I am perplexed, because when I went to read about this book there was a lot of somewhat negative reviews. That, in itself, is fine but confusing when I seemed hard pressed to find a single negative things about My Absolute Darling, which was terrible. Perhaps because people were comparing Future Home of the Living God to Louise Erdrich’s other books? And also she is a woman?

I have only read one other Louise Erdrich book, I believe it was Love Medicine but I truly remember nothing about it, even after reading a description of the novel. So maybe I’m not that good of a reader after all (that is actually half of why I started this blog, so that I could document what I have read and remember it better). Anyways, my point is, unlike many other people I know, I am not yet an avid Louise fanatic, so I didn’t have a lot to compare this book to, which may have made it easier for me to enjoy it.

I still haven’t read a book that just walloped me with it’s amazingness, but honestly I feel like those books are few and far between and have just as much to do with when you read them as with how well they are written. But I did enjoy this book. It felt like a combination of The Handmaid’s Tale and Flight Behavior. 

The story is of adoptee Cedar Hawk Songmaker, whose birth parents are Native American and adoptive parents are liberal hippies. Cedar discovers she is pregnant just as America is morphing into a new dystopian civilization where children are rare and the government is rounding up all the pregnant women and housing them, presumably to take their children as soon as they are born (but under the “guise” of offering care for the pregnant women during these rough times). As the world begin to unravel Cedar reaches out to her birth mother, to try to learn more about her genetic history and about her roots as she prepares for her new baby to come. And so the story goes from there. (Maybe I shouldn’t call these book reviews, as I never actual describe the plot of the books, but I figure you have the internet and you can find a description if you’re really interested. Chances are the only people who read book reviews are the people who already read the book, and they don’t really need a play by play of the plot).

It was definitely a dystopian future type book, but it felt lighter and almost comedic. I think some readers felt that the book was lacking dimension, but I felt like that might have been what she was going for. Taking a thing that is very serious, and showing us the ways in which, as humans, we adapt to the new normal and finding some amount of humor in what is objectively a dark and troubling scenario. Perhaps that was not at all her intention, but I enjoyed that the book felt strangely uneventful in the midst of the whole world falling about and Cedar being in nearly constant danger. After having read so many books about dystopian futures this one felt oddly refreshing, as though it just wasn’t taking itself too seriously. It was still gripping and I wanted to know what was going to happen next, but it was muted and softly comedic, which offered a lightness to the book that I enjoyed.

 

Wowowowoww I hated this book. It made me feel gross. Essentially, the book is about Turtle, a 14 year old girl who is growing up in a strange and precarious environment. I suspect that we are supposed to see Turtle as this amazingly fierce independent girl, fighting against impossible odds. But honestly all I could think was “WHO THE FUCK WROTE THIS?” and probable a quarter of the way through I thought “huh, I bet this was written by a man” and then I looked it up and sure enough.

Turtle is, theoretically, a super bad ass young lady. But something felt off. There are so many horrendous things that happen through out the book, but the horrendous things were not in themselves off putting. It was more so that a person has put so much time and energy into imagining and painting these horrendous scenarios. As I have not experienced abuse, I feel like it is maybe unfair for me to say, but I felt a little insulted for abuse survivors when reading this book. It felt like if a white man tried to write an in depth story about the struggle of being a woman of color. The author is a man and while it is possible he has experienced abuse, he certainly has never endured the type of abuse Turtle is subject to in the book. It felt gross. It was overly detailed in certain realms (I felt like I was reading an NRA magazine with all the in depth descriptions of guns) and yet seemed to delve very little into what the characters were actually feeling.

To be fair, I think he was trying to show the ways in which young people experiencing abuse whose world is built around their abusers perhaps do not have the tools to process what is happening to them. But I just didn’t believe it. It doesn’t seem ok to take all these terrible things that happen to real people to use them to write an entertaining story. I didn’t feel like there was a deeper message to the story. I don’t feel like I learned something. I don’t feel like I was entertained. Granted, I did read the book all the way through and I did read it rapidly. But less because it was a page turner and more because I just wanted to get it over with.

I have read plenty of upsetting memoirs and yes, they are hard to read but I find that there is heart to them. Usually my take away is, for better or worse, people are amazingly adaptable and everyone’s experience is “normal” to them. It is not a story being told to present all the gory details of their life, it is just a means of explaining who they are and what they have learned by being who they are. A “here are the illuminated cities at the center of me” (Richard Siken). This book did not feel like that, maybe partially because it was fiction and felt so obviously fictional to me. It felt like it was gruesome for the sake of being gruesome, and gruesomeness in itself is not interesting.

Anyways, honestly skip it, don’t read it, and don’t get accidentally confuse it for one of the other thousand books that came out in the last few years with a similar “floral/plant wallpaper” book cover, which seems to be the trend these days.

I got a little side tracked by change and I’ve been trying to just experience things instead of analyze them and mourn them and honestly, writing isn’t always conducive to that. So I may have missed a few books along the way, but I’ll be the first to admit these aren’t ground breaking book reviews, so I think we will all survive.

Here is why you should read the books that are sitting in your house: they’re probably good! This is what I discovered about Flight Behavior, which has been sitting in my room for 4 years. Poisonwood Bible was the first Kingsolver I ever read and quite honestly one of the things that sparked my interest in Africa and the long history of colonization of that giant continent that we tend to know so little about. I also read The Bean Trees which I oddly remember so little of. I have settled on the opinion that I am a Barbara Kingsolver fan.

Flight Behavior is a story about Dellorabia, a 28 year old mother of two from a small impoverished farming town with few prospects of escape and how her life is changed when some monarch butterflies get lost in migration and end up settling on Dellorabia’s land. And I loved it. It shows the ways in which small changes cause slow, long ripples, perhaps a metaphor for global warming, which is a big theme of the story as well.

I mostly read books for characters and if I can’t like a character then I often have trouble liking the book. But this one was chock full of wonderful characters. Kingsolver has a way of making her characters feel real, and of making you love them in thew way you can only when you see the whole of someone.

To be honest, I’m no good at book reviews in the sense of giving a rough outline of the story the book tells. The story of butterflies was much less intriguing to me than the story of Dellorabia, but what can I say, I’m a people person. Dellorabia came across as a hero, in my mind. A woman who was not given many opportunities and ended up following the path of least resistance, because that is just what we do sometimes, even when it is not in our own best interest. Dellorabia is kind and open minded but ultimately willful. Some part of her is always fighting against complacency, and I admired that. It was a joy to watch her character grow into her agency. I hope to learn something from her myself.

The book serves as a reminder that we tend to live in our own bubbles and usually fail to look outside the comfort of them. That we can all be a little too self-righteous and unforgiving. It shows us the growing pains of being humans and the ways in which our growth is never-ending, whether or not we like it. Me, I hate that. The people who have known me my whole life know the extent of my resistance to change. I don’t like it. I process it too slowly. I find that it hurts too much. And yet. It is constant and inevitable and maybe there is some benefit in learning to let it wash over you and maybe even creating change for yourself (she admits begrudgingly), despite the aches and pains involved. Perhaps this is easier than digging your heals in and fighting against it. I suspect this will be the lesson I have to learn and relearn, my whole life.

Anyways, read it!

 

I read this book over a brief weekend getaway and it was the perfect easy and engaging book for a weekend of reading by the stove. It was not, by any means, the greatest book I have ever read, but it kept me interested. The story focuses on the Butler sisters, and follows them as they try to figure out how to take care of their nieces after the oldest sister, Althea and her husband are arrested. It is an interesting study in family dynamics and while I certainly enjoyed the story and wanted to know what happened next, I felt like the book lacked a little depth. There were so many story lines and I felt outside of the story but wanted to be fully submerged.

I am starting to wonder if there is something wrong with me because I haven’t read a book that I have loved in a while. Maybe my empathy is broken. I just want to read one that cracks my heart wide open. In any case, this book did not offer me that, but it did keep me interested. I read it in two days and did not put it down. But already the characters are blurry to me and I feel like that is because the author, Anissa Gray, just lightly delved into each character. They never felt totally real to me. The story is told through the three sisters, each chapter alternating between characters so that you get a story that is pieced together from multiple points of view. The only thing is, each character felt reserved. Even though it was told through first person narration I felt like each character was keeping me at arm’s length. Maybe there was a reason for it, but I didn’t find it effective.

I do think I often read books less for the stories they tell and more for the characters, if that makes sense. I like a book to have a plot and maybe the faintest glimmer of an obtuse message, but mostly I read books as a study in humans. So books that focus on the story more than the characters involved in the story usually fail to wow me. I keep thinking and comparing everything to my #1 book of all time The Brothers K by David James Duncan. The characters in that book are everything. The story is also important, but the characters are so real and complicated and consistent. I love the way you get to watch the characters grow up in the book, and how they always seem to true to themselves, even when it is to their own detriment.

I didn’t get that from this book. I felt like there was something missing. I also didn’t hate this book, by any means. I enjoyed it and would probably tell people to read it as it was quick and enjoyable. But I am ready for a book that makes me laugh and cry and feel all the feelings. So if anyone has any recommendations for me, get at me!

 

I am doing my reviews out of order this time, but that is only because I had strong feelings about this book and wanted to write about it while it was still fresh. Young Evie Boyd is in the difficult and strange of adolescence to adulthood. At the beginning of the summer before her Freshman year of high school Evie has a falling out with her best friend and her parents are transitioning out of their marriage, making her even more vulnerable and impressionable than teenage girls already are. She starts hanging out with crew of “free spirits” who live in a run down house on some land in rural SoCal. The leader of the crew is a charismatic older man named Russel, a wannabe musician who claims to be all about free love but really just preys on young women and uses his ideology and charismatic personality to sleep with them. The book is heavily inspired by Charles Manson and the Manson family.

I’ll give it to you straight: I did not like this book. While I appreciated commentary on how shitty it is to be a teenage girl, how everyone is predatory and constantly trying to sexualize you and then blame you for it, the whole book felt very forced to me. It didn’t feel true, it felt like a creative writing class exercise. The book felt over written and while other reviews I read said they thought the language and metaphors were beautiful, they felt sort of like literary fluff to me. I too, have fallen victim to the trend of serial killer obsession but it felt like this book was monopolizing on the times we are in and it made me feel gross in the same way the docu-series and podcasts that dissect different cults and serial killers do. It IS fascinating but makes me feel a little queasy, to be entertained by this true and horrifying situations.

Maybe it’s not fair for me to say the book felt disingenuous, as I am sure that author Emma Cline has plenty of first hand experience at being a teenage girl and the awful discomfort and wariness that women have to carry with them. But it felt like she was drilling each point home too hard, and that made it feel fake to me, even though I know it to be very very real. It felt like a caricature of a feeling where I wanted there to be actual feeling. The characters weren’t like-able, which I suspect was the point, but I found myself barely caring about them or what happened to them, even though logically I knew I should sympathize with them or at least spend more time analyzing their choices and why they made them.

The story fell flat, for me, and I think that made me feel extra frustrated because I wanted this book to be something more. Books helps create empathy and I wanted people who read it to see their own struggles as teenage girls reflected or to grow to understand all the bullshit that women are put through, so often forced to experience themselves through men’s eyes and interactions with them. I felt like the book cheapened that experience. The descriptions felt heavy handed and unnatural, as though a story was being relayed, rather than told naturally. It felt like a practice in imagination and that annoyed me. But I would love to hear what other people thought, because I have been known to have strong and somewhat stubborn book opinions that are changed after I discuss different aspects. Sometimes there are things that I was missing that don’t come to light until someone else points them out to me.

I decided to get on the Michelle Obama train because I love her and I wanted to see what the fuss was about. And because my long-distance book club had chosen as our book.

It was definitely a fascinating read, though I wouldn’t necessarily attribute that to the writing. It seems like writing memoirs is the trend these days and I’m not opposed, I just wish that everyone had the platform to do so. If everyone had their own book I would probably spend my days reading them. So the writing left something to be desired, but the story did not. It was so nice to read a story that felt like it truly revolved around Michelle. When I first picked up the book I think I had this feeling it would still revolve around Barack, but it was all about her. This shouldn’t be revolutionary, but it felt as though it was. The stories of women are so often told through the lens of the men they are partnered with and it was refreshing to hear Michelle’s story, to see a different side of a story I was already familiar with.

Being a first lady is hard (as being a woman tends to be). On the one hand you have to work so hard to be taken seriously and at the same time you are constantly judged so harshly. Especially since Michelle is a black woman. She had to be so careful about how she presented herself, but she also fought hard to stay true to herself. Even throughout the book though, you get a sense of restraint as though she is still being careful and guarding herself against saying something too controversial. Michelle (and Barack) had to sacrifice so much “normalcy” to become President and First Lady. I remember as a kid thinking “why would anyone want to be President?” The lack of leggings and sweatpants as a part of the daily attire is already enough to turn me off. I like being able to move through the world and to have little to no restraints on how I dress or act or what activities are participate in.

Michelle worked hard to use her position to make a positive influence and she continues to do so. The book re-affirmed my belief that the Obamas were the most relatable First family in the sense that neither Barack or Michelle grew up immersed in wealth and politics. I was happy to read an honest telling of what it is like to transition from being a “regular” person to living in the white house. I was glad that the book did not really focus on politics, it focused on the personal, with the politics being in the periphery. It is easy to forget the people in politics are humans (which is why so many people, myself included, are stoked on AOC, she constantly shows us that she is a person, not just a politician).

All that being said, it was not the greatest book I have ever read. I am grateful that Michelle uses her platform to try to lift up women and people of color, but I also wish that other women and people of color and trans people of color had bigger platforms to tell their extraordinary stories. As I said earlier, memoirs are a trend, but only for people who have some amount of fame. I love Phoebe Robinson, Tina Fey, Amy Pohler, and the many women who are telling their stories because I do think it is important for women to have people to look up to and to hear their stories of success. But there are so many marginalized folx with extraordinary inspirational stories and people don’t read them because those folx aren’t famous yet.  So I appreciate the memoir phenomenon but I wish that people would spend their time reading the stories of people who are, seemingly, completely different from them. Because, as mentioned before, I believe reading creates empathy and understanding and helps bridge gaps by showing that ultimately, despite all the differences in how we experience the world, we can all find ways to relate to and understand and uplift each other.

As a reader, I could do a better job of following my own advice. So please send me recommendations. And I’ll leave you with a few of my own:

First They Killed My Father: A Daughter of Cambodia Remembers by Loung Ung

When They Call You a Terrorist by Patrisse Khan-Cullors & asha bandele

The Girl with Seven Names: A North Korean Defectors Story by Hyeonseo Lee & Davi John

The Argonauts by Maggie Nelson

 

First of all: you know what’s cool? Libraries. But more on that later. I don’t think of myself as a giant Zadie Smith fan and yet I find myself reading almost every single one of her books. So I guess I’m a fan after all. Though NW wasn’t my favorite. Swing Time made up for it. Zadie has a way of capturing the complexity of humans. All of her characters are imperfect. A lot of them are not even like-able. But she has a way of developing them that make you empathetic to their human condition. (And yes, I 100% believe that reading books teaches you to be more empathetic). Her characters can often be harsh but she finds a way to soften you towards them.

Swing Time follows the life of two girls: the narrator and her friend Tracey and the different paths their lives end up taking. I didn’t even notice until looking up the main characters names that we are never given the name of the narrator. I think this reflects the fact that the narrator tends to spend a lot of her time in someone else’s shadow. During childhood she is often outshone by Tracey, who is a beautiful dancer and just generally has an outspoken and magnetic demeanor. Later in life, the narrator gets a job as an assistant to a famous pop star, a Madonna, of sorts. The narrator’s abilities tend to go unrecognized by her, and those around her.

Smith does a great job of studying the complexities of friendship and familial relationships. The narrator has a difficult relationship with her mother, a relationship which develops and grows through out the book but never really gets easier. I love the way Smith paints relationships. They always feel real and genuine, she understands the difficulty of humanness and how painful it is to love someone and be loved by someone.

I think the only thing that keeps me from truly loving Smith is that her books, for me, contain so little joy. She is so good at creating dynamic characters and relationships, but the characters so often struggle to connect with one another. I think the difficulty of loving someone and trying to grow with them is real, but I think that life contains so many small moments of accidental love and understanding and sometimes Smith makes life feel a little flat. She captures the struggle without always capturing the small victories. But maybe I am just a naive sucker who likes to focus on the little glimmer of light.

In any case. I still thought it was great and would recommend.

 

There is a reason I should write book reviews immediately after I finish reading the book. Otherwise I find that my thoughts start to blend together with my thoughts on the book I am currently immersed in. A few years ago I read some sort of book blog or list about only reading books by women of color for a whole year, and while I have yet to do that I do make a conscious effort to not read only books by white dudes. For so long most of my favorite books were by white men and I don’t thin this is intrinsically wrong, but it was also largely due to the fact that a majority of the books I was reading were by white dudes. So, in general, I try to be more conscious about diversifying my reading selection, because I do believe that reading teaches us empathy and helps paint the world more broadly for us and the more diversity, the larger the scope. In any case, I decided to only read books by black women for black history month a tradition I think I will continue in years to come.

ANYWAYS, The Mothers, was highly enjoyable. It’s a pretty quick read about friendship, grief, and growing up. Nadia and Aubrey are unlikely friends who meet the summer after Nadia’s mother dies, the summer after their senior year of high school. It follows the complicated ways in which their lives interweave and disconnect as they grow up. I don’t know that it was revelatory or terribly beautiful but it was a nice character study and easy to read. I found myself reading it quickly, as I wanted to know what happened to each character. I appreciated all of the characters and the ways in which they interacted with each other. I particularly enjoyed the development of Nadia’s relationship with her dad, which is quite strained after her mother’s death. The book talks about abortion and religion and about how the decisions made when you are younger can continue to influence the decisions you make the rest of your life. And how decisions that were made for you or things that were not decisions at all but mere happenstance can continue to shape you as you grow.

In some ways, it felt like the book moved through time too fast. Like there were gaps of time that were missing or certain parts of the characters lives that went overlooked. But isn’t that just sort of the way life is? Chunks of time unaccounted for and so often, ending up in the same places we started? A lot of things happen through out the book, but in another way, nothing happens at all. It feels sort of like real life, hard, happy, tragic, confusing with hope being found in the places you didn’t expect and missing completely from the places you did. So, I guess I liked it. I wouldn’t put it on my list of favorite books of all time, but it is definitely worth a read.

 

 

Let me give you a run down on the Weetzie Bat series in case you aren’t familiar. They are cheesy and over-the-top but also magical YA books and while they are certainly not perfect, they are also not completely heteronormative and sexist, which is a win in my book. I loved them as a kid (and continue to love them). Necklace of Kisses is a follow up to this series, written after Weetzie is older and her kids are all grown up. My-Secret-Agent-Lover-Man (her partner… I know, I warned you they were cheesy) has been wallowing in the wickedness of the world, leaving Weetzie to feel a little abandoned. As if he has a monopoly on darkness. Men, I’ve noticed, do this sometimes. Tell you they are evil or carry a darkness as if this will impress us, or scare us, or make us love them more. As if their darkness is greater than ours. As if we don’t walk with our keys between our knuckles. As if we don’t absorb each others stories.

Anyways, Weetzie, feeling neglected lonely, and stuck since her partner is busy wallowing and her children have went off to college decides it is time for her to go on her own adventure, though she isn’t quite sure what she is looking for. So she goes to the pink hotel where she has a number of encounters and makes a bunch of new friends, runs into some old friends, and maybe makes an enemy or two. It’s the perfect bath or weekend read when you need something short but sweet. It’s utterly ridiculous, but in the best possible way. Weetzie is all about friendship and exploring people’s wonderful oddities and embracing the magical. Sometimes we all need that. It was nice to have a book in which Weetzie is focused on herself, as so much of the rest of the series is her out looking for love or focusing on My-Secret-Agent-Lover-Man or on her kids.

There are definitely some questionable parts of the series, I would say Weetzie and her little circle of friends and family do some cultural appropriation and some of the characters teeter on being stereotypes. That being said the books definitely provide an alternative take on what life can be and certainly encourage you to embrace the different and the strange, which I appreciated when I read them when I was younger and continue to appreciate now. I probably wouldn’t read this one without reading some of the other Weetzie books first, just because they add a lot of context for this one. They are short and quick though, you could probably read all of them in one snow day.

 

 

In an attempt to write more and to encourage myself to read more (last year was sort of dismal in terms of reading) I have opted to write little book reviews/book inspired tangents. And maybe other things, seeing as I’ve been rather quiet on the writing front for the last year and I’d like to get back into it. I feel a little sheepish, since I haven’t been writing and haven’t felt good about most the things I have managed to muster, but book reviews seem like a safe starting point.

I was sold on Krakauer after reading Missoula. From the books I have read, Krakauer has a way of telling a story without inserting himself in it. While he certainly curates the story, he lets it be told by those who actually experienced it. I like that about him. It feels more like he is relaying the story than trying to take ownership of it. He just finds stories he thinks are intriguing and important and then shares them with the rest of the world.

Under the Banner of Heaven was intriguing, terrifying, and at times, honestly, boring. The book centers around the story of the Lafferty Brothers, who famously murdered their sister-in-law and niece, claiming that they were Prophets and that God had asked them to do so. He sort of alternates between telling this story and the story of the history of Mormonism. I know this book tends to focus on the more extreme areas of Mormonism, so I am not trying to over generalize, but damn was it sexist. Violently sexist. Men using God as an excuse to do whatever they want to women and to follow their every whim in general. Men who suffer from narcissistic personality disorder believing themselves to be prophets and mistaking their most violent urges for messages straight from God. There was no lightness or kindness or faith involved in most of these men’s stories. It was just men, following their egos and putting it under the guise of religion. And when someone refused to follow them or obey them or criticized them in any way, they were quick to blame it on a lack of faith or the devil.

Religion is complex. But I see its benefits. While I don’t believe in much that is concrete I believe so strongly in kindness and I think that some versions of religious practice encourage more kindness. I believe in community and the power of being supported and embraced by the people around you. But the particular people and stories that Krakauer touched upon had none of this. They were about men who wanted power and used God as an excuse as well as a tool to get it.

I’ll be honest, while I was fascinated by the general history of Mormonism, I got a little bored with how in depth some of the book went. It felt, at time, a little like reading a history book and I struggled to keep track of who was who. The history portions did teach me that as well as being very sexist, Mormonism has very racist roots as well. Not really shocking though seeing as it was a religion started by a bunch of white dudes.

I’m trying to watch Season 2 of Handmaid’s tale and it is hard because it is so brutal and feels like it is just one dimension away from our reality sometimes. There’s a parallel between this and the book, I just haven’t quite put my finger on it yet. Men wanting to control women and doing it under the guise of faith, I think.

Well, I tried. I don’t think I’ll be getting a pulitzer for these ramblings, but it felt good to write with a purpose again instead of just writing the same anxious thoughts down over and over and over again. Thanks for checking in, I’m sure I’ll have more soon.