jayisreading's reviews
512 reviews

I admit that I have mixed feelings about this collection. To focus on what I really liked, I think the way Mx. Yaffa wrote about Palestinian people, history, and memory is nothing short of powerful. This is a really short collection, yet Mx. Yaffa delivers so much emotion (much of which is rightfully coming from anger and grief) in each poem, expressing a desire for a decolonized world where they and other indigenous peoples around the world can live in peace. In addition to their Palestinian identity, Mx. Yaffa also draws attention to being trans, going further to show these two identities are interlocking. Somewhat relatedly, I thought the poem, “Marginalized,” did a great job reflecting on the struggles that marginalized peoples face.

What didn’t work for me was the general style of these poems. It’s not the kind of poetry that I particularly like, though it seems to work well for many others. It wasn’t a matter of having difficulty getting into the collection (quite the contrary, I thought it was quite accessible); it’s just a “it’s not you, it’s me” situation.

Spanning across multiple countries and continents, Lawson’s memoir is more than that; it also is a manifesto of sorts, with a demand that we each deeply reflect on our complex identity and positionality in the world. Lawson, a Black American who is nonbinary, femme, disabled, and queer, draws heavily from their own traveling experiences to reflect on their identity on all fronts. One thing I particularly appreciated was how Lawson grappled with being from the United States and what that means in other countries. This is further complicated when they bring Blackness into the picture, and I found their reflections quite profound to the point that I was deeply reflecting on my own identity and how race and nationality shaped my experiences when I also lived abroad.

While Lawson’s memoir takes the reader through Africa, Asia, Central America, Europe, and the Caribbean, many chapters also focus on their experiences in different regions of the United States, which makes sense, considering how vastly different each region can be. While the themes and locations are incredibly diverse, I was really impressed that Lawson found a thread through all of them, especially in the way they stepped back to think about the world as a whole.

Written with deep gratitude, humility, and a sense of wonder, Lawson’s reflections are so welcomed in the way they challenge us to think about our place in the world and the existing potential to make it a better place.

This was a quiet novel focusing on the somewhat complicated relationship between Ellis, Michael, and Annie. I say complicated in the sense that the relationship between Ellis and Michael in particular wasn’t exactly defined, other than that there was an intense intimacy between the two that somewhat fell apart as they grew older. Told first from the perspective of Ellis, followed by a more intimate perspective from Michael (which I think was a result of it being told in the first person), the reader saw the wonders and tensions of love in every sense of the word through their narratives during the 1980s and 1990s in the United Kingdom (and France, for some moments).

I found that I was most invested in Michael’s section, especially to see how he made sense of his identity as a gay man during the AIDS epidemic. Unfortunately, I felt that his section wasn’t nearly as developed as it could have been, though, to be frank, I feel that the novel overall wasn’t as developed as I had hoped. Given the shortness of this novel, I think Winman could have taken more time to flesh out her characters more to really dig into their interiorities and, of course, their relationships with one another. While the prose was beautiful, I was a bit let down by the fact that there wasn’t depth in the content to make the writing really shine.

It seems like this novel worked really well for many other readers, but I found myself wanting a little more than what was given.

I wanted to enjoy this collection more than I actually did. It’s likely a result of not understanding all the sources Kim was alluding to in her poems (though the poet’s notes at the end of the collection helped a little). It’s a little unfortunate, because I was really intrigued by her distinct, dreamlike style. Kim plays with an interesting mix of memory and imagination throughout her collection by turning to mythology and folklore meshing with the (im)migrant experience. I admit that I’m not sure I understood the question she wanted the reader to mull over (which I believe had something to do with identity), and this probably explains the difficulty I had in following this collection.

I think this is one I’m going to have to revisit in the future to see if I can better understand Kim’s ideas on a second read.

This was a really interesting look into the trans Latine community in New York City, with Ojeda guiding the reader through the joys and struggles that are unique to this particular community. Ojeda heavily draws from his/her own experiences to craft these stories, so much so that I feel it’s almost misleading to say that this short story collection is fiction. It sometimes read like a memoir in which he/she took many creative liberties. Furthermore, I wouldn’t quite call these short stories, so much as they were interconnected vignettes that captured the intimate lives of those on the margins of society. For this perspective alone, I think Las Biuty Queens is well worth picking up.

Unfortunately, I didn’t find the writing especially engaging, which I think was in part because the stories were a little too short; most (if not all) of them didn’t give the reader enough time to think about this vibrant and beautiful community. Ojeda brought up a number of fascinating points that could have been further explored, ranging from sex work to immigration, and I really found myself wishing more could have been said on these topics and how they intertwine with being trans.

The history of “comfort women” (i.e., girls and women who were forced into sexual slavery by Imperial Japan’s military) is one of the many heartbreaking parts of Korea’s dark history during the twentieth century. In Grass, Gendry-Kim illustrates the life story of one survivor, the late Lee Okseon, starting from Lee’s childhood leading up to the present. Lee had a difficult life even before she was forced into sexual slavery, and she recounted life under Japanese occupation and those who suffered under their rule (particularly Koreans). Unfortunately, life remained difficult for her even after she and the rest of Korea were liberated, facing enough adversity throughout her life that she stated, “I’ve never known happiness from the moment I came out of my mother’s womb.”

I thought Gendry-Kim did a wonderful job presenting Lee’s story with great respect, as she never turned Lee’s suffering into a spectacle, as well as emphasizing that Lee is more than a survivor. I really liked the brushwork art style that Gendry-Kim used, and I got the impression that she was heavily inspired by traditional Korean brushwork. She noted at the end of the graphic novel that she “refrained from provocative expressions to give lightness to a story burdened with such brutality.” On this note, I did feel that she found a relatively good balance between restraint and freedom in her illustrations, the freeing moments especially highlighted when opportunities arose to show the beautiful landscapes of Korea, as well as the occasional smiles and laughter given by Lee in the present.

Lee was one of the few remaining comfort women survivors (at least based on those registered with the South Korean government), and she passed away in 2022. It breaks my heart to know the number of survivors is growing smaller, with neither those who have passed away or are currently alive having received full reparations and a proper apology from the Japanese government. It’s imperative that their life stories are documented in all forms, and I truly appreciate that Gendry-Kim did so with great care through a graphic novel form.

Unfortunately, after three stories, I really couldn't get into any of them.

Open Water was a beautiful homage to Black love, Black tenderness, and Black art. Azumah Nelson’s prose was just stunning and dreamlike, especially how he captures the intimacy that comes with falling in love. So much of it came down to the little details that one notices about their beloved that I thought was so beautifully captured. I think what made this novel all the more intimate was a result of it being written in second person, positioning the reader to really experience how the narrator feels, the sensation that comes with being seen with such care and tenderness by a lover.

This novel is also a celebration of Black art. Azumah Nelson wonderfully weaves into his story the works of Black creatives including but not limited to James Baldwin, Barry Jenkins, Kelsey Lu, and more. In many ways, I felt the choice to make the main characters of this novel be artists themselves was a subtle yet powerful way for Azumah Nelson to show how Black artists continue the tradition to shape the beauty of Blackness.

Open Water explored other themes as well, such as Black masculinity and being Black in the United Kingdom. I did feel that these were a little too subtly addressed, perhaps a result of the novel’s primary focus being on a relationship. I think a part of me wanted this novel to be a little longer, as a result, to see how Azumah Nelson could have gone more in depth with these themes. I also wish the characters were a little more developed, just to see a clearer progress in the story.

I will say that Azumah Nelson has a distinct writing style that will work for some readers, while others may find it incredibly off-putting, whether it be because of the second-person narrative or the admittedly very purple prose (or perhaps both). I think convincing second-person narratives are quite difficult to write, but I thought Azumah Nelson handled it really well to fit the story he wanted to tell. I also really appreciated the prose (even if it did, at times, get a little too lyrical), and I could see how he was heavily influenced by other Black writers.

This was a really powerful debut novel, and I really look forward to reading more of Azumah Nelson’s writings in the near future.

The novel felt a little too aimless and I wasn't sure what the author wanted me to get out of the story.

I struggled to get into the novel and found myself skimming the pages early on (which is always a bad sign).