jayisreading's reviews
503 reviews

El Saadawi packs a punch in this relatively short novel with great intensity and frankness to unveil life for many women in Arab societies. She was more than prepared to point out the hypocrisies of men in particular who claim to uphold traditions (cultural and religious, which have their overlaps) while simultaneously twisting them for their own benefit to take advantage of women. El Saadawi doesn’t shy away from describing the terrible things that her protagonist, Firdaus, went through for most of her life. Yet, in spite of everything, Firdaus remained resilient and determined to pursue justice for not only her but also with other women in mind. The novel is not meant for the reader to draw the conclusion that all men are terrible (though there certainly are a lot of terrible men in the world) but, rather, El Saadawi pointing out that anyone (but men, especially) can abuse their power in a society that favors those who uphold patriarchal values to oppress others (notably, women).

On a more technical and structural level, I did find that the novel got a little repetitive. I’m not entirely sure if this was intentional or a result of the English translation, but it was something that stuck out to me a fair bit, especially considering how short the book is. Despite this, I did find that El Saadawi’s message is a powerful and important one, and I’m so glad to see more feminist writers from the global majority sharing these stories.

I so desperately wanted to like this novel, but it ended up failing to meet my expectations. I think the ideas and concepts Chong was playing with were intriguing, but something about the way he delivered these through his writing style and the structural choices just didn’t work for me, and I found them a bit tedious. I was really struggling to follow what exactly was happening, and I can’t help but wonder if this was a result of not being in the headspace for a novel that clearly required a little more brain power than your average book.

I’d like to revisit Flux in the future, perhaps when I’m in the headspace to handle multiple, intertwining narratives with mind-bending details that all seem to matter. I think my biggest gripe that may or may not change on a second readthrough is that I didn’t find the characters particularly interesting, which could have also played a role in why I struggled so much with this book. 

I'm struggling to get into this right now, but I would like to revisit it in the future.

Overall, this was a really thought-provoking collection of writings and thoughts from South African anti-apartheid activist Steve Biko, who I didn’t know anything about until I was recommended to check this book out by a friend. Biko’s thoughts on racism and colonization are specifically within the context of South Africa, and I found them not only informative but also saw resonances of what he was discussing in US history and politics. What I found really eye-opening and relevant to this day was his discussion on white liberals, particularly their vision of a “non-racial” society being deeply flawed and problematic. This collection also provides insight into Biko’s philosophy about Black Consciousness (the term stemming from Du Bois’s concept of double consciousness), which was deeply informed by postcolonial thinkers such as Fanon and Césaire. The Black Consciousness Movement (BCM), founded by Biko, pushed for Black liberation, which he saw not only as a fight for systemic change but also a psychological change within Black people themselves (which, in essence, read to me as decolonizing one’s mind). I think Biko’s charisma really came through in the transcripts of Biko’s responses to the judge and the defense attorney while on trial; it was kind of awe-inspiring to see “in action” how eloquent and articulate he was, on top of the fact that he was only in his twenties. I will say one critique I do have (and this was noted in the foreword) is the noticeable absence of feminism in Biko’s ideology. It would have been interesting to have gotten some insight as to why he didn’t find it important enough to include in BCM.

This collection does get a little repetitive, though I imagine this was not meant to be read from front to back in a matter of days. In the edition I read, there was also a memoir at the end by Father Aelred Stubbs, though I’ll fully admit that I skimmed through it, since I was more interested in Biko’s writings. This was a really informative read, though, and it has inspired me to look for more works by African activists and thinkers such as Biko.

I'm having some trouble focusing on this right now, I think I'll give it another go in the future.

This was an interesting collection of short stories set primarily in Lagos, each story being rather dark and unsettling in nature while centering modern Nigerian culture and society. What I particularly enjoyed about this collection was how vivid Aguda’s storytelling was. She does an excellent job whisking the reader into the vibrant life of Lagos, capturing the sounds and scenery that one might find themselves experiencing if they were in the city. Furthermore, each story had something sinister lurking in the corners that isn’t quite noticeable at first, but increasingly makes itself present to the reader in an eerie fashion.

With that said, I didn’t love this collection as much as I hoped I would. I’m not sure if it was a headspace thing or what, but I found myself skimming through a few stories. There were some really strong ones that I’m still thinking about, though, such as “Manifest” and “The Hollow.” Even if all these short stories didn’t quite work for me, I’m glad to have picked this debut collection up. I’d be really curious to know what Aguda has in store for the future, particularly if she has plans to write a novel. I know I’d pick it up, especially with the distinct voice she has.

A heartfelt ode to Dearborn, Michigan, home to the largest Arab American population in the United States, this short story collection zooms in on the Lebanese diaspora and their everyday lives in the city. I thought Zeineddine captured so many details and emotions in each story that honor the past, present, and future of Lebanese Americans who do the most they can to find home for themselves. There’s a particular gentleness to Zeineddine’s writing style that I enjoyed as he took the reader through silly and heartbreaking moments within the lives of these characters. Furthermore, I really liked how he drew attention to the different generations of the Lebanese American community and the tensions that came along with identifying as Lebanese American (and, more broadly, Arab American).

Like many short story collections, I thought some stories were stronger than others. Overall, though, I enjoyed how Zeineddine captured a diverse range of voices from the Lebanese American community to show the complex beauty of this community.

Beautifully written, Masquerade is a bit hard to describe when it comes to its premise. Generally speaking, the novel follows Meadow Liu, who is house-sitting for a friend in New York City for the summer. However, house-sitting proves to be a bit of an experience for Meadow, who finds himself dealing with odd and coincidental circumstances that seem to blur the boundaries of reality and the imaginary. Between all of this, the reader sees the protagonist contending with loneliness, his identity, as well as trying to find a sense of direction in his life now that he’s in his thirties.

Again, the novel was beautifully written, and I commend Fu for conjuring up such a sensual and mysterious novel that read a bit like waking up from an abstract dream. He takes his time with the narrative. Introspection is at the forefront as thoughts slowly swirl around, there is a constant sense of existential aimlessness as the reader follows Meadow through a city haze (whether it be New York City or Shanghai). I think Fu did a great job capturing the sense of unease that often comes with being in your late twenties and early thirties in this day and age, even if it’s hard to parse out what exactly happened.

On that note, I think my biggest frustration with this novel was that a lot happened yet… not. What I mean by this is that all sorts of ideas and events would be introduced throughout the novel, yet very little is done with them. I get the impression that Fu wanted to write an ambiguous story that is meant to be more affective than anything, so things left unresolved seem inevitable. However, I felt as though this resulted in the novel lacking a sense of purpose for the reader to grasp. I think I enjoyed some of what I read, but I also couldn’t help but wonder what exactly I was supposed to get out of the novel.

The ending frustrated me a fair bit and actually made me dislike Meadow, aha. The way it was written also didn’t seem to fit at all with the rest of the novel, so I’m not entirely sure what to make of it, other than that it left me rather unsatisfied. It’s hard to say if I would recommend this novel or not, because I think it would work for a very specific audience, but I could see this being frustrating for most others.

Michell expertly crafted a delicately tense novel following Sae, the protagonist, who tries to figure out what happened to her missing husband after the collapse of a building (drawing inspiration from an actual Seoul department store collapsing in 1995). I admit that I wasn’t expecting too much from this book when I started it, but I found myself utterly drawn to Michell’s stark commentary on truth and history. South Korea’s history is an incredibly tumultuous one that she explores in this novel, and the question that reverberates throughout this novel is who gets to tell that history.

Excavations shifted around time but was primarily set in the late 1980s and early 1990s, yet Michell provided incredible insight into how South Korea was shaped since the end of Japanese colonialism in 1945 by drawing attention to political tensions between the people and the government (as well as companies) across time, but especially in the 1980s. This novel was as much a story about Sae trying to uncover the truth about her missing husband as it was about learning what truth and justice mean to South Koreans in relation to their history. For those familiar with South Korean history, it comes as no surprise that truth has incredible power, and the fierce fight for the people to hold onto that truth is an ongoing one, and, as Michell revealed, often comes at a pricey cost. In addition to this layered exploration of truth and history, there was another theme woven into the story about motherhood. I admit that I wasn’t as interested in this aspect of the novel, though I still recognize and understand it to be a crucial part of the story; I couldn’t imagine the book without the attention Michell gave to motherhood.

The ending felt slightly rushed, in my opinion, but it wasn’t unsatisfying or anything. I will say that I felt like something was missing from this novel as I was reading it, but I honestly can’t place my finger on what that might be. Overall, though, I think the pacing and atmosphere were well done with the right amount of quiet tension carrying the reader from start to end. I’m pleasantly surprised that I enjoyed this more than I thought I would.

This was such a raw collection of poems that took physical and emotional pain to another level, with Chatti reflecting on the harrowing experience of finding a tumor found in her uterus and dealing with excessive bleeding. Woven into this narrative are thought-provoking ideas about faith (specifically Islamic) and womanhood that, again, consider the pain that comes with them. I found Chatti’s exploration of the complexities of shame and suffering in relation to womanhood especially compelling, and I thought it was interesting how she successfully conveyed this with such precision while also simultaneously evoking the messiness of it all. Furthermore, there was a really interesting theme throughout this collection that showed an intimate connection between the speaker and the Virgin Mary that I wish I better understood but couldn’t quite make sense of.

These poems were so distinct and personal, so much that it almost felt invasive and I felt a bit out of my depth as someone who is neither a woman nor religious. However, it’s a collection I’m glad to have read to continue to see how poets are more than capable of evoking such strong imagery and emotions.