This particular backlist title has been on my radar since it's publication a few years ago, but sort of as a backburner situation. Interestingly, I have no idea why I chose now to read it, as it's not like my TBR is suddenly shorter or anything. But someone checked it out at the library the other day and it brought it back into the front of my mind, so I guess I just went for it. Added myself onto the waitlist for when it came back in and also for the audiobook, just in case (which turned out to be a great call because I needed it to keep myself moving through this one - not necessarily in a bad way, but just...this turned out to be a fairly dense book). 

 

Starting in the early 1900s and following through the rest of the century and into the next, The Old Drift tells the simultaneous story of the birth and development of the nation of Zambia, as well as four generations of three families and the ways their lives intertwine with each other and with Zambia's. But it also tells this story in a "sort-of" way, with a speculative and magical twist on reality. There are characters covered in hair and who cry unceasingly, there are sci-fi-ish medical and technological advancements, and there is a chorus of mosquitos that periodically appear and assist with the narration of this epic novel. 

 

Well first, let me just say that Serpell went big here. She covered centuries and generations and personal and political and romance and historical fiction and magical realism and speculative future and really that's probably not all of it. It is truly no wonder that this book ended up as long as it is. With all that being included, I'm going to do my best to speak to what worked and what didn't (for me) in as short a review as possible (you know I'm verbose, so wish me luck). let me maybe start here with the things that I wasn't feeling as much, or that only partly worked. That way we can end with the good stuff! Honestly, I had mixed feelings about the scope. I do love an intergenerational novel (when I'm in the mood for one), especially in the way that Serpell does it, with interactions amongst them all sprinkled throughout (not quite as big as, but in the same sphere with, Girl Woman Other). And I really appreciated that family tree included at the beginning (I referned that a lot). I also individually loved many of the pieces - the revolutionary vibes, the romantic entanglements, the learning about another country/place that I've never read about before, the speculative Afrofuturist pieces in the final third or so - but I have to be honest and say that all together, it sort of ended up being too much. It felt a bit too scattered, too confusing (as far as keeping track of the characters and plot developments and connections amongst them all, etc.), too many things all struggling for attention and bumping up against one another in ways that felt a little discordant at times. 

 

Relatedly, Serpell's addressing of many major themes, like colonialism/imperialism, HIV, tech-waste, immigration/emigration, and just the general treatment of people in "developing" nations by nations with great financial power, is important and done in a well-nuanced way. I really enjoyed seeing the way these larger-scale interactions were interpreted by and affected our individual characters, their lives and choices and interactions with each other. But that's definitely where the major focus of the novel was. I think that the representation of this story as a picture of an emerging nation is a bit of a reach, as it felt more to me like a picture of these three families and yes, it's within the context of Zambia's emergence, but that always felt more vague/background than anything. And finally, the ending. Throughout the novel, I could feel Serpell's messages about imperialism and capitalism and the way it affected African peoples and nations (that wouldn't have ever existed without it) and the national/continental pride in her telling. However with the ending, I sort of lost her message/goal. And maybe there wasn't one. Maybe this was just a story about a "could have been/could be" situation. And yet, with the clear morals of the rest of the novel, I felt like the finale was rushed (as far as pacing) and unclear (as far as moral). And that seemed incongruous to me. 

 

And now to end with a few of the highlights. I already mentioned being into the sweeping aspects of the family story-telling, as well as many of the individual pieces of the novel. I also thought the writing was smart and just right for the story (though here, with the objective length, is where I still appreciated having the audiobook to help move me along). With that note, the primary narrator, Adjoa Andoh, was freaking phenomenal (and also plays my fav Bridgerton character, so that's fun). Anyways, back to the writing, I thought the swarm-chorus was weird to start, but it grew on me over time, with its omniscient voice and lyrical communication, and then the final section, the way it came together to be tied into the major tech-advance theme of the novel, was super clever. As far as the presentation of the story, the style, I did like that we got a single perspective from each family for each generation. And I was into the fact that, until we get to the final group, where the three "children" all come together in an unexpected and sort of strange way, that it was all told from female perspectives (the "grandmothers" and "mothers").   

 

All in all, this was an engrossing, absorbing and fairly epic novel. I admire what Serpell took on, the depth and breadth of this story of family and country, and though there were certain things that fell flat or felt off to me, at base I was fully transported into the world and characters and tale Serpell created. 

 

“You cannot contain the manifold fury of a people, a river, a woman!” 

 

“One of the great burdens of blindness was having to help other people remember it.” 

 

“During his time at university, [he] had learned that ‘history’ was the word the English used for the record of every time a white man encountered something he had never seen and promptly claimed it as his own, often renaming it for good measure. History, in short, was the annals of the bully on the playground.” 

 

“Only a sister, an alternative self, could inspire such a sordid mix of disgust and envy.” 

 

“[She] had never considered that being female would thwart her so, that it would be a hurdle she had to jump every time she wanted to learn something: to read a book, to shout the answers, to make a bomb, to love a man, to fight for freedom.” 

 

“How unwise, he thought, to love someone in advance of knowing them.” 

 

“Sometimes the wonders of the world are better left unsaid.” 

 

“Zambia is only young because of the foreigners.” 

 

“We have to insert the errors into the system. Not with activism but with the inactive: the loiterers, the shitters, the unemployed – the idlers who jam the circulation of money and goods and information. A slow-moving riot.” 

 

“I want to tell them that our minds are free, even if our hands are tied by poverty.”   

 

 

I *think* the first person I saw post about this book was @manicfemme (though I know I later also saw it on @booksnblazers page). So, credit where it needs to be there. But also, I knew the moment I saw it that I wanted to read it. I freaking love a good fairy tale retelling, especially with twists on the POV or the relationships, so this one was right up my alley. Plus, what a gorgeous dark, purple cover! 

 

Malice is a Sleeping Beauty retelling, but from the perspective of the “evil” sorceress and with a spectacular sapphic reframe. Alyce is the Dark Grace. While all the other Graces get their power from the Etherian light magic, and use their golden blood to make elixirs for beauty and charm and music and wisdom, Alyce is part Vila (the only one left that anyone knows of) and people come to her for an altogether different kind of magic. Her green blood can make elixirs that…uglier…outcomes. Scorned and ostracized by everyone, Alyce lives a life on the outskirts, until she meets Aurora, the princess, the very last princess in the cursed (but only legitimate heir to the throne) line of Briar Queens. Aurora treats Alyce differently, sees past what everyone says about her, and together they start to research ways to break the curse that is not getting kissed by multiple nobles daily in the search for Aurora’s “one true love.” At the same time, Alyce has found a mentor that is teaching her how much more to her magic there really is, the Briar King is plotting some truly terrible things, the tension between Etherians and humans is growing, and Aurora and Alyce’s growing connection may have the strength to break curses, but will that be accepted?   

 

Basically, the first line of that summary alone was a win for me. Sapphic Sleeping Beauty where the princess and the sorceress fall for each other? Yes, please. And I can tell you that on that front, this novel absolutely delivered. Like, this was one of those reads that I legitimately could not put down (stayed up way past my bedtime to power through the end of it). This is definitely, totally, absolutely a Sleeping Beauty retelling, but I also just have to say I loved the little nods to Cinderella and Beauty and the Beast, and maybe others, that I found while reading (maybe I projected them…but I’m going with that they were on purpose). Anyways, back to Sleeping Beauty. All the important aspects are there, but with some really fun new twists. I loved the inclusion of all heirs being cursed to die if not kissed by their true love by 21 years. It’s hella tragic, but adds a great layer of drama to the story unfolding on a timeline. It also added layers like the history of why (with the female line of hierarchy for the Briar Queens but how their power has been diluted over years, etc.) which was some nice complexity. It definitely raised some questions for me, like this is definitely a situation of fated love because strangers can break the curse, but also, what does that mean for Aurora and Alyce (their relationship was much deeper than insta-love)? Not necessarily a criticism, but just some musings on the nature of true love, as I was reading. I also was super into the magic system. Blood magic always fascinates me, in the ways it is used, can be exploited, and also in its limitations. It was petty creatively used here and I enjoyed learning it. And I was definitely into Alyce’s abilities as she starts to learn she is more, much more, than what she’s been told. Such cool power!  

 

Within the context of the story, I felt like Walter did a super nice job exploring myriad types of cages – from the Graces, who have so many rules (“for their own protection”) with their power use, to the literal cage that Alyce’s mentor Kal is in, to the socioeconomic/political limitations found in most societies based on what is valued, to the nicely opposite but paralleling cages that Alyce and Aurora both live within. There are so many ways these characters are trapped and used with little personal choice that, even when the betrayals come at the end, you can’t help but kind of understand their motivations and have a little sympathy. Let me also say that, while I figured one was coming (it was just a question of why/motivation), there was another that took me completely by surprise and definitely hurt to read. That being said, after the way Alyce was treated and used and manipulated her whole life, with the singular exception of Aurora, I was here for the way this book ended. I mean, I have to say that I didn’t do my research and I totally thought this was a standalone, so I was “meh” on finding out that it’s actually a duology and I’m gonna have to wait to see how it wraps up…ugh I hate waiting…but also, I really feel Alyce at the end and do really look forward to more of her. After all the revelations and betrayals and loss and (inevitable but mostly undeserved) guilt, her full on coming-into-power moment was exactly, exactly what I wanted for her. 

 

I do have to say that there are a couple things I could have used more of as I was reading. Well, mostly, I just wanted a little more detail. There are a few explanations related to Alyce’s story, the cursed line of Briar Queens and the current King’s plans that I wasn’t quite clear on… I mean I got the big picture and so I sped through without it really bothering me too much, but I have some niggling questions about not really understanding all the background and motivations that I wish I had answers to.  I assume some parts we might get more of (about Alyce herself, especially) in the next book, so I’m ok there. But regarding the King’s plans and some of the history between Etherians and Vila and humans and just a few other plot points, I would have appreciated a little more depth. Plus, the one Sleeping Beauty details that felt forced was the inclusion of the spindle...and I get it, aesthetically, but I would have been fine with sleeping being induced in a more understandable-in-the-setting way. Finally, the first and second halves felt very differently paced. It opened with great world-development and then, as the plot moved forward the pacing moved to almost a breakneck speed and I think that is, in part, where some of those details in development started to get lost. Once all the character development and baseline plot was “set” and we began moving forward from there, it became all plot, with very little time for character changes/background explanation and, with all the moving pieces and different aspects coming together at one time, it felt a smidge chaotic. 

 

Overall, though, I was just super into this book. Yea there were small things that would have made it more perfect, but I got everything I wanted and was looking for from it. Alyce’s misunderstood perspective was done so well – she was the dark narrator of my dreams! The magic system and world details really made me believe it all. I thought the side characters, like Kal and Alyce’s fellow Graces (Rose and Laurel in particular), were given some real nuance and I appreciated that attention. And of course, the Alyce and Aurora situation was the highlight – a perfect opposites coming together – given time to develop pretty realistically and I am very much looking forward to where their story goes from here. We’re at the dramatic point where Aurora is sleeping, Alyce is going to have to figure out her power and her next steps, many allies and enemies are in confusion and switching roles, and there’s a whole lot on the line for Briar…now I just have to be as patient as possible to see how it all plays out.  Help!    

 

 

The moment I heard this was written in oral history style, I added this book to my TBR so fast I can't even. In fact, I found out early enough that I requested (and received) an e-ARC from NetGalley. I naturally haven't gotten around to writing a review until post-pub date, because that's how things go (and because this last five weeks of work has been...intense). But the main point is that I freaking LOVED Daisy Jones and the Six, it was a Top Ten of 2019 for me, and this seemed similar (as far as style and topic) so I figured I'd be into it. Wow - I was RIGHT. 

 

It's the early 1970s when Nev, a British singer-songwriter "discovers" Opal, a young Black woman, at an open mic night at a bar in Detroit. Nev invites her to be his partner in a rock duo group for the small Rivington Records production company. After a so-so debut album release, they agree to participate in a small showcase of all Rivington Records' talent, despite some reservations about the other acts. When a chain of reactions leads to a tragic finale to the event, Opal and Nev's responses, emotionally and politically and musically, catapult them onto a nation-wide stage. Years later, music journalist S. Sunny Shelton grabs an opportunity to interview both Opal and Nev (and their associates from those years at Rivington, as well as others involved in the violent showcase event and their following years, specifically, Opal's friend and stylist Virgil Lafluer), as press for an upcoming reunion show. Her personal connection to Opal and the duo's music causes emotions to flair and some ugly and difficult truths to emerge leading up to the final time Opal and Nev take the stage together. 

 

Well, I was right and wrong. This is both like and very unlike Daisy Jones. I stand by the fact that, if you loved that book, you'll also love this one, but I also have to boldly say that this one is just that much better. It takes the things I loved about Daisy Jones - style and topic - and adds some freaking phenomenal and hard-hitting socio-political context. Before I talk more about that, I just have to reiterate right here that I think the oral history style of story-telling is one of the most versatile and engrossing and I get lost in it so quickly and easily and wonderfully. Also, in this case, I actually really enjoyed the addition of the writer’s POV. Since Sunny, as the journalist compiling all this oral history, has such a personal connection and insight into the story herself, getting that additional perspective added in was unique and a very compelling POV through which to examine Opal and Nev’s story. Plus, I was really into the way real life activists and musicians and famous names (Questlove, Quentin Tarantino, Gloria Steinem and lots more) are dropped/quoted about Opal and her character and in response to the Showcase and any/everything else covered in the novel. It was so fun!  

 

Alright and now, the socio-political context aspects. I loved what Walton did presenting the way that art and music are a way of both promoting and questioning a status quo. She leans hard into the way it can be used to start or give momentum to a movement or highlight areas where social justice is needed/people are being failed by their county and fellow people. But at the same time, she is able to communicate how it can also fail us, how it can bring people together in a surface-level way that actually ends up doing nothing to address inequalities outside the shared interest in listening to or creating it. And there is, similarly, an intense look at the way the music industry takes advantage of music as art that could make change and bends it into something that’s only goal is profit and fame. These explorations and demonstrations are all represented and intertwined wonderfully, within a context that also looks more individually, at the musicians for whom this is both a higher calling but who also must make concessions they’d rather not because the music is also their actual livelihood. The way many of the characters, but especially Opal, must compromise within that framework, and the way those decisions impact their lives, relationships, public persona, and internal satisfaction/mental health is gripping to read. Similarly, the moral dilemma struggle for Opal, that of taking advantage of Black pain to succeed being offset by the spread/audience her activist ideologies could be spread to is difficult, but fully portrayed in its complexity. And the way that Nev deals with this, or, really, doesn’t have to, is just as clear and difficult message about the reality in this country when it comes to race. So basically, here, I just want to repeat the incredible nuance with which Walton handles the examination in the confluence of racial tension and divide throughout (more recent) US history, the power dynamics within the US as a nation and within the music industry as a sub-cosmos, and the way music/art play such a major role in public opinion and true change related to this inequality related to the worth of Black lives, both historically and today. 

 

I was completely absorbed into this story and story-telling. Walton created an iconic character with Opal, and then took that larger-than-life persona and gave readers a look at the real person behind the façade in a way that felt so genuine. She also tackles thorny conversations about race and fame, and chronicles the way music turns into a performance, a movement, a something even greater and with a life of its own, in a way that both interrogates and entertains. Just really a spectacular and mesmerizing novel! 

 

“There was no escape to be had, anywhere, by being so damn regular.” 

 

“The music itself don’t have a color. It’s a continuum that starts with the drum and branches out from there. The industry and the money, that’s what can mess everything up.” 

 

“See, this is what I say about America – we always gotta be assigning shit, always labeling and stuffing it in a box. Always dictating who’s allowed to own what. But end of the day, that don’t have nothing to do with the music, you dig? The music is fire and passion and soul, and however you express it is how you express it.” 

 

“Here’s the thing I’ve learned: When you approach art with the goal of making a quick and dirty buck, that’s fine; sometimes it has to be done. But nothing that happens as a result should come as a surprise to you.” 

 

“My armor was me, my best asset. It kept me protected in this world. A world that either hated me or just didn’t know what to do with me.” 

 

“I wanted to curate this story standing on the premise that the lives and legacies of Black men […] cannot be reduced to the awful shit white men do to them. That the voices of Black women like Opal should not be discounted or diminished in deference to those who have hijacked our shine whenever it suits.” 

 

“…there’s nothing like the first time you take on a thing that scares the shit out of you and discover the intensity turns you all the way on.” 

 

“It’s dangerous, yeah, to make art that has people stepping back and thinking critically about the world and the institutions and the orders that we’ve allowed to have control over us. Someone’s always going to be upset; someone’s always going to feel implicated.” 

 

“There’s too much work to do in this revolution and too many people to wake up. Too much to fight. Nobody has time to get waylaid by fear.” 

 

“Many things can be true at once, and we must find inspiration in the materials we have.” 

 

“Wasn’t that a glimmer of hope that truth could check power, and isn’t hope the entire point? The reason any of us raise our fists and run our mouths? The reason we dare to imagine a “better” exists?” 

 

“But aren’t we supposed to be better and smarted because of the challenging art that makes us uncomfortable? Isn’t the culture better for it? Or does that only apply when heterosexual cisgender white men do the challenging?” 

 

 

 

 

The title is what originally drew me to this book. And then the cover, which is gorgeous...and I originally thought was a girl wandering through snow drifts (which made me think of Little Red Riding Hood, for some reason) and actually is a girl walking with/through a crowd of ghost dogs. So I was way off there, haha, but it was still super eye-catching. But honestly after I realized it wasn't a Red Riding Hood retelling, LOL, and was actually a "similar to our world, but with magic" sort of situation, I was, if anything, even more interested. 

 

Ellie (short for Elatsoe, which means "hummingbird" in Lipon Apache) lives in Texas in a world very similar to our own. Except, in her world, she has the ability, passed down through generations of her family, to raise ghosts of dead animals. (Cue the adorable ghost pet dog named Kirby.) When Ellie's cousin, Trevor, dies suddenly in a car crash, he comes to her in a dream and tells her that it wasn't an accident, that he was murdered. So, with the help of her best friend Jay, the support of her family, and with backup from some old family legends, Ellie dives into an investigation of what really happened and the supernaturally strange town of Willowbee where it all took place. 

 

Let me start with the stuff I loved. First, the storytelling! I loved all the myths and legends arounds Ellie's Six Great grandmother. The way they were lovingly passed generation to generation is so heart-warming; I loved the family pride aspect and the way her story (and an understanding of the benefits and dangers of their ghost-raising abilities) unfolded alongside Ellie's as a really compelling stylistic device, but not in the typical alternating POV way (and I appreciated that unique-ness as well). Plus, Six Great was a badass (I always love a badass female character). I also really enjoyed all the glimpses into Lipon Apache tradition and beliefs. Even though what happened to Ellie's cousin is, at base, a super tragic thing to build the story around, learning about respect for the dead and how that looks culturally for Ellie's family was very cool. Another aspect that I was super into was, as expected, the superimposed magic into a recognizable world. Reading about ghosts and vampires and other fantastical beings/abilities as a "normal" part of life is one of my favorite things, because I always wish it was really real. I want to mention too the key plot themes related to colonization, stealing Indigenous land, and the violence against Indigenous peoples that is a direct parallel with the real history of the US. The author does a really phenomenal job weaving those into the heart of the story, everything from the family history to the knowledge of the land and the way the paranormal fits into that to the plot-line of the mystery surrounding Trevor's murder and what really happened there. And last, but certainly not least, the chapter illustrations by Rovina Cai are just stunning. Even though I listened to the audiobook, I checked the hard copy out from the library specifically to see the chapter art (based, of course, on my reaction to the cover) and it was absolutely the right call. So freaking beautiful and perfectly in line, style and aura-wise, for the story.  

 

I do have to mention a few things that were sort of misses for me though, as a reader. The biggest thing, and it's unfortunate because it really colored the entire reading (well, listening, since I went with the audiobook), is that the writing itself was really immature. Despite the main characters being written as almost done with high school, the book felt like it was written for a much younger audience. And it often seemed like the dialogue and transitions between scenes were clumsy. It just read really young and really choppy to me. Honestly, it sucks because in this case, very similar to Gods of Jade and Shadow, I absolutely loved the story and topics and everything else, but the less-than-solid writing really took me out of the moment at a few critical times. Also, while I loved that there was some representation for things I see less often, like male cheerleaders and college vs not (from a cost-benefit standpoint) and aro-ace rep, it felt...almost unnatural. It was almost like the author wanted to have it in there, but had trouble making it flow into the rest of the story, so she mashed it into some awkward "telling" dialogue, instead of a more comfortable "showing" of it. Anyways, I'm super glad it was there in a general way, but would have loved to see it more deeply and naturally incorporated. 

 

Overall, I did have a good time reading this novel. It was a solid debut and kept me entertained and interested for sure. I could totally see this, Elatsoe's paranormal mystery-solving, turning into a whole series (reminiscent, in some ways, of Scwab's middle grade series Cassidy Blake/City of Ghosts series), which could be really cool. However, even if that doesn't happen, if you are looking for a fun and fast little mystery, with some ~light~ paranormal aspects and a lovely nod to Lipon Apache tradition and heritage, I'd definitely recommend this one.  

 

“Maybe, sometimes, wants felt like needs. Because the alternative hurt too bad.” 

 

“…culture was the most important part of belonging. […] …one of those complex, deeply personal matter of identity with no one-size-fits-all answer.” 

 

“…tradition accommodated the adaptable nature of humankind.” 

 

“But the world presented too many opportunities for brave people to risk their lives. Wisdom helped reduce those risks; the inexperience of youth increased them.” 

 

 

I don’t read, or watch, a lot of Westerns. The Old West, as a setting and genre, has just never been one that holds a lot of interest for me. But as time went and I read more and more reviews for this one, I realized it might be a look at this location and time that was just different enough that I might want to check it out. 

 

After Ba dies, with Ma already gone, Lucy and Sam are left with no choice but to set off on their own. At only 11 and 12 years old, they fight to properly bury Ba, to find their places/futures in the world and to settle their own complicated relationship. Set against a background of the rolling, wild hills and prospecting fortunes made and broken of the “Old West,” the sisters each do what they must as they reach for their separate dreams of home. 

 

Well, I have little to no experience with Westerns, as I mentioned (other than finally watching Tombstone about a year ago because my little brother’s obsession with Val Kilmer that began there really had me curious…I ended up being as uninterested in it as I’d anticipated). But I feel like I can pretty reasonably say that this is very unlike most other stories of the genre, both in style/tone and in subject. First, the writing. I can see why Zhang’s prose has been so widely lauded. The sparsely poetic writing has a sort of mysticism and unreality to it that matches the wild environment Lucy and Sam are exploring. It lends a vibe of mystery and folktale to the storytelling that swirls around the reader in a really unique aura. I have to be honest here and say that this sort of metaphysical lyricism, especially with the focus on nature and the environment (a veritable ode to a landscape), is just not my favorite. And I am glad that I had already gotten my hands on the audiobook version, because the narrators (who were phenomenal) did a great job bringing that vibe to life while simultaneously helping me move through the writing at a pace that kept me invested in the story without getting too lost in the language. It’s a personal thing, but do note that, if you are a reader who is not as into slow-moving verse, prepare yourself appropriately to read this one. However, I do also need to note that despite personal preferences, I cannot deny that that ending was perfectly crafted (lingually and in context). And it left me bursting with a longing and want to mirror Lucy’s own. It was visceral and truly made me say “damn” out loud. 

 

Second, the body of work in/on the Wild West, that I have been exposed to, focuses almost entirely on the lawlessness and the “heroics” of the [white] sheriffs keeping the peace by protecting [other white] people [settlers/colonizers] from the [insert nonwhite group here] threats. Zhang takes these underrepresented perspectives and gives just a little glimpse of their reality – primarily the Chinese immigrants shipped across the ocean as indentured servant/slave labor to build railroads, with recognition of others, like the Indigenous populations removed from their own lands, and the way they were otherized, becoming one with a land in a nation that would never see them as a true part of its people. The focus on the land and its resources belonging to those who lived and worked it, yet being stolen away by those with more power, was a refreshing re-shaping of this romanticized era. 

 

And here are a few other thoughts I jotted down while readying that I want to share. They’re mostly in line with what’s been said, but disjointed enough (as I said, I jotted them down while reading) that they didn’t fit well anywhere else. Haha. In any case, this entire novel, from the experiences/lives of Ma and Ba down to the disparate ways that Lucy and Sam approached their lives, this was a full-on meditation on the dreams of immigrants, and children of immigrants, in America. There is, as there always is, the ever present “promise” of finding their place if they just work hard enough and forget enough of where they came from to manage the [impossible] task of assimilation. And with that, there comes the ever-present heaviness of the weight of dreams unfulfilled, of internalized otherness, of the “where are you from” based on appearance alone, of fetishization and non-acceptance that runs deep in the marrow of the country. This is shown both in “normal” ways and paralleled gorgeously by the similarities inherent in the prospecting for gold lifestyle and dreams. And along with all that, Zhang also manages to include a fairly profound look at the difference between the expectations of and ways of moving in the world for men and women. And on every page, the imagery and language that connects Ma’s heritage to the golden hills of their birthplace, the buffalo bones and tiger foot-prints and more, is woven together so skillfully. Zhang takes these literary pieces and asks, over and over, what makes a home a home and presents the reader with the bittersweet reality of feeling that one belongs in a place but not being seen/accepted the other that reside there too. 

 

This is still not a genre I love. I probably won’t seek out more. But Zhang’s reclaiming of, bearing witness to, the buried truths in this time and space – in a way that speaks also to how these moments shape so much of the present racial and land-owning reality of this country – is deeply satisfying to have experienced. At one point, Zhang writes of the combination of “violence and bitterness and hope” that killed Ba and, for me, that combination also created the cornerstone reading experience of this novel, this story that took me on an affecting journey of family and home and want.  

 

“Was it braver to move loud or to stand quiet...?” 

 

“Ba said what a man knows to be true is different from what he reads.” 

 

“...later she’ll blame the cost of that meat, and the long desperate days worked to pay that cost, and the men who set that price, and the men who built the mines that paid so little, and the men who emptied the earth and choked the streams and made the days so dry, and the claiming of the land by some that leaves others clutching only dusty air...” 

 

“I don’t see how you can claim to own a place and treat it so poor...” 

 

“Point is, there’s always been gold in these hills. You just had to believe.” 

 

“I grew up knowing I belonged to this land, Lucy girl. You and Sam do too, never mind how you look. Don’t let any man with a history book tell you different.” 

 

“Too often truth ain’t in what’s right […] sometimes it’s in who speaks it. Or writes it.” 

 

“What makes a ghost a ghost? Can a person be haunted by herself?” 

 

“Certain, now, of the truth she’s suspected. New places there may be, new languages – but there are no new stories. No lands left wild where men haven’t touched, and touched.” 

 

 

 

I LOVED The Poppy War. One of my favorite adult fantasies that I’ve read in a while. I couldn’t wait for the second book to come out so I could see where the story went. And then, of course, I got lost in my TBR and the pub date came and went for The Dragon Republic. And THEN, the pub date for the final book in the trilogy, The Burning God, was coming up and I realized how long it had been since I read The Poppy War and I realized I was being ridiculous and I needed to get my ish together and continue the series asap. So, finally, here we are. Almost 24 hours of (phenomenally narrated) audiobook later and I can finally say I’m 2/3 of the way through and still totally in love with Kuang’s writing. 

 

This novel picks up basically right at the end of The Poppy War. Altan is gone, Rin is reeling from the mental strain and guilt of the war-ending decision/destruction she made and trying to control (with opium) the Pheonix now living inside her. Rin is convinced to join, and bring the Cike along, the Dragon Emperor as he begins a civil war, taking over Nikan from Empress Su Daji and (he says) fighting to create a new Republic. Rin wants nothing more than to lose herself in being a soldier and throws herself into the fight. But as time passes, she realizes that perhaps she needs to take more responsibility for herself and her power, and what she can do for the good (or detriment) of her country. Fighting foes internal to herself, from various sides within her country, and many from outside her country, alliances are made and broken, lies and told and retold, and Rin will lose so much as she continues to rise into her full self/power and realizes who is truly “on her side” and who is not.   

 

PHEW. I have no idea if that overview of this novel made any sense because holy shit SO MUCH happens. I want to try and give this review in as spoiler-free a way as possible. Which, I can definitely assure for this book. But there may be a few times where I give things away from the first installation. If that does happen, I am truly sorry. Anyways, this second book pulls about as many punches as the first one, which is to say absolutely none of them. From essentially the very first page, the reader is hit with blow after blow of violence and emotion and turmoil and backstabbing and manipulation and secret powers and even though so much of it hurt to read, I also never wanted it to end! Some things that stood out to me in the first book that remain so central and impressive in this second one as well are mainly in regards to the way Kuang writes war and conflict. There is no romanticization, no mercy – it all hits fully and deeply, as it should. This includes not just the descriptions of battles, and the death there, but also the way the countryside and civilians are affected, the way allegiances are ever shifting in the face of changing information (and the way much of that happens not for the good of people/county, but for personal power gain, even if it means even worse conditions for people/country I the future). 

 

In addition, and very importantly as we get further into these character’s lives and stories, Kuang writes PTSD spectacularly. Rin’s internal struggle to accept what she’s done, the weight of her responsibility and guilt and anger, is displayed so thoroughly and horrifically. It makes her actions and reactions, many of which could easily make one annoyed or want to shake her into standing up for herself/the Cike more or seem impulsive and poorly considered, absolutely understandable. My heart ached for her and her incredibly grey and, sometimes, detached moral character and impulsivity and need for care/connection that led her to be, so often, manipulated. And then it’s further ingrained for her each time that led to more death on her conscious. It’s no wonder she got lost in that cycle and it’s such a real commentary on how, once you’ve seen war and done things like Rin has done, could you possibly ever come back from that? 

 

I also have to say that the expansion, in this novel, of the details inter and intra national nuances of racism was handled so well, along with deeper dives into the privileges of those born into power and money (and what they’ll do to keep it). We already saw some of the North/South split within Nikan in book one with the way Rin was treated at Sinegard. But here, we see even more of that, between the citizens of Nikan and the various tribes living in the Hinterlands, as well as the entire continent and the Hesperians. This was a particularly clear, at least for me, commentary on the real-life outlook of Western colonization, the religious and “scientific” excuses that were (and still are) used to justify overt racism and myriad microaggressions against non-Western civilizations. Which makes sense, since this entire saga is strongly based in Chinese history. There is also quite a bit of detail in the political intrigue, especially internal to Nikan, that develops throughout. And it is minute detail – machinations and manipulations that have so much depth and continue, page after page, to change and surprise me and I was on my toes the whole book not knowing who to trust ever! And I definitely loved that reading experience. 

 

That being said, let me also take a moment here to just touch on some of the characters. We don’t meet too many new ones (the Dragon Warlord and Nezha’s brother being two major ones, and the pirate queen Moag being one I am dying for more of), but we do get a little more from some characters (like the Empress, Chagan and his sister Qara, Ramsa, and Venka) which I loved, and we lose just as many in varied upsetting and heartbreaking ways. And Rin’s two major male colleagues from Sinegard and the last Poppy War, Kitay and Nezha, both play major roles here again. I really enjoyed the rocky terrain of all their relationships – realistically difficult under the harsh conditions, family/societal situations, and all the normal challenges on young adult relationships. I was in turns surprised and not by the turns some of their interactions took, but I can’t lie, the end and the split that comes with it, was one I definitely had not anticipated, though I maybe should have, and it hurt to read.   

 

The ride this book took me on was just as terrible and wonderful as the first. There was not a single time, despite it being over 600 pages, that I thought it dragged, and I could not be more impressed with the scope of Kuang’s work. It’s such a full world that she’s built, such authentic characters she’s created, and such a freaking dynamic story she’s unfolding. I cannot wait to dive into the final book and see what else she has in store for Rin and the power from her Pheonix god, Kitay and Venka, Nezha and the puppet Dragon Republic, (ex?) Empress Su Daji?, hopefully Moag, and what the ending looks like for the entirety of the Nikan Empire and its people. 

 

“She played with her guilt the way a child holds his palm to a candle flame, daring to venture just close enough to feel the stabbing licks of pain.” 

 

“It doesn’t matter what you want. […] When you have the power that you do, your life is not your own. […]  People will seek to use you or destroy you. If you want to live, you must pick a side. So do not shirk from war, child. Do not flinch from suffering. When you hear screaming, run toward it.” 

 

“It’s not about who you are, it’s about how they see you.” 

 

“And when nations start to believe that other beliefs lead to damnation, violence becomes inevitable.” 

 

“But we are the weaker party. We have no choice but to play their game. That’s how power works.” 

 

“If nothing lasted and the world did not exist, all that meant was that reality was not fixed. The illusion she lived in was fluid and mutable, and could be easily altered by someone willing to rewrite the script of reality.” 

 

“Fire and water looked so lovely together. It was a pity they destroyed each other by nature.” 

 

 

 

Honestly, I had never heard of this book until one day last week I was shelving books at the library in the graphic novel section. Since, as I mentioned on my recent post about Palimpsest, I’ve been getting more and more into graphic memoirs, I sorta slowed down my shelving rate to peek at what else was there as I went. This spine stuck right out at me, because it’s so wonderfully bright! So, I grabbed it to see what it was about and I knew, immediately, that I was going to have to check it out and read it for real because the description on the back mentioned that the author obsessed over Willow from Buffy the Vampire Slayer as she was growing up and, honestly I don’t think I’ve ever felt so seen by a back cover blurb. 

 

So, basically, this is a graphic memoir about the author, Eleanor Crewes, and her personal journey to the feelings of off-ness/wrong-ness she had while growing up and how that eventually, over years and with a build-up of evidence, led to her realization that she is gay. Just as the title promises. 

 

For being a 300+ page book, I sped through it in less than an hour. I mean, know it’s illustrated, but still, Persepolis and Good Talk both took me multiple sittings. Though to be fair, their content was much heavier. And they had multiple panels on each page, where this was a very “one illustration/caption per page” situation. But anyways, the point is that I read this fast AF. And I did appreciate that – the speed fit with the general vibe of the memoir and story-telling style. Though this memoir does cover some more serious points, like an unhealthy relationship with body image and at least one instance of a panic attack, it was more done to illustrate that while Crewes was intellectually ignoring her feelings of things not being right, her body was telling her to pay better attention because she was definitely missing something, as opposed to a deep dive into the mental health aspects of her coming of age/coming out. So, that being said, this was an overall really lighthearted account of Crewe’s sexuality realization(s) and journey. 

 

I feel like it’s worth mentioning a few things about this memoir that sat a little wrong for me. Well, the first is perhaps just on me for flipping pages too fast, but I felt like some of the illustrations of Crewes (and her ever-changing appearance and style as she searched for the outer self that matched her true inner self) were easily confused with that of her friends. Like, in some series of illustrations I really didn’t know who was Crewes and who were her friends and that made some of the conversational back and forth a bit unwieldy to follow. In addition, at a few points it felt like there were missing pages/panels because I couldn’t figure out how some of the captions fit into the ones around them/the rest of the chapter. Again, maybe I was just reading too fast? 

 

Another thing, and this actually did sit strangely for me, is that this book heavily focused on boys feeling wrong and a centering of sex as a marker for being an adult/in a real relationship. And I get that for many reasons. I understand that that is a societal scaffold, one that Crewes grew up firmly within, but her own acknowledgement. And I also get that this is a memoir, and therefore speaks to just her experience (and she never suggests that it is anything more than that). However, I still feel like it is worth noting that, for any readers who identify as bi or as ace/aro, there may be a sort of alienation in that perspective. Just…I wanted to note it, because I felt it. Not as a reflection on the author, because again, she never claims for this to be anything other than her own story/experience, but just as a low-key CW to anyone who might need it. 

 

That being said, there were also a few parts the I truly, deeply, strongly, completely identified with. I usually add quotes/passages at the end that speak to me, but these three really hit on such a profoundly personal and recognizable level, that I feel like including them in the meat of the review is the only way to really do it. Like, these are thoughts and emotions and experiences that I have felt/lived and never put into words, mostly because I haven’t necessarily tried, but now that I’ve read them here, I am feeling so intensely seen and now I don’t have to put it into words myself because Crewes did it for me. So, here they are, the three moments in this graphic memoir that made me actually gasp out loud a bit: 

 

“People might think that everyone starts out in a closet until they’re ready to ‘come out.’ […] But what’s funny for me is that I didn’t even know that there was a closet – or that I was very much stuck inside it.” 

 

“It wasn’t such an epiphany […] it was more like small moments of clarity, like I had to test the words, allow them to settle inside me before speaking them aloud to anyone else.” 

 

“I was nervous […] not because they were against it but because they’d never lived with it. Gay, queer, LGBT+ was not a part of their daily lives and so they had raised me in an unconsciously heterosexual environment.” 

 

Just yea. I’m gonna end it there because I don’t really feel the need to follow-up that up with anything else. This was a fast, upbeat, enjoyably illustrated memoir about coming to terms with one’s sexuality. There were moments of some gravity, but mostly it was done in a playful and fun way (both in the words and in the graphics) that is leaving me, the reader, feeling light (in the weighted way) after finishing it.      

 

 

 

I try to be really careful about what I request from NetGalley. First, becasue it is so easy to overdo it and let that get out of control (on this front, I am only marginally successful, as I am fairly far behind on sending feedback there - I'm only human). Also, because those require reading on my Kindle which is just not my favorite. I prefer a physical book. Even as I'm getting into audiobooks, I still like to have the physical copy on hand to reference, if possible. So all that being said, I am not sure what prompted me to request this particular memoir. it isn't one that I had heard of before, so I wasn't eagerly anticipating it. And I had read no reviews of it at all so I had no frame of reference for the writing, etc. But request it, I did. And, though I am clearly a bit behind on my read/review in relation to its pub date, I am really glad to have gotten access to it because it was a great read. 

 

This is a sort of memoir in essays from Métis author Toni Jensen. Throughout the collection(?) she covers topics including her childhood and family, teaching and writing, relationships, motherhood, environmental activism and more, all tied together with an overarching theme of exploring the realities and narratives around violence, and especially gun violence, in the landscape of America historically and today. 

 

First, and very high on the list of things I loved about this memoir, I have to mention the writing. It was just phenomenal. There is poetry in the language of Jensen's prose. And I love the way she uses definitions of words (Webster's mainly, but other options, like Urban Dictionary, when Webster's doesn't have anything), exploring the various meanings of them, their origins, and the connections she makes between those definition and the "real world," the sometimes incongruence-ness of those textbook meanings with off-page realities. It's really, for lack of a more sophisticated descriptor, cool. And it ties the chapters together stylistically, which is really necessary (I felt) since the topical/temporal ties of the essays seemed, at times, sporadic. That could have really bothered me, but I ended up being ok with it since the leaps sort of followed a natural thought-process, the way memories tend to ebb and flow into each other in understandable but not necessarily patterned ways. In summary here, the wordplay is masterful. 

 

In contrast to the gorgeousness of the writing, many of the themes within Jensen's memoir are anything but. In fact, this was often particularly difficult to read, as Jensen delves into violence in her own life, as well as violence in this country (America), in a way that profoundly illustrates how deeply that violence is rooted in our homes and lives. Taking a look in turn at all the parts of herself, as a female (daughter, partner, mother), a Métis woman, an educator, a person living in American, Jensen shows how violence has historically been enacted against all those aspects - in the country at large and against herself individually. It's a striking and uncomfortable exploration, but an incredibly important one. The violence of America against Indigenous populations, against women, "domestically" (in quotations because I loved Jensen's interrogation of why, when violence occurs in the home is the treatment of it/reaction to it changed?), on campuses, and in general, all based in motivations of racism/sexism/stereotypical (fragile) masculinity, has gotten to a point that is essentially too much to comprehend realistically, so we have inured ourselves to the reality of it, lost ourselves in the cycle of "ignorable until it’s tragic and then ignorable again" so that its now just part of the marrow of the country.. Jensen questions that mindset, asking how we got here, and providing some background/context, some insight, some suggestion of change, but, mostly, challenging the reader to come out of the protective mental shell and join her in interrogating why this has to be our reality. 

 

I particularly was interested in the look at the changing rhetoric in the social and political landscape of America from the 1970s to today that radicalized the “every man,” creating the idea of a strong man with a gun to protect what is his, and how that led to mass and buy-in from rural communities who would actually benefit from the exact opposite policies. It's a fascinating recent history that I don't have much baseline knowledge in. Honestly, I am only recently starting to pick up nonfiction at all, so, for me, this discussion of the rise of gun violence in America and the way it centers within wealth/whiteness and the rhetoric that conflated gun ownership with manliness/protection at this level of analysis is new to me. I was, of course, aware of (and agreed with) the clear data and reality that increased access to guns = increased likelihood of gun violence (like, duh), but just have never read much that truly dissects it like this (and I'm sure that even this is a surface-level dissection, really). But the way Jensen wove the data and current events and larger issues into her own personal experiences with and exposure to domestic/interpersonal/state-sponsored/gun violence as a sort of case study in consequences really worked for me as a reader. There is also a partial spotlight on environmental justice, the land, threatened by America (back to that theme of violence), being protected, as always, by Indigenous peoples. It wasn’t as large a piece of the memoir as the reflection on the land being stolen in the first place, and that heritage, but it was there. 

 

Jensen uses exquisite composition to tell the story of violence in America, and her own story of violence. It is challenging, frightening, but necessary and compelling. I appreciated Jensen’s words, her vulnerability, her confrontation of the various narratives that become the dominant ones, the ones we don’t question, and asks us to really consider if this is how it has to be. And it’s powerful. 

 

“See how science newly quantifies what some of us have long known – how historical and cultural trauma is lived in our bodies, is passed down, generation to generation, how it lives in the body.” 

 

“It’s okay, I’ve learned, to love the things that make you, even if they also are the things that unmake you.” 

 

“In our country, the myth of individualism pushes us to ignore structures that create tensions and pressures in individuals, yes, but also in families, in communities. But that’s not how people are made, in isolation, with only some notion of character or goodness to form them.” 

 

“Who is served by our everyday American procedure of rendering general and passive our language about violence?” 

 

“Whether a circumstance is acknowledged openly or formally or whether it’s denied, how a situation becomes one worthy of study, is mainly in how it does or does not intersect with or affect the lives of the wealthy.” 

 

“More often than not, if someone describes a woman to me as difficult, I find that woman to be delightful or unusual or unorthodox. It’s a word most often used to censure women who live unconventional lives.” 

 

“To memorialize correctly, language matters.” 

 

“The taking by force of our land always has been twinned with the taking by force of our bodies.” 

 

“If more wealthy Americans own guns than do those living in poverty, why do we have such difficulty fitting this fact into our collective gun narrative? Because when wealth and whiteness are combined, the narrative shifts most times towards plenty, toward goodness instead of lack or deformity. We’re unwilling to acknowledge abhorrent behavior from an heiress but expect it from a working-class man.” 

 

“What does it mean to try to pass? What does it mean to pass without trying? With this act, how do we measure intent? With this act, this action, how much does intent matter?”
 
 

“How much grace is it possible to give to others when you move through the world with more than a small measure of safety – when this is safety you own but have not bought?”
 
 

“People who kill other people with guns have to have access to the guns. The more access, the more violence. We have in our country almost entirely unfettered access.” 

 

“When you’re going to be called trouble anyway, your life then becomes your own. There’s liberation and loneliness both in this shift.” 

 

My bank account and library waitlists being what they are, it took me much longer than I had hoped to read this novel. I have loved everything I’ve ever read by Schwab, from Vicious/Vengeful to the Shades of Magic series (which I read even before starting this blog, so I can’t even link to reviews) to even one of my very few forays into MG lit with City of Ghosts. I have life goals of reading her entire catalog, for sure. But I knew from the second I heard of this novel that I would love it. So here we are, having finally read/listened to it, and I am happy in the knowledge that I still know myself and my readings preferences because wow.  

 

In a small village in early 18th century France, Addie LaRue chooses to make a deal with a god of the darkness, trading her soul for a life of freedom, escaping her small life and impending (unwanted marriage). But deals with darkness always come at a cost, have hidden catches, and so Addie finds herself completely free, but also completely forgettable and alone. She spends centuries learning the boundaries of her curse, of learning to live within and around those rules; a life free of confines and aging and illness but also of real connection and love, because everyone she meets forgets her as soon as she is out of sight. Until, three centuries in, she meets Henry Strauss in NYC and he doesn’t forget, he can remember her. And everything she knows changes once again… 

 

Well, let me say again, wow. And, let me also say, I had to be convinced. I mean, I knew in concept, in theory, I loved this story. And I also know from experience that I love Schwab’s writing, her story-telling. And yet….and yet. The first third or so of this novel I wasn’t sure. And it was killing me. I wanted to badly to just love it. And even as I fell into Addie’s story (which was truly recognizable/genuine), and into Schwab’s writing (which was, as always, incredible), there was something that wasn’t clicking with me. I have to be honest. I can’t even say what it was. I am guessing it’s at least in part the back and forth in time POV device, which is one that for some reason I am iffy on sometimes (I think it gets overused/overdone). But around the halfway mark, the magic of the story and of Schwab’s words truly started to sweep me away into Addie’s world, her life, her experiences, and I fell headfirst and headlong. And I think it comes down to that, to the magic in this story-telling, that won me over hard by the end. This was a much slower burn, slow-build plot, compared to Schwab’s others works. And maybe that’s all it was, that it was a different pacing than what I was used to or expecting. But let me tell you how worth it that wait was. Because when it began to hit, it hit that much harder. I fell in love with this story. And to be clear, I refer to the story on purpose. I think that Addie herself, considering the length of the book and the time we spend with her, never felt as developed as she could have. Or rather, I felt like I didn’t know her as much as I should have. But I also feel like that’s the point. She spent centuries being no one, so when we finally meet her, get her story, she is a compilation of years and experiences in the margins, as a shadow, as an idea, so of course she has nothing of herself that she carried with her, because why would she? It’s actually quite smart, real, when I think about it. So yes, my connection with this novel was, very specifically, with the unspooling of the story. And that, that was perfection. A story of the power in interpersonal connection, the nuances of Faustian deals, the daily moments that make a life, the little details, that all come together to create a web of gorgeous, understated magic.   

 

Let me just note a few of those little details that really got me, as I read. Honestly, I loved the way Addie’s curse played out. It was the just right mix of getting her wish and realizing the potential downsides of what she wanted in the way that only deals with the devil can show. Similarly, I loved those aspects as we learn about Henry’s own deal/curse. And one of my absolute favorite things was the way they played together with each other, the exact ways they filled each other’s gaps to allow them to be singular exceptions for each other. It’s so wonderfully clever I almost can’t stand it. I also was fascinated by the way Schwab wove the power of ideas and art together and into the story, allowing Addie the barest hint of a loophole. And I have a soft spot for when authors and artists talk about the power in the words and art they create because its just so powerful, for me. The meditation on the way ideas and art can endure and grow beyond memory and confines and original scope, and work to connect people across time and space, is lovely. There is also some speculation about the concepts of possession versus passion versus contentment, as well as selfishness/selflessness, and the various ways that love plays out within them, and the ways they each show up as a part of love, and I enjoyed all of that as well. And last, I have to just speak about the darkness himself. Honestly, I loved his character. I would read an entire spin-off series about him. For real. He and his games were just so great to read. And the way his relationship with Addie changed and developed over the years, the way she become the only person to ever learn anything about him, to battle him and have the literal time to forever study him and remain toe to toe with him, and the way he reacted to something like that…it was just freaking awesome. And again, it was a slow burn and a subtle thing, but it was spot on. I enjoyed Henry and what he and Addie did and were for each other, but honestly, Addie and the darkness made this story for me. They were this story for me. 

 

And so, with that interplay between Addie and the god of darkness as the central point of this spell-binding story (at least for me), I have to say I was FOR the ending. Like, it was literally perfect. It left me with just enough ache and a few tears (yes, I was emotionally involved in Addie and Henry, no question), but I was left damn satisfied by the way we leave Addie and her darkness. Like, deeply content, the kind that left a slow (almost wicked) grin spreading over my face as I read the last pages. And so, I finish this novel just as in love, if not more so, with Schwab. She is firmly cemented as a favorite author and I absolutely recommend this book for anyone looking to lose themselves in a story of the most time-honored, extraordinary fashion. 

 

“What is a person, if not the marks they leave behind?” 

 

“...everyone speaks of her as if she is a summer bloom, something to be plucked, and propped within a vase, intended only to flower and then to rot. […] …she would rather be a tree […]. If she must grow roots, she would rather be left to flourish wild instead of pruned, would rather stand alone, allowed to grow beneath the open sky. Better that than firewood, cut down just to burn in someone else’s hearth.” 

 

“I am not some genie, bound to your whim. […] Nor am I some petty forest spirit, content with granting favors for mortal trinkets. I am stronger than your god and older than your devil. I am the darkness between stars, and the roots beneath the earth. I am promise, and potential, and when it comes to playing games, I divine the rules, I set the pieces, and I choose when to play.” 

 

“Lying is easy, so long as you choose the right words.” 

 

“It is so much easier to share a secret than to keep one…” 

 

“But ideas are so much wilder than memories, so much faster to take root.” 

 

“There are a hundred kinds of silence. There’s the thick silene of places long sealed shut, and the muffled silence of ears stoppered up. The empty silence of the dead, and the heavy silence of the dying. There is the hollow silence of a man who has stopped praying, the airy silence of an empty synagogue, and the held-breath silence of someone hiding from themselves. There is the awkward silence that fills the space between people who don’t know what to say. And the taut silence tat falls over those who do, but don’t know where or how to start.” 

 

“There is a freedom, after all, in being forgotten.” 

 

“You see only flaws and faults, weaknesses to be exploited. But humans are messy, […]. That is the wonder of them. They live and love and make mistakes, and they feel so much.” 

 

“Nothing is all good or all bad. […] Life is so much messier than that.” 

 

“Belief is a bit like gravity. Enough people believe a thing, and it becomes as solid and real as the ground beneath your feet.” 

 

“A story is an idea, wild as a weed, springing up wherever it is planted.” 

 

 

I’ve had great luck with short story collections this year, having read and loved The Secret Lives of Church Ladies and The Office of Historical Corrections. And actually, looking at those, let me be even more specific and say that short story collections by black women authors have rocked my 2021 so far. So really, seeing the reviews of this debut collection talking about how fire it was turned grabbing it from the library into a no brainer. Plus, I loved having the audiobook version to listen along to (thanks, Libro.fom for the ALC) – the narrator was fantastic for bringing these stories to spoken life. 

 

As always with collections, here are my thoughts/reactions to each individual story: 

 

Milk Blood Heat – What an opener! This titular short story starts the collection off with a dark, sort of oppressive (like, in the way that super warm, humid weather feels heavy) bang. The personification of the peculiar emotionality and morbid curiosity of puberty that seems forever and overwhelming when you’re inside it is just stellar, in the most perfect, almost perverse but not quite, way. It’s that period of ominous “growing up” that most of us get through, but some of succumb to, as decisions that are meant only to test the boundaries have unintended permanent consequences (because while the emotions guiding the actions are strong and present, the ability to see further ahead isn’t yet developed). Whew. “Before thirteen, she hadn’t realized that empty was a thing you could carry. But who put it there? Sometimes she wonders if she will ever be rid of it, and sometimes she never wants to give it back. It is a thing she owns.”  

 

Feast – Oh this is a tough one, topically. Major content warning for miscarriage. And the way Moniz writes about the pain and disassociation and (self) guilt and (self) blame and, in this case, the mental derailing after a loss like that, of a loss of something so deeply anticipated and wanted and connected to, of not having any idea how to get back/get over/get through, is wrecking. And I am not sure I can articulate why, but the imagery with the octopus at the end, the idea of self-devouring to erase the damage, was incredibly visceral to read. So powerfully, horribly, well written.  

 

Tongues – Oh I was into this story. A sort of modern-day reforming of the myth of Eve as the fall of man, that pinning of blame on the “fallen woman,” the “temptress,” the seductress to be feared because the power she has is so great as to be impossible to resist. And so, she becomes the devil in the stories. But here, though there are arguments to be made that perhaps some of Zey’s acts are truly…devilish? immoral?...I love the way she takes back and wields and owns that female power. F that religious BS and the fear inherent in it that turns so quickly/easily to hate and oppression and suppression. Plus, I have a very large and very personal soft spot for intensely protective older sisters.  “It is the nature of light to illuminate, and she can’t, like so many forget what she’s seen.” 

 

The Loss of Heaven – This was a little built of a slower, more subtle build than the first stories and felt like it had all the hallmarks of a classic tragedy. Our MC is basically hitting an emotional rock bottom in all sorts of ways, as onlookers give that sort of lip service to empathy while internally seeming to just be grateful it isn’t happening to them (and, perhaps, judging the way it’s being handled…). There’s just a loneliness in the pages of this story that is stark and stabbing. Also, there is a handling of end of life/terminal illness, of an inability to deal with emotional reactions to impending loss (and speeding up the loss itself, as a result), of finding oneself truly alone in the world, that is heartbreaking.  

 

The Hearts of Our Enemies – This mother-daughter relationship focused story really delves into the two as separate people, making their individual judgements and mistakes in regards to the other. There’s a great moment from each, one as the mother realizes the real moment to protect the daughter slipped by as she was trying to atone for a lesser moment, and one as the daughter let’s go of the derision towards her mother as she realizes she’s just a person living her own life for the first and only time, that were particularly authentic for me as a reader. And there’s some petty revenge that doesn’t actually fix a disgusting and inappropriate action in any way, but was very satisfying in the way only petty revenge can be and I did love that. This was a tough read in a subtle-leaning way, but perhaps more powerful for that. “Frankie wonders if […] this near universal disdain a daughter can feel for a mother might be necessary for the appreciation that comes later, if this is what it takes to love.”  

 

Outside the Raft – Oh there was some real darkness in this one, the darkness that children have and exhibit, knowing perhaps that they’re stepping over lines but not having that ability or wherewithal to pull back. It’s a step over the line that some adults, when it comes down to a split-second decision or a decision made under duress, still absolutely make, with that basic instinct of youth and survival. Anyways, there was a real tensity and shadow in this one, with an allusion to the future effects of the many forms that childhood traumas can take. “She must have known that light could not exist without darkness; no good without evil. How might it have been if we’d told her you could be both things and still be loved?” / “I don’t know how to apologize for wanting to save my own life.” 

Snow – The way that, sometimes, a chance encounter with a stranger that mixes things up is exactly what it takes to make you realize what you might have/be overlooking in your own life. And this little supernatural spin on it, not for real, but that sort of “knowing” insight from that stranger, seeing something you think you’re hiding and making you take it out and examine it, was so well-written here. Also, a very recognizable vibe for anyone who has ever worked in a restaurant.  “Harder was facing that I was too impatient or lazy to understand the work of love; behind that, my glowing fear, my almost certainty, that I wasn’t worth the effort.” 

 

Necessary Bodies – I’m not sure that I’ve ever read something where I’ve identified so much with a narrator, honestly. In a very real way, Billie’s internal debate and dialogue and thought processes about having a child are so recognizable to me. And though there may be some differences in the specifics in some cases, and the reality Billie finds herself in pressed to make a final decision one way or the other, I honestly don’t remember another female character articulating anything even remotely this close to my own feelings about becoming a mother. Just…this story really made me feel seen, internally, about my reasonings/feelings about becoming (or more accurately, not becoming) a mother in a way I’ve never experience before and, even though it was a pretty “normal” life story, it’s going to stick with me a long time because of that… 

 

Thicker Than Water – This story, about two siblings on a road trip to drive their father’s ashes to where he wants them to be buried, started seeming like a pretty straightforward forced-proximity to fix a rift situation. But it takes a very dark turn when you start to realize the rift is not of their own making, but all comes back to the father whose ashes they are traveling with…and it’s a doozy. (CW: references to child physical and sexual abuse.) Both subtle and palpable, this one is tough to read for a number of reasons, but a piece that really got me, that was a less obvious addition to the trauma, came in considering that way this sibling relationship, that could have (should have) been a source of comfort/support, was so drastically ruined and stolen. 

 

Exotics – Ummm, excuse me is this micro-short story about what I think it’s about?! Because if so, holy shit. There’s a social commentary on what too much power/privilege and dehumanization of anyone without it does to a person. Yeeesh. (Also, like, how is this the second story I’ve read in the past year that has or alludes to cannibalism?? I’m looking at you, Earthlings. Hopefully this isn’t a new trend…) 

 

An Almanac of Bones – A meditation on motherhood, girlhood, and learning to live with/as who you are, and who others are, to finish out the collection. Probably not my favorite of the collection, but there is definitely an understated fire in the characters and their relationships with each other that does leave you with some nice heat to close out on. “You learn to be who you are, or you die as someone else. It’s simple.” 

 

Well, while this collection didn’t strike me quite as deeply, overall, as the ones I mentioned in my intro, this was still a really, really good set of stories. It was really interesting that, when taken together, these stories are a fascinating look at moments in time across an entire lifespan, from youth to older middle age; a sort of survey of characters at different points throughout a life. And though no single story is a particular standout as far as plot, at least for me, there was a sort of piercing gaze from each of the slices/moments that exposed the inner turmoil and reality of “normal” that makes a reader (well, this reader, at least) feel very seen within their own everyday-ness. That subtle sort of insight carried a fine power that settled heavily over me as a reader, leaving me trapped inside a dense aura of all the stickiness inherent in real, regular lives. I don’t know if I’m doing a great job explaining it, but I cannot believe that a reader would be able to get through this collection without a clear and vibrant connection to at least one of the stories’ characters. And that representation and authenticity is definitely something to applaud. I really enjoyed this debut and look forward to reading more from Moniz in the future.