I’d checked this one out of the library a few months ago and never got around to it before another hold got placed on it, so I had to bring it back. But then I saw that Clark is apparently coming out with a full novel set in this same world and it gave me a push to hurry up and check it back out. That being said, I’m not sure why I was never read it the first time cause literally the moment that I picked this one up, I couldn’t put it down and basically read it in one (short) sitting!  

 

Agent Hamed Nasr and his new partner, Agent Onsi Youssef, working for the Ministry of Alchemy, Enchantments, and Supernatural Entities in this alternate 1920s Cairo world, are called out to deal with a seemingly straightforward de-possession of a tram car. But it turns out to be a more complex haunting than the basic djinn they’d originally believed and things get a little out of hand, leading Hamed and Onsi into cooperation with feminist societies and underground religious ceremonies to attempt to save the city from the threat. 

 

Well, this was just super fun! Though I think it’s fair to say that I could have predicted that, with a steampunk alternate 1920s Egypt populated with super cool and mysterious female suffragettes and sentient automatons where magical creatures like djinn are real. Like, yes please. I love the mythology and folklore of this region of the world so much (The City of Brass was a favorite for this reason as well, and I really need to work my way through the rest of that trilogy). And steampunk is always a “go” for me (The Watchmaker of Filigree Street and Amberlough are both under-hyped favs of mine within that genre) And the combination of all that with some strong female representation in a time period and/or area where that was less common (similarly, I really enjoyed Soulless and need to read more from that series as well) is always a nice added alternate historical twist. So basically, this little novella took a number of my favorite tropes and myths and aspects and combined them all in a way that I just sped right through! In fact, I feel like I would be really into this as a tv series (anyone else get a Supernatural vibe?)!      

 

Yea, so as if you couldn’t tell, I super enjoyed my quick dip into this world and I am definitely looking forward to a deeper dive with Clark’s upcoming novel – there are lots if socio-cultural tensions and interplay that I’m excited to see explored more, plus with world-building so great in such a slim book leads me to believe it will be truly spectacular with more space to grow/flourish. Overall, a fast and entertaining mystery, an exciting magical adventure, a delightful feminist fight for the vote side-story, steampunk and folklore elements sprinkled within and throughout the entire setting and plot, and a wonderfully smart and bordering on snarky writing tone that set the perfect mood for this story.   

 

 

I hadn't heard of this book at all until it was one of the ALC options from Libro.fm a month or so ago. And just this week I was looking for something nice and short to listen to and this fit what I was looking for exactly right. 

 

Alex is the sort of boy that everyone, especially adults, just likes: he's pretty smart and charming when he needs to be, but mostly just flies right under the radar. When Alex starts dating Tracy, his very first girlfriend, things about himself that he always sort of pushed aside or compartmentalized separately from each other start to feel more and more...uncomfortable. And when he meets a new friend, Andre, who asks him questions about himself, the part of him that wears sunset orange dresses and green painted fingernails, Alex thinks that, perhaps, he isn't Alex at all. Perhaps he's actually Sasha Masha. 

 

Well, this was a really lovely quick read. A very easy read, a simple (in the straightforward sense, not the unintelligent sense) story, but by no means is the topic a simple one. Borinsky's portrayal and description of the inklings of "off-ness" that Alex feels, the moments when he fully inhabits Sasha Masha and that clicking into place he experiences...it's just such a wonderful and clear demonstration of the conflicting realities of what you unconsciously know about yourself and the socialization that consciously makes it so difficult to recognize and embrace that internal truth. And I really love the way she writes the queer youth group, and Sasha Masha making new friends there, friends that understand that unsurity and both encourage and give space for Sasha Masha to start to figure it out. That support, and the guidance to help him find others who have experienced similar things, that generations that have come before and laid the groundwork for Sasha Masha's past, the people he had never heard of or knew existed, is so heartwarming and SO important for context. 

 

Although, as I said, the novel itself is simple, regarding the overall development of place and character and plot and dialogue, I still had a very strong sense for Sasha Masha as a person - he felt real and contextualized and I really felt his coming-of-age/coming-of-self. Borinsky's communication of Sasha Masha's feeling "not real" and "in between," in combination with all the normal adolescent angst, just came across as really genuine. This was also a really unique book in that there really was no conclusion, not to Sasha Masha's identity nor to any of his relationships (like, things are very purposefully left very unresolved with most of the main characters, including his parents and Andre). It would be tempting to be annoyed by that or call Borinsky's "ending" lazy. But also...isn't that what life is like? Especially for queer poeple? The constant need to come out and explain yourself. Which is not only challenging in general, but specifically, as we see for Sasha Masha here, when he isn't completely sure how to explain or put it into words for himself...so how can he be expected to wrap it all up with a neat bow for other people? He shouldn't be. And I actually love that Boprinsky gives him that grace and leeway. 

 

This slim volume was an insightful and sweet and just a really nice YA exploration of gender and gender identity. And here at the wrap-up of this review, I'd like to again recognize the way that Borinsky tackles finding oneself outside of the expectations/norms/noise of the world around you. Such affective and effective writing. Overall, this short book is definitely worth the time you'll spend with it. 

 

 

"Did I want things to change? I couldn't tell. Or, no. I didn't. Not yet. How could I want things to change if I didn't know what changing meant?" 

 

"And I feel like teenagers get a bad rap for changing things up all the time. We're fake, or we're insincere, or we're superficial. But if you do it to please yourself, what's insincere about that?" 

 

"...I feel like I was on autopilot for most of my life. That I just took for granted the person the world told me I was." 

 

"'I think we've each got a mystery inside of us [...] and as people, our job is to respect that mystery. To give it room to breathe. To feed it. To take it out for lunch sometimes. Whatever. We're all a part of a whole big picture. And if we're not doing our best to unfold the strange somethings inside of us, we're not doing right by everybody else. If we're not unfolding our hearts, we're holding them back. We're flinching. And that's how we hurt people. That's how we make ourselves and the whole world smaller.’" 

 

 

I’ve known Claudia Rankine’s name for years but, as a not reader of poetry, it’s always been a sort of back burner name for me. But every once in a while, I do decide to try some poetry (and have enjoyed collections from Joy Harjo and Jericho Brown, though I’d by no means consider myself a genre-convert or knowledgeable poetry reader). A few weeks ago, I checked this this one out to a patron at the library and that sort of inspired me to add myself to the holds list for when they brought it back. And, here we are, with my (maybe third ever?) poetry review. 

 

There’s not really a “plot summary” or other type of synopsis to give here, like I do with fiction/nonfiction, so I guess I’ll just jump right into the review? This is a fascinating piece of nonfiction, a sort of combination or lyrical essays and more “traditional” poetry, alternating back and forth and sort of interspersed. It is, in that stylistic sense, truly unlike anything else I’ve ever read before. I also have to say that I’m glad I didn’t try to read this earlier. This is the type of poetry that I think is less accessible, or feels less accessible to people; or to not speak for others, this is the type of poetry that intimidates me as a reader. The pieces that leant more towards essay, but with a very rhythmical type writing to it, were fine. I felt like I “got” them. But the parts with a more traditional poetry presentation, short lines and broken sentences and advanced wordplay and aesthetic structure, those parts did make me react like…like I wasn’t smart enough to understand them. (The same goes, for me, very much, for the majority of the art that is interspersed throughout. But the visual dimension was interesting and unique, regardless of my personal “understanding.”) And I had to work hard within myself to read through that feeling, to accept the feeling, the message, behind the words, even if individually I didn’t necessarily follow them all. So, the reason I’m glad I waited to read Rankine, to read a collection like this, is because I needed to be objectively confident enough of myself as a reader to respect that the point is not for me to “get” everything, but to absorb and experience. And that’s growth I needed to make, a reflection on me and not the work itself, so I want to make that clear. But it is what it is, and I feel like it’s important to share, in case you too might be intimidated by poetry. I encourage you to go for it, to just keep reading, to just…sense…this work. 

 

As for the topical aspects, phew. This is a heavy collection. Rankine looks at and dissects lived racism with a hyper focus on lingual aggressions and microaggressions and the reality of living and internalizing them. From sports to media to law enforcement brutality to interpersonal interactions, Rankine’s words illustrate absolutely the individual weight of racism in America – the scars and injury and intergenerational trauma that are inevitable for each Black person in America, and the ways that, as “citizens,” they are forced to suppress reactions to that inescapable and constant burden. The whole volume really centers around this reality, but section vii in particular, highlighting the way our country criminalizes/marginalizes being Black from natural disaster to police brutality to even the places where Black is, outwardly, lauded (sports), is a gut punch of lived racism page after page and was particularly tough to read. 

 

Rankine’s exploration and meditation on the person-less-ness and displacement of living in a situation where you feel, you know, the cumulative of historic and current racism, but must constantly question because of gaslighting about your own experiences, is intense. Although, as I said, there were a number of individual moments where I felt like the content, the details, went over my head, I cannot deny the feelings this collection let me with and that, I believe, is the power in poetry.  

 

“Perhaps this is how racism feels not matter the context – randomly the rules everyone else gets to play by no longer apply to you, and to call this out by calling out ‘I swear to God!’ is to be called insane, crass, crazy.” 

 

“I do not always feel colored. I feel most colored when thrown against a sharp white background.” 

 

“...just getting along shouldn’t be an ambition.” 

 

“Forget all that, the world says. The world’s had a lot of practice.” 

 

“The past is a life sentence, a blunt instrument aimed at tomorrow.” 

 

“Appetite won’t attach you to anything no matter how depleted you feel.” 

 

“because white men can’t / police their imagination / black men are dying” 

 

“A feeling that feelings might be irrelevant if they point to one’s irrelevance pulls at you.” 

 

“That time and that time and that time the outside blistered the inside of you, words outmaneuvered years, had you in a chokehold, every part roughed up, the eyes dripping. / That’s the bruise the ice in the heart was meant to ice. / To arrive like this every day for it to be like this to have so many memories and no other memory than these for as long as they can be remembered to remember this.” 

 

 

 

 

 

I feel like I had vaguely heard of this one somewhere, but it really came to my attention when it was featured last month (maybe the month before?) on my library’s Hoopla app. The cover looked so cute and, like I said, it sounded a little familiar, so I clicked on it to learn more. Well, one quick skim of the blurb had me adding it to my TBR *that* moment. 

 

There’s a small, non-descript café in Tokyo that doesn’t only serves coffee. It also gives visitors a chance to travel in time. Though there are many rules to follow, like having to be seated at a certain table, not being able to leave the café, and only being able to stay in that different time for the however long it takes the coffee to get cold (and then being sure to drink it all in order to return), as well as knowing that nothing one does in the past can change the present, there are still those who wish to travel. This novel tells the story of four of those people, traveling back to speak to a dead relative one more time, to see a partner before the grip of Alzheimer’s takes hold, to have one final word with a previous lover, and, in one special case, traveling forwards to meet the daughter they’ll never otherwise have the chance to know. 

 

Despite the concept of this novel being one that could lend itself to grand adventures and large dramas, I was surprised to find that it had a very quiet, understated sort of vibe. With all the rules connected to the time travel, it turns out that not many people are able or willing to take advantage of it, and what seems like it would be a very popular destination/option, is actually a pretty quiet and underwhelming spot. Although that was unexpected, for sure, once I adjusted, I found myself pretty taken with this story. The four stories that this novel focus are from the lives of café regulars and staff, so a large part of the novel is actually spent getting to know them, their individual lives and the connections they have to each other. The development of the background on each is completely connected to their reasons for wanting to travel in time, and those they wish to see again by doing so, but since each of these reasons is intensely personal, we end up with a fairly solid sense of each character. I wouldn’t have thought I’d have wanted that, to start, but it ended up really working with the unassuming vibe of the writing and story. 

 

With that, this ended up being, instead of a sweeping time change/travel epic, a really tender way for these characters to find the options that always existed for them or meet the challenges they needed to face or, in a more or less “on their own” way, just get the little...push...that they needed. It showed the reader that there is always a bit of magic to be found in the mundane, that the quotidian can be special or important, and to not lose sight of that. Relatedly, and due in part to the aforementioned rule about not being able to change the present, there is no opportunity for major “fixes” or “ruination” based on actions during time travel, leaving the patrons with the simple chance to find that bittersweet benefit of closure. And there’s a lovely moral in there about the fact that while events/situations/reality cannot and doesn’t change, people still can, and do, all the time.  

 

I will say that there were a few moments that this book veered into cheesy just a smidge too much for me. It was never over-the-top, but the line was definitely toed. In addition, and maybe this would have been different reading a physical copy versus listening, because I could have sped through these interchanges a bit faster as necessary, but there were a few points where I thought the characters caught onto things or took action just a little too slowly. Perhaps that’s just me though, as I’m a fast-paced reader/thinker and this was a more reflectively written novel, so bear that in mind. 

 

Overall, this novel was much more subtle and understated than I’d expected, with a very deliberate pacing and unfolding, and a bent towards the sentimental. However, I enjoyed, very much, the elevating of “normal,” relationships and routines and interactions to a level that is worth this kind of scrutiny and taking advantage of time travel to get right/correct. It definitely makes you consider some of the less exciting, but no less important for that steadiness, relationships in one’s own life – reminding one to nurture and appreciate them for what they are. Similarly, there is a certain sort of “live life to the fullest” message that comes through loudly, despite some of the difficult topics addressed (albeit in a light sort of way), that makes me think fans of Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine (and similar novels) will really enjoy this read.    

 

A few months into working at my local library, I found the stash of ARCs we’ve been sent that are “free to a good [employee’s] home” and it’s been hard to not grab them all and run, honestly. I try to be judicious about what I take, so that there are options left for other people. Yea, I know, I’m too nice. Haha. Anyways, this one was on the top of the pile right when I first found it and that cover caught my eye like you wouldn’t believe – or maybe you do believe it since the colors are simply gorgeous. And then as I got closer and saw that title, I just couldn’t say no. I judged it, found it worthy, and brought it home with me. Now look – it’s a recent release that’s getting a fair amount of love and I feel so cool for having read it this soon after publication! 

 

This is a story of lives intertwined in Baxter Beach, Barbados. Locals Lala and Adan are expecting a child, but the night Lala goes into labor and leaves their house looking for Adan, she interrupts him in the middle of robbing the nearby home of a well-off ex-pat, causing the home invasion to take a fatal turn. When, weeks later, Lala’s baby is found dead on the beach and Mira Whalen continues to be lost in the grief of her husband’s unsolved murder and Adan’s friend Tone tries to help fix his and Lala’s troubles and Sergeant Beckles follows his gut toward solving these deaths/murders, these characters’ stories unfold together leading to an ever more tragic finale. 

 

Whoa. I honestly can’t believe that this is a debut. The writing is simply stunning. There is a gorgeous cadence to the writing, a lyricism, that you cannot help but fall into as a reader. Beautiful despite the difficulty, and sometimes just straight ugliness, of the topics it’s describing. Also, having listened to the audiobook (thanks Libro.fm!) along with reading the physical, I cannot help but think that the narrator had a great role in the way I interpreted that cadence, because oh my goodness the voice and tone and rise/fall of the narration was simply perfect.  Also, the multiple perspectives through which this story is told, each revealing different aspects, small details, and myriad individual interpretations of the same events is done so, so well. The interconnections between the characters were clear and believable (sometimes I gripe with these types of novel formulas because things seem too convenient to be realistic or I’m left with certain holes/questions at the end) and the tiny differences in perception or experience that make each character see what they see, whether it’s the full or accurate truth or not, and the way that ripples out into decisions and consequences across time and lives and events is all phenomenal executed. 

 

As far as the content and themes themselves…also whoa. The list of content warnings for this novel is long, including sexual assault and rape and incest, domestic abuse – physical and mental/emotional, death of a child, violence and violent death and gun violence, miscarriage, murder. But somehow, even though all that happened within these pages, it never seemed like the violence and abuse and death eclipsed the characters themselves. I don’t know how best to describe it, but I want it to be clear that reading this did not feel like reading trauma porn (or whatever the right vocabulary is to describe that). Rather, this novel stayed truly focused on the development of the character’s living through and within and responsible for these events. The portrayal of their lives, which they lived within the circumstances they were handed, circumstances that for many of them were barriers or lacking in opportunity or limited for systemic and cyclical reasons and not reasons within their personal control, was heartrending. Truly. The loss and suffering were…outsized…and each faced time(s) when different decisions could have been made. As a reader, I sure hoped they’d have been made, for the characters’ sakes, for their chance at a potential for a happier/easier outcome. Yet, I can’t say I don’t understand why they weren’t, sometimes not at all and sometimes not until it was too late, and I mourned with and for the characters when they reached the moments when they realized it. Anyways, I am not totally sure I communicated what I wanted to here, but the point is, while these themes are intense and heavy and potentially triggering AF, they were also handled in a way that made them feel like the “setting” and ground-laying details that they were – integral to the plot and the characters, but never the dominant piece. What I am leaving this novel with is a deep sense of these characters and their relationships to each other, centering on Lala and spiraling outwards to include her first meeting and history with Tone, the way she met and married Adan, how she came to be raised by her grandmother, how her story became intertwined with Mira Whalen (who we get to know as well, her own story as an island girl who came to be married to an ex-pat, and her following grief at his loss) and that of Sergeant Beckles. And here and there we are given other, one-off, perspectives of peripheral characters whose certain decisions/actions, unbeknownst to them, create pivotal changes and reverberations in the lives of our main characters. I want to finish with a mention of where things end. A “wrap-up” for each character that, in many cases are tragic line with the rest of the novel, but also seemed right, providing each with a landing place that, whether it’s deserved or unjust, open-ended or permanent, just…fit. Which is always a feat worth admiring.    

 

Jones combines awfully dark themes and gritty realities with expressive writing and detailed, well-paced plot/character advancement in a debut novel that is truly impressive. Although this is not a novel to enter into lightly, it is one that, put simply, is just really good.  

 

“What are secrets but things we want to forget? Why then would be keep the acquaintance of others who remember them?” 

 

“In those tunnels, you understand that you do not learn to love a man, because for the right man there is no need for the learning, the love is the most natural thing in the world. You understand that if you must learn to love a man, he is probably not the man you should be loving.” 

 

 

 

 

Alright, I read Chloe Brown last year (ish) and fell just as much in love with Hibbert’s writing as it seems the whole world has. It’s so freaking smart and sarcastic, which is my personal favorite combination for communication. Plus, it was just really refreshing, as far a diversity of romance leads (culturally and emotionally) and incredibly, wonderfully steamy. So yea, I knew I was going to read the rest of the series as they came out. And yea, I know I’m behind cause I’m just know getting to this second one as the third one is hitting shelves. But also, yea, it was worth the wait because if I thought the first one was that good, this second one took it to a whole other level!  

 

Danika Brown is a PhD student, dedicated (obsessed?) with her work and research and with a one-track mind for her career. Her previous relationships have shown that her work ethic doesn’t match with being a good partner and has decided that friends with benefits, no feelings allowed, is her ideal. Zafir Ansari is a gruff former rugby player and current security guard in the building where Dani works, one with a secret romantic side and a “tragic past” he’s trying to separate himself from. When Zaf “saves” Dan during a fire drill gone wrong, and the heroic rescue goes viral as #DrRugbae, he asks if she’ll be willing to play along as a publicity stunt to get attention (and funding) increased for his nonprofit Tackle It. Dani agrees (it’s for kids!), but despite all their rules about “the relationship is fake” and “there’s an end-date” and then “it’s just sex,” it turns out neither one is able to fight the feelings that’re growing between them. 

 

There is literally so much, everything, to love about this book that I am not even sure where to start or how to coherently organize it. I’m just gonna word vomit it all here and see what happens – join me for the ride! Ok so the smart, sarcastic writing, if anything, is even better than in the first. I don’t think I’ve snorted/laughed at anything I’ve read as often as I did while reading this. It started with the very first line and was woven into every scene, description, plot-line and dialogue interaction (even the serious ones) in a way that was incredibly authentic, totally entertaining and in no way took away from the “real” parts of the story. Fabulous. The unexpected and casual bi rep from Dani is everything. Period. The sex scenes are great! Steamy and sexy and smoothly humorous (just like everything else) AND I don’t know what it is about Hibbert’s writing/word-choices exactly, but there were no cringe-worthy descriptions for me, ever (which is a sort of small miracle in romance novels, to not have a single part cause me to give a little wince). I’ve seen countless (like, actually more than I can count) reviewers talk about and list Zaf as best book boyfriend and ok I know everyone has different things they look for but like, I totally get (and am now bought into) the hype and I would not be surprised if it was nigh on universal (for the peeps out there who are into men) because the man is seriously *heart eyes and deep sighs* all around. Love the sibling connection and importance and support here. I feel like Chloe and Eve were more background in this one than the first, but that could be misremembering and also potentially because Dani was clearly a more guarded person (emotionally) for most of the book, but the parts where they do show up are everything I wanted. Zaf’s family and his relationships with them, especially his niece (I loved her) and best friend Jamal, were just super heart-warming. Overall, the plot and pacing were freaking spectacular. Everything unfolded and built/released tension in all the right ways. I especially loved the “break” towards the end (I don’t know what this is called, but all romance does it – the final big hurdle that seems to push the characters apart for good but it’s romance so you know by the end they’re gonna make it back to each other). I think a lot of romance’s overwrite or overdramatize this section, making something small into something way bigger to fit the expected formula, but what happened in this novel was SO genuine, for both characters. And I so appreciated that they both thought through it like adults, sought help from friends/family, and made choices about handling it with both their own and the other’s good in mind. It wasn’t the typical “break” point, but just a natural bridge that was eventually going to have to be crossed and it was handled so well by Hibbert. 

 

PHEW. If you’re still with me, there is one more, major, thing I want to recognize. As with the last novel, Hibbert gives a CW before the novel starts, mentioning in this case, the topics of anxiety and death of close family members, that she addresses. And wow, does she address them so well. Plus, as with Chole Brown, she gives the male lead the mental/emotional trauma that is so often reserved for just women and ignored in men. The presentation of grief and anxiety disorder and depression in Zaf, and the perfectly vulnerable and sensitive (yet still flawed and human) way that he deals with it all is beautiful and relatable in its struggle. On the flip side, Dani’s emotional suppression is something more often presented for male characters, so again, I appreciate, so much, Hibbert’s ability to represent the breadth of experiences with all of these real-life issues. Again, too, the way it’s handled is so real, in it's difficult-to-process causes and truths. The way Dani and Zaf complement and hold space for and respect and support each other in growing through their emotional extremes is so lovely to see. I do have to be honest and say that, even though it covers so much insecurity/hurt, and I absolutely hate that for her, I do love the extremity of Dani’s self-confidence. Like hardcore her outer vibe is #goals. 

 

Well, Dani Brown just vaulted itself into my top favorite romances of all time (up there with Well Met and You Had Me at Hola and Red White and Royal Blue and The Kiss Quotient). I loved everything about it and personally, deeply, felt the overarching message that you shouldn’t HAVE to compromise who you are or your lifestyle/preferences for a relationship but in finding the right person, you realize you sort of WANT to (to a certain, healthy, degree, of course). If you’re like Dani and look for signs from the universe…here’s yours: take the hint and go read this already! 

 

“Bright and beautiful and wild and terrifying, just like a forest fire.” 

 

“Major or minor, if something keeps you human when pressure makes you feel like a volcano, hold on to that thing by whatever means necessary.” 

 

“Just book after book about people facing their issues head on, and handling it, and never, ever failing – at least, not for good. I felt like my world had already ended unhappily, but every book I read about someone who’d been through worst and found happiness anyway seemed to say the opposite. Like my story didn’t need to be over if I didn’t want it to.” (on romance) 

 

“Because the world wasn’t split into unhappy endings and happily ever afters. There were blessings everywhere and a thousand shades of joy all around him. Every shade should be savored.” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“In Sweden I’m at home, but I feel like a stranger. In Korea I’m a stranger, but feel at home.” 

 

Alright, this is one of those times when I should have bookmarked the post where I first (and only) saw a review of this graphic novel, because I would love to credit the single reader/bookstagrammer who put it on my radar. Truly, I’ve only ever seen it once. But the review was enough to get me to add it to my TBR and, although it’s been months (at least) since then, I finally grabbed it from my library to read. So, for lack of a better option, let me just send my thanks to that mystery reviewer out into the universe and hope it finds its way. 

 

Palimpsest is a graphic novel memoir (a genre that I am fast deciding I’m into, thanks to Good Talk and Persepolis). The author and artist, Lise Wool-Rim Sjöblom, a transnational adoptee, a Korean child sent to Sweden/a Swedish family. This graphic novel documents her search for her birth parents and the details of her adoption. After trying once to find out more as an adolescent, and being told there was no information they could provide, she spent a few years dealing with serious mental health crises and fallout. Although that feelings of loneliness and disconnection never went away, Sjöblom found a partner and had two children of her own. Having her own children sparked a renewed effort into the search for more information about the circumstances of her adoption, as well as her birth parents. Now as an adult, supported by her partner, close friends, and a community of other Korean adoptees searching for their own histories, she embarks on a more focused and resourced attempt to find out her own story. 

 

Well, I want to, again, thank whoever put this on my radar. This is, quite honestly, the first piece of literature of any kind that I have read from this perspective of a transracial adoptee. And it was an eye-opening, infuriating and wholly difficult perspective to read about. So, I cannot even begin to imagine the many traumas of living it. My heart goes out to every adoptee, transnational and transracial and otherwise, who has, and Sjöblom makes so abundantly clear in a way I’m embarrassed to never have considered before, had their voice silenced and their questioning and frustration and heartbrokenness and loss and anger diminished or gaslighted into nonexistence. I’d never really considered the potential harm in the popular narrative that adoption is a solely positive thing, providing a home and a family for a child that needs one, without considering the possible costs that come with that, like the breaking of the original family (however that may have happened or, as we learn in this graphic novel, was forced into being) or, in transnational/racial situations, the loss of culture that accompanies it. There is just that common outlook that thinking that way is ungrateful, which is unfair and unreasonable on so many levels, not to mention that having to suppress all those natural reactions/feelings can just compound the issue(s). Just think about it, curiosity about where we come from is natural, yet the judgement of that natural curiosity for adoptees is strong, and the invalidation/guilt of feelings that adoptees face when following that curiosity equally so. I can’t say that I even know that many adoptees personally, yet I still must have come into this graphic novel with that mindset, because it caused me to do a lot of reordering and reconsidering, so that feels like a very clear indication to me of the strength and reach of the “grateful adoptee” storyline. Also, that doesn’t even begin to touch on the experience of being a minority in a country, and dealing with the racism and microaggressions of that, without a community or family of support that truly understands that around you. And then to not be able to communicate or find communion with your own culture and country if/when you decide to return or seek it out. How impossibly freaking isolating. All that being said, I’m incredibly grateful for Sjöblom telling her story, painful and difficult and, undoubtedly backlash-receiving, as it was, because her bravery and activism gives voice to untold numbers of silenced ones.  

 

In addition to the complete overhaul mind-shift this graphic novel provided, there were a few aspects that really stood out to me. For one, the overwhelming inanities of bureaucracy meant, legitimately only, to cover tracks in illegal/bribed adopting is infuriating as a reader, so I cannot even begin to comprehend the impact it has on the lives, like Sjöblom’s, that it affects. Relatedly, the absolute enormity of the task of sifting through so much contradictory (and straight falsified) info is overwhelming, and that’s even without considering how, in this case, it’s about who someone is and where they came from. This is apparent on almost every page of this book, and even with all that, Sjöblom makes it clear that she ends up with more response/info than most ever get. I also want to address the way the “white savior” complex is at play here (in a general sense, but also specifically because Sjöblom mentions that bribes were involved in a number of these “adoptions”). The idea that a child would be better off with a family in a foreign land, with no knowledge of their past or culture or language or anything, the inherent assumption that a family in the West could provide more than a family from their home country or, even, being in an orphanage but within the culture/people they are from, has a lot of flaws. I feel like there is likely some grey area, as it’s a complex situation, but there can be no denying that the white Western superiority complex is a major factor in Sjöblom’s, and many of the other adoptees she speaks with, stories. 

 

Finally, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention the art, as this is a graphic novel. I have realized I love the addition of illustrations in memoirs – there’s something about it that really pulls me into the author’s life and reality in a way that is deeper than just words. It’s just an extra layer of depth I’m really coming to appreciate. In addition, the color scheme and style here – a sort of mix of “old document browns and yellows” and a flat-ish sort of illustration technique (bear with me here, as I am neither an artist nor art critic) – is the perfect aesthetic reinforcement of the novel’s main topic/theme and subtitle “Documents from a Korean Adoption.” And the general blah (sort of morose?) feeling these colors inspire also truly feels right for the story. Just, a very on point illustrative vibe.   

 

Overall, what a clear and insightful and painful exploration of the complex emotions and realities of a transnational adoptee experience. Although this is absolutely, and should only be taken as, a single experience, it is one that I feel comfortable saying is absolutely under-represented in media and undoubtedly rings true on various levels/points for a population greater than Sjöblom herself (especially when considering the comments she makes throughout about speaking with other Korean adoptees, as well as in the Postscript). I read this graphic novel in two short sittings, but it is going to stay with me much longer than it took to actually get through it.  

 

 

Well, if the simply stunning cover doesn’t make you want to pick this one up and see what it’s all about, I don’t know what to tell you, because damn *heart eyes.* But then there’s the premise: a recently graduated PhD in astronomy goes on a girls trip to Vegas to celebrate and gets married and upends her entire life plan and makes her rethink everything. I mean – what’s not to want to read more about?! So yea, color me Team “Let’s Read this Novel ASAP.” 

 

I already mostly gave away the plot with my intro paragraph there, but let me just add a little more. Grace Porter, our MC, has all her life planned out to the tiniest details, based on her internalization of her strict father’s expectations and warnings. But her one night of letting go in Vegas leads her to ask questions about her life, why she’s made the choices she has and what comes next, now that her boxes are mostly checked but aren’t leading where she was hoping for them to lead (or at least not as easily as she hoped hard work would pave the way for). So, she leaves for a summer in NYC, to get to know her stranger of a wife and to try and figure out what’s next for her and how to deal with all the “messiness of adulthood” that real life is throwing at her. 

 

Let me just start by saying that, similar to Queenie, I think this book was woefully mis-marketed. They were both sold as contemporary romances, and while they both absolutely had romantic aspects, they were not at all like what I typically expect when picking up a contemporary romance (think Guillory’s The Wedding Date or Hibbert’s Get a Life, Chloe Brown for example). That being said, I really liked both Queenie AND this novel. Like, I truly did. But I did not get what I expected based on “similar read” comparisons. This was such a more introspective and self-growth novel than it was about any typical “romance” trope or plot. Just something I wanted to get off my chest before starting. 

 

And now, to the important point: I did absolutely enjoy Honey Girl. Let me just say that the crushing feeling of being lost, the “what next” after graduating (after all the clear steps have been achieved and the future ahead is open and unknown), the second-guessing and constant stress of living up to internalized expectations is something I strongly identify with. This millennial is here for the detrimental mental health effects of the “being the best at all personal costs and in an individualistic way” mindset that Grace Porter was stuck in. And that’s even without the added pressure and stress of being in an intensely cis-hetero white male dominated field as a queer Black woman. (First, I’m white, and also, at least within my experience, public health is a very woman-dominated and open-minded field, which is just…and unquantifiable privilege in the present-day reality.) So, with Grace Porter and her mental state being highly relatable to this reader, this was a much more intense read than I had been anticipating. Much less fluff than I’d originally planned for. But I think that did make the story stronger, more human, in the end. Grace’s journey to realizing her own best was difficult, and of course not at all close to done when we leave her, but the way she began to open up to others and let them in and show vulnerability and claim what she wanted/didn’t want for herself and come to terms with her parents’ decisions/treatment of her was inspiring and I loved reading it. Plus, I’m always a fan of positive rep for finding a good therapist and taking mental health seriously.     

 

As far as the “getting to know my wife, the stranger” aspect, that was hit or miss for me, to be honest. I absolutely loved Yuki’s radio show – the mythological stories and the exploration of what monsters are, where the come from, how they’re made, etc. was fascinating and also a very cute way to tie in both Grace and Yuki feeling alone and unlovable until they found each other. Plus, I think the role Yuki played, both as an impetus (with the Vegas marriage) and then over the NYC summer, in allowing Grace to experience a different lifestyle and space to start to question her “set-in-stone” life plans, were key to Grace’s growth and also, actually pretty believable. However, I definitely thought the actual relationship between the two didn’t feel natural. I don’t know what it was exactly. Their way of talking to each other felt a little stilted, which would have made sense at first, but never seemed to smooth out, despite us being told they were growing closer, etc. And the spark between them just never felt strong enough to ignite, IMO. I liked that the focus was more on their emotional connection, rather than the physical, because I think that’s underrepresented in a lot of romance, but it still just never materialized into something I fully bought into. 

 

Let me just close out by saying that this is one of those books where the friends, all of them, Grace’s many friends and Yuki’s as well, were a highlight. I loved them all. I loved reading about them and their quirks and their unconditional support for, and calling out of (as necessary), each other. They felt solid and nuanced and I just enjoyed all the parts they were involved in, the great and the uglier. Plus, the casual sexuality, the way that it’s a part of many of these characters identities without being the primary focus or struggle of the novel, is a phenomenal and crucial representation.  

 

I wish I had had a better idea of the vibe of this book before going into it, because mentally I needed the fluff and I didn’t really get it. But I truly appreciated, and, as I said, deeply felt, the story that I actually ended up with. There were parts that I liked more than others, or believed more than others, but at the end of it, the message of who gets to define a person’s best for them (including factors from family to friends to society and the history of racism and how that plays into how possible that “best” is to achieve in the first place) is so critical. And I think that allowing those pieces to affect romance in the way this book does is, actually, an angle and awareness that’s quite important to bring to the table and explore. So, heavier than anticipated, but a worthy heft.  

 

“It’s ok to admit that something can be best just because it makes you happy, and not because you had to tear yourself apart to get there.” 

 

“…needing to stop, needing to breathe, needing other people, is not weak.” 

 

 

 

I read Joukhadar's first novel, The Map of Salt and Stars, a few years ago and LOVED IT. it made my Top Ten reads of 2019 list, actually. So, I was freaking PSYCHED to see his second novel get published. And, this cover is gorgeous. That's about all I have to say about this "I knew for sure I was going to read this one" novel. 

 

This novel is told in alternating perspectives. Our present-day, unnamed, narrator lives in NYC with their grandmother, working through the lingering grief and guilt and trauma of his mother's violent death five years ago, and dealing with his own knowledge of his trans identity and trying to work through how to live as that true person and tell his family/friends. Our narrator from the past, Laila, is an artist and Syrian immigrant to NYC, learning to find her place in a new country, creating new relationships while holding on to ones left behind. Connected over the years by a love of art/painting, birds, and some long-kept family secrets, our narrators’ stories unfold simultaneously as they each come into their own decisions and futures. 

 

It took me almost a month to read this book. That’s a long time for me, but it was absolutely the right way to take in this gorgeously written and emotionally charged piece of art. This is about as reflective and introspective and poetic a novel as I’ve ever read and I feel like to truly appreciate it all, in its entirety, the slow and purposeful reading style was perfect. Let me start with the aura and ambiance created by the writing, because it was so beautifully evocative. There was an air of the mysterious, of the otherworldly, to it from the very first page. There’s a purposeful, lyrical aspect of the fantastical, the mythological – a sort of unreality – while still managing to remain entirely grounded in reality (the connections and harsh realities therein) that was masterfully executed. The way birds are woven in, as both “magical realism” and realistic only adds to the ephemeral feeling the writing creates. And, just in general, the way Joukhadar explores grief/loss, queer and trans experiences and communities, the importance and role of art as a coping mechanism and in greater society, interwoven with each other and throughout time and space and generations, is stunning and, as I mentioned earlier, so emotionally charged.   

 

Going back, yet again, to Joukhadar’s way with words, the way he is able to capture the internal trans experience, the self-knowledge of wrongness of the body and the feeling of helplessness/inability to do anything in the face of biology and society, and convey it to a general readership is just…beyond. So impactful. I truly don’t have the words to appreciate it as much as it deserves, nor to properly thank Joukhadar for sharing what can only be an intensely personal truth. I also want to point out the general love I had for the way trans and queer communities were given voice here, not just in the present day, but in the reality of their existence across space (country to country/culture to culture – a universal presence) and time (years, generations), despite what popular cis-hetero agendas/POVs push and the margins they’ve been pushed into. This particular aspect reminded me a bit of All My Mother’s Lovers and, though the writing is very different, I think if you like one of these, you should definitely try the other. A final note that I want to emphasize is the way Joukhadar recognizes indigenous populations throughout the novel, both in NYC/America and in Syria, as well as what those with power/money have done (and continue to do) to their land/legacy. 

 

My one iffy spot about the novel is that the interconnections of the characters do border on too convenient, at times. Although the connection of our present-day narrator and Laila in the past is eventually explained, and is not so coincidental as it first seemed, there are a few other sometimes-too-perfect coincidences. However, although I thought that as I read them, I have to say that my emotional reaction to the finale was no less emotional for all that, so perhaps it really doesn’t matter that much. 

 

This was a really wonderful second novel, in my opinion. Similarly uplifting of Joukhadar’s own identities, as a trans man of Syrian descent, and both beautifully crafted stories, as far as writing, dual POV structure and the folklore/story-telling or fantastical vibe. Though the pacing was very different (I sped through Salt and Stars and savored this one), both are compassionate and sensitive and aching in their own ways and the poignancy of each is important in its own way. This novel is one I recommend being in the right mindset for, before picking it up, but its worth it.    

 

“It is one thing to have a body; it is another thing to struggle under the menacing weight of its meaning.” 

 

“You taught me that revelation has its price in a world that prefers the comfort of closed eyes.” 

 

“But how the explain this feeling that my body was a tracing of something else, and not all the lines matched up?”  

 

“This is the constant wish that I’ve harbored since the day the bleeding started: that I could exist outside myself, that I could disappear the wrongness in me.” 

 

“...that agonizing feeling that this body does not belong to me but to all the people who insist on how I should exist inside of it, that unshakable twinge that tells me that something, perhaps everything, is very, very wrong.” 

 

“I used to think remembering could be a kind of resistance, but I’m not sure it’s enough.” 

 

“To the night, I am a body without a past or a future, a pillar that bends light. The night doesn’t know my name.” 

 

“When this country asks me where I’m from, they aren’t asking for the city on my birth certificate, but whose earth is in my blood.” 

 

“...whether there was any mercy in the world for those who decline to carry the burdens they are assigned to carry. My mother’s back and mine were made from the same mold. Our spines were fashioned for bearing and bending and bowing and burying. Our backs had been honed over generations for the thankless labor of women. They had never been made for wings.” 

 

“Time hides the people we might have been if things were different.” 

 

“How different the world would look if it had mercy toward migrations undertaken as a last resort against annihilation.” 

 

“I think to myself, It is terrifying to be visible, and then I think, I have been waiting all my life to be seen.” 

 

“You can have all the truth in the world of something, he wrote to me, but the world will see what it wants to see, and maybe it’s for the best to keep some beautiful things to ourselves.”  

 

“...not all migrations end with a return home. Even memory begins to cut if you hold on to it too tight.” 

 

 

 

 

 

This is the book we voted on for March in my long distance book club. Honestly, I have had it on my shelf for years, meaning to read it, so this is awesome. I originally was interested in it because I'd read that it was by an author of Lithuanian descent, writing about the Lithuanian experience under Russian and/or German (depending on timing) control during WW2. This is worth mentioning because I'm Lithuanian (and Polish) and I have never really seen (though, to be fair, I have never really looked for too hard) books by Lithuanian authors. And, of course, I knew that they were one of the countries that essentially disappeared into the Soviet Union, like struck off the map disappeared, but I never thought to look more into it ever. Which I now feel a little bad about - like my family just leaned into the Polish and I never really considered why that might have been. Anyways, it was recommended by one of the other members who also has Lithuanian family, some of whom actually spent time in a Siberian labor camp during WW2 (whereas my ancestors made it out/to America right before things closed for good and leaving became impossible) and they wanted to learn more. First, I appreciate that because it gave me the chance to finally learn more as well. And second, I've been friends with this person since 4th grade and we never knew we had that ancestry in common! So anyways, here's to the start of what is, hopefully, more learning. 

 

This YA historical fiction focuses on 15 year old Lina Vilkas and her family (mother and younger brother Jonas) who are deported from Lithuania by Russian police (NKVD) in the summer of 1941. The novel follows their time in transportation on cattle cars in over months from their homeland to the farthest reaches of Siberia to be used as forced labor in these underpopulated areas of Russia. Lina makes a connection with another deportee her age, Anndrius, and along with his emotional (and material) support, and timely assistance from some unlikely places, Lina and her family struggle to survive the starvation-level rations, illness, freezing weather, mistreatment by NKVD, verbal abuse and degradation by police and locals alike, and overall mental and physical trauma of years of exile and horrific conditions. 

 

I have to start at the end here, though that seems a bit contourintive, because the author's Afterward just...blew me away. I truly had no idea how recently some of the survivors of these Siberian labor camps have managed to be freed and allowed back to their homelands. Like, 1960s recent. And even those that managed to get out earlier were silenced by fear of the NKVD's successor, the KGB, and unable to share, process or otherwise bring attention to the horrific experiences they endured. This is absolutely unbelievable to me, since the whole world knows about the atrocities of the Holocaust, and yet these hauntingly similar situations/conditions continued for decades after that for hundreds of thousands of people from myriad "disappeared" counties without any international response or assistance or outcry or anything! Like, I know this was all during the Cold War drama, but still... I had no idea AT ALL. And I feel like that really isn't ok on a lot of levels - not only the obvious ones, but the more subtle sinister ones, like the fact that survivors and their families never got the chance to process and try to deal with the trauma and what kind of affect that has to have had on them and their children and numerous generations to come. Plus I feel like this is something that should be included AT LEAST in all the Cold War history we are taught in school and it is totally ignored/swept under the proverbial rug. Yeesh... Color me absolutely planning to read more about this now. 

 

Now that I've gotten that outpouring of feels down on paper, let's talk about this book specifically. Overall, it was a really solidly paced and written YA historical fiction. I read it all in a single day (well, listened to it, but it's fairly short so I think it would have been similar if I had sat down to read the physical copy). And it was not like that's all I did during that day. So basically, it was a fast read. I think this is in part due to the fact that the writing style is very simple and straightforward, no frills or lyricism to be found. Not in a bad way. It's fine writing - nothing awkward or stilted. Just plain, with a bent towards realism, which fits, topically, really nicely. It also seemed aimed at a young YA/high MG age, as far as comprehension level, so that's another reason I think it went so fast.   

  

As far as plot and characters and everything else, it was similarly basic. And again, I don't mean that in a bad way. There were a few characters that did get some nice dimension added to them, as far as the way they acted or the decisions they made. Sepetys did a nice job demonstrating for a younger audience how sometimes circumstances put us in a position where the "best" choice is not the one we would prefer to make, but are forced to make. Lina's eyes are opened on this front a few times throughout the novel, as she makes judgements about people and then has to pull back and reevaluate when she sees their realities, which is a great lesson (for any age reader). Lina's relationship with her mother and brother, and memories of her father, are close-knit and strong from the start, so watching them develop and become ever stronger under duress was a key aspect of this novel. You can feel Sepetys' own strength of feeling about family in all of those aspects. There's also a sweet little romance that Lina gets to have, showing the strength humanity has to endure even under the most extreme conditions - it's youthfully pure and a nice foil to the horror that pervades every other part of the novel. Speaking of which, from the very beginning Sepetys does not hold back with her descriptions and portrayals of the torturous, horrific and often deadly conditions these Lithuanian (and Latvian and Estonian and Finnish, etc.) families and characters faced. Considering the writing style she used was one aimed toward, at least in my opinion, younger YA readers, the subject matter definitely pushes boundaries there. Considering Lina and her younger brother's ages when they actually experienced these atrocities, and the importance of people finally learning/knowing about this piece of history, it's (again, in my opinion) fine. I just want to make sure that there is clear content warning about these pieces of the book (death, murder, starvation, sexual harrassment/abuse, myriad mental/emotional/physical abuses against prisoners, slurs of various kinds, etc.) so that any readers, but espeically young ones (and their caregivers), go in prepared. Finally, I did think the inclusion of Lina's art, as a coping mechanism and a method of communication, was a nice touch - really connecting the reader to the character. Also, a great demonstration of how each person who suffered this life had their own hobbies and skills and dreams and individualists and all of that was lost and forgotten in this move to eliminate them. Adding it back into Lina's story gave her back the humanity that was stolen from her. 

 

At the end of the day, I really appreciated this novel and the chance to read it. Stylistically and in execution, it was nothing particularly unique or spectacular. However, it does a thorough and honorable job recognizing a people and a piece of history that has been forced under the rug and pretended to not exist so long that as a world, we've moved on to the point where a clear and vocal global recognition is likely lost. That's so unbelievably sad. So, thank you to Sepetys for giving these lost voices a platform. And as a reader, I thank Sepetys for giving me the reason and push to go look for more information past this novel. It's a worthy accomplishment for an author/book.