octavia_cade's Reviews (2.64k)

Really interesting anthology of essays from a wide variety of Asian American women. The essays cover a number of topics, but they are nearly all primarily concerned with different forms of political activism, and different ways of engaging women like themselves with feminism. That's really too simplistic a description of the book though, firstly because "Asian American" sounds like a monolithic block, and many of the authors here are at pains to describe their own backgrounds and communities, and how these can differ greatly from other Asian American populations (a Filipina woman, for instance, may have different concerns and priorities to an Indian woman). And secondly because feminism means different things to these different subsets, not to mention the various intersections, particularly with class, within the different groups. And it's genuinely illuminating to read about how these authors have encouraged activism in their own communities... the strategies they've used, the challenges faced and the successes both, which they're all passing on here. Well worth reading.

A lovely, evocative work of literature that has become - through longevity and quality - one of the founding works of the (Old) English language. Heaney's translation is very readable, sad and restrained and rhythmic all at once. Worth the price of admission for the Grendel passages alone, the monster who, on seizing a man for dinner "bit into his bone-lappings, bolted down his blood / and gorged on him in lumps" (I first read this translation years ago and that passage has stayed with me from the time of first-reading until today).

I read this as part of Book Riot's Read Harder challenge for 2018 - for task 20, a book with a cover you hate. And make no mistake, this is an absolutely appalling cover. I don't know what the publisher was thinking, inflicting that hideousness on what is really a very good book. For Hrolf Kraki's Saga is much better than it appears: a retelling of one of the old sagas about the titular Danish King, albeit a retelling that is as much about his family and retainers as it is the title character. There's even a small crossover with the Beowulf poem, which isn't inserted randomly by Anderson as the crossover existed in the original texts - which I didn't know until I looked it up but which gives an interesting context to both.

As with a lot of the sagas, it's a grim story with moments of grace that ends badly for pretty much all concerned, but Anderson has written it well, focusing as much on character as on action. Having read it, I now want to find a copy of my own... but a copy of a different edition, because I can't get over the sheer bloody awfulness of that cover.

Well-written and really enjoyable fantasy, based very loosely on the Japanese myth of Izanagi, Izanami, and family. My knowledge of Japanese mythology is minimal at best, so a lot of this was new to me, but it was sad and hopeful and lovely all at once. It's nice to have fantasy protagonists who are distinctly averse to battle, and the war parts of this story (thankfully minimal) didn't quite match up to the rest of it - in many ways Dragon Sword is a very quiet story, one that values reconciliation and forgiveness above everything else, and which doesn't flinch from the idea of costs in conflict, how high they are and how terrible it is to have to pay them.

Tightly written and extremely sympathetic portrayal of a 14 year old boy in a gang, and the violence which surrounds him and his friends. It's not my usual reading material, but it's so thoughtful, with such a lack of judgement, that the novel deserves the fame it's received over the years. Written by a sixteen year old girl I believe, and she has the most extraordinary voice - distinctive and consistent. Ponyboy (the main character) never feels less than real, and it would be very easy, I think, to fall into stereotypes given that this is really quite a short novel... verging on a long novella, almost. Yet for the most part those stereotypes are subverted, and nearly all the characters have their humanity underlined regardless of their actions. Which probably explains why the book's been banned so often... it must be easier to swallow delinquency if you can convince yourself that the delinquent isn't much of a person underneath.

Really well done graphic novel about the civil rights marches in the American south, and the role that John Lewis played in them. This is as much a coming of age for individual as much as society, as Lewis' childhood ages into awareness and response to the racism in his community.

If I've one criticism it's that some of the speech bubbles were very hard to read. I kind of got the feeling that they were meant to indicate background noise and conversation, but I spent a lot of time squinting and trying to make out words instead of focusing on the fantastic illustrations.

Enormously affecting story about a butch lesbian trying to navigate social prejudice in 1970s America. It is, fair to say, very difficult to read at points. There's a lot of sexual assault in here, but I rather expect that this is a horrifying reflection of reality, which really just makes the reading of it worse. Looking away does no good, however, but the novel is clear on the point that for all the suffering and trauma of the protagonist, she is more than the victim of her terrible experiences. Jess is a particularly compelling character, informed by the author's own real life experience I suspect, and watching her grope and fumble her way to an understanding of herself and her life is frankly a painful read. Nonetheless, it's a rewarding read, and one that provokes a great deal of empathy.

This wasn't awful, but I'm not left wanting to read any more of the series either. Look, it has its good points - the writing is clear and nicely paced, and I liked Laia. I just couldn't stand Elias, and when you hate a protagonist as much as I hate him your ability to like a book is severely tested. I rather think I'm supposed to read this and feel untrammelled admiration at his decision to not kill Laia, to be happy that he's found a place to stand and set his morals on. But I'm not, and you know why? Because it's a monstrously selfish decision wrapped up in pretty paper. Marcus is a monster - Elias knows that he's a monster, and yet through his continuing inability to put his own self-respect behind the lives of everyone else in the world, he's elevated that monster to a position of absolute power, one that will allow him to slaughter and torture entire populations. And he does it twice. Taken to his supposed execution (we should be so lucky) Elias has the chance to deliver his world from Marcus by killing that raping sadist, but refuses to take it on the grounds that he'd rather die, basically, for a moral act than an immoral one. I'm sure that's a very great comfort to all the people who will suffer and die so you can keep your conscience clear for (literally) another ten minutes, you selfish fucking jackass.

Laia is willing to sacrifice herself. Elias is willing to sacrifice everyone else. She could do so much better, but given the way this series is headed I don't believe for one minute that she'll get it. Oh, and if Cook isn't who I think she is I'll eat my hat.

This was such a fun read! Light and zippy and Jane Austen-ish in its language, and as a fan of Austen I can only approve of that. It's really entertaining, but there's a seriousness underlying all that magical intrigue, and it's in the exploration of race and gender that Cho really shines here. It's not just the big racist plot against Zacharias, its the constant small slaps that he and Prunella are subject to that build up and build up until you're absolutely infuriated on their behalf. Zacharias felt particularly convincing in his character and responses, but I have to admit that although I found Prunella a bit less believable I enjoyed her more. She's a fantastic character, and I'd be super happy to read more of her. That said, I wasn't entirely convinced by the low-key romance between the two, and the hasty beachside conclusion to the main conflict smacked a little of dragon ex machina: fun to read but a little thin, I thought. Still, the book's so entertaining that these are small quibbles.

A dense and sometimes difficult read. Arendt's arguments are genuinely interesting, but the first half at least is often so theoretical, and so general, that I had to keep putting the book down and coming back later to stop it all from blurring together. A few more concrete examples might have leavened the prose there, especially as that prose livens up tremendously once it gets to Disraeli and then the Dreyfus Affair. Because both these topics relied on strong personalities and action and primary sources - quotes and references and so forth - they were easier to follow. It doesn't say much for my reading ability, I suppose, that a sense of story improves it, but nonetheless that's the case and Arendt's portrayal of the Dreyfus Affair in particular was lively and illuminating.