"They want moral certainty, a thing I cannot give."

In this book, Munaweera explores the conflicts of the Sri Lankan Civil War, written from the alternating perspectives of two young girls, one Sinhala and one Tamil. I wouldn't say both views are given the same importance in the narrative, though - Yasodhara, the young Sinhala girl, is the heroine of the story. At the same time, we get to glimpse into Saraswathie's mind and life for a little moment, the first-person Tamil perspective. But, of course, there are other characters from both ethnic groups.

The story intended to show there isn't right or wrong in war, and it was successful in many aspects for me. But it also lacked balance, given the Sinhala and Tamil perspectives were not written with the same depth and care. The author managed to write a nuanced and multifaceted Sinhala experience. But the Tamil perspective is flatter.

This issue came to my attention during the South Asian book club discussions of which I am part. As a non-Sri Lankan and non-South Asian person not particularly aware of the Sri Lankan conflict's roots, this would have honestly gone over my head had I not had discussions with more knowledgeable people.

But the story in itself worked for me. I was captivated by the narration of mouthwatering dishes and felt nostalgic for the local scenery I've never seen in real life. I was in awe with the words used to describe the beauty of brown skin, had goosebumps with the forbidden and impossible love stories, and got to travel the world and see these same people assimilating into a western culture after moving halfway across the globe to escape the war.

In a small Mexican village known as La Matosa, a woman's corpse is found floating in the river. It's La Bruja, the local healer, who is equally ostracized and sought by locals, and who has been brutally murdered and left to perish in the canal.

This book isn't about who done it or why. It's a claustrophobic depiction of structural violence, that omnipresent force that follows La Matosa inhabitants no matter where they go.

They can't escape it, and neither can we, the readers. With single-paragraph chapters and sentences often pages long, Melchor traps us in this web of violence. We can't look away even if we wanted to. But we don't really want to. It's like driving by a car crash (another reviewer initially said on here): we don't want to see blood, we hope there isn't any, but we can't keep from staring and checking for ourselves.

Hurricane Seasons is graphic, sickening, extremely uncomfortable, and trigger warnings too extensive to list. And all that perhaps because it's also a too familiar story. Too believable. Too real.

Melchor set her tale in her motherland of Mexico. Still, it could easily be a story about anywhere else in the world where poverty, misogyny, and violence are givens.

Melchor created a masterpiece! I've never read anything like it.

normalized racism, sexism, and pedophilia.
toxic romantic relationships portrayed as love.
grooming.
(+ bland writing & boring plot, but that I can live with honestly)

In 'Sexographies,' Peruvian journalist Gabriela Wiener puts herself in a series of unexpected situations, like entering Peru's largest prison undercover as a convict's girlfriend or undergoing a near-death workshop to overcome her fear of death. And then she writes about it.

All essays are incredibly personal, and Wiener isn't afraid of digging into the depths of her being to uncover her sexual desires, traumas, fears, identities, and complexities, and then detail it to a worldwide audience.

Her writing is graphic and unfiltered, like when she meticulously describes her first experience in a swingers club with her husband, but not always hot and sexy, like when her post-partum breasts need to be milked by the subject of her latest interview, a Peruvian sex worker, to help her cope with her extreme pain. But that's what a "study of sex" looks like, right? The unglamorous but honest "study of sex."

I had never read anything like it before and was pushed out of my comfort zone in full force! Wiener writes free of prejudice and preconceived notions. She displays genuine openness to the different and the new. As a reader, she gave me widely unfamiliar with the topics in this book, an opportunity to read an unbiased exposé of lifestyles and experiences often too "taboo" to be spoken about.

In what is often described as a "fragmented novel," Nobel Prize in Literature laureate, Tokarczuk shares a collection of thoughts reminiscent of ruminations connected to traveling, peregrinations, flights. It felt like a game I used to play as a kid, in which we said a word, and the other children had to say the first thing that came to mind (like "green," "plants," "forest,"...). Whatever comes to mind when thinking of the word "flights" was probably added to the book somewhere.

The thing with this book for me is that it wasn't enjoyable. I see the value in it and the one-of-a-kind concept but didn't have a good time getting through it. Many times, I just felt bored. I struggle with sharing opinions about highly praised books that go against the norm, especially when the argument for why they are so good is something along the lines of "unique" and "complex" because I feel like I " have" to agree.

But this wasn't my personal favorite.

In this coming of age memoir, Zeba Talkhani describes her life - from growing up in Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, studying in India and Germany, and finally entering adulthood in the UK.

With an honest and raw voice, Talkhani shows us how feminism is a journey of self-love and self-discovery. She describes the path in unlearning biases she was brought up with and fighting the patriarchal status quo within herself and her community.

Talkhani's story is empowering! It advocates for everyone to love ourselves and stay true to our values. It argues to be kind to all, even people who are not kind to you, but also for using our voices to stand up for ourselves and not accept any abuse!