Gideon the Ninth made my Top 10 Fav Books list from last year, so you know I bought Harrow the Ninth as soon as possible. And I'd like to extend a heartfelt thanks to Libro.fm for access to the ALC, so I could listen to it while following with the physical copy. This was a wonderful experience because the narrator was truly phenomenal, the perfect voice, but also because I needed both reading methods to carry myself through. This book was unbelievable...in the literal sense! 

 

We leave Harrowhark Nonagesimus at the end of the first book after losing Gideon and becoming a Lyctor (as she wanted!) and meeting the Emperor/God. We come back to her at the start of this second installation as she begins her training with God's remaining three Lyctors (Augustine, Mercy, and Ortus) alongside her only surviving new Lytor "classmate" Ianthe Tridentarius. They're facing having to learn new Lyctor skills right quick, because the Emperor's enemies are coming....and the inevitable confrontation is likely unwinnable. Plus, Harrow's sword makes her sick, her mind is playing tricks on her (was everything that happened with Gideon in book one even real, and if so, why is her mind rewriting it?), and someone is definitely trying to kill her. 

 

Here we are. Book two of this gloriously confusing sapphic space necromancer saga. Like seriously, I have never gotten more enjoyment out of reading a novel that I mostly don't understand. And I mean that for real - for the first third, I had actually no clue what was going on. About a third in, I finally started to have some pieces falling into place for me (or at least, I thought) and some suspicions about what might have happened and/or might be going on. I think it's not a spoiler to say that about a third of the way in was when I realized and truly began to settle in to the fact that alongside the "current" storyline, we were getting a re-writing of the events of book one, in short, as they may have been without Gideon. Once I cottoned on to that, I enjoyed the suspense of that prior story unfolding alongside the "what is going on in present day that made Harrow make herself forget Gideon?" And THEN about three quarters of the way in, everything hit the proverbial fan. Like, everything. The rewriting of the past (in the spirit world) began unfolding simultaneous to the present day invasion fiasco of the Emperor's stronghold (in the physical world) and the millenia-long drama of the Emperor's lies and the Lyctor's secret plans (and lots of super complicated and awkward body-switching and reproduction stuff) comes out into the open in the MOST INTENSE WAY! Like, reading/listening to it all come to light....I could NOT put the book down. It was truly epic-level, mind-blowing drama. Plus, again, hopefully not a spoiler, that 3/4 point was when we finally got Gideon's voice back and let me tell you, the second her narration hit the page I was CHEERING. I can think of very few narrative voices that I love as much as her creatively-dark snark/sarcasm and reluctant love/protection for Harrow. UGH YES. 

 

Yea, I'm not really sure what else I can even say about this book. I'll tell you what, there is no "playing it safe" or "bridge-book" vibe to this second-in-a-trilogy novel. Muir dives in head first and continues to take risks and write with such creative edginess and originality. There's something so compelling about the world-building and character interactions and, honestly, the entire vibe, that just makes me want to bury myself in the book and never leave. Holy effing YES I am into this series and I cannot wait to hear more about this terrible Alecto the Ninth (and, obvs, to see what happens to my beloved duo Harrow and Gideon) in the final installation! 

 

“…once you turn your back on something, you have no more right to act as though you own it.” 

 

“….but you were seized, all over again, by doubt in the face of fact. The uncertainty of the insane. The conviction of the mad.” 

 

“There’s a difference between keeping a shred of dance card […] and saving the last dance.” 

 

 

 

 

 

For a hot second there, this book was everywhere. And the waitlist at the library for it is…intense. But I have to say, I officially added myself to that waitlist only after seeing @readingismagical and @tracycatherinereads rave about it. Took me awhile to get my hands on it, btu here we are. And WHOA was it worth the wait! 

 

Linus Baker is a caseworker for the Department in Charge of Magical Youth, extremely rules-conscious and comfortable with doing his job and returning home to his small house with his cat and his records as company. But his attention to minute detail catches the eye of Extremely Upper Management and he is given a highly classified special inspection project – a month long visit to an orphanage where particularly dangerous magical children are sent. Linus arrives at the orphanage expecting the worst, only to find that, no matter their incredible abilities/appearances, the six children are just that: children. Plus, there is something about the master of the orphanage, Arthur Parnasus, who mysteriousness and clear love for/protection of the children pulls at Linus in a way he never would have anticipated. 

 

My goodness. This is like, the most perfect comfort novel that was ever written. Like, wrapping yourself in a cozy blanket in front of a fire with a warm (boozy) drink on a cold, rainy day level of comfort. Linus made me smile from page one, his little quirks and clear feelings of not fitting in and rule-following was just super sweet, even when you wanted to yell at him to shake it up, let go of the rules and look past the “right in front of his nose.” So, naturally, I was super excited to see him thrown out of his little bubble with no preparation – it was endearing to the extreme to watch him struggle, knowing that it was necessary and important growth for both his own happiness and the lives/safety of the children he loudly claimed to defend. With that, watching him grow into a person that didn’t just say he cared, but learned how to truly show it and follow-through on it in meaningful ways was heart-warming. Plus, the clear connection between himself and Arthur, and the complexities of how it grows, enhanced/supported by Linus’ oddities in ways that he could never have known himself capable of was wonderful and, again, so heartwarming. Now, Linus was of course our “hero,” but the supporting cast, from Arthur to the island’s caretaker sprite Zoe, to the village mayor Helen were shining beacons of love and acceptance as well. Plus, the children themselves. Oh my goodness – here is a found family to melt you heart like you’ve never met. Quirky in all the best ways! From Lucy’s world-burning proclamations to Chauncy’s obsession with bellhops, to Theodore’s button hoard to Sal’s quiet strength to Talia’s gardening and death threats to Phee’s magical natural connections I just loved them all so much! So. Much. 

 

Looking a little deeper though, this was also a spectacular parable about the dangers of complacency and ignoring what doesn’t immediately affect us, the limitations and passive danger of routine. The messages about the imminent need for acceptance, the horrible ways differences turn to fear which turns into hate, the inevitable harm that comes from separating people who are different/special for their own safety, and the incredible benefit (for everyone) that comes from stepping outside of one’s personal bubble/reality to see things from other perspectives are all phenomenally communicated. This story is sweet and wholesome and full of happy endings, but it is also full of clear warnings about how being a “good” person isn’t enough, that injustice/prejudice must constantly and actively be fought in order for change/eradication to be possible. Klune also asks important questions about who was involved when rules for “the greater good” were made and whose voices weren’t at the table for those decisions. He also addresses tough questions about protecting children from versus preparing them for the reality of the world and where the line is there, who decides it, which children benefit or are harmed by who makes those calls for them. Honestly, the combination of inspirational and uplifting plotlines versus reflective and philosophically challenging themes into something that is both comforting and challenging is truly a marvel. 

 

If you have ever been maligned or side-lined for being different, you’ll find a home in this story. Klune’s own experiences as a queer person have clearly informed his writing and the comfort and love and recognition of marginalization in these pages for that community comes through with strength and clarity. Plus, it’s done with a writing style that is snarky, fun, tongue-in-cheek just full of nostalgia for anyone who grew up reading old-school MG fantasy (but like, with way better representativeness/inclusivity, obvs). If you enjoyed the Series of Unfortunate Events, X-Men, or the Wayward Children series, you will love this one – it takes aspects of all those, but combines them with a charm all its own. And like, just look at that cover! *heart eyes* But seriously, you’ll finish this book full of joy and fullness, knowing that there really is no one right way to be as a family/person/community, as long as you have acceptance and love. Let me add my voice to those others who are unreservedly recommending this book!      

 

“Why is it that I must always worry about tomorrow?” 

 

“They fear what they don’t understand. And that fear turns to hate for reasons I’m sure even they can’t begin to comprehend. […] This can’t be the first time you’ve heard of this. It happens everywhere.” 

 

“Sometimes […] our prejudices color our thoughts when we least expect them to. If we can recognize that and learn from it, we can become better people.” 

 

“Because even the bravest of us can still be afraid sometimes, so long as we don’t let our fear become all we know.” 

 

“Arthur says that we should always make time for the things we like… If we don’t, we might forget how to be happy.” 

 

“Home is where you feel like yourself. […] Home is where we get to be who we are.” 

 

“Just because you don’t experience prejudice in your everyday doesn’t stop it from existing for the rest of us.” 

 

“It was just…hidden away. I knew what to look for because I listened for it. As long as you listen, you can hear all manner of things you never thought were there to begin with.” 

 

“Hate is loud, but I think you’ll learn it’s because it’s only a few people shouting, desperate to be heard. You might not ever be able to change their minds, but so long as you remember you’re not alone, you will overcome.” 

 

“We get trapped in our own little bubbles, and even though the world is a wide and mysterious place, our bubbles keep us safe from that. To our detriment. […] But it’s so easy because there’s something soothing about routine. Day in and day out, it’s always the same. When we’re shaken from that, when that bubble bursts, it can be hard to understand all that we’ve missed. We might even fear it. Some of us even fight to try and get it back.” 

 

“A home isn’t always the house we live in. It’s also the people we choose to surround ourselves with.” 

 

“But those of us who dream of impossible things know just how far we can go when pushed to do so.” 

 

“...there can be magic in the ordinary.” 

 

“Sometimes, he thought to himself in a house in a cerulean sea, you were able to choose the life you wanted. And if you were of the lucky sort, sometimes that life chose you back.” 

 

 

Here we are. A couple months later, a little behind schedule of my goal of finishing before the shortlist was announced, but nevertheless better late than never: my final Aspen Words 2021 longlist read/review! I won't lie, this is the longlist book I was least interested in reading, so I saved it for last. I almost decided not to read it at all, since I already knew it wasn't a finalist. BUT I am glad I decided to go for it because, even though I was right (I know myself) and I wasn't totally into it, I feel very accomplished at having gotten through the full 15 books on the longlist. Go me! 

 

The New Wilderness is a speculative/post-apocalyptic story (which was definitely a theme of this year's longlist, with A Children's Bible and Leave the World Behind both on the list as well) about a group of people who abandon everything they know in "the City" to start a new life as, essentially, hunter-gatherer nomads in a closely guarded and regulated Wilderness State (from what the reader can tell, the only "natural" area left in the known world). Part of this group of twenty are Bea and Agnes. Bea's husband, Glen, is a university researcher who was interested in joining the expedition for scientific purposes, and is able to get approval for Bea and their daughter, Agnes, to join in order to save Agnes' life (she is quite sick and the only possible treatment/cure is "different air" - an impossibility within the city). As they adjust to this new life and, as Agnes becomes ever healthier and ever more in communion with nature and moves into a sort of leadership role in the group as she gets older, their relationships with each other change and (of course) tensions arise - both within the family unit, within the larger Community, and between the Community and the world outside the Wilderness. 

 

I have to start this review with the caveat that I was iffy on this book before I even started. I have learned over the years that I am not so much into nature-writing, and that seemed to be a primary feature of this particular novel. Interestingly though, upon first starting it, I actually found it compulsively readable. The first 100 or so pages passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. The rest of the 300 pages though...those became more of a slog for me, and I must admit I did some skimming. I can't say for sure what happened, but perhaps it was just that the novelty of starting a new book wore off and I found myself in the midst of the exact kind of nature-writing that is just not for me. Plus, while the inter-character dynamics started off interesting, as we learned about the way the Community worked, etc. it got to a point where their minute disagreements and indecision, which I respect were all very important to them in the moment and in the lifestyle, just didn't matter to me very much. Even the addition, partway through, of "Newcomers" didn't really mix things up quite enough for me. I honestly felt like, other than the main couple characters, anyone else kind of just blended together in a background were too unintelligible from each other for me to care about the individual little issues. There were also some larger structural items that felt off to me. I never got a feel for the wider world (outside the Wilderness), which could have been purposeful and could have been because the majority of the story was from Agnes' POV and she wasn't there at an old enough age to remember much of it, but I felt sort of stranded/distanced. Again, that could have been purposeful because it was how the Community felt, but they still must have had memories of the City and their pasts there. Plus, it made it hard to understand the motivations and action of the Rangers, without any other context (and thus, made it hard to "get" why the Community followed their rules to stringently). Relatedly, the passing of time was difficult to follow. Again, maybe purposeful, to put us in the Community's shoes, but it felt to me more like I was alienated from the world of the novel, rather than able to empathize with the characters. And really, the entire last section/ending left me feeling totally unsure of anything within the world the novel presented. Like, what happened to the characters and the idea/goals of the Community and in the wider world and (one more time) perhaps our view is limited to what Agnes' would have been, but like, it just didn't work for me.   

 

One major aspect that I never felt sure of was whether this was "just" a speculative fiction story OR if it was supposed to be a parable about the way bureaucracy/capitalism/colonialism pushed out Indigenous peoples and trashed their lands and cultures and lives and scattered their family. I want it to be the latter, because then there is at least a larger message and goal behind the writing, and not just a loose tale of an unclear post-apocalyptic world. But, if that is indeed the case, there were definitely still major marks that were missed, as the only recognition of the Native Peoples who first lived on the lands referenced throughout the novel (and the many clear appropriations of their lifestyles and survival knowledge) was a "Land Acknowledgement" at the end. And that's necessary and important. But also, Glen (and Carl, actually), major characters, were scholars who studied these civilizations/lifestyles (which was at least part of why they wanted to be part of the group in the first place), so there were built in characters who could have given acknowledgement and recognition throughout the novel, easily and smoothly, and that never happened. That was frustrating. 

 

I do want to say, however, that there were some better parts of this novel. First, if you ARE into nature-writing, I think that aspect is well done and pervasive, so you'll like that. Also, the complexities of mother-daughter relationships were a highlight for me. It was very interesting to see the sacrifices Bea made for Agnes (sacrifices her own mother wasn't always on board with) and then how she reacted when those sacrifices were a success (if you will) and Agnes didn't need her in the same way anymore. It was a very unique way to exemplify that kind of pride and happiness alongside a feeling of, almost loss/lack of direction, and how that is handled. Then, the way that Agnes interpreted Bea's (perfectly imperfect) reaction to the loss of her own mother, as well as the way their interactions changed after that (Agnes' independence and, for lack of a better term, surrogate/temporary motherly connections) was fascinating and layered. There was a lot going on there and the author did a great job showing how it's all so complex and nuanced and there may never be clear or easy explanations for the way people behave or react or treat each other, even (and especially) within close relationships like that of a mother and daughter. And I liked what the author tried to do at the end, giving Agnes' a motherly sort of role (symbolizing, I suppose, how we all start to understand people better/more when we step into their shoes), but it didn't land quite as fully as I would have liked. 

 

Well...there you have it. Likely my least favorite from the longlist, which proves either that I know myself, as a reader, pretty well by now OR that I'm close-minded and this was a self-fulfilling prophecy situation. That being said, it's truly unfair for me to either recommend this novel (or not) with any kind of objectivity. So, I'm giving it a neutral 3-stars and calling it a day. On to the next. 

 

“And she loved Agnes fiercely, though motherhood felt like a heavy coat she was compelled to put on each day no matter the weather.” 

 

“Officially, these twenty were in the Wilderness State as part of an experiment to see how people interacted with nature, because, with all land now being used for resources – oil, gas, minerals, water, wood, food – or storage – trash, servers, toxic waste – such interactions had become lost to history. But most of the twenty didn’t know much about science, and many of them didn’t even care about nature. These twenty had the same reasons people always had for turning their backs on everything they’d known and venturing to an unfamiliar place. They went to the Wilderness State because there was not other place they could go.” 

 

“…people who enforce rules don’t have to follow them.” 

 

“Wasn’t that part of the point? To kill off their sense of home? To have them feel at home anywhere? Or nowhere? Were they the same thing?” 

 

“She did not want her mother’s aggressive overtures of love. […] She hated her mother’s fierce love. Because fierce love never lasted. Fierce love now meant that later, there would be no love, or at least that’s what it would feel like. Agnes wanted a mild mother, one who seemed to love her exactly the same every day.” 

 

“She hated how easy it was for her to love her mother. She would always love her mother. Even when her mother didn’t deserve it. It filled her with shame, and with yearning too.” 

 

“But I’ve learned. I know better. It’s not safe to make yourself known in a place you’re not supposed to be. We must always hide.” 

 

 

 

Here I am with my second-to-last Aspen Words Literary Prize 2021 longlist review. This is also one of the 5 finalists for the prize, which I didn’t get to read until after that shortlist was announced. But better late than never! Also, I had no idea that the author lived in the same town in NC as me. And I also was unaware, but found out after some further research, that he died within the past year. It’s so sad to hear when artists pass away and to know that the world will never receive new creations from them. But it is uplifting to know his work is still being honored, especially as this was (as far as I could tell) one of the least “popular” books from the longlist. I was particularly excited to dive into these after learning where Kenan was from because NC is not really a popular setting for literature (which I can definitely understand), but I do always enjoy the experience of recognizing places and quirks and larger realities from real life that appear in these fictional tales. (And spoiler alert: this collection definitely delivers on that front.) 

 

As always with collections, let me begin with a little reaction blurb for each of the stories as I read them. And then I will end with some final overarching thoughts and reactions. 

 

When We All Get to Heaven – What a dreamlike quality to a story. A stolen day in a city with an almost unbelievable/unreal experience that perfectly embodies and communicates the vibe of a day unlike any other day, a day that will live as a “was that even real” memory because it was so outside the normal and recognizable life one lives. An ephemeral opening piece. “At that moment, between them, something odd and familiar occurred: two boys who together and without words recognize and acknowledge the Dangerous Thing, and, being like-minded, imagine assaying said Thing, and with each passing moment feel the Thing exert greater gravitational force upon the two, each to each, and along with the weight comes glee, anticipation, heat, so much so that the Dangerous Thing becomes the Irresistible Thing, the Inevitable Thing.” 

 

I Thought I Heard the Shuffle of Angels’ Feet – The content of this one was really emotional, loss of a loved one and end-of-life illness/care, are presented in a few different ways. But it’s also grounded in connections was the past, one’s birthplace home, and the surprising places and ways the past can spring new relationships on the present. Really touching. Though I did sometimes struggle to catch all the characters and their placement in the story, as there were a lot of names introduced quickly and the storytelling skipped around a bit. “Time was not a winged chariot. It was a space shuttle. A battlestar. A comet.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

The Eternal Glory That Is Ham Hocks – The changing time/POV style was much easier to follow for me here, compared to the previous story. I loved the narrator’s voice for this one, the snarky asides he added in here and there to enhance the story he was retelling. There was a rather lovely representation of pride and connection and love for a small town and the life one can have there, a life that no money or opportunity can be “better” or “more” than. This story will speak to anyone with a deep love and nostalgia for their roots. “But this mania – one among the many he collected and harbored and cultivated like virulent viruses in the petri dish of his soul – wasn’t really about food, in the end, it was about time, time lost, time gone, about remembrance, about a feeling. Money can’t buy you love, a famous song says – but that’s just one of the many several things beyond its grasp.” 

 

Ain’t No Sunshine – The story fully captures that mid-life feeling of…stasis. You’ve made the big decisions and are now living, stuck with the outcomes they’ve wrought, for better or worse or mundane. And even if mundane works, you’re happy with mundane, sometimes those urges you had that made those decisions set you up for a life that cannot mellow in the mundane, other people won’t allow it. A truly musical embodiment of that bewilderment and settling of middle age.  

 

Ezekiel Saw the Wheel – Huh. This was a short one, taking place entirely in the hypothetical in our narrator’s thought. A really interesting set-up and a very smart setting and combination telling for looking at death, reaction to real-life death, anticipation of death, and the ways people might react to that anticipated death. A snapshot of a moment in a life while it looks forward to death. Fascinating and spiritual in nature.  

 

Mamiwata – Oh I do love a story with a solid dose of folklore in it. This one had a great otherworldly vibe and, again, that gorgeous sense of place (this time, within nature as well). Plus, a feeling of timelessness despite that there are clear indications of what time period it actually was. It was over quick but it left a slice of magic in the soul. 

 

Resurrection Hardware or, Lard & Promises – And we’re back to the jumping all over in time and perspective, but this time, I felt like the story was long enough to support it. And by the end, I got a gorgeous portrait of a man, told in short bursts of remembrance and moment. This one felt particularly personal, the emotion behind the words, the relationships, the connections, the history, the decisions…they all felt almost like memoir. I think because of that, this story resonated with me deepest, so far. I really felt the narrator. And this one had a very singular magical realism aspect to it, bringing the history not of the narrator’s home place, but his ancestors, to life in a way that illustrated, in a lovely way, how the truth of the past cannot be left in the past, because it follows us throughout the years. “We are made by the things we regret.” / “Revelations work on their own time, not ours.” 

 

The Acts of Velmajean Swearington Hoyt and the New City of God – Whoa. A really interesting look at the commercialization of religion, which is definitely a major cultural point in the nation and, especially, the South. Also, the magical realism of miracles, the exploration of them as either a blessing or a curse for the miracle-worker and the question of their purpose, to serve God or to do good, was really interesting. I am not at all a religious person, but I did enjoy the development of the themes in this story.  

 

Now Why Come That Is? –Kind of a weird surreal moral tale about a man being haunted by the vision of a hog that only some other people can see. And I’m not totally sure I understood what it meant, though if the hog was a metaphorical representation of all the evils committed by our narrator and his ancestors, to give him privilege in the world, and the way they took so much advantage of others to do so, I like that message and believe it is important. I’m just not sure the delivery worked for me. And I don’t know what we were supposed to take from the ending, if anything. And if I’m right about the moral message, then I feel like the closing lesson maybe should have been clearer? 

 

God’s Gonna Trouble the Water or, Where Is Marisol? – Oh, what a heartbreaker to end on. And yet, Kenan shows with horrifying clarity the way people are able to so easily move past trauma and worry when they’re only indirectly affected by it. Wow. A strong closing tale. One of my favorite stories of the bunch. 

 

There is something just really unique about Kenan’s writing. It’s got a sort of otherworldly vibe, in the structure and flow. And such an intellectual style of vocabulary and delivery. The stories themselves are also fascinating unique in style. They’re all just, normal moments, glimpses at small parts of a life, but the ambience created by the writing gives them a sense of magical realism, even though it’s really just gorgeously written realism. This is really enhanced by Kenan’s spectacular ability to convey a sense of place in his writing. Being so firmly planted in the setting, physically and emotionally, allows a very real connection to be made for the reader. Kenan is also very into the alternating-time style to telling a story, jumping back and forth in temporal perspective and for some stories it was great, some made it harder to follow, and all in all it felt a bit repetitive, by the end, even for those stories where it fit well. Overall, there is a sense of an ending in the writing, a subtle closing or saying good-bye. I’m not sure how to explain it exactly, perhaps its related to the way he writes so poetically and nostalgically about place, but it’s unlike anything (vibe-wise) that I’ve read before. 

 

This was such an interesting collection, with a deep sense of being rooted in something throughout, but that connection for the reader is to setting rather than characters. There were many names and people introduced and for the most part I am already forgetting them. But I do know the atmospheric quality of the stories hits in a quiet, but eerie and bone-deep, sort of way. Really distinctive, but probably not destined to be a new favorite, at least for me.   

 

“One can never read too many fairy tales.” 

 

The other day I watched What A Girl Wants, twice in a row (I will not apologize for this guilty pleasure). And then The Princess Diaries. So, naturally, I was in a royal sort of mood. And this romance, which has been on my TBR pile for a while, waiting for its time, felt like the absolute right thing to start reading. 

 

Naledi Smith is in the middle of grad school, juggling classes and lab work and finding a practicum and holding down jobs (and wow…cue the flashbacks). So, she doesn’t have time to deal with the scam emails about her being betrothed to an African prince. She’s a former foster kid, she knows she has no family, doesn’t belong anywhere, and can only rely on herself. Prince Thabiso, heir to the throne of the small nation of Thesolo, comes to NYC for a few important meetings and, while there, plans to confront his missing betrothed. But a misunderstanding of identity leads to Naledi and Thabiso getting to know each other (in many ways, wink wink) under false pretenses…as in, Thabiso keeps his real identity a secret one her realizes Naledi doesn’t recognize him. They have instant chemistry, but when Thabiso secrets are inevitably revealed, will their budding relationship survive the shock? 

 

So, other than Red, White and Royal Blue, which is a bit like apples and oranges, I think, this is the first legit royal romance I have ever read. Despite my love for these kinds of stories in movies (and real life, because like, who doesn’t love Prince Harry and Meghan Markle?), I have maybe always been nervous that this sub-genre would be too cheesy or unrealistic. Which is weird because, again, the aforementioned Harry and Meghan. But you know, brains and weird and convince us of a lot of things. Anyways, back to the point, this was my first real foray into royal romance. And honestly, it was just a lot of fun! Cole did a great job with two major romance tropes, mistaken identity and forced (manipulated?) proximity, to really develop the relationship. The whole “goddess-chosen betrothal” aspect was a bit over the top for me, but I respect that it helped avoid having to deal with the fact that Naledi knew nothing about the country and people she came from and, therefore, had a high chance of not being accepted by the government/population. I mean, things were still rocky, but they had enough issues without adding that one to the mix. 

 

I enjoyed the colliding of two very different worlds when the two first met; it made for some amusing scenes. And although Thabiso made some uncomfortably stalker-y moves to start, it was easy to see why and that his heart was at least in the right place. Plus, his privileged position that made it all possible was a clear part of that process, and as he realized with time how questionable some of his actions were, he made clear moves to change and be better, which I appreciated. A lot of perspective growth for him, overall, throughout the novel. As for Naledi, her growth was more of the emotional kind. She begins so very closed off (absolutely reasonably so, considering her childhood), and I loved watching her slowly start to trust (and then re-trust) Thabiso. Plus, her self-confidence in going after things she wanted and setting healthy boundaries in other parts of her life was wonderful to watch as well. I really loved the science aspects as well. Naledi’s grad student position and practicum situation, as well as they way it re-showed Thabiso what kind of positive influence he could have and encouraged him to use his position in that way, was a lovely additional piece of the novel. I do always love a nerdy lady MC. Plus, three cheers for highlighting the importance of public health! 

 

As for the family drama power grab situation in Thesolo that the story built to…I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. It was a bit thin, developmentally. And I felt kind of a lot was left hanging at the end (like, Naledi’s grandparents…among a number of other things). It did a great job setting up getting Ledi to Thesolo and highlighted her education/skills, but it just sort of fell flat. Mainly, I think this is because the end was overall kind of rushed. I could have used like one or two more chapters to let the “finale” part settle out and to give a little bit more info and closure on some of the topics and characters that had been introduced. Personal preference here, but I feel like that about a lot of romance novels, honestly. This one just felt particularly fast.      

Thabiso and Ledi had some fantastic chemistry and I really was so entertained by their story. It was great escapism and a really well-framed story, as far as the “young [orphan] girl dreams of being a princess and then her dreams come true,” trope is concerned. Some parts, regarding the pacing and (some) of the sex scenes weren’t quite it for me, but some other pieces, like the public health recognition and dialogue and settings, were great. My overall impression was positive and I’ll keep the next books in the series on my TBR back-burner for next time I’m feeling in the mood for some traditional romance.      

 

This is a book that I’ve been meaning to read for awhile now. I know Laymon has a novel and an essay collection published years before this memoir, but I have to be honest, this is the piece that I first heard about from him. Likely as a result of the myriad of absolutely overwhelmingly, stunningly positive reviews about the power and vulnerability of Laymon’s words (especially from other writers I have read and loved, like Roxane Gay, Nafissa Thompson-Spires, and more). Anyways, as I think I am always saying (mainly because there is just not enough time to read everything I want to read!), I am so glad I finally picked it up. 

 

In this memoir, Laymon chronicles, in essay form, his youth growing up in Jackson, Mississippi with his grandmother and “complicated and brilliant” mother, his suspension from college and then his time in New York as a young professor. This is all framed within a context of finally talking about all the topics and realities that he and his mother never recognized as he was growing up, and the way that needs to happen on a national level in order for the country to be able to move forwards to a better and healthier future. Throughout, he addresses his own experiences with sexual violence, racism, writing, gambling and, most consistently, disordered eating and his own weight. 

 

There is really very little I can add in a review of this that hasn’t already been said by a writer better than me. Laymon’s writing is just as powerful and vulnerable as everyone said. It’s intense and difficult to read because of how willing to lay bare his individual realities and private truths Laymon is. But that intensity and difficulty is also what makes this memoir. I don’t want to take away from Laymon’s work or efforts by over-reviewing this piece, because I want you to read it, read his own words on it. There’s a line with memoirs that is hard, as a reviewer, because you have to separate the work from the life. There is, hopefully, a way to do that fairly and objectively. And I try to find that. In this case specifically, it’s important to note that I’ll be giving this memoir a glowing, five-star, review because of the writing and the skill Laymon has with words and the bravery he has to share them, and in no way as a commentary on the experiences he lived and endured to inform those words. Also, listening to the audiobook and hearing Laymon read his own words in his own voice, was particularly affecting. Highly recommend that option.  

 

However, I do also want to add a few notes on specific aspects. First, the mother-son dynamic that Laymon shares so openly about is emotional and heartbreaking. He speaks a lot on the ways his mother’s work in benefit and defense of Black people in America often seemed at odds with the harsh ways she treated her own son, in their own home, bother to prepare him for/protect him for the world and as a result of her own history of trauma. Related to this, the various forms of sexual violence he faced both in his own home and in his wider community, and the affect that seeing that, and then the general choice to ignore its occurrence, had on his psyche and his relationship to sex and women. He speaks to the consequences of youth not having teachers or role models or books/media that look like themselves or their culture, as well as the general unpreparedness of the education system/educators for the task of teaching within an environment of daily trauma (in a variety of forms), has on the minority youth in this country. He grapples with power and privilege in America, the ways it has affected his own life and the ways he has had to grow within its confines and even contribute to it, without viable alternative choices, all while trying to take on the burden of changing that reality and trying to recognize that that burden should not be, should never have been, his to try and hold alone. And finally, connecting all pieces of this memoir together, Laymon discusses disordered eating and unhealthy relationships with weight and food as a result of and a coping mechanism for the instability he faced, in the various ways it shows up throughout his life. There is more, so much more, in these pages, but, like I said, you should pick it up and read his words for yourself in order to benefit from it all.    

 

Laymon talks about laughing through the pain and loss and lack until you just cannot anymore, because it just, actually, isn’t funny. And then what? He acknowledges the harm that silence does and fights against that with his own willingness to share all the things he (and his mother and his family) kept silent about in the past. These intergenerational patterns are strong, and it will take concerted and consistent efforts to speak and open up about these hard truths and realities in order to actually make progress towards overcoming them, but Laymon’s example provides a blueprint for how to do that. I am blown away, as I’ve said, and I will be looking into reading Laymon’s backlist for sure. 

 

As usual, with nonfiction, and especially with nonfiction written as spectacularly as this memoir was, I had a number of passages that I highlighted while reading. Here is a selection:      

 

“...unacknowledged scars accumulated in battles won often hurt more than  battles lost.” 

 

“My body knew things my mouth and my mind couldn’t, or maybe wouldn’t, express. It knew that all over my neighborhood, boys were trained to harm girls in ways girls could never harm boys, straight kids were trained to harm queer kids in ways queer kids could never harm straight kids, men were trained to harm women in ways women could never harm men, parents were trained to harm children in ways children would never harm parents, babysitters were trained to harm kids in ways kids could never harm babysitters. My body knew white folk were trained to harm us in ways we could never harm them. I didn’t know how to tell you or anyone else the stories my body told me...” 

 

“Both of y’all knew, and showed me, how we didn’t even have to win for white folk to punish us. All we had to do was not lose the way they wanted us to.” 

 

“...before I met actual white folk, I met every protagonist, antagonist, and writer of all the stories I ever read in first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth grade.” 

 

“For the first time in my life, I realized telling the truth was way different from finding the truth, and finding the truth had everything to do with revisiting and rearranging words. Revisiting and rearranging words didn’t only require vocabulary; it required will, and maybe courage. Revised word patterns were revised thought patterns. Revised thought patterns shaped memory.” 

 

“America seems filled with violent people who like causing people pain but hate when those people tell them that pain hurts.” 

 

“...I didn’t understand the difference between “writing to” and “writing for” anyone. No one ever taught me to write to and for my people. They taught me how to imitate Faulkner and how to write to and for my teachers. And all of my teachers were white.” 

 

“There was too much at stake to as questions, to be dumb, to be a curious student, in front of a room of white folk who assumed all black folk were intellectually less than. For the first time in my life, the classroom scared me.” 

 

“Mostly, I wondered what black writers weren’t writing when we spent so much creative energy begging white folk to change.” 

 

“‘The worst kinds of teachers be the teachers that teach other folk how to be like them.’” 

 

“I would come into that meeting knowing the illest part of racial terror in this nation is that it’s sanctioned by sorry, overpaid white bodies that will never be racially terrorized, and maintained by a few desperate underpaid black and brown bodies that will.” 

 

“I told you the truth about white folks’ treatment of me without being honest about how I treated myself and others close to me while surviving that treatment.” 

 

 

 

 

I’d seen a couple (though not many) reviews for this one saying that it was spectacular. And if you enjoy SFF, you know how hard it is to find a great standalone in the genre. Though I did recently read another really wonderful one, The Vanished Birds, if you are looking. Anyways, I joined the waitlist for it at the library and here we are. 

 

Cara is a traverser. Able to travel between worlds because she has a unique characteristic that very few other share: she has died so many times. Since a person cannot traverse to another world where they are still alive, the fact that Cara has died on 372 other worlds, but not in this world, makes her an ideal candidate. So, she’s temporarily escaped her life in the wastelands and is living within the walls of the Wiley City. Cara spends years trying to fit in better in Wiley City, visiting her family in the wastes but feeling more and more out of place there as well, and flirting with her handler, Dell, who studiously remains as distant as ever. But when one of her few remaining selves dies (under questionable circumstances) in another world and Cara travels there for the first time, she gets embroiled in some serious multiverse evil and plotting. Plus, some of her own buried (at least, Cara thinks they’re buried) secrets are about to rise back up. 

 

Well, hello to you, my gorgeous new favorite book! What a story, what an adventure, what world-building, what creativity and what searing social commentary! Beginning with some of the best opening lives I’ve read since those about Kell’s coat in ADSOM (and repeated, fantastically, in style/substance at the beginning of each subsequent section) and with phenomenal page-turning pacing all the way to the very end, this novel grabbed me, swept me up inside it, and (I can tell) is never going to let me go. Johnson walks a fine line perfectly, in making a world that resembles our own just enough to make the world-building easily digestible (important for a stand-alone, IMO), but with enough time spent developing its own attributes that it absolutely feels original and new. That mix of familiar and exotic is a aspect of sci-fi that, when done right, I cannot get enough of. Also, as far as the concept of the multiverse and the way its detailed here, I loved the clear explanations – enough to satisfy curiosity and create depth, but not so much that the story and characters (and my interest) get lost in the minutiae. Plus, the way that new mythology, grown to explain the new phenomena, is thrown in is something I will always love.   

 

I liked the way that the “multiple selves in a single world” situation was dealt with and worked around, as well. I’m not into theoretical science/philosophy, so my personal investigation (as it were) in questioning those aspects was fairly limited, but Johnson did more than enough to satisfy my cursory questions re: potential plot holes. It was also so fascinating, the way each of the characters carried traits from world to world that were inherent to who they were, to their lives/stories, and yet the environments of each world developed those traits out in [slightly] different ways. That piece was so well written and complexly portrayed. So impressive. Definitely one of my favorite things about this book, and likely under-acknowledged, as it’s a subtle thing. As for the plot itself: I loved it. And Cara was a freaking awesome protagonist leading it. She had the perfect mix of reluctance and harshness juxtaposed with a sense of justice that, despite her best efforts, she couldn’t ignore. However, she is also no “chosen one” or “savior,” just a person with the right skills and connections in the right place to do something if she wanted to. But the choice to do so, or not, was always in her hands alone (and no one would have known, really, if she had done nothing). That’s something I don’t often see and I really appreciated. A last note about Cara, on a very personal level, her casual bisexuality was just really buoying to me, as a reader.  

 

Finally, I want to mention a couple major themes in relation to my point earlier that Johnson’s social commentary is on point, discerning, and biting. Addressing social themes in familiar but foreign ways is a cornerstone of good sci-fi, in my opinion, and Johnson has shown that she’s a master at it. Primarily Johnson focuses in on class, and the welfare received by those of a “deserving” class to help keep them in that high position, while those of “lower” classes get less and are then blamed for the trouble when they attempt to create it for themselves is spot on. She explores this theme from faith-based, intergenerational wealth, careers/jobs, race and color, clothing/style, perceived intelligence and motivations, and more. And she is able to touch on the overt displays, as well as the internationalization of these beliefs, and the way those actions and assumptions perpetuate the system (from all perspectives). In addition, there is clear exploration of both external and interpersonal consequences of these class lines that began (as always) as arbitrary lines drawn to keep those with power in power. Phew. Cara’s role in this novel, both as a traverser of worlds and a Wiley City dweller from the wastelands (and, within that Ashtown and Rurals), takes the idea of being split between, of belonging nowhere and everywhere, to a whole new level. It’s not a new concept, but the dual-meaning of Johnson’s title, and the clear messages about the roles only Cara can play, because of the interwoven spaces she occupies. Crossing those arbitrary lines, from both sides, will be the only way to make progress, to bring down the powers that be, in whatever form they take (but always causing the same divides).     

 

I don’t even know how to properly sum all this up. I feel like the review had so many words and yet did nothing to scratch the surface of how amazing this book was, how much ground it covered or how much I loved it! I loved all of it. So much! The characters were so compelling (Cara is everything!), the plot was mind-blowing and so well-paced, the commentary was fresh and profound, the cover is straight gorgeous (and perfect), the writing was just lovely. So. Much. Yes. I don’t even know what else to say. You know I’m about to go buy my own copy because it was too damn good for me to not have on my own shelves! Go get your hands on this book ASAP! 

 

“The darkness is worth it, because I know what waits on the other side.” 

 

“…human beings are unknowable. You can never know a single person fully, not even yourself. Even if you think you know yourself in your safe glass castle, you don’t know yourself in the dirt. Even if you hustle and make it in the rough, you have no idea if you would thrive or die in the light of real riches, if your cleverness would outlive your desperation.” 

 

“It is possible to love a monster, even if you spend every day reminding yourself that they are a monster.” 

 

“Sometimes, focusing on survival is necessary. Sometimes, it is just an excuse for selfishness.” 

 

“‘Not a miracle [...] Science.’ / ‘What do you call science when it answers a prayer.’” 

 

“If so many people are killed with so little effort, is it easier to pretend they aren’t lives? That everything is fine? [...] No, killing should take longer than a heartbeat. Murder should be unignorable, always.” 

 

“But I think, I believe, there is a reason for those who live. Death can be senseless, but life never is.” 

 

“Warlord, emperor, CEO [...] No difference.” (hot DAMN what a ‘rose by any other name’ moment) 

“...because all of us who were told we were nothing will never stop trying to be everything.” 

 

“...our dead are only weights on our backs when we won’t let them walk beside us, when we try to pretend they are not ours or they are not dead.” 

 

“Rage is dirty fuel, but it burns hotter than grief ever could.” 

 

“They say hunting monsters will turn you into one. That isn’t what’s happening now. Sometimes to kill a dragon, you have to remember that you breathe fire too. This isn’t a becoming; it’s a revealing. I’ve been a monster all along.” 

 

 

 

 

My 13th Aspen Words Literary Prize 2021 Longlist read and review. Despite my best efforts, I did not make it to all 15 longlist books before the shortlist was announced. However, I made it through this one, so I was only two books short. I’m honestly not upset about that – I was pretty close! And I’ll definitely be getting to those last two, so don’t worry (which, of course, I know you were). Anyways, this is one that I had not ever heard of before the longlist was announced and I don’t think I’ve really seen anyone else read or review it. That being said, I really had no idea what it was abut or what to expect going in. Sometimes, not knowing is nice though, and it’s been a while since that’s been the case for me. It was a nice mix-up! 

 

Black Sunday follows a family living in Lagos, Nigeria, over about 20 years, from the mid-90s to the mid-2010s. It’s told in rotating part by each of the four children, the oldest twin daughters and two younger brothers, and chronicles experiences from their parents leaving to their time working whatever jobs they could find to get by to boarding school to relationships (or, at the very least, “learning about girls”) to the outcomes of reuniting with their absent parents to the way their lives played out compared to the goals/ideas they each had about their futures. 

 

This is a really interesting format for a novel. And to start I was really into it, because I truly love complex and well-developed sibling relationships. There are so many ways those can play out under the circumstances of growing up and the different ways they each handle similar challenges and realities and I am always fascinated by the possibilities, the similarities and differences that emerge. And, particularly here because I am the oldest (female) with two younger siblings (brothers) there were a lot of dynamics that I was curious to watch emerge over time. I was also really interested because it seemed like, after reading part 1, that we were getting a story told a little bit at a time, over time, from each of the four siblings' perspectives, which could have been really cool. However, after that first part, things started to fall apart a little for me. There was a general feeling of disjointedness between and among the siblings. Their stories, both in a larger overall sense and within the individual vignettes they told, felt very unconnected to me. Even with the two oldest being twins, their stories seemed so separate from each other that I almost felt like I was more reading a collection of short stories that took place in the same neighborhood (separately but in proximity) than anything else. And the younger brothers felt at least equally, if not more so, removed. Especially because, in the final section, the only two perspectives we are given are from the twin sisters, and the boys are just "off in America." Which is fine, as it was true, but since we got their POVs in the beginning, I didn't understand why we didn't get a wrap-up from them as well. that then, in retrospect, made their earlier perspectives seem even further unrelated. The unequal development of the details of the boys' lives, both in time and detail, made me wonder why they were there to begin with, and perhaps the entire novel would have been more compelling if that time had been spent giving the twins even more depth. Just, in a general sense, there was a lot of promise in the structure of this novel that, at least for me, wasn't fulfilled and, thus, my investment in the characters was lost in the uncoordinated jumps between them. 

 

On the other hand, I do want to recognize some of the content of the novel, past the structure and writing, because it touched on some incredibly important topics in a way that was very illustrative. Primarily, the way Abraham demonstrates the role of the church in the cultural subjugation of women in Nigeria is insightful and, I believe extrapolatable to many other countries and cultures in which religion holds an important place. The hypocrisy of those protected by their position of power within the religious structure, similar to any figure whose position holds a level of power, was really center-stage here. The leeway powerful church leaders are given, the degree to which others will turn their heads away and ignore behavior that in direct contradiction to church doctrine, is matched only by the opposing lack of understanding those same leaders extend to their followers. While, of course, this is not a universal rule, it is historically and internationally more true than not. And it is on full display in these pages. Even beyond that here, Abraham shows the weaponization of church and tradition against women, in ways spiritual and social and interpersonal relationships (romantic and platonic and family). She attempts, I think, to deepen this by showing how much worse much of this can be without parental guidance or protection, but I'm not sure that piece totally clicked, for me. 

 

Overall, this portrait of a family told in alternating POV vignettes, over a chronological unfolding, was solid, but fairly disjointed. I liked the themes and appreciated the messages the author was sharing, but a little too much was missing to make it possible for me to really fall into it completely. 

 

“I learned when I was a little girl that people always lie. I am not sure everyone means to lie. It is just that they have in their hearts ideas of who they should be, and they are trying to convince themselves that they are who they insist on being. It is tiring.” 

 

“My family unraveled rapidly, in messy loose knots, hastening away from one another, shamefaced and lonesome, injured solitary animals in a happy world.” 

 

“‘A son of a lion is a lion.’ A son of a foolish man who loses all his money to fraudsters is what? A son of a poor man whose wife leaves him is what? A son of a man who runs away, leaving his children with his mother, is what?” 

 

“Beauty was a gift, but what was I to do with it? It was fortunate to be beautiful and desired. It made people smile at me. I was used to strangers wishing me well. But what is a girl’s beauty, but a man’s promise of reward? What was my beauty but a proclamation of potential, an illusion of choice?” 

 

“No one makes plans for suffering.” 

 

“I did not know anything but the mother she used to be. That comparing and contrasting was my burden. I did not pay the price that she did, so America was not at all beautiful for me. What is the value of a thing but the price a buyer pays for it? How can I expect someone who went to prison for a chance to live in a country not to be excited when she got that chance? I did not really hate my mother, I did not even hate America. How can you hate something you do not know? America will always be, to me, the country that stole my mother and sent back something unrecognizable in her place. I will not call that country beautiful, or its people beloved.” 

 

“I know what I am doing, using Scripture for my own ends. It is impossible to spend so much time reading and teaching the Bible and be unskilled in using it as a weapon. Does not the Bible in the book of Hebrews refer to its content as a two-edged sword, cutting and dividing?” 

 

“It is a common mistake, to hear a story about tragedy and disbelieve it because the telling is off. We think to ourselves, how does the storyteller know this? We are asking the wrong question. The right question is, why is the storyteller telling me this story?” 

 “Women in my family possessed a sixth sense, not necessarily from being mothers, but from the close policing of our sadness: your tristeza wasn’t yours, it was part of the larger collective Female Sadness jar to which we all contributed.” 

"Mothers are capable of destroying worlds, the world, if they want to.” 

 

My 12th Aspen Words Literary Prize 2021 longlist read. This is one I had definitely planned to read, regardless of prize listings. The second I heard that it was written in Spanglish I was IN. So unique and so wonderfully about time (as in, hopefully soon, it won’t be that unique anymore). And I’m not overlooking the opportunity it gave me to flex my Spanish (and learn some really fun new phrases and slang) with some serious scaffolding. Not at all the intended audience, and I recognize that completely, but it did work out nicely. 

 

When Francisca’s mother uproots her and her sister and moves them, along with their grandmother, away from her home in Bogotá to a foreign, swampy, run down existence in Miami, as a “new start,” she is miserable. Forced to attend youth meetings at the over-the-top evangelical church her mother and grandmother join, while dealing with not speaking the language, knowing no one, hating the weather, and watching the mental-state deterioration of both her maternal guardians, Francisca herself is totally lost. Trying to navigate her coming-of-age in both a religious and sexual sense, drawn to the charismatic youth group leader, Carmen, Francisca gets pulled into the church against her will and faces tragic emotional fallout.  

 

What a powerhouse of a narrative! I have never read anything with this much frenetic energy in the writing. I literally couldn’t read fast enough. I think I made notes along these lines like fifteen different times while reading this, but honestly, and (sort of) excuse my language here, but what a f*cking VOICE. I will read everything Delgado Lopera publishes after this. I’ve never read anything with a flow and vibe like this. And yes, it’s the Spanglish (the Spanglish was amazing, perfect), but it’s so much more than that. Francisca’s narration is some of the most real, genuine, contemporary adolescent-voiced perspective that I’ve ever experienced. 

 

Beyond that, the story itself, for what it is, is very compelling. It’s an interesting sort of non-plot, that is more of a character exposition than anything else. It drifts, a little bit, as it goes, and I would have liked it to be a bit tighter on this front, but it’s not a major complaint, as Francisca and the women of her family are the center stage either way. Delgado Lopera writes Francisca’s simultaneous sexual and spiritual relationships are interwoven in a masterful, from the building of each in concert with the other to the inevitable waning of the feelings of “first love” in both. The general juxtaposition here, of faith and lust, is just phenomenal. The experience of losing of oneself in relationships and what those partners (ecclesiastical and romantic) want is presented as the integral piece of adolescence that it is. And the coming of age after that, when you coming into making decisions for YOU instead, is portrayed with the exact difficultly and pain and self-realization that it really has. Plus, the lost-loneliness feelings of all that is exacerbated by being in a foreign country (nothing recognizable), an unstable family/community situation, a mentally struggling parent, and the limiting judgmental boundaries of religion for a young queer person (a struggle even more so when that church is the only option for society), in perfect tone with Delgado Lopera’s writing. Also, the two flashback chapters, one to Fracisca’s mother’s youth and one to her grandmother’s, do a fantastic job both putting her own story into context and showing the intergenerational consistency in coming-of-age, in this case, especially for women. Beautifully done. 

 

This short novel was chock full of fire and spirit and tragedy and particular loneliness in a way that can only be truly understood by reading it yourself. It’s full of attitude and depth in wonderfully equal measure. And it is all enhanced by the Spanglish, making it clear who the book is meant for, while never shutting out a wider lingual audience. Don’t be intimated by that piece of it – you’ll get the reading experience of a lifetime no matter what your Spanish-comprehension level is (and, of course, there’s always Google.) Reading this was more than reading, it was an experience. Vibrant, live-wire, with a youth spark and snark that is true in any language.