I was along for the ride... this was on a list of fucked up books.  Ambiguous, open ending. 

Well researched and well cited. Depressing but necessary. 

I loved this book up until 60-70% then I felt myself kind of losing interest. It started when the author started examining her own monstrousness. But I wish I could query how many questions marks were in this tome. I really enjoyed her philosophical waxing, her prose, her own introspection around this topic, and her refusal to say "this is how we equilateally handle these monsters." 

The author's writing is incredible. I tried reading their poetry before this and couldn't get into it. But this was so beautiful. Vuong has a real gift with turning a phrase and describing things: 

Slowly, you lie down on your side. The space between us thin and cold as a windowpane. I turn away—even if what I want most is to tell you everything.


The crickets ignited across the low shifting grass around the barn. Turning to him, I felt their serrated legs through the floor beneath us as I said his name, full and long; I said it so quiet the syllables never survived my mouth.

Under the covers, we made friction of each other and fiction of everything else.

In the dark, our facts lit us up and our acts pinned us down.

The truth is none of us are enough enough.

The ending was not that satisfying for all these woven characters. 

This white rich man had a lot to say. One thing I found annoying/dismissive is the idea that prostitutes don't work hard and a person "should" work harder (to paraphrase) like prostitution is an easy road for someone to take up one day. Overall tho, I do feel like he's lived an interesting life and shares interesting anecdotes in this brief volume. Audio was good, with his voice. 

I thought this neat collection of essays was great! I highlighted some funny quotes and one I know I'll keep using is the idea that parents can raise us like plants and a checked-out, permissive parent raises us like cactuses, not orchids. 😄 (Gabourey Sidibe). The button pushing siblings calling each other black slaves as a beyond the pale insult is so intimate, it feels like the cruelty my sibling and I would have pushed on each other if we had ever been exposed to Roots as white kids in a very un-diverse small town.