communication combination of the words and graphics here, together telling a story with a language that wouldn't be whole without the other piece, creating something new and original and all its own, reminiscent of the way his own family's mixed English and Vietnamese become unique to them, new and full in its own right. And that too is clear within these pages, as this particular illustrations/story combination is one of the most interdependent I've read yet. I loved that about it. Finally, I just really loved reading Nguyan's explanations of the choices he made for alterations and style and setting of the fairy tales, making their illustrations match the experiences of the characters telling them, and the way he personally connected to it all (in particular, his look at The Little Mermaid as an immigrant story is compelling). The insight was so impactful and invaluable. 

 

Basically, this graphic novel gots a lot of "hearts face" and "star eyes" emoji reactions from me while reading. I loved it for what it was and loved it even more after reading all the author's additional notes at the end. It was lovely in message and in visuals and it was exactly the heartwarming and magical story I didn't even know I'd needed. 

 

“The space between two shores is the ocean… / …and being caught in between feels like drowning. And, really, what is the point of tears among so much salt water?” 

 

 

 

I picked this one up as part of my low-key attempt at the 2021 Reading Women Challenge. To be honest, middle grade is just not usually my reading sweet spot, but an occasional foray into it usually doesn't go awry. I'd seen this one around a few times and I do love the cover, so when I saw one of the prompts for the challenge was "Muslim Middle Grade Novel," I figured I'd go for it. Plus, my library had the audiobook available and if I've learned anything from Elizabeth Acevedo's novels (other than the fact that she is just a phenomenal word artist), it's that I love an audio version of a book written in verse. 

 

Other Words for Home is told from Jude's perspective, a young Syrian Muslim girl. When the situation in her hometown becomes violent, Jude leaves Syria with her pregnant mother to stay with family in the United States, leaving her father and beloved older brother behind. Adjusting to America, where everything seems too big and too loud and Jude is self-conscious about her English and her "Middle Eastern" identity and, instead of loving the limelight like she did back home, all she wants is to fade into the background. With a little time though, Jude makes a new friend or two, finds camaraderie in her ESL classmates, leans into her pride in starting to wear hijab and decides she may even try out for the school musical. 

 

I loved the way Warga takes on so many of the most difficult themes of immigration, language and cultural differences and self-consciousness and the split that often occurs within families, and distills them all down to the simplest and most affecting language that so clearly conveys for young readers and older readers alike. Sometimes, seeing these complex themes described in a straightforward way like this can be even more impactful than a more intensive and philosophical discourse. Jude's loneliness and feelings of "otherness" are so genuine and without frills. She tells the reader exactly how confusing things are, how all the cultural differences (from food to priorities) don't line up at all with what she's used to. Plus, there are a few perfect "side" plots related to Jude's brother (and his choice to join the fighting back in Syria) and Jude's new friend Layla that give great insight into the hard choices and "pulled between" feelings of families and immigrants and first-generation Americans within the context of "what I know to be true" versus how the rest of the world sees and reacts to you (in this case, specifically, re: racism and being incorrectly labeled a terrorist). 

 

Also, the language. I mean, the title should have given me a clue, but Warga does a spectacular job highlighting all the idioms and isms and slang that make very little sense, that make English so hard to learn, but that serve (in the most adorable way) to help Jude and her ESL class bond with each other as they decode them together. It's funny and insightful and written in such a relatable way. 

 

Even though it was such a fast read (well, listen) the end of this novel in verse left me full of emotions. This was, possibly, a much lighter/happier story than some similar stories might have, but I can't deny how wonderful it was to be left with the inspirational and hopeful vibe that home, the connection and family and love aspects of it, can really be anywhere, even in the middle of incredibly difficult situations. Sensitive and accessible while not shying away from needed perspectives of tough realities, this is definitely an MG that I would recommend (within that target age and beyond).    

 

“It is so strange to feel lucky / for something that is making my heart feel so sad.” 

 

“America / like every other place in the world, / is a place where some people sleep / and some people / other people / dream.” 

 

“I don’t think you have to forget / in order to learn…” 

 

“That it is possible for two things to look / similar / but be completely different.” 

 

“That I cover my head / not because I am ashamed / forced / or hiding. / But because I am / proud / and I want to be seen / as I am.” 

 

“That they all see people like me / and think / violence / sadness / war.” 

 

“We are okay with still learning our lines / because we are liking the script – / maybe, just maybe, we have both finally found roles / that make sense to us.”