As the title itself suggests this book is about undocumented Americans. Karla Cornejo Villavicencio never treats the pe| | blog | tumblr | ko-fi | |
As the title itself suggests this book is about undocumented Americans. Karla Cornejo Villavicencio never treats the people she is writing of as passive ‘subjects’, or worst still ‘objects’, her gaze is neither voyeuristic nor impersonal. She does not give the impression that she is filtering their experiences and stories, even if she admits early on that due to privacy she may or may not have altered names and specific/recognisable details. In the interactions she has with those who are undocumented she isn’t a stoic journalist or interviewer, she doesn’t only ask questions. She shares her own thoughts, feelings, and circumstances with them, and often seems to form a bond with them. Which is what sets apart The Undocumented Americans from other works that wish to elevate the voices of those who are so often silenced.
Cornejo Villavicencio isn’t interested in relating stories of those deemed ‘exceptions’, as exceptionalism ignores narratives that are not deemed ‘extraordinary’. Throughout the course of 6 chapters, moving across America—Staten Island, Miami, Cleveland, Flint, New Haven—Cornejo Villavicencio reveals the complex lives, identities, and histories of undocumented immigrants. The voices she ‘collects’ in these chapters belong to day labourers, housekeepers, family members who have been separated from their loved ones, those who have lost loved ones because they do not have medical insurance, those who have been or are still being affected by the Flint water crisis, and the first responders to 9/11. The people Cornejo Villavicencio connects with do not want our sympathy or pity. They share their experiences with her hoping perhaps that their stories will reach those in need, those who perhaps like them are being or have been exploited by a country that treats them as ‘illegal’ and ‘aliens’. Even in the UK there is this stereotype of immigrants as lazy when the exact opposite is true. Chances are they work harder and for much less than the ‘natives’, whilst being subjected to all sorts of injustices. Cornejo Villavicencio challenges this view of immigrants as criminals, lazy, welfare cheats, ‘less than’. She also confronts the myth of the ‘American Dream’ as she comes across people who do nothing but work, yet, no matter their hard work they risk being deported or are forced to turn to ineffective herbal remedies in order to cure serious illnesses or health problems they probably have developed while working physically and emotionally draining jobs and/or in dangerous environments.
Cornejo Villavicencio speaks frankly and readers will feel her anger and sadness. She confronts the realities of being an immigrant, of working unfathomable hours for little or no money, of being treated unfairly, of experiencing health issues and being unable to seek treatment. However sobering their stories are, the people she writes demonstrate commendable qualities. They are multi-faceted individuals and their stories will undoubtedly resonate with many. Cornejo Villavicencio is an empathetic writer, who shares her own experiences and feelings throughout the course of this work. While this is a read that will both incense and depress you, it will also (hopefully) make you want to do something about it.
Although I live outside of America, immigrants do not face an easier life here in Europe. There are “immigration removal centres” (who thought that the word ‘removal’ would be okay when speaking of HUMAN BEINGS?), governments which are willing to let people drown rather than reach their shores (and at times orchestrate these shipwrecks), collude with other governments in order to stop people from leaving their countries….the list of horrors go on. I urge you, if you are in a position to donate to charities such as 'The Joint Council for the Welfare of Immigrants' and 'Migrant Help' (these are UK based) to do so.
The Undocumented Americans is a heart-breaking, urgent, thoughtful work. Cornejo Villavicencio is a talented writer whose prose is both eloquent and raw. I will definitely read whatever she publishes next....more
“Is this what motherhood means? Being suddenly able to pity the adults in your life?”
Set over the course of a year in Las Penas, New Mexico, The Five Wounds is a novel about failure and progress. Unsentimental yet moving The Five Wounds details the everyday lives of three members of the Padilla family. There is Angel who is sixteen and pregnant. After her mother (who was also a teen mom) fails her in the worst way imaginable Angel moves in with her deadbeat father (who still lives with his mother). Amadeo is thirty-three, self-involved, jobless, and expects his mother to look after him. Yolanda, in her fifties, who has always been the family’s 'rock' has little time for either of them after receiving an end-of-life diagnosis. The narrative focuses in particular on Angel and Amadeo. Angel is attending a special program for teen moms and hopes that she will be able to carry on her studies while also looking after her son. Yet, the adults around, even her loving grandmother, seems to be too occupied to offer her any real support. Her mother tries to make amends but Angel is unable to forgive her. She becomes close with Lizette, another girl from the group, who is in an even more disadvantageous position than Angel herself. Amadeo spends most of his days blaming others for his less than stellar life. He drinks too much, does very little for other people, and acts like a child around his sister who is one of the few people who calls him out on his shitty behaviour. Amadeo is indeed proves himself time and again to be a bit of shit. He often calls women bitches, he's blind to his mother's failing health, and takes pleasure in knowing that if he wants he could get his sister off his back by appearing intimidating (and he knows that she was in an abusive relationship). In many ways, he was a Frank Gallagher sort of figure. We do see that he does try now and again to be there for his daughter, but as soon as things don’t go his ways he defaults to blaming others for his own failures and shortcomings. He feels some sense of purpose when he plays Jesus in the Good Friday procession but it does not last as it seems to briefly give him a conflated sense of himself (he habitually compares himself to Jesus, sometimes hilariously so: "Amadeo imagines windshield repair is a trade Jesus might get behind. It is, essentially, carpentry for the twenty-first century).
I appreciated that Angel is not made into a caricature of a teenager (even if the author makes the point of making all teen girls in this novel unable of applying makeup: their faces are caked with foundation, their lashes clumpy with mascara...). She clearly wants someone she can look up to, and she briefly thinks that Brianna, who is in charge at that teenage mother's group, but more often than not she’s left disappointed. Even Lizette proves to be less than dependable and it was saddening to see how few people are there for Angel.
The author’s style is very matter-of-fact but also capable of piercing observations or touching exchanges. The tragicomic tone succeeds in making occasional fun of the characters, Amadeo in particular, without belittling them and allowing us to sympathise with them and their efforts to be better or improve their circumstances. Some may not like that the story leaves quite a few storylines unresolved but I thought that it fitted with the novel’s realistic and dry storytelling. What lessened my reading experience was the way Yolanda was pushed on the outskirts of the narrative so that her presence in the story seems minimal. While I understand that the story was making a point, showing us how self-involved Amadeo and Angel are not to notice that Yolanda is also going through a difficult time, we could have had more chapters following Yolanda perspective. Instead, we get unnecessary passages centric on Brianna, one of the novel’s least believable and interesting character. Lizette’s portrayal too was a bit wanting (in particularly her self-harming) and I could have done without the adults drinking breastmilk scene (if I had a nickel for every time I came across this sort of scene in a book, I'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot, but it's weird that it happened twice). Part of me also wishes that we could have had less homophobia ("He's not gay. That's gross") or that at least the narrative could have challenged some of those comments. I get that it was 'realistic' but the story just seems to confirm that there can be no happy (or at least functional) queer couple.
Overall this was a realistic portrayal of a less-than-perfect family. The characters are flawed, they say and or do offensive/unlikable things, their circumstances are less-than-ideal, their relationships with each other can be frustrating and messy. The author succeeds in not only depicting the day-to-day lives of the Padillas but she also captures, for better or worse, their community in Las Penas. The novel’s religious undertones did not feel distracting nor did they take away from the narrative’s factual style. There was something about this novel that really brought to mind Showtime's Shameless so if you a fan of that show you might want to give The Five Wounds a try.
ARC provided by the publisher in exchange for an honest review....more
“Talking to strangers can be riskier than it is rewarding; even people who know each other well talk at cross purposes and derange each other’s perceptions.”
Peaces is the type of freewheeling novel that fully embraces its own weirdness, taking its readers along a madcap sort of adventure, one that is guaranteed to be equal parts amusing and confounding. What drew me to this novel, zany premise aside, was that it would take place on a train. It just so happens that I am a sucker for works set on trains (they can be classic whodunnits—Murder on the Orient Express, The Mystery of the Blue Train—or animated series—Infinity Train—and films—The Polar Express—or anime—Baccano—or short stories—Mary Ventura and The Ninth Kingdom—or genre-defying mindfucks such as Snowpiercer). I’m not sure why I find this setting so appealing (enclosed spaces? The idea of a journey?) but chances are if a story is set on a train, I will be checking it out. Oyeyemi makes the most of her setting and I absolutely loved the slight but present Wes Anderson-esque feel of ‘The Lucky Day’, the train boarded by Otto, our narrator, his partner, Xavier, and their pet mongoose. Once inside the train, Otto & co find themselves in increasingly perplexing scenarios (a woman named Ava may possibly be in need of help), as they come across some eccentric figures who seem to know all about them and each carriage they walk through seems more peculiar than its predecessor. Otto and Xavier become inevitably embroiled in The Lucky Day’s growingly peculiar goings-on. Otto’s narration is delightfully sardonic and so very British. His wry and frequently mystifying inner monologue is deeply diverting. The characters’ nonplussed responses towards the many fantastic and outlandish things that happen on The Lucky Day added an extra layer of surreality to the overall story and brought to mind the kind of absurdist works penned by Lewis Carroll (or even Beckett). The puzzling conversations that populate this train journey are as entertaining as they are baffling. Peaces was a fun if discombobulating read that bears the signs of a marvellously inventive and talented storyteller. In addition to a cast of wonderfully queer & quirky characters, Oyeyemi presents her readers with a unique take on love and heartbreak, on sanity and insanity, on being seen and unseen. The novel adopts this matryoshka doll-like structure so that with each chapter we come closer to the heart of this bizarro mystery. The last few chapters did come across as rushed and even somewhat bathetic. Still, Peaces makes for a decidedly droll ride. Oyeyemi has crafted a nonsensical if strangely modern fairy-tale, one that I look forward to revisiting (and maybe a second read will make me understand more fully what went down in that final act.). Anyhow, if you are a fan of experimental and deeply surreal narratives (think Piranesi) Peaces may be the perfect read for you.
re-read: The latter half of this novel still has me confused. This is certainly the desired effect but it does become a bit frustrating. While I liked the absurdists elements that dominate the narrative, towards the end I found all of the characters (especially the 'villains') to be much too much. The side characters did not remotely come across as actual human beings but the type of one-dimensional figures befitting cartoons aimed at small children. Despite this Peaces was certainly a fun ride....more
“There she was and there she stayed. Gradually passivity replaced her early adventurousness. She learned, after long and painstaking effort, to talk like a chorus girl, to dress like a chorus girl and to think like a chorus girl - up to a point. Beyond that point she remained apart, lonely, frightened of her loneliness, resenting it passionately. She grew thin. She began to live her hard and monotonous life very mechanically and listlessly.”
3 ½ stars
An unsparing and piercing interrogation of passivity and victimhood, Quartet is a hypotonic work of fiction. Jean Rhys’ prose is immaculate. Her writing, although exquisitely crisp, has this deeply evocative quality to it that resulted in a truly immersive reading experience. I could picture with ease Marya’s various environments: from the hotel bedrooms she stays in, to the streets she walks down on. I admired Rhys' ability to articulate Marya’s various states of mind with such clarity and finesse as to lend elegance to even her most petty thoughts. Although the setting has this subtle bygone, almost gilded age quality to it, one that brought to mind the work of Edith Wharton, Rhys also employs noir aesthetics that result in a backdrop that is at once beautiful and disenchanted. Although the title suggests that the narrative will be concerned with the complex dynamic between four individuals, the story presents us with an all too familiar triangle: a young woman becomes involved with an older married man of means. His wife claims that she is ‘happy’ with this ‘arrangement’. But, as Marya becomes further enmeshed in the lives of the Heidlers, she becomes all too aware that the wife resents her presence. In order not to alienate her husband she pretends otherwise, and Marya finds herself cast in the role of villainess and homewrecker.
The novel opens in Paris during the 1920s. Marya, our heroine, is a young woman married to Stephan, a Polish man whose dodgy art dealings eventually land him in jail. The two were leaving from hotel room to hotel room, and once Stephan is imprisoned Marya finds herself on the verge of destitution. An orphan with no assets to speak of, Marya was wholly dependent on Stephan’s income. A socialite married couple, the Heidlers, come to her ‘rescue’, insisting that she stay with them. Marya does, even if she expresses some uneasiness at this arrangement. Mr Heidler, who goes by H. J., had previously made a pass at her and once she’s staying with them, he declares that he has feelings for her. According to him, his wife, Lois, is content with this. Marya learns that she’s not the ‘first’, and as the weeks go by and her feelings for H. J. deepened, she became wary of the Heidlers’ ‘games’. While Marya doesn’t have today’s vocabulary, contemporary readers will be able to recognise the Heidlers’ ‘tactics’: they manipulate and gaslight Marya. Passive Marya finds herself playing into this role that they’ve thrust on her, doing what they want, and keeping silent about this whole affair. Cleverly, Rhys doesn't quite paint Marya as a hopeless and hapless victim of her gender and her circumstances. There are numerous instances that indicate that Marya performs this role of ‘victim’. But does her self-victimization make her any less of a victim? Especially when others uphold this view of herself? While Rhys mines the psychological depths of her heroine, cataloguing her ennui, misery, loneliness, and disorientation, she maintains a certain distance from her characters, Marya included. These characters retain a certain inscrutable quality: some of their actions may strike as bizarre, while their words often are full ambivalence. The characters retain this air of mystery that really complements the shadowy atmosphere of their world: from their soirées to their clandestine encounters in hotel rooms. There were many striking passages describing Marya’s environment. Her internal dialogue too is rendered in arresting detail, and however frustrating her naivete and passivity were I found sympathetic towards her ‘plight’. Her feelings towards H. J. are somewhat inexplicable, as she seems to fall in love with him just like that. While Marya thinks herself in love with him, I thought differently. Her infatuation reeked of desperation, and I too found myself viewing her as a victim of the Heidlers’, specifically H. J., deceptions. Time and again we are told that what Marya craves is happiness and safety, and after Stephan is in prison, she is so desperate that she is willing to believe that those things may come if she becomes H. J.’s ‘mistress’. The novel also has a roman a la clef dimension as Marya’s embroilment with the Hedlers’ mirrors Rhys’ one with Ford Madox Ford and his wife Stella Bowen . While there were many sentiments that struck me for their presence and timelessness, particularly in relation to Marya’s ‘female malaise’, a few passages stuck out for the wrong reasons. An example would be a scene where Marya observes “a little flat-faced Japanese” drawing “elongated and gracefully perverse little women”...which…le sigh.
Initially, I was planning on giving this a high rating but the bathetic denouement left a lot to be desired. While I can appreciate how certain authors are able to continue their narratives after the central character has ‘exited’ the scenes, here the last few pages struck me as callous and unsatisfying. I would have almost found it more satisfying if Rhys had gone the Madame Bovary or The House of Mirth route, but there is a soap-opera worthy heated confrontation that did not feel particularly satisfying or convincing. While I appreciated how Rhys, similarly to Flaubert and Wharton, is not afraid to focus on how pathetic or silly or petty her characters are, that finale just didn’t do it for me. Still, I can see myself re-reading this and giving it a higher rating in the future. I am definitely planning on reading more by Rhys as her writing is simply superb and I am always interested in narratives centered on alienated and perpetually perplexed young women.
Marya is a fascinating character who carries an air of impermanence, one that makes her all the more intriguing. Her impermanence also deepens the dreamlike quality of the narrative. There are many instances where her dreams seem to seep into her reality, making us wonder how reliable a character she is. As things take a downward turn, her moments dissociation intensify, her sadness and anxiety so overwhelming as to make her reality unendurable.
Some of my fave passages:
“She began to argue that there was something unreal about most English people.”
“Still, there were moments when she realized that her existence, though delightful, was haphazard. It lacked, as it were, solidity; it lacked the necessary fixed background. A bedroom, balcony and cabinet de toilette in a cheap Montmartre hotel cannot possibly be called a solid background”
“Marya, you must understand, had not been suddenly and ruthlessly transplanted from solid comfort to the hazards of Montmartre. Nothing like that. Truth to say, she was used to a lack of solidity and of fixed backgrounds.”
“[S]he felt a sudden, devastating realization of the essential craziness of existence. She thought again: people are very rum. With all their little arrangements, prisons and drains and things, tucked away where nobody can see.”
“She would have agreed to anything to quieten him and make him happier, and she was still full of the sense of the utter futility of all things.”
“Words thatshe longed to shout, to scream, crowded into her mind:‘You talk and you talk and you don’t understand. Notanything. It’s all false, all second-hand. You say what you've read and what other people tell you. You think you're very brave and sensible, but one flick of pain to yourself and you’d crumple”
“It was a beautiful street. The street of homeless cats, she often thought. She never came into it without seeing several of them, prowling, thin vagabonds, furtive, aloof, but strangely proud. Sympathetic creatures, after all. There was a smell of spring in the air. She felt unhappy, excited, strangely expectant.”
“‘You’re a victim. There’s no endurance in your face. Victims are necessary so that the strong may exercise their will and become more strong. ’ ‘I shall have to go away,’ she decided. ‘Of course. Naturally. ’ Sleep was like falling into a black hole.”
“‘I’ve been wasting my life,’ she thought.‘How have I stood it for so long?’”
“She felt hypnotized as she listened to him, impotent. As she lay in bed she longed for her life with Stephan as one longs for vanished youth. A gay life, a carefree life just wiped off the slate as it were. Gone! A horrible nostalgia, an ache for the past seized her. Nous n’irons plus au bois; Les lauriers sont coupes. . . . Gone, and she was caught in this appalling muddle. Life was like that. Here you are, it said, and then immediately afterwards. Where are you? Her life, at any rate, had always been like that.”
“There they were. And there Marya was; haggard, tor-tured by jealousy, burnt up by longing.”
“Marya thought: ‘Oh, Lord! what a fool I am.’ Her heart felt as if it were being pinched between somebody’s fingers. Cocktails, the ridiculous rabbits on the wallpaper. All the fun and sweetness of life hurt so abominably when it was always just out of your reach. “
“Of course, there they were: inscrutable people, invulnerable people, and she simply hadn’t a chance against them, naive sinner that she was.”
“The Boulevard Arago, like everything else, seemed unreal, fantastic, but also extraordinarily familiar, and she was trying to account for this mysterious impression of familiarity.”
“‘My darling child,’ said Heidler with calmness, ‘your whole point of view and your whole attitude to life is impossible and wrong and you’ve got to change it for everybody’s sake.’ He went on to explain that one had to keep up appearances. That everybody had to. Everybody had for everybody’s sake to keep up appearances. It was everybody’s duty, it was in fact what they were there for. ‘You’ve got to play the game.’”
“She made a great effort to stop it and was able to keep her mind a blank for, say, ten seconds. Then her obsession gripped her, arid, torturing, gigantic, possessing her as utterly as the longing for water possesses someone who is dying of thirst. She had made an utter mess of her love affair, and that was that. She had made an utter mess of her existence. And that was that, too. But of course it wasn’t a love affair. It was a fight. A ruthless, merciless, three-cornered fight. And from the first Marya, as was right and proper, had no chance of victory. For she fought wildly, with tears, with futile rages, with extravagant abandon - all bad weapons. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ she would ask herself. ‘Why are you like this? Why can’t you be clever? Pull yourself together!’ Uselessly.” “A petite femme. It was, of course, part of his mania for classification. But he did it with such conviction that she, miserable weakling that she was,found herself trying to live up to his idea of her. She lived up to it. And she had her reward. ‘. . . You pretty thing - you pretty, pretty thing. Oh,you darling.”
“As she walked back to the hotel after her meal Marya would have the strange sensation that she was walking under water. The people passing were like the wavering reflections seen in water, the sound of water was in her ears. Or sometimes she would feel sure that her life was a dream - that all life was a dream. ‘It's a dream,’ she would think; ‘it isn’t real’ - and be strangely comforted. A dream. A dream.”
“But when she tried to argue reasonably with herself it seemed to her that she had forgotten the beginnings of the affair, when she had still reacted and he had reconquered her painstakingly. She never reacted now. She was a thing. Quite dead. Not a kick left in her.”
‘You’ve smashed me up, you two,’ she was saying. That was pitiful because it was so obviously true. It was also in an obscure way rather flattering. She put her hands up to her face and began to cry.
“The next few days passed like a dream. Lovely days, fresh, and washed and clean. And the knowledge that this was the irrevocable end of their life in Paris made every moment vivid, clearly cut and very sweet. Those were strange days, detached from everything that had gone before or would follow after.”
“Heidler was saying in a low voice: ‘I have a horror of you. When I think of you I feel sick.’ He was large, invulnerable, perfectly respectable. Funny to think that she had lain in his arms and shut her eyes because she dared no longer look into his so terribly and wonderfully close. She began to laugh. After all, what did you do when the man you loved said a thing like that? You laughed, obviously.”...more
“He wanted something agreeable, something sweeter around the edges, but I was never very good at sweet.”
This is one of those rare cases where I ended up preferring a retelling to the original. I've only read The Great Gatsby once and at the risk of incurring the wrath & contempt of Fitzgerald aficionados, I did not much care for it. Not only does Nghi Vo’s The Chosen and the Beautiful give new dimensions to Fitzgerald's characters but she also brings magic into the picture. In Vo's retelling Jordan Baker is Vietnamese American, queer, and can dabble with magic. While she does move in the same rarefied circles as her friends, she knows that many doors are not open to her. She's often treated as an 'exotic' attraction or made to feel as if she's one of 'good ones'. Jordan spends her days partying, drinking, visiting supernatural locales where she can make out with boys and girls alike. As with the original Jordan becomes embroiled in Gatsby and Daisy's 'doomed' love affair.
“He had come to Gatsby’s party, he had eaten the food, he had fallen under Gatsby’s spell. It was already too late."
While Vo imbues her version of this classic with plenty of original elements (which in my eyes improve the original), the storyline itself does stick to the one from The Great Gatsby. Personally, I wish Vo had strayed away from the original source more as I believe that this could have made the story more surprising (especially for those who are already familiar with this story). While at first, I did enjoy the magical aspect too it felt a bit shoehorned in, at times seeming largely forgotten by the narrative (so that when demons or whatnot are mentioned i would be like, say what now?). These 'criticisms' aside I was dazzled by Vo's utterly gorgeous writing. Her style reflects the glittering spaces in which these characters move in, but through Jordan's eyes—someone who only superficially shares the privileges that the people she socialises with take so much for granted—we only glimpse it for what it truly is, a pretty facade. Vo's descriptions about this society are certainly sumptuous. Readers will be able to picture with ease the dresses, people, and environments that populate Jordan's world. I loved the almost palpable tension between the various characters, their shifting alliances and small betrayals will make us wonder who is exactly playing who. Vo's Jordan is far more nuanced than Fitzgerald's one, and I appreciated her insights into the so-called 1920s American elite.
“What a broken, brittle people, I thought”
I actually found Vo's Nick and Daisy far more sympathetic in this retelling. While Vo doesn't sugarcoat their behaviour or attitudes, she's also willing to be empathetic towards them. The novel's biggest strength lies in Vo's writing. I know I have already said so but it is truly beguiling. There was something really aesthetically pleasing about her prose. The ending felt a wee bit rushed and I think that this novel could have been easily longer. Anyway, if I ever think of Gatsby & Co. again I won't be thinking of Fitzgerald's ones (sorry, not sorry). Vo's portrayal of obsessive love is truly on point. I can't wait to read whatever Vo writes next. If you enjoy books by Libba Bray, Catherynne M. Valente, and or Cat Winters, you should definitely give The Chosen and the Beautiful. There is drama, one or two heartbreaks, bedazzling parties, and a sprinkle of magic. Vo's characters are a perfect blend of charming and unappealing (one second you will find yourself liking them, the next you will want to throttle them) and her writing is next levels of morgeous....more
Packed with science and humor Project Hail Mary makes for a thoroughly entertaining high-stakes interstellar adventure. I've never read anything by this author nor have I watched the film adaptation of The Martian...the reason why is because I thought I would find them boring (yeah yeah, boohoo away). So imagine my surprise when I found myself immediately captivated by Project Hail Mary. One of the novel's strengths lies in fact in its narrator and protagonist, Ryland Grace. He wakes up on an empty spaceship, with two dead bodies and no memory of who he is and how he got there. As he pieces together the puzzle of his identity he recalls the purpose of his mission: to save humanity (easy peasy right?). Interspersed throughout the narrative are flashbacks that provide a backstory to Grace and the various stages preceding 'project hail mary'. In space, Grace faces a seemingly never-ending series of life-or-death hurdles. But, lucky for him, he may not have to do so alone. What follows is a clever and heart-warming storyline about survival (what one is willing to do for the 'greater good') and friendship. Speaking of, my favourite aspect of this story was the friendship between Grace and Rocky. The narrative is chock-full of science & maths & other stuff that went way way way over my head. To be honest, after the 'what's 2+2' question that occurs in the first few pages, well, I was lost (i am not joking). Still, through Grace's narration, Andy Weir manages to make all these complicated facts, theories, and scientific terms far from boring. Grace's enthusiasm for science is catching so I found myself just rolling with whatever he was saying or whatever was happening. Something that I could follow more easily was the language aspect of the story, which I found very ingenious. I usually would give more details about the story but here one of the narrative's biggest appeals is that we don't really know what is going on so I advice prospective readers not to read too much about its plot. Overall this was a highly enjoyable read. The humor, the ideas, the bond between Grace and Rocky, well, they make Project Hail Mary a book worth reading....more
Like most collections of short stories Mouthful of Birds has some stories that are hits and ones that are misses. I thi| | blog | tumblr | ko-fi | |
Like most collections of short stories Mouthful of Birds has some stories that are hits and ones that are misses. I think the collection definitely showacases Samanta Schweblin's creativity and versatility. While most of the stories are permeated by the surreal they differ in tone and subject.
Schweblin makes the familiar feel unfamiliar. Many of the stories examine recognisable scenarios from an unexpected angle and it often takes a little time to catch up to what is going on. One of my favourite stories, 'Toward Happy Civilisation', had some very strong Kafkaesque vibes and the creepy yet bizarre atmosphere I would except in a story by Shirley Jackson. Another favourite of mine was 'The Merman', an unapologetically offbeat tale involving, you guessed it, a merman and that reminded me of Kevin Wilson.
As much as I appreciated Schweblin's dark humour and the weirdness of her stories, there were a few unmemorable ones. The title story was a bit of a letdown (I didn't find it all that 'shocking' or subversive) and the really short ones were rather, if not completely, forgettable. I also did not care for that story that relied on animal cruelty. Not only did I not find it to be 'horrific' but it just came across as gratuitous and voyeuristic (gore and violence are cheap ways to 'inspire' fear). Nevertheless I would probably pick up more of Schweblin work as this collection did show some promise....more
Midnight at Malabar House presents its readers with a fairly promising start to a new sleuthing series. As you may or may not know I am a big fan of whodunnits and golden detective fiction and ever since finishing Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries I have been on the lookout for a historical mystery with a female lead. Midnight at Malabar House starts off in Bombay on New Year's Eve, 1949. Inspector Persis Wadia, our main character, happens to be India’s first female inspector. Persis is fairly ‘fresh’ on the force and is keen to prove her worth. Yet, her passionate and driven attitude seems to have only antagonized her peers who are quick to dismiss her on the basis of her gender and her age. It just so happens that she’s the first on the scene of Sir James Herriot, a ‘distinguished’ English diplomat. Persis knows that his death is not a result of a robbery gone wrong and is prepared to pursue avenues that might make her a persona non grata in the force as the wealthy and well-connected guests of Herriot’s party are not happy to be seen as suspects. Her superior too seems to show little concern over the apprehension of the true killer, seemingly satisfied with attributing his death to the most convenient and ‘expandable’ person. As Persis investigates Herriot’s not-so-straight-and-narrow affairs and the various members of his household she is forced to reassess her idea of justice. Persis is assisted by Archie Blackfinch, a Scotland Yard criminalist who becomes her unlikely ally. The aspect I enjoyed the most was the historical setting. Vaseem Khan demonstrates an admirable ability to render specific time periods and places: from his dialogues to the way the characters comport themselves, Khan shows an understanding of the social mores existing in this period of time. Because of this many characters express unsavoury opinions, and Persis is often at the sharp end of these remarks. I appreciated that Persis was portrayed as a very determined individual. Her characterization does fall a bit into the clichèd territory as she’s the 'green' young investigator keen to prove herself and the, allegedly, ‘stubborn’ woman in a male-dominated field. Her stubbornness is made out to be her ‘main’ flaw, something that frustrated me a little. At times this aspect of her character was a tad overdone as if the author wanted to stress that she wasn’t a perfect lead and/or to explain how she has ‘made it’ onto the force. It just so happens that before reading this I’d read another male-authored book with a ‘headstrong’ female investigator/agent/whatever and part of me realizes that may very well be realistic but I’d like more complexity in their characterization. The male investigators are battling inner demons/recovering from traumas/clever-yet-super-flawed or whatever else and the women are ‘stubborn’ and ‘spunky’....then again, this is only the first instalment in a series that will probably go on to make Persis into a more rounded character, so I look forward to that (khan, do not disappoint me pls). The case is fairly engaging and I liked the plot’s momentum. We have red herrings, some false leads, some interesting dialogues with possible suspects etc. Backdropping this investigation are some thought-provoking discussions on the long-lasting consequences of colonialism, the partition, class-based inequalities, and corruption. This landscape of political and social turmoil adds a layer of tension and urgency to Persis’ investigation, and overall I liked the author’s nuanced approach to these topics. I particularly appreciated how he challenges simplistic ‘good/evil’ binaries. Persis does undergo some promising character growth, as she learns that good intentions do not always lead to good outcomes and that her ambition sometimes clouds her judgment. While she does show empathy for others, there are instances where she is so focused on the big picture, in this case, the identity of the killer, that she can come across as callous. There is a hint of a romance subplot which I am not wholly sold on yet…but maybe the follow-up will make said romance a bit more credible.
While this whodunnit doesn’t quite fall into the cozy mystery genre it ultimately had a feel-good vibe to it. It was very rewarding to see Persis challenge the people who oppose her or who proudly & loudly share their misogynistic views. If you are an Agatha Christie fan you should definitely check this one out....more
“The only place she could now go to freely from her bedroom was the castle. If I'm in the castle, she started to think, then I'll be safe. Only the castle beyond the mirror could offer her complete protection.”
Lonely Castle in the Mirror is a heartfelt slice of life novel with a magical twist. Personally, I don't think that this novel has much in common with Sayaka Murata's Convenience Store Woman...while I understand that yes, they both are authored by Japanese women and yes, they both are concerned with mental health but story and style wise the two have nothing in common. Lonely Castle in the Mirror is closer to The Breakfast Club by way of Ghibli (more When Marnie Was There than Spirited Away). Lonely Castle in the Mirror is told by third-person narrator that primarily focuses on Kokoro, who is in seventh grade (first year of junior high). Kokoro, however, no longer attends school. The prospect of going to her class fills her with such unease that she often experiences anxiety-induced stomach aches. She's unwilling to 'confess' to her mother the reason why she stopped going to school and spends her days at home, trying and failing not to think about her classmates. One day she notices a weird light emanating from within her mirror and finds herself transported into a castle that seems to belong in a faerie tale. Kokoro, alongside six other children/teenagers, has been selected by the Wolf Queen (whose appearance is that of small girl wearing a wolf mask) who informs them that within the castle is a key and whoever finds it will be granted a wish. The magical castle has opening hours and if they fail to leave by 5pm they will be eaten by wolves. The castle will be available to them for a year, until the end of March (school years in Japan go from April to March).
While this summary makes this story sound like a fantastical adventure, Lonely Castle in the Mirror is more of a character-driven story that just happens to take place in a magical castle. Kokoro and the other students spend most of their time playing games and slowly getting to know each other. For the majority of the novel they do not seem overly interested by the promise of a 'wish', nor are they worried by the possibility of being eaten by wolves. The castle becomes their playroom, a safe space in which they do not have to think about their home-lives. Although they differ in age they are all in junior high. While they realise immediately that they have all stopped going to school, they do not often broach this topic. Overtime however they get to know each other. There are a few disagreements now and again, and their bond with each another is not always an easy or drama free one. Still, in spite of their different background and interests they do begin to view their time together as an escape from their intolerable 'reality'.
While Mizuki Tsujimura touches upon sobering topics—such as bullying, domestic and sexual abuse—these do not weigh down her narrative. When discussions around these subjects crop up the author demonstrates great sensitivity and empathy. The friendship that blossoms between Kokoro and the others makes for some tender scenes. The 'revelation' behind the castle and the reason why they were chosen will probably were not all that 'surprising'. Still, even if readers know more than Kokoro or the other characters, this will probably not detract any enjoyment from their reading experience (the story has a lot to offer without those final 'twists'). While I understand why the narrative mainly stuck to Kokoro, part of me wished that the story could have also focused on the other characters. Tsujimura certainly captures the anxiety and fear that many feel at the prospect of going to school. When I dropped out of high school I felt much of what Kokoro was feeling.
“School was everything to her, and both going and not going had been excruciating. She couldn't consider it only school.”
Although the castle lies inside of a mirror, it did not feel all that magical. There are very few descriptions about the way it looks, and I think that the story would have benefited from having a more vividly rendered setting. And, maybe I would have liked the story even more if there had been more fantastical elements (the Wolf Queen makes an appearance now and again but other than that the castle is very much like an ordinary playroom). Towards the end the story definitely has more of a fantasy feel and really reminded of a Ghibli film. Overall, I did enjoy this novel. I think Tsujimura's narrative succeeds in being both gentle and emotional. She allows time for her characters to develop and learn to get to know and care for each other. Kokoro, in particular, is given a satisfying character arc. Lonely Castle in the Mirror is a novel about friendship, realistic issues (such as bullying), self-acceptance with some magical undertones.
ARC provided by NetGalley in exchange for an honest review....more
“She was of that special age where she knew both nothing and everything, and no matter where or at whom she looked, she saw her own reflecting glimmering back like a skim of oil. She could be anyone, still.”
Milk Blood Heat is a promising debut, one that I'm sure will be well-received by readers who enjoy lyrical proses. While I personally found Moniz's style to be occasionally a bit too flowery and/or impressionistic (“she's Frankenstein's monster. She is vampire queen. She is newly thirteen, hollowed out and filled back up with venom and dust-cloud dreams” / “my mouth a black cave, ugly and squared” / “I want to swallow my mouth—to fold in my lips and chew until they burst” / “my body felt made of stars”), I was nevertheless absorbed by her rather mesmerising storytelling. Like most collections of short stories, some aren't as memorable or well-executed as others, but even in the stories that I didn't find particularly affecting there were moments or scenes that stood out (in a good way).
Most of these stories seem to possess an ambiguous quality, offering little resolution or at times clarity on the characters' feelings and/or futures. With the exception of two stories, most seem to be centred on either a young girl or woman whose lives are about to change or are in the process of changing. In the first one, 'Milk Blood Heat', follows a young girl, Ava, who spends her days playing with her white best friend, Kiera and begins to question their differences: This year she's become obsessed with dualities, at looking at one thing in two ways. Although Ava's mother disapproves of Kiera and her wild ways, the two girls are inseparable, or they are until tragedy strikes. The second story, 'Feast', a woman is the deep thralls of depressions after having a miscarriage. She begins to resent her partner, as he seems not as affected by their loss. Moniz renders the uneasiness and sadness that have become backdrop to the woman's every thought and action, revealing how deeply her miscarriage has altered her state of being. Her grief, the disturbing visions she has, her numbness are hauntingly conveyed through Moniz's sharp yet poetic language (which in this instance worked perfectly with the kind of story she was telling). Most of the other stories explore similar themes (grief, identity, motherhood, friendship) without ever seeming repetitive. Two stories seem centred on a girl's passage from youth to adulthood, one that forces them reconsider their worldview and notions of good and bad (especially in terms of their sexuality), and each one gives us a different take on 'growing up'. My favourite stories were probably 'The Heart of Our Enemies' (which focuses on a fraught mother-daughter relationship) and 'Snow (in which a young woman is having second thoughts about her marriage). The two I liked the least were 'The Loss of Heaven' and 'Exotics' (which was short and employed a first-person plural perspective, 'we', that came across as an exercise for a creative writing class). Even if Moniz's prose was a bit too sticky and snappy at times (a la 'girls are daggers/my eyes are full of stars'), I still was able to appreciate the majority of her stories and I look forward to what she will write next.
“I lay in the darkness, the song of Bogotá humming several stories below the window.”
Patricia Engel's debut work, Vida, bears the unmistakable hallma
“I lay in the darkness, the song of Bogotá humming several stories below the window.”
Patricia Engel's debut work, Vida, bears the unmistakable hallmarks of a debut. The prose occasionally succumbs to flowery metaphors, offers an excess of syrupy truisms, and strains to project an air of coolness, even edginess (“I told you, “If I could, I would reach into my chest, rip out my heart, and hand it to you.” You just stared back at me with your gypsy eyes”...gesù). Nevertheless, the end result is surprisingly endearing. There is an earnestness to Engel's storytelling, a vulnerability, that is refreshing. While Engel subsquent publications certainly show her growth as an author, this first effort feels special.
The collection of nine short stories revolves around Sabina, the daughter of Colombian parents growing up in the suburbs of New Jersey. Each chapter functions as a self-contained narrative, capturing distinct phases or moments in Sabina's life. While not presented chronologically, the stories maintain a fairly linear progression. In the opening story, 'Lucho,' teenage Sabina becomes a persona non grata in her predominantly white neighborhood after her uncle's murder conviction. The tale unfolds as she forms an unexpected friendship with Lucho, a slightly older boy with a 'bad boy' reputation. 'Lucho' stands out as a five-star read, with Engel's understated prose skillfully conveying Sabina's teenage ennui, her sense of otherness, and her growing, confusing, attraction to Lucho.
However, other stories in the collection fall short of this impact. Two appear as writing exercises, prioritizing style over substance—one narrated in the second person, and another where Sabina refers to her current lover as 'you.' As Sabina moves from city to city, from lover to lover, her various boyfriends and partners blur together, lacking distinct personalities. I found myself wanting to learn more about Sabina's family, especially her parents. Sadly, only the first and final stories in Vida seem to feature them.
Despite these shortcomings, Engel's style, characterized by wry humor and a simultaneously muted yet touching tone, is appealing. Even in the less memorable stories, there are moments that resonate, often stemming from Sabina's introspections or conversations with others. Engel successfully incorporates diverse topics throughout the collection, dedicating entire chapters to events or themes such as eating disorders, domestic abuse, and 9/11. Her empathetic treatment of characters and their experiences, further adds depth to the narrative.
Readers who appreciated Frying Plantain by Zalika Reid-Benta are likely to find a similar appeal in Engel's work. I could also see Vida work for fans of Elisa Shua Dusapin or those seeking a dose of Y2K nostalgia...more
Sabrina & Corina is a touching collection of short stories. In these 11 stories Kali Fajardo-Anstine depicts the lives and experiences of Latinas in tSabrina & Corina is a touching collection of short stories. In these 11 stories Kali Fajardo-Anstine depicts the lives and experiences of Latinas in the United States (mainly in Denver, Colorado). Their everyday realities are marked by many social injustices: poverty, racism, sexism, addiction, parental neglect, emotional and physical abuse. While Fajardo-Anstine doesn't shy away from portraying their bleak circumstances, the stories never felt pessimistic or overwhelming depressing. As the characters are contending with grief and trauma—personal and generational—they find some solace in moments of connection, a sense of understanding or kinship, with others. The women in these stories also find comfort in taking part in or looking back to family traditions. These scenes gave the stories a rather bittersweet tone, one that perfectly complemented Fajardo-Anstine's tender yet bold prose. Motherhood, sisterhood, and female agency are at the heart of these 11 stories. While these overaching themes gave a sense of unity to the collection, their similarities—in tone, topics, and style—caused the less memorable stories to blur together (some of these were 'Sisters', 'Julian Plaza', and 'Any Further West'). The stories that really stood out to me were 'Sugar Babies', 'Sabrina & Corina', and 'Tomi'. 'Sugar Babies' was easily a 5 star read and my favourite in the whole collection (perhaps because Fajardo-Anstine faithfully renders the perspective of a young girl). Sabrina & Corina is a heart-rendering debut and I will be on the lookout for Fajardo-Anstine's future work....more
The Revolution of Birdie Randolph is a wholesome and thoughtful YA coming-of-age. Within the first chapter I was invested in Dove and her st3 ¾ stars
The Revolution of Birdie Randolph is a wholesome and thoughtful YA coming-of-age. Within the first chapter I was invested in Dove and her story. There was something so tender about her sensible yet sensitive narration that made me immediately care for her. The Revolution of Birdie Randolph follows sixteen-year-old Dove, also knows as Birdie, who is devoted to her studies, used to obey her parents' strict rules...that is until she starts seeing Booker. Knowing that her parents would disapprove of Booker's 'troubled' past, Birdie decides to keep their relationship secret. When Carlene, Birdie's estranged aunt, moves 'temporarily' in with Birdie and her parents after her latest stint in rehab...things get complicated. In spite of Carlene's fraught relationship with Birdie's mother, Birdie finds herself really connecting to her aunt. Unlike her parents, Carlene is open-minded and easy to talk to. As Birdie starts to really fall for Booker she begins to test her parents' rules, landing herself in a bit of trouble. There were some very genuine discussions about addiction, sex, coming out, and sexuality. The kids in this book are under all sorts of pressure: to succeed, to live up to their parents expectations, to prove themselves to a society that is quick to write them off. We are shown the positive and negative effects that this 'pressure' has: when Birdie sole focus becomes her studies, she has no time to switch off, to experience normal teen life (socialising with friends, doing something for fun, going to parties). The dialogue is engaging, the story has a great sense of place, and the characters are believably nuanced. While there is a revelation later in the narrative that might strike readers as slightly predictable, Birdie's reaction to this 'knowledge' is what counts. I really enjoyed reading this. It is a quick, but by no means superficial, read. The Revolution of Birdie Randolph is a sweet and affecting novel that I would thoroughly recommend to lovers of contemporary YA.
Ann Petry is a terrific writer. The precise way in which she articula| | blog | tumblr | ko-fi | |
“A woman living alone didn’t stand much chance.”
Ann Petry is a terrific writer. The precise way in which she articulates the thoughts and various state of minds of her characters brought to my mind the writing of Nella Larsen and Edith Wharton. But whereas I could stand the cynicism and tragic finales of Wharton's novels (in which usually horrible things happen to privileged, and often horrible, individuals) I had a hard time stomaching the ending in The Street.
Set in 1940s The Street follows Lutie Johnson, a single black mother, who moves on 116th Street in Harlem. Lutie is a resilient woman who has come to believe that through hard-work and self-sacrifice she can attain a level of happiness and prosperity. She also happens to be beautiful: white and black men treat like a sexual object, white women regard her with open contempt, and other black women tend to be jealous or suspicious of her. Lutie's daily existence is punctuated by racism, sexism, and classism. Witnessing the violence, desperation, and death around her reinforces her desire to escape her neighbourhood and the growingly inappropriate behaviour of her building's super, an unstable man named Jones.
Through flashbacks we learn more of the characters' history, such as the dissolution of Lutie's marriage and Jones' time in the navy. Scenes take their time to unfold as the narrative is focused less on action and more on character interiority. Petry allows her readers to view the world through their eyes and at times this can be quite jarring. Jones' disturbed thoughts are troubling indeed and his growing obsession with Lutie is guaranteed to make readers as uncomfortable as reading from Humbert Humbert's perspective. Petry demonstrates how gifted a writer she is by outlining his skewed worldview and disordered thinking, so much so that I was afraid of being inside his head. Petry also gives two other women in Lutie's building a voice: there is the watchful—and formidable—Mrs. Hedges who runs a brothel and Min, a seemingly docile woman who lives with—and is abused by—Jones. There are also portions of the narrative centred around Boots, yet another man who wants Lutie for himself. Petry once again showcases her skill by making us sympathise, however briefly, with a character such as Boots (who happens to be a rather reprehensible human being). Throughout the course of the narrative Lutie tries to overcome obstacles and hardships. Her dignity and strength made her into an admirable character. As a single black mother Lutie is subjected to a myriad of injustices, and as her preoccupation with money—and leaving 'the street'—grows, she unwittingly pushes her son towards Jones.
Petry brings to life—more for worse than better—the city in which her characters move in. She renders the cacophony on the streets as well as the atmosphere within closed spaces (like the charged and suffocating atmosphere in Jones' apartment). I really liked the rhythm of Petry prose, created in part thanks to the repetition of certain specific words, phrases, and ideas. While I loved how perceptive Petry was in registering the nuances of her characters' different moods and thoughts, I was exhausted by how relentlessly depressing her story was (throughout the narrative women are slapped around, threatened with physical assault, intimidated, or are treated as if belonging to a lesser species). Given Petry's disenchanted portrayal of the American dream, I wasn't expecting a rosy finale. Still, I was quite bitter about the way she ends things. While I understand that it is a realistic ending, I didn't find the Bub/Jones situation to be all that credible.
Readers who prefer fast-paced or plot-driven novel may want to skip this one but those who are interested in a meticulous character study should definitely consider picking this long-overlooked classic up. While I'm not necessarily 'happy' to have read this book (I'm not a sadist), Petry's adroit social commentary and captivating prose are worth reading.
“I wondered if all daughters fought with their mothers this way when they grew up.”
Frying Plantain presents its readers with a vibrant coming-of-age. Through the course of twelve chapters Zalika Reid-Benta captures a girl's transition from childhood to adolescence into young adulthood. But this is far from a conventional Bildungsroman as within each chapter Reid-Benta hones in on a particular moment of her protagonist's life, playing with perspective and style. Kara Davis, a second-generation Canadian, feels divided between her Canadian nationality and her Jamaican heritage. Kara lives in Toronto with her hardworking single mother. Everyone Kara knows seems to find fault with her: her relatives, her mother in particular, scold her for her “impertinence”, while her peers often tease her for being too “soft” or a goody two shoes. In most chapters Kara learns a lesson of sorts. In the opening chapter Kara, who has just returned from a trip to Jamaica, begins to tell a rather tall tale about a pig head to impress her classmates and her neighbourhood's children (who aren't as gullible as the white kids). As her story becomes increasingly fantastical, she lands herself in a spot of trouble. In the following chapter, which takes place a few years later, Kara becomes the victim of a cruel prank by her 'friends'. Another chapter revolves around a somewhat tense Christmas dinner at her grandparents house. While the chapters can be read as a series self-contained narratives, read as a whole Frying Plantain provides its reader with a detailed and nuanced story of growing up. The fraught mother-daughter bond between Kara and her mother is present at each stage of Kara's life. This pressure to succeed, to excel, drives Kara and her mother apart. Kara's mother too has a troubled relationship with her mother. While the tension between these women often results in disagreements and fights, Reid-Benta conveys the love and affection that underlines their 'difficult' relationships (mothers wanting their daughters to achieve what they themselves couldn't). Reid-Benta vividly renders family tensions, the gap between generations, the self-divide created by Kara's Canadian nationality and her Black identity. The realism of Reid-Benta dialogues was utterly captivating. During the first chapters I was struck by Reid-Benta's ability to so accurately portray a child's mind. The last few chapters did loose me somewhat as I was more interested in Kara's early experiences. Nevertheless this is a great debut novel and I look forward to reading whatever Reid-Benta will write next....more
Bad Love is a compelling debut novel that is part modern love story, part coming of age. The novel's narrato| | blog | tumblr | ko-fi | |
3 ½ stars
Bad Love is a compelling debut novel that is part modern love story, part coming of age. The novel's narrator and protagonist recounts her first relationship, one that blurred the line between 'good' love and 'bad' love. Ekuah, a British-Ghanaian university student in London, meets Dee on a night out with her friends. From this very first encounter, Ekuah feels a pull towards him. Dee is attractive, ambitious, and possesses an air of mystery. While Ekuah is inexperienced in love, she is not wholly naïve. Dee's casual attitude towards their relationship soon begins to test their bond. They exchange bitter words, give each other the silent treatment, they make up, only to fight and make up again. Dee clearly prioritises his music and career over Ekuah, yet he also seem happy to have Ekuah to himself. After eighteen months together, Dee ghosts Ekuah: he doesn't reply to her texts or calls, nor does he show himself when Ekuah looks for him at his place. Ekuah is devastated. After graduating Ekuah meets Jay. The two find themselves growing closer thanks to their community-oriented work, and together they organise poetry events. Ekuah, smarting from Dee's 'disappearance', is the uncertain one in this relationship. Her feelings are further complicated by Dee's 'reappearance' into her life and by her parents' crumbling relationship. While Blue brilliantly renders all of the places Ekuah visits (such as Venice and Accra), when writing about London, the setting truly comes alive. Ekuah's voice will undoubtedly hold her readers' attention. I deeply emphasised with her, even if she wasn't necessarily always 'good' or 'kind', especially where her mother was concerned. Yet, Ekuah's vulnerabilities are rendered with clarity, and I felt on her behalf. Through Ekuah's story, Blue presents her readers with a realistic portrait of love, one that definitely doesn't view love through rose-tinted glasses. While not much happens in terms of plot, Ekuah's evolving relationships—with Dee, Jay, her parents—had me captivated. Blue's scintillating prose, her realistic examination of the many faces of love, her nuanced and realistic characters, make for a truly heart-rendering read. The ending is perhaps the only aspect of Bad Love that I found slightly unsatisfied. And a teensy part of me wishes that the Mafia had been left out of Ekuah's lightening trip to Italy. Still, I thoroughly recommend this read, especially to those who prefer realistic love stories.
Klara and the Sun presents its readers with a quiet yet touching meditation on life. In a similar fashion as Never Let Me Go Kazuo Ishiguro's foray into the speculative realm is deeply grounded in the mundane. Yet, in spite of its ordinary trappings, Klara and the Sun is a work that is brimming with ambiguities. Ishiguro excels at this type of narrative, ones in which ordinary scenes and interactions are interrupted by moments of unquiet. The near future of Klara and the Sun comes to us slowly, and even in the end, much of it remains unknown to us. Our narrator Klara, an Artificial Friend, an android whose primary function is that of providing companionship to children. From the confines of her store, Klara has but a limited view of the outside world. Through the store window, she watches passersby, taking notice of their behaviors, appearances, the emotions they seem to manifest. Klara reveres the Sun, which every day provides her with 'nourishment'.
Klara is purchased as an AF for Josie, a girl afflicted by an unnamed illness. In her new home, Klara learns more about people and their incongruities. Klara's purpose is to be there for Josie, but, even she cannot seem to be of any help when it comes to Josie's illness. Josie, who lives with her mother (who Klara refers to as 'the mother') and their somewhat brusque housekeeper ('Melania housekeeper'). As time goes by, through Klara, we learn more about this near future. There are communities of post-employed, there are lifted and unlifted children, and both Josie and 'the mother' seem to have mysterious 'plans' up their sleeves.
Klara's child-like narration belies her unsettling reality. From the way children treat their companions, to the lengths parents will go to provide their children with the best chance at succeeding in life, the world Klara witnesses is far from reassuring. In spite of its domestic setting, which takes us from the kitchen to the living room, and with the occasional foray into the outside, Ishiguro explores questions of love, freedom, and memory. And, of course, humanity. What makes us human? What makes me, me?
Ishiguro provides no easy answers or solutions, depicting instead the different ways Klara and those around react to the same worries and fears. Klara is often a witness to crucial exchanges. Yet, her passive role does not mean that she is unable to understand a certain situation/conversation or the motivations and emotions of those involved. The simplicity, one could even say purity, of her voice might annoy some readers, especially those who are looking for more complex or ambivalent narrators. Still, I grew quite fond of her, and there were many instances in which she struck me as more human than the actual humans. One thing that I am unsure of is why Klara—who usually does not describe the physical appearance of others—noticed, in two different instances, that one of the people in her vicinity was Black. As far as I can remember, she does not comment on anyone else's race or ethnicity (we learn that Melania is European through her accented English and another mother making a comment about European housekeepers). Klara guesses Josie's friend's accent but only after talking to him. So why would an android who usually does not describe those around her as white or would notice that someone is Black? Was this Ishiguro pointing to this: Rise of the racist robots – how AI is learning all our worst impulses ? Or that Klara was designed after a white person or to have a white person’s perspective? Otherwise it just seems odd.
There were also certain plot points that felt a bit too neat, especially towards the end. And while I am always appreciative of Ishiguro's prose, of his ability to capture ephemeral emotions and thoughts, of the ambiguous nature of his stories, I found myself wishing for more. Josie, alongside her mother and neighbors, never earned their way into my heart. That is to say, I felt at a distance from them. The tension between them was certainly palpable and well rendered but, ultimately, I found them somewhat dull. Although I wasn’t blown away by this novel I did overall enjoy it. Klara is the novel's star, and I found her to be a deeply compelling protagonist who challenged my notions of 'human'. Readers who prefer faster-paced narratives may want to give this one a large berth but if you were a fan of Never Let Me Go you might find this to be just as gripping (I, for one, finished in less than 24 hours).
re-read: ishiguro's surreal realism is lulling indeed. some of the dialogues may sound slightly off but, given the dystopianesque setting, i didn't particularly mind. josie was annoying as f*ck, and i get that she's sick however that doesn't entirely exonerate her from her sh*tty behaviour. melania teetered on being rather stereotypical, and i am a bit tired of british/american authors (or authors who write in english) who throw into their story mix a character, often in the form of a brusque older woman, from an unspecified 'eastern european' country as a source of humor because their english is (supposedly) 'funny' and their un-english ways are (supposedly) just as 'funny'. this aside, i still found this to be a thought-provoking read that gives way to questions about human nature, freedom, and altruism. ishiguro also incorporates many discussions and scenarios about the difficulties of parenting and of being parented (with the children having often no choice in decisions that will affect them for the rest of their lives, or being kept in the dark about matters that directly concern them)....more
“Secretly, he wants to be the hero. He wants to be the difference-maker. All his life, he's wanted to be the person rescuing someone or something. But who rescues the rescuer?”
The Summer of Everything tells a very wholesome story, part coming of age, part romance, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it. Our protagonist, Wesley Hudson, has just graduated from high school and is eager to make the most of his summer. While his parents are abroad, he has plenty of freedom and time to figure out what he wants to major in at UCLA. Wes hopes that during the summer he will just enjoy his time working able at Once Upon a Page, an indie bookstore that means the world to him, and maybe finally confessing his feelings to his best-friend, Nico. When he discovers that a coffeeshop franchise is intent on buying out Once Upon a Page, Wes is crushed. When his attempts to come clean to Nico also don't go as hoped and his older and 'golden' brother begins checking up on him, Wes feels understandably stressed. Alongside the other Once Upon a Page employees Wes hatches a plan to save the store, and the experience brings all of them closer together. When the end of summer approaches however Wes feels the threat of 'adulthood' all the more strongly. This book is a truly enjoyable read. Wes' geekiness make him into a likeable protagonists, while his insecurities about his future make him all the more relatable. The mega-crush he harbours towards Nico will have him pining, a lot. Thankfully he has plenty of friends to keep his mind occupied, and while romance doesn't play a part in his story, character growth and platonic relationship are at the fore of his narrative. Wes contends with family pressure, wanting to succeed or to choose the 'right' path, as well as with his misgivings towards his older brother, whom he sees as an impeccable adult. The friends in this novel are wonderful. Their banter is entertaining, especially when they are working together and talking about music, and their conversations are guaranteed to make you smile.They are also incredibly supportive of one another. While Wes is the focus of the novel, his friends are also given their own storylines, which made them all the more dimensional. I loved the self-awareness of this novel, the way Wes would often compare his life to a Netflix movie (usually in a 'I wish' sort of way), and while the structure of his story is very reminiscent of those movies, the narrative didn't feel clichéd (perhaps because it was so meta). I also really appreciated the comic book references (I was a former comic aficionado) and to YA books & authors (even Holly Black gets a mention!). Winters treats his characters anxieties and fears without condescension and without minimising their feelings. And this book is so wonderfully diverse: we have a gay mc, bisexual, lesbian, ace, and non-binary side characters. Winters also has scenes in which Wes discusses race and privilege with his colleague, Zay (Wes is biracial and 'passes'). I wish we'd gotten more scenes between Wes & Nico and Wes & his brother but that is a very minor 'criticism'. What I could have done without was the quasi-love-triangle, but hey, it didn't really interfere with my overall reading experience (which was very positive). Overall, this one was a sweet read. The romance was cute and so were the friendships, there is humor, there is some drama, and an overaching theme of self-acceptance and self-discovery. If you are a fan of Kacen Callender, Lev A.C. Rosen, or YA books like You Should See Me in a Crown, you should definitely consider picking this one up.
luce (cry baby)
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Books:
4-good-reads
(373)
