jayisreading's reviews
512 reviews

There were a lot of ephemerally beautiful moments in these poems, especially how Yanyi crafted multiple meanings out of the central theme of this collection: transition. It’s the transitioning of the body, of place, of time. Transition is never easy or smooth, and Yanyi draws attention to the violence—however subtle—while in transition. As a result, grief is tinged throughout this collection, as Yanyi grapples with the disconnect he feels from his body, “loved” ones (I write “loved” as opposed to loved, knowing that it’s complicated), and more.

I did feel that a number of poems were a bit too sparse for my taste, and I found myself wanting a little more than what was given. Of course, like all collections, there will be poems that work better than others, but I felt it was rather unbalanced in this collection, with the fifth part being significantly stronger than the other four parts combined. However, this is really a matter of personal taste and preference.

Some favorites: “Taking Care,” “Leaving the House,” “Eurydice at the Mouth,” “Home for the Holidays” (in Part IV), “Ambulance! Ambulance!,” “Lengthening, Rites,” “The End of Another Year,” and “Aubade”

As someone who has little familiarity with Oceania (and I don’t say this with particular pride either), I found this varied collection of works by Hau’ofa to be an eye-opening one. A lot of the essays featured in this collection were originally given as talks, so there definitely was a more conversational tone to them. It was clear from Hau’ofa’s prose that he was an academic (more specifically, an anthropologist) in the way he approached the histories and cultures of his community, but the writing was quite accessible, all things considered. Regarding history and culture, I really appreciated the way Hau’ofa reflected on the impact of colonization on this region, considering how few people discuss it. I was especially taken to the way he navigated his identity and positionality in his community and in academia, the unique situations that come up as one of the only anthropologists from the Pacific Islands.

I have to admit that I felt the first half of this book was significantly stronger than the second half, though this might be because I didn’t particularly enjoy his creative writing. More specifically, in the third section, there were two excerpts featured from his novel, Kisses in the Nederends, that some may find really grotesque, since the novel placed significant focus on all things anal. I think I understand the reason for featuring these excerpts, especially in relation to the other featured works, but I still felt that I lacked context to fully appreciate their inclusion.

I think this book is worth picking up to better understand Oceania, especially for the first two sections. And, if you’re at all interested in anthropology, Hau’ofa’s writing is one that’s well worth looking into, especially for his critiques of the discipline.

I know very little about Sámi culture, so this novel ended up being really insightful in learning more about modern Sámi life and the discrimination they face in Swedish society. Laestadius presented a number of nuanced situations for the Sámi community in her novel, such as the challenges of upholding tradition in a time of modernization, generational trauma, as well as gender roles (especially as a reindeer herder). Importantly, though, Laestadius is concerned with exploring the tensions between the Sámi community and non-Sámi community, particularly when dealing with law enforcement. The message is a little heavy-handed, which is that it’s clear she wants to draw attention to the injustices that indigenous peoples face when dealing with authoritative figures.

Structurally, I admit that I had some difficulty getting into this one. I don’t know if it was the particularly short chapters or what, but I was a bit thrown off by the overall pacing of the novel. I think another thing that didn’t quite work for me was that, while situations were explored with nuance, many of the characters themselves lacked complexity. I did feel that Laestadius set the reader up for a good versus evil story with how the characters were depicted. While there’s nothing inherently wrong with this, it did make everything read as somewhat reductive.

One last thing I would add is that this novel is definitely not one for those who get squeamish about animal cruelty and death, as Laestadius does not shy away from describing the horrific killing of reindeer, also adding considerable emotional depth in losing them, especially since reindeer are more than “just animals” in Sámi culture.

I am a huge fan of Morgan Parker’s poetry, and I was excited to hear that she was publishing an essay collection. You can clearly see her sharp critiques of US culture and society (particularly Black culture) in her poems; I was curious to know how she was going to bring that to her essays (if at all). I have to admit, this collection wasn’t quite what I was expecting it to be, but I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing. I didn’t expect it to be as self-reflective in the sense that, at times, it felt like I was entering memoir territory. It helped me to quickly reframe this collection to be a little more like a memoir, though, and made for a better understanding of how she was thinking about culture and society. While she does regularly touch on the Black experience—particularly Black women’s experiences—this collection was especially focused on one Black woman’s experiences (i.e., Parker’s own) and her position in a world full of misogynoir.

These essays flow wonderfully from one to the next, and Parker has deftly crafted a cohesive collection that will absolutely have you in an introspective state, reflecting on the state of the world (and, particularly for those in the United States, the state of the country).

Us is a graphic memoir that focuses on Sara Soler’s relationship with her partner, Diana, who is a trans woman, and how they navigated the reactions that people had about Diana’s transitioning. While Soler herself isn’t trans, she takes care to focus on her partner’s experiences, and the good and bad of how people reacted. Relatedly, I appreciated that Soler disclosed her initial reactions to Diana being trans, which weren’t especially negative per se, but they weren’t necessarily the greatest either. I do think it takes some courage to be that honest, and I like that she took time to reflect on this and understand how she needs to improve.

That being said, Us really read more like a guide for cisgender people on how not to react to people coming out as transgender. While Soler did place focus on Diana’s experiences (and, of course, their relationship), the whole graphic memoir still read very much like it was coming from a cisgender person and how they’re understanding the trans identity. It didn’t quite rub me the wrong way, but I felt like it would have been better to have gotten Diana’s actual perspective.

It’s clear that a lot of love went into this graphic memoir, and I’m certainly glad that Soler was and continues to be an incredibly supportive partner for Diana. I just think I wasn’t the target audience, especially because this graphic novel definitely had more of an educational slant to it than I expected.

I don’t think there is anything new I can contribute to the conversation around A Little Devil in America, other than to echo that it’s a brilliant collection of essays. Abdurraqib walks the reader through various histories of Black performance in the United States while weaving in elements of his personal life. In doing so, I thought he did a phenomenal job in pointing out that history—Black history—doesn’t exist in a void, that there are distinct connections across the past, present, and future that deeply impact US culture and society at large. It is especially the case with popular music; the industry is so indebted to Black Americans’ contributions since even before the twentieth century. Just consider the origins of a multitude of music genres— You’ll find that they’re all deeply rooted in Black music traditions.

I really enjoyed all these essays, but I was especially taken to Abdurraqib’s essay, “The Josephine Baker Monument Can Never Be Large Enough,” and how he explored the complicated ties that we have to place(s), as well as the (un)intentional attachments that may form.

Overall, a really wonderful essay collection full of beautiful insights that, indeed, praise Black performance for everything it has been, is, and will be.

This was an engaging collection of short stories that primarily placed queer mixed-race Asian Canadians (primarily in Eastern Canada) at the center, many of whom are struggling with loneliness and/or relationships of some kind. I was really taken to the way that Chau Bradley considered different forms of attachments, platonic or otherwise, and the ways they can manifest in complicated ways. What I also found interesting was that Chau Bradley never offered any sort of closure to their stories, which I felt added another layer of loneliness to many of these characters’ lives. Some stories ended with a bittersweet taste in one’s mouth, especially because you might have wanted more for that story’s protagonist. Other stories ended with a pit in one’s stomach, due to the tension that arose over the course of the story (I think especially of the final short story in the collection, “Soft Shoulder”).

I don’t think this short story collection will quite work for everyone, especially if you’re looking for something lighthearted. There certainly is humor, but it is the sardonic kind that Chau Bradley brilliantly delivers. I did feel that some stories lacked, but the stronger ones really shone.

This was a hard novel to read. As short as it may seem, it took me a number of days to finish this one, mostly because the emotional weight of this book was so heavy. Set in the Pacific halfway through WWII, the novel is narrated by an unnamed Japanese soldier observing day-to-day life at a field hospital, where he is recovering from an injury. What I found interesting about this novel was Takahashi’s decision to show the futility of war not in literal trenches, but, rather, primarily in a quiet environment for the injured and dying.

I will fully admit that I picked up this book with some skepticism, as it was from the perspective of a Japanese soldier during WWII and translated from Japanese. I had a sense that the atrocities committed by Japan during the twentieth century would not be covered, which… more or less was the case. It became clear as the novel progressed, though, that Takahashi had a somewhat different intention, which was to show how the soldiers were almost unthinkingly trusting a government that didn’t reveal the full picture to them. The soldiers were led to believe that their side was winning the war; they cheerfully discussed how the indigenous people of the island they were on (the Kanak) would have to learn Japanese to prepare for inevitable tourism once the war ends; and they were fed misinformation about how the Allied forces were doing. The narrator’s belief in his government wavered as morale dropped over the course of the novel, not so much because he believed his side was in the wrong, so much as it was to question the purpose of war.

I still can’t quite place my finger on what about this novel didn’t completely work for me, but, overall, it was interesting reading from a different perspective and at a less-talked-about location during WWII.

I'm really struggling to get into this novel, which might be a "wrong time" situation. May go back to this one in the future.

Thammavongsa took “short” in short stories quite seriously, as a handful of them only took a few minutes to read. However, she packed so much into each story while using sparse prose, much of which focused on what it meant to be part of an immigrant family in Canada. One could almost think of these stories as short reels of day-to-day life for different Lao families, since these stories magnified the seemingly more mundane moments. While each story is self-contained, I immediately understood Thammavongsa’s intention to present a deeply complex and vibrant community of Lao immigrants and refugees, and I especially appreciated that many of these characters deeply reflected on their identity.