“After all, wasn't it true that to love someone is to figure out how to tell yourself their story?”
With understated lyricism, Feng charts the experiences of a family divided by physical and emotional borders that are nevertheless united in their pursuit of a more 'promising' future, for themselves and each other. The narrative intertwines the trajectories of various characters: Momo and Cassia, a married couple whose relocation to America results in their estrangement, their daughter Junie, born with a congenital amputation, who is in China and being raised in a small village in the countryside by her beloved grandparents, and Dawn, a talented violinist who knew Momo in their college days. Moving from the 1960s to the 1980s, from Communist China to San Francisco, Feng spins a tale of grief and resilience. Throughout their adulthood Momo, Cassia, and Dawn experience loss, heartbreak, and time and again are forced to reconcile their own personal desires with the ones of others.
“The incandescent cocoon of music was pure rapture, and it said to him; Stay. It was a powerful beckoning, to be held in thrall, to be consumed, annihilated even.”
Classical music plays a crucial role in Dawn and Momo's narratives and Feng beautifully articulates their relationship to it. When writing about music Feng's writing acquires an almost luminous quality, one that—if you excuse my unintentional pun—is assured to strike a chord with her readers. I particularly liked the discussions surrounding the way other countries tend to stereotype musicians from East Asian countries (conflating attributes they associate with those countries—'conformity', 'rigidity'—with the music they produce).
“We learn so much more about things when they are broken or unmade, he thought.”
There is a particular episode early on in the narrative when something happens to a violin and well, I was almost in tears. In spite of these moments of tension and of Feng's candid portrayal of the Red Guards, the narrative retains a quiet atmosphere, one that is pervaded by a sense of longing.
“He was impatient for time to pass, so that in his life, there would be less yearning and more having, less becoming and more being.”
While Feng's writing is indisputably beautiful (I have dozens of highlights that will attest as much) I did find myself at a remove from her characters. That is not to say that I failed to sympathise with them. Their interactions—especially the ones between Junie and her grandad—could certainly be affecting. However, there was a veil between me and the characters that I was unable to penetrate. While this 'distance' did bring to mind the work Jhumpa Lahiri (a favourite of mine), here the slightness of the novel (just over 200 pages) meant that years of their lives would be condensed in a few pages, giving me little time to adapt to their new environments and circumstances. At times their personalities were too inscrutable so that I found myself confusing characters (especially the secondary ones that prop up in the America section of the novel). I also wanted more of Junie. She is very much sidelined for much of the narrative and I would have loved to read more about her childhood.
“In order for Junie to exist, two people had to come together during the Cultural Revolution under circumstances that one of them would later describe as inevitable, and the other, as coincidental.”
Feng's exquisite prose and her meditation on art, culture, love, grief, exceptionalism, and dislocation result in a poignant and thought-provoking read. If you are a fan of authors such as Lahiri you should definitely not pass this up....more
My Heart Is a Chainsaw is a magnificently chaotic ode to slasher, one that demonstrates an unparalleled knowledge of the genre, its logic & tropes. I saw quite a lot of reviews describing this as a slow burner, and sì, in some ways Stephen Graham Jones withholds a lot of the chaos & gore for the finale however, Jade’s antics and internal monologue are very much adrenaline-fueled, so much so that I struggled to keep with up with her. Jade's awareness of and excitement at being in a slasher gives the narrative a strong meta angle, one that results in a surprisingly playful tone, one that belies the gruesome nature of these killings.
Jade Daniels, a teenage girl of Blackfoot descent who lives in Proofrock, Idaho, is in her senior year of high school but has no real plans or aspirations besides obsessing over slashers. She’s the town’s resident loner goth, who lives with her dad, an abusive alcoholic. Jade is angry: at her ne'er-do-well dad, at his friend(s), for being creeps, at authority figures, who don’t really listen to her, at her mum, for bailing on her, and almost everyone & everything Proofrock-related. The only things keeping her going are slashers, and she dedicates her every waking moment to them, to the point that her recollections of their plots, characters, and tropes, become an inextricable part of who she is. Jade has no friends to speak of and is regarded by most of the townspeople as being a bit of a joke and a total ‘weirdo’. The only people who keep an eye out for her are her history teacher, Mr Holmes, and Sheriff Hardy. Jade spends most of her time lurking in the shadows, dying her hair emo colours, creeping around Indian Lake and Camp Blood, the town's local haunts.
When some magnates from out of town begin developing a piece of land across the lake, Jade senses a change and is proven correct when a body count begins…what’s more, the daughter of one of these uber-wealthy developers, would make the perfect final girl. Jade knows that a slasher cycle is about to begin. Rather than being alarmed by the realization that her reality is now that of a slasher, Jade is freaking excited. She has no plans to stop the slasher but wants to see the story unfold, so she does a lot more lurking about, hoping to figure out the identity of the slasher and witness the slasher cycle from up close. Her obsession with Letha does lead her to reach out to her, but her ‘you are a final girl’ prep talk doesn’t go down well. As I said, Jade’s exhilarated inner monologue is hard to keep up with, however, I was also so taken by her that I was more than happy to follow in her chaotic steps. Jade makes full use of her encyclopaedic knowledge of the slasher (sub)genre, and provides a myriad of references and asides that link what is happening in her town to existing slasher flicks, comparing the slasher’s modus operandi, speculating about their identity and their next victims. Meanwhile Mr Holmes, Sheriff Hardy, and Letha are quite concerned about her and despite the brutal deaths that are happening don’t believe Jade’s slasher theory. Things of course escalate, and Jade finds herself in the middle of a blood bath…
The plot is very much heavy on Jade’s internal, and often inchoate, musings and ramblings about slashers. Having spent most of her life venerating slashers, and hating everything and everyone around her, she’s positively thrilled by the prospect of a slasher going on a killing spree in Proofrock. Sure, her eagerness at other people’s violent and bloody deaths certainly raises a few questions, and people like Letha & co believe that her obsession with slashers and her conviction that a slasher is responsible for the deaths and freaky occurrences that are happening in Proofrock is just a deflection…while they are not wrong Jade isn’t ready to go there, throwing herself into her analysis of ‘her’ slasher.
There were so many elements that I loved in this novel. Despite my almost perpetual confusion at Jade’s references (I went through a horror movie phase aeons ago but have grown out of it since and never really delved into the slasher subgenre) and the breakneck speed of her internal monologue, I was utterly engrossed by her voice. Sure, she’s not what I would call a good or likeable person, however, her penchant for morbidity and her unrelenting slasher enthusiasm made for an endearingly offbeat character. She very much makes the novel. This is how you execute the Not Like Other Girls trope. Readers are made aware of Jade’s striving to be different: her botched hair-dyeing, her trying-hard-to-be-edgy-but-is-actually-just-grubby look, her commitment to playing the town’s goth girl, her sometimes willful and sometimes unintentional disregard of social niceties and norms…Jade really seems to make an effort to be perceived this way, to be seen as the slasher-obsessed girl and a 'weirdo'. The end result is that Jade is different, not better than others, just different. Now, for all her self-dramatizing we can also clearly see that Jade's edgy girl persona has become an inextricable aspect of who she is. Whether she became this way due to trauma, or whether her commitment to the role was such that she eventually became that person, it’s up to the readers’ interpretation. I for one read Jade as being a mix of those things. She grew up in a very unstable environment, with no support system to speak of, one of her parental figures is an abusive drunkard, the other was not only complicit in said abuse but eventually left Jade to fend for herself. Understandably, given her lack of control in her life, the violent logic that operates in slashers would appeal to her. However, similarly to Shirley Jackson’s alienated and alienating (anti)-heroines I wonder whether different circumstances would really have made a difference for Jade… Anyway, her very presence in the story is fantastic for a number of reasons. She knows that her 'existing' in this slasher is an ‘aberration’: not only does she know too much about slashers but people like her do not usually feature in these movies. She flits between wanting to see sh*t hit the fan and wanting the slasher to well…slash her. One way or another, she’s hyped for it and not quite the screaming and scared side character that usually gets killed off in these films. Also, Jade’s intensity and morbidity reminded me of Merricat and Wednesday Addams, and similarly to them, she finds that other people are put out by what they perceive to be her strange behaviour and demeanour. When Jade begins talking or thinking about slashers and revisiting local horror lore, she seems wholly unaware of other people and the world around her. Yet, the other characters react in a very realistic wtf is her deal way that results in many surprisingly funny scenes. Jade’s zealousness over slashers also brought to mind, I kid you not, Patrick Bateman, specifically that scene with the card (where his overreaction is so extreme that he begins to sweat) and his music monologues. The conversational tone of the narrative adds a level of immediacy to the story and really work in capturing Jade's wry voice. There were elements of absurdism that brought to mind The Hollow Places by T. Kingfisher.
As things get bloodier and bloodier we do see a shift in Jade, but I appreciated that her character development ultimately remains very subtle and she remains her slasher-obsessed self. Learning more about her past and her trauma does ‘contextualize’ some of her behaviours, however, but we can’t quite reason away her slasher-mania as being the inevitable result of that trauma. Her ambiguousness made her all the more interesting to read about. While we learn all about what she thinks of slashers—its precursors & incarnations, its hits and flops, its tropes—much about her remains inaccessible to us. I didn’t understand her most of the time, and incongruently enough that made me like her even more.
The writing and atmosphere in My Heart Is a Chainsaw super solid. The writing has this snappy, energetic quality to it that not only really amplifies Jade’s slasher-obsession but it really adds to the action & otherwise murder-y sequences. The prose was also very effective when it came to pacing, as Jones' rapid sentences really add fuel to the storyline. The atmosphere too is great. The narrative’s self-referential nature actually ends up adding to the story’s slasher ambience, as Jones' is able to not only pay homage to slashers through his storyline (through's jade's non-stop references and asides about slashers to the actual implementation of the genre's conventions) but he also makes this slasher his own, repeatedly subverting our expectations.
My Heart Is a Chainsaw was a riot. We have a gritty storyline, plenty of humour (from those ah-ah-that's-funny moments to humor that is more on the lines of that's-kind-of-f*cked-up-so-why-am-i-laughing), and a protagonist whose flabbergasting antics I was equal parts obsessed and appalled by. Jones' really captures Jade's loneliness and anger, the long-lasting consequences of abuse, the complex ways trauma manifests into one's behavior & personality...and of course, given the book's focus on slashers and on being a slasher, Jade's story heavily deals with revenge and violence... I'm really looking forward to the next instalments...(am i the only one who read jade as queer-coded?)
ps the first time i tried reading this i wasn't feeling it and dnfed it early on so i can see why the book's overall ratings aren't sky high...still, if you are in the mood to read extensively about slashers or don't mind a morbid and chaotic af protagonist, i think you should definitely give this one a chance....more
Seven Days in June took me by surprise. The romcom tone of this novel's first pages belies the serious topics and issues it later delves into. Seven Days in June is the kind of read that has you laughing out loud one moment before pulling at your heartstrings next. So on the one hand we have a heart-melting romance and an abundance of hilarious moments, on the other, we have a narrative that explores grief, trauma, addiction, abuse, self-harming, and chronic illness. This could have easily resulted in an uneven blend of romance and tragedy but it is not the case here. Tia Williams flawlessly weaves together moments of lightness and comedic relief with more poignant and sombre scenes.
“They both had their twisted compulsions, different corners of the same hell.”
In Seven Days in June, we are introduced to Eva Mercy, a thirty-something single mom who has authored a paranormal erotica series about vampires and star-crossed lovers. Eva suffers from a chronic illness that often manifests itself through severe migraines that leave her bedridden and unable to move, let alone perform those everyday activities that most people don't have to think twice about. Eva is meant to be writing the next instalment in her series but finds herself wanting to write about the 'cursed' women in her family. Between being pressured by her producer to agree to whitewash her own characters for the film adaptation of her book (here here is a brilliant video essay that discusses white audiences wanting & expecting white actors to play poc characters) and her 'tween' daughter, whom she is really close to, getting in trouble at school Eva is feeling understandably overwhelmed. So when award-winning literary author Shane Hall shows up at a literary event she's taking part in...Eva is less than prepared. More than a decade ago she and Shane spent a passionate love and drug-fueled week together, one that has haunted them ever since. Shane, now a teacher, has been clean for two years. His privacy has lent me an air of mystery in the literary world, and whereas Eva's books are often seen as popular smutty fiction, his books are celebrated as modern classics. Shane wants to make amends for the way things ended between them but Eva isn't keen on getting her heartbroken again. Despite the years that have passed since their short-lived relationship neither of them has been able to truly 'get over' the other and soon Eva finds herself wanting to believe that Shane has truly changed. In the following days, the two rekindle their love again, causing quite the stir in the literary community. Eva and Shane's chemistry was off the charts. Not only are they on the same wavelength, but they seem to draw strength from each other's presence. As the days go by they reveal to each other their vulnerabilities, fears, and desires. Interspersed through these 'present' chapters are ones that give us a glimpse of their fated 7 days together back in their teens. We learn how Shane became an addict, the neglect they both experienced, Eva's harmful coping mechanism in response to her chronic pain and home life, and of how the two fell for one another. I loved how Williams is able to show the depth of their feelings for each other without taking away from their individual character arcs. Williams' writing flows like a dream, and she easily shifts between tones—from a more tongue-in-cheek one to a more melancholic one—and her dialogues can be either 'ah-ah' levels of entertaining to 'give you all the feels' levels of devastating. Eva and Shane are of course the starts of the show and their dynamic was truly wonderful.
“Was this being seen for what she really was? Being witnessed? It was heady and terrifying.”
There were things that detracted from my overall enjoyment of this novel. We have the classic misunderstanding that typically occurs in romance novels around the 80% mark, a tertiary character is sacrificed to amp up the tension between our mains, and the pacing in the final arc is kind of off (we get pages and pages of texting). I also wonder about the 'seven' days premise...I thought we would be getting a day by day narrative but the story often seems to forget to mention how much time has passed between each encounter (i can only remember that there was a party on Saturday). Still, I think that Williams has written a great romance novel, one that doesn't shrink away from tackling complex subjects. While I'm usually not a fan of steamy sex scenes (i prefer the kind of awkward sex scenes that appear in fleabag) Williams' ones were actually pretty decent, sensual without being corny or icky.
“Eva had been imprisoned in pain for so long, she’d forgotten how good feeling good was.”
Williams' portrayal of self-harming and chronic illness really resonated with me (we have doctors, strangers, and friends dismissing the severity of eva's symptoms, how she notices that the people around her make movements or perform activities she is unable to) and I was so happy that Eva's characterisation doesn't solely revolve around her pain. Shane’s addiction too isn’t there to make him into the classic ‘tortured’ bad boy and we see how he still struggles to adapt to his new ‘clean’ lifestyle.
“What was it like, the luxury of not hurting?”
Eva’s interactions with Audre—her daughter—and her friends filled me with joy and it was refreshing to see non romantic relationships being given so much room in a romance. Audre was such a delightful character and she has some of the best lines If you are looking for an emotionally resonant and nuanced second chance romance, look no further. Brimming with humor and empathy Seven Days in June makes for a swoon-worthy and heart-rendering romance.
ARC provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review....more
Engaging and insightful If I Had Your Face is a solid debut novel from a promising writer. If I Had Your Face follows four young women trying to navigate everyday life in contemporary Seoul. They live in the same building but to begin with are not exactly friends. We have Ara, a mute hair stylist who is infatuated with a member of a popular Kpop boy band, Kyuri, who has undergone numerous plastic surgeries and works at a 'room salon' where she entertains wealthy men, Miho, an artist who studied in NY and whose boyfriend comes from an influential family, and Wonna, who lives with her husband and is pregnant. Part of me wishes that the novel could have been structured differently so that instead of switching between these characters their stories could have been presented as a series of interlinked novellas. This would have probably prevented their voices from blurring together, which they sometimes did. Miho and Wonna's chapters were a lot weaker in terms of 'distinctive' voices. Nevertheless, I enjoyed Cha's breezy prose. It is very readable and vividly rendered the characters' circumstances/environments. I liked the balance Cha maintained between drama and realism. Cha's commentary on South Korean society is both sharp and zingy. Through Ara, Miho, Wonna, and Kyuri's stories Cha shows the ways in which their choices, desires, sense of selves, are shaped by gender inequity, class, and oppressive beauty standards. Their parents are either dead or unable to help them financially so they rely on their income...beauty too, is a currency and we see the advantages of being seen as beautiful entails. Another aspect that I appreciated about this novel was that its characters are not paragons of virtue. They can be selfish, oblivious, not always willing to consider the weight of their actions or words, judgemental, flippant, and cruel. I did find myself far more interested in Ara and Kyuri than Miho and Wonna. This may be because the latter two had chapters that were heavy on 'backstories' (as opposed to focusing on the 'now'). Miho's personality seemed that of the artist (always with her head in the clouds, viewing the world through artistic lenses, too occupied by her art to remember to eat or take care of herself) while Wonna's chapters did not seem to fit with the rest. Her chapters examine her marriage and her anxiety over her pregnancy (understandably since she had several miscarriages), which would have suited another kind of book. The other characters' chapters did not have such a narrow focus. Also, I just found myself growing fonder of Ara and Kyuri. Their storylines were gripping in a way that Miho and Wonna's weren't. The stakes were higher in Ara and Kyuri and their eventual friendship was rather sweet. Cha's If I Had Your Face is certainly a vibrant read. If you want to read more about modern South Korean society or of the trials and errors, ups and downs of life as a millennial you should definitely give If I Had Your Face a try.
ps: I have a bone to pick with whoever wrote the blurb for this novel. The blurb for the Viking edition not only reveals too much but it is also kind of misleading (Ara's obsession with a K-pop star "drives her to violent extremes"...? When? If this is referring to that one scene...that had very little to do with Ara's crush on that K-pop star)....more
Taylor has gone and done it again. My poor heart can't take this.
“[S]adness drenched them. Sadness at leaving. Sadness at going back to their lives. The sadness of knowing it would never again be this perfect, this easy.”
This may not sound like a compliment but I believe that Brandon Taylor has a real knack for making his readers feel uncomfortable and complicit by the violence—both physical & emotional—and cruelty that punctuate his narratives. It just so happens that I have a strange, *ahem* masochistic, fondness for these types of anxiety-inducing stories. Taylor excels at writing about things, people, and situations that are bound to make you feel uneasy, exposed even. Throughout this stunning collection of short stories, Taylor demonstrates time and again just how inexorably intertwined our fears and desires are. Taylor reveals the double-edged nature of desire, showing just how often we want that which we are (or should be) afraid of. Within these stories, Taylor explores and challenges the relationship between violence and intimacy, cruelty and compassion, attraction and repulsion, happiness and sorrow, pleasure and pain. Taylor’s characters are painstakingly human, from their murky and unspoken desires/fears to their seemingly perennial indecisiveness. More often than not Taylor’s characters are not ‘nice people’, but, then again, who wants to read exclusively about ‘nice people’? The characters populating Taylor’s stories are messy, confused about what/who they want, unsure of themselves and others. They can be ugly, to themselves, to one another. Their ability to hurt other people doesn’t make them any less human, if anything, I found that it made them all the more believable.
“There were a million tiny ways to make someone feel bad about something that didn’t involve saying anything directly.”
Taylor navigates self-loathing, loneliness, and longing against ordinary backdrops. Yet, while the environments and scenarios that we encounter in these stories are firmly grounded in realism, the ‘mundane’ trappings of Midwestern life that seem to characterise these narratives belie just how complex, emotionally wrought, and exacting these stories truly are.
“He had come up against the thing that felt most frustrating about this—the inability to articulate simply what he felt or what he wanted.”
Taylor’s style is deceptively functional, clinical even. He’s brutally concise when it comes to detailing his characters’ surroundings, appearances, and emotions. And it is because his prose is habitually so unsparing that makes those brief lapses into tranquillity feel all the more precious. However rare, those brief glimpses of hope and kinship that we do get are truly touching.
As with Real Life, many of these stories are set in or around the academic world and once again Taylor articulates just how insular it can be. College is no safe haven however and the pressure to succeed often feels like a burden. There are many instances in which characters try to outdo one another, be it through personal or academic achievements, and we witness just how petty and competitive academia is. Most of these stories focus on Black queer characters and Taylor once again examines the intersection between sexuality and race. His characters often struggle to reconcile themselves with their identities and are often caught between opposing urges and desires. They seek to form meaningful connections but they are mostly unsuccessful. The relationships within these stories are hindered by unresolved tensions, veiled insults, hurtful barbs, real and perceived slights. Many of these relationships are unhealthy, seeming to bring more pain and suffering than not. Yet, we see that sometimes that is why certain characters decide to pursue certain people as Taylor repeatedly blurs the line between love and hate, passion and violence.
“There, he thought, was a truly horrifying possibility: that he was nothing more than another bit of local weather for the two of them, and that what felt to Lionel like the edge of some great change, a sign of his reacclimation to people, to the world, to the easiness of friendship, was nothing but another thing to them, one more thing that happened and was now over.”
‘Potluck’, ‘Flesh’, ‘Proctoring’, ‘Apartment’, and ‘Meat’ are interlinked stories revolving around Lionel, a Black grad student who in recent times attempted suicide, and two white dancers, Charles and Sophie, who are in an open relationship. At a party, Lionel and Charles seem to form a connection of sorts. Lionel is clearly ill at ease, especially given that the host of the party seems intent on making a move on him. With painful clarity, Taylor delineates Lionel’s anxieties and insecurities, and we understand why he would find Charles’ attention to be tempting. Lionel finds himself entangled in Charles and Sophie’s fraught relationship, and it is not always clear who is playing who or who wants whom. My heart really went out to Lionel and it was incredibly saddening to read of how this couple is trying to involve him in their ongoing drama.
In one story we read of a babysitter who is exhausted at her young charge, in another a young man’s old wounds are reopened, and in yet another, we witness a boys’ night out that quickly spirals into violence. A running motif, quite fitting given the collection’s title, is that of characters being compared or feeling like ‘beasts’ and ‘animals’. Many seem to struggle with their ‘wilder’ impulses, at times they even attempt to tamp their own desires down. But, as we see over and over again, they are often unsuccessful. Hence the violence and cruelty.
Last but not least, Taylor’s dialogues. They are startlingly realistic. From the tentative quality of certain exchanges to the stop-and-start rhythm animating many of the characters’ conversations.
“That’s so funny,” Lionel said. “People say that, We talked. But I don’t remember a single thing we said to each other.”
Fans of Real Life should definitely get their hands on Filthy Animals as this proved to be just as brilliant. From Taylor’s quietly cinematic style to his nuanced portrayal of human frailty, Filthy Animals is a terrific collection. If I was pressed to choose a favourite, I would probably go with ‘Anne of Cleves’.
As I touched upon earlier on, these stories are far from happy, yet, I was nevertheless enthralled by Taylor’s ability to capture with such authenticity and depth such a wide spectrum of emotions....more
“When she was just a kid, Gloria told her never to trust a group of happy, smiling multiracial people. Never trust races when they get along, she said. If you see different races of people just standing around, smiling at one another, run for the hills, kid. Take cover. They’ll break your heart.”
A disquieting yet hypnotic novel New People makes for a quick but far from forgettable read. Set in the 1990s in New York the story follows Maria, a twenty-something woman who, alongside her fiancee, Khalil, will star in a documentary called 'New People' which focuses on biracial and multiracial young people in NY. Maria's pale skin often leads others to assume that she is white or Mexican, a fact that has always made her feel on the outskirts of her Black community (even if her adoptive mother was Black). Maria and Khalil met in college and everyone seems to think that they are perfect for each other: “Their skin is the same shade of beige. Together, they look like the end of a story”. Maria, however, grows infatuated with a Black poet (we never learn his name, he is referred to as 'the poet') and seems to believe that he reciprocates her feelings. Believing that they share a connection Maria engages in some creepy and stalkerish behavior that sees her crossing all sorts of lines. As the narrative progresses we learn more of Maria's past, and what we learn is not particularly pretty (that 'prank' she pulls on Khalil...yeah). We also see her previous relationship, many with white boys, the latest of whom reinvented himself as Chicano. Maria's uneasy feelings towards racial identity are rendered in stark detail. Senna touches upon the 'tragic mulatto' trope by providing a far more modern and relevant commentary on multiracial identity. Senna also captures with uncomfortable clarity Maria's frame of mind: obsession, delusion, anger, repulsion, despair. While readers are not meant to like her they will feel some degree of sympathy towards her (no doubt to Maria's own discontent). The narrative has a feverish quality to it, one that really emphasizes Maria's downwards spiral. Shrewd and occasionally scathing the novel explores subjects such as race, identity, belonging, hatred, obsession, and alienation without providing easy answers. The questions and discussions that emerge in New People brought to mind the ones in Nella Larsen's work, particularly Quicksand. I do wish some things had been handled differently. I would have liked more of Khalil and his sisters and less of Greg. And, although I did appreciate the narrative's foray into hysterical realism I did find some of the guys to be too cartoonish (such as Khalil's friend who apparently speaks in clichés:“I love Khalil like a brother. Okay? So if you hurt him, you are going to have to contend with me.”).
I wouldn't recommend this book to a lot of readers. Maria is a character who exhibits some perturbing behavior and the narrative doesn't paint anyone in a good light. The story seems in fact intent on showing how hypocritical and performative people are (and in making you freak out about what Maria is getting up to). The ending lessened also my overall appreciation as it felt both weak and predictable. Yet, I do think that the author told, for the most part, a unique story with a real edge to it. If you are into novels about self-destructive and alienated young women such as My Year of Rest and Relaxation, Luster, and Pizza Girl you should give New People a try.
PS: The book has no quotation marks which is why I opted for the audiobook.
re-read: while not as emotionally encompassing as Caucasia or as incisive as Symptomatic, this book is a really accomplished character study and should definitely appeal to fans of the “she’s not feeling so good” subgenre....more
“That was the thing about people on the outside. They thought it cheered him up to see their faces, but it just reminded him too much of freedom when everybody knew it was better to adjust to the kind of freedom available on the inside.”
Heartbreaking yet luminous A Kind of Freedom is a truly impressive debut. Margaret Wilkerson Sexton's prose struck me as assured and lucid. Sexton entwines three narratives, each following a different generation of the same family. In 1944 we follow Evelyn who lives in New Orleans with her family. Her pale skin and her father's profession give her certain privilege in the city's black community so when she falls in love with Renard, a boy who aspires to be a doctor but is looked down upon for being working class, Evelyn is forced to contend between responsibility—towards her parents—and freedom—to love who she wants. WWII and segregation pose a further threat to the couple. In 1986 we follow their daughter, Jackie, as she tries to juggle single motherhood with work and house chores. Her husband, Terry, disappeared from her life after he became addicted to crack. After months without a word from him, he reappears, claiming that he's clean and is actively trying to keep it that away. Knowing that to let Terry back into her life will not only earn the disapproval of her loved ones but might eventually result in more hurt, Jackie is torn between hope and fear. We then have chapters set in 2010. T.C., Jackie's son, has just been released from a four-month stint in prison. His girlfriend is pregnant and in spite of him being less than faithful he now wants to make things right with her. However, he immediately falls back into bad habits when he reconnects with his friend Tiger. Here we see the aftereffects of Hurricane Katrina on New Orleans, specifically on T.C.'s community. Regardless of the period Sexton is depicting, the setting and time are rendered in vivid detail. She evokes the atmosphere of the places she writes of as well as the changing vernacular. Sexton also emphasises the way in which racial inequality has morphed over the decades and the way this in turn affects and shapes Evelyn and her descendants. In her portrayals of addiction and poverty Sexton writes with empathy and insight, conveying the despair, fatigue, and anguish of those who like Jackie love someone who is abusing dangerous substances. Much of Jackie's story hit close to home so I found her chapters to be painful reading material. There are moments of beauty and communion, made even more poignant by how rare they are. Although Sexton reveals the eventual outcome of Evelyn and Jackie's narratives in T.C.'s chapters, when we returned to them I still found myself engrossed in their stories, hoping against hope that things would not unfold the way I know they will. Sexton captures three generations of an African-American family who is trying to navigate a less than civil landscape. The characters have to contend with a society that is rife with injustices (racial disparity, classism, colorism, sexism, environmental disasters, drug epidemics, crime) and their attempts balance familial or societal duties with their personal desires. As the title itself suggests, the narratives are very much about freedom. Each character is trying their hardest to be free. A Kind of Freedom filled me with sorrow. Sexton has written a heartbreaking debut novel, one that gripped me not for its plot but for its beautifully complex character studies....more
A few weeks ago I read Mieko Kawakami's acclaimed Breasts and Eggs and suffice to say that I was not a fan. While Heaven was clearly written by the same author of Breasts and Eggs (both novels implement similar imagery and even use the same metaphor comparing the legs of a young girl to poles) I was able to appreciate it a lot more. In spite of its brevity Heaven is by no means an easy-going story, in fact, it often verges on being Misery Porn™: large chunks of the narrative depict in minute detail the bullying our fourteen-year-old protagonist is subjected to. The novel raises some interesting questions about bullying and nonconformity. Why do some become perpetrators while others are victims? Should our main character respond to the deluge of abuse he receives from his classmates? Why do the other boys in the class torment him? Is it because of his appearance? While quite a few of the discussions between the teenage characters did not come across as all that convincing (they expressed themselves in a way that seemed far older or that suggested a worldliness that went at odds with their experiences so far) I still found myself engaged in the narrative. There are a lot of scenes that verge on being gratuitous: we get painfully detailed descriptions of our MC being beaten, humiliated, and harassed. His friendship with Kojima, a classmate who is bullied by the female students, provided some welcome respite from the sections relating the bullying. The two bond quickly, and in spite of their attempts not to discuss school and the way they are treated by other students, they do eventually confined in one another. Kojima's view of the whole bullying 'thing' while by no means healthy enables her to make 'sense' of her circumstances. As with Breasts and Eggs we have characters giving seemingly endless monologues that last pages at the time. While I did not mind learning more about Kojima, her home life, and her peculiar philosophy, I did not care one bit about Momose's spiel towards the end of the novel. The narrative seemed intent on making him seem mysterious and mature but I thought him shallow. He did not really come across as a credible fourteen-year-old, more like a parody of the worldly teen who already speaks so many truths about the world (puh-lease). Our main character does a lot of navel-gazing but unlike in Breasts and Eggs, here it seemed fitting. He is young and going through a lot so it seemed natural for him to try and make sense of what was happening to him. The ending was slightly disappointing and I probably would have given this a higher rating if I hadn't been for that predictable 'show-down'. I would not necessarily recommend this to those who have a low threshold for narratives depicting bullying (extensively and graphicly). Thanks to a manga series by Keiko Suenobu called Life which kind of traumatised me when I first read it around the age of 12 I am somewhat inoculated against this kind of stuff. While Heaven was by no means a breezy or perfectly executed read I did find it to be poignant and for the most part realistic. If anything it has elevated Kawakami in my eyes.
ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review....more
The Secret Lives of Church Ladies is a compelling fiction debut from a promising author. As the title suggests the stories in this collection are centred on Black women who have complex relationships to their church and to God. In a concise and stirring prose Deesha Philyaw explores the lives, desires, and fears of her characters, focusing on the friction between their beliefs—often instilled by their parents or communities—and their sense of self. Philyaw captures Black girlhood and womanhood, showing the importance of female solidarity and human connection. While not all of the stories have a contemporary setting, the topics Philyaw touches on are still relevant: race, faith, sexuality, sex, love, family, belonging. Fraught mother-daughter relationships appear in more than one story, and it is a sign of Philyaw's writing skills that she is able to portray each woman (be it the daughter or the mother) with nuance. Philyaw, similarly to Danielle Evans, who simply excels at writing short stories, balances moments of poignancy with humour (I simply loved the grandmother in 'Dear Sister'). The dialogues, settings, and ideas depicted in these pages are vividly rendered. My favourite stories were 'Dear Sister', 'Peach Cobbler', 'Snowfall' (this one was a heartbreaker), and 'How To Make Love To a Physicist' (the style in this one is really fun). The other stories are certainly enjoyable and well-written did not strike me as the ones I've just mentioned. I would definitely recommend this to fans of authors such as Danielle Evans and Zalika Reid-Benta and I am looking forward to Philyaw's next book.
ps: rereading this made me appreciate it even more. There is something about Philyaw's prose that I find deeply captivating....more
“[I]f I could make Americans laugh, then I would be accepted. I would be embraced and admired.”
Realistic, subtly off-beat, and keenly observed, Edge Case couples an indictment of the rampant misogyny that permeates the tech industry with an unsparing depiction of the everyday inequities and hurdles immigrants face in their pursuit of green cards and citizenship. Our narrator, Edwina, is a Malaysian woman of Chinese origin now living in New York and employed at AInstein, a tech startup working on an AI that can tell jokes. She’s married to Marlin, who is also Malaysian born but is of Chinese and Indian descent (his darker skin combined with him being from a majority Muslim country make him a target to both racism and Islamophobia). After the death of Marlin’s father, he begins to drift away from Edwina, and, much to her surprise, becomes increasingly preoccupied with the spirit world. One day Edwina returns home to discover it empty. Marlin has left her without leaving a note or any explanation. A confused and hurting Edwina tries to make sense of his actions, compiling a list of the places he might have gone all the while questioning the motives behind his departure. Did he decide to return to Malaysia? Did he fall out of love with her? Or does it have to do with his newfound interest in spirits?
The novel takes place over the course of 10 days or so and we witness Edwina slowly coming apart. She struggles with her body image and food (after years of vegetarianism she begins to eat meat even if this results in her being physically unwell), with her self-esteem, and seems to experience difficulties wherever she is. Her calls with her mother, who has always been quick to criticise her appearance and life choices, are strained. Her best friend Katie seems oblivious to her crisis, encouraging her instead to forget Marlin and find someone else. Edwina is the only woman working at AInstein which results in her feeling understandably isolated. Her clannish male colleagues either ignore her, speaking over her, boohooing her ideas and feedback (for instance, when she points out that, surprise surprise, many of the jokes in their robot’s repertoire are sexist and or otherwise offensive, she’s told that she has no sense of humor because she’s 1) a woman 2) a foreigner). A white colleague of hers repeatedly toys the line between ‘banter’ and harassment, forcing her to proofread his crappy books and implying that she’s sleeping with other male colleagues. Interspersed through this are flashbacks detailing Edwina and Marlin’s first meeting, their early days together, and their slow dissolution. I liked and admired Edwina. Despite her situation, she’s determined to find out what happened to Marlin. At work she tries hard to be polite and agreeable but eventually, she’s forced into taking matters into her own hands. Her insecurities related to her body were certainly relatable and I appreciated how frank yet empathetic the author was when discussing this subject. Edwina’s desires, to be accepted by Americans, to be reunited with Marlin, were certainly understandable even if I did find myself questioning her devotion to Marlin. He behaves abhorrent towards and much of its chalked up to ‘he’s grieving’, which, fair enough, but, that doesn’t negate the months of emotional neglect and abuse. He drives Edwina to self-hatred, something I had a hard time glossing over. Having once shared a roof with an incredibly paranoid individual prone to gaslighting those around them, it just hit too close to home. His character never comes fully to life, part of it is because by the time the story begins he’s already gone MIA, and part of it is that even in the flashbacks he appears as a somewhat remote sort of figure, never coming into full focus. Edwina on the other hand was an all too believable character. From her insecurities to her motivations, Edwina was a multi-faceted character one can easily relate to and root for. This made much of her narrative really hard to read. Many scenes focus on her being mistreated or overlooked. Her mother is constantly undermining her, claiming that in previous lives she was a terrible person. Her best friend is blind to her pain and despair. One of her colleagues is increasingly inappropriate towards her while the others behave like sexist tech-bros. Edwina struggles to navigate her male-dominated workplace, their harmful ‘it’s a boys' club’ mentality. Through Edwina’s perspective, we witness how her day-to-day life is punctuated by sexism (both in and outside the workplace), racism, discrimination, and body shaming. Edwina’s estrangement from Marlin affects the way she interacts with the world and she becomes increasingly disconnected from others. Her anxiety and loneliness are exacerbated by the fact that she’s surrounded by Americans. Her apprehension over Marlin’s welfare, her discomfort at work, her anxiety about her immigration status, her sense of inadequacy, all of these things result in a rather heavy-going narrative. While Edwina’s wry and self-deprecating tone does alleviate some of the tension, Edge Case is not a light read. The author’s deceptively simple prose belies the complex nature of Edwina’s story and this might not appeal to those who are looking for an easy-going or plot-driven narrative. Edge Case is a very introspective novel that provides a lot of food for thought. I did find myself wishing for some more variety when it came to character interactions. Many scenes are just really uncomfortable to read, and, while I understand that they were realistic, it did get the repetitive reading time and again about people mistreating Edwina. Her passivity is understandable given her position, still, it was immensely satisfying to see her in action and I doubt many will condemn her for her actions. Marlin, as I said, remains a rather flimsy sort of figure, which detracted a lot from the story. The exploration of marriage also suffers because of it. Another thing that detracted from my overall reading experience was the author’s choice to have Edwina recount these events—Marlin’s disappearance as well as their relationship—directly to us, her ‘therapist’, and addressing us as ‘you’. This framing device felt somewhat gimmicky and distracting. At times the prose could be a bit...icky, “ I felt his tongue spread like jam”, and we do get a few lines that were very superfluous, such as: “My belly button itched, and I scratched it”, or scenes that were trying to be 'out there' but struck me as contrived, such as that blood clot scene (it worked in I May Destroy You but here...eh).
In spite of these minor criticisms, I found Edge Case to be a thought-provoking and absorbing read. The author captures how it is to feel ‘other’, emphasizing how hard and exhausting it is to try to ‘assimilate’ into a culture different from the one you were born and raised in. Edwina believes that she will find acceptance through comedy, that by making people laugh she will belong but, as she herself realizes, it is all too easy to end up as the object of ridicule.
With acuity, clarity, and empathy, Chin presents us with an unsettling portrait, that of a woman in crisis. Alongside her exploration of Edwina's identity, her marriage, her attempts at connection, Chin provides us with a candid look at contemporary America, underlining how sexist and toxic the tech industry is and the absurd rules and draconian policies immigrants have to circumnavigate. There are two scenes, in particular, one at an airport and another on the street, that truly emphasize how vulnerable Edwina and Marlin are in the U.S. Lastly, this novel gets a plus just for mentioning one of my all-time fave books, Hangsaman by Shirley Jackson. I look forward to reading more by Chin. Bravo!...more
In this novella Rebecca Roanhorse once again shows off her world-building skills. I was intrigued from the very start by the genre-defying world Roanhorse envisions in Tread of Angels. The story unfolds in Goetia, a town ruled by the mighty Order of the Archangels that is ‘segregated’ between the Elects and the Fallen. Celeste, our protagonist, who is the result of a union between these two factions, can, unlike her younger sister, ‘pass’ and was able to grow up with her father within the Elect society. After he dies, Celeste joins her sister in the Fallen ‘slums’, where they work in the same gambling/drinking joint, Celeste as a cards dealer, Mariel as a singer. Things take a turn for the worst when Mariel is accused and arrested for murder, the murder of a Virtue. Celeste, who sees herself as her sister’s protector, takes on the role of advocatus diaboli to defend her. To get to the truth behind the Virtue’s murder, she begins investigating the shady dealings of the upper echelons of Goetia’s society. Her ex-lover, the demon lord Abraxas, aids her, but his motivations are far from selfless…
I liked the novella’s ambience and quick pace. Roanhorse manages to combine elements from the paranormal romance genre, especially when it came to the dynamic & scenes between Celeste & Abraxas, with a gritty western-inspired setting, and a touch of noir aesthetics. Celeste is not a particularly well-rounded character but she serves the role of amateur detective attempting to race against the clock well enough. Abraxas…yikes. I am sure plenty of readers will find him sexy and sensual, but he gave me sleaze vibes. He had the kind of cringe-sigma-male energy that I have come to associate with Sarah J. Maas’ love interests. Mariel was the most unconvincing character in the lot, and I found most of her lines ridiculous (i would feel more forgiving about her characterisation if say this novella had been written 100 years ago). Although the characters are fairly one-note and the plot is, despite its inventive setting, fairly formulaic, I still found myself entertained by Roanhorsre’s storytelling. We have an edgy atmosphere and even edgier dialogues, that make for a cheesy but nevertheless engrossing tale. Additionally, besides delivering on entertainment value, the novella uses the disparity between the various citizens of Goetia to discuss privilege—from Celeste’s ability to ‘pass’ to the advantages and benefits enjoyed by Elects—and discrimination—the Fallen are exploited and regarded as second-class citizens.
The novella's open-ended finale makes me wonder whether we will get to read more works by Roanhorse set in Goetia or that will follow Celeste...if that's the case, consider me intrigued as I do think that some of the issues I had with Tread of Angels, such as Celeste being a tad bland, could be improved in the sequels.
If you are a fan of short stories & novellas published by tor or happen to like authors like Elizabeth Bear (Karen Memory) or Catherynne M. Valente you should definitely add Tread of Angels to your tbr list....more
“Tears ran from his eyes and stung his cheeks. Tears for his son. Tears for his wife. Tears for the little girl they had to raise. Tears for who they were and what they all had lost. Each drop felt like it was slicing his face open like a razorblade.”
S. A. Cosby’s latest novel is just as gritty and gripping as his adrenaline-fueled third novel, Blacktop Wasteland. Once again Cosby pairs unrelenting action with a razor-sharp social commentary, but instead of heists and drag races, this time around he presents his readers with an unputdownable tale of revenge. In Razorblade Tears we follow ex-cons Ike and Buddy Lee. After their sons, a married couple, are murdered and the police’s investigation leads to no arrests or even suspects, these two fathers decide to take justice into their own hands. Ike, who is Black, has worked hard to leave his criminal past behind him, however, the grief and guilt he feels at his son’s murder push him to take up those ways again. Ike’s strained relationship with his son intensifies his need to make things right, or in this case, to find and kill those responsible for his murder. Buddy Lee, who is white and a wildcard, also had a difficult relationship with his boy, Derek. Despite their differences, Ike and Buddy Lee are united by this. Both men refused to accept their sons’ sexualities, and while they did not entirely break contact with them they refused to see them or when they did resorted to homophobic slurs or remarks. It is certainly impressive that Cosby can make you care for and root for Ike and Buddy Lee. These two men have blood on their hands and a body count. In trying to ascertain who knows what about their sons’ deaths, they readily resort to violence and threats. Ike’s homophobia seems deeply ingrained and the way he thinks about his son’s ‘gayness’ is alarming indeed. Buddy Lee at times seems very much a ‘red-neck’, whose vocabulary is offensive indeed. And yet Cosby succeeded in making me feel 100% invested in them and their quest for vengeance. Part of it is that they are nuanced. They are not reduced to their negative characteristics, nor are their actions idealised or condoned. Their dynamic was truly entertaining. To begin with, they don’t get on all that much but the closer they come to discovering the truth behind their sons’ murders, the more they grow accustomed to each other. While their banter is certainly amusing I found their more sombre exchanges to be even more compelling. For different reasons, they both pushed their sons away, and their shared guilt creates a sense of camaraderie between the two.
Brutal, raw, ultimately heart-rendering Razorblade Tears presents its readers with a tale that is propelled by grief, guilt, and revenge. In their pursuit for retribution, this unlikely duo comes head-to-head with a biker gang made up of white supremacists who may be involved in their sons’ murders. Their investigation, which starts mildly enough before taking a sharp turn into edge-of-your-seat territory is punctuated by bullet-riddled showdowns and tense confrontations. Along the way, the two fathers are repeatedly made to confront their past—and current—actions, in an impossible attempt to reconcile themselves with their dead sons. I appreciated how unflinching Cosby is when addressing Ike and Buddy Lee homophobia and that their sons’ sudden deaths doesn’t immediately result in them saying ‘mea culpa I did wrong’. When questioning the people close to their sons or scouting their local hangouts, the duo comes face-to-face with lgbtq+ people and culture, which forces them to further interrogate their relationships with their sons, specifically the harm brought about by their own prejudices and unwillingness to accept them.
Cosby’s writing is phenomenal. His dialogues are snappy, his metaphors slick (and often surprisingly funny in a fucked up kind of way), his descriptions on point. The sense of place and atmosphere too are incredibly strong and perfectly complement the narrative's gritty tone.
The one thing that kept this from a 5-star rating was the on-the-page presence of lgbtq+ characters. The boys are dead, the people our pair interrogates early on do not appear later on in the narrative, and the one character who could have had more of an actual role, well, when she finally does make an appearance this is a rushed one and she’s soon sidelined (with a cis character speaking on her behalf). Still I thought that his commentary and portrayal of marginalised people was spot on.
Razorblade Tears has consolidated my already high opinion of this author. His previous novel was no fluke and Cosby delivers an exhilarating tale that on one hand is violent and brutal, and on the other, well, it will break your heart. Cosby highlights so, if you are looking for a thriller with a bite, look no more....more
“Ghosts are death, but maybe death can mean different things.”
Spooky, sapphic, summery, The Dead and the Dark delivers on all of these. Fans of YA paranormal YA novels like Beware the Wild or Stiefvater's TRC or even graphic-novels such as The Low, Low Woods, should definitely consider giving Courtney Gould’s debut a shot. The Dead and the Dark = eerie atmosphere + oppressive summer heat + f/f romance + dysfunctional families + not-so-idyllic-small-town with secrets.
“In Snakebite, you were either fleeting or permanent. People who came to town always left, and people who left didn’t come back.”
The Dead and the Dark follows Logan Ortiz-Woodley, the long-suffering daughter of the duo behind ParaSpectors, a ghost-hunting type of ‘documentary’ TV show. Due to her dads’ work, Logan has grown up all over the US, never staying in one place for long. Her dads, Alejo and Brandon, often seem to prioritise their filming schedule over her. While she has a good relationship with Alejo, Brandon has always been a distant figure, to the point of being cold towards her. After her final year of high school, Logan finds herself tagging along with Alejo to join Brandon who has been staying in Snakebite, Oregon for the past few months. Snakebite happens to be her dads’ hometown but Logan knows next to nothing about that time in their lives. Her dads claim that they are there to work on their latest season but Logan suspects some ulterior motives behind their decision to return to this clearly hostile small-town. Once in Snakebite Logan learns that the town’s golden boy went missing soon after Brandon moved back, and many of its inhabitants seem to believe that he was responsible. Logan teams up with Ashley Barton, the girlfriend of the golden boy and a golden girl in her own right as she’s the daughter of the most powerful family in Snakebite. Despite their differences, Logan and Ashley decide to investigate her boyfriend’s disappearance, and soon enough realize that Snakebite may be haunted in more ways than one.
“If pain is the measure, I promise Snakebite is full of ghosts.”
Their thrilling investigation (which sees them uncovering years-old secrets, come to terms with hard truths, suspect their loved ones, see this town and its people through new eyes, and come across ghosts and a ‘dark’ evil entity) was certainly engrossing. I liked their dynamic and how by spending time together they slowly start catching feelings for each other. The setting of Snakebite was really well done. The town’s hostility towards the Ortiz-Woodley family adds extra urgency to the girls’ investigation.
“At the end of all of this, Snakebite would never be the same.”
Now on what didn’t quite work for me: all that supposed evidence incriminating Brandon. That a lot of his scenes or flashbacks involving him in the first half of the novel corroborate this view of him as being a potentially bad guy. It got a bit silly as I already knew who the culprit was. And yes, that ‘twist’...I saw it coming a mile away. Maybe I’ve just read too many mystery novels or maybe I should have not spent a few years of my life watching all 70 episodes of Agatha Christie's Poirot but it just so happens that most of the time I guess who is behind a certain crime and or even their motivations. This doesn’t always ruin the story for me but here it sort of made the whole reveal and explanation anticlimactic. Towards the end I also found myself feeling more engaged in Alejo and Brandon than Logan and Ashley which is weird as I’m closer in age to the girls & I’m a lesbian woman. But there was something about Ashley that I just found a wee bit boring and not very engaging. She was very sheltered and compared to Logan I found her character somewhat flat. The ‘missing boy’ plays a similar function as the dead girls that populate so many crime shows and fiction. We never really learn anything much about him other than he was an actual golden boy and he’s merely a plot device. Ashley’s mother seemed a poor rip-off of the mother from Sharp Object (a novel that, surprise surprise, the author mentions in the acknowledgements). We never learn much about Ashley’s family which seemed like a wasted opportunity.
The secrecy also got to me. The girls repeatedly ask the ‘adults’ what went on in Snakebite all those years ago or why there is such animosity between Ashely’s mother and Logan’s dads...but they all say dismissive things like ‘soon we’ll tell you/not now/when all of this is over’. It’s one of my least favourite tropes and I wish that it hadn't been so overused in this story. The time skips (sometimes one or two weeks go by after a certain scene) did not always seem necessary as they clearly served a buffering function.
Still, this was an absorbing and quick read. The relationship between Logan and her dads, specifically Brandon, was one of the most compelling aspects of the storyline. All in all, I’m glad I read this and I look forward to whatever Gould writes next....more
Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self is a fantastic collection of short stories. Having loved Evans' lat| | blog | tumblr | ko-fi | |
4 ½ stars
Before You Suffocate Your Own Fool Self is a fantastic collection of short stories. Having loved Evans' latest release, The Office of Historical Corrections, I had high hopes for this first collection and it did not disappoint. Each short story delivers, there isn't one 'weak' or boring story. Although they explore similar themes and subjects they offer different perspectives and or they reach contrasting conclusions. Evans' combines heart-rendering scenes with more light-hearted ones, and delivers her sharp commentary—on race, class, gender, sexuality—with a delightful side of humour. I truly enjoyed this collection and I hope Evans will soon be publishing something new....more
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie once again showcases her beautiful prose in Zikora. The story begins with the titular characte| | blog | tumblr | ko-fi | |
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie once again showcases her beautiful prose in Zikora. The story begins with the titular character, Zikora, who is about to give birth. The father of her soon to be born child is not there with he left her months prior, after she hinted at the possibility of being pregnant. As Zikora goes into labour her mind goes back to this relationship, and we learn that she's a lawyer who grew up in Nigeria. Her father married a second wife, something that has made her somewhat resentful towards her own mother (his first wife). Adichie conveys Zikora's various state of minds as well as the uneasy relationship she has with her mother. Her love story with Kwame was particularly sad and Adichie succeeds in giving a nuanced picture of their relationship. However much I liked Adichie's calibrated and beautifully insightful prose, I have never been a fan of narratives that focus on giving birth or the early days of motherhood. I would definitely recommend this story to those who unlike me do not have qualms reading about these subjects.
edit 24/11: I am not a fan of cancel culture however I also do not want to support public figures who use their positions of influence to spread hate or under the banner of 'freedom of speech' discriminate against the trans community. So no, I am not about encourage others to 'cancel' Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie but I do think that her comments about the whole JK Rowling ordeal are questionable indeed. Until then...I am not sure I will be able to enjoy her work as I did before....more
In Bloodchild and Other Stories Octavia Butler demonstrates how fluid Afrofuturism is. In these stories, Butler combines different genres—such as speculative fiction, sci-fi, fantasy, horror—presenting her readers with thought-provoking stories that challenge Western influences and beliefs. Within these stories, Butler is able to simultaneously reclaim the past and to promote visions of possible futures. This reappropriation of the past and the future occurs through a Black cultural lens, and Butler’s stories not only challenges white historical narratives but enable projections of Black futures to address and reexamine a lost or stolen past. Often within Butler’s stories, time and space collapse, past and future coalesce, empowering both those with histories of oppression and those who are systemically discriminated against to transcend their realities.
Many of the stories in this collection feature dystopian settings. Within these futuristic narratives, Butler interrogates the fraught relationship between power and justice, exploring encounters between ‘us’ and the ‘Other’. Many of her stories revolve around those who have been systematically oppressed and exploited by those in power/control. In ‘Bloodchild’ we learn of a human colony that lives alongside insect-like aliens called Tlic. Humans are used as egg hosts for Tlic eggs and our narrator, a human boy named Gan, was chosen to carry the eggs of a female Tlic. At the end of this frankly disturbing story, Butler herself provides us with some insight into her storytelling process. While according to Bulter this story is not about slavery I couldn’t help but make that connection. The Tlic have subjugated the humans and I couldn’t really bring myself to believe that the relationship between the Tlic and the humans was powered by love. I guess we can see this as an early example of the pregnant male trope. In ‘The Evening and the Morning and the Night’ Butler looks at genetic diseases. In this story, the children of those who have taken a cancer cure have developed Duryea-Gode Disease, a genetic disease that results in psychosis, dissociation, and self-mutilation. Those who have DGD are discriminated against and inevitably detained in centres where they are subjected to horrific treatments. Our narrator is a double DGD who lives in fear of ‘losing control’. She eventually becomes involved with a man who is also DGD. The two of them eventually come across a centre for DGDs where they are surprised to discover, the DGDs in question are actually treated with humanity. ‘Near of Kin’ is an incest-y kind of story that owes a lot to Butler’s Baptist background. ‘Speech Sounds’ takes place in a post-apocalyptic America where a virus has eradicated people’s ability to speak, write, and/or read. This scenario allows Butler to interrogate themes of justice, survival, and envy. There are three more fiction pieces, the most notable of which follows a woman named Marhta who is selected by God to improve humanity. Additionally, there are two non-fiction pieces where Butler discusses her experiences in publishing and the realities of being one of the few Black sci-fi authors. These are a definite must for fans of Butler. All in all, this was a solid collection. It is by no means an easy read. These stories filled me with unease and discomfort, they disturbed and repulsed me. Butler was a terrific writer and her stories are great examples of Afrofuturism. The themes and issues Butler touches upon are still relevant today and I admire her ability to explore distressing & taboo topics. I did find myself wishing for more lgbtq+ rep but these stories are rather heteronormative (yeah, in one men get pregnant but the pairing is still f/m). While the stories in this collection don’t quite match to the masterpiece that is Kindred, they still make for some challenging reading that will undoubtedly provide the reader with a lot of food for thought....more
The Hollow Places is a thoroughly entertaining novel that plays around with parallel worlds, portal fantasy | | blog | tumblr | ko-fi | |
3 ½ stars
The Hollow Places is a thoroughly entertaining novel that plays around with parallel worlds, portal fantasy and cosmic horror. When our narrator, Kara, moves back to her hometown (Hog Chapel, North Carolina) she is still reeling from her divorce. To avoid sharing a house with her mother she volunteers to work in her uncle's peculiar museum (Glory to God Museum of Natural Wonders, Curiosity, and Taxidermy). She decides to catalogue the many curios and bizarre objects that live there. After her uncle is forced to take a break from the museum due to some health problems, she offers to look after it. Things however take a creepy turn when a hole in one of the museum's walls leads to her bunker and that this in turn is connected to a rather horrifying reality which often defeats human comprehension. Simon, the gay barman who works next door to the museum and believes that he devoured his twin in the womb, is Kara's offbeat companion. The two get in over their heads when they decide to the bunker. Kara and Simon are immediately endearing. Kara, who is down-to-earth and incredibly witty (ranging from caustic to silly), is a likeable and diverting narrator while Simon is such a weird yet genuinely nice guy (capable of coming out with or believing in some seriously bizarre things). Their banter made the novel, and it was really refreshing for the main relationship in a book to be a platonic one. While readers will probably feel some sense of anxiety or apprehension now and again, I would not classify this novel as a horror one. It certainly has horror elements, but ultimately, it seems more of an adventure/weird fiction type of thing (Stephen King by way of Terry Pratchett with some Jeff VanderMeer). Moments that have the potential of being disturbing (such as those scenes in which certain things appear to be 'inside out') and the willow trees were kind of creepy are alleviated by Kara's humour. While I enjoyed the meta aspect of this novel and I do think that T. Kingfisher showcases some pretty impressive creative talent, part of me did find the latter part of the story to be a bit repetitive. Overall I would probably recommend it to those who are looking for a fun read with some horror undertones....more
“I saw my mother raise a man from the dead. It still didn't help him much, my love, she told me. But I saw her do it all the same. That's how I knew she was magic.”
I was hooked by Libertie's opening paragraph. Set during and after the American Civil War Kaitlyn Greenidge's novel is narrated by Libertie the daughter of a Black female doctor. As the child of a free-woman Libertie is born free at a time when slavery was yet to be abolished. But unlike her mother, who is light-skinned and able to study medicine by 'passing', Libertie herself is dark-skinned, and because of this she experiences both racism and the prejudices of those who are 'colorstruck'. Cathy, although not a demonstrative mother, clearly cares about Libertie and has trained her since a young age in the medical arts. While under her mother's tutelage Libertie discovers that some conditions and or people cannot be cured, which causes her to doubt her mother. When one of her mother's patients, a man Libertie was fond of, fails to recover, Libertie partly blames her mother and grows increasingly disillusioned by her profession. Sensing her daughter's detachment, Cathy enrols Libertie at Cunningham College in Ohio where she will be the only female medical student. Libertie, who by this point has already begun to chafe against her mother's expectations, is far more drawn by the music department, and in particular, by the voices of Louisa and Experience, also knows as the Graces.
“Music at night, music after dark, music finding its way to you across sweetgrass, can feel almost like magic.”
Libertie longs to belong to them, but, in spite of her attempts to form a friendship with the Graces, the bond between the two women is impenetrable. Greenidge's articulates Libertie's loneliness and yearning with lyric precision. It was easy to understand and sympathize with Libertie, her wish to be free of other people's visions of who she should be. We also understand how complex her relationship with her mother is: having grown without a father or other relatives Cathy is everything to Libertie.
I found this first half of the novel to be but poignant and engaging. Greenidge does not shy away from discussing the realities of slavery, racism, colorism, or sexism. Yet, her narrative does not dwell on pain and suffering. There are many moments of beauty and empathy, and I found Libertie's voice to be utterly captivating.
The latter half of the novel is where things get a bit messy. Libertie becomes entangled with Emmanuel, a young man from Haiti. While their first interactions had both chemistry and potential, their romance happens way too fast. Libertie's feelings toward Emmanuel aren't clearly addressed, which was weird since up to that point readers were privy to her innermost feelings and or thoughts. And then, bam, all of a sudden Libertie is in Haiti with Emmanuel and things there take a vaguely Jane Eyresque turn. While the descriptions of Haiti, from its history to its physical landscapes, were vivid, and there were many thought-provoking discussions on religion and culture, I remained unconvinced by Libertie's motivations to move there. I wish the story had kept its focus on her and Cathy or her and the Graces, as I did not really feel the 'love' between her and Emmanuel. Their relationship was rushed and once in Haiti it never truly develops or progresses. His family drama steals the limelight, and although it did allow the narrative to touch upon some compelling issues, I just could not bring myself to believe in Libertie or Emmanuel's motives. Cathy's presence is relegated once more to letters that Libertie chooses not answer. The finale was both predictable and left a few too many questions unanswered.
Nevertheless, I truly enjoyed Greenidge's writing. I found that the inclusion of poetry, music, and fragments from Libertie/Cathy's letters added a layer of depth to the story. While I wasn't blown away by the latter half of the novel nor its conclusion I would still recommend this as it is written in lyrical prose and it presents readers with a nuanced mother-daughter relationship while also delving into America's history and navigating issues such as racism, colorism, sexism, grief, and, as the title and heroine's name suggest, liberty.
ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review....more
“The history of African Europeans is vibrant and complex, just as it is brutal.”
Olivette Otélé, who happens to be a professor at my university, is the first black woman in the UK to be appointed to a professorial chair in history. African Europeans is her meticulously researched and illuminating examination of the relationship, past and present, between Europe and Africa. Otélé reveals key figures and connections that have long been overlooked by historians and public discourse. By revealing the lives and experiences of African Europeans throughout the centuries Otélé dispels the popular myth of Europe having an exclusively white historical narrative (which leads many to criticise period/historical dramas that are set in Europe and star non-white characters, claiming that it isn't 'historically accurate').
In the first chapter, 'Early Encounters: From pioneers to African Romans', Otélé states the following: "From confrontations to collaborations, the relationship between Africans and Europeans has been tumultuous since the third century". She discusses figures such as the Queen of Sheba and St Maurice (an Egyptian and leader of the Roman Theban Legion) as well as African-born Romans such as Emperor Septimius Severus (who was born in Leptis Magna ie Libya) and Marcus Cornelius Fronto. who "paved the way for a strong tradition of African European intellectuals". In the second chapter, 'Black Mediterraneans: Slavery and the Renaissance', Otélé touches upon famous names such as Alessandro de Medici to 'ordinary' ones such as Ursola, a black slave in a Valencian household, who hoped to "buy her freedom". From the Renaissance Otélé moves onto the following centuries, exploring, and challenging, Europe's shifting perceptions of race and blackness. Otélé also demonstrates the ways in which racism has evolved throughout history.
“From religious artefacts to representations of the magi; from an intellectual in fifteenth-century Granada to the young grime artists of twenty-first-century Britain, African European identities have continuously evolved.”
In the latter half of this book Otélé focuses on more recent history, describing how many European countries refuse to acknowledge systemic racism (as if 'apologising' for their colonial pasts absolves them completely) feigning 'color blindness'. I also really appreciated Otélé's intersectional approach as she always takes into account the different ways in which one's gender and sexuality contributes to the way they are treated by and seen by their society. The lives, experiences, histories Otélé 'unearths' are riveting. While Otélé does not pose questions to the reader, the histories she 'unearths' are definitely question-inducing. Racism, citizenship, identity, notions of freedom and of belonging all shape the individuals Otélé is writing about. This is the kind of history book that should become part of the curriculum. Although I did not attend a British school many of my British acquaintances have complained about the lacunae in their studies (especially when it comes to discussing the relationship between Africa and the UK). And I also hope that it will be translated in Italian and many other languages. I think this an inspiring work that will definitely appeal to those with a 'history' background or to history aficionados. Otélé is a thoughtful yet objective writer and her work demonstrates incredibly acuity and knowledge.
Many many many thanks to NetGalley for providing me with an a copy of this....more
“That summer when I so desperately tried to reel us all in, I didn't understand the forces spinning us apart.”
The opening of A Crooked Tree is certainly chilling. Libby, our fifteen-year-old narrator, is in the car with her siblings. When their squabbling gets too much their mother dumps twelve-year-old Ellen on the side of the road. Hours pass, and to Libby's increasing concern Ellen has yet to arrive. When Ellen finally makes an appearance, something has clearly happened to her.
Sadly, the suspenseful atmosphere that is so palpable at the start of this novel gives way to a slightly more predictable coming-of-age. The premise made me think that A Crooked Tree would be something in the realms of Winter's Bone (we have the rural setting, the dysfunctional family, the bond between the siblings). But A Crooked Tree tells a far more conventional story: a summer of revelations (from the realizations that the adults around you have their own secrets to having to say goodbye to the innocence of childhood). While what happened to Ellen certainly has an impact on the storyline, A Crooked Tree is not a mystery or thriller. We follow Libby as she fights and makes peace with her best friend and siblings, we learn of her less than stellar home-life, and, most of all, of her dislike of the neighborhoods' bad boy (this last tread was pretty annoying). I did appreciate how vivid the setting was, from the references to 80s culture to Libby's environment (she is particularly attuned to nature). I also really enjoyed the family dynamics and the unease that permeated many of the scenes. The author succeeds particularly in capturing that period of transition, from childhood to adolescence, without being sentimental.
What ultimately did not work for me was Libby herself. She's very bland. Love for trees aside there was little to her character. While her siblings, bff, and adults around her were fully fleshed out, Libby's personality remains largely unexplored. Her obsession with the 'bad boy' was also really grating and her refusal to see him as anything but bad news didn't ring entirely true. A lot of the observations she makes about the people around her seemed to originate from someone far more mature and insightful than she was (as in, they did not really seem to stem from the mind of a particularly naive 15-year old girl). Elle, although younger, would have made for a more convincing and interesting narrator. Libby...is painfully vanilla.
Still, Libby aside, I did find this novel to be engaging, occasionally unsettling, and exceedingly nostalgic.
ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review....more
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