mariebrunelm's Reviews (478)

This collection of short stories centers on the experiences of first- or second-generation Bengali immigrants in the USA. I picked it up very randomly when my local library had a clear-out of the English section, as an opportunity to branch out. And it worked !

The first short stories in the book are on the longer side and introduce unrelated characters, whereas the last four shorter pieces follow the same two characters at different points of their lives, alternating between their two points of view.

Although it took me a few dozen pages to ease into the slow rhythm of the narratives (and that’s from someone who had just read a slow and contemplative novel just before that one), the book grew on me and I appreciated more and more as I progressed. All of the stories center on family relationships and the way people dance between their two cultures. Yet the author does an excellent job, it seemed to me, of charting their identity as something other than an either/or, often in contrast with parental figures. The main characters here are quietly determined not to disappear within a solely American or solely Bengali identity, but find meaningful ways to be both. Even though there are no at-length discussions of culture and heritage, those themes pervade the characters’ daily life and shine through here and there, making this book a thoughtful anthology that will probably speak to many readers embracing both aspects of their double heritage.

CW: death of parent, grief, cancer, infidelity, alcoholism.

In the quiet English countryside, the children of two families grow side by side. On one side of the hedge is Judith, an only child longing for connection, and on the other are the Fyfe children, four boys and a girl who are often happy to invite Judith to play with them. As they grow older, the dynamics of the group keep shifting, and when feelings come into play, things are bound to get complicated.
I had this book on my radar for the longest time, as I was drawn to its supposedly elegant prose and English-countryside setting. It lived up to this part of the bargain, and added the even better perks of a Cambridge section when the main character goes to university, and queer vibes. It is indeed quite clear that the heroin is bisexual. Even with the flowery 1920s prose, there is little doubt, which made things a lot more interesting than I'd anticipated. That being said, I didn’t find the book thrilling. It is quite elegant and contemplative, yes, but it deals heavily with the main character's inner turmoils and psychology. Though I praise the book for it, it’s not a type of literature I'm particularly fond of. I loved the setting and the queerness, but of course the book remained a product of its time and there were a couple of uncomfortable paragraphs (just a couple, fortunately. But oh boy you’d better not be anything other than pretty or you’ll be the scum of society). All in all, it was a very slow book, with exquisite descriptions of atmosphere but little plot.
Bonus point for a vintage copy that smells just like the books at my grandparents’ house.

Last year, The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, originally published in 1981, had a new and expanded edition. Some 150 additional letters were added to the book and give an even deeper insight into the life and work of the author. Many of them are from the correspondence with his son Christopher during the second world war, and a good number are from his exchanges with his publishers at Allen & Unwin. There are also a handful of letters written to Donald Swann who was composing music inspired by the legendarium.

I have already read the previous edition of the Letters for my PhD, and often refer to them in my studies. So of course I bought this volume as soon as it came out. The new material may not be groundbreaking, but there are many touching passages and a few interesting tidbits for my subject.

All in all, I’d recommend the Letters if you want a picture of the man behind the legendarium, in all his complexity and sometimes contradictions. He took time to answer lengthily to readers asking about obscure points of the history of Arda, or its philosophy, or its languages, and it’s really fascinating.

Book sent by the publisher via NetGalley in exchange for a review.

Far out at sea, something has been found. Leigh is hired as a doctorate student in microbiology to take part in the expedition. She finds herself on this huge boat, living alongside dozens of other specialists, all bent on exploring what this discovery has to offer. She finds out the depths of the ocean are just as mysterious as the endless stretches of space, but this is only the first step of her journey.

This book grabbed me and I happily let myself fall under its spell. At first it reminded me of Sophie Griselle’s Into the Deep, a book I really enjoyed in 2022 (2021?). Of course, the two novels take very different directions, otherwise it wouldn’t be fun. Martin MacInnes chooses to explore the deep sea and beyond as well as the depth of human consciousness and the way memories shape us and our relationships with family, friends and colleagues. I loved how the author made me feel the exhilarating process of research and also the frustrations that come with the job. I also loved how he takes the readers further and further, but always showed the characters trapped in one way or another. This contrast worked really well.

I can’t really say much more because I think it’s better not to know too much about the story and its scope. But if you enjoy the intersection of science and yearning for the infinite, if you like your science to have some poetry and philosophy to it, then I encourage you to pick this book up.

Rep : sapphic MC.

Dans un futur proche, la sauvegarde des données est un problème de premier plan. Face à l’afflux constant de médias de tout ordre, une entreprise (sous l’égide du gouvernement ? Cela n’est pas dit) est chargée de décider quelles œuvres supprimer pour faire de la place. Yves est un employé chargé de présenter les dossiers à une commission souveraine. Il ne peut s’empêcher de devenir l’avocat de ces œuvres dont le destin se résume à une question de stockage. A moins qu’il existe une autre voie.

J’ai entendu parler de cette bande-dessinée dans le numéro 31 de Géante Rouge, qui la citait parmi des œuvres de SF abordant la question de l’art. Ni une ni deux, je suis allée l’emprunter à la médiathèque sans même l’ouvrir. Si je n’ai pas été réceptive au graphisme (qui se rapproche de l’esthétique des comics classiques), j’ai apprécié les questions que soulevaient le scénario sans proposer de réponse toute faite. Je suis restée un petit peu sur ma faim, mais l’auteur développe des idées tout à fait fascinantes.

I hadn’t planned to read this book. Not that I read it against my better judgement, mind you. I’d been wanting to read Maryse Condé for some time, but I intended to start with I, Tituba, Black Witch of Salem. That one wasn’t available at the second-hand bookshop, so I picked this one instead. That’s for the context.
The Story of the Cannibal Woman is a stream-of-consciousness contemporary novel about a black Guadeloupean woman, Rosélie, living in Cape Town with Stephen, her white English husband. When Stephen is found dead one night, her whole life unravels and she becomes unmoored. This novel follows her present interspersed with memories from her life with him and the troubles they faced as they travelled across the world before settling in South Africa. It deals heavily with the racism she faced and how misunderstood she was by the black community for having married a white man. It’s mostly an impressive portrait of a woman with all her strengths and failures.
This book was both an easy read and a very difficult one. Easy, because the prose is quite beautiful and flows without you even noticing it. Difficult, because I’m not used to stream-of-consciousness writing (I have hazy memories of reading Virginia Woolf’s Jacob’s Room at university and not understanding a single bit). The narrative jumps from one point in time to another, from one character to another, even though Rosélie is the main focus. I think this book would benefit from being read with a book club or in class with someone giving key points and being ready to answer questions. There were parts where I thought: “This begs to be analysed thoughtfully. Too bad I can’t do it.” So, this book was a little too literary for me, but hey, I’m always glad to step out of my comfort zone and discover more francophone diverse voices.
Rep: Guadeloupean MC.

Années 1970. Le groupe Khron, culte parmi son petit cercle de fans, sort deux albums qui redéfinissent les frontières de la musique. La veille de la sortie de leur troisième album, les trois membres du groupe disparaissent sans laisser de trace. Peu de temps après, Alexandre parvient à se le procurer… avant de disparaître à son tour.

Cette nouvelle marque la fin de mon aventure avec la collection Chronopages… Pour le moment. Encore une fois, ce texte ne ressemble aucunement aux précédents, tout en tissant des liens thématiques. J’ai apprécié la discussion, bien que rapide, de la musique comme expérience presque transcendantale. Je ne peux pas dire que les péripéties et les révélations concoctées par l’autrice m’aient surprise, mais j’ai apprécié la construction impeccable du récit, qui alterne entre deux temporalités pour mieux révéler petit à petit les mystères qui sous-tendent l’intrigue.

Dans cet essai autobiographique, l’autrice explique comment elle en est venue à renoncer à l'idée d’Amour avec un A majuscule. Celui des contes de fées, des “pour toujours” et des “ils vécurent heureux et eurent beaucoup d’enfants”. Elle commence par disséquer la notion, en cherchant ce qui motive les gens à le rechercher. Cela passe bien sûr par la distinction entre désir sexuel et amour romantique. Cependant, Majé ne mentionne jamais l’aromantisme ni l’asexualité (le mot “asexuelle” apparaît une fois, pour désigner une phase dans la vie de l’autrice). Je trouve que ce sont des concepts qui auraient eu leur place ici. L'autrice explore le spectre des relations humaines, et la manière dont on peut les concevoir sans leur attacher le poids de l’engagement. Si j'ai trouvé la réflexion intéressante, je ne suis pas entièrement convaincue par ce que Majé présente comme une décision rationnelle, celle de ne plus tomber amoureuse. Certes, le sentiment m’est inconnu, mais je ne pense pas que les personnes qui le ressentent puissent décider du jour au lendemain de se couper de cette part d’elleux-mêmes.

Cet essai a cependant le grand intérêt de proposer une introduction à de nombreux concepts spécifiques à la communauté queer, et notamment polyamoureuse, comme la compersion. Je trouve que c'est un excellent point de départ, qui invite à explorer la bibliographie fournie en fin d'ouvrage et à en discuter autour de soi.

Cet essai sur la décolonisation est publié en 1961, en pleine guerre d’Algérie. Le contexte est important car Fanon, né en Martinique, a travaillé comme psychiatre pendant les années 1950 en Algérie, et y a constaté les ravages du colonialisme sur les corps et les esprits. Son livre articule ainsi plusieurs notions traitées dans des chapitres distincts mais évidemment liées entre elles de manière profonde. Il commence par un chapitre sur la violence coloniale, ses racines et ramifications, ainsi que ses multiples conséquences et les clichés qui lui sont associés. Il traite de violence physique mais aussi institutionnelle, et du fait que les colonisés sont réduits à y répondre par leur propre forme de violence.

Fanon explore par la suite la notion de conscience nationale, notamment à travers la place fondamentale de la population dans son ensemble, et pas seulement celle des élites. Il récuse l’idée selon laquelle les masses sont forcément stupides et doivent être traitées comme des enfants. Le chapitre suivant est consacré à la culture et à l’émergence d’une culture nationale qui ne doit pas simplement reprendre les codes de la culture du pays colonisateur (c’est-à-dire européen) mais doit célébrer les particularités très spécifiques du pays dans toute sa diversité.

Le dernier chapitre, découlant directement de la profession de Fanon, dresse une liste des conséquences tragiques de la colonisation sur la santé mentale des colonisés : il y est question de troubles psychiatriques à travers des exemples tirés directement des rapports de Fanon, qui rejette d’avance les critiques qui pourraient lui être adressées d’avoir présenté au grand jour des cas relevant du secret médical, d’une part en anonymisant strictement les patients, et d’autre part en expliquant que l’essentiel de ses patients sont des victimes du colonialisme, et que leurs cas doivent figurer dans l’exposé des horreurs induites par les colons.

L’essentiel de cet essai est assez accessible. Des particularités de langage peuvent bien sûr heurter les sensibilités modernes, car Fanon emploie des termes jugés racistes mais qui étaient monnaie courante à l’époque. L’auteur entame son discours comme s’il décrivait les mécanismes universels de la colonisation et de la résistance des colonisés, mais il apparaît rapidement qu’il parle spécifiquement de l’Algérie, dont il a vécu la réalité lors de l’élaboration de ce texte. Et si vous n’étiez pas déjà informé.e des abominations que la France y a perpétrées, et bien je vous recommande de vous renseigner au plus vite. La France n’a pas à faire la morale à d’autres pays colonisateurs lorsqu’elle pratiquait elle-même les sévices inhumains qu’elle reproche à demi-mots aux autres.

C’est grâce à R.F. Kuang et Babel que j’ai découvert ce livre, car elle le recommande dans sa bibliographie de l’édition Waterstones. On voit sans mal ce qui lie les ouvrages, tant la violence coloniale en est la colonne vertébrale. C’est un ouvrage que je recommande, pas seulement pour le Black History Month, mais si vous avez besoin d’un autre incitatif en plus de la recommandation de R.F. Kuang, le voilà.

 Enfin, l’exploration des mécanismes de la tyrannie coloniale permet des parallèles affligeants et nombreux avec des situations très actuelles, ce qui est une raison de plus de lire ce livre. 

ARC provided by the editor via NetGalley.

It is Laura’s first year at Saint Perpetua's College, and she has been admitted to the very closed circle of Ms De Lafontaine’s poetry class. There, in addition to the heady blend of poetry she has to absorb and create, she faces the immediate hatred of one student, Carmilla, the teacher’s favourite. A web of secrets links the prodigy student and the professor, one that hints at something not entirely proper. Soon, Laura finds herself drawn into the tight circle of their relationship.

This dark academia novel / romance had all the vibes. It felt gothic, rather sexy, dangerous and morally very gray. The relationship dynamics were probably the highlight of this book as it explored the trope of rivals to lovers as well as power abuse in academic settings. I felt these were well executed, introducing a lot of tension from the former and a lot of “ugh please no” from the latter. I was thoroughly enjoying myself and couldn’t put the book down. When I did, however, I felt a little frustrated. I think I wanted a little more from it, especially because of the novella S.T. Gibson drew from — Carmilla. That being said, the original piece is very short and suggests more than it takes a deep dive into its themes, so maybe that’s fair for An Education in Malice to do a similar job. The fact that I wanted more from it probably stems from the fact that I was really enjoying myself, and that’s a good thing.

Rep : bisexual MC, lesbian mid-size MC.

Summary of the CW listed at the beginning of the book: power abuse, inappropriate relationships, toxic academic environment, blood, gore, murder, consensual sexual content (very spicy), alcohol and drug use, smoking.