jayisreading's reviews
507 reviews

I gave Deborah Smith some flak for her translation of The Vegetarian, and I admit that I entered Human Acts with some wariness (I mean, it didn’t help that the title alone is already a departure from the original title, which translates to The Boy Is Coming). However, unlike The Vegetarian, I found myself drawn into the quiet prose and translation of Human Acts. Perhaps it’s a result of how Kang decided to write the novel that it influenced Smith’s translation, but the writing felt more deliberate in getting the reader to slow down and think about the grief of each narrator across these chapters. As opposed to focusing on the Gwangju Uprising itself, Kang draws attention to the lasting grief and trauma of each narrator. In some ways, I have to admit that I think I actually prefer the title Smith decided to run with: Human Acts. Because, at its core, the novel reflects on the nature of humans and their actions, both violent and vulnerable.

I think some readers may find the different writing styles for each chapter a little off-putting (especially when it enters the second-person perspective), but I found it very effective in establishing the distinct voices of each narrator and how they were processing the shared connection they had across time. It was especially poignant to me that the novel ended with Kang herself as the narrator, who is from Gwangju.

This is definitely a novel I’d like to revisit in the future, perhaps in the original Korean, because I’m sure I will have missed some details. Overall, though, I found that this novel was utterly evocative and, at the time of reading this, timely, considering the ongoing protests and state violence that some protesters have faced.

Khanna presented a beautiful reimagining of the lives of Hindu goddesses in this poetry collection, centering the goddesses Sita and Parvati in particular. My knowledge of Hindu deities is quite limited, so I admit that it was a little harder for me to fully appreciate these poems. Despite this, I still got a fair bit out of them, and I enjoyed the feminist lens that challenged what was expected from women through these goddesses. On this note, I really liked the coalescence of the divine and ordinary through the feminine. Furthermore, Khanna explored the tensions of upholding tradition versus breaking free from them, taking care to contemplate what happened to those who chose to defy expectations.

Again, I think this collection was a bit harder to get into because of my unfamiliarity with Hinduism, but I still enjoyed a handful of poems and found them thought-provoking and interesting.

Some favorites: “Fable,” “Goddess in the Dark,” “The Goddess Calls a Truce,” “Creation Myth” poems, and “Destruction Myth” poems

I wish this essay collection worked for me, given my interest in the topic. but I found it rather disappointing. I think the questions that Dederer wanted to address are crucial ones for all of us to contend with. Can you actually separate art from the artist? Is it ethical to consume media by problematic (or “stained,” as she describes it) people, some of whom are labeled geniuses? How should we be engaging with problematic media, if at all?

I will say that I think it’s a little unfair to expect concrete answers from her, considering that it’s a bit more complicated than giving a simple “yes” or “no” response. However, a reader only has so much patience for any amount of waffling; by the third or fourth chapter, I was tired of it. I think it’s fine if an author wants to take a moment to think about a particular topic on-page, but they need to give the reader a reason to stick around for it. In other words, what’s at stake? Why should we care? Unfortunately, there wasn’t much of a point to any of these essays that gave me any indication as to why what Dederer wrote mattered. She had numerous missed opportunities to do in-depth analyses with the issues she raised. Instead, she provided a lot of surface-level observations that gave the reader very little to work with, other than to quizzically wonder, “Why should I care about your feelings over your favorite artist being problematic?” Relatedly, I saw a few reviewers comment that this book reads more like a memoir, which I’m inclined to agree with, especially when one takes into account the handful of personal anecdotes that Dederer hardly connected (if at all) to the topic at hand. In addition, I felt that she often failed to give enough context when she called a number of individuals “monsters.” Sure, readers could do separate research on some of the mentioned figures in the book to learn more about their wrongdoings, but part of an essayist’s responsibility is to provide even some of that context and nuance.

Again, the questions posed in this book are important ones. However, I think Dederer could have afforded to spend more time with these essays to better establish the points she wants to make, as well as to reorganize her ideas so that they are more closely connected.

Note: Many thanks to the publisher for sending me a finished paperback copy. 

I’ll be very honest— I would never have bothered picking this novel up if it weren’t for the fact that it was selected for a book club I somewhat recently joined. Reading the synopsis, there wasn’t anything that particularly stood out to me, so I had low expectations. This ended up being the right call, as I didn’t feel disappointed or felt that my time was wasted. I didn’t find Small Pleasures especially remarkable in either narrative or characters, but this is definitely more a matter of personal interest than anything. I think some readers may find the mystery and eventual romance compelling, and I will say that it is refreshing to have a struggling protagonist who is somewhat older (forty, if I’m remembering correctly). And, to Chambers’ credit, I did like her prose enough. She took a rather quiet and restrained approach that was slightly reminiscent of Kazuo Ishiguro, and I thought she did a good job maintaining that tone while still being able to capture the intense emotions that Jean (the protagonist) felt.

Before reading, I decided to check the reviews out, and I was surprised to see a relatively large number of reviewers who criticized the ending. This somewhat colored my reading experience, especially because I was keen to find out why so many people disliked it. All I can say is that if an afterword is required to explain the ending, then something needs to be reworked (and I will say the ending was unsatisfying). That being said—and to kind of defend the author—I can kind of see why she made this decision, especially considering that she did some foreshadowing at the very start of the novel. Another critique I have that I didn’t see as many people address was how the author decided to handle a lesbian relationship. I didn’t like that it was used as a plot twist, along with the fact that it was somewhat villainized (to me, at least).

I would say take this review with a grain of salt, considering the circumstances that led to me reading it.

As the title suggests, this book is nothing but a delight. I really welcomed Gay’s reflective words that called for hope and gratitude for all things big and small that we so often overlook. A handful of these very short lyric essays—many only being a page long—celebrated the wonders of nature, but I was most taken to the essays that dealt with human connection. Perhaps I felt this way due to all the man-made tension that exists in the world at the time of reading this book. Whatever the reason may be, it was a heartwarming reminder that humans make so much meaning out of our interactions with one another.

While I appreciated the nature of what this book tackles, I found that Gay’s writing style didn’t always work for me. His particular flow was a little difficult for me to follow, not so much because the writing was dense (though the run-on sentences did get to me a few times). Instead, it was more a reminder that we all have different thought processes that make sense to some, while others might struggle a bit more with them.

If you’re looking for short and uplifting essays to read, though, The Book of Delights is absolutely one to pick up. What I also appreciate about this collection of lyric essays is that you could read one a day in the morning, should you want some food for thought to start your day, or you just want to be reminded of the ordinary joys that exist in our lives. 

This debut collection was a vibrant one that took place in modern-day Nigeria. I really appreciated that Okonkwo gave the reader a close look into contemporary Nigerian culture through various characters and their respective relationships. While this may sound like other contemporary works by Nigerian authors, I felt that Okonkwo had her own spin to these stories through a slow unveiling of the layers of madness in each story. And madness is not so much clinical as it is these characters spiraling into emotional turmoil, often due to cultural implications. In other words, these characters are “losing it,” but they do so slowly yet steadily, ranging from missteps that snowball to quiet acts of desperation that lead them to their breaking point.

Like most (if not all) short story collections, I thought some stories were more impactful than others, but overall, I felt that this was a strong debut with immersive stories. I look forward to what Okonkwo will write in the future.

Many thanks to the publisher for sending me an ARC. 

I really enjoyed Zhang’s debut novel, so I entered Land of Milk and Honey with relatively high expectations. Much like How Much of These Hills Is Gold, Zhang delivered exquisite lyricism and a distinct writing style that will be hit-or-misses for readers. She also presented some really interesting themes in Land of Milk and Honey—especially in relation to a dystopian world—which was a variety that included beauty, social class, pleasure, and climate change. I will say, though, that the themes were not overtly stated and might require the reader to tease them out, which could be frustrating given the prose. I also thought it would have been nice if Zhang had stuck with fewer themes to explore in-depth as opposed to the multiple that she seemed to have wanted to discuss.

I think Land of Milk and Honey fell flat for me because I wasn’t entirely invested in either the story or the characters. Regarding the story, there certainly was a plot, but it was a very slippery one to grasp that resulted in me losing interest over time. As for the characters and their relationships with one another, they were interesting enough, but I didn’t think they were particularly memorable. With all this said, I will say that I think I may have picked this book up at the wrong time and just wasn’t in the right headspace for it.

Waubgeshig Rice returns with an equally quiet yet bold sequel that continues to explore the meaning of “post-apocalypse” to Indigenous peoples. This time, though, it is to consider what comes after. Following the same Anishinaabe community from Moon of the Crusted Snow, the sequel takes place a little over a decade after the blackout, and the community must address their dwindling food resources. As a result, a small scouting party of six, led by Evan Whitesky, is formed to venture into the unknown and find a new place to call home. More specifically, they decide to return to their ancestral home.

I admit that I found the first third of the novel to be a little too slow, but thinking back to my overall reading experience, I’m realizing that this was Rice laying out the foundations to build up to an intense series of events. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it was explosive in action, but the sequel definitely felt more intense to me as a result of the stakes being higher. On a different note, something that struck me about this novel was the ongoing theme of reclamation (at least, that was how I understood it). Years after the blackout, nature reclaimed much of the land that was once taken by settlers. Relatedly, I felt that Rice was reclaiming Anishinaabe culture with how he presented beliefs and traditions throughout the novel, particularly emphasized by the untranslated conversations in Anishinaabemowin between characters and the way they looked towards the future of the Anishinaabe people. While colonialism wasn’t explicitly discussed, the blackout gave them the chance of restoration. There were moments that threatened this chance, which I interpreted as an allegory to the numerous attempts to erase Indigenous cultures and histories, but Rice makes clear that they will always survive and will always be present.

The novel has been marketed as a standalone, but I think it would really help to read the first novel to really understand Rice’s themes and why this sequel was written the way it was. Overall, this was more of an intense read than I expected it to be, while still maintaining a sense of quiet that resulted in a rather reflective reading experience.

I love the story of Orpheus and Eurydice, so I had high hopes for More Perfect, which sounded like a fascinating reimagining of the Greek myth. I think the themes and concepts that Oh had in mind were absolutely great, as she gets the reader to think about technological innovations in relation to surveillance, the (over)reliance on technology, and this constant questioning of what is “good” as opposed to “evil” when it comes to technology and social media. And, while the novel is marketed as science fiction, I felt that it was light on the science compared to other novels of this genre, though you could tell from the author’s descriptions that she had a neuroscience background. Ultimately, it seemed to me that she was more interested in telling a story about characters’ relationships with technology.

Unfortunately, I felt that the overall execution was a bit weak and resulted in a too-long novel with uneven pacing. I found myself frustrated that questions I had during my reading were never fully answered (e.g., how certain technologies worked, why certain characters and places held particular significance, etc.). I also feel that it’s slightly misleading to call this novel a retelling of the myth, mostly because the two were very loosely connected. It wasn’t really until the end that you really see how Oh put her own spin on the myth. I also felt that some parts of the book were a bit repetitive and could have been removed altogether to tighten the writing and address the pacing issues. 

Well, this was a stunning poetry collection that will take the reader through an array of feelings ranging from a sense of peace to unrelenting grief. Khalaf Tuffaha, whose heritage is Palestinian, Jordanian, and Syrian, gives the reader a glimpse into Arab life, culture, and memory. Her poignant poems cross geopolitical borders and interweave Arabic and English to create a multisensory experience for the reader that will undoubtedly leave an impact to some degree. Broken into three parts, Khalaf Tuffaha meditates on (im)migration and displacement, writes loving odes to her loved ones and her Arab roots, and unflinchingly draws attention to the violence and suffering in Palestine. While she does cover a wide range of topics, I found that the poems flowed wonderfully from one to the next, ultimately, demonstrating how interconnected these themes are for the poet.

Not a single word goes wasted in this collection, and I truly look forward to reading Khalaf Tuffaha’s other works.

Some favorites: “Upon Arrival,” “Rules for Recitation,” “Immigrant,” “Dhayaa’,” “Circling the Dome of the Sky,” “Eating the Earth,” “Mountain, Stone,” “Running Orders,” “Again and Again,” “Ruin,” “Newsworthy,” “It’s Beirut Out Here,” “Almond Trilogy,” “National Security Advisory,” “Instructions for Making Arabic Coffee,” “My Mother Returns to Her Childhood Home,” “Translation,” “Relocation,” “Time Management,” and “Linger”